A few days in BsAs

When my sister and I rode the bus from Montevideo to catch the ferry, we noticed smoke from a very large pasture fire outside Colonia.

The next day, that smoke conspicuously mixed with fog on the other side of the Rio de la Plata.

An oddity worth pondering.

We were staying next to Recoleta Cemetery, so a short walk to the famous tulip sculpture, which we expected to watch close at sunset but which was already closed.

Google automatically cropped and adjusted this photo (why not any others?).

We went the next morning, and it was still closed. I thought of my transatlantic flights in DC-10s back in the day, because the tulip sculpture was apparently engineered and build by McDonnell Douglas. Fortunately the DC-10s were more reliable.

Walking to and from it, we passed the Monumento de Francia a la Argentina. Buenos Aires has many lovely, clean parks with statues and amazing architecture from the early 20th century.

This sign was also on the way. Be there or be square! I know that’s what you’re thinking.

I commented to our walking tour guide that this must be a monument to the bird trainer. Not birds, but a trainer, Juan replied.

Monumento del Libertador José de San Martín, the guy who formed the second Regiment of Mounted Grenadiers in 1903, which of course means he trained them.

Over dinner the last night, my sister and I imagined the challenge of trying to market this brand in English speaking countries.

No discussion of Argentina would be complete without mentioning money. When my wife and I were there in 2005, the exchange rate was about 3:1, and a meal for two costing $75 seemed about right – only that was in pesos; in dollars it was $25.

The “informal” rate was in the range of 420-445:1 when we arrived; 450-460:1 three days later. The largest bill in circulation, 1,000 pesos, is worth about USD 2.20. On my last cab ride, 4km or so to the ferry, the meter read $976. I gave the cabbie $1,500.

I should have just given him everything in my wallet. I ended up home with this, worth USD 0.33. The 10-peso note is worth US 2.2 cents. Well, interesting bookmarks. Wait a minute: what are bookmarks, again?

Arg, Argentina.

A large sculpture

In Minas yesterday. The monument to father-the-country Artigas is rather large. That’s me. I’m 190 cm (almost 6’3″) tall.

Flashback to Iguazú

Coati, Puerto Iguazú, Argentina. November 2005.

Lake Pátzcuaro

Muelle – Pátzcuaro, Michoacán, México. March 2007, two months after we moved there from Spokane, Washington.

Ombú, Buenos Aires

I found this on an old camera. Taken in 2010 maybe?

Punta

Punte del Este, Uruguay

Feu de paille

Not long ago, spam filters fingered a questionable blog comment, leaving me the decision rather than deleting it outright. Indeed, in the best tradition of junk mail, it was useless (promoting “health products” I think).

However, what caught my attention was the blog title: The Elementary School Experience in Uruguay. What could I have written about that?

Nothing, it turns out: linked to the then-latest blog post of an enthusiastic couple who had moved to Uruguay from California with their young children…

…which ended up being the last blog post of an enthusiastic couple who had moved to Uruguay from California with their young children…

…celebrated by their last meaningful Twitter post. Their Youtube documentation of the adventure lasted six weeks. Their Facebook page went cold in November 2017.

It’s going on ten years here for us: many people come and gone. This is not the only story without closure, nor the only fire that burned hot but briefly.

But what happens next in the story?

I almost wish I had a creative writing class. I would assign that, in the genre of your choice: crime, humor, sci-fi, romance…. But the assignment would consist of only the first paragraph of the rest of the story, starting with: It was late February when we noticed….

Oot and aboot

The weather forecast – pronóstico – called for two glorious sunny days. Inspired by the first, I proposed a country drive the second. A vague goal was to explore the abandoned ‘gringo palace’ in Pueblo Eden. Long story, but short for now, as we never got there.

In Uruguay, topography = interesting, and we headed into the hills toward Minas, gaining serious altitude, with little more in mind than enjoying the scenery.

However, as we whizzed past Parque Salus (about where the arrow ends above), we remembered there was supposed to be a good restaurant there. It had been ten years and three months (perhaps to the day) since we’d been there last, and we still felt a little foolish that we had completely missed the restaurant, since expounded by a certain person who shall remain nameless – though with whom I walk dogs, and whose nationality inspires the title, in case you’re curious.

We reversed course, and headed in, ending a few dusty, rutty kilometers up the road (as in 2009) at the Fuente del Puma, the magical source of the wonderful water that results in discarded plastic bottles throughout the country.

As before, no restaurant. Time to pull out the guidebooks.

The Lonely Planet guide to Uruguay (2008) offered no help, but Bradt Uruguay, hot off the press in 2010 when my sister brought it, revealed that the restaurant was located after a promenade of palm trees – which we recognized: the entrance to the Patricia brewery, back on the highway! We retraced our steps to find … nothing.

Lo and behold, after a few minutes a couple of guard-type people appeared. I asked about the restaurant and hotel.

Closed.

Permanently?

Yes.

A long time?

At least ten years.

Approaching Minas, and thinking it time for lunch, we stopped at a busy but probably nothing-special restaurant.

None of the cars in the parking lot was from Montevideo or Punta del Este. There were families with kids. We were the only non-natives. Not entirely promising. Yet, far from being the typical boring fare, the meal was fabulous.

My photo, an afterthought, doesn’t do it justice. Suffice to say, if a convenient restaurant of this quality existed anywhere near Atlántida, we would be regulars. In fact, we would actually look forward to going out to eat.

From Minas, we headed south, over twisty, hilly, and mostly empty Ruta 12, a fun contrast to the flat, straight, boring roads that plague the rest of the country. Alas, the gas gauge lit up, and not knowing our remaining range, we headed straight to the nearest gasolinera in San Carlos before backtracking home, where we saw the first clouds of the day, painting a gorgeous sunset.