A Saturday tasting wine in Mendoza.

Angel texts me at 08:27. He’s downstairs with my bike. I tell him I’ll be down in a minute.

He stands before a brand new bike with a helmet and chain. He hands me a map of the city outlined with the city’s bikelanes. He points out the park as a place to visit and tells me it’s very large. Later, he’ll tell me it used to be the largest city park in the world until it was surpassed by Central Park in New York.

I tell him I’m planning to bike down to the Alta Vista winery. He looks surprised and then points out a bike path that heads south nearby to where we are standing. He tells me it follows the main road. There’s another path this way, isn’t there? I ask, pointing to another part of the map. Yes, he says. It goes through the neighborhoods. I tell him I think I’ll take that route; I think it might be more interesting.

He tells me to text him when I’m on my way back and he’ll pick the bike up in front of apartment. I thank him and tell him I’ll see him this afternoon.

I bike west along a road I’ve walked a few times, past the Plazas Espana and Chile before turning left. Angel tells me that in the 90s there was a huge earthquake that leveled the city. Afterwards, when the government rebuilt Mendoza, they built five squares as meeting points. The Plaza Independencia in the middle, and then four squares at the corners of the city. They’re beautiful, with fountains and tile work and statuary. At night children play football in the courtyards, friends and lovers sit and chat on the benches.

I follow the bike path south through the city. It runs alongside a light rail through parks dotted with slides and jungle gyms and past buildings old and new. Street art adorns various walls along my ride; it fills the concrete banks of the canals that I pass, bringing water down from the mountains.

As I leave the city, the landscape becomes more barren. The region is a desert; it rains only a few times a year in Mendoza. The irrigation canals once built by the indigenous peoples is what keeps the city alive. The oak trees that adorn the city were planted by the Spaniards. 

At one point, Google maps has me leave the bike path and continue south. It looks like a more direct route, but soon it leads me to the highway. I follow a dirt path beside the highway until I have no choice but to ride on the shoulder of the road around a roundabout.

Exiting the roundabout, I ride along the gravel median until once again I have to ride on the road to take the exit that leads me into the next town.

The ride is a lot more difficult than I had imagined, whether it be my lack of recent exercise, the altitude, the lack of breakfast, or the new bicycle. I check the distance and feel like Google is lying to me. It tells me the ride should be an hour, but it feels like it’s taking much more.

Nearing the winery I veer away from the main road into tree-lined neighborhoods. The leaves are changing and it’s a beautiful ride. It’s just a few more kilometers and then I am at the entrance to Bodega Alta Vista. It couldn’t have come sooner.

After checking in at the gate I am welcomed by Augustina. I’m early but not as early as I had anticipated given how much longer it took me to make the journey from Mendoza. She tells me the tour and tasting will start in 15 or 20 minutes and invites me to relax in the garden or take photos of the vines. Part of the main structure is under construction; they’re building a restaurant.

There are a few groups milling about after their tours. I offer to take photos for a couple and watch as the groups disappear one by one into awaiting vans and cars, off to the next stop. I take a seat and enjoy the view.

Soon Augustina comes back. She tells me that I’m the only one visiting at this hour and that I’ll have a private tour and tasting. She asks me which I’d rather do first and I ask her what she thinks. She asks if this is my first winery I’m visiting. I tell her it’s my fifth. The tasting first, then.

She leads me to a professional tasting room; each area set up with glasses and a sink to spit into. She tells me that when the winemakers are tasting they’re tasting upwards of 25 wines and blends at a time. I sympathize.

It’s a beautiful room, full of light. It’s designed in such a way so as not to distract from the matter at hand, and you can’t help but notice how well the room is composed even as it recedes before the wine before you.

Augustina begins to bring out wines. Alta Vista makes wines in the French tradition and we we start with a delicious sparkling wine fermented in the bottle. She sits back, letting me taste the wine and form my own opinions. At first I’m not sure what she’s doing but chimes in after I start describing what I think and what I taste. We move through a number of blends, tasting and commenting, and it’s one of the best experiences I’ve had. She guides me with a steady but light hand; it feels like we’re chatting about the wine like friends who enjoy wine, albiet with a friend who’s an expert somm.

At one point I ask if she is humoring me when I talk about the wines and she insists she is not. It’s a personal thing, tasting wine, and she encourages me to explore my own palette. I wonder in the back of my mind how she would respond if I made up something completely out of left field, but I don’t test it.

As we talk about the wines and the winery, she tells me that Alta Vista was one of the first to do single vineyard wines in the region. They have vineyards not only in ___ but also in three other regions including the Uco valley. She pulls four bottles out from the fridge to show me. And then brings out their premier wine, Alto. Depending on how things go with our tasting, I ask if we’ll get to taste any of these. Perhaps, she says.

At the end of the tasting she has me compare two wines, a Malbec and a Cab Franc to compare. It’s been great having a private guide through the wines; the tasting is probably the deepest dive I’ve done into wines and it’s great to be able to talk one and one about the varietals and blends. It’s also interesting to be so focused on the wines themselves and what they offer and to be able to see how one younger wine’s body and flavor is at odds with the tannis, and how a better balanced wine uses the tannis to enhance the overall complexion and mouth feel. About the younger wine, Aguustina tells me that given a few years in the bottle, it should mellow out; I can see how the wine can improve with age.

At the end Augustina offers to pour a glass of the Alizarine, a single vineyard Malbec from Lujan de Cuyo, the region we’re in. It’s incredibly delicious, easily one of the best wines I’ve tasted. After tasting the seven or so wines we’ve had it’s amazing to see how this wine is so much more textured and structured than the others, and how everything balances each other out. I tell her I can’t even pinpoint the various notes, and it becomes obvious how it’s easier to pick out notes in less complex wines; things stand out. With this wine everything works together.

And then she decides to pour us the Alto. Forget everything I said about the previous wine. This wine is the best I’ve had. And it’s the comparison between the two that make me realize how much more balanced and structured this wine is.

Augustina tells me that they recently opened and poured a 2014 of the bottle. She tells me that 2014 was a great vintage and the wine was spectacular. She has a bottle at home she’s saving for a special occasion.

I ask her how long she’s been working at the winery and how she got into wine. It’s been six years and she tells me her father is a winemaker. She’s actually an architect, but she got into wine and she loves the work with the winery and interacting with people.

At the end of the tasting I order some bottles to send home. We didn’t even go on the tour, but the hour spent tasting was invaluable and one of the best hours I’ve spent in the company of wine. I thank Augustina and promise to keep in touch; I want to see some of her work once she has a website up.

The ride to Bodega Renacer takes me longer than anticipated as well. I bike south through another town center before veering off towards the mountains. At the front gate I check in and am directed to the parking lot where I chain my bicycle.

The winery is beautiful. A pond forms the center around which the restaurant and main buildings sit. A huge willow tree drips its branches towards the water. Birds flock around its banks and float on its surface. And around this center grow the vines. It’s about as idyllic a setting as one could wish for.

Lunch is a five course affair with pairings. I take a table by the window overlooking the pond. The food is beautiful and well-prepared and after the nine glasses at Alta Vista and the six or seven with lunch I am in no shape to bike home. I text Angel to ask if he does pickups in the region. He does and tells me to text him when I’m ready.

The bodega has four or five dogs and I see them wander back and forth on the patio outside. Towards the end of lunch they wander into the dining room. They have no use for me; they sit by the diners that are still eating until they are done and then they come by for pets and scritches. I fall in love with them, each and every one.

After dessert and my last glass of wine I take a coffee and text Angel. I tell him to take his time; I’m in no rush. I wander out into the fields to take photos. The light’s been shifting and changing all afternoon as clouds roll into the valley. Now and again, the sun peeks out, and fall foliage explodes with color.

Returning to the restaurant I lie down in a lounge chair and fall asleep.

Waking up I run into a couple from Buenos Aires I had met earlier when I offered to take a photo for them in front of the vines. They had sat next to me at lunch. They’re waiting for their taxi and ask me where I’m from. I tell them but tell them that I’m currently nomading in Buenos Aires. We talk about our love for the city and the country, but they are thinking of moving to Spain. The economy and politics are driving them away, like so many other Argentinians I’ve talked to.

Angel loads the bike onto the back of the car and we begin the drive home. I’m surprised at how far south we are. He tells me it’s almost 30 kilometers. I ask if he can drop me off at the Monument to the Army of the Andes. I had originally planned to bike back to Mendoza and to the statue. I had promised a friend to take a photo and send it to her. He tells me that at this hour it can be a bit dangerous. The hill upon which it sits is flanked by not-so-good neighborhoods. I thank him for the information and ask him to take me home.

I ask him where he was born and he tells me Mendoza, where he’s lived his entire life. He was just in Buenos Aires on business and I tell him that I’ve been living there the past few months. In Palermo. He tells me he has a cousin who works at a cafe in the area. If I tell her he sent me she’ll give me a free coffee. I promise to look her up.

As we drive, Angel gives me a history and geography lesson of Mendoza and the surrounding region.. And as we approach Mendoza itself he asks me if I have time. I tell him I have all the time in the world. He tells me he has time as well and offers to drive me to the monument. He’ll drive me up the hill, I can take some photos, and then he’ll drive me home. I’m in Mendoza and I have to visit it. I thank him profusely.

I ask him about his business. He tells me he started with four bikes but is up to 14 now. He has no shop; real estate is too expensive right now, but maybe in the future. He tells me two of his bikes were stolen recently. A couple of Russian tourists rented bikes and rode out to Maipu. They ended up getting too drunk to remember to lock up the bikes or remember where they were. I didn’t ask him the consequences.

We stop by his house where he drops off the bike and then head to the park. It’s a short drive and soon we’re parked in the lot in front of the monument. As we tour it, he tells me the stories of San Martin, pointing out the reliefs and explaining what they mean. On the three sides of the monument he points out crests that represent the countries he helped liberate: Chile, Argentina, and Peru.

I take so many photos as we round the monument that Angel remarks on the fact. It’s all in the editing, I tell him, and then look for one to send to Franny.

As we walk back to the car, Angel points out the bad neighborhood to our left. To our right he points out the nicest neighborhood in Mendoza, where the rich people live. They’re separated by a few streets.

Driving back to the apartment, Angel points out a roman ampitheater and other sights in town. Slowly I start to recognize where we are and then suddenly I know exactly where we are. By the time I am home it’s dark. I thank Angel again and wish him the best of luck on his business. I promise to look up his cousin when I’m back in Buenos Aires.

As he leaves I look towards the Plaza España. It’s a beautiful evening; it’s been a perfect day; I couldn’t have asked for better. 🍷