© 2001, 2024 Rex Jaeschke. All rights reserved.
[Originally, this diary was written by hand in a spiral notebook during the trip. Some time ago, I transcribed and edited it. I’d glued all kinds of things into the paper version: postcards, bus tickets, receipts, and so forth. It’s quite likely that I hadn’t read the diary since I first wrote it.]
Getting Ready
“¡Hola, mis amigos!,” which is Spanish for “Hello, my friends!” (Note that in Spanish, a sentence ending with an exclamation mark begins with an upside-down exclamation mark, as shown.)
Uruguay is not on the way to anywhere, so if you go there, presumably you mean to be there! I don’t recall when or why I got interested in that part of South America, but I did, and I went because “it seemed like a good idea at the time!” Besides, it was the northern winter (November), and I was ready for some serious warmth.
With all my business and personal flying, I’d accumulated a lot of Frequent Flyer Miles with United Airlines (and its Star Alliance partners), so I decided to cash-in some to go to Uruguay. My choices were: Economy Class for 50,000 miles, Business Class for 80,000 miles, or First Class for 100,000 miles. I chose First Class; nothing was too good for Esther Jaeschke’s baby! In any case, it’s a very special event to fly international First Class. Although I had to pay US taxes on the ticket, they came to only US$36.10. [BTW, when one pays for an airline ticket, the price of Business Class is about four times that of Economy, and First Class is about 10 times.]
The last time I got a serious workout in Spanish was seven years earlier on a trip to Mexico. So, it was time to get my brain back into Spanish mode.
The Flight Down
At 5:10 pm, I boarded Flight UA951 from Washington Dulles International (IAD) to Chicago O’Hare (ORD). It was a 2-hour flight, and I gained an hour going from Eastern to Central Time. I was the first person to board the Boeing 777 and I settled into Suite 2A. There were three classes: First, Business, and Economy. If you have ever wondered, while sitting in the back, as to where all the space has disappeared to, I can tell you it’s in First Class! By my estimate, the 12 First Class suites took up the same space as 40+ Economy seats. Although I was going to southeastern South America, I was heading west two hours to Chicago, as that was the best United connection.
After we took off, I read all the instructions for using my equipment. As I wrote earlier, I was in a “Suite” not a “Seat.” The seat was upholstered with leather, and it was large with a leg rest that rose to the horizontal position when the seat was laid all the way back. Then in the storage locker in front of me, a ledge dropped down to meet the leg rest completing my bed base. And at 6’4” (195 cms), I really could stretch out. In normal mode, I had a seat that moved backward and forward electrically, and I could work at a small, solid desk, which had plenty of room for a laptop computer and came with an electrical outlet. Built-in to the desk was a video screen with a compact videotape player. My armrest contained a myriad of controls, primarily for the audio and video channels, the VCR, and an electronic map display. I found a seat-back option to fit my back’s lumbar region. I put it into automatic mode, and it went through a back-massage cycle. How very civilized; this First-Class flying could get habit forming!
The flight attendant served drinks, in proper glasses don’t you know, along with nuts. As the flying time to Chicago was only 90 minutes, no food was served. It was nice that the attendant knew my name in advance and even pronounced it correctly. My trip was off to a very good start!
Keep in mind that I was flying only two months after 9/11. The travel industry as a whole, and aviation in particular, had taken a big hit. As for me, it was pretty much “business as usual.” I figured that if the pilots were willing to fly, then so was I. Certainly, airport security was much more serious than before. I was asked a lot more questions at check-in, and pocketknives, hand razors, scissors, and such were no longer allowed in carry-on luggage. The baggage screening was more stringent and there were armed soldiers at all US commercial airports.
Suite 2A was on the port (left) side of the plane and stretched across four—YES 4—whole windows. The sun set as I boarded. We had a light load (public confidence in flying was still quite low), but soon we were off to the Windy City, where I’d spent my first year in the US, in 1979–1980. We flew over West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, and across Lake Michigan to Chicago, Illinois. As the outside temperature was -81F (-63C), I kept my window closed!
As we approached ORD, I could clearly see its seven runways. The airport operates nonstop, 24x7—even in a snow storm when snow plows go down the runway ahead of a plane taking off—and competes with Atlanta’s Hartsfield (ATL) as the busiest airport in the US. (ORD is the home of United Airlines.)
Soon after we landed, I settled into the First-Class lounge, which as God intended, is separate from the Business lounge. There was a self-serve bar and food area with salads, Chinese noodles, sushi, fresh fruit, and plenty of cheese. I had some brie and raw vegetables. While snacking, I started going over some information about Uruguay that I’d downloaded from the internet, and I looked at a list of some Spanish idioms I might encounter. I phoned home to let my family know I was alive and well and not yet missing them.
At 8:30 pm, Central Time, I arrived at Gate C20 (United occupies all the gates at two large terminals) and checked in. Boarding started soon after, and once again, I was the first passenger. It was a light load with fewer than 100 passengers in the Boeing 767 wide body. The First-Class cabin wasn’t quite as nice as the 777 I’d just flown, but then again, the 767 was an older model. I’d gone from a Suite to a generously appointed Seat. I had almost the same amenities, but a little less storage space, which was not a problem for me, as I had little hand luggage. The First-Class cabin had only 10 seats.
There was a delay of 45 minutes while the mechanics fiddled with some hydraulic problem, and our scheduled departure was moved to 10 pm, local time. Since the flying time to Buenos Aires, Argentina, was 11:25 hours, what’s another hour or so? So, what to do while waiting for the maintenance guys to finish up but to select a movie from the videotape collection managed by the flight attendants, and to start watching. I settled into “Angel Eyes” with Jennifer Lopez. Well, don’t you know, at 10 o’clock, it was announced that the problem could not be fixed, and that we’d have to change planes. Don’t you just hate that when that happens! However, the planets were aligned and United just happened to have a “spare” 767 available, at the very next gate! The bad news was, we’d be delayed another 1:10 hours while that plane was readied and the luggage transferred, so we’d be two hours delayed departing. As best as I could tell, that would not affect my on-going flight to Uruguay. My friendly flight attendant told me to take the videocassette with me, so I could continue my movie later.
Eventually, we boarded the backup plane. Its First-Class cabin had recently been refurbished, which was a bonus. As ORD is such a big airport, it took us 15 minutes to taxi out to our runway, and finally around midnight, we took off, and I finished my movie.
[Next day] Despite our significant delay, a very late dinner was served. Naturally, the menu was in English and Spanish. To begin, there was a warm crab cake with marinara sauce with garlic and shallot sautéed spinach OR beef carpaccio with a red onion brûlé, and sun-dried tomato and Parmesan cheese. This course was accompanied by a garden salad with Balsamic Dijon vinaigrette or creamy Gorgonzola dressing and an assortment of specialty breads fresh from the bakery.
The main course was a choice from the following: grilled veal chops with portobello mushroom reduction, cheddar mashed potatoes and vegetable sauté; salmon and halibut in a zucchini wrap with Israeli couscous and tomato onion stew; or woodland mushrooms and asparagus with Treccie dell’Orto pasta and white wine truffle oil. Such choices for a young lad to make!
Dessert included an international cheese sampler (Chaumes, Emmenthal, and Bavarian blue cheese), ice cream with sundae toppings, and fresh seasonal fruit. Port wine was served.
There were only two passengers in First Class, and we each had a dedicated flight attendant. Mine was very friendly and was happy to sit by me and chat. When she served my meal, on proper China and with crystal glasses and cloth napkin, she was most apologetic that the metal serrated knife that usually came with the meal had been replaced by a cheap, plastic one, presumably so I could not use it as a weapon. She then explained to me how ridiculous that was when I could simply break the stem off the crystal wine glass and cut open her jugular with it; really!
Soon after I finished eating, it was lights-out! I slept 5–6 hours and then dozed a bit more. With the late departure from Chicago and the total of three hours advanced in time, it got daylight rather quickly, but my cabin’s window shades were all kept closed. Our flight path took us over the Caribbean, Colombia, Brazil, Bolivia, Paraguay, and Argentina.
An hour before landing, hot towels were distributed. Breakfast was a choice of ham, cheese, and fresh fruit or scrambled egg timbals (think quiche without a crust) with corned beef hash and Hollandaise sauce.
Out my window I saw the Uruguay River, a major waterway that forms the border between Argentina and Uruguay. There were lots of small farms whose fields were turning green, as it was spring in the Southern Hemisphere. There were few clouds, and I had a crystal-clear view. There was a large and intricate delta where several rivers came together to form the large estuary known as Rio de la Plata. The Buenos Aires metropolitan area was very green with lots of trees, grass, and parks, and the international airport (EZE) is adjacent to wetlands. In the distance, the downtown was clouded in a yellow/brown smog, much like Mexico City, only on a much smaller scale.
A Short Layover in Buenos Aires
When we landed, my fellow First-Class passenger and I were taken by our respective flight attendants to the front door (while all other passengers exited by a mid-cabin door) where we were each met by an agent who escorted us to the First-Class lounge. Again, the agent knew my name and asked me what I’d like to drink in the lounge. Although I was continuing to Uruguay on the same plane, I had to disembark and wait in the lounge. From the lounge, I could see my plane out on the tarmac, and not long after, I saw buses delivering Economy Class and then Business Class passengers to the stairs leading up to the plane. And, frankly, I got a bit nervous, thinking I might be left behind, so I asked a lounge staff member about when I’d board. They assured me everything was OK, and I’d be called when it was time for me to go. Well, don’t you know, I did get called, and I and a few other First-Class passengers exited a side door, went down some steps, and boarded a limousine. The driver calculated our arrival at the foot of the plane stairs at exactly the time the last Economy- and Business-Class passenger disappeared inside the plane, so we wouldn’t have to wait. We walked up the stairs, sat in our assigned seats, were served a drink, put our seat belts on, and the plane started taxiing, all in a few minutes, I kid you not! After all, “Time is money!” right, and I was in First Class! (Never mind that I was flying on a free ticket.)
Money Problems at the Montevideo Airport
The flight over the Rio de la Plata was very short, and we arrived in the Uruguayan capital, Montevideo, to a pleasant 75F (24C) with a light breeze. The airport (MVD) was small, and my plane pulled up not far from a terminal. We walked down the stairs, boarded a bus, and rode a short distance. Passport control was a formality, and I got a 90-day permit (no employment allowed). I collected my luggage and headed for the bank to change some money.
On the morning that I had left home, my wife Jenny got me $400 in $20 bills from our bank’s cash machine. However, as soon as she gave them to me, I noticed an obvious defect in all of them: they had been cut incorrectly with the top border too narrow and the bottom one too wide, but the correct printing was all there. I said then that that might cause me a problem, and it did. Well, when I tried to change some of the bills, the bank staff huddled around and examined the bills intensely, some using a magnifying glass. They “hmm-d” and “haa-d” and rejected them. And since they wouldn’t change my American Express travelers’ checks either (I’d have to go to a different bank downtown for that), I politely protested that I had no local currency! After further consultation, they took pity on me and agreed to risk changing $20, so I could catch a bus to get downtown. Their exchange rate was UYU13.70 to USD1.00. (Like a number of other currencies, the Uruguayan Peso is written locally with a $ symbol, which can be confusing when one is used to that meaning “dollar.”)
Rescuing a Damsel in Distress
After that challenge, it was off to the tourist office next door to get a city map and directions via a downtown bus. There, I got my first real Spanish workout. As I finished my transaction, a woman came in looking very distressed. As with me, the bank wouldn’t change her traveler’s checks, and the cash machine would not cooperate with her, and besides, all its messages were in Spanish, which she did not speak. I took her back to the machine and tried again using her card but couldn’t figure out the message it was issuing.
She was a single Dutch woman in her 30’s and she was distraught; her name was Marijke. I assured her that I would take care of her, and that I’d buy us both bus tickets, and once we were downtown, we’d figure out how to solve both our problems. She accepted my offer, and we headed off. The bus was crowded, and I stood most of the trip. Along the way, I chatted with a young local woman who made sure we got off at the right stop. After walking two blocks, we found a budget hotel, The Colonia, and I got myself a room for about US$8/night. The hotel was decent, and Room 301 was spartan, but good enough for a guy traveling with a backpack. I declined the en-suite bathroom option and saved the extra US$2/night. No sense in overdoing things! (Didn’t this tightwad just fly First Class?) Once Marijke saw my room, she decided it was cheap, and she wanted to stay there too instead of going to a youth hostel. So, I used up most of my remaining cash to pay for her room. However, she was extravagant, and opted for the en-suite!
After we freshened up in our respective rooms, we headed off to the main plaza nearby where we immediately found more than a few private money-changing booths before we even saw a bank. I asked one guy if he’d change my remaining US$ bills, and without even really looking at them, he said, “Yes,” at which I breathed a sigh of relief. I got the same rate as the bank at the airport, and I had 4,110 pesos in my pocket. They offered to change travelers’ checks, but wanted US$3 for each one, which for Marijke’s US$20 checks was 15%, way too much. Instead, she changed just one US$50 check, so she could pay me back for the bus ticket and hotel room. She was greatly relieved and started to feel much better. A few doors down, we found a mainstream currency exchange and the very pleasant young woman attendant quoted a 2% charge for travelers’ checks, which pleased Marijke even more. And then we found a cash machine that allowed her to get local cash. Her money problems were well and truly solved, and we sat and rested, and watched the locals at work and play.
On the way back to our hotel, we stopped at a supermarket to buy a few things from which we made a picnic supper. We ate in a park with a large, lit-up statue in a fountain. Soon after, it rained a little, and we found some shelter. Five minutes later, it was clear again.
At My Hotel in Montevideo
By 9 pm, we were back at our hotel, and I tried to read, but couldn’t stay awake. So, I set my alarm and had a short but deep nap. An hour later, the alarm went off and I went out. The woman who had helped me via email to arrange homestays in Uruguay asked me to phone her at 10 pm, and as she lived only three blocks from my hotel, I walked to her apartment. She was home and in the middle of a late supper. Her name was Marisa Contini, of Italian descent (as are as many as one-third of the population). We quickly found that we had mutual friends in the Washington DC area. We talked until 11:30 and made some plans.
By that time, I was wide-awake, so I walked around the city a bit and stopped at a restaurant near my hotel where I ordered a ham-and-cheese-filled empanada and café con leche. The staff were all very friendly as had been all the locals thus far. The bill came to US$2.50, which included two cups of coffee. Lights out at 12:30 am after an interesting first day in-country.
[Next day] Although I woke at 8 am, I managed to lie in dozing until 10:30. As I waited to use the share bathroom, Marijke came by and offered me the use of her en-suite. I accepted and found it was a typical Latin-American shower–no shower curtain, so the larger space around gets a good wash as well. The first thing you learn in such a situation (he says from experience) is to remove the roll of toilet paper from the general area, so it doesn’t become a ball of pulp! Oddly enough, the shower head was up higher than me, so I could actually stand upright under it. After a slow start, the hot water made an appearance. Unfortunately, the drain was not located at the lowest part of the floor, and I had to use a mop to clean up the floor afterwards. Don’t you just hate that when that happens! As for shaving, that’s usually a challenge in this part of the world. The bathroom sinks in budget places generally don’t have a plug or hot water, in which case, one tries to find a container to get hot water from the bath or shower and to stand that in the sink. I succeeded!
Now, what sort of a room does US$8 buy one in Montevideo? It was medium-sized and had French doors leading to what could be described as a balcony, if you were a midget, which I am not! The street outside was lined with tall maple trees, which came right up to my window on the third floor. I had a double bed, a closet, a table with two chairs, a TV mounted on the wall, and a large mirror with a piece missing from one corner. (What do you expect for $8, a whole mirror!) The bed was solid, and the mattress didn’t sag at all, a major problem in cheap hotels where I sometimes pull the mattress on the floor. I had my own travel pillow. As to the sheets, they were so thin they had only one side! There was also a telephone and a ceiling fan with a 40-watt bulb that was just about bright enough for me to make out the furniture!
I planned to check-out of the hotel around 12:30. Marisa had invited me to her apartment for lunch around 1 o’clock, and I planned to buy some food along the way to contribute to the meal. I was rested, I had local currency, the sun was shining, the city was very much alive, and all was right in this little corner of the world. I was ready for the next adventure.
Marisa was the national secretary for Servas International, a peace-based hosting organization to which I belonged. I’d contacted her in advance and offered to stay with any hosts who’d not had many or any travelers, and she’d taken care of that. The plan today was to tell me how to catch a bus to my first host.
At Marisa’s place, we chatted while she prepared a salad. After we ate that, there was lasagna and drinks. I’d brought oranges and strawberries, so we had fruit salad for dessert. Afterwards, we walked to a garage where her car was being repaired, but it was not yet ready, so I switched to Plan B. Instead of having her drive me to the main bus station, I took a taxi. I managed a sort-of conversation with the driver who seemed to have graduated from a racecar (or perhaps it was a roller-coaster) school! In any event, he got me to the station in double-quick time for US$3.
On My Way to San Jose
The central bus station was new, huge, and well organized. I proceeded to the COTMI bus company counter and informed the young lady agent that I had a reservation on the 3:45-pm to San Jose. She confirmed that and asked if it was one-way or return, and it being a return, the return date would be left open. That cost US$6. As I was searching for the right place to board, a young man with a small daughter adopted me, as they were also going to San Jose, so I should just follow them. [I was reminded of the song, “Do you know the way to San Jose?” made famous by Dionne Warwick.]
The coach was very nice and comfortable with air conditioning, and I had aisle Seat 10. It was a direct bus with few stops; travel time was expected to be 1:15 hours. My backpack was stowed in the luggage compartment, and I had a reasonable amount of legroom provided the woman in front didn’t recline her seat too far. We departed on time from one of the 50 loading bays. It was a very busy place!
We were soon out in the countryside heading northwest, and everything was green. There were plenty of trees including stands of eucalypts (which until I’d seen them growing in Peru some years earlier, I’d naively thought they were only found in Australia) and palms along the roadside.
At the San Jose bus terminal, there to meet me was Florencia Giacosa, a single woman who was my age and quite a character. We walked several blocks to her apartment in a small high-rise building. It was a nice place filled with books and musical things, and a large collection of smoking pipes formerly used by her father and grandfather. I dumped my gear in the den/computer room, which was to be my home for the next two nights. We walked to a supermarket to buy pastries, sugar, and milk, and back home we got acquainted over afternoon tea.
Afterwards, I rested and read. We were to meet friends at a restaurant for supper around 9:45 pm, which is the typical dining time in that part of the world. As several of the people didn’t speak English, I’d likely get a Spanish workout. At 10 pm, Ernesto and Shirley dropped by to pick us up and as they didn’t speak English, my challenge began.
We drove to the outskirts of the provincial capital of 30,000, to a restaurant called “El Ombu.” On Friday nights in November, there was live music with singer Geraldo and keyboard/guitar player Javier. Our table was right next to the band and one of the loudspeakers, so it was LOUD! During a break, Geraldo joined us to eat, and he and I chatted a bit. He invited me to sing, but I declined. They mostly did popular songs in Spanish plus a few in English. Geraldo did a great job with Eric Clapton’s “Tears in Heaven” and the Bee Gees’ “How deep is your love?” Javier sure knew how to make his guitar sing, and he brought the house down with his rendition of the Eagles’ “Hotel California” and a Carlos Santana tune.
It was a great night with audience participation (clapping and dancing) and a huge buffet table filled with salads and cold cuts. The chorizo (local sausage) was cooked over a large, open fire. There was also steak, chicken, and a whole host of other local specialties along with French fries and drinks. Although there was no such thing as a no-smoking area, the very high ceiling allowed most tobacco smoke to drift away from the tables.
A local man dining with friends was persuaded to perform. He went out to his car to get his guitar, and he did a set of folk songs. At the end, our waiter, Cesar, took the microphone and belted out four songs, much to the delight of the patrons. After four hours of foot stomping, finger-snapping music and eating, we closed the place down and headed home. The price was unbelievable; for the two of us, all food and drinks included, it cost only US$20!
On the way home, we drove around the downtown area to see the main church lit up, along with a large plaza with fountain. Back home, I set up my bed and dropped off to sleep with loud music still filling my head at 2:15 am.
[Next day] I slept until 10:15 am. The outside blinds sealed tightly and kept the room quite dark. It was another nice day outside. We had a light breakfast of tea, fresh-squeezed orange and grapefruit juice, and strawberry jam on crackers. It was just the right amount of food! Besides, I needed to pace myself in anticipation of lunch.
Anita, another Servas host, tracked me down, and we talked by phone, our first time, as all previous communications had been via email. She invited me to stay with her if I could find a 2-night slot on my calendar.
Tabulation Time at the National Lottery Office
At 1 o’clock, Florencia and I walked around the neighborhood where I managed to buy a map of Uruguay. An hour later, we packed a large lunch and walked to the regional office of the National Lottery, where Florencia worked, but not on Saturdays. Every Saturday morning, the office processed all the tickets bought the previous week along with all the money paid, in advance of the weekend drawing. This takes the staff until early afternoon after which there is a party for which Florencia helped cater. We arrived at the non-descript building with darkened windows in a quiet neighborhood. A “secret” knock on a side door brought a policeman, complete with bullet-proof vest and pistol. He let us in to the back rooms where I settled in the manager’s office and I tried to read the national newspaper (which, of course, was in Spanish). The front-page news included speculation about the upcoming World Cup soccer series game between Uruguay and Australia in Melbourne on November 20.
One of the staff showed me a large safe where he kept counterfeit bills. He showed me some and we compared them with legitimate bills, and he pointed out the differences. And as I collected coins and bills from each country to which I traveled he gave me some old bills that were no longer in circulation along with some old coins. In return, I gave him a US$1 coin as well as some special state quarters. Out in the work area, there were numerous tables piled high with tickets and cash.
Once all the work was finished, I met the staff and we settled down to lunch: fish cakes, sausages, corn chips and dip, all washed down with Coke, Uruguayan beer, and whiskey on the rocks! As we ate, an armored car came to collect the money, and the policeman helped load that. I asked him if I could take a photo of him holding his submachine gun, and he obliged; however, he was smiling, so I asked him to look “fierce,” which he tried to do but not very convincingly. [BTW, it’s common to see guards armed with shotguns and pistols outside or inside banks in Latin America, and Uruguay was no exception. When you first encounter this, you think, “OK, I feel really safe now.” But then you start to wonder why they are there. Perhaps it’s because there are frequent attempts at robbery, in which case, “Maybe I’m not so safe after all.”]
Around San Jose
We left around 4 pm and dropped our gear at home before walking into the downtown area. We visited a museum in the home of a famous Uruguayan poet who’d died in 1997. From there it was on to the main plaza and the huge Catholic church with magnificent marble columns. Florencia went in for the 5-o’clock mass while I walked home and tried unsuccessfully to nap. The weather out was simply gorgeous.
That evening, Florencia reserved my seat on the bus back to Montevideo the next day as well as the connecting bus going east from there.
At 8:45 pm, we went out to dinner to a restaurant on the main plaza. I ordered milanesa (meat deep-fried in batter), and we shared a large salad. With drinks, the bill came to US$15. We took our time eating and by the time we left, the place was full. After a walk, we went back home where we read and listened to some Spanish-language music. Lights out at 11 pm after another great day.
[Next day] I woke quite late after a very long rest. Breakfast consisted of Brazilian-made cornflakes and fresh-squeezed juice. Afterwards, I packed my gear and sent some final email. Florencia insisted I accept a nice travel book on Europe from her as a gift.
Although Florencia had been a member of Servas for more than six years, and she had stayed with Servas hosts while traveling abroad, I was only her second Servas guest. And the first was an Englishman who’d arrived a month earlier. So, I really was an ambassador to the program, as well as to my native and adopted countries.
Stay tuned for Part 2.