sin la locura...

Pardon me for not writing, but the last month of my life has been absolute locura. A fucking kilombo. The best month of my life.

Sometimes I think about how happy I am living in Buenos Aires that I start to panic at the thought of not living there. The city so agrees with me, from the culture to the people to the glorious food and fantastic nightlife. It’s the only city I’ve ever been where you’re automatically welcomed and engaged, and the city wraps you up in a frenzy, of feeling alive, of feeling at home, of feeling like the best possible version of yourself. At least, that’s what it does for me.

Sad as it seems, I was distraught to put the breaks on this torrid affair I’m having with Buenos Aires in order to do some traveling. Imagine that, being sad to leave a city in order to discover a new one! I quickly packed on Monday morning before my flight, forgetting a million things and only mildly excited for Uruguay. I was going with Miss Stephanie Osgood Choate, I say her whole name because in order to know the fabulosity that is Miss Stephanie Osgood Choate, you need all the facts. She and I had decided we wanted to travel on a short hiatus we had from our respective jobs, and poorly researched going to Peru, Bolivia and Brazil. Because of this last minute, poor planning, we decided instead to go to Uruguay. It’s not that I didn’t want to go to Uruguay, because I absolutely did. But winter in Uruguay isn’t exactly the season to visit, considering it’s fucking freezing. We decided to fly into Montevideo and spend a few days there before Punta del Este, an island off the coast that gets absolutely insane in the summers. Then we’d spend a peaceful day in Colonia, a quaint little colonial town before heading back to Buenos Aires. We reasoned that we needed a vacation from our vacation, where we could relax and decompress from our chaotic Argentine lives. Ever since I met Miss Stephanie Osgood Choate, it’s been an endless parade of amazing dinners and too-late nights, the kind that leave you waking up laughing and dragging yourself to brunch because there’s nothing to eat in your house, because there’s not enough time to put your social calendar on hold in order to go grocery shopping. So, the fucking kilombo that has been my life was to be paused for a week in frigid Uruguay.

How quickly I did remember that Miss Stephanie Osgood Choate is not the kind of woman that lets you relax. When we got to Montevideo, we went in search of a restaurant and landed on Don Peperone, the Uruguayan version of Friday’s, because it was the only place open save a couple of bars along the same street. At dinner, we polished off a bottle of wine and a glass of whisky before heading to El Pony Pisado where there was a live cumbia band. Several drinks later, we’re conga-lining with a huge Uruguayan family and dancing our embarrassing version of salsa for them. The next day, after a fantastic lunch at The Manchester, a very authentic spot frequented only by locals, where we enjoyed a Uruguayan chivito (a delicious grilled steak sandwich that has cheese, lettuce, tomato, red peppers, onions, mayo, mustard and ketchup), we found ourselves being pushed and squished in the middle of a massive street parade welcoming home the Uruguayan futbol team and their beloved captain, Diego Forlan. Hours later, having dinner at La Perdiz, in walks Diego Forlan, in all his glory. The restaurant erupts in cheers and applause and we down our drinks to muster up the courage to ask him for a photo. Later that night, at the only casino in Montevideo, which is really the only thing to do in Montevideo on a Tuesday night, Miss Stephanie Osgood Choate wins thousands of dollars (DOLLARS, not pesos) and sends the entire casino into a panic.

Agreed that we had done Montevideo right, we left for Punta del Este, or rather Punta Ballena, to our first hotel, Casapueblo. Casapueblo was designed by a famous Uruguayan artist, Carlos Paez Vilaró, who just so happens to be a friend of Miss Stephanie Osgood Choate’s father. Casapueblo houses the artist himself and his magnificient art, and the structure of Casapueblo very much resembles Gaudi’s home in Barcelona. The view is absolutely breathtaking, from our room you can see the waves crashing against the rocks, the mountains in the distance, with the perfect pocket for the sun to rest in the evenings. The hotel was empty, the restaurant closed, and reception advised we’d be hard pressed to find much open tonight. Refusing to be discouraged, we set out for El Puerto and found Lidoro, where I had the most delicious piece of fish I’ve had since arriving in the MeatLand. After dinner, we went to Moby Dick, a local dive bar and the only place open in Punta del Este on a wintery Wednesday. We befriended the bartender and a band of Brazilian sailors, closed down the bar, and hit a Uruguayan fiesta at a social club de deportivos (picture the kind of place that by day houses bingo games for the elderly, and by night transforms itself into a banging dance hall). Around 6 am, we stumbled out of the club and tried to figure out how the fuck to get home, considering our hotel was a solid 15 minutes away and there wasn’t a cab in sight. I don’t know how we managed, but the next day I woke up at around 1:30 in a t-shirt and my underwear, hysterically laughing because I had set the alarm for 10:30 the night before, screaming profanities about waking up in time for breakfast for once.

Hung over, we walked over the museum portion of the hotel to meet with the artist, Carlos Paez Vilaró. I was awe-inspired by his colorful yet simple art, by his life story, his world travels, and his beautiful home. Paez is about 86 years old and the most gentle man you can imagine. He was overwhelming us with hospitality, and even in his old age his playboy tendencies were showcased as he stroked my cheek. We got a grand tour of his home, which housed a mountain of books and art and sculptures and furniture, from all different corners of the earth. I read some of his poetry, pieced through his canvasses and just tried to swallow this man’s extraordinary life. There was one particular painting that stood out, not necessarily because of the art, but because of the words scribbled along the bottom: “Sin la locura, no hay grandeza.” It was then that I had a revelation: I would not waste even one more minute of my life doing something I don’t want to do, trusting that if I chase my passions, everything will work itself out. It was a perfectly enlightening afternoon, that taught me the lesson that traveling teaches best.

I still have 4 days left in Uruguay, and there’s no sign of slowing down. And even though this trip so far hasn’t been what it’s supposed to be about, it’s certainly one I do not regret taking. And, dear blog followers, do not fret: part of my revelation today was the resolution to write more, photograph more, reflect more. So, we shall meet again soon in Buenos Aires. Besos.