Welcome to Huuurrrgh-uguay

The idea of a one-hour ferry to get from Argentina to Uruguay seemed simple enough.  OK we knew you don’t take the Buenos Aires to Colonia boat for the views, but it’s nevertheless an expedient way to get to Montevideo at less cost and with less time on the water.  The latter point proved to be an important distinction.

broken traffic lights didn't help at a major crossroads

I suppose on reflection, preceding events could have been a warning sign.  Last night, over 500,000 people gathered peacefully around the iconic Obelisk in the main square in Buenos Aires to protest against the President, Cristina Kirchner. Rubbish has been piling up in the street this week while the dustbin men are on strike. Yesterday had been the hottest day of the season so far at 37 degrees.  Today began at a mere 30 degrees until about 11am, and then as a storm hit the capital, with torrential downpours flooding the streets, temperatures plummeted to 18 degrees in little over an hour. 

Tricky to get to your car with dry feet......

11 lanes of stationary traffic

The capital was as close to gridlock as I’d ever seen any city, even our taxi driver was getting frustrated. As the minutes (and the meter) ticked by, I gradually realised that first our time contingency, then our one hour check-in time allowance for the boat, was rapidly being eaten away.  What should have been a 20 minute cab ride took well over an hour, and as I admitted to the driver about an hour into the journey, I didn’t have enough to pay him from that point forward, even though we were still twenty minutes away, by his estimation.  I was warmed by the fact that he nevertheless took us to our destination, and continued our friendly conversation as if nothing had happened. (Another reason why my entry earlier this week “Reasons to like Argentina” wasn’t a coincidence.)

The taxi driver said he’d heard on the radio that all crossings to Colonia and Montivideo had been suspended pending a revised meteorological statement expected at 4pm.  OK that should have really rung warning bells, but at the time we were more concerned about getting to the boat.  We arrived at 14:05 for the 14:15 crossing, and were the last ones on, they processed the paperwork with good humour, without any tutting or judging. (I’m late a lot so I’m familiar with human reactions to lateless.)

We got on the boat, there were plenty of spare seats, especially near the front.  We were somewhat reticent about being too far forward, given the greater movement, however the boys were keen, as you had a great view of the sea, and besides, we’d been right at the front on the outdoor deck 10 days ago on a boat trip in the Galapagos and had a memorable time (albeit in beautiful sunshine and on a calm sea.) so how bad can it be?

After no movement for about 30 minutes, the captain walked around and explained that Colonia Port was closed, owing to the weather conditions.  I’d said to the boys, following a cursory glance at the map, and in the hope of reassuring them, that we were crossing what was essentially more of a river than the sea, so it probably wouldn’t really be very wavy.   Eventually, after about 2 hours, they prepared to leave, which must have coincided with the revised meteorological report the taxi driver had alluded to.  Did I imagine it, or was the safety briefing uttered in more grave tones than you might expect?  Certainly looking around me there was rapt attention to her every utterance (even though we didn’t understand most of it.) I glanced down at the lifejackets, which of course are situated under your seat.  They appeared to be wrapped in copious loops of cellophane, like those suitcase wrapping services you see in some airports, and it got me wondering about how easy and indeed how long you might struggle to unravel that in the heat (not to mention gushing water and utter chaos) of the moment.

At first it seemed like fun

another wave came crashing over the bow

As we set forth and motored slowly past a series of other docks, we started to rise and fall even though there was no discernible swell at that point.   Then a few minutes later, the engine note rose appreciably as indeed did the bow of the boat. For a while it was fun.  “Oooh look Daddy, at all those white horses on the waves” remarked Louis, observing the water.   Frankie was already looking like he’d be nodding off imminently, a skill he has been honing over several recent boat journeys. As Buenos Aires receded in the distance behind us, I surveyed the scene.  There was a faint rainbow ahead, set in threateningly dark thundery clouds, above an unusually brown sea.  The waves were coming at us slightly right of centre. I’d be lying if I said 60 foot waves, they didn’t seem vast, but perhaps the speed of the boat going over them was what made the Colonia Express seem to leave the water every time it went over a wave - you felt airborne - and then come crashing down with a resounding metal clunk as it hit the water.  And we are talking a ferry boat that carries maybe 200 people, not a little pleasure cruiser here. It genuinely felt like some kind of bizarre rollercoaster ride, but with a definite edge of unpredictability. No waving your hands in the air though, you had to work quite hard with feet and hands just to make sure you stayed in your seat.

Around the boat you could start to hear the groaning, and occasionally (sorry) a familiar splashing (sick bags were curiously offered round not long before we entered the harbour at the end!).  Louis was looking white but said he was OK.  I thought I’d try and take a photo, but realised I was pretty much pinned to my seat with the motion of the boat.  I felt moving anywhere risked being thrown across a row of chairs.  

One of the stewards had made his way up to us at painstakingly slow pace, waiting for a lull between wave sequences before attempting to move up one row.  He said we must move back further in the boat. What had started out as fun now felt serious, as it wasn’t obvious how we’d move the boys with the unpredictability of the boat movements. The steward first took Louis and they made their way very slowly back. He returned a few minutes later, confirming to us that Louis was OK and gestured for me to pass Frankie to him, who was sitting on my opposite side to where the steward was. It had already got decidedly rougher in the intervening minutes. 

I picked Frankie up and lifted him over my knees while I was sitting, and it must have coincided with the bow dropping over a wave, but Frankie was suddenly light as a feather and nearly flew out of my hands!  I think he said “Whheeeee” or something, but he nearly got more of a flight than he was expecting. Frankie was then kneeling on the floor in front of his seat, facing back and clinging on to his own seat, with both me and the steward holding him there, as well as holding ourselves in place as the boat continued its relentless rise and fall, waiting for some respite where we could maybe attempt to move him. Frankie sensed the seriousness and looked across at Jules for reassurance.  She continued the rollercoaster theme to make light of the situation so that Frankie didn’t get scared. 

Frankie, as usual, manages to fall asleep

As this didn’t come we decided to try and go all three of us together very gradually half crouching, holding on to anything permanent to keep us from being thrown around. Any consciousness of looking stupid, which we very probably did, was superseded by an acute awareness of the dangerous things in our vicinity - smashing ones head on a huge metal cylindrical column that I hadn’t noticed before, or getting impaled on a very thin armrest, for example!  A slight lull enabled us to put Frankie safely in a seat next to Louis, midway along the boat, and I joined the two of them as the steward made his way over to Jules, who was now the sole occupant of the front half of the boat. I felt somewhat torn as her head bobbed around from where she was to see how we were getting on and presumably to remind the steward that she was still there. He ventured over and slowly rescued her to a seat near ours. Here in the middle of the boat, the movement wasn’t nearly as bad, but people were still being ill.  Eventually I could see land in the distance and reassured Louis (Frankie was asleep) that we were very close to our destination. 

I tried to take Louis’ mind off the journey as he was still understandably looking peeky.  “Do you think they will do that message at the end, Louis, where they say something like “‘Thank you for choosing Colonial Express.  We hope you enjoyed your journey!’”

They didn’t as it happened, but whereas normally when you reach your destination, everyone is rushing to get off, it was almost as if no-one had anywhere to go.  The boat had stopped, but people just sat there, shell-shocked.  You sensed a desire to talk to each other, about the experience they’d shared.  Some were still being ill, some were just gathering the strength to get up. There was something of a melee of bags in the aisles, as many had been thrown around. 

We were amongst the last to leave, as we were changing the boys shoes.  (They’d got their feet soaking jumping in puddles earlier).  The captain came by and asked how we’d got on - he said there had been 60kph winds that hadn’t helped them and that the crossing had been rough, but never dangerous. We made our way back on to dry land. The coach journey to Montevideo that followed was going to be a piece of cake after that!

(10th November)