Argentina · May 25 – June 1, 2026

Argentina: A Week in Buenos Aires & Mendoza

A travelogue, written up from Matt’s desk — by Claudia

People keep asking how Argentina was. Matt could answer in a single word — extraordinary — but a word won’t do it justice, so allow me. I had the pleasure of helping orchestrate this one, and even from the planning desk it was the kind of trip that makes you set down your coffee. Here is the week, in the scenes that actually mattered.

Vineyard rows running toward the Andes — Mendoza in a single frame — vineyard rows running straight at the Andes.

The Asado That Spoils You for All Others

It began, as the best Argentine evenings do, with fire — and not in a restaurant, but in a house. An old Buenos Aires home with a candlelit courtyard and one long wooden table, run end to end by an all-female team in dark aprons stencilled ASADO. They handled everything: the coals, the pacing, the pours. Quiet authority, no theatrics.

They poured two Mendoza reds chosen to argue with each other in the best possible way — a DV Catena Cabernet–Malbec, structured and dark and built for char, and a Salentein Numina single-vineyard Malbec from high in the Uco Valley, all lift and floral lightness. Then came the cuts most visitors never think to order: mollejas (sweetbreads crisped over the coals), morcilla, a slow-grilled matambresito, a properly restrained choripán, platters of blistered red peppers.

This was the meal you book once and remember for a decade — not the celebrity parrilla with the queue, but the version locals quietly save for someone they want to impress.

If you go: it’s “The Asado Experience” in Buenos Aires. Worth the airfare on its own.

A parrilla fire at night — It began, as the best Argentine evenings do, with fire.

The asado team plating at a long table — One long table, an all-female team in ASADO aprons, total command of the coals.

Plated Argentine cuts — The cuts most visitors never order — sweetbreads, morcilla, choripán — plated without ceremony.

Red Velvet and Tango at the Faena

The following night belonged to the Faena in Puerto Madero — and specifically to Cabaret Rojo, a Philippe Starck room done in deep red velvet, mirrors and gold, lit like a 1930s supper club that someone rebuilt without cutting a single corner. You dine at the same table where the show happens, which is rather the whole point.

The show is Rojo Tango: a tight cast, a live orchestra, tango danced close enough to feel rather than merely watch. No tour-bus spectacle — a curated, intimate, genuinely beautiful hour.

Matt was on his own that evening, and reached one firm conclusion before the lights came up: this is where the next Buenos Aires trip gets built, with Amber at the table. The Faena now sits on his very short list of rooms worth crossing an ocean for.

If you go: book Rojo Tango at the Faena and dine inside Cabaret Rojo. Give the larger tourist tango halls a miss.

Tango dancers under red stage light — Rojo Tango at the Faena — danced close enough to feel rather than merely watch.

Into Mendoza: Bubbles, Made the Slow Way

Then west, to Mendoza, and a complete change of register. Bodega Rosell Boher is a small family estate that makes its sparkling the old way — méthode champenoise, the same painstaking method as Champagne: a second fermentation in the bottle, riddling, disgorgement, the whole patient ritual. The cellar looks the part, all copper and brass, with a showpiece room floored in black-white-and-yellow checkerboard tile, like a European champagne house reimagined for a private estate.

The tasting ran from sparkling through still and closed on a cheese tray. Matt’s verdict was admirably economical: “good wine, good sparkling.” Two new favorites were filed away before lunch.

And this is where Amber properly enters the story, because from here on it was a two-person affair — the wine-country leg being the part they had both been waiting for.

Rosell Boher barrels — Bodega Rosell Boher, where the sparkling is made the slow, old-world way.

The checkerboard cellar with riddling racks — The cellar floor in black, white and yellow check; the riddling racks at their patient work.

A couple on the checkerboard cellar floor — On the checkerboard floor — the shot that captures the whole aesthetic.

A glass of sparkling with the vineyard behind — Bubbles, méthode champenoise, with the vineyard for a backdrop.

Villa Trece: The Room with the Andes In It

Rosell Boher runs the lodging on the same land, and their Villa Trece is where the trip tipped from lovely to unforgettable. Heated floors throughout, a full outdoor fireplace on the patio, and — up a private staircase — a rooftop terrace with a four-person jacuzzi and a fire pit pointed straight at the vines, with the Andes beyond. No neighboring rooflines in the frame. Just foreground vineyard and horizon peaks.

They spent the evening in that jacuzzi at sunset, wine in hand, the mountains going pink across the valley. The detail Matt kept returning to wasn’t the view — it was the quiet. No road, no music piped in, nothing but birdsong and the low hum of bees working the property.

One charmingly human note: the welcome champagne was waiting on ice, but the rosé and red he’d pre-ordered went missing at check-in. The lodge ran them up later, opener included, with a grace that made the slip easy to forgive.

Rosell Boher Lodge against the Andes — Rosell Boher Lodge — the vines, the light and the Andes all answer to the same hand.

Rooftop jacuzzi looking at the vines — Villa Trece's rooftop jacuzzi, pointed straight at the vines with the Andes beyond.

On the terrace at sunset — Sunset on the terrace, the valley going pink.

Pink sunset over the lodge — The detail he kept returning to wasn't the view — it was the quiet.

Saturday: Horses at Eleven, Lamb at One, a Jacuzzi at Five

Saturday may have been the finest single day of the trip, and it started on horseback. Their guide, Luís — a local who knows the property cold — put Matt on his pride and joy, a rodeo-champion stallion, and Amber on the stallion’s gentler son. Matt got to gallop; the Andes stood out crystal-clear, not a trace of haze. Luís’s tip is worth writing down: ride at eleven in the morning, never at sunset — the mountains dissolve into the afternoon haze, and those clear views are strictly a morning gift.

Lunch validated a hunch: lamb ribs, ordered by both, rated “amazing” twice over, with Recoleta cheese and a pairing Matt called “perfection.” The quiet revelation was the espumante — the local sparkling — which, in his words, was “super clear and crisp like the Andes air,” and, just as notably, left no morning toll behind.

The afternoon was a rooftop-jacuzzi-and-a-nap affair. The evening was a couples’ spa run as a proper circuit — massage, sauna, and a tea-and-quiet recovery room to close. The massage was apparently so disarming that, by Amber’s sworn testimony, Matt snored straight through it. Then dinner came home to the villa: charcuterie and pizza by the fire, a Casa Boher Alto Agrelo Malbec, the Andes a silhouette across the dark. His summary of the whole day: “more remarkable than relaxing.”

A clear view of the Andes — Saturday, eleven a.m. — the Andes crystal-clear, exactly as Luís promised.

Lamb ribs plated — Lamb ribs, rated "amazing" twice over.

By the fire with a Malbec — Fire, a Casa Boher Malbec, and the Andes a silhouette across the dark.

The Decision: Six Days Across the Andes, on Horseback

Every great trip leaves you with one decision you didn’t expect to make. This one came from Luís. Somewhere between the gallop and the mountains, an idea landed and stuck: a six-day horseback crossing of the Andes, Argentina to Chile, camping in the backcountry the entire way. Matt’s verdict was four words long: “I am doing for sure.”

The guest list is already forming in his head — Mark, Tiago, perhaps his son Aidan along for it. The sort of trip you plan a year or two out and do while the doing is good. Consider this the first time it’s in writing. It won’t be the last.

Riders heading toward the Andes — Out across the vines on horseback, the mountains dead ahead — the trip's next chapter, in one image.

So — How Was Argentina?

It was fire and red velvet, bubbles made the slow way, a jacuzzi pointed at the Andes, a stallion at a gallop, and a mountain crossing that’s now officially on the calendar of someday. The kind of week you don’t so much summarize as keep telling.

A lone Andes peak — The mountain that's now officially on the calendar of someday.

— Claudia, for Matt