Extreme Mendoza Part Dos

A quick breath, and an adrenaline inducing reflection on the last few days...

Included in our Ecela Spanish courses are a series of cultural immersion adventures. So Thursday and Friday we got a taste of the beauty and fruitful bounty of this land.

I wouldn't necessarily say that recreational activities are better in foreign countries, but there are some crucial differences that can definitely heighten the experience. For example, while riding on random horse paths, through cactus plants, our horses, on more than one competitive occasion broke out into full runs, dashing away from our cowboy guide. It took him galloping us down to get our horses to stop. Bouncing nearly out of the saddle numerous times didn't stop me from laughing so hard tears were streaming down my face. At one point, our guide slapped Michael's horse, Niño, on the rump which sent him head first at a run into a tree. Oh, but the vistas! The wild horses grazing, the canyon and Mendoza River cutting through the landscape - breathtaking.

On Friday, we went on a long awaited wine and olive tasting tour. Mendoza is world renowned for superb wine, and although I am no expert, even I could taste the unique quality. The difference between the wineries in Tuscany that I visited with Maks and the ones here are plainly evident. The grapes yield different flavors, the industrial look of the 24 million liter per year Lopez winery resembles a space station, and even the smells tickled my nose differently. The tastings were delicious, and Michael and I even found a bottle of wine from 1985 for only $50! 

Mendoza is situated in a vast desert valley along the Andes. Yet, there is so much green life! The vineyards and network of Europeanesque tree lined boulevards and plazas are fed by an intricate irrigation system. The combination of dry heat in the summer and temperate winters produce a certain perfection in the harvests.

Our extreme Mendoza experience culminated yesterday morning in:

That's right, wine while skydiving.

It all started when I saw a poster for skydiving Mendoza style - flying and wine tasting. Subtly, I encouraged Michael that this would be an excellent use of time and resources. Eventually, he saw the wisdom of my suggestion, and we booked a trip for two jumping out of a plane Friday night. Sure enough, once we had a time and place confirmed, I could barely fall asleep for nerves (even though I had already been skydiving four times in Hawaii). Meanwhile, Michael remained calm and collected throughout the night, the hour long drive to the drop zone, the safety videos and instruction by our tandem jumper Eduardo, signing the "we are not responsible for your death" paperwork, and finally donning the gear and climbing into his one-way ticket plane ride. 

Victory chug once safely on the ground.

Because Eduardo is essentially a one-man operation with a crew of fabulous assistants (pilot, parachute packer, media), Michael jumped first, and then I was suited up.

"I'm not scared! Really..."

"Okay, maybe a little nervous."

After entrusting my Hawaii ring to Michael, pushing it down onto his pinkie and a quick kiss, I climbed into the tiny plane. Eduardo hopped in after me and within minutes we were bumping down a dirt runway and airborne. Climbing, climbing, then...down, down. A posse of airline jets were coming through and we would need to loiter for 20 minutes. Instead of wasting fuel, Eduardo and our pilot decided to land and try again a bit later. My fear factor was going to be extended as I waited to leap from a plane, with a parachute attached to a person that was attached to me. 

Finally, we were clear and I made the jittery walk back out to the plane. Take 2. Climbing and climbing, now in the clear blue sky, the vineyards spreading outwards into golden desert, snow tipped Andes, the amazing perfection of the lines of grapes taking on a distant quality. Looking as far as I could see, the Earth curved away into hazy atmosphere.

Then the moment of truth:

http://youtu.be/bxA1dIYnr4I (check out my expression moments before jumping...priceless)

1...2...

3!!!!

Laughing and screaming through the 33 second free fall, it all ended two quickly! What a rush! Eduardo, while filming me with a wrist camera, pulled the chute, and almost immediately handed me my victory Mendoza Malbec.

A toast to the sky upon my return to earth.

All smiles. 

Our time in Mendoza has flown by. We have tried to soak in as much that this beautiful place has to offer, strolling the streets, exploring the nature all around. A toast to Mendoza!

Feliz Navidad and Mendoza Part Uno!

After a late evening conference with our Argentinian-young-John-Candy lookalike hostel host, Michael and I decided to go river rafting the next day, Sunday, on the Menndoza River. Departing our hostel at a loose 0930 pick up time, we were on our way 30 minutes outside the city to Rio Aventura rafting company. Rio Aventura, a surf/ski/extreme sport/etc bum paradise is situated on the banks of the swift, brown Mendoza river. Coursing through the Andes, the river is a chocolate milk color year around due to the disturbance of the fine sediment of the surrounding hills. The lake, where the river terminates, is a deep blue, as the sediment settles on its quiet floor.

The brown river in the background. Note: this picture was taken AFTER rafting...

Driving up the river in a technicolor school bus with 15 other novice rafters and our guides, we received a quick safety brief. Donning our floppy, MC Hammer rafting outerwear (provided by Rio Aventura), helmets and life jackets, we gazed upon the talkative river with only the slightest apprehension. Since Michael fessed up to knowing a bit of Spanish (he actually knows quite a lot), we were put in the Spanish speaking raft, where I received a quick lesson on simple rafting commands. "Adelante! Atras! Yeahhhhhh!" Without any further ado, we were clambering into our raft, and saying goodbye to the shore, as Marcos, our stellar and enthusiastic guide deftly steered us to the middle of the river. At first, everything seemed pretty benign, a pleasant sunny day, floating down a river surrounded with the picturesque and golden Andes mountains. It wasn't long however, until we hit our first rapid, and it felt like we were paddling for our lives.

I am in the red helmet, Michael is right in front of me. If you can't tell, I have a s*#t eating grin that NEVER left my face (the pictures are the proof).

Our raft engulfed in brown water, everyone screaming and laughing, digging our paddles into swirling water, only to be plucked into the air as we were thrown over a wave, our paddles windmilling in the air for purchase. Oh it was fantastic. We hit "stout class four" rapids continually down the river. I didn't even know you could send total beginners down a class four river...

Take 1: I'm the one with my mouth open, screaming/laughing as we are being engulfed by a rapid. Michael is bracing for shock.

Take 2: Michael totally engulfed...

Take 3: Emerging on the other side.

Hit by a particularly aggressive wave, Michael, who was leaning precariously over the side to "Adelante fuerte!" popped out of our raft. Desperately trying to hang on to his paddle and catch the line running along the raft simultaneously, he was in danger of being swept away. I immediately dropped my paddle, grasping his closed wet fist that refused to relinquish his paddle, but alas, the rapid had already swept him behind me. The paddler behind me launched himself towards Michael, hauling him towards the raft. Pulling his paddle into the raft, Michael's hands were free to pull himself towards the front of the raft on the raft line. There, the other male paddler in the front hooked his arms around Michael's life jacket straps and hauled him in a backwards somersault into the raft. In all, it was less than ten seconds of insanity, and as Michael and I broke into adrenaline fueled hysterical laughter, we were sucked into another monster rapid. Fortunately, we got our s*#t together and held on. Classic, Michael was the only rafter to fall in throughout the "biggest day of the year." Rafting on the Mendoza River? Amazing.

Monday we began Spanish lessons at Ecela Curso de Espanol in Mendoza. I love being back in a classroom...even if Michael and I are the oldest students by about nine years. It continues to amaze me how such young people are out exploring and bumming in all parts of the world. I can't even imagine what it would be like to be on my own, figuring out everything, at 18 in a country far from home. Just incredible.

Ecela!

On our first day, we learned that not only did we have Christmas Day off, but also Tuesday, Christmas Eve! As such, and because this Christmas is the first one Michael and I are able to spend together in our almost four year relationship, we decided to splurge on this place:

Michael made the brilliant decision to swim in this unbelievably cold, spring fed river. I made it as far as my calves.

Terma Cacheuta, an hour from Mendoza, is situated beautifully on the Mendoza River. The natural hot springs have yielded a place of total relaxation and beauty. Snagging the last room with AC (quite necessary in this strangely humid 95 degree weather), we made quick reservations on Monday evening, and by noon on Christmas Eve, we looked like this:

First ever mud bath!

We lazed around, soaking in rays, lounging in mineral spring water until our hands were prunes, all the time, recognizing how lucky we are. 

Feast!

Our beautiful room.

Yesterday, I received a truly wonderful Mele Kalikimaka email from Susan, my Hawaiian adventurer. She posed something so perfect in response to my anxiety in the Himalayas: "...maybe you don't need to be in the most isolated of places (mentally and physically) to have your moment. And maybe it won't be just one moment, but a build up of all these amazing and diverse experiences you've acquired that will be the pieces of the puzzle you need to see a big picture...Maybe it'll be in a moment when you are with a lot of people in a familiar place and realise you are happy in that moment... and that's enough for a bit." Suze, so much wisdom. Being here with Michael, walking the Camino with Keksey, Maks and Molly in Italy, Em in the Himalayas, the Yoga chicas at Sadhana...yes, being with all the people I love does bring me the greatest joy. And I have relied on so many people to hold me up, and bring me closer to myself. It truly is enough to be with those you love and simply be content, loved and loving. 

Our Christmas Day was complete with traditional movie watching ("You've Got Mail" - a Rodkin women must, "Home Alone", and "Snowman") as well as FaceTime and emails to friends and family.

Feliz Navidad to the multitude of beautiful, truly giving, kind and patient people in my life. 

Chiloe and an Introduction to South American Buses!

After only 30 hours in Santiago, we embarked on another long haul on Tuesday evening to the island of Chiloe. Eating grande salads and stocking up on some paltry snacks, we boarded our Cruz de Sur Salon Cama bus at 2030 for a twelve hour overnight ride. The Salon Cama bus was worth every extra peso, as we sank into deep cushioned seats and were able to recline to a nearly horizontal position. My internal clock was so confused from the measly six or so hours of sleep I had gotten during my 48 hour journey to Chile, that I promptly passed out hard until six the next morning. 

Making our way to the bus station in Santiago.

I awoke to a sweet sunrise.

Originally we were going to stop in Puerto Montt, the town on the mainland coast of Chile before catching a ferry to Chiloe. Instead we figured on just staying on our uber comfortable bus for an additional four hours, riding the ferry on our bus, until we reached Castro, the largest town on Chiloe.

Riding the ferry.

Chiloe is a place of wild beauty, fish towns, UNSECO World Heritage wooden churches, and is steeped deeply in a mystical and mythological past. After sixteen hours on the bus, we were grateful to be on our own two feet in an intense search for food. Landing upon a delicious sushi restaurant, we over ordered to the point that we didn't even eat dinner that night.

Iglesia de Castro.

Castro habor.

After an afternoon of strolling through markets, the bustling downtown, and along the waterfront, we called it a day and made plans to go on a tour of the surrounding area of Castro and the National Park of Chiloe the next day. 

Thursday, Jorge, our sweet and helpful driver from our hostel, took Michael and I and two French girls on a day long drive on the Castro side of the island. From the sprawling marketplace, unbelievably beautiful wooden churches, to vistas and finally to the National Park.

The smell overload market place. 

The dark swirled paint on the wooden columns is designed to look like European marble columns. 

As we were filling out the visitor log at the Chiloe National Park, there was suddenly a great commotion. The park ranger quickly grabbed his walkie talkie to call for reinforcements, motioned for another ranger to make his way over, and suddenly Michael was surrounded by three uniformed gentlemen. Fortunately, Michael has a reasonable command of the Spanish language, because I was about ready to pretend like nothing weird was happening, grab his hand and walk in the opposite direction. It turns out that Michael was the 30,000th visitor to the park this year (their goal for 2013), and it was cause for celebration! Taking us to the park's museum, Michael was officially interviewed and presented with a Spanish book on the myths and legends of Chiloe and a DVD of the park. They asked for my info too, so we both felt strangely important.

Upon our return to our hostel, we dolled up to go to dinner at the highly recommended Mercadito restaurant in celebration of Michael being accepted to Business School. He had just received the email on Wednesday, so it is a wonderful holiday and life gift!

Ceviche!

Our last day on Chiloe, was a truly epic misadventure. Renting a brand new (plastic shrink wrap still intact) Kia Morning, we headed out towards the remote north western part of the island to try to find the elusive (for this time of year) Humboldt and Magellanic penguins native to Chiloe. After a benign 60 km on paved road, we maneuvered an abrupt turnoff onto a rocky dirt road. Bumping along for almost 20 km, cresting hills to peek at the ocean, negotiating cows wandering back and forth across the road, we arrived at a steep extremely primative road. We should have wisely left the car at the top and walked down towards the beach, but instead we ricocheted down, nearly bottoming out the car numerous times, only to be stopped at the bottom by a massive puddle. Abandoning the car, we continued on foot, crawling under a bar wired fence, and emerging on a tundra like landscape with sand dunes breaking the horizon. 

  

The pivotal decision to off road.

Instead of following the tire tracks in the sand that followed a fenced pasture, we decided to cut through the dunes and greenery to the sound of the ocean. Not the brightest decision. Scrambling up windy dunes, bushwacking along rarely used cow paths, gently walking through a herd of unattended grazing cows (including a massive bull), and finally crossing a quicksand consistency marsh, we emerged on the beach. All in all we spent over an hour struggling through, albeit, a gorgeous landscape, when the return trip along the sandy tracks took a fraction of the time.

Jurassic park leaves.

Trying to figure out how to get from here to there.

One of my new Converse was sucked off my foot and had to be rescued by Michael.

Michael jumped...

I waded...

Walking along Punihuil Beach was seriously nothing short of breathtaking. We did not see a single other person in our whole mini trek and miles long walk along the beach in search of penguins. I felt like we were walking in, how I imagine it, New Zealand, or some other exotic coast. The ocean threw up glittering and smooth rocks onto the shore, and a massive free standing cave loomed at one end of the beach. 

Walking towards the cave. Penguins?

Alas, no penguins were to be found, and we had to hightail it (which is very difficult when walking in sand) to our car in order to make it back to Castro for our 1730 bus back to Santiago. We alternated between gritting our teeth and holding our breath as Michael deftly off roaded the bicycle tire Kia up the hill, this time bottoming out numerous times. Skidding into Castro with an hour to spare, we wolfed down some delicious sandwiches, and prepared ourselves for the 16 hour ride back.

Arriving 30 minutes early in Santiago on Saturday morning, we made the impulse decision to catch the outgoing bus to Mendoza departing in fifteen minutes. Whew. With barely enough time to stock up on a couple granola bars and more water, we were back on a bus (sadly, not a Salon Cama) for the eight hour drive through the Andes and a belabored border crossing.

30 some odd curves up to the pass in Santiago.

After exactly 24 hours of bus travel we arrived in wine rich Mendoza, treated ourselves to a bottle, ate a fashionably late Argentinian meal and tried to sleep in our sweltering, bar/hostel. What a whirlwind of South American travel so far. I am loving living in the moment.