¿How is Mendoza like Overland Park?

Yesterday (12-15-07), Lou, Landon and I took off for Mendoza on a smooth straight shot from San Juan that passed more vineyards than one could hope for. It was a very nice ride and we made it into the city in time to put on new tires before siesta.
Siesta is very important in Argentina. Stores close for siesta at around 12 to 1, and then they will not open back up until 4 or 5 in the afternoon. Restaurants do not open up until 8 or 9 in the evening, which can be very difficult when you have been riding on an empty stomach the entire day. So, I put a new back tire on my Beatrice as well as some new fuses and a light, and we took off to the campsite to hang out for the night.
After settling in and putting up the tents, Lou and I decided to go to a store to find some food and wine. It turns out, that we were off in a suburb of Mendoza, and the only store around was a Walmart. Large tarmac square full of fancy autos in front, a metal box with blue paint and a sweet old Argentine man at the door greeting you with ¨Buenos Dias, Bien Venidos a Walmart¨ and a smile. Pushing a cart around in an American Phenomena in the middle of Argentina was surreal. They had all of the Sam´s choice products and cheap Walmart clothing. One good thing about the super market from hell, is that it had a wonderful selection of wine from the region. Four bottles and a cart full of food, we made our way to the line where this American charged his Walmart goods on a Visa card...I am so America, you can smell the fresh liberty on my skin.
Walking out of the Walmart was even more curious. Looking out over the area, you saw street lamps lighting the neighborhoods of custom built houses with nicely decorated yards...I was taken back through alien teleport to Overland Park and Walmart had probed me!
Stumbling back into reality, my motorcycle still had all of it´s pack on it, and we lead ourselves back to an Argentine campsite where everyone was speaking Spanish, and then I realized that the melting pot of America has spilled into the beautiful land of Latin America. It has not been this obvious since Panama City.
Today, (12-16-07) we took off for the Incan Bridge that sits up above 2,500 meters into the Andes that split Chile and Argentina. This pass that takes you to the bridge is known for it´s spectacular views of the mountains, including the largest mountain in the western hemisphere, Aconcagua. It is also lined with granite stone and streaming water falls.
The Incan bridge is a beautiful piece of how the earth can reform around running water. A river runs through a piece of granite stone with sulfuric hot springs coming from the sides, leaving a yellowish residue as the water slowly rolls into the river below. The backdrop of this unique site is the grand Aconcagua mountain that peaks at 23,600 feet above see level, and can be seen from the Pacific in Valparaiso, Chile. How dramatic these mountains are to the observer...it is breathless awe that took me over today, all the way into the two mile long tunnel that takes you into Chile.
From the Aduana services and customs at the Chilean border on the eastern side of the International Tunnel, you parade down a highway of nothing but curves back and forth, while trying to pass the semi trucks putting along. Dropping around 2000 meters, we breezed into Los Andes, Chile where we found a hotel. The city is modern and commercial, and you can see the dramatic price difference compared to Argentina. When a hotel room costs you 22,000 pesos a night, trying to work out the conversions into dollars can prove to be quite difficult after the shock value behind such a number. But heh, I am in Chile...a childhood dream of mine has come true. I am going to sit down with a bottle of wine and some cheese, read about our Chilean path, dream about the Pacific, and think about what I learned today.
What Sean learned today: Farmers cut off the balls of bulls and pigs so that the meat is not concentrated in Testosterone giving it a terrible taste. Lou adds that the church use to do that to boys in medieval times in order for them to stay soprano in the choir. Those poor poor pigs.