Desert Roads, Take Me Home

Part V of VI

El Transito winery

If I were to return to Argentina’s wine region and only visit one place, or advise anyone on a trip to this part of the country, it would be to go to Cafayate.  I would then stay awhile.

Cafayate is a quiet town located in the southern part of the Salta province.  Many tourists stop here for the afternoon on day trips from the city of Salta or just passing through.  The thing about Cafayate is that it is located in the stunningly beautiful Calchaquines Valley, surrounded by gently majestic sandy-brown and cobalt-hued mountains, clear skies (it is sunny 340 days a year), and the contagious ease of small town life.

We were fortunate enough to ride in the front of the bus on the 3 hour ride through the Quebrada Canyon from Salta to Cafayate.  Normally we all passed bus time reading or napping, but the closer we got to our destination, the more magnificent the scenery; it seemed rude to concentrate on anything else!

Through the Quebrada: Rob & Kristin take it all in

The Grape is Made of Wine

Another plus of visiting Cafayate if you want to learn about wine and wine production is that there are not only a large handful of vineyards within town limits – Mendoza’s were all a bikeable distance into the countryside – or right outside, but it is also home to the notable El Museo de la Vid y el Vino (Wine and Vine Museum).

"A man from the vineyards spoke, in agony... Before dying
he revealed his secret: The grape is made of wine.
And I thought, 'If the grape is made of wine, perhaps we
are the words that tell what we are.'"
~Eduardo Galeano

While I was mostly in awe over the intensity, attention to detail, and rigorous schedule a grape farmer must possess, I also walked away with a few other “did you knows?” including:

• The first vineyards in Chile and Argentina were started by Jesuit priests as a way to have a supply of wine for church services’ communions.
• Wine should be stored on its side so that the cork is in contact with both the wine itself and the air outside the bottle.  Its chemistry.
• Speaking of corks, the longer it is, the better quality the wine is (usually).
• Of the world’s productive wine-producing regions, Argentina has all of those located at the highest elevations.  (Malbec and Cabernet grape varieties, among other lesser known ones like Torrantes and Bonarda,  have become famous here because they grow best in such conditions.)
• The larger the vessel, the longer the wine will maintain its intended flavor.  So, therefore, mini-bar bottles of wine are risky.
  
  

Desert Fruits

If Argentina as a whole is famous for steak, Cafayate and the surrounding region are famous for their tasty empanadas.  We had read this somewhere prior to our visit so we saved extra room each day to sample as many kinds as we could.  My favorite, though I can happily claim that I never had a bad one, was filled with goat meat, cheese, and spinach.  I may have had three.

Wine-flavored
ice cream!

Rob and I also discovered a quaint little bakery down the road from our hostel that specialized in an Argentine favorite, the alfajor (say: al-fah-hor).  These exist in Colombia but consist of two wafer-thin crust-like cookies separated by a layer of dulce de leche (like arequipe or caramel) and are generally the size of a checker piece.  The Argentine variety is like a mini cake, with a generous layer of dulce de leche sandwiched between thick and generally spongy cookies, all covered in chocolate.  (Think of a Hostess brand Zebra Cake and imagine it five thousand times better.)  By the end of our short stay in Cafayate, the proprietor of the bakery knew us on site.

Beautiful Disaster

Our second day in Cafayate ended with the words “I may have done some foolish things today.”  While we all committed to renting bicycles for the day, my four travel companions decided to backtrack to the road through the Quebrada we came in on the day before and visit some of the spectacular canyon formations.  They hopped on a tour bus leaving town and were dropped off about 50 km later to begin the rolling journey back.

I, on the other hand, opted to visit an ancient archeological site known as Quilmes, named for the indigenous people who resided there back around the time the Incas were conquering South America.  The Quilmes are the only known population to have not been conquered, while remaining within Inca territory; the Incas just never found them!

The open road: so little traffic on the road I had plenty of time to set
up this self timed shot.  A blessing here, a curse later...

The lady at our hostel told me the ride would be “around 50 km round trip” and “very flat.”  After confirming this understanding with her again, and having the hostel janitor nodding in agreement behind her, I headed out with my two bottles of water, confident in the day ahead!  57 km later I arrived at Quilmes, convinced that this was not a matter of “lost in translation,” but sabotage.)

Quilmes

The site was what you would expect from an archeological site in the desert this old.  Hip-high walls of tightly packed rocks climbing a mild slope for a clear vantage point of the valley nicely summarizes the layout of what remains. 

My legs were already a little weak as I left the ruins at Quilmes; 57 km is a long way to bike after not having ridden since last summer.  About 20 km later, sun beating down, I realized this needed to end.  There are essentially two blink-and-you-miss-them towns along the way, open roads with few passing vehicles, and lots of hot, dry, sunny desert.  I stocked up on water at the first of the two towns and pushed on, literally. 

After about an hour of walking my bike up rises and coasting down declines, waving at passing vehicles (only non-cars since I had a bike), and thinking about how badly burned my exposed leg would be later, a nice farmer and his wife pulled their pick-up over on the side of the road and offered me a ride. 

What successful hitch-hiking looks like.

A little over six hours later I stumbled back into our hostel only to find the rest of my cohorts had also recently returned.  It turned out we had some similar experiences: Kelsi’s chain broke 2km into their day and she had to hail a passing La Posada tour van; Rob got behind Kristin and Narissa when his bike malfunctioned and ended up walking 25km.  Rob and I both learned that single male gringos with bikes on  the side of the road make people more inclined to wave but not stop.

Despite all this, pretty bad burn on my left leg and backs of my hands included, Cafayate won all of us over!

Wine 'em & Dine 'em

Part III of VI

Visit your local grocer and you will find that the majority of Argentine wines come from Mendoza.  Ergo, it was decided that the beginning of our semi-self-guided wine tour should begin here.  Note that the city of Mendoza is located in the province of the same name; the later is usually what appears on the wine bottle’s label.  Nevertheless, there is an abundance of wineries located in and around the city of Mendoza, conveniently accessible by bicycle.

Our first day in Mendoza we took an intracity bus to the town of Maipu.  (Not to worry: a significant number of jokes and puns showcasing our immense immaturity were dolled out during this portion of the trip.)  In one afternoon we were able to visit and do tastings at three “bodegas” including the traditional Familia de Tommaso vineyard which has been around since 1869, the boutiquey and trendy Mevi, and the modern Tempus Alba.  We unfortunately ran out of time and missed a visit to one of the largest vineyards of a some widely distributed wines, Trapiche. 

Tempus Alba vineyards

But this was no “pub-crawl” on wheels!  On each tour we were given samples and told the distinct differences in how the grapes were turned into wine.  For example, if a bottle is marked as a “reserve” wine it is what winemakers called “oaked,” meaning it was aged in a wooden barrel.  By contrast, “young wines” are aged in stainless-steel barrels.  In either case the wine is never aged for more than 18 months.  The amount of time in the aging process and the type of container has an enormous affect on the flavor of the wine, as well as the type of grape.

While most of the grapes grown in the Mendoza region are malbecs or cabernets, there are several lesser-known varieties including the bonarda, which we were able to sample during the Mevi tour.  We learned later that the Mendoza region is the highest wine-growing region in the world, which explains why different regions – France, California, Australia, Spain, etc. – are famous for different types of wines.

Back in the city of Mendoza we found a laid back city with many small plazas and one large, gorgeous park.  The Parque General San Martín (a lot of stuff named after this guy, by the way) needs to get a nomination for “Best Potentially Gaudy & Overdone Landscaping in the Grecian Style That Somehow Isn’t” Award.  After wandering through the city as it closed down for Christmas Eve, we ended up in this vast, over-stylized, rose-filled park and did what you do in beautiful parks: lay down and stare at the sky.  The sky with the sun and the clouds that bring us delicious wine-producing grapes!

Wandering the streets of Mendoza

Rob & me practicing "proper" wine-tasting etiquette at
the historical Familia de Tommaso winery.

Tree-lined country road outside of Maipu.

"We are all mortal until the first kiss and the second glass of wine."  ~Eduardo Galeano

Biking through Maipu! (C'mon, you know you wanna giggle at that.)

Narissa & Kelsi in Parque General San Martín

I "Sea" Your True Colors

Thanksgiving is a time to be grateful.  I am grateful for many things - family, friends, my job, health, etc. - but I found one more to add to the list.  The beautiful island of San Andrés.  For Thanksgiving Break a small group of us hopped on a plane and headed for the tiny patch of land 12 km long and 3 km wide (at its greatest point) closer to the mainland of Nicaragua than to Colombia, for a few glorious days of white sand beaches, crystal-clear waters, and general relaxation.

Normally, as evidenced by the travels documented in this blog, I prefer to explore, discover, and generally fend for myself on my adventures.  We opted this time for exactly the opposite - an all-inclusive stay at the Decameron San Luis.  I may have been converted in the ways of vacation travel.

Despite it's small size, there is much to do on this Caribbean island other than lounging on the beaches looking out at the famous "siete colores del mar" or the fact that the ocean appears to have seven colors, all of them stunning variants of blue.  The easiest way to see these sights is to find a way to travel around the island at your leissure.  Golf carts, scooters, and bikes are all available for rent in the largest settlement, San Andres City, at the northernmost end of the island.  We opted for the latter, mosltly as a way to fend off all the extra calories we were allowing ourselves with three square buffet meals each day.

Swimmin' with the fishes!

While circling the island we stopped at a place known as La Piscinita ("the small pool"), a tiny cliff-shaded cove teeming with tropical fish.  Now, one can assume that these fish were once here on their own accord, however, they congregate now for the chance to eat the pieces of bread tourists are given when they pay their US .50 cent entrance fee.  Fortunately, the fish are only interested in you when you still pocess bread and quietly ignore your presence when you are out.

Getting drenched at the blow-hole.

At the southernmost tip of the island is El Hoyo Soplador (the Hoyo blow-hole), a geiser created by a small channel carved into the volcanic rock reaching out to the crashing surf.  This blow-hole mostly just hisses and mists water with impressive force, however, every once and a while it shoots water two meters into the air, drenching anyone standing near, including yours truely.

Dotted around the the northern and eastern sides of the island are several smaller plots of land.  These smaller islands, or cays, are alos popular as day-trips for tourist who want another option for a beach.  We visited Rocky Cay on afternoon, unique in that a sandbar makes it possible to reach the islet on foot without fear of wetting one hair on your head.  This shallowness was not a friend, however, to the shipwrecked boat moored just off the shores of the cay.

There is plenty more to do on this island, including visiting a Baptist church in the settlement of La Loma on the top of the island, built in Alabama and contructed on the island.  (Unlike most of Colombia, most San Andres residents identify themselves as Baptist.)  Not to mention other snorkeling opportunities, Captain Morgan's cave, and visits to the other cays not within walking distance.

I guess this just means I'll have to go back...you tell me if I'll have company or not.

Are We There Yet?

Once, after graduating from college, I went back and swam in the alumni meet, which pitted the current team members against graduates from years close and distant. As a collegiate swimmer, my specialty had been the distance events and so it only seemed logical to me to compete in one of those. "The 500 is short," I remember thinking, "I'll do that one." Never in my life have I ever been less trained or conditioned for an athletic endeavor.

Until now.

Last weekend seven teachers from school took our mountain bikes and headed north to the small city of Tuluá, an hour from Cali. Here we began an 8 hour Travesía (bike tour) of the neighboring mountains visiting remote pueblos such as San Pedro and Buenos Aires.

Now, I ride my bike ever Sunday morning with, more or less, this same group, but its only once a week and never more than four hours, at the most. We stop every so often to make sure no one is lost and then push on some more. These Sunday rides are challenging, now doubt, but the end is always in sight.

This Travesía had no end. While the terrain wasn't horrible - I've ridden on trails with rocks the size of my head - it was still rough and bumpy much of the time and several streams or stream-beds were traversed. The grade of the climb was not impossible either, it just didn't ever let up; seemingly always inclining, an angle of 15° seemed might as well have been flat ground at times.

The entire event was amazingly well organized. A Jeep and motorcycle followed along with the approximately 100 or so bikers as we covered over 60km of mountain trails. The large man with the scruffy beard, greasy hair, baseball cap and red shirt, who we began secretly referring to as el gordo rojo took many pictures of all the participants and provided vocal support from his comfortable seat in the Jeep, much to our exhausted chagrin.

The scenery was outstanding. I'm not sure what our final altitude was but the ride down into the valley was stunning. Cloud-topped mountains displayed their full greenery of virtually untouched forest. Even on the lower slopes as we passed small family farms with fields of banana trees, the majesty of the hills was humbling. I kept saying to myself, "I was just up there!"

Rodrigo and me at the "end" of the course.

At the end of the course we were served lunch (and then had to bike another 7km back to the start) and given a medal of completion. This is possibly the biggest and nicest medal I've ever received for anything, let alone just finishing a bike race. I think maybe it's for gluing my butt to a bike seat for 8 hours; that's definitely worthy of a big fancy medal.

Today, two days later, my legs are a little sore and my lower back is still stiff. I take this as a sign to either bike more than once a week or find shorter Travesías!