Mendoza y Córdoba – stop gaps between greatness.
In a 10 month trip one is bound to encounter some places that don't quite live up to the Lonely Planet description... Two in a row though!
Don’t get me wrong, we had a lot of fun in Mendoza but that was all down to hostel drinking and blood sugar betting. Mendoza is sold as ‘Argentina’s beautiful wine country’ when in truth it should be labelled ‘an alright place’. Harsh? Not really. Imagine a picturesque bike ride through the many vineyards of Argentina’s centre-left flank. The weather is warm, the grapes are fresh from the recent harvest and the roads zig-zag through olive trees and world renowned wineries, real brochure stuff right? In reality, while the weather may well be warm and the grapes are indeed fresh from the harvest, the roads you cycle along zig-zag only through mounds of roadside litter and, from what we saw, at least two dead cats. The heavy traffic that clogs up behind you has more fun zig-zagging around you, while you clench tighter than you’ve ever clenched to the seat of the rickety old bike you hired from Mr Hugo and his stone-faced wife, Mrs Hugo? (Note; the cats in the photo below are Mr Hugo’s and are alive…for now)
The wine, however, did not disappoint; it slips down all too easily. At the Maipú winery the portions are so bloody generous that staying upright on your saddle adds another dynamic to the already terrifying gauntlet of travelling between wineries. One glass too many and your fate will be the same as that of those poor fury felines. Despite its tastiness, the wine lacks the class in delivery that one would come to expect from one of the world’s top vino hubs. The woman wiping the tables, AKA the cleaner, was actually the wine distributor at Maipú. She was polite and hard-working, but the last person we expected to see leading the tasting having watched her scrub a bolognese stain from the table in front. She poured liberally, but failed to say, well to be honest she failed to say anything other than “Enjoy”. Then she floated away once more to the cleaning cupboard, leaving the faintest trail of disinfectant wafting mysteriously behind her. At the second and most fancy winery we passed it was the waiter this time who took our order. He too lead the tasting, but when asked what he recommended simply responded, quote: “I’m not sure, I don’t really like wine”.
The city was okay, nothing to write home about though. Got to see Liverpool beat Man City 3:0 in an Irish pub though. Peaks and troughs.
Córdoba was average at best: shit at worst. Harsh? Maybe a little, but having been sold to us as a town brimming with colonial beauty; a step back in time with its rich history and striking architecture, we arrived expecting big things. However, even if we had arrived expecting small things, Córdoba still would’ve left us feeling cheated. 90% of the colonial charm was contained to one, fairly unexciting plaza. The other 10% was scattered like ashes around the remainder of the city, symbolic of a place that was probably once quite pretty. Córdoba could maybe be best described (to a Brit) as the Hull of Argentina; sure it has a few things to take some photos of, but in the end, it’s still Hull.
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