Paint me Purple

Harvest. Happens once a year, or twice if are like me-following the season from hemisphere to hemisphere, south to north to grab two. I go through autumn twice, and haven't seen the fresh light of spring in awhile. Long gone too are the days of a perfect manicure. Not one to always have a the fresh polish, or a French tip, but still like to take care, and be presentable. Well, for at least half of the year, my hands look somewhat like this:

Ghastly, no? I do have to admit, this picture was taken around Halloween, so I was willing to give it an especially good show at the purple, the cracked, the short nail with endless stain underneath. How on earth you say, does one's hand get this way? Cleaning. Shoveling. Endless washing. Sorting.  Sanitizing. Punching down. More and more and more wiping, suds, & cleaning. Notice a pattern here? So much of the job is making sure everything is spotless and just so, which makes for an endless day of having wet hands, and all the dryness that comes with it, insert the cracking. Tie that in with shoveling,

Punching down (mixing the grape cap at the top with the juice or wine),

And sorting,

And I can look like this:

Yes, even purple toes. This year, at Scherrer Winery, it was all manual tasks thru harvest. Everything, hands on, callous-causing, honest work. And I loved it. 

Pucon

Volcan Villarrica. The two words needed to explain my experience in Pucon. This monster of an active volcano took all that I had to give on the Fifth of May 2013.

In reality, Pucon is a delightful city in the most Northern portion of Patagonia. We spent time at the hot springs Los Pozoles, relaxing our sore post-harvest souls



Finding yummy local delights such as cheese,




beer


And a chocolate volcano





And we even spent a lovely afternoon searching out Salto el Claro, a semi secret, but very wonderous waterfall.




But it was really about conquering this volcano and getting to the top



Our day was absolutely gorgeous-the first sun Pucon had seen in really a week, and though warnings of wind, a relatively calm morning. The whole trick to the climb is the weather, and the exposure is as such that you chances of getting to the top can change in a matter of minutes. Even with these rumors of sudden snow storms, high winds, and nasty conditions we all arrived ready with our guides, rented gear, and newly found friends after being cooped up in a tiny, albeit awesome hostel, waiting for the weather to clear.


The first two hours of the climb start steep, on lava rocks from eruptions past, underneath a sometimes functioning chairlift that when working, takes off an hour of hiking straight uphill. Alas, not our day for a lift, and our group, plus three others, totalling about 60 people, walked longingly under the defunct chairs.



The next step, is stopping just before the snow to put on crampons, and learn how to walk using the ice pick. Such a thing I never thought I may need, but writing this now owing my life to it.


The first part of the snow was pleasant, relatively unsteep, and a whole new take on the world below you.


In good spirits and in a pleasant temperature with little wind, we continued onward and upward.


It is after about another hour or so of climbing do you realize how tough this is going to be. The top seems to be getting further and further away, as the groups behind you get smaller in size and in numbers



Conditions do indeed start changing, and as the temperature starts dropping, and the wind picks up the newly laid snow turns into a slick, crunchy path.


About thirty minutes from the top, I really started to wonder if making it was an option. After four and a half hours of straight 40-45 degree incline, it seems so close, but so far away at the same time. Muscles are achy, thirst and hunger are high, and the wind starts gusting at speeds that make you want to hunker down as close to the ground as possible, digging that ice pick the most you can manage.

But then, you get to the top and it all seems worth it.


The skies were incredibly clear-vistas to three lakes and three volcanoes below,



And into Argentina beyond



Were stunning. Not to mention the fact, you ARE on top of a steaming, active volcano, with a crater beckoning you to come closer to see. However, the wind was blowing steadily between 35-40 km/hour, strong enough that I let my zoom on the camera do a little bit of the work for me.



The group spent about twenty minutes at the top-enough time to see the sights, eat lunch together behind a little protection from the wind, and get sufficiently chilled with the -10 degree celsius wind chill.




Unfortunately, as difficult as the battle was up the hill, I waged a more intense one on the way down. We took a different way and as we approached the side, an incredible fear of falling and heights kicked in, rendering me relatively useless.



That valley floor was just SO far away, and the ground was SO slick and steep my mind played one hellavu trick on me and all confidence went right out the window. After a few minutes of minimal, stressful movement downhill, the guide decided that we would walk the entire way down together, pretty much hand in hand so I would make it down, mentally and physically in one piece.

It was just as gorgeous on the way down as up with even more vistas and crevices.



The moment you reach the 'ground' or rather, lava rocks, was the best feeling in the world. Taking those crampons off, and putting the ice pick away I felt a sense of relief take over and you have done it. It also helped knowing there was about a hour more to go, then thirty minutes on a bus, before I had a beer calling my name, appropriately named Crater





Am I glad I did it? Absolutely. Nothing like pushing yourself to the limit in mind and soul to know what you can do. Will I do it again? Somebody would have to do some extreme convincing.

La Vendimia

I haven't a clue on where to start on my last two months, the duration of my vendimia, or harvest, here in Chile. It seems like yesterday I was crossing the Andes into Chile, with a sense of wonder and full of excitment. I was here to do something I love, make wine. I had no idea what to expect, and was going into this foreign land relatively blind. Armed only with the name of the winery, and the location of where to get off the bus, my fellow Gringa, Molly, and I ventured into uncharted territory.

The winery is in the Maule Valley, in between two cities, or rather a city, Talca, and a town, San Clemente. We were to live at the vineyard, in a casita, with two girls from Chile, and next door to a casa, with 12 boys from Chile, ranging from 18-28 years old.

The casita


Vineyards & Andes off the porch


And on our first night, we were greeted with the monthly Asado, pleasantly located in between the two houses



A stunning view, choripans (chorizo and bread), and some cerdo (pork), it was a fun, delicious introduction to this valley and to my time here.

As it turns out, the next two months would prove to be my most difficult in my series of journeys around this world thus far. I learned a lot, and saw a completely new side of winemaking, one that has far more logisitics, additions, and movements than I ever knew. I learned to be pushed to my limits-in sleep, in language, in culture, and when it comes down to it, to the wine being produced and in the methods of production. The winery is expanding at a rapid pace and the company is still trying to figure out how to process the thousands upon thousands of kilograms of grapes six nights a week.



Six nights of the week that we were working-a 24 hour crew-working their hearts out for wine that sells from $3.00-$10.00 a bottle.



I was on a 12 hour night shift for a month, and the day off flipping back and forth between day and night to see something of the outside world.



Speaking only Spanish, processing grapes both familiar (merlot, top) and new (tintorera, bottom),






and always hoping to stay warm enough to taste through the wines at a 4 am round in 40 degree weather.



I write this now, at the end of my harvest, with a new appreciation of what I love and know back home in Sonoma County, a working knowledge of the Spanish language, and more then ever, my heart is still with wine-and appreciating all that it takes makes that delicious cup in your hand.

Mendoza in Black and White

Mendoza is one of those places I had dreamed of traveling to. Of the food, of the wine, of the Argentinia people.

It was beautiful and incredible. All of it.

I have choosen a few of my favorite photos of my three days there, which was far too short, but I know I'll be back for more.




Wine Tasting at the Vines of Mendoza




Tasting at Carmelo Patti, Carmelo pouring for each of his guests




Chardonnay harvest and tasting at Viña Cobos. Hats off to you, Paul Hobbs.




Argentinian History lesson at La Rural




Biodynamic Malbec at Trapiche





Soaking up the sun at Bodega Mevi




And biking through the vines of Maipú

Location:Mendoza, Argentina

Empanadas

This is Maria- a wonderful, Argentinian woman who came to our hostel to teach a class on how to make empanadas. In South America, or at least in the three countries I have been to, empanadas are everywhere. Vendors on the street, small markets, restaurants, and grocery stores alike are all selling yummy pockets of dough, filled with any ingredients you like. A quick, delightful bite to eat, especially on this traveler's shoestring budget.

Maria gave us the recipe for to make 48 empanadas-for it seems that also in South America, or the three countires I have been to, portions are beyond generous. Walking around the room, she shared the spices, shown in tne white bowls. Cumin, chili, oregano, paprika round out the list. Added to some ground beef, and onion, a touch of salt-voilá-a filling.




For those who don't have premade empanada shells at their grocery, like they do here, you must make your own dough. Since I don't have good luck with making anything with dough, it was a helpful "flour+water" hint. Even the advice of using a wine bottle to flatten [not pictured here], was perfect.




We used the pre made empanada rounds to stuff and fold to our fancy, listening to Maria as she explained hoe the corners need to be tucked in to keep all the goodness inside.





With the empandadas all folded and placed in the oven, the group of travelers shared stories of near and far, where you came from, and where you're going next. It is the time I cherish the most in hostels, the community of the hopeless wanderers all looking for treasures and experience in this world.

When our they came out of the oven, Maria dutifully walked around, doling out every person's special one they made-carefully marked your own way.


And in the end, we cheers, for a cooking class in Mendoza is not complete without a glass of malbec in your hand.

Location:Mendoza, Argentina