Montevideo, Part One
The Adventure Begins
Clouds cover the landscape as we make our descent into Montevideo airport, only the tops of the nearby hills that may have given the city its name are visable. After nearly thirty hours of travelling we touch down in the Oriental Republic of Uruguay. My first time and for Rosana, her first time back in Uruguay in twenty years. Other than a few days in Ecuador en-route to the Galapagos Islands many years ago, this will be my first time spending any real time in South America and I am expecting culture shock. We wanted an adventure and here it was.
The taxi ride into the city takes us along the seafront and through the more affluent suburbs. Houses looked well cared for but surrounded by iron fences, with windows also barred. Were these homes, or prisons? We travel deeper into the city towards the apartment we’ve rented in the old town and the urban landscape begins to change.
Taking a Wander Around Montevideo
As capital cities go, Montevideo is not large. It is home to just under one and a half million people and accounts for around one third of the total population of Uruguay. By comparison, London is inhabited by nine million. Despite its size, there is still plenty to see but it also has many of the same problems that larger cities around the world have.
We approach the old town and the streets become dirtier and less cared for. There are patches of broken unkept pavement. I’m sure the tree lined avenues must have looked beautiful when first built and they are, it is a green city full of trees; but growing roots had displaced the paving, in some places in an alarming manner that were looking to break an ankle of the unwary. Randomly placed colourful and artistic ceramic tiles are laid in sharp relief to the surrounding paving, adding colour and character to the pavements.
Graffiti daubed many walls, some of it beautiful street art, much of it the result of talentless oiks getting a spray can for Christmas. Rubbish is blowing around in the wind and dogs are left to foul wherever they wished. Individual businesses, particularly restaurants and cafes, take responsibility to keep the pavements clear outside of their premises but there seemed no wider street cleaning initiative. Homelessness is obvious, the desperate either forming groups in local parks or leading solitary existences in doorways, venturing out only to beg from passing strangers.
The streets are busy and Mate drinking is ubiquitous. A herbal tea like drink, drunk through a straw from an ornately crafted cup, refilled often from a flask of hot water carried in the crook of the arm. Shared among friends and family, it’s a communal drink, a bringing together of people. Rosana runs on the stuff, but its never displaced a nice cup of tea for me. I’ve forgotten to bring tea bags though.
In contrast to the high streets at home there are few empty shops. Market stalls set up at irregular intervals along the pavement, selling a wide range of items; warm hats, jewellery, leatherwork and arts and crafts. A far cry from our drab home town high street, it feels alive, an assault on my cosseted British senses and above it all and the thing that hits you most is the smell of the food.
The Heart of the City
I am not a foodie and this is not a food blog. I find it hard to instagram anything at all, let alone a picture of my lunch. But travel includes the local cuisines and you can’t describe Uruguay, nor I expect the rest of South America, without including a great deal about food. The first smell to hit is from the bakeries and it takes me right back to when I lived in Germany.
It’s funny how smells can do that, better than any photo album when it comes to evoking memories. Fresh bread and pastries. Life was going to be good. Unhealthy, but good and I was yet to discover merienda. Overriding it all is the smell of woodsmoke and Asado. Asado is practically a religion here, meats slowly cooked over the hot coals produced from burning wood. This is no instant BBQ from the local garage with a couple of half cooked sausages and a pack of frozen burgers, it’s an investment of time and effort and the joy of feeding and eating. Cafes, restaurants and little kiosks are everywhere. We are not going to starve.
And the Art of the City
Uruguay is a largely agricultural country, although it has other burgeoning industries such as software development – technological advancement here has been rapid. I’m not sure why, but it surprises me then that art seems to play such as large part of the culture. Everywhere we go there’s a sculpture, or monument. There are museums dedicated to artists. Maybe it’s a reaction to the years of dictatorship, the country only regained its democracy in 1985. The city theatre is prominent and there are many shops selling arts and crafts.
And there’s dancing. Attracted by the sound of music, we find couples dancing tango in the street. Just random couples from the crowd, drawn in by the music, dancing, then moving on with their daily lives.
Fear of the Dark
On mentioning we were heading to South America, most people said to be careful. It’s dangerous. They’d never been, but they’d heard, or seen on the news. I take the advice from Rosana and her family more seriously and I take notice of those barred windows. There are places in the UK I wouldn’t wander around after dark. There are some I wouldn’t wander around during the day. So it’s no different here. We look like tourists and that screams wealth to the desperate and the lazy. So we take care, but don’t live in fear.
I wonder what it is that marks us out. I try not to talk too loudly and at least Rosana speaks the language. English and my limited and poor Spanish immediately shouts outsider. We’re not flashy dressers and don’t flaunt anything that looks like wealth. I look at us and try to work out what it is. I can’t see it, so I play a game. It does not take long to spot some other tourists. It’s not just the ever so slightly different clothing. Maybe it’s the way we move, awkward, not quite fitting in with the flow, looking slightly lost and out of place. So yes, we’re obviously tourists in a city that’s got some tourist spots, but is not really a tourist destination.
A busy street and a man starts talking to us. Immediately our senses are heightened. I check around for the unseen while we are being distracted but there are none, or at least they are very good at being unseen. But no, it’s just a friendly Italian ex-pat having a chat. He’s off to change some money on the black market and we’re off to check out the Sunday market. We chat a while, he speaks some broken English, I speak some mangled Spanglish and Rosana converses across Spanish, Italian and English. DuoLingo never prepared me for this. The steepness of the learning curve ahead of me is becoming increasingly apparent.
Market Forces
The Sunday market is immense, stretching many blocks across the city. It’s heaving. Families mingle, Mate constantly consumed. Food, clothes, crafts, it’s all on sale and all being bought. Immigration has brought not only people, but new flavours and they’re on sale from brightly decorated food trucks. Shopping, food shopping at least, is markedly different to what we’re used to. At home, a trip to the supermarket and we’d have everything we need. Maybe a trip to the butcher for some better quality meats.
Here we visit different stores for different types of foods and the range in the stores has been limited although we were pleased to find well stocked green grocery along the road from our apartment. We learn that the street market provides much more choice as we move from stall to stall. It’s busy, chaotic, noisy, vibrant and exciting.
We are enjoying our first few days in Montevideo. The adventure had finally begun and it felt good.