PIRIAPOLIS: A travel day today. After finding Montevideo very quiet and without much to see or do I am quite glad to be going actually. My goal today is to reach Punta del Este, although I received an email telling me about great views from inside a cross on the second highest hill in the country. It sounded interesting so I was thinking about stopping here on my way through. The Bus Stop That Was Not After the morning ritual and signing out of my hostel, I headed toward the bus stop, addresses of all youth hostels along my journey in my hand. When my first bus approached the stop, I flagged it down furiously. To my amazement it just kept going. A lady behind me told me that I was at the wrong bus stop for that particular number of bus. No problem I thought, looking at my three different bus numbers I could catch, I will simply wait for one of the other numbers. When the next bus approached, of a different number, I again flagged it down and once again it continued right past me. The driver of this bus as he passed, smiled and motioned toward the bus stop that he stops at. A man behind me repeated the same message. I considered waiting for the only other bus line that I had on my list, but decided that the other bus stop could not be too far. Besides, if two of my buses stopped at the other bus stop then it would be better odds to wait there. So I wandered up to the other bus stop to discover that all three of the bus lines on my list stopped here. No wonder the buses I wanted had never stopped. Within a short time I was on a bus heading past the Tres Cruzes Bus Terminal, and ironically it was not any of the buses that I had listed. I saw a sign in the window that listed this as one of the stops and took a chance that it was correct. It was, but one of my bus habits is to remain on board long enough to be sure that the last stop was really the bus stop that I had wanted. So sure enough, this time was no different, and I walked back the extra blocks to the bus terminal. Ticket Confusion It was 11am when I turned into the bus terminal and asked about tickets. There was a bus actually leaving right now that I could have caught, but because I wanted to see the nearby Parque Batlle I asked about later buses. A bus going via Piriápolis and leaving at what I thought to be 2pm sounded perfect, giving me three hours to saunter casually around the park and an opportunity to check out the cross on the hill in Piriápolis, so I bought my ticket. When I got my ticket it read 12pm and it was only then that I realised how I had confused the two words "doce" (12) for "dos" (2). This gave me only one hour to look around the park, get back and board my bus. A tight timetable but it seemed possible. So both of my bags and anything in my pockets except wallet and camera found their way into the local baggage storage service to lighten the load. I then walked straight out of the terminal and turned and ran all the way to the park, stopping on the way only to ask someone if I was heading in the right direction. Parque Batlle This park contains a number of sports complexes including a velodrome for cyclists, a huge track and field sports complex, and a football stadium. As I ran past the track and field oval there were shouts and cheers as the local school children competed in interschool races. The crowds of children did little to fill out even one section of the seating, but they certainly knew how to make a lot of noise. I continued my running, which had now become a fast jog, around this field. Off to the side, where there were trees and large expanses of grass, dozens of dogs had gathered under the watchful eye of their professional dog-walkers. These professionals normally walk anywhere from six to fifteen animals at a time. There were dogs peeing on trees, dogs scratching themselves, dogs sniffing each other, dogs pooping on a spare patch of grass, and dogs resting - it looked like a sports club resort for the dogs. An Historic Stadium As I continued, I saw the Estadia Centario, the huge football (soccer of course) stadium in front of me, and was glad to stop running when I reached the main entrance. Outside the entrance a huge mural of a goal player leaping up to catch a ball stood higher than the stadium itself. Above the entrance were the words, "The Premier Football Stadium In The World" (or something similar). Inside, I need to purchase a U$15 (US$0.50) ticket to view the stadium, which seemed pretty reasonable. So I paid for the privilege and walked up to view the stadium. Now the boasts that this place has, and its right to charge for admission are actually quite just. This stadium was the first place in the world that World Cup (Soccer) was played, back in 1930. The whole stadium is virtually identical to how it was when first built, with the exception of the wooden chairs being replaced with plastic in places, and some of the official sections now being glassed in. It looked just like any other football stadium to me, but with the lady at the entrance now being my tour guide, I learned many interesting things in our discussions that constantly switched between Spanish and English. Most interesting was that the entire grass section of the playing field has huge electric heating elements underneath it to help the field dry out during wet times. One time this was not enough, and they tried using a helicopter flying above it to dry the place out faster. The original concrete chairs were still in place, and a large structure built above the stadium were all that remained. The structure, with both wings and the brow of a boat, was built in honour of the different ways that the teams were arriving in Uruguay for the big game. I do not know how many teams were present during that game, but by the discussions I had it sounded like there were more than just two. The best part of this game for Uruguayans is that Uruguay won. Piriápolis On leaving the stadium, I still had enough time that I did not need to run back and instead walked briskly. Back at the bus terminal I retrieved my bags and boarded the bus. On the bus, safely seated against a window, my tiredness from a couple of late nights put me into a wonderful deep sleep. By the time I woke up, we were almost at Piriápolis. On arriving at the Piriápolis bus terminal I decided that I would not stay in this place, but simply climb the cross and keep going. My first problem was how to get to the mountain where it was, but this was solved by a local taxi. The driver estimated the cost at around U$100 pesos which although expensive, seemed reasonable enough for my time constraints. The meter was running however and by the time we got there it ended up costing U$160 pesos. Cerro Pan de Azucar As we approached the hill, I could see the cross on the top. Although Cerro Pan de Azúcar is the second highest point in Uruguay, the country is virtually completely flat, so a little hill like this one becomes pretty famous. Its height of 423 metres (1400ft) is not high by mountain standards, but you still have to climb every one of those metres to reach the top. My driver was a nice guy and in our conversation I learned that business is very slow in winter. I figured that he was very happy with my fair today. When we arrived he pointed me in the direction I needed to go and left me with my backpack. So I picked it up and walked over to the shop in anticipation, only to discover it was closed. Looking around, I noticed a number of people working in the wooded area to the side, and when I approached them an old guy greeted me. He was extremely amicable and treated me like a friend, walking with me to show me the way I needed to go to climb up the mountain. Only once he was sure I was heading in the right direction did we part, and he then returned to his work with the others. I was now in a zoo. After finding the office, I was able to store my pack and then follow the signs pointing to "Cerro". This took me through the pens and cages of many different Uruguayan animals. It was sad to see so many wonderful birds and other animals caged in such small pens, but most especially the birds. Along the way, I noticed a narrow trail to the side going through the shrubs that looked to lead to the base of the hill. Looking ahead, my road continued for what seemed to be a long way. So faced with an opportunity for a direct assault on this rather large hill, I took the path. Off The Beaten Path The path that I had taken soon faded out and I was left with nothing but bush. I could still see the hill though, and since there were passages through the bush, it seemed reasonable to me to continue on, pushing through the shrubs and trees. I worked carefully so as not to damage my new woolen pullover. This was not easy going, and there were a number of plants that worked hard to spike, prick, or tear at me as I passed. As I pushed under trees and shrubs, and climbed over logs and through layers of thick leaves, I was very thankful that this was winter and all (most?) of the snakes were sleeping. It did not stop me wondering about what sort of dangerous creatures lived in these parts however, something that I still had not found out. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, but in this case there was no bliss in not knowing. Rocks And Boulders Looking at the hill from below, the boulders did not look too big, nor the climb too difficult, but everything changes as you get closer. As I continued on and the bushes and brush gave way to the boulders and rocks, the climb grew progressively harder. The first few boulders were not too hard to climb over, although they were at least my size in height, but they grew progressively harder. One of the things making climbing difficult was that the shoes that I was wearing had absolutely no grip. This meant that every time I tried to climb a boulder, at least one of my feet would slip, and sometimes both of them. The worst part of this was that the shoes also had no "feel" to them so I could not tell when or where they were likely to slip either. As the boulders started growing to twice and three times my height, I discovered that wearing jeans and filling the front pockets with a wallet and digital camera significantly impedes movement. Every time I tried to lift a leg higher than my knees I needed to re-arrange my pockets and sometimes help my leg up, ignoring the discomfort the item in my pocket was causing. Eventually these items moved to my back pockets which helped my leg movement significantly but exposed them to a much greater chance of damage. The climb had become difficult by now, and progress was slow but steady. Even though it was cold and my pullover had become a band tied around my waist, I was sweating heavily as I worked to get up the ever steepening slopes of this mountain. The further up I went, the wetter the boulders became and the weaker became the grip of my shoes. And then I reached it. The decision point. The Decision As I looked up all I could see was a large wet section of sloping rock covered in moss and slime. There were three sections to it, overlapping each other like tiles on a roof, except these tiles were 10 metres long (33ft) and almost 100 metres wide (330ft) or more. It looked impossible to climb at first, and there seemed to be no way around them. I seemed that after all my climbing to get here, I needed to turn back and take the signed pathway. Something happened at that point though. I looked up at the first section and could see some places that would help me climb it. It was dangerous, and very slippery. No one knew that I was climbing in this place either, so a fall could become a serious setback or worse. My shoes were terrible for a situation like this too. So weighing up my options, I took my shoes off and started my climb. The Challenge Of Slime Reaching up for the first handhold, I pushed my shoes, swinging from my neck, away from my face and pulled myself up. My bare feet told me just how incredibly slippery the whole surface was, but having individual toes worked well in finding tiny points of refuge to provide the resistance I need to stop me falling. Each hand griped carefully onto the tiny edges revealed in the rock face. The surface was steep but not incredibly so, but the slipperiness made it a tough climb. As I edged my way further and further upward I was thankful for the times that I had spent climbing and learning the techniques that were being so useful right at this moment. It was very clear to me that any mistake could send me sliding back down the slope and into the boulders that lay below. It was not really fun, but making progress was becoming very rewarding. At the first overlap I was able to stand up and look at where I had just come from. The green moss and sparkling water lay below and above me. There was no turning back now, it would be too dangerous to try. I was committed. Rocks And Boulders Looking at the hill from below, the boulders did not look too big, nor the climb too difficult, but everything changes as you get closer. As I continued on and the bushes and brush gave way to the boulders and rocks, the climb grew progressively harder. The first few boulders were not too hard to climb over, although they were at least my size in height, but they grew progressively harder. One of the things making climbing difficult was that the shoes that I was wearing had absolutely no grip. This meant that every time I tried to climb a boulder, at least one of my feet would slip, and sometimes both of them. The worst part of this was that the shoes also had no "feel" to them so I could not tell when or where they were likely to slip either. As the boulders started growing to twice and three times my height, I discovered that wearing jeans and filling the front pockets with a wallet and digital camera significantly impedes movement. Every time I tried to lift a leg higher than my knees I needed to re-arrange my pockets and sometimes help my leg up, ignoring the discomfort the item in my pocket was causing. Eventually these items moved to my back pockets which helped my leg movement significantly but exposed them to a much greater chance of damage. The climb had become difficult by now, and progress was slow but steady. Even though it was cold and my pullover had become a band tied around my waist, I was sweating heavily as I worked to get up the ever steepening slopes of this mountain. The further up I went, the wetter the boulders became and the weaker became the grip of my shoes. And then I reached it. The decision point. The Decision As I looked up all I could see was a large wet section of sloping rock covered in moss and slime. There were three sections to it, overlapping each other like tiles on a roof, except these tiles were 10 metres long (33ft) and almost 100 metres wide (330ft) or more. It looked impossible to climb at first, and there seemed to be no way around them. I seemed that after all my climbing to get here, I needed to turn back and take the signed pathway. Something happened at that point though. I looked up at the first section and could see some places that would help me climb it. It was dangerous, and very slippery. No one knew that I was climbing in this place either, so a fall could become a serious setback or worse. My shoes were terrible for a situation like this too. So weighing up my options, I took my shoes off and started my climb. The Challenge Of Slime Reaching up for the first handhold, I pushed my shoes, swinging from my neck, away from my face and pulled myself up. My bare feet told me just how incredibly slippery the whole surface was, but having individual toes worked well in finding tiny points of refuge to provide the resistance I need to stop me falling. Each hand griped carefully onto the tiny edges revealed in the rock face. The surface was steep but not incredibly so, but the slipperiness made it a tough climb. As I edged my way further and further upward I was thankful for the times that I had spent climbing and learning the techniques that were being so useful right at this moment. It was very clear to me that any mistake could send me sliding back down the slope and into the boulders that lay below. It was not really fun, but making progress was becoming very rewarding. At the first overlap I was able to stand up and look at where I had just come from. The green moss and sparkling water lay below and above me. There was no turning back now, it would be too dangerous to try. I was committed. Returning To Town Having spent my time here looking at the views, reading the graffiti, most of which was simply names and dates, and talking with God, it was time to return down the mountain. After my experience of climbing, I took the easy pathway all the way back down. It took me almost an hour to climb up to the top, but only fifteen minutes to get back down, and at the bottom I discovered that the side trail I took was very close to where the official climb started. Retrieving my bags, I am told that there is a bus going past which can take me back into town. I head out to the gate, sit down on my pack, and wait. It only cost me U$15 pesos to be dropped right in the middle of town. As I walked down the main street, although I had read that some hotels would be closed during winter, I did not expect to see virtually all of them like this. Even the youth hostel was closed. I thought about my plans to continue on to Punta del Este, but there was something about this town that I liked, so I wanted to stay the night. Finding A Hotel Needing some form of accommodation, I thought I would price the best first. The Argentino Hotel was the second hotel ever built in Piriápolis and can house up to 1200 guests. At the time, in the 1930's, it was the best hotel in all of South America, so it was little wonder that the rooms cost U$1080 pesos per night per person. It was tempting to spoil myself with a room here, but I could not bring myself to spend it just for a bed, so I pressed on in search of something cheaper. When I find a smaller hotel that is actually open, it looks like I am the only guest there. The price of U$250 pesos for the night was a rate that I was very happy with. While checking-in to the place I saw the same amicable guy that I had seen in the woods out at Cerro Pan de Azúcar. He greeted me enthusiastically and welcomed me to his hotel. He was the owner. I just grinned. How unlikely it was that these two events would coincide as they did. I was shown to the best room in the place, with a view out over the beach. After a shower to wash off the sweat from my climb, I head into town and find very few eatery places open. Based on my experiences of every other place in Uruguay I expect they will all open later instead so I stop into a local Internet shop and wait for them to open. When I leave the Internet place at 10pm, I walk down the road and discover that even the restaurants and places that were open are all now closed. There was nowhere that I could have dinner. I was very disappointed. Instead, when I returned to my room, I dug out a two day old and very squashed banana that I remembered buying and not eating. That became my dinner. It was a good travel day today. I had done something significant, like climb a mountain, and it felt good.