However, any tourists worth their salt, and a good many who aren't, head out of the city to one of the surrounding wine-growing areas. We hopped on a bus one sunny mornng, getting off in Maipu. Huge Andean mountains stood on the horizon. Round there various bicycle hire outfits hawk their wares, but the place to go is Mr Hugo's. We, like dozens of other backpackers that day, grabbed a couple of bikes from him, and set about cycling around the vineyards and bodegas, with the help of a leaflet directing us to various points of interest.
I haven´t drunk red wine in around 5 or 6 years, in the belief that the tannin does funny things to my head. But I felt compelled to do so on the bike tour, and started with the free beaker proferred at Mr Hugo's. I had a little more at the region's wine museum (where a bat flitted around the huge barrels in the cellar). But I remained cautious and kept my intake to a minimum and balanced up the wine with plenty of water. However, any equilibrium I maintained was ruined by the shot of absinthe I had at the next place we visited, and then the 2 pints of strong white beer I drank in a lovely bucolic beer garden, while chatting to other wine bikers.
Through the afternoon we visited both huge upmarket operations and little family vineyards. But it was a miracle that we made it back to Mr Hugo´s to return the bikes. Not because of a tannin malfunction, nor any general drunkeness. In the time I have known George, she has always represented that she is a proficient cyclist. Indeed, I understood her to be a London to Brightoner. I now know this not to be the case. First, I had to give up my bike to her, and pedal around the region on a girl´s bike with a basket on the front, as it was apparently "too hard" for her to ride. Then, once the swap had been made, she caused the chain to come off, twisted the handlebars and fell off twice. It should be noted that both falls were on a very flat, very straight road.
A final note about Mr Hugos: It is the place everyone goes, all the antipodean, American and European backpackers. It is advertised in the Lonely Planet. It must make a fortune - there is a very good reason for its success. Mr Hugo himself serves wine, shakes everybody's hand, and in our case, as we didn´t have the right coins for the bus, walked with us to the bus stop, paid with his travel card and waved us off. Thoroughly nice bloke.