Early Morning in Montevideo
Hello, World!
The Golden Hour Cure: A Morning Walk and a Hidden Apothecary in Old Montevideo
Mercado del Puerto - Montevideo
There is a very specific type of magic that exists in a port city before the rest of the world has hit the snooze button.
This morning in Montevideo, I decided to chase that magic. While the city slept, I slipped out of my door just as the sky was turning that bruised purple color right before dawn. The air near the Rio de la Plata was cool, heavy with the scent of brackish water and the faint, industrious diesel smell of the docks.
My walk began at the port. At 6:30 AM, it’s already alive, but quietly so. Crane operators were starting their shifts, and massive container ships sat silhouetted against the brightening horizon. It felt industrial, raw, and strangely peaceful.
But the real draw for me was just across the rambla: Ciudad Vieja—the Old City.
If you love photography, this is your playground. Walking into Ciudad Vieja at this hour felt like stepping onto a movie set where the director hadn’t yet called "Action." The streets were impossibly quiet. The early morning light, that famous "golden hour," began to strike the tops of the buildings, painting the peeling facades of grand Art Deco and colonial architecture in warm amber tones.
I walked for an hour with just my camera for company. I got lost in the details that you miss when the streets are full of people: the intricate ironwork on a balcony, the incredible patina on a heavy wooden door, the way the cobblestones slicked with morning dew reflected the fading streetlights. It was an atmospheric feast, a silent conversation with history.
By 8:00 AM, however, the artist in me was being overtaken by the caffeine addict in me. My stomach was growling, and the hunt for coffee began.
I turned a corner near Plaza Matriz, down one of those narrow, shadowed side streets, and saw a modest sign that looked like it had been there for a century. It didn't scream "trendy cafe." It looked more like a place my grandfather would have gone to buy cough syrup in the 1940s.
I pushed the heavy door open and stopped in my tracks.
It was called, quite literally, La Farmacia Café (The Pharmacy Cafe). Stepping inside was like walking into a time capsule that had been gently hijacked by a modern barista.
The bones of the old apothecary were completely intact. Floor-to-ceiling dark wood shelving lined the walls, packed not with coffee bags, but with antique glass jars bearing handwritten Latin labels for mysterious tinctures and powders. The original marble counter, cool to the touch, was still there, only now it supported a gleaming, state-of-the-art espresso machine instead of a mortar and pestle.
The juxtaposition was brilliant. It smelled of rich roasted beans, but it felt like a place of quiet remedies.
I ordered a cortado and a croissant, taking a seat near the window to watch the city finally start to wake up.
The coffee was exceptional—smooth, strong, and precisely what the morning required. But the croissant was the real surprise. In this city known more for its sweeter, denser medialunas, this was a masterclass in French baking: shatteringly flaky on the outside, impossibly buttery and airy on the inside.
Sitting there, surrounded by the ghosts of old pharmacists and the aroma of fresh espresso, was the perfect end to the morning walk.
If you find yourself in Montevideo, set your alarm. The sleep you lose is worth the atmosphere you gain. And if you find that little pharmacy cafe in the old town, order the croissant. It’s the best prescription for a perfect day.
