The Axolotl is still alive, the cat still sniffing around, the Ecuador guy still smoking weed. He admitted by now he is on a "stoner holiday", so I guess there are many ways of interpreting the slogan El turismo es trabajo (Tourism means work) these days round here. It can also be a hell of a lot of trabajo to keep your THC level high. The Brazilians are super lovely and quiet, so all my clichés from yesterday went up in smoke, in an Ecuadorian hash pipe or so. That's among the best parts of travelling anyway. "Tourism means work” is an official slogan written on some wall on the Rambla, the government put it there. I saw it on my bike ride today, along the coastline; I guess I rode some 20 kilometers or so.
The really more than lovely hosting couple gave me one of their bikes. I guess it was once assembled in the year 1978 or so. Pure guessing, but for the 80s it simply looks too old. Great vintage quality, and all of a sudden I feel much less of a tourist, despite my Gringo appearance that everybody can tell from a distance of at least one kilometer. Still, I feel much better now, especially as all the tourists have fancy rent-a-bike models with approximately 39 gears. I have one, and that's a pretty tough one. Plus, I have a flat tire but there is salvation at a gas station, although it took a while to unveil the secrets of a Uruguayan air inflator. Also because it seems to have been updated last in 1978 as well. An employee rushed to my help and would they have asked me in German how I liked the service I would have given them 10 out of 10.
The Rambla is just breathtaking; it hosts at least five different beaches along the way, in five different bays. I ride and I ride and I ride, along the dense apartment blocks right next to the sea - many of the flats are still for sale - there are signs of the past everywhere, old water towers, lighthouses, colonial style small houses in between, it is just a great scenery. The city's geography, I think, pretty much functions along the lines of "in which bay do you live?” or at least "next to which bay is your house?" It's a very sporty scenery out here all of a sudden, no more weed, a bit reminiscent of Australia or so, topless men and women in macro-skirts run through the heat or work out on especially set up gadgets to strengthen all body parts. The further I go east, the less my bike makes sense. It's run-down street-cred factor makes locals look twice as they are probably more used to SUVs or yachts round here. Also, it's probably just odd for them to see a Gringo going uphill with only one gear, looking like a pilgrim sort of punishing himself on his way to redemption.
I guess, I arrived in the richer part of town, so it's time to turn around. Although there are no gated communities here (yet?) to my knowledge as in Buenos Aires, I always feel it's time to go when you reach these kind of areas, as they are usually all about boring shit you can see anywhere else in the world. In case I missed out on the best part of Montevideo, please leave a comment on the Facebook page and I'll drive there again in a rented Porsche.
On a positive closing note of this little Rambla trip: along the way and in every new bay or at every street crossing, it changes its name after all sorts of different countries: I started in France, drove along Rambla Argentina for a while, then came Peru at some point, then Great Britain, there was even Germany, and if we take into account that it continues another 20 kilometers like this, it probably takes you around the world. Nice idea really. I have to dash home, as I have an event to catch in the afternoon and I was advised to not bring the bike, as they would steal it there. Sounds good fun and better than yacht harbours out east.