I love the question: ‘What’s your perfect Sunday?’ It’s a great icebreaker, it’s from my favourite film, Hot Fuzz, and if anyone were to ask me, I’d get to say I’ve already lived mine—sort of.
My perfect Sunday would start off by waking up in a small, Casapueblo-style house just outside of José Ignacio in Uruguay. It would be early February at about 8:00 AM, I’d feel the summer sun hit my face from behind the drooping bedroom curtain and I’d jump out of bed excited for the day ahead. For breakfast, it would have to be something fairly simple but comforting: scrambled eggs with hot sauce on toast, some fruit—probably a mix of strawberries and blueberries, a mate and some warm, fresh Chipa (cheesy bread balls). After I’d demolished that, I’d grab my keys and hop into my light blue 1994 Suzuki Samurai—with my surfboard in the back. Cruising down the road heading for Playa Brava de José Ignacio (the local beach), I’d have my canvas roof removed and my favourite playlist blasting. As I gaze to my right I would see the endless blue of the Atlantic Ocean and admire the waves crashing continuously against the shore, to my left there’d be windsurfers perfecting their skills on the large freshwater lagoon. I should probably stop looking around and focus on the road.
Upon arriving at the beach, I’d park up, grab my board out of the back, and squeeze into my wet suit. It’s go time. Now, admittedly, in real life I’m not at all a strong surfer, in fact I can hardly do it. Maybe it’s due to inexperience, but the board, ocean, and I, can never seem to come to an agreement on me successfully riding a wave. After many strained attempts, I have been known to go head over heels and end up in a big heap on the shore, often looking like something that’s been swept up from a shipwreck. All that being said, I do really enjoy surfing, so in this reality, I’d be able to surf—and surf well.
The beaches in José Ignacio are brilliant, there’s no two ways about it. There’s lots of space to plant your deck chairs and umbrella, you can swim, paddle or surf, the sand is golden and clean, the waves are a good size—not too big, not too small—and most holiday goers from Argentina, Brazil, and even Europe are probably all soaking up the sun in Punta del Este (an uberwealthy beachside city about 45 minutes away) on a super crowded beach. There’s a nice humility about José Ignacio, although it’s still full of very wealthy people, everyone seems more respectful, thoughtful and intent on having a good time, instead of seeing who can be the loudest, most macho, or most obnoxious person on the beach.
After spending the morning surfing, it would only be right to get something to eat, and when in Uruguay there’s only one sandwich to have for lunch, their national dish: El Chivito. A lightly toasted bread bun is stacked high with sliced steak, ham, tomato, lettuce, a fried egg, melted mozzarella, and if you’re feeling extra hungry, a slice of bacon. A full Chivito is a sight to behold, a very delicious sight at that. When attacking the sandwich it’s almost obligatory to use a knife and fork due to its sheer size. However, once you fit your jaws round the whole thing and get a combination of all of those flavours melting in your mouth, you realise it’s a truly special sandwich. One that fully deserves its ‘national dish’ status.
After finishing off—or at least trying to finish off—my Chivito, I’d probably spend the afternoon back at the beach, lounging around, kicking a football about, and taking a dip in the ocean. However, when taking part in the latter of those three activities I’ve learnt the hard way that it’s always crucial to look out for jellyfish.
There I was, peacefully bobbing about in the water, as happy as can be, when out of nowhere…ZZZIIIINNNGGG. A horrible, sharp stinging pain shot all the way down from my left shoulder to my waist. Ouch. A pink Jellyfish had snuck up on me from the depths of the ocean—in an almost Jaws like fashion—and decided to give me a nonconsensual electric shock. I peeled off its long pink tentacle which had somehow detached from its body and stuck to mine. I remember shouting—quite loudly—out in pain before swimming as fast as I could to shore and—very frantically—asking my travel buddy to whizz me over to the local pharmacy. All this commotion was met by a very relaxed pharmacist that told me I wasn’t going to die and all I needed to do was apply a cream. Within two or three hours the pain had completely disappeared. Crisis averted.
After another trip to the beach—it’d be snack time.
Having spent a considerable amount of time in South America, I’ve become very fond of the concept of merienda (a snack in between lunch and dinner), and one of my favourite things to have for merienda? Medialunas. I love medialunas. Whether they come stuffed with ham and cheese or just plain, I’ll take them either way. Although, what I didn’t know before visiting Uruguay was that it’s home to the best medialunas store in the world: Medialunas Calentitas. Obviously the title for ‘best in the world’ is still up for debate, I’m yet to try them from everywhere, but give me time.
On my perfect Sunday, the merienda will be from the medialunas Calentitas store in La Barra. To comprehend the pure delight that these sweet pastries bring with every bite, you really have to taste them. They’re hot, which is a great start. They’re extremely buttery, which is honestly just delicious. And they’re sweet but not too sweet, which makes them the perfect medialuna. Out of all the food that I long to taste again, medialunas Calentitas are very high on that list. One day we’ll be reunited.
As the day comes to a close, and the sun starts to set on my perfect Sunday, there’s only one place I’d be headed for, and that’s Casapueblo. The beautiful museum/cafe/former workshop and summer house of Uruguayan artist, Carlos Páez Vilaró. It’s a place where you can sit on a balcony overlooking the vast abyss that is the Atlantic ocean, relax and admire the artist’s life work, or learn about the history of the amazing collection of buildings.
There you feel small and insignificant—in a good way. You’re surrounded by various amazing pieces of art and stunning architecture whilst admiring the best sunset you’ll ever see—and I mean that literally. Sat there with an ice cold, refreshing Coca-Cola in hand and a simple plate of Milanesa con papa fritas (beef schnitzel with french fries), watching the golden sun slowly inch away beyond the horizon to close off my perfect Sunday, that would be my idea of heaven. And that’s why I love Uruguay.
Albert's Travel Companion 
Leave a comment