Given my inability to keep track of what day it is, I miscalculated and set off for Mendoza a day early. Happily that gave us the luxury of (even more) time. As we were hungry, and as it was: nearly our last day for a while, nearly valentines and nearly three months on the road, I suggested spontaneous lunch at a vineyard. Happily the next one we passed was the award winning Septima
Our host met us at the van with an umbrella, and in perfect English asked us how our had been. I was putting on shoes (out of my crocs) and Daphne had just finished getting dressed. All is well.
The light jazz, the aged oak floors, the glass and steel minimal architecture. The usual trappings for elegant, expensive merchants of rotted grapes. The menu was a simple choice -four courses paired. I’m driving, given Daphne is sans licence as well as passport, so its 8 glasses of high quality booze for her.
I relax my usual protests at including pictures of food on social media, because these dishes are rather well presented.
With one of us slightly tipsy we rolled back into Mendoza city. A town we rather like. A hotel as a final treat. We take to the streets and find another restaurant for a light dinner. Conversation with three passionate socialists ensues, or rather two passionate socialist and an English/Dutch girl, who, true to her English heritage, remained incapable of passion. We covered a lot of ground in a carefully directed discussion. Creative industry wages (the classic working for recognition) vs capitalism, feminism and gender division (can a man really appreciate the feminist perspective), and the role of racism in politics. Took four bottles of red to get through all that.