A Guantanamero in Punta del Este The summer is gone in the
Southern Hemisphere. We are in the Uruguayan fall but it seems that is the
Winter stepped forward. It was five days of constant rain. The wet sheets and
clothing that will not dry on the clothesline.
The empty streets. Empty restaurants.
It had gone the wave of Argentine tourists and Brazilians who came to spend the
summer in hotels or on its imposing mansions gabled roof. After being in Punta
del Este free from that summer plague is a real pleasure to walk along its
avenues by the sea.
There are two beaches on either
side of the peninsula: that of the Mansa, with its calm waters and the Brava
with its stormy sea. Of the Mansa is for most people, the older ones, it's more
peaceful. In the remaining stragglers Brava surfers who defy the icy waters
with their waterproof suits. I prefer the glow of the crashing waves at sunset,
make me feel younger.
Sheltered from weather
conditions with a thick coat, scarf and gloves I ride the Bravanear the imposing buildings. There is building it is Donald Trump, a
roundedand striking like everything he does.
Who would say that a
Guantanamero would feel like a Puntaesteño more? It's what I feel after so many
years. My beloved tiny country is only a longed remember plunges into the mists
like thisevening, and luxury yachts port, with the lights off, waiting to sail
north, where it is still summer.
Meanwhile I walk alone along the promenade. My
daughter wait for me at the end of the day. My brother went to Guantanamo. He
will be enjoying the warm waters of the beaches of Cuba and a tasty roast pork. I keep walking and breathing the salty air. The sunset is stunning.