Old town

I rise around 8:40. After a pretty good kip. Andrew is still well out of it.

Alexei comes along just after 10.

"Where are we going for breakfast today? The same place as yesterday?" Alexei asks.

"No. That turned out quite expensive. I'll look for somewhere else."

The café lattes were 5 euros a pop. And we both had two. With the food it came to almost 30 euros.

I spot a place called Franca in the corner of a nearby square. It's only a couple of minutes’ walk.

Great. They have big coffees. I get a large cafe latte. Alexei goes one better and has an XL It's half a litre. I also get an orange juice. We don't bother with any food.

A very modern place, most of the seating is upstairs. We get one of the two tables downstairs. Young women scurry around behind the counter and in the kitchen.

“Dad, did you ever take a Greyhound bus?”

“Yes.”

“What was it like?”

“As grim as you would expect.”

“Full of poor people?”

“Yes. People like me. And students. The bus terminals are good fun, though”

“What do you mean?”

“Entertaining. There’s always Shouting. Lots of shouting.”

“Isn’t that scary?”

“Not once you get used to it.”

Andrew is still sleeping when we get back. And eat up the leftover food from yesterday evening. That’s our breakfast today.

It's after noon when Andrew finally drags his sorry arse out of bed. I have a simple plan: walk to the old town. It's not that far. Around a mile.

On the way we pass around a dozen La Pasiva restaurants. There’s one on virtually every corner. Two are all but opposite each other. There are almost as many as chemists and opticians.

Thankfully, it's warmed up a bit. It was freezing earlier. The sun is out, the sky deep blue. There are some pretty impressive buildings. Mostly from the 1920s. There's a particularly fine knobbly skyscraper on Independence Square.

It appears much warmer than it is. Look what people are wearing.

On the other side, there are the remnants of a city gate. Behind it, the old town starts. It's mostly pedestrianised. And rather attractive, as many of its older buildings have survived. Some rather fancy ones. Such as this:

We take a look at the cathedral. Which is fairly modest for a city of this size. Smaller than Newark parish church. And strangely austere on the outside. Rather flasher inside, mind.

Oddly, the only refreshment option on the square is a McCafe. We need to look further. But not that much. One block further is a place called El Copacabana.

“What about this place?” I suggest. “They have beer.”

“Do they have cocktails for you, though?” Andrew says.

“Very funny.”

While we’re still debating, a young waiter pops out and almost drags us inside.

It’s quite a classy looking place. With uniformed staff buzzing about. Though we’ve come at a quiet time. Some of the staff are eating.

We take seats and order some drinks. Big bottle of Zillertaler Pils for the kids, a bottle of merlot for me. The same wine as a couple of days ago. And only 11 euros. That’s a dirt-cheap restaurant price for such a good wine.

I’m so happy, I send Dolores a photo of the wine. Mobile data has totally corrupted me.

“No comment about the wine, Andrew?”

“Only: can I try some?” The cheeky git.

“Of course.” I say through gritted teeth.

Alexei goes for a chivito again. I get a tortilla. Andrew orders nothing.

The food is pretty good. And not too expensive. I do like a tortilla.

Alexei and I finish with a coffee. Which is served in a dead fancy way. With loads of bits to it. It’s easier to show you a photo than try to describe it.

We walk back to the hotel, only pausing to buy sandwich makings in the supermarket.

The evening is spent snacking and watching YouTube. And drinking whisky and beer.

I picked up a can of Porter earlier. Maybe I should try drinking it. Perhaps even review it.

Patricie Porter 5.6% ABV, 18.5 IBU, 80 EBC
Not really roasty, more caramelly. Pretty low bitterness. Maybe a little on the thin side. OK overall, if perhaps closer to a Dark Mild than a Porter. Not that I'm going to argue about that.

Will that do? I’ll have to show it to Andrew. Demonstrate that I have done the beer writer thing. In a very apathetic way, admittedly. But I’ve still done it. Now I can return to just being on holiday. Not on some beer adventure. Which is not what this trip’s about. I want a rest from being Mr. Beer.

We don't stay up too late. We're flying to Sao Paulo tomorrow.



Franca
Circunvalacion Pl. Cagancha 1124,
11100 Montevideo,
Departamento de Montevideo.



El Copacabana
Sarandí 454,
11000 Montevideo,
Departamento de Montevideo.
http://elcopacabana.com.uy/