Tuesday, 22 January 2019
Jose Ignacio, Uruguay
Breakfast can be served anywhere on the Posade del Faro’s property. You just ring and tell them where you are. Starts at the very civilised hour of 0900hrs. Breakfast on my terrace overlooking the sun drenched bay. Not a bad start to the day.
Today is a chill out and relax day. The first real day off since I started on Christmas Eve.
It’s hot. Very hot. Everyone knows the melting temperature of an Englishman is 20C. May have to wear shorts. May even have to show my little white legs in public. Is Uruguay ready?
Not a beach person. Don’t do beach holidays. A bit of a faff getting ready for the beach. Am far from beach ready. Dad bod ready, yes. But not beach ready. Lather up with Factor 50. Hate getting greasy and oily. Yuk. Sun lotion goes everywhere. Will get burnt otherwise. With my fair skinned features. What a bloody faff. Give me a cold Antarctic climate any day.
Off to the beach I go. Touring Taurean melts into the background. Not.
Tilley Hat. Tick.
Sunglasses. Tick.
Little white legs. Tick.
6’5” frame. Tick.
I. Stick. Out. Like. A. Sore. Thumb.
Am being stared at. And I’m partially clothed. Just imagine being in budgie smugglers. Uruguay is not ready for that. Nor am I.
Lunch on the beach at La Choza beach bar. Calamari is the freshest and most melt in the mouth delicious I’ve had.
As I’m here, may as well dip my toes in the Atlantic.
Staggered by how hot the sand is. Scorching and burning my feet. Glad for the cold Atlantic water washing over my feet.
Right. That’s that. I’m beach done.
Really don’t know what all the fuss is about beach holidays.
Back to hotel for more chilling.
Late afternoon foray into the village. Hotel has free use of a golf buggy. Too hot to walk so use that.
Like Toad of Toad Hall scurrying about it is.
Today’s exercise is climbing 127 steps up to the top of the lighthouse. Should know better. It’s 32C. Far too hot for exercise. But cracking views.
Dinner at Popei restaurant. Ask for a beer. Patricia is served (the name of the beer not a woman). The waiter speaks very little English and asks me something in Spanish. Don’t understand. Calls his very attractive female colleague over. She asks if I like head. Excuse me. Ah. I see what you mean. Do I like a head on my beer. For the southerners reading this, head is the creamy top of froth on a pint of beer. Southerners won’t know about this because they don’t know how to pour a pint.
I’d been wondering all day what the title of today’s blog could be. The things I have to think about.
Excellent fresh fish of the day is brotola. And very local. Can see where it was caught from my table.
Could happily spend a few more days in Jose Ignacio.
