Mendoza: A Sideways glance

I can't tell you a great deal about Mendoza. It has restaurants - I've tried a couple and haven't been disappointed. There are deep irrigation channels on every street - the locals call them Gringo traps. The roads are wide and there are beautiful big squares everywhere to mitigate the impact of earthquakes. I know this because I walked a few blocks tonight before sunset and read the Lonely Planet on the bus over. I can't add any more, or post pictures, because I have spent all my time in Mendoza doing what most people come here to do: drinking wine.

I love wine, but my enthusiasm is not matched with knowledge. I know the basics, like how it's made, the characteristics of grapes and so on. And when I drink it I understand about age, openness, tannins, acidity, body and finishes. But for the life of me I can't pick aromas, and often enjoy only slightly more luck with tastes. I'm always rifling through the memory banks, desperately trying to pin down a smell or flavour. And every time it is, quite literally, on the tip of my tongue.

This deficiency notwithstanding, I still want to try the stuff. I know what I like, and what goes with what, so I head out on tours two days running, with a company called Trout and Wine. Today I was in Lujain de Cuyo. We started with a little French run boutique, then graduated to a new estate called Decero (from zero). Some serious money has been thrown into this place. Every window points towards the snow capped peaks of the Andes, and the winery itself is straight out of Goldeneye. The investment paid off: their wines kicked ass.

Decero vines and the Andes

Inside the Decero Winery

After a good lunch (that peaked with the first course of citric mousse on an apple crisp) we took in Alta Vista, another big bucks winery. The building is stunning, and old. A tiled cane roof, and giant doors made from the metal struts of old wine barrels. The tasting room is the inside of an old concrete fermentation tank.

Yesterday we hit up three vineyards in the Valle de Uco. We start with a Sauvignon Blanc (at 9.30am) at Pulenta Estate and have a wander about in the shadow of the Andes. The place drips with money, and you begin to appreciate the absurd amount of investment required to get it off the ground. There's a saying, apparently, that if you want to make a fortune out of wine, you first need two fortunes. They're not kidding.

Just to prove that it's not all big bucks and James Bond film sets, we stopped at a boutique winery, La Azul, that produces an extremely modest 40,000 bottles a year. There are no pretty girls leading the 'tours' here. Nor tasting rooms, pictures of Ferraris or five course meals. Just an ugly cube in the middle of nowhere, and the winemaker, Luis, to guide us through their process and philosophy.

La Azul

We taste the standard line of Malbec and Cab Sav that retail for just 25 pesos. They'd have to be about the best value wine you can buy anywhere in the world. Then we graduate to the Reserva, a blend of the two. It is wonderfully rounded, though still quite young. He lets us try a new Syrah from the barrel which will eventually end up in the Gran Reserva blend. It seems stupid saying that my favourite wine of the two days is one that hasn't even been made yet, but that will be a bit special. And of course I secretly love the fact that my favourite wine, amongst all the grandeur, glitz and gambled fortunes, comes from a couple of guys in a concrete shed with the counter from their local kiosco as a 'tasting room'.

Luis: tour guide, winemaker, head of PR...

After two days, seven wineries and probably the best part of forty tastings, I make it back to to my room in one piece. I haven't over consumed thankfully, but I am dying for a beer and so I slug down a big bottle of Andes before showering off the day's sweat and brushing tannins from my teeth for about twenty minutes. I'm off to the best restaurant in Mendoza now - Francis Mallmann's 1884 - and I understand it has a rather impressive wine list...

Darkness follows light

Nobody wants to arrive in a new city in darkness. You need daylight, a chance to look around, get your bearings. That's why I booked myself on the 9:30 bus from Santiago to Mendoza this morning. Waste of time.

Early start at Santiago Bus Station

Things get off to an unpromising start when it's delayed by 45 minutes. When I do get on, my seat is flooded (it rained last night) and the conductor's efforts to mop it up with a crusty towel are in vain. By the time we hit the road what looked like a nice day is turning decidedly cloudy, as in, the pollution is so dense that I can't see the traffic lights changing from red to green. Oh, they're not.

As we gain altitude, we gain clarity. It is a beautiful day after all, and we wind our way up into the Andes, with snow covered peaks, hairpin ascents and popping ears. Then we stop, inexplicably, for an hour. I would normally get annoyed at this juncture, but what's the point? I keep reading and make polite 'conversation' with my neighbours, who all work for the Argentinean Red Cross. After crossing into their country via a long and exhaust filled tunnel, we stop again at customs. And we don't move. For three hours.

Nice view but it gets boring after a while

I doubt Franz Kafka ever made this border crossing, but the faceless banality of its bureaucracy might well have inspired another novel if he had. After sauntering around for an hour like exercising prisoners, we form a long line for the two passport stamps and have our bags examined in scenes reminiscent of Schindler's List. Despite poking about in my rucksack with a small torch, they still don't find the hazardous socks, or even bother to enquire as to why I am smuggling tea bags of mate into Argentina.

Snapped through my new sunnies while I wait to be 'processed'

When we finally hit the road, I console myself with my book (Lunar Park - awesome) until they turn the lights out and I am left with nothing to do. I take long exposure shots of oncoming lorries in an effort to stave off the boredom but my head is pounding like a bastard and I desperately need a beer. When the orange glow of Mendoza finally materialises on the dark horizon, I am chewing my arms off with hunger.

Yawn

We eventually arrive in Mendoza, eleven hours after we left. The hesitancy and insecurity of Santiago is long forgotten as I stride purposefully off into the Argentinean night to hail myself a cab. A man on a mission once more.