La aventura en Mendoza cont.

Day three was met by a lazy morning doing our last minute shopping and visiting of downtown Mendoza. Once again we grabbed at the chance to sit outside at Havana on the pedestrian-only street. This time we tried exotic-looking cappuccinos but stuck to eating more alfajores. We even bought a box full of different flavours.

We skipped lunch as we had organised to go horse riding along the mountainside and apparently a barbeque was included for almuerzo. We had been told to wait to be collected at our hostal between 14-14:30. The local Gauchos (cowboys) arrived at 15:00 and after we entered through the gates of their farm an hour out of town, we found that lunch was not on the cards; rather the asado was planned for after the horse ride. We managed though, mostly because the prospect of being on an Argentinean horse was more exciting. A Gaucho, in his maroon beret and cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth, explained to us how his horses were to be ridden before we were each assigned a horse.

We trailed off one by one down the dirt road and into the local fauna of green and yellow shrubs; a very arid looking mountainside indeed. Along the way we tried a little trot as well as a little canter, although my horse could not be bothered to partake in this activity. To encourage these horses, we were told to click our tongues or make kissing noises while slightly pressing into their gut with our heels, not the Anglo-Saxon “yah” or “whoo there” with a bit of a kick in the gut. Maybe it’s all because Spanish speakers like to be that little bit more romantic in life so a kissing noise seems more appropriate to them, who knows?

The scenery was quite breathtaking and the further up we climbed, the more we could see of Mendoza far in the distance. Too bad the industrial plant on the outskirts of the town was highly visual but nonetheless, I could look the other way towards to the mystic Andes where I could see our chain of horses zigzagging its way up ahead. We stopped on one of the hill crests to take photos, the Gauchos obvious accustomed to this tradition, and then continued on in the direction of the horse’s home.

Once back at the farm, we had that asado we had been waiting for, along with some local wine. My lovely Chilean and I spoke with a couple that had a similar reason for being in Mendoza as us. They were a Chilean lad and Polish lass who had met in Spain while on exchange, and she had since come to Chile to be with him and now they were visiting Mendoza to renew her visa. We soon found that they were to take the same, treacherous bus back with us. We warned them about the merciless trip over the border.

Before leaving we were introduced to the farm's recently born goats. We were staring over the fence, giggling at their silly antics when one of the Gaucho suddenly passed a little bleating goat into my arms. It was so cute but it utterly stank. After a photo shot together I passed it onto another who unfortunately had her hair eaten. All around us there were animals, from goats to horses to dogs and even dirty children. We said our goodbyes and were driven back to town, where we had little time before we were to leave. We hastily ate some dinner and arrived justo for the bus.

At la frontera we were held up for over an hour. This was not because the Chileans are much more meticulous at customs and all bags must be scanned for fresh foods, woods, plants, etc. but because the border control had found someone on our bus trafficking drugs and they had been arrested. Finally we arrived back in Santiago an hour and a half later than expected, although the excitement of the drug trafficking scandal had killed any annoyance caused by the delay. Those short 3 days had been quite the escapade and exactly the break away from work that I had needed. Although it is a small town, Mendoza sure is packed with adventurous things to do.

La aventura en Mendoza

Remind me never to travel by bus during the night when there is border crossing involved!

Plans to go across to Argentina to renew my visa were made well in advance and we thought we would cleverly save time by voyaging while we slept but oh what a mistake. My lovely Chilean and I left the never-sleeping Santiago at 22:00 on a semi-cama bus, exhausted from that day’s work yet full of keen hope to relax and disfrutar our time in Mendoza. As our tired eyes finally closed into a struggling sleep we were woken at la frontera where we were to then stand in the freezing Andean night for at least 45 minutes. Then we sleep walked back onto the bus only to arrive at our destination a mere 3 hours later. The worst thing was that we were to do it all again on the way home!

Exhausted, we piled into a taxi and at our hostal we desperately pleaded the receptionist to give us our room even though it was 05:00 and check-in wasn’t until 14:00. We grabbed at the key and agreed to give 100% in the survey at the end of our stay. We didn’t awake until well into the afternoon when our stomachs rang out their wake up call. First thing though we had to change our money, which happened to be a rewarding experience because the Chilean peso is currently worth more than the Argentinean Peso so all of a sudden we were richer.

We ate the most mouth-watering, succulent Bife de Chorizo accompanied with salad and Andean beer inside the local food markets. As I am now well informed, because Argentina is such a flat country their cows are lazy and have no need to wonder far for food. On the contrast, Chilean cows build up their muscles climbing the mountains and hills in search of green pastures and as a result their meat is far more tough and chewy. So, although both Chilean and Argentineans cook muchos barbeques, Argentinean beef is just to die for. Even with bursting stomachs we just couldn’t resist visiting Havana, my favourite Argentinean café, afterwards to have a rich expresso and chocolate alfajor. With so much food inside of us we just had to sleep some more.

In the usual South American way, the shops in Mendoza don’t close until 21-22:00 but are closed over lunch and are mostly closed on Sundays, except for restaurants. And so after lots of descanso we had the chance to soak in all the leather and clothes and copious amounts of shoes. One could grow terribly obsessed with fashion here and to make it worse, it’s relatively cheap. God bless Argentina’s strong Italian influence! That evening we relaxed in our hostal eating rough, cheap cheese and crackers, and drinking cheap Malbec wine.

Early morning we were collected by some locals who drove us towards the hills where we were to then jump off and paraglide down to the bottom. Running towards the edge as the wind picked up the parachute and with my guide/flyer safely attached behind me, he accidentally stepped on the back of my shoe making it slip off. I stumbled along as he yelled for me to keep running. Once in the air I held onto my shoe for it’s dear life and managed to slide it back on as metres past below me. Only then could I take in the sheer emotion of what I was doing. As if I had wings, I was soaring through the sky and my lovely Chilean was not far away doing the same thing. Behind me came the voice, “Are you scared or are you just cold?” I was freezing! Although I was in leggings, I only wore a t-shirt on top and the wind was giving me terrible shivers.

Off in the distance we could see the other couple flying swiftly in figure eights and all of a sudden so were we. Gravity pulled my stomach along, up and down, side to side, as if I were on a roller coaster high in the clear sky. Little screams of enjoyment sprang from my mouth but died away as we approached the ground for I concentrated on landing probably. I had nothing to worry about though and la tierra approached smoothly. I looked up to see the others still high above us, as apparently they had lost track of time chasing a poor bird. To catch up they suddenly circled their way closer to earth as if they were being flushed down a toilet. They had gone so fast that my lovely Chilean could barely move his head during the process. Effortlessly they landed.

Back in town we had some very odd pizza for lunch. It was more like thick bread with cheese melted on top but we ate it anyway and gave our leftovers to one of the many strugglers who desperately plead for money from people eating in cafés and restaurants along the street. We later saw this particular struggler give the pizza slices to her tiny son who scoffed it down with undeniable hunger. It is also common for strugglers, far too young to be seeking money, to place items on your table for you to look at and then will come back asking if you want to buy it. However, most of the time it is useless junk like a page of fairy stickers, probably stolen from elsewhere.

In the Mendozean heat (as for some reason the other side of the Andes gets much hotter) we walked to the big park at the far side of town. Apparently there is a zoo at the end of the park but we only made it to the ugly man-made lake and rested under the shade of a tree. The park was a far cry from the main square back in the centre of town, which is spotted with beautiful, big and shady trees and in the evenings it is covered with artisan markets and local musicians. It is just the most peaceful place to relax. Back in the park though, we heard ice cream calling out to us and sitting beside the vendor of Italian prepared helado we were met by the Belgian couple who had been paragliding with us that morning. We chatted for quite some time about our experiences in Latin America before we went our separate ways.

We ate a light meal in the pedestrian only street before going to check out the artisan markets once again. Mendoza has that great European influence of eating outside under umbrellas if necessary, rather than like the Chileans, who prefer to sit inside even during the most spectacular weather. We very much enjoyed Argentina’s hunger for gastronomy and the pleasures of life. Chilean’s can often become workaholics even at the best of times.

Almuerzo en Cajón del Maipo

One sunny day two couples - one young and in love, and the other, the in-laws - ventured out to an Andean canyon just outside of Santiago called Cajón del Maipo. Now this narrow valley which entrenches the Maipo River, has many beautiful natural landscapes to explore (mostly by foot) but their main purpose of coming here was for pure gastronomy.

Although small, this valley encompasses a forest of restaurants of various cultures to choose from. The two couples passed through the gates of La Petite France, a divine French restaurant run by a French chef and his Chilean wife. Outside under a canopy of trees, the couples sipped on kir royales and broke off pieces of baguette, which they dipped in oils and salsa.

First course alone justified the distance travelled, for each sip of crème de pumpkin up turned their lips more and more into a smile of complete satisfaction. Then succulent beef with potato bake and a taste of ratatouille blended together with local wine to create a heavenly sensation in their mouths. Finally, their bliss peaked with the crack of sugar as they began their dessert of true, old-fashioned, French crème brûlée.

Walking around the restaurant garden with gluttonous stomachs, they soaked in the strange view of a mountainous countryside, not too uncommon to the Andes’ sister ranges across the world, except for its acne of cactus – a consist reminder of being on the South American continent.

The couples drove further along the windy road to the small town of San José de Maipo, where they wondered around the artisan markets before climbing back into the car to carry on their tour of the canyon. They ventured far enough to reach the bridge that crosses the river and then they continued along the other side, heading back in the direction of Santiago.

The other side is very much less populated and little cottages sit encased in flora, the perfect place for a weekend get away or retirement from the hustle and bustle of city life. At the end of the quiet road begins one of the poorer neighbourhoods of Santiago. The couples locked the doors of the car as they drove from nature’s peacefulness into nature’s weakness.