The 100 miles from Buenos Aires to Montevideo should have found us docked in the wee hours of Sunday morning. We set a wake-up call for 7:00 to be ready for a private tour of the city--not a Cicerones-type tour, but an already-paid-for-it-type tour.
A good clue should have been the screech-screeech-screeeeching of the whole boat's anatomy that made falling asleep a little challenging. And then there was the premature wake-up call at 3:40 a.m. And finally, the Captain's announcement during breakfast that we never made it into port at Montevideo due to gale-force winds in the channel. We would be anchored an hour and a half from shore for an undetermined period of time.
Port we did, at 5:00 p.m., 8 hours after we were to have met our tour guide. I was duly impressed with Kirk's negotiation skills in Spanish that yielded the promise of a 50% return on our booking fee.
We found a self-guided walking tour map of the historic city which was a montage of past glory, abandoned present, and 3rd world dogs whose ribs were as visible as their poop-on-sidewalks. Even McDonalds and Burger King were closed on Sunday afternoon.
Past glory, abandoned present
Montevideo Waste Management, maybe?