Mustache Mendoza

We returned to Buenos Aires from Salta on a Thursday morning. We took five days to recover from our various stomach ailments and catch up on sleep before we once again stepped on a bus destined for the Andes on a Tuesday. This time we were going South and West to a city called Mendoza famous for its wines and scenery. We did the trip without the planning or funding of Boston College, which turned out to be a great idea. The group consisted of six BC students, one French/American named Max, and 5 Argentinians. The diversity was a plus especially since we were able to practice Spanish and compare the differing sexual expressions of our respective cultures. Dave, Dan, and I still hadn't shaved since before Salta and we all had vowed to create mustaches for our excursion to Mendoza. Dave wussed out and went for the goatee while Dan created an awesome chinstrap/mustache which he dubbed the Chester A. Arthur. I stayed true to my word and rocked a 'stache that was partly badass but mostly sleazy. People frequently mistook me for a private detective from the 80s. Brenny continued to be unmanly and stayed at home to watch romantic comedies by himself.

Remembering the horror of our previous 20+ hour bus rides across Argentina, Dave and I properly prepared ourselves by packing a couple bottles of wine and some Fernet (Argentina's national liquor drink which tastes like cough syrup, but in a good way, if that makes any sense). The stuff is strong, and we ended up getting sufficiently tipsy. Needless to say, the bus ride was actually quite fun as the alcohol helped to create much laughter, several mishaps, and a whole lot of silliness. I was a little out of it when we arrived in Mendoza the following morning. We took a scenic cab through the very pretty city of Mendoza to our hostel. The streets are wide and lined with overhanging trees. The buildings are short, tasteful, and unobtrusive. The atmosphere is laid back and content, and all of this combined to remind me of my childhood in Harare.

We met up with our Argentine friends at the hostel and went out for lunch to discuss our plans for the week. After the lunch we returned to the hostel to rent bikes from there in order to further explore the city. We'd heard whispers of a mysterious park to the west of Mendoza that had pretty trees and sparkling blue lakes. There were even rumors of a hidden stadium flanked by huge snow-capped Andean mountains. So we hopped on our bicycles and commenced exploring. After some tricky maneuvering through traffic and over drainage ditches we discovered the park, and it was glorious. There were mile and miles of verdant greenery to ride through. I cruised next to the sun-glistening lake towards the picturesque mountains that filled the background while slowly enjoying an orange popsicle. Then we explored a stadium devoid of people allowing me to coast down the ramps and bask in the echoing silence that only a large empty building can provide. Next was some intrepid riding through woods and soccer fields, over creeks and fences. It was one of the better bike rides I've taken, and a great way to see Mendoza while stretching our legs which were cramped from the long bus ride. Also, I was shirtless for essentially the whole time making it 100 times better.

A typical Mendozan street.

The next day we took a bus to the small town of Maipu that is famous for having like a million wineries. We had heard that the best way to enjoy Maipu was to rent a bike and ride to the various wineries visiting and tasting as much as possible. There lives a man called Mr. Hugo to help young people realize this goal, and he is the coolest man in Argentina. Everyday he rents out bikes to people, fortifies their spirits and bodies with some homemade wine, and sends them off to fend for themselves. He is extremely happy and approachable, seemingly using every fiber of his being to cater to his clients and guarantee their enjoyment even though he will probably never see them again. He also has tandem bikes which are hilarious and great for drive-by water attacks on unsuspecting friends. We arrived rather late to Maipu so we were only able to visit the wine museum which was full of big wooden barrels of wine and two other wineries. It worked out well though because the last place we went to gave us four glasses each for 25 pesos total. The marketing ploy worked wonders on us as we proceeded to buy several bottles from them and sit in the grass drinking and chatting the waning hours of the day away.

It turns out that we had biked pretty far and were many miles away from Mr. Hugo's house. It was beginning to get dark too, and I figured we would probably have to leave soon; however, several members of our group were in no state to ride a bike 10 feet let alone several miles. I was a little worried, and I was soon a lot worried when two paddy wagons pulled into the winery. "Uh Oh" I thought, "we're gonna spend some time in a tiny Argentinian jail for being loudmouthed Americans." I eyed my bike and envisioned jumping on it and dashing into the vineyards towards the setting sun and freedom. As these thoughts filled my brain Mr. Hugo pulled up in his pickup truck and greeted the cops like old friends. Mr. Hugo is such a beast that he controls the local police force and gets them to transport his clients from far off wineries back to his house. For once, the police were there to help us, and for once they were really nice. They let us pose for pictures and be handcuffed for fun; then they piled us into the back of the paddy wagons and gave us a ride back to Mr. Hugo's. The man provided us with jugs of his homemade wine and we proceeded to get wild. It was a very fun party that we never wanted to leave, but our growling stomachs forced us to board the bus back to Mendoza. The ride was ridiculous as people were singing at the top of their lungs, dancing in the aisles, and doing gymnastics on the support bars. It had been a great day and after eating, drinking, and dancing a little more we went to bed fairly early to prepare for our two day rafting trip that commenced in the morning.

This is what wine comes from.
This is where wine is made.
This is our group exploring the wine country.
This is the wine road we biked down.
This is Madeleine and Barbie sharing a bike, and yes I can ride and take pictures at the same time-skillz.
This is a plaque from the ultimate winery. It says - He who drinks gets drunk, he who gets drunk sleeps, he who sleeps doesn't sin, he who doesn't sin goes to heaven, and since we are going to heaven, lets drink! Now that's a saying that makes sense.
This is us in a paddy wagon, hopefully the only time.
These are some real men, the one on the right might be Magnum PI.
This is debauchery.

The next day we woke up bright and early to drive up and into the Andean mountains for our rafting trip. The plan was to do about 5 hours of rafting each day, eat drink and be merry around a campfire, sleep in the wilderness, and in general have a blast. The company that did the trip for us provided everything but sleeping bags, which we failed to bring, so they provided sleeping bags too. We had two guides that were very cool and funny. They were extremely helpful as they cooked for us, saved our lives, and drank with us. The Mendoza river descends from the snow capped Andes in a canyon of mountains reaching for the clouds. The views and icy water are equally breathtaking and exhilarating. Because the water is so damn cold, we were outfitted in wetsuits, windbreakers, booties, and helmets. I thought I looked fairly ridiculous and felt as if I was being sent to the moon. It was OK though as we all looked equally stupid except for the guides, who had their own cooler gear, and Max who managed to pull off a French adventurer look which he lived up to by peeing in his wetsuit. Dirty dirty frenchy.

After some basic instructions and struggles outfitting ourselves in the suits we jumped in the boats and were off. The rapids weren't anything too crazy but still very fun; it helped that getting hit in the face by a surging wave of frigid water would send adrenaline rushing through the body. The strong sun and wind quickly dried us off unless you managed to fall in which happened to our friend Augustin. It apparently happened in slow motion and his two boatmates, Max and Dave, were too busy laughing to paddle over to rescue him. He ended up spending a solid 30 seconds in the water because of their inability to help. He was shivering the rest of the day and not too happy with them, but all was quickly forgiven. After several hours of rafting and paddling we stopped for camp at an abandoned railway station. The ruins were quite mysterious and decrepit, a perfect setting for a horror movie. To strengthen our spirits we had each others company, a roaring campfire, and, most importantly, ten liters of wine. I guess we drank a lot of wine in wine country, you know, when in Rome.

The next day was not sunny, and not warm in anyway. The river was colder and the wind stronger. We had no choice but to brave it out and continue down the river to the end. The rapids were quite strong and fun too, and I couldn't decide if I was enjoying myself or having the most miserable time. The four hour ride down the river was some of the coldest I have ever been as we were thoroughly drenched by the rapids, and this time there was no sun to dry us off. We tried to laugh it off and revel in each others misery, but boy was I glad to step off the raft onto dry land. It took me a couple minutes to walk properly though because my feet were completely numb, and it took us all a couple of hours to warm back up and stop shivering. It was a great experience though and the whole rafting trip was one of my funner times in Argentina.

The rafting group in all our glory.
Rios y Montanas-perfecta pareja.
It was a scenic ride.
We found old El Dorado.
Bridge over trouble waters.
Remnants of the railroad that used to run next to the river.
The abandoned railroad station where we camped.
That's some cold water there.

That night we returned to our hostel for a welcome night of sleep in a warm bed. The next day we went on a hiking and rappelling trip into the Andes. We hiked up one side of a mountain, then put on our gear and hiked down the other side to some cliffs. An early morning hike in beautiful mountains is a great way to brighten one's mood, and walking backwards down a 130 foot cliff is a great way to spark one's self confidence. The two combined to make me quite content. After the physical activity was done we visited some legit hot springs that were located in the mountains next to Mendoza river. There were many pools with temperatures ranging from super hot to relaxing hot to normal to freezing mountain river cold. We tried them all but mainly settled on the relaxing one to ease our aches away and prepare ourselves for the long bus ride back to Buenos Aires. That was far from my mind though as I lay in the water and contemplated the mountains surrounding me: a perfect way to end a fantastic vacation.
Panoramic view from our hike's highest point.
Tarantula! This thing was huge.
Scenic yet treacherous descent.
More treacherous descent.
Hot springs...they were epic.
Me and the mountain.

No Shave Salta

Apologies for the lack of activity recently but the past 3 weeks have been extremely busy. I have also spent the majority of that time traveling in the Andean mountains away from my home and computer. First we went to Salta, which is in the Northern Andean/Oriental mountain range. The guys decided to rough it and not shave at Salta to promote manliness and camaraderie. Brenny did not participate because he is neither manly or camaraderiesh. The area we went to is mostly desert and was once a major Incan site before those damn Spanish came through. The trip was arranged and paid for by BC, reminding us that the exorbitant tuition we paid wasn't all for naught. To get to Salta we took a 25 hour bus ride to the northern edge of Argentina. It was a long way. Turns out this country is actually really really big. As everyone knows, the best way to travel long distances is hungover and sleep deprived, and since our bus trip was luckily the day after St. Paddy's we spent the majority of the ride sleeping/recovering. I think Madeleine managed to sleep for 20 straight hours, an impressive feat.

We arrived at the city of Salta around 5 o'clock, checked into our hostel, and went to explore the city. The first stop was the preeminent museum on Incan culture in Argentina which was chock full of interesting facts and exhibits about the Inca way of life. The best part were three mummy Inca children that had been preserved on top of a mountain by the ever present ice. The Incas would choose the most beautiful children from the royal families and after a huge festival the children would be taken to the top of the tallest mountains. Then they would drug the children with alcohol so that they passed out and leave them there as an offering to the gods. The Incas believed that the children didn't die, but transcended this world into the one of the gods, so that they would wake up among their makers. All three children were found facing the rising sun with heads bowed, and one had even been struck by lightning. We only got to see one, a little boy of about eight years old. He still had all of his clothes, and his skin and hair were all intact. He even still had tiny fingernails, and it truly looked as if he was simply sleeping. It was awe-inspiring to come face to face with a person from 500 years past, a truly memorable experience that made me question the fragile and brief nature of our lives.
Central plaza of Salta-the museum was located in the beige building.
Salta Cathedral at night. This is bright pink during the day, but I like it better like this.
The royal Inca mummy, no pictures were allowed so this is the best I found.

The next morning we woke up at 6am! to leave on an excursion to the salt flats of salta. It was a long ride through varied picturesque terrain. I literally fell asleep in the jungle and woke up in a desert, a surreal and confusing experience. At the base of a seven colored mountain there was a town we stopped at whose sole existence depended on fleecing tourists of their money. People come to look at the mountain, then stop in the town to eat, use the bathroom (not free), and buy Inca clothing. I myself bought a nice reversible hat with llamas on it and some sweet pajama pants. We continued on to the salt flats which were extremely salty and bright. Dan and Dave didn't have sunglasses and suffered greatly from it as looking anywhere was akin to staring straight into the sun. My super polarized ray-bans served me well and I was able to see where I was going, unlike Dave who walked straight into a pool of saltwater. We picnicked on the flats and everything tasted strangely salty, but it was still sumptuous. Besides a quick glimpse of the rhea (the ostrich of South America), the four hour bus ride back to Salta was quite tedious and cramped - a foreboding sign.
The Jungle. It rarely rains in Salta so this jungle exists mostly from cloud condensation breaking up against the Andes.
Back to the desert and the tourist town at the base of the seven colored mountain.
The road we took to the salt flats. It was 3500 meters above sea level so there was lots of chugging uphill.
Salt Flats and salty pools that Dave inexplicably stepped in.
Depth perception is non-existent on the salt flats.
Believe it or not, we all managed to fit into the hot wheels sized van in the distance.
The Rhea. In retrospect it wasn't too exciting.
Andean landscapes.

Now this bus tour might have seemed pretty fun for one or maybe two days, but we made the fatal mistake of booking four excursions in a row. Each day we set out on an odyssey across the mountains in search of some fabled little village nestled in a mountain valley. Every town was very similar: clay buildings with a plaza in the center and a big church next to it. There were always people hawking homemade Andean goods at us, and many long dusty roads. Adding to our misery, by the third day several people had become sick with a stomach bug that was only made worse by the winding mountain roads. We whittled away the long hours on the bus by playing every word game under the sun, and we even invented a few new ones. Despite all this we tried to keep our spirits high and there were some good moments and many sights. We visited the ruins of an Inca and colonial town where the only remaining living residents were some mean llamas. There were a couple of them corralled up and I went up too one saying
"Hey Mr. Llama give me a kiss."
The jerk gave me a funny look and spat at my face. He only grazed my head as I ducked away just in time. Of course my "friends" burst out laughing and tried to convince me to go up to him again so they could film me being spit on. To me that seemed like a horrible idea, and I flat out refused. The bastard kept on eying me and making some spitting sounds. Soon his cronies came running over to stare and spit at me too. At that point I had had enough so I fled the scene chased by the derisive laughter of my peers. Then I climbed a little mountain to reach the ruins of the ancient town, an experience almost cool enough to make me forget the vile llamas. I got the last word in though because for lunch that day I ate some llama. It was deliciously vengeful as I was fairly certain the one I ate was the brother of the one who spat at me.

There was a lot of varied terrain and many breathtaking sights, but the uncomfortable and long bus rides cast a dark cloud over the whole experience. We at least had each other to share in the suffering by cracking jokes about the misery. The 25 hour bus ride back to Buenos Aires was a fitting end to the trip in which we spent almost 80 hours on a bus. That ride was somewhat entertaining because we played hearts for 7 hours straight and watched the horrendously good Ghostrider. We made it back to Buenos Aires and had five days to recuperate before we headed off to the Southern Andes for the much improved Mustache Mendoza trip.
Scenic vistas.

Cactusland.
Dave and I hiked up a little mountain near the town of Cachi and found a cemetery that might be one of the most peaceful places to rest forever.
The aforementioned Cachi.
These animals suck.
Inca ruins.
Another monument celebrating the expulsion of the stupid Spanish.
We were at the tropic of Capricorn at one point on our intrepid journey.
I like murals.
There's a face in this mountain that reminds me of my favorite Jew.
A cave in the side of the mountain that was a cool place to visit, mainly because I got to get off the freaking bus and climb some rocks.
A vineyard we visited on the last day that was a sign of better things to come.
All the BC people studying abroad in Argentina this semester minus Erica. Our bodies may be beaten but our spirits remain high. From left Dave, Brenny, Dan, Allie, Mel, Hannah, Madeleine, Laura, Marina, and me in the middle.