The Ceviche Wars

 

By Alli Sinclair

The warm wind rustled the paper table cloth, and soft sand oozed between my wiggling toes as I waited for the dish that would make my taste buds have a fiesta. Gazing at the azure waters of the Pacific Ocean, I couldn’t think of a better place to be -- Mancora, on the far north coast of Peru, a haven for foodies, especially those with a penchant for devouring plates of ceviche.

Popular in most coastal regions of Central and South America, this seafood dish has been the centre of a dispute for many years. Made from fresh raw fish and marinated in lemon or lime juice, it is spiced with peppers, onion, salt and usually accompanied by sweet potato, lettuce, corn, or avocado (depending on which region you’re in). The juices cook the fish, but beware – only eat ceviche early in the day or else you’re likely to end up with a nasty bout of food poisoning. Unfortunately, I found out first hand why you don’t eat ceviche late afternoon, but it still didn’t put me off one of my favourite dishes.

Many nationalities have laid claim as to who invented ceviche. Central and South Americans and even some Polynesian islands in the South Pacific have all put their hand up as the creators.

Every former Spanish colony has its own version of ceviche. The Spaniards stocked citrus fruit on their ships to prevent scurvy on long voyages and some historians believe the recipe was brought to Peru by Moorish women from Granada, who accompanied the Spaniards, and the recipe morphed into the ceviche as we know it today.

Those in the Polynesian camp say the Spanish encountered this dish on their voyages through the islands. The Spanish sailors enjoyed it so much the recipe spread through the Spanish colonies, and each region put their own spin on it.

But perhaps the strongest argument is for Peru and Ecuador. Archaeologists have discovered evidence that documents ceviche was eaten by the Moche civilization in northern Peru almost 2,000 years ago. Some say banana passion fruit was originally used to marinate the fish, and when the Spanish arrived the indigenous people preferred to marinate their fish in limes and lemons.

Depending on who you talk to, you’ll get a different story and reasons why a certain country did, or didn’t, invent ceviche. Many a time I’ve inadvertently become embroiled in a heated discussion between a Peruvian and Chilean or Ecuadorian as to who created the original ceviche. At times I felt like I was back in Australia, debating with a New Zealander as to who invented the pavlova, but that is a whole other post and sure-fire way of getting our New Zealand readers offside. (I jest!)

I’ve eaten ceviche in many parts of the world (including an Australian version), but today I’ll post the Peruvian recipe.

1 ½ pounds of mahimahi, ono or bluenose bass, diced

½ red onion, slivered

¾ cup lime juice (make sure it is a highly acidic type)

1 habanero chili, seeded, halved and thinly sliced (optional)

1 tbsp of ají amarillo sauce (available pureed or in jars in most Latin markets)

½ cup cilantro leaves, chopped

1 orange sweet potato, peeled, boiled, cooled, and sliced

1 cob sweet corn, boiled and sliced into 1 inch pieces

4 butter lettuce leaves

Preparation:

Rinse diced fish and slivered red onion in cold water and dry thoroughly.

In a large glass bowl, combine fish, red onion, lime juice, salt, habanero, and ají amarillo (if using) . Cover and refrigerate for 20 minutes.

Just before serving, stir in the cilantro. Place lettuce leaves on the plate, sweet potato, and corn to the side and spoon the ceviche on top of the lettuce leaves.

Eat and enjoy!

To be honest, I don’t care who invented ceviche. All I know is whenever I hear the word, smell lemons and limes or eat the dish, I’m instantly transported back to a thatch roofed hut on a deserted beach in the Peruvian summer. My stomach rumbles, I can sniff the salty breeze and my mouth waters at the thought of diving into a dish that can cause heated debates between so many nationalities.

Dear reader, what summer food takes you back to a special time or place?

The Land of Fire

Waiting at the Strait of Magellan

By Alli Sinclair

I come from one of the world’s largest islands, so it’s only natural I’m a sucker for land poking out of vast oceans. Fortunately, near Australia, we have a fabulous selection of islands with palm trees, pristine beaches, and turquoise waters -- Fiji, Samoa, Tahiti, Vanuatu... the list goes on! But one of my favourite islands in the world doesn’t have a palm tree in sight but it does have penguins and is known as the Land of Fire – it’s Tierra del Fuego in southern Argentina.

My first visit to Tierra del Fuego was after I’d cycled and ridden buses for thousands of kilometres through Patagonia. I’d been on a roll, enjoying the life of a traveller, only to end up stranded at the southern tip of Argentina, staring across the Strait of Magellen. Due to unpredictable wind and ever-changing currents, ferry crossings are commonly stopped until weather improves and my ferry was no different. Six hours later we crossed by boat, where humpback whales swam in the channel that flows between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.

Once on the other side, I jumped on a bus and travelled through windswept plains where crops of mountains jutted skyward. Arriving at Ushuaia, the stepping off point for ships sailing to Antarctica, I found a hostel on the hillside with views across the Beagle Channel. Not bad for US$10 a night.

The western region of Tierra del Fuego and most surrounding islands are owned by Chile while the remainder of the island is owned by Argentina. Now, depending on who you’re speaking to, you’ll get different stories about the most southern city in the world. Argentines will swear it’s Ushuaia, and Chileans will argue it’s Puerto Williams.

Tierra del Fuego National Park lies only 11 kilometres from Ushuaia, is the first shoreline national park established in Argentina, and it is the world’s most southern national park. It’s easy to access by bike, car, or, probably the most popular option, by train.

The Train to the End of the World is a narrow gauge railway that was originally established in 1910 after the prison in Ushuaia began operating. The steam train travelled along along the waterfront in Ushuaia, then across the eastern slope of Mount Susana and into what we now call Tierra de Fuego National Park. The railway originally connected the prison to the forestry camp within the park, and was known as the Prison Train until the prison closed in 1947. (The original railway closed in 1952 after an earthquake damaged the tracks. Luckily, some train lovers reconstructed and renovated the tracks in 1994. After purchasing a steam locomotive from England, building one in Argentina, and assembling three diesel locomotives, they opened the line to tourism). Now it’s possible to take the train from the outskirts of Ushuaia and travel for 50 minutes along the heritage railway to the Tierra del Fuego National Park.

Once there, you can visit waterfalls, thick forests, pristine lakes, and towering mountains that all combine to make a visit to this park an unforgettable experience. For those who love to hike, it’s easy to spend a few days traipsing the trails, enjoying the wildlife both on and above the ground. If you have a keen eye, you’re likely to spot an Andean Fox, North American Beaver, European Rabbit, muskrat, and guanacos. Looking above, you may spot an Austral Parakeet, Magellanic and Blackish Oystercatchers, as well as the elusive Andean Condor.

As for time of year, from personal experience, I’d say Autumn (Fall) is the most spectacular season to go. Crisp, sunny days, bright blue skies, and fewer tourists means you almost have the park to yourself. And as for scenery, nothing can beat the magnificent orange, red, and yellow leaves of trees clinging to the rolling hills and jutting mountains.

Enjoying champagne and Oreos at the end of the world

And if visiting the southernmost national park in the world then you can add standing at the end of the Pan-American Highway, an impressive roads that stretches for 29,800 miles from Prudhoe Bay, Alaska to Ushuaia, Argentina.

Tierra del Fuego is shrouded in mystery, has a colourful history, and breathtaking scenery and nature. It’s easy to spend a week, even two, exploring the surrounds and if you’ve been saving your pennies, sail to Antarctica. For me, the Land of Fire burns brightly in my heart and I can’t wait to take my young family there and share the wonderful experiences waiting for us to embrace.

If you want to learn more about Ushuaia, you can visit another post I wrote here.

Delectable Delights and Daring Dishes

By Alli Sinclair

Now, no one can ever accuse me of not being adventurous. In my backpacking days it was usually me that came up with harebrained schemes that resulted in many fellow travellers shaking their head and saying, “No way, I’m not doing that! Are all Australians crazy like you?” This adventurous spirit didn’t just include scaling mountains and visiting places I really shouldn’t have, it also included food.

When someone asks me about a country, I tend to base my decision on the friendliness of the people and the quality of the food. Everything else is icing on the cake. Turkey is on top of my list for excellent food, but Latin America tops the list of bizarre local dishes. Here’s a rundown on some I have tried (or had others try and got their feedback because, really, everyone has a line that can’t be crossed):

Cuy, Peru

It took alcohol to get me to try this. Lots. Of. Alcohol. Cuy, or guinea pigs as we know them, were traditionally a food only eaten by indigenous people in the Andean highlands but since the 1960s, cuy is eaten by people all over Peru, Bolivia, Ecuador, and Colombia, including foreigners.

Guinea pigs are popular because they produce quickly, take up little space, and don’t eat much, plus their meat is high in protein and low in fat and cholesterol. The taste itself is gamey (like rabbit) and people serve cuy fried, boiled, roasted, or in a casserole or soup.

Peruvians eat around 65 million cuy a year, and it’s eaten as a celebration food for many religious festivals. This animal is so entrenched in the culture, there is even a painting of The Last Supper in a cathedral in Cuzco that has cooked cuy on the table.

My experience with Cuy was during the Summer Solstice festival in Peru. I’d been celebrating with friends who told me I couldn’t live in their country and not at least have tried cuy. I had been sitting in the sun at a restaurant, enjoying the local brew, Cusqueña, so it didn’t take too much persuading—until the cuy arrived at our table. The poor thing had been skewered, fried in fat and it looked at me with bucky teeth and arms and legs outstretched like it had just had a fright. I’m sure it did.

Not wanting to let my friends down, I bowed to the pressure and had a miniscule amount. I must add that I can’t stand anything gamey, so after my taste test I had to drink half a litre of beer to get rid of the greasy taste from my mouth. That was the day I discovered sometimes it is totally okay to say “no thank you.”

Anticucho, Peru

Beef heart skewers…really, what can I say about that one? Anticucho is served at many street stalls throughout Peru and locals delight in watching foreigner’s eyes bulge and mouths drop when they describe what this delicacy is. No, I didn’t try it, I didn’t have the heart (boom boom).

Calzones Rotos (Ripped Knickers), Chile

This is a Chilean dessert that tastes divine but it made it on my list of strange food because of the name—ripped knickers. Calzones rotos are flat dried pastry twisted into interesting shapes and topped with icing sugar. Yum yum. Add a cup of strong Chilean coffee and you won’t hear me utter a word until I’ve finished both.

Chirimoya, Andes (although some will argue Central America)

Chirimoya trees thrive in the tropics at altitudes of 1,300 to 2,600 metres (4,300 to 8,500 feet). It is now cultivated throughout the world but in my mind, Chirimoya will always be a South American fruit to me.

The name, chirimuya originates from Quechua, a language of the indigenous people of South America. Meaning “cold seeds” because it grows at high altitude, chirimuya morphed into chirimoya, a combination of Quechua and Spanish. The fruit has an array of varieties, textures, and shapes and the flavours can be acidy sweet or mellow sweet. Depending on the fruit and the person, people say it tastes like papaya, strawberry, pear, pineapple, apple, or banana.

I had a wonderful cherimoya supplier near the apartment where I lived I in Cuzco, and he would delight in offering the different variations to try. Not far down from the fruit seller was a lady who made the best fruit juices I’ve ever tasted and yes, chirimoya was one of my favourites.

How about you? What delicacies have you tried whilst travelling that you wouldn’t dare taste at home? Do tell!

Truth Wilder Than Fiction

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By Alli Sinclair

When I first lived in Peru, I knew a little about the history but I was by no means an expert. As part of my work as a tour guide I had to study up, and I did so with glee. I find it disconcerting these events actually happened and the suffering that ensued is horrible but it’s hard not to read about the events in the Incan Empire in the 1500s and not think of it as an over-blown version of Dallas. Or perhaps I just watch too much television…

In 1532 a civil war broke out between Incan half-brothers Atahualpa and Huáscar. Unable to rule the Incan Empire together, Atahualpa took control of northern region and Huáscar the south, which included the political capital of Cuzco. Not content with his lot, Huáscar ordered his men to take Atahualpa prisoner but he escaped and in retaliation amassed 30,000 troops to attack Huáscar. Atahualpa declared war and as he advanced close to Cuzco, Huáscar’s inexperienced men were defeated. The day Atahualpa received news of his victory, Francisco Pizzaro, a Spanish conquistador descended into the northern Incan town of Cajamarca. He only had 180 men and 30 horses with him.

Pizarro’s perfect timing meant he could take advantage of the division within the Incan Empire and set about achieving his own goals for the Spanish. After securing an audience with Atahualpa, Pizarro demanded that Atahualpa and his people cast aside their religious beliefs and agree to a treaty with Spain. Of course, Atahualpa refused and the canons and highly-trained Spaniards overpowered the slings, stone axes, and cotton-padded armour of the Incas. The bloody battle killed close to 6,000 Incas but only five Spaniards.

Pizarro’s men captured Atahualpa who offered to fill a large room with treasure to secure his release. Pizarro accepted and received delivery of 24 tonnes of gold taken from various regions of the Incan Empire. Even though Atahualpa paid handsomely for his release, Pizarro put him on trial for arranging the murder of Huascar (so he didn’t pay Pizarro with more Incan riches to ensure Atahualpa stayed imprisoned), and for plotting to overthrow the Incan Empire. The Spanish tribunal found Atahualpa guilty and he was given the choice of being burned alive or the quicker option of hanging if he converted to Christianity. Atahualpa chose the latter so his body could be preserved for Incan mummification.

After his death, the new Incan Emperor and Huascar’s brother, Manco Capac, bowed to Pizarro and his men, allowing them to establish Lima in 1535. This city became the launching pad for another conquistador, Diego Almagro, to attack Chile and allowed Pizarro to communicate better with his leaders in Panama.

A year later, Capac led an uprising but failed. This defeat marked the end of the Inca’s resistance to Spanish rule and the end of an empire.

An empty-handed Almagro returned from Chile, having discovered the poor state of the region. Disheartened, he demanded a share of the riches from Pizarro, who refused, and another civil war broke out, but this time between the Spanish. Almagro seized the Incan capital, Cuzco, in 1538 but Pizarro teamed up with his half-brother, Hernando, to defeat and kill Almagro. But, and this is where it becomes more like a soapie than a history book, Almagro’s son, Diego el Monzo, attacked Pizzaro’s palace in Lima and had him killed. Monzo became Governor of Peru but the Spanish crown didn’t acknowledge his role and in 1542 Monzo was captured and executed by the Spanish. The Spanish Empire remained in a state of turmoil until the 1550s when Viceroy Andres Hurtado de Mendoza finally established a sense of order.

That’s quite a lot of events packed into a short period of history, isn’t it? So next time you watch a TV show about family rivalry and vicious take-overs, you might be prompted to remember the Spanish and the Incas and how truth can be wilder than fiction.

Pisco—A Bitter Rivalry

By Alli Sinclair

Working in an Irish pub in Peru had its advantages—happy hour ran for two, alcohol was cheap, and it was the perfect place to meet tourists from around the world. Before I was let loose to serve in the bar, I had to learn to make a mean Pisco Sour and luckily, this entailed taste-testing my efforts (although some were decidedly atrocious).

I got the hang of making the perfect Pisco Sour so quickly my boss thought I was Peruvian in a past life. But the Chileans that graced the Irish pub didn’t think so. They’d tut-tut my boss for allowing the gringa to make a drink with Peruvian pisco (even though the Chileans were in Peru).

Many Chileans lectured me as to why Chilean pisco was better and how the Peruvians stole their drink and claimed it as their own. It didn’t take long for me to figure out Peruvians and Chileans happily engaged in long-standing arguments about borders, football, food (check the Cerviche Wars here) and, of course, pisco.

I tend to be a fence sitter in these situations because it doesn’t pay to get either party offside. After all, I’d been a guest in both their countries and planned to spend more time in each. So depending on which country I was in, I’d nod and say, “Yes, yes, your pisco is much better than theirs.” We’d clink glasses, down the potent alcohol, and shake our heads at the disgraceful behavior of the neighboring country trying to steal the precious Pisco name.

Depending on where your pisco is from the grape brandy ranges from clear to amber in color. Developed by the Spanish settlers in the 16^th century, pisco replaced orujo, a pomace brandy imported from Spain.

Chilean pisco is produced in the Elqui Valley, in the Andes. The Muscat grape is mostly used, although some vineyards prefer Pedro Jiménez or Torontel. The pisco is double-distilled in copper pot stills and the end result ranges from 60 to 86 proof. Yowza! There is Regular, Control, Special, Reserve, and Great Pisco with the Regular a poor cousin to the others.

Peruvian pisco is produced in copper pot stills also and is made with grapes grown in the regions of Ica Valley, Pisco and Ica. Yes, Pisco is the name of a river as well as a town in Peru, another handy point in the Peruvian’s argument about where pisco originated. In Peru there is Puro (Pure), Aromáticas (Aromatic), Mosto Verde (Green Must), and Acholado (Half-breed) varieties of pisco.

Peruvians love their pisco so much they have set aside the first Saturday of February for El Dia Nacional Del Pisco Sour (National Pisco Sour Day) and participants wear red and white, the colors of the Peruvian flag. When the national anthem is played, whoever is drinking pisco must finish the drink as sign of respect.

If you’re willing to delight your taste buds, I suggest you click here for an array of pisco recipes.

Hmmm…. I’m a tad thirsty. It’s five o’clock somewhere in the world, right? Cheers!

Kidding Around

By Alli Sinclair

When I lived in Cuzco, I taught English to street kids and quite often they asked me to join in their games. To be honest, I sucked at most of them, but the gorgeous laughter coming from kids who had such tough lives always warmed my heart. After that experience, whenever I had the opportunity to join in a game with kids, I jumped at the chance. Here’s a list of games I’ve played throughout South America:

Colombia – La Cachanga (Cotton Sandal)

Players form a close circle and kneel on one knee, the other knee is at right angles. While the person who guesses is on the outside of the circle, the players quickly pass the cotton sandal under their knee in a clockwise direction. The player on the outside tries to guess who has the shoe. While the game is going on, participants chant “Que corra la cachanga” (the sandal that runs). Game is over when the person on the outside guesses who has the sandal. It sounds simple, but when you get a bunch of kids well-practiced at this game, the sandal can literally, fly between the players.

Brazil - Luta de Galo (Fight of the Roosters)

This game requires a minimum of two. Players tuck a handkerchief in their belt and place their right arm across their chest while hopping around on their right foot. The left arm is used to grab the opponent’s handkerchief. If a player’s left foot touches the ground or the right arm moves away from the chest, the player is disqualified.

Brazil – Vivo ou morto (Dead or Alive)

A leader is chosen amongst the children and they stand in front of him or her, awaiting his instructions. When he yells “vivo!” the children stay standing, when he yells “morto!” they crouch down. If one of the participants gets it wrong, they’re out of the game. The fun part of this game is when the leader shouts the instructions really quickly and the kids get super confused. The last person to have followed all the instructions correctly gets to be leader in the next round.

Chile – Quien es? (Who is it?)

If the idea of 20 or more teenagers congregating in one noisy place frightens you, don’t play this game! If you do decide to brave the gaggle of hormonal teenagers, it’s well and truly worth the effort.

One player is chosen as the leader and is the head of the line. The remaining players stand in an orderly line. The leader asks the question, “Have you seen my friend?” and the players answer with, “No, Sir/Madam.” The leader than asks, “Do you know who my friend is?”, the group answers with, “Yes, Sir/Madam.”

The leader takes nine steps forward and doesn’t look back at the other players. The other players quietly change positions and the (new) first person remains quiet while the other players shout out, “Who is it?” The leader asks three questions before they guess. Typical questions are, “Boy or girl?”, “Dark hair or fair?”, etc. The leader then guesses who’s standing behind him or her. If the leader wins they can stay in that role or if they lose, someone else is nominated for this position.

Los encantandos (The Enchanted)

This game is similar to “freeze” or “tag”. One person is chosen as the enchanted one and if they touch a person, that person has to stay frozen until one of the unfrozen players touches them. There is usually a safe place where the enchanted person can’t enter, and if a player makes it to the safe spot, they can form a chain with other players to release frozen people.

And just for fun, I’m adding my all-time favorite game for kids—one that is played in many countries around the world. I only discovered this after I became a mum and this game is a firm favorite in our house (especially when little friends are over):

Dead Fish

A fisherman is chosen from the group of kids and the players lie on the ground, not moving. The fisherman moves between the fish and if he/she spies a moving fish, that fish is moved over to his “basket”. The game keeps going until there is only one fish left. Needless to say, the idea of a group of kids lying on the ground and being still and quiet is a caregiver’s dream!

What I’ve discovered since playing games with kids is it doesn’t matter where you come from or language you speak, as long as you join in and embrace the spirit of the game, you’ll always be welcome. Games breakdown barriers, create friendships, and encourage the sharing of moments that can stay in our memories forever.

How about you? Have you ever joined in a kid’s game on your travels and ended up with an experience you’ll never forget?

In Patagonia – Bruce Chatwin

My first journey around the world started in a second-hand bookshop in my hometown in Australia. Whenever I shop in a bookstore, I let my gut guide me, and that particular day I was drawn to the travel section where I picked up a copy of In Patagonia by Bruce Chatwin. I had a feeling I was in for a unique journey to a fascinating land. I was right.

First published in 1977, In Patagonia was Chatwin’s first foray into book-length travel writing, and since then, this book has been hailed as the tome that changed travel writing forever. Chatwin’s easy writing style and colourful descriptions of people and places draw the reader into a world that is easily imagined, but also unfamiliar.

The story starts with a young Chatwin sitting in his grandmother’s dining room in England. He comes across some cardboard and attached to it is a piece of thick and leathery skin sprouting strands of coarse, reddish hair. The specimen had been sent from his grandmother’s cousin, Captain Charley Milward after his ship had come to grief in the Strait of Magellan, in South America. Chatwin learns that Milward had settled in Punta Arenas, Chile, and later had discovered a brontosaurus sticking out of the ice. Milward jointed, salted, and packed the dinosaur in barrels and sent it to the Natural History Museum of South Kensington, England. By the time it arrived it was a putrefied disaster, but Milward had saved a piece prior to shipping and sent it to Chatwin’s grandmother.

As a child, Chatwin coveted the piece of skin, even after his schoolmates and science teacher laughed and told him it couldn’t be a brontosaurus as they didn’t have hair. After his grandmother passed away, Chatwin asked for the skin she’d promised him, only to find out from his mother that it had been thrown away. It wasn’t until years later that Chatwin discovered the real story behind the skin – Milward had indeed found an animal, but it was a mylodon (Giant Sloth). His discovery wasn’t a complete specimen, let alone a whole skeleton, but only some skin that had been preserved in the cold caves in Chilean Patagonia. Undeterred by facts intruding upon his childhood dreams, Chatwin’s love of geography grew and his desire to travel to remote corners of the world ensued.

With an array of failed university courses and jobs behind him, Chatwin eventually took a job at The Times. During an interview with aging designer Eileen Gray, he commented on a map of Patagonia she had on the wall. He mentioned he’d always wanted to visit, so when Gray said “Go there for me” he sent a telegram to his editor with the words, “Gone to Patagonia for six months.” And he went.

The book was written in the 1970s when the world focussed on bombs and the Cold War, and at the time, it occurred to Chatwin the remoteness of Patagonia could be an excellent place to flee from the fallout. 

Torres del Paine, Patagonia

“We fixed on Patagonia as the safest place on earth.  I pictured a low timber house with a shingled roof, caulked against storms, with blazing log fires inside and the walls lined with the best books, somewhere to live when the rest of the world blew up.” 

What Chatwin discovers on his journey is Patagonia is the place where people from all over the world have sought refuge from their homelands. The Welsh and Italians, for example, present countless opportunities for Chatwin to discover the difficulties of reinventing one’s self far from friends and family. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid play a large role in this book as Chatwin covers their history, both supposed and factual, as well as discovering Captain Milward’s own memoirs of his seafaring days. 

Chatwin lets people’s actions speak for themselves, like when he meets Grandpa Felipe, the last member of the Yaghan people on Navarino Island. The old gentleman talks about how their people have lost their language to compulsory English education and how many of their people have died through epidemics. At times, the book is heartbreaking, yet a few pages later, the reader is smiling over Chatwin’s description of a heart-warming experience.

Exile and wandering are the prominent themes in this book and Chatwin’s investigations into Pascal’s Theorem of whether man is essentially nomadic and a settled civilization is unnatural brings up some very interesting topics for discussion.

Photo by The Guardian

In Patagonia received the Hawthornden Prize and the E.M. Forster awards which launched Chatwin’s career as a travel writer. Bruce Chatwin went on to write eight other books, but most were published posthumously after his death in 1989. The world lost a fascinating writer back then, but his legacy appears to have lived on in the works of other travel writers.

I could start my own public library based on the travel books I own. I love delving into the minds of people as they travel to exotic lands and undertake adventures that would give most people heart failure. Unfortunately, not all travel books are the same, and I’ve read a few that have disappointed me greatly with their lack of compassion or inability to truly understand the cultures and lands the writers have travelled through. This is not the case with Chatwin’s writing. 

Even after living in other countries and immersing myself in unfamiliar cultures, I still don’t think one can fully understand what it’s like to be born and bred in a particular country, other than the one we grew up in. That’s why some travel books miss the mark, causing the reader to walk away without a better understanding of the place they just travelled to between the covers of the book. But there are some writers who seamlessly peel back the layers of a culture and manage to give the reader a snippet into what someone else’s life is like, and for me, Bruce Chatwin is a master.

Something to Wine About

Vineyard in the Mendoza region. Photo by Mitsuhirato.

When people ask me what I liked most about living in Mendoza, Argentina, the words that tumble from my mouth are “wine, mountains, and food”. Of course, my second sentence contains “hot men” but that’s a whole other story.

My first introduction to red wine came in the form of a spritzer in a restaurant in Mendoza. The Argentines are quite fond of adding soda water and ice to red wine in the summer, and as a non-red wine drinker, this combo led to my appreciation of a fine red. No doubt the wine connoisseurs reading this will have fallen off their chairs by now, but I promise you I eventually dropped the soda water and now drink the pure stuff. 

For me to have survived in social circles in Mendoza, one of Argentina’s main wine-producing regions, I had to learn to drink red—and appreciate it. As part of my training, I had to put in many hours at the vineyards, sitting with friends, drinking vino and staring at the snow-capped peaks of the Andes. Oh, the things I’ve done to integrate within a culture.

Jesuit missionaries in Latin America officially planted the first vineyard in Latin America in 1557. The missionaries built irrigation dams and canals so they could capture water from the melting glaciers. The combination of fresh mountain water and arid climate proved a perfect combination and the crops flourished. French cuttings were imported and, as a result, the wine from Chile and Argentina still contain French ancestry. 

The Jesuits' original plan of producing wine for their Catholic masses changed as the population in Latin America expanded. The churches lost their monopoly on vineyard ownership, and the public had access to grape growing and put their own slant on wine production. Latin America exported wine to Spain, where it became so popular it threatened to crush the Spanish wine industry. The Spanish government ruled a lot of Latin America, so it ordered the vineyards there to be uprooted. For the handful of people who refused to bow down to the Spanish, they had to pay hefty taxes for the privilege. Luckily, they did so because those are the crops that escaped destruction and expanded once the Spanish lost their stronghold.

A lot of fuss is made about Chile and Argentina competing against each other in everything from football to wine. I can’t see the point, especially since their wines are quite different. In Chile, most vineyards are set in fertile valleys, and rely on the moist air from the Pacific Ocean to grow their crops. Varieties produced in Chile are Sauvignon Blanc, Chardonnay, Riesling, Cabernet, Sauvignon Blanc, Merlot, Carmenére, Syrah, and Pinot Noir.

The arid, sunny climate of the Argentine Andes is better suited to producing red wine. Some of Argentina’s most important red varieties are Bonarda, Cabernet Sauvignon, Malbec, Merlot, Sangiovese, Syrah, and Tempranillo. But the wine isn’t limited to just red. Torrontes has gained popularity as a high-quality Argentine white. 

Vineyard, Mendoza region. Photo by Fainmans.

I’m not a wine expert by any means, but I can surely appreciate a good glass of vino when it comes along. I grew up in a country with a reputation for producing fine wine, so there’s no surprise I ended up living in a few countries where the grapes are not just for eating. What did surprise me when I first arrived in South America is that wine production isn’t limited to just Chile and Argentina. I’ve had some amazing wine from Peru, Bolivia, Uruguay, and Brazil. And I certainly couldn’t write this post with authority if I hadn’t sampled some of the wines from those countries.

As with any burgeoning industry, things change. It’s hard to keep up with new labels and varieties being produced, so the only way to keep on top of it, as far as I’m concerned, is to drag myself back to South America and conduct my own wine-tour.

How about you? Have you sampled any South American wine, and if so, what did you think?