I had wanted to visit the Hot Springs in Salto since the beginning of the Winter. So when the providential confluence occurred of a server upgrade and a bank holiday for US Dollars (on US Labor Day), we decided to close the office for a long weekend and take the staff and spouses to Salto.
The Termas Dayman (Hot Springs in Dayman) is at Kilometer marker 480—all highways are measured from Kilometer Zero at Plaza Cagancha in Montevideo. (The US has a Zero point as well. It is called Washington, but nothing ever goes anywhere from there.) We were 14 people and 3 dogs in 4 vehicles. We actually went by Kilometer Zero as we wended our way out of the city using one of Santiago’s famous “short cuts†that usually take longer than using the main streets.
Nevertheless, we made our way out of town at in good time—about 10:30, which is incredibly early here and headed West on the Ruta 1, the main highway. Ruta 1 West connects Montevideo to Colonia del Sacramento and it is a splendid 4 lane divided highway for much of the way. Forty or fifty kilometers West of Montevideo we turned North on Ruta 3; on which we would stay for the rest of our trip. Ruta 3 is a two lane highway, but it is well paved, wide, and amply marked. Since the countryside is gently undulating agricultural land, there are no sharp turns on the rural sections of the highway, and very few in the small towns through which we travelled. The traffic was light and we moved at a faster pace than would have been acceptable on a US Interstate—but perfectly permissible on the German Autobahn…
There are several Police Stations along the route, but none of them had a police car in evidence, and I doubt they make many traffic stops using the mopeds that we did see. Maybe there are doughnut shops on the side roads where the local constabulary hang out?The first thing I noticed was that the countryside was rich and well-kept. The fields were fenced and the pastures were stocked with cattle or sheep (or sometimes with both). The majority of the time the road and side roads were tree lined. Some of the trees had been there for a very long time. I could have been travelling through the rich farmland of Illinois or elsewhere in the Midwestern US—except for one thing—there were no barns! What kind of farmland can there be without monstrous red, white, or brown barns replete with chewing tobacco ads painted on the side most visible from the road? Then I remembered that Florida is similarly barn less. I am guessing that the lack of barns is due to the lack of a seriously cold winter here. If the cows don’t have to stand in snow up to their udders, or the pastures aren’t covered in snow so they can’t graze, then a farmer probably doesn’t need a barn.
The next thing I remembered is that all of Uruguay lays North of Montevideo—and in this hemisphere, North is the warm side—the side nearer to the Equator. This was driven home to me as the number of Sabal palms was increasingly interspersed among the omnipresent Eucalyptus trees. (I am afraid that I still carry a Northern Hemisphere bias—I remember wondering to myself, “how far north is the Palm Lineâ€; and then answering myself, “you dummy, the Palm line is somewhere South of us in Argentinaâ€.)
Every few kilometers the road is bridged to cross a stream or small river. Most of them here are called “Arroyosâ€, which is pronounced ar-roh-shows. About halfway through the trip there is a beautiful recreational complex built alongside a large obviously artificial lake (being an expert on such things I immediately noted the dead bare trees sprouting from the lake—reminiscent of South Carolina’s Lake Marion)? The road signs called it “Arroyo Grandeâ€, but the attached map makes it part of the Rio Negro…
Some of the Arroyos were “menos grande†(smaller), and I am told that is the summer, many of them will also be “sin agua†(waterless).
One other thing that struck me were the tree farms which stretched as far as the eye could see. There were tiny trees in tree nurseries, then larger one in tree kindergartens, all the way through Junior High, High School, university and even tree graduate school—where they turn them into pulp—exactly like what many universities do to the minds of their students…
The trip took us through three towns of note: San José, Trinidad and Young. San José has a population of about 37,000, Trinidad of 22,000, and Young about 18,000. San José and Young struck me as very nice small towns and—apologies to the Trinidadians—Trinidad as somewhat less so. (After this I may not be able to show my face in Departamento Flores—Trinidad is its capital city…)
Between Trinidad and Young there is a “Puente en obraâ€, a bridge under construction. It looks like it has been “en obra†for a very long time. There were a few men in evidence-presumably workmen, though none of them actually did anything concrete to prove the point. The bridge had only one lane open—the other lane precariously open to the arroyos in a jagged concrete and steel pattern most noticeable for its lack of any railing or other impediment to going over the side. In a country where maximizing the number of jobs is a national mania, one would have assumed the presence of at least two flag waving traffic controllers—but that was not so. Instead there were traffic lights on either end of the bridge that periodically changed color to let traffic flow the other way. The interval was set to a number of minutes—when we crossed on the way back it was long enough for everyone to get out of their cars, smoke a cigarette, take a short walk, and be back inside for the green light.
Two-thirds of the way along the route we stopped for lunch in Young—pronounced “shunggggg†like the sound of a giant sling shot. Our newest staff member, Rodrigo, is from Young, so he called ahead and made reservations for us at a place right on the highway call El Rancho. It is a “tenedor libreâ€â€”an All-You-Can-Eat buffet. The food was great, and I thoroughly enjoyed the first onion rings I had seen in Uruguay. We ate in a leisurely fashion, and then allowed the dogs a free run in the fields behind the restaurant.
About 90 minutes ( and several dozen arroyos) later, we crossed the Rio Dayman and were at the hot springs.
