Thank you to Katie B, Eloise, Pauline, Donald, Geoff & Sylvia, and my mum & dad for reading and for your comments.
Day 26: Tuesday, 26/02/2008. Day of recovery. Wake up late. Breakfast on mote, yoghurt & fruit. Doctor's appointment: antibiotics twice a day for a week.
Day 27: Wednesday, 27/02/2008. Mendoza Day 1. We wake up late, again [I realise later that this is a Luke trademark; Aurora does not seem surprised]. Run for a taxi, run for the bus, reach it with no minutes to spare. 8:40am departure.
The scenery changes as soon as the bus leaves Santiago. Shrubs on flats give way to hills that unfurl into mountains, just when you think there was nothing left to see. Colours merge into others by the minute, from green to grey to blue and red. The mountains are cold and irregular. Craggy old men.
Further on, the railway that paces our progress is reclaimed by the mountains. Fallen rocks, boulders, landslides obscure all or part of the line in places; in other parts, the rail hangs over weathered crevices like a suspension bridge. This rail used to travel over the Andes.
Countless switchbacks as we traverse over the mountains. More than the 27 I was prepared for. The path disappears in ribbons behind us.
Entering Argentina, I have a slight headache then realise why: we are at 3,500m. Still in the safe zone [I'm meant to avoid 3,658m+. How did doctors arrive at the figure?]. The fresh steak sandwich at the border is a godsend [great idea, Luke!]. We eat on the bus. So hungry. I can't stomach the 3-day old Turbus-provided cheese sandwich. Listeria City. No problems getting into Argentina. This does not bode well for the return journey.
Condors overhead as we continue. I manage a few pictures. None capture their size or magnificence. They are dwarfed by the mountains. Horses on the mountainside look like specks; I can only tell what they are when I zoom in on a photo. I am in awe of the natural skyscrapers around us.
Then, suddenly, flat earth. An hour after that, vineyards that stretch for endless kilometres. It pains me that I can not try the wines. Mendoza is famous for its malbec. I see a chocolate factory and my heart feels light again. So shallow.
We arrive in Mendoza at around 3:30pm, to perfect weather. It is easy to see why Mendoza is known as the land of good sun and good wine.
The fun begins as we:
- Check in - at $US40 per night the Hostel Alamo is simple, central and ideal;
- Seek food. Almost everything is shut at this time of day. It reopens for dinner at around 7pm. Eventually, we settle on steak sandwiches at El Faro and pay 27 Argentinian pesos (about $US9) for each of our meals. My hot chocolate was average, but the sandwich hit the spot. They love their meat in Mendoza;
- Shop. It seems that everyone is embarazada in Mendoza. There are four maternity shops in the city (compared to one in Santiago). We stumble across all four within a one-block radius. I buy three tops from Maa Maternity for 184 pesos ($US60);
- Visit some of the plazas. Green parks are all around the city. Locals and tourists gather together, children play, lovers eat each others faces;
- Look at the art. Museo de Arte Moderno is underneath the Plaza Indepencia. I am impressed with Andres Casciani's Daliesque style; Victor Gallardo's sometime manga-like creations on A4 pages intertwine humanity with animals, with technology; I am less understanding of the tiles by various artists. I find child-like images unsettling when they are drawn by adults.
I am getting very good at on-the-spot currency conversions.
Dinner is @ 10:30pm, at an Italo-Argentinian restaurant that is not fabulous. They say they are known for their seafood; we end up with heavy pasta dishes and spend around 30 pesos each. I can not contemplate filling my ice-cream stomach as planned.
While shopping, my handbag breaks. The strap wants to try its luck in the world on its own. Luke looks looks at me like I have done this on purpose, concedes we will need to go shopping for a handbag tomorrow [I am sure it relieves Luke that Aurora is into ecology rather than shopping]. I spotted a fabulous-looking candidate that afternoon: Prune.
First impressions. Cosmopolitan, outdoors culture. Fabulous shops. Malls are similar to Perth, with more eclectic selections. Dirtier than Santiago but more endearing. Pathways are tiled rather than paved; they are uneven and miss chunks at inconvenient intervals. Watch your feet. Bins are on stilts to prevent access by rats and dogs. The place is buzzing, even at this hour. I feel safe and comfortable.
Day 28: Thursday, 28/02/2008. Mendoza Day 2. Breakfast is at El Mercado Central, where I learned to ask for a bag (balsa) and table (messa). We eat a very croissant-like media luna from Cafe del Marcado plus a baked empanada from the fishmonger (Pescaderia). It is a party-sized super-fresh pastie, with mince, onion, herbs and hard-boiled egg. Flaky pastry = delicious = high fat.
Empanadas are sold all over Mendoza. I determine to put aside any figure concerns for the sake of two important causes: comparative empanada de carne and media luna battles.
Empanada #2, also from El Mercado Central, comes from a place that sells pizzas and family-sized empanadas. This one encloses half an olive and tastes much richer. The pastry appeals less; it is not so flaky. I preferred #1.
We leave El Mercado Central and find the contemporary art museum closed :-( I am a little sad about this and realise there is only one thing for it: handbag shopping!
After reviewing a little traditional place that specialises in carpincho leather [the carpincho is an animal native to Argentina that looks kind of like a beaver, bred for leather and meat], we end up at Prune. I am in love with this shop. A Ferrari red handbag replaces my staid black one for 298 pesos ($US100). I am ecstatic.
Empanada #3 comes from Don Claudio. It is nice, not overly exciting, different pastry texture yet again. The addition of spring onion gives it a higher rating than #2. Needing something sweet to wash it down, and far from more media lunas, we head to Ferruccio Soppelsa. Argentinian icrecream. Mmm...
Time to go. Flag down a taxi after wandering through half the city with no luck. Arrive at the bus terminal just in time to be exactly an hour late. We missed the bus. I am chief timekeeper, by virtue of my wristwatch, and I didn't realise we had changed timezones. I am gutted. We book another bus - the next one is at 11pm. Total cost of journey with double payment of one leg = $US60. Still a bargain.
Despondent, I seek solace in a media luna from the bus terminal bakery.
The upside to this twist of fate: we now have time to search for humming birds and leaf-cutting ants. Off to Parque San Martin. On the way around the lake: an instant coffee posing as a cappuccino, papas fritas and a man with purple hands. He is the artist attached to the purple (painted) man, who appears some minutes later.
We hear the humming birds before we see them. There are at least two varieties here. They move so quickly and, just as one comes close, another chases it away. I have never seen anything like it. I take many photos, not all of them containing obvious specimens. I will compile a "Where's Wally?" styled montage for the humming birds when I put my album together.
Across the road: leaf-cutting ants. They are incredible, lifting such huge weights with their tiny frames. Luke tries to goad them into cutting a giant leaf into fragments; some survey the engineering feat required while most walk around, over, underneath it. [Aurora tells me that, when you are in the bush, you can hear the clicking sound of the ants in a bush before you know they are there. Return the next day and you find it devoid of leaves.]
Next media luna adventure: Via Civit. A pastry filled with dulce de leche and I do not realise it is the size of a Hungry Jack´s Whopper until it's in front of me. Laughter as everyone around me knows I won't get through it. Absolutely delicious. I had to take half away with me after enjoying too much of the creamy sweetness [And I ate the rest after my big walk yesterday (29/02). It was fabulous!].
I am not a fan of McDonald's in general but I have to admire the fact that they really cater for local audiences. In Paris, there was the Royal Cheese; in Santiago, a chicken burger with avocado; in Mendoza, McD's sells empanadas with a creole chicken burger and red wine in a meal deal! The main restaurant advertisements feature a corkscrew and grapes.
Empanada #4 is at Estancia La Florencia, as a complimentary entree to dinner. It reminds me of empanada #1, without the egg or flaky pastry. For 31 pesos, my chivita cazadora (baby goat stew) [Aurora's recommendation; yes, Katie B, this is capretto] is tender and flavoursome. The service is excellent.
Final scores for the baked empanada de carne battle:
| # | From | $ArP | Rating/5 |
| 1. | Pescaderia, Mercado Central | 1.5 | 4.5 |
| 2. | Pizza place, Mercado Central | 2 | 3 |
| 3. | Don Claudio | 1.5 | 3.5 |
| 4. | Estancia La Florencia | - | 4 |
Recommendation: #1, for its mild flavour and flaky pastry, although I still have a certain fondness for Huentelauquen's fried empanada con queso...
For the media lunas, there is no such debate. The ridiculously enormous glazed pastry injected with dulce de leche from Via Civit wins hands down. My hot tip: don't eat beforehand [Dulce de leche is the condensed-milk caramel known as alfajor in Chile. I have the recipe in my hot little hands!].
Then it is time to run for a taxi. Again. We arrive well within time this time.
There is a snorer across the aisle. He starts up almost as soon as we leave Mendoza. Hairy behemoth of a man, black as the dark outside, rasping my nerves with each laboured intake of air. I am not the only one shifting frustrated in my seat. It grows louder, gurgling like he is drinking the dregs of a thickshake through the imperfect seal of his nostrils. I am reading, not sleeping, but feeling suddenly affronted, indignant that these constant assaults would prevent me from sleeping if that was my desire.
The border. After 1.25hrs sitting on a stationary bus, I am grateful to be able to stand in immigration queues. I don't understand a word of what anyone is saying - they speak so fast and with an accent I don't recognise - but they decide to let me back into Chile. Then, just as we settle into the familiar crevices of our seats, a further delay: we have to disembark, along with our luggage, for a quarantine check. It is 3:30am Santiago time. I discover that the snorer has kind eyes, a genial face.
Nearly 3hrs later, we are on the road again. Why CATA decided that 4am is prime time for biscuits and coffee, I will never know.
It is 7am when we arrive in Santiago. My eyes are clagged shut from 2hrs of demi-sleep. I wait for the luggage in a daze with others in a similar state an jolt awake only when my bag is lifted from the rubble. My clamped-shut legs somehow make it to a taxi. Drag them up. We are moving. I am asked questions; who would do this to me? I am in no state to talk. I feel words come out of my mouth in bubbles. The air is palpable, I am breathing solids. Is this real? I want to cry.
We are home in 5 minutes flat. The taxi driver is a madman and for once I am glad of the fact. I thank him in bad Spanish and fall out of the taxi, into the apartment.
My thoughts are fixed on Aaron, shower, bed. In that order. And when I get all three, in that order, I want to cry for a different reason. Instead, I sleep.
Day 29: Friday, 29/02/2008. I awake after 12pm with a fat and sugar hangover from 2 days of empanadas and media lunas. I am numb with tired bones. My face is not my own. I slap it to revive my senses. I dress, emerge, am greeted by a bouncy face. Smile. That's better. I surprise myself by chatting.
Aurora is working at the university; Luke leaves to find us sustenance. He buys traditional Chilean fare from down the road, a place where he eats 2-3 times a week. The woman is excited to see him after 2 weeks of absence. Lunch is superb and, at 4,300 Ch pesos (less than $US10) for both meals, it is perfect.
I need exercise. Again I wander into the main shopping area of Providencia. This time I notice very different features. The roads here are also tile-paved. Why didn't I see this before? Men on bicycles with huge baskets for fruit & veg delivery threaten peatones (pedestrians) on walkways with erratic steering. I am the only white and only blonde today. The Chilean women are half my height.
I turn right down Av. Providencia, then right down the entrance to two underground malls: Galeria Poniente, to the right again, is dedicated to gaming and manga; Galeria Las Palmas is more of a traditional arcade. I re-emerge on the main road, searching, but for what?
Across the road, I find Edificio Dos. Double helix of miniature stores selling cheap clothes, accessories, trinkets in endless spirals. Smells alternate between too-sweet incense, little girls' play perfume, latrine. The predominant fashion is a cross between goth, skank and jilted prom queen. I am fascinated by the idea of book cafe in a clothes shop but I don't stop for it. This is not my sort of arcade, yet I can not tear myself away without inspecting all floors.
I head home, feeling that I have walked away with something big but I am unsure of exactly what.
Day 30: Saturday, 1/03/2008. I write my blog. This post. Maybe we will go to the markets, maybe not. Maybe to a museum, maybe not. I am ambivalent. I see a strong potential to do nothing today.
Aurora is onto me. She is concerned that I am not getting the whole Chilean experience, although it could just be that she wants us to water her plants (another experiment) in Chiloe :-p It's a 12-hour bus trip south. She tells me that these buses are built for comfort, with seats that fold out to full beds. I am almost convinced.
Aurora & Luke buy lunch as I write. They return with spinach & ricotta tortellini, empanadas, various eclairs, from a local shop that makes everything fresh each day. Over lunch, a heated discussion about how possible it would be for guerillas to survive on beetle larvae in the jungle. This certainly is an interesting place.
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