Aconcagua

There cannot be a more perfect approach to a mountain. The valley that leads toward Aconcagua, the tallest peak outside of Asia, begins at around ten thousand feet and winds gently up green slopes, filled with yellow flowers and birds, framed on both sides by small mountains -- say, a mere twelve to fifteen thousand feet. It was a glorious morning (note that the rain predicted for our entire stay in the Medoza area disappeared by Monday afternoon) and we ambled toward a bridge an hour in which separates the walkers from the trekkers, those heading toward the base camps and the three-week ascent to the top. After taking a last look at this glorious peak (that little swath of white on the south side is a glaciar 100 meters [sic] deep), we made our winding way down the mountain road between Chile and Argentina (the path taken by the great libertador San Martin), made a quick visit to Catena Zapata, a vast winery set beneath the precordillera, and headed to the airport, busily planning a future visit.