Stress was eating a hole in my stomach. Ok, maybe not literally, but the first doctor that I saw did think that I had an ulcer. The next two decided it was general travel stress... I was interrupting my classes in order to throw up, had intense stomach cramps and generally felt miserable. The last doctor who saw me, who called himself "Dr. Borat" because he claimed that when he spoke English he sounded like Borat (and also had a nice, thick mustache that would make Borat proud), told me that I needed to get an Argentine boyfriend, that that would alleviate my stress. He also prescribed antibiotics and a strict diet, labeled "Regimen Blando." I pretty much wanted to die. I was in pain, and all I could eat was the simplest of foods. Muriel laughed and rolled her eyes at me, saying "This is good news! You don't have an ulcer!" And I just stared and stared at the piece of paper limiting my appetite. She told me later "You were being ridiculous." I have to say I agree, but still... I'm like a little fat kid. The only time I'm not hungry is when I'm sick... and this time I was sick and still hungry! I know there are worse things, but I couldn't think of one at the time.
As soon as I was feeling better, a fellow teacher invited me on a trip to Mendoza with him and his friends. I didn't know a lot about Mendoza, and I didn't know anything about the group that I was going to be traveling with. They had rented a van, and were driving down to Mendoza from Buenos Aires. Turns out, I actually knew one of the guys.... a friend connected us my first week here, simply because we lived in the same neighborhood. We hadn't seen each other in three months, and there he was, in the same van as me on a random trip to wine country. Karl was the teacher who invited me, Jeremy also lived in Belgrano, Ashley was going to school here, Robby was her visiting boyfriend, and Jaci was her friend from Florida. And I made six.
The trip there took forever. About ten hours. We were living off of imitation Pringles and cookies, and I was about ready to kill something and eat it raw by the time we arrived in Mendoza. It was a really interesting way to see Argentina, though. The parts that we drove through looked very much like California or Colorado, though with more toll stations and various mildly suspicious police check points. (They've been known to ticket travelers who don't travel with a fire extinguisher... that is, unless a slight bribe is paid...) And then the Andes rose up out of nowhere. The freaking Andes. Where am I?
The six of us got situated in our hostel, and then ventured out into the city. We ate a parilla at a nice restaurant... a parilla is a grill, and a parillada is a meal of various grilled meat. My favorite is the blood sausage. It looks like what it sounds like, but it tastes... phenomenal. Tender and flavorful. We ate the whole thing, practically licking our fingers afterwards. And then figured since we were exhausted, we could probably sleep for hours... and decided to day drink instead. We purchased about five bottles of wine from a little kiosko, and the little man running the place seemed really friendly and adorable, opening the wine wrap with a giant knife and humming to himself. He seemed less adorable when he ripped us off, charging 20 more pesos than the wine was priced, and on top of that claiming we gave him less than we did. He made off with about 40 pesos more than he was owed. Nonetheless. We were in Mendoza. We grumbled a bit, but still walked away with more wine than most people would know what to do with in an afternoon.
We walked to a city park that spanned a large portion of the Mendoza map, but only made it just past the entrance before we plopped down and started drinking. One wine was acceptable, the other had more of a bite...almost vinegary. Whatever. It was now a 35 peso bottle of wine, and I was determined to enjoy it. I made extra "yummm" sounds, accompanied with tummy rubbing and smiles. It turned into one of those days, drinking in the park, roaming around Mendoza, bleary from lack of sleep but giddy from wine. We took a Mendozan neighborhood playground by storm, and the operator of a carousel let us on for no charge. Jaci took some amazing pictures of it all. And... note to self. Playing on a merry-go-round is not the best thing to do after drinking copious amounts of wine. I literally had the spins. Not surprisingly, I was the first to drop, attempting first to drink a submarino (delicious dark hot chocolate drink) and succeeding only in smearing chocolate all over myself. One of those days, for sure.
The next day, we woke up early and set out for Mr. Hugo's bike rental. Mr. Hugo was a tall, middle-aged man, hairy and chipper... all smiles and winks. And, contrasting greatly with the owner of the kiosk, he gave us a 20 peso deal and showered us with free wine before and after our ride.
We rode about two miles, to four different wineries. Best cure for a stressed out stomach that I know, biking from winery to winery with the Andes for a backdrop. While it was getting more and more chilly in Buenos Aires, the weather in Mendoza was just perfect. T-shirt weather... and this is coming from the girl who is almost always cold. I shoved my light jacket in the white plastic bike basket and zipped along the road, to catch up with my new vacation friends. I kept thinking over and over....this is my life! After a light lunch of sausage, goatcheese, fresh olive oil (never had anything like it in my life!!!) and wine (of course), we continued on our way, ending with the oldest winery in Argentina! It was gorgeous, well kept up, and all of the giant oak barrels of wine were sealed with beeswax corks. I tried some amazing wine, and learned the difference in taste between young wine and aged wine (young wine tastes sort of like fresh fruit, while aged wine has more of a jammy taste...yeah, that's right, I said 'jammy')... After the tour, we returned the bikes to Mr. Hugo's, and drank and munched on baguette and cheese on his patio with the other bicycle renters, watching the sun set.
The next day we checked out of the hostel and drove our rented van into the Andes. Jeremy, one of the two guys who knew how to drive stick, had bought a disposable mate cup and yerba, and we sipped on mate and munched on medialunas (tiny sweet croissants) and drove until we found a little restaurant tucked in the mountain. We had piping hot empanadas and Coke (nothing more South American than Coke) and then drove up to a lake surrounded by cliffs. The water was crystal clear, and the mountain air was so fresh and cool.... we all walked around, hiked up some tiny hills, each lost in our own thoughts, each in awe of our surroundings.
It was nice to return to Buenos Aires, but tough to get back into the routine of work. One of the best things about the trip? I didn't know any of the people that I traveled with, beforehand...met one guy for dinner, once, but I was the odd one out of the friends, and they never once made me feel like that. We were instantly comfortable, joking with each other, comforting each other, sharing stories, sharing drinks... And the weirdest thing? My stomach has been just fine since then. Yeah, I know that the antibiotics probably had something to do with it, but I am certain that Mendoza didn't hurt, either.
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