(Drinking maté on the rambla overlooking the water)
My hostel is an old palace, with high ceilings and marble stairs worn from use. I think all of us staying here wander through it a bit surprised that we can have so much space and beauty.
I walked part way from the bus station through quiet Sunday streets, past an empty plaza and a full playground, past kids playing hopscotch in the street, past a couple that walked with arms intertwined and their free hands each holding a maté gourd. Sorta like Starbucks.
The busdriver lit up when I told him I was so excited to be in Uruguay, that me I was in love with it from afar and had to come see.
A few of us from the hostel walked to the rambla to watch the sunset and saw it slipping into the water like on fast forward. Then we bought groceries and broke a bottle of wine in the hostel kitchen while we were roasting potatoes. The couple from Colorado shared their thoughts on Uruguay's weed policy.
From the hostel terrace at around midnight, we watched an old man putter shirtless on his balcony across the street and heard rock music coming from the glow behind the shuttered door of another old palace.
I think I dreamed that the sun set even faster than it had in real life, but that didn't matter because as soon as it disappeared into the river it would pop back up, to set again like a cracked egg.