Uruguay and Argentina

March 31 (twice) and April 1, 2004
Auckland, New Zealand to Buenos Aires, Argentina

Our flights went off without a hitch, all baggage and bicycles surviving the many plane changes and arriving undamaged. But we were wiped. Again the joys of airline partnerships and hubs meant routing of a 10,000 km direct trip instead covered more than 20,000 airline miles taking us from 34 degrees south latitude in New Zealand to 34 north in Los Angeles and back to 34 south in Argentina. We crossed the International Date Line so got to do March 31 twice -- an auditor's dream. At the end of our 48 hours we were glad to be in Buenos Aires.

It is such a great city. Wide streets, moderate traffic, big parks, old stone buildings mixed with modern stuff. A cosmopolitan centre of fashion-conscious people. We had dinner at a restaurant in an old brick building, flamenco dancers gearing up for a show outside. On the way home we passed one of the perpetual demonstrations. Since they are ongoing, we don't know if it was about public sector salaries/pensions, police corruption [there is an ongoing kidnapping racket, 400 people a year, that is reported in the press as being the work of the police] or one of the other standard protest subjects in Argentina. The protest was peaceful, and with many lighted candles and the muted chants, it looked more like a vigil [in fact, a kidnapping gone bad had resulted in the death of the kidnapped person - this was probably related to that]. It was conducted outside the president's residence, a great block of pink. The presidential palace is a familiar sight from film footage -- both the historical with Juan and Eva Peron, and the theatrical version with Madonna swanning amongst the great pillars.

Many people in Buenos Aires greet each other with a cheek kiss (touch cheeks, make the noise) -- men and women alike. An example I won't soon forget was a formally attired businessman greeting a policeman on duty at the protest demonstration with a cheek-to-cheek. Seemed to speak volumes.

[Ed. The Australian honeymoon with the U.S. has caused more problems for Quantas. After clearing security in Auckland, we had to go through a second security clearance at the Quantas gate - everyone was forced to put their carry on luggage through a second x-ray and inspection, then stand for the last hour before the plane boarded because they had a second high security zone at the gate. Again, in Los Angeles, all the people getting off a fully screened plane were forced through another security screen even though most were in transit.]

March 2 & 3, 2004
Buenos Aires

We had planned only one rest day before heading to Uruguay but with Easter approaching the ferry was fully booked. We had to make it a 2-day stopover. I'm happy because I found a place that sells 1/2 litre tubs of ice cream in 40 flavours for $2.50 -- kept me occupied for about 1/2 hour. Brent is happy because Argentina beef with Roquefort sauce is great [Lomo al Roquefort]. Since we were here 5 years ago the country has suffered a near-complete economic collapse. Many middle-income people lost 2/3 of their savings when their $US deposits were frozen, then honoured in Argentinian pesos at about 1/3 the value (payable in 2012). The economy continues to struggle. What this means for the foreign visitor is that Buenos Aires is no longer an expensive city to visit. Food and accommodation are at bargain prices. Our expensive hotel a stone's throw from the Plaza de Mayo and the Presidential Palace was $US60; our cheaper hotel in the old artists' and tango quarter of San Telmo is $US16.

The only downside to date is that we find ourselves in the middle of a heatwave. The usual high in April is 23 degrees; right now we top 30 degrees every day, and it is very hot in the sun. We melt outside -- cycling will be interesting. Bring on those 1/2 litres of ice cream! [Brenda failed to mention that a 1 litre bottle of beer is about $2.50 CDN]

April 4, 2004
Buenos Aries, Argentina to Colonia, Uruguay
11 km

The 500-passenger fast catamaran takes only 1 hour to make the crossing to Uruguay. In no time we were through customs and immigration, passport scanners having replaced tortuous useless questions at the border. Our first stop on new soil is typically the tourist information office. As usual [after 30 minutes with a very helpful woman] we came away with maps, brochures and eagerness to begin.

Colonia (pop 30,000) is a great place to start. Giant plane trees line the wide streets, Argentinian tourists stroll the walkways and the sidewalk cafes are filled with folks letting the hours drift by. The city has an amazing, compact area of colonial architecture (1683 - mid 1800s). Fortress, homes, churches in a state of preservation that has earned Colonia a World Cultural Heritage site designation. It is just too agreeable. I quickly made a reservation for a hotel in our first Uruguayan cycle segment, just to make sure we don't get stuck in this very low key city.

We are adjusting to the structure of the typical day. Late lunch, shops close and siesta time sets in, then the day begins anew for the evening. We had dinner at 7:00 [our first choice for a restaurant did not open for dinner until 9pm] and then wandered the streets. Being Sunday, the stroll is a happening thing. Couples, families, grandparents, baby strollers, kids leaping around. In the main square, a 15-piece brass band getting toes tapping on this holiday celebration. The main church had several service, including a re-enactment of some of the Easter stories on the street. We stopped for a glass of wine at an outdoor cafe at 10:00; when we left at 10:30 people (one carrying a very young baby) were still arriving for dinner. Life assumes a different pace when the evenings are a balmy 28 degrees.

April 5, 2004
Colonia to Carmelo, Uruguay
95 km today / 106 km to date

It is good to be back on the cycles after a 10-day break. We know very little about Uruguay, so it feels like we're embarking on an adventure. We do know it is a pretty flat country and as the day unfolds we climb up and down only gentle hills. Be darned, though, if there isn't a brisk headwind. So Day 1 is pleasant but not the cakewalk we expected.

Most of the land is used for grazing and crops, but the livestock numbers seem low after New Zealand. A few cows and only a couple of horses, goats and chickens. There is no traffic (3 cars in 5 minutes) and we wonder if this is related to the economic troubles of the times. Perhaps people can't afford to drive much these days? The cars that do pass are a mix of new imports and a motley collection of thirty, forty and even fifty year old cars looking like they've been pulled from the old car graveyard. People in the countryside are not wealthy, but neither are they the desperately poor that we have seen in other parts of South America. Today we saw a squashed armadillo (don't normally count roadkill, but this may be my only sighting), a beaver-like animal in a marshy pond (forgotten its name) and parrots, parrots everywhere. One roadside area of tall trees had about 50 nests, some bigger than one metre across and several with a pair of squawking parrot-heads hanging out the opening at the bottom. Were it not for a sense that we were distressing the birds, we would probably have hung around for ages.

We are heading north into the interior of the country, loosely following the Rio de la Plata (really a bay) which separates Argentina and Uruguay. Being close to the river means there are lots of birds, so Brent is a happy camper, stopping frequently to peer out with his binoculars and record his sightings. It also means I'm frequently in the lead, which is surely baffling to Spanish men.

Very little English is spoken, but we find we get along in the basics with our minuscule Spanish vocabulary and crazy pronunciation. Today at a rest stop we were the only people with a map - we helped two other sets of travelers (Argentinians - the main tourists here). Two Canadians giving directions to Argentinians traveling in Uruguay in a language spoken only by us. What a sight. Everyone talking and pointing and "muchos gracias-ing".

It was a hot ride, with the temperature hovering all day at 31 - 32 degrees in the shade and around 40 in the sun. Nonetheless, we took a short side trip to Conchillas because we were told it is an interesting town -- and because we were completely out of food. The town is noted for its British-style appearance; people demonstrated by putting their hands together in an inverted V, signifying a peaked roof. Sure enough. We got to this little village (pop 300?) where about 30 houses have slightly sloping roofs -- not thatched, not tiles, just corrugated metal. So much for today's tourist attraction! Moreover, being siesta time by now there was virtually no activity, the few streets deserted and NO food to be found.

Our overnight stop is Carmelo (pop 16,000) which is where the Rio Uruguay empties into the more tidal Rio de la Plata. From here, we'll follow the Rio Uruguay another 300 km north before heading west across the top of the country.

A ferry runs between a northern suburb of Buenos Aires and Carmelo so we are seeing a lot more Argentinians on holiday than Uruguayans. We are in a park area on the river which is scenic and quiet, but we won't see the town on the other side of the river until our ride out tomorrow.

Dinner is at 9:00 and since we hadn't eaten since breakfast we were famished. We got our own back -- it was a buffet. We made the most of it.

April 6, 2004
Rainy day in Carmelo

We woke up to lightning, thunder, blustery wind and torrential rain. We're not going anywhere today!

By 10:30 the rain had stopped and by 2:00 the skies were clearing. But since it was too late to head out, we threw open our doors onto the big terrace, gazed out over the silty river and entertained ourselves with books, maps and thoughts of cycle routes we can tackle manana.

April 7, 2004
Carmelo to Mercedes
111 km today / 217 km to date (in 6:02)

Rural Uruguay is very rural. At the start there were 2 cars in 5 minutes but as we came to a very pot-holed road where we bounced around on our bikes, teeth jangling, we saw only 1 car every 15 minutes or so. With a light tailwind and overcast day, the elements cooperated nicely. Once we got to the last 40 km, we were on a newly paved road which allowed our teeth to resettle.

The countryside reflects a poorer population reliant on agriculture (i.e. crops and cows). Dwellings are few and far between, usually simple. Critters outnumber people. In addition to great flocks of squawking green parrots, we found a hamster-shaped rodent which scampered to the verge, looked around and scampered back. Too small for a guinea pig I think but must check. Among the many birds Brent is identifying, a special one was a burrowing owl, a wee thing sitting stock still in a mown hayfield looking very much like the stubble around it. My personal favourite was the huge, very black, huge, very hairy, huge spider -- from a good distance because that thing can motor when it is inspired.

As we cycled through this not very inspiring countryside, a couple of guys in a truck pulled up to ask if we wanted a lift. The Uruguayan, Alberto, is a hunting guide, and was with a southern U.S. chap who is wild about the numbers of birds (doves in this case) ready to meet their demise. Great clouds of doves rise up, you fire as many cartridges as you can and then see what the dogs bring back. I suppose it is only fair to say that there do seem to be more than enough doves to go around.

Alberto has a daughter in Vancouver. In fact, almost everyone we speak with at length has a relative in Canada, although since we can converse at this length only with those who have at least a smattering of English, we may not be conducting a scientifically robust survey.

Alberto is fluent in English, and being a hunting/fishing guide, knows the whole country well. He gave us lots of travel advice (you will meet us at the restaurant called Los Faroles in Dolores in about 5 kilometres for lunch) and based on that, as well as time limitations, we are adjusting our general trip outline to drop a bus trip through the north interior part of the country. Instead we'll complete this river area, spend some time cycling the Atlantic Coast and then do a bus trip to Iguaza Falls at the corner of Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay.

Mercedes (pop 40,000) where we overnight is a typical Spanish town -- big square, cobbled streets, huge cathedral. The cathedral glows with gilt and light. This is Santa Semana -- Easter Holy Week -- a busy time on the Catholic calendar. The church was jammed with folks using programs as fans in a vain effort to get some hint of coolness. The drought continues and the heat is unabated.

April 8, 2004
Mercedes to Paysandu
127 km today / 344 km to date (in 7:34)

It had been recommended to us that we visit Fray Bentos. But the number 1 tourist attraction, a large dam and generating station, is running only two of its fourteen turbines because of the drought-induced low water levels. The number 2 tourist attraction is a former slaughter house and meat processing plant which at one time was the largest industrial complex in the country, employing 4,000 people and producing corned beef for WWII field personnel. Sounds like they haven't quite got the tourism thing nailed.

We opted to skip Fray Bentos and tackle the longer distance to Mercedes. Traffic remains extremely light, almost deserted roads, all are paved except one short section. We continue traveling through farmland, see the occasional eucalyptus plantation and a small sawmill with logs less than one-foot in diameter. But there are enough ponds that Brent continues to tot up the numbers of ornithological species.

With only one dwelling every km or so, and not a single town or village or even hamlet along this 100+ km stretch, it isn't a beehive of activity. Naturally, we wondered why we kept passing folks sitting in lawn chairs at the ends of their driveways (the houses are so far down the driveway as to be hidden from the road). Then, suddenly, the "Tour de Uruguay" went zipping by the other way, the lead bunch with TV cameras, escorts, etc and the second batch with hoards of support vehicles. Now all is clear -- the people were cycling fans! Were were forced off the road as the cyclists and support vehicles swept by in the other direction. Small compared to the Tour de France, it was past in a couple of minutes. We waved at the spectators as we went by, at about 1/3 the Tour speed and in the wrong direction, but everyone waved back.

It is still hot, 36 degrees in the shade and heaven only knows what in the sun. We went through 10 litres of water. And because of the extra effort required due to a headwind we had to draft (ride nose to bum) to save energy. We have never done this before. It might be more efficient, and Brent might have a cute butt, but any view -- no matter how appealing -- loses something after about 6 hours. And he was in the lead about 3/4 of the time, doing most of the work admittedly. What a guy! What a butt!

April 9, 2004
Paysandu

This is the final weekend of the holy week and we are heading into thermal hot springs areas. This is the only tourist area in northwest Uruguay and we've hit it on the busiest weekend of the year. There is not a lodging to be had north of here for the next 200 km. Who would have guessed thermal hot springs areas, 27 pools in one of the complexes, in Uruguay?

Paysandu (Uruguay's second largest city with a population of 86,000, compared to Montevideo with 1.2 million) is not a place we would choose to linger in, but given the crowds north of here we have no choice. Last night as we came into town it appeared bleak and rundown. Then, too, so are many cities in less affluent countries. But this one more than most, topped off with bumper-to-bumper cars doing the evening cruise -- radios blaring, scooters, diesel exhaust, motorcycles revving.

This morning it is like a different town. The streets are quiet/empty. Outside the town centre people linger in their patch of grass, dogs lolling in the doorways, kids tripping about the streets and parks. The restaurants are full of families. I guess they are enjoying the holiday.

We have reserved space on a bus tomorrow to Montevideo, the capital, then hope to get a bus the next day to the southeast corner of the country. Since it took us 1/2 hour with lots of charades to arrange just this first bit, who knows where we'll end up in two days!

April 10, 2004
Paysandu to Montevideo

The 5 hour bus ride to Montevideo was uneventful. Although the bus took a different, more direct and busier road to Montevideo (Route 3) than we had used get to Paysandu, the scenery is similar to that which we've seen from the start. Cleared land, flat for as far as the eye can see, very little habitation. Buses are inexpensive here ($CDN 15 each for the 350 km), and are the most common form of transport. We practised our Spanish by watching the video on the buses propped-up-in-the-corner TV and trying to translate the Spanish subtitles for McHale's Navy. I can't imagine any other circumstance in which we would watch that whole thing!

Montevideo is, in my view, a lovely city. Wide streets, lots of trees, beautiful old buildings, light traffic, unhurried pace. It is a harbour tow, with a large port and a peninsula which gives it extra ocean coast. Although it has a population of 1.3 million (more than 1/3 of the country's 3.3 million) it is not crowded. As we wander around the town centre waiting for the restaurants to open, the squares are quite quiet. Brent finds if disconcerting, maybe sad. Some of the beautiful buildings are not being well looked after and the fact that it is so quiet reflects the trying economic times in this part of the world.

The restaurant we happen upon is largely empty when we enter at 8:45. By 10:00 it is jammed; two floors of tightly packed tables, all chowing down salad, bread, big cuts of meat, dessert and wine. How do these people sleep when they go to bed having just consumed about 5 pounds of food? We must go back to "El Fogon" and investigate soon.

Our hotel has seen better days, but it is clean, central and quiet. Its price, $25 US for two including breakfast, is yet another indication of the economic struggle.

April 122, 2004
Montevideo to Chuy
18 km

Since the bus to Chuy is not until 1:00, we have the morning to explore Montevideo. The buildings we saw lit up last night are more interesting during the day, the architectural features more clearly visible. But the signs of the struggle to survive are also more stark in the daylight hours. The streets are largely empty, for sale signs are everywhere and the public infrastructure is worn. The city's potential is great -- I hope it recovers. But with an entirely agrarian base and Argentina, also with economic troubles, as its major trading partner, the prospects seem dim.

On the upside, the city has a very long esplanade, right from the port in the city centre along the Rio de la Plata. It is about 8 metres wide and sports joggers, walkers, sunbathers both on the esplanade and on the rocky shore and sandy beaches. About 400 casual fishers cast their lines into the gentle surf; based on the results we saw, this seems to be a pastime in which catching something is not all that important. After 5 kilometers we cut off to the bus station, but the esplanade continues out of sight -- I wonder how far it goes? What a terrific feature for any city!

The bus trip is again 5 hours, again about 250 kilometers, but now we are at the country's western end. Chuy is a raucous city of 9,000. It is grimy and featureless. It sits smack-dab on the border with Brazil. In fact, the main street is Uruguay on one side, Brazil on the other. The street is lined with duty-free shops, all garishly lit and displaying Nikes as the main feature, but also all the usual duty-free cosmetics, electronics, alcohol and cigarettes. We go to Brazil to buy soap and nail clippers. One block away, the town square which in other cities would be the centre of activity, is dark and forlorn. Save the world from border towns!

April 12, 2004
Chuy to San Miguel
9 km today / 372 km to date

Brent is feeling poorly, but there is a fancy-dancy spot not far up the road, near Fuerte San Miguel, a fort built in 1734 when the Spanish and Portuguese were at loggerheads. In addition, there is rumoured to be birding territory a little further along the way.

Poor Brent collapses onto the bed and sleeps all day while I wander around my pink granite castle feeling like a lonely princess, kept company only by books, maps, the swimming pool, huge stone patios and the long rolling lawn looking out over Brazil and Uruguay. I am sharing all this with only a family of four. It seems to be true that the day after Holy Week, area tourism stops.

April 13, 2004
San Miguel

Brent claims to need one more day for recovery, but I have my suspicions that he thought I should have a chance to share my castle and grounds with him!

April 14, 2004
San Miguel to Puenta del Diablo
55 km today / 426 kms in total (in 3:20)
It is still baking. Over 30 degrees each day and cooling off only a tad at night. But there is a cooling breeze which, when sitting in the shade, makes life very pleasant. But the onging drought must be doing real damage.

Leaving the border area, we have to pass through customs. Since we can't understand their questions, Brent reverts to our standard procedure in such circumstances. We provide answers -- it is just that it might not be to the question asked. A typical interrogation is something like this: Rapid Spanish. "Yes, we are from Canada." More rapido Espanol. "Yes, we started today in San Miguel". Mas rapido Espanol. "Yes, we've been traveling here for two weeks. Beautiful country. Muy bueno -- very good." And so it goes until they stamp our passport and which us "buen viyaje" -- good journey (i.e. Happy Trails to you.) Cooperative attitude, much hand-waving, nodding heads and lots of smiles. Mr. Personality himself!

Even though we are on the main highway in Eastern Uruguay, Route 9, traffic is incredibly light -- 2 cars in 15 minutes. The route takes us past Fortaleza de Santa Teresa (Fort Saint Teresa) which epitomizes the country's history -- the fort was begun by the Portuguese in 1762 and completed by the Spanish in 1793 after being taken. It sits on a hill of about 30 metres which, like Fort San Miguel, makes it a REALLY high spot. Everywhere else, as we pass lagoons, eucalyptus plantations and mostly grassland or pasture land, it is flat.

Eventually we leave the deserted highway and head straight for the coast on a 5-km deserted road to Puenta del Diablo (Devil's Point). The road peters out to a dirt road and them a sandy track. We have arrived at a place with a sandy beach, a lighthouse, and the most eclectic collections of homes, shacks and cabanas. The town consists entirely of a small hill -- a large dune, really -- with 200 or so constructs along the shore and climbing up the hill. They are a collection of odds and ends of scrap lumber, some stuff that looks like driftwood, some stucco, a little wire, a few nails, some chewing gum and some rope. Many have truly impressive, very thick thatched roofs. Charming in its own way, there is not a hint of planning -- no one could conceive of such a hodge-podge if they tried. And would Victoria building inspectors have fun here! Our second floor room is in a small posada (like an inn), with an unimpeded view of the beach and surf. It has new bathroom fixtures, mosquitoes squatting in the shower, a quaint little balcony with a railing which I could have put in place in an instant and the whole thing feels like it could collapse in a minute. The stair to the upper floor leans unattached to the building. But our hosts are friendly and miracle of miracles, speek a bit of English. However, the town is deserted. This is our first beach town and it clear the season is done.

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