For many wealthy expatriate and Argentine families, Uruguay’s beaches with their fresh Atlantic breezes, had long been an escape from the oppressive heat and humidity of a Buenos Aires summer.
My mother’s family were no exception, as they used to stay for extended periods at the glitzy beach resort of Punta del Este. ‘Punta’ as it was affectionately called, was variously described at the time as the ‘Hamptons’, the ‘Miami Beach’ or the ‘St Tropez’ of South America. The family’s engineering firm conveniently had a branch office a couple of hours west of there in Montevideo, which in turn was only a short hop on a Sunderland flying boat across the River Plate from Buenos Aires, just enough time to savour a well mixed Martini in the cocktail bar on the upper deck of the aircraft.
This long established connection with Uruguay was fortunate indeed, as when in the late 1940s, life for British residents and their business interests in Argentina descended rapidly from uncomfortable to untenable, under the rapacious regime of Juan and Eva Perón, my grandfather was able to move the family and his business lock stock and barrel to Montevideo.
And now, a half century later my father is staying with us in Buenos Aires, and the two of us have set about exploring these two branches of my mother’s South American roots.
Brought up initially in Hurlingham, a prosperous Anglo Argentine enclave west of the city, in a large mock Tudor villa, which except for its palm tree filled garden would not have looked out of place in one of London’s wealthy suburbs, the social centre of my mother’s family life was the upper crust Polo Club which gave its name to the town. On the day we visited, several club members who I plied with gin and tonics happily reminisced about my mother Jill, her father Ted and his world famous (in Polo circles) friend Luis Lacey, who was her godfather. One of them, an ex-boyfriend from my mother’s schooldays even popped home to fetch a sketch book containing one of her life drawings, which he kindly gave me as a gift.
Later that afternoon we even found ‘Flagstones’, the house where my mother was brought up. On an impulse I rang the bell and told our story to the relaxed and friendly Swedish family who were renting the place and who were more than happy to show us around.
More discoveries are to come as this morning my father and I have caught the early Buquebus ferry across the River Plate to Montevideo. Stopping first at the impressive Art Deco Yacht Club where Ted kept the family’s boat, we sat down at a counter with a couple of bottles of Quilmes, and large helpings of that Uruguayan and Argentine staple Milanesa, in the nearby Mercado del Puerto for lunch.
Chicken Milanesa with Lemon and Garlic Herb Butter: Serves Four
Beef is the meat of choice in Argentine and Uruguayan Milanesas, but the quality is so superb that it seems like a travesty to coat it in breadcrumbs.
3 halved chicken breasts, sliced into three vertically and pounded until they are quite thin, then floured, dipped in egg, crumbed and pan- fried.
Lemon, garlic and herb butter
1/4 cup each, chives and flat leaf parsley, finely chopped
4 oz butter, softened
2 tbsp thyme, finely chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 lemon, juice and zest
Combine the softened butter with the herbs and season to taste. This can be done before you crumb and cook the chicken pieces. When all the pieces are cooked, heat the herb butter until melted. Turn the heat off and add the lemon juice and zest. Serve drizzled over the chicken.
Ahead of us lies a whole afternoon and evening of other emotionally charged discoveries around the city as we search for my grandparents’ old apartment building and the office of the engineering firm, which bizarrely after all this time, is still listed in the city’s phone directory.
Sadly, Uruguay’s economic miracle, built on its exports of beef, wool and leather to the Allied armies peaked during the immediate post war period. The nation’s soccer team, the other national barometer of success, won their second World Cup in 1950 beating host nation Brazil in the Maracanã stadium in Rio de Janeiro, a victory so surprising that many of the home side’s supporters had to be treated for shock after the game.
By the early 1960s, the economic and political chaos in Argentina had well and truly spread across the river to Uruguay, where the Marxist Leninist Tupamaro Movement were robbing banks, gun clubs and businesses, and distributing food and money to the Montevideo poor.
Fearing for their safety, my grandparents were forced to make yet another move- this time from Uruguay to England, where they lived out their years close to our family home.
The days of Sunderlands and Pan Am Clippers were really a golden age. I still plan on taking my Russian wife, who loves Salsa, to Buenos Aires for a week at tango school, followed by a week in the Pampas learning to be gauchos at a riding school.
So little is written and shown about Uruguay apart from their great football prowess. This makes it more intriguing and much more fun to explore. I’ve lost my bucket so I’ll put it on my paper list.