An Afternoon Breakdown in Brazil
We debated whether it was worth trying to shop at the border town of Chuy. A few previous travellers said they’d been searched and we didn’t want to buy stuff cheaply only to have it taken away. On the other hand, any chance to get cheaper groceries shouldn’t be sniffed at. We decided that as the road we needed happened to also be the border itself, we’d go and have a look.
It was a short 15-minute drive to reach the town and we said our goodbyes to Mark and Liesbet before heading off shortly before midday on a cloudy Monday. As we approached the town, we saw the immigration buildings to the side but it seemed that the entire town was ‘duty free’. There was no mandatory checkpoint here or any restriction on crossing over the street into Brazil. It seemed that all the bigger supermarkets were located just a block over on the Brazilian side and so we drove around in search of parking.
We ended up finding a spot just outside a garage for kombis, funnily enough. It wasn’t the biggest space and so I attempted to parallel park. Just as I was about finished wrestling the car in, someone came over and told us we couldn’t park there. I mean, we could, but they didn’t want us to. Then Ruby made the executive decision for us. As I went to move the wheel again, there was a nasty grinding noise and the steering wheel spun. The road wheels remained firmly in place. That settled it, we weren’t moving. We shrugged an apology at the guy, sorry not sorry. We had bigger problems it seemed.
It didn’t take long for a whole load of people to descend. The guys from the garage all came over, about five of them. I had already poked my head underneath and found the problem. They were also trying to help. They brought tools and had animated conversations at the front of the van. I tried to explain that we knew what the problem was, we just needed a local metal workshop. They didn’t speak Spanish and I didn’t speak Portuguese. In the end they left, not very happy that they hadn’t been allowed to help, but I was past letting a few bruised egos change my mind about letting anyone touch Ruby.
We pulled off the offending part: the brand new steering coupler we had only fitted a week or so ago. Unlike its predecessor, it fits to the box with splines alone. While there is a pinch bolt, it’s offset further and does not act as a locator to the steering box shaft. The splines had stripped on ours. Having stuck our heads under the nearby Brazilian bay on the street, we confirmed that the two systems were not the same and that trying the local parts shop would be pointless.
Before we could hit the streets looking for a workshop, we decided to go and do our shopping. The reason we had come here in the first place. It was lunchtime and so it seemed like the best way to kill an hour. We delighted in stocking up on cheap cat food and coffee in the local supermarket, then got distracted by a duty-free alcohol shop. Much to Lee’s delight they had a bottle of Laphroaig for just £30, however his dreams came crashing down when the card machine wasn’t working. No nice whisky today, I guess we hadn’t earned it yet after all.
We dropped our shopping off at Ruby and then headed further into the Brazilian side of the city in search of a metal workshop that could re-drill the coupler and move the bolt over a few millimetres, which would allow it to grip the box shaft again. The one we’d seen on the Uruguayan side was shut and so we were forced to brave the language barrier and head over to the other side.
We did find one guy, his legs sticking out from underneath the current project he was working on. Happily, he spoke Spanish. He understood the problem and the solution, but he was busy. He told us he couldn’t do it until tomorrow morning. Instead, he pointed us in the direction of another shop located back on the Uruguayan side of the border. We were happy enough to walk back into the Spanish-speaking side and try to find this other workshop now we had some directions. As ever, places like this are found by stumbling across them in the street or through word of mouth.
The little shop we found was open and had some rather promising-looking lathes near the door. We chatted to the owner, explaining the problem. He nodded gravely and asked us if we were able to buy a new part if this one went wrong. That was a pretty considerate question, I thought. After I explained to him that there was no pressure, but this was really our only option, he set to work with all due care.
In the meantime, Lee went to find a cashpoint while I hung around by the door. After a while he returned with cash and Mr Metal Man brought us the adapted part. He had come up with a clever solution. As well as drilling the part wider to move the bolt across, he had also made an eccentric sleeve around the bolt that could be rotated and therefore adjust the amount the bolt moved across. This was a great idea as we weren’t entirely sure how far it needed to go. We headed straight back to Ruby and began to fit our new solution. It took a bit of wiggling and a bit of filing here and there, but after an hour or so our steering was back.
For now, we bid Brazil goodbye and, with still enough daylight remaining to get to a nicer spot for the night, we headed back along the border into the heart of Uruguay again. As breakdowns go, that had been a fairly mild one.
In order to reach our next point of interest in Uruguay, we had to drive a fair distance across country. It may be a small country in comparison to its gigantic neighbours, but it’s still a fair few hours of driving to cross it. The interior is little visited; there’s a lot of farmland and not a lot else. We planned to break up a seven-hour drive into a couple of bite-sized chunks. There were also not a vast selection of nice places to stay and so we decided to head for a decent little riverside spot just outside the town called The Dead Friar (El Fraile Muerto), around three hours away.
The road in sections was slow and pothole-ridden and so, as ever, we were slower than the map suggested. We rolled into the tiny village at the end of the afternoon, stopping at the village shop for a bottle of wine. It was one of those surprising places that, despite its tiny size, sold just about everything and for a good price too. I suppose out here there was really no tourism and so we saw more of the local side of things. With some decent bread as well, we headed to the river.
I was happy we’d chosen a spot beside the water as Aimee had decided to wee on our sofa during the drive. Unfortunately the area seemed to have been subjected to some recent flooding. The fast-flowing water broke over the banks at certain points, a brown raging torrent. While it was clearly not a place to get on top of the laundry, slightly muddy water was preferable to the overpowering stench of cat piss and so I washed everything through and hung all the various pillows out to dry.
It’s surprising the difference going inland a few hours made. On the coast, I could mainly be found in a jacket of some description. The sea breeze was, as ever, a cool one. Here though the temperature must have risen at least ten degrees. The wet sofa cushions soon dried and I considered the prospect of shorts, while actually turning on the fan to cook for the first time in a long while. That night in bed, we stripped the duvet from its cover and slept under just the sheet.
Tomorrow we would continue on to the city of Tacuarembó, where we would once again refuel and stock up on enough groceries to see us out of the country.
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