Mendoza

It's eleven o'clock at night, and we have just returned from a nice evening meal at “de un Rincon de la Boca” on Las Heras avenue. By now it's no longer astonishing that the streets are filled with people at this time of night, that more diners can be found in the many restaurants now thatntwo hours ago, that children of school age and toddlers in high chairs are as much part of the picture as groups of men out to have a pizza and a beer or wine. Not a single tourist was among the crowd at 'de un Rincon” (except us, of course), and all the tables were full, inside and outside. Our waiter, after inquiring carefully if we'd rather converse in Spanish or in English, turned out to be fully bilingual: for twenty years he has lived in the US and only recently decided to spend the north American winters here to be close to his mother. The meal – lomo con papas fritas a lo pobre y ensalada – was excellent and great value: beef from the grill, french fries with two fried eggs (that's the 'lo pobre' part) and a lettuce-tomato-onion salad, one serving enough for both of us, plus a bottle of Malbec, all of that for about $26 Canadian.

On our way to the pass at Aconcagua

We arrived here in Mendoza, the wine capital of Argentina, yesterday in the early evening after a seven-hour bus ride from Santiago. The bus ride itself would only have taken five hours, but shortly after passing the entrance to Parque National Aconcagua we reached the border between Chile and Argentina. Several buses were waiting ahead of us, and it took about an hour until our bus driver called up to all of us seated on the top level of the bus that it was time to come down and bring our passports. 'Chicos', he called us, which, I imagine, is like calling a group of people 'guys' in north America. It sounds nice, I think. :)

We lined up in front of the two side-by-side glass windows, one with a Chilean border official, the other one with her Argentinean counterpart. At the first one, we got the all-important exit stamp for Chile, at the other one a stamp which shows that we are allowed to stay in Argentina now for 90 days. It went smoothly for all passengers involved (we were the only non-Latinos), and we returned to the bus for a little while before disembarking again, this time with our carry-on bags. The big bags stowed in the belly of the bus were unloaded as well (the bus driver went around with a cup to collect tips for the young guy handling the bags) and sent through an x-ray machine. If anything questionable was found here, the suitcases had to be opened in the presence of their owners. There were a few, but nobody got in trouble. Only about two hours later we arrived at the bus terminal in Mendoza, surrounded by beautiful jacaranda trees with their pale purple blossoms.

We hadn't decided on a hotel or hostel, only picked one out we'd check out first, but as soon as we left the bus terminal to look for a taxi we were approached by a man with a stack of pamphlets advertising a hostel just across the road. I was leary, however: the bus terminal is not the most desireable environment, and if we wanted to go out at night it could well have been unsafe. On top of that it was loud, with a busy avenue running right beside it. We decided to take our chance with the hostel that had looked most promising in the Lonely Planet. A taxi took us there in less than ten minutes. Unfortunately, they didn't have any space for last night except one spot in the female dorm. The girl at the reception was very helpful, however, and marked several other options on the city map, all of them in easy walking distance. We ended up at the 'Mendoza' hostel, even though they, too, didn't have a private room anymore. The guy at the reception gave us a three-bed room with one single and one bunk bed. The beds are good, there is hot water, and breakfast is excellent by Argentinean standards. The only drawback is the internet which only works in the common area on the main floor, and even there is a bit iffy.

Mendoza is a beautiful city. It is much smaller than Santiago, only about 110,000 people, and the tourists, of which there must be quite a few, seemed to be in hiding much of the time. Maybe they were all busy with wine tours in the surrounding area, or visiting Aconcagua, the highest mountain in the Americas at 6,962m. We visited the Parque National Aconcagua with Johann's brother and his wife in 2009, and this time just went by. Yesterday it was shrouded in clouds. The trip through the Andes from Santiago to Mendoza is very impressive. How forbidding, barren and ancient these mountains seem! But it is spring, and along the roadsides masses of yellow flowers were blooming, very similar to California poppies as far as I could tell. Remnants of dirty snow were still plentiful around the pass.

Closer to Mendoza fields were green: potatoes and onions, olive groves and vineyards – how fertile this country is where there is no lack of water.

Plaza Independencia

We spent our time in Mendoza in a very leisurely fashion, wandering the wide, tree-lined streets, watching the world go by in the different parks. They are arranged like the eyes on the "five" side of a die, with Plaza Independencia in the middle and, two blocks away from each corner, the other, smaller plazas: Chile in the northwest, San Martin in the northeast, Italia in the southwest and Espana in the southeast. I loved the spaciousness of Independencia, especially when I saw it for the first time last night, its beautiful water fountains illumined, the scent of blooming trees lingering in the air, a faint whiff of charcoal from the many parillas (grills) in the adjacent streets noticeable even there. 

Today we stopped for a while in Plaza España with its many tiled benches, fountains and mural built to commemorate Spanish-Argentine friendship (something not to be taken for granted; the liberation of the Latin American countries by their hero General San Martin most certainly didn't happen in friendship).

Detail from the mural at Plaza Espana

Floor tiles at the Plaza Espana

After a very necessary siesta (temperatures in the upper twenties and long walks on pavement, combined with the bottle of beer that accompanied dinner took care of that) we walked the half hour or so to Parque San Martin, a huge park with many recreational facilities for Mendocinos, as the inhabitants of this beautiful city are called. We walked once around a big man-made lake where members of the 'Mendoza Regatta Club' were working on their rowing skills, passing through the rose garden, now pretty much in full bloom. I had to stop a few times to bend down and 'smell the roses'. 

By the time we reached our hostel our feet hurt: it hadn't occurred to us to take a bus from the Plaza Independencia like many, if not most, other tourists. The walk along Av. Emilio Civit with its splendid houses was well worth it, however, and since we'll spend much of tomorrow sitting in a bus again it was a good choice.

Tomorrow morning at nine our 'Flechabus' will leave for La Rioja, the capital of the province of the same name, eight hours away. We are slowly making our way north toward the Salar Uyuni ...