Beaches from Brazil to Buenos Aires & Beyond

- Day 17 -

After a trendy psychedelic private bedroom in Montevideo, the conversion to a shared mixed dorm of 5 in Colonia didn’t initially endear the town to Cass. However we were won over by the charm, even if somewhat contrived nature, of the port.

The day had started with our usual hasty planning for the next 4 days, sorting out our accommodation and transport. Taking a local bus we reached the terminal and settled in for some lunch while we waited for our intercity to Colonia. I unwittingly ordered enough food to feed a family of 5, with just one of the two Milanese meal deals being bigger than my head! Thankfully the waitress understood I wasn’t running a marathon today so didn’t need that much food; splitting one dish and wrapping the other to go.

Unknowingly Colonia was busy, and for a small picturesque town that means full hostels. The reason for this became apparent after accepting a shared room in the dilapidated HI, when we were greeted by an expensive looking Triathlon bike, it’s owner busily checking his gel pack supplies and female supporters. Tomorrow was to be Colonia’s half Ironman tournament - he could’ve probably done with eating my Milanese!

By now the strange phenomena in Uruguay of it actually getting hotter after 2pm had turned the dorm into a sauna. The inadequate fan swirling an airless room and echoing the windless dry air outside. Taking advantage of the hostel’s free rental bikes, we decided to make our own breeze but navigating the cobbled streets on these relics proved comical, with much of our exploration of the undulating town done on foot. Several of the town highlights do feel a little staged with Havanna-esque vintage cars parked casually under cascading flowers and wooden carts positioned on side streets outside boutiques. The real draw and highlight of the town though is sitting outside the old lighthouse bar. Sipping an icy cold beer, tucking into the other half of our lunch, and watching the sun set in brilliant orange. We moseyed down the pier and looked out over the wide Rio Plate to Buenos Aires, our next destination.

As I have said our Milanese lunch had stretched over 2 meals but Cass had researched a great cheese and wine bistro tucked off the main square in a tiny courtyard garden. We thought we could fit in some late supper but were unprepared for the very generous local cheeseboard and accompanying goblet size wine “flights” for roughly £5. Feeling like I should be doing an Ironman in the morning to burn off the days cheese, we headed back to the hostel to be slowly grilled on our bunks like a bit of Welsh rarebit.

- By Ian

-Day 16-

Goodbye chi-chi Punta, hello Montevideo! For a short two hour bus journey costing about £4 each, we were overly chuffed to discover that the bus had free WIFI! Back home, a few hours in an internet cafe would cost the same as the bus journey itself!

After some to-ing and fro-ing, a local bus and a lot of help, we found our hostel El Viajero at the top of some very, very steep stairs. Off a pretty square in the old town with an antiques market in full swing, the first thing we noticed were the awesome vibrant murals! Unfortunately we weren’t able to find out the name of the artist, but his colourful street art could be found not only in the hostel & our bedroom, but adorning the many nooks and crannies of the surrounding Ciudad (old town).

Other than my tripping over every five minutes (nothing unusual there!), the other thing we noticed about Montevideo’s uneven pavements were the sporadic colourful mosaic tiles which punctuate the ribbed grey concrete every block or two. We’ve not found out much more about it since, but we were told that there is a local artist who scouts out the loose or broken paving stones and replaces them with these handmade ‘tiles’. What a beautiful idea, cleverly escaping the ‘graffiti’ label given to other street art found around town whilst pleasing the council at the same time. I found this great article about the Montevideo street art, it’s worth a look at the pictures because we sadly didn’t get many photos as it didn’t always feel safe enough to get our cameras out. 

An artistic vibe has been woven into the fabric of this city for many years. Perhaps it started with Joaquín Torres Garcia, probably Uruguay’s best known artist, you can see his constructivist murals dotted around the city in prominent positions.

All this looking had given us an appetite, so we headed for the Mercado del Puerto. This had been recommended as the ONLY place to go if you were after some meat- and it did not disappoint! We meandered around what used to be a meat market, now brimming with parillas (barbecues) and little bars serving “medio y medio”, a rather potent half white & half sparkling wine drink unique to the mercado. We grabbed a bar stool at El Palenque, took a sip, and ordered two of the fattest juiciest steaks (entrecôte and pichane) with meat so tender you could have cut it with a spoon. This is a whole meaty world I never knew about! I don’t think I can ever look at a supermarket steak again, perhaps the only thing I’ve ever had that came close was steak at The Hawksmoor- for more than 10 times the price!

As we worked hard to digest our larger than usual lunch, we wandered the streets of Montevideo. Got rained on by churning air conditioning units jutting out of buildings, admiring the large statues and architecture against the cobalt sky & watching complete strangers play impressive street side games of speed-chess on their way home.

After a siesta back at the hostel we ventured out for a late supper at Bar Fun Fun. It turns out Google doesn’t know everything. Particularly not where we wanted to go. It sent us into dark roads in a shady side of town, where we were accompanied only by street scavengers collecting rubbish and recyclables onto their horse & carts. We later found the bar, 8 blocks in the other direction and it was closed. Damn. We were lucky to find a row of bars with people spilling onto the pavements, and a bustling pizza joint across the road called Bar Tasende. Given the low prices & empty plates scattered around people, we guessed you ordered by the slice, so by the time we got a table, we got stuck in & ordered 6 plates. Our waiter pretty much refused, and let us order 3 which we thought was odd - until they arrived. Each was about 9 inches square, thick herby focaccia smothered in cheese, olives or ham. So delicious, but we couldn’t even finish it all… not bad for a fiver, including beer!

- By Cass

- Day 15 -

Those we had met in Punta del Diablo had warned us off Punta del Este; “it’s overly developed, expensive and far too commercial”. Cass and I have always enjoyed contrast though, mixing London’s city refinements with weekend country simplicities; both offering their attractions and giving balance.

Our 5:30am taxi from the hostel to the bus shack to make our early departure, however, didn’t seem particular balanced. We were rewarded though with a full day to enjoy Punta del Este’s charms, soaking up the scorching sunshine on Playa Brava and Ollo beaches, before cooling off surfing in the noticeably colder water that crashed onshore. We had dumped our bags at the very well appointed Tas d’Vieja hostel, located just two blocks from the sea and one from the main strip of bars and restaurants. The hostel itself and double room were lovely, even if the seemingly bored and irritated receptionist wasn’t entirely welcoming. Cass however soon got over this with her introduction to Dulce de Leche at breakfast. The caramelised condensed milk spread, that I have previously tried on a trip to Argentina, was like Nectar to Cass and made any dry roast into a veritable feast.

“Punta” as it colloquially known, is joked (though not by the Uruguayans) to be a ” barrio” or suburb of Buenos Aires because of the Porteños (BA residents) who come over to weekend or holiday. With them they bring their habit of eating late and partying until even later. Cass and I followed the crowd hitting La Marena for some delicious seafood and our first glass of Uruguayan white wine before work our way down the strip of bars. The crowd was a young and good looking, but not as glitzy as we had imagined, however Cass and I were glad we’d scrubbed up after the very relaxed vibe in Punta del Diablo. Sipping a few Fernet y Cocas, it’s bitter sweet taste charging the party atmosphere, we hardly noticed it had reached 5am - just the time for a final nightcap ice cream before hitting the hay.

- By Ian

-Day 14-

The powers above must be having a laugh, as we opened our eyes to a second day of grey skies and drizzle. Perhaps this was a cursory little reminder of home (or why we left in the first place!) Or, perhaps this is why they call it Punta del DIABLO? Though that could be more to do with the fact dead turtles, fish and chickens continually wash up on shore? Very odd, either way.

So when it rains, I say what better to do than eat empanadas on the beach!

After a couple of hours ‘admin’ to sort out our movements for the next few days, we trundled to the village center, the sandy streets now easier to navigate over wet sand. After having had our fill of seafood the day before, we devoured a couple of ‘carne’ meat empanadas under a rickety beach hut and admired the way the rain looked, when we weren’t under it.

We also witnessed the way fisherman here run their boats ashore at top speed. Literally it’s a mental crash landing into the beach, close to mowing down swimmers and surfers! We were left wondering how these boats remain sea worthy at all after a daily battering like that?

We later found out the hard way that this was (yet another) town with limited ATM access. We did eventually find the only cash point. It was guarded by a crazy old American lady who told us how she left the US after Obama poisoned her & she was coughing up blood so had to escape Texas to live in Uruguay because everyone’s a terrorist in America now… Ohhhh-kaaaay. And there was no cash in the machine.

As we stood waiting at the corner of two dusty roads in the middle of nowhere, we were thankful when the rain lessened to a light mist. Sundown was what we were really waiting for - we were going horse riding, gaucho style!

Before my dejected bottom lip could stick out any further, ‘better 30 minutes late than never’ Fabian arrived with a herd of galloping horses in his wake. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this scene in a movie before! He matched each of us to our mare, and we hoiked ourselves up onto the makeshift sheepskin saddle, complete with horse-leather bridle. After riding for ten years as a kid, I felt a little more natural up there than Ian, but to Fabian it didn’t matter who had experience or not, we were all going on the same ride. I love Uruguay. Health & safety PAH, who needs helmets and disclaimer forms, let’s do it! We picked up two more guys and a girl and clip clopped our way up the sand dunes into the leafy Santa Teresa national park.

After an hour or so, just when we were getting comfortable in the saddle, and used to the whip lashings from squeezing past bushes & ducking under low-hanging tree branches, we came to a clearing in the woods. We jumped off the horses and they wandered off, while we wondered what the hell was happening? A lone stone table and bench looking somewhat like a sacrifice platform was tucked away at the side of the clearing, but all became clear when Fabian whipped out two bottles of vino tinto and a packet of fresh baked local biscuits! We got into the Latino vibe of sharing as we swigged from the bottles and passed them around. Really, could this get any better?

Three out of six in our group had never ridden before today, but as we re-mounted we realised there’s nothing like a bit of wine time for new-found confidence! And it was like the horses knew. Fabian said it was because we were now heading in the direction of home, but there was a tangible loaded spring in their step. Then, as we emerged into a grass clearing, our horses bolted one after the other. Full on galloping through a meadow, yee-haaaa, it was incredible! I turned back to see if Ian was managing to stay on, I was pleased to see that he was not being dragged along the floor by his horse, but rather white knuckling it and going full pelt on top! We continued to a deserted beach that stretched as far as they eye could see, and as the sun set, we galloped along the waters edge, the silver waves glistening in the moonlight.

This has to be one of the most breathtaking memories of my life… As dark set in we blindly headed back to the town, but the horses knew their way. After we dismounted and waved goodbye, we waddled away like John Wayne ready to plunge into the ice cold beers.

-By Cass

- Day 13 -

After criss-crossing the avenue that marks the border of Chui/Chuy between Brazil and Uruguay in order to withdraw Reals and then exchange them for Pesoes, we jumped out of one frying pan into another’s eponymous fire – Punta Del Diablo. The sleepy Uruguayan fishing town had been recommended for it’s surf, and so after another hour bus ride through completely flat grass land, tended by mounted Gauchos herding their cattle, we arrived to its outskirt bus “station” – read converted cow shed. By now the sun was high in a cloudless blue sky and the dirt road towards the main town and sea 2 Km away shimmered in the heat. The friendly shuttle bus woman was therefore a welcome sight, until Cass, who had mistaken her for a taxi, and I were dropped at the end of another dusky road and pointed in the direction of our accommodation, the Hostel de los Hadas.

As an aside here, it seems Punta del Diablo is undergoing a bit of a property boom, with an array of “interesting” architectural styles being employed by the local developers who don’t seem to be encumbered with such trifles as town planning. Condos in Art Deco, Modernist, Greek Villa and even faux Ocean Liner designs have popped amongst the dunes, out numbering the inhabitants, but apparently catering for the swell of Montivideans and Porteaños from down the coast. Thankfully we were pleased to see our hostel had therefore been constructed in a fairly rustic style in keeping with the area, featuring thatched rooftops but with giant modern glass windows to take in the coastal panorama.

After a quick breakfast and play with the owner’s very cute baby twins, we headed out to the beach. Now it’s fare to say that in Brazil we had been spoiled with the tropical beauty of azure skies, emerald waters and talc white sand. The mid morning cloud cover therefore did not make the grey/brown turbulent ocean particularly inviting, although the surfers ripping up the point break didn’t seem to mind. However, in a scene reminiscent of a Martin Parr photograph of a British seaside, when it started to rain, we took shelter under our parasol, taking comfort that it was still a balmy 25 degrees.

With our rustic hostel and undeveloped first beach, Cass began to wonder, is this it? Thankfully after a shirt walk round the point though, we found the main “town”; an eclectic mix of cafés, book and surf shops and restaurants leading down to the fishing port and populated by an equally mixed bunch of surfers, hippies, backpackers and families. An English girl on the beach, who “chills here 6 months of the year” had recommended the fish and cheese empanadas just inside the market, and so on this advice overcoming Cass’ street food phobia, we enjoyed the delicious paper-thin deep friend pastry washed down with an icy cold Patricia cerveza. Casting our eye over the families playing in the swell, it was then we noticed the giant dead turtle washed up on the beach; the children seemed unperturbed by its empty socketed head and even gave it an investigative jab with their toes, wobbling it’s gelatinous body.

I had by now begun to feel a little stiff and lethargic after hours on a bus and minimal exercise. Not feeling quite up to tackling the waves for a surf, we ventured out to the monument to find a crazy bunch of lads diving off the rocks into crashing sea pools. On their provocation and Cass’ egging on, I leapt feet first into the deep, before a surge pushed me round and I was heaved out by one of the lads, avoiding the sharp mussel beds encrusted to the rocks. Nothing like a bit of coastering to liven you up and wake the senses!

Although the evening’s seafood paella disappointed, the quartet of Neapolitan jacketed gents who invaded the restaurant and busked kept things lively. However, I think Cass’ real highlight was the discovery of the Heladeria – creamy rich gelato style ice cream in pistachio, chocolate and almond and dulce de leche flavours – more than a little devilish!

- By Ian

-Day 12-

After a decidedly well prepared first week, travel pre-arranged and hotel stays generously given to us for Christmas by our parents (thank you!) there still seem to be Brazil shaped holes appearing in our pockets?

While we’re not being lavish (we are after all continually pilfering ham & cheese sarnies), there are ‘standards’ to which ‘one’ has become accustomed & hence we’ve not exactly been pinching the purse-strings either. And hell, we are on holiday! So, we’ve been haemorrhaging Reals like they’re going out of fashion.

Plan of action - next stop - Uruguay! The bikini bottoms there might not be smaller than Brazil, but hopefully the prices might be.

Now connoisseurs of the local buses (which ones NOT to take at least), we hopped on the yellow bus to Florianopolis, negotiated our bus tickets to the Brazil - Uruguay border Chuy/Chui (same place different name, look & feel on either side of one road which marks the border). From there we would wait a couple of hours to take the first local bus out to a cute fishing village called ‘Punta del Diablo’.

The coach trip was 14 hours of lots of legroom, podcasts and scrabble (score update, Ian 2 games - Cass 1. Re-match soon I think!) But despite earplugs, the old lady snoring behind us made it a little difficult to sleep! It was incredible to see the lush mountainous terrain change so drastically as we headed further south. As the land flattened above a floating sunset, the horizon seemed infinite. The scenery was briefly spoilt by industrial estates outside Porto Allegre, where we experienced the more heart wrenching contrast of favella shacks & dire living conditions backing straight up against Mercedes and Chevrolet car plants.

I’d like to quickly mention how awesome the service stations here are in comparison with the UK. As you walk in, they hand you a plastic plaque with a barcode on it. Once inside there is no fast food in sight. There are buffets with an impressive array of home style cooked dishes, fresh salad bars & shops. You load whatever you want on your ‘card’ and just pay on your way out. Really simple, but so much more of a pleasant experience than a Little Chef or McDonald’s!

But then we arrived at Chui.

Now I don’t know much about towns that sit on borders of countries, but I’m learning, and this was a steep curve. The only thing we’d read was that if you’re not a dab hand at blackjack or poker, to pass through as quickly as possible.

We arrived at 4am and wanted to be deposited at the bus station to wait for our continuing bus 3 hours later. But the ‘station’ transpired to be nothing more than a tin shack and a bench, so they dropped us in the center of town which was said to be ‘safer’. There wasn’t a soul in sight other than a couple of shady guys sitting outside a (closed) cafe. A seriously desolate and creepy place that gave us the heebie jeebies I WAS BRICKING IT!! The rest of the coach was continuing onwards to Montevideo, so only us and one other guy got off. We were incredibly lucky that he spoke english and offered that we join him taking a taxi to a hostel a few blocks away to sleep until morning broke & we’d then be safe to walk around the town.

And so it was that I experienced my second ever hostel! Etnico Hostel were extremely lovely & let us kip in their lounge room (for free!) for the next four hours until we awoke to explore the saloon town of Chui, and plan our escape…

- By Cass