Punta Del Este, moving into its tourist season, is a movie set waiting for a movie crew. It is hard to find fault with beach towns full of light, openness, a relaxed attitude and water in every direction, at the end of every street. This morning a few souls are on a little beach at the end of the street from Hotel Playa. The beach is named Emir Playa after a local family. In Montevideo, streets are narrow and buildings tower like giants looking down shaking their fingers at those of us who dare to move without the proper password. Here, I can breath. Going from the big city to the beach feels like ditching a heavy jacket and changing into a pair of swim trunks. This is a reputed playground for the rich and well connected but the season hasn’t started yet and I’m one of the few out walking today. Whether I will be viewed by others on the street, as rich and famous, is unlikely, but how exactly do you tell a person is rich by looking at them in just their swimming trunks? When you strip away all their jewelry, clothes, cars, perfumes, makeup, how do you really know that who you think you see is really how they are?  I expect to be seen as a senior tourista, healthy enough to walk, not on a schedule, with enough time and money, in the correct proportions, to see the world, going where the winds blow me. How people see us, strangely enough, is quite often how we actually are. Reading between the lines is, apparently, not as difficult as it first seems.  
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