Other kinds of roadtramps
Punta del Este Travel Blog› entry 33 of 86 › view all entries
This trip started as a day dream. Now it's real but the dream still has to remain. Every now and then reality comes down a little too hard; Roadkill, accidents and bad wheather can wash away the magic at times, leaveing us just a very long road home. Mostly though the beauty and freedom of this life just inspires to dream up some more plans.
We've slowed down now; short rides, amazing campsots by the beach, crashing waves and beautifull sunsets, huge grasslands and the meeting with a whole different kind of roadtramps have left me feeling settled and completely in tune with our journey. The ride out of Brazil was nice. The landscape is remote and flat. Just the cowboys herding or practicing lasothrowing and a small house here and there.
Eventually though, in this neverending landscape the weather changed: It started out as nothing specific or obvious. Everything was just a little more silent than usual that day. The air a little more thick. The animals seemed to sense the urgency and for us, painfully aware of the our ever shrinking instincts, the BBC had provided the info that made us all rush for shelter. Heavy storms were raging over Monte Video and Buenos Aires and they were headed for us.
On our arrival in Rocha clouds darkened the afternoon sky and killed all that may have been inspiration for dreams on a sunny day. All hotels were full in this dusty litlle roadside town and nothing happened quickly. Just heavy slow drops for hours and hours. We ended up in a small motel. Not a love motel but the seedy version; Small rooms that tried not to look to much like a brothel but mirrors on the ceiling, dim green lights (What happened to red???) and noisy girls on the other side of thin walls gave away the purpose of this place. The rain wasn't heavy enough to lighten the air and by nightfall i felt melancolic. Just waiting.... Around us were the hills of uruguay. Long low mounds that give way to large lakes and swamps. Houses are little more than sheads. The knowledge that Rochas muddy streets and falling colonial buildings are the biggest town in this region only increased the errie lonlyness...Finally the rain that had been falling steadily for over 24 hours became powerfull. I couldn't tell whether it was heavy garagedoors clothing and opening with the coming and going of people or whether it was the storm that was shaking the tired buildings. Eventually hammering rain drowned out all other noise anyway and we were left waiting another day, watching movies and drinking too much wine. I thought of the people in the tiny houses on the grasslands and in the slums of the cities... For shure they would be batteling to keep dry.
In the UK after a rainstorm suffering earthworms clamber out of their tunnels. Here in uruguay Tarantullas have taken their place., stumbeling along on long furry legs looking like their drunk. Those and our first scorpion since afrika have left me wondering about the saftey of our increasingly favella style tent: Black plastic protects against torrential rains and anybody that may have though we were glamrous but the inner tent is different. Originally it had two well mozzinetet entrances. Now it has two gaping holes with flapping zips. Since somewhere in Brazil we've covered the two holes with a huge poisonous senegalese mozzienet and watched mozzies land and die with great satisfaction. (The buggers carry dengue!) But Tarantuallas? Would they not just get together with their snake, guineapig and scorpion mates and build some sort of brother grimms animal tower and wander in and out leisurely?
Maybe so, in a dream in another journey, but mostly, on our travels the animal kind of roadtramps don't read the brothers grimm and therefore hopefully remain uninspired as how to go about broken zips and open tents.