Explorations Along the Border

Marilyn, June 26, 2015

After our departure from Estancia Panagea last week, the boys and I met Gene in Tacuarembó and drove straight west into the beautiful setting sun toward Salto, on the Argentinian border. Salto is the second largest city in Uruguay, and sits atop the Guarani Aquifer. From our study of Uruguayan history, the boys and I immediately recognized that the name honors some of the indigenous people of the area. The aquifer, which also extends into Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay, is a hugely important reservoir of fresh water, but has also become a key source of tourism dollars in northern Uruguay. The area around Salto is dotted with termas, or hot "springs." (The water does not really bubble out of the ground like one would expect from a spring, but has been brought to the surface by drilling down into the aquifer.) Municipal hot baths and resort towns have sprung up and provide a great vacation destination in the winter months.

We had reservations at one of the many hotels surrounding the Termas del Daymán, just south of Salto. Although this was a holiday weekend, honoring the birthday of founding father José Artigas, the hotel was not crowded when we arrived. We had a pasta dinner in the dining room, served by a very friendly waitress, and then the boys and I snuggled down for a game of Monopoly on their iPad.

The next morning, Gene had to do a bit of convincing before the rest of us were ready to put on our swimsuits and venture out into the cold. My back was hurting quite a bit, and the thought of soaking in a warm pool was inviting enough for me to brave the 50-degree air temperature. We drove to the termas, not knowing quite what to expect, and found that the municipal complex was really quite lovely. It included ten pools, a large playground, a picnic area, and well-tended gardens that even had a few roses hanging on for dear life. Several folks were soaking peacefully in each of the pools, and it occurred to me that this is the perfect vacation spot for Uruguayans, who seem to like nothing more than sitting and chatting to each other while they drink their mate.

I rented myself a moderately warm bathrobe from a nice man named Carlito, and one by one, Gene, the boys, and I mustered up the willpower to strip off the many layers of clothing we had worn over our swimsuits, take a shower at one of the several outdoor shower facilities, and hop into a pool. The water was very warm, and very soothing. We tried out a number of the pools and lazily soaked for as long as we could stand. The last pool we tried was just deep enough to sit in and be about neck-deep in water. It felt great to my aching back, but then I was presented with the problem of getting out, which was impossible for me to do painlessly or gracefully. Feeling like a clumsy cow, I finally managed to lift myself out, hobble over to my bathrobe, and get it on before I embarrassed or froze myself too much.

After hamburgers and ice cream at a local restaurant, the boys and I relaxed at the hotel for the rest of the day while Gene went out and explored the area. He  returned to the termas and visited Carlito, who had some interesting photos displayed in his bathrobe-rental shack. I nursed my sore back and the boys got some much-needed post-estancia rest.

The next day as we started our drive south along the border, I noticed that we would be passing close to a town called San Javier. Its name and its interesting history, which I read about in our guide book, were incentive enough to stop there. Javy has written a bit about it here, and added a few photos, including one of some cool Russian dolls. 

It's that Russian heritage that intrigued me the most about this town. In the early 1900s, my guide book told us, 580 members of a Russian religious sect immigrated at the invitation of the Uruguayan government. Originally a very closed and isolated group, by the middle of the century, they had begun to open up and assimilate a bit. But then during Uruguay's dictatorship, they were persecuted, their books were burned, and some of their members arrested and killed. Today the first immigrant settlers in San Javier are honored at the Founders Plaza, where Teo posed with his bag, in solidarity.

The guide book mentioned that there are also a number of Mennonite communities nearby. Ironically, Mennonite settlers arrived to this Russian community from Prussia in the mid-1900s, fleeing the Russians there. We saw no evidence of Mennonites as we drove through the countryside, but when we stopped for lunch, the little restaurant reminded me a lot of Yoder's Restaurant in Montezuma, Georgia, in the heart of south Georgia's Mennonite community. The jars of homemade jams and the handicrafts that were for sale looked a whole lot like those made by Mennonite hands in Montezuma. 

Photos on loan from the Mueso de los Inmigrantes lined the walls and the industrious farmers they pictured could have easily been Mennonite settlers in Kansas instead of Russian settlers in Uruguay. Oscar Malarov, the restaurant's hospitable proprietor, was eager to explain to me in simple Spanish more about his heritage as he served me my plate of vareniki. The children of the area study Russian in school, he told me, and ties between people here and their relatives still in Russia are slowly being renewed, after long years of virtually no communication during the Soviet era.

As we got back in the car to finish our drive home, I decided it was probably a good thing that we had happened upon this fascinating corner of Uruguay toward the end of our stay in Uruguay rather than at the beginning. Otherwise, I think I would have needed to find the means to return here a few times to learn more about its history, to enjoy Oscar's gracious hospitality, and to try out the campground here on the Rio Uruguay's banks. I like to think that we've done a reasonably thorough job of getting to know this little country, but all I have to do is scratch the surface of each new place, and I see that there is so much more to learn, and so many more good people to learn from.