PRELUDE
With a tired sigh from the engine, the bus jolts forward before pulling off and swinging left at the junction as we weave our way out of the city north towards the highway.
A stream of grey buildings, graffitied and in various states of disrepair, are intermittently broken as a grocery store, pharmacy, veterinary and then a small primary school disrupt up the sequence of residential properties. I take note as a young child dangerously runs ahead of its mother near the side of the road, behind her a faded Heineken sign adorns a crumbling grey wall. The paving slabs they walk on are uneven and broken, above them a chaotic spider web of overhead cables linking up to every building. Life along the side of avenida flickers past my window as we pick up speed.
We're heading back to Sarandi Grande.
The four-hour round trip to Montevideo and back is now a well-worn route of mine. It's been over six months since I first made the trip from the capital up to Sarandi Grande. I'd never assumed when managing in South America first became a distinct possibility that the setting would be a small rural farming town. But then, very little of how I envisaged football management in South American bore true.
With a tired sigh from the engine, the bus jolts forward before pulling off and swinging left at the junction as we weave our way out of the city north towards the highway.
A stream of grey buildings, graffitied and in various states of disrepair, are intermittently broken as a grocery store, pharmacy, veterinary and then a small primary school disrupt up the sequence of residential properties. I take note as a young child dangerously runs ahead of its mother near the side of the road, behind her a faded Heineken sign adorns a crumbling grey wall. The paving slabs they walk on are uneven and broken, above them a chaotic spider web of overhead cables linking up to every building. Life along the side of avenida flickers past my window as we pick up speed.
We're heading back to Sarandi Grande.
The four-hour round trip to Montevideo and back is now a well-worn route of mine. It's been over six months since I first made the trip from the capital up to Sarandi Grande. I'd never assumed when managing in South America first became a distinct possibility that the setting would be a small rural farming town. But then, very little of how I envisaged football management in South American bore true.