Back over the Andes

I rise at 8 again. Not the best night's sleep. I seem to have come down with a cold. Which is a bummer. I woke at 4 AM with an aching throat.

It's the normal drill at breakfast. Except we're the only guests there and get to sit at the big table.

We still have beer and half a bottle of Havana Club left over. Andrew packs the cans in his bag. While I take the rum in mine. Wrapped in a plastic bag.

We're in no huge rush as our flight isn't until 14:50. We lounge around in my room for a bit and then check out at 11. We order an Uber and the woman from the hotel nicely waits outside with us until it comes.

It's a lovely sunny day and we get a good view of the Andes on our way to the airport.

Printing our boarding passes and checking our bags all goes pretty smoothly. So far, so good. The trouble starts when we go airside.

There's a massive queue for passport control. I try to go through the priority lane, bur a member of airport staff points me to the massive ordinary queue. I try to persuade the kids to go into the priority queue anyway, but they're having none of it.

The long wait isn't helped by my worsening cold. At least there's not much of a queue for security. Probably because everyone is held up by passport control.

It's not too stupid of a walk to our gate. Despite all the fucking around, we're still in good time. Me being pretty paranoid about being late for a flight.

The kids go off and get us a sarnie and drinks while I fiddle with my phone a bit.

“Would you like to travel around the world in 80 hours on low-price airlines?”

Alexei has been watching Youtube again.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It would be really knackering. And I’d see nothing, just be on planes all the time.”

“Isn’t that the fun bit, being on the plane?”

“No. Of course, it fucking isn’t”

“Why wouldn’t you try it? Isn’t it fun just flying constantly?”
“No, definitely not.”

While we're waiting, I get a message from our transfer driver in Montevideo. I tell him that I'll message him again when we're picking up our bags.

Despite the kids’ reluctance, I decide to try the priority queue again. When one of the airline staff looks at my boarding pass and tries to redirect me, I say: "I'm a pensioner. I'm 67." Then he lets us through.

"I must look under 60."

"Right, dad." Andrew replies.

The view of the Andes is spectacular. Sharp rocky spikes and smooth drifts of snow. Places which look untrodden by human feet. Ever.

"Who would you put on the rotisserie first if we crashed here?" Alexei asks, back on the cannibalism theme. Good question.

"Someone young. Not a tough old bastard like me."

“That’s right, you’re old.”

“No need to rub it in.”

There's only a short walk from our gate, thankfully. As I'm feeling really fucking ill. I hope I don't have Covid.

We look down on passport control and . . there's no queue. Or hardly one. And they have automatic gates. Absolutely zero buggering around. Our bags are already on the carousel, too. I message our driver to tell him we're ready. We find him waiting outside.

It's a long drive to the city centre. Almost an hour. Though, as the sun is already down, we can't see much. The river, according to our driver, is to our left. It’s just a pool of darkness with no visible features.

When we get closer to the centre, we travel along a street where virtually every shop is an opticians. I suppose that makes a change from all the chemists in Santiago. Where three within 50 metres isn’t unusual.

Checked into our hotel, I open up my checked in bag. To a smell of rum. Oh fuck. The bottle has leaked. Luckily, it’s been contained by the plastic bag I wrapped around the bottle. And my clean clothes are unflavoured.

We wander around the corner to a supermarket. Where we load up on beer, rum and cola. Much as in Santiago and Rio. Though the supermarket is much closer than in Santiago. Thankfully. The Havana Club is more expensive, however.

After going to the toilet, Alexei says: "The water really goes down anticlockwise. Just like in the Simpsons."

"Well, yeah.” I reply. “Have you only just noticed?"

"I thought they just made that up."

Alexei is hungry and finds a bar just down the street where we can go. Which we do. Except it's full. Luckily, Bar Andorra is on the opposite corner. Which has space.

It's very dark inside. We need the torch on Andrew's phone to be able to read the menu. The kids get a large bottle of beer to share. I get a rum.

“Not even bothering with a cocktail now, Dad.”

“Fuck off.”

We order food, too. Sandwiches for the kids, an empanada for me. You can never go wrong with a pie.

They’re projecting Grand Hotel Budapest on the wall behind us. Which is rather surreal.

We stay for a couple of rounds. The return to my room to chill and watch some Youtube. It's about 1 when we turn in.



Bar Andorra
Canelones 1302,
11100 Montevideo,
Departamento de Montevideo.