She’ll be coming round the mountain

When she comes, he stays.
Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, el sol continued to shine, and on the third morning, like three children full of grace, we arrived in Mendoza.

An overnight bus blacked out the mountainous route while the man in la luna lightened the darkness and we reclined in relative luxury. Lying back. Thinking of England – English minds dwelling on English thoughts, ignorant of the gendered world around us.

Sun, moon, earth, it, always neutral, like Switzerland. They ski in Mendoza in winter too. We met a ski instructor on the roof of the city’s Empire State Building café. Decimo se llama. 10th floor. Overlooking an earthquake-safe-zone, pre-Concepción. Las Leñas is apparently the best Argentine resort for off-piste adventures. Moleskine®. Note taken.

Still on the bus, we gossip about London. People. Places. It takes time for minds to move on. Create new common ground. Friendships grow through experiences; shared experiences relate us presently.

Back on the rooftop of Decimo, our waiter remarks on our foreignness. London. He’s been; had quite an adventure. A couple of policemen flattened him in the street – a case of mistaken identity. Guilty of failing to look like an innocent tourist, he got to experience Paddington’s cells. No dungeon, but released without apology. The holiday resumed. Suerte.

Only handlebars for us, bicycles, pork belly on a barbecue, and beautiful leafy boulevards. Mendoza’s quality tipple – Malbec – is an all-year-round attraction. Vino tinto tasting on wobbly wheeled tours. Thin air, good food, fluid conversation and familiar faces – English flesh as well as fantasies as we crossed a couple of architect acquaintances in our hostel; along with an Australian banker in the swimming pool, an American property developer dangling his tanned toned limbs in the water and a Dutch celebrity magazine journalist.

Travelling through the small world.