A few days in San Juan

Weather woes. Go/no-go. While things, including weather, have been fantastico these past few days in San Juan, this morning – the day we chose to get back on the horses – is overcast, windy, and looking stormy. Based on our luck with the weather lately, and lying in a nice bed in a nice room looking out from our nice private balcony, we decided to stay put and see what tomorrow brings. If we were looking out the door of our tent in the middle of the desert, we would ride. But hey, why run away from a good situation. The coffee’s on, better go have a cup and chill J

Feb 21, 2032. The city of San Juan Argentina....

....has been evacuated in the post-nuclear world.

OK whew...that was just siesta.

So San Juan. Kind of a nondescript city living in the shadow of the more infamous Mendoza just down the road. Locals like to tout that their wine (and everything else) is far superior to that of Mendoza’s. I guess we’ll find out. It is pretty darn good here! Walking around town the other day in the middle of siesta felt like one of those post-Armageddon movies where the streets are empty following a nuclear holocaust – no one left alive, just the cockroaches.  But you know, it’s grown on us, and feels like home. From the corner store guy where we buy our wine and pasta, to the chicos working the front desk here at the hostel, to our new friend Mauricio – a permanent resident of the hostel – it’s a fine place to live the dream and pick up some Argentine lingo. It’s also been a good opportunity to get Amy’s bike – an apparatus in constant need of adjustment and tweaking – back to center. The chico at the bike shop could have adjusted the front derailleur and straightened out the back wheel wobble blindfolded. He knew what he was doing, and refused to take my money. With a wave and a “suerte” (good luck) he sent us on our way. Nice. 

Unbeknownst to us, Argentines might just be the friendliest people in the world. At least twice now, going to the corner store for a single tomato or potato, it’s just a wave and a “nada” (meaning “take it”). Since arriving in Argentina we have been invited to more group dinners than we can count. Interesting situation though. “Dinner” here means 11 pm at the earliest, then drinking wine into the wee hours. The other night we begged Mauricio, who wanted to cook for us, to serve at 9 pm. No way. Earliest we could negotiate was 9:30, which turned into 10:30. Then we had to beg him to let us go to bed at midnight. To him the evening was just warming up. We’re learning to keep the group dinners to a minimum J

Speaking of group dinners, we lucked into one of Argentina’s most famous meal customs: the infamous asado. Otherwise known as a b-b-que to us, but much more. Like everything here, an asado isn’t just a b-b-que, it’s an event. Step one is the shopping in the evening, say at 7 or 8 pm, for fresh ingredients which are half a dozen varieties and cuts of meat (which we haven’t learned yet...there are dozens), along with an array of veggies. Around 10ish or so, a fire is made in the asado – a large brick b-b-que prominently displayed as a badge of honour in the courtyard (I’m sure a man ain’t a man here if he doesn’t have a big asado). To the fire is added charcoal. After a couple good hours of wine and other fine spirits, when the coals are good and hot, the grill -- a large metal apparatus operated by a chain and wheel system – is lowered into position. The meat and veggies are place on the grill hovering over the coals. Unlike our b-b-ques which tend to be high-heat, fast-grilled, to sear in juices, Argentines opt for the slow-and-steady method – thus permitting it to take longer and provide more wine-drinking time. Some time, say midnight or so, when the asador (guy in charge) gives the thumbs up, everyone sits down and digs in. Buen provecho! (bon appetite!)

As purists, you won’t find a propane b-b-que within the borders of Argentina. As far as we can tell, they aren’t aware of their existence. After shamefully admitting to owning one, then trying to describe such an appliance to Mauricio, we had to google it and show him images from the Canadian Tire catalogue. His look was disbelief, shock, and horror. He just kept repeating “why?” over and over. Looking like he was going to cry, I turned off the computer. It’ll be a cold day in hell before propane b-b-ques make their debut in Argentina.

OK, windy day in the city. A cortado (espresso with milk) in the plaza maybe later. Actually, Amy has been struggling with back and neck pain lately, so hopefully we can work on that day. Poor little Amy. Not having a lot of fun with that these days. And, hopefully tomorrow will bring back that searing desert heat (and calm winds!). It’s a 2 or 3-day ride to Mendoza, which with any luck, should go smoothly (wind dependant). More on that soon. Chau.

A man and his asado