Fate, sealed

Watching the seals on the rocks is endlessly fascinating. They quarrel and screech at each other, jostling for basking positions and routes into the waves. A disagreement between two sets off a chain reaction of shrieking, chuntering and mithering as successive animals are displaced and move around the rocks looking for somewhere new to flop down. I'm not talking about fights between the huge males as I haven't witnessed these, and they would be devastating, bloody encounters. They are often how many smaller animals in the vicinity get crushed to death.

The aggressive indignant guarding of two square metres of uncomfortable rock (even if a seal has only occupied it for 30 seconds) must serve some purpose in breeding, maintaining status or feeding, but I haven't identified it. It seems to be an unnecessary waste of energy. Although there are other clear examples across the animal world of intra-species competition and guarding against incomers when all could in fact live happily on a piece of rock. The tendency to exclude outsiders has perhaps been entrenched in many mammals since a time when the seal had the most advanced brain in the animal world.

As I watched I urged the seals to get their act together and bask together harmoniously, before realising they're a lot more inept on land than in water. Through natural causes, many die especially when they're aggregated in great numbers during the breeding season. The stench renders them unmissable on the beach.

It was a fun ride back through the dunes to the main highway. The pine vegetation is picturesque against the sand and I saw a burrowing owl, looking bemused as a huge buggy full of whooping beachgoers roared past. I was in prime position atop the buggy, and until that moment had thought the tan was developing rather nicely. There's nothing like being seated in a row of beautiful Argentinian chicas and their perfect coffee-coloured tans to jolt you back to lobster-like reality.

Last night it struck me that I hadn't gorged on ice cream during this trip, and I resolved to change this. At the bus station connecting back to Montevideo I spotted an ice cream stall and headed over, ascertaining that their grande consisted of dos bolas (two scoops). I am not someone who is ever daunted by vast volumes of ice cream. I can't understand it when people feel suicidal after eating a whole pot of Ben and Jerrys. However, THIS was like nothing I'd experienced. Each 'scoop' was akin to a two-litre tub and my effort to reduce waste by choosing cone over cup was voided by the sheer weight of ice cream that had to be supported by a large polystyrene tray. This spanned the width of both of my thighs (no mean feat; I should have pursued rugby) and took an age to eat.

Back in Montevideo's main bus terminal, there was a several-hour wait before the next leg of my journey. Despite what I said a few days ago about conceding to slightly more comfort than in backpacking days of yore, I haven't quite broken free of the budget traveller mentality shackles. These have forced me to travel through the night by bus and ferry to reach Buenos Aires, and avoid a night's accommodation cost. I'll appreciate these skinflint moments when counting my shekels in later life.

To occupy myself I ate a huge plate of salchichas y papas (sausages and fries), imbibed caffeine (coffee and coke) to stay awake and sourced a Buenos Aires travel guide from a bookstore. It's in Spanish, so that should lead to some comical escapades over the next few days.

Uruguay is not a difficult place to travel although Spanish language skills are very handy. The bus scheduling is accurate and reliable, security guards give helpful directions and people at counters will be patient with your Spanglish and print things out for you when you bleat about the online ticketing system not working.

Yes, Uruguay provides a good level of obscurity without straying into the scrapes and adventures I've landed in elsewhere.