Monday Morning. Day Is Dawning. It's Just A Restless Feeling I Don't Want To Know.
Poor Lou. Amphetamine abuse finally got him. I know this is a little post-posthumous but it is warranted today.
There's nothing like a little surprise or two to liven up a trip like this. I am good with surprises. Sarah knows we are going Piriápolis for a single night. Fortunately she does not ask many questions about it. HA HA HA.
Montevideo's Tres Cruces bus terminal is quite swish and also inside a shopping centre. Why do Spanish speaking countries insist on calling their malls 'Shopping something-or-other'? Its a bit like Castle Court being called 'Vendalo!' (Buy It!).
The bus follows the coastal route and, in a strange turn of events in this country, costs us a couple of quid instead of the vastly inflated prices we see elsewhere.
No need to wonder what sort of people stay along here. The holiday homes on the approach to Piriápolis are gorgeous, lots of fancy designs all facing the Atlantic Ocean. We pass Uruguay's own Pan De Azucar (Sugarloaf Mountain) which doesn't really possess the same awe-inspiring vista that Rio De Janeiro's more famous hill has.
The town of Piriápolis appears round the bend, and I suggest jumping out anywhere near here. A mistake, as it turns out, for in our haste to disembark I miss a water bottle which has been stashed in the pocket of the seat in front of us. The bus pulls off, we realise we don't have it, and today takes a turn for the worse. Damn.
Confusion is the most dangerous thing about this trip. Trying to work out what bus, where is the terminal, where is anything in relation to anything, will it be difficult to explain it in Spanish, remembering hotel addresses, cannot print anything out, no maps to hand, and a hundred other variables makes my brain hurt. When it goes right it is great. When it goes wrong it is a real pain.
Anyway, time for a clear head. We shall check in then go to the bus terminal and see if there is a lost property office somewhere. Surely things like this happen all the time.
This has taken the shine off today's surprise. Anyone familiar with Uruguay will likely recognise the Hotel Argentino, which appears in virtually every film made here, and a whole bunch of others to boot. It was too good a price to turn down (for one night only, mind you!)
It is always worth it for the look on Sarah's wee face :)
The town is named after it's founder, Francisco Piria, who recognised the potential of this site in the early 20th century and built this enormous luxury hotel here. It's the exact embodiment of 'fading grandeur', but that doesn't stop it being a big draw for anyone who visits here, even those not staying here; plenty of tourists floating around ooh-ing and aah-ing at the lobby and staircase.
Enough of this fancy hotel malarky. We are starving. A quick trip to the bus terminal doesn't help in the slightest, and communication barriers make themselves known as I use pigeon Spanish to try and make myself understood. Eventually we figure it will turn up eventually, and that if there was a country where you wanted to lose something on a bus, it was probably this one.
Still feeling a bit foolish about the whole thing, but sure.
We wander along the main drag, past ice cream parlours and somewhat uninspiring restaurants until we settle on this parilla place. I fancy a pamplona from the grill, because I have no idea what it is. Sarah opts for cannelloni.
So pamplona is a fancy foreign word for spam wrapped in peppers wrapped in chicken wrapped in bacon. Barbecued. It would have been delicious if the chicken had been cooked, which it wasn't. Fortunately our waiter understood the dilemma, and within ten minutes I had some cooked chicken. Took a bit of the fun out of it, but at least I didn't persevere and die.
Not to worry, there's not much that a scorching hot day and a walk along a beachfront won't solve.
It is amusing to be in a resort so clearly dominated by South America's affluent classes. Everything is simply expensive, not for any particularly good reason, other than that the locals have window of about 12 weeks to earn enough money to live on the rest of the year. Everyone looks kind of grumpy. Rich people wear the same crap t-shirts and shorts as everyone else, sit under the same umbrellas and go to the same overpriced restaurants. It is quite a leveller to witness. The sun is just as hot, and the beach is just the same. The rich peoples' kids seem to be enjoying themselves, and the ice cream looks pretty tasty.
The view from our bedroom. Not bad. The senior chap at the reception was very pleasant to deal with, knew a little English, and was fascinated as to why we had travelled from Ireland to Uruguay to stay in his hotel. That our excuse was 'we hated our crap jobs and wanted to see the world', just like everyone else, had no bearing on his civility.
The grand staircase of Hotel Argentino is famous and beautiful. Stained glass is, I decide, one of the most selfish pleasures ever, because you can only appreciate it inside your house, during the daytime, when it is unlikely anyone would be there to see it.
The swimming area was fine and decadent. We had table service to our little area which I was simply not expecting, it isn't what I am used to at all. Mostly we stay in places where it is unclear what is dirt or what is character! We share a delicious Patricia (Uruguay's better beer) and I pass out in the final hours of sunlight, uncharacteristically relaxed.
I figured it was likely that sunset was a highlight here, best we go out the front and have a look. Oh look, it is, it was, and everyone else knew it too. A round of applause passes over the front steps at the sun disappears behind the horizon. A lovely touch from people we so rarely spend time with.
Where is Sarah? Who knows?
Our room. Hotel amenities are very welcome every so often.
Nothing to do but get showered and head out at 11pm to eat. The strip comes alive at night, with musicians competing for your tips, an artesian market full of all that sort of stuff that no one ever really seems to buy unless they have a home needing filled with artesian garbage, and lots of those shops selling footballs, magazines, books and strange clothes. The rich people don't look any happier now, although the beach is now cleared and they have the cooler night air to contend with. The climate is very different here, days are brutally hot and the skies permanently blue, the nights drop right back to hospitable temperatures, gentle breezes making it utterly intoxicating. We feel we could stay here for a week or two, we are properly on holiday right now.
Most restaurants look a little uninviting, so we duck off the main street and find a small place on the back streets with a family-run feel to it. I accidentally order delicious bread-battered fish, Sarah gets an overly-buttery chicken stroganoff (the recipe of which seems to change in every place we going) which is tough going, but our little jarra de vino tinto de la casa helps us through and it very pleasant drinking. The service is also top notch, which makes a pleasant change, and makes tipping a lot less gruesome.
A day of ups and downs. Uruguay isn't any easier to get a grip on that Paraguay, but for very different reasons.
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