Winetime

Winetime

So you’re a global hobo. You’ve probably slept on the street, or at least at a bus station. You’ve definitely been wearing those undies for longer than your mother would advise. You’re poor. You smell. You’ve got an affinity for absinthe. You smell of cheap booze, don’t you? You filthy animal.

I like you.

In fact, I like you so much, I’m going to tell you a secret that you – the boozy you – will appreciate. To get the most bang for your buck on wine tours, go with people who don’t like wine. Take advantage of those people that mix goon with Gatorade. Yeah, you heard me. They deserve it.

At this point, I should confess I did not drink before I went to South America. It is $9 at my local for a vodka-raspberry, so can you blame me? Enter 20-peso wine. Ain’t nobody complainin’ about a decent drop for $2.

The slippery slope toward getting slizzered began one breezy night in Buenos Aires, Argentina. The tipple was taunting me:
“Come drink, my child”
“Yes, master Malbec, I will.” Half a bottle of wine later, and I was converted.

Really, just pour it straight in my mouth. No glass necessary. A funnel may help, though. Cheers.

A few weeks after that first fateful sip, I was on my way to Argentina’s wine country, Mendoza. Beautiful Mendoza lays in the foothills of the Andes Mountain range. The region is renowned for wine and olive-oil production. Though, I warn you now, do not take a tour of an olive oil factory. There are only so many phrases the guides know in English. I do,  however, strongly recommend a wine tour. All the better if, like me, you’re with a group of girls who don’t particularly savour a Savvy B or merit a Malbec. These girls, lovely as they are, would rather take a hasty shot of vodka while holding their nose. I have no problem with this.

For when it came time to taste-test the local produce, all the more for me. The girls sniffed and swirled their wine with sophistication, and even furrowed their brows inquisitively, just until the tour guide walked away. I gladly took the wine off their hands. It was the least I could do. Yes, they may have been measly half glasses, but four half glasses go down far better than just the one.

I wouldn’t say I got wasted; barely tipsy. But it was a great gateway to HI Hostel Mendoza’s free cocktail night – shoutout to my main man Juan for taking the “Say when..” concept very seriously when pouring me drinks. Those double (triple?) shot mojitos were dangerous. Dangerously good.

So encourage your wine-hating (I draw the line at pregnant) friends to come with you on a wine-tour. You may end up with more than one glass half full.