Mr Hugo Has Entered the Building

Following the advice of some fellow travellers, Nicole, Amanda and I took the bus out to meet Mr Hugo, who is as well-known for his bike rentals, and is he for his post-tour parties. Located in Coquimbito, about 20 minutes out of Mendoza, his house, and the place of our rental pick-up is in the heart of the Malbec strip. And as we get off the bus, Mr Hugo appears immediately, like an Elvis-mirage, yelling “I am HERE! It is me, Mr Hugo!” like we have been waiting for him all our lives.

A quick pat of the various animals around and we are kitted up with our bikes and sent on our way with a bottle of water and a basic map. (It seems no helmet is necessary in these parts). But when we are given a rough guide to where we should head – up and down the same street it seems – we know they have seriously underestimated the abilities and determination of three Australian girls, each travelling solo.

As soon as we head off the main road Urquiza onto Montecasseros, the smell of fermenting grapes hits us and we hurry to catch a tour of the museum at the Rutini vineyard. Set up in 1979, it houses over 5000 objects from the hand-harvesting days, including animal skins, claypots, and tools. Unfortunately though, as good as the tour guide is in consistently translating her speech into English, the ‘Museum’ red we taste at the end is not quite at the same standard as their reknown ‘Felipe’ reserve drop, which comes in at 79 pesos (AUD$ 35) a glass, and we leave still thirsting.

And so starts our magical mystery tour on the bikes. Taking off for the furthest point we are aiming for, we head out onto the freeway, using the gravel shoulder road as a bumpy alternative to playing chicken with the speeding cars. A few kilometres later and it seems we are not much closer to finding Don Bosco’s, despite having stopped at the church of the same name, to check out its beautiful interior.

Realising that we are getting nowhere fast, we head back along Route 70, watching the strange numbering system change and reverse itself at least twice. Finally, hidden behind an obscure bush, we see the Don Bosco sign, saying 100 metres ahead. Of course it is not 100, but 300 metres ahead, and closed. But we are only too happy at this stage to admit defeat and have some cheese and crackers on its front. (It is Good Friday after all, so technically, no one in a Catholic-way should be drinking anything today).

Finally, back on the suggested trail, we arrive at the Familia de Tommaso bodega (vineyard), and realise that our chances of an immediate table are pretty slight, so we settle down for some tasting instead. Our first is the particularly vinegary offering of a one year old who has missed the imported oak. The next is a big improvement, having had 6 months in oak, and finally, the “Malbec Roble”, with its one year toasting in the barrel, slides down our throats like caramel.

Our host boasts that it has won many silver medals, but when we question where – “internacional” – we then wonder who else is making the stuff and is in competition (apparently only California – France uses it solely for its Bordeaux blend). Sadly too, the Torrontes, which I had such high hopes for, disappoints, disappearing inside me like water. But the sunken barrels, light breeze, and low tables outside improve our weariness, as does a bottle of their not-so-fine, but drinkable table (Malbec) red.

Our next stop - Viña El Cerno - is only a passing visit, after I spy a strange stash of other people wine out the back, stacked in glass flagons, and none of us is particularly impressed by the four glasses we alternate between. Perhaps we are just spoilt Australians, trained a little too well in our wine discernment, but nothing seems to be hitting the walls the way it should.

I finally earmark Trapiche to be our saving grace, having had a few too many of their bottles on our first night here, and considering it a pretty amiable liquid. But in our way stands a policeman, who it seems is intent on making us go home. What starts as a friendly warning that the winery is already closed and the road we are on is not safe, soon sours when I respectfully take on his advice, and attempt to continue forth. Not taking too kindly to my disobedience, he proceeds to reverse his car, spin it around and cut me off at full speed. Dangerous alright. (Trapiche is actually closed, but that is not the point).

Feeling the day almost over – it was after 6pm at this point – we chance upon a liqueur place that is only too happy to stay open and continue serving cocktails and chocolates to passing tourists. Taking a seat in the garden, I order an amazing concoction of grapefruit liqueur, lemonade and grenadine that eased the pain of failed attempts, and settles as sweetly as the setting sun.

Two blocks back to Hugo’s, and we are seated with free-flowing plonk, empanadas and heated conversation with some Americans, and it is here that I realise why his place is such an oasis, after a hard day’s work at tasting.