¡Hola a todos!

After my last few wonderful days in Bariloche I headed north and so, here in Mendoza, I am for the first time since leaving Buenos Aires able to write a blog from a place in which I am still present. This is, sadly, a source of joy to me: much as I enjoy writing this blog, it is not at all pleasant to feel it slipping out of my control, should I enjoy more than five days or so without access to a computer. How appropriate then, that on my final full day here in Mendoza and, indeed, in Argentina, I finally feel close to being up-do-date with regard to my blog and photographs. As ever, thank you to everyone who has been in touch, be it through the message board or via e-mail: it is always great to read your news from home and whichever other locations you wind up in.

I sat down to dinner after my Seven Lakes trip to a wonderful surprise: no sooner had I broken bread than, lo and behold, into the hostel's social area walked a bedraggled, dishevelled pair of intrepid explorers; none other than my friends Kelsey and Sebastiaan! I was overjoyed to see them both, particularly once I had ascertained that they were both in good form, although a little subdued in their spirits: apparently, their anticipated three-/four-day trip around the hills of El Bolson had not been quite what they had expected. On their first day of hiking, they took a wrong turn and got rather lost, adding three hours onto their journey. Day two dawned bright and breezy but, unfortunately, my friends once again took a wrong turn and became irretrievably lost, eventually finding themselves back at the road, a few kilometers from the centre of town. Cutting their losses and gathering what little sanity remained, they flagged down a taxi, returned to town and jumped on the next bus back to Bariloche. Sorry as I was to hear their miserable saga, I confess that seeing their friendly faces much sooner than I had anticipated was wonderful and we swiftly agreed to journey to Mendoza the following day. Interesting as places are to a solo traveller, it is often much more fun to journey to and wander around them in fine company, particularly if such company is called Kelsey and Sebastiaan.

My first sight of Mendoza appeared through the bus window, rosy-hued and misted, as we arrived early in the light of day. Clusters of tendrilled vines, so recently laden with promises, to now be stripped bare, crept skywards, framed against a backdrop of craggy mountains, rising ominously from the dusty plains. Mendoza sits in the eastern foothills of the mighty Andes, a stone's throw (well, by South American distances at least) from the Chilean capital of Santiago ('St. James' in Spanish). The surrounding area is a telling demonstration of the natural climate due to this region: a dusty, barren, desert-like setting. The neighbouring vineyard territories and Mendoza itself, by stark contrast, are a luscious, green-filled landscape, achieved thanks to the enterprising efforts of indigenous tribes and built upon by European, wine-making settlers in the mid-nineteenth century who introduced a comprehensive irrigation system, tapping wonderfully fresh water from the Andes themselves. This irrigation system can clearly be seen in the city itself, with fresh(ish) water running down concrete channels shadowing every road, running parallel down both sides. The results are staggeringly successful and the area of Mendoza and its wine regions stand as some grand oasis, boasting some of the best wine worldwide.

We three arrived in town and headed straight to a hostel that was originally recommended to me by two Dutch acquaintances met in Iguazu, whose advice had led me to brilliant hostelling experiences in El Calafate and Bariloche - yes, I owe my cosy days at 1004 to those two and I am grateful indeed. Here we rendezvoused briefly with Monica and set about settling into our new abode, relaxing by the pool, updating travel journals and chatting with other residents. Later that evening, upon returning to the hostel from exploring the city, I was dealt a sharp reminder in the hazards of everyday, somehow enhanced when travelling on the road. Monica was sat in the communal area, propped up on cushions, her right foot heavily bandaged and displaying considerable trauma. Monica, it transpired, after only a couple of previous experiences, had braved hiring a bicycle and mixed it with the best (read most terrifyingly dangerous) road transport Mendoza (remember, a typical Argentine city) had to offer. The awful result was a tangle with an articulated lorry, which dragged Monica's bike from beneath her and snagged it across her foot. The injury was serious enough to incapacitate my friend and, after some time at the local hospital, force her to seek passage back to Buenos Aires and a private hospital there. I was shocked, desperately sorry for Monica and - as she was able to recognize herself - hugely relieved that the story was no worse. Travel will always be something of an occupational hazard but, this was a scenario that could easily have played out for any one of us in a normal, everyday setting.

My earlier exploration of the city had been accomplished with the aid of my running shoes and characteristic bullish (steely perhaps?) determination. It had been over two months and an ocean since my last concerted run; somehow the time and opportunity had eluded me in BA and beyond. Equally inexplicably, my fitness, won through further concerted effort, had seemingly completely deserted me. I should not be surprised perhaps, considering my debauched dietary habits displayed on my trip thus-far. In any case, the run dealt less health-inspired comfort than I had hoped and rather more by way of aches and pains in, well, far to many muscles as to be beneficial truth be told. The most obvious silver-lining, beyond that of a sharp rallying call to my flagging lifestyle, was the opportunity to see Mendoza close-up and to be wholly appreciative of all that I saw. My run took me west, out of downtown, into the largest of the city's many parks, that of San Martin. There, I found myself circling a thin, serpentine, artificially created lake, bordered by a road closed to motorized traffic, solely for the benefit of the park's many healthy visitors for walking, running, rollerblading and cycling. On the far side of the lake was a municipal sports centre, complete with outdoor swimming pool. At two further, strategically placed locations around the lake's perimeter stood work-out stations furnished with multiple sets of bars to aid in extension exercises including pull-ups, push-ups, sit-ups and stretches. My spirits were certainly 'up' after indulging in some of these veritable treats and enjoying my run through the day's dying sunlight, in the company of what felt like half the city's populace. Also dotted around the course were drinking fountains with water straight from the Andes, separated in fact from that used in the irrigation system. Thus-far while travelling, I have often surprised myself with the enjoyment I am able to derrive in such normal settings as might be encountered back home, to the extent that this enjoyment seems on some sort of par with that derrived from wholly new experiences - a situation that I commented upon while blogging about El Chalten previously. My run, acted out in such a blissful, healthy location, was no exception although, of course, it fell far short of those heady evenings in the company of my many fanatical friends, at the whim of Jim, over Wrekin way.

The following day, Kelsey, Sebastiaan and I were joined by Carole and some French friends she had made down south for a day of touring the vineyards of Maipu from the esteemable vantage point of a bicycle saddle. Such bike tours are increasingly common in Mendoza and already there are at least five companies crowding the main through-fare in Maipu. These companies are of varying standards if my two separate experiences are of any tuition, this first occasion raising discomforting aspects of the 'Bikes and Wines' outfit. My poor bike had clearly endured much wear and tear, being in need of some serious, and loving, regenerative attention. Indeed, the back tire was so buckled as to rub constantly against the brake pads and, once this had been disconnected, against the bike fork itself. Nonetheless, the trip was superlative. The company splendid, the scenery bucolic and idyllic, the weather glorious and the wineries themselves hospitable and consummately interesting. Tree-lined boulevards disappeared down tantalizing by-ways, full of hopeful expectation, awaiting fulfilling discovery. Cycling down these peaceful, shadow-dappled avenues, I inhaled fresh, cool air sweeping down from the Andes, ever-present from a distance, I laughed at the shaky antics of two of our French companions weaving their way down the route on a tricky tandem and I basked in the restorative experience embracing me. Our first stop was at the region's wine museum, housed in one of the larger wineries and offering a free wine sampling after what I at least found to be a very informative tour. In Mendoza, grapes are harvested in February (late summer here), often hand-picked (especially in the smaller wineries) with scissors used to cut the bunches from their stems. The grapes are placed in machines that initiate differing processes depending upon whether the grapes are red or white and, in the case of red grapes, whether the desired outcome is red wine or rosé. In the case of white wine, the grapes are squeezed; only the juice of the grape goes through to the fermentation vats. Red wine, however, is formed from the whole grape; indeed, it is the grape's skin that gives this wine its characteristic ruby-red appearance and provides tannins. In this instance, the whole grape goes into the fermentation vats. Here, red grapes are crushed, releasing the fruit's natural sugars and yeast (which have already been released in the case of white wine by the squeezing process); the sugars are stored in the skins and in the flesh, the yeast is present on the skin's exterior. The yeast begins to eat the sugars, in the process producing ethanol (alcohol). In the case of rosé, the liquid produced during fermentation (which will become wine) is separated from its skins and pips a mere matter of hours after the onset of fermentation, thus affording the liquid its reddish tint without allowing the formation of the deeper colour associated with red wine. In the case of white and red wine, the liquid remains in the fermentation vats are approximately fifteen days. In the case of most wineries in Mendoza, nothing is added to the natural mixture derrived from the grapes - there are no added sugars and no additional yeast. After fifteen or so days in the vats, the liquid is removed - in the case of red wine, the skins and pips are now removed from the mixture - and secondary fermentation is encouraged by the process of aging. Young, typically cheaper wines are aged in fermentation vats or in wine bottles themselves and can often become a finished product within three to six months. Older, typically more expensive wines are stored in oak barrels, thus encouraging a deeper, more complex array of aromas within the wine. White wine is aged in such barrels for roughly three months but, red wine can be aged for six months to two years and sometimes far longer. Oak barrels typically come in two varieties, American and French; the former is stronger in flavour and the wine typically needs less time with such oak, while the latter is more subtle and complex in its flavours - remember, everyone, these are oak barrels of which I write. Such was the material imparted to us in many of the tours we undertook, the culmination of which (and the most important part of the tour, of course) was the tasting of selected wines from each estate. My particular favourites among our destinations were the especially small, family-run estates (or 'bodegas' as they are here termed) because they were often the friendliest, the least formal and the most intimate experiences. Life does not often appear as relaxed as when sat on a small wooden bench, shaded beneath a welcome, abundant tree, quaffing Malbec in the company of friends and an informative sommelier.

This picture of bucolic bliss best describes this entire experience and I shall leave you here with me, in a compact, local vineyard, far from hectic activity, close to tranquility, appreciating the best that a grape has to offer, all jealousy left behind...

¡Saludos a todos!

David xxx