The Phoney Planet Guide: Mendoza

Access to internet and other homely luxuries is proving a little difficult during my backpacking travels, as might be expected.  But I’m finally able to give you a little bit of a review and some highly unprofessional travel advice from my destinations so far.

I understand the concept of the Lonely Planet guides, of course: sound an invaluable travel advice for the independent adventurer.  But for me, the purpose of my trip is to meet new and interesting people, and immerse myself into new cultures and societies.  ‘Lonely’ hardly seems the right word for the tips and tricks I’m picking up along the way; ‘Social’ is probably more accurate.  But at least ‘Phoney’ rhymes.

Mendoza was my first real stop along the way, as well as my first taste of Argentina, and it is definitely to be recommended.  Located in the North-West of the country but far closer to Santiago than Buenos Aires, it’s best reached by bus from the Chilean capital.  Seven hours might seem like a lot, but you get some spectacular scenery as you wind through and over the Andes.  Also, the buses in this continent are the best I’ve ever travelled on, with huge, reclining seats (and even your own bed if you chuck in an extra $15 or so), food, drink, and occasionally a waiter.

The only downside to this particular journey is the border crossing half way along.  Set up in a shonky looking hanger in the mountains, the border point sees your disembark in the cold mountain air and line up prisoner-of-war style as the guards and dogs disembowel your luggage – and then ask for a fee for the privilege.  Plus, being a popular crossing for large buses, you may have to wait a while for those in front of you to be passed.  I was lucky with only an hour delay both ways, but I have heard some horror reports from fellow hostellers of four-hour freezing, starving delays.

Having said that, the guards confiscated all my bus snack food on the way back, so I feel I have some right to grumble.

If you’re travelling in a group to Mendoza, organise your own tour of the wineries – grab some pushbikes (the best way to see them) and spend a full day cheaply enjoying the fruits of the region.  Stay somewhere nice, enjoy the sun, and I don’t know, buy a Lonely Planet or something.

But if you’re looking to meet people while there, I recommend staying in one of the four Hostel International hotels (I chose Winca’s, but the others are probably at least as good).  They organise joint functions every night, very cheap and with plentiful social lubrication to help break the ice for fellow travellers.  On my first night there, for example, I paid $7 for all you can eat pizza with – wait for it – free tequila.  This was one of many examples in my hostel where I thought their business model was completely unsustainable, but from the guest’s perspective, it’s hard to complain.

Continuing the meet-a-stranger advice, try the Trekking/Rappelling/Natural Springs adventure option (there are many), which can be booked through any hostel.  Of all the choices, this one is probably the most social: two hours trekking through the mountains, sharing the excitement of abseiling down some rather intimidating cliffs, and relaxing for a full afternoon in the most gorgeous outdoor natural springs I have ever experienced – all the while gazing up at perhaps the most impressive mountain range in the world.  Big tick.

It has to be said that most of the hostel crowd stuck to primarily nocturnal activities.  Mendoza is a pretty big party town, and the nightlife (as in most of the continent) begins after midnight and doesn’t think about stopping until first light.  In fact, during my few days there, I didn’t meet a single traveller who had been or planned on visiting any of the many museums in the town – never have I felt so old.  Still, I recommend checking one out, at the very least the small archaeological one built around remains of the old city.  Mendoza was completely destroyed by a huge earthquake in 1861 and had to basically be entirely rebuilt, which, combined with its importance in the fight for independence against the Spaniards, results in a pretty fascinating history.  It doesn’t take long, and for $2, it’s a nice break from the more regular beverage-fuelled activities.

Still, for all my attempts and pretensions at culture, by far the most unique experience for me in Mendoza was the clubbing.  It’s hard to imagine arriving at midnight and being early for the party, but this rookie error meant that by 6am, I couldn’t keep any longer with the packed crowd who seemed to be just warming up.  Drinks are cheap but cigarettes apparently cheaper, as a constant haze of tobacco smoke wafts at head height throughout the club.  The music is largely Spanish electronic with a touch of tango, but, despite hardly an Anglophone in sight, everyone somehow manages to sing along whenever the occasional American top-40 hit from the late nineties comes on.  And as for the dancing – well, let’s just say you’d probably be considered to be breaking a few harassment laws back in Australia.

On the night my dormmates and I went out, word quickly spread through the packed niteclub that English-speaking tourists had arrived, and suddenly we were a bit of a hit.  I’m sure the young Mendoza locals are very used to tourists, but nonetheless, we were considered exotic.  The local guys wanted to practise their English with me, the local girls kept offering to teach me to dance (I politely refused in my broken Spanglish – but see the next Buenos Aires post for my spontaneous tango experience), and all in all I felt more like a celebrity than a target.

Regardless of the VIP treatment, though, I sheepishly made my apologies as sunrise beckoned and dragged myself back to my hostel – the first of my dorm to return – in time for breakfast.  Once again, sad comprehensions of the Lethal Weapon quote “I’m too old for this” (well, paraphrased slightly) took over.

But I quickly snapped out of it – I’m not old, I told myself, I’m still a sprightly, young traveller, but one who’s just not used to the culture.  Hardly aged at all.  Reassured, I grabbed a hostel breakfast, showered off physical layers of cigarette smoke, and got ready for the youthful adventures that awaited my morning.

I started with the archaeological museum.