Casa de Uco

Knowing that there was to be a full supermoon, an excess of wine and sophisticated spa-and-bar opportunities, I’ll admit I was a little sceptical about writing this review. I worried it would read like one long minibreak cliché, and this was before I tumbled out of a magnificently-proportioned bed to pad around on a private balcony, which offered beautiful vineyard views on which the Andes loftily gazed (prompting wine-fuddled heads to remember that they were in South America, not the South of France). In essence, it was quite the perfect spot to don bathrobes and frolic in sozzled amor with Señor Smith – and a place to revel in clichés and much more…

Mendoza airport was shut until December, so the sole option for our first Argentine minibreak was the overnight bus – but in truth, I would have risked it anyway. It’s a snoozy direct route from Buenos Aires, and I was subconsciously testing Mr Smith’s hardcore-travelling-companion credentials. The reality is that Mendoza is not exactly hardcore; it is to Porteños what the Cotswolds are to Londoners for minibreaks – just 10 hours further away, with much better weather and wine. It was still quite testing; we survived – just – and if the wine-soaked embrace of Casa de Uco had not been waiting at the end, it might have been the end of us. So, one gold star to Casa de Uco.

While depleting my oversize glass of welcome wine, I relaxed into a languid lethargy and thought about taking a bottle (and, as an afterthought, Mr Smith) to the outdoor, Andes-ogling Jacuzzi – for why was the romantic minibreak invented, if not to revel in every amorous cliché under the sun? Thrillingly for us, at Casa de Uco, a great deal more… Opportunities for adventure abounded: archery and furious downhill mountain biking (at a finger-numbing three degrees) were on the agenda, as was our first bit of superbly organised fun: galloping through vineyards to a private asado (an Argentine barbecue). This was big-kid heaven, and Mr Smith and I were as much romanced by the surrounding nature as we were by each other.

As we drove down roads lined with fuzzy peach blossom and slender poplars, enchantingly far from the airport and the province’s capital, the grandeur of the snow-tipped Andes became our breathtaking backdrop. The resort itself stands cool in the centre of a 320-hectare, vineyard-lined estate, a dream for wine enthusiasts and an eco-ode to the land it inhabits.

This is definitely a lair for professional wine-lovers; I love wine, but I know nip-squeak about it. However, I heard on the grapevine that Uco has been tipped as the next Napa. I bandied this phrase around zealously for the duration of my stay, much to the embarrassment of Mr Smith, who is more informed – even more so since we downloaded a wine app that instantly made us obsess over labels, and irk every sommelier within a 10-mile radius. My novice quaffing skills were charmingly embraced, as was Mr Smith’s frantic snapping, and we were made to feel very much part of the pro-slurping set – because that’s exactly what Casa de Uco does: make you feel right at home.

Time seems to stretch in this house – I stayed still in a sauna for more than 10 minutes, a skill I’d never quite mastered before, and the ability to do so is one of my markers for maturity. So, Casa de Uco gets its second gold star for almost making me feel like an adult – emphasis on ‘almost’. The place does encourage one to behave badly, while playing at being grown-up. Stay in bathrobes all day while lazing in the inside-outside glory of your giant room, gazing at the vines or the supermoon; then rock up late for breakfast – we adored the relaxed mealtimes so in sync with our part Argy, part British, very neurotic timekeeping. You can have breakfast at 1pm and lunch at 4pm if you so wish, and we happily put this attractive marketing carrot to the test. Here is a place to get tipsy over cocktail-fuelled, very serious pool contests and then head down to the fire pit to smoke forbidden cigarettes and have staring contests with baby foxes; a place to wander through the vines at sunset; watch electric storms rage in Uco Valley’s mighty skies; and pontificate on the irrigation system which feeds such vast vineyards in such dry desert (Mr Smith) and if we could get a double spa treatment tomorrow (me). The answer to the latter, by the way, was yes.

Mr Smith fell in love with the snow-capped vistas, startlingly blue skies and adventure opportunities of the Uco Valley, and has suggested we come back with a car and a tent. I can foresee so many problems, but we’ve struck a deal, whereby we come back here for a post-camping holiday and I promise to sit still in a sauna and let him win at pool. Oh, and move in with him. So, thanks Casa de Uco for that too – you really did turn me into a grown-up.