Uruguay

"The summer season is ridiculously short," despaired Steven Chew, as our Buquebus ferry bounced across the River Plate towards Montevideo. "Just 15 days starting from 27 December. Blink and you'll miss it. We'll witness the aftermath. Note the air of desperation as the drinks cabinets run dry. Mind you, for anyone uninterested in the new year party scene, Uruguay is a great place to visit right through to May, especially on the back of a trip to Buenos Aires. It's better value, less crowded, less hyped and altogether more relaxing than Argentina."

Chew, 34, from England, is a most agreeable Latin American guide. He has been composing bespoke holidays here for 14 years. Thanks to his connections, doors that ordinarily remain shut fly open, which, in a closed society like Uruguay, is exactly the knack one needs. I hoped to harvest his expertise.

"What exactly does one do in Uruguay?" I asked.

"If you need to ask, you probably shouldn't go," he winced. "It is a source of pride among Uruguayans that their country lacks any world-class attractions. No Iguaçu Falls. No Patagonia. No Andes. But there is something wonderfully old-fashioned about Uruguay, and so beautifully uncomplicated."

Uruguayans and Argentines are close River Plate cousins. They look and speak the same, but differ widely in outlook. Uruguayans are so conservative, patient, low-key and unconventionally Latino, that they could almost be Scandinavian. Argentines, on the other hand, are self-conscious and fashion-conscious sophisticates. "Argentines look down on Uruguayans like the British denigrated the Spanish in the 1970s," said Chew. "They consider Uruguayans slow, dithering and backward in every sense."

First impressions of Montevideo: craggy, tumbledown, faded, crumbling, leafy and reminiscent of the eastern bloc circa 1965. The clocks are one hour ahead of Buenos Aires, but in every other respect this city is 50 years behind, basking in the glories of its shipping and offshore-banking heyday. Hillman Imps with 500,000 kilometres on the clock jostle with Austin Healeys.

Having thrown cursory glances at Montevideo's cultural gems (the Mercado del Puerto, the dilapidated Beaux-Arts architecture, the magnificently restored Teatro Solis and the museum dedicated to Joaquin Torres Garcia - the painter and sculptor who introduced Constructivism to Latin America), we set off by non-Imp car eastwards along the River Plate to take possession of the Uruguayan Riviera.

Uruguay is easy driving country. It has a population of around three million, most of whom inhabit Montevideo, leaving the countryside virtually empty. Yet I found it hard to believe, as we sped past concrete shacks with heavily cannibalised motors standing on bricks in front gardens, that Uruguay has won the soccer World Cup twice.

Two hours later, the new-build river-view apartment blocks of Punta del Este came into sight. Reputedly a hedonistic sandpit for rich Porteños (natives of Buenos Aires) and Brazilians with millions who come here for the beaches, the security and the friendly welcome, this former resort was once favoured by the Rat Pack, Brigitte Bardot, Gina Lollabrigida, Yul Brynner and Che Guevara. Today it is the gentrified holiday/weekend spot for well-scrubbed nuclear families. It's worth crossing the River Plate for, but not the Atlantic. What has spun off from "Punta" to the east, however, at the villages of La Barra and José Ignacio which overlook that point where the River Plate turns into the Atlantic, is far more compelling and sophisticated.

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