We leave Montevideo today after two lovely nights at the Hotel Casablanca, an eccentric and quaint old hotel in the city centre.
A cross between Fawlty Towers and a nursing home, it speaks of lying-in and convalescence. I spied a large old lady in a wheelchair behind a half-closed door, possibly expecting herds of wildebeest; the gentleman regularly sitting in reception could well be a major.
There is a large poster displaying the "All the ships of the British Navy" among the antiques and bric-a-brac in reception.
It is all slightly dotty, possibly the most surreal thing being our large room which has a brand new ensuite bathroom - woo-hoo!!
Outside, Montevideo is a Championship version of its Premiership neighbour - the same buildings, same mix of styles, but smaller, scruffier, less quality, rough and ready with a proud past going to seed.
That's not to say it doesn't have many lovely features, pretty shops and cosy corner cafes and the people were friendly and warm.
The huge sea front, cut off by a six-lane highway, disappoints with a lack of any remarkable features.
However, we have chanced upon a local arts festival and last night saw a touching and funny play about homosexuality in modern Uruguay (in Spanish, but camp and theatrical, so it made sense).
The night before, we saw a jazz trio backed by... nine bongo players. Nine. Some of you may know this is maybe my least favourite instrument, but they were very good at what they did.
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