Roderick Phillips's Blog, page 29

Central Market, Mendoza, Day 80

Before we embark upon a long overnight ride to Bariloche aboard our luxury Andesmar bus, we have time to explore the central market – well we’ve missed all those unusual body parts.  And the market does not disappoint: whole goats, whole pigs, brains, intestines, tongues – not to mention free-range snails that continually escape their container in a slimy bid for freedom.  At least the central market is clean (the snails aside).  Whether it’s safe, though, is another matter because I’m constantly warned to be on the look-out for thieves and bag slashers, but as everyone is warning me about everyone else it’s difficult to know who the bad guys are!  We risk the market parrillada (barbecue plate) for lunch.  It’s meat – lots of it (and, as usual, no vegetables).  We taste most things, but draw the line at some mangled entrails that are oozing a creamy / slimy substance (perhaps one of those free-range snails took a wrong turn).  The locals love it, however.

In the afternoon, we visit the Lujan wineries such as Carmine Granata in the manner that God intended – an air-conditioned bus.  Once again, Christi seems to have a glass of wine in her hand for most of the afternoon and is very happy.  The tour also throws in a visit to an artisanal olive oil producer, Pasrai SRL.  Man, the people of Argentina know how to live.  Trouble is, with all the red meat, olive oil, wine, and cigarettes, they probably don’t get to live it for long.

Now very occasionally I make a mistake (climbing Parinacota, for example) and today is a doozy.  Our luxury bus to Bariloche is scheduled to leave at 20.45 (that’s 10.45 pm for those not so familiar with the 24-hour clock).  At 8.35 pm Christi and I are enjoying a relaxed stroll along the streets of Mendoza wondering whether we should eat dinner or wait for the free meal on the bus when we happen upon the downtown offices of our bus company, Andesmar.  We stop to ask what yummy treats Andesmar has in store for us when the rep’s eyes suddenly bulge out of his head and he frantically starts pointing at our ticket.  For those of you who have not yet twigged my HUGE mistake, 20.45 is of course 8.45 pm, so our expensive luxury bus is currently revving up its engine in preparation for an imminent departure – but on the other side of town.  After begging the rep to call the bus station and stop our bus leaving, Christi and I sprint several, lung-busting blocks back to our hotel to collect our packs (it’s 8.40 pm).  Will we make it?  You’ll have to tune in tomorrow for the riveting finalé. 

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching, heart-wrenching, laugh-wrenching ride

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La Barra restaurant, Mendoza, Day 79

La Barra is undoubtedly the best restaurant we have have experienced on the trip to date and we are eager to return tonight.  Until then we wander aimlessly around Mendoza.  We do not manage a particularly early start to the day, however, as Christi is feeling a little delicate.  We amble along some beautiful streets lined with tall trees and big houses until we find ourselves at the entrance to Parque general San Martin.  It’s a gorgeous open space reminiscent of Golden Gate Park in San Francisco (if you ignore the trash).  We stroll through lush meadows and around a splendid lake.  There are joggers aplenty and some serious rowing eights and individual scullers speeding through the water.  I feel as if I’ve been transported from South America to Oxford or Harvard.

Naturally, all the walking builds up a considerable appetite and since we’re not wining tasting today, we explore more of Mendoza’s gastronomic delights.  We enjoy a wonderful lunch back on Sarmiento Avenue: croissants and real butter, fresh OJ, exquisitely-cut ham sandwiches, and organic vanilla ice cream, before succumbing to a siesta (damn that thing is addictive).

As I lay dozing on my bijou bed, Christi suggests another wine tour by bicycle, this time to Lujan.  However, this involves a 90-minute bike ride just to reach the wineries (this must be the wine talking) and my butt is damned sore after our adventures in Maipu yesterday.  I shoot her idea down immediately and return to my peaceful nap.

We’re excited to finally return to La Barra for dinner.  This time we share a succulent bife de chorizo (it’s a massive sirloin steak) with garlic potatoes and mixed greens.  And perhaps just one or two glasses of wine.  Hair of the dog and all that jazz.  

Blog Post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching, heart-wrenching, laugh-wrenching tale

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Maipu, Day 78

 

Actually getting to Maipu is an adventure in itself, as riding the city buses is unnecessarily complicated.  Argentina is chronically short of coins so finding sufficient change for the fare takes forever.  Also each bus has two numbers describing its destination.  For future reference route #10, bus #171 goes to downtown Maipu.  Once there, Mr. Hugo’s bikes quickly rents us the required equipment and we’re soon wobbling down the cycle path towards our first winery (even without his illegal drugs, Christi and I would be no match for Lance Armstrong – or his mother).  The bodega La Rural offers some very generous wine tasting and a museum of vintage wine-making equipment to explore.

It’s a long haul to the next winery, only now the bike lane has disappeared.  All manner of vehicles are vying for space on the two-lane road and we are by far the slowest and the most vulnerable.  At times, we are forced off the road by large lorries who thunder passed, leaving us in their dust.  But when we can enjoy the view, it is quite beautiful with vineyards and olive trees and large stands of sycamores and poplars lining the road. 

Bodega Di Tommaso is a boutique winery dating to 1869.  Christi tastes two different malbecs and a cab; the sample sizes are very generous and Christi is becoming very happy.  The bodega also has a restaurant so we eat a late lunch: a cheese plate and more wine (plus OJ for me).  Our last winery is Vina el Cerno, which is beautifully situated among more vineyards and olive orchards and is splendidly rustic.  By this point Christi is swaying quite alarmingly (she assures me she’s just tired), but the local police insist on providing a motorcycle escort until we reach the relative safety of the bike lane again.  Our last stop is at an eclectic store producing artesian chocolates, liquors, jams, and olive oil.  And finally I get to do some tasting:  the tapenade, aubergine, and dulce de leche preserves are delightful.  Christi mixes these up with some liquors, including a very potent Absinthe.

Back in Mendoza we eat dinner at a more touristy parrilla, but the pork chorisso sausage and the matambre de cerdo are mediocre after last night’s fare.  Fortunately, Christi does not remember too much about the experience.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching, heart-wrenching, laugh-wrenching tale

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Mendoza, Day 77

The hotel Petit is petite in every sense of the word: the lift barely holds one person, while the two single beds in our bijou room are barely large enough to accommodate two normal sized people.  I think we’ve discovered Lilliput and it’s in Mendoza!  On the plus side our tiny room does have a small TV and a private bathroom so it’s bijou luxury.  Breakfast is included, which I hope bucks the bijou trend.

Mendoza is surrounded by arid desert terrain, but a massive series of irrigation channels carrying run-off from the Andes criss-cross the city, keeping it green and lush.  Mendoza feels clean and fresh and the wide streets and abundant plazas make it an easy place to explore on foot. 

The next few days will be dedicated to gastronomic and enologic delights in and around the city.  Christi is thrilled.  No more deserts and no more mountains – just good old-fashioned culture and civilization with lots of food and wine.  Bacchus would be proud. Having said that, our pesky LP guide extols the virtue of exploring the nearby Maipu wine region (some 15 km southeast of Mendoza) by bicycle and Christi thinks this is a grand idea.  The local tourist information office supplies more details which we absorb while eating brunch at an outdoor café on Sarmiento avenue – a pedestrianized street to the east of Independence Plaza.  The OJ, croissants, coffee and tea are a delight.

Tired after the sleep-deprived bus ride from La Rioja, we easily succumb to a siesta – as does the rest of Mendoza.  Of course when we wake up we’re starving and we head out to dinner at the ridiculously early hour of 7.30 pm.  We waste some time wandering through the trendy university/restaurant district along Av Colon/Aristides Villanueva, before settling on a family-run parrilla (grill) called La Barra.  Even though we don’t arrive till 8:30 pm, there is only one other couple there.  The ambience at La Barra (old world French farmhouse with wooden platters) is fantastic and the matambre de cerde (a huge piece of grilled pork) that Christi and I share is simply delicious.  The gastronomic adventures begins well – Christi is very, very happy.  Tomorrow we embrace enology. 

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching, heart-wrenching, laugh-wrenching tale

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I’d rather be in Ischigualasto than La Rioja bus station for 12 hours, Day 76

We know there is a bus to Mendoza at 7:40 am, but after our recent night bus adventure and yesterday’s long excursion to Talampaya and Ischigualasto (6 am to 11 pm), nothing short of a natural disaster will drag us from our beds before the 11 am check-out.

We pack and take a taxi to the bus station on the outskirts of town.  There’s some confusion as to when the next bus to Mendoza departs.  Apparently one goes at 1.40 pm and another at 2 pm, which of course makes no sense.  The kicker, though, is that both are full.  The next bus to Mendoza with seats available is 11.15 this evening – 11 hours away and another uncomfortable overnight bus journey looms.  Reluctantly, we buy tickets and remain at the station since there is a restaurant and an internet café.  We have a brunch of empanadas with Pepsi and then waste a few hours on the internet trying to arrange accommodation and tours for the future.  The local kids are most unhappy that Christi and I are monopolizing the only two working computers.  When we do leave they jump on and start playing violent, gory video games – and these kids look about 6 years old.

Back in the café we order dinner (it’s a terrible grisly beef and mash potato), write our diaries, and watch music videos.  Nelly Furtado’s Manos Al Aire (Hands in the Air) is replayed time and time again.  And even though it’s sung in Spanish I can’t help humming along after a while.  Plus she does a mini-striptease, so what’s not to like! Having said that time drags horribly.  Sods law the bus to Mendoza is late and there are further delays as the bus company, AUT San Juan, has lost a passenger’s bags.  All hell breaks loose, which makes me wary about the ultimate fate of our packs as I watch them being deposited into the hold.  We have the last two semi-cama seats at the back of this mediocre bus – and mine won’t recline.  Christi magnificently takes one for the team giving me the aisle seat, which does recline.  Across the aisle a mother holds a grumpy, wining child of 7 or 8 years of age on her lap when he clearly needs his own seat.  It’s just one of those days – and one of those nights.  A long, long night when Christi and I would rather be anywhere than sitting on an uncomfortable in the middle of nowhere in Northwest Argentina.  Talampaya and Ischigualasto are now distant dreams… 

Blog post written by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart, a gut-wrenching, heart-wrenching, laugh-wrenching tale

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Talampaya and Ischigualasto, Day 75

It’s three-hours to the entrance to Talampaya National Park where we learn to our surprise that the Argentinian National Park Service employs a dual pricing structure: foreigners pay A$25 (about US$6), while locals pay only A$4 (US$1).  In addition, all visitors must pay a whopping A$65 for the compulsory guided tour – in Spanish.  Our travel agent had promised us an English-speaking guide, but that never materialized.  Instead, we’re given a couple of dog-eared brochures in English.  

Talampaya canyon is made of red sandstone that has undergone tremendous weathering and now has that Bryce / Zion / Arches look and feel.  Our first stop is at a series of petroglyphs – ranging in age from 600-1500 years old.  Some are basic animals while others are poorly understood geometric and anthropomorphic shapes.  Next up is Echo Chimney.  This flute, carved out of the magnificent sandstone escarpment, returns your voice louder than the original call.  I’m so busy photographing the gorgeous scenery that the guide has to urge me back to the tour mini-van.  Another beautiful formation is the Gothic Cathedral: simple stunning spires formed by erosion of the sandstone canyon walls by wind, water, and a lot of time.  The Tower (they’re too polite to call it a penis) and The Monk are two of the massive free standing formations in the park. 

Talampaya and Ischigualasto are contiguous parks, but while the former is a national park and the latter a provincial park.  Both, incidentally, are UNESCO world heritage sites.  We reach Ischigualasto by mid-afternoon, but nothing much happens until 4pm when 20 cars suddenly spring to life and bounce and race into the park in an impromptu convoy.  This is the start of the highlights tour.

We begin at The Worm (someone has a vivid imagination that’s all I can say).  The Painted Valley, by contrast, is truly beautiful and reminds me of Badlands National Park in South Dakota.  And apparently there is a sound scientific explanation as to how the stones in The Ball Court spontaneously formed, but it isn’t one that can be translated easily from Spanish to English (personally I think someone placed the stones there late one night when no-one was looking).  I must admit we’re very fortunate to see The Submarine and The Mushroom at sunset as the spectacular sandstone cliffs glow a deep, bloody red.  Absolutely magnificent.  

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching, heart-wrenching, laugh-wrenching tale

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La Rioja, Day 74

Travel has three distinct phases.  The nervous excitement surrounding the departure, the relaxed middle part when you’re eating, watching a movie, or enjoying the passing scenery, and the tense build-up to the arrival when all you want to do is get off the damn bus.  And if you’re arriving into an unfamiliar city, you then have the added worry of trying to figure out where to go.  Once again first class travelers have nothing to worry about because a smiling driver holding up a sign bearing your name will be waiting to chauffer you to some swanky hotel.  But I ask you, where’s the fun in that?  Christi and I arrive in La Rioja on time at 7.30 am.  And a quieter backwater you’d be hard pressed to find; there’s no one around and nothing is open.  I’m guessing aliens visited during the night and abducted the whole town, except perhaps for the owner of our hotel, Pensione 9 de Julio, but even he seems a little dazed and confused.

What with alien abductions and afternoon siestas there’s only limited window of opportunity in which to accomplish anything in La Rioja and we’re about to give up and move on when we stumble across a travel agency willing to take us to the nearby parks of Talampaya and Ischigualasto tomorrow.  I say nearby, but the parks are actually 135 miles away – and La Rioja is the closest town of any size.  The travel agent does not speak English so it’s a complicated exchange with lots of hand gestures and some embarrassing attempts to speak Spanish on our part.  Still the office is plastered with seductive images of the parks, which makes me even more determined to visit them.

When we finally surface from the travel agents (after concluding some sort of deal that involved me handing over lots of money), La Rioja is finally moving, albeit very slowly (zombie-like?).  We eat a rather tasty brunch overlooking the central plaza, before retiring to an internet café.  I spend rather a lot of money booking Christi and I first class tickets (the luxury seats recline 180o) on an Andesmar bus between Mendoza and Bariloche (an 18-hour journey).  It was all that damn talk of first class travel that made me do it.  For once Christi and I join in the afternoon siesta, but we’re still the only people in the restaurant when we eat dinner at 8 pm.  La Rioja finally comes to life when we go to bed at 11pm (now it feels like we’re in some vampire flick). 

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching, heart-wrenching, laugh-wrenching tale

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Salta city tour, Day 73

Before we take the overnight bus from Salta to La Rioja we still have time for a mini self-guided city tour.  We begin with a lazy walk through San Martin municipal park to the teleferico.  It’s a pleasant gondola ride to the summit of Cerro San Bernado for what our LP guide calls outstanding views of Salta and its environs.  The trouble is there’s not much on the Salta skyline worth seeing, hence the map at the summit points out such luminary attractions as the supermarket, a boarding school for poor children, and the county jail.  The man-made waterfalls are pleasant enough, though.  Retrace our steps towards the town center, stopping along the way to visit the eye-popping burgundy and yellow San Francisco church.  Back in the plaza we stumble upon an impressive display of gaucho dancing given by some local children, which has the huge crowd cheering.

And so our stay in Salta comes to an end after five beautiful days in this northern metropolis.  Leaving north-west Argentina also marks the end of our Andean adventure: no longer will be breathing the rarefied air of the mountains.  We will still see the magnificent peaks; we just won’t be among them.  It’s also time to say goodbye to the indigenous Andean cultures.  Everything changes now.  Our adventure takes on a new flavor.

Well, perhaps not everything changes.  Our second class (semi-cama) 11-hour overnight  Andesmar bus ride to La Rioja is not particularly comfortable – although there is more space here than on a US domestic flight and the dinner is free so we shouldn’t complain.  Christi does have one pet peeve, however:  every time the bus breaks the speed limit (above 90 km/hr) a red light flashes in the cabin and a buzzer sounds.  This happens all the time.  Sleep is, not surprisingly, elusive.  As with much else in life, first class is just more comfortable.  But then if we could afford first class, we wouldn’t be backpackers – although to be honest our packs spend more time on the floor of our hotel room or in the hold of a bus than on our shoulders.  

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching, heart-wrenching, laugh-wrenching tale

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Quebreda de Humahuaca, Day 72

 

Another long tour today – this time to the north, to the Quebreda de Humahuaca.  Our tour companions this time are three retired gents from Buenos Aries on an Argentinian-style road trip.  They act a bit like the Three Stooges, making Christi and I appear quite responsible and serious by comparison.  At least the Three Stooges have the decency not to smoke in the car.

This time we’re on route 9 north through Jujuy (pronounced hu-hu-i) and on into the quebreda country.  Much like entering the Quebreda de Cafayete, the scenery changes dramatically with multi-colored sculpted mountains and hills rising up above us (the so-called Painters Palette is undeniably spectacular).  The first town we stop at is the tiny village of Purmamarca, which has Cerro de los Siete Colores  (the hill of seven colors) as a backdrop – and major tourist draw.  The old geezers buy the local handicrafts from an indigenous Quechua market, while Christi and I content ourselves with a few photographs (okay, a lot) and poking around the backstreets of this one-horse town.  Further up the road is another picture-postcard village, Tilcara, and we spend an easy hour looking at the church, square, and enjoying some rather excellent locally-made empanada de pollo. 

An hour further north is Humahuaca.  The old guys demand lunch and we eat at an expensive tourist restaurant.  Christi and I nibble on cheap empanadas while the Three Stooges tuck into tasty filling meals accompanied by quite a few drinks.  Later we get an hour to explore Humahuaca, which is probably the prettiest village of them all.  There is a large open plaza with steps climbing to an independence monument, featuring an Indian statue, the church (iglesia de la candelaria) and the municipal building and it’s clock-tower are all beautiful.  The downside of taking a tour, of course, is that someone else is setting the schedule and while Christi and I would have liked to explore more, we have to return to Salta.  The gents snore contentedly on the way back, missing brief stops in Uquia to visit the murals of angels dressed as conquistadors in the Iglesia de San Francisco de Paula and, finally, the truly ugly Tropic of Capricorn marker.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching, heart-wrenching, laugh-wrenching tale

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Llullaillaco Maiden, Salta, Day 71

 

After more than two months of almost constant motion our bodies are demanding another easy day.  We begin with brunch at the fabulous San Jose’s artisan sandwich shop: 3 slices of bread with two separate wafer-thin layers incorporating combinations of ham, tomato, cheese, egg, and beef.  The dessert trays are equally tempting – I defy anyone to resist the dulce de leche-filled pastries.  Just too yummy for words. 

Later we visit one of Salta’s preeminent museums: the High Mountain Archaeology Museum.  This museum displays the exquisitely preserved bodies of three Inca children (a 6 year-old girl, a 15 year-old girl and a 7 year-old boy) and their funereal accoutrements.  The children were sacrificed some 500 years ago on the summit of the remote 22,110 feet Mt. Llullaillaco (good luck pronouncing that one: yu-ya-yaco is pretty close!), some 200 miles west of Salta on the border with Chile.  And it was the same American climber and archaeologist who found Juanita, Johan Reinhard, who recovered these three victims.  The bodies are exquisitely preserved, especially the 15 year-old girl, who is known as the Llullaillaco Maiden.  Recent analysis of their hair reveals the children’s diet changed dramatically in the year before they were sacrificed.  Out went their vegetarian peasant food which was replaced by maize and animal protein – the food of the elite.  The children were literally fattened up in the year before undertaking the arduous trek to the mountain.  This further suggests the victims may have been chosen from among the Incas’ conquered subjects and killed not only to pacify the mountain gods, but also to instill terror and respect for their Inca masters.  At the time of their sacrifice each child also had high levels of coca metabolites in their bodies.  In effect, they were drugged to avoid any unseemly struggles.  It is believed the girls died of exposure while the boy was suffocated.  Such a chilling end to such young lives. 

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart - a gut-wrenching, heart-wrenching, laugh-wrenching tale

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