Punta del Este

My program began at the end of peak tourist season in South America. Although Buenos Aires was ridiculously hot and humid, it was a great time to go to the beach, mountains, or Patagonia. Unfortunately it took me a while to figure out where I wanted to travel so all of my trips have been during the off season.

My first weekend trip was to Punta del Este, Uruguay. Punta del Este is to Buenos Aires what the Hamptons are to New York City. During the summer hoards of city dwellers make their way to weekend and party in this popular beach town. I planned my trip with a couple of friends the same weekend as Spring Break in the States after most of the crowds had left.

Through my travels I’ve learned that sometimes things just don’t work out; they should be easy, but they’re not. This is how the trip began. Natalie and I had tickets to leave after our friends because she had a late Thursday class. We were supposed to take a midnight boat to Montevideo and from there a bus to Punta del Este. When we went to check-in I was incredibly surprised to find out I had bought our non-refundable tickets for the following day, which would leave us only one full day at the beach. I bought us new tickets for the boat that was leaving that night. Instead of a direct route we had a three hour boat to Colonia, three hour bus to Montevideo, where we had to purchase tickets to transfer to Punta del Este, which was another three hours journey.

This trip was made all the more interesting by my friend Steve. He’s one of those people who has the best of intentions but never manages to get it right. I called Steve as soon as we went through customs to tell him to make sure he filled out the exit paperwork for Argentina before getting his passport stamped. His response: “Passport? We’re supposed to bring our passports?” Yes, Steve. You have to bring your passport to go to a different country. Mind you Steve has been robbed twice in the last three months. After convincing him that there was no way he could talk his way or sneak onto the boat without a passport he agreed to change his ticket to the next day.

By the time we got in the following morning we were exhausted. Our friends, who had arrived the evening before, warned us that our hostel, El Viajero, had two locations and to go to the one close to the bus terminal. After finding an ATM we got a taxi and explained where we needed to go. Something was clearly lost in translation as we arrived thirty minutes later to a secluded hostel out of town. Turns out the hostels did have different names and our friends had given us the wrong one. After an easy bus ride back we finally found our way to the correct hostel.

Chivito

The first day of rain and clouds quickly changed to blue skies and sunshine. Days were spent sleeping in the sun, playing in the Atlantic, and eating chivitos (Uruguayan steak sandwiches). At night everyone in our hostel would play guitar, drink wine, or pile onto the couch for movies. The rest of the weekend passed as a lazy weekend at the beach should. Good hostel, good food, good people.