Malbec, Mountains, and Meat on Meat.
Day 31 – One Month, a Thousand Moments
A whole month on the road! Somewhere between desert sunrises, freezing geysers, and one too many empanadas, time just evaporated.
Today’s journey: a long bus ride from Santiago, across the Andes via the legendary Los Libertadores pass: thirty-six hairpin turns through what
can only be described as a moving postcard. Hours later, we rolled into Mendoza, Argentina’s land of wine, warmth, and the promise of Malbec.
My hiking boots and I were ready to part ways.
*****
Day 32 – Election Day on Route 40: No Wine, Just Meat.
Some days can only be described as… MEHH. Mendoza’s reputation as the wine capital of Argentina had me picturing us cruising the famous Wine Route,
sipping world-class Malbecs at charming bodegas. The usual “I’m-in-a-wine-commercial” fantasy.
Except… tiny detail… it was election day in Argentina. No wine sales. Anywhere. All wineries closed. Apparently, democracy and drinking don’t mix here.
Fine, we thought, we’ll still enjoy a scenic drive through endless vineyards. Wrong. Route 40, the so-called “Wine Road,” turned out to be the visual equivalent of plain oatmeal, miles of beige sand dunes, not a grapevine in sight, the Andes in the distance looking like they were rolling their snowy eyes.
By lunchtime, we were aungry, that dangerous combo of angry and hungry that turns minor inconveniences into Greek tragedies.
Most restaurants were closed (elections again), but we found one jam-packed with locals, always a good sign. We didn’t bother with the menu.
“Bring us whatever’s best,” we told the waitress.
What arrived was a mountain of meat: meat on meat, topped with more meat, crowned with two fried eggs.
There may have been fries underneath, but they were buried in the protein avalanche. Cholesterol heaven. Zero shame.
Full bellies restored our faith in the world, and we took the back roads home, which is where we finally found the Mendoza everyone talks about:
lush vineyards framed by magnificent Andes. We ended the day at a hilltop statue of Jesus overlooking the valley.
Even meh days can end on a high note — literally.
*****
Day 33 – Lost in the Clouds (and Possibly in the Plan).
I spent three hours the night before crafting the perfect itinerary, cross-referencing Google Maps, ChatGPT, and Google’s AI. Two geniuses are better than one, right?
The plan: drive to Reserva Natural Villavicencio, hike, have a scenic lunch, then take the famous Caracoles switchback road to Uspallata.
Foolproof…. Well???
An hour into our drive on Route 52, we noticed something odd: not a single car in either direction. “Quiet Monday after election day!” we told ourselves cheerfully.
Then a sign appeared: Bienvenidos a la Reserva Natural Villavicencio. And below it, in much less welcoming letters: Open Wednesday to Sunday.
We’d arrived at a closed nature reserve. My colour-coded plan: officially useless.
Being flexible (and slightly stubborn) travellers, we turned it into a spontaneous road trip. As we climbed higher, the clouds thickened until they swallowed us whole, visibility down to two metres, and the paved road morphed into a narrow dirt track. The “viewpoints” were pure white fog. Signs warned of guanacos and pumas, but a puma could have been waving at us, and we wouldn’t have seen it.
Then, something magical: the roadside plants began to sparkle white through the mist. “How pretty!” I said, jumping out for a photo, only to realise they were covered in ice. Of course they were.
After an hour of ghostly driving, we crested the summit at 2,775 metres. And then, cinematically, we descended out of the clouds to find the Andes stretching
before us in full glory. By the time we reached Uspallata, the ice had melted, the sky was blue, and empanadas were waiting. Is there anything they don’t fix?
*****
Day 34 – Oxygen Optional: From Peaks to Fighter Jets.
Blue skies! A perfect day, until we stepped outside into freezing air. Back in, I went to pile on layers until I resembled the Michelin (wo)Man.
Fashion: zero. Warmth: ten.
Destination: Aconcagua Provincial Park. At 6,961 metres, Aconcagua is the highest peak outside Asia, basically the Beyoncé of mountains.
The drive was pure magic, rivers rushing down from the Andes, carving glowing red sediment walls.
We arrived to find the visitor centre completely deserted. We called out. Silence. Then three cheerful guys materialised out of nowhere: “No problem, just park and go walking!” Argentine chill at its finest. We had the entire park to ourselves, just us, the wind, and one very impressive mountain.
Halfway through the circular trail, I was huffing like a chain-smoker on a treadmill. Then I checked my watch: altitude 2,765 metres.
Not losing fitness, just oxygen. A 45-minute stroll became a 90-minute photo-shoot-slash-awe-fest.
Next stop: Puente del Inca, an otherworldly natural bridge sculpted by mineral-rich hot springs, glowing in yellows and oranges.
Legend says Inca warriors turned to stone, forming it to help a prince reach healing waters. Geologists say minerals. Either way: stunning.
Nearby, the ruins of a 1920s luxury spa hotel, Gatsby in the Andes, wiped out by a landslide in the ’60s, with a tiny chapel stubbornly standing guard beside it.
With hours of daylight left, we retraced yesterday’s fog-covered route to finally see what we’d missed, until a truck blocked the road. The army.
The air force was training overhead. How long? “Twenty, thirty minutes.” So we found a comfortable rock and watched fighter jets soar and spin across the bluest sky.
Free airshow.
When the road reopened, yesterday’s foggy viewpoints revealed themselves in full colour. And then… guanacos! Elegant, curious, photogenic, like llamas that went to finishing school.
*****
Day 35 – Wetsuits, White Water, and One Mighty Lunch.
Some days are about pure, unfiltered fun, the kind that makes you feel like a kid again. Today was one of those days.
We drove the jaw-dropping Ruta 7 toward Mendoza, then pulled off to conquer the mighty Río Mendoza. From the road, it had looked like a mildly enthusiastic stream, something you’d dip your toes into, not hurl yourself down in a raft. Yoni and I exchanged that silent couple’s look: did we sign up for a splashy canoe ride?
Optimism (and non-refundable bookings) prevailed. After the standard “don’t fall out” lecture and some questionable helmet fashion, we hit the water, and I immediately thanked every river god for the wetsuit. Glacier-born, bone-chilling, who-needs-coffee cold. I absolutely loved it.
That innocent stream had serious mood swings. Within minutes, we were bouncing through rapids, laughing off the canyon walls.
At one wild stretch, we both nearly went overboard. I found it hilarious. Our guide did not. Yoni’s contribution to “team paddling” was enthusiastic if not exactly synchronised. By the end, we were soaked, exhausted, and completely exhilarated.
On shore, my hip filed an official complaint, my knees were jelly, and my feet had become human popsicles. Never so happy to see a hot shower.
Post-thaw, hunger struck dramatically. The universe delivered: a roadside food truck with heavenly empanadas, parked beside the shimmering blue waters of Lake Potrerillos. The Andes mirrored in the water, warm empanada in hand, post-adventure buzz humming. Bliss.
*****
Day 36 – Malbec Ice Cream and Cow Sandwiches: A Mendoza Goodbye.
Our flight to Bariloche wasn’t until 17:00, but a slight miscalculation (fine, my miscalculation) meant returning the car at 13:00.
Four glorious hours of airport fun ahead. But first, Mendoza city, which we’d only glimpsed from the highway.
We joined a local walking tour (in Spanish, naturally, nothing like a lightning-speed guide to get the brain steaming before 10 a.m.).
Mendoza, it turns out, was designed as a green city from the start, every street lined with enormous trees, cutting one down practically a criminal offence.
Beautiful wide avenues, a graceful tug-of-war between elegant old homes and shiny new development, and a main park bigger than Central Park. Take that, New York.
Then, the essential local ritual: Malbec ice cream. Wine-flavoured ice cream in Argentina’s wine capital is absolutely divine. Wine you can eat? I’m in.
Back at Plaza Independencia, Halloween fever was in full swing, and a grill was heroically cooking what appeared to be half a cow on an open flame.
We joined the queue, or rather, created it, because within five minutes, forty hungry people had lined up behind us.
Our reward: two monstrous steak sandwiches serving simultaneously as lunch and dinner.
Just as well, because the universe threw in a one-hour flight delay. Apparently, four hours at the airport wasn’t quite enough fun.
But tomorrow? Bariloche. Argentina’s Lake District jewel. Mountains, lakes, and chocolate. Stay tuned… paradise awaits.
