This post was originally written on November 25, 2008.
This past weekend my study abroad program sponsored a trip to Colonia, Uruguay. Since the tickets they arranged for us only allowed for a short day trip and knowing that I wanted to visit other places in Uruguay and possibly spend an extra day in Colonia, I made my way over to the (incredibly fabulous!) Buquebus office near the infamous 9 de Julio. Since all other options were pretty much booked I ended up changing my times so that I would leave Buenos Aires at midnight one day and come back to Buenos Aires around 8:00 three days later. As you should all know by now, I’m a pretty laid-back, carefree traveler who shuns making plans because things never work out the way you plan them and it’s usually better that they don’t. I have had some pretty crazy, incredibly exciting adventures by just letting go and staying in one place until I’m ready to move on and letting things run their course. And so, when I say that my tickets were booked for such and such times, it’s pretty much given that coming back to Buenos Aires three days later? It didn’t really happen that way.
After making my way through Customs and Security at the Buquebus port (I have an Uruguayan stamp on my passport now!) I had time to kill before we could board. Shortly after I had weaved my way through all the people and found somewhere to sit down they called us to board and everyone rushed to find their luggage. (I only mention this because I found it interesting that everyone had merely lined their luggage up by the gate to reserve their place in line so they wouldn’t have to stand there the whole time. No one seemed concerned that someone might possibly snatch their belongings and they weren’t fearful, like Americans are, that someone is always out to get them. Granted, most were sitting no more than 20 feet away from their belongings and well, we’re waiting to board a boat in a security-cleared section of the port so it’s not like one would have somewhere to run should they choose to steal someone’s bag, but it was a fascinating dichotomy between the culture of the United States and that of Latin America.) Since the line snaked its way through the waiting area I walked all the way back to the back and found a place to sit down until it was moving. Aforementioned place just happened to be across the table from a cute boy. I sat and watched the line for a few minutes and it didn’t move so I said a quick thank you that I had thought to bring reading material for my classes (eschewing my copy of Anna Karenina because it’s obscenely heavy and I really needed to catch up since finals were the following two weeks). Every so often I would look up and glance at the line to see if any progress had been made and then divert my eyes over the boy before resuming my reading. Ten minutes passed and the line still didn’t move so most everyone tried to find places to sit down again. Fifteen minutes passed and still nothing, but I hear, “Estás estudiando?” from across the table and so I look up.
We ended up talking for ten minutes or so before, once again, everyone lined back up where their luggage was sitting on the floor. We walked together to the end of the line, talked, and I ran through my mental checklist that is required when you meet cute boys here: Does he have all his teeth? Check. Taller than me? Check. No rattail in his hair? Ch–wait–what’s that right there? Crap. We walked down the plank and boarded the ferry where I maybe exclaimed a little too much and a little too loudly about how cool it was. Picture a cruise ship, but smaller and you might have it. The seats were so wide and squishy and so much better than any airplane I’ve ever been on, though admittedly, I’ve never flown anything but economy class. But I was “economy class” on this ferry and I felt like a high-roller! We talked for a bit after sitting down, he asked if I could understand the safety video providing instructions on how to put on a life jacket and I was forced to confess that I never pay attention. As the video continued they showed people practicing the evacuation procedure which include sliding down a big plastic slide off the boat into a blow-up raft and all the sudden I was hoping something tragic happened because that slide looked like the kind of fun you’d have at an amusement park!
The boat finally left the dock at one in the morning and I quickly drifted off to sleep since the boat didn’t even rock. It was four in the morning when we docked in Colonia after some strong winds delayed us for a bit, and Federico and I quickly transferred onto the bus to Montevideo. At 6:45 we stepped off the bus into the welcoming gray skies and freezing cold temperatures of South America’s most laid-back capital. I, however, had failed to check the weather before I left (actually, I don’t ever check the weather here) and had packed like I was headed to plop myself on the beach for a few days and not move. After reading several guide book descriptions of places in Uruguay and talking to people I had chosen La Paloma or Punta del Diablo as my destination because they were described as “little surf towns” and I’ve always wanted to learn to surf. Besides, the rich and famous scene with their perfectly toned bodies slicked in tanning oil, dressed in designer labels and overpriced designer sunglasses, of Punta del Este is not for me.
Once inside the warmth of the bus station Federico came with me to the ticket counters to inquire about times. The next bus leaves at 7 and it’s full–there’s another at 10. We try a different company–bus leaves at 8 and I hand the attendant my card. It’s a five hour ride to Punta del Diablo and eight hours from there back to Colonia where I’m supposed to meet the rest of my study abroad program at noon the next day. Registering all of this, talking it over with Federico, and taking into account the weather which is beyond miserable from all the 80 degree, sunny days we had been having in Buenos Aires, I decide it’s not worth it. I’m offered a free place to stay and a tour around the city if I want it so the ticket gets cancelled and another is booked to Colonia for the following morning.
After a short taxi ride we make it to his apartment where he lives with his sister and several friends. I’m shown a bed to take a nap in and immediately fall asleep until around 11. We eat a meager breakfast, which for me at this point just consists maté, and if you ever thought it wasn’t possible for there to exist a people who likes maté more than the Argentineans, well, you’re in luck. You just have to make a short trip across the Rio de la Plata where you will, most assuredly, find Uruguayans who drive with a thermos tucked under their arm, a maté in their hand, and the other on the steering wheel with their head ever so slightly leaned forward to sip out of the bombilla.
After talking for a little over an hour and showers are had Federico and I make our way to the bank and then to the supermercado where we pick up ingredients for lunch. Lunch gets made, friends come and go throughout, and a plan is hatched to go take a walk and show me around a little bit of the city. Maté in hand the three of us (Fede, his sister, and me) set out walking and after several blocks the temperature noticeably drops a few degrees. We finally are standing across the street from a wild and thrashing ocean and the wind is whipping across our faces and tangling my hair.
We continue walking and make our way over to a park and the closer we get the faint of drumming gets louder. I probably got way too excited and so we continue walking in the direction of the music until we come across this:
The group, Lata Sónica, was absolutely incredible. They were using all recycled materials as their instruments so you can see things such as plastic waste recepticles flipped upside down to be used as drums, as well as metal cans that are also used for trash cans in some areas but that you see more often in movies of big cities where the homeless have used them to build fires inside of. They also had what appeared to be mutlicolored plastic gasoline canisters, and instruments built out of PVC pipes that they were using paddles to tap the open end of the pipe to create the sound. It was by far one of the coolest things I’ve seen since being down here and the vibe was incredible. The crowd was mostly older teenagers and people in their 20s and were unmistakeably local by evidence of the 80s fashions that are the norm in Buenos Aires and apparently Montevideo as well, and the prevalence of maté. As is common with most social gatherings in parks, plazas, and just walking down the street, the smell of marijuana wafts through the air.
The group played for a good half an hour after we got there and then broke down the set. We walked around the rest of the park, took a break on a boulder next to the lake, and talked about the nuances of the English language. I tried my best to clarify what it is we mean when we use phrases such as, “Here you go,” “Here you are,” “There you go,” and “There you are.” Reader, please take a minute to consider those phrases for a minute and look at them from the perspective of someone learning English as a second language. We don’t make it easy, do we? I did my best to clarify, but I suppose I should get much better at it before becoming an English teacher!
After the park we walked back to the apartment were Fede quickly changed as he had a wedding and a reception to attend that night with his roommate. I learned to tie a tie and was able to give assistance to his roommate who was having a hell of a time getting it so that the skinny part didn’t come out longer than the wider portion that is in front. After about 20 tries we both gave up and he ended up tucking the skinny part into his shirt between two buttons.
After the boys left I took another nap (this was a running theme for the weekend) and woke up around 10. One of his roommates was in the kitchen watching TV when I woke up. Leg propped up from a sprained ankle from playing fútbol (soccer) I joined him to watch the remainder of Gladiator. Florencia had run to buy two litres of beer and we sat around drinking and talking about capitalism, Argentine politics, Uruguayan politics, socialism and I’m sure various others. The entire conversation was in Spanish and very passionate and I was so proud of myself for being able to hold my own and understand everything being said to me.
Around 1 in the morning Florencia and I left with her boyfriend to go grab dinner and some more beer. We returned to their apartment shortly after as I had a bus to Colonia to catch at 7:45.
The rest of my adventures in Uruguay will continue with Part II in Colonia.
