In the Shadow of Giants

By John Haack

Close to mandatory retirement age, John and his wife Maxine felt that there still was room left for adventure in their lives. On a whim, and with no considered thought to the effects of their decision, they purchased a rundown olive grove and vineyard in Argentina, facing the Andean peaks. Travel was very much on their minds and this turned out to be their adventure, sometimes one too large to handle, let alone fail. They moved out to Argentina from their home in Spain, and soon learnt that the task ahead required a serious upgrade of the property.
“In the Shadow of Giants” relates the experiences they lived through during the years that the adventure lasted. Here John describes the day to day events that coloured their lives, both on the property and on the travels and treks they made to the outer limits of the continent.
Located in Mendoza, a western province neighbouring Chile, the farm was in the foothills of the Andes, looking directly up to the peak of the Aconcagua- the highest mountain in America- and on the edges of the desert of Cuyo. Here John and Max arrived one miserable, wintry day in August with their two dogs, ready to take up the challenge of transforming this rundown farm into a profitable Garden of Eden. All of this, despite their combined ignorance of the real matter at hand: they had no knowledge regarding Agriculture or farming.
John takes us through the initial stages of settling in to the foreign, primitive society they had joined. We read about the personalities and beliefs of their newly discovered employees and suppliers as John and Max quickly realized they were forced to construct a home on the property with limited resources.
Local lore placed the blame for poor weather on the three giant peaks of the Andes, which looked down on the town and punished or rewarded the populace via the weather conditions. If in good grace with the giant gods, the farmers were rewarded with placid conditions, boding well for the harvest. However, retaliation for sins unknown could be swift and fearsome. During their time in Mendoza they learned to overcome some arctic cold winters followed by long ultra hot summers. John relates the pleasures and agony of hot zonda wind, or storms bringing hail in the neighbourhood, generally days before the harvest. They also survived a couple of important earthquakes, which threatened all the housing and the vines.
There is constantly an upbeat feel to the experience in John ́s descriptions, not always agreeable, but always challenging and ultimately successful in all its facets. Employees became friends, and newly developed friends became, as they would claim, family. Appreciated and trusted. They considered themselves fortunate, as old friends and real family travelled across the globe to keep them company for a few days and enjoy the efforts as they developed. Not least was that they were able to find time to see the region. The book includes details of a backpacking trek through Ecuador, Peru and Bolivia, including tales of banditry, a run-in with police and visits to some of the oldest civilizations on the continent. We also read about an 8000 kilometer trip in their aging Isuzu van through the wonderland which are the lakes of the middle Andes and the glaciers of Perito Moreno to the end of the world, as Tierra del Fuego is known; and another across to the east of Argentina, along the wetlands of Corrientes to the fabulous Iguazu waterfalls.
After eight years John and Max reached the conclusion that it was time to round off the adventure. The farm was thriving, and travel aspirations were largely completed, so all that was left was maintenance and repetition. They sold the property amid tears and promises to meet again, and are now back in their home in the south of Spain, with an open eye and a large antenna, searching for a new experience.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Haack
• Release date: Jul 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476067162

John Haack

Born in Buenos Aires in 1942. Read/write in English or Spanish. Retired from several multi national US cos. having lived in Europe, Far East and South America. Currently living in Spain. Just finished my first book, reliving the events that took place in Mendoza, Argentina after retirement, where we developed an olive farm and vineyard over a period of eight years.

Book preview

PREFACE

In 2002, close to mandatory retirement age, John decided it was time for some drama in his life. But it had to be soon, a now or never sort of thing. So he exited the multinational business life, with no clear idea of what the follow-up was to be. He was ready to jump and look later. John and Max were living comfortably in their home in Malaga, in southern Spain, with plenty of time available for friends and tennis, but both knew that complete retirement was not good long-term, something more exciting had to happen in their lives. The boots were really not ready to be hung up.

That same year they took off for a couple of months to visit family in Argentina, and enjoy that great metropolis which is Buenos Aires. One morning at the end of their voyage, quite by chance, they read about the bourgeoning wine industry in Argentina. Coincidentally, the next morning they were informed of farming land for sale in Mendoza province, the centre of the Argentine wine industry. It was in Lavalle, forty kilometres north of the city of Mendoza. It was sandy soil, on the edge of the desert and on the wrong side of the tracks, grape-wise. Slow to develop, Lavalle was far behind other vine growing areas of Mendoza. Population was sparse and uneducated, living off the land and government subsidies for the unemployed.

No matter, the very next day they were on a flight across the country, and within hours of their arrival had purchased forty four hectares of land. It was partially developed with vines and olive trees, which they learned were extremely happy in that part of the province. However, at least ten hectares was still virgin land and much work was clearly still required on the planted area.

Both Max and John were city people, ignorant of the farming culture in general and the needs of grapes and olives in particular. The negotiation had been brief, so the enormity of what they were taking on was not long in dawning on them. By midday they had committed, signed contracts and made a down payment.

It was during lunch, and a bottle of Cabernet, that Max looked John in the eye, and said John, what the hell are we doing? You do realise that we have no way of running this from Spain, if at all. We´ll be skinned alive. We know nothing about farming.

There followed a long silence as John digested her words - so hard to argue with. Over coffee John replied, We have two options. Either we turn around and sell the property as soon as possible, and probably take a loss, return to a sedentary life, of sun, tennis and gin tonics… or we take the plunge, make this a business project. We´d have to move to Mendoza, build a house on the farm, learn farming, upgrade and plant in the fallow areas. Make it profitable, and then sell when appropriate. He sat back with a smile, and realised that he sounded far more convinced than he felt. More silence ensued, another glass of wine, Max also smiled and finally replied, What a good idea. Am I dreaming, or is this turning into a real adventure?

Their fate was sealed. Six months later they approved the farmhouse plans from Spain, and prepared their move to Mendoza.

Eight years later, this is their story.

INTRODUCTION

I climbed up onto the roof of our house and sighed to myself, bloody drainpipe, it never ends. This vine must have clogged the pipe up a dozen times in the last couple of years. Slowly, I stood up to the edge of the roof, looked out on the fields and smiled. This particular view of the property was my favourite. I gazed across the forty four hectare farm that we had moved to eight years ago. It felt like yesterday. I spotted the tractor in a far field making its way slowly along the track, and reflected on the passing of time. It just seemed to leapfrog complete years when you were enjoying yourself. The days progressed slowly, but the seasons came and went at a hell of a speed. I did love it out here.

I took it all in once again, turning in a one hundred and eighty degree arc, absorbed by the olive trees and vines that constituted the farm. The vines were looking good. They had grown considerably in the last few years, the branches had stretched across the higher wires that held the vine together, the green leaves were changing to a deep burgundy colour, and they would soon fall off. By the following month they would be totally denuded of leaves as they hibernated for the cold winter. The olive trees were growing in the southeastern fields, further away and harder to see in detail. But I knew, they too looked good, the white new leaf blossoms covering them like a shroud. They would commence flowering in September.

I hope the zonda wind doesn`t reappear this year, or they´ll burn badly," I said aloud, like a prayer, for I recalled the damage the hot wind from the northern desert had caused in our second year on the farm. It had blown for six hours, and took half the olive harvest with it. Burnt the olives to a frazzle. We certainly did not want any repeat of that experience.

Over time I had come to know each row of the vineyard, each olive tree intimately. As if I had planted them myself. Actually, Max knew them far better than I did. They got virtually a daily inspection from her in the course of my wife´s daily walk around the property. She must have covered thousands of miles on foot in the years since we had arrived at the property, either with me, with the foreman or with the engineer. Beyond the perimeter of the farm situated in the foothills of the Andes, the mountains rose majestically in the background. The Aconcagua peak, towered above the rest, laced with an early bout of snow. From my viewpoint, only six meters off the ground, I could see across to the Andes in the distance, and as far north as San Juan, one hundred and fifty kilometres away, and south to San Rafael, nearly three hundred kilometres of snowy mountain ranges. I could admire two other giants of the region, the Tupungato and Maipo volcanoes, also dominating the scenery. It was evening after a warm autumn day in Mendoza, the westernmost province of Argentina. The sun had now commenced its descent and lit up the wisps of cloud, spread happily across the horizon, that hung on to the mountains before me. The evening was turning a deep red, and the stars were starting their reappearance act. As they did just about every evening.

New moon tonight, I called out to Max downstairs on the stoop, surely comfortably reading on her rocking chair. I turned around slowly, soaking it all in once more. The vines close up, the large olive trees in the distance, and the horizon covered by the Andean mountains. This time though, I noticed something had altered, there was a lull in the air, always quick to change in this part of the world. It was strangely still, and silent. Dusk had suddenly shifted in colour. Now blood red, and getting darker. Thick and eerie. Strange. Then I suddenly felt it. The world started to shake. The tremor hit quick and hard. The land below me rocked. Moving fast. I was thrown roughly to one side, hitting my shoulder against the water tank which serviced the house. I held on tight. Then I heard Max yelling as she ran outside into the garden, away from potential danger, away from the house.

Earthquake! It`s an earthquake. John where are you? Get out of the house right away, it might collapse. I heard her clearly, but was unable to immediately reply, I was caught up in my own survival, as I grasped the rim of the roof, in danger of falling those six meters to the ground.

I finally felt I could hang on, and I croaked out, not terribly creatively, Okay, okay, up on the roof, loud enough for Max to hear me. At least she knew where I was, albeit she could do little about it. She was joined outside by members of the foreman`s family, also in a state of panic, and therefore unable to do much about a rescue. I kept hanging on tight, putting all my faith in Claudio, who had built our home so long ago, that the roof would not cave in, despite my added weight. I heard the ladder I had utilised to get up to the roof clatter across the paving, and watched as the house danced to the rhythm of the cement base. The base moved, but the house hung on for dear life. As it was meant to in earthquake country. It was only within seconds, maybe all of one minute, before the land calmed down, and the house rocked gently from side to side. Like a small boat in port, with waves lapping slowly at its side. It took another couple of minutes for emotions to subside, then Max replaced the wayward ladder and I cautiously returned to terra firma. Wavering, with a painful shoulder, but fine. We then joined the foreman´s family to ensure all were well, and relieved to only discover one scraped knee amongst us. We then checked out both homes. No big issues were found, although there were several cracks in our fireplace to be repaired at a later date.

Barely a half hour later, Max and I were sitting outside, still recovering from the excitement. No damage to the houses, all systems working, even electricity, computer and gas. No doubt, damage would be made evident at some later date, but so far, was so good. We remained silent, reflecting on our good fortune, not doubting that homes in the area had been damaged. We were relieved.

I guess you get accustomed to the unusual when you are far from civilisation, Max commented wryly after a while. However, right now, I wouldn`t turn down a glass of wine. I cannot say we`ve earned it, but relief needs a certain amount of aid, at times. This was already in my short term plans, so it hadn´t taken long to uncork a bottle of cold white wine and return outdoors with a couple of glasses.

This is a new one. Never tried this Viognier, but it is recommended. It certainly has a nice fruity perfume. Just like that, as if earthquakes had been a daily event in our lives. Which they clearly and definitely were not. I too had my rocking chair, and I sat down and sipped the wine with deep pleasure. It really was an outstanding variety. This was the time of evening in which Max and I normally chose to review the daily events on the farm. Earthquake or no earthquake. As the sun set, the fields were always empty of farm hands, the tractors were quiet, and the birds were enjoying their last few moments of chatter before nightfall took over. These exchanges between us never took very long, but as life on the farm was a compendium of small events, details, we had found it was necessary to review daily for future reference. They always came back to remind one of something not done, yet important. These little sessions had helped us both become quite knowledgeable, and thus allowed us to foresee events not yet planned.

Not like in the early days, all of eight years ago, when we had arrived in Mendoza and commenced the adventure completely ignorant of the pitfalls and pleasures that lay ahead. Recently we had begun spending more time discussing our future. Longer time thoughts. The farm was basically complete now. As usual, there was upgrading to be done, maintenance, and from time to time some measure of panic would occur, maybe like today, as when extreme weather conditions took place. But these were out of our control, so we both felt that our original targets in Mendoza had been achieved. Mission accomplished. Routine from now on. So, at the age of seventy, and despite the daily pleasure we enjoyed on the farm, I was seriously thinking we should be moving on. Maybe in search of a new adventure. Max had already expressed a similar view, but this evening I planned to test her will.

CHAPTER 1

TAKE OFF

That Saturday evening in December of 2002 in downtown Mendoza, with our newly scripted and signed farm purchase agreement in our hand luggage, we headed back to the airport to commence our return trip to Malaga. It had been one hell of a day. We´d had our first sighting of the farm at 8 am, and in the course of the morning we had decided, negotiated, signed for the purchase and paid a ten percent reserve as an advance on the forty four hectare property. By midday, we had second thoughts on the wisdom of our purchase, then we had just instinctively stamped out our doubts, and finally decided to move out to Mendoza and do it. Whatever `it´ was. We were returning home with all the documents we had been able to muster that afternoon; including a map of the area and a layout of the farm, a list of farming implements available on the site, and the names and telephone number of a potential caretaker to look after the farm. We were aware that work needed to continue on the property in our absence, as the current owners would not be investing in maintenance with final payday in only three months´ time. That was the timetable selected for all paperwork and payments to be completed. Thus followed the long trek back to Spain, in the knowledge that our family would be waiting for us at the other end, to be advised of their parents´ new careers as farmers in a remote corner of South America. We had no feeling for their reactions, but then, we didn`t even know what we would be doing when we returned to Mendoza. Not yet.

We were full of very real apprehension. Excited, but very nervous. Our total ignorance as to what we were getting involved in, often outgunned the excitement at starting out anew. We had absolutely no idea of what was ahead of us. But then, we reasoned, this was what adventure was supposed to be. In a way, we were thankful that this opportunity had been served up. However, we still needed some order in our lives, so our next steps had to include working out our objectives with the property and how to go about achieving them in a reasonable period of time. We assumed it would not be simple to establish them from so far away, but we decided to give it a try. Even as we boarded our flight that night, we poured over the locations in the area, as we had bought a map covering our little area of the world. That was when we got our first shock. It seemed that, very close to our purchase of the day, were a couple of the largest salt flats in the whole province. Surely that wasn`t good for the grapes, or future grapes we could already envisage on our personal horizons. Once seated way back in the plane, we started developing our thoughts regarding next steps. We set out by describing the property, what was solid, and what we thought would need to be repaired or upgraded, and what was absent – what had to be developed or completed. We analysed the machinery and equipment inventory, and soon realised how manual the operation currently was. Expansion would certainly need to be accompanied by investment in equipment. Even the two tractors were nearly my age, and certainly they looked the part in the photograph. Over the following couple of months, via phone calls and follow-up e-mails, we managed to cobble together a perspective. When we returned to Mendoza to complete the purchase, we wanted to have a point of view, though rustic, of what had to be done, and an idea of what investment would be involved. Not simple, considering the travails of working in a perennially high South American inflation climate, and an exchange rate that oscillated according to no known government policies. We decided right away that long-term forecasting would prove to be beyond our abilities, so we opted to live on monthly estimates, all future investments depending on results. But anyhow, at that early point in time, a first stab at looking into the future was as good as we could manage.

We spent six more months in Spain before moving definitely to Mendoza, for there was much to be done in Malaga before commencing our newly found farming life. First, of course, was to announce our plans to the family. We were putting a considerable distance between us and our adult children for the foreseeable future, and we expected some reaction to that. We kept it a secret until we were all gathered celebrating our daughter Kirsten´s birthday, with our son Sebastian and his partner Monica, one week after our return. Shortly before dinner that night, I brought out a map and photos we had taken on the farm site. I described our plans to what was, I judged to be stunned silence, accompanied by dazed looks. In a way, I felt I was talking a completely foreign language.

For a while they all thought we were teasing them. Yeah, pull the other one, mumbled Sebastian.

However, at some point it clicked. It was true, and their reactions stayed faithful to their personalities. Kirsten jumped up in joy, clearly demonstrating that she had been most concerned about our ability for self- entertainment in our retirement years.

Time to celebrate, she called out from the kitchen, to where she had rushed. She pulled out a bottle of Spanish cava from the refrigerator, and we were soon drinking to the success of the project.

In silence, very low key, Sebastian and Monica arose and walked around the living room for some minutes. We really didn´t notice them much, as Kirsten continued to ask excitedly for more details of our project.

But soon they returned, and Sebastian, looking quite mysterious, quietly said, If we reach a suitable rental agreement, Monica and I would come and live here. Look after the house for you. As you are well aware, the apartment in Madrid is too small for a family, so we could move in here while your project lasts. It would be perfect for us, if you want to keep the house occupied. I suppose we would bring our furniture and some other bits and pieces, but that should not be an issue. While I still work from home we can live anywhere. Anyway, we too have an announcement to make.

As he said this, I could see Max and Kirsten`s eyes grow wider, in expectation. Then with a broad smile on his face, Sebastian continued, Monica is three months pregnant, so our first child could be born in Malaga. It is time we had some Andaluz blood in the family. Ole señor!

This of course proved to be another excellent reason for celebration. The champagne flowed in our home that night. What a successful evening, we were to have a first grandchild, and our son and his family would be living in our house. Leaving the house empty for a long period of time had been a major concern for us, because the Malaga home was in the hills outside a small village, and quite separated from other houses in the area. Additionally, it was on a large plot of land, containing avocado trees, which needed maintenance and upkeep. So in one swoop, one great pleasure had been added to our lives, and one large issue resolved.

Just as much fun proved to be letting all our friends know of our new careers. Everyone was happy for us, with nothing but encouraging words. I do believe some were actually slightly envious, but then imagination plays tricks on people. We always picture the good stuff; brilliant moonlit nights by a BBQ with friends testing last year`s Cabernet, and drinking to the new harvest. No doubt some of that was in our future, but getting there was to be hard work, with good moments liberally sprinkled with some tougher situations. No matter, over the years we received the visit of many friends in Mendoza, and good times were enjoyed in their company. Some even returned to visit us a second time at the farm.

Meanwhile, as we prepared ourselves for our new life, events were starting to progress back on the farm in Mendoza. Thanks to the magic of internet we were able to ensure that progress was made there. With the aid of recommendations from the seller of the property, we named a caretaker to look after business in our absence; we also found a part-time accountant, recommended by the lawyers to look after the farm´s accounts; and a builder to finish up-grading the foreman´s house and commence the plans for an additional warehouse and the design of our future home. We also maintained the prior owner´s main employee, called Roberto Barradas, on a part time basis until we became legal owners of the property. He was to be our future foreman.

After three months I returned to Argentina to complete the purchase, ensure all documents were in order, and plan the future until our definite arrival. The final transfer of ownership took place without a hitch, thanks mainly to Jorge Campero, the accountant, who turned out to be a most valuable operator throughout the years. However, the meetings with the caretaker Martin Ortiz, for that was his name, were disappointing. During our absence there had been some bad news.

Yes, Don Juan he told me, one month ago, a heavy hail storm hit two of the vine fields, and they were seriously damaged, eliminating all hopes for a harvest.

He had not advised us, he claimed, via e-mail as agreed from the start, because he preferred to tell me personally. I thought that, while he obviously cared for my feelings, that was not a good start to his budding career with us. That was why we needed good use of internet, but Martin was obviously not of the same sentiment. Or was it the farming environment? Or was it Argentina? Martin also complained bitterly about the builder, Claudio Pascual, whom he accused of being slow and inefficient. He pointed at the foreman´s house angrily, suggesting it was nowhere near ready, despite the need to have Roberto on the premises immediately.

I had to admit that I didn´t see a hell of a lot of progress, but then it had taken time to get things started with all people components in place. I was seeing Claudio, that afternoon, so I promised to get things speeded up, thus ignoring the inference that maybe we should look for a different builder. Not then, at least until we had a handle on what was needed, and had properly judged the people currently working with us.

Later that day I met with Claudio on the building site. He was a chubby young man full of smiles. I liked him, though he was short on experience. This job would really test him, and I realized that we needed to be on hand to supervise major decisions. At least, I thought, he was probably free of bad habits, and was hungry for this contract. He should work hard and fast, although we would have to hold his hand through much of this. That afternoon he took me around the future foreman´s adobe house, and pointed out some of the more hidden facts and details involved in restoring what he estimated to be a circa one hundred year old construction. It had required two new support beams to hold up walls and the roof in the main room. The crossbeams and canes that formed the ceiling of the house, though surprisingly solid after all these years needed upgrading. They would be sanded and fumigated, and two coats of varnish, at least, were needed. The electrics had been updated and the plumbing had been replaced. Though there was some way to go yet, important progress had been made. I was quite impressed, and told him so. At that, Claudio took courage and he opened up to me. His new-found confidence overcame a natural shyness, as he took a deep breath and reported a falling out with Martin.

I closed my eyes, expecting him to react to some issue regarding Martin´s supervision method. But then he explained why. Argentina, is the world capital of ´la coima´, loosely translated as bribery and/or corruption. It seemed, said Claudio, that Sr. Martin was a keen follower of this concept, and not averse to some extra change in his pocket. In my mind this was a serious accusation, no matter how normal it may be in this country. I told Claudio so, giving him the opportunity to back away from his claim if he felt so fit. Quite the opposite, Claudio did not bend, and proceeded to explain that Martin was attempting to rake in a ten percent commission on all building materials that Claudio required for the job. A normal occurrence in Mendoza, but Claudio would have none of it.

Further, Claudio had purchased materials that, he claimed, I had not reimbursed. He was now short on cash to continue the job. I explained that he had in fact, been paid via Martin, and that I had receipts signed by Claudio to show him. In a quick shift, I was beginning to get upset with Claudio, a reaction I seem to have when things do not make sense to me. I produced the receipts to prove his error, which he studied carefully. Claudio then separated