Days 11, 12 & 13 - Uruguay and Back in BA
I get the morning ferry across to Uruguay, a little town called Colonia de Sacramento is my first stop. It takes an hour to get there as the River is 50km across at this point and only officially becomes the ocean another 50km downstream. It's apparently a common day-trip for the Portenos, the nickname for people from Buenos Aires, as Carioca is for people from Rio, we must lack imagination to be stuck with Brisbanites as our handle. Anyway, the locals head straight for the onboard duty-free shop, stocking up on discount spirits, chocolate and beauty products. The old town of Colonia is impossibly cute, with old stone buildings next to 19th century buildings laced with wrought iron, located on cobbled streets, some of which are blocked off by al fresco dining. My hotel couldhave been sketched by someone dreaming of a relaxing break, a slight hill leads down from the main street to the hotel and to the River a few buildings beyond. Deciduous trees that are easily 100 years old shade the street, shedding their autumn leaves, and two retro white bicycles, complete with baskets, sit out front acting as signage. I check into the magnolia room, as the receptionist says it I smile, room numbers seem wrong here. I borrow one of the bicycles, and do a loop of the area, a couple of hundred metres down the road I hear someone playing familiar tune on a sax. Phil Collins was the last thing I was expecting, but he's playing one of his songs, I'm not certain of the name, maybe against all odds, but it includes the lyrics "take a look at me now", which will get stuck in my head for days now, I cycle on. I pass a heap of interesting restaurants and start to narrow down my lunch and dinner options. Turning up a very unevenly cobbled street a dog with exceptional comedic timing covers one eye with a paw, the bike could do with some suspension. Twenty-minutes later I return the bike and head on foot to one of the restaurants and order calamari and a beer.
80s music seems to be as modern as English language songs get here, I walk into the breakfast room as the song switches from Holiday by Madonna to Christopher Cross singing Sailing, and the cook hums along. I recall mum singing to the same song in the early eighties, and the pink flamingo cover the record came in. While walking through one of side streets a woman is mopping her floor singing at the top of her voice, "I'm gonna get dressed for success".
Around 2pm stress kicks in, I stop by the hotel to grab my Kindle from my bag, as I'm planning on just sitting and chilling over a coffee for a bit in one of the littlecafes, while waiting for the 4:30 bus to Montevideo, and my bag is no longer in the left luggage room! The staff quickly work out a theory and start leaving voicemailsand emails for a Brazilian family who collected all their bags an hour earlier, also on their way to Montevideo, via a scenic route, unfortunately their phones are off. Two and a half hours, and a visit to the police just in case later, the bag is discovered in the families' rental car and they reconnect to WiFi in Montevideo, and return one of the missed calls from the hotel. The owner of the hotel in Colonia happens to be in Montevideo and offers to transfer my bag from the Brazilians hotel to my hotel in Montevideo, as I've planned to get the next bus after my bag is found. After check-in, and a quick check of my bags contents (it was all there) I headed out to enjoy a beer at a pub down the road with a live band.
The following morning after a bit of walking around, I discover a cute cafe across the road from the theatre, and stop for breakfast. Uruguayans seem to be more attached to their Yerba-Mate than coffee, with a lot of people walking around with their perfectly packed gourds and a thermos flask. The city, after Buenos Aires, seems very quiet and calm, with beautiful Spanish colonial architecture. with the riverfront side being more industrial I decide to take a long walk along the oceanfront.
The next morning is an early stop at a local bakery for some take-away pastries while I wait for the 3 hour boat ride back to Buenos Aires. After racing back to the hotel in BA to dump my bags, I'm off again and grab a stand-up lunch at a pizza place in the business district. The Argentinians have a reputation for their Italian food, including pizza, while I enjoy the deep dish pizza with heaps and heaps of garlic, it's decidedly unlike any real Italian pizza I've ever had. It starts to rain, and an afternoon of coffee and alfajores follows. The hotel has recommended a Milonga in Palermo called La Viruta Tango Club (Armenia 1353), so I break out the heels I've brought along for just this purpose. After they do a warm up with us all for half an hour we split into 3 groups, and I make my way to the beginners group and they show us some more basic moves and have us practice them. They do lessons for a bit, then the advanced group and instructors dance for a while and then another lesson.
For the second round they have us practice a basic box step, which I recognize from Samba lessons years ago, then a 4 step backwards and sideways walk which we kept repeating in combination with the basic step dancing in circles around a chair in the middle of our section of the room, and I'm starting to get used to it, even with alternating partners every complete rotation. There are more men than women in the group and I start trying to avoid one of the guys, as I don't know how long I can keep dancing with him without bursting out laughing, and I'm at my limit of alternating between staring at my feet and biting my lower lip as preventative options, he is trying way too hard to be smouldering and sexy. I call it a night at around 11:30 (very early by Argentinian standards) and make my way back to the hotel to get an early flight the next morning to Peru.
80s music seems to be as modern as English language songs get here, I walk into the breakfast room as the song switches from Holiday by Madonna to Christopher Cross singing Sailing, and the cook hums along. I recall mum singing to the same song in the early eighties, and the pink flamingo cover the record came in. While walking through one of side streets a woman is mopping her floor singing at the top of her voice, "I'm gonna get dressed for success".
Around 2pm stress kicks in, I stop by the hotel to grab my Kindle from my bag, as I'm planning on just sitting and chilling over a coffee for a bit in one of the littlecafes, while waiting for the 4:30 bus to Montevideo, and my bag is no longer in the left luggage room! The staff quickly work out a theory and start leaving voicemailsand emails for a Brazilian family who collected all their bags an hour earlier, also on their way to Montevideo, via a scenic route, unfortunately their phones are off. Two and a half hours, and a visit to the police just in case later, the bag is discovered in the families' rental car and they reconnect to WiFi in Montevideo, and return one of the missed calls from the hotel. The owner of the hotel in Colonia happens to be in Montevideo and offers to transfer my bag from the Brazilians hotel to my hotel in Montevideo, as I've planned to get the next bus after my bag is found. After check-in, and a quick check of my bags contents (it was all there) I headed out to enjoy a beer at a pub down the road with a live band.
The following morning after a bit of walking around, I discover a cute cafe across the road from the theatre, and stop for breakfast. Uruguayans seem to be more attached to their Yerba-Mate than coffee, with a lot of people walking around with their perfectly packed gourds and a thermos flask. The city, after Buenos Aires, seems very quiet and calm, with beautiful Spanish colonial architecture. with the riverfront side being more industrial I decide to take a long walk along the oceanfront.
The next morning is an early stop at a local bakery for some take-away pastries while I wait for the 3 hour boat ride back to Buenos Aires. After racing back to the hotel in BA to dump my bags, I'm off again and grab a stand-up lunch at a pizza place in the business district. The Argentinians have a reputation for their Italian food, including pizza, while I enjoy the deep dish pizza with heaps and heaps of garlic, it's decidedly unlike any real Italian pizza I've ever had. It starts to rain, and an afternoon of coffee and alfajores follows. The hotel has recommended a Milonga in Palermo called La Viruta Tango Club (Armenia 1353), so I break out the heels I've brought along for just this purpose. After they do a warm up with us all for half an hour we split into 3 groups, and I make my way to the beginners group and they show us some more basic moves and have us practice them. They do lessons for a bit, then the advanced group and instructors dance for a while and then another lesson.
For the second round they have us practice a basic box step, which I recognize from Samba lessons years ago, then a 4 step backwards and sideways walk which we kept repeating in combination with the basic step dancing in circles around a chair in the middle of our section of the room, and I'm starting to get used to it, even with alternating partners every complete rotation. There are more men than women in the group and I start trying to avoid one of the guys, as I don't know how long I can keep dancing with him without bursting out laughing, and I'm at my limit of alternating between staring at my feet and biting my lower lip as preventative options, he is trying way too hard to be smouldering and sexy. I call it a night at around 11:30 (very early by Argentinian standards) and make my way back to the hotel to get an early flight the next morning to Peru.
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