San Martin, bikinis, blown tires

San Martin, bikinis, blown tires.

Traveling North up hiway 40 the full moon has just set. some 13 hours post Mendoza we are moving into semi temperate nearly tropical geography from scrubby desert. To the west is the impossibly high relief of the Andes from the plains. The plains are green with what look like sugar cane fields stretching like Kansas corn fields as far as the eye can see. But there are also fires and black smoke spewing from burning of garbage in the pueblos and tiny farmsteads. There doesn't seem to be any garbage service. There are Distant rows of trees in lines to mark boundaries, egrets and the first real wide four lane highway. Sunday soccer (futbol) games in all the towns and cities we pass through and in patch of spare flat grass along the hiway.

Easy to imagine all this sugar cane blowing in the light breeze feeding the dulce de leche and coca cola addiction and the millions of cattle slaughtered for daily parillas. The only things supersized in this country seem to be sugar and salt packets that are about 10x the volume of US counterparts, the carne loads at asados and parillas, dulce de leche products, Coke for breakfast lunch and dinner and the Andesmar penchant for shitty pop videos and music blasting all the way to salta, 20 hours worth from dusty hot Tuscon-esque Mendoza.

We were in a serious rush to escape el Tierra del Malbec. We toured a few 120 year old vineyards/bodegas via bicecleta for a mere 35 pesos for the bikes, but each vineyard charged between 30 and 50 for a tour or tastes. We were alerted at Hostel Savigliano. by Salvatore the transplanted Italian, that Maipu was poorer and less snooty and less expensive to visit than its neighboring upscale Lujan.

I asked Salvatore why he gave up on Italy. "Argentina is way better." We were not as moved by the region around Mendoza, not much character - save the two old vineyards most were just a couple years old and relocating here To take advantage of wine tourism with discounts, deals. It is a gateway to the Andes but is shadowed by the lower and less attractive brown and stunted pre cordillera with the snowy majesty of the cordillera hidden behind.

Termas del Cacheuta was a total waste. 1.5 bus ride and we got a one minute soak in the Wally World wannabe with luke warm pools stewing to capacity with over-bloated ancient locals. Over Half the park was shut down since Easter and looked nothing like the photos. Zip tie spines on anthropomorphized grinning cactus to take photos with was the highlight.

Maureen's skimpy swim shorts didn't pass the bikini test and we were promptly ejected from the property and a nightmare ensued trying to get our money refunded because vouchers were bought via upsallata bus line and not at the gate so they refused to refund even though their policy was discriminatory and likely illegal. Upsallata flatly refused to cough up the hundred pesos so I demanded to talk to a manager. the manager happened to be all the way in Peru and laughed in my face when I said it was not my problem but theirs. I was ready to go ballistic as was Maureen.

I decided to walk to the nearby tourist info booth to find someone who spoke English as well as Spanish because everyone else suddenly claimed to be solely mono lingual when an issue of refund arose. The young info woman was shocked when we told her what happened so she accompanied us to the Upsallata counter and within 3 minutes we had 80% refunded. We found out they over charged us 10 pesos earlier but they refused to acknowledge that fact. We were keen to lodge a complaint with the ministry of tourism but were too exhausted.

We made the joint decision to escape mendoza and not trek up 5500 meter Vallecito because we would have to use Upsallata again for transport. When we tried to pay for the bus ticket to Salta it set off alarms at visa and they froze Maureen's card so we had to wander to some 5 banks before we realized it must have been frozen. Then a 15 minute call to answer extremely particular questions about dates and locations of previous transactions from a ticking peso clock at a locutorio to remind visa a second time we were traveling in Argentina and charging things here and not to shut off the card.

We decompressed by hiking several miles through downtown to the far western edge of the city through Parque San Martin, past the zoo and up Cerro Gloria where there was a gargantuan statue of San Martin complete with cavalry, infantry, angels breaking chains memorializing the successful battle with chile. On the coracoles (snail tracks or switchbacks) it seemed each city group or union needed their own cerro gloria memorial with the seemingly canonized and saintly martin.

He apparently slept beneath an apple tree and had a vision near Los arenales and they named the place Manzano Historico and it is quite the pilgrimage site. On the bronze wall o fame the bus drivers union was representing as well as nearly all other sectors of civil society that couldn't be left out had ponied up cash to get their bronzed names with the carved relief of Martin with accompanying angels, peasants, soldiers, indigenous, condors, bare breasted mothers.... seemed like one of these plaques in bronze relief had been commisioned every year since 1900.

We got some scrappy views of the megalopolis to the north south and east through the inversion and haze and between leafy branches of towering eucalyptus as the city scape flowed across the vast flatness that eventually  became the pampas that we had flown over from Santiago two months ago. Flowing unbroken in its flatness all the way to buenos aires and the atlantic.

For a second, looking west to the pre cordillera Andes I thought a bus ride through the Andes from Mendoza to Santiago, due west just 7 hours, sounded fun but Salta would win out. There was said to be extant history in salta, old buildings, indigenous culture still intact, folklorico music at the end of a 20 hour bus ride.

As we hiked down the glorious mountain, really just a dusty cactus strewn hillock some 40 meters high, but the highest thing for a thousand miles to the east- we passed a huge extended family group with photographer/videographer in tow. A young girl grabbed Maureen's arm and made her understand she wanted her picture taken with her. I was a few feet ahead and turned to see them posing and a young man at the bak of the ascending entourage held up his his fingers, one and five. "Quince anos!" The girl had turned 15 and it was part of her quinceniera to climb La Gloria. A big deal in latin cultures to turn 15. I felt a little slighted for not getting to pose as well. We had just posed with signs for our own photos at the opulent statue at the summit for my moms birthday card....

We passed the grand Marley horses, more memorialized busts of generals, before exiting the massive ornate victorianesque gates onto Calle Sarmiento. Not hard to imagine this country as a military dictatorship as it had been for a time just 30 years ago. The constant reminders with busts of generals in every spare patch of browning grass in every city we have been to and the streets named for them in every city...

Just been kicked off our flat tired bus to another with the promise that the flat tired bus will follow us to tucuman city once repaired. It better because our bags are still in its belly. The pudgy coke spilling sweating bus attendant spoke so insanely fast I could scarcely understand a word so had to ask the British girls behind us. A full bus and only a few non Argentinians and pretty much all non tourists are very dark and indigenous looking... I think the north will be quite a different experience.

Running about four hours late... I miss the train.