Piriápolis, Uruguay: A Mystical Seaside Destination

Piriápolis Uruguay | BCBusiness
Real estate baron Francisco Piria bought 7000 acres in 1890 to build Piriápolis, a utopian city based on Kabbalah.

Feeling the vibrations in Piriápolis, Uruguay’s mystical seaside town.

Carlos Rodriguez sees dead people. “I’m more in the next world than this one,” says Rodriguez, a mystical tour guide in Uruguay’s quirkiest beach town, the new-age Piriápolis. A diminutive South American country of three million wedged between Brazil and Argentina, Uruguay remains largely untouristed, nonglobalized and, in the best sense of the word, odd.

Take Piriápolis: set on a sandy coast one hour outside the capital city of Montevideo, it’s a fairly unassuming seaside town at first blush – leafy lanes, boardwalks and the like. But under its suburban exterior are enough dark legends and Byzantine conspiracy theories to fill a Dan Brown novel.

It all started in 1890, when local real estate baron Francisco Piria bought 7,000 acres of undeveloped coastline in pursuit of his twin dreams: to make a load of money selling vacation homes and to build a utopian city based on Kabbalah, the mystical set of Jewish beliefs.

“Piria built his city around the spots where magnetic vibrations were strongest,” Rodriguez explains. We’re standing at a scenic overlook high above Piriápolis, joined by a busload of open-minded travellers from as far away as Spain. Some sway rhythmically, overcome by the good vibes.

I don’t feel it. Still, the town spread below is uncannily charming. A regal stone boardwalk winds along the waterfront, past the grand old Argentino Hotel (once among South America’s largest) and aging Edwardian mansions. When their sunset séance begins, I part ways with Rodriguez and my mystical friends.

Back down on the boardwalk, local fishermen are hawking the day’s catch from wooden stands. A couple of rustic seafood joints sit on cliffs right over the water. I duck into one where the red wine comes in half-litre jugs and the house special – linguini tutto mare – comes with just about everything caught that day: clams, mussels, calamari, octopus and shrimp. Stuffed, I sleep the sleep of the dead that night.

First stop the next morning is the area’s most famous landmark, Piria’s Castle. Rising from farmland outside town, the three-storey castle has medieval turrets and a yawning portico, all frosted a delicate shade of pink. I meet up again with Rodriguez, busy initiating another tour group into Piriápolis occult.

“The castle is built on a fault line,” he says from behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses. “A lot of negative energy converges here.” Inside, we navigate a maze of twisting passages, secret staircases and blind doorways. A set of rickety stairs leads to what appears to be a basement lab.

“Piria was an alchemist,” Rodriguez explains matter-of-factly. “All Kabbalists were.”

It gets weirder. On the way back into town, we pass the ruins of a Gothic-style cathedral that towers nearly 10 storeys above a desolate field. It’s Piria’s masterpiece – never consecrated and left to moulder after construction.

“He built the cathedral to fulfill a prophecy,” Rodriguez begins, relating a dubious yarn involving Hitler, Templar Knights and the Holy Grail, which was supposedly secreted here during the Second World War.

Mystical tour-goers are scribbling down notes, nodding enthusiastically. Rodriguez pans the crowd, his face grimly serious with the weight of this revelation. The sun is setting behind the cathedral, a warm breeze is blowing in from the sea and – if I try really hard – I can feel Piriápolis’ good vibrations. Well, almost.