More on Montevideo

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On Friday nights, the youth of Montevideo hit the bars near the Plaza Fuerte. The thumping music, shrieking and singing, revving of motorbikes and squeal of tyres finally subsided around 5 am today.

We've only been here for a couple of days and our impressions are based on experience of just a small part of Montevideo, in and around the Plaza Independencia and the Ciudad Vieja, so they are random and it's hard to draw conclusions. By comparison with the Plaza de Mayo in BA, it feels very different. Directly opposite the Teatro Solis, the imposing opera house, a clutch of men round a bin tear open the knotted plastic bags of discarded takeaway meals and scrape the residue into their mouths. A horse stands compliantly while his driver collects rubbish from the pavement, breaking down cardboard boxes to load them onto his cart. There are no signs of the cafe culture of BA here. In the Plaza Constitucion, the pavement tables belong to Macdonalds, just across the road from Burger King. Incongruously, there are gentlemen's outfitters that wouldn't look out of place in Jermyn Street, with names like Harrington, though so many people are dressed against the cold in fleeces and jeans. There are promises of luxury redevelopment, and a few renovated apartments are to let. Elsewhere, hoardings portray stylish accommodation, but still the buildings are blackened and broken. People are easy-going and courteous; drivers wave pedestrians across at junctions. But there's strain in a lot of faces.

In a bookshop, we buy a work on the British influence in Uruguay, with a chapter on the history of the railways. There are photos of the officers of the Central Railway company, and of one Juan Cat. The writer's name indicates that he may be the engineer whose phone number we were given yesterday.

The Mercado del Puerte is full of life at lunchtime today. The old covered market, with its wrought iron structure, now houses mostly parillas, each with a bar and table seating. Fires blaze in grates at the waiters' backs. We sit on stools at a marble counter, surrounded by chatting diners of all ages. The shelves are stocked with Tannat, a local wine, and Johnny Walker Red Label. There's frenetic activity as the waiters shuttle between the chefs and the customers, delivering grilled meat, sausages, seafood and molten mozzarella on the outward journey, gathering up and washing glasses and crockery on the return. A guitar trio moves from restaurant to restaurant, singing to small groups and collecting tips. They greet the regular on our right, who buys them a carafe of red wine. This is a vibrant, thrilling place to pass a Saturday lunchtime.

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