On my first afternoon in Mendoza, I signed on for a half-day wine tour. We visited two wineries, the first was Lopez. This is considered the oldest winery in Mendoza. The Lopez family emigrated from Italy because of a disease that struck their vines and destroyed their harvest. They thought they’d have better luck in Argentina. And now Lopez is one of the biggest volume-based wineries in the region. They even still age some of their wines in the massive casks that are considered almost completely antiquated against the current barrel aging. To be honest, the winery seemed more like a factory and the wines that we tasted were terrible – flat and weak. But, the tour was interesting nonetheless – to think that the father of the family likely simply announced that they would pick up and move to Argentina, leaving their fields and home behind to set up in a new country far away. That takes guts.
The second winery, called Vistandes, was a boutique winery and only a few years old. The facilities were ultra modern, cool, and sleek and featured some fine art in the lobby – it struck me as being modeled after some Napa wineries I’ve visited. The tasting room was clad in white and black leather furniture. The tour was lovely and the wines very nice. I bought a delicate and tasty torrontes (the best torrontes I’ve had in Argentina, no less) that set me back a cool $9.
Next was a stop at a shop that made artisanal liquors and jams, and there I had a chance to taste their absinthe, which burned a path down my esophagus and left me lightheaded and goofy. And then on to a small church that housed a statue of the Saint who protects wine crops. She sits like a porcelain doll, dressed in stiff lace and embroidered polyester tafetta, cheeks blushing (perhaps from the wine?), blue eyes softly gazing out over her congregation. In the church was a tiny museum that held antique household objects, rosaries, old photos and similar items. A guitarist played soft, slow Argentinean religious folk songs in the corner.
After, our tour group of 10 trundled back to the van and boarded. But something was wrong. Apparently, the van driver left the van unlocked. Mistake #1. Several of the tourists left their bags on the van. Mistake #2. In their bags, they left their documents, passport, etc. Mistake #3. In a way, you just can’t blame the thief for stealing what he did. It’s like the planets aligned for him to do it.
OK, you never, ever, ever, ever leave anything valuable on a tour van. Ever. That’s travelers’ rule A#1. I thought everyone knew that one. Apparently not. The police showed up and we all had to go down to the police station. The tourists were making their statements and filing their report for about an hour and a half. The rest of us couldn’t leave in case we had to make statements and act as witnesses (or we were under suspicion of being the perpetrators of the crime). During the wait, I chatted with a British guy – maybe 28 – who regaled me with all the drugs and alcohol-fueled nights he’s had while traveling. There were a lot and he seemed quite proud of them. Good for him, I guess. I dunno, if I were in a country whose drug laws are akin to something out of the movie “Papillion” and some shady cat offered to sell me a bunch of cocaine, I‘d just have to take a pass. As this guy, who was very entertaining and definitely helped pass the time, poured his stories out, each one more outrageous and gregariously expressed than the last, I thought, “What a complete idiot.” Sorry, but I mean really… seriously? What an ass. But yeah, he was funny. I’m sure all those stories will seem really funny to him until his bony white butt gets tossed in jail in some Columbian prison somewhere.
Finally, we were all released by the police. Back to the hostel and sleep.
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