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<p><strong>Winner of Grailwriters' non-fiction competition, February 2008</strong></p>
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<p>On New Year's Eve, 1735, a Spanish galleon, the Polonio, was wrecked off a rugged headland surrounded by sand dunes in what is now Eastern Uruguay. At that time, some indigenous Charrua and a few thousand seals were the only inhabitants. The Charrua were exterminated, but the seals managed to survive in the fragile ecosystem, and Cabo Polonio today is home to one of the largest seal colonies in the world.</p>
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<p>Cabo Polonio remained uninhabited until the early twentieth century. Some fishermen and seal hunters settled there one hundred years ago, and more recently, in the seventies, hippies started filtering in. Then came the city-dwellers, seeking tranquillity, followed by swarms of summer tourists. Soon it had become the shabby patchwork of huts and cabins that it is today. The population is a hundred in the winter, rising to four thousand in the summer months of January and February.</p>
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<p>The sand dunes shift as the wind blows them around. During the military dictatorship in the seventies and eighties, trees were planted intensively in the area, and this proved to be an ecological disaster, preventing the sand from being freely carried. It is feared that the dunes may eventually disappear, although the forests are no longer there. The headland is like a half-moon, with still waters on the inside, and wild, rough breakers on the exposed eastern side.</p>
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<p>Compared with the glitzy resort of Punta del Este, seventy-five miles to the west, Cabo Polonio remains relatively quiet. It is a destination for young adventurous travellers: those who eschew fashion, casinos and film stars. The hamlet has no electricity, apart from a few private generators, no traffic, and no roads.</p>
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<p>To reach Cabo Polonio, you either take a bus or drive three hours east from Montevideo, along the Ruta 9. At a shack on the roadside, you buy a ticket for a four-wheel drive truck which trundles you the seven kilometres over dunes and along the beach to the cape. These trucks are the only vehicles allowed to cross the dunes, which were declared a national monument in 1966.</p>
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<p>A few years ago the government ordered two hundred wooden cabins to be knocked down, because of a dispute between the inhabitants and the landowners, but the people were undeterred, and rebuilt. Every summer, new shacks sprout up - bars, craft stalls, simple eating houses and homes. And every summer the wild winter winds raze a few to the ground.</p>
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<p>I first came here in December three years ago. With me on the truck were a few long-haired, well-travelled backpackers, and a hugely pregnant young woman surrounded by bags of groceries, holding a cardboard box filled with chirping chicks.</p>
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<p>As we set off along a sandy track, we heard the blare of a fire engine behind us. It overtook us and got stuck in the sand. The firemen thought better of trying to dig out their vehicle, grabbed a couple of fire extinguishers, and piled onto our truck. We lumbered on, the backpackers chatting in German and taking photos, and the woman patting her distended abdomen and clucking to her chicks. The fireman sat back sipping maté and enjoying the breeze.</p>
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<p>We felt the spray before we spotted the ocean. At the beach we stopped by a dilapidated shack, where the pregnant woman struggled off with her chicks and bags. The track veered west towards the sunset. A faint, unfamiliar smell wafted in the sun's low, pink rays. The beach stretched ahead, the sand pale, like a desert.</p>
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<p>Isolated clumps of long grass dotted the landscape. The cobalt sea looked empty. Not a boat, nor a windsurf, nor a swimmer. And there was a faint buzz, a high-pitched murmur. In the distance, a ramshackle settlement perched on the headland.</p>
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<p>The trail disappeared and we wound slowly through wooden cabins, artisans' kiosks, avoiding horses, scrawny chickens, ducks and dogs, and a few laid-back hippies, and stopped outside a scorched sign reading "La Perla". This was my inn. There was a strong smell of burning, and people were carrying charred furniture, mattresses, and clothes out of the blackened hull of the building, chatting cheerily and not looking particularly perturbed. There was nothing much the firemen could do but help them.</p>
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<p>I found a room in the only other hostel, next door. The Mariemar turned out to be a friendly, shabby place with damp sheets and saggy beds. The ocean crashed towards the verandah in stereo, and in the distance I could hear the seals calling.</p>
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<p>I have been back to the Mariemar several times since. That first time, a five-minute clamber away over the rocks, I saw thousands of seals jostling for a spot, climbing over each other, tackling competitors clumsily with their fins, babies scrambling in search of their mothers. Small islands just out to sea were black, crawling and screeching.</p>
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<p>Once, when I came in April, I only saw two on the rocks. I learnt, that time, that most of them live on the Isla de Torres, the tiny rocky island off the headland, and spill over onto the mainland for the few months before and after their pups are born.</p>
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<p>I next visited in mid-September, and the early spring air was chilly. The refurbished La Perla was closed, but I had no trouble finding a room at the Mariemar. The waves were wild, and I could hardly hear the seals above their crashing.</p>
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<p>I climbed over the rocks and settled on a boulder. The seals were there, in their hundreds rather than thousands this time, plenty of room for all of them, no doubt many of them pregnant, some sprawled on the rocks a little away from the ocean, others preferring to lie in the direct line of the fierce spray. Occasionally one trudged to the edge of the rocks, slid in to the water and swam gracefully away, or another struggled out and plodded to relax in a free space.</p>
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<p>My eyes drifted to the open sea, black in patches with swimming seals. Further out, a sudden spurt, a jet of water.</p>
<p>Whales?</p>
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<p>I couldn't be sure. I walked up to the lighthouse and the guard invited me to climb to the top and look through his binoculars. The backs of the mammals were clearly visible just under the water, and occasionally they lifted themselves out in an elegant leap.</p>
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<p>"Yes, those are southern right whales," he said. "They often go about in threes: two males with a female. They come down from Brazil at this time of year, but we never see them going back. They must take another route. You know, they don't spurt water: it's air, but since they are just under the surface, the water above them is thrust up. "</p>
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<p>I asked him about seal hunting.</p>
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<p>"It was legal till 1992. Now they're poached, but not for their skins. Seals' testicles are a coveted aphrodisiac in Japan. A poacher gets a hundred US dollars for a pair here, which sells for a thousand in Japan. We don't have the resources to patrol the whole coastline and the little islands out there, and when the mutilated seal ends up on the beach, the butchers have long gone."</p>
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<p>I took a long walk beyond the rocks westwards along the beach. The sand ahead sparkled like a giant cluster of diamonds. As I approached I saw it was strewn with countless shards of jellyfish - perhaps leftover seals' dinner?</p>
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<p>Two figures walked towards me in the haze. As they came close I saw there were actually three: a man with a young child in a carrier on his back, and a heavily pregnant woman carrying a tray.</p>
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<p>"Hey, I recognize you!" I said. "On the truck, the day of the fire!" She laughed and we exchanged kisses, Uruguayan style.</p>
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<p>"The family's growing, as you can see. We're off to the village to sell our alfahores. We've done up the house. We rent out two rooms to visitors now. Stay with us next time."</p>
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<p>She took the cloth off her tray and offered me a crispy two-layered biscuit sandwiched together with dulce de leche - melted fudge. Delicious.</p>
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<p>We parted and I headed on towards their house, which, sure enough, looked bigger and sturdier. The sparkling beach stretched endlessly ahead, but I decided to turn back so as to be with the seals at sunset.</p>
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<p>My timing was perfect. As I walked away from the setting sun, eastwards, the horizon in front of me lit up in gently merging, changing bands, until, when I reached the rocks, there was a strip of cobalt above the sea, turning to pink, purple, mauve, and yellow, and then joining with the cloudless azure sky. I turned a full circle, my eyes fixed on the horizontal rainbow. The psychedelic halo ringed the entire firmament. My first ever three hundred and sixty degree sunset.</p>
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<p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">For photos of Cabo Polonio, see <br />http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=5093...29&id=664241054<br />http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2990...61&id=664241054</span></p>
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<p><strong>Published in the 'Buenos Aires Herald', 25 April 2007</strong></p>
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<p>"Why Uruguay?" I asked Henriette</p>
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<p>"Well, back home in Holland, we couldn't find a guide book for Uruguay, so we figured it wouldn't be overrun with tourists."</p>
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<p>Henriette was right. She and her husband Jos were the only other visitors, and this was high season. Guardia del Monte is a working estancia on the Laguna de Castillos, in the province of Rocha, two hundred and fifty kilometers east of Montevideo. There are many estancias scattered around Uruguay, but few have the authentic feel of Guardia del Monte.</p>
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<p>Alicia, the owner, showed us around the buildings. The walls and floor of the 1800 house are built in local stone, and the ceiling is made from beams and ballast from shipwrecks. Our meals were cooked a Danish wood stove from 1884. Newer buildings surround a grape vine and passion-fruit canopied courtyard.</p>
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<p>We took a walk to see what may be the world's only ombù forest, stretching for twenty kilometers. The ombù, with its huge gnarled trunk, thick, twisted roots, and massive canopy, can live for five hundred years. It's technically a herb, not a tree, and generally grows in clumps of two or three in the pampas. In this area of Uruguay, fig vines wind around the ombù trunks, sometimes splitting the soft, spongy wood.</p>
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<p>The estancia also boasts a large concentration of the indigenous butia capitata, a palm tree from which a delicious liqueur is made.</p>
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<p>The next day, our resident gaucho, Sanguinetti, took us horseriding across the fields.</p>
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<p>"Seven years ago," he told us, "I wanted a change. I packed some clothes in a suitcase and left everything else behind. Now I just do what I like doing. I'm kept busy here. Seven hundred hectares, five hundred sheep, six hundred cattle, sixty horses."</p>
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<p>In the afternoon we went canoeing on the calm, sparkling blue lagoon. Guardia del Monte is rich in birdlife: we saw marshbirds, mockingbirds, field flickers, cuckoos, storks, roseate spoonbills ...and the highlight of the weekend: the black-necked swan.</p>
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<p>If you want to get away from the city, or the glitzy glamour of Punta del Este, this is the place to go.</p>
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<p>Guardia del Monte has five guest bedrooms, and the $70.00 rate includes full board and all activities. Alicia will welcome you like one of the family. The best time to visit is between November and March.</p>
<p><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Guardia del Monte: Ruta 9, kilometre 161.5, Castillos, Rocha, Uruguay<br />Tel: 00598 470 5 9064, 00 598 99 872 588<br />http://www.guardiadelmonte.com/</span></p>
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<p><strong>Published in the 'Buenos Aires Herald', 5 December 2007</strong></p>
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<p>Have you ever heard of a capybara? I hadn't, until last week, when I spent a night at El Silencio, an estancia a hundred miles north of Montevideo in Uruguay. The capybara, known locally as a carpincho, is a semi-aquatic herbivorous animal, endemic to South America east of the Andes. Mariela, the estancia owner, found an orphaned baby one several years ago, and keeps him in a paddock with her horses. He's an affectionate creature, and rather beautiful, considering he belongs to the family of the world's largest rodents.</p>
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<p>El Silencio is a traditional Uruguayan ranch, rearing hundreds of sheep and cows. The nineteenth century farmhouse is built around a central patio, and the only feature which has been added to the original building is a large dining hall at the front, where guests can sit by the fire and watch the spectacular moonrises and dazzling stars. Close by there is indigenous woodland, and the River Maciel. The food is unpretentious and delicious, and the staff friendly. There are three comfortable ensuite bedrooms, and two dormitories, with five beds in each.</p>
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<p>As I returned from a leisurely horseride in the evening, I realised I had come on a very special day. Three men were rolling massive bales of wool onto a truck. I was told that all the wool shorn over the last four years had been stockpiled in a barn, and today was the day: the price was right, and it was being sold.</p>
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<p>At El Silencio, guests can join in with the gauchos' daily chores, or ride, fish, swim in the river, or enjoy the spectacular bird life.</p>
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<p><br />Mariela will welcome you as one of the family. She drove me ten miles in her truck to meet Nelida, the ‘abuelita' - little granny - a cheerful old lady who lives in a modest home and is kept busy making ponchos and saddle linings for the local gauchos. Using raw wool, she cards, spins, dyes and weaves, and the results are worthy of any luxury boutique. I had a lot of fun trying my hand on her simple loom.</p>
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<p><br />I ordered a king-sized bedspread in large natural and brown checks. ‘Certainly, Señora, you will have it by Christmas.' Never mind that Christmas means midsummer, sweltering nights and cotton sheets, I shall treasure Nelida's work of art.</p>
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<p><strong>Fact sheet:</strong><br />A night in a double room at ‘El Silencio' costs a modest $30.00 including breakfast. The estancia is affiliated with the Youth Hostels Association, and a night in one of the dorms costs around $10.00.</p>
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<p><br />The estancia is within easy reach of the town of Durazno, with its unique church, well-kept museum, and belle époque architecture. And if it's not only ‘silencio' that you are after, Durazno hosts a huge range of festivals throughout the year, including the Festival of Folklore in February and the hugely popular rock festival in October.</p>
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<p>To get there from Montevideo, take the Ruta 5 to Durazno, then follow the Ruta 14 towards Trinidad for 7 miles. The Estancia is well-signposted on your left, at Km 166.</p>
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<p>There is a regular bus service from the Tres Cruces bus terminal in Montevideo.</p>
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<p>For reservations, call 00598 36 22014 or e-mail silencio@adinet.com.uy</p>
<p>If you would like to see photos of Durazno and el Silencio, follow this link:<br />http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=16523&l=25ae0&id=664241054</p>
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Tags: cabo polonio uruguay seals horses uruguay holidays adventure tourism estancia peace eco-tourism uruguay horses
<p><strong>Published in 'The Buenos Aires Herald, 5 December 2009</strong></p>
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<p>Dentists and artisans have much in common: a steady hand, a love of aesthetics, and an eye for detail.</p>
<p><br />"But being an artisan is much more fun," Gabriela tells me. "Art was always a pastime for me. I would come back from a hard day at the dental studio and relax by painting and drawing. Then four years ago I decided to convert my hobby into my profession. So I gave up dentistry to devote myself full-time to designing and manufacturing leather handbags. In 2004 I opened the first boutique in Punta del Este, and the next year, this one followed."</p>
<p><br />I'm speaking to Gabriela Gonzalez Lerena, the owner of Luisa Lane, a small leather goods boutique in Arocena, the main street of the leafy Montevidean suburb of Carrasco.</p>
<p><br />"Why the name Luisa Lane?" I ask.</p>
<p><br />"Well, it flows smoothly off the tongue. And it's memorable. I want our products to be instantly recognizable, and associated with the name. And of course, Superman's girlfriend is so stylish, so feminine. Just like my designs." The penny drops. Of course, Lois is Luisa in Spanish.</p>
<p><br />Gabriela hands me a pair of soft, delicately embroidered leather boots. She shows me how they can be folded down to ankle-length, or worn knee-length. "Try them on," she says. "We started just with handbags, but then we moved on to belts and wallets too. Last year we extended the range to boots, and this year we've included leather and sheepskin coats."</p>
<p><br />I put the boots on. They immediately pass the bunion test - not a twinge. Gabriela hands me a short leather jacket. I slip it on. "You look like a princess." Well, maybe more like a very classy gaucho girl, and I feel great. Apart from the quality, style and comfort, Luisa Lane prices are no more expensive than in the large leather chain stores in Montevideo - and a fraction of what they would be in Europe or North America.</p>
<p><br />Uruguay is the perfect place for this type of business. There are nine million cows here - three to every person, so raw materials pose no problem.</p>
<p><br />I ask Gabriela who buys her products.</p>
<p><br />"Locals and expatriates alike," she says. "Many customers come over from Buenos Aires in the summer. And we've started exporting, too. I've been to trade fairs in Los Angeles and Chile...but I'm not looking to get into exports in a big way. I want the business to stay small, personalized."</p>
<p><br />So what makes Luisa Lane distinctive?</p>
<p><br />"I travel a lot, to Europe and North America, to keep apace with the latest trends. I'm just back from New York. We use classical colors and designs - our products will never go out of fashion. But what makes us different is the artisan touch. The embroidered designs on our bags and boots are unique and instantly identifiable. We make very few of each item."</p>
<p><br />I take a two-tone bag of a shelf and open it. The finishing is perfect, the smell of leather almost heady, and the bag is much roomier than it seems.</p>
<p><br />"Of course, we have to face the problem of copying. As soon as you invent something new, someone else pinches it. Fakes will never match our quality, but still, we keep one step ahead and change our styles every season."</p>
<p><br />She indicates a young girl who is putting signs up on the shop window. "Our winter sale starts tomorrow. Up to 50% off everything - we're going to clear our stock over the next month, then bring in our summer designs."</p>
<p><br />Well, I think I'll be back at Luisa Lane tomorrow...</p>
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Tags: cabo polonio uruguay seals horses uruguay holidays adventure tourism estancia peace eco-tourism uruguay horses leather uruguay handbags
<p><strong>Published in the 'Buenos Aires Herald', 18 June 2008</strong></p>
<p><br />Ask travellers what they know about Uruguay, and many will answer ‘Punta del Este'. But there is more to Uruguay than the glitzy resort where for the two-month summer season droves of film stars, models and uniformly botoxed Cleopatra-coiffed beach-strutting beauties cross the Rio de la Plata from Buenos Aires. If it's genuine Uruguayan culture you're after, the neat, architecturally attractive town of Durazno is where it's at. Several times a year, this usually tranquil pueblo, which normally has a population of only 30,000, bursts into life, welcoming thousands of visitors for a medley of music festivals from gaucho to rock. The Duraznenses claim there's no crime here: houses and cars are left unlocked. And they welcome tourists: they're curious, love a chat and won't try to rip you off.</p>
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<p>In the heart of the country, on the banks of the River Yi, Durazno lies one hundred and eighty kilometres north of Montevideo along the Ruta 5. The town has a deceptively simple grid layout, and is built around two main squares, Plaza Independencia and Plaza Sarandí. Finding your way among the similar looking plane tree-lined streets can be confusing. The friendly Tourist Office just off Plaza Sarandí will give you an excellent map to help you get your bearings.</p>
<p>The best way to explore Durazno is to stroll through the dappled streets, watching people relax outside their homes in folding chairs, sipping mate.</p>
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<p><strong>Durazno's Festivals</strong></p>
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<p>Durazno is the musical heart of Uruguay, hosting several annual festivals. The main ones are:</p>
<p><strong>The Pilsen Rock Festival:</strong> The biggest music festival in Uruguay is held in mid-October, drawing together 150,000 people from all over the land and neighbouring countries to listen to local and international bands. Even the mayor has been known to play a riff on his guitar at this event. The Parque de la Hispanidad becomes a massive, burgeoning campsite. A two-day ticket will cost you around $40.00.</p>
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<p><strong>Movidas Tropicales:</strong> The campsite is the venue for this two-day, free festival in December. 40,000 people flock to the banks of the River Yi, consume vast quantities of beer, and listen to Uruguayans playing Central American rhythms.</p>
<p>Festival de Folclore: In February about 20,000 people pitch their tents in the Parque de la Hispanidad. Thousands of gauchos gather from far-flung pampas, build ranchos and enjoy four days of music. The town is filled with comparsas - local Carnival groups - dressed in traditional garb, beating Candombe rhythms on their drums. Prestigious prizes are on offer: the more your drumming hands bleed, the greater your chance of winning. The cost is around $12.00 per night.</p>
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<p><strong>What to See</strong></p>
<p>Outside festival times, Durazno is quiet. And if it's not pulsating action you're after, there's still plenty to see and do.</p>
<p>The striking Church of San Pedro on Plaza Independencia was restored by internationally famed local engineer, Eladio Dieste, after it was destroyed by fire in 1967. Behind the 1919 façade, Dieste has created a dazzling display of natural light and curved space using red brick and daring skylights, one of which is composed of several concentric hexagons. <br />A twelve-foot cross carved by local sculptor Claudio Silveira Silva from a single orange tree trunk recently caused a rumpus. The Christ figure has indigenous features, and his arms are held firmly by his sides in an attitude of glorious defiance. It used to hang behind the altar, but a narrow-minded parish priest found it sacrilegious, took it down and replaced it with a small traditional crucifix. Locals remain divided on the matter.</p>
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<p>The church museum, right beside the church, is well worth a visit to view Silva's controversial cross, though it's kept in a room so tiny that you risk doing permanent damage to your neck if you crane to see the top of the sculpture.</p>
<p>Opposite the Museum stands a monument to Christopher Columbus whose story shows the foresight of the early Duraznenses. Spanish and Italian settlers who built it in 1892 placed a sealed lead box containing coins, medals, and papers in the cement sphere on top. Tightly rolled up letters from young people to their future grandchildren were packed away, to be left untouched for a hundred years. In 1992, the people of Durazno - among them descendants of the letter-writers - turned out in their thousands to verify the time capsule legend, and today, the evidence is neatly displayed in the museum (see Museo Rivera below), alongside emotional photos of the day. In 2092, future generations will again gather to open another lead box, filled with 1992 treasures.</p>
<p>Also on Plaza Independencia, the impeccably kept home of General Fructuoso Rivera is now a museum. Apart from documents and pictures from Rivera's time, the museum displays the contents of the time capsule.</p>
<p><strong><br />Where to stay</strong></p>
<p>You won't find luxury accommodation in Durazno, but there are plenty of mid-range options. The Hotel Country on the northern outskirts of the town is a simple, clean and friendly hotel with a huge outdoor pool.</p>
<p><br />Ten miles outside Durazno, El Silencio is a traditional estancia with hundreds of sheep and cows, and offers the visitor a genuine Uruguayan gaucho experience. The friendly welcome, outstanding cuisine, log fires in winter, and dazzling view of the stars at night, make it well worth a visit. El Silencio certainly lives up to its name. The nineteenth century farmhouse built around a central patio has three comfortable ensuite bedrooms and two five-bed dorms. There's a cosy family dining-room, or a larger one where locals come to enjoy weekend lunches. Gonzalo and Mariela will welcome you to share their lives as part of the family. Join in with the gauchos, riding, herding, milking cows, shearing sheep, baling wool, or sipping mate around a campfire. Explore the quiet waters of the River Maciel by canoe or boat, and try your hand at fishing. At night, the moonrises are mind-blowing.</p>
<p><br />For budget travellers, the shady, spacious municipal campsite on the banks of the River Yi is an excellent option. Each plot is equipped with a parrilla, electricity point, picnic table and chairs. There's a shop and a restaurant, and campers get full medical coverage.</p>
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<p><strong>Where to Eat and Drink</strong></p>
<p>Surprisingly, despite its superb meat-eateries, Durazno understands vegetarians. Don't let the locations put you off - bus and petrol stations seem to attract the best restaurants.</p>
<p><strong><br />Pan y Vino,</strong> beside the bus station, is the classiest place in town. It's unpretentious, the food inventive and well-presented, and the service friendly. Its tarta de berenjenas is possibly the tastiest vegetarian option in Uruguay.<br /> <strong><br />El Posto</strong>, beside the ANCAP petrol station at the south end of town on the N5, is the best parrilla in town, and the service is first-rate: you are offered a delicious picada to nibble while you wait. The spinach crepe is an excellent vegetarian choice.<br /> <strong><br />La Farola </strong>on 18 de Julio is a great place: as you sit under the plane trees watching the world go by, the friendly proprietor Marina will personally prepare the pizza of your choice.</p>
<p><strong>Parador El Sauzal</strong> The municipal campsite's open-air bar sets you back three pesos for a litre of beer, and serves good, cheap snacks - their chivitos leave ordinary hamburgers in the shade.</p>
<p><strong>La Estación</strong> opposite the bus station, housed in a luridly puce but elegant Art-Deco building, is the liveliest place in town. From 9 p.m. to 1 a.m. families come here to have a drink and a picada; at weekends, once they've left, the young set come in, push back the tables and dance till long past dawn. Live bands play jazz, candombe and folk music.</p>
<p><strong><br />What to do</strong></p>
<p><strong>Canoeing</strong><br />Go down to the campsite beach at dawn and take out a canoe. If you're lucky you'll see a vermilion flycatcher. Legend has it that as the last indigenous Charrua was being chased to his death he tore out his heart and flung it into the sky where it flutters still as this brilliant blood-coloured bird.</p>
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<p><strong>Fishing</strong><br />From amidst the jumble of fishing tackle in his poky corner shop Vida Selvaje on Galarza and Etchegoyen, Fernando Sosa, a keen conservationist, organizes sports fishing trips, providing equipment, transport, and cabins.</p>
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<p><strong>Horseriding </strong><br />Try horseriding at ‘El Silencio' (see above)</p>
<p><strong><br />Shopping</strong><br />Paseo de los Artesanos, just off Plaza Sarandí opposite the tourist office, is a small mall lined with several craft stalls. Don't be fooled by the tacky souvenirs on display: the artisans keep their quality goods tucked away. Mercedes Olveira specializes in weaving, and Nery in knitting. Both use local raw wool.</p>
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<p><strong>Information</strong><br />How to Get To Durazno</p>
<p>If you're not coming by car, a dozen buses a day travel the 180 kilometres north to Durazno from the Tres Cruces Terminal in Montevideo. The two-and-a-half hour trip costs $26.00 one-way, and $48.00 return.</p>
<p>The towns' website is regularly updated and has plenty of information about what's going on: http://www.durazno.gub.uy</p>
<p>Useful Addresses: <br />Bus Terminal: Tel (036)28716; north end of Oribe <br />Tourist Office: Tel (036)20176, 099 961066; Paseo de los Artesanos off Plaza Sarandí)<br />Municipal Campsite: Tel (036)24500; Playa del Sauzal;<br />Hotel del Country: Tel (036)22724, fax (036)29273; www.hoteldelcountry.com; Batalla de las Piedras 284<br />Estancia el Silencio: Tel (036)22014, e-mail: silencio@adinet.com.uy; Km 166 on the Ruta 14 towards Trinidad.<br />Country Code for Uruguay: +598</p>
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<p><strong>Published in the 'Buenos Aires Herald', 19 March 2008</strong></p>
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<p>Do you ever wish that your city tour would take you behind the scenes, beyond the pages of your guide book? Do you dream of crowd-free tours that show you what YOU want to see, rather than what's on the guide's schedule? Would you enjoy the personalized service of professional native English-speaking guides, who have lived in the country for many years, know the city inside out, love it, and enjoy sharing it with visitors?</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, Liz and Richard Cowley of Real English Tours, a new company in Montevideo, Uruguay, offer you all this and more.</p>
<p>We had dinner with Richard and Liz last night in their home in the centre of Montevideo, just a stone's throw from the River Plate. We agreed that there are a few simple answers to the question that so many friends in America and Europe ask us: Why Uruguay? Because Uruguay is quiet. Uruguay is stress-free. Uruguay doesn't have traffic jams. Uruguay is cheap. And Uruguay is beautiful.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After many years working in Uruguay, Liz and Richard felt so at home that they decided to retire here. Seeing a gap in the market, they decided to set up their company, which offers ‘tours with a difference'. And it's true. They are different. I know Montevideo well, and I have been on three of Liz's tours. I will happy join her for more. Every time I get inside the home of another Uruguayan historical hero, see a different museum, learn something new.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>No bored guides rambling on in poor English, spouting memorized facts. No busloads of tourists being told to get off the bus at what the guide thinks is a suitable photo stop.</p>
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<p>With Liz and Richard, you get what you want. On a historical tour, Liz will explore the old city with you, visiting buildings and museums hidden down narrow streets, and, through her anecdotes, will give you a real feel of what Montevideo was like in the colonial days. Richard is a historian, and his presentation and tour about the Battle of the River Plate and sunken German battleship, the Graf Spee, are unique.</p>
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<p>But Liz and Richard are experts in many fields: if you want to know about vintage cars, visit vineyards, or simply go shopping, they will be happy to arrange it, and will accompany you on a Real English Tour.</p>
<p><br />Have a look at their website: http://www.realenglishtours.com/graf.html</p>
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<p><strong>Publsihed in the 'Buenos Aires Herald', 23 April 2008</strong></p>
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<p>If you are in Montevideo, and feel like going for a walk, your obvious choice is La Rambla. This is a wide road, which has a comfortable wide pavement all along the river side, stretching twenty kilometres from the port eastwards to the leafy suburb of Carrasco.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On wet days the sidewalk and beaches are deserted. When the wind is up, windsurfers, kitesurfers, or just plain surfers brave the dark, frothy breakers. In the summer, the coves and beaches are packed with children building sandcastles, groups of friends sitting on folding chairs under parasols sipping maté, and swimmers splashing in the water.<br />And the broad pavement bustles: roller-bladers, cyclists, and dog-walkers jostle for space, fitness freaks speed-walk or jog in their pelts, and couples line the little wall marking the boundary with the beach. Every half-kilometre of the Rambla is marked with a big sign indicating how far you are from the port.</p>
<p><br /> But where do you go if you want a quieter, more challenging walk, out in the country? Serious trekking is not really in the Uruguayan nature, but just an hour's drive east of Montevideo, on the road to Punta del Este, we found a great place to hike on the little-known Sierra de las Animas. At 501 metres, it is Uruguay's second-highest hill. Okay, it's hardly Kilimanjaro, but this privately-owned area offers a couple of beautiful walks. And you're not likely to meet many other hikers there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The walk to the ‘summit' takes you an hour through fairly steep, dense woodland, which is quite rough underfoot, after which you emerge above the treeline into a landscape reminiscent of the Wicklow Hills near Dublin, or parts of Donegal in Ireland, with spectacular views over the resort of Piriapolis, Punta del Este, and on a clear day, even as far as Montevideo. The rest of the track to the top is much easier, and horses graze on the high pastures.</p>
<p><br /> An alternative route veers to the right half way to the summit, and takes you a further hour through woodland, to a series of pools along a river, some of which are three to four metres deep. These ‘Pozos Azules' or Blue Pools - get their bright cobalt colour from the high density of minerals in the water. On a hot day, the cool water is wonderfully welcoming, if you're brave enough to take a dip.</p>
<p><br /> There area is unspoilt, and there is a wide variety of flora and fauna: you will see woodpeckers, kiskadees, owls, and if you're lucky, foxes or wild pigs. Charles Darwin came here, and was impressed by the huge range of ferns. We saw flowers that looked like edelweiss, and beautiful butterflies.</p>
<p><br /> Each of these walks takes about four hours. You need to wear good walking boots, and take water, a wind-cheater, and sunblock. Entry is forty Uruguayan pesos, (six Argentine pesos) and the park ranger will thoroughly check you, and give you plenty of advice, before she pronounces you fit to climb - the locals are not used to hills!</p>
<p><br /> Sierra de las Animas is open every day in the summer, and at weekends in the winter.</p>
<p><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Sierra de las Animas: Ruta Balnearia Km 86<br />Telephone: 0059894419891<br />info@sierradelasanumas.com<br />http://www.sierradelasanimas.com/</span></p>
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<p><strong>Published in 'The Oldie', March 2007</strong></p>
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<p></p>
<p>Today, 2 February, is the feast of the Yemanjà: the patron of fishermen. I stroll down to the Rio de la Plata before sunset to see what it's all about. The beach is almost deserted.</p>
<p><br />On the shore is an exquisite cardboard boat, decorated with tinsel and flowers.<br />Watermelons are strewn everywhere.</p>
<p><br />A group of about half a dozen people, dressed in long white robes, are carrying a big cardboard boat down the steps.<br />In front of the Casino Hotel, a few white-clad people are building a sand altar. I wander towards them, nearly tripping over a bloody headless chicken.</p>
<p><br />A blue-haired girl is lining each side of a path from the altar to the sea with alternating candles and flowers.</p>
<p><br />"Señora," I say, "Could you tell me about this feast? I'm a foreigner."</p>
<p><br />"We're preparing for the Virgen de la Yemanjà. She'll be here soon".</p>
<p><br />"The Virgen? She's coming?"</p>
<p><br />"Yes, but the bus must have got delayed . Here, take this card."</p>
<p><br />The Virgen's business card? "La May Adelcia", it says, under a faded 60s photo of a smiling buxom young woman.</p>
<p><br />I approach a couple. Maybe they can enlighten me. I show them the card. "Ah, the May", they say. "That's a woman priest. She's the Virgen's representative."</p>
<p><br />"What about the watermelons? And the chicken?"</p>
<p><br />"Oh, those are sacrifices to the Virgen , the Goddess of fishermen, to thank her for last year's blessings, and pray for protection next year. They send jewellery, perfume, and flowers out in the boats. If the gifts sink, the Virgen has blessed them; if they come to shore, she has rejected them. They will party until dawn."</p>
<p><br />"Is it a sect?"</p>
<p><br />"More a religion. Its origins are Yoruba. The slaves brought it to Brazil, but it's become very big in Uruguay now."</p>
<p><br />The beach is filling up. Each group has a maté, the calabash which Uruguayans carry around, containing a strong type of tea, sipped through a silver straw. I look at the sand altar. There is some activity now. It's almost eight. In the centre of a group an elderly woman wearing a long pink satin dress and a rich brocade beige shawl, surrounded by white-clad acolytes. I recognize her as an aged May Adelcia from the card. On the altar stands a statue of the Virgen, decked with bead necklaces, wearing a blue satin dress and a brocade cape. In front of the altar is a large plastic inflated dinghy. People are queuing up to lay gifts inside. I can't distinguish between participants and onlookers.</p>
<p><br />The May gives a signal, and she and her assistants walk down the path to the river shore, chanting softly, arms raised high. Suddenly there is a loud hacking noise. The May is laughing - a strange, guttural croak.</p>
<p><br />They walk backwards to the altar, except for one young man who prostrates himself in the water.</p>
<p><br />The crowd is thick now. It's cold and eerie.</p>
<p><br />The May and her followers are chanting and shuffling. The May is pouring Fanta onto the statue's expensive-looking clothes.</p>
<p><br />I decide to get some sleep, go home, and set my alarm for five.</p>
<p><br />As I drive out, dawn is just breaking. The May and her followers are in the dinghy, their arms raised to the sky, with the Virgen, in the Rio. The beach is packed now, a frenzy of chant and dancing. Empty bottles, dead flowers, and rubbish are strewn on the beach.</p>
<p><br />A few people lie face down in the river. I see now that the dinghy has a small engine. Slowly, it disappears into the misty morning.</p>
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<p><strong>Published in 'The Oldie', January 2008</strong></p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Let's sit on the <em>zaguán</em>,' my friend Rosa says. The <em>zaguán </em>is the space between her front door and the street. We squeeze out two plastic folding chairs and a table.</p>
<p><br />I've been invited to <em>matear</em>, Uruguayan style.</p>
<p><br /><em>Mate </em>is a national social pastime here. The <em>mate </em>is a calabash: you fill it with a bitter dried leaf called <em>yerba</em>, add boiling water, and sip it through a <em>bombilla </em>- a silver straw. The whole set of <em>mate</em>, <em>bombilla </em>and <em>yerba </em>are also referred to as <em>mate</em>, and the verb, <em>matear</em>, means to sip it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There are rules: you carry your <em>mate </em>in your hand and flask under your arm, or put everything in a leather case called a <em>matera</em>, but you can't order it in a bar. It's something personal, which you pass around your friends. Groups of young people sit in parks, chatting, enjoying the sun and sipping away. In street markets, or even in business meetings, people clutch their calabashes. Kiosks sell hot water to refill flasks. During summer months, when hordes of Uruguayans hit the beaches, first aid centres are set up to deal with burns.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Okay, Rosa, I want to get this right.'</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rosa pours cold water onto one side of the leaves, digs a hollow with her straw, and starts sipping.</p>
<p><br />‘The leaves have to <em>hinchar</em>, to swell. You use cold water at first; otherwise the straw clogs up. I'm inviting, so I sip till the temperature is right. It's rude if I give it to you luke-warm.'</p>
<p><br />She sucks, and when a gurgle indicates she has drained her brew, she fills it with boiling water, slurps again, checking the temperature, refills, and hands it to me.</p>
<p><br />I sip. We chat. I learn that is impolite to hand the <em>mate </em>back before the last drop of water is finished. You need that slurpy noise.</p>
<p><br />‘Yuk! You don't want to sip someone else's water!' Rosa says. I wonder about the hygiene of the operation. ‘Most people share with anyone. But I'm selective.'</p>
<p><br />I'm honoured.</p>
<p><br />‘I'm the hostess, so I fill. And we <em>chusmear</em>. We gossip about passers- by.'</p>
<p><br />‘Rosa, if gossiping is part of <em>matear</em>, I'll go for it.'</p>
<p><br />‘Ooh, see that woman? She's <em>asquerosa</em>.' I wonder why she's nauseating. ‘She moved into the area and rebuilt the house next door. Loads of money. Moans all the time: says my pipes are wrong, my bathroom is making damp seep into hers...'</p>
<p>A man walks by. I nod and say ‘<em>Buenas tardes</em>.'</p>
<p><br />‘No, don't greet, just smile. Don't say anything unless you know the person.'</p>
<p><br />‘But I don't know anyone.'</p>
<p><br />‘Okay, don't say anything unless I know them. You have to differentiate between those you know and those you don't.</p>
<p><br />An elderly man passes with a dog. ‘Not all there.'</p>
<p><br />We pass the mate back and forth. Every few fills, Rosa shifts the straw around the wet leaves.</p>
<p><br />‘How's Alicia?' Rosa asks. She met Alicia at my house recently.</p>
<p><br />‘Ah, poor Alicia, she's the first of twelve siblings. When she was fifteen, and her youngest brothers, twins, were a few months old, her mother gave one of them away - can you imagine? She handed him over to a stranger, then left. With another man. Alicia didn't see her again till last week, at a funeral. But Alicia's kids refuse to call her grandma. Can you blame them?'</p>
<p><br />Is this me, talking about other people's affairs, and judging?</p>
<p><br />Rosa pours the last drops from the flask, and sips the maté del estribo.</p>
<p><br />The dregs.</p>
<p><br />‘Great, Paola. You've managed to <em>matear </em>and <em>chusmear</em>, simultaneously. You're a real Uruguayan now.'</p>
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<p><strong>Published in 'The Oldie', November 2008</strong></p>
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<p>Today's the day: we're going to buy a painting by a well-known Uruguayan artist. The low autumn sun is bright, and the coast road is virtually deserted. Our destination is Punta Ballena - Whale Point - seventy-five miles east of Montevideo, the Uruguayan capital where we live. A large billboard flashes by: ‘VISA - porque la vida es ahora': VISA - because life is now. I tap my pocket - yes, my Visa card is there.</p>
<p><br /> Carlos Paez Vilaró spent thirty years developing his unique home/hotel/museum/studio from a shack into Casapueblo, the massive, rambling, white-domed creation it is today. As in his paintings, there are no straight lines in this unique cliff-hugging structure. Over the years, he added segments, stretching it along the hillside, up towards the sky, and down towards the sea. He compares it to an oven-bird's nest. ‘I apologize to architecture for being as free as an oven-bird,' he says.</p>
<p><br /> We start with an introductory video, backed by the artist's deep, raspy voice. We travel around the world with him to Africa, Polynesia and Europe. We see his huge murals brightening up airports in every continent. We see him with Dali, Picasso, Emperor Haile Selassie, and Brigitte Bardot. But his greatest hero is Albert Schweitzer, whose leprosarium in Gabon he visited.</p>
<p><br />We see him in 1972, when his son went missing in the Andes plane crash along with a team of rugby companions and friends. For three months Carlos Paez Vilaró kept hoping, and parked himself in Chile, helping with the search long after many had given up. When news came that survivors had been found, he was handed the list to read live on Uruguayan radio, before he knew if his son was among them. He blocked out the names with a sheet of paper, sliding it down, row by row, revealing one name at a time ... his son's was fifth, and as he read, he realized another list was forming in the minds of families and friends, of those the mountains had not spared.</p>
<p><br /> After the video, we wander through the museum looking at his paintings which show the influence of Picasso, Dali, his travels, African rhythms, and Uruguayan constructivism. We eventually choose a small one, painted in 2003, depicting some of his classic themes - on the left a bare-breasted woman sitting at a table, on the right, a higgledy-piggledy mass of houses, and in the background, a huge ship. The black outlines are bold, and the hues are pink and red, touched with greenish blue, like a Uruguayan sunset.</p>
<p><br /> ‘Would you like to meet the artist?' the saleswoman asks, and leads us through a honeycomb of stairs and corridors to his studio, filled with old books and antique African carvings.</p>
<p><br /> The eighty-six-year-old man is like his paintings: striking. He starts talking about Africa. ‘I fell madly in love in Cameroon,' he says. ‘Don't tell my wife.' He continues. ‘Once I filmed an artist painting a nude woman, her hair blowing in the wind, against the backdrop of Kilimanjaro. The film was shown in Cannes.'</p>
<p><br /> ‘Why have you started using such bold colours?' I ask. ‘Your earlier paintings are more restrained.'</p>
<p><br /> ‘I had heart surgery earlier this year. I was close to death. An artist doesn't choose what to paint - it just happens. These colours must be my last desperate search for the vibrancy of youth. I love life. But it's my sunset now. Every day, here at Casapueblo, we have a ceremony: we watch the sun going down over the water, and observe a few moments' silence.'</p>
<p><br /> Thank you, Carlos, it was an honour and a privilege to meet you, and when you are gone, I will look at the subdued sunset colours in my painting and think of you.</p>
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<p><strong>First published in International Living, 30 July 2007</strong></p>
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<p>If you are a golfer, you are probably familiar with the story of the Argentinean player, Roberto de Vicenzo. In the 1968 Masters he birdied the par 4 seventeenth hole, but his playing partner Tommy Aaron mistakenly entered a 4 instead of 3 on the scorecard. DeVicenzo signed the scorecard without checking it, and according to the Rules of Golf the higher score had to stand. If not for this mistake, de Vicenzo would have tied for first place, and would have had a chance to win in a playoff the following day. His memorable, modest remark after the incident was: "What a stupid I am!"</p>
<p><br />Roberto de Vicenzo can still be seen occasionally giving master classes at the Club de Golf de Uruguay, which is commonly known as the Punta Carretas Golf Course. Situated in the center of Montevideo, this course has a superb clubhouse with a gym, outdoor and indoor swimming pools and two excellent restaurants. Apart from being a popular venue for hosting events and parties, this club is a social center for the higher echelons of Uruguayan society. It takes a little determination and a few dollars to push your way in as an expatriate, but the facilities are outstanding. On Mondays, the general public is allowed to use the golf course for free.</p>
<p><br />But this is not your only option as a golfer in Montevideo: About fifteen miles to the east of the city, not far from the International Airport and the residential suburb of Carrasco, lies La Tahona Golf Club, the newest in the city. It's an attractive course, long and fairly difficult, winding through a maze of new houses. There is a more democratic feel this the club, which attracts young, unpretentious Uruguayan players. La Tahona has an open-air pool, tennis courts, gym facilities and a restaurant.</p>
<p><br />The oldest golf club in Uruguay is El Cerro, a forgotten jewel sweeping down to a small cove on the Rio de la Plata about ten miles west of the city center. Lying just below the Cerro fortress, this spectacularly beautiful course was designed by Alister McKenzie, and has views over Montevideo and the Rio. The course runs through established parkland, and the colors are sensational in the fall. The wooden clubhouse was brought over from Chicago in the early 20th century, and has not been changed since. It has an oldy-worldy feel to it, with open log fires and ancient rules posted on the walls.</p>
<p><br />This unpretentious club has a restaurant and no other facilities: with no entrance fee, it is by far the best value of the three. It has fewer members than either of the other two clubs, and its only drawback is that to access it you have to drive through one of the poorest areas of the city. Many diplomats and British expats play here.</p>
<p><br />I am reliably informed that every hole at El Cerro is a challenge, and my pundit tells me that the secret is to lay up between the bunkers every time: if you force it and try to go for the pin you may find it hard to break a hundred.</p>
<p><br />El Cerro has a partnership deal with La Tahona: for a small additional fee, members of one can play at the other. So the recommendation is to join El Cerro, get the partnership deal for La Tahona, and play free at the Club de Golf de Uruguay on Mondays.</p>
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<p><strong><br />First published in International Living, March 2007</strong></p>
<p><br />Perched on a small headland just thirty kilometres north of the glitzy swinging resort of Punta del Este, on the sandy, duny Atlantic coast of Uruguay, sits the exclusive hamlet of Jose Ignacio. Unlike Punta, there are no highrise apartment blocks here, no casinos, no nightclubs. Martin Amis owns a house in Jose Ignacio, and Ralph Lauren and Naomi Campbell often choose to relax here.</p>
<p><br />The neat, quiet town boasts a couple of supermarkets, two internet cafes, a clinic, and many, many estate agents. Jose Ignacio is growing fast.</p>
<p><br />A popular, excellent restaurant, La Huella, serves fresh fish and sushi at the entrance to La Playa Brava, the seemingly endless white beach to the east of the headland. Half of the cars cramming the access to the beach are Argentinean.</p>
<p><br />Ice-cream sellers, and vendors carrying bright Indian blouses over their shoulders, weave their way among the scantily clad, copper-coloured crowds. Kiosks rent out boogie and surfboards and offer surfing lessons.</p>
<p><br />Children build castles at the water's edge, youngsters play beach tennis, groups lounge about lazily sipping maté. Two lifeguards sit atop their lookout, keeping an eye on the swimmers and surfers. It's three o'clock, and no one seems concerned about the thin ozone layer.</p>
<p><br />I visit during the four-day Carnival weekend, on of the busiest times of the Uruguayan summer. I stroll west, leaving the crowds behind, and clamber over the boulders near the lighthouse which is stuck out on the end of the peninsula. Here a few children are collecting shells from the sandy hollows between the rocks. A few fishermen sit quietly contemplating their lines.</p>
<p><br />I swing around the point and find myself on another beach, La Juanita, stretching west towards Punta del Este. Here there are no kiosks, no vendors, and very few people. The sea at La Juanita is safer and calmer than at la Brava, though the waves are definitely surfable.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ahead, a lifeguard gazes into the empty sea from his perch. Plovers, sanderlings and oyster-catchers hop along the shoreline, guiding me towards him. I wade into the cool turquoise water and swim out to sea, diving under a few waves. Beyond them, I float on my back and wonder why this beach is so peaceful, so private. Maybe crowds simply like crowds. Unlike me.</p>
<p><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><strong>Tips</strong><br />Jose Ignacio lies 150 kilometres east of Montevideo<br />Frequent buses connect Punta del Este to Jose Ignacio.<br />The season is short: although the best time to visit is between November and March, you won't find much action outside December, January and early February.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />For budget travellers, El Backpacker, just outside the bustling town of La Barra twenty kilometres to the west, is an exceptionally well-equipped and attractive hostel set in a wood. Their $15.00 bed and breakfast rate includes lockers, towels and bedlinen, as well as the use of bikes. </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />But if budget is not a problem, try La Posada del Faro, an exclusive small hotel set discreetly in the dunes in Jose Ignacio, where accommodation prices range from $90.00 to $550 per night, depending on the season and the type of room. Naomi Campbell stayed there, and loved it!</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />El Backpacker: www.vivapunta.com.backpacker, backpacker@vivapunta.com, Tel/fax (598 42) 77 22 72.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />La Posada del Faro: www.posadadelfaro.com, Tel 598 486 2110, Fax 598 486 2111</span></p>
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<p><br /><strong>First published in International Living, June 2007</strong></p>
<p><br />June 19 is a national holiday in Uruguay, in celebration of the birthday of the country's greatest hero, José Artigas, ‘the father of independence'. In the center of Montevideo's most important square, Plaza Independencia, just outside the gate of the Ciudadela, the gate to the old city, stands the imposing 50-foot statue of Artigas mounted on his horse. Below street level, his remains are under twenty-four-hour guard.</p>
<p><br />Artigas was born in 1764 to a wealthy family who were among the first settlers of Montevideo. As a young man he was a gaucho, spending a lot of time on his family's farms, and became adept at rural tasks, riding, and handling weapons, and later joined the militia.</p>
<p><br />During colonization, the ‘Banda Oriental del Uruguay' - the Band East of the River Uruguay - was constantly caught up in rivalry between the Spanish and the Portuguese. The name of the area has stuck, and Uruguayans still refer to themselves as ‘Orientales'. Artigas allied with the people of Spanish America in their struggle for freedom. He became the first leader of the Orientales, but was forced to take exile in Paraguay when Buenos Aires refused to support him against attack from the Portuguese in Brazil in 1820.</p>
<p><br />He spent thirty years in exile in Paraguay, and so, although it was he who had paved the way, he was not present at his country's independence in 1828.</p>
<p><br />However, this Robin Hood-type figure is greatly revered by all his countrymen, who regularly quote him: "Mercy for the defeated", "Let the Orientals be as cultured as they are brave", "Treat the injured, respect prisoners."<br />Artigas had three faithful companions: his horse, his Cimarron dog, and his black servant, Ancina, who went with him to Paraguay and remained with him until his death.</p>
<p><br />Today schools and gaucho associations celebrate their hero's birthday with flag ceremonies, at which they sing the National Anthem and dance the national dance, the Pericón. The boys in gaucho gear, and the girls decked in long, bright skirts, wear cotton scarves around their necks, in the flag colours of pale blue and white. During the dance the couples perform an amusing repartee, and the dance ends with a flourish of scarves, forming a giant flag.</p>
<p><br />From this year, the day has been given a new name: "Nunca Más", meaning "Never Again", symbolising the peaceful climate in the country. It's an undertaking that the struggles of the country's past will not return.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
Tags: cabo polonio uruguay seals horses uruguay holidays adventure tourism estancia peace eco-tourism uruguay horses leather uruguay handbags uruguay durazno montevideo tours english uruguay walk uruguay religion religious customs uruguay yemanja mate custom uruguay calabash silver straw artist paez villaro casapueblo uruguay punta ballena golf montevideo uruguay tahoa cerro beach uruguay martin amis naomi campbell crowds glitzy punta del este jose ignacio sea artigas uruguay celebration national hero independence statue
<p><strong>Published in The Buenos Aires Herald, December 2007</strong></p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the heart of Montevideo's historical old town, tucked in a quiet street around the corner from the craft sellers in the bustling Plaza Matriz, is a small, simply decorated restaurant, Delnorte. It is a welcome contrast to Montevideo's innumerable parrillas - barbecue houses - which serve huge quantities of excellent meat and offal, but little else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alejandro, who three years ago opened the hugely successful El Estrecho just a few streets away, has teamed up with fellow-Uruguayan Martín to offer tourists and business people a more sophisticated lunch option. Their priorities are clear: to provide fresh, light, appetizing and attractive dishes, and a fast, professional service, at affordable prices. Every morning Alejandro and Martín go to the market to select top quality ingredients.</p>
<p><br />In contrast to El Estrecho, which serves food to customers on high stools at a counter, Delnorte has a more relaxed feel about it. The décor is minimalist: Round wooden tables sit on sisal mats on a wooden floor, a wavy line of pale orange script lightly decorates the white stippled walls. The lighting is discreet, as is the music. A simple vase of flowers sits on the counter. Customers can watch the dishes being freshly prepared and cooked.</p>
<p><br />The menu has a limited selection of original, modern dishes that are presented with flair.</p>
<p><br />Close to both the port and the city's banking area, the restaurant's position is ideal.</p>
<p><br />As we sipped a freshly squeezed orange juice, Alejandro suggested my companion and I start with a shared camembert starter. The strong camembert flavour was tempered by the honey and thyme in which it was baked, and the local cheese was much lighter than its French counterpart.</p>
<p><br />For the main course my companion chose an Ensalada 510, a delicate combination of rocket leaves, spinach, walnuts, warm fresh figs and small chunks of baked chicken doused with balsamic vinegar. I selected the Ensalada Tremont, which consisted of mixed greens, dried apricots, local Roquefort cheese and almonds, topped with slivers of tenderloin, in a French dressing. Since my companion wanted a taste, Alejandro divided it onto two plates, with her meat well done and mine rare. We agreed that in years of eating Uruguayan meat we had never tasted anything quite as succulent and tender.</p>
<p><br />My cappuccino dessert was creamy and light, as was her crème brulée. We accompanied our meal with a strong-bodied local Don Pascual Sauvignon, which went down a treat.</p>
<p><br />Our bill came to just over 700 pesos, equivalent to about US$30.00 or GB£15.00.</p>
<p><br />The service at Delnorte is friendly and personalized, but not over the top. Everything about the place is unpretentious, tasteful and efficient. And it is a treat to be able to feel satisfied, but not stuffed, after a three-course meal.</p>
<p><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Delnorte,<br />Rincon 510,<br />Montevideo.<br />Tel: (00598 2) 9158267</span></p>
<p> </p>
Tags: cabo polonio uruguay seals horses uruguay holidays adventure tourism estancia peace eco-tourism uruguay horses leather uruguay handbags uruguay durazno montevideo tours english uruguay walk uruguay religion religious customs uruguay yemanja mate custom uruguay calabash silver straw artist paez villaro casapueblo uruguay punta ballena golf montevideo uruguay tahoa cerro beach uruguay martin amis naomi campbell crowds glitzy punta del este jose ignacio sea artigas uruguay celebration national hero independence statue montevideo uruguay good food old town plaza matriz light lunch
<p> </p>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><em><span style="font-family: ">I wrote this a couple of years ago when I was living in Uruguay. Unfortunately, the op only worked for a couple of months...and the honking bugles are back with a vengeance. I have now ordered an anti snoring ring - to go on my finger, not on my nose - it's supposed to work on pressure points. I'll try anything! Will let you know...</span></em></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">The bald, jolly
Ear, Nose and Throat specialist, Dr Hammer, says that my <em>cornetes</em> are blocking my nostrils. Cauterising them may help solve my
snoring problem.<span> </span>I look up <em>cornete</em> in my Spanish-English
dictionary.<span> </span>It’s not there, but I do
find that <em>corneta</em> is a bugle and <em>corneteo</em> is a honking sound.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">On the day of
the operation I fast for four hours as instructed.<span> </span>It’s a cool, autumn day in Montevideo,
Uruguay, where I live.<span> </span>I drive to the
British Hospital in the pouring rain.<span> </span>I have
to be there an hour early for the<em> </em></span><em><span style="font-family: ">tramites</span></em><span style="font-family: ">.<span> </span><em>Tramites</em> are procedures.<span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">I reach the
British Hospital at one o’clock.<span> </span>It is a
magnificent imposing building from the mid-nineteenth century.<span> </span>As I walk up the grand steps and into the
lobby, I sense an air of calm order.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p><span style="font-family: ">The<em> </em></span><em><span style="font-family: ">tramites</span></em><span style="font-family: "> turn out
to be simple:<span> </span>the receptionist looks at
the document I have from the specialist and sends me up to </span><span style="font-family: ">surgery</span><span style="font-family: "> on the third floor.<span> </span>She doesn’t ask me for I.D.<span> </span>She doesn’t ask me to pay anything.<span> </span>The lift dates from 1958:<span> </span>one of those with the compressing latticed
metal doors.<span> </span>It moves remarkably smoothly.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">In </span><span style="font-family: ">surgery</span><span style="font-family: "> I find a waiting room.<span> </span>There are three ladies and a man sitting
quietly in leather armchairs, all looking healthy.<span> </span>They are wearing lilac gowns, sky blue puffy bath
caps and matching big cloth slippers secured with ribbons.<span> </span>They are not smiling, not reading, not
chatting, but just gazing into space.<span> </span>A
nurse, wearing a green gown and the same blue slippers and cap, takes me into a
tiny changing room and asks me to remove all my clothes, watch, and jewellery
and put on the gown, cap and slippers that are on the stool. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">“All?”<span> </span>I ask.<span> </span>“But I’m here for my nostrils!” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">“Well, you can
keep your <em>bombachita</em> on”, she
concedes.<span> </span>Phew, my underpants can stay
on.<span> </span>I feel safer.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "><span> </span>“And my glasses?<span> </span>I can’t see without my glasses, I can’t think
without my glasses…”<span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">“You
can keep those too.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">When I’m ready,
feeling lost without my watch, I sit in an armchair alongside the others. The
nurse asks me to fill in a form.<span> </span>It’s
too quiet in here, and there’s still a long wait.<span> </span>I’m cold, so I the nurse brings me a blanket.<span> </span>I curl up and go to sleep.<span> </span>When I wake up I look around for a clock, but
there isn’t one.<span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">A male nurse
comes in with a wheelchair and takes away one of the healthy ladies.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">He comes back
with the wheelchair.<span> </span>“<em>Se</em></span><em><span style="font-family: ">ñ</span></em><em><span style="font-family: ">ora</span></em><span style="font-family: "> Fornari” he says quietly. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "><span> </span>“That’s me,” I whisper nervously.<span> </span>He asks me to get into the wheelchair.<span> </span>I refuse.<span> </span>“I am here for my NOSTRILS,” I growl.<span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "><span> </span>So I walk with him, beside the wheelchair, down a corridor, past three
operating theatres.<span> </span>All have open doors
and big windows, and all have a patient on a bed surrounded by several doctors. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">We reach my
operating theatre, and where Dr Hammer is cheerfully waiting for me. I climb
onto the bed and lie down.<span> </span>There is a
huge light suspended over me.<span> </span>Dr Hammer
straps a light round his forehead.<span> </span>He
looks like a miner, or an explorer.<span> </span>I
tell him I’m nervous.<span> </span>He smiles.<span> </span>The male nurse watches.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">“What are my
chances?”<span> </span>I ask. <span> </span>I mean chances of a successful outcome and
peaceful nights.<span> </span>An end to sleeping in
the snoring room.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">“Fifty-fifty”,
he grins.<span> </span>I hope he understood my
question.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">“On
a scale of one to ten, how serious is this operation?”<span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">“Two.”<span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "><span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">“And
on a scale of one to ten, how painful?” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">“Two.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">Two sounds bad
to me.<span> </span>It’s not zero, and it’s not one.<span> </span>“Okay, how does it compare to having a baby,
or having your wisdom teeth out?” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">“Well, I’ve
never had a baby, but I imagine that’s worse than wisdom teeth. Wisdom teeth
are way off the scale above ten.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">I
feel slightly reassured.<span> </span>Briefly.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">He
puts a cold blue square piece of rubber on my leg.<span> </span>I ask what it is.<span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">“It’s the
earth, for the electricity,” he answers.<span> </span>I begin to panic.<span> </span>Electricity?<span> </span>He explains that he
will anaesthetise my nostrils and then cauterise the <em>cornetes</em>.<span> </span>It will not be
painful, but I will feel electric shocks. It will be over in a few
minutes.<span> </span>He sprays a cold liquid into my
nostrils, and I feel it dripping down the back of my throat.<span> </span>It tastes like the anti-snoring spray that
doesn’t work.<span> </span>My throat feels numb.<span> </span>With tweezers, he puts what seems like an
endlessly long strip of wet cloth up each nostril.<span> </span>As he pulls each piece out a few seconds
later, I think it must look like a gruesome magician’s trick. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">“We’re
ready to start,” he says a few minutes later.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">“Wait,
wait!”<span> </span>I say.<span> </span>“I need someone to hold my hand”.<span> </span>He beckons the male nurse, who comes and
stands beside me.<span> </span>I grab his hand with
both of mine and squeeze tight.<span> </span>He’s
lucky my nails are soft.<span> </span>Three electric
shocks into my right nostril.<span> </span>I feel
them all the way to my teeth.<span> </span>I burst
into tears. No pain, just plain shock.<span> </span>The doctor pauses for a few minutes to wait for me to calm down.<span> </span>I do some yogic breathing:<span> </span>inhale<em>, </em>abdomen<em>, </em>chest, shoulder-blades,
om one, om two, om three, om four, om five, om six. That’s better.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">“I’m ready”, I
say, clutching the male nurse’s hand with all my strength.<span> </span>Two shocks down the left nostril and we’re
done.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">I am not
allowed to walk back to the waiting room.<span> </span>Regulations state that operated patients have to go in a wheelchair.<span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">I get
dressed.<span> </span>I look at my watch.<span> </span>Three o’clock.<span> </span>I sniff as I go down the lift.<span> </span>I feel exactly the same as before.<span> </span>What did I expect?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">It’s
still raining as I get into my car.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: ">Fifty-fifty, he
said.<span> </span>I wonder which fifty it will be.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "> </span></p>
<p> </p>
Tags: cabo polonio uruguay seals horses uruguay holidays adventure tourism estancia peace eco-tourism uruguay horses leather uruguay handbags uruguay durazno montevideo tours english uruguay walk uruguay religion religious customs uruguay yemanja mate custom uruguay calabash silver straw artist paez villaro casapueblo uruguay punta ballena golf montevideo uruguay tahoa cerro beach uruguay martin amis naomi campbell crowds glitzy punta del este jose ignacio sea artigas uruguay celebration national hero independence statue montevideo uruguay good food old town plaza matriz light lunch snoring operation nose hospital cauterise nostrils montevideo uruguay british
<p> </p>
<p><strong>March, 2005</strong></p>
<p><br />I can speak Spanish!</p>
<p><br />I think I can honestly add "Spanish: fluent" to my C.V.</p>
<p><br />Six months ago I spoke NO Spanish.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, perhaps that's a bit of a lie. "<em>Hasta la vista</em>." "<em>Vamos a la playa</em>." " <em>Donde están los servicios, por favor</em>? (Always useful to know where the toilets are.) " <em>Gracias</em>." "<em>De nada</em>."</p>
<p><br />Six months ago, in September, I knew I'd be moving to Uruguay at the end of October. I needed to learn Spanish fast. To me it seemed very important to be able to communicate confidently, immediately. No way was I going to settle for four years into an expatriate life in which no Spanish was spoken.</p>
<p><br />After about ten years of a close association with Call International, a langiuage school in Brussels, the time had come to put their method seriously to the test. True, I had learnt some Portuguese and Finnish during teacher training courses, but I had never REALLY checked if it worked for ME. I had never NEEDED to speak Portuguese or Finnish.</p>
<p><br />I decided to take the plunge: 20 hours with Veronica. I learnt a huge amount of vocabulary: food, clothes, the family....you know the beginners' routine. I learnt a stack of expressions: "<em>ir de tapas</em>" "<em>el gusto es mío</em>" "<em>colgar el teléfono</em>" . I learnt the difference between "<em>ser</em>" and "<em>estar</em>", between "<em>por</em>" and "<em>para</em>". I learnt a lot about Spanish art, about Madrid, about culinary specialities. We chatted. We played. We threw the ball. We debated.</p>
<p><br />Then off I went to an intensive course in Salamanca: 2 weeks of serious language classes - 5 hours a day. I learnt very little in those classes. I was tested when I arrived and was put in "<em>Intermedio</em>" (not bad for someone with a total of 20 hours' learning behind them!). Those particular weeks, in <em>Intermedio</em>, they were doing the Conditional. And ONLY the Conditional. Lots of conditional rules and regulations copied from the board. Pages and pages. No practice. No use.</p>
<p><br />But I learnt a lot outside the classes. With my <em>señora </em>in my <em>piso</em>. With my classmates and flatmates. "<em>Que lo pases bien</em>." "<em>Que aproveche</em>". "<em>Qué pasa?</em>" "<em>Que rica la comida!</em>" And what I had learnt with Veronica was extremely useful - food, clothes, the family....I could almost converse already! At the end of my course I gave a presentation to my class on textiles in Tanzania, and did a book report on a Garcia Marquez novel. No conditionals were used, but I got a great mark!</p>
<p><br />I went back to Belgium for a few days before leaving for Uruguay. I knew that the Spanish in Uruguay would be a bit different from what I had learnt - I guessed, fairly accurately, that the differences would be rather greater than those between Belgian French and French from France, or between British and U.S. English. I was keen to know about these before I went, so I took three hours with Graciela, who is from Argentina. Fantastic! I learnt all about the "<em>vos</em>" pronoun which is only used in Uruguay and Argentina, I learnt how the past tenses differ, I learnt about the pronunciation of the "<em>ll</em>", which here is like a "<em>sh</em>", and I learnt lots of new vocabulary - clothes and food have very different names in this part of the world!</p>
<p><br />When I arrived in Uruguay, it was amazing how comfortable I felt. It took literally only a few minutes to "tune in". I was understanding huge chunks already. Any time anyone offered to speak English to me, I simply insisted that they speak Spanish.</p>
<p><br />I spent a couple of weeks in a hotel, before my house was ready. I went to the gym. I went to the pool. I went shopping. I bought "<em>Galería</em>" the local gossip magazine. I went to the Internet café. I went for a massage. I hired a bicycle and rode down the Rambla. I went to yoga classes. (There my body parts vocabulary was really assimilated, along with verbs of movement!). Everywhere I simply opened my mouth and spoke the words I knew, and bluffed the words I didn't know. I learnt to paraphrase.</p>
<p><br />When I moved into my house, things moved even faster. I had a stream of electricians, plumbers, carpenters, internet and satellite TV technicians, coming to the house each day. I chatted to all of them, and my technical vocabulary expanded fast. I went to fitness classes. I went to the local market. I started singing lessons. I joined a photography course. I chatted to taxi and bus drivers. I listened. I learnt to drink <em>mate</em>, the local brew.</p>
<p><br />And I learnt that the few words I had known before I started seriously learning were not really of much use. I learnt this by listening.</p>
<p><br />Here we say "<em>Nos vemos</em>" instead of "<em>Hasta la vista</em>". We say "<em>Damos un paseo por la Rambla</em>" rather than "<em>Vamos a la playa</em>". We say "<em>Donde están los baños</em>?" when we're looking for the toilet. And the answer to "<em>Gracias</em>" seems to be "<em>No, por favor</em>", or "<em>Merece</em>", rather than "<em>De nada</em>".</p>
<p><br />My advice to language learners:</p>
<p><br /><strong>Listen:</strong> Target your listening. Say "For ten minutes I'm going to listen out for new verbs" or "Let me see how many times this person says "vos".</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Dare:</strong> Dare to use the new words you pick up. Try them out. Yesterday I picked up that "respaldar" means "to support". I've been finding many reasons to support people and be supported for the last 24 hours just to "fix" the new word. If you get it wrong, it doesn't matter. Mistakes are good. You learn with them. Without them, you are dumb, blocked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Do </strong>the things you like to do in the target language: Put your whole body and mind into it. Whether it be yoga, singing, fitness, photography, carpentry, find like-minded people. Involve all your senses when you learn. Look, listen, smell, taste, feel in your new language.</p>
<p><br /><strong>Suerte!</strong></p>
<p> </p>
<p><br />P.S. Nobody taught me how to write in Spanish, so pardon the mistakes!</p>
<p> </p>
Tags: cabo polonio uruguay seals horses uruguay holidays adventure tourism estancia peace eco-tourism uruguay horses leather uruguay handbags uruguay durazno montevideo tours english uruguay walk uruguay religion religious customs uruguay yemanja mate custom uruguay calabash silver straw artist paez villaro casapueblo uruguay punta ballena golf montevideo uruguay tahoa cerro beach uruguay martin amis naomi campbell crowds glitzy punta del este jose ignacio sea artigas uruguay celebration national hero independence statue montevideo uruguay good food old town plaza matriz light lunch snoring operation nose hospital cauterise nostrils montevideo uruguay british learning spanish tips language uruguay
<p> </p>
<p>29.01.08</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At the end of the nineteenth century, Punta del Este was an inhospitable rock on which many a ship floundered. These were the days before the Panama Canal; many of the world's ships were simply obliged to pass this way. A brave, enterprising shipbuilder and poet named Alberto Lussich personally headed fleets of salvage boats to rescue people and goods. He was handsomely rewarded by his employer, Lloyds of London, and so made his fortune from others' misfortune.</p>
<p><br />Lussich was a visionary: he wanted to convert the area into a prestigious seaside resort. In 1896 he bought 1800 hectares of land at Punta Ballena, ten kilometres west of Punta del Este. He built a mansion for his family overlooking two of the most stunning bays on the Atlantic coast. However, his wife and nine daughters bitterly complained that that they would leave unless something could be done about the fierce wind. So Lussich tamed the wind: he planted the largest arboretum ever seen in the area, using his shipping contacts to import seeds from all over the world.</p>
<p><br />Today, as Lussich foresaw, Punta del Este draws celebrities and socialites to its beaches from Rio, Sao Paulo, and Buenos Aires, and further afield, attracted by the safety and laid-back atmosphere of Uruguay. Flanked by the Atlantic Ocean on one side of the peninsula, and the Rio de la Plata on the other, with its long, sandy beaches, luxury hotels, and glitzy nightlife, Punta del Este has indeed become one of the most glamorous holiday destinations in the world.</p>
<p><br />And it's only an hour and a half's drive from my house. I had always felt a kind of inverted snobbery towards the idea of summering in ‘Punta', as it is known. Lovely, bracing walks on the beach in the winter, but in the high season, no. The permanent population of 20,000 soars to half a million in the summer months of January and February. Eighty-five per cent of the visitors are from outside Uruguay, mostly Argentines, with a good number of Brazilians and some Europeans. Cruise ships stop in almost every day. Not for me. Too much razzmatazz, too many models. But this season, it occurred to me that there must be more to visiting Punta del Este than being seen, and making it into the glossy pages of Galeria, our local glamour magazine. I decided to brave it, and go there for the weekend.</p>
<p><br />I started with the Arboretum, recently reopened following work to clear up the damage caused by a massive freak storm which hit Uruguay in August 2005. A part of the Arboretum is now owned by the local town council. I was taken around in the original open ten-seater 1927 Daimler which Lussich imported from France, the car purring with its new Isuzu engine through the thick forest of huge acacia, eucalyptus and pine trees, many of which fortunately have withstood the elements.</p>
<p><br />The original house is now a museum, where sawn and polished trunk sections displaying a hundred rings or more bear witness to the power of the storm. Also displayed are some of Lussich's poems, one particularly poignant one dedicated to his son. When their ninth daughter was ten years old, Lussich's wife at last gave birth to a boy. As a young man, he wanted to be a pilot, and was tragically killed in an air-show when he was twenty.</p>
<p><br />Apart from the weather, the Arboretum is threatened by nearby quarries for the hugely expanding building industry: dozens of new skyscrapers reach up into the clear Punta sky each year.</p>
<p><br />From the Arboretum, where I had been the only visitor, I went on to the quiet Cantegril area of Punta del Este, situated several blocks back from the crowded beach, to visit the Azotea, the home and huge garden of Eduardo Victor Haedo (1901-1970), a one-time President of Uruguay, and painter. Haedo is a cult figure here: many political and cultural personalities passed through his home, including Pablio Neruda and Che Guevara. At one meeting, where it was decided to expel Cuba from the Organisation of American Unity, Che was present and people wondered how he would react, but Haedo shared his maté with the revolutionary hero and the atmosphere soon mellowed.</p>
<p><br />When I visited, I met Haedo's now elderly daughter , who lives there. She is considered by many a political counsellor, and many members of her father's opposition Blanco party seek advice from her at the Azotea. The main house and outhouses are all open to the public during the summer months, and are filled with photos and paintings by Haedo and other artists. This year, the Azotea grounds were used for some performances during the world-famous Lapataia jazz concert.</p>
<p><br />My next event was an exhibition of Carlos Pazos' photos in the Fundación Pablo Atchugarry in Manantiales. The Fundación is a stunning modern stone gallery which looks as though it has dropped into a field from the sky. It is only ten kilometres beyond Punta, however, it was now six in the evening, which is the time people hit the beaches in their thousands. Rather than heading straight into the traffic along the coast, I took an inland route via San Carlos, tripling my distance but halving my time.</p>
<p><br />Carlos Pazos is the finest photographer working in Uruguay today. He is best known for his work with Galeria, the top society magazine, but the exhibition proved that there is more to his work than pop stars and fashion. The photos were neatly and cleverly laid out, mostly in triptychs, playing on themes, colours, shapes and angles. One set that struck me had a central image of a row of empty deck chairs, strung out on a deserted beach, no doubt taken on an early Punta morning when people were still sleeping off the previous night's partying. To its left, a row of ramshackle colonial houses: again, empty. The photo on the right depicted a row of Hereford hides hanging out to dry. Three typical Uruguayan scenes, around the theme of lines. But I was also haunted by the lack of life.</p>
<p><br />Next stop, a cocktail party at a restaurant on the wild Brava beach to celebrate the launching of digital TV. Uruguay is the first country in South America to adopt digital TV, and has gone for the European standard over the Japanese. Uruguay has been forward-looking in technology, and is working hard to get computer access to every child in school. Now you can get Wi-Fi connection to various international TV channels from your mobile phone. This was my first taste of the glitzy side of Punta. ‘Who's here?' I asked a journalist. ‘Everyone,' he replied, ‘models, film stars, and interested people, like you and me.'</p>
<p><br />Dinner with friends at a holiday home in the centre of Punta started at a very normal Uruguayan time, 10.30 p.m. Among the guests were two European couples who have decided to settle in Punta. Simone, a young English Pilates instructor, told me ‘Two years ago were looking in an atlas for a place that would be far away from the European rat-race, safe to bring up our three children, and Uruguay fitted the bill.' Her husband, a French architect, doesn't make as much money as he did in Europe. ‘Who cares?' he said.</p>
<p><br />And so to bed. It hadn't been easy to find a hotel at short notice, but I'd managed to get a room in the Beira View Aparthotel, a passable option on the main road, rather shoddy in its design and finish, but friendly enough, and positioned about five kilometres west of Punta, away from the crowds. It has a small pool, a rooftop terrace, a reasonable breakfast, and easy access to the quiet end of the Playa Mansa, the calmer of the two Punta beaches.</p>
<p><br />The next morning I took a beach walk before breakfast just opposite the hotel, and perched on a rocky outcrop to watch the stilts, oyster-catchers, kiskadees, and several types of seagulls. A couple of fishermen were out with their rods. At around ten, I headed east thirty kilometres to do a photo shoot in the exclusive resort of José Ignacio, where many world celebrities, including Naomi Campbell, have holiday homes. But Naomi wasn't around when I took a bracing walk in the fierce wind along the white beach. Nor was anyone else, apart from a little old man sitting on a plastic folding chair sipping his maté, and enjoying the quiet. Stuck in the sand beside him, a sign read ‘Valet Parking.' He would be busy later on, when the fleets of Argentine-registered BMWs headed beachwards.</p>
<p><br />I beat the crowds back to the centre of Punta, and had a coffee on Gorlero, the main street, while indulging in one of my favourite hobbies, people watching. It wasn't yet noon: the few people out walking were either families with small children or elderly couples; no doubt many were still sleeping it off. In Punta ‘Matinée' parties for twelve to fifteen-year-olds happen between ten p.m. and midnight. Older teenagers and young adults hit the clubs at midnight, and struggle home at around eight in the morning. I heard that some events start at four in the morning, and the partyers go straight on from party to beach, though I didn't see any evidence of this.</p>
<p><br />Punta is branded as pricy and exclusive, but I found an excellent place to have lunch: Alberto's on Gorlero, where for just over three pounds, I had excellent pasta, a drink and a dessert. Arlecchino's just down the road was the perfect place to round off the meal with an ice-cream. It was well after two by this time, and a few people were dragging themselves from their beds to brunch.</p>
<p><br />It occurred to me that I seemed to be permanently out of synch with the Punta biorhythms. And that this wasn't such a bad thing. Off I went for a siesta on my hotel rooftop - completely alone.</p>
<p><br />The evening took me to Casapueblo, on Punta Ballena. The massive, rambling, white-domed creation was started in 1958, by world-famous Uruguayan artist Paez Vilaró, who gradually added segments to it, stretching it along the hillside, up towards the sky, and down towards the sea. He compares it to an oven-bird's nest. "I apologize to architecture for being as free as an oven-bird," he says. In our spring months, from September to November, you might catch a glimpse of southern right whales from Punta Ballena. What you will get at any time of year is some form of spectacular sunset. That evening it was a fireball.</p>
<p><br />It seemed appropriate to return to the area near the Lussich arboretum for the last of my weekend activities. My favourite place in the Punta area is the Medio y Medio, a small restaurant a block from the long Portezuelo beach, just west of Punta Ballena. Apparently the western end of the beach is the only nudist place in Uruguay. The beach is so long I've never walked that far: I shall have to investigate. I have often eaten at the Medio y Medio: the fresh fish is superb, and the home grown rucola and lettuce a rare delight in Uruguay. It also has a back room which is a jazz club, and for the first time, I had got a ticket. This time, I was in the same time-zone as everyone else: the place was filled to capacity when the Argentine classic jazz quintet, led by Mariano Otero, filled the iodine-rich air with their cool, sleepy sounds. I relaxed, closed my eyes, happy to have discovered that there is a point to Punta, beyond glamour and beaches.</p>
<p><br />Tips:<br />• Head to Jose Ignacio before noon: once the party-goers wake up the roads become impassable<br />• Book in advance for dinner and jazz at the Medio y Medio - we saw people being turned away<br />• Avoid the area around the Conrad Hotel at night: the traffic gets crazy</p>
<p><br />My Punta photos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=38137&l=b48ed&id=664241054<br />Punta del este Information: http://www.puntadeleste.com/<br />Casapueblo Museum/Studio: http://www.carlospaezvilaro.com<br />Medio y Medio: www.medioymedio.lqf.com.ar<br />Lapataia Jazz festival: www.lapataia.com.uy</p>
<p> </p>
Tags: cabo polonio uruguay seals horses uruguay holidays adventure tourism estancia peace eco-tourism uruguay horses leather uruguay handbags uruguay durazno montevideo tours english uruguay walk uruguay religion religious customs uruguay yemanja mate custom uruguay calabash silver straw artist paez villaro casapueblo uruguay punta ballena golf montevideo uruguay tahoa cerro beach uruguay martin amis naomi campbell crowds glitzy punta del este jose ignacio sea artigas uruguay celebration national hero independence statue montevideo uruguay good food old town plaza matriz light lunch snoring operation nose hospital cauterise nostrils montevideo uruguay british learning spanish tips language uruguay punta del este uruguay lussich arboretum ballena ships beach cantegril haedo casapueblo paez villaro medio
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<p class="MsoNormal"><em><span>This being August, I'm feeling a bit nostaligic for Nostalgia Night in Montevideo, so I thought I'd revive this piece, which was one of the very first things I wrote.</span></em></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>The
Uruguayans like partying – and they hook their parties onto <em>Días </em>– special
days.<span> </span></span><span><em>El Día de la
Mama, el Día del Papa</em>… Okay, those are pretty ordinary. </span><span>But then you get Child’s Day,
Grandparents’ Day, No Smoking Day, Holy Innocents’ Day – even the Light of the
Nights in December, when the sky is ablaze with fireworks for the official
opening of the beaches.<span> </span>And in the
middle of winter, on 24 August, there is Nostalgia Night.<span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>I first
heard about it from my friend Raquel.<span> </span>“Everyone goes out.<span> </span>You dress up,
you dance, you have fun.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>‘Why on 24
August?’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Her reply:
“<em>Claro</em>.<span> </span></span><span>Because
it’s <em>la noche de la nostalgia</em>.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>I ask a few
Uruguayan friends about the history of the revelry.<span> </span>No-one knows.<span> </span>Nothing on the Internet.<span> </span>But for
weeks coming up to the event the national newspapers are filled with
advertisements for dinners and dances.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>We receive
three invitations.<span> </span>One to a flower power
party at an English friend’s house, another from a Dutch neighbor to a karaoke
and dance party.<span> </span>The third invites us to
take a steam train to a wine <em>bodega </em>and drink the night away.<span> </span>This last one sounds like even more fun than
the others, but a freak storm hits Uruguay the night before and Invitation
Three is cancelled.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>We plump
for the flower power party.<span> </span>What shall I
wear?<span> </span>I don’t have flares, or even
“flairs”, as specified in the invitation, nor do I have long hair to braid and
decorate with flowers.<span> </span>I decide I’ll be
an anachronistic punk.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><span> </span>I start with Gloria, my hairdresser.<span> </span>And yes!<span> </span>She has the answer to my question! </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>“Thirty
years ago,” she says, as she shampoos my hair and the water trickles into my
ears, “a night club owner decided to have a retro party on 24 August, and the
idea caught on.<span> </span>Now there isn’t a night
club or restaurant in Montevideo that doesn’t mark <em>la noche de la nostalgia</em>.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>She chops,
hennas, gels, tweaks and tugs.<span> </span>The
result is attractive – black with a russet tinge and spiky. Okay, I’ll build on this.<span> </span>I never was very punky, but I have a black
slinky top.<span> </span></span><span>And a
jangly Zanzibar chain.<span> </span>And a
mean-looking heavy silver bangle.<span> </span>I can
add some black eye makeup.<span> </span>And my black
ankle boots.<span> </span>“I’ll lend you my black
leather jacket," says Gloria.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>But I need black jeans, and it’s already 6
p.m.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>“Juan Perez,” I decide.<span> </span>Since my extremely elegant friend Eugenia let
me into her secret, I have become a regular at Juan Perez, a poky little
second-hand shop in my neighbourhood, where you can uncover real treasures.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><span> </span>“Black
jeans?” I ask.<span> </span>The two pairs they have
don’t fit.<span> </span>(In Europe I’m considered
‘medium’ – here, among the sleek South American beauties, I’ve become ‘Extra
Large’)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>“What about these?” The salesgirl hands me a
pair of stretch black pants with pseudo-leather strips down the sides.<span> </span>Not really my taste, but I try them on.<span> </span>Perfect fit.<span> </span>And definitely punky.<span> </span>And
somehow, they look familiar.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>“How much?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>“300 pesos, <em>señora</em>.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><span> </span>300
pesos?<span> </span>That’s $12!<span> </span>You can hardly go wrong with $12.<span> </span>I buy them.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>At home I take them out of the bag and
suddenly realize where I saw them last.<span> </span>I tried them on for fun last week in a smart shop in glitzy Punta del Este… they were
priced at over $250. I read the label.<span> </span>Valentino’s…</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>VALENTINO’S!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Juan Perez</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> Rostland 1551 bis</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> Carrasco</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Montevideo</p>
<p> </p>
Tags: cabo polonio uruguay seals horses uruguay holidays adventure tourism estancia peace eco-tourism uruguay horses leather uruguay handbags uruguay durazno montevideo tours english uruguay walk uruguay religion religious customs uruguay yemanja mate custom uruguay calabash silver straw artist paez villaro casapueblo uruguay punta ballena golf montevideo uruguay tahoa cerro beach uruguay martin amis naomi campbell crowds glitzy punta del este jose ignacio sea artigas uruguay celebration national hero independence statue montevideo uruguay good food old town plaza matriz light lunch snoring operation nose hospital cauterise nostrils montevideo uruguay british learning spanish tips language uruguay punta del este uruguay lussich arboretum ballena ships beach cantegril haedo casapueblo paez villaro medio nostalgia uruguay valentino punk flower power dance montevideo carrasco
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