The next day me and Jack unbelievably followed
through on our promise to each other to get an early start but
suffered a slight set back immediately after.
We'd been recommended a bike rental place
called “Mr Hugo's” and, as the public bus we were on wound its
way further into what was unmistakably wine country, Jack spotted a
sign with “Mr Hugo” written on it. Jumping off the bus, we
wandered over to the place but found that the sign actually read
“Owned by Mr Hugo”. Hmm... Gringo paranoia kicked in and we
managed to convince ourselves that this place must be a fake trying
to cash I on the real “Mr Hugo's” which couldn't possibly be
located here. So off we went, walking for a good half an hour along
the country roads, jumping on several more buses and asking a bunch
of locals where the real Mr Hugo's was, before eventually
someone wrote down an address for us and, surprise, surprise, we
ended up at the very same “Owned by Mr Hugo” which we had assumed
to be a fake a good hour ago. This is the idiocy that happens when 2
physicists put their sceptical hats on. In any case it was now
getting on for midday and felt like a more appropriate time to start
boozing/wine tasting.
 |
| The grin of a man who's cycling through wine country |
Kitting ourselves out with bikes and a loose map of the area we set off in high spirits. Our first port of call was a fairly drab wine museum but we did get our first taste of a Malbec – the grape for which Argentina is most renowned for. After a stop at what I can only describe as a delicatessen where we lined our stomachs with various olive oils, chutneys, jams, dulce de leche's and a shot of absinthe, we hopped on our bikes and cycled through the midday heat to the furthest winery on our map. Our palates still untainted and our states still uninebriated, we decided to take a tour of the winery and actually try to, dare I say, learn something. This was going to be hard work, perhaps even on a par with the “work” involved in tripping out on hallucinogenic drugs. Ok I won't start that again...
As the afternoon wore on, we cycled from winery
to winery treating out palates to everything Mendoza's vineyards had
to throw at us. Some of the wines really were great, especially a
Carmenere which felt like pouring silk into your mouth. However I
still wasn't convinced I could tell the difference between a cheap
and expensive wine. The only discernable difference I noticed was
that the more expensive ones tended to be more complex and thus more
difficult to describe without sounding like an idiot or a pretentious
toff.
After around 5 wineries we decided that the
expedition was beginning to lose its cultural tone and decided to
call it a day. As well as hiring bikes, Mr Hugo also plies his
customers with cheap wine when they return. As one might expect, our
group which had expanded to accommodate several other travellers
(including Alex who I'd met on the Inca Trail and trekked up EL Misti
with) was in merry spirits on the bus back to Mendoza. We ended up
partaking in an all-you-can-eat grilled meat affair (called asado
(bbq) cooked on a parilla (grill)) at another hostel and I waved
goodbye to Jack who was off north tomorrow. I would be travelling to
my final destination of Buenos Aires. It had been a great day.
 |
| Steak, wine and physics |
The next day was somewhat reminiscent of a very
low budget version of “The Hangover” as I spent a large chunk of
it locating a few things I'd managed to scatter in a variety of
locations in Mendoza. My backpack, hat, sunglasses and a plastic bag
full of clothes all had to be tracked down. Maybe next time I'll spit
the wine out.
With that ordeal behind me I bid farewell to
Mendoza and got on what would be my last overnight bus in South
America. I won't bother calculating how many hours I've spent sitting
on buses while I've been here but I think “a lot” is a pretty
good summary.
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