The Griswalds ain´t got nothing...

Photos: Above, the Hartman-and-friends clan poses for a picture at the entrance to Aconcagua National Park, with Aconcagua barely visible through the clouds; Brian and Joanna laugh at Al´s stellar photographic ability; Joanna poses for a photo as Al worships the Andean gods; a busted out bus sits in a field in the upper Valle Uspullata. - AC

The four or five little squirrels under the white hood of the small sedan whirred away as I downshifted in attempt to pass the two trucks that were slugging it up the hill which wound it´s way into the dramatic peaks of the Andes.

My co-pilot´s knuckles were clenched around the door handle in a white ball.

Her brother and father both teased her from the backseat.

"Finally, I would have passed 17 times already," I could see Al in the rearview mirror. He was sitting in the center of the back seat, between Brian and Caitlin. His head was swivling around taking in the view and his mouth was slightly smiling at the idea of adventuring up into the mountains right in the center of his two kids.

"Dad, don´t egg him on. Why do we have to pass, what´s your hurry?" Joanna didn´t like driving much, and the overturned tractor-trailer we passed a few kilometers back didn´t help matters.

Dispite having taken the Argentine Route 7 twice now by bus to get to and from Santiago, Chile, Joanna and I found ourselves again winding up out of the endless rows of vines in the Mendoza wine country and into the sky scraping peaks of the Andes. Instead of a bus, this time we were packed into a small rental car, looking for photographic stops along the way.

As we wound up and into the mountains, the traffic thinned and the drive became pleasant. Route 7 is a well paved, heavily traveled road, the main source of land travel between Argentina and Chile. In addition to it´s quality as a South American highway, the road passes within kilometers of Aconcagua, the highest peak in the Western Hemisphere at 6,960 meteres.

After winding our way up out of the dry cragly Andean foothills and bursting into the gigantic valleys beneath the full peaks of the Andes, we pulled into Uspullata, which was the location of filming for the 1997 Brad Pitt movie Seven Years in Tibet. Valle de Uspullata served as the closest thing to the Himalayas possible for filming.

After lunch, we wound further up into the seemingly endless valley toward the Chilean boarder. Heading west, the Andes rise and rise. The giant valley winds on between peaks that roll and crag, from greens of vegitation, through yellows, whites, reds, purples and all manner of browns millions of years of tectonic growth and geothermal activity are detailed through visible layers of rock sediment.

Mere kilometers from the boarder, Aconcagua rises up in the distance, only it´s snowcapped glaciated upper half visible behind layers of Andean peaks within the park.

It was there that we turned around. The four more hours down through 30 switchbacks within two kilomoters through Portillo into Santiago was not something we wanted to undertake.

After snapping a few photos and trying to catch a glimpse of the Andes´most mighty mountain through the clouds, we piled back into the car and putted off back down the hill.

As the dark grey clouds veiled the peaks to the east, Caitlin slept, mouth agape on Brian´s shoulder. Joanna hung the camera out the window in search of the perfect picture of horses dwarfed by mountains.

"How far to Uspallata?" Al asked. "I could go for a café at Bodega Gato."

- AC