The Golden Van

Punta del Este

2026-10-30T03:00:00.000-04:00

Punta del Este (easternmost point) is the Miami Beach of Uruguay, the glamorous capital, the winter home of the rich and the beautiful. I therefore, am not suitable.

But I did get an oil change there which was very satisfying. We are now good until 140,000 miles though the coolant leak is back, ever so tiny but I did have to add a half pint after driving around for more than a thousand miles. Not catastrophic but I want it fixed in Paraguay soon.

Wednesday was absolutely gorgeous in Uruguay. The cloudy morning gave way to a glorious sunny day, barely seventy degrees, but hot in the sun despite a slight cooling breeze. If I could order it up every day I would.

I had my eye on the oil place after I found it on Google Maps, and I figured it might close for lunch so I packed us up, reluctantly at one o’clock and got going to the big city an hour away.

Uruguay is a very modern country, often viewed as boring by overlanders most likely because they live and work and dress like us.

Classic beach architecture.

Thats because it is a beach.

It was an easy drive on a smooth four lane highway and I sat in the slow lane enjoying my day.

I was pleased when the mechanic took us in right away and I was also relieved this task had finally been completed. GANNET2 has put on 135,500 miles since 2020 and I’ve had the oil changed every 5,000 miles.

Punta del Este and its broad waterfront.

I found a spot with some grass as well as some shade to let Rusty enjoy himself.

For a town as swanky as Punta del Este you might think it would be full of no RV signs, no overnight parking and everything but there are none and the waterfront bid essentially one big parking lot. Uruguayan RVers say it gets packed in the summer and they fear the openness may change but for now you can overnight pretty much anywhere from what I could tell.

I saw a huge fleet of dinghies racing well offshore:

It felt like the US tradition of Wednesday night racing was being observed here.

Layne in Santa Cruz had dinner with a friend at the harbor last week and she sent me a picture of the end of the Wednesday races.

It was a pleasant break and I half wanted to spend the night at the beach.

But I also wanted to get settled in at the campground before Layne arrived Thursday evening from California. So we said goodbye to ritzy Punta del Este.

And for the next few days we are at the Paraiso Suizo full service campground.

Beach Morning

2026-10-29T03:00:00.000-04:00

Rusty got up at 6:30 so I went to open the side door for him. Then, instead of wandering off and sniffing he stood at the door staring up at me grinning and wagging his tail.

I admit I was grumbling as I looked for my Crocs and my glasses and my vest and my camera and my keys all while glancing at my scrunched up spot in the bed. But that’s been my life with Rusty, he keeps telling me to do things I don’t want to, and in disagreeing he proves me wrong.

Had I stayed in bed I’d have missed this, and you would have too. And he knows he’s right; so annoying.

Off we went first around the lagoon.

There was no traffic all night. It’s quieter here than you might imagine.

Summer time fun learning to Kite Surf. I can only imagine how crowded this place would be in December and January and February.

Salt air rust:

The bridge is the local government boundary line with Maldonado Department. The Rocha Department is well known around Uruguay as the place to go for the beaches. “You’ll feel good here,” is the slogan.

El Caracol is the fishing village, but I don’t know how good they feel. I thought they might just be fishing huts but I saw laundry drying on the line so I think at least some must be permanent homes.

What a glorious day it was. Not quite 70 degrees, sunny with a slight cool breeze.

No Oil For Me

2026-10-28T03:00:00.000-04:00

I disgraced myself Tuesday morning by letting Rusty out at six at his request and then popping back into bed for a quick nap and only waking up at ten am. My perfect dog was sitting outside watching the world go by while patiently waiting for me to get in gear, but eventually he got his reward.

We did get going eventually and drove half an hour inland to get on the freeway westbound to Montevideo with no plans to drive that far. The goal was an oil change place I’d spotted on Google Maps and though I couldn’t tell from the street view I hoped it might work but I wasn’t confident. The problem getting a 9400 pound van with a height of 8 feet six inches in a mechanics shop is not to be underestimated. The problem is lots of shops use lifts suitable for sedans but often not large enough for a van, or they put the lift under a roof not tall enough. All of which means I like to check iOverlander for suggestions. With none forthcoming I tried three different shops and got nowhere. The shop on the freeway suggested a place in the town of Rocha nearby and it looked promising.

They were closed for lunch so Rusty took me round the block a bit as we waited.

No go. They were fully booked till Friday. Bugger, this isn’t like Mexico where they just make room for you. Such precision, so first world. Grr.

The highway towards Punta Del Este and Montevideo is an easy drive and was almost empty so I didn’t mind the four dollar toll, which amounted to a quick pass with my tag on the windshield.

They warn of native animals crossing the road but I saw nothing, except for the signs.

iOverlander had a wild camp marked next to a rather peculiar looking bridge. Onward! Off the freeway to the coast.

The rural farming countryside gave way to…

…beachfront wilderness, pine trees and sand reminded me of the gulf coast of the Florida panhandle, Highway 90 for instance.

And then we came to the bridge. It’s so weird I had to drive across it first. A fishing village called El Caracol, the Snail, near the bridge on the lagoon.

And here’s the weird bridge.

It’s a circle and I have no idea why.

Some architect went to town.

And it’s illuminated at night.

We parked by the water alongside the bridge, a classic Florida highway fishing spot no doubt.

Another free spot in Uruguay, nothing special especially on a gray overcast day but it’s been a relaxing two weeks doing nothing special all round Uruguay. I had fun with young Rusty. He cleaned his bowl at dinner so he had a good busy day.

Leave only footprints:

It was cold, 51 degrees with a light breeze but he didn’t care. Tough dog, and I had the gasoline heater blasting.

Tomorrow one last chance to find an oil change before Layne returns Thursday.

Flora And Fauna

2026-10-27T03:00:00.000-04:00

Monday was a day of perfect weather, cool yet sunny not too windy, a day I was supposed to be on the road to move slowly back towards the Montevideo airport but as it’s only three hours away what’s the rush? So we went for a walk or two in between lazing around.

A camouflaged dog:

La Paloma:

We took a walk in town. Rusty loves urban walks.

La Paloma

2026-10-26T03:00:00.000-04:00

We left the beach Dinday morning and I have to say Rusty seemed ready. I put GANNET2 in travel mode which takes ten minutes at most and then I called him he came with no fuss. Half an hour later with one brief stop to dump trash we were in town, at the supermarket.

At this point Layne would go into the store while Rusty and I go for a walk except there is no Layne, not until Thursday, so I took Rusty for a walk. I put him on his leash as he seems to like that, being connected to me, but he leads the way and I follow.

We wandered across some random open space which it turns out is dedicated to the other big industry in this tourist town: fishing.

They posted a bunch of photos celebrating the work:

In a country where being publicly laid back is an art form La Paloma, this small fishing village of less than 4,000 inhabitants is quiet out of tourist season.

Rusty didn’t mind. After I shopped I took him a few blocks down the main drag and found a brilliant way to park the tank in the corner of the lot so GANNET2’s snout didn’t stick out. This is possible on a cold Spring Sunday when most beach goers are at home. In summer this place would be crawling.

Rusty is about 14 years old and his hind legs are weak ever since his strike but when he wants to walk nothing stops him. He doesn’t run for three hours anymore but stumped up and down sniffing everything. He’s a long way from dead.

Summer starts around Christmas and vacation ends in March and then you’re done. This year Spring isn’t showing up and that doesn’t help.

One gets the feeling a lot of these homes are used maybe two months a year…

Then the plan was to drive across town to a rather special spot in La Paloma. The city is known for an RV parking area - no tents allowed. A “casa rodante” is a traveling home or RV:

Basically it’s a shade-free parking lot offering potable water, a dump station and a place to park for free.

Having been here before I knew where everything was so I dumped the porta potty and drove to the marina down the street. Outside business hours the security guard sells the shower tokens. And he’s in the blue trailer. Easy when you know!

The cost of a shower has doubled over the past months from 75 cents to $1:50. Oh well. You get eight minutes of steaming hot water and it’s lovely.

I was wishing I’d bought two tokens because I could hang around for another one of these abc the showers are clean and a pleasure to use. You notice this stuff when you’re a nomad.

Then we parked and I chose a spot close to some bushes for himself. But first the little bugger wanted another walk. Okay then the beach it is.

Behind theirs is a long crest of sand, wind blown, cold and completely empty. The only people visible were on the water.

I could see swimming here in the right weather.

The old boy tripped on the sand but he went with it and laid down expecting a tummy rub, which I dutifully provided.

My neighbor came by with a bag of lamb bones which I loved. No seriously they were for Rusty and they didn’t last long. My neighbor is a Trump fan and we talked and debated like civilized people until it got too cold and we went out separate ways to check the results of the Brazilian election.

Of course I’m delighted Lula won. I’ll see what my neighbor says in the morning. He may want his bones back but I think he’s too nice to ask.

Off The Beach

2026-10-25T03:00:00.000-04:00

Five days alone on the beach, alone, without obligation of any kind, is a privilege; I am well aware of that.

I well remember a three week vacation wrangled by moving around my days off, swapping with colleagues and being careful to take the time with the least impact on my rather strange 24 hour schedule so as to use the least number of days off.

Nowadays my time is my own, my obligations are to take care of the three of us and to use my time wisely. Solitude has been my portion in Uruguay, and I have used my time considering what might come next.

I enjoy reading about the history of our species not least because I find it encouraging to learn there is nothing new under the sun, no matter the catastrophe it turns out some generation has already had it worse and managed to get back on track. This knowledge allows me to bypass predictions of the end of the US or France or paper currency or whatever avalanche of disaster may be rolling across the news wires. However I cannot escape the sense that we are at a pivot in human affairs, a time when the path ahead may switch direction and cause misery as it goes. I think of the end of the 18th century or the revolutions of 1848 in Europe, the struggles of the 1930s and the new world order post World War Two. Now we find change sweeping us all aside once again. Discontent, protests, war, and a new class of gilded robber barons organizing our world to their liking.

There is a surreal quality to being a tourist in these strange times. I have no idea what good it might do me to be at home but it feels odd to be living so far away in a world so far removed from all the noise of a world in chaos. Webb Chiles is fond of pointing out the southern hemisphere is more appealing than the north with far fewer people, less than ten percent of the population of this planet lives south of the equator.

In South America prices are high for locals already but there are no huge increases, no shortage of fuel except as always in Bolivia which has its own problems. There is no protesting, there is no more malaise than usual. South America is peaceful and that poses an interesting dilemma for me.

Is there a reason to go home I ask myself. Layne is doing heroic work in California stepping in to help her friend call in hospice for her husband, helping her organize her life in anticipation of solitude, buoying her friend up, helping her to find a routine amid the difficulties of the end of life of a long time partner. Perhaps that’s how one moves ahead, flying visits home, short journeys here in South America by van not to wear out our dog, forced to a life in the slow lane for a while.

Young Rusty has spent most of this week sleeping, taking some short walks, curled up out of the wind outside until the weather got too wet or cold and in he’d come and sleep on the bed with me next to him reading, as GANNET2 rocked to the gusts. As we go forward he will need more time to rest and less time in motion, it is inevitable. Should we do that at home? South America is much more easy going for dogs, so that too is a question of what to do. Stay or go?

There are no answers, no clear cut choices, no signposts. But I feel privileged still to have choices. It feels to me as though the door on my past is closing and that’s unsettling. I like to think that among all countries the US has the greatest capacity for reinvention, to come out of this global change with a fresh new image of itself and always I hope, a brighter future for all of us.

At this moment I’m trying to figure where do I want to be sitting and watching as this struggle for global change plays itself out. I would like to go home but as L P Hartley famously put it “the past is a foreign country, they do things differently over there.”

The United States I left in 2023 has been obliterated in my absence. I find the irony of sitting in a South American republic, at peace with kits neighbors, free of rancor and social unrest, watching my beloved United States descending to the status of a corrupt banana republic, where the rule of law hangs by a thread. I never imagined such a thing were possible.

A half mile walk is plenty for two old dogs.

I hear a lot of people rejoicing at the fall of the American Empire but I ask myself how much more will they enjoy the Chinese domination to come. I think we will look back on the loss of Pax Americana with sadness; I know I do. So maybe I really do have to consider not going home for at least a while. Allow the rage and confusion to subside, allow the country to breathe and find a new way forward. It’s on my mind.

To The Beach

2026-10-23T03:00:00.000-04:00

Thursday morning dawned slightly overcast with some sunshine and more cold wind blowing in off the Atlantic. By noon the solar panels had us up to 80% charged by one pm once again.

Yesterday’s irritation was Starlink shutting us down as they caught up with our location away from the US where we had registered our service. For us it’s a disappointment but for those who work on the road Starlink’s new restrictions are catastrophic as it will now cost $650 a month for 500GB for travelers switching countries frequently. You can re- register in a new country every 90 days so maybe we’ll do that later. For now we rely on Verizon’s international cell service which is a decent stop gap. Updating this page when we are in the wilderness may not happen…

The road to the beach pictures which completes the drive on Monday is below, downloaded with a cell signal. Adaptation is a human trait.

First I said goodbye to the free roaming horses in the park where we had stopped to take a break in Treinta Y Tres:

Then we got driving again much to Rusty’s disgust.

Arroyo of the Dead Indian Woman, below. Every river bridge in Latin America is labeled though where the roots of the names lie is any traveler’s guess.

Unlike Argentina in Uruguay they repair roads and build new ones, inconvenient but nice to see.

Like most Uruguayan towns Rocha, the capital of the department, feels run down and not well loved, neglected and allowed to deteriorate. I saw several large parks and my goal, another Ta Ta supermarket to get a few perishables for my planned stay at the beach.

The first Christmas offerings I have spotted.

And Rusty got his urban walk, not far, just tree sniffing on all four blocks radiating from where GANNET2 was parked.

Forty minutes from Rocha is the beach we first stopped at on arrival in Uruguay. I want to see if I like it as much a second time (I do), but it has no facilities.

The turn off to the beach, nice and smooth and about a mile long. Easy peasy.

Thank you iOverlander as always.

Rusty came up to me and gave me a big kiss after we arrived. He does that when he’s happy I’ve brought him to a place he likes.

Rain is forecast but for now it’s 62 degrees and sunny and windy day after day. Rusty rests.

Cold Sunshine

2026-10-22T02:00:00.000-04:00

Cold Atlantic breezes blowing up the coast with lots of sunshine yesterday such that the solar panels got us from 65% to 81% of our 540 amp batteries by one pm.

Rusty slept until 11am recovering from several days of travel which was not really very arduous so I worry a little about hauling him around so much. He eats well and sleeps well and is very alert guarding his home but travel wears him down.

After he woke up we went for a short walk.

Then he laid himself down in the shade at the back of the van and caught up on his sleep deficit.

Our drive on Tuesday was pretty easy really. The morning started out foggy which surprised me.

I figured it would burn off but it took a while to see down the road.

Rusty looked at me a bit grumpily when I insisted he board the magic bus though he knew as well as I did the rest period was over. I stopped for gas in the town of Three and Thirty just twenty minutes down the road.

I had noted Google Maps said the city park and municipal campground were temporarily closed. Further to that I did a Google search and found the city has closed the park in July after heavy rains had washed out tree roots causing them to fall over. I figured the place was probably reopened but the uncertainty was what had led me to stop on the highway right before town to spend the night.

The attendant looked surprised when I asked if the park was open so I updated Google Maps and took my neurotic passenger to roll in the grass while I did an exercise tape. Rusty refuses to lie down when we drive and he wears himself out sitting up like this, especially when Layne isn’t there to support him:

The park in Treinta Y Tres was huge and quite green.

There were no trash cans so it was not as clean as I have come to expect Uruguay to be in its public spaces.

Rusty on patrol:

The city’s name comes a revolutionary movement to liberate the country, a story involving 33 patriots.

And now you know who Artigas was, he whose name pops up all over the country. The liberator who didn’t quite succeed and ended up in exile in Paraguay but the 33 finished what he started.

The town beach on a day far too cold for swimming.

The road south to the town of Rocha.

I got pulled over at a checkpoint and for a change I actually went through a van search. The boss, the tall cop, came aboard very politely and poked through the drawers looking for god knows what, probably just satisfying his curiosity. The younger cop chatted with me while that went on.

We talked about learning languages and he told me he was born in Brazil so he speaks Portuguese but is struggling to learn English. When I asked for a photo they insisted I be included. It was all very friendly.

Tomorrow I’ll pick up the drive from José Varela to Rocha. There’s no hurry as there’s nothing to write about here at the beach, bright sunshine, cold winds, maybe rain in a day or two, who knows, wild camping in Uruguay. I rather like it.

Beached But Slowly

2026-10-21T02:00:00.000-04:00

It took all day but we did arrive eventually.

I took all day to drive four Google hours from the town of 33 (Treinta y Tres) to Balneario Palenque which happens to be where we spent our first night in Uruguay last April when we drove here from Brazil.

Layne is returning in nine days so Rusty and I have time to burn and I think my elderly dog might enjoy some rest so here we shall stay for a few days.

Something strange happened on our way to the beach, and after several days monitoring the situation I am allowing myself to imagine it might be a good thing. The coolant level has been steady at the proper level for days. The leak seems to have sealed itself. I am of the school of trust but verify so we shall go by Chris’ workshop in Paraguay and have him have a look and if necessary we’ll simply pack our spare parts we had sent to him and install them as needed later. Very odd but very welcome news.

Rusty is doing well even though travel tires him out. I went to bed exhausted too and we slept back to back through a night that wasn’t as cold as it has been lately though I think that’s because more rain is on the way. I’m hoping we’ll get enough solar power to allow us to stay put until the weekend but if not there are campgrounds nearby. This is a very touristy coast, from La Paloma (the dove) to Punta del Este (easternmost point) and I am back in the land of facilities. Time to take care of Rusty and watch the sun set. Two old dogs on a beach.

Mutiny On The Highway

2026-10-20T01:52:00.000-04:00

Captain’s Log. Today the crew refused to obey orders. The chief security officer gave a flat “No!” when ordered to come aboard and raise the anchor. Lacking a yard arm or any other suitable limb the crew is in irons but still alive. I sleep with a loaded pistol under my pillow.

Thus Monday did not go as planned. We passed a quiet Sunday night in the pull out a few miles north of the town called Thirty Three. I had hoped to go an hour south to a town park a couple of hours from the beach but it had been a long Sunday and when I saw the grassy pull out around 6pm I figured we should stop. Very heroic of me to listen to my dog. But that stop gave him ideas above his station.

Its a bit messy with discarded plastic littering the ground, unusual for Uruguay but the ground is flat and as it’s a storage area for gravel the ground is firm and Rusty dug into the grass when we arrived. He was ready to rest.

By Monday morning I was ready to leave and I let Rusty out into the chilly 40 degree morning. A couple of hours later I called him to come in but…

…he looked at me and slowly got up as is his way these days, but instead of coming aboard stumped off into the bushes like Pooh Bear hunting for hunny. I got the message and I digested it for a while.

Clearly he needed a rest after two busy days of driving and I couldn’t explain that we were just three hours from our beach campsite where I wanted to spend a few days. So when I put a bowl of water out and he came for a drink but shied away when I went to pet him, my mind was quite made up. No hanging, just appeasement.

Okay I told him, I’m listening. We stay here today. We stay here for you to rest. He looked at me balefully like he didn’t believe me then he settled back into his shrubbery out of sight. I read and watched a movie and then I deployed the sink faucet as a shower and washed my hair.

The water was actually quite cold and refreshing. I still have three quarters of our 30 gallon tank so we lack for nothing in this slightly eccentric yet quite peaceful spot supplied with birdsong for a soundtrack.

At three o’clock he came out and told me he was glad we had really decided to stay, gave me a smooch to say we are friends again and then he went back for some more refreshing sleep. Rusty is my boss, clearly.

Rough Roads Empty Country

2026-10-19T02:00:00.000-04:00

Sunday was a day of driving across country, the part of Uruguay that they say is empty and they aren’t wrong. For a small country Uruguay has vast empty spaces strewn across the north of the country, ranch land with cows sheep horses and cowboys.

According to something called the worldometer Uruguay has a population numbering three million four hundred thousand which translates to 19 people per square kilometer which in old money is 7 people per square mile. Either way it’s not hitting the average out here.

And on Sunday traffic was equally sparse.

The road was a mixed bag, some pretty good and some pretty terrible.

We made slow progress toward the beach which is my goal for a few days rest. The coastal strip is also where most Uruguayans live.

The day started rather briskly with sunshine and barely 50 degrees at the abandoned roadside park. I think I d been rooming in SouthAmerica as some kids showed up in the early hours speculated loud music for a while. I had actually expected it being a Saturday night and I even fell back asleep during the performance. I never bothered to look out and they never bothered me. Perfect.

I ghost a call from a friend in Key West and that made my evening. We reminisced and I wished I had taken the time to go to Key West on my last visit. I thought my time was limited by the Machu Picchu tour I had booked and then I was too sick to do that either. Annoying.

Rusty and I left around ten and it was a slow drive as the roads were crap to start with.

The villages I did see were small, no gas stations or supermarkets for instance but lots of horses.

We drive and paused to give Rusty a rest and drive some more. I was ready to be done with the interior of the 134th most populated country in the world and get to see some ocean. Patience grasshopper.

Finally I reached a town with a supermarket called oddly enough the Ta-ta, promising to lower prices for Uruguayans. I thought that was just advertising as I spent a hundred bucks easily and bought no meat or alcohol or weird foreign foods.

I first had to walk himself of course.

Then this guy approached me and asked me about the trip I was on. You need anything he said I live here.

I could easily have spent the night on the street had I wanted to. And after I got back with my shopping another guy approached me to practice his English to invite me back to his ranch. He told me there is a man from Oregon ranching in the neighborhood the only known foreigner in the town of Melo. I mentioned his WhatsApp number to Layne and she sounded interested so we’ll see but it’s a long way to drive from the coast.

It felt like it wasn’t going to end this road through the wilderness even though it got smoother and my dues increased.

The bushes growing alongside the highway have been cut back and Sunday entertainment for some couples is to come out and pick up some free firewood. I’ve seen people doing this all over Uruguay. Pretty smart.

With 45 minutes to go to my planned stop I saw this pull out, a bit trashed but a hard surface and flat and it was past five so close to Rusty’s dinner time.

It was cold as the sun went down so I hit the gasoline cabin heater for a while. Pretty luxurious this set up. Next I hope the beach. Interior Uruguay is explored.

An Open Border

2026-10-18T02:00:00.000-04:00

Saturday morning we woke up in a gas station and Rusty was energetic enough we circumambulated the gas station before I brewed my first cup of tea. Then I developed a cunning plan.

I wanted to have lunch in the border town of Rivera only 45 minutes away so I had a few hours to burn to avoid getting there early and sitting on the street so I decided to back up ten minutes to go back to the spot by the side of the road where I had let Rusty rest on Friday afternoon. He approved heartily of my cunning plan.

I’ve started in on a book by Buddy Levy, an author I like on the subject of the first Europeans to travel down the Amazon. Yes they were terrible conquistadors of course, but my experiences driving the Amazon give me an unusually high level of empathy for their troubles on that terrible journey.

If you are looking for something to read Webb Chiles has published a short story in four parts on his Internet page. Years ago he published a collection of stories titled SHADOWS and this story is from among them. It’s thought provoking and well worth your time. Here’s the link to part one:

https://self-portraitinthepresentseajournal.blogspot.com/2026/09/hilon-head-island-shadows-part-one.html

My reading was interrupted by some howling and crashing in the shrubbery alongside the road and it was loud enough it woke Rusty. I looked outside.

Boy howdy! Some cows were making a break for it apparently and cowboys were hollering to round them up.

And Brian was posted alongside GANNET2 to stop the runaways getting into the road.

I went to put the kettle in and in the time it took to do that everyone, cows and all were gone. Back to peace and quiet.

The drive to the Brazilian border was straightforward and my goal was the center of town at the International Plaza.

The Brazilian town is Santa Ana Do Livramento (Saint Ann of the Deliverance) while the Uruguayan town of Rivera is to the south and they are separated by nothing at all.

To cross officially you have to hunt down immigration and customs offices and do your paperwork, otherwise you can come and go as you please. I pleased you have lunch in Brazil at a typical buffet restaurant so I did.

It was the usual process of getting a card on which the servers note the weight of your plate and any drinks.

When you pay you get another card which you hand in at the door to show you paid. Pretty simple and it’s fun to be back even if just for a day. My Portuguese hasn’t improved but they could mumble some Spanish too.

Then it’s time to enjoy the border. Kind of weird but rather pleasant to sit in the park without walls barriers or stress.

The family below is stepping from Brazil to Uruguay.

I’m practicing my selfie skills. I think I look smug. Getting better I guess, at least o don’t look pissed.

Rivera downtown is not my kind of place. There are crowds and everyone (except me) had a plastic bag.

How they police a city split in two like this I can’t imagine.

I walked back to GANNET2 and I spotted a couple of useful stores as I got away from the frenetic downtown. One selling cheeses from across the country.

And the other a tailor and cobbler in one shop, a reminder things can be repaired and not just replaced.

Rusty got his city walk which he really enjoyed, circling around the block taking his time sniffing everything.

Duty free I think:

And then we got on the road. This is an empty part of Uruguay, it is really underpopulated, no towns to speak of just ranches and cattle and sheep and cowboys. And nowhere much to park for the night.

iOverlander doesn’t show much of anything up here:

So I drive for the abandoned park which I figured would take two hours to drive and there weren’t even any nearby gas stations for back up.

It’s pretty run down but it works for us. There was even a toilet that you’d not like to use but which worked fine to dump my porta potty. I think there were electrical hookups too but I didn’t test them. My batteries are fully charged of course with sunlight and driving.

I fed the inevitable hungry dog that disappeared back to some miserable life in an impoverished farm house nearby and we settled in. Luckily Rusty hayes intruders coming into his life ordered no telling how many dogs we’d be hauling around. I do what I can for them.

The plan is to get back to the beach soon, probably not Monday as it’s six hours away at least but by Tuesday I want to be back in well to do Uruguay looking at some waves even if it’s too cold (70 degrees air temperature) to swim.

A Disputed Border

2026-10-17T02:00:00.000-04:00

In the photo above which I took yesterday afternoon, I was standing in Uruguay looking north past the border marker into Brazil, and Uruguay has claimed that field since 1851and still does and does not approve of the presence of this giant lump of cement, but I do. I love this kind of crazy map making madness so it was inevitable I would drive across Uruguay to check out the village of Masoller (pro: mas-oy-yer).

Friday morning saw Rusty leap out of bed promptly at eight when I got up. One day of rest had been what he needed after a busy Wednesday and my goal yesterday was to reach the informal Brazilian border.

The first border of business was to buy more tolls for my Uruguayan toll reader which is easy to do. I walked up to the office which is staffed twenty four hours and gave the lady my license plate.

Then I swiped my credit card to the tune of $40 and I had banked ten more toll payments in five minutes for use on Uruguay’s rather enjoyable main roads.

The day started out gray and overcast and we got our apparently daily dose of rain…

But as the day progressed the sun came out and we found ourselves in a 70-degree day with blue skies dotted with big puffy clouds. Uruguay continued to look green and fresh with farms ranches and forests dotting the rolling countryside. An easy three hour drive except Rusty needed his breaks so we took a bit longer.

Herewith a few pictures of the road north.

Mono culture forests:

There are hills in the far north as we shall see:

I pulled over here to make a u- turn back to a turn out I had passed where I planned to have lunch and let Rusty enjoy some grass.

I got the third degree at a police checkpoint somewhat to my surprise. I was pulled over and presented my drivers license and registration and then the senior cop cane aboard very politely asking permission and looked through our drawers and cupboards and fridge. I’m assuming it was curiosity meanwhile his young sidekick chatted away with me telling me he grew up in Brazil and speaks Portuguese and is learning English. The encounter has a slightly surreal quality to it, very friendly and so forth and they even posed for a photo.

I actually enjoyed the chat a measure of how much I miss a co-pilot perhaps.

By around four o’clock I turned left off the main highway onto a much less smooth road going west toward the goal, which it turned out was a thousand feet up in the rolling hills of the north.

About six miles from the village of Madoller there was a wild camp marked in iOverlander so I figured it would be a good idea to check it out.

The west side of the river was indeed impossible to reach in a delivery van so I turned around and returned to the main road. I’m much easier in my mind fording large puddles now we’ve got rid of the low slung second alternator.

We had a thousand foot climb up to the mesa on which Masoller sits and the drive was accompanied by warning signs invent seen in a while warning about staying in gear and being aware of steep hills. It was short and thus rather fun as a change from the flatlands. Keep your car in gear:

If you look at the photo below the dotted lines outline a 50,000 acre field, about ten miles deep across the middle to Masoller following the red line. It’s called the Rincon de Artigas (Artigas Corner) and it was created by a diplomatic error.

In 1851 Brazil and Uruguay signed a treaty confirming Uruguay’s independence while establishing its borders. Around Masoller they agreed the border should be Winter Creek (Arroyo de la Invernada) which was unfortunate as they did not establish which creek exactly was the border. Uruguay’s creek by that name lies across the top of the triangle while Brazil’s follows the lower part of the triangle. Google accepts there is a dispute by marking the border as a dotted line but Brazil doesn’t care. They aggravated the Uruguayans by building a giant cement marker at their chosen southernmost spot.

Rusty was standing in Uruguay organizing the local dogs while I was in Brazil waving my camera around. The right hand side of the street is Uruguay, the left is claimed by Brazil.

No one lives in Brazil here but the Shell gas station is Portuguese because Shell has no franchises in Uruguay. Beyond the gas station are a few Brazilian houses in the village of Albornoz. The whole place is quite weird especially when you consider how neurotic the US has become about border walls. This place is wide open.

I put out a pile of food for the dogs and stuffed my privileged princelibg back aboard GANNET2 and went off to see if they were selling gas at Brazilian prices, half that of Uruguay. No such luck but their billboards are in Portuguese.

I discovered to my relief the attendant spoke Spanish so while she filled me up with the usual $8:45 a gallon regular gas I quizzed her about life on the border.

The shirt version is that they are Uruguayan and though the border runs down the street it doesn’t make much difference to them. We feel forgotten by the government she said sadly and you can see why. I unfortunately forgot to ask for a picture so this was the best I managed. I need my wife to stick her camera in their faces.

Masoller is also known for a battle fought in the vicinity in 1904 effectively the last battle of a prolonged civil war between the Whites or Nationalists and the Reds also known as the government forces.

The rebels were retreating and decided to face down the government troops in the village figuring if they lost (again) they could leg it across the undefended border into Brazil and escape their pursuers.

And in fact that’s what happened and the government troops stopped at the line unwilling to create an international incident with Brazil.

Mind you just last year Uruguay wrote a stern diplomatic note protesting the construction of windmills on territory they insist is disputed land. The note doesn’t seem to have put off the Brazilians as you can see:

And life in Masoller trudges along no credit to the enlightened government in Montevideo which limits itself to firing off diplomatic notes about nonsense.

The place seems like it could use some investment.

It left me feeling rather saddened by the condition of the residents.

I got out of there.

On the way back to the main road I gathered across the plain which sits at an altitude of 1200 feet which is I suppose good for wind generators. I checked out the other possible wild camp and found the approach to that one was also pretty much washed out.

I gave up and drive to the Ancap gas station on the highway and asked to park among the logging trucks. Rusty are ate a huge dinner and passed out. And so did I after I wrote this.

Rusty Rest Day

2026-10-16T02:00:00.000-04:00

Camping El Sauce, Paso de Los Toros, Uruguay

I wore Rusty out and the way I knew it was that my dog took a prolonged lie-in yesterday not getting up until 2:15. I got up at eight and I left him on the bed while I went to check out the shower block reputed to offer hot showers. They looked promising.

When you see a bench placed like this you take the hint and don’t use those stalls. Just because there’s not a sign doesn’t mean you can use them…

I then walked across this vast campground to the admin building, remembering to take my passport to check but inconveniently forgetting to take cash. The admin building is the yellow block near the orange used car lot on the horizon.

So then I turned around after I filled in the camping form, my vehicle is a RAM 3500 motorhome and never mind the Promaster. It’s easier to just use the numbers as across Latin America the concept of a truck labeled 1500, 2500 etc is very familiar. So I got my camping tag on a promise to return with cash.

I got back to GANNET2 and Rusty hadn’t moved so I picked up my wallet, turned around shrugged back across the campground to pay the 400 pesos for the night, $10.

Picnic tables and barbecue grills are practically a requirement in municipal campgrounds in Argentina and Uruguay. The light poles have electrical outlets too but afternoon sunshine recharged the batteries just fine without 220 volt intervention.

I’m guessing the place is around 30 acres as it goes under the bridge and around the corner as well.

One more trudge up to the admin building also brought me in sight of the bull at the entrance to the city at the end of the bridge over the Rio Negro Black River.

El Sauce in Spanish is pronounced “sow-say” and means willow tree. Also, Nogales means walnut to remind us that not everything was named by the Spanish for a saint on the Catholic calendar.

Across the street is the namesake of the town Paso de Los Toros, Bulls’ Crossing.

In the summer months I imagine the day use park and campground must be hopping as there are food trucks a convenience store and a restaurant on the premises.

And I did spot on my walks a cyclist about to get eaten by a triffid.

I saw a couple of local dogs probably not strays wandering through as usual so I gave them some lunch much to Rusty’s disgust. They weren’t very hungry but I always carry extra food for street dogs and I knew we would meet some in the more impoverished northern part of Paraguay.

And so we passed a quiet rest day on the sauce as it were.

Solo In Uruguay

2026-10-15T02:00:00.000-04:00

I would not wish to imply that I am traveling alone without my dog because Rusty is with me every step of the way but Layne is away for a couple of weeks.

As you can see the weather in Uruguay yesterday improved quite considerably after Layne got on a plane to San Francisco. It was around 70 degrees and sunny in the afternoon with a cool breeze to make conditions close to perfect. For a while my 860 watts of solar panels were putting out a full 50 amps, so I was happy with that.

We spent Tuesday night wild camping in a wooded park about ten minutes from Montevideo’s Carrasco Airport so it was easy to get up and drive.

The original entry described the site as a dark forest and advised against camping alone. The forest is thick so we parked by the sports fields to have a clear sky for our Starlink, but we found nothing menacing about the place. There were no trash cans but the forest was spotlessly clean and free of robbers.

Two locals camped close by as we discovered in the morning. Most overlanders fly out of Buenos Aires to save some money but we found Montevideo was a lovely small airport built similar to Key West though much larger but it’s very laid back and easy to use. The more we travel the more we value simplicity and ease of use.

Layne said passengers were allowed to bring the inevitable maté thermos flasks on board through security. Try doing that in the land of the free.

I retreated to the F. D. Roosevelt Park to make tea and let Rusty finish his morning nap.

Uruguay is full of parks where you can just pull over and spend the day or the night. It’s not as good as the vast public lands in the States but I like the freedom in this small expensive country. We got on the road around ten:

The plan was to cross Uruguay up the middle from Montevideo to the Brazilian border at Rivera a part of the country rarely visited by travelers.

You could drive it in one long day especially as the main roads are good. I took the secondary route avoiding the toll road but even so I was able to drive between 50 and 60 all day on excellent pavement.

It was a mixture of small towns, back roads and highway connectors all day. This three lane with more cyclists was north of Montevideo everyone was very polite to the pain in the ass.

I had loaded the fridge with cooked goods from the supermarket before Layne left so other than buying gas at $8.45 a gallon the only reason to stop was to let Rusty stretch his legs and I did that often enough he seemed quite happy.

Rain is in the forecast on and off all week which is annoying for me but flooding along the Uruguay River has displaced a couple hundred people in the west of the country. The spring this year has been weird, cold and wet here and snowy and windy in the Andes Mountains closing the border between Argentina and Chile. I got a burst of rain yesterday and not being on a sailboat I turned on the windshield wipers and cabin heater and pressed on.

The countryside is what you might call flat but is actually rolling farm and ranch land with some patches of woodland, farmhouses and occasional villages. It’s not picturesque in the way Peru or Bolivia are but it is relaxing after years of coping with crappy roads and less than stellar facilities. Uruguay feels like a vacation.

Hardly any traffic all day.

My plan was to get to a peculiarly named town about half way, Paso de Los Toros, Bulls’ Crossing a name whose significance is lost to history. The town was founded in 1889 as a terminus of the Uruguay Midland Railroad that ran across the country clear to the Argentine border at Salto and Fray Bentos. Cattle ranching was big business with meat and hides being exported from the ports on the River Plate so I expect bulls’ crossing relates to cattle round up’s or similar but I could find no information.

Typical Uruguayan village seen en route. No spectacular architecture, no stray dogs, no traffic chaos.

A familiar face:

Bless his heart…sticking to the shoulder.

The town has a population of 13,000 roughly making it one of the larger communities in the area.

According to iOverlander the municipal campground is open year round with hot showers but they only charge in the summer between December and March. I first went to the rivers edge and parked by the water to enjoy the afternoon sun and a reputedly excellent sunset.

I was ready to spend the night there but the day use park closed at ten and I got moved along.

So I drove half a mile to the official campground and checked in with the night guard.

Legal for the night!

Webb Chiles 6

2026-10-12T02:00:00.000-04:00

Webb Chiles is publishing another book. It’s available to order now on Kindle but it’s available to read November 14th.

There won’t be a paper edition in a world where publishing photos costs money and we are, most of us all electronic, but that suits me the nomad with hundreds of books stored on my Kindle reader. I’m looking forward to GANNET 6 not least because Webb knows how to write about travel. In a world filled with illiterate influencers I am eager to grasp good travel writing where I can.

If you don’t know who Webb Chiles is there is a biography attached to the book:

One of the world’s most experienced sailors, Webb Chiles, set out on his sixth circumnavigation at age seventy-two. No other American has ever circumnavigated six times in his own boats. He was seventy-seven when he completed the voyage.

On his first circumnavigation, completed fifty years earlier, he became the first American to sail alone around Cape Horn and set what was then a world record for the fastest circumnavigation in a monohull, breaking Sir Francis Chichester’s record by more than three weeks.

Two years later, seeking an even greater challenge, he set off to circumnavigate in an 18’ open boat, an undecked Drascombe yawl, in which he crossed both the Pacific and Indian Oceans, before after 20,000 miles being arrested and held as a spy in Saudi Arabia.

Webb Chiles has written that the defining responsibility of the artist is to go beyond the limits of human experience and send back reports. That is what he has done for fifty years.

For his sixth circumnavigation he chose an unusual boat, an ultralight Moore 24, known to sail exceptionally well and intended to be raced around buoys in harbors. Some had been raced to Hawaii, but no one had ever sailed a Moore 24 farther. Even at seventy-two, Webb Chiles wanted to push limits.

He named his boat GANNET, after birds he admired when in New Zealand. He made her totally self-contained. Once he owned her she was never connected to shore power. She ran from sun, wind, and his aged muscles.

The voyage was one man sailing alone, without sponsorship or shore team. And it was sailed. In 30,000 miles GANNET was under (electric) power for less than 15 miles.

It is an inspirational true tale for readers intrigued by what can be done in old age, at any age, if you have the will and the gifts and don’t let others define you.

GANNET 6 is more than just a sailing story. Webb Chiles has been called the most talented living writer in the sailing world. It has often been said that he takes the reader with him into his boats, causes them to feel the experience of fifty-knot gales, masthead in the water knockdowns, as well as the beauty and serenity of what he calls the monastery of the sea.

But he writes about more. About the places he visits, often visited before. The kindness of strangers. The books he is reading. The changes in the world he has seen.

Readers attracted to what they think of as an adventure should know that Chiles, who is an original, has written: “Amateurs seek adventure; professionals seek to avoid them”; but still in GANNET 6 there are storms, knockdowns, freak waves, and soul eroding calms.

GANNET 6 will take you where you have never been, and may make you seek to do more than you thought you could. If so, Webb Chiles will be pleased.

Gannet:

The great cabin:

Read this excerpt then decide for yourself if you would go sailing or drive a delivery van in comfort:

As soon as I opened the companionway I knew we had too much sail up. The wind was much stronger than I had realized down below: gale-force. GANNET was being overwhelmed.

I hesitated only a moment before deciding to let the main halyard go and continue under furled jib alone. The windward running backstay was already in place as had become standard practice when I expected the wind to be on the same side of the boat for an extended period. The fully battened main slid down the Tides Marine track. I grabbed a line from a cockpit sheet bag, crawled the few feet to the mast, and, hanging on with one hand as twelve to fifteen foot waves crashed over us, crudely lashed the sail to the boom. Back in the cockpit I felt that even the remaining scrap of jib was too much and furled it down to T-shirt size.

The fourth and last tiller pilot had died the night before so GANNET was sailing on a close reach with the tiller tied down, but the tiller pilot had lasted long enough to make it possible that we would reach Opua on this day after a three act passage from Neiafu.

The first act was fine sailing with GANNET covering almost half the 1200 miles in four days with days runs of 131, 144, 145, 145.

Act two was nearly incredible as we sailed through a high-pressure system. For three days GANNET made only sixty to seventy miles a day, but she did so with no apparent wind. The days were sunny, the ocean flat. We might have been in a perfect anchorage, except the water was miles deep. The little sloop kept moving when almost no other sailboat would have. She was perfectly level, and the tiller pilot almost silent. Our course was straight. There wasn’t a ripple to cause the slightest deviation. I stood in the companionway and tried to find the wind.

I turned my head from side to side to feel it against my skin. Nothing. I held up my hand. Nothing. Yarn tied to the shrouds hung limp. GANNET sailed on wind imperceptible. And those improbable two hundred miles had brought us within forty miles of Opua and Act 3: a chance to get in before the northwest gale backed southwest and headed us, effectively shutting the door and keeping us at sea for several more days.

I have always sailed without outside assistance. No sponsors. No shore team. No PR agent. No weather routers. But I do not consider it inconsistent to listen to AM radio as I near land, and so I had heard the forecast on Radio New Zealand National, though I know how wind circulates around lows in both hemispheres and would have expected the wind to back given the falling barometer.

For that matter the radio forecast was partially wrong, predicting the west wind would veer northwest the day before. I very much wished it had. Twenty-five knots on the beam would have made the ride easier and faster and we would have already been in. But the wind remained west until well after dark, and GANNET labored south at around 210º True.

After more than 6,000 miles in four months, the little sloop was unraveling. Tiller pilots were dead. The port pipe berth was unusable after the tube had jumped from its socket when GANNET became airborne off a wave and crashed into a trough. One of the two floorboards was split along its full length. Insufficient solar charging was caused by two of the six panels not functioning. GANNET’s interior had never been wetter, messier or more chaotic.

There was not a dry surface anywhere. I had slept the night before—when I slept at all—in full foul weather gear, including sea boots, with a sleeping bag as a blanket over me. We needed to reach port before the cascade of failures become a torrent.

During the night the barometer dropped sharply, and the wind began to veer perhaps being bent by the land. Now, finally, it was on the beam which was good and bad. GANNET was thrashing into the waves, but she was heeled 30º to 40º, and when waves broke they rolled her dangerously.

Taking a flotation cushion to sit on I made my way aft to the tiller, untied it, and turned GANNET a bit farther off the wind, bracing myself with my left sea boot on the far side of the cockpit and my right on the post through which the backstay control ran up to the main sheet traveler bridge.

The overcast sky was dark, solid and low. It seemed to press down on us. I could feel its weight. Rain was falling, colder than the water from the ocean. Although it was 0900 the light was that of pre-dawn. And when darker lines of cloud came toward us, which I quickly learned meant a five to ten knot increase in wind and torrential rain, the sky was night, but the surface of the ocean frothed ghostly white.

GANNET was not hard to steer. But the waves were coming from starboard, slamming unexpectedly into and over us, literally blindsiding me. They were hard blows, as though we were being punched by a ranked heavyweight. Several knocked me from my seat, lifting my body so that I started to fall forward and down into the sea. I couldn’t possibly leave the helm long enough to go below to get my safety harness, so steering with one knee, I looped a sail tie through the slotted toe rail and tied a bowline as a strap for my right wrist. Now so long as my arm remained attached to my body, I would remain attached to GANNET.

When the heaviest rain hissed down, I couldn’t see the mast-mounted Velocitek and steered by feel, turning GANNET and surfing down waves. She ran beautifully true with no tendency to round up, her bow wave rising above the deck. When visibility returned, I often saw speeds of eleven or twelve knots on the Velocitek, but by then GANNET had slowed, so I don’t know how fast she had gone. Whatever the number it is the fastest I had ever sailed.

I couldn’t see my watch, but after what surely had been an hour, I started looking for land. Cape Wiwiki should be off the starboard bow. Cape Brett off to the south. The nine mile wide mouth of the Bay of Islands in between. But I found only cloud.

I had to twist my neck a long way to see the oncoming waves. Surfing down some, I turned up into others—a split-second decision, often based on how much crest was toppling, sometimes based on instinct. Still a few caught us and rolled GANNET almost to 90º, until feet braced, tiller in left hand, sail-tie strap around right wrist, I was standing parallel to the surface of the ocean and looking down into it. As the waves passed, gravity brought GANNET back onto her keel and sat me down.

Beneath my heavy set of foul-weather gear, I was wearing a Polartec fleece and Columbia Omni-heat pants over my usual shirt and Levis. Despite rain and waves, they were staying dry and only my exposed hands were cold. My left knee began to feel the constant strain. I tried to ease it and take more weight on my right foot.

The last position I had seen on the iPad Mini chartplotting app before coming on deck put us twenty-four miles north of the waypoint at the entrance to the Bay of Islands. Surely we had covered seven or eight miles since then. But still no land.

Another estimated hour passed. We shouldn’t be more than ten miles out—perhaps less. Land should be visible. And then, off to the south, clouds thinned and Cape Brett materialized, followed by the ridge leading west from it. Pleasure flooded over me, as well as a wave, both at seeing the familiar landmark and because it was the first solid indication that we were likely to make it in before the wind backed.

A little later Cape Wiwiki appeared much closer. I began to steer more toward it, wanting to stay to windward as much as possible. I knew that even this close we could still be in trouble if the wind suddenly headed us and we were forced east of Cape Brett.

The low, dark clouds continued to lift, and patches of blue sky appeared ahead. I expected the wind and seas to diminish as we closed the distance to land, but they remained strong until Cape Wiwiki was abeam.

As we entered the partial shelter of the mouth of the bay, I was able to tie down the tiller long enough to duck below to grab a protein bar.

GANNET’s bilge has a narrow sump. Usually in rough weather a couple of inches of water collects there and I pump it out with a hand pump that has a hose long enough to go out the companionway and reach overboard. With us now heeled 10º to 15º the bilge was overflowing. I got the pump and emptied it. But when I went down an hour later it was full again, and I began to wonder if the hull was cracked.

I took the protein bar back on deck just in time to see two of GANNET’s handsome namesake birds glide across our bow.

GANNET meet gannets.

We still had fourteen miles to reach the quarantine dock at Opua.

While the water was smoother, squalls that buried the lee rail continued to hit as we sailed deeper into the bay. I furled and unfurled the jib, and alternately hand-steered, tied the tiller down, hand-steered.

Familiar islands drew closer, a cloud of birds on Bird Rock, white with guano; vivid green hills; exposed brown cliffs falling into the sea; tiny foot-long penguins bobbing on wavelets. I smiled when I saw Paradise Cove on Urupukapuka Island where I have often anchored, and the lookout platform high on Roberton Island to which I’ve often climbed.

Not until we made the final dogleg turn beyond the rocky ledge off Tapeka Point, just north of Russell, did the wind moderate. I brought GANNET about and hove to so I could fit the outboard bracket, Torqeedo, fenders, dock lines, and Q flag. Then I turned us and continued south under sail. I knew the way.

Just north of the car ferry crossing, within sight of the quarantine dock, the wind died. I furled the jib, turned on the Torqeedo, and lowered the main. Misty rain began to fall as we powered the last two hundred yards at dusk.

Opua’s quarantine dock is the easiest to approach of any I know in the world. I had GANNET prepared to tie up port or starboard. With no wind the current was decisive. It was running out, so I continued forward to tie to port.

GANNET and I were weeks ahead of the herd. The long marina breakwater, of which the northern two hundred feet are the quarantine dock, was empty. I turned the Torqeedo tiller arm to neutral, glided the last few feet, stepped off, and tied dock lines.

I went back on board and into the Great Cabin for the bottle of Laphroaig in which I had saved an inch for that moment. Crystal glasses broken, I poured my favorite liquid into a plastic tumbler, straightened up, and, still wearing foul weather gear, stood in the companionway indifferent to the light rain, which was nothing compared to the total immersions of the morning. The little sloop’s deck came to just above my waist. I looked around at familiar hills and took a sip. Then I took another.

The date was September 20, 2014. We had sailed from San Diego on May 20. 6,408 miles by day’s runs in four months—or, actually because of crossing the International Date Line, a day less than four months. And from Neiafu we had again come remarkably close to sailing the rhumb line with day’s runs totally 1208 miles for a minimum possible distance of at least 1190.

Passage over.

Ocean crossed.

And though an American and not a New Zealander, I was home. In coming days I was honored to receive emails from several New Zealanders welcoming me back to my second home.

The New Zealand Met Office reported that the wind gusted fifty-five knots that day with 4.5 meter/15’ waves.

That night the wind backed to the southwest, closing the door on a 31’ cutter that left Neiafu the day after GANNET. She reached Opua a week and a day later. In harbor, water continued to trickle into the bilge from odd corners of GANNET’s interior for several days, and then stopped. – Webb Chiles

Weekend Rain

2026-10-11T02:00:00.000-04:00

30 mile an hour wind gusts pushed GANNET2 around all Friday night. We had heat, we had a dry space to look out at the rain slashing through the trees and Rusty came in well before dark to underline how wintery it was out there. By Saturday morning the rain was sporadic and the skies lightened as if sunshine might break through. It didn’t.

Rusty wanted a walk and I figured I had plenty of dry clothes if the heavens opened.

Saturday morning in Uruguay in the middle of a week predicted to be wet and windy. Our battery levels went from 65% when we parked to 46% when I got up at 7:30, but with no real prospect of sunshine to charge our batteries it was time to hunt down a campsite to empty waste tanks, fill the water tank, take hot showers, plug in to electricity and thus regain RV equilibrium.

I’d really like to know where summer is at this point, if not here at least in the horizon. I was looking at pictures of Pensacola after the arrival of a category two hurricane, the usual newspaper pictures of flooding, flying roofs and falling light poles, civilization on the ropes drama. For me the worst was always the dreary truce to clean up and restore order long after the drama seekers had moved on to new shock horror scenes. I must say 105 mph winds a category two seemed like ball beer compared to what we have been seeing in years past.

I need no more hurricanes in my life, mind you there is a volcano rumbling into eruption in the back of the van as Layne hunts for a suitable ticket to fly to California. I miss the days of travel agents personally, as computerized do-it-yourself takes over our lives to reduce corporate costs…

I was talking to Jeffrey my tech guru friend in Florida who keeps this page on track when something goes wrong, and he was telling me how he harnesses artificial intelligence to do the mundane tasks while he directs the work and sets the path. While it is making him more productive he can see the struggle ahead for humans to relevant in the AI world that is coming.

I see photographers playing with imperfection as a way to reassure viewers the photos are made by fallible humans. I listen to Layne arguing with an airline robot as she seeks a conference with a human booking agent. Rusty remains my inspiration as he snores his way past a wet windy robotic powered world.

I suggested to Layne that I’d like to stay in Uruguay while she is in California so she’s going to fly out, according to the robot, on Wednesday from Montevideo’s Carrasco airport.

I’ve been asking myself why I want to be in Uruguay and not Argentina while I’m alone. I know for a fact I don’t want to be sitting still like last time when she went to Brazil but traveling around Uruguay there is a feeling that I am in a familiar place.

Uruguay feels normal to a visitor from North America, it’s mostly organized, tidy, middle class, with decent roads and street dogs are few and not starving and though there are areas of poverty most of southern Uruguay is quietly, shyly, well to do.

It’s easy to drive a camper van here in the non summer months, even though campgrounds are usually closed…

There was no one around and as we waited to see if someone would show up I emptied our porta potty into their loo and then we left. We found another campground and that too was locked.

But the sun had been out a tiny bit allowing our 860 watts of solar panels to generate a few amps of electricity alongside the engine generating a few more so we had plenty to spend the night in a weird sort of open space parking lot in a nearby coastal village. Let’s spend the night we said; so we did.

It’s the obelisk of the town of Salinas and I know nothing further about it. It’s abandoned and there’s trash lying around but I have no concerns about wild camping like this in Uruguay. In Argentina I might not be so sure and that’s makes Uruguay attractive to me at the moment. I feel like keeping it easy, stopping frequently to let Rusty roll in the grass, enjoying the empty beaches and being ready to drive north when she gets home at the end of the month.

We found a supermarket and Layne of course was grumbling about the quality of the fruits and vegetables but they had everything she was looking for so I counted it a good score.

Oh and there was pafkibg, always good to find when you are driving a large van.

Yup. Uruguay should be easy for the next couple of weeks, pottering hither and yon like a small sailboat nosing into coastal creeks and hidden lagoons, nothing quite so much fun as pottering about in …vans.

Some views of Uruguay:

The automated weigh stations keep flashing at us telling us to drive through. I really need to learn to ignore them.

Another classic Vespa:

A giant soccer stadium in the middle of nowhere.

A Friend For A Reason

2026-10-10T02:00:00.000-04:00

One of my least favorite sayings in the English language is “Everything happens for a reason…” which to my way of thinking is an expression of privilege at its most thoughtless. If you avoid a fatal car wreck because your yoga class was canceled that was blind luck in my rather austere world view, but if everything happens for a reason you’ve got some explaining to do, to a mother watching her child starve in Gaza or South Sudan or in far distant Burma. No reason I can think of justifies such misery helped along by abolishing USAid. Nevertheless on a more cheerful note there is a reason why we are stuck in Uruguay and the reason is not one more disaster falling unbidden upon Team Lost.

We are back at one of our preferred camp spots overlooking the River Plate, a wild and windy place as yet another cold front blows up the estuary off the South Atlantic Ocean.

We wandered around a bit checking out the town campsite closed for the season.

It seemed rather depressing so we took off to spend a night on the cliff tops.

Rusty was heading to the beach when he spotted a big white dog running on the sand. He turned around, the prudent older dog.

I didn’t see the dog until after I had spotted the solitary person on the empty winter beach, but Rusty, supposedly developing glaucoma was well ahead of me and I had my glasses on. We returned to our cliff top estate.

The awful weather has impaired our solar panels from doing their job but a 90 minute drive and some mild solar assistance ( up to 15 amps under bright grey skies) we got the batteries up to 65 percent (300 lithium amps) to see us through the night. Layne got busy looking for flights, I walked the pest.

Layne got a call from a friend in California, a friend from a group of defense lawyers from forty years ago. She has a remarkable ability to stay in touch, with old friends or new friends met on the road in South America. The call intimated one of their number in Santa Cruz is going through a rough patch. It’s part of the aging process, spouses losing mobility and needing nursing, the body slowing down needing more time, fears ballooning irrationally perhaps but causing real anxiety. Layne had been voted the best friend to help and she answered the call.

It’s a matter of finding tickets and figuring out a route and spending two weeks in California. It’s the right thing to do of course but Rusty and I have another stationary period to deal with.

Except my plan this time is to drive around Uruguay while Layne is gone. I’m thinking about seeking out free camps and visiting campgrounds to use the facilities suffered a few days off the grid. I can’t stand the thought of two more weeks sitting still in a campground. School pickup :

Highway 1 to Montevideo.

More rain promised all week.

“Put your cap on” police check ahead.

Not really, as the substation is abandoned. Cops don’t seem interested in us, even the ones at mobile check points.

Layne is looking to get a flight Monday from Buenos Aires as flights are cheaper than from Montevideo so she’ll incorporate a ferry ride across the River Plate then take an Uber to the airport. I’ll be driving Rusty up the coast.

He takes things as they come. But I’ll tell you he is coming indoors a lot more than usual this week. The weather is too much even for him and he loves being outside. So much for Spring.

I keep telling myself at least I’ll be driving, looking for places to park and so forth. I am ready to go north but here we are.

The heater is working nicely and it’s such a luxury to sit in warmth. The engine is still leaking coolant but not badly and so far it’s not getting worse so we can drive which is a very good thing. It’s been a hard year since we decided to drive to the Guyanas and I’m ready for it to be over and put all these modifications and repairs and flights behind us. But of course everything happens for a reason. Doesn’t it?

Repaired

2026-10-08T04:42:25.970-04:00

Our cabin heater is installed and working. The distributor put a new igniter in it and cleaned out the carbon and it runs hot once again.

We have learned our lesson and will run the heater at full blast frequently to burn off the carbon build up. A reader asked if we have a carbon monoxide alarm and we do but frankly I don’t trust that stuff so we only run the heater when we are up and awake. If we need heat at night we can use our 110 volt space heater off our batteries to take the edge off a cold night.

This was Adrián’s first job under his new storage roof which is just the first step in building a whole new storage and workshop area. He needs it too as the weather turned ghastly suddenly with thunder lightning and heavy rain. We ended up inside for the evening warm and dry with rain flooding the yard. We also noticed a hurricane threatening the Florida panhandle so we do feel lucky to be here.

We also went into town to do some last minute shopping; I’d run out of honey for my oatmeal, critical stuff like that plus Rusty usually likes urban walks while Layne shops.

It was Wednesday so the fish truck was in Colonia Valdense, a town whose routines we have come to know quite well but we expect to cross the border to Argentina today which means we don’t need to risk getting expensive fish confiscated. We have had mixed luck at the Fray Bentos border once getting no inspection at all and once getting every fresh item confiscated…And then there was the random lady who came up and asked if we were from Key West:

It was really rather sweet as she remembered her cruise to Key West very clearly, climbing the lighthouse and touring the Hemingway House among other things. She made me nostalgic.

Eagle-eyed Layne spotted a copy shop and we stopped to get our new Florida registration laminated. Our old one was a mess after two years of border crossings and checkpoints so when we got our new registration, good through 2028 we decided to protect it by laminating it for a buck fifty. Rusty waited outside.

Up next: a four day drive to Paraguay and a new cooling system for GANNET2.

And I took an accidental selfie with my iPhone18.

Me losing control of things as usual.

Rusty And I

2026-10-07T06:07:00.400-04:00

While it is true Uruguay is expensive we have found one way to save money here is to free camp and that is made easy by the low level of crime in this country. We awoke Tuesday at Solymar Beach to the beginnings of a sunny day which inspired Rusty to walk.

We were far from the only dog walking people on the beach but I think I was the only one with a camera and I took pictures to record Rusty’s energy.

It was a lovely crisp morning which inspired Rusty was determined to enjoy as the forecast for later in the week is promising rainy days ahead. Summer is slow arriving this year locals tell me.

The plan was to drop Layne off at an Indian restaurant for Layne to meet Julia while Rusty and I got a day off together.

First we had some laundry to do and as this wasn’t our first visit to Montevideo we knew where to go - to the shopping mall.

To get to our favorite self service, underground, credit card operated laundry in the mall parking lot we had to drive through Montevideo, not only the neat tidy expensive upper class neighborhoods but also the regular shabby streets of this largely rundown city.

Montevideo is the southernmost capital city of mainland South America but it also carries, at least in my mind, the title of least loved by its managers. Street surfaces are decrepit, decoration is reduced to infernal graffiti everywhere and the city just feels shabby and sad.

The shopping mall was modern clean and busy though.

There’s an electronics store where previously we bought a small Bluetooth speaker so we stopped by to see if they had a dongle suitable for our new phones. We use a device to download pictures from our cameras’ SD cards but the one that worked for our iPhone 12 slots doesn’t work for the iPhone 18.

Theirs looked different but miraculously they had one that works. It’s always a triumph when you find what you need in South America and we snatched up two. $10 in the states and just a little less here; even the price was right. Amazing.

The supermarket had everything, sauces and condiments to make Laynes heart sing and I found shaving cream which I prefer to foam in an aerosol. Which cost US$7:50 and I just could not bring myself to pay it. I hear prices are up in the States but Uruguay to our minds rooted in memories of Stateside prices circa 2023 seems excessive.

One other gripe I have regards South American shopping carts while I’m having a gringo moment. Nowhere in any country do they have a cross bar at the bottom between the two rear wheels and it drives me nuts. It means you can’t adopt the shoppers’ slouch with your arms folded on the handle with one foot raised on the cross bar. Grrr.

Oh and salsa is $7:50 a jar. Forget it.

While Layne was watching the dryer in the underground parking lot I took the shopping back to GANNET2 in the open air section of the lot reserved for trucks and tall vehicles. Some youngsters on lunch break were attracted to the foreign van.

We had a long chat about van life and not paying rent which evolved into a discussion about the relative cost of living in Uruguay and the US. I am at pains in these discussions to point out we earn more in the States but costs are higher, and I also point out how migrants in low paying jobs hot bunk and live a dozen to an apartment to save money to send home. I always stress how much better their lives will be if they stay home near their families and support network. Then one of them brought up the cost of medical care in the US a subject that shocks foreigners used to free health care. It was an interesting conversation.

Then we drove across town to a shop Layne found that sells lubricants.

Usually I go to Ram/Jeep/Fiat dealers to get the oils and filters I need but in Montevideo Zucchino the service center turned me away saying they don’t sell those products to the public. Uruguayan businesses will do anything not to make a sale. Weird.

But Layne’s find was brilliant beyond my expectations. Not only did they have my rare 5W-20 weight oil but also my filter (used in Jeep Wranglers and thus widely available) but they also had the special OAT (organic acid technology) coolant required for the aluminum Pentastar engine. I was delighted and prices were inline with what I’m used to, about ten bucks a liter. I was happy.

Here’s the kicker: he also can make me a new air filter for me when I need one. The Promaster uses a special air filter I have not found for sale outside the US but this guy has a machine that molds air filters from any shape. Bring him the old one and he’ll make a replacement, he says. Amazing.

Now I have a source for the filters, I’ll be back next year after our planned dusty drive through Patagonia.

I dropped Layne off in a rather attractive pedestrian zone to meet Julia and took off up the coast looking for somewhere to park.

I happened upon a green space as I drove toward my favorite beach areas.

Note the light traffic, typical of Uruguay land of regular gas at $8:46 a gallon.

Parque Rodó is named for a writer apparently, not for a soldier or an Admiral or a battle. It’s the kind of place I would happily park for the night on my next visit to Uruguay.

Rusty loved it, walking indefatigably all over the place, and I was delighted to see him so energetic. There was a statue in the park of course, but in this Uruguayan case celebrating… a teacher. A woman teacher from 1938.

It’s a 100 acre park and we only walked a bit of it but I’d like to go back.

Dogs are welcome but they also have an off leash area of no interest to my elderly frail misanthropic dog.

Layne and Julia showed up in an Uber and we said good by. We had a 90 minute drive back to Colonia Valdense to get our rehabilitated cabin heater reinstalled.

Don’t leave home without your maté gear (above).

Beware farm equipment. On the freeway.

We got to our wild camp spot a couple of miles from Adrian’s shop well before dark.

Scrambled eggs and matzoh that I brought back from the Key Largo Publix just last week. Flavors from home.

Julia In Montevideo

2026-10-06T02:00:00.000-04:00

We first met Julia in Chile where she was traveling with her husband Konstantin in a Sprinter van from Seattle.

We chased penguins with them in Argentina and crossed Andean mountain passes together.

They went home and Konstantin got his dream job working as an RV mechanic but Julia wanted to travel so they split and she’s in Uruguay with temporary residence, checking the country out. So we met for lunch.

She traveled with two cats who hated each other (!) and she now lives with one while the other is happy in Seattle. But she understands Rusty’s needs and she got us a restaurant where he was welcome.

He wasn’t alone. Uruguayans love their dogs and this is not a country littered with strays.

We had fish for lunch, cod which I love, as does Julia which was a great score for us.

Layne had paella which wasn’t as good, overcooked seafood and no crusty rice on the bottom. A bit so-so.

We talked about our plans to circle Patagonia one more time with the expectation we’d come back next year to check up on her. She’s renting an apartment in a nice neighborhood, one bedroom unfurnished for $750 a month but she has to buy her own water heater for the shower, and her own fridge. The internet provider took four visits to get her hooked up with the building’s electrical system…so we all agreed we miss the customer service ethic in the States.

We had a strangely grainy flan for dessert with delicious smooth dulce de leche caramel sauce. Rusty wanted a walk and the women wanted to talk.

It turns out Julia wanted a hand checking out water heaters at SODIMAC the hardware chain found in Chile and Argentina as well as Uruguay. What does this place remind you of?

Randomly some items are marked in dollars not pesos. The exchange rate has been fixed at 40 to one for years so why appliances are sold in dollars baffles me.

However I have never seen wine for sale at Home Depot:

I opted out at some point and found a chair in the camping section so I retired to the adventures of the Scarlet Pimpernel. Lady Blakeney has figured out her husband’s secret identity and is hot footing it to France to warn him of danger.

I took the selfie after I got the WhatsApp text recalling me to duty.

Then I joined Rusty for a nap aboard GANNET2 in the parking lot as the bankers went off to shop at the Fresh Market supermarket in the mall. To her credit Layne scored a large bottle of sriracha which I had tried to bring from Florida but which TSA said had to be ditched.

Layne and Julia made plans to have an Indian lunch and tour the Japanese garden together giving Rusty and I some time alone which you know we need.

Montevideo waterfront.

Julia took an Uber home and we went down the coast to a wild camp on Solymar beach we had visited previously

It’s listed on iOverlander and it was simple to get there but I was too cavalier and drive interesting my pants and overshot. Team Lost in action of course.

There were a few cars there before sunset. A recycled vegetable oil diesel powered camper pickup truck:

And a desperately cute Labrador with his maté sipping owners:

Rusty wasn’t interested in a beach walk as it was dinner time. I am his servant of course and Layne too. I stretched my phone camera’s telephoto to capture some island on the River Plate.

They reminded me of Mississippi’s Gulf Islands that I visited by sailboat decades ago.

And we were surprised to get some extraordinarily good news from Adrián. Our cabin heater has been serviced and cleaned and is working perfectly. It will be in his shop ready to install by Wednesday. We are delighted and plan to be back on Wednesday. Thus next week we may be in Paraguay getting our cooling system replaced as the parts have long since arrived at the mechanic’s shop and they are waiting for us.

We are hoping to have a stretch of time with no mechanical interventions as GANNET2 seems to be healthy despite 135,000 very hard miles. We are also very happy with our electrical system with big solar panels and the engine charging systems keeping us in power. The shore power system has been trouble free so far and we can at last plug in and forget it at a campground. We’re looking forward to an austral summer of exploration maybe including at last Bolivia. Measles some pictures from Uruguay:

This gas station attendant got in conversation with me when I said how expensive Uruguay is. He said he was okay with it, he has a car, a home, internet access ( he has a second job online) and life is pretty good. I thought that was a hell of an endorsement.

Citroen Jumpers being delivered. They are one of the diesel variants on which the Promaster is based.

Sunday Lunch

2026-10-05T02:00:00.000-04:00

We awoke Sunday morning to a brisk 50 degrees and bright spring sunshine at our campsite on the bluffs.

We spent an hour zig zagging across country to our lunch date at a winery we visited on our last trip in Uruguay. Layne had discovered they were having a lamb luncheon on Sunday afternoon so off we went… .

As we drove they were getting lunch grilled…

The route Google Maps picked zigged and zagged across country from Kiyú to Progresso where the winery is located, an hour’s drive which we did in 80 minutes. From the red dot to the blue, you pick the route…

Narrow back roads all the way.

Grape country.

We knew we were getting close when the back roads became dirt. Oh well.

Lunch was at 12:30 and there were a few of us. But first a tour of the winery by Omar the owner.

Omar:

This is the fourth generation of a Northern Italian family that emigrated here.

The winery opened in 1954 and made massive amounts of wine, 750,000 bottles but Omar wanted to reduce production to make better quality wines.

Lunch was lamb. Empanadas to start.

With a peach and Chardonnay spritzer.

And grilled lamb sausage with root vegetables.

Tannat is the national wine of Uruguay, full bodied and not too dry and tannic I enjoyed the bottomless glass.

Layne fearlessly broke the ice rounding up leftovers for Rusty whom we had left aboard GANNET2.

He was kind of pissed off as he had been enjoying the grounds.

I figured he needed to be penned in while we ate as the dining room was open to the fresh air and it didn’t seem appropriate to have him wander in.

Deserves flan and the conversation turned to what we liked about Uruguay. One guy spoke up saying Uruguay is different as the country supports social advancement. He said in Uruguay a young kid from the countryside can if s/he has the inclination, get free education through university with government support including board and lodging and this change social status. Thats not easy or encouraged in other South American countries. Then he described the completely free health care and no one at the middle class table demurred.

Our lunch with two bottles of wine to go and a chunk of cooked lamb for the fridge came to about one hundred bucks. Thats a very reasonable price in this expensive country.

We needed a nap after all that. Rusty kept watch.

Inevitably all that napping got Rusty exhausted and he asked to go to bed early where he had dinner…kibbles and lamb.

And so to bed.

Tomorrow Montevideo and another lunch and friendship.

A Short Drive

2026-10-04T02:00:00.000-04:00

Playa Kiyú, Uruguay

We awoke to a cold wet drizzly gray Saturday morning in Uruguay so all three of us promptly put our heads down to get a few more minutes refreshing sleep. I don’t know how 14 year old Rusty does it but he goes all night quite comfortably without peeing, twelve hours easily, he must have a bladder of steel so if it’s cold out he curls up next to me and starts snoring as I lie in bed wondering if Lady Blakeney will ever figure out that her husband Lord Percy is actually not a dandy but the dreaded Scarlet Pimpernel, savior of the cream of French society threatened by Madame La Guillotine.

Back to reality of a Saturday morning in cold wet Colonia Valdense, the French travelers blocked the communal toilet so Adrián has been forced to act and called in the builder (and his son) to get an estimate on rebuilding a bigger and better drain pipe.

Meanwhile he’s had to bow to reality and installed a waste basket for toilet paper which is normal across South America where drains can’t cope with toilet paper debris. The only country south of the Rio Grande where you flush toilet paper is Suriname. Go figure.

Rusty excluded from lunch in a house full of cats. Saturday lunch was at two in the afternoon.

José the Spanish businessman with the small dog is in the GAP shirt and the French couple sit next to him. Grilled beef, roasted root vegetables, a Spanish potato omelette confusingly called a tortilla in Spain…

The French lady was a patissier in her former life where she owned a pastry shop in the Savoie region of France near the Italian border. She spoke wistfully of her creations and the mountains and the winter snow which she will look forward to seeing in November when they go home. She produced some superb lemon pies for us:

She is also expecting their first child. I’m guessing travel may no longer be a priority.

I was ready for a nap but we had a date two hours away Sunday so it made sense to get on the road and make some inroads. Driving away on the open road is always a pleasure.

Uruguay has little traffic, no hills to speak off, an orderly tidy unpretentious country you never hear about as there is no drama here, no corruption, the peso has been pegged at 40 to the dollar as long as anyone can remember.

Education is free, as is healthcare, gasoline is $9 a gallon so driving is an expensive pastime, nothing happens, motivation is low in this backwater and energy is not wasted on being speedy or efficient.

For me it is a pleasant break traveling South America but I think it might be too laid back for me to live here permanently.

It is becoming a popular place to retire to, as it’s easy to qualify for residence and you get ten years tax free if you settle here. In an uncertain world Uruguay is far off the path of drug dealers or intercontinental ballistic missiles.

The beach had chosen for the nights in iOverlander, the travelers’ app. It looked promising.

If it didn’t work out there were gas stations nearby for back up places to sleep. We had a place to aim for.

There was a large clearing and we pulled to one side to park for the night. Of three cars there before dark all had left by sunset.

The River Plate looking south toward invisible Argentina.

Rusty got into it and sniffed the whole place out.

Snake warning. Don’t panic. No one has died of snakebite in Uruguay since 1986 which seemed reassuring. This is a popular spot in summer apparently.

A possibly seasonal pizza shack:

“I love N Y C” I think. The beach is down a steep escarpment slippery after rain.

Memories of youth:

We ran our space heater off the batteries which was enough to stay warm till we went to bed.

Total darkness; total silence. On the road again.

Camping Stories

2026-10-03T02:00:00.000-04:00

Our electrical system is at last properly installed with nothing else needed. The batteries are balanced and all is well. Interestingly Adrián discovered our defective battery had been opened, the nuts holding the top plate were loose and he found he could look inside.

Apparently the distributor had found the broken connector on the top black wire and checked to see if it could be replaced easily. Instead they sold it to me, nice people at UY Storage. The famous Timo who runs the well known workshop isn’t getting any more of my business. Unfortunately the heater he sold us has developed a fault which Adrián couldn’t fix because he didn’t want to open the sealed unit.

The fan blows but the igniter doesn’t ignite so it doesn’t heat up which is annoying. He’s packaging it up to send it to the distributor. We ran it at a low temperature for days and the exhaust has carbon build up so I hope it just needs a good cleaning. And we have learned a lesson to heat it on high from time to time.

It turns out it’s a bit of a unicorn, no one drives a gasoline work vehicle or RV in South America so this thing sat on the shelf till we showed up. UY Storage provided it to Adrián but as usual have no interest in helping to fix it, so Adrián is sending it to the importer. We shall see next week I hope, if it can be repaired or just needs a cleaning maybe. We are back to using our 110 volt space heater till then…which is better than nothing.

All of which is annoying but compared to our French neighbors it pales into insignificance. They called Adrián for help from the northernmost tip of Argentina near Iguazu Falls where their expedition truck broke down. Adrián and Maria José (above smiling as always) took a road trip to see what they could do. It was a saga apparently.

Adrián organized a tow back to the Uruguay border which set them back US$6,000…and they traveled for two days inside their truck with the front end up in the air. When we got towed with our broken transmission in Peru we at least spent eight hours level on top of the flat bed.

When they got to the border with Uruguay they had to drop the truck and negotiate with the Uruguayan customs after Adrian called for a new tow truck to get them across the border and to his shop. Then the customs guy refused an entry permit to the broken French truck. Adrián said he got mad and told the tow truck to drop the French expedition truck where it stood. The customs guy protested it would block the road. Not my problem Adrián said if you won’t let him in. In the end they agreed to allow it in and for another US$1500 the expedition truck got towed to Adrian’s shop.

Apparently they had engine trouble in Brazil and the shop that replaced the head in the engine did a bodge repair of the engine block which held up for 500 miles and then blew up by the side of the road. Adrián said they were pretty desperate with no one to help and no one stopping for them at the side of the road. Now they are preparing to go back to France and figure out how to import IVECO parts to rebuild their engine.

We offered the wife a ride to the supermarket which she gratefully accepted. We have been told the American habit of immediately introducing oneself is excessively aggressive so we do it the European way which is not to mention your own name on first acquaintance. I think it’s weird but I go along as there’s no point in freaking them out. I tried speaking French to her husband when we first arrived but he just grunted and withdrew as Rusty and I walked past his rig. Layne, who doesn’t speak French said he was much friendlier when he came to meet his wife and pick up her groceries. I was a bit oblivious as I got the bags out of GANNET2. Then there is José the Spaniard.

According to Adrián he has made his money and is hanging out in South America managing his affairs back home on line. He gets bored and asks Adrián for jobs to do so he got set to work chopping wood.

Instead of living aboard his Mitsubishi camper he occupies the cottage we used to live in and I don’t envy him. I prefer my own bed but he seems happy enough with his little dog always kept on leash as he tends to wander. Oddly enough Rusty has taken a dislike to the youngster and growls menacingly when the dog comes close by. Of course it takes my elderly buddy a while to rise to his feet so there is no real threat but I keep an eye on him.

José’s dog, name unknown, was found in the road by some vacationers who later claimed they came by looking for his owners but nobody was home. José has a tracker on his wandering dog and traced him down to a house on the outskirts of Montevideo, the capital about two hours away. Apparently he showed up on their doorstep at eleven o’clock at night and said: “Can I have my dog back please?”

That’s life at the workshop/campground/storage facility. Saturday afternoon we are supposed to have an asado -a grill out- after which GANNET2 will take off for a drive for a few days until the heater is decoked and ready for use or declared dead…I’m hoping we’ll be back to get it installed again. Meanwhile we’ll enjoy Uruguay as best we can.

Warranty Work

2026-10-02T08:21:48.044-04:00

We have a new battery installed and operating properly and I feel good about that. We have three 180amp Victron lithium batteries and one of them had a broken connector which kept giving us low voltage signals through the inverter, but now with a new connector to the battery monitor we are fully fixed (I think; I hope; I trust).

The screw on connector on the right in the photo was broken from the factory, there were no signs of abuse on it, and the problem is the cable that sends battery information to the system is hard wired into the $1600 battery and cannot be replaced without replacing the battery. Adrián says Victron has acknowledged the weakness of the system and a New Generation installation, as designated by Victron, does away with these clumsy connectors. In the photo below I show the connector attached to the battery monitor:

The right hand screw on connector was the broken one as we discovered in Paraguay but we have it fixed at last. The other issue is the cabin heater which is blowing but not igniting. Adrián contacted his supplier and it looks like we may have to wait for parts or a new heater so we will probably get a few days to tour Uruguay.

By everybody’s account spring is acting weird this year with cold weather persisting far too long. It was suddenly rainy and cold on Thursday with an overnight low of 40 degrees leading to a cold crisp but sunny Friday morning.

We try not to fall into the trap of feeling held back and delayed by these issues, and we still have to overhaul the cooling system in Paraguay where we have sent a bunch of new parts for installation. Reports from the Andes tell of mountain passes still opening and closing due to winter weather. This week the all weather main pass between Mendoza Argentina and Santiago Chile which is built with a tunnel called Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer) has been closed owing to strong winds, snow and fear of avalanches. And that pass rarely closes in mid winter.

So today Friday we will discuss repairs to the much needed cabin heater and if we have to wait for parts we will probably takeoff for a few days to meet a friend in Montevideo and check out parts of Uruguay we quite like. And tomorrow I’ll tell the story of a breakdown and a seven thousand dollar tow for a French truck with a wrecked engine.

That story is enough to keep our self pity in check.