While upon first glance many people believe the locals in Argentina are drinking tea, but the concoction is actually a blend of herbs. Mate, an infusion prepared with yerba mate leaves called “Ílex paraguariensis,” contains caffeine, herbs and proteins as well as hot water. It has been drunk since Pre-Colombian times by the Guaraníes, a local group in South America. Argentina is the world’s number one producer of yerba mate, making this a great cultural experience to have while traveling in the country.
During my visit to Argentina, I saw people everywhere carrying thermoses of hot water and mates, metal cup-like things with bombillas, which are the long metal straws poking out. In every shop and market you will also be able to find ornate mates for purchase. Luckily, I got to try mine with a local friend and learn more about what mate means to locals in Argentina.
“It’s merely an infusion, but it has a huge meaning of sharing,” explained my local friend Javier Viñuela, whose mother had prepared some mate for a group of us in her home. “As it usually happens with food, drinking mate is a way or excuse to share with friends and family.”How it works is like this: the person who “ceba el mate,” or prepares it, is the first one to take a taste. After that, this person begins passing the mate to those next to him or her, who give it back to that main person to prepare again for those next in the circle. When you say “thanks” after sipping, it means you don’t want to drink anymore. For this reason, it’s important not to thank everyone each time you take a sip, but only once you’ve had enough.
Mate can either be taken bitter or sweet. For first-timers, I would recommend adding some sugar or honey, as the herbs can be quite pungent if you’re not used to it. Moreover, being one of the last to sip it can also help to take out some of the bitterness, as by then the hot water has taken away some of the flavor’s intensity.
During my first time trying it, I added sugar to help ease the bitterness. While the first few tastes were hard to swallow, once you get used to it the flavor is actually quite nice. Aside from sharing, there are other reasons people enjoy drinking mate. For one, many locals in Argentina find the drink delicious. Additionally, it’s a cheap way of “having a drink” for a long period of time with friends. And for those on a diet or having digestion issues, mate is said to be a diuretic. For the best mate, I’ve heard from many locals that Rosamonte (pictured above) is the best brand.
I recently mentioned my somewhat reluctant decision to relocate from Seattle when the right opportunity presents itself (A job and nice one bedroom in Berkeley, North Oakland or Boulder anyone? Anyone?).
While my move was precipitated by a layoff in February, I’ve known for a year that a relocation was necessary, regardless of my affection for my adopted city – despite my beautiful, relatively affordable apartment just two blocks from Lake Union and my peaceful, tree-lined neighborhood full of pretty houses brimming with gardens and backyard chickens. Even though I can walk everywhere, crime is virtually nonexistent and my landlord rocks.
The real reason I’m leaving Seattle is because I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) and arthritis (due to a bizarre infectious disease acquired in Ecuador three years ago). SAD is thought to result from a shift in the body’s circadian rhythms, due to changes in sunlight patterns (think of how certain mammals hibernate in winter). Shorter, darker days also increase the amount of melatonin, a hormone linked to the regulation of sleep and waking, released by the pineal gland. Perhaps my being a Southern California native is to blame (although I’m officially a resident of Colorado…it’s complicated, I know). It took me a long time to commit to a move to the Pacific Northwest, despite my love of the region, because I was concerned about the climate. But, like many before me, I was seduced by a record-breaking Seattle summer three years ago when the temperature soared into the upper 80s and the sky remained a clear, vivid blue. The job prospects appeared promising and an incredible sublet fell into my lap. I was in Seattle for the weekend for work and a month later, I was living there. It was like I’d hijacked myself.
My friend Chris has lived in Seattle since 1994. We were hanging out during my visit when I announced I was going to move. “It’s not usually like this,” he cautioned. I was busy gaping at Mt. Rainier in the distance.
He didn’t lie. I’ve been waiting for the weather to be like that ever since. I was filled with anticipatory dread before my first winter, which is why I’d initially only committed to a sublet. It turned out to be the mildest winter Seattle had seen in years, causing me to mock the locals I’d met. “Just wait,” they told me ominously (for a different viewpoint, check out my Gadling colleague Pam Mandel’s ode to Seattle winters, here).
The last two winters – which have been harsh, even by Seattle standards – have kicked my ass. It’s not the “snow” we’ve gotten; I love snow. But Colorado averages 300 days of sunshine a year, and it has a tolerable, dry cold. Seattle cold seeps into the bones, and summer is a negligible term for most of that season. I actually didn’t realize I had post-infectious arthritis until two years ago, when the Fourth of July dawned wet and dismal, and my joints felt like they’d entered their golden years overnight.
Since then, I’ve experienced varying intensities of arthralgia in my hands and knees as well as low-level to serious fatigue. As a runner, this was problematic and my depression increased because I had turned from physically active, adventurous outdoor fanatic to couch potato. I often required daily naps, which wracked me with guilt.
Not until last summer, while visiting my former home of Boulder, Colorado, did I fully realize the impact Seattle was having on my physical and mental health. On my first morning, to quote a SAD-suffering friend, I felt like “someone had turned the world’s lights back on.” I marveled at the sunshine and warm air. I shocked myself by effortlessly doing a three-mile run – the first half uphill. Every day, I stayed outside until sunset. My arthritis had vanished. I felt like me, again: the spaz who can’t stand to be indoors when the sun is shining. I was productive and active and a much, much happier person. I had the same experience while in northern Chile in August.
I returned to Seattle and wham! I morphed into the worst of the seven dwarfs again: sleepy, grumpy and lazy. Work circumstances forced me to postpone a move, and it seemed like every day it was either pissing rain or the sky was low and leaden. I had difficulty concentrating on work, and was irritable and overemotional. Desperate, I sought the care of an excellent psychiatrist, who combined talk therapy with antidepressants.
While getting laid off sucked, it was also a strange relief. The one thing tying me to Seattle was gone. The thought of leaving is disappointing, but life is too short to live embedded in the couch. The economy is picking up in the Bay Area and I’ve had some very promising job leads.
It’s hard to admit that the color of the sky exerts such influence over your mood. However, I’m not alone; according to Mental Health America, three out of four SAD sufferers are women.
My advice: the sooner you admit it, the sooner you can get on with living. Whether you require phototherapy, antidepressants, extra Vitamin D, counseling, acupuncture, warm-weather vacations, or relocation, the bottom line is that SAD is very real and can have a devastating impact upon your quality of life as well as your personal and professional relationships and career. And, like a romance that’s not quite right, it’s not worth sticking it out. Me? I’ve decided that Seattle is ideal for the occasional weekend fling.
Signs you may be suffering from SAD (these symptoms are most likely to occur in winter, but some forms of SAD do occur during the summer)
Inability to concentrate or increase in irritability
Feelings of sadness, unhappiness, or restlessness
Fatigue and/or lethargy
Anxiety
Increase in appetite/weight gain
Social withdrawal
Increase in sleep and daytime sleepiness
Loss of interest in work and activities you once enjoyed
Where to get help:
Talk to your health care provider, who can refer you to a specialist. For additional information and support, check out the Seasonal Affective Disorder Association (SADA) website.
Right now, as you read this, there are pink flamingos and wild llamas running amok on the shores of a red lake in Bolivia. In a land far, far away, people are watching the sunrise amidst steaming geysers while dodging puddles of boiling mud. There are hot springs where you can bathe nude at 15,000 ft, hotels made entirely of salt, and rocks that look exactly like trees.
No, this isn’t peyote week in the Vagabond Tales office. I’m speaking of a real place, a place where I’ve been. It’s a place I’m officially labeling as the weirdest place on Earth. In addition to all of the other oddities this is also the world’s largest salt desert, and, as you might expect, this is a terrible place for your car to break down.
At 4,633 square miles Bolivia’s Salar de Uyuni is a vast sea of salt larger than Delaware and Rhode Island combined. Traffic is minimal and the roads are always shifting. If you get lost out here or lose your way you don’t simply call AAA or check your GPS. These don’t exist here in the southwestern hinterlands of Bolivia. If you get lost in the Salar de Uyuni, you start hoping that you aren’t going to die.
%Gallery-153780%Having booked a three-day crossing of the Salar with an adventure company out of the town of Uyuni it only took one hour before Juan Carlos, our driver, had donned a pair of faded blue coveralls to replace a flat tire on our trusty white land cruiser.
“Diez minutos” he reassured us with with a slightly embarrassed mumble. “No te preocupes“.
Don’t worry.
Standing just over 5′ 5” and sporting a thin black mustache, Juan Carlos, like so many other men in the Bolivian town of Uyuni, has a job which involves shuttling travelers across this mountainous netherworld.
Even before the flat tire incident our troupe of six travelers had already made a pit stop at a place known only as the “Train Cemetery”. Located only minutes from the outskirts of Uyuni-a windy, dusty, 12,000 ft. outpost where lips chap and heads ache-many of the locomotives which once dominated the Bolivian rail lines now appear as metal phalluses left to rust in the salty mountain air.
Now, with our lone spare tire firmly affixed to a rusty axle we saddled up the mechanical horse and headed straight for the great white unknown.
After bouncing around the back of the Land Cruiser for a couple of hours Juan Carlos eventually brought us to Isla Incahuasi, a cactus-covered dollop of an island floating all alone in the endless sea of salt. Literally, as far as you can see in every direction is a white horizon of nothingness. Here, strangely enough, it’s possible to amble among cacti which have thrived for over 1,000 years in one of the most inhospitable terrains on the planet.
Already awash in an alternate reality, Isla Incahuasi is also a place to tinker with the unique elements of perspective. Utilizing the endless horizon and deft usage of a digital camera it’s suddenly possible to take pictures where you appear to actually surf on a water bottle, sit in the palm of your girlfriend’s hand, or take a casual stroll down the handle of a guitar. The only thing missing is a smoking caterpillar and a smiling Cheshire cat.
As if the day hadn’t been strange enough already, that evening I somehow found myself licking the walls of my hotel room. In an empty basin where building materials are hard to come by, even the buildings are made from blocks of salt. So too are the beds, the windowsills, and the tables and chairs. Unfurling my sleeping bag onto a year’s worth of sodium I silently questioned if this place could get any stranger.
Never could I imagine, however, how strange it was about to get.
Not three hours after waking on a bed made of salt did I find myself chasing flamingos around a lake resembling an oversized peppermint. Fittingly known as “Laguna Colorada” (Colored Lake), the lake has a certain type of sediment which turns the water a blood shade of red. Blended with white islands made of borax deposits, the red and white color wheel almost seems to spin in the thin, 16,500 ft. air. Higher than any mountain peak in the 48 states, the altitude doesn’t seem to bother the flamingos, pink curiosities of nature who still sleep on one leg in spite of the 40 mph winds whipping across the plain.
Wanting nothing more than a restful sleep after a day spent navigating an environment straight out of a Dr. Seuss book, we instead were roused at 4am as part of a plan to watch the frigid sunrise. Though I have seen enough sunrises in my travels to warrant sleeping in through a 4am wakeup, never before had I been presented with the opportunity to watch the sunrise from the steaming caldera of an active volcano.
This is so strange I am going to repeat it.
The opportunity to watch the sunrise from the steaming caldera of an active volcano.
I’m not making this up. This is a place where you can literally jump through steaming geysers of sulfur which springs straight from the Earth. Don’t believe me? Look for the part where I momentarily appear to be on fire.
For as much fun as this might seem, when you are navigating the geysers of an active caldera there are nevertheless dangers intrinsic to such an activity. What dangers might exist inside of an active caldera you ask? What about accidentally stepping in a puddle of boiling mud?
Relaxing in a thermal hot spring after having escaped the confines of the active caldera I got to chatting with an Australian traveler who had also spent the last three days in the salt flats.
“You ever been anywhere like this before?” I casually inquired, the thin mountain air still having an effect on the ability to speak in long sentences.
“Never mate. This place is mental. It’s like I’ve gone to another planet and am afraid to return.”
As soon as you step off the plane in Mendoza, Argentina, it will be obvious that you are in wine country. Billboards advertising different wine brands, neatly terraced vineyards and marketing for numerous wine tours, cooking classes and tasting sessions will be everywhere you look. While many of these options are worthwhile, most are very expensive. On a recent trip to Mendoza, however, I discovered a fun and inexpensive way to experience the best wine the region has to offer – a self-guided bike tour.
To get to Maipu, where “The Roads of Wine” are located, take Bus 10 from the city center. The ride will take about 45 minutes and you can ask the driver where you should get off. Once you get to Maipu, begin walking north and make a right onto Gomez Street. Here you’ll find a charming house and sign that reads “Maipu Bikes.” Immediately upon entering the wrought iron gates and talking to the wife of the family-run business, we were offered a glass of fresh juice, handed a map and given an in-depth analysis of each winery. The bikes are 35 Argentine Pesos (about $8) to rent for the day. However, when the owner noticed I was staying at Hostel Mora she gave me a 10 ARS$ discount, so let them know what accommodation you’re staying at. Along with the bikes, we were given a bottle of water and backpack to keep our stuff in. With that and our map, we were prepared for a full day of wine tasting.There are 16 stops on the itinerary, including wineries; the Wine Museum; a beer garden; and opportunities to sample liquors, chocolates, olive oils, jellies, chocolates and, of course, vino. For tours and tastings you’ll usually have to pay about 20ARS$ (about $5), although there are some stops that have free offerings, such as complimentary admission and wine tasting at the Wine Museum and a free self-guided tour at Tempus Alba.
You can choose to start wherever you would like, although, I would recommend beginning at the Wine Museum to get a sense of the history and creation of the product. Here we got to browse contraptions from centuries ago that look more like torture devices than tools for making wine. We were also able to have a free tasting, and learn more about some of Argentina’s most famous wine-makers. From there, we went down the street to the family-run Viña María. I really enjoyed this place, as the girl working was a wealth of knowledge on wine in the area and educated us on how to pair our wine with food. The golden rule: drink what you think tastes good.
While all of the stops had something worthwhile to offer, such as llama-spotting at Trapiche and a tasting terrace with sweeping views of the vineyards at Tempus Alba, our favorite spot was definitely Entre Olivos. For 20 ARS$ (about $5), you’ll get a tour of the property, learn about olive harvesting and also see how olive oil is made. The best part, however, is the unlimited tasting that follows. Your first course is the olive oils and pastes, some of which include chardonnay mustard, olives with blue cheese, olives with garlic, chilli and different strengths of extra virgin olive oil. From there, you move on to the marmalade and jam table, tasting varieties like dulce de leche with coconut, apple with whiskey, pear with chardonnay, pumpkin with cinnamon and Malbec jelly. Next, it’s time to get a little tipsy, as you get to choose two shots from an array of liquors. Some of your options are dulce de leche, chocolate, spicy vodka, white chocolate, peach, pineapple and the strong-tasting Absynthe, which is served properly by lighting sugar on fire and adding it to the liquid.
And, if you still don’t feel as though you’ve sampled enough wine, you’ll be offered a complimentary glass of vino once you return your bike to Maipu Bikes. This was a great way to end the day, as we got to rest our tired legs while sitting outside in their peaceful yard. At this point, you will not only feel like a wine connoisseur, but also pretty budget-savvy, as your self-guided tour has cost you a quarter of the price of booking through an operator.
Cerro Aconcagua, located in Mendoza, Argentina, is a mountain in Aconcagua Provincial Park. At 22,841 feet, the mountain is the highest in the southern and western hemispheres. In fact, aside for the Himalayas, it is the world’s highest peak.
To get to the park from Mendoza city center, take the Puente del Inca bus, which is 26.50 Argentine Pesos (about $6) each way. The excursion continues to be budget-friendly, as the entrance to Aconcagua Provincial Park is only 10 ARS$ (about $2). If you want to go to the base of the mountain, you will pay more, but only about $17 total. You can choose to simply hike the park for the day, as I did, or trek to the top of the mountain. This is only for the most fit of adventure enthusiasts, as the hike takes about 10 days each way and about three people die each year trying to make the ascent. Moreover, if you’re going to go this route make sure to leave some time before the hike to fill out the necessary paperwork.
However you decide to explore the area, just make sure you do it. The contrasting landscape of the park almost seems unreal, as lagoons, prairie, grey stone, fairy chimneys, rainbow-colored rock and snow-capped mountains all inhabit the same area.
For a more visual idea of my day experiencing the beauty of Cerro Aconcagua in Aconcagua Provincial Park, check out the gallery below.
Update: A commenter below points out that the Himalayas have over 100 peaks about 2,400 feet, and we acknowledge that encompassing all those into one can be misleading. Moreover, she posts a great guide for those who want to actually hike to the top of the mountain. Rest assured, it’s a glorious hike!