Pocitos doesn’t awake until ten in the morning.
My first time past the little diner on the corner, a block from the beach, the sign in the window says Cerrado. Doubling back, Albierto is now in its place.
A plaque on the exterior says this establishment, in one form or another, has been open since 1910. A lot can go wrong in a century and surviving progress is not for sissies.
Seated, I do a leisurely check of my E-mails, send a couple of text messages.
My bill for a coffee and a small glass of water is seventy eight pesos. With a tip, the total is a hundred pesos, or somewhere south of five U.S. dollars. My bill is speared on a little nail, and, for a moment, seems to nail down Uruguay accurately.
What we all want is 1950’s prices to come back.
Many accommodations I have stayed in here have had a bidet. You see them in other countries, but I never remember seeing as many as there are in Uruguay.
There have been issues.
In bathrooms, bidets occupy the spot closest to the shower. The toilet is shoved in a corner so when you open the door to enter or leave the bathroom the door gets in the way of you getting to the toilet. The bidet is not something I use so its position of authority in the bathroom is questionable.
In the Ramon Massini Suites in Pocitos, I take a moment to see how one of these contraptions works. Unthinking, I pull up a little handle and get a geyser shot of water spray into my chest.
After my experience with the bidet, I resolve to leave them alone.
Now, I enter the bathroom, close the door, sit on my throne with as much dignity as I can compose.
When you see bidets and realize that half the humans in the world are significantly different from you, it gives a new meaning to the words ” foreign relations.”
City buses in Uruguay feature a team.
There is a driver who keeps the bus on the road, makes stops, stays out of accidents, and gets people on and off the transport safely. There is a conductor who collects fares, checks passes, smooths feelings, answers questions, and moves up and down the aisle like a stewardess/steward who doesn’t pass out pillows or drinks.
On any route, there might be a few stops, or dozens of stops. This Termas bus is well marked and though the bus is loud and smells like exhaust there aren’t chickens or sheep and the passengers are like me – wanting to get where they need to go cheaply and safely.
When you think of teams you think of Pancho and Cisco, Tarzan and Jane, Crosby and Hope, Siskel and Ebert, Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris.
I don’t know these bus guys names but they take time to ask where I am going and get me off at the right corner, two walking blocks from my hotel.
Riding the bus in Uruguay is not unpleasant.
I would ride them just to be going somewhere, and have.
It is sweet that these working men take the time to get me off at my right stop.
Good happens in the world, but mostly goes unappreciated and under reported.
The early bird gets the worm, and, the early fisherman gets the fish.
One of the activities popular around Salto, according to TripAdvisor, is Dorado fishing.
One of the guides that receives the best write ups is Gianni Juncal, who speaks English and maybe writes it too.
All the reviews I’m seeing on my computer praise the Captain, who, reviewers say, works hard to give everyone a chance to catch fish. That is all you can do with fishing. Fish bite when they feel like it and they just don’t care about you standing all day in a boat showing them what you think they will like.
The best fishing grounds on the Rio Uruguay are up north, towards a huge hydroelectric dam that provides over 80% of Uruguay’s electricity. These world class fishing grounds also reach into Argentina which means special permits to wet a hook are needed to fish there. Gianni refers to La Zona in his E-mail reply to my fishing inquiry.
Because I leave Salto tomorrow, I send a declining thank you e mail back to the Captain.
The only way this fishing trip would have happened is if I had shown foresight and arranged it before I got to Uruguay.
Planning has never been one of my strong suits so I compensate by spending inordinate amounts of time and energy pondering things that have already happened and writing prose about it.
An opportunity that gets away is never as bad as an opportunity seized that doesn’t get its own write up.
Saturdays start slow in Salto. Even hound dogs sleep in this morning, worn out from chasing girls all night.
On the Rio Uruguay, small boat Captains are pushing their fishing boats hard, taking two, three, four paying customers further up the river where dorado’s are waiting to be reeled in at ” La Zona” where fishing is excellent and many travelers like to go in their quest of trophy fish.
On the pier this morning, early, there is a photo shoot in progress with three young girls dancing, modeling swimsuits, posing for sexy photos and getting direction from an old, bald impressario wearing sunglasses. When the teens change costumes a matronly attendant holds up a coat for them that becomes their changing room.
Clowning around, their big boss balances on the back of one of the benches on the pier and dances while a film crew snaps shots and gives him appreciation.
The girls love it.
I don’t know what they are trying to sell so early in the day, but youth and sex sells most anything anytime.
Behind news, business and politics is always old men with lots of money and lots of connections.
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