Different Drum

 

The flight from Mendoza was shorter than my typical drive to Cambridgeshire, but I found myself in the Buenos Aires domestic airport for a 3.5 hour layover  for my flight to Montevideo. Although Montevideo is in Uruguay, it is actually just a short hop from BA.  I probably could have walked and arrived before my flight, except that would have involved putting on my Jesus shoes to cross the Rio de La Plata. I think it is the world’s widest river, but it’s actually an estuary where the Uruguay and Paraná rivers meet the Atlantic Ocean. So, no walking or driving for me. My flight was scheduled to leave at 3:15, and at 2:30, the departures board still wasn’t showing a gate number. AT 2:45, it said that the flight was boarding, but still didn’t say where. I raced from one end of the terminal to the other until I found a gate bearing my flight information.  Maybe the locals just know what gate the flight leaves from. 

I boarded, flew and landed without further incident and yet again found my luggage awaiting me, even though it had to make the transfer in what might be one of the world’s most chaotic airports. I was greeted by my guide, Grace, who despite being a life-long (75 year) resident of Montevideo and allegedly a guide of many years, seemed to have no idea of how I could get Uruguay dollars on on Saturday. There were two ATMs in the airport, one of which was an HSBC (my bank), but both refused to dispense cash as they apparently  run out quickly.  This wasn’t a huge problem as I could use cards in most places, but I like to tip in cash and that wasn’t going to be an option. Sorry Grace. We drove through town with Grace giving me a running monologue on points of interest. Several times I interrupted to ask a question, but she just kept going like an express train.  At first I thought that maybe she didn’t speak English and had just memorised that spiel, but we had had some interactions in the airport, and I’m pretty sure her English was excellent - at least good enough to understand when I interrupted. I really hate to say this, but I have experienced a certain theme amongst older women guides in my travels. It have had four of them  (Rio, Tokyo, Buenos Aires and now Montevideo), and they have ALL simply prattled on and totally ignored questions. It’s like watching a video with no “pause” button. Also, in every other place I’ve been on this trip, the person who meets me at the airport furnishes me with a “welcome letter” outlining my detailed itinerary and providing local contact details. I asked Grace about this and received a blank look. I asked her about the tango show I was scheduled to see Saturday night, and nada. Was no longer feeling bad about the lack of cash to tip. As she dropped me at the hotel, she said she would see me Monday as she would be driving with me on the 2.5 hour drive to Colonia.  This may end up being the biggest risk of the trip so far. 

The Alma Historic Boutique Hotel is in the city’s old town. In other cities, the old town is usually a charming tourist destination.  Not so in Montevideo. It’s the downtown business district and a virtual ghost town on a Saturday afternoon. The hotel itself is charming though, full of lovely antiques and a beautiful library with the wooden floors and panelling that has been common in all of this trip’s hotels. I checked in, and asked the front desk if they had been given a welcome letter for me or had any information about the tango show excursion, but nada.  With the e-sim I’m using, I can’t make or receive phone calls so I had to ask him to contact the local agency for me which he said he would do.  I went off to try to find a working ATM or open money exchange. It was a fail but it was interesting walking through streets completely deserted except for the homeless people, all of whom were very friendly.  I had read lots of very positive things about Montevideo being the safest place in Latin America, but my well honed travel spidey sense was saying something slightly different. As I rounded the corner to my hotel,  I saw a huge group of men standing around a bonfire they had lit in the street.  It was ominous, but then I realised they all had big drums nearby. I rang the door to my hotel (they keep it locked) and the guy on the front desk explained it wasn’t ominous at all. It was one of the many local drumming groups getting ready to rehearse for the upcoming carnivale.  That’s when things started looking up.  When we were in Brazil a few years ago, we had seem some of these drummers and they were magnificent.  As I unlocked my room, they started their rehearsal which I watched from my little balcony.  What a treat. 

My dear friend, Gillian, has friends who live in Uruguay whom she kindly put me in touch with.  They suggested some better local neighbourhoods and restaurants, and I took an Uber to one of their suggestions. It was a little wine bar in a charming neighbourhood where, unlike most places in Argentina, I was able to order a salad for dinner.  It was delicious. The whole city seemed quiet which I’m told is because January in Montevideo is like August in Paris when the entire place goes on holiday.  C’est la vie. Oh yes, the front desk told me when I got back that my tango night had been cancelled even though I’d already paid for it.  I was tired and decided I would deal with it in the morning. 

This morning I got up and decided to walk to explore the city - one of my favourite things to do. I walked through the still deserted old down, through the deserted commercial and shopping district and finally found the big Sunday market - the Feria de Tristan Narvaja.  I love me a market, and this one did not disappoint. They had everything from fruit, vegetables, meats and cheese to underwear, deodorant, toilet paper and cheap plastic crap from China. They even had some stalls with local handicrafts.  After a good meander, I headed down towards the river/ocean/beach where there is a 23 km boardwalk where the locals bike, walk, run, skate, people watch and pretend to exercise. I pretended too. I was finally getting a feel for the real Montevideo. It’s kind of like your really cool friend who doesn’t need to be as showy as his peers (I’m talking about you - Argentina and Brazil). It’s a bit slow, a little sleepy but well, perfectly content. 

The local religion appears to be drinking mate (pronounced Mah-Tay). This a traditional South American drink made by steeping the dried leaves of the Yerba mate plant in hot water. It’s kind of like tea but with more caffeine and a load more social rules. You drink it through a metal straw with a filter at the end called a bombilla, from a hollowed out gourd or cup.Sharing mate is a big social ritual where the cup is passed around in a circle. I’ve seen people here and Argentina take it EVERYWHERE in their custom made leather satchels which holds the thermos of hot water, the leaves and all the accoutrements. Personally, I’m not wild about the taste, but I figure it’s one of those things (like IPA, Islay malts and oysters) one could get used to and maybe even grow to love.  And I can’t deny I love social drinking. 

After over 14 Kms of walking I returned to my hotel.  I won’t bore you with the details, but I had to deactivate my E-sim, activate my UK sim, and spend a king’s ransom to contact the local agency “emergency number”. The person I spoke to apologised profusely and confirmed that I was booked in for the dinner and show tonight, and that a car would pick me up at 9:00 PM to take me there.  I will never get used to Latin mealtimes. She also said that Grace was supposed to have provided all this information to me, and that she would speak to her. I’m sure that will make the 2.4 hours in the car with her even more fun.