+ Click to Enlarge LIVING HISTORY: Suburban Montevideo, home to working relics from Uruguay's rich colonial past.

February 8, 2005
By Mary Milliken

Atlantida, Uruguay - A drive through Uruguay's rolling countryside is like watching a sepia-tinted, slow-motion movie: folk in sleepy towns sip mate tea from gourds and ruminate on a world passing by at a peaceful pace.

Setting the tempo are thousands of vintage cars and trucks that might be in museums elsewhere but here are a mobile testimony to the tiny country's former grandeur.

Models from the 1920's through to the 1950's still trundle along country roads transporting families or farm goods to town but they're now rare in the capital, Montevideo.

The best have been spirited off to high-paying collectors in Europe or neighboring Brazil and Argentina.

As their vintage fleet vanishes, the normally calm Uruguayans are racing after the remnants of their beloved "cachilas" - local slang for old cars - either to make money or simply to hold on to a piece of their past.

"This is twilight for the vintage car," said Miguel Angel Mocotovich, whom many local car buffs consider Uruguay's best car restorer.

"I've bought everything that would give a profit. I have 200 cars, enough for a lifetime of work."

Despite 30 years in the business, the 49-year-old is still amazed that a South American nation of 3.5-million people could have amassed such a grand collection of cars.

Eighty years ago Uruguay, like neighbouring Argentina, was awash in the wealth of wheat and beef exports to Europe. The mostly European immigrant population paid top dollar for their cars, many from their home countries.

"You could find every model of car in Uruguay. Not even Argentina had this kind of variety," Mocotovich said

In the showroom at his country ranch, Mocotovich has an impeccable ivory 1946 Plymouth convertible and a spunky 1942 Fiat Topolino. Behind, in a dark garage, he keeps some of his best finds, such as a 1923 Overland and a rare 1940 Chrysler Imperial convertible.

Out in the backwoods are scores of cars invaded by rust, dust and bugs but waiting for an inspired buyer... a very long 1942 Packard limousine that belonged to the Uruguayan army's high command.

"That would cost a fortune to restore," said Mocotovich. "Maybe $60 000. It had electric windows and a phone."

Fortunes to spend on cars are lacking in these parts after decades of economic decline but that doesn't seem to have dampened locals' deep devotion to their fleet.

"Uruguayans have a great love for their cachilas," said Argentine collector Francisco Molinari, who works in Montevideo.

"I can leave the convertible top down when I go into a restaurant and know no one will touch the car."

Hold on - or sell?

Indeed, beyond the premium car business for the elite, there are plenty of Uruguayans driving, fixing up and trading cachilas of a more modest kind.

Many are torn between holding on to their treasures or selling to the Spanish, the big buyers in Uruguay these days thanks to their buoyant economy.

"I'm taking care of my truck because I want to buy another," said labourer Angel Montes de Oca beside his 60-year-old Fordson. "Maybe I could sell it to a foreigner. Uruguay is exporting a lot."

Grassy lots with dozens of dilapidated cars dot the sides of country roads and highways. Carlos and Cristina Giribaldi are selling a rusting green 1928 Chevrolet convertible with side runners big enough for a sleeping bag for $2 000.

"Put in a battery, some gasoline and they will all run," said Cristina as she pointed at half a dozen models from the 1920's.

But her husband complains about lack of raw material. "We just drove 3 500km all over Uruguay and came home empty-handed," said Carlos. "The Spanish have taken everything."

'People come here amazed'

As the cars slip out of Uruguay, cachila lovers complain that the government is doing nothing to preserve the historic automobiles although it has declared them of national interest.

"The government doesn't even have a museum or place to restore old cars," said restorer Walter Fleitas, who has his collection sitting under the fuselage of an air force plane and a workshop full of spares.

"People come here to visit and are amazed."

Little car museums can also be found behind little doors in Uruguay. Pensioner Julio Hernandez has a tiny garage in his Montevideo home big enough for his 1955 Austin A30 and around 100 pairs of headlights, many from the 1930s, which he sells to restorers.

"Even Germans come here looking," he said.

Mocotovich has decided to build his own vintage car museum since the government has declined to develop one with him.

"They have never been interested. If they wanted to do it today, I'd say no. It's too late." - Reuters