Far and away in Uruguay’s beach villages
As I stood clueless in the patch of sand that is Cabo Polonio’s downtown, a local provided directions to my hotel that were perfect for a Uruguayan beach village lacking conventional electricity and roads. “Keep heading up the path and make a right at the boats on the beach and follow the ocean,” said Santiago Pereda, an American-Uruguayan English teacher.
There are a few Uruguayan beach villages like this that retain an almost unspoiled, undeveloped character. They tend to attract the young and bohemian, along with Montevideo residents seeking to disconnect from modern life on vacation.
Cabo Polonio is in the state of Rocha, which borders Maldonado, home to the Miami-esque resort of Punta del Este. Rocha’s beach towns, many still largely fishing villages, begin about 90 minutes northeast of, and a world away from, Punta.
The village’s one-story buildings are strewn along sandy paths within a national park. Strict development and environmental rules protect the miles of sand dunes surrounding the town. Solar panels and generators provide intermittent electricity, while at night the beam of an 1881 lighthouse offers the moon and stars a little competition.
The Atlantic coast of Uruguay, rough with shoals and rocks at points, was a danger for shipping in the 1800s, a period when many of the country’s several lighthouses were built using British technology. Today, that same treacherous seacoast is a boon to surfers.
A less-isolated Rocha resort is Punta del Diablo. The town is famous for thatch-roofed A-frame Hansel and Gretel houses, built by fisherman to rent to vacationers. Fishermen’s boats and stalls where they sell their catch remain the shoreline’s most prominent feature. “This is a fishermen’s village, discovered by tourists,” said Martin Abasto, of Buenos Aires, whom I met on the beach where he had come to surf with friends. “People who come here look for tranquillity, peace. They don’t want craziness. They want to have more of the beach to themselves.”
The owner of my hotel, a skinny fellow named Eduardo Vigliola took me to a nearby ecological zone called Laguna Negra with an astounding array of avian wildlife — owls, falcons, parrots and the ostrich-like nandu.
Vigliola calls a puddle a “carpincho Jacuzzi,” referring to the world’s largest rodents. Carpinchos, which remind me of furry pigs, grow to as much as 79kgs. But it isn’t the creatures from the Black Lagoon bothering me. In shorts and flip-flops, I’m bitten by large green insects as spiky grasses cut my feet.
My last day in Rocha was spent in La Paloma, another resort marked by a lighthouse and plentiful surfers, but one that has sacrificed some charm to gain in pizzerias, retailers and even a condominium high-rise. No fishermen, no hippies — and I couldn’t see the stars.
As I stood clueless in the patch of sand that is Cabo Polonio’s downtown, a local provided directions to my hotel that were perfect for a Uruguayan beach village lacking conventional electricity and roads. “Keep heading up the path and make a right at the boats on the beach and follow the ocean,” said Santiago Pereda, an American-Uruguayan English teacher.
There are a few Uruguayan beach villages like this that retain an almost unspoiled, undeveloped character. They tend to attract the young and bohemian, along with Montevideo residents seeking to disconnect from modern life on vacation.
Cabo Polonio is in the state of Rocha, which borders Maldonado, home to the Miami-esque resort of Punta del Este. Rocha’s beach towns, many still largely fishing villages, begin about 90 minutes northeast of, and a world away from, Punta.
The village’s one-story buildings are strewn along sandy paths within a national park. Strict development and environmental rules protect the miles of sand dunes surrounding the town. Solar panels and generators provide intermittent electricity, while at night the beam of an 1881 lighthouse offers the moon and stars a little competition.
The Atlantic coast of Uruguay, rough with shoals and rocks at points, was a danger for shipping in the 1800s, a period when many of the country’s several lighthouses were built using British technology. Today, that same treacherous seacoast is a boon to surfers.
A less-isolated Rocha resort is Punta del Diablo. The town is famous for thatch-roofed A-frame Hansel and Gretel houses, built by fisherman to rent to vacationers. Fishermen’s boats and stalls where they sell their catch remain the shoreline’s most prominent feature. “This is a fishermen’s village, discovered by tourists,” said Martin Abasto, of Buenos Aires, whom I met on the beach where he had come to surf with friends. “People who come here look for tranquillity, peace. They don’t want craziness. They want to have more of the beach to themselves.”
The owner of my hotel, a skinny fellow named Eduardo Vigliola took me to a nearby ecological zone called Laguna Negra with an astounding array of avian wildlife — owls, falcons, parrots and the ostrich-like nandu.
Vigliola calls a puddle a “carpincho Jacuzzi,” referring to the world’s largest rodents. Carpinchos, which remind me of furry pigs, grow to as much as 79kgs. But it isn’t the creatures from the Black Lagoon bothering me. In shorts and flip-flops, I’m bitten by large green insects as spiky grasses cut my feet.
My last day in Rocha was spent in La Paloma, another resort marked by a lighthouse and plentiful surfers, but one that has sacrificed some charm to gain in pizzerias, retailers and even a condominium high-rise. No fishermen, no hippies — and I couldn’t see the stars.
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