The weekend of wine and Mr. Hugo.

Mate. Malbec. Bikes. Mountains. Snow. Rafting. Real Coffee. Street Bizzares. Gelato. Carne. Friends.

A mi me encanta Argentina. (I love...)

Argentina and Chile probably share more border crossing than any two other countries. Living in the shadow of the Andes in Santiago, I decided to take advantage of that this past weekend. However, despite the proximity of Little Chile (its name, as I've been told the wine capitol of Argentina is known as by Chileans) Mendoza is a full work day's distance away. The reward, however, of spending additional hours in transit is sublime and breathtaking with vistas of the Andes that one will never forget.

But, after a surprisingly short (in my perspective) 8 1/2 hour bus ride, we arrived in the smiling sun (flag) country of Argentina. We were greeted at the bus stop with badgering vendors and darkness. Our night (or rather day) was just about to truly begin... after a month of living in South America, I can now say that I have adjusted to the late night lifestyle. After sunrise at 8:00 a.m. we finally rested our bodies for a few hours until we woke up for our true intent of coming to Mendoza. Bike riding around the hundreds of vineyards that encircle Medoza. 80% of Argentina's wine is produced in Mendoza. We rode out of the city to the Maipu region. While Mendoza may disappointinly have a Wal-Mart, the small pueblos that populate the Maipu area, certainly do not. The character of the dusty towns is vibrant with mom and pop shops and more vineyards than I ever saw in California's Mapa Valley, although it may not be as green and developed.

The cab dropped us off at Mr. Hugo's bike shop where we were handed a map and a red bicycle. We stirred, sniffed and slurped our way through more wine than should be considered a "tasting," I am certain. It was the last vineyard, a six mile ride from the center that we found the perfect vineyard with an even more impressive asado (bbq). If Iowa is known for its corn, Argentina is known for its steak and mate. That day I had both and I couldn't have been happier to be a carnavore with a caffeine addiction.

With the sun shining and stained wine teeth, the seven of us gringos were happy, full and content. None of us expected then that in 12 hours, a few inches of snow would blanket the valley that receives rain only five days a year and we would be in wet suits rafting a class III whitewater river, (only be kicked out 3o minutes later because of the intense cold.) With frozen hair and numb hands, we declared ourselves hardcore and vowed then to return again, later, when it's much, more warmer. Another perfect(*) day in Argentina that ended with endless sips of mate shared with new and old friends.