Tales from Mendoza

"It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind
blows cold when it is Summer int he light, and winter in the shade."
-- Charles Dickens, Great Expectations.

This pretty much sums up Mendoza, filled with Great Expectations where
simplicity would suffice. Though not March, the weather from day to
day was either uncomfortably hot and dusty or cold and dry, sometimes
changing from minute to minute. Maybe i am getting old and grumpy,
but I just could not seem to spin Mendoza into a fabulous travel
experience.

Note to self: plan vacations to only warm tropical places unless great
exception for destination i.e. Machu Pichu.

Mendoza is a medium sized city in the wine region of Argentina. It
reminds me much of Hungary as I walk in the awakening streets to
school with people sweeping the sidewalks or hosing them down. It is
dusty, only given the gift of trees by a complex irrigation system
that brings waters from the Andes to the city via canals that act as
self watering pots for the trees. The Park of San Martin, the
equivalent of Central Park, is strategically placed so that the winds
of the mountains will be cooled by the trees in the park before
reaching the city. The summers are hot, over 100 degrees. The trees
in the city were selected to offer shade in the summer and then let
the sun through in the winter. Thanks much to San Martin for all
this planning and greatness. Something about him also liberating
Chile and other surrounding countries -- did they need liberating, I
am not clear and will have to look that up. Otherwise the climate is
exactly like LA, from what I understand. Except a bit cooler in the
winter and this past winter they actually had snow in town.
Moreover, Southern California is much more beautiful.

As if being in a less beautiful version of where you live is not
enough, the siesta made it difficult to plan anything. The Argentines
don´t seem to care that they lose much possible business by not
allowing tourists to do anything for 4 hours a day. The tourist
motto for the country should be something like: Argentina, We Like It
and Don´t Really Care if you Do or Not. When you ask for help or
talk in broken Spanish, they are patient and polite and nice, but
don´t expect anyone to give any more information than what you
specifically ask for. Also, they seem to not want to say no or be
confrontational, so, for instance, when I inquired about tango lessons
and a show, I was told there were indeed lesson followed by a show,
which in fact was not true . .. more about that in a bit.

So, it is comfortable here, I am practicing my Spanish, but it is not
the great adventure or get away I expected. But maybe I need to
learn to let go of expectations . . .

Like what a spa trip should be like . . . did I really think I could
have a relaxing day at a spa and a massage for bargain prices
(compared to the US)? Since the activities director did not offer to
help me make reservations, I called the spa on my own and, in Spanish,
made reservations for the spa and a massage, I got directions to the
spa by bus, and even found out the bus times and prices. I was very
proud of doing all this on my own in Spanish. So, it is one of the
wintry days and I suffer a cold bus ride in the rain to a little
hamlet in the mountains, going to the end of the route as told. ¨My
teacher told me that I would get out and the spa would be RIGHT THERE.
However, the only thing I could see was a run down soda stand and
some run down houses. Someone points me down a dirt road, and I find
the thermal swimming pools which look something like a pool at a bad
campground. They send me further down the road to the spa. I begin
walking as the hamlet gives way to more run down homes and a pile of
steel beams as if some construction as been abandoned, dead ending
into an abandoned railway. I go back and ask for directions again,
the man leads me to the edge of the canyon and shows me the roof of
the spa. With some trepidation and doubt, I head down the rail track,
wondering how I will get back to the bus at night. I finally find
the spa, now wet and cold, only to be told they do not have a massage
reservation for me. I was outraged. Of course, the man was only
mildly apologetic and shrugged. I looked around at the empty lobby
not believing they could´not squeeze me in somewhere. So, I settled
with just the spa. The water was lovely and soothing. The pools
were made of natural rocks and formed into little hot tubs as if they
were naturally formed in the mountainside for vacationers. There was
a little pool of mud. Imitating the old women from Chile, I smeared
my body in the mud, not really caring how ridiculous Iooked, and stood
in the cold as it dried before rinsing myself under the hot spring
shower. After that, I went to ¨"la grotto" as they called the sauna,
which was a cave that was sweating. I could only stay there 10
minutes, but it might have been the best 10 minutes of my week as I
enjoyed the warmth and darkness. After several hours of sitting in
the warm water and reading (to the dubious looks of the other spa
goers), I returned to the cold and thankfully only had to cross the
main road to catch the bus.

Now, I must go dress for tonight's premier of Elektra at the opera,
which is not at the Teatro Colon, which is under renovation (as is my
usual luck in travel . . . ). Anyway, we scored some nosebleed
seats, I suspect, for about $10 each. Really, how can it be bad. And
it is another warm day, so I can wear my skirt in comfort.

Next editions will include the Vines of Mendoza experiences, Buenos
Aires, Tango, and the Opera.