- There are no buses back to Punta del Este today, I’m afraid you’re stuck here.
I look down the barren, dusty unpaved road weaving unevenly between the colourful shacks. The early afternoon sun is cutting across so it seems even more desolate than it is.
The huts are in all states of construction, with stuff scattered about, as if everyone just suddenly dropped everything because there was a beautiful swell, and went to surf. But it’s the off-season so they’ll be back only around October.
Too bad. It’s idyllic now. Only a few more open cafes lazily playing some reggae could possibly make it better.
- Bueno.. could you hang a couple of hammocks for us tonight? But right now, I’m going for a swim.
4 hours earlier
I had just broken the water surface when I see Alon from the nearby Rancho Azul, sauntering down the alley towards the beach.
We previously met at a hippie coffee shop Canoa Quebrada, my favourite discovery of the Punta surroundings.
I said I happen to know one Alon, who was a magic carpet salesman. He didn’t believe me, but believe me, he was real. The magic carpets, perhaps, not so much. He was eccentric like that.