We’re taking you along on our week in Uruguay: between dormitories that smell of past experiences, a Bitcoiner BBQ on a rooftop under construction and two kendo sessions that left us with some lovely bruises; We have very beautiful memories and we made some unforgettable encounters.
Saturday, October 18
We leave our first hostel, Casa Vegana, and head to Casa Copada, located in a different neighborhood. A thirty-minute walk, backpacks on our shoulders, the sun is already blazing. Casa Copada is an old building with a wobbly pool table, a kitchen with three pots and pans lying around, and a refrigerator that purrs like an old cat. We reserve two bunk beds in a four-person dorm. The floorboards creak, the sheets smell of cheap laundry detergent: we fall under the spell of the place.
Today’s mission: track down the two local Bitcoin businesses tagged on btcmap.
Cell Ternier: Smartphone repair shop
Satoshi Crossfit: CrossFit gym, as the name suggests. The first one is closed, the second one’s owner is absent, and the coach doesn’t speak very good English: we decide to try our luck again on Monday. Next time, we’ll be better organized!
Thanks to this change of scenery, we discover the “modern” Montevideo, with its skyscrapers and wide avenues. Our stomachs are rumbling, so we take a quick break for empanadas to sample the local flavors. They’re not bad, but we need a few to fill us up!
We’re strolling through the streets when we stumble upon “La Llamada del Patrimonio”, a parade of dancers and Candombe drummers—those massive drums that are pure Uruguayan soul.
We’re pretty shocked by the organization… or rather the total lack of it, haha. No barriers along Calle Carlos Gardel, no set schedule, street vendors selling drinks and food parked wherever they feel like it. Guess we’ll have to get used to that South American chaos—but we’re already in love with this glorious mess!
The Candombe drums pound straight into your chest. Dancers strut by, cars honk as they U-turn in the middle of the crowd. We grab a “hamburgersa”—bun, steak, fried egg, melted cheese, everything spilling out the sides. We dance in a cloud of weed smoke that perfumes the whole crowd. Yep, it’s legal here and literally nobody cares.
8 p.m.—we head to a rooftop on top of an apartment that’s still under construction. After a few DMs on socials, we score an invite to an asado (classic South American BBQ) for a Bitcoiner meet-up. Thomas is over the moon—this is exactly the Bitcoin adventure he pictured in South America! Chill vibes all around; we even run into the guy who runs Cell Terrier. We stumble through Spanglish, talking Bitcoin adoption in Uruguay and our baby-steps journey.
1 a.m.—we roll back to the hostel carrying the smell of wood-smoke that’s now glued to our skin!
Back at the hostel: TOTAL DRAMA. The high-tech “Sea to Summit” towel we’d hung out to dry that morning has VANISHED. We don’t sleep a wink—our magical, insanely expensive towel is gone!
Sunday, October 19
False alarm!
The staff shows up with the towel neatly folded: “We put it away so it wouldn’t blow off the line.” Group hugs all round.
The staff shows up with the towel neatly folded: “We put it away so it wouldn’t blow off the line.” Group hugs all round.
10 a.m.—we hit the Feria Tristán Narvaja, the legendary local market: a 3-km human river. Fruits, veggies, vintage vinyl, mate gear—you name it, it’s buried in the crowd. We score two “Uruguay” stickers for the bikes and a beat-up old French 5-franc “Semeuse” coin for €2.
Back at the hostel to chill.
Just as we’re about to head out again… the locker padlock jams solid. Thomas turns into MacGyver: grabs a screwdriver and a hammer. One hour (and a small cloud of metal dust) later, the lock lies in pieces on the floor. VICTORY!
But the afternoon is toast anyway.
First real mishap of the trip—just the warm-up round.
Monday, October 2
01 p.m.—picnic in Parc Rodó.
We cross the Rambla under a blazing sun and BAM: a roller-derby track (my heart does a full back-flip).
We cross the Rambla under a blazing sun and BAM: a roller-derby track (my heart does a full back-flip).
The park itself? Cute, but nothing crazy. We bump into two French riders sobbing over their bikes still stuck at customs. Good to know we’re not alone…
4 p.m.—appointment at Satoshi CrossFit.
Andrés—healthy body, healthy mind—drops the mic:
“Bitcoin isn’t just money; it’s a philosophy.”
Another golden contact for the little black book.
Andrés—healthy body, healthy mind—drops the mic:
“Bitcoin isn’t just money; it’s a philosophy.”
Another golden contact for the little black book.
7:30 p.m.—our first Kendo class in South America at Yamato Dojo – Uruguay Budokan.
The dojo is straight out of a movie. They lend us full bogu armor and a shinai. Beginner night, so everyone’s wobbling a bit; we’re guaranteed a rainbow of bruises tomorrow. Doesn’t matter—we’re buzzing!
Midnight, back at the hostel, still vibrating from the strikes.
One more epic encounter in the bag.
Midnight, back at the hostel, still vibrating from the strikes.
One more epic encounter in the bag.
Tuesday, October 21
Morning: we wake up feeling like we’ve been hit by a truck.
Quiet start—Thomas edits the Satoshi CrossFit video. Early afternoon, we roll into Flor De Kaffee, a tiny café run by a Frenchman. Three fellow bike travellers are already there: Justine, Thibault, and his wife, all stuck in the same customs nightmare. We laugh, swap war stories, compare routes. Can’t wait to hug our bikes again!
Quiet start—Thomas edits the Satoshi CrossFit video. Early afternoon, we roll into Flor De Kaffee, a tiny café run by a Frenchman. Three fellow bike travellers are already there: Justine, Thibault, and his wife, all stuck in the same customs nightmare. We laugh, swap war stories, compare routes. Can’t wait to hug our bikes again!
Evening: back to Yamato Dojo for the advanced Kendo class—way sharper, way harder, pure bliss!
Then the bombshell: they invite us to train with the Uruguayan national team. We’re floating.
1 a.m., back to the hostel, falling asleep to the echo of perfect ippon.(Still no bikes… but the bruises are adding up nicely!
)
Then the bombshell: they invite us to train with the Uruguayan national team. We’re floating.
1 a.m., back to the hostel, falling asleep to the echo of perfect ippon.(Still no bikes… but the bruises are adding up nicely!
)
Wednesday, October 22
Bye-bye Montevideo. Bus to Colonia del Sacramento.First stop: drop a suitcase at Wave, our freight forwarder.
We meet Rachida, who’s gutted: “Never seen anything like it—one full month of port strike…”Mid-chat, lightning strikes: screw it, let’s hit Buenos Aires without the bikes.
4 p.m.—Colonia, starving after the 2-hour ride. Restaurant time! We finally tackle our first Chivito, Uruguay’s national sandwich: steak, ham, cheese, egg, bacon, lettuce, mayo, and a mountain of fries. One order split between two is still overkill.
Colonia is pure postcard porn: cobblestones, wrought-iron lamps, cotton-candy walls, vintage cars parked like props. Cute… but tourist trap level 100.Night: cold beer in the garden of Viajero Hostel, soaking up the private room after four nights of dorm-snoring symphonies.
Thursday, October 23
Breakfast under the palms.
We wash our socks in the hostel shower (yep, that’s the nomad life).
Stroll through Colonia’s cobblestone streets, then crash on the beach for a siesta. Pure bliss.
We wash our socks in the hostel shower (yep, that’s the nomad life).
Stroll through Colonia’s cobblestone streets, then crash on the beach for a siesta. Pure bliss.
It’s scorching. For “snack” we order ice cream… still not used to local portions. We end up with two GIANT cones that could feed a kindergarten.
5 p.m.—WhatsApp from Rachida: “Bikes delivered November 15.”
One full month late. We groan, curse, then shrug: our Buenos Aires plan B is stacked—kendo, Bitcoin meet-ups, Halloween party. Boredom is not an option.
One full month late. We groan, curse, then shrug: our Buenos Aires plan B is stacked—kendo, Bitcoin meet-ups, Halloween party. Boredom is not an option.
7 p.m.—rooftop beer to catch the sunset. Clouds troll us hard, but the cold beer tastes like victory anyway.
9 p.m.—comfort food: ham & butterfly pasta.
We pack the bags and fall asleep daydreaming of walking Buenos Aires… on foot, for now.
We pack the bags and fall asleep daydreaming of walking Buenos Aires… on foot, for now.
