A Beer with a View

We live in a porous house. I don’t mean there’s the odd hole here and there; I mean it’s a sieve masquerading as a home. Rain, wind and snow penetrate its walls like a bull penetrates a matador’s cape: with vigour, menace and ease. It’d be humorous if hyperthermia weren’t a real threat. And while our little abode barely fits the description of a house, it does have one redeeming feature. It’s views.

The views from this place are spectacular (see image below).  Sunrises, sunsets, full moons, shooting stars, lakes, mountains and forests. You name it; we’ve seen it through the big glass windowpanes that span almost one wall. And thanks to the clear Perspex roof (it’s barely a house I tell you) shooting stars are a frequent occurrence, so too my schoolgirl squeals of delight whenever I see one. It’s natural (that we have great views, not the schoolgirl screams) given we live just a stones throw away from Cerro Campanario, voted by National Geographic as having one of the best vistas in the world.

And so it was that Sofi, the cat and I found ourselves wrapped in every blanket we owned last Saturday morning with snow covering the house and burdening the branches of the surrounding trees. There was no hope of getting our little Volkswagen Gol out to go skiing and even leaving the warmth of the bed seemed suicidal. However, valour prevailed and we decided that if we couldn’t beat the elements we might as well join them, which involved simply getting out of bed.

We decided to don the snowshoes and head up the aforementioned Cerro Campanario. Not only does it sport world-class views but I’d heard the café up top sold craft beer so I was easily convinced. Stepping out of the house was like stepping into a Walt Disney Christmas Special. The sky looked almost too perfect, as if someone had taken to it with a paint brush using those fancy paints with equally fancy names like “bashful blue” or “virgin white” or, I don’t know, “sky blue”. Whatever its colour it provided a stunning contrast to the pillows of brilliant white powder snow that covered everything.

I remember the first time I saw snow. It was on a sweltering hot summer’s day in Brisbane. Our sub-tropical town was hosting the World Expo and my brother and I had lined up outside the Swiss Pavilion for over an hour in the hope of catching a glimpse of the magical white stuff (others were doing the same outside the Columbian Pavilion). Once inside we were hit with a wall of cold air and in front of us stood a mountain. Not a real mountain obviously but a miniature man-made version, complete with a ski run made from artificial snow. It was fantastic, it was surreal and I loved every minute of it.

But this “wild snow” that was in front of us was something altogether different. When I look back at it now, man’s attempt to recreate what I was seeing before me fell well short. The scene became even more beautiful as we entered the forest proper and started to climb. A gentle breeze was dislodging the loose snow crystals from the trees and as they fell, caught by the sun, they glittered like diamond dust (that might sound like hyperbole but check out the video below). 

The higher we climbed the deeper the snow got. There were sections where we were forced to crawl under the ever-present caña colihue plants, bamboo’s Argentinean relative, who were bent over themselves in an attempt to carry the weight of the snow. Unlike the 5-hr trek to Frey, climbing Cerro Campanario can be done in 30 – 40 minutes. What the climb lacks in length and height however, it makes up in steepness. The trail is unrelenting in its purpose of getting you to the “summit” as quickly as possible.

All of this to say that I felt I had deserved a beer upon reaching the top. But before I could quench my thirst, my eyes first needed to feast on the views. What makes the vista from Campanario so famed is the immensity of it. It is mountains and lakes as far as the eye can see in every direction save for a small break out to the east where the Andes give way to The Step. Having fed one of my senses, it was time to give a bit of loving to the others. The beer I had come to drink was a Red Pale Ale from the local Prosit brewery, located in picturesque Colonia Suiza, not far from Berlina’s modern brewhouse.

To accompany the beer I chose to eat a ham and cheese filled empanada. Empanadas are ubiquitous in Argentina. The small pastry can be eaten at nearly anytime of the day as a snack or a meal unto itself. The pastry’s flexibility can probably be chalked up to the fact that it can be filled with almost anything, and usually is. While there are hundreds of variations, most combinations include a liberal use of mozzarella cheese. Mine certainly fit that bill.

Fortunately the Prosit Pale Ale, with it’s liberal use of the local cascade hops and moderate carbonation, was able to cut through the buttery pastry and oozing cheese to nicely compliment the ham with its subtle fruity flavours, in much the same way a spicy chutney would. The caramelized malt flavours latched onto the smooth milkiness of the mozzarella adding another layer of complexity to the fast maturing relationship. I suspected it wouldn't be long before beer and empanada were finishing each other’s sentences.

A steaming hot empanada, a craft beer with tons of character and views that make grown men weep: it sure can be tough braving the elements.

* Photos by Sofi Cullen