(Condé Nast Traveler) Atlantic waves break near the vines, and Southern Argentine winds blow icy gusts across their leaves as I pop a few of the morning’s harvest—round Pinot Noir grapes—into my mouth. These vineyards, running along Patagonia’s moody eastern coast, produce fruit with delicate maritime flavors; a recent storm has left a lick of salinity on the first three rows of vines. It is March in Bahía Bustamante, where Magellanic penguins wobble along the craggy shores and flightless Darwin’s rhea teeter through the area’s Petrified Forest National Park.

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