If I were called upon to make my personal choice in which part of the Republic I would like to live, I would choose Mendoza—or at any rate some part of Mendoza province. It lies far west, within the shadow of the snow-crowned Andes. The glacier-fed rivers from the mountains are making it one of the biggest vineyards in the world. The city is several thousand feet above sea level, and the air is clear and invigorating. Like most Spanish-Argentine towns, it has a long history, but its tale of abounding progress does not stretch beyond the last seven or eight years. There are over a quarter of a million people in the province, and the capital numbers nearly 70,000 of them.

It is the old story of "Go west, my son." Whenever I fell into praise about places in the east, or in the middle parts of the country, there was generally somebody at my elbow to whisper, "Ah, but wait till you get to Mendoza."

Hardened traveller though I am, I admit a little thrill of anticipation when, after a hot and rather dusty day in the railway cars, I first caught a glimpse of the gleaming Cordillera, and then ran long miles through flourishing vineyards. So right into the heart of the town of luxuriant avenues, through the main street it seemed, with tall poplar trees on either side, and beyond the cool road rows of picturesque but modest houses, white washed, blue washed, pink washed, and even with a touch of quaintness about the houses that seemed to be neglected. Thus I made acquaintance with a city of broad boulevards and fine squares, an extensive park, and announcing its prosperity to all who pass that way and have eyes to see.

But whilst there is much to be enthusiastic about, it is well not to let enthusiasm run away with one. There was nothing of the raw west about the people. The ladies were as well dressed as those you will see in the Rue de la Paix. Then I was reminded that every woman out here dresses as well as she knows how, even though she and her family live sparsely at home. People judge their fellows by appearance, by show, and everyone feels it a duty to be ostentatious. Next I was impressed with the extraordinary number of motor-cars. "Yes," remarked my Mendoza-English friend, "but I think there is only half the number now that there were a couple of years ago. You had to own a motor-car, or you were not considered worth knowing. We had nearly three hundred motor-cars, the best the United States or France could supply, and their value ran into millions of dollars. People had them with little prospect of paying for them. But then, everybody is optimistic, expecting a pot of money to be coming along soon. There is lots of money, but some folks did not get what they expected, and so a great many of the cars have been seized for debt."

We were making a little tour in a car. Most of the houses are single-storied as a provision against earthquakes, which are not infrequent in these parts. Indeed, one morning during my stay, whilst I was shaving, there was a quiver and a jolt which I thought was due to some heavily laden train passing. At breakfast I learnt there had been a respectable earthquake. Everybody tells you about the great earthquake of 1861, which completely destroyed old Mendoza. The only remaining evidences are the ruins of the cathedral. The population of the city at that time was 20,000, and I was told that half the population was killed. Then there was the agony of fire, and—with horror piled on horror, as those were lawless days—bands of miscreants began plundering and murdering the affrighted inhabitants who remained. Tremors are now frequent, and the prospect of another earthquake is like an abiding nightmare. That is why the streets are so wide, the houses nearly all of a single story, and made of a particularly light brick with a considerable admixture of cane amongst the clay, so that the structure has a springiness and does not crack when the shake comes. Really the only big and substantial buildings are the Legislature and the Palace of Justice, and they are imposing.

Mendoza continually reminded me of Salt Lake City. Like the capital of the Mormon faith, it is in the lee of a mighty mountain range; there are trees bordering most of the streets, and along the main ways are innumerable rivulets. Boys are constantly employed to souse the road with water and so keep it cool. The entrance to Western Park has exquisite bronze gates. It is rather surprising, however, to see they are mounted with imperial crowns. The explanation is that they were originally made for Abdul Hamid, the deposed Sultan of Turkey. Owing to political upheaval in Turkey they were never delivered, because there was no one prepared to pay for them. Mendoza made a bid and bought them for £5,000. Broad roads through this lovely domain, leading through avenues of trees and past radiant flower gardens, make the Western Park beloved of Mendozians. There is a band-stand; and on Thursday evenings, the whole place flashing with electric light, the road is blocked with automobiles and carriages, and thousands of people listening to the music. There is a rustic chalet where people can sit and have refreshment. There is a lake nearly a mile long. Here take place boating races, and for the accommodation of the spectators there is a grand stand which can hold 3,000 persons. There is a zoological garden. There is what is called "The Lilliputian Railway," so that a tiny little train starting from a miniature station can take passengers all over the extensive park, through tropical vegetation, up tiny valleys, diving through small tunnels, giving anybody who cannot provide a private carriage an easy and cheap means of seeing the park.

Mendoza occupies a prominent place amongst the cities of Argentina. It is a magnet of attraction, especially to Italians who have experience in wine making; and now every year the province receives something over fifteen thousand immigrants. Some freshly developed countries have a law that no immigrant shall enter under "contract," that no man shall (without special permission) be allowed to land if he has a job and a definite wage awaiting him. There is no such regulation in Argentina. There is an Immigration Law under which fresh arrivals are housed and fed by the Government, and work found for them. But less than half come within the operation of the law. About 150,000 fresh arrivals every year come out to situations, or have sufficient money to look after their own interests, and naturally many of these strike far west to Mendoza.

As I have intimated in an earlier chapter, the Federal Government has occasionally a little difficulty owing to the independent spirit of provinces like Mendoza. Mendoza, for instance, has its own paper money, so that whilst the Federal dollars are acceptable in the province, the Mendozian dollars are not currency beyond its own borders. It has all the modern equipment of government: a House of Senators and a House of Deputies. Each eight thousand inhabitants are entitled to a deputy, and each department or county returns one senator. The trouble of some democratic lands, strikes, are prohibited, and if attempted the soldiers are called out. The Governor is elected for four years. Voting is obligatory, and if a man will not vote he is put in prison. The State has full legal equipment in one supreme court, two courts of appeal, and two criminal courts. Whilst there is a public prosecutor there is a State lawyer, whose business it is to defend the poor, and another to defend minors when they come within reach of the arm of the law. Taxes are not high. There is a considerable amount of Government land, and this is sold in order to raise money for public works. Of course, there is the usual boom in land values. In 1909 the estimated value of property in the province (vineyards, orchards, cultivated and uncultivated land, and buildings) was a little over £50,000,000. Up to July 31st, 1913, property had increased in value to well over £70,000,000. This is creditable for a population of 260,000.

In no other province in the Republic has there been so much land sold as in Mendoza. From 1909 to 1912 inclusive transactions in land represented a turnover of £37,000,000. In the neighbourhood of Mendoza City land is as dear as close to Buenos Aires, rising to £2 a metre (3.28 feet). In 1909 193,061 hectares (hectare = 2.47 acres) was under cultivation. Now there are 330,000 hectares. Development is not restricted to the neighbourhood of the provincial capital. Take San Juan, in the north, an old town which jogged along with viticulture till ten years ago, when it made a bound, and progress in growing grapes has been considerable.

Some six hours by rail south-east of Mendoza is San Rafael. Twenty-five years ago the only flourishing product was the Indian; and you could have bought quantities of land at twopence a hectare. To-day ordinary uncultivated land with water rights is worth from £140 to £160 per hectare. Cultivated vineyards are worth from £600 to £650 per hectare, according to class. Till 1903 San Rafael had no railway connection with anywhere. The journey to Mendoza, which is now done in half a dozen hours by train, then took eight days by cart. Railway building has facilitated the development of the San Rafael district, which is just at the doorway of its prosperity. The San Rafael grape has a richer colour and more sugar than the Mendoza grape. If I had a large sum to invest I think I would take my chances at San Rafael.

Now, whilst there is all this material progress, it was refreshing to note that care is given to other things than just money making. I have described the constant movement to beautify Mendoza. Education is carefully nurtured. In the province are (1913) two national high-grade colleges, two normal schools, twenty-five private schools, and one kindergarten. This kindergarten is, so far as my knowledge goes, unmatched in the world. It was not the size that impressed me, but the thought-out plans to provide everything to attract and stimulate the young intelligence. Beauty is the basis, not only in the schoolrooms but in the theatre and playgrounds. Whether it be a school, or a fire-station, or a penitentiary, expenditure is lavish in providing a handsome building. Of course ambition, rivalry, town conceit—the desire to show something better than another town can show—is behind much of the enterprise. But the result is there, and it is the fact that counts.

Primarily, this abounding fortune of Mendoza is due to its vineyards. I read in an official publication that the province has the finest soil in the Republic. That is incorrect; but it has a soil that is peculiarly adapted for vines, together with a climate and a situation which for viticulture could not be improved—though there is a fly in the ointment, of which more anon. Besides, the inhabitants have not had to grope their way in the growing of grapes and the making of wine, as has been the case in many instances in California and South Australia, good though some of the wines are, through the cultivators coming from lands where the grape industry is not natural. It may be fairly said that all the folk in the province engaged in viticulture are from the wine-growing regions of Italy and Spain. Further, wine has been made in this region for several hundreds of years, though in the absence of transport its consumption was purely local. Now it is drunk throughout the Republic.

Neither the Californians nor the Australians are a wine-drinking people. Wine producers have to look to markets beyond the seas. Not so the Mendozians. The Argentines, being Latin, are a wine-drinking people. Everybody drinks wine. The labourer on the railway has wine with his frugal lunch. It is not at all unusual for children to have watered wine with their meals. On the big emigrant ships wine is included in the charge for fare and food.

Well, here is a wine-drinking population of 7,000,000 living next door to the vineyards. Therefore the market for wine is enormous. Great though the output is, it does not meet the demand. As a consequence scant justice, from a connoisseur's point of view, is done to the Argentine wine, for it never has an opportunity to mature. Again, the wine is cheap; and it would never suit the wealthy Argentines if they were seen drinking anything but expensive foreign wine. I did taste some wine with delightful bouquet, such as that of the ChÂteau Norton; but, as it is the crowd which drinks the wine, it cannot be said that the average quality of native produce is high. With such piled-up orders for quantity, growers have not bothered very much about quality. They told me that sometimes they have felt rather ashamed to send out wine sour with youth; yet the dealers must have it. More than once the railway companies have been congested with barrels ready to be taken east. There are millions of acres, as yet untouched, suitable for vines.

When one thinks of the people in South America, and of the prospective expansion of population, all wine-drinkers, one must conclude that the future of this land, amongst the foothills of the Andes, is very bright. In the turn of time some rich Argentines will set the fashion of drinking the wine of their own country. That will call for the production of a better vintage, and then, very likely, Argentine wines will be introduced to the other markets of the world. As it is, fortunes are being rapidly made. Many of the vineyards are quite small. Two and a half acres (one hectare) will grow between three and four hundredweight of grapes, which can be looked after by one man, and ought, in an ordinary season, to yield an income of about £100. A family with a small holding of four or five hectares can live most comfortably. In 1913 the province produced 592,969,670 kilos (kilo = 2.20 lb.). Of this 399,517,099 litres of wine were elaborated (litre = 0.22 gallon).

Now I have mentioned there is a fly in the ointment, and I should not be doing my duty if I failed to call attention to it. The soil is there, the climate is there, grapes are carefully acclimatised. But there must be water, and whether there will always be a sufficiency of this is a doubt which sometimes comes into the minds of men who glance ahead. The rainfall is not heavy. Various scientific experiments have been made to attract rain, but without much success. The principal supply is from the River Mendoza, fed by the melting of the snows in the mountains. At first the wine growers helped themselves to what water they desired. But as the industry developed, and as there was suitable land without water, irrigation canals were introduced. Sometimes a man tapped water to which he was not entitled, and then there was trouble. As a consequence, the Government has boldly grappled with the problem of irrigation. I drove out about a dozen miles to inspect a weir which had been constructed across the Mendoza River. This holds back an immense quantity of water, and the supply is regulated by the weir gates. Irrigation channels zigzag across the country, and the cultivator pays a small sum for his supply. These works fertilise over a million acres of land. Irrigated land has bounced in value. Waterless land which could have been obtained for £1 a hectare now fetches twenty, or even thirty times as much. This has emboldened the Government into making contracts for several million dollars for the damming of smaller rivers, and providing further irrigation works. Still, there is much water which goes down the River Mendoza that is not used at all. I asked a man who has the right to speak as an authority how much country could be placed under viticulture if all the available water supply was nursed and utilised. He told me three times as much as at present. So, although there is a big difficulty ahead, it is so far distant that the average man of the present generation does not bother his head much about it.

There are just 873 bodegas in Mendoza, though 800 of them are comparatively small. I went over two of the biggest and found them equipped as well as the bodegas of Europe. Some of the vats hold tens of thousands of litres of wine. Modern vats are built of cement lined with glass, and one of them will hold over 100,000 litres. But what was annoying—it is exercised elsewhere—was the practice of giving a well-known name to a wine which it does not properly represent. There is nothing so delicate as the grape in being affected by soil. Similar vines, but grown on slightly dissimilar soil, produce a different quality of grape, and give quite a different flavour to the wine. So, generally speaking, the wine of Argentina has a different tone from that of France, Italy, or Spain. The vintners endeavour by blending to produce a European type, a hock, a moselle, a burgundy, a medoc, a bordeaux, even a champagne—which, though good wines, are not always good imitations of something else. It would be much better if they classified and titled their own wines. The European plan of one type of wine being produced in one particular district is ignored. Therefore you will find the big bodega producing from grapes grown in one vineyard a dozen brands which originated in France, Germany, Spain, Italy, and Portugal.

It might be thought that in Mendoza, where wine is the cheapest beverage procurable except water, there would be drunkenness. Not at all. Perhaps the case of the people is like that of the girls in confectionery shops; there are so many sweets about they never think of making themselves ill. Now and then, however, there is a relapse. But a Mendozian "drunk" is not fined and sent to prison. Armed with a pail, he has to give two or three days to getting water out of the rivulets which run down the sides of the main streets, and sprinkling the dusty road with it. This is work usually given to boys. So when you see a disgruntled man engaged at it you will be quite right in coming to the conclusion he has been imbibing, and the authorities have put him to this job to disgrace him.

I have dealt rather fully with the wine-making business because it is the chief source of the Province of Mendoza's prosperity. But it is a happy country for other kinds of fruit, particularly the peach. Also there are oranges, figs, quinces, nectarines, and cherries. Several fruit canning concerns, turning out many thousand tins of fruit a day, have sprung into existence and are doing well. Abundance of fruit has been rather a cause of neglect in rearing, so that I do not place the quality too high. For instance, the oranges are not within measurable distance of the splendid oranges which New South Wales grows. Improvement will assuredly come in time. As it is, the fruit season in Argentina is when it is raw winter in Europe; and, as transport is quickening, possibilities of an extended market are great. Sometimes I hear young Englishmen, discontented with home, say they would like to go to America and start fruit farming. They might inquire into the prospects of Mendoza.