Chapter 13UruguayMore First World Than the United States?
SIPPING A CAPPUCCINO AT A SMALL TABLE in a shady plaza outside our hotel, we flashed back to days and evenings spent similarly at sidewalk cafés in Europe. Lined by stately nineteenth-century Neoclassical- and Baroque-style buildings with wrought-iron balconies and curtains waving gaily through massive wood-framed windows, this was the perfect perch to contentedly watch the world go by.
On the other side of the famous Avenida 18 de Julio, yet another shady plaza was rimmed with currency exchange outlets, shops selling clothes, housewares, and electronics, and even more sidewalk cafés offering pasta, pizzas, and chivitos—something like a Philly cheesesteak, but piled high with ham, bacon, lettuce, tomato, cheese, and a fried egg, slathered with sauce, and all atop a bed of French fries. Take that, dear arteries!
We ordered more coffee and sat back to savor the moment—no need to rush. As in European cities or neighborhoods of Manhattan or Chicago, whatever is needed or wanted can be had within these 10 square blocks. How absolutely civilized.
We honestly didn’t expect to like Uruguay as much as we did. But the drive ...
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