martes 20.05 --- Siempre al oeste --- Ever Westward

In the way of our forefathers and their manifest destiny, Steven and I ventured west again, to Mendoza. The overnight 11 hour bus ride was soporific; however, I did not receive much sleep. I had to send several gentle nudges to my brother, whose snoring made sleep (an already difficult task to accomplish) near impossible. We were into Mendoza’s bus station around 08:30 and walked to the hostel. Unfortunately, Hostel Lao didn’t provide check in until noon. We were too tired to do anything remotely interesting like explore the city, so we lounged instead. We watched television, played with the owner’s dogs (a lively German Shepard and a lively mutt), sat in the hammock and waited. At noon we were informed that we would have to wait a little longer. The owner politely apologized by saying “bienvendos a Mendoza, dónde todo pasa lentamente” or “Welcome to Mendoza, where everything moves slowly.” We finally got into our room at half past noon and put our bags down. We were so tired we couldn’t sleep at all. Fatigue has a way of energizing you.

Steve lounging around.

So we did the next logical thing and toured the entire city. The hostel’s owner, an animated Brit named Mike gave us all the hotspots to visit. We pressed through to what we could. I paid homage to my hero, José Francisco de San Martín. He commanded the respect and adoration of the entire country (and Chile, Perú and Ecuador as well). I haven’t really explained my reasons for interest in this man. To do so at length now, would be desultory and ruin the flow of this blog. Suffice to say I, as a North American, also have a deep respect and liking for the national hero. I wrote two term papers on him in college, and would recommend any history buff to research this man. He freed the southern part of the continent, and would have finished the royalists off, had it not been for a meeting with the egotistical Bolívar. San Martín, being the nobler of the two, abdicated his power, army and funds to leave the task to Bolívar. There’s just something glorious in surrendering in the name of a cause higher than oneself. I’ll stop there.

So, for a national hero, I would have expected a large museum in Mendoza (his favorite city) and site for crossing the Andes. This proved over-presumptuous as the city’s museum to San Martín was small, no bigger than a one story house. There were relics, documents and paintings but nothing that really impressed me. Dissatisfied, we went to Plaza de la Independencia; a large park to relax and enjoy the day. The park was plentiful in places to lie down and do exactly that. The stray dogs were a bit too friendly for our liking and we had to leave in order to stop form being licked.

Plaza de la Independencia.

Our next stop was Cerro de la Gloria or Hill of Glory. Atop this large hill (practically a mountain) stands a monument dedicated to San Martín’s Army of the Andes. It was a very demanding hike! We got to the immense Parque de San Martín (the largest in South America) and could walk no longer. We are normally more ambitious, but the lack of sleep drowned out our ability to hike long uphill distances. We instead hailed a taxi, which took us through the park to the bottom of the cerro. From there we would have to walk. The dirt path at the bottom of the hill was very deceiving because it started out paved and then ten meters later changed to a rocky foot path. The dirt path was about 200 meters of complete uphill climb. Our current energy situation made the mere 200 meters seem much longer. Finally we made it to the top and got a great view of the city. Also the monument was spectacular. On two sides of the monument there were watch towers graced with condors. Standing atop the summit, I realized this was holy ground. This is the exact spot where San Martín decided to cross the Andes and thus liberate much of the continent.

Cerro de la Gloria.

Mendoza from afar.

We came back down the hill and walked a great distance through the rest of the park. It was an endless journey that we both wished we had avoided by taking a taxi again, but none were to be found. We reached the end of the park at dusk and continued on through town. It was long. I can not say this without risk of being redundant, but the combination of exhaustion and distance pained us both very much.

Long Walk Home.

We crossed through Plaza de Italia, which is dedicated to another large Italian community that the city boasts. It is for this reason that Mendoza is famed for being a hub for surrounding vineyards. This is something I take great pride in. Next was Plaza de España which made me feel like revisiting Andalusia, with its fountains and fantastic tiling. We rested there, got our bearings and moved to our hostel. The night concluded with Don Mario, a ritzy local restaurant where I had the best steak of my life. No exaggeration. The wine we were given was also out of this world. My brother—who is not a wine enthusiast by any means—could even admit he enjoyed the beverage. Though the meal was expensive, it was well worth it.

Tile painting from Plaza de España.

We took a taxi back to the hostel, got a beer and relaxed. We played some cards games into the early morning as we unwound from the day and shared our observations about the mendocinos (Mendozians) and their lifestyle. Again I would like to reiterate to the reader that this was the longest day of the trip. Tomorrow will be of a slower pace. We plan on horseback riding through the Andes Mountains, yet another way to relieve San Martín’s experience of Mendoza. Granted tomorrow we do not cross into Chile, it is still fascinating (to me anyway) to envision a similar experience.