Somebody said Christmas?

A riddle:

How do you know that somebody is well integrated in Argentina?

(Right reply: When their holiday choise is but one: Uruguay.)

(Alternative reply: When they start to live for long weekends.)

And so we hit the road (well, the sky) on December 22. Two "Argentines" + papa & mama Mila.

Zero Christmas feeling in the air.

No roasted duck, just grilled fish.

No snowflakes, just white seagulls.

No Christmas tree, just palm trees.

No woolen cap, just a straw sombrero.

No long sleeves, just a liter of sun bloc lotion on the arms.

No heating, just a lot of air conditioning.

We landed at Montevideo airport and faced the first Latino battle - with AVIS, refusing Mastercard assurance. Mind you, in South America, you're always the looser. No argument counts. No paper. No statute. Just some phantom unwritten rules. But hey, the sun shines, the road is long, don't-worry-be-happy.

The first stop: Piriapolis. Just as surrealist as Fritz Lang's Metropolis. It was Uruguay's first seaside resort. Back in 1890. Mr Piria got dazzled by ... France! Inspired by Biarritz's seafront promenade and by Luis XIV's castles, he decided to build an Uruguayan replica. Smart as he was, he knew that Uruguayan tourism would depend on the masses of frustrated Argentines, tired of the ugly Rio de la Plata and hungry for some blue blue sea. He constructed a 900-room Hotel Argentino, which today seems like a block of lonesome luxury, while Argentine masses sunbathe in Punta del Este.

We followed the trend and set off in the eastwards direction. Punta del Este is a legend. The place to be. The realisation of your ultimate dreams. Lying on its beach gives you the aura of importance. You see and are seen. A bit like Cannes or Antibes. Jewelery and high heels on the beach. Forget flip flops and the desire to relax. Skyscrapers pop up like mushrooms after the rain. Uruguay is getting ready for the high season. In January, Buenos Aires empties up.

Next stop: a much more humble and charming José Ignacio. A "boutique" version of the neighbouring Punta del Este. Small hotels, small restaurants, few people. Much more to our taste. Plus, it has a lighthouse where kind army lets you climb up and enjoy the bird's view. "I feel like coming back," says Tom.

Final destination: Punta del Diablo, where we spend 3 nights (when you live in Argentina, you learn to call a 3-day weekend "holidays"). It's just a stone's throw away from the Brasilian border. No samba and caipi though. Just a lot of wooden huts, peace and calm. It used to be a destination for hippies but now they prefer Cabo Polonio. Normal people like us are welcome. Beaches are long and the waves high.

Mother & son cautiously waiting for the next wave. Watch out!

Popart holidays.

Christmas perspective.

Too many waves, all boats at rest, only frozen fish tonight.

The leftovers of what used to be a hippie destination.

Best Uruguayan architecture in our hands.

Wind & waves.

Christmas dinner. Where's the duck? :)

Last day: After three days of sun and heat, we deserved a splash of rain to cool off. Storms brought out the best colours on the Uruguayan sky, which contrasted with the greenness of the vaaaaaaast meadows. If Brasil is joyful and Argentina chaotic, Uruguay is flat. Very flat. Hardly any 50m hill around. But the cows, ducks and sheep are happy.

A photo stop along the road to Pedrera. Nobody around but a flock of lonesome animals.

Mila Family in full action.

Not a rare feeling in South America: it's you and the world.