The winner of the Tour de Vino doesn't get a yellow jersey, just purple teeth. And everyone's a winner.
We mounted our steel horses equipped with only a map and the desire to drink a lot of wine. Our epic quest took us to bodegas all over Maipu, a small town in the Mendoza region. Each vineyard we pedaled to was unique, some practicing techniques that haven't changed in a hundred years and others using the latest technology. We sampled Malbecs, Cabernets, Syrahs, and Tempranillos, practicing our wine vocabulary between glasses. We set out to visit all the wineries but by the third vineyard realized that slow and steady wins the race. After several bodegas, we required food to soak up the wine and went to a secluded restaurant called Almacen del Sur. There we ate an array of delicious picadas accompanied by, of course, a bottle of Malbec. In our wine stupor, complete with giggles and a lot of biking with no hands, we slacked on our camera duties for the final wineries. Later, as the sun set, we returned our bikes with smiles on our faces and bellies full of wine.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Touring Renacer
A taxi dropped us off on a dirt road lined with tall yellow Alamo trees where we entered the beautiful Renacer Bodega, a boutique winery owned by a Chilean family. Thanks to Clay's aunt Sara Matthews, we met Pato whose father started the vineyard 7 years ago. Pato went to Emory and was working on Wall Street before returning to Mendoza to help run Renacer (wise choice!). We toured the facilities and even got to make our personal blend of Malbec, the grape that Mendoza is known for. Pato taught us a lot about wine and entertained us all weekend as we explored the beautiful wine country at the foot of the Andes.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Valpo Amigos
In Valpo, we had the pleasure of hanging out with some interesting and fun porteños who showed us the true Chilean way of life. First we met Nahuel and Yasna who live in La Poblacion Obrera de la Union, called "La Pobla", which has a rich history. Then we met Jorge who is a volunteer firefighter and showed us around the Cuerpo de Bomberos (Fire Station) before taking us to his family's traditional homestyle restaurant. Jorge and his friends showed us a great time in Valpo with long dinners and even longer nights.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Ode to Valparaiso
streets in Valparaiso
come as close to poetry
as pavement can
long lyrical verses
ascending cerros
short exclamations
punctuated by panoramic
come as close to poetry
as pavement can
long lyrical verses
ascending cerros
short exclamations
punctuated by panoramic
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Los Wanderers
Valpo is a great place to attend your first South American futbol game. Every porteño (person from the port, in this case Valparaiso) is crazy about the sport but the games still maintain Valparaiso's overall chill vibe. Valparaiso's team is confusingly called the Santiago Wanderers. They are the oldest club in Chile, started by British immigrants in the 1850s, which explains the English name. Our friend Jorge says that if you are not a fan of the Wanderers you are not a true porteño.
We met Jorge at Plaza Pinto and got a ride with his friend Susana to the game. On the way we enjoyed one of the best sunsets of the trip. When we arrived, the stadium was glowing under orange and pink skies. Estadio Playa Ancha is a bowl-shaped cement coliseum built into the side of a hill which holds 18,000 fans. The seating is divided into two sections, Pacifico and Galeria. Pacifico seats are on the sidelines while Galeria seats are behind the goals and both sections are general admission. We had accidentally purchased the more expensive tickets for the Pacifico seating, so Jorge and Susana talked the guards into letting us into the Galeria, explaining that we were gringos who bought the wrong tickets. Entering the stadium we were surrounded by fans with green and white team flags around their shoulders or waving them in the air. We were prepared with our green shirts showing our porteño pride. We sat right next to the dividing fence and the military guard between the two sections.
When Melipilla, the visiting team, took the field everyone whistled- this is how you 'boo' in Chile. When the Wanderers appeared the whole stadium broke out into song, "El Himno de Los Wanderers". We were given a copy of the lyrics the day before at the club house where we purchased our tickets though we had failed to memorize the words. There are no ceremonies before the match starts, no announcement of lineups, no national anthem. They just warm up then start playing.
When the match began La Hincha took over. La Hincha are groups of die-hard fans who hang green and white banners with their group names all over the stadium. The largest of the groups is Los Panzers, who sat right behind the goal. The rest of the stadium was pretty tame and spent a lot of time watching Los Panzers. They start out with chants accompanied by a large drum. Then come the fireworks and flares. About 20 minutes into the game a section wide mosh-pit broke out and turned into a real brawl. We were safe many sections away. The military guards appeared on the scene and tried to separate the fans. The older fans whistled their disapproval at the Panzers and the military.
Meanwhile, the game was still going on but was in a bit of a lull. After a fast start by the Wanderers they appeared to be getting tired and slow even before halftime. In the second half they got their energy back but Melipilla appeared to be the better team. Melipilla started getting some calls and more importantly a lack of calls which would have benefited Los Wanderers. Jorge was incensed by the refs and became our section's main heckler and comic. When a foul was called on a slide tackle by a Wanderer, the Melipilla player rolled around on the ground acting like he was in grave pain. Jorge shouted (in Spanish) "In the meantime you can eat some grass, Cow!" The whole section loved it. The joke is that Melipilla is a small town in the country where there are more cows than people.
With about 15 minutes left in the match -there's no clock in the stadium so you just use your wristwatch- Melipilla's best player, #10, had a breakaway, faked out the goalie and scored the game's only goal. The place fell silent, then everyone whistled. After that the Wanderers got sloppy. The game ended with most of the fans filing out. Everyone was disappointed but no one was distraught. The friends Jorge ran into would comically frown then quickly snapped out of it to make plans for the night, which wasn't even young yet. On the way back to the car I said to Jorge, "Que lastima, las vacas ganan" (What a shame, the cows won).
We met Jorge at Plaza Pinto and got a ride with his friend Susana to the game. On the way we enjoyed one of the best sunsets of the trip. When we arrived, the stadium was glowing under orange and pink skies. Estadio Playa Ancha is a bowl-shaped cement coliseum built into the side of a hill which holds 18,000 fans. The seating is divided into two sections, Pacifico and Galeria. Pacifico seats are on the sidelines while Galeria seats are behind the goals and both sections are general admission. We had accidentally purchased the more expensive tickets for the Pacifico seating, so Jorge and Susana talked the guards into letting us into the Galeria, explaining that we were gringos who bought the wrong tickets. Entering the stadium we were surrounded by fans with green and white team flags around their shoulders or waving them in the air. We were prepared with our green shirts showing our porteño pride. We sat right next to the dividing fence and the military guard between the two sections.
When Melipilla, the visiting team, took the field everyone whistled- this is how you 'boo' in Chile. When the Wanderers appeared the whole stadium broke out into song, "El Himno de Los Wanderers". We were given a copy of the lyrics the day before at the club house where we purchased our tickets though we had failed to memorize the words. There are no ceremonies before the match starts, no announcement of lineups, no national anthem. They just warm up then start playing.
When the match began La Hincha took over. La Hincha are groups of die-hard fans who hang green and white banners with their group names all over the stadium. The largest of the groups is Los Panzers, who sat right behind the goal. The rest of the stadium was pretty tame and spent a lot of time watching Los Panzers. They start out with chants accompanied by a large drum. Then come the fireworks and flares. About 20 minutes into the game a section wide mosh-pit broke out and turned into a real brawl. We were safe many sections away. The military guards appeared on the scene and tried to separate the fans. The older fans whistled their disapproval at the Panzers and the military.
Meanwhile, the game was still going on but was in a bit of a lull. After a fast start by the Wanderers they appeared to be getting tired and slow even before halftime. In the second half they got their energy back but Melipilla appeared to be the better team. Melipilla started getting some calls and more importantly a lack of calls which would have benefited Los Wanderers. Jorge was incensed by the refs and became our section's main heckler and comic. When a foul was called on a slide tackle by a Wanderer, the Melipilla player rolled around on the ground acting like he was in grave pain. Jorge shouted (in Spanish) "In the meantime you can eat some grass, Cow!" The whole section loved it. The joke is that Melipilla is a small town in the country where there are more cows than people.
With about 15 minutes left in the match -there's no clock in the stadium so you just use your wristwatch- Melipilla's best player, #10, had a breakaway, faked out the goalie and scored the game's only goal. The place fell silent, then everyone whistled. After that the Wanderers got sloppy. The game ended with most of the fans filing out. Everyone was disappointed but no one was distraught. The friends Jorge ran into would comically frown then quickly snapped out of it to make plans for the night, which wasn't even young yet. On the way back to the car I said to Jorge, "Que lastima, las vacas ganan" (What a shame, the cows won).
Galloping on the Beach
Riding horses on the beach has always been a dream of mine. I love horses and have been looking for opportunities to ride in South America, the home of the caballero and the gaucho.
We took a bus to a deserted beach town an hour north of Valpo called Concón where we were instructed to wait for our ride to Ritoque Expediciones. At la hora Chilena (everyone in Chile arrives about 30 minutes late) a small chubby man pulled up in a neon blue sports car with music blasting and a virgin mary hanging from the rearview. I thought, this is no gaucho.
Luckily, he was just the transportation and a few minutes later we pulled into a farm with a beautiful view of dunes and creeks, free roaming horses and humble stables. There we met our guides, Cristian and Jose, and I knew we were in good hands. Cristian was a handsome stout man with full leather chaps over blue jeans and a beret typical of gauchos. Jose also wore chaps but he had a wide brimmed straw hat and on his boots were spurs the size of hockey pucks. Cristian spoke great English and Jose, not a lick. They demonstrated how the Chilean saddle works and told us what to expect from the small, portly Chilean horses. The saddle was comfortable and the reins were made of woven rope ending in a leather strap used for whipping. The stirrups were the most alien of the outfit - wooden clogs that fit half your foot and were typical for the northern region of Chile where riders need protection from brush. They handed us small chaps to fit around the bottom of our legs to protect us from the horse's sweat. Then we mounted our horses. My horse was Pompero which means "of the Pampas" and Clay's horse was nicknamed Killer but only for comic effect.
We left the stables and descended into a beautiful landscape of hills and streams. We crossed several creeks with still white herons and cautiously grazing cows. We climbed the white Ritoque dunes which, once deep within, looked like a never-ending desert. After so many ups and downs on the sand, the horses were soon sweaty. The sun was descending in front of us, casting sharp shadows along the spines of the dunes.
Cristian told us about his nomadic life as a horse trainer and guide; an endless summer moving between companies in North and South America. He grew up on his family's large estancia "Dos de Enero" in Torres del Paine National Park in Patagonia. Down there, the philosophy is to break a horse as if you were one of the herd and to treat them like the social roaming creatures they are. Later, he showed us pictures of the estancia on his iPhone complete with hundreds of cattle and horses and the Torres visible from the property. He said he didn't remember the first time he rode a horse; that as soon as he was walking he was riding. He was a true gaucho.
After a short break we were leaving the dunes and descending to the beautiful serene beach. The sun was now setting over the Pacific and only a few fisherman remained. The waves crashed almost in silence as we trotted into the water. Soon we began to gallop and it was exhilarating. Holding onto Pompero, both of us deeply breathing the fresh salty Chilean air, I felt free. Giddy laughter echoed as Clay filmed the gallop- a welcome distraction to the rapidly moving animal beneath him. We galloped parallel to the ocean with the sun warm on our shoulders and the smiles never left our faces. It was perfect and my dream had come true.
We took a bus to a deserted beach town an hour north of Valpo called Concón where we were instructed to wait for our ride to Ritoque Expediciones. At la hora Chilena (everyone in Chile arrives about 30 minutes late) a small chubby man pulled up in a neon blue sports car with music blasting and a virgin mary hanging from the rearview. I thought, this is no gaucho.
Luckily, he was just the transportation and a few minutes later we pulled into a farm with a beautiful view of dunes and creeks, free roaming horses and humble stables. There we met our guides, Cristian and Jose, and I knew we were in good hands. Cristian was a handsome stout man with full leather chaps over blue jeans and a beret typical of gauchos. Jose also wore chaps but he had a wide brimmed straw hat and on his boots were spurs the size of hockey pucks. Cristian spoke great English and Jose, not a lick. They demonstrated how the Chilean saddle works and told us what to expect from the small, portly Chilean horses. The saddle was comfortable and the reins were made of woven rope ending in a leather strap used for whipping. The stirrups were the most alien of the outfit - wooden clogs that fit half your foot and were typical for the northern region of Chile where riders need protection from brush. They handed us small chaps to fit around the bottom of our legs to protect us from the horse's sweat. Then we mounted our horses. My horse was Pompero which means "of the Pampas" and Clay's horse was nicknamed Killer but only for comic effect.
We left the stables and descended into a beautiful landscape of hills and streams. We crossed several creeks with still white herons and cautiously grazing cows. We climbed the white Ritoque dunes which, once deep within, looked like a never-ending desert. After so many ups and downs on the sand, the horses were soon sweaty. The sun was descending in front of us, casting sharp shadows along the spines of the dunes.
Cristian told us about his nomadic life as a horse trainer and guide; an endless summer moving between companies in North and South America. He grew up on his family's large estancia "Dos de Enero" in Torres del Paine National Park in Patagonia. Down there, the philosophy is to break a horse as if you were one of the herd and to treat them like the social roaming creatures they are. Later, he showed us pictures of the estancia on his iPhone complete with hundreds of cattle and horses and the Torres visible from the property. He said he didn't remember the first time he rode a horse; that as soon as he was walking he was riding. He was a true gaucho.
After a short break we were leaving the dunes and descending to the beautiful serene beach. The sun was now setting over the Pacific and only a few fisherman remained. The waves crashed almost in silence as we trotted into the water. Soon we began to gallop and it was exhilarating. Holding onto Pompero, both of us deeply breathing the fresh salty Chilean air, I felt free. Giddy laughter echoed as Clay filmed the gallop- a welcome distraction to the rapidly moving animal beneath him. We galloped parallel to the ocean with the sun warm on our shoulders and the smiles never left our faces. It was perfect and my dream had come true.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Ascending in Valpo
The neighborhoods of Valparaiso are scattered on cerros (hills) that surround downtown and overlook the Pacific Ocean. After a day at the office or a trip to the market, porteños who don't want to climb the steep streets home hop on one of the 15 ascenors that pull them to the top. The ride hasn't changed much since the inclines were built in the 1880s.
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