Adios Uruguay, Hello United States

I have spent the last six days in the southern hemisphere, and now I am in Montevideo Carrasco International Airport -- ready to be home, but not at all ready to get on that plane for the 16-hour, 2-leg jaunt that is required to get there. Since I only really mentioned the tournament before, I figured I'd kill some time and reflect a little bit while running you through my trip from bow to stern.

The story of my Uruguayan adventure actually picks up somewhere over northern Brazil, where we find Eric peacefully dozing in and out of a mild sleep. I am in the aisle seat next to a Hispanic gentleman who is sleeping soundly, and in between dreamlets I feel a tap on my shoulder. I open my eyes, and the person standing above me, I would soon learn, was a poker player named Andy Altmeyer.

Andy was flying with EPT San Remo champion Jason Mercier, and the two of them were carrying a good bit of cash between them, which was about to become a problem. International customs requires passengers to declare any amount of money over $10,000, but from what I understand, the flight attendants on the plane told Andy and Jason that it might not be a good idea to declare large amounts of money, citing a number of very logical scenarios. So Andy walked around the plane, using his people-reading skills to pluck fellow poker players out of the lineup and ask if we could each help the situation by bringing some of their cash into the country. I had a little less than $2,500 on me, so I took $7,500 for them, capping out my $10K undeclared limit. For people who make a living lying and stealing at the table, poker players are generally extremely trusting about money exchanges like this. So, a few of us on board helped the two gents out, and all the money was safely and promptly returned to them once we hit the ground in Uruguay.

Jason Mercier

Andy Altmeyer

Since they were headed to the same place as me, I ended up sharing the 90-minute ride with Jason and Andy from the airport here in Montevideo to the beach-side resort town of Punta del Este -- or more specifically, La Barra. We were also joined by two Icelandic players who were good for a laugh. I was navigating, and we only got lost once on the way to the hotel. When we did get lost, we had our first encounter with the local folk, and I was duly impressed. We stopped in front of a house just outside of Punta del Este on some twisty neighborhood street because we saw a guy doing work in his yard. The five of us combined our broken Spanish skills to ask him for a little guidance. He spoke no English whatsoever, but he proceeded to spend the next five minutes giving us turn by turn instructions and making sure we understood what he meant. Pleasant fellow.

“Mantenga el mar a la derecha,” he said -- “Keep the ocean on the right.” We did as he instructed, and in a few minutes' time we were back on track, aiming for the skyline of our destination ahead.

Punta del Este is surrounded on three sides by the ocean, and it is referred to as the South Beach of South America. All along the coastline, there are high-rise hotels and condos. There is also a big shopping district on the interior of the peninsula. There is one big difference though. Miami is open all year.

Not so much with Punta. Now that it's winter in the bottom hemisphere, pretty much the only living creatures inhabiting the city are construction crews and stray dogs. Punta del Este has a population of about 10,000 residents, and that number might even be a bit generous during the winter. During the summer though, there are upwards of 1,000,000 people there at any given time. From what I read and hear, it is the premier summer vacation destination for wealthy cocaine tycoons and their mistresses from October to March. Boo for going there in August.

Whose idea was this?

Once you cross the stomach-churning bridge into La Barra though, things look different. It is pretty much comprised of one long road that parallels the beach, with an alternating mix of real estate offices, small restaurants and shops, and small unkempt houses. About 4 kilometers down the road is the turn off for the Mantra Resort Spa Casino, where I stayed for the duration of my trip. The Mantra is recognized as one of the top 80 hotels in the world -- which, I'm assuming, means it's #80-ish. But anyways, it was a damn fine place to stay, with heavenly rooms and magnificent service from the entire staff. I'm not used to that sort of pampering, but I was able to adjust to it rather quickly. The hotel includes one super fancy-schmancy restaurant, one regularly-fancy restaurant, a wine bar, and a snack lounge in the lobby area, where I spent a good bit of my down time. They also serve afternoon tea there in the lounge. How quaint. The property possesses a pool, a casino, a world-class spa, a movie theater, outdoor shops, an outdoor banquet area, tennis and volleyball courts, and apparently miles of forest trails where one can take a guided small or large game hunting trip, if they were so inclined. All of that crammed into what I would call a "small" hotel. It was only three stories tall and I would guess it has about 120 rooms. Really an incredible place. I can't say enough about the staff; they were unbelievably accommodating. So, PokerStars put me up there for five nights, and then I paid for one night of my own after the tournament was over. More on that in a bit.

On the tournament days, I'd wake up at 9:30 or so and hop in the shower. By the time I got out and dried off all my 2,001 body parts, there'd be a knock at the door with my breakfast, which I had ordered the night before using a handy door tag menu thingy. Perfectly-scrambled eggs, amazing fresh fruit, and the best coffee and orange juice I've ever tasted. When I finished chowing down, I'd walk from the hotel area across the courtyard over to the Mantra Plaza -- where the casino and whatnot were located -- to begin setting up to cover the tournament for the day. The tournament wasn't actually held in the casino; it was downstairs in an open area that is normally used for meetings, small conventions, and the like. I set up in the media room for the first two days, grabbed another cup of coffee, and got things rolling on the blog while servers in well-pressed white shirts rotated in and out with drinks, cookies, pastries, and tea sandwiches. The days seemed to go by relatively fast, and by about midnight, I was out of there and ready for a cold beer and a warm bed. I hung out in the wine bar or the lobby lounge most nights, drinking expensive beer and passing stories back and forth with other media and players.

So the tournament ended on Saturday, and I spent Sunday laying low and catching up on some sleep -- just lazing about in general. Watched some of the Olympics finally, played lots of online poker, had a few cocktails, ya know. Sunday night was the last night I had booked at the Mantra, and my plans after that were open-ended. I was considering taking the ferry to Buenos Aires, Argentina, or else checking out Colonia in Uruguay, which I heard was both historic and modern. Intriguing. Something changed yesterday when I woke up though. I wasn't really in the mood to do much, being all alone, and I didn't want to spend a magnificent amount of money doing whatever I decided to do. Besides, both places were kinda far away, and I didn't have a way to get there in a timely fashion. I flirted with the idea of going home last night, but I decided to make it tonight instead. I snatched a cab back to Punta and rented a car for the day so that I could at least get around and see some of the sights nearby before I bounced. I drove around the beaches and wandered around taking photos. It was great.

I got preoccupied though, and neglected to book a hotel anywhere for that night. I could have gotten one at Mantra again, but I didn't want to drop another $160 really. My flight was scheduled for 10:05pm tonight, so I decided I'd pull a Vegas and just stay up all night. I went back to the lobby at Mantra and loitered for a while. I had about 9 of those delicious cafes con leches to keep me going, and got to work playing online poker at around 7:00pm. A few hours later, PokerStars pro Alexandre Gomes and about a half dozen of his boys came down to the lobby to eat and drink and play online poker as well. We're all the same, us poker players. They were having a good time, and every now and then got rowdy enough to draw good-natured "shush"-es from the gentleman at the front desk.

Alexandre Gomes (right) playing online poker in the lobby

It got to be 5:30am and I was in trouble. I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer, so I debated my options. I either had to drink a few more coffees or I had to sleep somewhere. I was walking back to my car to catch a couple uncomfortable hours of half-reclined shuteye when I decided to drop by my ex-room just for laughs. I slipped my expired key card into the slot in front of room #45, and wouldn't you know the friendly green light blinked at me in cooperation. I already had my apology prepared for the people I was about to wake up inside, but I found the room devoid of life... and bed linens for that matter. Who cares? I flopped onto the naked bed and grabbed at least four good hours of solid sleep. It wasn't much, but it was all I needed to tide me over.

So I woke up about 10:00am, figuring it was a good idea to get out of there before housekeeping found me occupying an unoccupied room. I splashed a little water at my face and bid farewell to Mantra and La Barra. I had to get the rental car to Montevideo before 4:00pm, so I headed back that way. Along the route, I stopped for a few hours in Carrasco, which is pretty a pretty run-down city of old condos and bad drivers. I was actually searching for a shot glass for my dad and a leather something-or-other for my mom. I found the area's market center, a miles-long stretch of indoor and outdoor shops on a street called La Calle Ocho de Octubre. It was populated and full of merchandise, but a lot of it was cheesy and many of the vendors had the same crap. Not a shot glass in sight either. Finally after about two hours and two miles of shopping, I managed to find what I was looking for -- a small shot glass with a Uruguayan flag, tucked between a marijuana-leaf zippo and a statue of the virgin Mary in some little tienda -- so I headed back to my car and got the hell out of there.

That was pretty much the end of my vacation, and I am actually halfway happy that it is coming to a close. I did indeed have a great time. But there are a lot of things about being in a strange place alone that aren't really a whole lot of fun. I speak enough Spanish to get by, but not enough to really converse on a deep level with the locals. The food is mediocre once you leave the friendly confines of a five-diamond resort. The drivers are god-awful and I'm lucky to be alive. The cities are clean, yet dirty at the same time. I'm not vaccinated for hepatitis. Everything is 15 years behind the USA. They still sell Sega Genesis, for example, and their computers still have keyboards that go “ka-clink ka-clink” when you press the keys. They still make carbon copies of your credit card with that machine that rolls over your plastic and copies the numbers onto the paper. They don't sell Marlboro Blue 72's.

I had a damn fantastic time while I was here, and I loved the country. But it's not like being home in the United States of Technology. Voy a salir!