(12:10, Monday, sitting on the dock of the bay – well on a concrete pier over-looking the harbour, Piriapolis, Uruguay) Whilst it may upset some of you (if anyone is still reading my long rants) I intend to tell you the truth about at least some of the things that’ve been happening recently, because I can assure you – they won’t happen again!
I arrived in Montevideo in the early hours on Saturday morning. None of the hostels listed in my guidebook sounded nice enough, or cheap enough, so I had taken some names of better looking ones off the internet. Mistake no. 1: I hadn’t taken down their addresses. I know most of them were in Pocitos, supposedly the nicest, newest, safest area of the city so I decided I’d head there and walk around til I found one. It was almost morning so if I could leave my bags somewhere and chill around or find a 24-hour coffee shop, it needn’t be the hostel I’d check into. So I hopped onto a bus to Pocitos and the friendly ticket guy, realizing I was not only new to Montevideo but also to Spanish-speaking Latin America, consulted with the bus driver to give me directions. He checked out my list of possible hostels with a frown and finally pointed to Pocitos Hostel. He dropped me off and directed me a few blocks up the road… to Pocitos HOTEL. I figured I was in the right suburb, so I kept going. There were many things that looked or sounded like a hostel: real estate agents with colourful walls and big windows, “dormitorios” – places selling furniture. I also noticed an overwhelming abundance of optometrists, but no hostels.
I have a map of a piece of the city in my enormous guidebook, which I snuck a look at outside well-lit buildings with security guards. Trouble is, it is not the piece of the city I was in. But the streets felt safe and the occasional bar or party was still jamming on into the morning so I continued to walk. I stopped to ask a scantily clad blonde lady at a bus stop where Plaza Independencia was. She turned out to be a scantily clad blonde man, but he pointed me in the right direction with a girlish giggle and a warning that it was a very long way. After quite some time a road sign caught my eye which matched up with one of the names I had practically memorised from looking at my map so many times. I took it, hoping I was heading in the right direction. Eventually I found myself on the map, then on the main road, and then uncharacteristically thrilled to see the golden arches of McDonalds. It’s the first time I’ve eaten somewhere I could go at home but I did order a traditional South American breakfast: coffee with medialunas (little croissants). Relieved to take off my pack I had a good long convo with my guidebook, as oppose to our frequent short consultations in stolen patches of light. I hadn’t really felt unsafe in the streets, despite my Joburger instincts, but at least here the only people looking at me were teenagers chowing down after a night out. The Red Hostel was a block away and I had heard it mentioned by an old cycling tourist in Colonia. So I heaved all my kit back on and missioned over. I woke the receptionist up but he was very nice and laughed politely when I explained that I wouldn’t be checking in because I had missed the night and had already had breakfast. We chatted until the morning guy came in, who was also very nice and let me check in for the upcoming night very very early and allocated me a bed, which I received gratefully. The hostel cost more than I normally spend but as you will soon read – expense is relative to one’s need for a bed.
P.S. I would like to retract my previous statement that all Uruguayan men are good-looking (the first few I met were definitely above average) but til now they have all been very nice, and friendly without ulterior motive.
What You’ve Been Saying