For continuity's sake, lets note that nothing exception happened after that last post on Wednesday night except a freshly baked pizza or two from the stone oven in the hostel. About half an hour after that we were as asleep as asleep can be.
We rose at 11am, already knowing today was a simple trek back up the coast to the centre of Punta Del Este to snap a few photos and bother some rich people by appearing to be happy or something. It nearly worked.
Sarah is feeling the pressure of the prices today. I know how she feels. When I spent two days in Stockholm a couple of years ago I had a complete freak out; £9 pints does that to you. You feel like its utterly pointless to be here, that you can't do anything, that you shouldn't eat. When it comes to me and a diabetic, I'm conscious the worst thing we can do is not eat.
It's not like you have an alternative here though. As we ride the bus back to the terminal, we spot the new Trump Tower going up, one of any number of very fancy blocks being erected around here. Punta Del Este is different from anywhere in South America in that it is an entirely custom-built resort for rich people. Its debatable how many Uruguayans actually live in this area. It must be stupidly expensive to have a house here. At least in Rio the areas around the beautiful beaches are full of locals. Punta Del Este isn't even that nice. The beach is pretty mediocre, there's a lot of rocks, the harbour is jam-packed with speedboats and things like that, and the restaurants all offer up average fayre at bonkers prices. I guess the rich people just put up with it, but the view isn't even that good, and most of the tower blocks are pretty ugly.
We wander around, but there isn't too much content here...
At least this building has some interesting swimming pools have way up it!
We got as far as the harbour and cut back inland. All of a sudden something strange happened; Punta Del Este got a bit run-down and crap. A few streets were deserted and bare, and restaurants lacked the sheen. We couldn't decide if this was the heart of the original town or merely a relic of its progress, then we turned a corner and found this church and lighthouse, and got our answer.
We have singularly failed to find a restaurant to eat in. Everyone wanted £15 for a salad. That doesn't mean we aren't starving however. Time to find a supermarket and get some supplies. Its 4pm.
Supplies are bought but the fear of money is preying on Sarah pretty badly, and we are getting narky with each other. I want to call into Burger King to a meal but am put off but $180 for a basic Whopper. Thats more that at home! We make tracks back towards the hostel, stopping off at the 'Big Hand' statue on the beach outside the bus terminal. Looks good from one angle, not so much from another.
The half hour bus journey gets us back for 5pm and we conjure up a storm of food: rice with asparagus, black bread with sardines, watermelon, peaches, salami and baguettes. It doesn't last particularly long and it appears Sarah and I can look at each other again. We decide to head down to the beach for the sunset, knowing that the clouds rolling in may make it a bit futile. Nevertheless we find things to amuse us. Here we have the launch of the new Citroen Ceres on the beach of Manantiales, including lots of famous people (I suppose, they had one of those back-boards and were taking people's photos in front of it) and two cars. The bouncers on the sand were quite amusing.
But it was the storm-swathed Punta Del Este that was the star.
Head back before it gets dark, settle down for the night. Sarah's Fear is back, worse than ever, and there's not much can be done about it. We sit and read, and Celiar, who owns the hostel with his wife and son, whips up another storm of barbecued chorizo for everyone. I check the price of hostels in Cusco whilst working my way through Camus' L'Estranger. We meet a couple from Uruguay who have lived in Madrid for 20 years who offer to show us round Montevideo on Monday. Celiar and family spend hours talking with me about music and the romantic languages, and Jorge Luis Borges. The clouds we watched earlier finally show their true colours, and lightning forks across the sky in a spectacular show for four hours, culminating in a downpour, the likes of which I have never seen except in movies. We retire at 4am, the poor pregnant black labrador of the hostel asleep under our bed, scared half to death.
They say no one in Uruguay gets up before 12pm, so neither should you. We have done our best often enough, but sometimes you just can't help the hunger in your belly, and the smell of fresh coffee from the kitchen is too much. All we need to do today is get from Manantiales back to Montevideo. Sarah and I need a good kick up the arse. It takes hours to leave the hostel, our hosts just want to sit and talk forever; they really have provided a home from home these past few days. I am sad to be leaving. Sometime around 3pm we finally pay the bill and get out, catch a bus, growl at each other again, eat a milanese, growl some more, eventually catch a bus to Montevideo, growl on that too, and by sheer force of will we make it to the hostel. Somehow, in the Disco Supermarket across the road, during a suggestion of salad for our dinner, everything thaws out and we don't need to kill each other any more. I feel a little weight roll of my shoulders. Montevideo prices seem normal after the past few days. We are staying in the Willie Fog Hostel for several days, so we can get some supplies we will use again, like olive oil and hot sauce. Its a pain carrying these extras around, they spill and get sticky, but when you stay in one place its not a problem.
The hostel is full of children all pierced and speaking loudly. The staff are good though, and we have a six bed dorm with no one else in it at the minute. The kitchen eventually frees up about midnight when all the kids are full of pasta, and we enjoy a tasty steak seasoned with chimichurri and a big salad on the side. Normal food for the first time in a long time. I intend to eat a lot of red meat when I am here, just because I can.
There is nothing like finishing the day watching a crap horror movie that isn't horrifying. Thank you, Children Of The Corn : Genesis.
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