There might or might not be a time zone difference between Chile and Argentina, but at the time I didn't know and couldn't get a straight answer from anybody. So I set my watch two hours forward as we were a fair way east of Santiago and went to bed, ready for breakfast at a (too) early time in the morning.
I woke an hour before the allotted time and went downstairs, but it was still dark and the desk clerk refused any attempt to communicate with me. No clock in the foyer, not another soul about. No reception for my phone and my iPad had by now died. Thats another story but its the last time I depend on an iPad on a trip - its gone. So back upstairs and a return visit in an hour - same story. Anyway there was no time difference and on the third visit the hotel was awake, but it wasn't my favourite start to a day.
A strange breakfast of baking and preserves, stewed coffee, then on the road, down another rocky valley again reminding me of the Kauwara valley. There was a heavy cloud blanket above us obscuring all but the lower couple of thousand feet. On one occasion we saw condors gliding the slopes just below cloud base. Finally I asked about the piles of plastic bottles we occasionally saw at roadside. Does someone pick them up? Why is that littering tolerated? Anyway we learned that these are shrines to a saint, revered on both sides of the Andes, a women who crossed from Chile to Argentina with an infant, escaping some persecution, but dying of thirst on the way. Her infant however survived, attached to her mothers breast, when found. The shrines bring her water, hence the sometimes large piles of water bottles which I had not noticed were full, or that there was a small shrine somewhere in their midst. I can see why this story has such a grip on its people, it absolutely captures the beautiful but hard reality of their relationship with the mountains.
As we wound out of the mountains towards the city of Mendoza we passed and called into a lake that was not unlike Benmore, set amongst brown hills. It was one of the reservoirs that feed the city and its rural surrounds, which would otherwise be a desert. It was bitterly cold at about 6 degrees and a stiff breeze, so searching for things of interest around the lake shore and back roads became tedious on account of the cold. We did have a specific target, a very stunning hummingbird the Red Comet, that lives in the region. In the meantime a few little brown birds didn't excite.
There were a sprinkling of houses along several roads near the lake, being a summer vacation area. One of these houses had a food bus outside and for gods sake it was actually open. A couple ran it outside their small home and holding, where they also made various artisan foods including wine, cured ham and olives. The woman bid us follow her and took us into their small underground cellar, where a wine was fermenting in a single container and a few dozen bottles sat around. Some hams hung from the ceiling. She generously poured us a sample to try - it was rustic but good.
We bought a sandwich each from the bus, chunks and slabs of bread with slices of their cued hame and cheese. We also had some other local salami and cheese to turbo charge the sandwiches further, plus bought black sweet coffee - no milk available.
It was absolutely bitter. Shanti was wrapped in everything she owned, coat hood pulled tight and only a bright red nose, some eyes and a mouth showing, trying to eat this lumpen sandwich in one hand and coffee in other. I noticed she was shaking with cold so we dispatched her to the truck and followed soon after. Prior to this three strapping young fellows had also turned up at the bus, to eat, looking like Fidel Castro in their boots and military caps. They ordered wine, mate tea, and handed round a smoke. Friendly, with one speaking excellent english. "Its going to snow' he said, 'and we have to get back over to Chile before they close the road.' For a while we were a convivial group around the bus, while we waited for food, but the elements didn't let it turn into a party and we went our separate ways. But a very bright memory.
There was a little more dismal sniffing around for the Red Comet, then we decided to call it a day and get on to Mendoza. The road very quickly exited the hills and we were on the Mendoza plains and in an ocean of vines, then on to the city itself. Still at moderate altitude from a vine growing perspective, Mendoza exists because of its water reserves, which even flow through channels in the city making it a green, tree lined city of moderate size. Otherwise it has only something in the vicinity of 200mm of annual rain, versus 300- 350 in Alexandra. So its a bona fida dessert.
Mendoza is still Red Comet country, and as so often happens we finally found it in the city park, where there is usually a good mix of flowering trees and shrubs. The light was poor and its an extremely difficult subject, being a hummingbird which means they are hyper active. I tried for a good hour or more but only got the cruddiest photos, however it was a wonderful experience seeing this incredible, still tiny species, with its very long tail and flashing red iridescence.
Our guide and driver were leaving us at this stage and we were travelling the rest of Argentina on our own. That required a good dinner to celebrate and thank them for our time together. We headed for the chosen, recommended restaurant, but it was full with a private family gathering. We stood and watched them for a while - they were dancing. The women would get up, in pairs, and with hands held up about shoulder level, shuffle about in time to the music, with lots of cheering and clapping from the group. Then the next two and so on. Very endearing. Anyway the next place was open, although we had to wait, having a lesson in how very late the locals eat. 9 pm is regarded as ridiculous and 10 or 11 pm more like it. Despite banging on the door they would not let us in till 9 pm when we had the place to ourselves, with other diners turning up about when we left.
A very happy evening with a couple of days R and R, in Mendoza to look forward to.
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