From Salta, we’re busing to Buenos Aires.  We’ll then fly from Buenos Aires to Toronto via Santiago, Chile (which surprisingly enough was cheaper than flying from Santiago to Toronto).  From Toronto, it’s the Greyhound down to Dayton.  All in all, some 7,368 miles…give or take a few.  We’re going to be riding our bicycles for a long time to make up for this one!

Our first stop was the campground to set up base. It was quite a long way from the bus terminal and we kept wondering if the driver knew where he was going. Turns out he did and we were dropped off on the back side of San Martin Park. Wait a minute, park…in a desert, huh??? Yup, and a gorgeous one at that. I have never seen it but Liz could only compare it to Central Park in New York. It exists solely because of irrigation, as does the rest of the greenery in the city (which is extensive) and the local agriculture (which is even more extensive). Open irrigation ditches are every where through out the park and torrents rage through the channels next to major roads in the city. The water of course comes from Andean rivers and I wish I knew how long the irrigation has been in place but it is at least several hundred years old. Later we would come across a “natural area” in the park, basically a place that they didn’t irrigate, and it looked just like the desert outside of town. So anyway, the campsites were great. We had our own sink, our own light to flip on/off at our discretion, really nice place to pitch our little home. There were’t very many people except on soccer nights when the asados flared, so the only real objection were the birds that were using the tent for target practice.

We quickly got onto scoping out the bike scene. We did what we had in Salta and started asking around at the local bike shops. Problem was, we couldn’t find the local bike shops. We asked around at the numerous outdoor stores and no one had any suggestions. We checked with the local tourism office, and it was the one time they weren’t able to help us much (though they definitely tried, love those places!). They were able to point us to a bike shop, so we headed out there. The sales staff showed us some bikes that could work for us, but like everything else in Mendoza, they seemed a little overpriced. They pointed us to another shop on the opposite corner. The shop was quite nice and modern looking, they had a Cannondale track bike that was absolutely gorgeous! But the owner didn’t have any suggestions for us and vaugly said that San Rafael had a better scene. When we asked about possible routes in the area he suggested the San Martin Park. We had seen lots of people lazily circling the lake while we ran through the park. Some folks seemed to be taking it seriously sporting riding shorts and jerseys, but the road wasn’t much more than a 2km wide bike path loop. We were looking for something a little more. Oddly enough, almost every descent size town in Argentina has a Velodrome. We decided on one last attempt to get some information and headed over to the track which as it happens was a short walk from the campsite. The facility was closed for the season with no one around except for hooligans throwing rocks onto the track. Determined, we headed over to the Departmental Ministry of Sport, which also happened to be a short walk from the track. They happily tried to help us and chased down some phone numbers of the track manager and the director of the San Rafael Cycling Association. Both numbers turned into dead ends. Walking home that night we discovered a replica of a Belgian Velodrome, cobbles and all.

We were pretty close to giving up on training in Mendoza. As a last ditch effort we bought a few national cycling magazines and sat down at a coffee shop to try and gather some leads. Not five minutes after we started an American couple sitting at the table next excused themselves and asked if we were cyclists. They had been living in Mendoza for six months and riding mountain bikes in the surrounding country side. They had gotten to know a lot of people in the cycling community there, but said there were not many road cyclists other that around the lake. It became obvious why when she said that if we did train there, we shouldn’t head out of town unless we were in a group because it was very likely that our bikes would be stolen from underneath us. And that pretty much closed the book on training in Mendoza.

As fate would have it, we got a glimpse of the other side of Mendoza that night. We had been having trouble figuring out the bus system, but had managed to narrow our choices down to three or so buses that would get us home by one route or another. Some were much more direct than others, and that night the bus we chose took that longest route yet. We passed through the first really poor neighborhood we had seen in a while. We have seen much poorer areas in an absolute sense, but this was different because of the dramatic contrast with the richness of central Mendoza. The difference made it seem like a much more desperate and dangerous place. Petty crime is high in the ritzy cafe districts of Mendoza and this is one of the places that many of those thieves likely lived. The kind of poverty seemed different to us as compared with Northern Peru and Bolivia. There, everyone is poor so the people didn’t seem that concerned with their situation and they were generally happy so long as they had enough to eat. Here, it was apparent that the have-not’s wanted more. The inequality created greater discomfort and insecurity than we had experienced in many
other places. We felt a little guilty for our reactions, but were happy to leave it behind and slip safely into our tent none the less.

With the bikes being a bust we quickly moved onto our next reason for being here, wine! The bodegas were much more spread out than in Cafayate, so we decided to check out just one of the larger industrial operations. “La Rural” is one of the popular wineries with bike tours and guide book readers. They have an large museum which does a good job of explaining the history of wine making techniques. After showing you the various leather and wooden implements, they take you to their ultra-modern facilities. Apparently there is a sort of hand-me-down market for wine aging oak barrels. La Rural purchases all of its barrels from either the US or France new and the sells them to smaller wineries that make “lower quality wines” after five years. The facilities were huge to say the least, so much so that after stopping to take a picture while the group moved on I was separated and remained lost for the next ten minutes. Back in the lobby after the tour, they poured us all large glasses from bottles that were specifically labeled as only available during the tour. At first we thought is was a privilege, but after tasting it and looking around at the other thirty folks who like us were there to mooch, we decided to buy a bottle of their cask aged selection from the menu. If we haven´t mentioned it yet, learning to appreciate wine in wine country is really the only way to go. We bought the second best label for around twenty pesos because we were splurging, that is about $6 USD. Their top of the line brand was available for a mere $20. I think the tour special bottles were being given away for $2.

Over all we weren’t that impressed with Mendoza, the cafes were nice (but so were Salta’s), the wine was good (but so was Salta’s), but the prices were high (Salta’s weren’t), and the countryside was desert (guess what Salta’s was . Maybe we had played it up to much in our minds, or maybe we were just itching to get to Patagonia.

Argentina used to be one of the most expensive countries in the western hemisphere when they had their currency pegged 1 to 1 with the US$. However due to a pile of circumstances they unpegged and crashed down to 3 to 1 in 2001. Since then, it’s been cheap for those of us with the almighty dollar, euro, etc., though I won’t mention the pound because its exchange rate makes me sick with jealousy! While Argentina is still definitely cheap compared with the US, we learned the hard way in Cordoba and La Cumbre that the cost of living is definitely on the rise.

Cordoba was our third stop in Argentina, after Salta and Cafayate. In both cities we had been able to camp, which kept our costs beautifully low. Our Lonely Planet (LP, or simply The Book) states that while there is no campground in Cordoba proper, there was one hostel that would let you set up in their backyard. The hostel prices listed were also sufficiently low that we didn’t think there would be a problem.

Slightly off to the side note: the tourist help offices in Argentina are fantastic! Almost every bus station has one and they are usually well stocked with helpful information. Cordoba was no exception. The tourist kiosk had an accommodation price list showing places near the bus station for 20-30 pesos and those closer to the action in the 30-40 range. Great! Armed with information, we headed into the city.

The first hostel we came to was listed at a$25. A quick look inside showed it be a pretty basic place, but clean enough so we inquired about a room for the night. a$80 was the reply! Holy what?!? US$27 for a foam mattress and a dim cell?!? We thought they were just gouging the gringos, so we moved on to the next hostel up the street. However, as we moved in towards the center, we got the same replies over and over again. One proprietor had the courtesy to tell us that the tourist office price list was from 2005 and that we’d never find rates like that in Cordoba.

A bit discouraged, we trekked through town to the camper-friendly hostel. It was in a nice part of town and looked like a pretty spiffy place at first glance. However, the cheapskate fairy did not grace us with her presence their either, as the local authorities had apparently stepped in and prohibited camping a few years ago. The only reason we had stopped in Cordoba was to hang out and enjoy the city, but we were quickly finding out that it was out of our price range. Discouraged, we traipsed back to the bus station to head out into the mountains to La Cumbre.

La Cumbre is about an hour from Cordoba. It’s a resort town of sorts, a place for rich people to spend the weekends during the summer. It’s a pleasant enough town though and it had a campground. The real reason for our visit though was that it is renound as a paragliding spot and Ben is quite taken with the sport. He’ll probably get his pilots’ license some day, but for now he has to be satisfied with the occasional tandem flight.

Settled into our campsite (which was a$30 by the way), we headed off to find the pilot hangout spot. There aren’t any agencies that set up flights; it’s just a loose system where you put out the word you’re interested and one of the locals will take you up. Following The Book, Ben planned on paying around a$100 for the pleasure. We were in for a rude awakening though as prices have doubled to a$200! As the guy we spoke with said, the cost of living has gone up, and besides, it’s a lot cheaper than where you’re from. This, by the way, is always an infuriating statement. Yeah, sure things are cheaper in the US, but we’ve been down here for over a year! And not all Americans are filthy freakin rich! Anywho….

Though Ben was extremely disappointed, we ended up staying in La Cumbre for a few days just to hang out. We met some cool folks at the campsite and the countryside is beautiful around those parts. We also got back into running, which was a challenge as it’s hilly in all directions.

So the moral of this story? Argentina’s cheap, but not as cheap as it was a few years ago. And don’t tell an Argentine that something is expensive, because you’ll just get an earful about how it’s cheaper than where you’re from…because anyone who speaks English is obviously from the US, the most expensive place in the world.

Our favorite wine was Nanni, one of Argentina’s few organics. We visited the bodega one day and bought a bottle, then returned the next day to buy more!

Cafayate specializes in a grape called torrontes, a white brought over from France. The French no longer grow it and it is currently only grown in Argentina, mostly in Cafayate. It’s a very fruity white, not super dry. It’s great for a hot summer day. My wine knowledge is limited, so I’ll leave it at that. However, I can recommend picking up a bottle if you ever see it in the store.

Other than drinking wine and eating good food, our only other “event” in Cafayate was a bee sting on one of my fingers. Not a big deal at first, but it was swollen to the point that I lost all movement for three days! The campsite hippies were very concerned and helpful with home (or should I say tent?) remedies. Though I’m not sure they helped, it was nice that they wanted to help out. Thankfully the wine more than made up for my little “injury”.

Argentina though was a different story. With my mom on her way to visit us, we needed to make an itinerary and stick to it or we risked not making it as far as we wanted to.

So in Bolivia we made a plan. We laid out the places we wanted to go and how much time we thought we would need for each. Our goal was to make it to Bariloche by December. At this point we though Mom would be visiting around Christmas time and we wanted her to fly into Bariloche.

Salta was a pleasant surprise, as we were efficient and felt ready to go in only 4 days when we had budgeted a week. It was also a surprise that as we went along, things got taken off the list but rarely added on, mostly a time and cost thing.

Argentina. A totally different country, a totally different plan.

We went to Salta somewhat begrudgingly, but we accepted it out of convenience and feeling responsible to be thorough. Salta is the largest city in little visited northwestern Argentina and serves as a transport hub for travelers entering from Bolivia. Upon arrival we felt the stark contrast of culture, dress and genetic heritage between Argentina and the other South American countries we had visited. Everything seemed so much more like what we remember the states to be and the indigenous influence that we had become accustomed to was completely absent. By the second day I commented on “missing” South America because the difference was so pronounced. It made us realize more the unique culture that the Central Andean countries have with ancient traditions surviving and coexisting in the modern world. I felt a little guilty for not appreciating the value of our experiences at the time. While we reflected on that we also looked forward to the comforts that Argentina would provide.

While we were still in Huaraz, Peru we made two fateful decisions. One, we would add Argentina to our country list. Two, we would explore the potential for our own cycling “training camp”. After some poking around we’d anticipated on locating our “training camp” in Mendoza but had decided to look at Salta also though we had low expectations. Thus we found ourselves climbing off the bus at 2am and taxiing to the municipal campground.

We weren’t sure what to expect with the campground, our camping in South America thus far having been entirely in the backcountry. Turns out that it’s a pretty good deal. For around $2 USD you get a secure place to pitch your tent, a communal bathroom with hot showers, BBQ grill and at this particular location the biggest honkin swimming pool you have ever laid eyes on. We came in at night and assumed the pool was a lake. The thing is seriously 300m (176 smoots) long and is easily visible with satellite imaging software. We ended up spending almost a week in Salta and realized the obvious drawback to such a huge pool, half of Salta shows up there on the weekends. Crowded barely described the situation. On the bright side though our things were left completely unmolested while we weren’t there. The pool also provided us with a surprise triathlon one morning, prospects for training in Argentina were look in up.

We divided our time away from the campsite between two pursuits, scoping out the bike situation and coffee. Observation of siesta varies from country to country and it so happens that Argentines are devout practitioners of the mid-day respite. Thankfully the cafes around the main plaza stay open so we had somewhere to hunker down and wait for the city to wake up a second time. Don´t think that I´m complaining though; amazing espresso (thanks to Italian influence), complementary pastries, free high-speed Wi-Fi and a familiar atmosphere made passing the time a pleasure.

When we were able to get out and talk to people we were directed from one bike shop to the next all over town in the search for road bikes and beta. With leads seeming to open up just after hitting a dead-end we were in a constant state of “here we go again”. After two days of almost getting somewhere we made a breakthrough at an unlikely looking shop a the corner of Jujuy and Mendoza, a place called Saramiento Bike Shop run by Carlos Saramiento. As luck would have it Carlos, a quiet man with a penetrating gaze, is the President of the Salta Cycling Association. Jackpot! When we walked into the unassuming shop (mostly low end sales and cheap repairs) posted on the wall were results from the previous weekend’s race, a list of more than twenty cyclists. Carlos seemed skeptical of our plan to maybe return in a few months however, his daughter (also a racer) was very enthusiastic and helpful. After talking with them we felt confident that we could secure bikes, have some descent places to ride them, and training partners if we so desired.

Leaving the shop we figured it would take just as long to walk back to the campsite as to wait for a bus. Our luck continued because on the way we passed a very clean, modern, and large bike store. It didn’t take long to find out that they had several used bikes that would meet our needs plus lots of new bikes and accessories. It felt like we had won the lottery twice.

With the bike situation looking surprisingly promising in Salta we decided to head up the local mirador via the teleferico and have a look around at the country side. We bought one-way tickets up and hopped in the gondola. As soon as we rose above the buildings the surrounding mountains lept into view. We aren’t talkin snow capped Cordillera Blanca here, but then again skinny tires aren’t much good in the snow. As we ascended three obvious routes became apparent. Then as we neared the summit we realized why one-way tickets were available, a beautiful, twisting, well paved road leads to the summit as well. The road was clearly popular with local runners and would serve us as well. The view from the summit simply made us giddy. We could really see ourselves staying and training here. Mendoza was really going to have to step it up to win our favor.