All posts filed under: Carmelo

The Uruguayan Michael Chiarello and Friends

We considered just apple-c apple-v’ing the entirety of Danielle Pergament’s excellent NYTimes article about the vineyards around Carmelo, but we’re not HuffPo, so. Suffice to say we planned our itinerary based largely on Pergament’s recommendations. Considering what a wonderfully come-hither piece of travel writing it is, we were fairly surprised by the utter lack of tourist activity in the area, at least in March. We visited three vineyards and one olive oil producer during our time in Carmelo; we saw one other group of tourists. All the restaurants we ate at seemed to be open exclusively for us. At dinner the first night, over candlelight and gnocchi in the empty, beautiful restaurant at CampoTinto, we had a glimpse of what our lives would be like if we were Piedmontese duchesses, heirs to an eroded fortune with a single loyal servant named Carolina. Except obviously if Carolina worked for us and not CampoTinto, her uniform would not be a branded polo. Maybe an airy linen smock in charcoal. A+ uniforms at Bodega Narbona, however, another lovely …

3/tres from Carmelo, Uruguay

Scene-setter: Carmelo is a teeny town in Uruguay just over the Río de la Plata from Argentina. Don’t really have an idea of where Uruguay is? Let Homer be of assistance: Pound-the-table recommendation: Rent a scooter somewhere (ours came from Doris, who owns a small shop in Balneario Zagarzazú, but fair warning: it broke down thrice) and drive from Carmelo to the surrounding vineyards on the easy winding country roads. You’ll feel like Easy Rider but, you know, on a shitty scooter instead of a Harley. When you travel for an extended period, life on the road becomes your new normal, and it can be easy to lose perspective. In and among all the booking and planning, you sometimes forget to pause and appreciate the place you’re in presently. But when you do, it’s pretty rad to have that moment of, “Damn, we’re driving a scooter through a tiny wine region in western Uruguay, trees arching over the road like tunnels, and we haven’t seen another car or person for miles.” And then you run …