Punta del Diablo
The name conjures all sorts of fantastical images, what could make a port so diabolic. Luckily enough given the size of Uruguay we didn’t have too long to wait. A change of bus was necessary in a town I didn’t take time to note the name off but all in all the journey was quite simple. We did some research the night before on a hostel that was in the town, on its website was a map of the town which displayed a grid like formation for a town. So what I expected and what we were met by were two completely separate entities.
The town was a mesh of sand tracks and old ramshackle housing mixed in with some prodigious new development set wonderfully on a wild nub of the atlantic coast. Some Rocks turned into a sandbelt which joined again with the sea at a mass of of sand and grass dunes. We made our way via the aforementioned tracks following some friendly promptings from locals and weather weary wooden signs to the Diablo hostel. A hippy german and a young surfer American dude met us and got us into most wonderful room complete with ocean, sunrise views, fire place and balcony with hammocks rocking in the breeze. I really felt like I had found paradise.
Over the course of a couple of days we took to exploring the beaches to the north where we found a perfect crescent completely abandoned but for ourselves, we watched the sun drop over the hills before building a fire out of driftwood to keep us warm for another couple hours. Other days we picked up some fresh fish of the dope smoking fishermen that seemed to spend their days staring out to sea waiting for something that might never come. After a couple of days the weather turned and we were hostel bound. The guys in the hostel turned a little strange also, coupled with the fact that we needed to head on up the coast quick smart we had to make our way out of punta del diablo, make our way to brazil.
Tags: punta del diablo, uruguay
Phil Gill
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