Four years ago I was visiting Punta del Este for the last time. And I recorded this little video, which functions as a window to the past, to childhood, to all those summers of almost three months long, eternal. It’s an incredible place, difficult to explain what lies beneath the superficial layer of snobbery that almost everyone assigns to it. And it’s even harder to explain what it represents to me. ...
When I was a child, I visited Casapueblo a few times. I didn’t quite understand that somewhat magical place — all white, full of strange sculptures made with gears and metal scraps. Around the same time, during one summer, a mysterious fog appeared when my parents mentioned that the son would be opening a restaurant. I didn’t fully grasp why. I sensed it had something to do with the book about the plane crash in the snow, but it was all part of stories that grown-ups didn’t tell children. Pretending to be distracted while wandering through Casapueblo, I managed to secretly read the back cover at some point. ...