Uruguay > By Bus to Montevideo

I slept well last night. I wake up after more than ten hours in the small room of the Posada del Rio. I estimate the room to be at most two by three meters, but large enough for a decent bed, a small table, and a television. The bathroom is rather cramped. The space is just ten centimeters wider than my toilet at home. The shower curtain hangs 35 centimeters from the wall. By aiming the water stream at the curtain, I prevent it from sticking to me. After breakfast, I once again walk into the old part of Colonia. I’m starting to recognize the street layout. It’s not very big anyway. I carefully pick the streets I missed yesterday. At Puerto Viejo, an older man is sitting on a bench, looking out over the Río de la Plata. I ask him in which direction Buenos Aires lies. He points straight ahead but says in Spanish that it’s still 48 kilometers away. I see a few large ships sailing, but I can’t see the opposite shore. He goes on to tell me that the province of Buenos Aires is larger than all of Uruguay. And to think that Uruguay is more than three times the size of the Netherlands. When I tell him I’m from the Netherlands, I think I understand that he had already suspected I looked European. I shake his hand and continue my walk. He pours some more water into his cup of mate, a strong local tea. It’s common in this region of South America to walk around with a mate gourd and a thermos flask. It’s still quiet in Colonia. The shops are just opening and café terraces are being set up. On the Plaza Mayor 25 de Mayo stands a collection of antique cars. All kinds and ages are mixed together — from one of the first motorized vehicles to models from the 1980s and 1990s. The cars make a loop through the old town. The parade of vehicles fits perfectly into the street scene. I conclude that I’ve seen nearly every street. I return to my hotel to check out. Before taking the bus to Montevideo, I still have some time to visit the modern part of Colonia. The street plan is simple. In true Spanish style, all streets run straight and parallel with equal spacing, forming perfect squares. The city’s layout was determined first by the streets, then by the houses. This makes it easy to count the blocks: first I walk five blocks east, then ten blocks north. The scenery changes from local shops to residential blocks. I guess the people here hardly ever go into the historic center, which has been taken over by tourists. Back on Avenue Flores, I order a sandwich and a Coke on a terrace. I look back on a pleasant trip to Colonia. Just before two o’clock, I arrive at the bus station. I ask where the bus actually stops in Montevideo and whether I can stay on until the final stop. The bus terminates at the bus station — but that’s still over three kilometers from the old center and my hotel. I hadn’t expected that. The staff member advises me to take a taxi. I could also take a local bus, but he looks doubtful about that. I’ll see when I get there. Behind the station, five buses are waiting. I think I’ve found the right one, but check with the driver to be sure.

Uruguay - The striking Palacio Salvo at Plaza Independencia

He welcomes me aboard and points to my seat number. At two o’clock, the bus departs. There are only about fifteen people on board. Why did I get seat number 14 instead of a window seat? It soon becomes clear — the bus makes several stops in Colonia, and more passengers board each time. At the last stop, Joël gets on and sits next to me. He lives in Colonia but is going to visit friends in Montevideo. He apologizes that his English isn’t very good, but he wants to practice because he’s planning to go to New Zealand for two years. His English is still better than my Spanish. Mixing English and Spanish, we talk almost the entire trip, often using a translation app. He enthusiastically tells me about his old Dodge that he has completely restored. Joël even looks up how I can reach my hotel by bus and gives me possible bus numbers — very kind of him. The bus travels through flat countryside. I mainly see pastures with occasional cows, and houses are rare. Uruguay has only three million inhabitants, most of whom live in the capital. As we approach the city, the buildings and traffic increase. At the final station, Joël offers to walk with me to the right bus. We walk through the terminal — a place I wouldn’t have found my way through easily. Bus 180 is just arriving. I quickly say goodbye to Joël and wish him a great time in New Zealand. The driver says something in Spanish. Joël had told me that the last time he went to the city, it cost 38 pesos. I stand ready with forty. The driver repeats the price gruffly. I think I hear something with “thirty,” so I show him the money in my hand. To be safe, I add another ten. He takes forty and gives me two back. This is clearly not the type who will give me a signal when we reach Plaza Independencia. Maybe the girl next to me will? She doesn’t speak a word of English, but she understands my question and shows me a map on her phone where I need to get off. Just as I’m about to ask if she can alert me, she indicates she’s getting off herself. A woman behind me, who has overheard everything, taps me on the shoulder and nods, saying in Spanish that she’ll signal me. At least, that’s what I think. I show her my hotel address to be sure, and later she gestures for me to get off. I’m exactly in the right street. A narrow corridor leads to the hotel reception. The room is fine — larger than last night’s — and the hotel is close to Plaza Independencia and the Palacio Salvo. Right in the center. From there, I walk to the Teatro Solis, a 19th-century neoclassical theater. Inside, three staff members look at me questioningly. When I explain I’d like to see the building, they tell me in perfect English that there are two free exhibitions to visit. Before I know it, I’m holding two brochures. I walk through the exhibits but focus more on the architecture — especially the beautiful foyer. Too bad I can’t see the theater hall. The brochures are in Spanish, but I gather that the aim is to make art more accessible to the general public. Opposite the theater, a street leads to Plaza de Constitución, where there’s a performance and people are dancing tango. The whole day is dedicated to tango, and it’s pleasantly busy. I listen to the music and enjoy the crowd. In the surrounding shopping streets, street vendors display their goods on blankets. The shops are already closed. Through Plaza Zabala, with its statue of Montevideo’s founder, I reach the Mercado del Puerto. This market building is said to be a highlight of the city, but all the eateries are closed, as are the market halls. A boy sitting on a wall calls out “Hey amigo” and wants to approach me. It doesn’t feel right — this isn’t where I want to be after dark. I decide to walk back to my hotel. Along the way, I see many homeless people, even children lying in doorways. Montevideo is clearly a bigger city with the accompanying problems: homelessness, beggars, graffiti, and dilapidated buildings. Near my hotel, the receptionist had recommended a restaurant, but it’s empty. The neighboring pizzeria looks busier, so I decide to end my Saturday with a pizza. Or maybe not yet? When I leave the restaurant, I decide to go back to Plaza de Constitución one last time. The tango festival is still going strong with live performances. Hundreds of spectators fill the square. From a terrace with a glass of beer, I enjoy the music. The crowd’s applause echoes between the buildings.