Category: Travel

PUNTA DEL ESTE: Rising late can do a lot to minimise how much you can do in a day. It did today. Perhaps it was the fact that I got caught in the local handicraft markets for so long, or that I stopped to chat with and feed some of the poorer locals, but in the end my main activity was the bus tour. This took me all over Punta del Este and the neighbouring areas for some very interesting sights.

The Morning Start
I did not expect to sleep in today. The light from the windows had drawn me out of bed early yesterday so I was actually expecting the same again today. However, when I rose late today, there was not too much left of the morning. Not to be daunted, I was quickly organised and out of the door, ready to enjoy the sunniest day here yet.

The wind was blowing strong at some sub 10 degree C temperature making even my two coats falter in keeping me warm. This was the new turtle neck jumper I had recently bought and my feather down jacket that had kept me warm in sub-zero temperatures in Finland, yet they were faltering now. All around me people were dressed more for arctic conditions than for a seaside resort. In many instances, only their eyes were visible from amongst the multiple layers of clothing and wraps.

Plaza de los Artesanos
Across the road from the Hostel is the main plaza on Punta del Este, called Plaza Artigas, after the nation’s hero who secured their liberty. His presence is felt in every town and city, with statues, busts, buildings, plazas and streets named after him. Every person in Uruguay understands who this man is and what he did for the country, and the naming conventions ensures that no-one will ever forget.

In this plaza a Feria de los Artesanos was established and waiting for people to come. I was one of the first people there, with some stalls setting out their wares indicating that it was still early hours. Most stalls had already finished their setup however, and there was much to see.

Most of these places, where people sell their handicrafts and art, normally do not have anything that really interests me. I often wander through the place and see some interesting things but nothing that compels me to part with my money. This place was not like most of them however.

As I wandered through, it became obvious to me that the art and craft on display here was of a very high standard. The price of everything too was quite high, but compared with most ferias, each item was worth every bit of what they were charging.

Money, Money, Money
The places that interested me most were surprisingly all associated with money, but not in the normal sense. One place had coins that had been turned into keychains, bells, horse carriages, and more. Each coin was highly polished and well presented. The artist was very eager to show me each of the different items and explain to me which coin it was and from what country. There were coins that are currently in circulation through to ancient coins that dated back to the early 1800’s.

The other place that really caught my attention also had coins on view, although it was not immediately apparent that this was what they were. After some discussion with the artisan, I realised that each of the intricate pieces of art that I saw laid out on his table was actually a coin, with the extraneous metal removed from the main pattern.

There were coins from all over the world here, and they ranged in price from very cheap to well over USD$100 according to the amount of work that went into it and the value of the coin. I found coins from Sweden, Spain, Italy, Belgium, all of South America, Mexico, United States and even Australia. Of course there were many coins from Uruguay too, some of which were made of pure silver.

The work in cutting out each of these coins was so fine and so accurate it looked as though each coin was laser cut. Yet each of these coins had been cut with a coping saw using a super-fine blade. Even with a magnifying glass there was very little places that the artist’s work could be faulted.

Spending Everything
Magnificent patterns resulted from his work, with each coin now looking like a fine piece of jewelry. I felt compelled to buy some of these, and if I had sufficient money, I would have bought the most expensive ones because they were the most beautiful. This time though I overrode my champagne tastes, and kept within my beer budget.

Other stalls offered a similar quality of work. Clothes made of leather, wool, and animal skins were all very well presented, as were some of the more common items found at these ferias such as yerba mate (ma-tay) cups and trinkets useful for gifts.

By the time I left these markets I had all but emptied my wallet of money. Certainly I had spent a lot, especially by Uruguayan standards, but I was thrilled with every one of my purchases. This was actually the first time that I had bought anything non-essential since I started my journey to Argentina over six months ago. It was nice to splash out just a little bit.

Looking at my watch, it was already time to wander down for my bus tour which started shortly only five blocks from where I was. First though, I stopped in at the bank and retrieved some more money to fill up my empty wallet.

Feeding The Hungry
As I wandered down the road, a lady approached me, dressed in very basic clothes, and asked if I would help her out with food. Another lady that looked related was near her and so I motioned to the two to come with me and we would eat. As we started walking, there were more people that joined with us. They were all of one party. It looked as though there were three, and then four.

We entered the nearest restaurant, for there were no places selling cheap food around Punta del Este during winter. Even McDonald’s had closed up for the winter. Sitting down at a table, I discovered yet another person wandering in hoping to get some food. There were now six of us including me. What I thought was going to be two people had turned into a family.

At this point I considered declining to buy food for them all, and only buying it for the lady and her friend that I had initially expected to be supporting. But when I looked at each one of these people I could see that they were all hungry, and could not justify being selective in who I fed. So I called the waiter over and ordered enough pizza for everyone.

One of the ladies asked me if I would also buy them Coke as well. I looked at her and smiled. She was pressing her luck. I told her that Coke, being a chemical is bad for her and I did not want to be responsible for killing them with a chemical, so they could drink water instead. They all laughed and nodded in agreement.

When You Have To Go
Just after we had ordered the food I thought I should check on the time. There was only fifteen minutes left before my bus tour started and I had not yet booked myself on it. I quickly explained my situation to the ladies and told them I had to leave right now, but would pay for the meal. We found the waiter and told him of my urgent need and he eventually returned with the bill.

I paid enough for the food with a little as a tip for the waiter and ran out the door. It was not my usual practice to buy someone’s meal and leave, but this time I had little choice if I wanted to catch my bus. Normally I like to sit and eat with the person for whom I am buying a meal. To pay and go is like flicking an annoyance out of your way, while staying and eating with them demonstrates that you value them as a person. Some of my most interesting conversations have come from situations such as these.

The Race And The Rest
Running as fast as I could down the street, I made it to the tourist office with only ten minutes to spare. I breathlessly tell the man there that I want to book on the tour for today. He says there is no problem with that, the tour starts in another half an hour, at 2.30pm. Then he laughs as he realises and asks me if I thought it started at 2pm. I just nodded, then asked him if there was a cheap place to eat lunch around here. He directs me to the local cafeteria and tells me to relax and enjoy my lunch, for there is still another thirty minutes to go. I smile and head off toward the cafeteria.

After enjoying a wonderfully cheap and hearty meal, I still have time before the tour, so I wander over to the nearby beach. Out of the sand protrude massive fingers of concrete. The whole structure is actually in the shape of a hand, although only the ends of the fingers can be seen to protrude above the sand, and the longest of these is almost three people high.

A Tourist Tour
Returning to the tourist office I am directed onto our minibus that will become home for the afternoon. I am directed to the front seat, a perfect position from which to take many photos as we pass things on the way. We journey around the hotels picking up another three couples and then begin our tour.

Throughout the tour we are given interesting facts and information by our driver, who at times forgets to watch the road while he is chatting with us. Everything is in Spanish, the common language between this Australian and the rest who are all Brazilians or Argentines. Surprisingly I was able to understand virtually all that was said, and even ventured to asking questions. This was evidence of exciting progress in my language skills.

Punta del Este
The first part of our tour passes through Punta del Este. Here we learn that there are only two main beaches to the Point, although both are over 10kms long. We stop by to see the port, which is closed for winter, and have a number of restaurants and houses pointed out to us which are owned by the ex-president of Argentina, Carlos Menem.

We learn that the divide between the Atlantic Ocean and the outflowing river is purely cartographic, meaning that it is only a line on the map. The water on both sides of the Point are the same. The place that the real confluence occurs is at Montevideo where the water at the beaches is sometimes clear and sometimes brown from the river water according to how the winds blow.

We also discover that the Ilha de Lobos, or Seal Island, is a reserve and no person is allowed to disembark onto the island itself, so all tours out there simply circumnavigate the island and then return to shore. But one of the most interesting pieces of information for me was that there are no tides at Punta del Este at all. The water remains at the same level all year around regardless of the phase of the moon. It does rise and fall a little though, according to the action of the wind.

The Rich Neighbourhood
Moving on to our next part, we see some of the richer houses near the Point in a suburb called Parque de Golf. The prices of these houses rise and fall rapidly according to the season they are sold in. The cheapest price of a house in this section starts at over USD$100,000 and skyrockets from there. Many of the houses we passed were wintered, with everything closed up, and a gardener paid to maintain the appearance of the place.

Every house in this area was built by designers and architects, with the materials and shapes changing on every house. There were square and round houses, tall and underground houses, and houses made of everything from brick, to concrete, to wood, to straw. Three little pigs, eat your heart out.

One of the houses has a fully equipped huge underground bunker ready for survival in the case of nuclear war. This is the house that any official that comes to Punta del Este stays at. People like Presidents, Prime Ministers, Premieres, Singers, and Movie Stars have all had their turn in staying here according to their connections with the Uruguayan Government.

La Barra
The next place we visit is even more expensive than this, and is covered in houses owned by famous people from all over the world. To get there we need to drive over a bridge that was designed by an architect rather than an engineer. As a result the bridge has two pronounced humps in it in the shape of a camel’s back. This produces a very aesthetically pleasing bridge to look at, and one that is a lot of fun to drive over fast.

The whole area of La Barra, although housing some of the most well known people in the world and large organisations such as Fashion TV and CBN (or NBC or something like that), seemed just like a cosy little seaside town in New Zealand. With the exception of just a few places, every business in this area was either a restaurant or night club, and of course was closed for winter.

The big difference that separated here from any other place was the prices. There was no mention of purchase prices, but to rent a very ordinary looking house during the month of January would cost over USD$12,000, and one of the more expensive rentals was USD$41,000 for 12 days. Obviously it was marketed at the people with money.

Beverly Hills
From here we headed toward toward the city of Maldonaldo, stopping to look around the area known as Beverly Hills. This area is filled with Brazilians. Rich Brazilians actually. It is very likely that you will see Ferraris and Lamborghini’s and any other of the ludicrously priced vehicles in this place during the summer. Many times these cars are only shipped in while the people are here over the summer period, and then the massive houses are closed up and left throughout winter.

Although we did not see any of these cars this time, every house in this area was the size of a large hotel and had great areas of ground surrounding them. Each house is identified only by the name of the house, there are no street numbers here. As exclusive as it is, Beverly Hills is not an estate, as Uruguay does not allow there to be private sections of land divided into housing. As a result the whole area is open to the public.

Maldonaldo
Once we arrive in Maldonaldo, the capital of the province of the same name, our destination is the old church in the centre. Inside are a lot of people listening to a priest and I assume that it is a church service, although it does not sound like one. Outside is the town square, or plaza, around which is situated the church, police, government office, and the jail in a format that is common to all towns in Uruguay.

We stop here for a while, long enough to take some photos and look around the church a little, before continuing on our tour. The best thing about driving through Maldonaldo was that I saw people again. After being in Punta del Este with absolutely no one around and little traffic, seeing cars and people everywhere was a great sight.

Punta Ballena (Whale Point)
It was a long drive from here to Punta Ballena, from where we could see Punta del Este in the distance glowing in the golden rays of the quickly setting sun. The view was amazing from this high, rocky point, and we could see over all the beaches that lay between us and Punta del Este.

On this point is a artistically styled house, called Casapueblo, that is also a restaurant and an art museum, gallery and workshop for Carlos Paéz Vilaró. Carlos is a well known Uruguayan artist, although certain parts of his story led me to believe that he may have had African roots. His son was one of the survivors from the plane that crashed into the Andes during the 1970’s.

As with many places like this, it was all oriented toward getting people to buy the works of art or books that were there for sale. Some of the art was quite interesting, although very distinctive in its style, while other pieces of art looked to be created by children.

After looking around the place at the art and seeing the video about the life of Carlos Paéz Vilaró, I found my way to the outside balconies where I was whipped by the chilling wind as I enjoyed the view of the setting sun. The view from the balcony over the unusually shaped building and its many sections allowed me to watch the waves breaking on the rocks below. The whole scene was very relaxing if it were not so incredibly cold.

By the time we all climbed back into our minibus it was dark and we were all ready to return home. On our way back we listened to some great jazz songs in English, detoured around some major roadworks and other cars heading in the same direction, and passed by the major casinos on the Point. Virtually all of us got out at the same place, along the main street of Punta del Este itself.

Meeting The Relatives
Having returned home to the Point, I head off for a quick meal and then grab my sugar sources and head to the locutorio to write up my story. When I get back to the hostel there are two new people there talking with the lady that runs the place. It turns out that they are her sister and brother-in-law who come down almost every weekend to visit her. Today they also brought a new little car that she had purchased from Montevideo through them. This was the first time she had seen it.

After introducing myself and chatting with them all for a while, Nelson, the brother-in-law, and his wife and I all left to go to one of the famous bars called Moby Dick. I expected we would be walking, but instead we had the luxury of the new car to take us there and back.

Moby Dicks
Moby Dicks was reasonably quiet, with about 30 people in an area large enough for hundreds. As the night continued, a group of guys and girls started climbing onto the bar stools and dancing away, glorying in the attention they were receiving from everyone else. They certainly were providing entertainment for many people.

We each ordered a meal and drink from the bar and sat talking about everything and anything, straining at times to be heard above the volume of the music. This was probably the first time that I have had a prolonged conversation in Spanish, and I learned much about Uruguay in the process.

About Uruguay
Uruguay has a strong middle class population, and because there is only a few private schools in Montevideo, almost all of the children grow up together in the public schools. This results in very little class discrimination, especially when everyone knows each other.

The universities are the same, in that there are only a few private universities for courses with expensive infrastructure such as Information Technology. The public universities are very well received throughout the country and at times have a better reputation than the few private ones.

The health system here is divided into the private and public sectors, although the private sector is extremely expensive. As a result, most people use the public system, which was described to me as being adequate in the service it provided. The best thing about this service is that the wait for a normal patient is only measured in days and not weeks or months.

Finally, the political scene here is very active. Many people get involved at a political level and as a result there are often hundreds of people running for a position in the coming elections. Each candidate has a number to identify them, and this is often displayed more prominently than their name. Although there is some corruption in the system, because of the small size of the country with only 3 million people, this is limited in its scope.

Many Girls And A Car
So, having talked with Nelson and his wife about this and many other things including computing, the area which he works, we climbed back into the tiny car and returned home to the hostel. It was after 1am when we arrived, and about five girls poured out of the hostel and greeted us all with the familiar kiss on the cheek. They then proceeded to climb into the car that we had just climbed out of.

At first I thought they were new people that had just arrived to stay at the hostel, but then realised that they were friends of the girl that worked the hostel. We watched from the window as they tried to take off up the gently sloping hill. This was her first time ever in her new car, and she was still getting used to it.

As we watched, the car engine revved, and then it moved backward before stopping. Then it moved backward again and stopped. By the fourth time that it was rolling backward with the engine revving hard, we were all pulling faces of fear and terror in the window, much to the delight of all of the girls in the car.

The car eventually rolled backward until it was side on to the hill. From here all could see our grimaces of fright and there was a great roar of laughter from the car. Then something went right and they took off. We of course cheered and clapped our approval as they made up the ground they had lost and continued on their way around the block.

Late Night Activities
It was not long before they all arrived back in the living room of the hostel, laughing and chatting about the experience. The talk between everyone was constant and often flowing in several streams, with each person talking to whoever was listening at the time. I struggled to keep up at times, but was able to interject in places and participate too at times, although there were many times when the conversation was just not a guy thing.

It was after 2am by the time the girls had organised themselves. They were all going out to a club. This was about the right time to arrive as there would be a lot more people there now. Nelson and his wife retired to bed, and I followed shortly afterward, layering my bed with even more blankets and bringing the total now to somewhere around ten. At this hour of the morning sleep came quickly.

It was a great day today, having seen much of the Punta del Este region and enjoyed the company of new friends. Now I know I will have to return in Summer to experience the other character of this place when it is filled with people everywhere.

PUNTA DEL DIABLO: My last morning in Punta del Diablo. Today I was about to head on to Chuy, once I actually managed to catch a bus. Before I did though, there were a number of things that I was yet to do while still in Punta del Diablo, including find all of the friends that I had made to say farewell. It did not work out quite as I would have liked.

Early Rise
Today I rose in time to see the sunrise. It was a beautiful sight to watch as the sun crept above the horizon of the Atlantic Ocean, its rays pouring warm orange light on everything in its path. With only minutes before the event, there were very few places that I could go to watch it rise. My final choice of going out to the actual Point proved a perfect place to see the houses of Punta del Diablo immersed in the ever changing light of the rising sun.

It was a perfect day yet again today, with less cloud than yesterday. In the soft light of the morning sun I took a whole lot of extra photos of the fishing boats and houses around the village. The colours of everything seems so vivid during this time of day.

After racing over to the nearby beach, I found there were more incredible sights to see. There was a row of houses built hard against the beachfront that were mirrored in the perfectly still waters coating the wide sandy beach. I spent a lot of time just watching the sun climb, its light constantly changing around me, and enjoying the peaceful sounds of the ocean waves. It was already a perfect day indeed.

Breakfast
On returning to my flat I find Gringo outside enjoying his morning yerba mate. I stop and chat with him for a while before getting up to buy breakfast from the local shop.

Although there was only one restaurant, there were many local stores. Each had a different range of goods for sale and a very different type of person selling them. Since I had now bought something from almost every shop in town now, I found yet another one and bought my yogurt and banana from there.

On returning to my seat next to Gringo, we chatted only a little and then rested in the morning calm, enjoying the quiet and peace of the whole place. Every now and then a car or bike would pass by, breaking the almost perfect silence. A salute to each of those passing, for everyone knows everyone here, was virtually mandatory.

Missing The Bus
During one of these passings, I thought I heard a large truck or bus. When a truck passed by I presumed it was this. It was not until a bus poked its nose around the corner as it was turning around that I saw the sign in the window reading “Chuy”.

A bus for Chuy. Now. I was thrown. My understanding was that the only bus for Chuy came at 3.30pm. It was only 8am. At this Gringo just nodded and said that a bus for Chuy came through every day at 8am. I was astonished that he had not told me otherwise.

There was no way I could take this bus anyway however, because all of my things were still scattered around the room and I was in no way packed. So I settled back into the rhythm of expecting my bus to arrive at 3.30pm.

Water Water Everywhere
Returning to my seat, Gringo and I chatted for a little while further until the time came that breakfast was over. It was no specific time but we both seemed to recognise it. At this we rose and bid our farewells, then went on our way. Gringo to his shop, and I to my room. To get to my room however I needed to step through some very wet ground, something that had just appeared since last night.

The source of this water was actually the water pipe leading into Gringo’s house. A steady but stream of water was dribbling out of the connection between the water pipe and the tap. Apparently this has leaked often, according to Gringo, whenever it has been hit or pushed around a little.

He had little idea what to do about fixing it, and had simply turned a ring that covered two sets of threads. All this did was tighten one side and loosen the other, effectively transferring the leak but not stopping it at all. I picked up the wrench he was using and offered to help.

By turning the final joint, which only had one thread and joined with the pipe on the other side, I was able to start tightening all of the threads at once. This immediately had the effect of slowly the leak, something that Gringo was very happy about.

We could not stop it completely but with some silicone around the threads and by tightening the plastic joints more than it seemed safe to do, we managed to reduce it to a tiny drip every thirty seconds or so. Gringo was very impressed and thanked me greatly for the help.

About Gringo
As we chatted after this, I discovered that Gringo does not actually work during winter, although he does sell firewood to keep a flow of cash coming in. During summer he works extremely hard in his bakery everyday and also works in other tourist based areas.

The book that Gringo had loaned me about Punta del Diablo, also had Gringo’s story in there which I finally managed to read today. Apparently Gringo was a fisherman, like most of the people that live here permanently. One day while he was out fishing, a gun that they used to scare off the seals who would eat their fish in the nets unexpectedly discharged. Fastened on the roof of the cabin, it shot him through the right side just above the hip and lodged into the inside of the left hip bone.

Gringo was lucky to actually live through the damage and trauma. After returning to shore, some hours away, he was transferred to the hospital immediately. There was severe damage to the intestines and other internal organs, and this damage eventually forced Gringo to retire from fishing. The sea was his life however, and he did not leave it easily, fighting through each day for a further five years of fishing before admitting defeat.

Once fishing was no longer an option, he needed another way to earn money. Starting a bread shop has given him another outlet of livelihood and at the same time allows him to meet and chat with many people as they arrive in the village. It is only viable to run the shop during summer when the population of the village swells with a large influx of tourists.

It was while he was running this shop that he met his wife to be. They are now happily married with two lovely children, living in a house joined onto their bakery shop. Gringo never expects that he will leave his village of Punta del Diablo, home since he was a child.

Passing the Day
I had just spent the morning in my room reading the Punta del Diablo book and the testimonies in the back of it, one of which was Gringo’s. It was now 12pm and I was out chatting with Gringo yet again. We spent a lot of time in conversation. Mostly it was Gringo who would talk and I would listen, although when I understood what he was saying I would always take the opportunity to add my thoughts to the conversation. This was becoming more frequently now.

At this point another bus arrived. When it turned around I could see the sign indicating that it was bound for Montevideo. My bus was not due for a few hours yet, but within a minute another bus was turning around with the sign “Chuy” in the window. Not again. I asked Gringo about it and he just nodded and then told me that my bus would be the next one that arrived.

Although I was happy enough to still be here in Punta del Diablo, I was prepared mentally to move on. If I had known about those earlier buses then I would have most certainly taken one of them in preference to the afternoon bus. I felt like I was now just passing time waiting for my ride to Chuy.

Wandering The Rocks
Not wanting to simply wait for a bus while in such a wonderful place, I wandered down by the rocks and watch the waves roll in. This has been one of my favourite pastimes since arriving here. The waves crashing against the rocks create such noise and action that they can keep me entertained for hours.

The sound of children playing on the rocks grows closer as I wander, and soon I can see two youngsters running around over the rocks, playing games with each other. They are climbing rocks and defeating gravity with their leaps of faith from one rock to the next. I wander on past them, enjoying the sound of delight in their shouts and cries.

A little further on I stop to watch and enjoy the sights of the ocean. My position is right next to the sea and the water from the crashing waves reaches ever so close to me, but always seems to miss. I sit and enjoy the rolling waves as they crash over rocks and squeeze through gaps, sending up big rushes of water on the way.

Taking Risks
The children that were playing amongst the main rocks have now discovered the greater challenge of the rocks in the water. Leaping from the safety of the main cluster of rocks, they hop out over as many rocks as they can, daring the incoming waves to engulf them. When it is almost too late, they turn and race back to safety ahead of the wave.

With each attempt there was always an element of risk. One time the smaller of the two saw a wave coming and tried to jump back up to the rock nearest him. It was too high and his jump was too small. He ended up clinging to the side of it, scrambling desperately to get up as the wave crashed toward him.

The wave was almost upon him when he leapt back out to the rock he had come from in the water. From here he leapt across the tops of the other rocks with the wave crashing at his heals. Leaping up to the main rocks, he found shelter eventually, but it was a very close call.

This seemed really funny to me. On seeing it, I laughed hard. The look on his face was just like the scared cat that I saw yesterday up the pole, and the fact that he escaped without a drop of water on him was just amazing. Seeing that they were still trying to chance fate, I decided to try and capture a movie of their risky actions.

Lots of Questions
After I had taken various movies, it became obvious that there were no great waves rolling in to shore any more. One of the children ran over to me and asked if I was taking photos. I replied that it was actually movies that I was taking.

Interested, he asked to see them, calling his friend over in the process. We watched the movies, with the kids laughing and joking about each other through each one. Afterward there was a flurry of questions about the camera and photos, and they looked over the whole thing, obviously impressed with a device that they had only ever heard about.

Suddenly they stood up to go. Explaining that they had only come down to the rocks during lunch time, they now had to return to school. As I sat in the ensuing silence, I pondered on the fun the children had enjoyed together, and it seemed to me that they had chosen a great way to spend their lunch hour.

Saying Farewell
Eventually moving on, I wander down to the fishermen’s boats to see if I can find the people that I had talked with so much over the last two days. The two who were folding the nets are not there, but I find the other fisherman down by his house, replacing a fishing net.

With a knife, he carefully cuts a fine rope from a much larger one. This fine rope fastens a nylon fishing net to the large rope. He tells me that the nylon net is now too damaged to use so they are replacing it with a new one. It takes about one day to replace the net but can take up to two days for a larger net.

I tell him that I am moving on today and thank him for the chats and opportunity to see his fossils. He returns the gesture, resuming his work on the net as soon as I leave.

Last Meal
Yet again I wander into the only restaurant in the place, surprised today to discover that the pizzaria next door has also opened its doors. Inside the restaurant I find it completely empty of people. Eventually the daughter appears and takes my order, and later her dad returns to work on the fireplace.

I ask for ravioli but am told that there is nothing left in the place except spaghetti. My reply is that as long as I can get that with a white sauce I am happy. I also order a soda water. With this she disappears.

When she reappears with my soda water, I realise that she has run across the road to buy it from one of the local shops so she can now resell it to me. The pasta appears quickly and by the time I am finished my meal, the whole family is here again, ready once more to eat their lunch at the tables beside me. It seems that I have picked the same time as them every day.

I speak with the owner, telling him that I am moving on. Probably one of many strangers they meet throughout the year, we still exchange the customary wishes of luck and good happenings. This is the end of my time in Punta del Diablo, and I walk straight up to my flat from here.

Waiting For Buses
After missing the first two buses, I did not want to miss this next one. I finished packing my backpack, cleaned out the flat and headed over to the bus stop early. Before I left though, I wanted to say goodbye to my new friend Gringo and his lovely wife, but I could find them nowhere. Disappointed, I continued to the stop and waited.

There was about twenty minutes to go before the bus was due to arrive. While I waited, I started chatting with a French girl who had just arrived. Spanish was our common language. She had lived in Uruguay for two years at one point and was now back here to visit friends. Her bus, to Rocha, arrived first.

Saying Goodbye
My bus arrived on time. I quickly found myself a seat on the bus and as soon as I was onboard we started turning around. As I looked out of the window, Gringo was standing by the corner of his house watching the bus. I waved madly, hoping he would see me. He did.

How I wished, as the bus pulled out of that place, that I had had enough time to race over and say goodbye. Gringo and his wife made everything they had available to me. They were generous with their time and their possessions. All I had paid for was the room, but I received a lot more. Now I was leaving without actually saying goodbye. I was very sad.

As I left Punta del Diablo, I knew that I had found a place that was worth returning to. People who were genuine, beaches abounding in natural beauty, and a town of character. There was something about this place that I had really enjoyed, and something about the people that I had connected with. It felt like my sort of village.

I started thinking about when I would return…

PIRIAPOLIS-PUNTA DEL ESTE: Today I was heading on to Punta del Este, and after climbing Cerro Pan de Azúcar yesterday it seemed to me that I had seen most of what Piriápolis had to offer. It was for this reason that I rose late and raced downstairs for breakfast at the last minute. Today was a travel day and like most travel days I did not expect to get much done, however this was all about to change.

Getting breakfast was an exercise in patience as I waited around in the lounge room for someone to appear. I had called out and rung the bell but could rouse no one, so I turned the television on and waited. Finally an older lady turns up and asks me if I want any breakfast. It was now half an hour after breakfast officially had closed, but perhaps the fact that I was the only guest here allowed for some special dispensations. When it arrived, breakfast was tea and toast with homemade jams that tasted very lovely.

To Ride Or To Walk – That Is The Question
There were a couple of things that I wanted to do here before leaving, things that I had seen in some of the tourist brochures. At first I was going to walk around the place to see it all, but as I passed by a motorbike workshop, I noticed a sign offering them for rent too.

Out of interest, I wandered down the long narrow lane way through myriads of bikes in various states of repair until I reached the workshop. I then asked about prices. It was U$150 Uruguayan pesos per hour, but if I paid for two hours I could have the bike for three. At first I baulked at the price of U$300 but after working out that this was actually only USD$10 for three hours, it seemed like a great deal.

There were two bikes I could choose from, one being slightly more
expensive than the other. I chose the cheaper one, partly because both do the same job so why pay more, but mainly because this was the sort of bike that everyone around here rides and I wanted to see what it was like.

Sorting Out The Bike
After wheeling the bike I had chosen from the back to the front workshop, we conducted the transaction and I left a piece of identification with the guy, which just happened to be my driving licence. The bike had to be fueled, which was done by his side-kick who had just appeared, and the tires were checked over and pumped up. That was all the preparation it needed.

There was no key to this bike, nor was there any gears. Simply kick-start it and off you go, with the more you rev the engine, the faster you go. There was also a convenient stop button to turn the engine off again. Because of the lack of key, I asked the guy about security in this place. He looked at me and pondered for a moment and then went fishing for something among the busy shelves full of miscellaneous items behind him.

It did not take too long before he emerged again with an old rusty chain that looked like it had not been touched in years. Having satisfied himself that it was long enough to reach around the wheel, he then set about searching for a padlock. There were actually many locks around the place, but none of them had a key. Why he still kept them I had no idea.

Finally we are ready, with the chain wrapped around the handlebars and the key to a working padlock in my pocket. Surprisingly, considering that no-one actually uses them at all around here, I am given the choice of two types of helmets. Apparently they are mandatory for rented bikes. There was a very small full faced motorbike helmet which did not fit me, and a construction workers hard hat that looked just a little bigger.

On The Bike
The truth is that none of them fit me, and after trying to wear the hard hat in the British soldier style, with the strap tucked under my nose because this was the only place that it reached, the futility of the exercise became apparent. For the rest of my ride the helmet took its proud place on the handlebars of my bike, right next to the lock and chain that I never ended up using.

Now with a tiny engine powering my bike, there were severe limits to how fast I could actually go, with my estimates sitting on about 50kms per hour. There was no speedometer on this thing either, so I never really knew how fast I did go, but it quickly became apparent that if I was going flat-out through the central business district areas, then this was a little too fast. I think the fact that I was passing all the cars driving along the road helped me work that one out.

Heading East
With a full tank of fuel and three hours to try and consume it, there was a lot of riding that I could do. So first I rode East, past Punta Frio (Cold Point) and toward Punta Colorado, stopping on the way to take some photos of jetties reaching out into the water and the sand dunes that had started to take over the roadway. I also stopped at a mini fishing village where a few fish were on display for sale and all the fishing boats were in a cluster by the shacks that housed the fishermen.

At The Port
Coming back to Piriápolis, I stopped by the main port where fishermen were cleaning their morning catch on the boats, while others stood on the sides trying to catch their own. As I sat and watched their activities, I suddenly noticed a big black shape emerge out of the water below me and run down to see what it was. It had disappeared again, but I was sure it was a seal.

Since I was now at the waters edge, I used the opportunity to take some photos of the boats and fishermen, waiting at times for the sun to appear from behind the clouds. Suddenly there was a noise just near me, and when I looked, sure enough there was a seal swimming in the waters below. I followed him along as he swam next to the edge. Somewhere along the way he noticed me, and started swimming sideways so one eye could see what I was doing. Then he stopped, and with what seemed like a twinkle in his eye, turned and swam out about a boat’s length from the edge.

Here he surfaced and with only his head poking out of the water, started watching me. After a little while of watching and playing around in the deeper waters, he gave up interest and returned to his fish finding exercises along the edges of the port. I was really surprised to have seen a seal in a port, and it was only much later that I remembered that there was a seal colony on an island not too far from here where he may have come from.

Cerro San Antonio
After my entertainment with the seal, I pointed my trusty little motorbike at Cerro San Antonio, riding the ring road around and around until I reached the top. Up here, beside the radio and transmission equipment, were two shops filled to overflowing with nick knacks and memorabilia. The most odd thing I saw here though, was a restaurant with a swimming pool.

There was also an odd little building here too, which looked like a lighthouse. But when I looked it over, it turned out to be the protective house for faithful San Antonio. Inside were flowers and plaques and notes from all of the people who were so thankful that San Antonio had answered their prayers or been there for them at the time they needed it. I actually found the shape of the building itself much more interesting.

Once I had bought and consumed my essential supply of chocolate, I turned the bike to head back down the hill again, passing the top point for the chairlift that rises from the waters edge near the port. Heading downhill with this little bike required careful use of the brakes to avoid over-revving the poor little engine and breaking it. On the way down, some sand and dirt over the road showed me how poorly this thing handles away from the road surface and reminded me of my vulnerability as I rode without a helmet.

Heading West
Having descended from the hill, it seemed a good idea to head West toward Montevideo along the coastline, where I had seen a great view from the bus. Not sure how far it was, I kept going for what seemed like ages, but still could not find the exact point I was looking for. I did find an off-road trail to the beach though. It took me past a field of straw rushes that were each bound together at the waist. Looking at them I felt that I was back in the old time movies in the fields.

There were also a couple of detours off the main road in search of each beach along the way, and I was not disappointed either as there were many beautiful beaches along this stretch of road.

Heading North
Returning to Piriápolis I stopped at a plaza by the beach, riding my bike around the walking paths since there was nobody about, and then continued on, turning past an old garage to head North. This old garage was cluttered with an assortment of cars from an old Dodge to cars that resembled a slightly modern version of a Model-T Ford with many things in between. There was even old tractors and mini-sized earthmoving equipment sitting around, covered completely in rust.

My destination in heading North, was Castillo Piria, although I stopped at the Piria Church on the way. This was an old and very pretty looking church that was in the later stages of collapse, although the walls still stood and gave an indication of what the place would have looked like in its days of glory. A quick walk around it revealed that the best view was from the front. The back rooms were now home to the homeless, while inside the huge main sanctuary area dozens of pigeons and a scared cat were the only inhabitants.

Castillo Piria was once a private home, although it looked more like a castle as it rested in the middle of a huge farm. Today it is a museum, displaying the former glory of the place on the first floor, with photos and the history shown throughout the ground floor section. As with virtually everything in Uruguay to do with history, entry was free.

Running On Borrowed Time
By the time I left Castillo Piria and the very friendly and chatty couple that showed me around the place, my rental period for the bike was over. Knowing that this was the off-season and that the people here are reasonably lenient, I thought I would push my luck and head out to see the last two items on my list of things to do. So I headed back toward town again at the fastest speed the bike could do.

Heading through town once again, I kept going through to the other side until I found the Fountain of Venus. This was a lovely pond with several little water-boys scattered throughout pouring water back into it. In the middle was a circular platform on which the lovely Venus stood, and over which a large domed roof provided shelter, supported by six columns.

Not knowing where my last destination was, I asked some locals nearby and raced off in accordance with their instructions. The road I followed led to the steepest hill that I had ridden on. My poor little bike laboured under the weight to carry us both up the hill, highlighting the fact that it is really only good for flat areas.

At the end of this road I parked my bike and look up to see the Fuente del Torro (Fountain of the Bull), a fountain created with a bull statue at the top dribbling water from his mouth down onto the cascading rocks below. Stairs on either side led up to the platform that the bull stands on, and some further steps directly behind the bull led to nowhere in particular, but the visual effect looked good.

Time To Go
After taking my photos of the famous Bull, I turn and raced back down to the township, weaving my way through the roads until I reached the hire shop. I was now about 20 minutes late, but the guy came out and happily accepted the bike without question. I passed him my camera and got a photo of me with my trusty iron steed and then walk back to my hotel.

Check out at the hotel was at 11am, but again perhaps because I was the only guest, I was allowed to leave my bags in the room for as long as I wanted while I toured around the area. Once I was back there I loaded up with my backpack and headed down the stairs to say goodbye to the lady and ask directions to the bus station from here.

She tells me that it is only two blocks away, just across the park. I ask her which way I should go down the street, left or right, but she ignores my question and tells me to follow her. We walked through the hotel to the back section, and then on through the garden. Leaving through the back gate, the instructions of “turn left and go through the park” were perfect, and I reached the bus station with only minutes to spare to buy a ticket for the next bus to Punta del Este.

Punta del Este
The journey to Punta del Este was short although the bus stopped many times on the way to let people off. By the time we arrived at the actual Punta del Este bus station I was the only one left on the bus. Grabbing my bag, I headed into the terminal and inquired about tickets and prices for my next journey in a few days, then searched out a tourist information centre.

In the centre I was loaded up with almost one dozen maps and information brochures, the most important being the details for the local youth hostel. With this information in my hand I thanked the helpful people and then headed down the street, following the directions to the youth hostel only five blocks away.

The Open Youth Hostel That Was Closed
The sign said that it was open 24hrs a day for every day of the year, but the iron gate on the front door was very clearly locked. I knocked on the door for a long time but nobody appeared, so in the end I sat down and waited, expecting someone to turn up soon.

Someone actually did turn up, but it was a Brazilian girl who was staying there. She was locked inside and could not exit, and I was locked outside and could not enter. We looked at each other and laughed. She had already searched the place and could not find anyone around. I thanked her and then left, deciding to wander through the city for a while.

A “Hotel Information Centre” provided me with some hope that I may be able to find another place instead, one that would let me in. We did find one, but it would have cost me over double the price as the youth hostel and was over ten blocks away, a distance I did not want to have to walk with my backpack if I could help it. So instead I returned to check on the state of my youth hostel.

Sure enough, it was still locked up. I called out through the door, hoping that there would be someone else there, but only the Brazilian girl appeared. We discussed the dilemma of both of our situations but neither of us could do anything except wait. I told her I would go to eat and then come back, hoping it would be open then.

On my way to find something to eat I passed a locutorio that offered the best Internet price I had seen in the entire place and decided to dive in here to write up my day’s events. It took hours to catch up on my events so when I finally was ready to return to the hostel, I was sure there would be somebody there.

The Key To The Door
When I returned, the place was still locked up. I knocked and yelled again, and this time a man came to the door. I started to speak to him in Spanish, thinking that he was the one running the place, but he only spoke English. It turned out that he too was a guest in this place. We chatted for a little while and then miraculously, he produced a key and opened the door. I was in. At long last I was in.

There were only four other people in the place. Two Australians, the English man that let me in, and the Brazilian girl. With so many English speakers and most of them could not speak a lot of Spanish if at all, the conversation obviously remained in English. This precluded the Brazilian girl who soon found other things to do.

After an hour or so of conversation, the lady running the hostel finally showed up, so I raced out and booked myself in before she could disappear again. I was now officially here.

Out On The Town
It was time to go to sleep and I was headed in that direction, but then thought I would take a walk around the town and see what was open. There was only one or two shops open in the whole place. One was the restaurant that I had dinner at, with the bonus of being able to watch the Boca Juniors play against River Plate once again in another classic of Argentine football. The other was an internet shop where I stopped to write up more of my events and happenings as I continue my journeys.

When I got back to my room, the other guys who had said they would be going out that night were all sleeping soundly in their beds. I loaded my bed up with blankets, knowing that the temperature was predicted to hit one degree celcius tonight, and climbed into bed. I was asleep in moments and dreaming of cruising down the road on my motorbike with the wind rushing past me and not a care in the world.

What a great place to be.

PUNTA DEL ESTE-PUNTA DEL DIABLO: Waking in time to do what I needed to do before leaving Punta del Este, I quickly organised myself for the unexpected change in day and made the bus to Punta del Diablo. A small fishing village with only a handful of people living here permanently, everything about the place looks like it has fallen straight out of the pages of a story book. What an interesting place to stop.

The Morning
After a very late night last night I did not expect to be awake in time to see the sunrise. For some reason, when I woke I was completely awake, so knowing that sleep was now defeated, I resigned myself to getting up. After the morning routines and packing everything away, I still had time to wander down to the beach and watch the sun rise. How beautiful it is to be soaked in the warming rays of the sun as it rises above the horizon.

Before returning to the hostel, I stop into the locutorio and start writing up the details of the day before. It takes longer than I first expected and before long I am racing against the clock to try and complete my story before the bus leaves. With only twenty minutes before departure, and over six blocks to walk carrying a backpack, I finally admit defeat, minutes before completing the whole thing.

A Driving Experience
I had originally planned to leave today, but after the late night expected to sleep in and miss the bus. When I did not sleep in, it seemed perfect to continue with my original plans. So when I returned to the hostel, I noticed the girl that was running the place sitting in her new car with the engine running. Walking over, I tell her that I am leaving now and thank her for everything, wishing her well as I head into the hostel.

After retrieving my backpack from the hostel and leaving the key at the front desk, I return to the street to see the car still there. The girl is trying to take off forward but seems to have more success in going backward still. I watch for a little while, and consider that perhaps she might want some assistance, so I knock on the window.

She looks over and smiles, and opens the door for me. I am about to ask if she wants any help but before I can, she asks if I would like a lift to the bus station. There was only about fifteen minutes left now, so I jumped at the offer and was quickly sitting in the front passenger seat with my bag in the back. I did not know up until this point, that this was the first car that she had ever driven. I was about to find out quickly.

It did not take long before I worked out that the problem with going backward, was not the gears, but the clutch. She would not release it enough for it to grab. With the pedal only half way out she assumed that the car was not in gear because it was not moving forward. It was very clearly in gear however. Eventually, with me using the handbrake and offering some coaching assistance, we started moving forward.

Once we started on our way, I expected a normal journey. I guess it was in that we made it there. Perhaps it was fortunate that we only reached second gear, and crawled along at 20kms per hour. At several intersections other cars were forced into giving way to us when we showed no signs of changing our crawling but constant pace. At least they had time to consider their options.

Catching the Bus
On reaching the bus station, I thank my hostel girl for the ride and we part in the traditional way of friends, with a kiss on the cheek. She then heads off at the same crawling pace as before, causing me to smile at her willingness to learn on the main roads. I consider that perhaps this is the only way people learn to drive in Uruguay, but do not really know.

At the ticket counter, I am told that I simply buy my ticket once onboard the bus. Every bus has a conductor and it is possible to buy your ticket directly from them. I noted that there was only a few minutes left before the bus was scheduled to arrive. If I had not received the lift I would still have been walking and may have missed the bus.

With a three or four hour bus ride ahead of me, I stop at the cafeteria and buy some breakfast, chatting with the guys there while I wait for my bus to arrive. Hardly finishing what was before me, the guys tell me that the bus has arrived. It was time to go.

Punta del Diablo
A little fishing village with a tiny population of permanent inhabitants, Punta del Diablo (Devil’s Point) has started to develop a name for itself as a place to go to get away from things. This name is highly deserved too, as the beaches are naturally formed with large sand dunes behind them, and away from the village there are no signs of development at all.

As a result of this reputation, the population of the village swells many times over during summer, filling with tourists. The fishermen who work hard on the boats all winter, turn their hands to working in areas related to tourism during the summer months. The money gained during summer allows some people to continue to live through winter without having to work.

It is certainly not a very developed place, with dirt roads forming the main path between all of the houses, some of which are nothing more than a shack. Only a few places, the more recent ones, have started to take on the form of a well built house. All of the others have varying levels of completeness to them, and many home to the locals.

The houses ranged from wooden structures leaning strongly sideways, to brick sheds with a few rooms, and any combination in-between. Roofs of straw, tin and clay keep the rain out, with new straw stacks for the next roof sitting out in the fields drying.

The character of this place is unique, like stepping back in time many years. It now has a water and electricity supply and has even grown to include a local school, all recent additions to this traditional village of fishermen.

Arriving In Town
The bus dropped me off right in the middle of town. A dead end road for all intents and purposes. With my backpack slung on my back, it was obvious I was a tourist here. Looking around I could see very few people, and I had little idea where to head to find somewhere to stay.

There was a lady sitting on a bench just near me with a girl next to her. I thought it would be best to ask her about hotels here. Once she finds out that I do not know the place, she tells me that she has a flat that she rents out if I am interested. When I reply that I am not certain, she says that I can leave my bag there and then look around the place for something else if I like. I agree.

The flat is a great little place, barren and basic, but sufficient, and the price is also very good. It seemed to me that this was a great place to camp out while here, so I tell the landlady that I will take this place. She is surprised and asks if I am sure I do not want to look around the place first. I am sure, so we conduct our transactions and I have a place to stay.

I was about to find out much later that this particular place housed one of the more influential and well known members of the village. By staying here, I was about to be accepted more warmly by everyone than if I had chosen any other place.

The Artists Fair
Locking the door of my flat with a padlock, I pocket the key and with my side-bag over my shoulder head down toward the beach. I pass many restaurants and shops, but they are all closed except one. From what I can work out, this is actually the main business street, but there was not a lot of business happening here.

Reaching the beach, I notice a scattering of stalls open along a building created for that very purpose. The one that caught my eye was actually food related. My favourite food of Tortas Fritas was on sale.

There was nobody in the booth when I approached it, but a loud voice from behind startled me. It was calling the name of the lady who ran that stall. When she arrived, I asked about the Tortas Fritas and she said that it would only take a moment. When she lit the stove and started to warm the pot for cooking it was obvious that I was going to have to wait a long time for my food.

To pass the time, I wandered around the different windows, asking for prices of different items. The prices were quite high, something that surprised me for a place like this, especially during winter. Even so, there were some nice items that I would have liked to have purchased.

It was only later that I discovered in my conversations with the local fishermen, that my side-bag alerted everyone that I was a tourist. As I approached anyone while wearing that bag, it was likely that I would be charged at a higher price. As soon as I learned that, I ensured my bag remained in the house from then on.

The Beach
Having passed the main point with the stalls of local art I then wandered along the beach filled with fishermen and their boats. This was a little beach encased on each end by rocks with firm sand down near the water and very soft and loose sand up around the fishing boats.

There are many orange and white fishing boats and fishermen are in or around some of them engaged in various activities. Some are painting, while others are in the process of repairing parts of their boat. A couple of men are sorting out their fishing nets, folding and stacking them in preparation for the next time they head out.

Over the set of rocks at the end of this beach I find a much larger and longer beach that led ultimately to another headland of rocks. Behind the beach was large hills of sand dunes disappearing into the distance. The village houses reached only a short way along this beach before stopping right up against the dunes.

As I wandered along the edge of the water, I noticed that there was only three other people on the beach. One was fishing while the other two were a couple wandering back from the point. It was a quiet place and very pleasant to be here.

To the side, in amongst the first section of sand dunes, a group of young children were playing on sand boards. Climbing to the top of the peak, one or two of them would sit down, straddling what was essentially a snowboard, and then zoom down the hill as far as they could. It looked like a lot of fun.

The Other Point
By the time I reached the far point there seemed to be nobody around. There was a trail over the point that led from the beach up over the sand dunes to the other side. Wanting to see the other side, I started through the fluffy white sand that made walking very slow and arduous.

The sight on the other side was worth the effort. As I looked out from the top of the sand dunes, I could see a beach stretching out for miles and not a person to be seen nor a hint of civilisation. It was one of the most perfect sights I had seen. Below me the water crept quietly up to the rocky sides of the point forming a pool of liquid blue and green, quiet and still enough to be a mirror.

With the sun blazing down from a perfect blue sky, pouring warmth back into my body from where the gentle wind and low temperature had tried to steal it, it was a magic moment. Behind me the waves were crashing over the sand, gently caressing the beach. In front of me was a sight of peace and tranquility. I could have stayed there for the rest of the day.

However, I had not yet explored the whole place and there were things to see and people to meet. So I returned back to the beach of fishermen, enjoying my time alone as I walked back along the beach.

The Fishermen
When I reached the fishing boats again, I stopped to take a photo of the two fishermen who were still sorting out their nets. They both stopped their work and looked at me, then said something like, “Hey look, he is taking a photo of us, should we smile or look mean!”

Not wanting to appear rude, I wandered over to them, and stopped to chat for a while. Their accent was difficult to understand, but I could work out enough of what they were saying to get the meaning. As well as the two working the nets on the boat, there was another standing by the side who was part of the same crew.

We started with the obvious initial topics such as taking photos and using digital cameras and moved on to who I was and where I came from. This led into discussions about Australia and New Zealand and the number of Uruguayans that live in Sydney and Melbourne, something that I hear every time I mention that I come from Australia.

As the conversation continued I found I was rarely a part of it, as I had to work really hard just to understand it. Talk turned to fishing and events happening around the village. The way that they all chatted together revealed a deep level of respect and loyalty for each other.

All three men, in their thirties or early forties, were very friendly and happy to chat with this “gringo”. Their faces, already weathered by their time on the sea, revealed much character of grit and determination. As members of the same boat, spending all day out on the sea, their time together had certainly united them with a bond of unity and friendship.

Eventually, all of the nets were completed and it was time to move on. I took a few more photos of the guys and then wandered back up the main road to my flat.

The Gringo
At my flat, the husband to my landlady was sitting out on his chair, enjoying the peace of a late Sunday afternoon. I stopped to chat with him for a while. A man of many years, his full beard hid a lot of the lines of character covering his face. His voice was strong and husky, and his amply but not over-sized body happily fills the plastic chair that he sits on.

One of the first things that he says to me is that he is a gringo. I am confused and ask him why. He is a second generation Uruguayan, with his parents also Uruguayans, and moved to Punta del Diablo during his teenage years. Somehow though, it was the name of Gringo that was applied to him, and it has stuck to this day.

Gardens and Roofs
He asked me if it was ok to transfer some garden soil over my roof to his back yard. The only other way of getting it there was through the house and that was not a popular idea with his wife. I told him it was no problem to me, and went into my flat to sort out a new battery for my camera.

On emerging from my door, I find Gringo struggling to even lift the soil that he has shoveled into a large garbage bag. Wandering over, I offer to help, and before long we are both carrying the very heavy bag over to his friend standing on the roof.

We raise the bag up to our shoulders and manage to get a rope into his friend’s hand. From here we push up while our man on the roof pulls until the bag is finally up on top. The problems continued though, with the bag tearing into pieces as soon as Gringo’s friend tried to drag it along the roof.

So to continue helping out, I climbed up and joined his friend, working together to carry the bag over the roof and dump it down into the garden below. Our aim was a little crooked though and one of the tomato plants below us was almost completely crushed. A little stalk was all that remained.

After helping Gringo and his friend with their soil, I headed off again. There was still sunlight and I wanted to see the other side of town. So after finding out where I could buy my daily supply of chocolate and Coke, I headed off again to see what else I could find.

The Other Side Of Town
Wandering through the other side of town, the first thing that I notice is that all of the buildings here, or almost all of them are available for rent. It is certainly a more commercial part of town than the area immediately surrounding the fishing boats.

There are a number of bars and restaurants here too but they are all closed. Some are obviously closed, with paper covering the windows, while others are empty and deserted with everything closed up. Ironically, a few of the places still have their “Abierto” (Open) signs showing.

A supermarket store is also closed, only the products that can be stored over winter remain on the shelves. Dozens of empty shelves are scattered around the glass walled shop, pushed against each other or skewed from their normal position. A broom jamming one door, a Closed sign and the mess inside help people to recognise that this place is not currently in business.

The Other Beach
Reaching the edge of the other side of town I find another beach. This beach extends for a long way until the next rocky point, upon which sits a lighthouse. The sun is low in the sky now, and long shadows from the large sand dunes fall across the beach.

Right on the edge of town, next to the beach, are some basic shacks. One is a true shack, slanting and struggling to stay upright, with its scrap timber the only thing stopping the wind from reaching inside. Other shacks have the luxury of real timber construction and verandahs or decks upon which to rest. Many of these decks use a roof of palm leaves, layered to provide some protection from the sun.

The Rocky Point
After enjoying the changing shadows and light of the setting sun, I follow the waterline around the point, over the rocks. As I wander over the rocks, navigating my way over large crevasses and big boulders, the crashing waves below send up large plumes of water, that threaten at times to engulf me. Fortunately I had taken the dryer path.

There were some fishermen down along the rocks too that were taking much greater chances with the waves. The children of one of these fishermen were waiting for their dad at the top of the rocks, straining to see what he was doing at the time.

By the time I reach the actual point, the sun had almost disappeared. There was only one large boulder left bathing in the fading sunlight. I headed directly for it and after climbing on top I was just in time to see the sun as it set over the houses of the village.

From here I wandered out the short distance to the end of Punta del Diablo to see the “little lighthouse”. This is a very low, electronic light, set upon a monument to none other than the famed Artigas. The monument has a lovely statue on the left side of the concrete structure and a plaque citing the important things Artigas had done on the right.

Now that the sun had disappeared, the temperature of the day was dropping rapidly. Now that I had been for my walks around the place I was satisfied that I had seen enough for today. There seemed little left to do than to return back up the small hill to my flat once again.

Getting Friendly With The Locals
Back at the house I find Gringo enjoying a wine with his friend. His friend does not say a lot, as Gringo has control of the conversation, but looks interested in what is being said.

I linger outside long enough to be invited into the conversation. Before long I am sitting down with them, enjoying the local wine and chatting profusely with Gringo.

We chat about the state of politics in Uruguay and the exports of the country, linking the two together and demanding a stronger and more honest government. The state of education in the place we both agree is pretty good, although we both feel that tourism needs to be exploited more, but also controlled more.

Of course we talk about Uruguayans in Australia, and the state of Australia and New Zealand compared with Uruguay also. Population and distribution of people. Crime and the up-coming elections. By the time we had finished we had been experts in almost every field.

Near the end of the conversation, when the wine was almost finished, Gringo’s friend excused himself and left. In the direction he headed, I presumed he had gone home to sleep. Gringo and I remained chatting for a while after this, until I was hungry enough to eat.

Dinner With A Crowd
So after finding out where the only restaurant open was located, I thanked Gringo for our conversation and headed off in search of food.

The restaurant had the most people in it that I would ever see during my stay here in Punta del Diablo. There was an Armenian and Uruguayan couple, and an English man who was traveling around the place in a car he had hired. When I arrived there for dinner we made a crowd. I never saw another tourist in the place after this.

As I entered the place I saw that Gringo’s friend was here. I asked him what he was doing here, and he replied that the owner was his brother, and the guy running it was his good friend. After we were introduced, there was instantly a different level of relationship here. It was like I was suddenly on the inside of what is essentially an exclusive club.

Selecting the house special, of steak and fries, I settled back for an enjoyable night chatting with the locals. At times I also chatted with the Englishman, who could speak virtually no Spanish at all, but the main conversation lay with the locals, who were asking me all sorts of questions.

Conversing With Locals
At first they tested my level of Spanish by twisting my words slightly and presenting them as a question. The normal answer in difficult situations of “yes” would have revealed my ignorance. Fortunately I was improving quickly in my Spanish and was able to pick up on their jokes and tests. Once I was “tested” we settled into more serious conversations.

Our conversation followed the usual path, from where I came from to what was I doing in Uruguay. From here we branched into many different areas, including politics and religion. By the time I left that place, there was only the owner and I left chatting. After our last serious conversation, which centred on God and who he really was, it was already 10pm. Eventually we bid each other farewell and I headed back to my flat.

Ending The Night
Back at my flat I struggled to get the fire burning, but once it was alight, I put virtually all of my wood onto it. It was a freezing cold night and this quickly warmed up the whole place filling it with smoke in the process.

Since the room was warm, and the shower not very warm at all, it occurred to me that this would be the best time of day for a shower. So I stood under what was now becoming a common type of shower, and turned on the water. The lights dimmed as the heating element inside the shower-head started heating the water. The temperature of the freezing water that entered this heating contraption was hardly raised above luke-warm, but then luke-warm was much better than freezing.

The bare electricity connections the lead from the shower-head to the open connection block on the wall with wires pouring out of it in all directions kept me careful about where I let the water splash. It was certainly a dangerous setup but since they were still using these shower-heads around the place, there cannot have been too many people die from them yet. None-the-less, I was cautious anyway.

Lights Out
Afterward, with a book about Punta del Diablo in my hands that Gringo had loaned me, I sat in a chair enjoying the warmth of the fire and read about this place that I was now staying. The book was full of stories about the fishermen and contained testimonies from some of the oldest inhabitants. Although it was in Spanish, it provided some very interesting reading.

With the warmth of the fire and the night growing later and later, eventually I could hardly keep my eyes open. It was now time to head for bed.

Punta del Diablo was a very interesting place indeed. A village of fishermen. Beaches of isolation. A place of tranquility. A great place to rest. Now if only it had internet too…

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.

MONTEVIDEO: Well today I started early, and a lot has happened. It seemed easy to rise just after 8am this morning, although a fight with the shower again set me back in my early schedule. It turned out that the flame on the gas heater had extinguished, so until we re-lit that there was never going to be any hot water. Breakfast was both the bread provided by the hostel and a banana I bought later. More than sufficient to keep me going until the afternoon. Now I was ready to head out.

Climbing Cerro
First destination was the bus stop that would take me to Cerro, a hill on the other side of a small bay to Old Town. On my way there I passed by a fruit market that had set itself up down one of the streets. Following on from it was a bits and pieces market which seem to comprise of enterprising individuals selling whatever they have for whatever they can get. I wandered through this most interesting and eclectic mix of items and then continued on my way.

Somewhere in my map reading I confused my bus stop, resulting in me walking far too far and having to return again. Once I returned it was easy enough to catch the bus heading out to Cerro which passed through a number of villas (slums) and poor areas. As we passed through I noticed people sitting out on the corner of the streets displaying their wares for sale. Most of the items on display looked like junk to me, worn out shoes, broken lamps, rusty keys, dirty bottles, and more, but they obviously held value for each vendor.

Driving along the streets were cars that were totally decrepit. Surprisingly, these vehicles were still registered, some of which had no lights, were filled with rust, had badly cracked windscreens, and whose doors that never really shut, would almost fall off with each opening. Some were extremely old, while others had simply had a very rough life. Not only where these cars around the place, but also many horses were pulling carts full of carefully collected rubbish as well as people pulling or pushing smaller carts carrying the same thing.

I could see Cerro, a small hill, getting closer, but I did not really know where to get off. Following the advice of a policeman who was also on the bus I got off too soon. This gave me quite a long walk through the villa and up the hill in my plush “Columbia” feather down jacket and designer style jeans. There were a few times that I felt a little unsafe during this wander, but the view was fantastic. It amazes me at how many slums seem to end up with some of the best positions in town. Perhaps this is a way to offset the more painful parts of life.

Once at the top of the hill I discovered that the Artigas Museum was closed and the view I was expecting to see of Old Town was very hazy, but I had at least made it there. When I entered the only shop on top of the hill it became painfully obvious that I was the only one there. Four people who appeared to be family were overly anxious to please and help me. I had come in search of Tortas Fritas but found none. They offered me baked fritas filled with jam instead, which served as a very poor substitute.

Heading back down the hill again, I once again walked through the villa. This time I decided to wall through the centre of the place, right back to the township I had seen on my way through. It was actually quite a long way. Perhaps it was a little bold to wander as I did, through the private roads of the villa, but they were much more direct than taking the more public routes, although there were a few times that I was concerned for my safety.

The town turned out to be very unexciting, so I found a bus stop and proceeded to wait. A very old bus rambled up to the stop with a sign indicating that it may be going in my direction. Now that I was a seasoned bus traveler I saw it as an opportunity to experiment, so I took it. It turned out to be an express bus taking me back in the Old Town via the main expressways.

Palacio Legislativo
My next goal was to head out to the Palacio Legislativo building which is the main Parliament building, located in a palace. I tried to find a bus but could not work out which one I needed to take. Since it did not seem too far I decided that I could walk there instead, although a bus would have made the three kilometer journey easier.

The outside of this Palace was totally incredible. There was intricate detail all over the building, even on the flag poles. The size of this building, built entirely out of marble, rendered me in awe. I had seen many amazing churches and other places in Europe but this was the first time I had seen somewhere that I could call a true palace. It was just incredible.

On reaching the main doors I discovered that to enter we needed to hand over some form of identification for which we would then receive a badge indicating who we were, which for me was a visitors badge. After the customary frisk by the friendly security I was directed up the stairs to join with a tour that had just begun.

With me there was now three of us on the tour. The older Uruguayan couple that I joined told me that they had lived here all their lives and this was the first time they had ever come to see this place. The whole place was breathtaking wherever we looked. The entire tour was in Spanish but the lady, knowing that I was from Australia, simplified things for me enough to allow me to understand most of what she was saying.

The tour of the Palace was just incredible. Everything about it was amazing. Wood ceilings painted in pure gold, huge marble pillars with intricate designs covering them, massive rooms with several story ceilings. It was all just mind blowing. Even the representative and legislative sections of their Parliament were both very impressive rooms. I had seen much like this in Europe, but this truly was just incredible. The old library, the second most important in the country, was the cutest thing I had ever seen, filled with old books from floor to the third story ceiling. The most amazing part was that it was open to the public.

After collecting my identification I left this amazing building, staring at it as I walked away, still mesmerised by the incredible beauty of the place. A nearby cyber shop allowed me to stop in and quickly write about my experiences there before I then caught a bus to Parque Rodó on the other side of town.

High Court
In between buses, on my way to the next bus stop, I wandered past the High Court of Uruguay. Having discovered that the people here are quite friendly it seemed reasonable to me to ask if I could look around the building. Sure enough, even though the building was officially closed to visitors today, I was permitted to be taken around the building.

As a result, one of the officials accompanied me around the entire building, showing me the rooms and decorations throughout. This amazing building, built in a French style, was actually owned by a millionaire some years ago but now was housing the Uruguayan Supreme Courts. It was a very beautiful place and I found it incredible to think that this had actually been a house.

After seeing through the entire place and taking lots of photos, some with me in them courtesy of the man who was showing me around, I finally left. How amazing it was that I was shown such hospitality by complete strangers, simply because I was a visitor to their country. How the United States and so many other places need to learn from their smaller cousins.

Parque Rodó
The bus I took to Parque Rodó did not take me directly there, turning off instead toward a shopping centre while only part way there. I quickly got off at the next stop and walked. This was a much richer part of town and my wanderings revealed many interesting and very attractive houses on the way to the park.

Just before the main park that I was aiming for was a fun park that had been closed up for winter. Everything was still there, it just had covers over them. Further on there was a lot of noise being made down in a pit. It turned out to be the local bowls club which consisted of a single lane for bowling and not a blade of grass. Beside the lane, leaning on the fence that surrounded it, were a bunch of guys, all giving out their share of friendly remarks and advice as the bowler sent his ball down along the tiles toward its goal.

On reaching the park, the first thing that I notice about it is the lovely trees surrounded by fallen leaves, and roads lined with grand trees. It was a wonderful place with a feeling of peace about it. I even wandered around the inevitable lake located in the middle of the place, enjoying the ambiance of the late afternoon with the setting sun. By the time I reached the beach, right next to the park, there was little sun left, but the beach had a cosy feel to it still. On a full tide it would be a very busy swimming hole this close to the city.

From here I could see the city clearly and the view was quite spectacular with the orange clouds hanging over the top of the well lit office buildings. Wandering toward the city again, I search among the side streets for a bus stop that will take me back to the Palace. I had heard that it is well lit at night time which would I thought would make good photos. But when I arrive back there I find that it is not so true, taking a few photos anyway since I am there.

Palacio Legislativo Again
Just as I am leaving the area, I meet a guard whom I had previous talked with during the day. He tells me that there is another tour that I can do right now which is actually different to the one that I had done during the day. Following his directions, I went to the door he told me to enter only to be told that I needed to go to the smaller door to the side of this one.

When I get to there, the police stationed at this smaller door revealed that I was actually on the wrong side of the Palace and needed to find a similar sized door to this one on the other side. I also discovered that there was no actual tour but instead I was able to view the Parliament process in session. So I walk around the building to the other side and discovered a line of people waiting to enter. Joining the end, I started chatting with the last few people and find that everyone standing here had just come from the public seats and were lining up to get their personal effects left at the guardhouse before entry.

Apparently there was a controversial law that was almost passed (or almost not passed) and these people had been protesting about it. The door I was entering provided access to the top balcony of the Parliament which was currently in session, and these people had been present to witness the processing of this controversial law. Whichever way it went, the results were favourable and everyone was now collecting their things and going home. I was just arriving.

After surrendering my bag and everything in my pockets including coins and being frisked by one of the police officers, I was allowed to enter with just my wallet. I climbed the four stories of stairs to the top level balcony and sat on the front row watching the proceedings. I was one of only three or four people there from the public.

Although microphones were in use, the large marble room prevented me from understanding much of what was said. So I watched the speakers change a couple of times, noting that there was a light on the microphone that indicated who was currently talking, and then left. It seemed little use to remain there. Once back outside, I took some more photos of the place and then caught a bus back the way that I had come.

Wandering Through The Streets
The idea was to visit a local artists market place, but by the time I had arrived they were all closing up. I looked around a little at the few places still open or in the process of closing but there was not much to see. Based on my history of always looking and never buying, being closed probably saved me a lot of time.

It was not too far from the familiar district of Old Town so I wandered my way slowly through the streets, stopping to admire any interesting buildings or shops and observing the people on the way. Along the way I saw a magazine in English for the first time since arriving in South America. It was a Newsweek with a large “future technology” article in it. I found it to be too much to pass up, so I bought it. Now I wanted to read it, so after wandering across the road to a bar and restaurant, I was provided with a nice couple of beers to keep me occupied while I enjoyed reading through the main articles. It was great to read in English for a while.

It was now getting late, and with little tourist things to do around here at night, the local cyber cafe became my home for the next few hours so I could write my current journal entry. From here it was straight back to my hostel where I tucked into a lovely warm bed, surrounded by bitter cold, and happily drifted off to sleep.

PUNTA DEL DIABLO: A whole day to discover the beaches and wonders of this remarkable village of Punta del Diablo. My first objective was to visit the lighthouse down the end of one of the long beaches. After this I simply took time out to wander the rocks and beaches, enjoying the natural wonders of such an untouched area. And there were some other things that I had to do no matter what the cost.

Morning Walk
The sun had beaten me up this morning, so after the morning routine of rugging up with lots of coats against the super cold weather, and buying breakfast from the local shop, I headed off for a walk. I wanted to visit the lighthouse today.

There had been conflicting reports of how long it would take me to get there, and also about the condition of the sand along the beach. By the time I reached the lighthouse I knew who was right and who was not.

It only took thirty minutes to get to the end of the beach, although the soft sand made walking tough at times. The large waves of yesterday had now become much smaller waves today, but the sound of their crashing added a rhythm that made walking very relaxing as I sauntered along.

Behind the beach some of the dunes had steep walls of sand covered in lines which had been etched there by the wind. The grasses that covered them created their own patterns as the blades of grass were pushed back and forth by the wind on the sand surrounding them. The slight cloud cover gave a biting edge to the cold breeze, but nothing could dampen the beauty that surrounded me.

The Lighthouse
Reaching the rocks at the other end of the beach, I was close enough to see that the lighthouse was actually just a colourful pole with a light on top. A large and luxurious house sat next to it, closed up for winter. There was nobody around. In my solitude, I wandered along enjoying the sight of the waves throwing sprays of water into the air as they crashed against the rocks.

Suddenly a dog charged at me barking and growling. I was very startled indeed. Fortunately the dog did not pursue me, but only wanted to assure me not to come any closer to his territory. Behind him were people working in the garage of a much smaller house that had been hidden behind the larger one.

Feeling safe, I continued my rock climbing until it finally ended once I reached the beach on the other side. This beach, like the other long beach that I had seen yesterday, continued into the distance untouched by civilization, until it finally rounded a sandy point.

It took a long while before I returned around the rocky point of the lighthouse. I stopped many times to enjoy watching the waves, and took my time slowly wandering across the rocks that made up the point. There is something about being isolated in nature that is a very refreshing experience. This was one of those wonderful moments in time.

Lunch Alone
It is lunchtime by the time I return to the fishing village, so I head for the one and only restaurant once again. All the familiar local faces are there but there are no guests except me. We chat a little but today everyone has something to do and so talk is limited. This suits me fine, as I really only wanted to eat my meal and go out exploring again.

Lunch is a lovely pasta dish with white sauce, and is so tasty that it takes very little time to finish. While I am eating, I notice that the family who run this place bringing out food for their lunch, and just as I am leaving they all sit down to eat. With the house as part of the restaurant they eat together in the dining area.

Working Fishermen
When I reach the fishing boats, the same two fishermen are busy folding more nets. I thought they had finished yesterday so I asked them how many nets they had. They replied that these few now were the last of all the nets. They had folded one type yesterday which floated near the surface of the water, and today they were folding the other type which sat on the bottom of the ocean.

I hang out with these guys again and chat with them for a while. Most of the time I am simply listening to the conversation, trying to make sense of what I hear. When they are almost finished the last net, one of the men start talking about how hungry they are and how they really need to eat, making jokes about how his stomach is about to cave in. Then, as soon as he finishes the last part of the net he jumps down from the boat and runs off into the distance crying out how much he needs to eat.

The other guy works to finish folding the net on his own. With this done, he continues working, moving on to clean out and organise the cabin area from where the boat is steered and then starts preparing the front hold to take all of the now-folded nets. I take a few more photos and then bid my farewells and leave.

There was something that I just had to do, and it was over on the other side of the point, where the water was smooth and silky.

What You Have To Do, You Have To Do
The ocean that I was next to was the Atlantic Ocean. All my life I have lived and swam in the Pacific Ocean. Today, no matter how cold it was, I was determined to ensure that my experiences were expanded.

Reaching the other side of the point I discovered the water was not as smooth as it was yesterday, and with the tide out I needed to walk a little further to reach the deeper water. These did not dampen my enthusiasm for a swim however.

Being a quiet and private place, I considered going in naked to save me carrying around a wet pair of swimmers. Then I thought against it and changed into my swimming shorts. Just at that moment, a couple appeared on the sand dunes behind the beach, heading my way.

Now in the middle of winter on a day where the sun is shaded by cloud and a gentle breeze is blowing, you cannot pretend that a swim in the ocean is going to be warm. It certainly was not either. As I waded into the waters of the Atlantic, the freezing cold water bit around my feet. I knew this was going to be a challenge, but it was becoming greater than I first expected.

My determination to swim, and my commitment to follow through with my words after telling the fishermen that I would be swimming today drove me on. I am not sure which was the greatest motivation. I was not in an area that went deep very quickly, so there was plenty of time to think about how cold this water really was.

As the water started to rise above my knees, the small swells rolling in started to reach some of the more important parts. The water felt like it had come straight off the south-pole and already my legs were tingling in the freezing cold.

Finally, once I was in up to my waist and still trying to avoid the swells, I realised that it was time to “do it”. So taking a big breath I gathered myself and dove head first into the next oncoming swell. It was freezing.

My skin crawled all over my body, growing tight with the cold. I could have left right then, after all I had immersed myself in the Atlantic now. However, just a dive in the water did not constitute a swim, so I stayed in there until it felt like a swim.

After a while of playing in the water I started to grow accustomed to the sensation of not feeling anything and began to enjoy playing in the water. It was probably about five minutes later that I emerged from the water. Dimples covered every part of my skin which was looking more like it belonged to a plucked chook than it did to me.

I was cold before my swim, but once I had dried off and dressed again I was feeling comfortably warm. Perhaps that was because it took a while for the sensation of feeling to come back to me again. But I had done it. I had been for a swim in the Atlantic Ocean. Next time though I think I will wait until summer.

Venturing Through Town
On my way home, I wandered up through the sand dunes to the back part of the village. Here were located many commercial buildings, built in threes or more for the sole purpose of renting them out during the summer months.

As I wandered through the dirt streets, looking at the many interesting designs and colours in the houses, I encountered a cat sitting on a post. It seemed lonely, so I went up and patted it and immediately had a friend. It wanted to climb onto me then, but although I was friendly, I was not that friendly with it and did not like the idea too much.

Cat And Dogs
When I left, the cat jumped down from its pole and followed me along the road. It was probably the worst thing a cat could do in this dog inundated town. Before long, two of the many dogs that roam free in this town saw it and thought that dinner had been served on four legs. The cat quickly realised that the two dogs hurtling toward it were not about to become friends and it took off with a flurry. The dogs were chasing hotly behind it.

The cat quickly found a wooden pole and raced half-way up it, out of reach of the dogs. With its head hanging frightenedly over a sign, looking fearfully down on the dogs jumping up and down, barking wildly. It was a sight that I had only ever seen in comic books before.

Before too long, the owner had retrieved his disobedient dogs, much to the relief of the cat. Not certain of the safety down there, the cat continued up the pole and sat on the roof it was supporting. I had lost my friend, but this was safe at least.

Bones and Fossils
I soon returned to the more common section of town, away from all of the barking dogs who were protecting their turf. It was down here along the beach-front that I met up with one of the fishermen that had been standing beside the boat while I was there.

Greetings and a short conversation later and we were soon looking at bones. He pointed out a bone on the ground that had belonged to a large whale which died on the beaches nearby. Another whale bone was also now part of the roof structure of his house. Now that I saw these two bones I also remembered seeing another in the restaurant. It looked like this whale had been scattered around the village.

These bones were not the only items that had been collected either. Inside the house I was shown many other bones and fossils that had been collected over the years. Most of these sat proudly on the sloping bricks above the fireplace. A penguin that died a similar fate to the whale had bones and its pelt on show here, as did fish other animals. Even dried fish skins adorned the brickwork.

It looked a little bit macabre, but this fisherman was obviously proud of each item. I soon discovered that these sorts of items were not only located above the fireplace. As we looked around the house there were others sitting on or hanging above the shelves and on the walls around the room.

The most significant fossil however was sitting on the dressing table in the bedroom. This was the complete skull of a seal, with the jawbone and teeth intact. It too was a casualty that they found along the beach.

A Fisherman’s House
As I looked at each of these fossils, I was also looking around at the house that I had been invited into that was truly the house of a bachelor. There seemed to be no order to things, but it had a certain feeling of home.

The kitchen-living-dining area was the first part of this two room house that I entered. Here there was clutter everywhere. Things collected from the sea and beaches were scattered amongst the essentials of pots and pans and food items. There were no cupboards here, only shelves that revealed all they contained.

The fire was burning, making the inside much warmer than it had been outside. On the table sat a cluster of items from books to food to collected items. There was enough room there for one, but only for one.

One shelf, standing as high as a person, was filled with books. As I looked through the titles, I saw books relating to fishing and boats, the ocean and the beaches, and books teaching tying of knots and other skills related to his profession. There were only a few novels and books that offered other topics.

As we entered the bedroom, the large single bed caught my eye. It was not made, which is only to be expected, but the most startling aspect was a massive big hole that had sunk into the middle of the bed. The way it was set up, the bow in the bed because of the hole would make it worse than sleeping in a hammock.

On the floor of the bedroom were old clothes scattered around. Shoes and other items not currently in use filled in the holes among them. A cupboard was here with its doors flung wide open, but there were few items remaining inside. The dressing table was covered in items, many of which belonged in the workshop or other places. Things were now within easy reach however, such as the seal skull fossil.

After viewing this last and most prized of fossils, I thanked this friendly fisherman for the opportunity to see them and for our conversation. From here I went my way again, heading toward the flat.

Dinner Alone
On returning to my flat, exhausted and tired after a day of constant walking, I quickly fell asleep even though it was only late afternoon. When I woke, at dinner time, I headed down to my favourite, and only, restaurant.

Yet again I dined alone. All of the girls of the family were seated in the corner nearest the fire, making many different items of pottery, but the boys were not here. With the girls involved in making some of the items that would be sold in their artists stall down by the beach, there was no-one to talk with.

A local paper provided some interest during my meal, which was a delicious serving of fish steak covered in mushroom sauce. It was one of the tastiest meals that I had enjoyed in this place, and probably significantly better than my standard of steak and fries.

Thanking the ladies for such a good meal, I gathered my coat and headed out the sliding glass door. It was a good time of night to look around the town a little.

Nobody Here
It became obvious to me very quickly that there was nobody around town tonight. Even Gringo was locked away inside his home. After thinking about it, I considered that perhaps last night, being a Sunday, was the reason it was so social. Today, on a Monday night appeared to be an in-house night and I found not a single person socialising.

Making Fire
Returning to my flat, I set about to make a fire, retrieving more firewood from the pile outside Gringo’s door. There was one dilemma that I had this time though. After using almost ten matches to start the fire last night, I now was left with only one.

In preparing to light the fire, I armed myself with a lot of pre-torn and crumpled paper, and made the fire just as they taught me in boy-scouts. Then I lit the match and ignited the paper in my hand. From here it was a frantic process of pushing one piece of paper after another into the small fire until finally some wood started burning.

It was another cold night, so I stoked the fire with a lot of wood and let it burn brightly. Learning from last night where I put all of my wood on the fire at once, I waited until the wood had turned mostly to red hot coals and then sparingly added more wood as it was needed. This kept the flat nice and warm and conserved my wood.

By the warmth of the fire I sat and enjoyed reading more about Punta del Diablo. With much time on my hands I also found time to finish reading about vacations around the world in Spanish and some of my Bible. It was a pleasant and relaxing night to sit by the fire, and by midnight I was happily asleep in my bed and dreaming of the day that had just been.

CHUY-TREINTA Y TRES: After wandering around Brazil and Uruguay for a while, I finally catch the bus to Treinta y Tres. After two weeks of traveling around Uruguay as a tourist it was all about to end. I did not mind though because I was about to meet The Scotts, some friends that I had never yet met. (Photos below…)

Breakfast At The Hotel
Breakfast at the hotel is a service that you need to pay a little more for. Since the price of the room was so good, I thought I would have breakfast here too. Once I find someone to ask, they explain to me that they do not actually have what they need for breakfast. However, they are very happy to race down to the shops and buy it if I can wait. I am not in any hurry so I agree.

When it arrives, breakfast is croissants and tea, sweetened by a lemon that looked very much like an orange. I asked about this similarity and was told that it was definitely a lemon, retrieved from the neighbour’s tree. It smelled like one too, so I used it. Later I discover that this is a Brazilian lemon. A fruit with the appearance of a mandarin and the taste of a lemon.

As a result of this particular unusual lemon, my tea now tasted quite horrible. It was warm however and on such a cold morning I was not going to stop drinking something warm just because of the taste. The croissants helped to sweeten the horrible flavour in my mouth after I had finished drinking my tea.

Eating breakfast at the hotel gave me the opportunity to talk with the people who ran the place. I thought they were the owners but they quickly told me that they were just the workers here. They explained to me that there are only a few people that own the bigger things in Uruguay, and most of the people only work for them.

I inquired about storing my backpack here while I looked around the town. The lady told me that it was against their policy, but she was happy to let me keep my room today until my bus at 3.30pm. There was not many guests around at the moment, but I still checked that she was sure about doing this. Once I knew she was, I thanked her graciously and headed off toward Brazil.

Rich And Poor In Brazil
Rather than heading directly into town and then walking over to Brazil, I decided to walk straight across the border from where I was, a number of blocks away from town.

My walk took me into one section of town that was separated from the other sections of town by a large fenced paddock of grass in which horses were grazing. By the time I reached the end of this section, I had walked quite a few blocks. To return, I simply moved one street over and walked back again. This section was only a few streets wide but was very long.

The most incredible sight that I saw were the houses of the rich juxtaposed against the homeless tents of the poor. Lawyers, doctors, and other such well-to-do people had multi-level houses of fine construction, surrounded by six and seven foot iron fences. In their yards of lush green grass and immaculately kept garden beds there always lay a guard dog or two. These dogs lay in the sun, watching everyone pass by but would try to eat you should you stop or return past the house too soon.

Right next to these houses, with only a road separating them, were the poor people. Sometimes they were there in the block directly adjacent to the rich houses. Without a house, these people had constructed large tents made of vinyl and canvas from whatever they could find or afford at the time. These tents were their homes.

Bedrooms were created by a sheet hanging between two old wooden cupboards. Chairs and tables and other items were scattered around under the shelter too, when there was room. Most of the items had been dragged from the rubbish piles, bought with money gained in whatever way was possible, or made from items found around the place.

Today was a sunny day. Every colour of clothing was currently hanging out on makeshift clothes lines, drying after the rains that had turned the ground around the tents into mud. There were people both inside and outside these tent houses, chatting and joking and laughing. With only each other and little else, there was still occasion for fun and joy.

One Brazilian Suburb
Here there were also roughly built houses scattered around and between some of the richer places as well as forming their own sections. Unfinished and often needing repair, they belonged to people who had at least a little money. Ironically however, virtually all of these houses, as unfinished as they were, had found the money to mount and pay for a satellite television dish. The priority of television was clear.

Alongside the houses of the rich, the roads were well finished and drainage was good. Everywhere else the drainage consisted only of ditches that had been dug by a backhoe. In these crude ditches the water still rested and was already stagnating. Children ran around, jumping over them, unaware of the diseases that each may have contained.

As well as bicycles and Vespa style motorbikes, horses and carts were also everywhere. Some horses looked healthy and strong while others often showed sores and under nutrition, holding themselves as though they had a broken spirit. Each horse pulled a cart. Each cart carried anything from furniture to cardboard to rubbish to people. Although they were made of wood, each used different types of wheels and suspension that were used off any old vehicle available.

Wandering the Streets
Leaving this suburb of Brazil in Chui, I then wandered along the street looking at the shops. There was not a lot of difference between these shops and the ones that I had seen everywhere else. There were large department stores and very small boutique stores side by side. More interestingly however was how services such as hairdressers and automotive style workshops were situated right next to the retail shops. It seemed a very unusual combination.

After a while of just browsing, I decided that while I was here I would like to send some postcards from Brazil. I never did, but some ladies in one of the shops told me where I could buy some. It was on the Uruguayan side of town.

As I walked along, people often offered me a leaflet on discount meals or clothing stores. When I accepted them, they would first ask me which language, Brazilian or Spanish. English was never part of the question. Then they would give me a short speech on the benefits of buying from this particular place and tell me how close it was.

Most of these places had people handing out papers like this because they were not actually very close to the main street at all. This was a very good way to generate more business. Should I show interest in actually visiting the place, I was told to be sure that I handed the piece of paper in when entering the store so they would get their commission. I only ever entered one store in the end.

Chatting With Locals
In one of these instances, a guy asks me to visit a boutique clothing store. It was not very far this time, so I agree to wander in and look around, being sure to leave my peace of paper with the people there.

After I leave the place I meet the guy again who is still on the corner giving out his leaflets. He says “thank you” as I approached. This was about all that he knew in English. As a result, we end up chatting about languages and then about working in other countries and which ones you need to earn more money.

He had a dream to have sufficient money to not have to work every day, although he had no idea how to achieve it. A friend of his who is busking in Spain on the streets of Barcelona is earning about 50 Euros per day, the equivalent here of over U$1000 pesos. In contrast, the guy I was talking with is currently earning about USD$3.00 per day, or U$100 pesos.

I wished him well in achieving his dream, and even made a few suggestions on how he might achieve it. After our conversation finished, I wished him luck too and then continued on down the street.

Free Stores
Along this side of the street in Uruguay there are “Free” stores everywhere. At first I did not understand what a “Free” store was, so I looked inside. Elegant perfumes and expensive clothing and accessories, electrical goods and other items of high quality made it clear that they were actually “Duty-Free” stores.

With no real reason to enter them, I decided to see what price they were asking for a Palm Pilot. This was something that I had been thinking of buying for a long time but was still not sure if I would.

Most of the stores did not have anything electronic beyond a portable radio and CD player, but a few of the larger ones did. When I did find a Palm Pilot, the price was almost double that which they sell for in the United States. I had heard that the taxes in Uruguay were very high, and it seems that the “Free” stores still had a number of taxes applied to their goods.

Before I Leave
In the process of wandering through the stores, I meet two friendly attendants who told me the details of a cheap electronics store. When I looked, I could not find it, but I was not really searching hard. Instead, I headed to the local Internet cafe and wrote a few emails. Most of my time here however was spent chatting with the people that ran it, learning about life in Chuy and how everyone here also knows how to speak in Portuguese, the language of Brazil.

Soon it is time for me to leave. I return to the hotel and pick up my backpack, chatting with the lady while I was there. When I ask for a photo of her in the doorway of her hotel she kindly agreed. The photo also included the cleaner who was walking past at the time.

A Rushed Lunch
Time has rushed by and now, with little time left before the bus arrives, I race over to a restaurant and order a fast meal. Not remembering that I had very little money left, and no way of getting more from Chuy, I ordered quite an elaborate meal.

I ate quickly, knowing that I would not be able to finish everything that I had ordered, and annoyed at myself for buying too much. By the time the bus arrived, I was satisfied, but not finished, and offer the food and drink remaining to a man with whom I had been chatting with since arriving in the place. He thanks me and enjoys enough food for a decent meal.

When I pay, it comes to the exact amount that I had in my wallet. I had no more. The bill was slightly less, but with tip it emptied every peso from my possession. My wallet was now vacant. I was glad that I had already purchased my bus ticket.

Contraband
Sitting on the bus, I am surprised to see the guy that I was chatting with over my meal come and sit next to me. I asked him if he was coming to Treinta y Tres too, but he said no then nodded toward a plastic bag cradled in his hand.

The plastic bag was just like any other that you get from the shops. It contained another bag within and inside that was a bottle of some sort. He indicated to me to look at what was inside. I had no idea why. The urgency and secrecy in his voice indicated to me that perhaps I should do it discreetly.

When I looked inside I discovered a 750ml bottle of Williams Scotch Whiskey. He looked at me satisfied that I now knew the contents of his bag and made his offer. U$30 pesos he asks me. I tell him that I do not have any money, at which he counter offers for U$10 pesos. U$30 pesos is equivalent to USD$1.00, U$10 pesos is USD$0.33. The price was ridiculous.

At a price like that I considered that I probably would have bought it had I had any money, but my wallet was empty. I told the guy this, and then pulled out my wallet and showed him how empty it really was. When he saw that I was telling the truth, he wrapped up his contraband and left, his suspicious behaviour making it obvious that he was trying to smuggle the bottle off the bus.

Border Crossing
Only a short way outside of Chuy the bus stops at the border crossing and we all get out and retrieve our bags. After waiting around outside the guard house while the bus and those remaining onboard (without bags) are checked, the door finally opens and we enter.

In here each bag gets searched for contraband and then we move on. Perhaps it was fortuitous that I did not have enough money to purchase the whiskey. Then, because I had a passport in my hand, the guard flicks through it until he sees my Uruguayan paper. I am free to go.

That was the border, and because Chuy, Uruguay borders with Chui, Brazil, every road leading out of the town in both countries has these border crossings.

National Roads
As we journey along, the road quickly deteriorates into a rough dirt road. The dust quickly finds its way inside the bus and makes breathing uncomfortable. Every window rattles and even some seats. Fortunately it did not remain like this and eventually we found our way back onto sealed roads.

The ride over the sealed roads however, was not very much more comfortable than it was on the dirt roads. There were as many bumps and ruts along these as there were before. The big difference was that there was no dust hanging in the air any more. And that was a definite bonus.

After passing through many small towns on the way, and stopping at farms and houses for locals along the road, we finally arrived in Treinta y Tres at 7pm. Just as expected.

Now I was here, all I had to do was find my friends, whom I had never met. My time of tourism was over and I was now about to live in Uruguay for an unknown period of time.

I wondered what would happen next.

–== THE END ==–
Top

Continue reading “Uruguay Day Fourteen (End)”