Man-dozing in Mendoza

Mendoza is supposed to be just the other side of the Andes in Argentina. Given a long weekend, mountain-bus-driving and the 'well run' immigration offices it takes a fucking long time. The way there we spent three hours waiting at immigration and the way back we spent SIX hours waiting at immigration.


The inappropriately named bus we took on the way there. But we did get sandwiches with 50mls of Pepsi AND coffee though.



My first taste of Argentina! A flag in a nipply high altitude desert.


Me and the gang hired bikes late in the morning and did the vineyard tour thing, before returning here to Mr Hugo's to drink all their horrible complementary wine/acid. But it was complementary and did the trick. Photo stolen from Brittany's Facebook.


First vineyard before the drinking commenced, therefore = boring.


The museum in the winery was almost intersting, nice old tools 'n shit.


This painting in the first winery caught my attention as an apt metaphor for the afternoon (just upgrade the horse to a bike) and indeed my trip in South America to date.


This tasting at a small chocolate/alcohol/other stuff making place would have been good in a small intimate group, however, we got fused with other groups making damn near 20, totally fucking the event. Not only did I not care what this guy had to say in English I definitely didn't need to hear it again in Spanish. Just give me the damn samples man! Although I did have a shot of pure 'n proper Absinthe. I knew it would be strong but SHIT it was like copping a full force Chuck Norris endorsed roundhouse to the face.


Tasting some red stuff in a glass followed by what must have a cubic metre of pure meat magic!


Life's not so good for the Dulux dog these days. Poor bastard has ended up spending his days roaming aimlessly in an Argentinian vineyard and is easily the dirtiest sheep dog I have ever seen.


If you took a an old sofa, left it in a hostel for 20 years, machine-gunned it with crud, called it a bitch and doused it in bin juice then you would understand what this dog smelt like. And the bastard LICKED my face!


The poor Spanish girls, Maria and Diana, just couldn't keep up. Luckily, I am Australian and still had plenty of wits left in the bank and kept an eye on that creepy son of a bitch in the background.


I may be a foreigner and hence a little ignorant, but when I order a dish with Chorizo I expect a farking sausage not my SECOND 500 gram+ steak (this photo is after I have eaten HALF of it) for the day, which lead to this...


...myself and my poor, similarly ill-fated French friend Camille sinking into unconscious digest or die mode. Those steaks where amazing and cheaper than a packet of skittles (jumbo sized of course) in Australia. Photo stolen from Brittany's Facebook.


The next day some of us took a hour and a half bus ride to a small mountain joint called Cacheuta. Known pretty much only for its hot springs, none of us had suitable attire with which to hot spring, so we had to find other things to do. So we walked. All day. Across bridges and up hills.



A harmlessly sinister looking snap shot. Awwwww yeaaaah!




The ol' DIY is alive and well in South America. Q: Rodrigo, where are we going to put the sign, there is a tree outside our shop blocking the view? A: Awww, fuck it Paola Claudia Maya Josefina Nathalia, help me throw it IN the tree.


I immediately noticed a strange blossoming flower all over the valley...


...seemingly erratic...


...some even grow what resemble supermarket logos...


...before realising that the only thing South Americans like more that outrageously poor service is littering. It is actually quite sad how much crap is everywhere even though the plastic-bag-thorn-tree fields looked tragically beautiful.


Batherless, we climbed a mountain for a few hours. And being sick, I whinged and coughed the whole time like a little bitch. But the view was pretty good.



That little towny blob is where we walked from man!

The ride home in the bus was interesting, all the buses that came to pick everyone up were set at 10 minute intervals but lined up (in a narrow and non-u-turnable street) in the wrong order. So, they left in the wrong order, creating the closest thing to riot conditions I have even seen in real life. THEN, the last bus with which we were to board was a half-sized bus for some reason, so myself and at least 20 others had to stand in the isle for one and a half hours.


Holy shit, this was good. A corn filled cannelloni with Napoli-ish sauce. Up there as the best thing I have eaten in South America so far.


We stayed in a hilarious little hostel. The dude that was running it was seriously like this: Hi my name is (dickface or something), would you like to read some of my poetry? Which was in a folder (always open) on the front desk, one of which was called Moon Princess and the other Suck My Balls (I am not kidding!). Then straight after that: Would you like to see some of my tattoo designs? (which would be unimpressive falling out of a 5 year old's pencil case) Then: Do you want to smoke some MJ? I whispered Get the fuck away from me under my breath and played the ignorant me-no-speaky-spanish card for the rest of the trip (which is half true sadly). And the beds would have been comfortable if they weren't wrapped in PLASTIC! Everytime anyone in the hostel moved at night there was an unholy arse-quivering noise. But to be fair the complementary breakfast was exceptional — a feast of wicked pastries and coffee. However, on the last night we had there, the poetry-writing-half-wit managed to overbook the hostel by TEN people. Therefore we had to sleep where we could. I opted to sleep in the filthy kitchen on the floor next to the washing machine. And the sad fact was that I slept better here that in the actual bedrooms.


That pillow consisted of a square outside seat cushion shoved inside a pillow case (think of an arse-petrified-sun-dried-piece-of-balsa-wood), two sets of dirty sheets and an unnaturally yellow couch covering. Sweet fucking dreams man!


Night time paparazzi snap from Camille.


Another fucking night time paparazzi snap from that sneaky French @#$% Camille.


The wildlife in Mendoza has adapted to the abundance of plastic in the environment. These fish like creatures are either dining on the remnants of this wrapper of (inferior) chocolate or they actually live in it like a futuristic mobile apartment complex.


It appears to be a harmless palm tree in a beautifully executed photograph, BUT NO, it is in fact a semi automatic pigeon shitting machine of war. You might not be able to see them, but trust me, they are there!


Marielle the Dutch chick, Regiane the Brazilian girl and Camille the French dude.


Hitting the Andes from the Argentinian side on the way home.




So, Mendoza was pretty good except for the hideous bus rides especially on the way back. But I'm unemployed now so I shouldn't really give a shit.