Visitors to Chez Rodrigues back in the Garden of England usually can't help but notice our fridge-freezer unit - not so much because of its no-doubt fascinating heat-exchange properties as because of the hundreds of magnets that, one by one, are removing any evidence of said fridge ever having been white. Although the oldest of them dates back to the same Canada trip mentioned back in Iguazú, in took another 7 years for another to join it - specifically, in the form of an inanely grinning Dartmoor sheep. Anyway, through some strange twist of fate, our 2004 family holiday to Denver and Colorado saw us return to Sevenoaks with a barrage of magnets from all over the state, and thus began what has subsequently become something of a family addiction. The last count of the magnets (and indeed the only one to have ever taken place) was by that young firebrand Adam Dowson* back in September 2009 and put the total at some 180... so it's fair to say the effort has been taken to heart. It is equally fair to assume - correctly - that the number above will be significantly burgeoned by the last five and a half months of my globetrotting.
Then, of course, there's my epic keyring collection - somewhat retired nowadays (on cost grounds) but still made up of over 400 keyrings representing anything and everything from all over the world, all on a single 6kg bunch. And there's my coin collection, with a monetary value probably close to £250; my 20-strong collection of Hard Rock Cafe t-shirts... the list (of general crap) goes on...
Basically, I've always liked to collect things (or, as my Mum would say, I'm a chronic hoarder), and this feature is extended in all its glory to passport stamps. I love all aspects of travelling, but one that is always guaranteed to register a thump of satisfaction is the thud of another travellers' badge of honour. And thanks to our excellent travel route that presently involves diving back into Argentina, our last bus journey added a couple of new additons to that collection... well worth the 3am wake up/get out/wait around for an hour and a half before going anywhere routine at the border (or not).
One way or another, I was totally zonked as we found ourselves taxiing around from one hostel - fully occupied - to another at 7am on a fresh Mendoza morning. The second, Hostel Lao, had said it was fully booked on Hostelworld (online booking website), but with luck for once on our side we managed to snag ourselves a couple of dorm beds that had become available overnight. I don't think either of us appreciated quite how lucky we were, until a few hours later when we found ourselves part of an 11-person crew heading over to the Maipú district on the edge of the city to tour Mendoza's famous wineries by bicycle. Several of said gang had attempted to book in Hostel Lao in advance, but because of insane demand (no doubt thanks to its 95% approval rating on Hostelworld) had been forced to spend a few nights in other places before they could move in... leaving us feeling pretty damn smg about just rocking up and getting beds!
Long delays arrested our departure, but armed with 9 of "Coco Bike Rentals'" finest frames and one 2-man tandem bike, our convoy finally took to the road at about 1.30pm and we made our first stop at an excellent artesenal beer garden - the sort of place the word "kotching" was invented for (see right - HT: Taylor Gill for the photos while mine remain stuck on memory cards). Surrounded by countryside and vineyards, we lounged on sofas and chairs and took our pick of their local brews; after excellent experiences with the stuff in Bariloche and Valpy, I went for the malty cerveza negra ("black beer"), and myself and the 2 others who opted for it were rewarded with what is without doubt one of the best beers I've ever drunk.Our Anglo-Australo-Yankee crew ended up spending the best part of an hour kotching, but disaster struck when we eventually left - Nick (who we would later discover had spent 3 years of uni in Oxford over the road from us at Christ Church) snagged a puncture on his front tyre. With the boys from Coco rentals happy to drive over with a replacement bike at any stage, discovering the puncture earlier would have been perfect - our waiting around for the swap to take place would have perfectly co-incided with chilling with our brewskis. Instead, we had a timing nightmare - not enough time left to hang around waiting, but stuck with a slow mover when trying to gas our way over to the main business of tasting (/generally drinking) el vino.
Desperate times call for desperate measures (how many times has The Daily Rod featured those very words), and 5 minutes later we found ourselves ploughing down the main road in a motley bike crew the likes of which have (probably) never graced a road before. Much to the amusement of all the schoolkids we passed, leading the pack was the tandem bike; Luke the Aussie leading with Nick, holding his stricken bike, comically sat at the rear (see below). Following behind came yours truly, more than a shade knackered from the added weight I was propelling - sat on the mesh above my rear whell was Kim (Aussie) - Luke's girlfriend who had been turfed off hear rear tandem seat to make way for the Nick/bicycle combo. This was further followed by a train of gringo cyclists in various levels of undress, and truly must have been a sight to behold.
Various interchanges of bikes were made as we progressed - ultimately Nick and I took turns to cycle the thing in its flat-tyred state - and we eventually rocked up at Mendoza's newest winery where we were supposed to be able to get a good bit. Hot, sweaty, and above all touristy, we traipsed into a restaurant full of suits and shirts and fairly soon afterward sauntered straight back out. A good bite may have been on offer, but its price sure as hell wasn't aimed at your humble backpacker!
We'd passed Bodega Familia di Tomasso - an older, generally better looking winery on our way and were heading back there, but first took the opportunity of a quick tasting at this new place before we left with our collective tails between our legs.
Conoisseur of wine I may not be, but even I can fairly distinguish the fact that a red wine tends to be red, and that a white wine that you can't see any light through is probably not going to be the best one to drink. So what with samples of three pretty mediocre wines coupled with a tasting note explanation straight out of Graeme Le Saux's textbook of stating the bleeding obvious, all in a setting that looked like a pre-fab warehouse had been unceremoniously dumped in a countryside otherwise tastefully dotted with century-old wineries, and you had some pretty unimpressed, hungry people leaving the place at what was by now about 3.30pm.
Thankfully, Bodega di Tomasso - one of the oldest of the Maipú wineries - was excellent and the "daily special" lasagne went down a treat, all the better washed down with the house Malbec; more of which was sampled on the tour and tasting that followed our collective meal. Details of the workings of wineries are best heard about should you bother to visit one rather than here; suffice to say I was duly impressed and Anna and I purchased ourselves a nice bottle of Malbec to enjoy at a later stage. A long ride back to Coco Rentals was extended further when we realised we had time to visit an artesenal chocolate/jam/sauce/absinthe producing place on the other side of Coco. We got to try a bit of everything, but while I can't speak for everyone, I'm fairly certain the boys paid their money purely for the absinthe at the end. It was suitably disgusting - as anything of 75% alcoholic volume is obviously going to be - but there was no questioning that it had to be done (and also helped, in terms of Dutch courage, in securing a photo of a local Argentine copper Backing the Bid).
Fast forward a few hours, and I was hungry enough to eat a horse, so joined Nick and fellow wine tour cyclists Tom (19-year-old West Country lad on a pre-uni gap year) and Taylor (American girl) who were heading off to a highly recommended steak house. Anna didn't join us as she wasn't feeling hungry enough to justify the cost, which was a shame as Don Mario served up the best bit of meat I've had in Argentina (which is seriously saying something after El Desnivel in BA). It always entertains me eating with new people - I tend to order fairly outrageously large dishes as I need them to fill the bottomless pit of a stomach I seem to possess, but given my relatively diminutive size these orders are often met with great scepticism. Tonight was no different - I went for the 600g Chateaubriand while the others went with 450g options, and when the monster fist of meat you see on your right turned up a little later, either Nick or Tom were on the verge agreeing a bet on me to finish all my plate. Shame, because it was absolutely destroyed, but with steak that good I don't really know where my limit would be. Back in Hostel Lao, a fun evening has passed by with various drinking games and general banter with the cyclists (many of whom don't actually have beds here), wrapping up an absolutely first rate day back to Argentine territory.
* congratulations are in order on the new job!
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