From: Mark
Location: Uruguay and Buenos Aires
Date: 14th of May 2007

The crossing into Uruguay involved a short wait in the border (5 mins), a little bit of paperwork (5 mins) and a phone chat to the daughter of the customs office, who used to be an English teacher and who studied English in Brighton.   

What a nice crossing.

As soon as we crossed the River Plate, the clouds split, blue sky started to peek through and the rain stopped.  With the rain behind us and open, smooth tarmac in front of us, we made our way south towards the town of Fray Bentos.

In Fray Bentos (spiritual home of all pre processed tin pie lovers), we find a small town on the banks of the Plate, jostling with locals and about 4,000 European construction workers (mostly Fins).  The workers are based locally to erect a huge pulping mill on the banks of the Plate.  The town is full of tall blonde types drinking beer and shorter, dark haired types sipping Maté.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yerba_maté

The Uruguayans appear to be ‘made for’ this stuff.  They wander around holding their little Maté bowls and thermos flasks, sipping, chatting, topping up, sipping, banging the contents onto the street, filling up again, sipping, chatting and sipping some more.  People wander around supper markets with the bowls and flasks.  They stand on street corners with the bowls and flasks. They even carry and drink the stuff on the backs of scooters, passing the bowls between the bikes at traffic lights.  Young and old, from hoody wearing kids to stick carrying codgers – they all drink the stuff.  This is actually all quite strange, as it tastes fairly dirty.

We head East to Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay and hot bed of WWII spy rings.  When we get there we find a small, compact capital, surrounded by water on three sides.  The city has a smaller, poorer, more ragged feel than Buenos Aires, but at the same time it’s still strangely appealing.  With small, but still grand, plazas and buildings, the city feels a little past its prime, but on the edge of regeneration.  Watch this space in ten years time and there’ll be Maccy Ds and Starbucks everywhere.          

Time is ticking on and as the end draws near, we start to feel wearier.  A brief spin to the old Portuguese town of Colonia and we get a ferry across back to Buenos Aires.  Passing through customs, the lady tells us that some other bikers, one of them English with long dreaded hair and the other a Norwegian with a sidecar outfit, had passed thought the checkpoint earlier that. 

I bump into Mark and Helge a couple of days later at an overland biker joint come, workshop, come bunkhouse, come nursery run by Javier and Sandra.  In fact there appears to be a fair few people knocking about the site, either just visiting for the day or staying there.  It holds a cross section of people, at different stages of their journeys, with different (but strangely familiar) tales to tell.  Beers are drunk, food is eaten and we slowly prepare for the end of our South American trip.

A quick (ish) trip to the airport to drop the bike off and we meet up with Mark, Helge and their US based Argentinean friend Guido (another Overland biker), who helps us navigate the clerical labyrinth that is BA customs.  Walking out of the freight terminal towards the passenger terminal and taxi rank, we look and feel a little strange.  We’re bikers without bikes.  We’ve got the clothes, the dirt, the hangovers, the scars and the tales, but we’re walking to catch a cab.  We take solace together in a bar.

We leave Mark, Helge, Guido and Alan in a 24hour bar in the early hours of the morning.  Waves, hugs, handshakes and flooding emotions are exchanged and then we’re out into the empty streets of the city. 

After 4 hours sleep, we  e out of the plane in Frankfurt to a different reality that we left in Buenos Aires.  It’s cold and green.  It’s raining.  Everything is new, the cars, the building, the roads, the signs.  Everything except for the hairstyles – 80’s mullets appear around every corner.  Ahhh…Germany!

By: Daisy Bell
Location: Uruguay

As soon as the cool, calm & collected 15 minute flat border crossing was over, the rain gradually subsided and out came the sun. Always a good start to a new country, though the evidence of the recent flooding is still very much apparent and many homes and farmland is still under water.

Uruguay and Argentina are amid a bit of a ‘to do’ regarding the recently opened Finnish paper mill. Argentina says it’s creating air pollution which is coming their way so as punishment they’ve closed the bridge, the main route adjoining the two countries. This is a pain in the rear for both parties, but there’s a bit of a stalemate. Uruguayans are miffed because they’re being ‘picked on’ by arrogant Argentineans – Quote: “they never say anything to Brazil about their pollution because they’re bigger and more powerful than us”.

Our first stop had to be Fray Bentos, home of the famous ‘Granny and Student grub’ filthy meat pie. Sadly / luckily (depending on where your meat pie loyalties lie), there was little sign of the 3% meat in gravy or indeed the puff pastry. However we did notice the three distinct types of people in this town:

Finns hanging out with a beer on their day off from the controversial paper mill.

People of all ages sitting everywhere and anywhere, cup of Mate (coca leaf tea) and flask of hot water for topping up the Mate – this appears to be an absolute essential in many South American countries, but I’d say no more so than Uruguay.

Young people bezzing around town on mopeds, friends on the back carrying the Mate.

In essence then, an entire town comprising of people ripped to the tits on cocaine.

We bid adios to the weird and wonderful Siamese cat Brian and our Landlady who doesn’t get up to see us off in case her Mate goes cold.

Through the flat, flooded and forested landscapes we arrive in Montevideo. Possibly the world’s smallest capital or maybe it just feels that way. Lovely old colonial buildings with spiral staircases and wooden shutters being left to rack and ruin sit on every corner as the well-groomed locals hurry by. Our stay here proves to be a very wet one, though consolation was in the best cup of coffee EVER – arriving on a tray, this is what you get for 50p:
Cup & Saucer
Pot of (decent) coffee
Jug of hot milk
Bowl of chantilly cream
Bowl of cocoa
Bowl of cinnamon
Bowl of sugar
Individually wrapped chocolate
Miniature meringue
Glass of freshly squeezed orange juice
Glass of fizzy water

Led me to thinking how much a crumbling colonial building may set me back…

Just as the sun re-appears, we head over to Colonia, a cute twee town on the coast with non-crumbling buildings, flora-filled plaza’s and muchos arts and craft shops. I resisted the urge for a soap dish made of shells and the matching toothbrush holder (OK, promise to visit Tacky Persons Anonymous once I’m home!), opting instead to eat ice-cream with newlyweds Ben and Sam from London just starting out on their trip of a lifetime - Congratulations to you! 

Continue on to Europe