Mendoza, Argentina

Mendoza, Argentina is one of the mainstays on the travel itinerary for a student studying in Santiago. It lies about 3 hours beyond the border of Chile and Argentina, almost directly west of Santiago, in the wine country of Argentina. I'd heard a lot of mixed reports about it, so my friends and I decided to investigate for a weekend.

The best way--make that the cheapest way--to get to Mendoza is a brutal bus ride over through the Andes mountains with hairpin turns and sheer cliffs to enjoy on the 6 to 10 hour ride (depending on how long you're delayed in customs). We, being Pat, Nate, John, Monica, Emily, and myself, decided to figure out our transportation separately. It resulted in varying bus companies and times, but an interesting travel experience for all. I left around 10:30 pm on Thursday night, and ended up sitting next to a very friendly Australian named Kent. We chatted for awhile--he and his girlfriend were on a 2 month tour of South and Central America--before we attempted to sleep. Easier said than done, to be sure. We arrived at Customs at around 1:30 am . . . 4 hours later, after a long, freezing wait in line, we continued into Argentina.

I arrived in Mendoza around 8:30 am and headed for our hostel--our meeting place once everyone arrived. Nate and Monica--who had chosen a rather sketchy-looking but cheaper mini-bus company--were passed out on the couches already. We talked about our respective experiences crossing the border as our other friends checked-in. Lethargically, we made plans for the day.

We began by doing a simple exploration of the city. It holds about 1 million people, but you wouldn't really know it if not for the expansive bus system. All of the streets are lined with trees whose branches hang over the roads, seemingly creating a system of tunnels through the city. It creates a beautiful, although misleading sensation that you're in a small Argentinean town. Plaza Independencia is the city center with its pair of impressive fountains, and it is surrounded by 4 smaller plazas. Finally, the city gives way to an expansive public park with a man-made lake, public athletic courts, and a maze of roads that connect various fountains and statues throughout the park. We explored the park for a few hours until Pat and John decided to head off for a canopy tour in a canyon nearby. Our energy level definitely couldn't be sustained for the rest of the day, so we found some lunch and headed back to the hostel for a nap.

Four hours later we woke up, found some dinner, and proceeded to drink the night away with the Europeans that were staying in the hostel as well. I slept on a bunk bed in a musty-smelling basement room, but for $10 per night, it served its purpose.

We woke up around 10 to be sure we could find our way to a bike rental agency that provides bikes, water, and a map of the wine country. Our plan was to have a leisurely bike ride through the Argentinean wine country and stop on occasion to expand our knowledge of fine wine. However, our plan was delayed due to the mistake of our taxi drivers who dropped us off not only at the wrong plaza, but in the wrong town too. I don't know how it happened, but after an hour of wandering and asking directions, we were on a bus for the right plaza in the right town.

We rented bikes from one of the most interesting Argentineans I have met--a kind, older man with a big smile and a strong love for wine named Mr. Hugo. He sent us on our way with a map and a list of artisan wine cellars. Our first stop was a factory vineyard, but they were on a break for lunch. We decided not to wait and continued on our way. We ended up at a vineyard about 10 kilometers south called Familia di Tommaso. I risk a cliche by saying it was charming, but it really was. It remains family-owned, has its headquarters in a federally protected historic building, and offers some fantastic wines. We had a pleasant lunch overlooking the vineyards, followed by a tasting and tour. Needless to say, we were hesitant to leave.

However, the time came. We mounted our bikes to head off to our next bodega (wine cellar), but when I tried to pedal, I realized that my back tire wouldn't move. My trusty bike had nearly separated itself from the back tire. The tire was barely attached to the frame, but it remained attached at such an angle that caused the tire to be jammed against the frame. Basically, it was not going anywhere unless it was carried. Our tour guide at the winery offered to call our rental company and have a bike dropped off at our next destination 4 or 5 kilometers away. What followed was a hilarious, although painful, experimentation process that involved me balancing in different ways on the back of Nate's bike. Our guide offered advice at times, but mostly, she just laughed. Eventually, I just volunteered to jog alongside my friends as we traveled to the next vineyard.

When we arrived, we shared a bottle of Torrontes--Argentina's version of white wine. It wasn't great, but Mr. Hugo arrived to save the day and give me a new bike. We left soon after and in more-or-less of a straight line (we had drank a fair amount of wine by this point), we headed to a chocolate and liquor manufacturer. We sampled some liquors and some fantastic chocolate before we headed back to Mr. Hugo's headquarters.

Once we arrived, he invited us to take a seat and placed some glasses and a bottle of wine in front of us. We happily helped ourselves. 5 bottles later, it was getting a bit late in the day. Nate and I looked at each other, and he asked me, "Are you feeling drunk?" Honestly, I answered, ...No. "Me either" he said. He leaned back and looked into Mr. Hugo's kitchen. He smiled and told us that Mr. Hugo took a half-full bottle of wine, put a funnel in it, and filled the rest up with water. Although Mr. Hugo lost a bit of credibility with that move, it certainly adds to his odd character. As we left, he thanked us and wished us luck in our travels and studies before waving us goodbye as we got on the bus.

We got back and I immediately had to take off running for the bus station. My bus left at 10:50 and I got there 4 minutes before. I settled down for another long ride through the Andes, but the wine, even if it was watered-down, made my return trip a lot more enjoyable.

Chao.

Pichilemu

As I have come to find, living in a big city can really come to wear on a person. These past few weeks have been particularly difficult, especially given the fact that I haven't had the time to leave Santiago until this past weekend. In the weeks before, I suffered through midterms--as we all do--but midterms in a foreign language, foreign format, and foreign grading system add a special "feel" to an already difficult task. Needless to say, the past two weeks were not my favorite here. However, this past weekend, I made up for lost time.

My friend, Analiese, organized a trip to a little beach town called Pichilemu, so I got together with Pat--a frequent comrade on my adventures--and we bought a $15 2-man tent to share for the weekend. Tent adventures would follow, but first we had to get there. Analiese did all of the planning and reserved us a campsite that was supposedly 20 minutes from the beach. However, taking the Chilean concept of time into account, it turned out to be a 30 to 40 minute walk. However, it had a great view of the town and the hills around it.

After our 3 hour bus ride from Santiago, we set up camp and headed down to look around the town and check out the beach. It's odd how similar it is to the Oregon coast with big green, forested hills sloping down to a wide beach with a barrier of grass-covered dunes in between. And, of course, the Pacific remains the Pacific. We stayed on the beach for a few hours before heading to a market to buy some supplies--also known as cheap beer--and returning to our campsite.

That night, we cooked and sat around talking. Our fire died, but we kept sitting, watching headlights come over the coastal mountains and wind down the road into the town. When the moon rose over the mountains, our poetic night was rather complete.

Pichilemu is more famous for its waves than its beach. The cove it is built around is positioned at an angle that catches the force of the wind coming from the south. It makes for a bad place for boats, but a great place for big waves. Cassiel and Analiese decided to take surf lessons while Pat and I decided to explore the town and return to laugh as they repeatedly crashed into the water. Pat and I were rewarded with our little exploration with some really cool photo ops and burritos! It sounds weird, I know, but Mexican food is kind of exotic in Chile. Within Santiago, it's one of the most expensive types of food, so when we saw the cheap burrito sign, you can imagine how excited we were.

We returned to find the girls still surfing. And falling. How can you not laugh when something like this happens?

When they tired of surfing, we found a taxi and headed to Punta de Lobos a few kilometers south. It's supposedly the best surfing spot in Chile. The waves are definitely big. But we were content with taking a nap on the beach. Call us what you will: lazy, scared, ...normal. You'd probably be right.

We were going to stay and watch the sun set from the top of the bluff by the beach but caught a ride with the girls' surf instructor who had gone to Punta de Lobos after the lesson. We all piled into his old VW van for a bumpy ride home. We returned to our campsite to find that 18 other people had set up camp as well. We were lucky to have the first night alone, but this turned out to be an interesting cultural experience, to say the least. They were all workers in a bread factory in Santiago, and the company had sponsored their trip to the beach. They were all extremely nice. Whether it was South American hospitality, their high level of inebriation, or a combination of the two, I don't know. What is important is that they gave us Chilean Twinkies, which I sadly report are nowhere near as good as US Twinkies. However, they did invite us to sit, talk, and dance. And so it went that we partied the night away with the Chilean bread makers.

The next morning, we woke up, broke camp, and headed back for Santiago. Pichilemu was a much needed escape. I can't recommend a nap on the beach enough. It was perfect. Combined with the hospitality of the town--Chileans would smile and say "Hola" whenever they walked by and even offered to give us directions before we could even ask--it made for a wonderful recharge.

And our tent survived the weekend, although I have a feeling it won't survive many more.

Chao.

Please pardon the political rant...

I think that we, as North Americans, sometimes forget how much our actions have an impact on the world. Small things, such as grocery shopping, have a far broader impact than I originally thought. It took an experience like this to make me realize it too. That might be the scariest part.

We are known, even in the most respected media sources of South America, as "The Empire." To be fair, this has just as much to do with our government's foreign policy as it does with unrestrained multi-national companies; in both cases, our role as consumers and voters is a large one.

As a North American abroad, no one expects me to defend my government if I disagree with it, but I am faced with repeated questions of "Why?" My honest answer, sometimes, is that I just don't know. I don't know why our country acts as it does or why certain presidents and representatives get elected. I love our country, but having a look at it from outside puts a unique perspective on it. A perspective that, at times, I'm not very proud of.

Many North Americans may think that we're on an island, that we can insulate ourselves from the world, be it with foreign policy or a 20 foot-high wall. It's easy to forget the things we don't see each day: the immigration, the foreign debt, and the reliance that our government's policy has created. We are a part of this world, whether we like it or not.

And as countries gain power, especially economic power over the failing US economy, they begin to realize that the US and its citizens are not invisible. In Chile, a policy has been implemented that charges US and some European citizens a $100+ fee to simply enter the country. In many cases, North Americans have become livid that they must pay to simply step onto Chilean soil. However, is this any different from US customs and visa fees? Hardly. As difficult as it is to swallow, it makes me smile to know that by this measure, perhaps, we will come closer to a mutual respect that has been lacking for so long.

So this is my plea: when the elections come, please vote for the candidate that you think will have the best impact on our country and on the world as a whole. As most of you have voted in a few elections before, I'm sure that you have heard it repeatedly and I hope you put it into action. But having experienced our impact and seen what our reputation has become abroad, I just need to clear my conscience. This is my first presidential election, and I don't want to live on an island anymore.