Charm and Romance in Uruguay
Today marks 195 years of independence for Uruguay. It was on this day, 25 August, in 1825 that the country declared its independence from the Empire of Brazil. It hasn’t always been smooth sailing but Uruguay is doing pretty well for itself these days.
The most peaceful country in South America in 2020 and second only to Costa Rica in Latin America, Uruguay is described as an egalitarian society with low levels of poverty and nearly no extreme poverty. It scored the second highest in all of Latin America, after Chile, in the 2019 Human Freedom Index. It is therefore perhaps no grand surprise that Uruguayans are the happiest nation in South America.
Pinched between Brazil in the north and Argentina in the west, tiny by comparison, Uruguay is a country that often gets overlooked, be it in travel, the news, or general discourse on South and Latin America.
I myself only spent a long weekend there.
In Buenos Aires, I had gotten to know an lovely young woman, a former model writing her first book while traveling the world and working in the humanitarian sector. She told me that, until I came along, all the men she had been involved with had been models. We got along famously despite this and I could only take it as a compliment. We spent some splendid days in Buenos Aires but soon got a bit more ambitious.
And so I skipped Spanish class on a Friday and we hopped on the ferry to Uruguay for a romantic getaway.
The ferry took us to Colonia del Sacramento, a town on the other side of Río de la Plata from the Argentine capital. Founded in 1680 by the Portuguese governor of Rio de Janeiro, it is devastatingly pretty. The town is said to draw throngs of visitors from across the river but, perhaps because we were there on a Friday, we had the place almost to ourselves.
After a visit to Faro de Colonia del Sacramento, the town’s 19th century lighthouse (pictured above), in the ruins of Convento de San Francisco, we meandered along the charming, nearly empty cobblestone streets and plazas, intermittently shaded by rows upon rows of sycamores. The town was positively sleepy, which suited us fine, but seemed to rouse slightly in the afternoon.
Barrio histórico, the town’s enchanting historic quarter, is a UNESCO World Heritage site. Particularly stunning was the Calle de los suspiros or “Street of Sighs”. The origin of the name is unclear. One story is that the street housed brothels in colonial times which filled the air with various kinds of sighs. And presumably also gasps, grunts and grinding of teeth. Another has it that it refers to very different sighs, those of slaves, prisoners and people condemned to death which were brought there. A third involves a woman stabbed to death while waiting for her lover. And so on.
Whatever the truth, the roughly cobbled street with its tile-and-stucco façade, faded colours, and tile street sign and old lanterns, makes for such an authentic visage that it whisks visitors back to the colonial era. One half-expected a Spanish admiral, fresh of his galleon, to come marching up the street from the river.
After our stroll and little time warp, my companion and I took a break on a beach by the Río de la Plata, probably Playa urbana Las Delicias. We snuggled up in the blessed shade of a tree which I cannot name, listened to the waves and whispered sweet little nothings to each other, giggling like idiots. Well, she giggled like an idiot. I giggled more like a nincompoop.
And then we hopped on the bus to the capital, Montevideo.
Arriving in Montevideo in the evening, we checked into our hotel. We’d gotten a good deal for a room at a rather fancy establishment. The receptionist looked up our reservation and became apologetic, the room was a bit small she said. We said we didn’t mind.
As it turned out, the room was not so much small as it was tiny. So much so that if one of was going to the bathroom, the other had to crawl onto the bed to clear a path. We still didn’t mind, we didn’t plan on spending much time in the room and what time would be spent there would be spent at close quarters no matter the size of the room. After some comida típica we did just that, saving the city for the morning after.
Founded in 1724, Montevideo is the southernmost capital of the region and is now home to approximately 1,75 million inhabitants. Often overshadowed by its neighbours’ heavyweight major cities and capitals, it is a bit understated in comparison. Still, it is vibrant and cosmopolitan, rich in architecture, culture and cuisine.
We spent a leisurely day exploring Montevideo, grabbing coffees and schmoozing as we felt was appropriate. Both of us being rather clearly foreigners, tall and fair-skinned northerners, we stood out a bit on the streets of the city.
A statuesque blonde, she caught an admiring eye or two and, on one occasion, some sleazy comments, uttered in the mistaken belief that we didn’t understand Spanish. She gracefully let it slide and convinced me to do the same. As for my goodish self, a few old ladies sent me the devil horns to ward off the evil eye, all too aware of the woes and bad luck brought by gingers.
Plaza Independencia, left naught to be desired, with the impressive last remains of the colonial citadel and its massive statue of independence hero José Artigas, along with his subterranean mausoleum. Lining the plaza are several imposing buildings, including Palacio Salvo which was briefly Latin America tallest building. The grand neoclassical Iglesia Matriz, Montevideo’s cathedral, is not to be missed. A breezy ride on rented bicycles along La Rambla, the city’s long coastal promenade occupied us for the afternoon.
For lunch I had the obligatory and excellent Uruguayan steak but for dinner my partner in crime opted for a rather hip spot by the name of Candy Bar. Sounds like a strip club but isn’t. Really, it isn’t. Exquisite tapas and impeccable Old Fashioned(s). As was our way, the conversation grew heated as drinks mysteriously kept getting poured. She was smart and opinionated, I was mostly just opinionated.
With the ferry leaving a bit after midday, we had Sunday morning to while away. Having indulged a bit the evening before, we weren’t particularly energetic. Still, there was one last place I had to visit.
Mercado del Puerto is a veritable carnivorian church. It is essentially a foodcourt where all the eateries are parillas, steak houses. While it reportedly doesn’t get bustling until the afternoon, several faithfuls were already worshipping their chosen gods well before noon. The succulent smell of grilled meat was dense and the sizzle of steaks and sausages filled the air. The fabled Uruguayan steak reigns supreme, with every imaginable cut on offer. There are also the lesser deities, pork, chicken, morcilla blood sausages and chorizos, along with the mandatory chimichurri. And there are some veggies, mostly for garnishing, I reckon. The whole thing is enough make a vegetarian kick a hole in a greenhouse window. Wonderful.
After this little pilgrimage, it was back to Buenos Aires. Tired but entirely satisfied, my fellow traveler and I sailed across the Río de la Plata.
Anyway. ¡Felíz Día de la Independencia!
