I was on a business trip in South America with my father, and one morning he had a meeting in Montevideo. I wasn't required to be there. I asked if I could go explore the city instead, and he said yes.
So before sunrise, we took the ferry from Buenos Aires across the Río de la Plata. It was my first time in Uruguay. On the boat I scrolled through Google Maps looking at landmarks and places to go, because I had no plan, no recommendations, literally nothing. I just had a free day in a city I'd never been to.
We arrived at the port early in the morning. The port was busy with boats, with customs activity, with people getting their day started. My father and I both work in logistics, so I always look at these kinds of places with a different eye than most travelers. I notice how the cargo moves, how the lines flow, the types of ships that are docked. It's a small thing but it makes ports feel familiar to me anywhere in the world.
When we arrived, a woman came to pick my father up for his meeting. They drove away, and I was suddenly alone in Montevideo with the whole day ahead of me.
So, I was there standing in the entrance of the docks, thinking what to do. I decided to walk. And I ended up walking the entire day – literally. Not a single bus, taxi or Uber. Just my own two feet, from the morning until the ferry back that night. And damn did my feet hurt. But it was worth it.
I started heading toward the main plaza, following a pedestrian street called Peatonal Sarandí. Just before I reached the plaza, I passed under an arch where there was an open-air exhibition of works from the Museo del Prado, the museum in Madrid. I had just come back from living in Madrid a few months earlier. So seeing these paintings here on a street I'd never walked, was a strange but nice little throwback.
Then I reached the main plaza, I walked to the right and there I saw the theater.
It's called Teatro Solís. Just like my last name. Curious isn’t it?
Out of all the places I could have gone, I walked straight to this theater in the middle of a city in Uruguay. And here it was, taking up one whole side of the plaza: a 19th-century building with Greek columns, an enormous neoclassical façade, and above the entrance, the theater's name. And on top of it, the logo. A shining sun in the form of a triangle.
I stood there for a long time just looking at it. The theater was closed; it was too early that I couldn't even go inside. So I just looked at it from outside, took some pictures, and felt something I couldn't quite name… like the city had been waiting for me to arrive without telling me it was waiting. There is a particular feeling of standing in front of a building, in a country you have never been to, that has your family name on the front of it. It is hard to describe, but it feels like it was built for you.
I kept walking. I found a small café in the plaza and decided to stop and work for a bit. I had breakfast, opened my laptop and answered some emails. While I was paying, I asked the waiter what else I should see in the city. He told me about a building nearby where you could go up and have a panoramic view. I saw on the map where it was, and I walked down the main avenue to get there.
I arrived at the Intendencia de Montevideo, got lost trying to get in, but managed to find the entrance to the building. The view was beautiful. A city of low rooftops stretching out toward the Río de la Plata, the streets full of people on their way to work, the river meeting the sky in the distance. From up there I noticed two things: the coastline, with the long boardwalk that follows it, and a big green park beyond. I checked the map. About thirty minutes by foot. I figured, why not.
So, I went back down and started walking again. I made it to the ocean side and the breeze was the first thing I felt. Montevideo sits where the Río de la Plata opens out toward the Atlantic, and the air off the water is constant, salty, alive. I walked along the rambla, the long boardwalk that runs along the coast for kilometers and let myself slow down and enjoy the sound of the waves. I think this was my favorite part of the day. There were some people fishing, people running, kids riding their bikes, and I was just one more person walking with no particular place to be but in the moment.
I kept walking until I reached Parque Rodó. By that point my feet were starting to feel swollen. I sat down on the grass, took my shoes off for a few minutes, and just watched. Birds. People walking. Someone reading. The kind of slow afternoon you never get when you have a plan. I even took a short nap.
After a while I got up and started walking back toward downtown.
Somewhere along the way I passed a poster pasted on a wall, just a piece of paper that read "la fotografía salvó mi vida." Photography saved my life. I stopped and took a picture of it. My father is a photographer, and I have learned to love it too in my own way, enough to recognize when a stranger has put something into words for both of us. I showed him the picture later that day.
I was getting hungry and my father was still in his meeting. So I opened the map, found a street with a few restaurants a couple of blocks off the main avenue, and walked over to take a look. The one that called my attention was called Los Leños. It looked somewhat fancy, but the architecture inside caught my eye, and the smell captivated me, so I went in.
I had been eating a lot of steak in Argentina the days before, so I wanted to try something different. I ordered a lamb picanha which I’d never heard of before, drank a glass of Uruguayan beer, and ate alone. This is something I've gotten genuinely good at over the years of traveling – eating at a restaurant by myself, taking my time, not feeling like I need a phone or a book to fill the chair across from me. It's something I actually enjoy now. There's a calm in being one person at a table for two in a city where nobody knows your name. You get to see the place, the people, how they interact with each other. It’s nice to get to know a culture this way.
After lunch I started making my way back toward the port. The ferry was still a couple hours away so I had time to spare. On the way back I passed a street market — a small bazaar set up on a side street, the kind you find in every Latin American capital, with vendors selling leather goods, jewelry, art, dried herbs, and mate. Which is when I remembered I had to buy mine right there.
I should explain. I have an Argentinian friend who gave me a piece of advice a couple days before. He told me: if you go to Uruguay, buy your mate there. He said the Uruguayans make better mate cups, better bombillas — the metal straws — and even better yerba. And then he said: I will never admit any of this to another Argentinian. If you ever bring it up in front of one of my friends, I will deny we ever had this conversation.
So at this market in Montevideo I bought a mate cup, a bombilla, and a bag of Uruguayan yerba. I had never tried mate before; I just bought it out of curiosity. Now I drink from that cup most mornings. I haven’t told a single Argentinian where it came from, and hopefully my friend won’t read this.
I walked the rest of the way back to the port slowly, with the mate kit in my bag, and met my father at the ferry. He asked how my day went. I told him I had walked the whole city, that I had stood in front of a theater with our family name on it, that I had eaten lamb and drunk Uruguayan beer, and that I had bought a mate cup from a nice street vendor lady.
He said it was a fun day compared to his.
It was. I had been handed an empty day in a city I had never been to, and I had filled it with my own feet, my own curiosity, my own decisions. No itinerary, no companion, no plan. Just walking and looking and stopping when something asked me to stop.
I think this is one of the best things travel can teach you: that the days you didn't plan are sometimes the ones you remember the most. The afternoon with an empty schedule. The walk you took because you remember that you have two feet and they ask you to use them. The theater that turns out to have your name on it. The mate you thought you’d buy in the country that is known for and your friend from that place told you to buy somewhere else.
Teatro Solís is still there. I haven't been back. But I think about it sometimes. Closed, my name on the front, a sun above the door. One day I’ll get in.
