3 am. Ok, 3.30. It was supposed to be 3am, but a lie-in is to be expected on holiday, even when beginning a trip.
Everything packed, we hit the road.
It's so quiet in Porto Alegre in the small hours. I like it like that.
When the city lulls, it's languid, slow to wake. I almost expect grey rather than techni-colour. Even the homeless sleeping in the doorways look peaceful at 4am.
We were making for Punta del Diablo (for a birthday treat), what can best be described as a travellers/hippie commune in it's personality.
Clarissa had been there in the summer, some years ago-we were heading there in the early parts of Autumn for the long May day holiday.
After numerous toll roads and four full hours, the sun begins to rise.
Remarkable how much the countryside looks like the U.K...even down to the cows and sheep....except in Britain, we don't have Capybara, Caimen and Eagles feeding on carcasses. The Capybara are huge. Really, like fat sheep mated with fat beavers and created fat brown creatures. They and their families littered the sides of the water reservoirs which constituted a nature reserve, for a few kilometres this side of the Brasil-Uruguay border (I shall be referring to Brazil as Brasil from no on-in an effort to acclimatise). En-route, we found ourselves staring at horse bums for a wee while. I'll let you assume how that came to happen (comments to be kept clean thank-you).
Before we were to arrive in Punta del Diablo, we needed to pass the border.
Clarissa had her ID, I had my passport. No problems...
Although, when you fly into a country, the airline do tend to give you an entry visa...it's entirely possible that this Englishman might have forgotten his. Oops.
Thankfully, the Brasilian border fuzz seem as uninterested as the Brasilian airport fuzz. That being the case, I was 'stamped-out' of the country and we entered the no-man's land between the two nations (Twilight Zone, and Neutral Zone were both names suggested during our stay). We shall, for sake of amusement now refer to Chuy (the mini-town we were entering) as 'Duty-Freeland'. Guess what they sell there.
Being the ideal boyfriend that I so clearly am, we spent the next 3 hours (after 6 hours driving through the south of Brasil) shopping. I love shopping, as all good boyfriends do and never muttered a negative word, smiling throughout. Really. I'm that good. That being said, it wasn't really torture. I spent most of the time 'eying up' the booze (which is unbelievably cheap) and marvelling at the inflated price that Olive Oil fetches in Uruguay.
So, 3 hours later we pass the road that leads to Fortaleza de Santa Teresa, a military outpost first built by the Portuguese army, then continued and finished by the Spanish after they invaded (more on this later). All of 10 Km away was Punta del Diablo.
We drove around for about 45 minutes trying to find our hut. Not our fault, seems Punta del Diablo is not so interested in street signs. Looking on our downloaded map, every road is numbered, but impossible to find. Our accommodation, much like the rest, is only accessible if you call the numbers posted outside the buildings (literally on wooden posts). As this was not something we'd foreseen (and not wanting to incur 'roaming' charges), we knocked, found no one at home and drove around asking the locals and tourists (the few we saw) where we could rent.
Despite this being the 'off season', the Uruguayan holiday home owners seem unwilling to change their rates. As such, everywhere seemed deluded enough to assume we (being the "gullible" tourists) would happily pay $50 US (not Peso) a night in a hostel/hotel. Pah, pah I say! Although one hostel did have six cute, newly born puppies wandering around outside...almost convinced me (friends see facebook photos).
We eventually settled on what can only be described as a hut/teepee. I liked it! Clarissa bartered the lady down from $240 (Pesos) to $200, with me advised to look 'upset' when the subject of money was raised. I did my part well and we took the six bunk hut (two bunk beds, one double bed) for the price of a one bed hut. Sweet!
Tired, thirsty and ravenous, Clarissa and I took to the streets and found the centre of the fishing village (389 full time residents that rises to 25,000 in the summer) to find cute desolation and a bar/restaurant with a blazing fire, gourmet pasta and large bottles of Miller Genuine Draft beer. We were, to put it mildly- happy.
Full of belly and far too tired to bother attempting to light our fireplace, we retired for the evening, comfortable in the knowledge that we had traversed 6 hours of Brasil, crossed an International border (without total ID-Me), shopped 'til I almost dropped, found accomodation (bartered very well), eaten, drunk and crashed.
Day 1 done, on with Day 2....
Everything packed, we hit the road.
It's so quiet in Porto Alegre in the small hours. I like it like that.
When the city lulls, it's languid, slow to wake. I almost expect grey rather than techni-colour. Even the homeless sleeping in the doorways look peaceful at 4am.
We were making for Punta del Diablo (for a birthday treat), what can best be described as a travellers/hippie commune in it's personality.
Clarissa had been there in the summer, some years ago-we were heading there in the early parts of Autumn for the long May day holiday.
After numerous toll roads and four full hours, the sun begins to rise.
Remarkable how much the countryside looks like the U.K...even down to the cows and sheep....except in Britain, we don't have Capybara, Caimen and Eagles feeding on carcasses. The Capybara are huge. Really, like fat sheep mated with fat beavers and created fat brown creatures. They and their families littered the sides of the water reservoirs which constituted a nature reserve, for a few kilometres this side of the Brasil-Uruguay border (I shall be referring to Brazil as Brasil from no on-in an effort to acclimatise). En-route, we found ourselves staring at horse bums for a wee while. I'll let you assume how that came to happen (comments to be kept clean thank-you).
Before we were to arrive in Punta del Diablo, we needed to pass the border.
Clarissa had her ID, I had my passport. No problems...
Although, when you fly into a country, the airline do tend to give you an entry visa...it's entirely possible that this Englishman might have forgotten his. Oops.
Thankfully, the Brasilian border fuzz seem as uninterested as the Brasilian airport fuzz. That being the case, I was 'stamped-out' of the country and we entered the no-man's land between the two nations (Twilight Zone, and Neutral Zone were both names suggested during our stay). We shall, for sake of amusement now refer to Chuy (the mini-town we were entering) as 'Duty-Freeland'. Guess what they sell there.
Being the ideal boyfriend that I so clearly am, we spent the next 3 hours (after 6 hours driving through the south of Brasil) shopping. I love shopping, as all good boyfriends do and never muttered a negative word, smiling throughout. Really. I'm that good. That being said, it wasn't really torture. I spent most of the time 'eying up' the booze (which is unbelievably cheap) and marvelling at the inflated price that Olive Oil fetches in Uruguay.
So, 3 hours later we pass the road that leads to Fortaleza de Santa Teresa, a military outpost first built by the Portuguese army, then continued and finished by the Spanish after they invaded (more on this later). All of 10 Km away was Punta del Diablo.
We drove around for about 45 minutes trying to find our hut. Not our fault, seems Punta del Diablo is not so interested in street signs. Looking on our downloaded map, every road is numbered, but impossible to find. Our accommodation, much like the rest, is only accessible if you call the numbers posted outside the buildings (literally on wooden posts). As this was not something we'd foreseen (and not wanting to incur 'roaming' charges), we knocked, found no one at home and drove around asking the locals and tourists (the few we saw) where we could rent.
Despite this being the 'off season', the Uruguayan holiday home owners seem unwilling to change their rates. As such, everywhere seemed deluded enough to assume we (being the "gullible" tourists) would happily pay $50 US (not Peso) a night in a hostel/hotel. Pah, pah I say! Although one hostel did have six cute, newly born puppies wandering around outside...almost convinced me (friends see facebook photos).
We eventually settled on what can only be described as a hut/teepee. I liked it! Clarissa bartered the lady down from $240 (Pesos) to $200, with me advised to look 'upset' when the subject of money was raised. I did my part well and we took the six bunk hut (two bunk beds, one double bed) for the price of a one bed hut. Sweet!
Tired, thirsty and ravenous, Clarissa and I took to the streets and found the centre of the fishing village (389 full time residents that rises to 25,000 in the summer) to find cute desolation and a bar/restaurant with a blazing fire, gourmet pasta and large bottles of Miller Genuine Draft beer. We were, to put it mildly- happy.
Full of belly and far too tired to bother attempting to light our fireplace, we retired for the evening, comfortable in the knowledge that we had traversed 6 hours of Brasil, crossed an International border (without total ID-Me), shopped 'til I almost dropped, found accomodation (bartered very well), eaten, drunk and crashed.
Day 1 done, on with Day 2....
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