Wine country is wasted on those that can´t tell the difference between a bottle of ¨Two Buck Chuck¨ and a bottle of…  Wait.

Wine country is wasted on those that can´t name a brand of wine other than ¨Two Buck Chuck.¨

It´s a fun place to be ignorant and thirsty, though.

Traveling from Buenos Aires, this is my first opportunity to travel in a ¨full cama¨ (meaning ¨bed¨) bus.  I´ve ridden brand spanking new buses, and those that seemed mere moments away from a rusty demise, and none of them make for comfortable, night-time somnambulance, but this might be my one opportunity.  Each pair of seats is divided both at the head and feet by wooden barriers, and the seat backs stretch all the way back while the footrests rise, making a full, comfortable bed of sorts, long enough for anyone under six feet tall.

My mother holding aloft her won bottle of bingo wine

Sadly, I am 6´4¨.

Luckily, I was able to curl up a bit and make it work, and we arrived in Mendoza the next morning after an almost full night´s unconsciousness.  In addition to the added comfort features, travel includes a movie (standard on almost any bus, really) and dinner (my first on a bus), along with a game of bingo, which I’ve since been told is a standard on the Buenos Aires/Mendoza route.  My mother being the winner of the brief game (only a 4×4 grid), she was handed a free bottle of relatively decent Argentinian red wine.  All this for a fairly affordable price that I conveniently walked away without paying while my mother stood behind at the counter.

Whatever.  Tour guides this good could charge triple.

Mendoza is both a province and the capital city of said province, in addition to being world renowned for creating some of the best wines and olive oils in South America, if not the world.  The altitude compared with the flatness of the land and relative dryness all combine to create the perfect environment for grape and olive harvesting.

Within the city, fascinating trenches run parallel to all the city streets, often with a powerful throughput of water flowing through them.  My mother and I commented on their uniqueness to locals several times, being told by them that it both protects the city and irrigates.  Only later did I discover that they´ve been a feature of the town since its inception in the 1500´s, installed by the unfortunately named (with 20/20 hindsight) Huarpes Indians.  In 1861, an earthquake killed over 5000 people, leading to a rebuilding of Mendoza better capable of withstanding such seismic activity.  As such, the streets and sidewalks are wider than at any other location in Argentina.

These long trenches run alongside every street in Mendoza

It´s wine country, so the most popular day trips involve quick tours of any of the surrounded wineries that dot Mendoza´s landscape (there are hundreds, apparently).  The most popular is the infamous “Wine & Bike” Tour, where tourists are dropped off in the center of wine country with bikes and a local map to help them get around.  This didn’t seem like the ideal trip to bring parents along on.  Our tour takes us to a large winery and then the mom-and-pop equivalent, just for some perspective.  Topping it off is an olive oil factory which is marginally interesting, but due to the many snacks served upon completion, a perfect way for the tour to end.

Not being wine aficionados, one day ends up being more than enough time for us and we depart the following afternoon by bus for Santiago, Chile.  On a map, Argentinian Mendoza seems to almost directly border Santiago, compared to Buenos Aires which now sits far off in the distant east, but the bus ride (¨semi-cama¨ this time — the seats lean back, but no more than they typically would) lasts more than half as long (6 hours, compared to 10).

Longer, actually, as we discover upon reaching the Chilean border.  For two hours we sit, doing nothing before anyone ventures out to discover if the delay is normal.  Apparently, several customs agents neglected to show up for work, and we´re stuck waiting on the few that did bother to make it in to get to us.  A long line of trucks stretches off in the distance back toward Mendoza, and we´re told they likely won´t be getting through until morning.

An hour or so later, customs searches through our bags as diligently as Chileans did back in Patagonia.  I´d warned my mother against apples, but this time she´s the primary cause of delay.  Sun-dried tomatoes.  Three packs, vacuum-sealed and purchased as souvenirs at the Mendoza olive oil factory.  They´re confiscated, though my mother is not required to write an apology note of any sort.

Chileans do not mess around.

Inside one of the wineries

And the wine therein

Lunch on the sidewalk in Mendoza

Waiting to get into Chile

The long line of trucks waits to get in.

Looking out the window at the Andes. I’d been through them many times in Ecuador, but the environment here was completely different and more arid than further north.

[Editor's note: After an epic three-day weekend of blogging (fun!), I'm far more caught up than I thought I could be.  Tomorrow at 5 am, it's off to Machu Picchu!  Few updates likely this week, but more to come soon.  --y]