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Published: January 6th 2012
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A long awaited trip to Mendoza started pleasantly on yet another blazing summer day in Santiago, Chile. On December 7, 2011, Don and I boarded the Argentinian airline, Aerolineas, with few hassles. The plane took off 25 minutes early. Don's Santiago colleagues’ skepticism about the Argentine airlines’ punctuality aside. About a quarter full on this day before a major Latin American holiday, the plane was clean, new, and offered unusually spacious seats.
Flying over the Andes for the 45-minute hop, the plane seemed to barely slide over some of the jagged peaks within just minutes after the takeoff. Some still had fresh snow and ancient glaciers. The valleys seemed desolate and barren in their various brown and beige dryness. Once we crossed over to the eastern ranges, the perpetually yellow-orange smog from Santiago suddenly disappeared . The deep blue sky touched the snow white peaks that seemed to stretch forever toward the South Pole.
At the small airport in Mendoza, two immigration officials stoically handled three plane loads of holiday travelers arriving one after another. We lined up in a long shape changing line (from an “S” to a “U” and back to “S”), and
shuffled along for over an hour. The Mostly Algentine travelers seemed remarkably patient and in good cheers.
Outside the airport, we saw vast vineyards with large leaves and small green grapes on the plants that were already waist high, spread as far as we could see. Our taxi drove on a two-lane highway that neatly parted the green sea of vineyards like the Red Sea.
We checked into Modigliani Art & Design Suite in downtown (Alem 41), two blocks to the main pedestrian boulevard and Plaza Independencia. Two English speaking and hospitable men greeted us in the 4th floor, which also serves as their art gallery. We were invited to a free wine and live band that night.
Upon the hotelier’s recommendation, we walked about ten blocks to our first Mendocino restaurant experience. “Patrona” reminded me of an old pub (gasthaus) around the University of Heidelberg in Germany. Darkly charming and rustic beams buttressed the cozy old building that housed six ancient tables set close together. All of the guests at this late lunch time seemed to be locals enjoying what was billed as “honest, traditional Argentine” food. Don had the lunch special of Veal Schnitzel
Wine Museum
Ann old buggy (cutlet) and salad, and I had the hot sandwich with mounds of locally cured Prosciutto ham slices. The bill for two plates and two beers came to less than $30 US, about half what we would have paid in Santiago, Chile.
The next day, we took a taxi to Maipu, a small village that serves the wineries and tourists in the Maipu wine region about 10 miles southwest of Mendoza. We picked up two bikes and a crude map of the wineries and museums at Mr. Hugo, and went off on our own. Don’s long and confident legs on the old bicycle made him look like a local wine merchant on a Sunday errand. I mounted the bicycle without any style and with a good deal of trepidation.
The first 20 minutes were the best – the day was still cool enough, and the tiny thing called the “seat” hadn’t yet started its torturous screams for attention. I never liked sitting on one of these unreasonable seats.
The small wine museum contained enough of a variety to be amusing -- old leather pouches for the grapes, copper mills and iron presses, along with the old horse carts.
Our next stop along the wine roads was to be a “Beer Garden,” which was highly recommended for some reason by Mr. Hugo’s young staff. Pedaled for more than 30 minutes trying to find this garden, and finally found it. We sat our sore butts down gratefully on a sagging couch out in the “garden” of overgrown weeds and anemic cherry trees. Some chickens pecked around the ranch next door. We had a mug of beer and left.
For the next two hours, we looked for the “most excellent winery and restaurant,” Familia Di Tomaso, riding along the main highway that was intermittently dug up for road repairs and while dodging the flying trucks. The sun and heat were intense, the shades hard to find, and the winds dead by the early afternoon.
Every time I saw a tree shaded spot, I longingly and reluctantly passed it or stopped, if I thought I could get away with it. Don, the perfect cyclist, seemed both understanding and exasperated at these frequent stops. At what turned out to be the last stop, my dismount was a face-first tumble. That added a few more sore spots, bruises and sprains.
Familia Di Tomaso was filled with young cyclists for late lunch. We were still hot from the ride, and just had a light salad lunch, a beer each (yes, beer at the winery), rested a bit, then left. Don and I had done enough winery tours in our life and didn’t need to go into the production and processing parts of a winery. That was our excuse anyway.
The best part of the day was waiting back at Mr. Hugo’s. As soon as we got off the bikes, Mrs. Hugo poured a generous glass of cool wine for each of us. We sat down under an old umbrella and relished a cold bottle of water and glass of wine. Mr. Hugo came out with a whole jug of wine and offered it to us. The wine wasn’t good, but their generous spirit and the fact that I wouldn’t be riding the monster bicycle again made it a wonderful place to relax.
Back in Mendoza, we went to one of the top restaurants in town called “Bistro Florentino.” The converted house is located in the middle of the city residences. From the entrance, we felt and appreciated the intimacy
and artistic ambience . We sat in the small interior courtyard with candle lights and soothing classical music. We started with a plate of grilled baby squids and greens that had the perfect mix of burnt squid scents and fresh greens. I had a grilled trout that was tasty although a bit dry, while Don had a baby goat dish on a bed of creamy polenta and roasted garlic.
The next morning, we left Mendoza for Buenos Aires.
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