Booker's Rights

Day 7: Santiago to Montevideo

'Twas an early start for me. 5am alarm, off to the Santiago airport to catch my flight to Montevideo.

The Beta and The Alpha slept in and checked out at 11, since their flight wasn't until 3:30. After checking out of the Airbnb they went to Chilean Brunch, where they learned to play a Chilean game called emboque and picked up a new word: pajarón. It means a scoundrel who is slightly stupid and absent-minded.

Remember that word.

The bag tag

At the airport, The Beta insisted on tagging his own checked bag. The result was a very loose tag that The Alpha was convinced would be ripped off the second it hit the conveyor belt.

A short stop at the lounge, then boarding, where they enjoyed something rare: in Latin America, passengers don't seem to rush the boarding line before their zone is called. The LATAM flight attendants were very nice and the plane was pleasant.

In Montevideo, following the excellent advice from my trailblazing that morning, they went straight to the luggage carousel. Then they waited 20 minutes, while The Beta seriously questioned his bag-tagging skills.

The bag made it.

The apartment

I was already at the Airbnb when they arrived. It was lacking in amenities and had a shifty toilet seat, barely hanging on.

The Beta and The Alpha noticed I'd already set up base in the master bedroom, which had a queen bed. The second bedroom had one single.

Now, I snore. So the natural split was obvious: The Alpha and The Beta in one room, the snorer in the other.

But I decided there is something called booker's rights.

Which meant poor The Beta got to spend another week sleeping next to my snoring, or on the couch next to the patio doors, which rattled all night in the strong wind gusts.

Pajarón.

Sticker shock and Hugo Soca

A trip to the grocery store revealed that Uruguay is expensive. That was a surprise for a group that had gotten used to prices in Chile.

Dinner at Hugo Soca made up for it: provoleta, grilled lisa, flank steak marinated in milk, vegetable ravioli, and a delicious flan with dulce de leche.

We ended with a walk along the Rambla, where we spotted a palatial McDonald's (also expensive). We went to bed at 3am, after watching South Park.

Day 8: Chipá and a self-stocked Airbnb

A slow start, again. We'd stayed up until 3am watching the new season of South Park and its take on the US president.

When we finally got out of the apartment we went to El Cafecito, where we were introduced to the chipá, a Uruguayan cheese-bun-like pastry. We chatted with a friendly woman from Montevideo who had gone to a school here sponsored by the Canadian government and was sent on a trip all over Canada to speak about Canadian investment. People here keep saying their English is poor. It's totally passable.

Then, the apartment. The night before, we'd told the host the main bathroom's toilet seat was barely hanging on, and asked whether basic amenities like body wash and laundry detergent were around. The response was underwhelming at best.

So we bought them ourselves: paper towel, body soap, laundry detergent, extra toilet paper. Not garbage bags, though. Foreshadowing.

The Rambla and the Mercado

After dropping the supplies off, The Alpha and I ran along the Rambla to the old town. The Beta took an Uber and met us at the Mercado del Puerto, where we had a fine sauvignon blanc (they've been slapping this trip), grilled provolone and chorizo. The table service comes with bread and some unique sauces, and we agreed it's actually worth it here, compared to Europe.

We tried to keep our appetites in check because we had an 8pm reservation at Pistatxofusion. We strolled back along the Rambla taking photos with interesting perspectives, freshened up, and went to dinner: a nice tasting menu with a creamy mushroom rice and black hake.

Then a walk home and, for once, an early night. Punta del Este was next.

Booker's rights: upheld.