Peatonal Sarandi Times

The walking street of Ciudad Vieja - where I have, more times than less, designated my living room...or at least my patio. When I walk down the street I find myself stopping in a few areas for some mate and conversations - an hour goes by before I realize that I actually was headed somewhere? Fabian (to the right) constantly exchanging ideas with tourists and locals alike, Mr. Payaso (above) playing his flute while also getting a ride out of making kids smile, and Alberto (below) teaching curious children the correct way to roll a cigarrette. What?


Property rights in the States versus here in Uruguay, foundations of Masonic architecture, and a little quick insight into one of the classical music movements (that I can't remember now) have littered the conversations on this street. My friends (now) and people that I have met on this stretch of a few blocks have taught me a little bit about this, a little about that, but also about life in the grander scheme of things. I am not exaggerating.

Montevideo Empanada Investigations Completed

After intensive investigations the results are in: I now have a gut. I like to think that it is due to the firey focus during my mission. But the thought that I like to gorge myself full of these awesome meat-pastries could have its place in the conversation as well. My tally:

#1: La Taberna del Diablo - these guys know how to make dough as if it were made at home by Grandma Empanada Queen. Wow. When I brought one of these to my tutor session for Juan to taste, he immediately shot out, "Esta es como una empanada de casa!" Loosely translates to this-is-the-real-stuff, I think. Kidding. Sort of.

#2-4 in this order: Mafalda, La Riberna, La Barca. I am not going to boringly go through the differences though. I wrote a piece about the empanada hunt, but it hasn't been published (was hoping to add it to this entry, but got impatient so here we are).

Bottomline: empanadas with their varying styles, flavors, and way of being prepared match up to each individuals' tastes in different ways. But take my word for it: if you are ever in an area that serves empanadas, ask for one (al horno, my preference).

Dazed and Confused - Salto, Uruguay

I'm not kidding - I finally arrived to the set of that famed movie Dazed and Confused, but with Spanish dubbing. It was nothing short of impressionable. On a Friday night my friends and I showed up at 12:30 a.m. to a festival-like atmosphere next to the city's river.

The styles of clothing, haircuts, and general milling around of people in an open space out in the country; the 1960-70's cars with the lights left on with groups of friends hanging out listening to music, drinking, smoking, and enjoying the night. It all equalled: where was my Milla Jovavich? The Costa de la Norte of Salto goes off every weekend night.

Kids park their cars and down beers until 3am, until they either enter the disco or remain outside until (a reported) 12 noon. If only we had this place back in States still.

Feliz Navidad in Salto, Uruguay

This would be the third Christmas I have spent abroad. I was once lucky enough to have some family in a nearby town (in England - thanks Jim and fam) for the first international X-mas, and the second time I was in Costa Rica (and again very luckily) surrounded by a beautiful Costa Rican/Colombian family that welcomed me with open arms.

So this year I wasn't too concerned when two weeks before Navidad, I didn't really know where I was headed for the special day. And this non-worry proved valid: I met one of the sweetest, kind, authentic families I have ever met. And to top off the times, I experienced my second Uruguayan asado. This time with sheep meat.

More Mate

Yesterday was a cruel one (read: don't drink 5 bottles of medio y medio and think that the next day will be dandy). But there was one high point - an article of mine was published. Recognize anyone in the first picture?

Mercado del Puerto and Anthony Bourdain

I refused to be sucked in. This is a tourist trap - no other way around it. The prices are jacked sky-high. It's full of tourists and not the real thing. I would rather go to the parillada around the corner that serves up a mean parilla, perhaps even better than I can find in Mercado del Puerto. I am not one of those touristy tourists that fall for this sort of set up.


Well, I ate (literally at times) my words - Mercado del Puerto rocks! Two friends of mine invited me to lunch yesterday around 1 p.m. When we walked in, the place was already jumping. The Port Market is made up of around 10 restaurants with open seating inside of the same building. It makes for a scene out of a movie (or a show, as Anthony Bourdain's timeless TV program was here a few months ago).

But I didn't hear even one other conversation in English (besides ours) - these were all either locals enjoying the Christmas season, or Argentines coming over to spend their Argentine peso and relish the market. Either way, it was brilliant.

After eating cheese soaked on top of some delicious forms of beef (which didn't matter, it was all so good there was no need to check what the cheese was covering), we decided to hit up a bar outside. Mind you, I had my race scheduled for 8 p.m., so I couldn't "live it up". That one lasted for a solid 5 minutes.

Reminiscent of Marti Gras outside of the market, people danced, drank, hugged, said hellos (like our new friends in the picture - notice their bottles in the street) and soon enough the candombe crew with their beautiful Brazilian-like dancer came by. The day was a beauty - as fantastic as I have had in years.






And no, I didn't make the race...but I had no hard feelings - it was well worth it.

Raped by a Uruguyan Taco Last Night

My friends and I were, by six of them actually. The three of us sat down for dinner at La Lupita's in Parque Rodó. The aesthetics were there, complete with outside tables and their Corona chairs on the sidewalk. And the cerviche was good - a bit sweet, but done nicely and enjoyed. I don't eat chips, but my friends enjoyed two baskets while we waited for the appetizers. And this brings us to the Mexican restaurant law I have grown up with (thanks Pops): if the chips in a Mexican restaurant are not up to par, there is no need to order an entree - leave. La Lupita passed this far.

Then came the real test...the tacos. Well, when they came out I was looking for my real entree. If I need to pick up my taco using my thumb and index finger alone, I immediately realize something is off. I realized something was off. Good flavor, but come on, Mexicans eat - give me something to put my hands around. Drinking a few Corona beers that were going for more than $2, ordering some small appetizers, pinching my three tiny tacos and the friends splitting a plate, the bill came out to around $40.

Dude, I am not in the States. That was obnoxious. Even if it is an "ethnic food" here, come on. Luckily though, I have already found my Mexican food haven in a few barrios away...along with the cool chef/owner who lived in Mexico for 12 years. He is the real deal. Here's a picture of Uruguay's real tacos from "El Parrillon".

BROU: Round 2, but with El Abrojo

I spent probably a combined total of 1.5 hours today in two BROU branches off of the main street, 18 de Julio. The goal was simple: to make a deposit. Nothing more. I COULD NOT DO IT. I had to wait in line, with a number on a ticket that was 200 out. I couldn't do it, and I couldn't believe it. Does the bank not want my money? Sure, it was a busy day today, but this left me a bit shakey with BROU and their operation. I will report the search for a new bank, or the repairing of the brutal BROU blasphemy.

Then I waited another 1.5 hours in the Brazilian Embassy (yes, I am going to Brazil for a week in January!!!!!). And Uruguyans being Uruguayans, the people in the embassy office were laughing with (read: at) me and how my number was skipped more than a few times. But enough of the whining, and onto something a bit more interesting.


Last night I went out to a town named Las Piedras. A friend of mine has been volunteering for El Abrojo - a volunteer after school-0day-care-type-joint. The kids were celebrating the end of the year, and it was a complete treat to be surrounded by the happy-go-lucky innocence and curiosity. And I think it happened - I took my favorite photo yet (above). This little girl was mesmerized by my camera, but also with me for some reason. It was a cool experience...with all of the kids at different moments in the evening. More photos to look at are here...just click.

Got to Have Faith - Tres Cruces Shopping

I met this dog two weeks ago. He is by far the ugliest dog I have ever seen. I have been waiting for a good time to introduce him, but it never came up. I can't wait any longer. Now onto what this entry is about.

I am walking through the Tres Cruces mall - it is packed with stores of all sorts, a bus station underneath, and today it held a registration stand for another 10K. I am not a runner. I don't even like running. And I haven't ran more than a block since the last event, which was going to my last here.

But George Michael's voice was belting through the spacious mall, "...gotta have faith-a-faith-a..." etc, and I felt it. What I don't know what got into me, but twenty minutes later I had my Nike tshirt and was registered to run again this Saturday.

No training. I have been smoking a few cigarettes here and there. I have been eating like a starved American. And I made the promise to myself to not run until the race on Saturday. Very curious...we shall see. I call it on the 6K mark that I puke. What a story that would be eh?

Banking in Uruguay - BROU

Banco Republico de Uruguay is the bank to go to here in the country - or so my research has guided me to believe thus far. Its main office is located somewhere there in the picture I took yesterday (from "Cerro" - one of the "mountains" of Uruguay. But this doesn't say much because the highest altitude in the country is somthing like 1,500 feet). And today I finally got an account at the bank.

The process could take a little while, waiting in lines, getting some paperwork in order, and playing the beaucratic (sp?) game. Or you could meet a friend at the bank, have them introduce you to a manager type, then go back into the bank a few weeks later with the manager's name, and presto - you have a bank account with only showing your passport. Good stuff today.

And once again, at a public company, huge office type structure, the people were nothing but overly pleasant to speak with. Except for the lady helping me most of the time who said (in Spanish to her superior in front of me), "A foreigner? He doesn't understand Spanish and this is going to take forever." At this point I told them both not to lose focus just because of my SUPER gringo accent.

El Pueblo de Montevideo

This morning, as every usual Tuesday morning, I went outside to say hi to Rosana (my veggie/fruit friend - that sounded weird), and of course had to say hi to my cheese man. He hooks me up with some strong cheese every week, making sure I taste it and approve it before the sell is made.

After I bought my usual tomatoes, onions and such, I had a meeting near the center of town. While I was walking to the meeting on the peatonal, an old man had just fallen down. I didn't see him fall, but I saw four people rushing to his aide. We all helped him up to his feet. Then the blood started coming down onto his shoes from inside his pants. He had a nasty gash on his leg. Three people sat him down on a chair and elevated his leg, while a woman and I went inside a local convenient store to call the paramedics while I looked for something that we could wrap around his leg.

The store attendant told me that he didn't have anything behind the counter. But, being Montevideo, he then said to grab a paper towel case from the shelves (without even thinking to charge me). I got outside and even more people were around the man, giving him water, while one guy was on his cell phone calling the paramedics, and others were making sure the older gentleman was doing OK mentally.

Even though I had to leave pretty quickly because I was late, I knew that the situation was in good hands with some good people in the city (town) here. And no, no picture here. I thought it would be considered EXTREMELY strange if I took a shot of the gash. But it was mean. Wow.

The First Uruguayan Asado

I've experienced the Argentine asado; this weekend was the time to give it a go here in Uruguay. A good friend of mine invited me to their house, and the ritual commenced. Asados are similar to barbeques in the States. Except for a few basic things:

1) the meat is better

2) they actually happen (and frequently). I don't remember the last time I have gone to a BBQ back in the States...or even heard about one of my friends giving one - yes I do, about two years ago.

3) the meat is much better

I am not enough of a meat guy to differentiate between an Argentine and a Uruguayan asado, so I won't try. The meat is cooked very slowly, time is enjoyed with friends and family for hours (yesterday the asado started at 1pm and I left at 9pm), and then you eat.

Let me rephrase, you really eat (look at the photo on top - no one is even considering talking as the cooked food just arrived). It's hard to stop, and I love eating so I am a shoe-in for at least three [five] plates. I felt a bit like the cat at the asado must have been feeling.



Almost no part of the cow is wasted, hence a few strange pieces of meat await the asado-er. If you ever have the chance to experience a house asado, do not miss it. And make sure not to eat beforehand.

Pitucos, Chetos, and the famed Planchas

Before we get to the subject, I have to introduce my buddy Murciel (we hung out last night after the concert). He sells bracelets and rocks on the peatonal here in Montevideo for a few months, then hops across the river to Buenos Aires for the remainder of the year. A wealth of classical music knowledge, he always is holding his hand radio to his ear. If you want to know something about the era of classical music or particular composers perhaps, seek him out. Oh, and he is not a Pituco, Cheto, or a Plancha. I don't think so anyways?


Society seems to be broken down here, from what I have gathered, fairly distinctly. The Butikos are the rich ones - they come from family money, or are just loaded somewhow. Vacationing in their resort-like second-home mansions in Punta del Este is where you will find many.

Chetos are the upper to middle class folk who are pretending to have more money than they do. Sounds very familiar for some reason?

And then the Planchas. This group intrigues me the most - I am told that they are the lower, undeducated, druggie class. But then I have been hearing some other explanations as well. If anyone has any other information on this group, please help out here. Until then, I am off to meet some more planchas and friends (not mutually exclusive)...

La Abuela Coca - Montevideo Music

I won't try to put a label on La Abuela Coca and their type of music (I made an error with "Murga" before...and I still live with the embarrassment). But I will say that this group has been following me since the fourth day I got here. Perhaps it's the other way around?

It all started when a friend invited me to a TV studio, a small room which felt like MTV's intimate live music specials, and I was lucky to experience La Abuela Coca for an hour or so. Lamely I didn't bring my camera with me this night because I was still feeling out the city and didn't want to have anything too valuable on my person. But I loved them from the start - a group of ten or so people, horns, drums, guitars, a black and a white singer (many times the white singer appears to have more funk than his stylishly entertaining counterpart).

In the next few weeks, while hanging out on the streets and catching buses left and right (paying 14 pesos, not 7 with the new bus), I saw one of the singers twice - even said hello once to a get a big smile and hello in return.

Tonight I saw a (Montevideo) big concert of theirs, along with two reggae groups that I will soon forget...although one of the singers might stick as he disgusted me with his slothenly appearance and apparent arrogance on the stage. But I could be off there.


Two friends of mine dancing at the concert. Hopefully they don't mind me putting up this photo. We shall all see their comments if they do....


Back to the point, La Abuela Coca has been along with me on this Montevideo ride the whole way. I can't wait to buy one of their CDs, and I wish I could find a homepage to show them off. But youtube will have to do for now....but it doesn't do much justice for the group.

Public Transportation

Way back during the first weeks in town, a new friend invited me to their house for lunch. With my arduous schedule I shifted my day's tasks around to attend the lunch, but I managed to stop by for a few moments (heavy sarcasm used here).

A poster in the bedroom caught my eye - "El Metro de Uruguay" it read. I had been in the city for long enough to find out about the public transportation routes, but I had completely missed the metro system underground. I was baffled. My friend let me think this for the next few minutes until I finally realized that the metro doesn't exist in Montevideo - just buses.

Some of these buses equipped with Wi-Fi (why?). The bus drivers consistently insist on you grabbing a ticket (not for his sake, but for your's if an inspector comes on the bus). And today came another perplexing public transportation moment with the new bus CA1 the city just introduced. It is a beautifully new modern outfit, great tunes like Billy Joel rocking, and is a pleasure to sit in compared with all of the other older busses.

But of course the traveler pays for this comfort and luxuriousness...less. The ride on these sleek shuttles is half of the fare for the normal 1980's rides. I am going to figure this one out...due to gas consumption? Less stops (no)? We shall see.

Only two empanadas today...I was slacking.

The Taxi and Society

I feel myself starting to form a thesis, of sorts, based on analyzing cities via their taxi system, and just as importantly, the taxi drivers. In a place like Mexico City, one has to demand that the meter be turned on (and further should watch the meter to make sure it is not running out of control). In New York city it has been rare for me to be able to start up a conversation with taxi man - whether it be because of a language barrier or just a plain barrier.

So far Montevideo has passed the Taxi Test, as it will now be called.

1) the meter is turned on promptly when the ride begins
2) you don't need to make sure a taxi is really an official taxi
3) the drivers, for the most part, have been very talkative - after one ride I sat in the backseat chatting away about what I thought of Montevideo for 5 minutes
4) taxis stop for pedestrians - this is a norm, along with a wave to cross the street

And now I introduce my horizontally-orientated Uruguyan girlfriend. In this clip, she is a bit upset with me for some reason. I ask her what she thinks of me. Her reply...a narcotics officer.

Agua "Sin Gas"

I remember many years ago traveling through Europe for my university graduation present. My buddies and I drank [alcohol] our way through a few of the countries over there. I also remember being constantly amazed when the waiters would ask us if we wanted water with, or without gas. Who drinks carbonated water (without vodka)?

Well, I am one of those guys now. I don't get it everytime, but occassionally. It fills another need, fits in with certain times better, and I can make my obnoxious hand gestures with more authority when holding a glass of carbonated water (versus plain boring water). What is happening to me? I love it...

Mussel Empanadas - Punta del Diablo

I can't travel anywhere in Uruguay without tasting the local empanadas. I would feel as though I were cheating the new location. Punta del Diablo did not disappoint with its fisherman village offerings.

This town is mellow, very mellow until right about now (when the summer vacation-ing starts). The restaurants begin to open up (they are permanently closed most of the year), more people walk the dirt roads, and the "for rent" signs surely come down at some point - or maybe not. But the homes are full of tourists.





The Uruguyan couple to the left is about to move out of their home for the summer season.





But enough of the words, here are some more pics from the weekend (below and at this link).

Kids and Computers

Every Sunday here, the skating park is packed with families and kids. It is a beautiful sight to witness. Makes me think that back home kids (and me too many times) spend too much time behind a computer, or playing whatever type of video game. Here the kids and parents are outside along the beach playing with the sun until 9PM most nights...

Punta del Diablo

It's almost 2AM now, and I am off to the paradise fishing village of Punta del Diablo at 5AM. People can't stop talking about it. I haven't heard one comment that even approaches an average review of this heaven on earth (apparently).

There is also a great hostel that opened up there a year ago. The owner is a very nice guy from the States - looking forward to meeting him face to face, bodysurfing, perhaps having a few beers, and get this: I am looking forward to speaking some English. Interesting.

Not sure if I will be able to post this weekend, so I turn you to some of my other posts. Ciao.

The Language Hill

I think I might have hit a bit of a lull in my Spanish improvement. Friends I have made here are now giving me that strange looking face, as if they are saying, "What is the dude trying to say." It hurts to see the expression - each time I feel the prick.

But I have to believe that this is the normal route of becoming fluent (which I will become) - there ups and downs with language. I haven't done any formal research on the subject, but I am positive on it. Or maybe I am just positive that I'm in the dip of the learning language curve.

So, in order to make myself feel better, I challenged Mr. Antonio the Payaso to a contest. It's something that a good friend of mine, Natasha, and I do when travelling together - imitate statues. Sounds lame, I know. But just wait, it gets even lamer...

Antonio trying to imitate the doll left in the Plaza de Independencia:














Come on. You can't tell me that I didn't nail the pose. Right?

(Home)sick in a Foreign Land with Carritos

I'm not homesick - save a couple of things like Sunday (American) football with the family, and a very cool dog named Junior. But not the point of this entry - sickness is though. In all fairness, being away from home is not ideal all the time (of course right?).

Let's take Saturday night (in the area below, but at night) - I was walking to that friend's house in the center of town and I had to do it. I saw it standing there, beckoning me to come over and say hello, to inquire a bit. They are carritos - trucks stopped on a street that are ready made restaurants. I had just finished a 10K race (OK, and had just eaten a hot dog in the Plaza de Independencia but was famished) and I deserved something BIG.

I got it - the carrito served a hamburger loaded with mounds of vegetables and sauces and meat. What a treat (rhyme honestly not intended). Long story getting longer than necessary. At the party I started to feel a bit strange...so I left early.

At 7:30AM on Sunday morning my brutally hellish sick day would commence. I stayed inside all day, close to the bathroom. I hated carritos at this point. By 2PM I was in bed, under the covers, hoping the pain would stop (in between saying hello to the bathroom). Then at 3PM began the Murga drums and practice. Those powerful, brilliant, absolutely annoyingly lame, overexaggerated, and (at the time) out of sync beats lasted for the next six hours outside of my place. Don't believe me? This is today's example from my place. Horrible sickness. Horrible experience. Sunday here in Montevideo was by far the worst moment(s) I have experienced.

Just wanted to share that it isn't all rosey and peachy in carrito-land...not all the time anyways. But this is what makes trips the stories they are - when crisis of certain degrees present themselves.

One Month Mark

It's close to noon, and I feel like I have already had enough good vibes for the whole day. I met with someone in a business-type appointment (not to sound dodgy, nothing illegal) at 9AM. We spoke for 15 minutes, then they invited me to a local cafe for breakfast.

I then got the story on Ciudad Vieja, the "Zona Roja" (where all the men were tended to by prostitutes), and the changes going on here. But let's not skip over the Red Light District part of this - my new acquaintence (a female) lived next to the brothels, and ended up becoming friends a few of the girls...and in one case it was a man, posing to be a girl (but doing it so effectively that he/she made cars stop on the street as he/she walked past usually wearing a bikini or something else revealing). But this is getting us on a tangent. Without the pictures of the prostitute, with his/her 5 o'clock shadow (which apparently could be seen at close view), this is going nowhere.

Wait, how could this "business-type appointment" not sound dodgy now? Haha, good stuff, but I swear it has nothing to do with prostitution of any kind. At least I don't think so?

Anyways, after the meeting, I knew where I had to go: my Calle de Alzaibar food market of Tuesdays and Fridays - located at the end of the Peatonal Sarandi walking street. And now I have found my people for this market. I go to see the sweetheart Rosana for my vegetables and fruits, and for a few moments of chatting. While speaking with Rosana today, an older lady heard my accent and spoke to me in beautifully understandable English. I asked her how she spoke so well, and got this reply, "I went to School ______ (I don't remember the exact name) when I was 12 years old." Wow, that's it? Then she told me I had beautiful green eyes, or blue, or whatever. For this she makes it into the entry as well (just kidding, sort of).

Here is Rosana. No joke, and back to the Montevideo neighborhood subject, when I was walking back to my place after taking this photo I bumped into an English teacher I met last week. Small world here.

After saying my farewells to Rosana, I headed down to the further end of the street to grab some of the cheese (sold at a better price on this side of the market). I've bought from the vendor a few times before, nice guy. He realized my accent was more Mexican than Uruguayan, and with this knew that I loved spicy foods. And then he took it a step further and knew that I liked stronger cheeses. Sold.

Over two pounds of bananas, two pounds of tomatoes, 6 oranges, 2 peaches, and a big chunk of strong cheese: US$ 4.00. Hmmm.