Please be sure to read Part 1 of this story before continuing here.
Day 14 – June 23, 1991
On Sunday, the 23rd of June, Brian drove us to the airport and dropped us off at 8:00 PM. We were in the air by 10:15. Ah, those heady days when we weren’t all worried about terrorists, didn’t have to go through endless security checks and could show up a reasonable amount of time early before boarding an international flight. One thing about flying to South America is that the passengers expect to have free booze (wine, at least), and plenty of it. As we enjoyed our free dinner, we couldn’t help but notice that on our trays we had beer, wine, Bailey’s and Grand Marnier all at the same time, every drop of it complimentary. Ah, the good life.
On previous flights I’d taken to South America with departures from Miami or Los Angeles, it seemed like all of the passengers were babbling away in Spanish or Portuguese. Not so this time – I couldn’t help but wonder if the Canadian departure made the difference. The flight was to be 10 1/4 hours in length – I never could sleep a wink on a plane even if my life depended on it – and naturally, I didn’t.
Day 15 – June 24, 1991
Rather bleary, we touched down in Buenos Aires. It was the dead of winter and one chilly day. After retrieving our substantial pile of luggage (Argentine friends had asked me to bring a lot of climbing equipment with me, gear they couldn’t easily get in their country), I begged 2 free tickets on a shuttle bus. It ran from Ezeiza International Airport (where we had landed) to Aeroparque Jorge Newbery, which in 1991 functioned as an airport which handled domestic flights radiating from BA to many Argentine destinations. The bus was operated by Aerolíneas Argentinas for transporting their own passengers between airports, and I guess the fact that we were going to be flying domestically with them was sufficient grounds for them to give us a ride.
Half an hour later, we stood at the Aerolíneas counter and made an important purchase. Back in 1991, there existed a program (it was called “Visite Argentina“) where, if you were not Argentinian and possessed a return ticket back to your country of origin, you could buy a domestic airline pass. At the time, there were 2 principal domestic airlines operating in Argentina: Aerolíneas Argentinas and Austral Líneas Aéreas. Both of those airlines participated in the program, which was quite outrageous, really. For the bargain price of $400.00 US, you could buy a package of 8 vouchers, each good for a one-way trip anywhere the airline flew within the country. For example, one voucher could buy a flight to Ushuaia, which is over 3,000 KM by road from Buenos Aires. It was the deal of a lifetime, and we jumped on it.
Today we would use our first voucher, purchasing a ticket to Mendoza. En route, our plane made a stop in San Rafael, also in Mendoza province, then on to our destination of Mendoza, the capital city. Mendoza is at the same 2,500-foot elevation as my home city of Tucson, and of a similar size, about a million inhabitants. My friend Rodolfo Molesini was waiting for us at the airport – we knew each other from 2 previous trips I’d made to the city to climb nearby peaks. He was also a climber and we shared the same values – it was great to see him again. He drove us into the city to a cheap place I’d stayed at in the past and dropped us there – we’d see each other again that evening. Truth be told, the place was quite spartan – Residencial Betty was its name. There aren’t a lot of tourists in Mendoza in the winter, so the lady who owned the place didn’t appear to be expecting any guests. She showed us to a double room, but with no heat – you could see your breath!
It was agreed that we would walk over to the home of Rodolfo’s parents – I had been there before, so knew the way. Imagine our embarrassment when we knocked on their door and nobody was expecting us. We had forgotten that Mendoza’s time zone (at least back in 1991) was one hour earlier than Buenos Aires, and so our watches were wrong. Their maid fed us tea while we awkwardly waited. Finally, Fito (Rodolfo’s son) showed up, then the grandfather, and lastly Rodolfo himself. He drove us across town to his home, where his wife Cristina had prepared an amazing vegetarian supper in our honor. I gave him the climbing gear we’d brought with us, and Johanna gave them a little gift from the American Southwest. All 6 of their children were present, and she got to meet everyone for the first time. I think that a reason everyone was home that day was because it was El Día de la Bandera which was a national holiday. We had a wonderful time with the family, and by the time our visit was over and Rodolfo had driven us back to our lodgings, it was 11:30 PM.
Day 16 – June 25, 1991
It was so cold in our room that we slept poorly. In the morning, we spoke to La Señora and asked if there was anything we could do to get some heat in our room. Her son jury-rigged a cord that ran gas to a heater which he placed in the room – for the sum of ten bucks a night for the room plus heat, we would now be warm. The official exchange rate was now 9,955 Australes per US dollar, and it had held steady for quite a while. Most things were still quite a bargain compared to prices back home.
We made an easy day of it – walked around the area quite a bit, bought some groceries. That evening, my friend Adrián Cangiani came to our room to visit. He was a climber friend who had gone in to Aconcagua with me 6 months earlier. We had tea with him and had a good visit. His family wants to have us over for dinner in a few days. Soon after he left, 2 more friends arrived – I had called to let Flavia know that we were in town and should get together. It was another great reunion, and they invited us to their home for dinner in a few days. Our social calendar was filling up fast!
Day 17 – June 26, 1991
After a granola breakfast in our room, we walked quite a ways over to Rodolfo’s office. He was away on business, but his secretary kindly offered us tea. She then gave us directions on how to travel by bus to another part of the metro area. The city bus system could take you anywhere, and for about a dime we made our way to the Bodega Escorihuela. A lady who worked there gave us a private, 2-hour tour. In 1991, the place was a whopping 107 years old, and quite the institution for Mendoza. The province boasts over 1,000 wineries, but this one may well be the largest. Their capacity was 18 million liters per year! It’s no wonder that wine is cheaper than bottled water here.
We caught a bus back into the city and spent hours walking the very enjoyable Peatonal San Martín. This was a long street which had been turned completely pedestrian, and was lined with a great many stores and restaurants. In those days, Mendoza’s shops and businesses closed at mid-day for a few hours (like the old siesta in the desert southwest), then stayed open later into the evening. We made the long walk back to our room, freshened up, then headed out again to a vegetarian restaurant we’d discovered. As the days passed, we were settling in to life in Mendoza – it was a fine place to spend a while.
Day 18 – June 27, 1991
This was to be another day of leisure. We slept in, lazed about, then walked over to Flavia’s house. The last time I was here in Mendoza, 6 months earlier, I had spent Nochebuena with her family (probably the most important holiday of the year when friends and family get together). We were warmly received. They had prepared a vegetarian meal for us, very delicious – it was easy to see that they’d gone to a lot of trouble on our behalf. I had noticed that it was commonplace that school students here studied English. When we tried to engage Flavia in conversation in English, she became quite embarrassed and, frankly, fell flat. It was a shame that her 7 years of study had produced little result.
After the meal, 6 of us drove over to the city’s main park, Parque San Martín, where we strolled in that beautiful setting and enjoyed each other’s company. Afterwards, Flavia and Adrián drove us around for hours, visiting highlights of the city – Cerro de la Gloria; Iglesia de San Francisco and the ruins of the oldest buildings. It was so late by the time we finished that I was totally burned out. They dropped us off back at our room, where we rested and got freshened up. Oh yes, we went to the nearby bus station (the main one for the city) and purchased tickets for a trip we’d take tomorrow.
Argentines stay up late, much later than we do. If you go out for dinner, most restaurants won’t accommodate you until 9 or 10 o’clock in the evening – that’s when things are just getting started. At 10:30, two of the couples came by and we headed up to the Transkei Bar – I no longer remember where it was, but it did have a commanding view of the city spread out below us. It was a beautiful spot. The others were dressed to the 9s, and we felt rather awkward because we weren’t. Nevertheless, we had a good time and it was very late by the time they drove us back to our lodgings.
Day 19 – June 28, 1991
Johanna has been sleeping poorly – she has nightmares of always having to translate to and from Spanish. She isn’t as comfortable with the language as I, and finds it stressful. If the person with whom you’re traveling is doing most of the talking, it can be a lot of pressure to try and keep up. We only got 4 hours of sleep before we had to head to the nearby terminal. After boarding, our bus took us westward into the Andes. By the time we reached Uspallata, the temperature was below freezing; by the time we reached our destination, Puente del Inca, there was a foot and a half of snow on the ground.
Not too many tourists are here in the winter at almost 9,000 feet elevation. We visited a few of the haunts I’d frequented in my last 2 trips here. I had a headful of memories of Puente. My two attempts at climbing Aconcagua both started from here. The first was unsuccessful, the second proved better. A story previously published on this site entitled “Puente del Inca” describes my time spent here in much detail. The place sparkled with new-fallen snow on this crisp, cold, blue-sky day, and we really enjoyed the hours spent here.
The four-hour ride back to Mendoza was a challenge as several smokers puffed away, completely ignoring the “no smoking” signs. It felt good to shower and get ready for another evening out. My friend Adrián, who had visited us 3 days earlier, had invited us to his family’s home for dinner. Using city buses, we made our way across town to their place. Johanna enjoyed meeting his mother Maria Teresa, his younger brother Nicolás and his father Daniel, who was a biochemist. Daniel was so polite, speaking slowly and clearly in Spanish for our benefit. We had a long, fun evening with the family – much later, Daniel drove us back to our rooming-house. Tomorrow our time in Mendoza would end, but these had been wonderful days.
Mendoza still holds a special place in my heart all these years later. The fact that we had so many friends to visit while there is a sound testament to the open, friendly nature of the Argentine people.
Be sure to stay tuned for the 3rd chapter of this story, coming soon.