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.
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