A surprising country

It was the day of departure. Uruguay is located on the other side of the Rio de la Plata, you can easily get there by ferry. I wanted to go in the afternoon, in order to still have enough time in the morning to visit the Cementerio de la Recoleta, Buenos Aires famous cemetery.

Most ferry companies let you buy tickets online, usually with a 50% discount. I try to buy my ticket, but the purchase attempt fails as the website doesn’t accept my German passport number. Five attempts later and several minutes in the call centers queue (thanks to Miguel!) I still don’t have a ticket. I damn the Argentinean bureaucracy and decide to visit the Cementerio another time, as I am running out of time. Once I get to the harbour I buy the overpriced offline ticket and line up for boarding.

I really like border crossings when travelling. They give you a thrill of anticipation, it feels like being a child that, for the first time, sees the presents under the Christmas tree. You are looking forward to visiting the new country, but yet, you don’t know what to expect. In the case of Uruguay, I had no clue at all. The only thing I knew was that Uruguay is not Paraguay and that they had legalized Marijuana as one of the first countries. And then there was Suarez, the world’s most biting footballer. That was about it!

The crossing of the Rio de la Plata takes a little less than an hour, in my hometown Dresden the ferry takes about two minutes to cross, it is impressive how wide a river can be, if you get to the in the middle you can see neither Argentina nor Uruguay. I arrive in Colonia del Sacramento, a city originally founded in the 17th century with the one and only purpose to smuggle goods to Buenos Aires. Today it is a UNESCO heritage site…. and a little sleepy. However, after Buenos Aires I enjoy the peaceful and quiet atmosphere. I have a quick lock around the “city” and eventually decide to make my way to the hostel to relax a bit.

When I get to the hostel I meet Enrique (a. k. a. Kike), a 40-year-old Peruvian who lives in Buenos Aires. We talk briefly, Kike doesn’t seem fully relaxed yet, but rather a bit uptight, as if he had had a few mates too many. Colonia is probably good for him. In addition, he really loves to take selfies, during the first bit of our conversation alone, he takes five pictures if himself and his golden necklace. I get hungry and ask Kike if he wants to join me for some food. He is immediately in,  as if he was just waiting to finally do something.

Kike doesn’t speak a word of English. We hadn’t even arrived to the restaurant yet, as I was already out of my standard questions, which I confidently new in Spanish. My new mate didn’t like that short awkward silence and I cursed myself for every time I had claimed to be able to communicate in Spanish without any problems. Well, thanks to a few beers we finally manage to keep the conversation alive, and, with each approaching silence we toast to the Amistad (“Friendship”) between Peru and Germany, so many times that we could soon think about letting Peru into the EU. After my first evening in Uruguay I still don’t have a clue about the country, but I definitely know for sure that I will seriously have to start improving my Spanish.

The next day I move on to Montevideo, Uruguay’s capital. During the three hour long bus ride I chat with an Argentinean girl and notice that it is possible to speak Spanish without beers. From the bus terminal in Montevideo I take the local bus to the hostel and, when I get off at the wrong stop, the bus driver calls me back and lets me jump on again. Wow! Furthermore, cars stop at pedestrian crossings. And random people greet me on the street. As soon as I arrive in the Hostel, I assure myself that I am not in Canada.

I go the hostel pool and meet Johnny, a funny and talkative Irishman, who tells me right away how he was robbed the night before, and makes my picture of Uruguay stagger for a moment. South America is not exactly known for a high degree of security, there are loads of horror stories about bus robberies in Bogotá, about travelers being shot for a Nikon camera in the favelas of Rio de Janeiros and about people being kidnapped in Caracas. I am sure all of them are true, but every single one of them arised through ones own fault. Some backpackers walk alone and drunk through an unknown quarter at night with a huge belt bag and a big camera, trying to find an ATM in order to withdraw money. That’s is just a smart as entering a cage of starving lions dressed up as an antelope. Usually a bit of common sense, however, is enough to get along well. It is a good idea to get information about unsafe neighborhoods beforehand, to always take a taxi at night and tovonly carry what you need, when you leave the hostel: some cash and no iPhone. And, if someone really asks for a donation while pointing a knife at you, you give him what he wants and you be alright…. and what concerns Venezuela, well, hardly any sane South American  would travel there at this very moment.

When Johnny continues his story, a few details come up which kind of restore my good picture of Uruguay: so Johnny got lost at two o’ clock in the morning, on his way back from the city centre. Johnny was sober, even though I’m not quite sure what that means in Ireland. He then walked the same road up and down several times as he couldn’t find the hostel. And well, the fact that he was then  robbed twice by the same villains (first cash then mobile phone), well that is probably a bit of bad luck. However, I am sure they said thank you. And the best thing about Johnnys story is that he can laugh about it, and, that he has many more to tell. We order a beer and I prepare myself for some good laughs. I am happy that I met Johnny.

I spend the following weekend with Maira and Marisa, an Argentinean and Uruguayan girl I met in the hostel. During the day we drink mate on the beach and talk fluent Spanglish, in the nighttime I show them how to open a bottle of beer with a lighter and they show me how to dance Cumbia. The days fly by and I like Uruguay more and more with every day. Also the following week on the beach  (Cabo Polonio and Punta del Diablo) could not stop this positive trend. I therefore decide to take the somewhat longer route across Northern Uruguay and not the direct route through Brazil to get to my next big destination, the Iguazù waterfalls.

The trip to Salta is a bit boring, I have to admit. There are four cows per inhabitant of Uruguay, the countryside is therefore flat and has only pastureland, so much that there could easily be 20 cows per inhabitant. Arrived in Salto I meet Karina, an old traveling acquaintance who happens to be there. We’re going to dinner, the chivito we share is still far too much for the two of us. The north of Uruguay is like a latino version of Arizona, everyone drives huge pickups, it’s incredibly hot and as the trucks pass by big dust clouds arise. The only thing that is missing are the gauchos, South American cowboys. I get a completely different impression of Uruguay, but I still love the country. Uruguay is one of the most progressive, relaxed and safest countries on the continent, but the best thing are the people I’ve met, and my last Uruguayan acquaintance was just another proof of how lovely people are over here.

The easiest way to cross the border to Argentina from Salto is by boat or by bus. However, there are no buses or boats leaving on Sundays. I go to the owner of my hotel to tell her about my situation of being stuck in Salto. She is having dinner with friends and invites me to join. One of her friends is Ricardo, a slender guy in his fifites who wears a full beard and above all, who owns a big motorcycle. As soon as I tell him about my travel plans, he spontaneously offers me to take me to Argentina the next morning. Fuck yeah, I could hardly imagine a better way to travel through South America, just like the good old Che. I pack my stuff, I meet up again with Karina in the evening and enjoy the last hours in Salto.

The next day Ricardo is waiting for me at seven o’ clock in the morning. We strap my backpack onto he seat of the motorbiek and leave. The rides gets freaking uncomfortable already after two minutes, but hey, there is hardly any greater feeling of freedom: off to Argentina, off to the next adventure!