Monday evening would have been a quiet one had we not spotted some London girls in a little distress in our hostel. Turns out they had been walking back here and had been mugged; some guy stalked behind them, then grabbed one of their bags and ran off with it to a waiting motorcycle. We offered up our computers to help, and a few Skype calls later all mobile phones and bank cards were cancelled. So far, so straightforward. Two of the girls headed off with Carlos from the hostel and the now-present policemen to give statements, and we drank some wine. I'm not going to try and pretend like nary a drop of delicious Uruguayan alcoholic grape juice touched my lips. Its hangover-free stuff down here, the local grape speciality being Tannat, except the particular strain grown here results in tannin-light wine, meaning lots of taste and not much headache.
So this is Leandro. "Why are you wearing a West Ham top?" I asked, as he began to get very excited in a peculiarly Latin way.
Ah yes, these are the shorts he was wearing. Look closely.
The two girls arrived back from the cop shop and all was ok, more or less. Only one thing for London girls to do, and that is drink some rosé wine and eat crackers. That will make it all better. And maybe wear a deer's head mask as well. Carlos - the incredibly helpful guy from the hostel, from Barcelona, who works here in the winter, so typical - lurks in the background. His name was not Mario, as I had thought, and called him for two days.
Naomi, Lauren, Merrel, Lesha. Two of these girls had fleeting romances in the hostel.
Ah. This is why Leandro was so excited. He has the new Northern Ireland kit to show me, on account of him being a big fan of God's Chosen Six Counties most famous son.
There it is. This man is Uruguayan, let me clarify, and is coming to visit Our Wee Country next year.
And this would be Sarah. I think we went to bed shortly after this.
The next day, feeling fresh and in need of breakfast / lunch / something to line one's stomach, we set out along Las Ramblas towards Playa Ramirez, where we are told a small restaurant awaits us with delicious and cheap food. Google Maps chooses to confuse us again by stating Club de Pesca Noa Noa is a 'nightclub'. Hmmmm.
That is Playa Ramirez in the distance.
For anyone who has wondered what the headquarters of South American trade organisation MERCOSUL looks like, this is it. It looks like a brilliant hotel.
Playa Ramirez up close. We had to pause a minute here as, a moment before, a suspicious guy appeared to follow us, and everyone went a bit paranoid. Needless to say he passed on his way, continuing to look a bit shady, but at least far away from us.
We arrive at Club de Pesca Noa Noa and, for some reason, I had forgotten that Club de Pesca means Fishing Club. It's a fish restaurant. Our girls ponder what to have with their sparkly water. Most opt for omelette. Sarah goes for pasta. Lesha and I try the calamari. Guess who picked the tastiest lunch? (Hint : FISH RESTAURANT).
Sadly, although very tasty, and very cheap, the battered calamari barely fills one of my legs, and we set off back to the hostel. The girls are planning to catch the 5pm bus to Punta Del Diablo. Sarah and I are planning to catch a burger van and hijack it. Here we see Merrel, somewhat distracted by a jellyfish. A big one, but a jellyfish no less. There were also crabs here.
Upon returning to the hostel, we rest for a while. I am reading Isaac Azimov's Foundation series, Sarah is reading Lonely Planet's Guide To Argentina, and about an hour later I am reading the menu at a burger van just up the road. This majestic creation is the result. There are six different types of pickle in there.
Only one thing left to do. Awwwwww. I am so cute.
Rest of the night? Planning, planning, planning. There are no photos of such dull tasks.
Sorry to hear about the mugging - and in Montevideo, said to be one of the safer cities in South America. Sadly girls with bags are particularly vulnerable. Just means you have to be permanently on guard, awareness of surroundings is everything. Don't carry anything valuable - (do they have safes in hostels?).
ReplyDeleteYour photo show is rapidly turning into 'Great Burgers I have enjoyed in South America'.
I know, such an unlikely place for it to happen, although we had to explain the difference between here and Brazil very carefully. Rio is so far behind us, and yet the contrast couldn't be starker. We learnt from Day 1 never to carry anything that it was life-or-death to lose. And don't make eye contact unless you need to (and that isn't very often).
ReplyDeleteI notice you mention the burgers, but you fail to give due attention to all the other red meat that is making its way to my plate...