Montevideo as a tourist (May 16)

 One reason – or motivation – to do this trip and starting in Buenos Aires was the desire to visit Montevideo.  Two sisters and two brothers of my mother lived in Montevideo sometimes between the Great Depression and WWII.  When the war was imminent, they returned the Europe, in order to have the family together. 

As a young child I was fascinated by their tales about the boat trip from Geneva, the crossing of the Equator, the ports they called in…  As I grew, tales became less and less frequent and finally one of my aunts just snapped: “I wish that boat would’ve capsized with me…” and that killed the motivation of asking more questions.  At that time I was too young to ask any particular question beyond the fairy tale/adventure component. 

I sort of know why they went.  At least the basic points.  It was the great depression.  South-America did better than Europe and had a more open immigration policy than the US or maybe even Canada.  But I don’t know why those four went.  My mother had ten sisters and brothers at that time.  I don’t know what they made for a living.  I don’t know at which part of the city they lived.  I don’t know how interested they were in their new environment.  No other place figured in the tales, not Buenos Aires, not Colonia.  They talked about the beach and said that it was weird to go there at Christmas.  That shows how victimized they must’ve felt and how they lacked any motivation to adapt.

“Why do you go?” asked my friends.  “They are no longer there.”  But I wanted to see the place for myself.  In advance, I didn’t have the ambition to reveal any part of the past.  Just to see the scene.  As the date grew closer and closer, I started to hope a History Museum.  Or an Immigration Museum.  That might direct me to some archives with immigration records.  I didn’t even know the dates of their arrival and departure.  It was a naïve hope.  From all the cities I visited, Melbourne is the only one with a formal Immigration Museum.  Why did I hope one in Uruguay?

Immediately at the beginning I had to compromise – the bus I was taking out of Montevideo didn’t run every day, thus I had to shorten my stay to one night and skip Colonia.  Thus I arrived directly to Montevideo on Buquebus. That’s a ferry operated like an airplane, minus the security inspection.  But you check in, get a boarding pass etc.  It’s a very professional operation. 

The sea was quite, the crossing eventless.  There was no sign of the mountain the city supposedly got its name of. 

But there were signs in the port that it’s forbidden to import food and I was determined to fight for my Lindt chocolate with all my might – it wasn’t necessary.  The customs woman only confiscated my forgotten Buenos Aires tomato.  Unlike at airports, there were no hard feelings.  She threw it into the trash and wished me a good stay in Montevideo. 

I had no Uruguay peso.  There was no “Cambio” at the port.  According to the Buquebus guy, the taxi would take USD.  According to those in the line, it wouldn’t.  And they looked at me with open schadenfreude.  For the uninitiated, my luggage looked like unmanageable without taxi.  I had a bag and a backpack on rollers.  But the bag hid another backpack.  All I had to do to unearth it from the shell put it on my back and I was as mobile as a camel with its hump.  The hostel was so close; it would’ve been a shame to take a taxi.  On top, it was on a pedestrian street.  It was crumbling, with only two stamp-sized sticker indicating the B&B inside.  But don’t judge the book by its cover: it was really nice inside, with high ceiling and the owner’s paintings all over the walls. 

I deposited my bags and went out to eat at the harbor’s market, as this is a basic Montevideo thing to do.  And although it’s the port, you eat beef, not fish.  And the beef is heavenly, and the portions far beyond my capacity.

I was in the old town, and it didn’t look very exciting.  Maybe the aunts and uncles didn’t like it and that’s why opted to go home.  What shall I do here for another day?  For a moment I was glad that the bus schedule shortened my stay. 

In the afternoon I stroll around, find the main square with a high-rise that looks like the carbon copy of the Empire State Building, without the viewing platform, then buy a map, and see the Pre-Columbian Museum.  Where the most interesting items are woven portraits form the recent past.  On the way back to the hotel I miss the other pedestrian street leading down to the sea, but discover an already closed tourist office.  Buquebus required an early start, I fall asleep during the tango lesson, and opt for an early bedtime.