Colonia del Sacramento

Small, old and very quaint. Cobbled streets and the remnants of a walled town. Tourists everywhere but somehow the nooks and crannies shelter them from sight. If only they could silence them too. Some choose golf buggies to get around the tiny town. Those who aren't American or Australian walk instead. The sun beats down, the mosquitoes bite. At dusk, the town gathers by the harbour to watch the sunset. When darkness falls, the restaurants ratchet up their prices a notch or two, and we duly fill them.

Colonia del Sacramento doesn't feel real. I keep expecting a black shirted Yul Brynner to turn a corner and start firing at me with a six-shooter. He doesn't. Don't get me wrong, it is a wonderful, magical place. But somehow, nagging away at me, is this sense that I'm just not in a real place. I'm talking like that's a bad thing but I guess, on reflection, it's probably not. Either way, just an hour from the scrambled chaos of Buenos Aires, it's not a bad place to bury your head in the sand for a day or two, and with sunsets like that, I might even come back.