Unplugging in a beach paradise

As I stood clueless in the patch of sand that is Cabo Polonio's downtown, a local provided directions to my hotel that were perfect for a Uruguayan beach village lacking conventional electricity and roads.

"Keep heading up the path and make a right at the boats on the beach and follow the ocean," said Santiago Pereda, an American-Uruguayan English teacher.

The 15-room Perla del Cabo was built more than 40 years ago by fishermen. Waves lap its porch, where dining tables mingle with hammocks. Rooms range between $80 and $200.

During my Uruguay visits over the years, I had heard rumors of this tranquil, carefree, dune-rich town and decided to see it for myself. At the hotel, I met Jaclyn Balkan, a Fordham University graduate student, and her boyfriend, banker Chris Brown, who said they had learned of Cabo Polonio from Uruguayan friends.

"There's a sensation of discovery when you stumble upon a place like this," Brown said. Balkan enjoyed the roar of the ocean just a few feet from her window.

There are a few Uruguayan beach villages like this that retain an almost unspoiled character. They tend to attract the young and bohemian, along with Montevideo residents seeking to disconnect from modern life on vacation. Yet there are always threats to Eden, as the word gets out and developers smell profit.

A hippie vibe

The village's one-story buildings are strewn along sandy paths within a national park. Strict development and environmental rules protect the miles of sand dunes surrounding the town. Solar panels and generators provide intermittent electricity, while at night the beam of an 1881 lighthouse offers the moon and stars a little competition.

The coast of Uruguay, rough with shoals and rocks, was a danger for shipping in the 1800s. Today, that same seacoast is a boon to surfers.

Pereda, 25, uses the town as an escape from Montevideo as often as possible, and saves money by fishing and gathering mussels off the rocks for dinner. He epitomizes the town's hippie atmosphere.

"It's so stressful, the real world," he said. Here he has "no electrical plugs, so no computer, and no cell phone." Increasingly, though, he sees more visitors.

"Three years ago, there was almost no one here. There were only Uruguayans," Pereda said. Now, "walk down the street and you hear different languages."

A less isolated Rocha town is Punta del Diablo. While it isn't environmentally protected like Cabo Polonio, its development size is restricted. The town is famous for thatch-roofed A-frame Hansel and Gretel houses, built by fisherman to rent to vacationers. Fishermen's boats and stalls where they sell their catch remain the shoreline's most prominent feature.

I stayed at Nativos, a 10-room hotel and restaurant that opened in 2008. It's really an overgrown log cabin, and it gave me a feeling of summer camp for adults.

The owner, Eduardo Vigliola, said about 10 percent of his guests are North American. "They like it because it's virgin, it's different from Punta del Este," he said. Still, he worries about overdevelopment.

"Punta del Diablo is changing so fast," he said.

I heard that theme again from Martin Abasto, of Buenos Aires, whom I met one afternoon on the beach where he had come to surf with friends.

Punta del Diablo's growing popularity is often attributed to the El Diablo Tranquilo Hostel and Playa Suites, two dorm-style complexes opened in 2007 by 28-year-old Wisconsinite Brian Meissner.

I told him that virtually every young non-South American I met was staying with him. Yet Meissner also worries. He points out boxy developments strewn throughout the town.

A construction boom might be on, but nature still abounds. Vigliola took me to a nearby ecological zone called Laguna Negra with an astounding array of avian wildlife: owls, falcons, parrots and the ostrich-like nandu.

My last day in Rocha was spent in La Paloma, a resort with a lighthouse, surfers, but also pizzerias, retailers and even a condominium high-rise. No fishermen, no hippies, and I couldn't see the stars.