Mendoza, Argentina--Beautiful Mendoza

Buenos Aires
March 9, 2009

Mendoza.  Even now the name Mendoza evokes strong images: long, eternally blue summer days; the rich, redolent smell of eucalyptus and the fresh summer-afternoon-smell of newly cut grass.  Wide, beautiful, tree-lined streets; an Andean backdrop of glaciers and 15,000+ foot mountains; the flat Argentinian pampas and a thousand vineyards surrounding the city.  A brilliant waxing moon seen "down-under", where the moon waxed from the left to right instead of right to left, then waned as my days in Mendoza dwindled down.

Mendoza.

I'd arrived early in February from Valparaiso, Chile.  After my return from Easter Island, I spent a few more days in Santiago, then went to Valparaiso--one of Chile's UNESCO World Heritage sites--on the Pacific Coast.

It's a bit difficult not to fall in love with Valpa.  It's directly on the ocean, rises up a series of ten hills, or cerros, and it's full of twisty, fun, colorful streets.  From everywhere there's a full view of the Pacific.  Of course, this was only after the early morning marine layer had burned off the clouds.  By noon, the sky was a deep, gorgeous blue and the temperatures were moderated by the sea.  Early February on the coast of Chile.

I'd been here before--in the form of San Francisco and Laguna Beach, in California, but this was more funky.  The streets were irregular and steep, and a series of funiculars could get you up the worst of the hills.  From there it was just fun to wander up and down the steep footpaths of the city's hills.


Pablo Neruda, Chile's Nobel Prize author, lived for a time in Valpa and his home is now a national treasure.  Built on five level, it's perched on one of the higher hills above the city.  It was all glass and vista--almost a bird house--and the views from the fifth floor studio were fabulous.  It would not be hard to call this home.

Unfortunately, my time in Valpa was short-lived. Perhaps that' sbest. All the more reason to return and hold up for a much longer visit. I'd booked myself into a laguage school in Mendoza, Argentina, and that forced my hand to exit Chile.

So early on a Sunday morning, I left Valparaiso on a Mendoza bound bus. Because I rarely create travel expectations, I was a bit unprepared for the amazing journey that would bring me out of Chile, up and and over the Andes, to Mendoza. We left sea level and within minutes started to climb away from the coast, into the Chilean foothills of the Andes. Within an hour or so, we were steadily climbing until we reached the Chilean/Argentinian border at 8,000 feet. We passed several significant ski centers--Portillo being one of them--all of which were summer-empty. Come June, though, they fill up with South Americans, ski teams from many northern countries and Americans and Europeans who just can't get enough of one ski season.

The mountains were polychromatic marvels, barren and free of vegetation.  The day was clear and blue which made the vistas from my bus window seat all the better.  At the border, the traffic was such that we had to wait three hours to clear customs.  This was all fine because it gave me an opportunity to do a bit of hiking which got me closer to the megaliths I was seeing.  I still marvel, whenever I'm at high altitudes, that.these mountains were all submerged at one time and had beed been pushed by unimaginable forces to elevations that exceeded 20,000 feet.

On the Argentinian side of the border, it was all downhill for the next three hours.  At one point, we passed Aconcagua, the highest peak in South America at about 21,000 feet.  It was clear, sunny and blue and we had a full panoramic view of the mountain.  What frustrated me, was not being able to stop.  Mountains became smaller until we entered the flat, dry Aregentine pampas and the lovely city of Mendoza.
My plan was to spend two weeks in Mendoza, live with a local family, go to school part of the day, and put my totally inadequate Spanish to use.  And that is exaclty what I did.

Again, it was my good fortune to live in the home of Malena, 60 something, divorced and a marvelous cook. Sharing the house was a young woman from Switzerland who spoke no Spanish and was just getting her feet wet in the language.  Malena would prepare us a light breakfast, then we'd set off for class.  I'd arranged for four hours a day of one-on-one work with a teacher who'd stretch my vocabulary and require me to read material I'd otherwise avoid. 

Classes finished at 1:00 pm and most of the students would gather in the school's garden to eat lunch.  What impressed me so about this school, and the student body, was that no one spoke English.  We were all in the same linguistic boat, and it was sink or swim, and most of us swam very well. 

By 2:00 p.m. there was always an afternoon outing--to a local museum or a hot springs. At least once a week the school went to a different vineyard for a personal tour. (Mendoza is Argentinia's premier wine growing area with over 1,000 vineyards, or bodegas, surrounding the city. This was also when I was introduced to tango.

By late afternoon, I'd return to Malena's, shower (it was always 90+ during the day), do a bit of homework, commit new vocabulary to memory

As is the habit of Argentinians, dinner was not served until 9:30 or 10:00 pm.  We'd sit on the patio of Malena's lovely back yard, enjoy her superb cooking, struggle on in Spanish and finally call it a night around 11:00 pm. 

In hindsight, I feel this was one of the best language environments I've ever been in.  Teachers were well trained, students were serious, and the course load was demanding yet reasonable.  And because Mendoza was such a likeable city, with wide streets, huge parks and a ton of natural wondes surrounding it,, I can see why students linger on for weeks.  It's certainly the only school I would ever consider returning to.  And I just might.

But all things must come to an end, and my my stay in Mendoza was running tight.  I'd scheduled an apartment in Buenos Aires for a month and on February 11th it was time to move on.