Cowboys and Carne

As we drive in on the bus from Colonia, we pass by shanty towns whose sheets of rusted roofing are being held on by the weight of large rocks. But on the other side of town, facing it, the ultra-modern curved shape of the lookout tower shines of glass and technology (the only one of its kind, I soon realise).

Arriving at the hostel, and I bump into (a repeated exercise when travelling throughout a region of many options) some girls I know from Buenos Aires who are heading out to the main bar and pub strip near our hostel. I do a quick bag-drop and face wash and head with them to what turns out to be just a small collection of Irish pubs, Beatles music and outdoor deck chairs. Unusually crowded for a Wednesday night, we soon realise that the evening is being hosted by an enthusiastic presidential candidate, Marcos Carámbula.

A little perplexed by all the fuss, we are told by someone nearby that he is the Socialist favourite who is appealing to the youth market in the upcoming presidential election in October. And I guess, with an office that overlooks this small entertainment hub, he is probably in the right place.

Despite the catch-up chats, it is a pretty early night for us all, which we are told is pretty normal in Uruguay’s capital – unless it is the weekend. The next day I make some new friends over cornflakes and tag along with their group to check out the Mercado del Puerto and its famed barbeques. Walking into the open plan marketplace we are instantly impressed by the huge chunks of meat and sausage that are already cooking away on angled wire racks, tempted to take lunch early, before breakfast has even disappeared from our bellies. But we decide to put some distance between the two, and instead head to the Carnaval (I am still unsure what spelling to use for this, it really seems to depend largely on where you are) Museum where we are told that Montevideo holds the longest celebration (40 days) in South America. (Although the costumes and floats have nothing on the Rio).

We then attempt to check out some more local culture, strolling around to the Casa Garibaldi and Casa Rivera, but it seems the workers of the city’s museums aren’t getting paid enough, and are temporarily on strike. No one can tell us for how long it will last, so instead we end up perusing some random antiques that are scattered through a nearby pedestrian walkway, picking our way through jewellery, old license plates and prints.

Finally though, we admit defeat and head back for the beef, and what a monstrosity it is!! Despite ordering the half portion of the “pulpa”, the piece that arrives in front of me must be at least 600g, fully cooked. Needless to say I can’t fit it all in, no matter how much I love its accompanying garlic and parsley oil and the over-sized baked potato, particularly when panqueque de manana (caramelised apple pancake, flambéed in rum) is the dessert special of the day.

We eventually roll out of the market and realise that we probably need to work off some of our indulgence, and so we make one last stop at the Gaucho and Money Museum, which is fortunately still open. Here we come across an amazing mate collection (check the link alongside for an explanation), along with some impressively ornate spurs, stirrups and saddles of Uruguay’s famed cowboys. God only knows how the horses felt.