It's the end of the world as I know it -- I have Man Flu. You know the kind guys, the one that women never get and never understand. And certainly never give you any sympathy for. But I have Dr Alan on hand so I'm soldiering on with the aid of some little coloured things he found in the bottom of his suitcase, just next to the dirty socks.
We checked out of Cabana Con Permiso right after breakfast, said goodbye to Nestor, our landlord, bid farewell to the third dog to visit us during our stay and headed back in the direction from whence we came. The good ol' Red Indian (for those not in the know that's our red coloured, Indian made car -- not unlike a Lincoln Continental, only a tad smaller).
We're now in the seaside resort of Punta del Este. It's a busy place and it's not even the season. I can just imagine what it will be like next month. Lots of hotels, restaurants, fast food places, holiday apartments (even The Donald is building one just a stone's throw from our hotel).
We're staying at the Grand Hotel. Any resemblance to Cabana Con Permiso is purely coincidental. Very posh but alas we don't have a suite. I'm thinking of changing travel agents.
Alan and I spent some leisure time having a light lunch down by the marina, watching the fishermen preparing for their night's work, checking out the shops each fishing vessel has attached to it and generally taking it easy.
Alan's gone off to watch the sunset so it's an opportune time for me to write these notes.
No photos today. I was just too busy blowing my nose and questioning why God could possibly do this to me.