Parrots and Pigeons

Its Saturday night in Punta del Este, the party capital of Uruguay, and the streets are deserted. The band of traveling students – the Brit, the Dutch, the Irish, the German, and the American – look around for signs of life, but the city is undoubtedly dead. Not only this, but the Uruguayan law states that no one is allowed to sell alcohal for another 24 hours until the election ends… More like Punta del Suck.

Flashback 30 hours before: the American, David Roston, is sprinting down the long terminal - FINAL BOARDING FOR COLONIA. He leaps into the Buquebus before takeoff, sticks his sweaty back on the open leather seat beside the lovely-looking brunette, and breathes deep. The boat ride across the world’s widest river feels like a momentito as the boat docks into Uruguay - the sun hangs high in the bright blue sky, lighting the small town with sparkles. Big banners line the cobblestone streets as classic autos creep along the walking backpacker. It’s election season in Uruguay and the people are enthused and amused - the American is confused but pursues. He eventually finds El Espanola, a quaint hostel tucked behind some side streets, plops his bag on the top bunk, and meets Bob, a traveling sailor with long white hair and beard, resembling Gandalf The White from The Lord of the Rings. But, their conversation is cut short, David realizes the sun is descending, grabs a free bike from the back and rides without map towards the lighthouse in the “antigua district.” As the sun paints the sky a deep orange, the American straddles the long white wall looking out to sea; he notices two youngins who need assistance with a photo and offers help. After a quick conversation, celestial sunset with TWO suns (see photo) and deep revelations of life peace and nature, The American is invited to dinner by the other students. Here, David meets the full group of Europeans: three pretty girls, Amy, Lisa, and Eva; and Mark, the gay Amersterdamian funnyguy.

Flash-forward three hours and David is onstage playing guitar with Juan The Keyboardist in a local bar, jamming out some Spanish blues. After some sweet sangria, three delicious crepes, and a lovely night, the group splits to their separate hostels and makes plans to meet up the following day. As he predicted, the American fell right into the lap of destiny, his guardian angel.

Flash-forward 12 hours and David is free-flying down the Colonia coast on a 3 dollar rented vespa alongside his school program assistant Pamela and boyfriend. The two parties coincidentally crossed paths ten minutes prior in the Colonia Pirate Museum. After a scrumptious lunch of chivitos, a bomb Uruguayan meat sandwich, Dave heads back to El Espanola and cuts out - meets his fellow travelers and books it in a rented car to Montevideo. Palm trees align the road out of Colonia. The endless fields on either side show endless possibilities.

Upon a sunset arrival, Montevideo seems sketchy. The capital city is quiet and lurking with bad vibes. With a big stretch and yawn and newly bought Harry Potter 7 in hand, David and the gang say sianara to Montevideo.

Punta del Este offers nothing but a great fish dinner with delicious white wine. The Europeans know significantly more about wine than the American who feels naive and stupid in their uber snooty wine connoisseur presence. Whatever. Cheers!

The next morning, the gang splits up. David heads to the beach to see The Hand (a big sculpture arising from the sand) then books it further east as the others return the opposite way to Buenos Aires. A stop in San Carlos opens time for the American to roam the lively town and meet some die-hard political supporters of Dario, their lord and savior. Next to the bus terminal, David enjoy a huge milanesa sandwich with chicken jam cheese fried egg jalipenos and tons of sauces. Buen provecho!

[SIDENOTE TO EVERYONE: The Uruguayans know how to drink mate, much more than the Argentineans, who seem like pansy fairies in comparison. The Uruguayans drink it all day long and carry a thermos and mate with them everywhere. Plus, The Uruguayan yerba is ten times stronger. As my friend Troy put it, THIS SHIT IS STRAIGHT CRACK!]

When David arrives in La Paloma, he heads over to the empty tourist information booth. Little does David know that there is almost nothing touristy about this tiny town. He finds ONE piece of paper behind the desk, a flyer for BEACH HOSTEL, embroidered with colorful photos of hot girls and sunsets. At the top reads, THEY WILL PAY YOUR CAB FEE FROM THE BUS STATION. Good enough. Take me there.

At BEACH HOSTEL, David meets the owner Ricardo, a tall dark imposing man with a white soul patch. As they split some of David’s mate, Ricardo keeps shouting, “THIS IS SHIT! SHIT!” displaying his extensive English vocabulary. The only other people staying at BEACH HOSTEL were a British family of mom dad and their 4 year old daughter Amelia, who have been traveling all her life. Amelia is the most angelic little girl ever. She never cries, is full of life, and very playful. David watches with astonishment as the parents tell their daughter they just rented a house for 3 months in La Paloma and the girl accepts without fuss – super normal, super awesome. What an amazing way to see the world in the most fertile years of consciousness and understanding of the world. This family is so cool.
David thinks.

David rides around La Paloma on a free bike and picks up food supplies, cooks an incredible pasta dish, watches a mind-blowing Argentinian supermodel contest with Ricardo in his backhouse, and mentally prepares for the next morning.

Surfing. Dave walks down the coast in a raggedy wetsuit, clutching a red foamboard by his side. There are no other souls in sights as David heads into the freezing water. Note: DON’T WEAR A WETSUIT WITH HOLES. IT DOESN’T WORK! Still, Dave has peaceful clarity with mother nature. The previous sunset alone on the beach brought solidarity and emptiness, but in contact with the water, a whole new feeling arises inside him – one of passion and fulfillment. David rides one and a half waves, practices Tai Chi in the water, and heads back to BEACH HOSTEL shower.

When leaving La Paloma (which means The Pigeon) David witnesses a mid-air battle between armies of green-and-red parrots and black-and-white pigeons - Chromophilia versus Chromophobia. Sweet!

The more I realize that everything happens for a reason, the more I can accept what is going on in the present moment. Life might not make sense while it’s occurring, but it all fits into place and works out in the end. Traveling makes this especially evident, but in whichever case, the most important thing to do is go. Staying in one place pulls you down. SO GO!