Colonia is a 17th century port on the Río de la Plata, S.A.'s version of the Big Muddy, and is across the wide river from Buenos Aires.
In its first century the town changed hands many times, control fluctuating frequently between the Portuguese and Spanish until the early 19th century when Uruguay was established. The old town is a confluence of cobblestoned tree-lined streets leading down to the riverfront.
A white balustrade lines most of the road along the river. There is an old lighthouse built on the ruins of an older convent, the old city gate and walls, and scattered cannons. We moved in to the Hostel Colonia and were promptly accosted by a sun-scorched Australian who upbraided us for spending too much on Spanish lessons.
It is a lovely town to walk through and we spent most of our time wandering the streets and stopping for a drink or a meal. This is where we met our helpful parrilla-hound Panqueque. We had a lovely glass of wine at an outside table at Garibaldi, a corner restaurant with walls hung with old-timey memorabilia -- someone's grandmother was a showgirl.
The second day we rented dread-o-bikes and doggedly pedaled them along the river, heading out of town and into the countryside. Brakeless and utterly uncared for, they made for hellish but exploitable companions. We took them out to the crumbling cement bullring that saw 8 bullfights before Uruguay outlawed bullfighting. We rode through vineyards and finally back to a watering hole on the riverbank where we downed Patricia and steeled ourselves for the ride home.
Punta del Diablo is along Uruguay's Atlantic coast. At this time of year, mid-spring, it is still mainly locals, fishermen, and inexplicable tourists like us. There is a new hostel in town, El Diablo Tranquilo, opened last year by a young (North) American couple. The hostel let us pitch our tent out back when we found out that the local campgrounds wouldn't open for another few weeks.
The beaches are remarkably lovely now, empty of people and edging up to rolling blue-green waves. We swam in the crashing surf and walked the 10 miles to a nearby fort in a local national park, one of the hostel's little dogs following us the whole way. We met lovely Dutch and Danish friends at the hostel and spent a night playing cutthroat UNO and drinking Patricia at El Diablo Tranquilo's adjacent restaurant.
1 comment:
Ahh, the internationally renowned parlor game, Uno. Seems like every public place with a table and chairs has a well worn deck of Uno waiting for the next band of recently united tourists. I played Uno for 6+ hours straight with two Israelis, a German, a Canadian, and a Kiwi in Vilcabamba, Ecuador. (You must spend a few nights in Vilcabamba when you pass through Ecuador!)
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