Uruguay Uncovered

The January evening was hot and humid--high summer in Uruguay--and the ceiling fans did little to dispel the heavy, tobacco-scented air of Montevideo’s Cafe Sorocabana.

Dressy women, middle-aged and carefully made up, sipped wine or mineral water and pulled fans from their purses, snapping them open in a flash of silk and lace. What could be more evocative of old-fashioned South American elegance than these women awaiting the music, so beautifully spreading their anticipation and perfume through the crowded club?

At the Cafe Sorocabana the tango is sung, not danced, a reminder that it is as much a musical genre as it is a dance form. The performance, however, lacked no drama. To the staccato rhythms of the guitar and bandoneon, a small accordion, singer Ernesto Camino stepped onto the floor, dressy, too, in his dark suit, his brow glistening from the warmth of the night. Handsome and emotive, he sang the tango’s tales of lust and betrayal.

I brought home many such scenes and images, for if ever there was a place whose parts are more compelling than its whole, it is Montevideo.

The unpolished jewel of the smallest Spanish-speaking country in South America, it was described to us by one resident as lying “at the ends of the earth.” But Montevideo exudes no stale atmosphere of isolation. Uruguay may be resource poor and underpopulated--only 3 million citizens, nearly half of whom live in Montevideo--but several guidebooks note that it enjoys one of the highest standards of living and literacy rates and one of the lowest crime rates in South America. Life here is clearly muy amable, very amiable. Yet North Americans have been slow to discover what may South America’s most pleasant capital. That is a shame, for it is rich in personality, if not in tourist sights; and it is generous in spirit, if lacking in luxury hotels. Comfortable, unpretentious, uncrowded Montevideo offers a respite from the usual stops on the South American itinerary: smoggy, crime-ridden Rio de Janiero and sprawling Buenos Aires.

There is no denying, however, that Montevideo exists in the shadow of the more sophisticated Buenos Aires, which lies across the Rio de la Plata. The two cities’ common geography, language and European accents inspire comparison. But except for those links--and their shared passions for tango and beef--the cities seem more like distant cousins than siblings. If Buenos Aires is the Paris of Latin America, Montevideo is the Lisbon, once great and now gloriously faded, bourgeois rather than haute.

That suits us very well, although Montevideo appears ready to come into its own. While it remains a dear dowdy auntie of a city, attractively shabby and more than a little old-fashioned, it is poised on the brink of renewed prosperity, already dancing to the trill of the cellular phone as well as to the tango.

Such a transition makes for some odd juxtapositions. While newspaper headlines herald the city as the “capital of the Mercosur,” the recently formed Southern Cone version of the European Community, boys on horse-drawn carts still scour the streets collecting cardboard and tin cans from curbside trash. Elderly gents with big box cameras snap photos of tourists in Plaza Independencia, but the tourists are clutching cups from a nearby McDonald’s. And parked outside the new American-style shopping malls are automobiles last seen in “American Graffiti.”

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My husband, G.J., and I have good reason to feel affection for Montevideo. The city welcomed thousands of European Jews during World War II, G.J.’s parents among them. Naturally, his childhood memories of the city, where he was born and spent his first 11 years, formed the impetus of our explorations. And to his delight, much remains as he left it decades ago. His apartment building still stands, facing a campito, a small park where he used to knock around a soccer ball. The market where his mother shopped is just up the street, still housing the city’s kosher butchers.

The handful of guidebook sights--the tomb of Jose Gervasio Artigas, father of Uruguayan independence; the Legislative Palace; half a dozen tiny museums; the Iglesia Matriz--can be duly dispatched in a couple of days. But our recent 10-day stay invited opportunities to discover the details that stamp Montevideo’s personality, from its rich array of architecture, green spaces and street markets, to its citizens and their characteristic kindness that G.J. remembers so well. Slow walks through shady residential areas and long rides on city buses acquainted us more thoroughly with the Montevideo of the past and present.

The historic quarter, the Ciudad Vieja (Old City), begins at stately, palm-lined Plaza Independencia and ends at the harbor, occupying a small peninsula that juts into the Rio de la Plata. What remains of Montevideo’s 18th century origins and 19th century flowering is here: the Cabildo, first seat of the Uruguayan government; the Iglesia Matriz, the city’s main cathedral; and the Casa Rivera, the splendid old mansion of the nation’s first president, Jose Fructuoso Rivera.

Like much of Montevideo, the old quarter is both residential and commercial, its narrow cobblestone streets displaying hanging laundry alongside the polished brass nameplates of banks and insurance firms. White-collar workers share the benches in elegant Zabala and Constitution squares with young mothers and workers from the harbor just a few blocks away. And they all lunch at the Mercado del Puerto, along with most of the tourists.

One of the first iron structures in Uruguay, the Mercado opened in 1868. Today it is both meat market and restaurant hub, home to some of the finest parrillas, or grills, and seafood restaurants in the city. The glory of Uruguay’s cuisine is its beef, and grilling it over wood coals has been raised to a fine art. The Mercado’s interior is always a little hazy from the continuously stoked grills lined with steaks, chickens, organ meats and coils of sausages. These eateries range from simple to luxurious, but the atmosphere is pure carnival: the grill men, called asadores, beckoning customers to try their bife lomo (filet mignon) or blood sausage, occasionally trading insults with one another.

Outside the Mercado, a handful of artisans sell their crafts, while street musicians offer impromptu concerts. G.J. and I lunched there often, mingling with locals and tourists (mostly from Argentina and Brazil), and sampling the exemplary meats and fresh salads.

Away from the Mercado and from the Ciudad Vieja, the so-called “modern” city offered its own rewards. We loved to stroll the Avenida 18 de Julio, or “18” as the locals call it, a kind of Latin-flavored Champs-Elysees that spokes out from Plaza Independencia and is lined with offices, shops, coffeehouses and galleries. Fine old turn-of-century buildings, some of them newly cleaned, suggest the prosperity of the city in earlier times, when exports of beef fueled the economy and gave rise to a solid middle-class.

One example is the former mansion that now houses the Gaucho Museum. Built in 1896, the building is a pastiche of late 19th century French and Italian design, fancy and fascinating. The third floor museum is well worth the climb for its homage to the gaucho, the revered cowboy icon of Uruguayan manliness and independence.

The galleries along “18” house collections of button-sized shops that range from the sophisticated to the dime store variety. In one window a shopper might peruse a display of the smart leather goods or gemstone jewelry for which Uruguay is renowned, or in another, an array of lightbulbs.

Twenty blocks or so up the Avenida, past the equestrian statue dedicated to the gaucho, lies the Calle Tristan Narvaja, site of the Sunday flea market. Spilling over onto adjoining streets, the market offers fresh produce, small livestock, clothing, antiques and just plain junk.

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Our walks through the city were interspersed with another favorite pastime, riding the city buses. Peering out the windows, I realized how beautiful Montevideo must have been in G.J.’s childhood, before the economic downturn in the postwar era and the continued decline during the dictatorship of the ‘70s and early ‘80s that caused the city to fray. Unlike many of its neighbors, Uruguay’s rule by junta was relatively brief, an anomaly in a 150 years of democracy.

A decidedly Spanish flavor characterizes some neighborhoods of flat-roofed dwellings accented by intricate wrought-iron balconies and window grilles. But many buildings are stamped with the grand and fussy features of the late 19th century or with the elegant influence of Art Deco.

Our bus rides took us to the gardens and ponds of the Parque Rodo and Parque Prado, where G.J. played as a child. But more often we traveled to Pocitos, a well-to-do neighborhood along the river that has the finest and most popular of the city’s beaches. There we dined and strolled along the Rambla, the 13-mile walkway lining the city’s waterfront. Here, Montevideo looks a bit like Miami.

On this January visit, those Montevideans who were not spending their summer holidays in celebrated Punta del Este, Uruguay’s premier beach resort 85 miles to the east, sunned themselves. Lying where the wide mouth of the Rio de la Plata begins to empty into the Atlantic, the beaches’ fresh water is often unattractively brown, but that deters few from swimming. G.J. did as a boy, but he is more interested nowadays in strolling the Rambla and watching the soccer games in the sand. He heard the sounds of the past in the call of the ice cream vendors who walk the beach singing out their inventory: “Helados--palitos, bonbons, cassatas--helados.”

The streets of Pocitos are quiet and leafy, and lined with boutiques, restaurants and smart-looking apartment buildings with names such as Cote d’Azur, Miramar, Luz de Luna. It is difficult to imagine this neighborhood as the servants’ quarter that it was in the 19th century, home to the city’s small black community, the descendants of African slaves.

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On our last morning, we took a cab out to the Cerro, the “mountain” that Magellan’s Portuguese sailors recorded spotting in 1520. When G.J. was a boy, he learned that one of those sailors exclaimed, “Monte vide eu!” or “I see a mountain,” a declarative statement that named the city. The Cerro is more hill than mountain, just under 500 feet, but a notable landmark.

In the 16th century, the place was inhospitable, inhabited by a fiercely protective people, the Charruas. Magellan’s party didn’t even bother to land here. It wasn’t until relatively late in the European conquest of South America, in the early 18th century, that a Spanish colony took root and a whitewashed fortress crowned the Cerro.

As G.J. and I roamed about the hillside and looked across the harbor, we fixed in our memories yet another image to take home with us: the broad expanse of the hospitable city he once called home.

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GUIDEBOOK

Tango to Grill in Montevideo

Getting there: There are no nonstop or direct flights to Uruguay, but American, United and Varig airlines offer connecting service. Aerolineas Argentinas flies into Buenos Aires, Argentina, across the Rio de la Plata and often a jumping-off point for North Americans visiting Montevideo. High-speed ferry service takes about three hours and costs about $47 one way. By air, it’s about 30 minutes.

Where to stay: Montevideo hotels are generally modern and well-staffed but modest. We stayed at two that were adequate, the Alvear Hotel (Calle Yi 1372, telephone 011-598-2-92-02-44, fax 011-598-2-92-37-28), where we paid $69 for a double, buffet breakfast included, and Hotel Klee (San Jose 1303, tel. 011-598-2-92-06-06, fax 011-598-2-98-73-65), where a double with breakfast cost $85.

Where to eat: Dinners runs about $25 for two, without wine, for high-quality grilled meats or fish. (For vegetarians, the city’s strong Italian influences mean there are plenty of places to get pasta.) In the Mercado del Puerto, we enjoyed El Palenque, local tel. 97-01-90 and La Proa, tel. 96-25-75. Other favorites were Morini (Ciudadela 1229; tel. 95-97-33), El Fogon (San Jose 1080; tel. 90-09-00) and, in the Pocitos district, La Tejas (Avenida Brasil 3098; tel. 79-74-12).

Cultural attractions: Tango can be heard at Cafe Sorocabana (Calle Yi 1377; tel. 90-87-10) and Tangueria del 40 (Rambla Francia 473; tel. 95-47-23). One of the city’s premier festivals precedes Easter (March 24 to 30 this year) during “Tourist Week,” with cowboy events and barbecues.

For more information: Consulate of Uruguay, 429 Santa Monica Blvd. Suite 400, Santa Monica, CA 90401; tel. (310) 394-5777, fax (310) 394-5140, or check out the government’s tourism Web site at https://www.turismo.gub.uy.