Bikes and Bodegas

Undermining the tourism industry. Why pay big bucks for a tourism professional to organize your day, when you can do it yourself for a fraction of the price? This seemed to be an underlying theme of my time in San Rafael.

Vanesa and Laura were my dorm-mates, on vacation from their office jobs in Buenos Aires. We decided to forego the organized bike tours of the wine country just outside town and venture out on our own. We stumbled across a bike shop that rented comfy, wide-tired, coaster-brake bicicletas playeras at 15 pesos for an 8-hour rental. And the local tourist office gave us info, addresses and opening hours of the handful of bodegas in the area; they even drew us a map.

A quick trip to the mercado to pick up some snacks for the road, and off we went. Getting out of town was a bit nerve-wracking; cycling downtown Montreal at rush hour has nothing on negotiating the insanity of the roads in even a small Argentine city. But just out of town a bike path appeared parallel to the road. It was warm and sunny, that intense Andes sun that beats down ( and after soaking it up the length of a day leaves you zapped come evening time...) The ride was quite flat, the landscapes on either side vineyards and humble houses, the Andean cordillera faint in the distance.

So the rhythm went like this: Bike a couple of kilometres, arrive at a winery, go for their free guided tour and tasting(!). Chill out outside on the property until the buzz wears off. Then continue on to the next. There was an olive oil plantation/balsamic vinegar factory along the route as well. Though after their tour that ended in an educational video full of images of gfresh salads and glistening vegetables they left you hanging; there was no tasting to be had. What a rip!

The itinerary finished off at the uber-classy Bianchi complex, the white-walled buildlings that housed the plant, warehouses, and sales and showroom flanked by a huge manicured lawn and fountains, in addition to a large vineyard. The place was packed with tourists waiting for the tour, with just as many buying wine and champagne by the crate in the gift shop. There were a surprising number of bored-looking kids on the tour, undoubtedly dragged along by their vacationing parents eager for a break from running around in the mountains. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for opting for Disney World and not a winery tour, when we went on OUR family vacations.

We biked back to the hostel and got a delivery of asado and beer for supper. Oh yes, huge chunks of Argentine beef straight off the barbeque, delivered with side dishes and beer straight to your home. Argentina's the BEST!

( On an unrelated side note: I was the only foreign tourist in the hostel in San Rafael. The place was filled with Argentines on vacation. You see, with the exchange on the Argentine peso as it is, many Argentines now choose to vacation within their own country. As a result, in the last 5 years the Argentine tourism industry has ballooned, with the resulting development and expansion of infrastructure and services all over the country. Good news for the independent traveller.)

San Rafael

Got into San Rafael at 4am on Saturday. San Rafael's in Mendoza province, three hours-ish south of Mendoza city. Walking around the city on sunny Saturday afternoon I was reminded of the vibe that exists in Mendoza; things are pretty, quiet, and laidback, and there's an omnipresent cloudless, electric blue sky that I think has something to do with being so close to the Andes.

I went from one end of the town to the next, visiting the tourism office and travel agencies figuring out how to best spend my couple of days in the region. When the crowded Saturday afternoon streets become suddenly deserted at around 2 or 3pm, I realized sanrafaelinos observe siesta scheduling; that is, businesses are open in the morning until the early afternoon, and then close and re-open in the early evening. So well, I decided to do a little "When in Rome.." and went back to the hostel for an afternoon nap.

Sunday I decided to eschew the organized excursion route and go up into the Cañon del Atuél, the river canyon and surrounding mountains that are the area's main attraction, on the city bus and jump off at some point along the route that looked interesting.

The bus rounded a bend and I saw a couple of signs for rafting trips down the Atuél river, so I got off. A couple of minutes later I was sun-screening up for a trip down the river with a young family and a couple of guys from Mendoza. The level-2 rapids didn't give us the kind of rocky ride I was expecting ( I'd never gone rafting before... only seen it on TV) but the sun was bright the river was refreshing. At one point we jumped into the water and, holding onto the raft, were pulled down the river by the current.

The rafting company's "office" doubled as a general store and a bar, so after getting a drive back upstream in the company van, I followed up the rafting session with a couple of cold beers with some of my rafting partners. We sat at a couple of umbrella-ed tables on the roadside, me and two guys from Mendoza who'd been travelling around the province on motorbike, and told stories, jokes and talked about our respective countries and regions. I turned down their offer of a ride down the valley to San Rafael on the back of a Harley, though, because I felt squeezing a little more activity into my day in the canyon.

I realy wanted to go hiking. Many of the adventure tourism companies in the canyon offered guided excursions, but there was usually a 3 person minimum and at least a 30 peso charge. I started chatting with the woman who'd sold me my rafting trip and she clued me into the fact that right across the road from where we were standing, there was a trail that followed an old riverbed into the sandstone hills for about an hour. She may now have been wheelchair bound, she let me know, but she'd grown up in the area and knew all the trails that crisscrossed across it. I had a peaceful walk through the grey standstone hills, so different than the lush green forests I'm used to hiking in Canada.

I caught the bus back down to San Rafael and hooked up with Laura and Vanessa, two girls from Buenos Aires that were also my dormitory mates, for dinner.

Rainy Neuquén

Neuquén, pop. approx. 200,000, is a nice little city. The regional capital. Touristy in as much as it's a transport hub for Patagonia, but not really for anything else. So the streets give off a normalcy, full of everyday people doing everyday things. Even when it's unseasonably 12C and rainy.

(Today's it's rainy and thundering all over the country. There was a freak hail storm the other day in Mendoza province. And someone told me it's snowing in the Andes! And that's where I'm headed tonight.)

The lady at the tourist information booth tried to give me a brochure on fly fishing in the region. I passed. But maybe I should have taken it. You can fly fish in the rain, right? I've already walked around the quaint, and compact town centre. I don't have any hotel room to hang out in, and it's 4 hours till my bus.

Puerto Madryn

Yesterday was a cloudy and grey day spent wandering around Puerto Madryn. Hostel check-out was at 10am, and my bus to Neuquén didn't leave until 9:45pm.

Madryn, as small as it is, seemed downright urban compared to Puerto Pirámide. The beach that runs the length of town was practically empty, as it was overcast and a bit chilly, though the sun did peek out in the afternoon for a bit.

So it was reading for a bit on the beach, walking around, having coffee overlooking the ocean and reading a bit more. I found a little reading nook underneath the cement overhang of the promendade that runs the length of the beach for when I wanted to escape the UV rays.

Change of itinerary

So, the hard reality of travelling by the seat of your pants without an itinerary or reservations hit home. I took the bus back to Puerto madryn from idyllic Puerto Pirámide last night to catch the overnight bus to Esquel, in the Patagonian Andes. But it was full! That's high season in Argentina for you.

So I've stayed the night in Puerto Madryn, going to spend the afternoon on the beach, and then tonight it's back on the bus again. But, I've completely changed my itinerary, after realizing that the way I'd been envisageing things I was going to spend more time on the bus than actually enjoying nature. That's the trouble with Argentina ( and I suppose Canada too...) There are just so many gorgeous natural wonders to see. But they're all sort of far apart. 8h, 12h, 2oh bus rides. It's hard to resist the urge to see and do too much.

So I'm heading to Neuquén tonight on the bus. Will spend a night there, do a day trip before hopping on the bus to San Rafael, in Mendoza province, where I'll spend a couple of days. Near the Andes, though not the Patagonian andes. But with lots of amazing sights and scenery.

And then I'll just be a short hop from Mendoza, where I'll end up on thursday the 22.

That's the joy of travelling alone.... you can change your itinerary at the drop of a hat.

Puerto Pirámide

The Peninsula Valdes is a chunk of land, a couple of hundred kilometres in circumferences, that juts out from the Eastern coast of Argentina into the Atlantic. (Though it's not marked on my little map here, it's the point that sticks out near Rawson.) It's dry and dusty, not much to see inland besides salt deposits and scrubby bushes, and the shoreline consists of sheer 70m cliffs dropping off to the sea ( with a couple of beaches here and there.) The cliffs shields the approach of the cold wind from the west, warming the water in and around the peninsula, and thus attracting all kinds of marine wildlife, such as sea lions, elephant seals, dolphins, orcas, and other types of whales.

Most people who come to visit the peninsula stay in the town Puerto Madryn, on the mainland, but after 4 months of urban delirium in Buenos Aires I was looking for a nature escape, so I spent two nights in tiny Puerto Pirámide ( pop. 200), on the peninsula itself.

Paradise, really. This Nova Scotian has always found it hard to be on a beach where you have to jockey for a bit of sand between music-blasting jocks, kids playing paddle ball, and suntanning Barbie-wannabes. But the beaches near Puerto Pirámides, wide, wild, and most importantly, practically empty, had more in common with the never-ending beaches in the Maritimes than most. Just the way I like it.

I went on a boat excursion to see the colony of sea lions just down the coast from the village, and to do a bit of snorkeling. I rented a bike and biked around the area aurrounding the village. Surrounding the beach there are lots of cliffs and dunes to explore. And I stayed in the what I think may be the quietest hostel in the world. The village was so relaxed and the whole place emenated peace and quiet.

As the the girl from the hostel with whom I spent an afternoon at the beach put it, "Amo este lugar." ( I LOVE this place!) I would have to agree with her.

The road to Patagonia

After a couple of months in Buenos Aires I'd forgotten that the rest of Argentina is completely different than the capital. ( Sort of like the way that people in Bs As forget the rest of the country exists...)

The 18 hour bus ride from Buenos Aires to Puerto Madryn was my re-introduction to the vast, wide-open spaces that you find in so much of this country. The feeling of space.

I had been expecting Patagonia to be a little less, dry. A little more green. Maybe once you get farther south. But the area between Mar del Plata and Puerto Madryn ( these places aren't on my little map here, but Puerto Madryb is near Rawson) is dusty and dry. The vegetation is short and scrubby. The sky blue, blue, blue and the highway long and winding.

Tigre and The Paraná Delta

It's a great contrast. Just one hour north of sprawling, urban Buenos Aires, you have the lower reaches of a huge delta system. Five hundred rivers ranging from small streams to some of Argentina's most important water systems, and thousands of square kilometres of the land formed by the sediment collected between them.

The town of Tigre, a quiant suburb of Buenos Aires, is the gateway to the Delta. It's the end of the commuter train line, it has a big amusement park and a giant market most famous for its furniture and fruit. It's also where all the companies that operate tours and water taxis through the delta are based.

There are no roads on the islands of the delta, the waterways assure transportation via boat or water taxi for the people and businesses found there. There are schools and churches, "corner" stores and floating gas stations, all accessible by water only, for the thousands of permanent and seasonal residents of the area.

So on steamy Saturday afternoon Simon and I jumped the train, and then jumped a long wooden boat that took us on a visit of the first section of the Delta. The first section is mostly cottages for people from the city; everything on stilts, so that rising river waters don't routinely damage what's inside.

The waters are brown, the greenery lush. Willows dip into the waters and ferns overhang narrow waterways. The dock in front of every house oftens acts as a patio, from where to take in a little sun, drink maté with friends, oversee the kids swimming, and watch the boats go by.

See Simon's pictures of the afternoon here.

Plans a' changin'

So, well, before my travels could even start the itinerary had to change.

The Atlantic coast of Argentina, between Buenos Aires and Neochea, is a mob scene in January and February. Basically, all the millions and millions of people that live in Buenos Aires decide to escape the steamy, sticky heat by going to the beach. All at once. To the same beaches.

And this year it's worse that usual. Usually, Uruguay's coast gets its fair share of vacationing Argentines. But this year several of the border crossings for cars between Argentina and Uruguay are blocked by protestors. You see, there were a couple foreign-owned paper companies looking to build big, polluting plants in either Argentina or Uruguay. Argentina vetoed the proposal, because of the environmental repercussions. Uruguay decided to go acept it. Except, the plants will be built on the river that forms the border between the two countries, and the pollution will end up touching just as many Argentina cities as Uruguayan. So the citizens of the town affected have been doing rotating strikes on the international bridges for a couple of months now.

Anyway, so the weekend at the beach turned into one last weekend in Buenos Aires, with a daytrip to the Tigre Delta. I left Buenos Aires Sunday night on the overnight bus and am now in Puerto Piramide, near Puerto Madryn.

Impending Travels

So this Friday it's bye-bye Buenos Aires.

Me and my friend Simon are going to some beach on the Atlantic coast for the weekend. A beach of the rustic and nature kind, as opposed to the corporately sponsored, seen and be seen kind.

Then I'm continuing on alone to Puerto Madryn for a couple of days. It's a UNESCO nature reserve where you can rip around on the ocean in a boat and check out orcas, whales, sea lions, penguins and other such things.

Then it's a week in the Argentine Andes, hiking and biking and "fucking nature" ( as my friend David would say.)

Then it's a few days in Mendoza, and then across the Andes to Santiago for a few days and a few bottles of wine with my Chilean crew.

And then it's back on the plane for Canada March 1st! Santiago-Miami, Miami-Montreal, Montreal-Halifax, baby. A week in the motherland with the fam, and then it's back to Montreal on March 10-ish.

I'm cheezy, I know

My friend Cameron took this picture for me when he was visiting Mar del Plata recently.
Hardy Har Har!

el Catedral

It's fitting that the very neighourhoods of Buenos Aires in which tango was born are now becoming home to venues for young people to dance and listen to it. Neighbourhoods like Almagro, historic home to tango legend Carlos Gardel, are full of small underground bars, theatres and clubs where not only tango but independant theatre and art flourish.

It's a formula we've seen in cities all over the world. You've got a run down, working class neighbourhood where the rents are low. Artists, many of whom are not of the working class stock the neighbourhood is made up of, flock there, because of ample cheap studio and living space. Low rent means less time working the lame day job, more time being creative. (Of course, the cycle finishes off when the artists and related activity transform the face of the neighbourhood into something more broadly appealing, it becomes an attractive place to live for the yuppie class, and rents go up, eventually driving out the original inhabitants. Gentrification, baby.)

Almagro, though, has not become completly gentrified as of yet. It's still in the stage where it's just home to a lot of great theatre and underground clubs. Like El Catedral, where I ended up both Wednesday and Thursday nights. I don't know what it used to be before. It's huge vaulted ceilings recall a silo or warehouse. A humungous open space, with worn hardwood floors, an ecelectic mismatch of tables and chairs I'm sure were pulled out of the garbage, with an open dance floor/performance space in the middle. The walls are covered with a range of, well, stuff, some we could refer to as art, others that some would, nicely, call found objects, or less nicely, call junk. The crowning piece is a huge red fabric lampshade/chandelier that mildly resembles an oversized, deformed heart. The bar is run by a group of guys who supposedly live on the premises, though I'm not sure where. The bar was quite the going concern for a while, but then was closed down for a while. It's been open again for a couple of months, and getting back on its feet.

Thursdays are milonga nights at the Catedral. Tango dancing, though nothing resembling your stereotypical tango affair. The revival of tango amongst Buenos Aires' youth means that they dance tango in a way adapted to their own style. so on the Catedral's dance floor you see everything from jeans, shorts and sports sandals to those baggy canvas hippy pants. And a couple of couples dressed to the nines in low-cut dresses and dress pants and shirts. A pair of high, strappy heels is obligatory for the woman, though, no matter what their style.

And so we just watched them dance. And joined in for a couple of songs. But the endless variations of styles and personalities on any packed tango dancefloor is quite mesmerizing. And as opposed to your traditional milonga, a quirky, informal milonga at a place like the Catedral for me represents the new, modern, evolving face of the artform. It's fascinating.