Drinking Maté in Montevideo

First published in Getaway, May 2023

Montevideanos are obsessed with tea! No, not rooibos, but a bitter concoction called yerba maté (say mah-tay). Picture a business man clutching a thermos under his arm whilst sipping through a silver straw, known as a bombilla, out of a gourd of sorts. Even a march down Agenda 18 de Julio by trade unions had the participants waving banners and flags, clapping hands rhythmically – all this while carrying the ubiquitous flask of hot tea with a smell reminiscent of good ole daggapitjies (of which there was none in sight, I might add). A far cry from toyi-toying, if you ask me.

A mini-Buenos Aires, Montevideo is not, contrary to popular belief. In the Washington Post Montevideo was once described as a “dump” with “worn-out architecture”, as “not out of place in Eastern Europe” and also as “a little spit of a capital city”. Admittedly it is all that, but it’s also a city with wide tree-filled avenues, warm-hearted people, succulent steaks and serious red wine.

Montevideo – the poor man’s Barcelona – is a city that resembles a car museum. Brightly painted jalopies and polished pick-up trucks drive alongside horse carts on the roads of the capital city. An American journalist once remarked: “Too proud to buy affordable new cars from neighbouring countries, too broke to import them from overseas.” What it does is add to the charm of the place and gives it a Cuban feel.

Spending a day at the antique market is a different cup of tea (or maté?) altogether.

Judging by their mustachioed appearance many of the omies could have been Afrikaans uncles. They display the same plattelandse warmth and conviviality. I lost count of how many times I heard “Gracias a chi” – when you thank them, they reply by thanking you instead.

Situated on Plaza Matriz in the Ciudad Vieja (Old Town) the Sunday antique market boasts antique silver, collectable cork screws, elegant carafes and finely cut crystals, once part of French chandeliers from the heyday of Uruguay – straight after World War II many emigrants from Europe came here – for sale.

A live Latin American band tinkled in the background while I wandered from table to table under shady trees casting dappled shadows.

I couldn’t tear myself away when some of the stall holders spontaneously tangoed so I landed up having a late afternoon lunch at a pavement table at La Corte where George Bush had lunch when he visited Montevideo.

Not ready to call it a day I followed it up with a medio y medio, an Uruguayan cocktail made with a combination of dry white wine and sweet sparkling wine, at Café Roldos, a bar-café, trading since 1886 and still a favourite hangout of Montevideanos.

At eleven I trudged home, all my shopping in a large transparent streepsak of sorts, slung over my shoulder a lá Santa Claus.

Going up 18 de Julio at the second last square from my temporary abode, I chanced upon geriatrics tangoing to their hearts’ content – sissie that I am, I watched them with tears streaming down my face.

At the next square there was live music by local artist Rossana Taddei. Much later Santa Clausina was on her way only to be halted in her tracks by a lime green 1950’s Ford resplendent in its restoration.

Cows supposedly outnumber people 4 to 1 in Uruguay. To aid a more equitable distribution of two-legged versus four-legged creatures I took myself off to a non-descript, quirky neighbourhood parrillada (steak house) on a cold, potentially miserable, Friday.

At Euskal Erria I opted for a table at the window overlooking a shiny wet road. Outside there was a soft drizzle. Street lamps reflected a yellowish glow. Horse carts clip-clopped past; occasionally entire families rummaged through dust bins to find anything remotely recyclable.

The most popular cut of beef in Uruguay is vacío, slightly stringy but very juicy. With a carafe of house red it went down a treat.

After a month in this part of South America I hadn’t managed to acquire a taste for yerba maté. I vouched to try one last time.

Sipping the strong, earthy, bitter brew smelling of eucalyptus, trying not to offend the waiter by screwing up my face too much, it dawned upon me.

Montevideo as a destination, and the Montevideanos as a people, resemble the flavor profile of maté. It takes some getting used to, some time to develop a ‘maté palate’.

Meeting Uruguayans as I went about the city also took some getting used to. Although they are friendly and easygoing once you have established some interaction, they come across as rugged individuals with a fairly traditional approach. Life has seldom been easy for them, between a military takeover or two, living in the shadow of a regional superpower like Argentina and economic upheavals over the years*.

Once they get to know you they will go out of their way to make you feel welcome though. And to offer you some of their homebrew.

Whereas you might decide not to acquire the taste of maté, the people of Montevideo inevitably grow on you. Provided you never negatively compare Uruguay to Argentina, or Montevideo to Buenos Aires, even as a joke. Or insult the national football team. It does not go down well.

*Living conditions have improved significantly in Uruguay; from 2006 to 2016 moderate poverty went from 32.5% to 9.4% and extreme poverty from 2.5% to 0.2 %, according to the World Bank. Currently Uruguay has the largest middle class in South America.