Double The Awe In Aconcagua...

At dawn, with a yawn, we climbed on another bi-level diesel devil, gassed and gussied up for a gear grinding pass over the Andes. Eventually, we learned that early purchasers sit together, but late reservations meant separate assignments. Luckily, a lovely lady named Carmen understood not-so-good Spanish and bi-lingual body language and she swapped seats. Only wanting a window, she grinned and grabbed one in row two. With motherly innocence and a perfect defense of ignorance, she convinced the true owner that the bus company must be confused. Hiding her smile she slipped us a sly wily wink...

This big statue bid a triumphant adieux as we cruised through the fields of fruit. Soon, the narrowing gorge forced a merge of the harrowing river and road...

The dry cacti gropes undulating slopes with dusty hopes of a late summer rain...

Spires of stone tower and yield higher power to the tireless men who wield and wrangle tangled asphalt along Andean alluvial fans and faults...

With engine wrenching shifts our vehicle drifts slowly toward snow covered pinnacles as we inch deeper and steeper in pitch...
Flattening out, we wind about a formerly flooded mud embedded bed...but from west to east instead. Ahead, but not for long, a vantage of Aconcagua approaches...

Serrated sierras that scratch at the sky guffaw at the awe of the small passersby...

A multitude of meandering mustangs whinny and shinny across this lofty swath of scrub...

And then, in a hush, where a curve wears a cross, Aconcagua appears once again in a rush...

Blessed by a background of blue, the white giant gathered and grew--and our trusty Olympus knew just what to do...

One momentous moment to marvel at another of Mother Nature's magnificent monuments on a spectacular day before the mountain waved good-bye and we motored away...


High between the borders of Chile and Argentina, accustomed to the orders of customs, Carmen and Leandra bust out some milestone smiles...

At Puente del Inca, geologic oddities and geothermal properties created a natural arch...

Ancient Incans could march the fifty meters over the melts of Rio Mendoza...

Two huffy lodges and dormant lifts lament but will wake with a burst at the first fluffy flake...

Stony shrapnel surrounds a lonely chapel...

Bizarre banana colored crags hover above the shivery silt filled river...

Outdated remains of Trans-Andean trains tunnel through cliffs along the swift ruddy rapids...

Passing the pueblo of Potrerillos, the turquoise lake takes a turn posing for passengers...

Meanwhile windsurfers bend and skirt across the surface...


Soon, our bus will wind into Mendoza with ease, but could a cabby be so happy finding Club Tapiz?...