28th May 2019
A COOL AUTUMN day made for a cold nip out on the bike as I sped over the bridge across the Rio Negro out of Mercedes on the short jaunt to Fray Bentos. 33km. It took longer to pack away camp than ride the distance.
Fray Bentos had that raw edginess that many border towns carry. Just enough to keep alert. The Rambla (riverfront) was deserted, a nice spot for family or friends, popular by the litter analysis that gives it away – but not much here for me apart from the view across the river to Argentina. Too close to town for wild camping, for sure, and I rode along the coast to the old Anglo meat plant museum, parking the bike within view of the office reception.
There’s something depressingly British about the old meat factory. Dilapidated. Brick and concrete echoing a Victorian heritage. It reminded me of the old car parts factory back home in Northamptonshire. The faces of the workers in the photographs with that same Monday morning grimness plus the necessary spiritual numbness needed to witness the mass slaughter of life in order to earn a living.
I wandered around taking dozens of photos which eventually were lost along with the camera a few days later before downloading to the PC. After admiring the industrial ingenuity and might of canning machinery, the old dark mahogany office furniture and the beast of time nibbling holes in rooves and gnawing steel beams, I set off to look for a camp.
Many quaint potential sites offered themselves between the shrubs along the Ruta Panoramica but none looked private enough for me. I continued onto Balneario Las Cañas, a leisure park out of season so relatively quiet although relatively expensive at 350 pesos £5.50 a night but added to the quiet emptiness, the prospect of a hot shower swung the decision.
The nearby on-site store stocked firewood and wine and I ferried my goods back to my leafy glade to build a fire next to the hammock to fend off the evening chill. Clouds marked my breath in the darkening air and as the embers died down I corked the remaining wine and tucked up warm in my sleeping bag. I’d shower in the morning.
29th May
Standing Naked in the shower block with a freezing stream of water hosing my foot… Disappointment that the promised ‘hot’ shower was freezing cold. I abandoned the promised treat and got dressed. Word from reception is that the boiler wouldn’t be ‘lit’ until 2pm. I packed everything away, except my wash kit, ready for the off and waited… 2.30pm and the water was still freezing soI stuffed away my wash kit and hammock and sped out of Las Cañas in a huff. A bright yet cool day – surprisingly cool this late in the afternoon.
Paysandu, a large flat grey town with a grey uninviting looking port, which kind of underlined the mood for the whole day. At least the weather was bright and dry. Rain would have capped it off perfectly. I wouldn’t stay here and started to formulate a plan B as I exited back to Ruta 3.
I stopped at the nearest Ancap gas station for WiFi and hot chocolate to warm myself up. No WiFi for the PC… The mission was to find a place to camp for the night. Anyway, another evening of riding in the dark looked likely and I followed a sign to Lorenzo Geyres,
Estacion Queguay, a sleepy-looking village that gave me the feeling that, wherever I camped here, I’ll stick out like a sore thumb. Coming to a level crossing, I could turn left down the railway line and pitch well away from the road. The weeds between the tracks suggested a scarcely used line and a glance behind me settled it. A barbed-wire fence continuing along the road and across the rails confirmed the railway was abandoned and I rode far enough down the line that I might be out of sight.
Night had fallen and it was too dark to venture any further. A couple of cars passed as I was pitching but I switched off my head torch and ducked out of the way of their headlight beams. Just a cautious habit. Tucked up in the tent I broke out the half a bottle of wine I’d saved in Las Cañas from the night before and watched Game of Thrones on the laptop.
30th May
I wanted to snap a picture before packing away and discovered my camera was missing. No phone and now no camera… except the GoPro, which is like click and hope since it has no screen or viewfinder. I recalled a noise like a stone hitting the underside of the bike just out of Las Cañas. Not uncommon and I didn’t see anything in my mirror and I didn’t see a reason to stop. It might have been the camera falling out of my pocket but I can’t be sure.
I had a feeling I stopped to take some pictures along the way but wasn’t really sure about that either. I took a couple of pictures using the GoPro, packed away and backtracked to the places I had checked out for camping all the way back to the ancap station I’d stopped at yesterday. A bright red Panasonic Lumix should have been easy to spot but only highlighted how many discarded Coca Cola cans are discarded at the roadside No luck. The loss bothered me. I’d backtracked about 30km so turned the 40km trip to Termas de Guaviyú into 100km.
Termas de Guaviyú is a leisure park with thermal swimming pools inclusive of camping for 150 pesos a night (£2.50). The day was cold and grey and WiFi was only available between the pools and the admin block and still pretty weak I checked for messages and updates for a few minutes but after pitching up in the camping ground, I put on some passable looking underwear and plunged into the lukewarm thermal pools. Almost warm enough to warm my bones but not quite. The cold air on wet skin made the water feel warmer than it was and dunking under the water relieved the chill.
I imagine Termas de Guaviyú is a popular and lively place in the summer but out of season, it was dead quiet, nobody else was in the pools but a few RV’s were scattered around, people shut inside with the warm sepia glow of the windows peering from under dark awnings brightening in the fading steel-grey dusk. This felt like October back in England.
Next to the pools stood a mini plaza including a restaurant and a store which were both open. The glass door rattled as I entered the restaurant causing the proprietor to look up and put down his newspaper and hand me a menu as I took a seat next to a power socket. The proprietor had spent some time in England and we exchanged a few town names in a search for common ground. There was no WiFi but, still, I ate slowly while checking my map for the next day. Nobody else came in. I bought some firewood at the store next door before returning to the tent and watched it burn in the cold night air, hood up shielding my neck from the breeze coming from behind me..
31st May
Check out is 10am so I’d packed earlier than usual and hit Ruta 3 North 50km to Termas del Dayman just 10km south of Salto. A Touristy town of closed restaurants – silhouettes of chairs up on tables and Gift shops – doors bolted.
The ioverlander site for camping by the river was an open semi-urban car park. Fine for a van to stay the night but too exposed for a tent. Anyway, it was still morning. I’d seen enough to put it at the bottom of my possible camping site list. Maybe a Plan C if I hadn’t found anywhere by sunset.
Cold damp day, entering Salto. Another uninspiring city not helped by the puddles and penetrating humidity. It must have rained heavily earlier so I was thankful to have missed it. I parked up at the Bus station and warmed my fingers around a cup of coffee and warmed my mood with some chocolate cake in the station cafe. Basic but functional. WiFi was available so I checked Google maps. There was a Dam nearby with some potential waterside camping sites. Downing the dregs of the coffee, I rejoined the main road out of the North end of Salto to the Dam. Not much to see. Turning west onto the dam and halfway across was the Argentine border post so I hung a Uturn about 50 metres before it to unfold my paper map and check my options.
I originally planned to cross here and travel south down the Argentinian side of the Rio Uruguay. Change of plan. With the loss of my camera, I thought I’d retrace the route all the way back to Las Cañas to see if I’d dropped it while packing away. It was quiet enough that a camera could lay in the grass unnoticed for a few days. Folding away the map, I caught sight in my mirror of an official on his way from the frontier post halfway towards me. I waved my map and gave a thumbs up before returning to Uruguayan land.
The Sun broke through the clouds brightening the colours and chasing away the chill and I meandered down the riverfront back through Salto with the idea of rejoining Ruta 3 somewhere south of the city. How hard could that be?
Quite hard, as It turned out. it can get pretty difficult without a GPS when I lost sight of the river, slithering along muddy trails ending up at Nueva Hesperides International Airport with the Rio Dayman blocking access south and no direct route east to rejoin Ruta 3.
I worked out by my laptop screenshots that I was on Av Benito Solari so I’d have to return North to the city and turn right along Pascual Harriague on the southern boundary. Pleased to be back on pavement, I was soon cruising southbound.
Fueling up at the same Ancap station as yesterday, I asked the staff if they found a camera, red, about so big… It was worth a shot but no luck. Eyes peeled for a hint of red in the verge only revealed coke cans and even they were hard to see.
This whole excursion had felt pretty lacklustre and the loss of the camera had something to do with that, the weather had been cold but fair and the landscape flat and uninteresting. I could have been in Lincolnshire back in the UK. Today had been a long day for sitting on a 125, clocking up nearly 350km.
I arrived back at Las Cañas before dusk and returned to my vacant glade to find nothing left behind where I had pitched before and settled for a long and hard-earned hot shower followed by fireside pasta and wine before dozing in the hammock warmed by the gentle orange glow and the occasional flicker of flame of the campfire.
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