Post by Grubb.
In 1817, at the beginning of his campaign to liberate Chile and Peru from Spain, San Martin followed a river out of Mendoza, Argentina and led his army into the Andes. Since then that river has been dammed to regulate the amount of water flowing into the acequias for the vineyards.
The path San Martin chose along the river was one that the Incas had used to settle in the plains on the eastern side of the mountain range. Part of his troops set up camp in Uspallata, an isolated valley where the supply train could let the horses forage. On our tour into the Andes, we stopped for breakfast in Uspallata at the Gran Hotel. It’s early fall down in these parts, so the trees were already turning.
After breakfast we slowly made it up the pass following the heavy truck traffic hauling goods into Chile. A main point of interest was the Inca Bridge.
This natural stone archway over the river is streaked with the startling colors that flow from a mineral rich hot springs. The picturesque erosion is always featured in the Mendoza tourist brochures. The nearby village of Puente del Inca was selling mate cups. After our tasting session from the night before, we couldn’t resist. Ella bought one made out of leather, I chose one carved out of a hoof.
Our next getting off point was at the start of the trail leading up to Aconcagua, the highest mountain in the Western and Southern hemisphere (22, 838 ft.). We hiked about a half-mile up the trail. Took a million snapshots in the cold, bracing wind.
Now that it’s autumn, less and less people are trekking the path leading to a base camp at 14 thousand feet. But even during the summer climbing conditions can be treacherous. In January, 2009, five climbers died. There is a graveyard by the side of the road on the way to Aconcagua where the bodies are buried of unsuccessful climbers whose families couldn’t afford to have the remains shipped back home.
Along the trail there is a cracked mud basin that, before the recent drought, would normally have enough water to mirror the snow sleek precipices of Aconcagua.
There are also tumbled boulders with fossil imprints that Bjorn, a geo-splainer, described in great detail. All I could think of were the corporations that must be salivating over the possible mineral extraction the striated hillsides hint at. Our guide said that political sides are defined by how one feels about exploiting the Provincial Park. So far the conservationists have held their own.
Coming down from the mountain we had to observe Argentinian custom and have a late lunch featuring a large platter heaped with meat (steak, ribs, chicken, and sausage). The restaurant was a roadside grill with chummy dogs and a plentiful supply of red wine. By the end of lunch, Nick and Patricia had done a good job selling us on the notion of traveling to Brazil. Why not? Brazil has a president who has actually served time, and back home we’re about to elect a president who, if he doesn’t serve time, should. And if we want to eat meat, whoa, the Brazilians will challenge the Argentinians at the cutting board any day.