Hello All,

As this is my first holiday letter, I’m a little unsure where to begin.  I’ve had some models to follow in the style department, but it’s always interesting and difficult to start anything afresh.  I have a full pot of dandelion tea waiting for me, which will likely be empty by the time I finished, so let us begin.

Erin and I moved to Durham, NC in September 2010, which makes it over a year we’ve lived here now.  While searching for a full-time job, we kept the bills paid by working as researchers/writers for AllTrips, an online travel site.  Erin also returned to work as a server while searching for the right position to settle in.

I landed at a startup company called ReverbNation after a few months of hard searching, which does online marketing and promotion for musicians.  I work in what I would call Infrastructure, but which is apparently being called “Dev/Ops” (Development/Operations) these days.  Notice, that doesn’t actually leave me with a title, just a department.  So I work in the Dev/Ops department, but I am nothing that you can put on a business card.  When pressed, I apply the title of Web Developer to myself, though this is mostly ornamental.

Erin passed her first level Sommelier in June, which lead her to a job with Empire Distributors, where she is an On-Premise Sales Representative.  That’s four capital letters in her title, which actually makes me slightly jealous.  She works with restaurants and other vendors to set wine menus and pairings, provide training and education to restaurant staff, and running tastings throughout the week.

My first few months of work consisted of the same 80 hour work weeks as she is working now, which provides excellent opportunities for knowledge and experience sharing.  She was concerned about drowning in her work, but then I relayed the age-proven nugget of wisdom passed along to me, “you don’t need your whole head above water, you just need enough to breathe.” She has found little comfort in this, I believe.

Her job has provided us some interesting opportunities, one of which was the opportunity to go to a spectacular charity dinner, for which the company had generously donated the wine.  As we live in the south now, we’re finding it’s a different culture that has it’s own quirks, one of which is a challenging aspect of formality.  Our fashion doesn’t quite translate well, as it was honed and perfected through years of budget backpacking.  But we put forth our best effort, not without a few wardrobe changes.

After valeting our ‘99 minivan, we found our table and were off to the side of the stage, but uncomfortably close.  A man in his 50’s came up to have a seat and introduced himself.  I barely heard his name, asked him to repeat it, and the proceeded to mangle it terribly, I’m sure.  He said it in a way that made me think I was supposed to know who he was.  I didn’t, and I’m pretty sure he figured that out.

The event starts and, had I been more observant, I likely wouldn’t have been so surprised when the man was called to the stage as the main speaker.  It was Thomas Sayre, the sculptor whose work was the inspiration for the night.  I had no clue.  Erin didn’t either, but she was much smoother about it.  Though we were at the right table according to the placecard, we were clearly at the wrong table, but who was I to argue with smoke infused truffles, hibiscus-marinated venison and a dessert called Serendipity?

On another front, we’re continuing our travel ways by exploring an entire new area of the country for us.  North Carolina has proven to have some fun camping and hiking trails nearby, which has a been escape from the city.  After spending so many nights in a tent, it feels oddly nostalgic to hop in our old faithful tent for a couple of nights.

Lisa and my new brother-in-law have recently moved just a few hours away to Abingdon, tucked in far western Virginia.  I took a quick trip out there to visit them and explore their new city, and have been introducing them to the east coast style of camping, which is not quite the same as what they were accustomed to in Idaho.  We enjoy drive-up camping with flat campsites, fire-rings and hot showers out here.  That’s roughing it, NC-style.

Thanksgiving was a blast, when my 91-year-old grandmother made it down to explore Durham.  It was a great excuse to finally pull out all our formal glasses, stemware, plates and everything.  For of our wedding gifts, it was the first time they had been used, after sitting in storage for 3 years.  We cooked up too much food and enjoyed every minute of it.

Our Christmas this year will be celebrated in Japan with the Mosier side of the family.  We will miss the Hinkens during our trip, but plan on distracting ourselves with sushi, sake, and skiing.

Hope all’s well, and have a great holiday.

Cheers,

Todd

So, while finances may have spurred me on, it’s not the real reason. The real reason is that I’m not prioritizing climbing enough. I hadn’t been going regularly, I had been finding it more and more difficult to get in the car, drive 35 minutes out there and 35 minutes back. When I actually made it to the gym, I would only climb for an hour or so. I never got into the groove, never settled into a group of people, didn’t really enjoy it the way I used to. I’m not exactly the most outgoing of people, but I’m not totally social awkward, either. Two years of traveling helped me develop some skills to meet new people, but I still hang back. If I had to classify myself between the wallflower and the social butterfly, I’m somewhere along the lines of a friendly fern.

What’s the reason to quit, then? I felt bad that I was unable to devote the time to climbing that the others were. Who’s able to head out to the mountains 3 days a week? Oh, wait, that was me just a little bit ago. But certainly not anymore. It was frustrating to be in the midst of the climbing community, where total devotion is par for the course. I’ll never be a great climber. But I do enjoy it.

But more than that, it’s mostly the fact that climbing was a way of holding onto our trip. It was a time that I could sit and remember our motorcycle trip in South Africa, where we went climbing and met a fantastic couple who invited us for a braai. I would remember climbing in Peru, where an incredibly old woman walked past us with 40 sheep while I was stuck on a wall. The multiple trips in Argentina, my two day course in Arenales, our time in Idaho. I’d even look back to the days when I worked at Ibex Climbing Gym for pennies.

It’s not a bad thing to reminisce. I know well that this recent memory of our trip, while still fresh in my mind, is a precious moment. I started my travel life long ago with my family, and I fondly remember both family and solo trips. But how fresh are these memories? How well can I remember the places, the people, their names, the details that blur into the past? It gets less and less the farther back the memories go.

I spent a year in Mexico in 2000-2001. 11 years ago this fall, I left high school, hopped on a place, and landed in Mexico City to embark on an incredible journey of great experiences, horrible mistakes, and hilarious stories that I no longer tell because the details become lost in the many stories. I’ve written most of them down, and I occasionally pull them out and wonder at my own naivety, brash behavior and beginner’s mind.

During college, I took several trips, including some incredible places like Antarctica, Peru, South Africa and a 4,000 mile solo road trip from Austin to New York City and back. After college, I spent 3 1/2 months touring SE Asia. These are experiences that I hold very dearly and remember well, sometimes laughing to myself about a joke that is one hundred percent inexplicable unless you’ve been there along the road with me.

For instance, people have asked where I learned to ride a bike. I can tell you the exact place: Vang Vienne, Laos. Even the mention of that town makes me smile with a happy memory of learning to ride a moped and getting stuck in a huge puddle of clay. I was eventually pulled free by a very old tractor. An honest to goodness diesel tractor from the 40s, pulling a cart of people who all tried to help. I rode my moped back into town by way of an hour long ride on a wooden tractor-cart.

I started up a massive Harley we had rented for Erin’s birthday, and I was immediately taken back six years to that red moto. Train rides make me think of playing my guitar on a 20 hour train ride in Burma through rice paddies. Large shrimp make me think of Zanzibar, and now make me think of my first date with Erin, where she didn’t believe that U-2 shrimp could exist. Pickles takes me back to Texas, little league baseball games and watermelon.

Having these specific items that transport me back to a certain time and place is no different than anyone else. It’s simply part of our nature to have triggers that remind us of certain things. But lately, I’ve been feeling like I’ve been remembering too much. I’ve been too strongly stuck where we’ve been, dwelling on our past events. I haven’t been preparing for our future, and even worse, I haven’t been fully enjoying the present.

I’m letting go of our trip, little by little. And quitting the climbing gym is a part of that process for me, strange as that may seem. I plan on continuing climbing, but not in the way I’ve been. I need a new gym, a new perspective on the sport, and most likely a break from it. I’m enjoying our life in Durham to an incredible degree, but I haven’t committed myself 100% to our present, which is a shame.

I’m loving my job, I even paid to have the opportunity to spend a three day weekend programming. Yes, I actually gave money to an organization to allow me to do what I do for work, on the weekend. That’s how much I’m enjoying the type of work I’m doing now. It’s fun. I get to spend 10-12 hours a day behind a computer unraveling the intricacies of electronics. It’s a fascinating and beautiful rabbit hole that engulfs me completely, to the point where I can’t even talk if I’m programming. (Ask Erin, she’ll verify this.)

We’re trying to buy a house. It’s a huge venture for us, and it scares both of us to the bones, but being scared of something certainly doesn’t stop us from doing it. It’s certainly no scarier than attending a football match in Zimbabwe. Not even close.

We’re meeting new people, slowly but surely. We’ve got some new friends here that we enjoy, we’re understanding our new city and state a little bit more each week, finding the odd quirks that keep us interested. Things like the incredible sweet tooth of southerners. (North Carolina is the south?) The terrible mash that they call barbecue. The sweltering humid air that hits you like dragon breath when you walk outside. The general fear of snow. It’s amazing.

It’s difficult to let go of our trip. But, slowly, I’m releasing my fingers one at a time to focus on what’s in front of us. It certainly helps that these are incredibly exciting times for us, so I find it easier and easier to look forward and engage life head on. Like a bull.

I am sitting here in my folks kitchen the rain has been coming down for about two days now and I am home.  The dogs are wandering around not quite sure what to do with themselves.  I can actually relate a little.  We left Mendoza almost two weeks ago. This blog is a bit odd to write because it is not only a return to the states but also the end of our two years abroad.  So how do you put all that into words when you can’t even figure out what emotions are playing through your head.  Here is my go at that.

Our last week in Mendoza was great, minus Todd being under the weather, not full blown sick, but he was not doing well.  He used all his energy to enjoy the last days of our trip.  By keeping ourselves busy the two weeks prior we were actually able to enjoy that time without the anxious excitement and nerves that kept creeping upon each of us.

That’s as far as I got.  I don’t know how to put into words those first couple days of being back in the states.  Odd is the first one.  It’s always the little things you notice; the amount of stuff at the grocery store, the size of the cars, pedestrians having the right of way, green grass, fewer buses, bikers, and walkers.  While other things seem to fall right back into place and feel just right.  For instance, being back at my folks house.  Things are still in the same place and that is comforting.  Although, the knife drawer swapped with the hot pads still throws me off three years later.  So, I guess I am trying to say that Todd and I are good.  We didn’t burst into flames from over stimulation or shock from being stateside.  Basically, we fell into old comforting patterns.

Our time in KC went by so quickly.  I feel like I didn’t even sleep, but it was worth it.  We partied with the clan, Maura graduated from highschool, I jumped out of an airplane with the my momma and sisters, Todd ventured to Vegas and Beloit, we hit Al Dente for the Thursday night tradition, I passed my, motorcycle class, and then we were off. From there we packed up the minivan and headed west.  First stop, Edwards, CO, where Dale and Jeanne  literally just moved into their new house the day we arrived.  It was perfect timing.  We put our hands to work and helped them get things organized.  Even though there was a lot of work, we managed to play.  The highlight being the Teva Games in Vail.  These were outdoor events like kayaking, bouldering, mountain biking, etc.  I have never been to a bouldering competition before.  Even though I am into bouldering I always had the impression that they would be pretty dry and anticlimatic.  Well, I was totally wrong.  After watching the pre-lims and the finals I was hoarse from all the yelling.  Who knew you could almost lose your voice watching people boulder.  It was incredible!

After our quick visit with the Mosiers, we headed north to Victor, ID, our summer home.  Derek and Lisa were nice enough to invite these two homeless nomads into their home for the summer.  We gladly obliged this request.  You can’t pass up a summer in the mountains.  We just passed our first week here and if it is a prediction of what the rest of the summer holds, I think we are set for a great time.

Homemade pizza night, live music at the Knotty, an awesome showing by all of us at the Teton Dam 10k, and too many hours of futbol and snacks wrapped up the first week.  And the highlight, morel hunting.  I had always heard of mushroom hunters, read about them, been frightened of the false mushroom that can lead to death. etc.  So when Lisa started talking about the hunt I was a bit skeptical.  Luckily, an ice cream bar later and I was ready to go.  After browsing the internet to figure out exactly what morels looked like, and their evil twins the false morels, we were on our way.

We started out not knowing what to expect.  So, I wondered off the path looking around dead logs, at the base of trees, basically scanning the ground for I wasn’t really sure.  It felt like I hadn’t blinked in ages when Lisa screeched with excitement at our first morel.  Wow, we actually found one.  In total, we found 8 beautifully weird looking morels.  I can now count myself as one of the thousands of people who go out each year to hunt these prized wonders of the culinary world.

Once home, we laid them out on the counter, keenly looking over the brain like bodies.  After we finely examined our bounty it was time to indulge.  We didn’t go wondering about in the woods to give our mushrooms an anatomy test, we went for their scrumptious flavor.  A quick sauté with some butter and salt and pepper and we were licking our lips and patting ourselves on the backs.

And that was only week one.  Today, back to reality as I continue my job hunt.  Todd is working hard in his new office and we are already planning our first dinner party. Life back in the states seems to be agreeing with us.

Today, I woke up a little groggy, with some funny things going on in my belly, gurgling and all sorts of remnants from our last Thursday in Kansas City. Last night was a fun crew, mixing all the senators of various sorts. (And, for those of you who slept through your computer history course, I present to you, The Lisa) Pizza, beer, and some goodbyes all made for a great night.

I decided that what I needed to do was take a run. You may remember that we ran a half-marathon in Mendoza a couple months ago. We’ve been running pretty regularly, more or less as we can squeeze it into our schedules, which are surprisingly busy. So this run was nothing special, really. I decided to run a 3 mile loop, started off and immediately cramped up. I felt like there was monkey wrench bouncing around through my intestines. So… I slow down, let my body adjust to the idea of running. I kept talking to it, alternatively giving it words of encouragement, You can do it!, and apologies, I’m so sorry about last night. Eventually, it came around after the first half-mile. I started going at a nice pace, waving to the middle-aged dog walking wives of Brookside. I preened, nearly choking on my own ego as I watched them watching me. The thoughts that go through your head while running can be pretty ridiculous. Running without a shirt on a valid form of community service, really. We just normally don’t admit them out loud, and certainly not in a public forum like the internet. Oh well.

So, I hit the midway point and was pretty pleased with how things were going and, like the horse turning home, decide to kick it up a notch. Or two. Or as many as possible. Now, I’m just flying through the streets, passing 3 deep lines of baby strolling moms. But no longer am I a gazelle, gracefully lilting through an urban savannah. Now I’m more like a thundering hippo running to the muddy river. Get out of my way! If you’ve ever seen a hippo run, it’s pretty funny and I felt pretty ridiculous, panting the entire time. You start to wonder what you’re even doing out there.

Then the eye of the hurricane hit me, calmness all around, and all I could think about was how my nose and mouth were like a gigantic stovepipe going down to my lungs. I couldn’t believe the sheer quantity of air I could move! For those who have never picked up smoking and then quit, you’ll never understand the difference. For my body to be able to pull air like this was incredible. I don’t remember being in high school and having lungs like that because I never knew there was another option. I had the tar in my lungs pointed out to me on x-ray in Paris. I trained for a marathon in college and didn’t quit smoking because I didn’t think it was affecting me that much. The debilitating change had come on so slowly, I truly didn’t recognize it. So, I know what it’s like to run, exercise, hike, do whatever physical activity and have lungs that aren’t what they could be, but recognizing the difference was a different story.

So, in this moment of calm that lasted the last mile, I just ran at full bore and marveled at what my lungs were doing. I wasn’t thinking about how much my legs were screaming or how I might throw up from the sheer physical effort. I was literally imagining the vast quantities of air leaving my lungs and forming little cloud cubes so that I could count how many cubic feet of air I was using. This simple activity of sucking air in and forcing it out became a marvel of it’s own. It was as beautiful as any African sunset, any Guatemalan volcano, any Bolivian jungle or Argentine wine.

That runner’s euphoria they talk about? Yep. That’s it.

Therefore… we thought that people would enjoy knowing what wines we liked.  This isn’t a complete list, just ones that we decided we would search for when we had the money to buy them.  Some are expensive, some cheap, most in the middle somewhere.  The list is in no particular order.

The next day was pretty simple in theory. We would rent bikes, tootle around the vineyards, taste some wines, have a lunch, then come back to the hostel. The morning activity worked out just fine. We picked up a couple of old one-speed bikes and headed out of town to visit Etchart Bodega. The tour was pretty normal, especially given that Etchart is a massive winery, one of the biggest in the region. But it was enjoyable, especially since we were tasting Torrontes. This is emblematic of the region and one of the main reasons we came. Folklore says that it is only grown in the Cafayate area, which adds a little extra something to it.

Following Etchart, we pedeled to Lavaque, who told us that their tour guide was on vacation, so we coasted to Hermanos Domingo, which we definitely expected to be a low-quality, high-volume production. It was. But it was more. Their reserve line was actually really good, and we picked up a couple bottles of the Tannat to drink later. You know, because the first thing you want to do after a day of wine tasting is crack another bottle of wine.

We left the winery in plenty of time to make it up to Finca los Nubes, which is owned by Jose Mournier, another well-known Argentine winemaker. This is where we were to have lunch. I had some technical difficulties with my bike, which left me cursing and wondering how a one-speed bike could have issues with a chain. So… I had the wonderful opportunity to push it up the hill, all the way into the clouds. But… after rinsing my hands and taking a quick breather, I was ready for a tour and lunch. This was a small winery, which is always a nice change from a big one. Decent wine, and then lunch. What was lunch? Yummy, yummy cheese, candied apples, and a Torrontes was the first course. A perfect parrilla (grill platter) for the second course with the Cabernet-Malbec blend. Finished with coffee and cookies. We talked about how when we lived in France, how we had thought this is what it would be like. We didn’t really find it there, but a simple 20 hour bus ride had gotten us here, so better late than never. The afternoon was classic Argentine: siesta. We slept through the afternoon, woke up for dinner of sausage and cheese, cracked a bottle of the Tannat we had purchased, then went right back to bed for the next day.

Friday was our second day of touring wines, and the last scheduled one. We were a little worn out on wine, as you might imagine, but we decided to keep the dubious reservation at Yacachuya, owned by the Etchart family. Rented a couple of bikes, started up the 7km hill to the winery, then POOOFFF!!! My tire was not just flat, it was totally worthless. The bike rental guy had warned us about the spines in the road, and I apparently was destined to find one of them. (Note: if you’re counting, I have had some issue with 4 of the last 4 bikes rented. Luckily, I’m not counting.) So… we get to walk up another hill, this one longer and steeper. Oh, joy. But, it was worth it.

We arrived, both without shirts on, sweating, panting, dirt on our hands and dust in our hair. We quickly headed to the bathrooms to make ourselves more presentable, or at least as much as possible. We exit to bathrooms, still shaking water off our hands, to meet Cecilia, the daughter in law of Arnauldo Etchart, founder of Etchart winery which we visited the day before. She was quite nice and a definite talker, so we did a quick tour of the small-production vineyard and bodega before heading past the “No Admittance” sign, going towards their house. She’s talking about her kids, the difficulty of the reservation, the fact that her english is terrible, everything. Erin and I are looking at each other with disbelieving eyes that say, “We’re going in there?”

We walk into a small, but nice room with a plate of cheese and crackers setup. Cecilia talks for awhile about the essence of wine, how it’s about the moment, and I’m sitting there wondering about etiquette. Okay, so there’s a delectable cheese plate in front of starving me, a glass of torrontes wine I want to chug like Franzia, but I’m in an old hunting lodge-esque room, there’s a lady in huge chunky jewelery who hasn’t touched the food yet. What do you do? I went for the cheese as delicately as possible and sipped the wine as quietly as possible. But as soon as she left, we started taking dorky pictures of us pretending to be high class. Of course, we got caught by Mrs. Arnauldo Etchart, wife of the founder. What bad luck! Oh well. I don’t think we were fooling anyone.

The owner’s wife sat down and talked to us for awhile about Cafayate and the Torrontes grape, why they did the winery, etc. It was all pretty interesting and in the middle of it, she would quickly scold us for not eating more cheese. I thought I was being dainty, but honestly, how can you eat a lot of cheese daintily? So I abandoned the cotillion-style and went for the (still dainty) shovel-method, which, I think, the grandma really appreciated. Then, the man himself shuffled in. He was doing normal things, like bringing in the paper and mail, talking to his wife about something or another, just generally being a bit crotchedy. We shook his hand, sat down to eat some more cheese, and just listened.

Don Arnauldo Etchart was (and is) a dominant figure in Argentine wine, primarily because he was one of the main reasons the french winemakers came to Argentina, starting with Michel Rolland. Arnauldo Etchart called Michel Rolland down to Cafayate in 1985 or so, which is really early in the fine-wine world of Argentina. So… we were definitely a little star-struck.

After the cheese plate scene, we moved into the formal dining room, complete with a glass hunting case of stuffed poultry to look over the proceedings. We definitely felt awkward, but I’m pretty sure this just added to excitement. We had an incredible lunch, in a beautiful setting with great wine. And afterward, Cecilia even put our bikes in the back of the truck and took us back to town. It was way beyond anything we could have expected.

Once back in town, we settled down for a bit, then headed back out to visit a couple more wineries, namely Nanni. We were expecting to go in for a tasting, so when someone handed us a glass, we thanked them and drank it. But, crazy this, they were all french and quebecqois. So, we popped back into our French mode. But, kind of like forgetting to clutch when you shift, it didn’t work so well. French/Spanish/English words came out in orders that made no sense. Thankfully, they spoke english and we embarassingly reverted to our tongue.

The two quebecqois were about our age and quickly invited us to an asado they were making back at their campsite. We said absolutely, let’s meet in the square. Erin and I were wined out by this time, but it wasn’t long until we bumped into them again. We changed plans to go out for pizza. After all, it’s so much more simple to order a pizza than to go to the campsite, carry wood, make a fire, grill the meat, and all the other things that go into it. A long night at the pizza place left us with a wine-barrel mouth the next morning.

BUT… it was our last day on our last trip in our last month and we were troopers. So we bought a big bag of Lays potato chips and headed out after a huge pot of coffee. Nothing too notable with the exception of the tiny Bodega Salvador Figueroa. Nothing to bring it back to the essentials. It was a warehouse with a bunch of plastic tanks. Stainless steel? Nope. Mechanical presses? Nope. They even bottled by hand, which is just crazy. 6,000 bottles total production means it’s a small family production. Fun stuff.

After that it was quiet time. We had some lunch, watched an old car rally take over the town square, and waited for the bus to leave. We left at 6pm, and arrived at 4:30pm the next day. 22 hours goes by incredibly slow when there’s nothing to do. It was broken up by a drug raid where they found quite a bit of coca leaves, which really is pretty harmless stuff since they just make mate out of it. But, it did provide an half hour of entertainment in the middle of the Argentine desert on our last bus ride. Oh, nostalgia.

The fancy bus was awesome.  After a year and a half on all ranges of buses we splurged for the fancy premium bus we had only heard rumors of.  It was awesome!  Full  on with a steward who kindly kept my plastic glass of wine filled and delivered warm food for my belly. 180 degree fold down chairs are amazing.  I actually slept well.  The same cannot be said for the 180 difference in the bus we took on the return trip and my sleep quality, but that trip just brought us back to reality.

To Cafayate.  I was in charge of planning the trip and I had some focus issues.  Mainly, I didn’t want to plan the trip or use my power of concentration to navigate spanish websites or make phone calls in a foreign tongue.  I am apparently suffering from language laziness in these last few weeks.  But I did manage to make two lunch reservations that both turned out to be highlights of the trip.  So, two thumbs up for the little planning I eeked out.

First off, Todd and biking don’t mix.  He eluded to this but really, it is hysterical.  I love tootling around on bikes especially if the promise of wine lays at the end of the road.  My bikes make it up the road and back down but Todd’s get flat tires, busted chains, sad, sore thighs because he is too tall and everyone here is not, meaning short bikes, and on and on.  But four out of four bikes busted, that is just comical.  As Todd pouted up the hills to the vineyards I believe the phrase, “biking is my kryptonite!” vehemiently left his lips.  Need I say more?

Lunch at Finca Las Nubes was wonderful.  Sitting on the terrace looking out over the vineyards as the cactus laced hills created the perfect shade from the hot sun we enjoyed some wining and dining. The wine wasn’t that great, but the food was.  Different types of cow cheese, goat cheese, homemade bread followed by grilled veggies and beautiful meat.  Finished with a grape tort (somethings aren’t meant to include grapes) and espresso.  You really can feel like royalty in this country.  Always nice to be in a place where the dollar stretches, if even just a little.  After lunch we played in the vineyard.  It was spectacular!

Day two, already a bit wined out, but we decided to keep our reservation at San Pedro de Yacochuya.  I had no idea what to expect. My conversation with Cecilia over the phone was rough; kids in the background, broken spanish, but we managed the reservation.  It reminded me of calling the old lady in Pauillac for a place to stay.  A total accomplishment but I needed a glass of wine after both conversations.  Anyway, so glad we didn’t cancel. As we walked our bikes up the road it was beautiful.  The left side of the vines were wonderful shades of fall, the right hadn’t decided to change yet, and the contrast was striking.

Cecilia greeted us with open arms.  Actually, she made me feel fantastic.  Compliments for everything.  It was great!  We walked into the house and it was incredible. The walls covered in old paintings, a huge fireplace staked to the brim with logs, and smoke stains eeking up chimney, rustic furniture, and big windows with barn doors.  It was a combination of Argentine decorating and a warm country cabin exuding wealth.

Señora Etchart was excellent.  She sat down very matter of factly and said she was going to tell us about Torrontes.  And that is what she did.  Her nature was warm yet you could tell she was in charge.  Meeting Sr. Etchart, even if it was a brief Argentine greeting, was fantastic. He is Argentine wine that we know now as a legend.  Not the world of bulk wine that they produced pre-90′s.  Yacuchuya is not at all like Bodega Etchart.  It is small and very well produced from 97 year old vines.  The man knows what he is doing and I saw him deliver the mail. So glad we didn’t cancel this reservation.

The rest of the lunch was wonderful.  Todd and I, one 12 person table, and a lot more paintings, oh, don’t forget all the taxidermy.  We obviously weren’t their normal clientel, but we played the roles well.  Kind of like a certain lunch at Moet & Chandon in Napoleon’s dining room.  Surroundings can just make you feel special.  And Yacochuya nailed everything.

Our last trip left me nostalgic.  But then I remember this is just one adventure, there will be so many more down the road.  That’s a good thought.

It was wonderful.  I picked up the car around noon and headed back to the apartment to pick up all the stuff that we had ready.  Then, it was off.  I picked an alternate route from the standard one towards Chile.  This was a famous backcountry road with a gorgeous view of the Mountain Aconcagua (22, 841ft).  Now, some people seem to think that little 1.2 liter engines, 2 door and low clearance cars aren’t meant for poorly graded gravel roads.  However, we’re in Argentina where anything goes, so off we went.  There were a few moments where large rocks blocked our way, but we managed to drive around them, up the 365 switchbacks to see some incredible views.  Along the way, we passed Villavicencio, an old hotel with gorgeous gardens among the fall leaves.

After we left the gravel road and came out at Uspallata, we headed back along the highway to Jerome Brewery.  When Erin’s dad came in town, he noticed the label of the microbrewery was a German Shepard, which is the animal that would be on their family shield if they had one.  So, we were on our way to taste the beer and try to pick up some t-shirts or sweaters, or something for the dog lover in us all.  The beer was there, and it was delicious.  They had a beer that was aged 12months in french oak and it was fantastic.  Mmmm.  We had lunch, a couple of vicuna burgers.  Also, yummy.  They had shirts, wait, actually, no they didn’t, they didn’t have anything.  No sweaters, no shirts, nothing.  That was a bit disappointing, to be honest, but it was a fun trip anyway.

From the brewery, the final surprise was still to be revealed to Erin: the San Bernardo Refugio.  This is a small log cabin just outside of the ski village Vallecitos.  Hikers use it in the summer for acclimatization, skiers use it in the winter to go skiing, but in the fall, it’s not really used at all.  There were 3 other people at the lodge, that’s it.  So we pretty much had the run of the place.  We were dead tired from the drive in, so we went to bed around 10pm, which earned us ridicule from our new friends.  But, it was good to rest.

The next morning we woke up, had a leisurely breakfast and went out for a hike.  We weren’t planning on anything too strenuous.  For example, one of the other hikers got up at 5am to summit a 5,500m peak.  Nope, we passed on that opportunity.  Instead, we walked up the catwalk.  A nicely graded trail with two tracks where we could walk side by side and amicably chat about nothing.  Which we did, stopping to play in the decrepit  and unsafe chairlifts.  When we got to the top of the mountain, we broke for lunch of delicious sausage and cheese.  Then we headed back down to the refugio to relax from the exhausting hike.

Then, the last part of the day, was about to start.  I had planned an asado of our very own.  We put on some firewood, got it going, built up the coals, then put on the side of veal, some chorizo and blood sausage.  We spent the night playing guitar with some Canadiens, talking politics and drinking wine out of a damajuana. (A damajuana is a classic argentina 5 liter bottle of wine, of generally low quality.)

This morning, we got up for some breakfast and gave the canadiens a ride to town.  Back in Mendoza, we returned the car, bought some bus tickets to Cafayate, where we’re off to next.  Today, we’re going out with an old friend, Dustin, who we met all the way back in Guatemala.  There aren’t too many of our friends still traveling around the Americas, so it’ll be nice to catch up to see where he’s been.

Mendoza is funny sometimes.  Example: Todd and I saw an ad in the paper for a polo tournament.  Since, we are now experts on horse sports and have attended one other polo match, we figured it was a must show.  In BA we saw the best of the best of Argentina.  Here in Mendoza, not so much.  We took a taxi out to Guaymallen or what felt like the middle of nowhere.  We arrive at a massive field.  Actually 3 massive polo fields. There are at least 100 horses, lots of men, a couple of cars, and empty bleachers.  Basically, anyone there was family, coaches, or horse trainers, so our presence was very obvious.  As we stood behind the goal post, a tad shocked at the circumstances,  and oblivious that we were technically on the field, we were quickly brought back to reality by the 8 horses and riders barrelling down in our direction.  It was a tad scary.  Don’t worry, we survived but quickly decided to take a seat on the sidelines.   We pulled out our sandwiches and enjoyed the tranquillity of the moment; the wind through the willows, the sun shining above us, and the quiet of being out of the city.  That is minus the sound of pounding horse hooves.   Even though the polo was subpar to say the least, the day was wonderful.  Always nice to leave the city, only to return with a new appreciation.

With time winding down here in Mendoza, we are trying to pack it all in.  So after a great day out at the polo field it was time to take a tour of the vineyards via bike.  Bike tours through Maipu is probably the number one backpacker experience when they visit Maipu.   Four months in Mendoza and we still hadn’t had this experience, so we were off.

We rented the bikes through Bikes and Wine.  You walk to the bus stop and take a 20 minute bus out to Maipu.  There an employee greets you and takes you to the shop where you pick up a bottle of water, get a quick run down of the map, and of course a bike.  It was pretty simple.  First stop, the museum.  I am a sucker for cheesy museums and this was no exception.  No explanations, little organization, and a lot of old steel machines for plowing, de-stemming, pressing, etc. And of course a glass of wine.  It was going to be a good day.

Now, one minor detail.  Todd may have been the catalyst for this idea, but the reality is he doesn’t like bike riding.  The bikes are too small making his hamstrings hurt, his hands get sore from gripping the handlebars, and then there is the bum pain that slowly creeps up on you.  And it goes on and on.  So, as I was tootling under the tree canopy, vines and olive trees lining the road, Todd was struggling.  A quick bike change and things got a little better.  He is a trooper though  and endured the ride with a smile.

We finally made it to Bodega Carinae, the furthest vineyard 11km up the road.  It was better then expected.  A small boutique winery with the Rolland consultant team managing the production of the wine.  We did a side by side tasting of the different levels of Malbec.   Amazing how one grape can take on so many different forms.  We were off from there heading back down the road.  Already 2:30 and one vineyard down.  Where had the time gone?  Next stop, Finca Cerno. We arrived and were greeted by the wonderful smell of grilling meat.  Always a good start.  But we couldn’t find anyone to help us.  They only had the grill guy and one wine guy working and the wine guy was preoccupied with a tasting for three business men.  Apparently, the bike tour folks were not as important.  He even asked us to change seats so that we weren’t so close to the business guys.  Not impressed we decided to head to Tempus Alba.

Great decision.  Seeing as the day was freezing and we were completely unprepared for the weather, the warmth of the winery was great.  So great in fact we tasted some wines and dined on some awesome cheese with grilled toast.  I have seen grilled provolone on many menus here, so today was the day to give it a go.  And wow!  Hot, bubbling, melted cheese, with crispy top and bottom.  I love you, Brie, but you have been replaced.  It was incredible.

We enjoyed a couple more wines, some terrible absinthe and great conversation back at the bike shop.  They just kept pouring the wine, terrible, terrible wine, but we were cold and caught in the moment so at the time, it was just perfect.  We bussed it back to the city and grabbed some drinks with our new friends.  Good wine and good times!

I don’t recover from drinking the way I used to, so Wednesday morning was a bit rough.  But there was more to be done, like winemaker night with Altamisque.  The wine was good, not great, but the winemaker was not the most entertaining.  Luckily, our new friends Chris and Marydale showed up.  After winemaker night we enjoyed some wine at the Winery.  But more then the wines we enjoyed some great conversation.  When you are travelling, you meet a lot of people. Some you will hang around for weeks, yet not feel connected.  While others, like these two, it seems so natural.  And that’s a good feeling.

So, after a busy week we took Thursday and Friday off.  But not the weekend.  Today we are off to somewhere, only Todd knows.  He has planned a surprise weekend get away.  So exciting!  I love surprises.  I do know that we are going to Jerome’s brewery in El Salto, he bought food provisions, a damajuana (think jug o’wine times 3),  we need sleeping bags, it may snow , and I think he may be renting a car.  I will let you know on Monday.

One more thing… Todd went to buy said provisions last night and returned from the grocery store speaking of a massive run on water.  Ok, weird.  Not just a couple of bottles, he said grocery carts full and grandmas throwing elbows.  As we are looking up the reason on the internet we hear a knock, knock, knock at the door.  It was our landlord.  She came to explain that the city was turning off the water for the night, so she asked us not to take a shower, flush the toilet, basically use the water because it would dry out the tank and cause problems.  The problem, mercury.  Yes, they found mercury in the water here 28 times the normal level.  Good thing we are leaving town for the weekend.  And as we predicted, the water was not turned back on last night, it will be off until tonight but most likely till Sunday.

He picked me up at 8am for the 3 hour drive to Arenales. We went up the very same valley that Erin and her dad went fly fishing in. We arrived at the refugio, which is just a shack, to be honest. We shooed the cows and horses away from the building and threw all our sleeping bags and food in the shelter. Then he started to pull out gear. The amount and weight of it alone was crazy. I was learning how to do traditional climbing, aka “trad”, he brought a whole slew of anchors to put in different situations. I knew the names and uses of most, but it was good to review and go over everything. Especially since everything was in spanish. You couldn’t just say “quickdraw,” “carabiner,” or “cam.” It was “espres,” “moscaton,” and “fier.” This translation of everything made for some difficultly, but not really. The most difficult part was the actual setting of the anchors. Imagine hanging on a wall with about 30 extra pounds of gear attached to your belt, looking at a crack in the wall and trying to figure out which type of anchor to use, and then decide which size will fit the best. For me, there was a lot of time and energy wasted trying to do this. But rather safe then sorry, which was the reason I was there.

We would then get to the top of the pitch and we would set up a belay station where we would both be at equal height on the wall, hanging from the same anchors. Setting this up safely was another part of the course. Then, we had lunch up on the wall. Kind of hokey, but kind of fun. We spent a lot of time going up, setting up pulley systems to bring up the haul bag, dropping it down, going up, going down, setting anchors, and fun things like that. At the end, we did a 3 pitch route, which was the end goal of the course.

I’ve been climbing in gyms for a long time now, since about 2002 or so, when I first started getting into it because of some friends. But my outdoor climbing experience was much smaller.  The fear factor is something that takes a while to get over, and I still haven’t really. Indoor, everything is controlled, there’s very little that can go wrong. The gym is setup to be safe. Outdoor is different because the safety factor falls squarely on your shoulders.  In addition, it’s just a little crazy. For instance, I was on the last pitch of our climb, and I had a hand-foot match (where the foot comes up to be on the same ledge as the hand) but, when I looked down to find the ledge, I saw the ground was 150ft down. It just makes your head swirl a little bit before you get used to it. But then you look at all the safety mechanisms and realize that you really are quite safe, in a strange way.

All in all, I really enjoyed it. I’m definitely ready to start climbing more, so watch out Idaho!

Todd wasn’t here last night because he went camping.  Well, more specifically he is taking a two day intense rock climbing course.  I like rock climbing a lot but Todd wants to learn the more intense aspects i.e. multi-pitch, rescues, etc.  He would have slept in a tent on the rock if the instructor would have had one. I am thankful he did not.  So off in the mountains he went yesterday morning.  Hoping it wouldn’t be too fridged, winter is on the prawl down here.  I hope he had a great time.  I will find out late tonight when he returns.

I had a great day by myself; cooking, running, reading, and just doing things that were all about me.  That always makes for a good day.  And it was a beautiful fall day with sunny skies and a crisp breeze that kept moving through the air.  I watched the basketball final by myself in the apartment.  But since I was torn on which team to root for, it almost felt like I had a companion with me rooting for the other team.  What a great game!

Anyways, besides Todd camping and me enjoying me we also managed to have a great Easter.   Surprisingly, Good Friday is the major holiday here.  There was a 30,000 person 7 church march, the hotels were at full capacity, and the city was closed.  We decided to go to mass on Easter Sunday so our groggy bodies rose Sunday morning after a fun night of basketball hooliganism and went to church.  We arrived at 11am thinking we were late but the church was practically empty.  Apparently, Argentines don’t even get to mass on time.  Eventually the church filled up and we were on our way.  Three interesting points here: 1. Easter is supposed to be a joyess event of life.  The priest made sure we were all aware of this and announced it in the most ho-um monotone voice ever.  It was depressing and the rest of the mass followed in monotone pursuit.  2. No music.  Just one older ladies cracky voice leading the singing which ended up sounding more like chanting.  Not joyess.  3. Confession was being held in the vesibules by two priests.  One cloaked in his vestments, the other simply wearing jeans and his purple stole.  People participated in mass while waiting in line.  Oh yeah, there is a 4th…no order to communion.  People just piled out of pews or came from where they were standing and assembled lines, no order.  Even with the quirks, it was a nice morning.  Something familiar even if it was actually a bit foreign.

After our non joyess celebration we went out for coffee.  While sipping our coffee and reading the paper Todd came across the horse racing brackets.  And we were in luck, because it was data for the Easter day race.  There you go, we had something to do for the day.  So, we finished up our jo, wondered home, and then walked over to the Hipodrome.  I apparently know nothing about any sport that involves horses.  Yes, the horses ran around the track, but the half moon or circles on yellow signs that accompanied the winners board, no idea.  And the betting auctions, again clueless.  Besides watching the races, we wondered around, checking out the horses, watching them strut their stuff before the race and of course people watching.  Lots of good people watching!  We had a great time, even if our horses never won.

So, that is that.  A holiday past, a night spent alone, and less then a month left in Argentina.  Crazy!

Also, last night after an amazing 50% of wine happy hour at the Vines we saw a huge group of people on a 7 church tour.  Some holding candles, some participating in a walking confession with the priest, while others just enjoyed the moment.   It was solemn.  A lot of the participants were younger kids, which I found to be surprising.  I may not be an active participant in the Catholic Church right now, but it was refreshing to see such a powerful showing from a community.  An unabashed sense of belief.  It made me smile.

As for wine, our friend Julia or should I say wine insight insider, steered us toward two wines that were not on the list, but recently opened.  I enjoyed a the wonderful Gran Estirpe Malbec 2004 from Chacras de Coria.  It was simply a beautiful expression of a Malbec; sweet black fruit start, well balanced, good tannin structure with a long spicy finish.  And at $75p or $24US it was rightfully delicious.  Todd enjoyed a brilliant Bordeaux blend from Bressia.  The Conjuro 2006, 50%Malbec, 30% Cabernet Sauvignon, 20% Merlot.  My mouth almost didn’t realize what a true expression of a Bordeaux blend tasted like, but now I remember.  Yum! It will open up in a couple of years but the silk texture was just right for this moment.  It was delightful.

Other quick unrelated notes: I am going to miss the crustless white bread.  Pair that with a slice of cheese, butter, then bread, ham, more butter and another piece of bread.  A quick delicious empty carb meal.

But for now, we are prepping for the Final Four games.  Snack list ready for prep, beer purchased, internet activated.  Good day Saturday!

So we left our house Tuesday night with high hopes.  It has been a long time since we have been on an overnight bus.  It was a bit surreal and exciting.  The ride went well, minus the 2hr delay, which meant we arrived at the tent city aka airport, right as we were supposed to be boarding.  Luckily, when an international airport is being operated out of tents, things don’t run on time.  So, we made our flight.  LAN is awesome.  Even the food was good, not okay or edible, but pleasing both visually and in taste.  I was a little nervous as we were preparing to land. Out of nowhere appeared this island, with massive cliff faces, and there we were, flying directly into it.  Apparently, the view was better from the cockpit b/c we didn’t hit the cliff we had a nice little landing.

Easter Island smells like Hawaii to me.  Luckily, the connection is not too far off base.  Both are Pacific islands which means they have similar climates.  But that smell, it is a grass that has a potent smell when wet, hit my face right away.  It was beautiful!  And on top of that, there was a nice man waiting there with a lei for us.  I love leis.  You can’t buy them for yourself, they have to be given to you.  And let’s just say that I may have lived  on another tropical island where I envied all those that got leis.  Until one day, I too was one of the lucky ones.  We were off to a good start.

The campsite was packed.  A little tent city.  We parked ours right up front on the little piece of flat ground that was left.  That meant a view of the crashing waves, the fake Moai, and the fence.  Apparently, we picked a good spot. What Todd failed to mention was that it rained a majority of the time we were on the island.  Well, maybe I should clarify and say poured.  And I hate camping in the rain or being wet while camping period.  I have gotten a lot better, but I am still not a fan.  But I must say, our little tent rocked.  #1 in the tent city.  She was even complimented by other campers who were not so lucky and had soggy little puddles to keep them company all night.  Todd and I passed the first night under the fire pit canopy drinking beer and analysizing all the tents;  “Ooh, that one isn’t going to make it in this wind. Wow, the RV (our nickname for the huge two room tent) is holding up well. Who designed that tent?  I don’t even understand how the guide ropes are helping, etc. “  It was a great evening.

The one town on the island is Hanga Roa.  I thought maybe there would be little villages scattered about the island, but nope.  Just Hanga Roa.  Seeing as the sole income for the island is generated through tourism, one would think they would have a good efficient system lined up to fully capitalize on every tourist dollar available.  And yes, there were an abundant amount of souvenir shops.  I was actually tempted to buy a little moai replica carved out of stone, but settled on a cheap molded magnet version.  I am a sucker for most things cute and small and if they happen to have a magnet attached to their backside all the better.  Anyway, the people were set up for everything but food.  I eat, I am happy, I don’t eat, I am grumpy.  And when it is pushing 10am and I have had neither coffee or food, I am definitly grumpy.  And yet, on this tourist island we managed to find one spot open for breakfast at this hour.  Weird.  And let’s not forget super expensive.  But when you visit the middle of nowhere unprepared with your own rations and unable to let hunger pass without a noticable change in personality, you suck it up and pay incredible prices.  So that is what we did.  Even for Nescafe. 

We were there during shipment day.  Trucks and trucks full of food rolled into town from the airport.  It was incredible.  Everything, simply everything comes from the mainland.  There aren’t even a lot of tropical fruit trees.  A couple rogue banana trees and tons of guava but those two alone don’t equal tropical fruit paradise.  But are nice when mixed together in a smoothie.  The trucks led to talk of the enormous ecological footprint our visiting the island had.  And a little chat on self reliance.   We didn’t know what to expect from this island, but what we kept finding sure kept us thinking.

We wanted to rent motorcycles and tour the island but due to cost and the rainy skies we opted for a little jeep thing.  I think it was called a jimmy.  First time I have driven in a while  and it was fun.  And a good decision because it rained a lot.

On to the Moais.  Wow, wow, incredible, wow.  Some are big, some are medium, all are massive mounds of carved rock.  Rock that comes from one specific quarry, Rano Raraku.  That means that all these huge statues had to be moved somehow across the island.  The theory is, and there are a lot, but the most accepted theory is that the Moais rolled the statues across the island on logs.  The size and distance the Moais moved was a sign of strength for each clan, which in turn meant power.  A family would sponsor the clan and they would carve and carve and move and place the Moais until the family ran out of money to pay them.  In this case, the money was excess food from their farms. 

The creation of the Moais is incredible. You can see where they were carved straight out of the rock.  The silhuettes left in the rock don’t lie.  But this amazing feat led to the deforestation of the island.  Hence, why we saw very few trees on our hikes.  That part was a little weird.  I think sub-tropical Pacific Island and I think dense jungle with vines, trees, humidity, bugs, etc.  Nope, not at all.  The lack of bug part was nice. Having the quarry to ourselves was a treat.  It created a tranquil feel where you could picture the men working hard to prove their worth.  Not the tourist play ground it has become.

Orongo, a major archeological site that sits along a crater rim, was so cool.  Todd and I nerded out as we stared completely enamored into the crater.  It was filled with what looked like a bog or marsh nestled into it’s own cozy little ecosystem creating happy endemic species.  And right next door, the ocean.  I wish we could have scuttled down the steep crater walls for a closer look, but if all nerdy tourist were allowed to do such things, I believe the happy little endemic species would die.  And that would be sad.  So, we stared in aw and took pictures posing in the Livingston lunge and one as a panther.  Good times.

Our massive hike was massive.  I knew it was 20+km and it was me who totally pushed for the crazy hike but for some reason I figured it would take around 3hrs. Back by lunch.  Not so, not so at all.  We taxied up to Anakena beach and followed the coast line back.  Todd mentioned my two foot stick of protection.  Yes, it is true.  But apparently cows with calfs and staring bulls in large herds rattle my nerves a bit. And in addition to the cows, I have never seen so many colts in my entire life.  I think there are more ungulates then people on Easter Island.  The guide that suggested this massive hike mentioned that the path was littered with toppled moais.  Well, first off what path?  And secondly, we saw two and a ton of ahus.  They were pretty neat though.  The moais were toppled because when the indigenous people ran out of trees to move the moais they simply started knocking over rival clans moais. The evolution of  civilizations is an interesting thing when removed from all outside influence for 1,500years.

The hike was spectacular though.  Our friends the horses and cows would sporaticly appear and keep us company.  But more often then not just stare while releaving themselves.  We weren’t sure what to think of this, so we just kept walking.  The coast line was steep.  The west side of the island is obviously where most of the volcanic activity occured.  We could see smooth lava laying probably where it cooled thousands of years before.  The contrast of the blue ocean and the black coast line was stricking.  And the blow holes kept me entertained like a kid watching Barney.  First we heard the jet engine sound and then saw the water spout.  It was a first for me, delightful. We walked for 7hours under the hot sun.  We were lucky that it didn’t rain.  It was all worth it.

I had done a little research before we left and read about a show that offered traditional dance and dinner.   At this point in our travels, we have seen a lot of these types of show.  I would like to thank Jeanne for getting me hooked.  They are always hooky but I love them.   We ended up at a little spot around the corner from our hostel, not the $60 per person tourist rip off.  Thank goodness because I was set on going to a show so if the $60 one was it, we were going.  Luckily, Todd did a bit more research and found a good alternative. Let’s start with food.  They boasted traditional cuisine which was cooked underground and covered with banana leaves, palm fronds, and garbage bags.  Did I mention it was raining again.  I opted for the pork.  Pig is my new favorite animal.  The meat was so rich and tender.  Pair that with the sweet potato, a bit dry on its own, a super sweet pumpkin cake mash thing, and a salad with a mayo based dressing and the meal was a success.  It was a ton of food.  The dance was awesome.  As Todd mentioned I was front and center.  Between the harrassment from a small child on my left, I think her momma was one of the dancers, and the loin cloth draped men in front of me, it made for an interesting show.  Now, I for one can say that the loin cloths were very well made. I don’t know if I should share these thoughts, but too late.  Given my proximaty to the dancers and the precarious attire that kept moving closer and closer into my personal space I couldn’t help but thinking about undergarments.  And I will tell you, I saw no undergarments, but no balls either.  I was very thankful.

Easter Island was great.  A weird little island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean covered in massive man made stone carvings.  Let’s not forget the signage.  Both everywhere and highly entertaining.  One last thing, I always thought the statues stared out to sea.  Not so, they all faced inland.

But first we had to get there. The overnight bus from Mendoza to Santiago ran 2 hours late, predictably. So we hightailed it to the Santiago airport. It was still a disaster scene after the earthquake, but a managed disaster. They had setup an emergency arrival and departure gate in huge permatents. After a couple of signs here and there, people to point you where to go, and finally, through a whole lot of confusion, we made it to our plane. 5 1/2 hours and 3 movies later, we arrived on the tiny island in the middle of the south pacific, considered one of the most remote places in the world. I don’t know what we expected, or if we even had a clear idea of what to expect, but the trip was fantastic.

We walked out the door of the airplane and the first thing Erin said was, “It smells like Hawaii.” The Hawaii I knew was the crushing traffic of Honolulu, but whatever that smell was, it smelled great. We walked off the runway and through the airport where we saw our name on a little whiteboard. So we went and checked in, where they gave us some leis. Erin was incredibly ecstatic, demanding that we take a picture immediately. This was just a hint of what was to come. We were there 4 days and managed to take 340 pictures. I’m pretty sure that’s a new record for us, with the possible exception of African safaris. I was dead tired from the overnight bus and plane flight, but Erin was running on pure adrenaline. We quickly setup camp and went to explore a bit of the island.

The town of Hanga Roa, as you might imagine for an island with 4,000 inhabitants, was small, but the major roads were paved. These things became more and more amazing when you start to understand the remoteness of the island. All the tar and cement for each inch of paved road had to be shipped in via boat, which had to dock in a small, inhospitable little port. The main road of town had standard island services. Rows of scooters, quad-bikes, motorcycles and jeeps ready for rent. Tour services, boat rides, scuba centers, seafood restaurants and some shops to pick up the necessities that were forgotten, left or snatched by airport security. And let’s not forget all the shops providing endless amounts of souvenirs so that you will forever remember your visit. We settled on a little place to grab some lunch and figure out a plan of attack. 3 large empanadas, a small salad, two beers and US$50 later and we were off to see the museum.

Getting to the museum turned out to be a bit of a hike. But it was a much needed first stop before we went out to see all the moais and ahus, it helps to get a little acquainted with what they are. The ahus are the platforms that things go on or altars. There are a wide variety of them, but mostly when you see a big pile of rocks all put together in a grouping, it’s an ahu. There’s 313 of them on the island, and they’re pretty distinctive. The moai, on the other hand, are the statues that sometimes went on top of the ahus. These are the gigantic heads that go on postcards and National Geographic magazines. These can be huge or just plain big, but they are always impressive. It’s the reason Easter Island is famous. The museum also explained about the culture a bit and the history of European explorers.

Even though I was dead tired, it was great. However, I needed a little pick-me-up, so we stopped at a little cafe where I ordered a guava-pineapple smoothie. The lady behind the bar had apparently never mixed juices before, so she was very hesitant to sell it to me. Saying that she couldn’t guarantee how it would turn out. I assured her that it would be fine. (It was.) On the walk back to town we passed a number of ahus and moais, most restored. It was incredibly beautiful to see the large statues lined up together like a row of military, backs to the ocean. The rain was about to start, so the dark clouds made the ocean nearly black, crashing on cheeky volcanic rocks sticking out of the water. We rented a red jeep that night, went around to grab supplies for the next day, then went to bed early.

The next morning we rose up with the sunrise and got moving. I know it sounds like that’s really early, but the sun rose around 8:30am and set around 8:30pm. So we can’t be credited with being gung-ho about getting up and out. The drive to the stone quarry was a quick one, maybe 45 minutes. Since there was no rush, we stopped a number of times to take pictures of the archeological sites along the way. Even with taking our time, we were the first tourists to arrive at the quarry, called Rano Raraku. It’s always wonderful to have an entire site to yourselves. Everything becomes a little more beautiful, a little more serene, just a little more in general. It was magnificent. There were moais everywhere in various stages of completion, strewn about haphazardly like a yardsale for the coolest lawn-art ever. All you had to do was look at the side of the volcano and carved heads came into view. Paths where they were dragged from their carving spot became apparent like a magic eye picture.

Of course, other tourists came around soon enough, and we left the site to them as we went down to the row of moais on the beach called Tongariki. This is one of the more famous collection of moais on the island. 15 moais in a line, better restored than most others. With their backs to the ocean, this is a favorite location for sunrise photographers. The interesting part to me was also the restored ahus. Most are simply put back together a bit, piled up and shaped to the way they think they were before the tradition died out in the 17th century. But at this particular site, they had placed the rocks of the ahu in a triangular pattern. In addition, it was impeccably maintained, so there was no grass to block the view or even remind you that this was a reconstruction, not an actively used location.

We moved on from there to the beach of Anakena, where we were planning on staying until we were to head back. A quick dip in the gorgeous ocean and we went to get our provisions, which consisted of a large bag of Lays potato chips (waves, not original). In addition to this heart-healthy meal of fried tubers, we went to a cabana to have a beer and a kabob. A more well balanced diet could not be prescribed.

We didn’t really know what to do with our car, since we had it rented until 7:30pm and wouldn’t consider returning it before that. So, we  drove up to Orongo so that we could look into fog, it was raining pretty hard at this point,  which was pretty exciting but not really educational. So from there we purchased some more supplies, drove them to camp, then  returned  the car. Erin and I laughed at our hypocrisy since we talk about wanting to live in a place with public transport, yet every time we hop in a car we’re incredibly excited to just drive around places. We were going to cook that night, but we were at a restaurant when the rain started, so we just decided that the prudent thing to do would be simply stay there and eat delicious ceviche. Some decisions are tough, some are easy. This was an easy decision.

Friday was the next day and it held a whole host of surprises. The first surprise was that our plane might be cancelled. Apparently, it’s a regular practice for LANChile to schedule a flight from Easter Island and then cancel it if there’s not enough people. After all, where are these people going to go? Catch the other flight? But, luckily for us, it was the Saturday flight that was cancelled, not our Sunday flight. But it did take some time to figure that out. So when we finally started on our hike to Orongo it was a little later than we wanted. Luckily, however our Kiwi tent-neighbors had a car and gave us a lift up to the top, which cut our hike exactly in half.

Orongo turned out to be my favorite part of the island. It had a perfect crater, filled with stagnant water that had been there for so long that this crater had developed endemic species that were found no where else. There was a large break on the oceanside of the rim, which just helped remind you that this was right next to the ocean. It was simply fantastic, one of the treasures of travel that drop your jaw and hurricane your mind and imagination. I could have marveled at that crater for hours. There is also an archeological site on top of the volcano rim, which is the center of the “Birdman Cult.” There were meticulous dwellings built into the mountainside, apparently used to watch the competition where men swam shark-infested water, stole a bird’s egg, swam back and climbed the volcano. Looking at the islands, the slope down to the water and the rocky shore was more than enough to convince me that the competition was incredibly brutal. I hope the reward matched the risk. The hike down afforded us a view over the entire island: the ocean laying siege; volcanoes and craters scatter about; grazing plains and standing moais. No complaining here. We returned to camp to share some dinner and drinks with our Kiwi friends and Steve the Saskatchewan.

Saturday was our last day on the island, and we wanted to make it count. So we went for the big hike, which was 20km (12.5mi) from Anakena to town. But first, breakfast. We arrived into town at 9:45. This is a tourist town, so there should be some place to grab a quick bite to fill our bellies and give us the energy for the grueling stroll. There was one place open. So we ate our US$25 breakfast, thinking that the last time we had a $25 breakfast there were a couple of mimosas involved, and certainly not NesCafe.

The hike was strange. Once again, didn’t really know what to expect. Isolation was clearly on the menu, but what else? The answer is horses and cows. Not a single person, but plenty of our four legged friends. Erin was carrying a two foot stick for protection. After all, what would happen if a cow had to be milked or a horse petted? The stick would protect us. Trees were very few and far between. We saw less than 20 trees in the first 5 hours of the hike, all being occupied by ungulates. The other surprise was thistle. It was everywhere! Dead thistle 6ft high with pokers that could really hurt. Fortunately for me, I was carhartt protected.  While, Erin was simply cotton protected to the knees.

Of course, the real jewel was being able to walk along the coast. It was high and foreboding, with mostly steep cliffs going down to sea level. Basically these cliffs could have been the inspiration for The Most Dangerous Game, or Treasure Island, or some of the other classic adventure novels about remote islands with strange happenings. (Perhaps I’m actually thinking about the secret island from Walter Farley’s Black Stallion series. I’m pretty sure I read everyone of them.) The cliffs were big, black, volcanic and imposing over incredible blue water crashing onto them. We found a couple of blow holes, spraying water maybe 20 meters into the air with a sound like jet engines.

We had been told by our Kiwi tent neighbors to watch out for a tunnel that would take you down into old lava tubes, leading to exits in the middle of the cliff. These were caves that were used by the locals for years and years.  So we made sure to bring a headlamp and keep a keen eye out for the entrace. We figured that the entrance would be fairly well marked, but we had been walking for so long that we thought we had passed it. Not so. We came to one cave system, checked it out, and thought it was pretty cool, but not really everything we had hoped for. Soon, however, we came to the real deal. Ana Kakenga (Cave of Two Widows) is about 50m long, goes from a small start to two major openings. It was a fun and unique experience.

The night finished with song, dance and cultural food. We had been searching for a cheap option to taste some local food and see some local dances without success. We were nearly ready to pay US$60 apiece for the privilege, but when we asked our hostel owner, she was so embarrassed by the price that she told us about the other option at half the price, and including a drink. So that’s where we went. There were four of us as Steve the Saskatchewan and Marciela the Psychologist joined us. The pisco drink started us off right, holding until the food was ready. They pulled back the black plastic tarp and the banana leaves to reveal an entire pit of meat ready to be inside my belly.

Next was the dancing. Since it was raining outside, the dance would happen in the living room. We piled in, everyone of the 40ish people, to find our seats. My wallflower position was back against the door, while Erin’s was sitting cross legged in the front. Front and center would be an understatement. Every time I looked over, or motioned that she take a picture, the dancer’s loin cloth would nearly hit her in the face. The pictures were at very strange/awkward angles with details of the stitching. Okay, not really, but it was pretty funny. Of course, I got my come-uppins when the hulu-esque dancer came over and dragged me to the dance floor. Yes, I had the wonderful opportunity to finish our stay in Easter Island with shaking my butt awkwardly, spinning around in circles, trying to keep my eyes off the coconuts and being generally embarrassed. It was good. It was fun. It was a perfect last night on the island.

The next morning was a quick empanada breakfast before we jumped on the plane to Santiago. It was an uneventful crossing back into Argentina, arrival into Mendoza and taxi back to the apartment. The only memorial part of the journey back was looking at Erin to say, “This is our last border crossing before we enter the US.” A strange realization.

As for the birthday, Todd had a couple of surprises up his sleeve. The night before he warned me about opening the refrigerator. I have never been one to peak, but just in case this year I decided to change my mind he latched two quick draws together creating a ‘lock’ on the fridge. It was pretty funny. Well, turns out there was some good stuff in that fridge. To start with, mimosa supplies including strawberries for garnish. Fabulous! Secondly, cheddar cheese. So exciting, although it does taste a little different from what we have at home. But, still bright orange, so close enough given where we are. And finally, bacon! All of these extraordinarily fabulous ingredients went into a massive breakfast feast. Which included breakfast burritos and a beautiful fruit salad, multiple pots of coffee, and two bottles of bubbly mimosas. Couldn’t have been a better morning. Oh yes it could, because the ambience was set by my new Latin pop CD’s Todd got me for my birthday. Awesome!

From there, we both reached an immediate food coma. But I did manage to talk to my folks and a couple other well wishers. It is so great that we can just talk like we were in the same city. Technology never ceases to amaze me. After some downtime, aka back to bed, we rallied. It was time for cake. I had picked out a bakery called Via Civit for the pastry portion of the birthday. Choosing the most delicious looking chocolate cake with chocolate ganache and an espresso I was set. It was a tad ambitious even with Todd’s help. We had to accept decadent defeat and wrapped up the remaining cake for later. The lady also gave me a taste of a lemon curd and strawberry fruit tart. I think that may be my most favorite dessert combination. Once home, we settled in for a relaxing afternoon.

That evening we went out to dinner. Todd had picked a place that I had never even seen before, but it didn’t open until 9pm. So, we walked around the neighbourhood, taking in the sights and enjoying the beautiful evening. We split a quick beer at outside a chicken delivery spot. It is amazing the type of random places you can sit and drink a beer here. After our beer we wandered back to the restaurant only to determine that pizza was not what we wanted. After wandering around a bit longer, we decide on Sancho’s, an Argentine parrilla. Which meant we were in for some meat. We ordered a bottle of wine and enjoyed the ambience. Todd’s sweetbreads were amazing. Who thought this once picky eater would like thyroid glands. Must be my new 29year old palate.

Overall, I had a wonderful birthday. Todd treated me like a queen, rightfully so. Another year down. 28 was huge; on the road travelling south through Latin America. 29 celebrated in Mendoza. I don’t feel old, I feel alive. Each year seems to get better and better!

I am happy to brag that I placed 18th out of 70 women and 6th in my age group of 18 to 29yr old females with a time of 1:52:27. Yes, you read that correctly, under 2 hours. And Todd did just as well, even with a pulled back muscle. His time of 1:53:47 placed him at 208 out of 475 men. I am so proud of us. I knew we could do it, but as I passed the 5k marker I had my doubts.

The route was intense. You can’t run in Mendoza without hitting a hill. And they made sure that we hit most of them. The overall race gained 1,365ft. (For reference, the KC Hospital Hill run only gains 377ft.) Climaxing at the top of the Cerro de la Gloria. I was fully prepared to walk if need be, but in the end my stubbornness didn’t allow that to happen. I made it to the top without stopping. I do think the profanities that flew from my mouth pushed me up the hill little by little. Whatever works.

The course was nice, but I was happy to cross the finish line. I gladly accepted my medal. Ok, really I was pumped to get a medal, super cool. As I received my allocation of one bottle of water and one gaterade, I began to wonder where Todd was. We had decided to run seperately since he didn’t know how his back would fare. Just as I got settle in on the side to wait, there he was, crossing the finish line with a strong stride. It was excellent. We immediately started exchanging race stories about the runners that bothered us along the way, those that passed us but were passed by us in the end, the heavy akward breathers, etc. It was pretty funny. Especially watching Todd mimic the belly forward runner. As awkward and funny as you can imagine.

We wondered over to the grass for some much needed stretching. Luckily, there was a bit of entertainment as the MC led the crowd in some post run dancing. Only in Argentina would they dance it out after such a run. Gotta love it. We hung around to see the awards ceremony, but then it was time to roll home.

Once home, it was over. We did manage a walk to the store to grab supplies for the day, but after that, nada. I believe I spent the rest of the day horizontally reclined. Indulging in unhealthy food and loving it. Todd described it as the hung over munchies minus the guilt since we had run a half marathon. Perfect. We had a great day, conquered our first 1/2 marathon, and proved that we can do anything we set our minds to.

In case you are interested, here is a link to the course map. http://img716.imageshack.us/img716/3651/circuitommvmar10.jpg

We took a taxi out to the vineyard. (45 minutes taxi ride, $15. Somethings you just have to love.) We arrive, not really knowing what to expect, what was going on. There was a lot of standing around, really. People not doing to much, just kind of waiting. Giuseppi, the winemaker, was walking around directing the minglings to clean this and do that, but other than that, not much was going on. We saw Constanza, who quickly went off to do something, so we just walked around a bit. There was clearly nothing happening right at this particular moment, as we were tourists, so we decided to walk to the area of the vineyard where they were harvesting. It was quite a walk, actually, but nice to see. I don’t know what I expected to see during a grape harvest, but there were tractors, buckets, people and knives. That’s about it, actually. Just a bunch of people cutting a bunch of grapes that would somehow end up in a bottle. Seeing the harvest helped me understand that magical transition a little better, as well as awe me even more.

We returned to the bodega, where they were already sorting and selecting grapes. There is a large funnel where the guys pour the grapes from the bucket. This goes to a conveyor belt with ridges in it, where the selection and sorting process happens. Selecting and sorting is basically taking out any leaves or twigs or things that you don’t want in the wine. You also pick out bad bunches of grapes. From the conveyor belt, the grapes drop into the de-stemmer. I have no idea how this thing works, but there’s three holes: one on the top from the converyor belt to drop in the grapes, still attached to bunches and twigs with some leaves; one on the bottom for the grapes to come out and go into a 6 inch diameter plastic tube; one on the side for the stems and twigs to appear. Like I said, no idea how it actually works. From there, the stems are taken off and made into mulch. The grapes drop out the bottom of the destemmer, like blueberry deer droppings, and go into a special pump that massages the grapes into the tube. This tube runs some 50 feet to the massive tank where all the grapes end up. There is still a fair amount of stuff in the grapes, from small leaves, twigs, and of course, all the spiders, ants, moths, chichi’s and other bugs that come with the grapes. Then, after the tank is full, which is something like 75000 liters (I think), they just turn the faucet off, unplug the tube, and then voila! You have your grapes in a gigantic steel tank, ready to be toyed with by the enological artist, aka winemaker, aka Giuseppe the bald headed Italian who speaks with a crazy accent.

After taking a couple of pictures, we jumped on in to help out on the conveyor belt. It was a little nerve-racking at first. I mean, geeze, this was the 2010 Malbec Reserve we were talking about, their flagship. What if I messed up? What if I pulled out the wrong thing? What if I didn’t pull out that one green leaf that would turn the whole thing bad? I know, that’s pretty crazy, so I got over that part pretty fast once they turned on the belt. It was pretty much like the old ‘I Love Lucy’ episode where she’s on the belt and they just keep coming and coming. There’s no stopping the belt. If you miss it, you miss it, then it goes on it. Often times someone would call out “Spider!” which was hilarious because everyone was terrified of spiders. So there would be a chunk of grapes that went through unsorted because there may or may not have been a spider in it. And, of course, the smaller the more dangerous, or so the logic goes. Granted, they do have black widows here, but come on, is a spider the size of a thumbtack really going to bite you, let alone really hurt you?

It was crazy to watch them show up with an entire truckload of grapes, start to unload them, and them pour them into a funnel, knowing you would personally watch every single grape pass beneath your eyes. That’s a lot of grapes. I don’t know how many, but it’s a great many. After the truck was unloaded and the grapes sorted, everyone would wash their hands and take a break. I guess I thought it would be a day of the classic american farmhand go-go-go, but it was not. Work for 30 minutes, off for 30 minutes. People would lie around in the grass, soaking in the sun, taking naps, talking, whatever. In the 7 hours we were there, we might have sorted 5 truckloads of grapes. Not really that much. But hey, who am I to judge? This is my first harvest.

Lunch was a real highlight for me. We were told to bring a lunch with us, so we did. I packed 3 PB&J sandwiches and an apple. (I’m trying to be extra american these days, and there’s nothing more american than PB&J.) But when we walked into the little break room, the entire family was there with a big spread of food. A couple of different types of bread, cheese, meat, tomatoes, chips, everything you need for a easy, quick sandwich. 30 minutes to get in, eat and get back out. Oh wait, no, that’s not Argentina. We had a good 2 hour lunch. It was great to be a fly on the wall and listen. One of Giuseppe’s friends came in to say hi, ended up staying for awhile. So there was Constanza, mom, dad, brother, and a friend, all Argentine. Giuseppe and his friend were Italian. Erin and I, clearly American. It was going to be a battle of accents.

They compared the corruption and political life of Argentina and Italy, which was fascinating. Argentina, in their opinion, should be competing with Brazil and Chile, but it’s not, which they attribute to politics. The IMF crash in the early 2000s really messed them all up pretty bad. One of the most difficult things they highlighted was the lack of a consistent political culture. Then they started talking about life on the farm, which lead to life in the country, which lead to food, which lead to hunting, which lead to something else, which lead to something else. It was great to be in that situation and hear them speak so candidly about these topics. Now, one of things that I really want to taste is puma. They say it’s delicious, and I believe them. Also on my list is pork blood sausage, since most blood sausage is made from cow blood. And a little known fact, the highest ice cream consumption per capita is the nordic countries. Go figure. That came up since the Chileans eat twice as much ice cream as Argentines.

One of the major complaints was that things simply don’t get done here. The concept of service simply is not there. Businesses will simply turn off their phones in the afternoon. Friday’s are basically a day of the weekend. Government services are even tougher to find. And I was able to nod my head in agreement, after being so frustrated by Argentine standards of service. It took us a month to get cable. The end result was that they pulled a cable down from the roof, through our bedroom window, through the door, into the main room. Very shoddy, to say the least. Also, our internet was cut. We’ve been complaining about this for 3 weeks. We’ve talked to our landlord, who says it’s fine. We talked to her again, okay, we’re switching services. Talk again, again. 3 weeks of this. Today, I find out that the reason we didn’t have internet was because it was cut. Our real estate agent, the fabulously incompetent Fabiana, never paid our bill. She never gave us a bill. She apparently received the bill from the company, but “didn’t think they would cut our service if we didn’t pay.” So she came by today to get the money to pay the bill. 3 months worth. No, I don’t think so. I’ll pay Jan and Feb, then when our internet is back on, we’ll talk about March. Nothing happens if there’s not some type of hammer hanging over her head. Ugh. So frustrating.

Back to the vineyard… after the wonderful lunch, we sorted a couple more trucks of grapes, then that was it. Constanza gave us a ride back into town, where we sat and talked about wine, grapes, and what a wonderful education it’s been in the past couple of years. We went to our first vineyard on this trip in the winter of 2008, to Burgundy. Spring of 2008 was also in France, which included Champagne, Loire and Bordeaux. Then our second Spring of 2008 was in South Africa. Summer 2009 in Chile and Argentina, and Fall 2010 as well. We’ve managed, over a two year period, to actually follow the cycle of a grape, ending our trip with the fall harvest, reaping the fruit.

Let’s just say, little things make me happy. This weekend is Vendimia. It is the biggest event of the year, a celebration of the harvest. Grapes get blessed, queens parade around until one is chosen as the winner, think Miss America, and the enitre city is bursting at the seems with energy, even during siesta. Incredible! I apparently am a sucker for parades. Luckily, there were two this weekend. In the states we throw candy and confetti to the crowd. Here, the kids put baskets on sticks. Didn’t get it at first. Until I saw the melons. Yep, melons. Being strategically chucked into the crowd. What the hell? And then there were the grapes, apples, toothbrushes, pasta, bottles of wine, and millions of flyers. And don’t forget the float with a moving asado that was passing out meat sandwiches. But, as the paper this morning stated, one float did do a little somethin’ for the ladies. Think beautifully oiled man, obviously no shirt, slim, trim, built and acting as though he is working hard on an oil rig. I must say it was a great addition to the big hair and ball gowns that the other floats were advertising.

After the parade last night, we ran into a rogue festival. There was an Italian Festival earlier in the week in the Plaza Italia. Because something like 90% of Argentines come from Italian heritage they get to have an official festival. Apparently, the Spanish felt left out and decided to have their own display of food, wine, music, and dance in Plaza Espana. They had paella, prosciutto, fried calamari, and things I didn’t recognize. The well priced empanadas won our vote and money.

After that we followed the crowd to Plaza Independencia, the sight of the big concert. But not before we passed the Peruvian flute act wearing North American Indian headdresses. A little odd but they were pulling it off pretty well. We clawed through the crowds and past the rows of hippie jewellery until we saw the stage. It really was spectacular. The fountain was spraying beautiful shoots of water as the light show caught each droplet as it made it’s journey to the ground. Music wasn’t so great, but the visual was amazing.

So many events this weekend, I have to keep adding because I keep forgetting. I forgot all about today. Todd went out for a run as I assured him there was nothing going on this afternoon in the park. Wrong. He was barely out of the building when I turned on the news and saw today’s parade in full effect. Today’s event included the same queen floats as yesterday, but with more bands and dancing acts. Again, awesome! But since we were late and hungry we grabbed a bite of food and watched as the acts finished. We were literally at the very end of the route. We wanted some “authentic” Argentine food, but first we had to discuss the options; lomo sandwiches, empanadss, ham/cheese toasties, and don’t forget the hot dogs. We settled on pizza. Could be considered Argentine because it is definitely not what you would find in the states.  Think more dough, less sauce, not mozzarella but some different white cheese, dust of oregano, and the requisite green olives, unpitted of course. You get used to it. It was fun to watch the performers wind down. Rapidly removing costumes and heels as the sweat poured down their faces. After water and beer, they too joined us for pizza. It was a different way to see a parade. Good stuff!

Tonight is the BIG event. The “Cantos de Vino y Libertad.” Again, think Miss America pageant. Pretty much the same with huge performances but it lasts up to 4hours long and starts at 10pm. They love the night life here. Tickets sold out in two hours. So, we will be watching the live streaming via our cerca 1980′s 12in tv. We considered sitting up on the hill and trying to catch a glimpse, but I just don’t have it in me. So, with a glass of wine and a pack of peanut m&m’s, I will be enjoying the show from our living room.

And in the meantime we are gearing up by watching TCM. If you know what movie stars Jimmy Stewart as a clown, Charlton Heston as a circus manager, and some famous blond playing a girl named Holly, let me know. It’s pretty good.

An example: Just last night I finished a book of the Johnstown Flood in the 19th century. I closed the book, remembering a road trip I took from Austin to Michigan to New York and back. I remember the area described in the book. When they talked about the rolling hills, the mines, the streams and hills covered in green, I knew that I passed that area the same time as Detroit was closing it’s factories because all of New England was in a blackout. My bookmark is a Zimbabwe 10 Dollar bill. I held it in my hand and remembered the football match in Victoria Falls, meeting John and Paolo, drinking beers in the local establishment, being scared out of our wits by the sheer desperation of the country. Then I look out the window across Mendoza and start thinking about when Erin and I first put maps in our KC apartment and said, “how do we even start?”

If the question of starting was difficult and overwhelming, the question of how to end is equally so, perhaps more. The question of how to start was back in 2006. Erin’s little sister, Maura, was barely in high school, and we were planning a trip to come back for graduation in 2010. That’s like planning a trip today that will end in 2014. Where’s the World Cup going to be in 2014? Who knows? That’s how far away the end was when we started. The end was like chasing a rainbow. It was so far away, what’s the point of even talking about it. It’s over there, not here, not now.

Well, 4 years later, it is here, it is now. I’m trying to stay focused on enjoying my time in Mendoza, but it’s tough. My mind is elsewhere, it seems. It’s on it’s slow journey back to the world that we left in January of 2008, over two years ago. The world of familiarity. It’s as if we’ve been running from what is comfortable, what we know, what we’ve spent our lives knowing. That was never the purpose, the purpose was to run toward what was new, what was different, what was unexpected, something to surprise us and change us from the inside. We found it, we were changed by what we found. Now, though, we’re far from the things that used to comfort us. But we’re finding different things that are familiar and comforting. The familiarity of routine is wonderful. Seeing somebody you know on the street. It’s an incredible feeling, really, when you’ve been without it for so long. Yet I can’t fully commit to the familiarity of Mendoza because I’m leaving. In my mind, I’m already stepping away, mentally preparing to walk off the plane in Kansas City, hug my friends, live in Idaho, cook dinners with my sister and just marvel at being back in the circle of those I know and love.

On our end, we woke up around 3:30am to the apartment rocking to and fro, the fan sounded like it was going to drop out of the ceiling and the windows were rattling. The bed felt like we had popped in a couple of quarters. The minute and a half earthquake felt like eternity. I think we both went back to sleep a bit unsettled.

This morning I turned on the tv to find out the details. The earth must have felt my attention drawn to it, because it gave a quick little shake shake. I decided it was time to get outside. Time to go running. So, needless to say, we were a bit freaked out but luckily fine. I wish I could say the same thing for the folks in Conception. At least the construction down here is prepared for earthquakes.

Last Saturday our friend, Martin, played a show for Valentine’s Day. A solo guitar gig of his own music. He did a great job. Nice unique style. To add to the ambiance we ordered a bottle of wine. Seeing that the place was called the Winery, it seemed appropriate. Server comes out, wine, no wine key. Problem one. Returns, but turns his back, pulsating in strange ways until we finally inquire about the wine. Problem two. He was attempting to open the wine by pulling it straight out of the bottle through the plastic. It obviously wasn’t working. Did I mention that he had worked up a sweat. I couldn’t stand it, so I jumped in a bit aggressively, opened the wine, poured the wine, and the poor guy stood there apologizing profusely, still sweating. The wine was good.

We had a great relaxing Velentine’s Day. A little pep talk about the power of flowers goes a long way. They smelled nice too.

We joined the climbing gym. Not quit the same as Ibex in Blue Springs. It is a partial warehouse, so open air, with the bolts screwed into well aged particle board, old pads made out of plastic covered mattresses. Some ripped exposing springs and old foam. And everything covered in 20 years of chalk, dust, and dirt. We quickly decided that harnesses would not be necessary. We are sticking to bouldering.

Other then that, Todd, with his master google skills found out about the first ever Mendoza half marathon. I know, super exciting right. Not my first thought, but since I have started running again and after I stopped laughing, I figured what the hell. So, we are in half marathon training. A little over two weeks to go, March 14th. Don’t know if I will make it the whole way, especially since part of the run is up the Cerro. But, I will give it my all.

Winemaker night was awesome this week. It featured Bodega Carmelo Patti with Carmelo himself there to talk about the wine. He is an absolute character. He values his product so much that he is willing to let it age, in the bottle for 3 to 4years before it is released into the market. The cost of doing such a thing is outrageous but since his name is on the bottle, he won’t have it any other way. Time pays off. The tasting was vertical so we tasted two Malbecs, two Cabs, and two blends from different years. The comparison was fun as was the atmosphere. Great wine, a cheese platter, and plenty of questions with witty answers. Overall, fabulous!

Last night we had a little fiesta for our friend Dan. It was a birthday/going away party. We managed to wrangle up a couple of friends, some old, some new. Since I love throwing parties, I was pumped. There was menu planning and cleaning, and wine drinking. We had a lovely bowl of Doritos for the appetizer. Not my first choice, but in the interest of simplicity (Todd’s word for keeping it on the cheap side), I rolled with the idea. And Dan loves himself some Doritos. I made some killer lasagna with garlic bread, salad, and brownies with whiskey ice cream for dessert. Must say it was a hit. As was the party. Not according to our landlord, but we made peace with a pretty bouquet of flowers.

So, we are getting in the swing of things down here. The 5hr siesta still throws me off, as does the lack of pedestrian friendly streets, or the fact that two people can take up an entire sidewalk, but what place doesn’t have its qwirks. The weather is starting to change from blistering heat to wonderful fall like conditions. It’s nice. Harvest has started. With most of the whites already harvested and red awaiting the same fate. So with wine harvest comes Vendimia, the festival of wine. Festivities start this weekend and continue through March. Climaxing with the crowning of the Vendimia queen. It’s huge, so it should be a fun couple of weeks. Tomorrow off for a long run and then to a Cafe to access the internet, since it is not currently working in the apartment. Hopefully, they fix that problem before it turns into the same 3week wait, like the cable, but I don’t see much happening in a timely manner down here. Oh, well. Looking forward to a great weekend!

Oh yeah, almost forgot, saw an add for Mc Donald’s the other day. Down here you an get meat empanades, Argentine version of a hamburger and for the finale, vino. It’s called the “Sabores Mendocinos” or Taste of Mendoza. Made me laugh.

Well, let’s get up to date, this may become a lengthy one. After our fantastic weekend and relaxing picnic we hit activity central. Before dad arrived there were many discussions about fishing. Surprise, surprise the fisherman wanted to go fishing. Well, that and the fact that I used fishing-in-one-of-the-50-places-to-fly-fish-before-you-die a.k.a. Argentina, as my own lure to get him down here. So, after spending a lot of time trying to track down guides (a hard feat when the entire country is on holiday) in the end I managed to book two trips with two companies which led to two totally different but equally fabulous days on the river.

Monday we headed out with Pablo, from the Mendoza Fly Shop, a guide with roughly 12yrs of experience, great english, and a fun personality. We headed southwest to Arroyo Grande. He mentioned the water may be fast, but this was ridiculous water I would normally pass. Yet, we managed to catch a lot of little guys. Of course, the big ones got loose as I was trying to wrangle them in. They were huge, I swear. Along with Pablo, there was his apprentice, poor guy only understood some English so it may have been a long day for him. But leave it to my dad to manage complete jokes through sign language bantering. He was also handy for all those snags that may have occurred in the thorn bushes that lined the shore. Lunch was nice, under a tree with roosters, hens, chicks, dogs, horses, and goats hovering around us in hopes of recovering a morsel or two. Now, I have had some good food on the river but this was really nice: glassware, wine, assorted meats and cheeses, empanadas. It was a great day on the river under the hot sun. I am glad that the river I usually fish is slow and tranquil. The arroyo was beautiful but due to the raging current and need for total precision, I don’t think I would call it tranquil. Day 1 on the river, success.

When we got home around 9pm our welcome from Todd was like a little kid on Christmas. I think he missed us. We grabbed a quick bite to eat and were off to bed. Round 2 on the river started bright and early on Tuesday. This time with Marcelo from Bacota Fly Fishing. It was a tad different. Marcelo took a bit to warm up to which would not have been a negative thing if we hadn’t had super personable Pablo “Polo” the day before. Yet, we headed back to Arroyo Grande. This time with a day of fast water under our belts, maybe we would catch the big one today.

Not wanting to fish the same stretch of river as the day before, we climbed high into the mountains and up river. Eventually stopping at what seemed like a completely random spot. Flabio, the cook, and Marcelo started unpacking the car. It was an incredible amount of stuff.  Dad and I got to “camp” about 5 minutes later, a short distance down the hill from the car.  They had already set out two chairs for us, a carpet under foot so we wouldn’t get dirty while we changed into boots, and a table with linen, set with freshly cut fruit, meats, cheeses, and orange juice. Let’s just say I was feeling high class. Unlike the day before, we heeded our guides warning and wore boots. I also wore some very fashionable knee high wool socks to protect my legs from the thorny bushes we were going to be walking through.

After our little breakfast snack we were off. Again, the water was fast, but now, it seemed even faster. We fished small little pockets all morning. Few nibbles and I was getting a little frustrated, but have no fear or frustration, because just then I got the big one. Okay, it was awesome. The biggest fish I’ve ever caught and it was a wonderfully colored rainbow. So, as we broke for lunch, I was feeling good while dad was singing the “at least my daughter got a fish” tune.  I wasn’t buying it.

Now, lunch the day before was something, but today, holy shit. While we were away, Flabio was busy with a true Argentine asado of chorizo, morcilla (super delicious blood sausage), beef, potatoes, and onions. The smell was hypnotic. The table had been placed under a tent with a river side view and set with engraved dishware. They even decanted the wine. Is this what they do so that you forget you have only caught one fish? It worked. Dad and I wined, dined, and had a wonderful conversation. But after our caramel flan dessert and the opening of a second bottle of wine, we decided it was time to move now or it wasn’t going to happen.

Upstream we headed, the home of the big ones. Again, the water got faster and scarier. Let’s just say if you fell in, your dismembered body would be found down stream, no chance of survival. I think it’s called white water. Anyway, we hit the pools, got some bites but really not much. I blame the wine for my inattentiveness and trouble with accuracy. But luckily dad was good and focused because just as we were wrapping up, he got a wonderful old rainbow trout. I thought my fish was nice and pretty, but dad’s fish was great. Hopefully, it made fishing in Argentina a tad more rewarding. Although, he will probably point out that it was time with me, and to that I will respond, “of course!”

So, after two exhausting days on the river and two meals a day of beef we were all looking for a little diet variety. Some wine and pasta hit the spot. We chatted the night away. It was Tuesday night and I was shooting the shit with my two favorite men right here in Mendoza. I am a lucky women.

But, the fun doesn’t stop there. No, no, Argentina may be known to fisherman for its trout, but the rest of the world would add one more thing, wine! So, although dad is a vodka man we headed out Wednesday for a day of wine touring. First stop, Caelum with Constanza.  You may remember that we met her at winemaker night at the Vines of Mendoza. She was kind enough to welcome us to the recently opened bodega for a tour. It was everything I imagined and then some. We chatted about wine process, smelled some barrel fermenting bubbly, and then headed out to the vines. I have never actually tasted a wine grape from the vine, so I was super excited as she said, ‘here try the Malbec’ as we stood in between two rows of nearly ripe grapes. So awesome, so dorky, and apparently too much acid, not ready for harvest. Could have fooled me, I thought the grapes, yes, I kept picking and eating as we chatted, were delightful. It was great to see dad enjoying the experience. We meandered our way up to the quaint tasting area where we tried their 4 varietals: Rose, unoaked Chardonnay, Malbec, and Cabernet Sauvignon. All made in a slightly European style by Italian born Gissepie, that helps set them apart from the 100+ other bodegas in Argentina. The reds were just released aka super young, but the potential is apparent. I am an “ABC” according to Constanza or “Anything but Chardonnay” yet their Chardonnay is excellent. And let’s not forget the Cabernet reserve barrel tasting, that I will buy in quantity when it is released. We left, our bellies full of pistachios and wine and our arms each totting a 6 pack of wine. Good start!

We were off to Melipal for a tour and lunch. No tour could have made us happy after our time at Caelum, so we went through the tour motions and finally sat down for a fantastic 5 course meal full with pairings. Nice wine, nice lunch, great view, but I think we were all fading a bit. The days tours went small, medium, to large ending with Catena Zapata. A beautiful winery built in the form of a Mayan temple. A bit over the top, yes, but Nicolas Catena is responsible for putting Argentine wine on the map. His altitude research is fascinating and yes, I may be a tad obsessed with him, the place and the wine. The tour was again nice, but a little industrial. At the end you have an opportunity to purchase a flight tasting. They have whole lines strictly for domestic and another for export. So, the Catena Alta that Todd and I love is only available in the states. We wanted to try the Angelica Zapata domestic line. We payed our 60 pesos for three classes and shared.

The Cabernet Franc was refreshing, not as good as Benegas Lynch, but it is nice to try a varietal that is traditionally used for blending on its own. It opened up nicely as we sat there enjoying wine speak. Even dad was full of wine speak, it was great. The Malbec, beautiful and the Cabernet Sauvignon the king. We will definitely be enjoying a lot of Catena while in Mendoza.

Exhausted we headed home. Little did dad know that Todd and I were interested in going to winemaker night at the Vines. That turned out to be a huge bust. We went, we drank, we left at break. It was like watching paint dry. It was time for some vodka. We found a great outdoor cafe and enjoyed some vodka, of course sharing the tonic, because the tonic thief must have invaded Mendoza causing a weird shortage. Another lovely dinner, no more beef, Todd and I had salads, dad, ice cream.

Thursday morning was refreshing. No tours, no need to rush out, just a day to enjoy the city. We walked the streets, perused the market, I am a sucker for the market, and shopped. It was great. I haven’t been shopping in months, yet it left us all exhausted. So, as the city began to shut down for siesta the three of us headed home with the same idea in mind. Then out of the blue Todd and dad started lusting for fried chicken, random. Seeing as my belly was experiencing some touch and go moments, I happily passed out while they went hunting. Apparently coming up short on the chicken and long on the dogs. Arriving home with buns, hot dogs, SER (that amazing Fresca-esque beverage), and apples, they were pumped. I got to work fixin’ some eats for the men and we all enjoyed a wonderful lunch of hot dogs. They are frighteningly good here, I don’t ask questions, I just eat. Reading the day away close to the fan and eventually we were ready to head out again.

Seeing as it was the last dinner in Mendoza, we wanted something nice, special, and a tad ritzier than Todd and I are capable of usually enjoying. It was a daddy visit after all. But first, off to the gas station, a place that Todd and I can and do frequent often. We call it our local spot but it is actually about a km away. But the atmosphere, think old gas station pumps removed that serves beer out of cold glasses and has servers on the weekends, all for the low price of 8 pesos or $2.75/litre. Now, think awesome! We enjoyed a beer there before heading to Anna’s Bistro.

Anna’s is unique. Instead of an outdoor sidewalk cafe, you walk into a garden oasis illuminated with red lanterns and tons of candles. They have managed to set a perfect ambiance. We had a couple of questions about the menu so before we knew what happened we had three people, two servers and the manager trying to explain everything to us. The major problem was not us, no matter what you think, but the fact that we had english menus and they only knew the menu by the spanish names. I consider that a training problem, but I am no longer in the business, so hands washed. It was entertaining, yet we did finally manage to order.

I had the lamb which was great but a little too similar to a pot roast, Todd had some delicious rabbit stuffed ravioli, and dad, take a guess, last night in town…BEEF, t-bone to be specific. Dad started off with a vodka tonic, surprise, I had some bubbles, yum, and Todd, a Fernet and coke. We raised our glasses and toasted the week. I may have gotten a little teary, was this really the end. Not yet, we still had dessert. A gluttonous move on all of our parts as half eaten treats melted away on our plates, but again, yum. It was a lovely evening. I wished it could have lasted all night.

Friday, was the end. We walked and talked and packed up the monster red bag. We tried to hawk as much stuff into the bag as the mule was willing to carry, but with all the shopping and a 6-pack of wine already inside, just the necessary stuff got a ride back to the states. That stuff being Christmas gifts of course. Hope you like the goods, fam. A sad farewell at the airport left both my dad and I in tears, a common occurrence for the two sappy Hinkens, but an occurrence I don’t mind.

It was a week I needed. I have been a bit sad, feeling displaced and lost. Finally settled here in Mendoza yet what now, what to do, how to pass the days, how do I make it feel worthwhile. I don’t know if anyone will understand, but it has been hard for me lately. Yet, my dad came to visit.  A trip that I obsessed over, but more so one that I didn’t even realize I needed so badly. Just to hug a family member again meant the world. I miss home, my family and friends, but I love my life. I think it is a bit of a conundrum. This week, with my dad, was like a recharge, a smack in the face to get it together, to be thankful for life, for the ones that you love and that love you. Basically, it meant the world to me to have my dad here, a piece of my family. It made me smile, a huge ear to ear, heart warming smile.

Crazy. I don’t think the earth wants Chris to leave Mendoza.

– Late Edit –

Apparently the quake was a 5.8. A little bigger than I thought! The MDZOL Article in spanish.

It has been a memorable experience.  Yes, there have been activities that took up a great deal of the trip and left my wallet to feel the absence of the Argentine Pesos that journeyed here with me.  However, it isn’t the activities as much as it is the participants.  Erin and Todd have been wonderful!  This town has many amazing elements.  Cafe life at 3:00 AM, bars on all the windows and doors of the houses, businesses and apartments and buses that run in the hundreds spewing exhaust as they accelerate at a rapid pace.  Todd has saved me from certain death on a number of occasions by tugging me back from the on coming traffic.  Traffic will NOT stop for you.  Erin and I shared two days of fishing in the waters around Mendoza.  Strange, fast and dangerous water that allowed you to hike for half a mile before fishing a ten foot pool that would suck your fly into the abyss.  It isn’t the number of fish but the size and the fight in the fish.  Erin caught the largest fish of her life and I also caught a rather large specimen of the rainbow trout family.  Fishing Montana or Idaho is certainly different; however, the lunch by the river was spectacular.  The food, the conversation and the wine all made for a special two days of fishing in South America.

Wine? Yes, I have been known to drink wine and enjoy it’s properties and heritage.  However, after visiting the Vines of Mendoza frequently, hiring a driver to take us to three separate vineyards and drinking wine with every meal I was ready for some Vodka.  Sad that there is a tonic shortage in Mendoza so I used it very sparingly.

I have met some characters during this adventure and I have enjoyed the alone moments and the in depth conversations with Erin and Todd.  I now know what it feels like to make a call to the states on a computer and I understand why the echo is present on the other end of the phone.  The effort present in writing your thoughts to unknown persons is enormous.  A specific audience is easier to address on a specific topic but these words fly out to some place (Todd can and does attempt to explain that to me in depth)unkown.  Is anyone listening?  Does anyone read this stuff?

I long for “the kids” to have a real place of their own.  They are no longer on the road but actually have an address; some permanence? As yet unknown.   Their lives continue to develop like an old Polaroid picture from an instant camera (does that date me?)  Events, times, experiences and places of interest can be duly recorded and shared for posterity. The best that can be said of this trip is that I got to see Erin in her “home” and had the chance to get to know Todd even a little better than before.  More important than the activities is that I have once again been able to hold on and hug two people that I love dearly!!  It’s the little things that are the big things; the important moments of life that can’t be captured by a camera: only by a heart!  One more day……….the journey continues.