Last night I visited a friend's house party - I couldn't understand the group's conversation too well. I heard a He-Man reference, and some messing with the hostess that she had invited all guys, and one girl. After spending an hour in my hypnotic-should-I-pay-attention phase (kidding, I was paying attention), another one of their friends walk in. I already knew him from other friends.
Today, after hearing the normal drum beats getting ready for Murga and Carnaval times, I went outside to check the scene. After watching the movements for a few minutes, I hear my name shouted out: Peatonal Sarandi Times
One of the dancers is a lady I met last week. This place is small. People know each other. I love that. Click on the below to see it:
Nativa Run Results In
I lost the bet - and I am glad no one took me up on it. I was the 
1,406th runner to cross the line. Sounds kind of weak, but there were over 5,000 runners so that helps out my ego a bit. Here are my memories of the race:
At 4 KMs, I was feeling the day's chorizo (from the asado my friend, Claudia, was so nice to invite me to) in the right side of my gut. But by kilometro #5 I had solved that problem. However, then came the blister popping through the band-aid. That would remain with me the entire way.
At the 7 KM mark I felt what must have been the pizza appetizers and cups of coca-cola in my lower left back. Painful stuff, but I was determined not to walk at all - if for nothing else than to save any face I could muster.
But the truly painful moment came at the 8 KM mark - let's call it the empanada episode. I love them, can't (and don't want to) stop myself from eating them, and I had two of these amazingly appetizing delicacies (with pizza, chorizo, a hamburger, and finger foods at the asado). Actually, then were salteñas but close enough. Somehow, someway, each of these little guys crept up my chest. One painfully pierced me under my right chest, the other nipping at the left pec. But I understood what they were saying, and I accepted their pain.
I was approaching the finish line; for the first time in eight minutes I saw my time - I had 20 seconds to run what seemed like a football field. I sprinted and sprinted yelling, "Shit (in English)", and stopped making a scene about 20 feet from the finish line while I accepted my defeat. I crossed at 50:10. But proudly so, somehow.
1,406th runner to cross the line. Sounds kind of weak, but there were over 5,000 runners so that helps out my ego a bit. Here are my memories of the race:At 4 KMs, I was feeling the day's chorizo (from the asado my friend, Claudia, was so nice to invite me to) in the right side of my gut. But by kilometro #5 I had solved that problem. However, then came the blister popping through the band-aid. That would remain with me the entire way.
At the 7 KM mark I felt what must have been the pizza appetizers and cups of coca-cola in my lower left back. Painful stuff, but I was determined not to walk at all - if for nothing else than to save any face I could muster.
But the truly painful moment came at the 8 KM mark - let's call it the empanada episode. I love them, can't (and don't want to) stop myself from eating them, and I had two of these amazingly appetizing delicacies (with pizza, chorizo, a hamburger, and finger foods at the asado). Actually, then were salteñas but close enough. Somehow, someway, each of these little guys crept up my chest. One painfully pierced me under my right chest, the other nipping at the left pec. But I understood what they were saying, and I accepted their pain.
I was approaching the finish line; for the first time in eight minutes I saw my time - I had 20 seconds to run what seemed like a football field. I sprinted and sprinted yelling, "Shit (in English)", and stopped making a scene about 20 feet from the finish line while I accepted my defeat. I crossed at 50:10. But proudly so, somehow.
Not So Third World
I remember reading an article a few months ago touching upon the terms Third World and First World. The view of the article was that this theory is outdated. There are countries that do not fit into either one of these categories in our present times. For example, how do you put an impoverished, corrupt country (too put it mildly) like Chad and then a country like Uruguay in the same category of Third World?
More specifically, do you picture seeing people jogging on a boardwalk next to a beach for their normal evening work outs in a Third World country? I don't.
OK, the real reason for this entry is much smaller in scope and importance: the Nativa race is tonight (10 kilometers). I am a bit "tentative" to run this evening. I haven't been training this week (or the weeks before this week if you are curious) due to blisters erupting on Monday, I am going to my first Uruguayan asado (sweet!! can't wait!!) today, and will be a bloated figure when I start running. Should be interesting with my goal being to run in under 50 minutes. But rain is in the forecast...who knows, perhaps the higher powers will save me for a day.
Any takers on a wager on the finishing time being under 50 minutes? Odds are 3:1. Call my bookie, Johnny K, if you want to bet against the bloated boy.
More specifically, do you picture seeing people jogging on a boardwalk next to a beach for their normal evening work outs in a Third World country? I don't.
OK, the real reason for this entry is much smaller in scope and importance: the Nativa race is tonight (10 kilometers). I am a bit "tentative" to run this evening. I haven't been training this week (or the weeks before this week if you are curious) due to blisters erupting on Monday, I am going to my first Uruguayan asado (sweet!! can't wait!!) today, and will be a bloated figure when I start running. Should be interesting with my goal being to run in under 50 minutes. But rain is in the forecast...who knows, perhaps the higher powers will save me for a day.
Any takers on a wager on the finishing time being under 50 minutes? Odds are 3:1. Call my bookie, Johnny K, if you want to bet against the bloated boy.
Further Mate Lessons
Like I have stated before - I love the stuff. Whether it be for the taste (very unique and acquired) or for the tradition of sharing a session with others, it has been giving me enjoyable encounters off and on for the past four years. I even wrote about it ages ago. But today came thundering down a comment that made a lot of sense - too much sense actually.
My all-knowing and sincerely serene teacher, Juan (the Italian/Argentine), let me in on his thoughts after declaring that he doesn't like drinking mate with others.
"What, that is the best part!" I exclaimed.
'Sure it is, but I saw a documentary ages ago that showed the saliva left in the bombilla [metal straw] between drinkers. After that I could not share my mate with anyone outside of good friends and family. Especially with herpes worries and such.'
I think I shivered as I sat with my mate, soaking in this new information. Man I hope I don't have herpes.
I would never have, and never would, share my mate with this lady who Antonio is humoring - even before this mate lesson. I do have some mate standards thank you very much.
My all-knowing and sincerely serene teacher, Juan (the Italian/Argentine), let me in on his thoughts after declaring that he doesn't like drinking mate with others.
"What, that is the best part!" I exclaimed.
'Sure it is, but I saw a documentary ages ago that showed the saliva left in the bombilla [metal straw] between drinkers. After that I could not share my mate with anyone outside of good friends and family. Especially with herpes worries and such.'
I think I shivered as I sat with my mate, soaking in this new information. Man I hope I don't have herpes.
I would never have, and never would, share my mate with this lady who Antonio is humoring - even before this mate lesson. I do have some mate standards thank you very much.
I Love You Fatty
I am not sure what it is, but I am enamored with the small things of life when I travel. Or maybe they aren't the 'small' things, but they seem inconsequential when they happen around me. Tonight, on my 2 hour walk of getting lost (i.e. getting my bearings honed in), I stopped off in a small shop to buy a coke. Ended up speaking with the owner for 15 minutes or so, laughing my *** off as he imitated English people with their posh sounding accent when they spoke Spanish. I have nothing against English people, and I like their accent, but having a 100% Spanish conversation with a stranger who then starts speaking like an Englishman trying to speak Spanish had me rolling.
I walked out of the shop and into the house of some new friends of mine - we had a Tday feast. Surrounded by some beautifully kind, open, engaging, fun-filled people for three or so hours will be my memory for 2008's Thanksgiving. Although at times I couldn't follow the conversation, I trusted they weren't talking about the new dude hanging out who wasn't understanding everything being said?
Or maybe it was the two guys leaving the apartment together as I stood at the bus stop waiting. They kissed each other good night, and off one went while the other went back into the apartment. It's Uruguay, and that is the custom - friends kiss each other without a thought, or worry, of anything else.
But it is late, I have class tomorrow morning and something else that could be huge (not to be building anything up here, it's nothing really - OK, maybe something) - I need to go to sleep for a few hours. But I need to tell you that, once again, it is great to be surrounded by people sincerely intrigued and interested in a stranger. Or just talking about whatever they want to, as did the security guard tonight as I walked by him and we fell into conversation about Uruguay. Well, that's enough for me. Goodnight.
Oh, and here is another land, like Argentina and I think Mexico, in which loved ones call each other "Gordo or Gorda" - meaning FAT. Classic.
I walked out of the shop and into the house of some new friends of mine - we had a Tday feast. Surrounded by some beautifully kind, open, engaging, fun-filled people for three or so hours will be my memory for 2008's Thanksgiving. Although at times I couldn't follow the conversation, I trusted they weren't talking about the new dude hanging out who wasn't understanding everything being said?
Or maybe it was the two guys leaving the apartment together as I stood at the bus stop waiting. They kissed each other good night, and off one went while the other went back into the apartment. It's Uruguay, and that is the custom - friends kiss each other without a thought, or worry, of anything else.
But it is late, I have class tomorrow morning and something else that could be huge (not to be building anything up here, it's nothing really - OK, maybe something) - I need to go to sleep for a few hours. But I need to tell you that, once again, it is great to be surrounded by people sincerely intrigued and interested in a stranger. Or just talking about whatever they want to, as did the security guard tonight as I walked by him and we fell into conversation about Uruguay. Well, that's enough for me. Goodnight.
Oh, and here is another land, like Argentina and I think Mexico, in which loved ones call each other "Gordo or Gorda" - meaning FAT. Classic.
Happy Bird Day!
Not sure if I will be able to write later today, so I wanted to send my warmest regards and thoughts out to everywhere (mostly to the States as this is something we celebrate...the Canadians do it on another day). Enjoy this evening.
Concerning the blog, I will be updating the links with more useful information on Uruguay life, connections, and thoughts. Entertaining, informative, intriguing, riveting, life-altering, shocking, unforgettable, etc - some of the adjectives that I want this blog described as (give or take a few of them).
I am having chicken tonight with some American friends and others - close enough to turkey right? Give me a break please...
Concerning the blog, I will be updating the links with more useful information on Uruguay life, connections, and thoughts. Entertaining, informative, intriguing, riveting, life-altering, shocking, unforgettable, etc - some of the adjectives that I want this blog described as (give or take a few of them).
I am having chicken tonight with some American friends and others - close enough to turkey right? Give me a break please...
We Aren't the Only Ones Who Say "Bro"
I had a hardy chuckle today. Yes, I am tired (as you can see with the word usage on the previous sentence). Juan, the Argentine/Italian/Rock Star tutor, and I were in another one of our amusing conversational lessons. We started to speak about how I still needed a Uruguayan bank account...and to go get it at Banco Republica de Uruguay (BROU for short). They pronounce it, "Brooo" more or less. I loved it - had to pass it onto my bros back home and in Australia.
This evening's episode:
About four years ago, in Bariloche, Argentina, I hung out at a hostel for about a month. I made a good Argentine friend. Every night we would split a (few) bottle of wine and end up yelling at the top of our lungs, "Des-a-fort-una-damente (disfortunately)." My buddy went on to be a disc jockey at a top radio station in Buenos Aires - thanks to his voice, not the wine moments.
But I digress - after I was at the hostel a few weeks, the hostel owner invited my friend and me to dinner in the hostel. I witnessed the makings of an orgy (or so I thought with a few girls touching the owner, and vice versa during the dinner), and definitely felt a cult-ish vibe in the air. After dinner, the crew went into the backroom and my buddy confirmed the next day that indeed an orgy was entertained.
This evening, sitting with Antonio El Payaso, I fell into conversation with an Australian couple (probably in their forties, traveling around South Amercica for the first time). Man, this entry is longer than I expected - apologies...it's late for me and I babble at this point.
They had just arrived from Argentina, and told me that they loved Bariloche, and brought up their hostel because it was so comfortable, and on top of a 14 story building with gorgeous views...but had a strange owner who consistently manhandled a few girls 'innocently' during odd times. We then spoke in detail about the place - the world is so small sometimes. Good to know the that the cult is happy and still functioning I guess right? Perhaps not, but I loved being back in Bariloche for a second...
This evening's episode:About four years ago, in Bariloche, Argentina, I hung out at a hostel for about a month. I made a good Argentine friend. Every night we would split a (few) bottle of wine and end up yelling at the top of our lungs, "Des-a-fort-una-damente (disfortunately)." My buddy went on to be a disc jockey at a top radio station in Buenos Aires - thanks to his voice, not the wine moments.
But I digress - after I was at the hostel a few weeks, the hostel owner invited my friend and me to dinner in the hostel. I witnessed the makings of an orgy (or so I thought with a few girls touching the owner, and vice versa during the dinner), and definitely felt a cult-ish vibe in the air. After dinner, the crew went into the backroom and my buddy confirmed the next day that indeed an orgy was entertained.
This evening, sitting with Antonio El Payaso, I fell into conversation with an Australian couple (probably in their forties, traveling around South Amercica for the first time). Man, this entry is longer than I expected - apologies...it's late for me and I babble at this point.
They had just arrived from Argentina, and told me that they loved Bariloche, and brought up their hostel because it was so comfortable, and on top of a 14 story building with gorgeous views...but had a strange owner who consistently manhandled a few girls 'innocently' during odd times. We then spoke in detail about the place - the world is so small sometimes. Good to know the that the cult is happy and still functioning I guess right? Perhaps not, but I loved being back in Bariloche for a second...
A WI-FI Bus?
Yep. There are buses here that offer wireless internet. I don't understand it, haven't looked into it yet, and I am rendered intrigued. Something that I will start asking people about - should be a fairly intriguing conversation starter no? Montevideo is a city with some strange quirks - I will be explaining and discovering more as I collect them....
Below is my almost-new pet, Mingo. Yes, he is a bit uneasy with my friend's hand/arm as well.
I met him two nights ago, and my friends wanted me to take him. We bonded, we understood each other, we connected some more. But in the end we both knew what the correct answer was. It hurt. I wanted the little guy so badly. And he liked being in my backpack. I am letting go now...
Below is my almost-new pet, Mingo. Yes, he is a bit uneasy with my friend's hand/arm as well.
I met him two nights ago, and my friends wanted me to take him. We bonded, we understood each other, we connected some more. But in the end we both knew what the correct answer was. It hurt. I wanted the little guy so badly. And he liked being in my backpack. I am letting go now...
Montevideo Empanadas - Today's Count: 7
I have to start rating my days, among other things, by the amount of empanadas I consume here in Montevideo. Today, not even thinking about it, I ate seven empanadas - lunch, dinner, and an after dinner snack. I know - I have already posted about these tantalizingly tasty treats, and I have included a picture as well. But in case you forgot...
First I stopped by Mafalda's empanada restaurant for a midday meal (had three of them). Just before I went to my tutor's apartment at 5:15PM, I had to visit La Taberna del Diablo for my favorite Calabresa empanada...and a few others. I also had to get my professor a Calabresa - just not right that he hadn't tasted this gift of grinds.
And again, without thinking, along the walk down the peatonal sarandi street I found myself in a little store buying a cold cheese and olive empanada. I am addicted. I can't stop myself - I don't want to stop myself. I decided today that I might have to talk with one of these owners and ask to do some grunt work during my empanada internship. Empanada, empanada, empanada.
Oh, and the empanadas didn't hurt my Nativa 10Km training either - ran 8Kms tonight. The race is this Saturday...hopefully I will be there. Hasta manaña.
First I stopped by Mafalda's empanada restaurant for a midday meal (had three of them). Just before I went to my tutor's apartment at 5:15PM, I had to visit La Taberna del Diablo for my favorite Calabresa empanada...and a few others. I also had to get my professor a Calabresa - just not right that he hadn't tasted this gift of grinds.
And again, without thinking, along the walk down the peatonal sarandi street I found myself in a little store buying a cold cheese and olive empanada. I am addicted. I can't stop myself - I don't want to stop myself. I decided today that I might have to talk with one of these owners and ask to do some grunt work during my empanada internship. Empanada, empanada, empanada.
Oh, and the empanadas didn't hurt my Nativa 10Km training either - ran 8Kms tonight. The race is this Saturday...hopefully I will be there. Hasta manaña.
Joe Montana Meets the Best Lawn Bowler in Parque Rodo, Montevideo
Today I see two kids throwing an American football in a park...and not throwing it very well. So my friend, Isabel (who rocks; she was playing around with me saying I was on her Montevideo tour), and I are walking past these throwers. I chalantly ask if I can throw the football (it has already been way too long since I have thrown something).
His buddy is about 30 or so feet away. I toss the ball to him - nothing fancy, a fairly tight spiral, and all done. I wish Isabel would have captured the expression on his (and his friends') face. He immediately yelled out, "Hey, can you throw another one please!!!"
The kids were amazed how the ball was leaving my hand. It's times like these that I sit back and realize how utterly simple it is to enjoy little things while traveling. Or realize what I have learned thus far in life as a given isn't so in many other places.
After this I noticed some old guys sitting next to a playing field of sorts. Isabel led the way, as this was
her tour, and I fell into conversation with one of the Uruguayan-Lawn-Bowlers. Isabel took this without me knowing...apparently my hands are getting very used to moving around while I speak.
Parqué Rodo - the Sunday market. If you are in town, and looking to buy clothes at good prices, and good quality, make sure to hit this place up. Also on Sundays is another huge market off the 18 de Julio street called "Tristan Navarjo".
His buddy is about 30 or so feet away. I toss the ball to him - nothing fancy, a fairly tight spiral, and all done. I wish Isabel would have captured the expression on his (and his friends') face. He immediately yelled out, "Hey, can you throw another one please!!!"
The kids were amazed how the ball was leaving my hand. It's times like these that I sit back and realize how utterly simple it is to enjoy little things while traveling. Or realize what I have learned thus far in life as a given isn't so in many other places.
After this I noticed some old guys sitting next to a playing field of sorts. Isabel led the way, as this was
her tour, and I fell into conversation with one of the Uruguayan-Lawn-Bowlers. Isabel took this without me knowing...apparently my hands are getting very used to moving around while I speak. Parqué Rodo - the Sunday market. If you are in town, and looking to buy clothes at good prices, and good quality, make sure to hit this place up. Also on Sundays is another huge market off the 18 de Julio street called "Tristan Navarjo".
The Local Drunk
No, not me. There is this 40 year old guy that hangs out on my street. He drinks from a large soda bottle - it must be filled with wine. He yells. He points. He smiles. He makes many gestures. All of them are incomprehensible - whether in English or Spanish or Human.
I just returned from a run...training for next Saturday and I still lack 6KMs worth of strength. But that is another story.
I am about a block away from my place, so I slow down to a walk. There he is walking towards me. We are about 10 feet away from each other, and he casually lifts up the hand that is not hold the wine-soda. He gives me a walk-by high five like we were old school friends.
I think I am hanging out on the streets too much. But then again, this is some classic stuff...and I am off to a local artisan show tonight due to my street connections. Brilliant stuff...
I just returned from a run...training for next Saturday and I still lack 6KMs worth of strength. But that is another story.
I am about a block away from my place, so I slow down to a walk. There he is walking towards me. We are about 10 feet away from each other, and he casually lifts up the hand that is not hold the wine-soda. He gives me a walk-by high five like we were old school friends.
I think I am hanging out on the streets too much. But then again, this is some classic stuff...and I am off to a local artisan show tonight due to my street connections. Brilliant stuff...
Atlantida, Uruguay and a Lesson
First things first - I am staying down here longer than I previously thought (surprise surprise eh?). February 6th is the date...I have a few things to do down here that I will explain later on in the due course. But enough of that. I AM HERE FOR MORE THAN TWO MORE MONTHS!!!!! YESSS!!!!
OK, today my Spanish lesson was to be out in the coastal neighborhood of Atlantida with Juan and two other students (Griego from Hungary and Ana from the south of Germany). I had a few cocktails last night, woke up late, and ended up catching the wrong bus to Atlantida, but it still arrived...and luckily I found my way around the small beach/resort town.
I say "luckily", but there was no luck involved. A few days ago while hanging out on the Peatonal Sarandi (the walking street in downtown Montevideo), Antonio my best buddy introduced me to a mother and her daughter who, by chance, live in Atlantida. Via them I found my way to class.
After "class", began another more interesting and insightful lesson - can you guess what was involved? If you answered beer or wine, you are wrong. Más mate claro.
My new friends, their friends, and Antonio my best Uruguayan bro hung out in a backyard for about four hours or so. That's it. No distractions beyond passing the mate around; everyone except me smoking
as if the cigarrettes were going to disintegrate if not blazed up in succession; and the group singing together. Yes, singing. We sang. We laughed. We got to know each other. We enjoyed an utterly comfortable sunny day sitting on the grass. It was beautiful in Atlantida, to not describe the scene well at all.
And I confirmed two Uruguayan-isms today. "Ta" and "Vo". We'll get into that later...
OK, today my Spanish lesson was to be out in the coastal neighborhood of Atlantida with Juan and two other students (Griego from Hungary and Ana from the south of Germany). I had a few cocktails last night, woke up late, and ended up catching the wrong bus to Atlantida, but it still arrived...and luckily I found my way around the small beach/resort town.
I say "luckily", but there was no luck involved. A few days ago while hanging out on the Peatonal Sarandi (the walking street in downtown Montevideo), Antonio my best buddy introduced me to a mother and her daughter who, by chance, live in Atlantida. Via them I found my way to class.
After "class", began another more interesting and insightful lesson - can you guess what was involved? If you answered beer or wine, you are wrong. Más mate claro.
My new friends, their friends, and Antonio my best Uruguayan bro hung out in a backyard for about four hours or so. That's it. No distractions beyond passing the mate around; everyone except me smoking
as if the cigarrettes were going to disintegrate if not blazed up in succession; and the group singing together. Yes, singing. We sang. We laughed. We got to know each other. We enjoyed an utterly comfortable sunny day sitting on the grass. It was beautiful in Atlantida, to not describe the scene well at all.And I confirmed two Uruguayan-isms today. "Ta" and "Vo". We'll get into that later...
Nikon D40X Comes Alive
It's 2AM here right now. I am catching a bus tomorrow morning (early) to take a Spanish lesson in my tutor's coastal town of Atlantida. I should be sleeping.
I just realized, after staring at my screen that for the past hour I have been enamored with my shots from tonight. Finally, I repeat, finally I have figured out CV enough to be comfortable with my vida (camera).
Tonight I snapped some shots of what I have been looking at for the past two weeks with Antonio and Fabian, my buddies on Peatonal Sarandi street...
OK, I have to get my buddies in this post because tonight was a solid mate session of Fabian giving his takes on Canadians (very positive) and the fact that Argentines have absolutely no idea how to drink their mate. Oh ya, and Antonio was playing the flute like I have never heard before.
I just realized, after staring at my screen that for the past hour I have been enamored with my shots from tonight. Finally, I repeat, finally I have figured out CV enough to be comfortable with my vida (camera).
Tonight I snapped some shots of what I have been looking at for the past two weeks with Antonio and Fabian, my buddies on Peatonal Sarandi street...OK, I have to get my buddies in this post because tonight was a solid mate session of Fabian giving his takes on Canadians (very positive) and the fact that Argentines have absolutely no idea how to drink their mate. Oh ya, and Antonio was playing the flute like I have never heard before.
Ciudad Vieja (CV)
Is it bad that I feel like throwing my wrapper on the street when walking through parts of CV (amongst a sufficient amount of litter)? I didn't do it though, I promise.
OK, so here it is not the cleanest part of town. Nor is it the safest. Nor does it offer the best parks or beach that Montevideo claims (although beaches here are nothing to stay in this part of Uruguay for).
But it has character. It has history along with its Masonic architecture. It has a fountain (that sounds weak). It's a walking street and plazas. This is my home here in Montevideo.
And today, for the first time, I ventured out with my camera...my real camera. Hence, the header has changed...Ciudad Vieja and the center of town have a lot of photos to be shot. Lo haré a tiempo...
OK, so here it is not the cleanest part of town. Nor is it the safest. Nor does it offer the best parks or beach that Montevideo claims (although beaches here are nothing to stay in this part of Uruguay for).
But it has character. It has history along with its Masonic architecture. It has a fountain (that sounds weak). It's a walking street and plazas. This is my home here in Montevideo.
And today, for the first time, I ventured out with my camera...my real camera. Hence, the header has changed...Ciudad Vieja and the center of town have a lot of photos to be shot. Lo haré a tiempo...
Training
Instead of running daily to prevent embarrassment (sp?) in the Nativa 10K, I am on the search for the best empanada in town. Some would call this illogical, others would admire the courage I have in pushing off the inevitable hell of the painful jogging session. Below is a picture of when I should have been running, but I was walking around watching others do that training dealio...
Nothing too much more to report today, besides meeting some more very nice locals, hanging with Mr. Antonio the Payaso more, and figuring out that I need more time down here than originally planned. I guess it was a day of "more's"? Could be here until early February. We shall see...
Nothing too much more to report today, besides meeting some more very nice locals, hanging with Mr. Antonio the Payaso more, and figuring out that I need more time down here than originally planned. I guess it was a day of "more's"? Could be here until early February. We shall see...
Foreign Thoughts
I realized it today, a few hours ago, as I was speaking with someone about trying to find the best empanadas 
in Montevideo. It was clear, and it was pretty cool. I am starting to set into life here.
Painting the picture...when I was describing my mission and asking where I should go on this mission, they weren't giving me the usual what-is-this-gringo-trying-to-say-in-Spanish look. They were understanding, and loving my enthusiasm.
But that isn't what really got me thinking. I was pulling the Italian/Argentine/Uruguay/Latin manuevers of widely and exaggeratingly using my hands when talking. I even put my fingers together and kissed off a thought - no, I swear. I didn't realize that I was doing until I walked away. Classic, I rule (entered before I read the comments coming on this)...maybe not but I thoroughly enjoyed the moment...
in Montevideo. It was clear, and it was pretty cool. I am starting to set into life here. Painting the picture...when I was describing my mission and asking where I should go on this mission, they weren't giving me the usual what-is-this-gringo-trying-to-say-in-Spanish look. They were understanding, and loving my enthusiasm.
But that isn't what really got me thinking. I was pulling the Italian/Argentine/Uruguay/Latin manuevers of widely and exaggeratingly using my hands when talking. I even put my fingers together and kissed off a thought - no, I swear. I didn't realize that I was doing until I walked away. Classic, I rule (entered before I read the comments coming on this)...maybe not but I thoroughly enjoyed the moment...
Uruguayan Mate
A few years ago I spent three months in Argentina. In less than two weeks here in Uruguay I have already learned more about the yerba leaves and mate tradition. They take drinking mate to a whole new level. 
Seeing someone walking the streets holding their mate cup, and carrying their thermals (holding hot water) under their arms is not strange - it is expected. They don't mess around.
I have fallen back into the mate way of being...I love the stuff. But not as much as I love what it signifies: friendship, mellow times spent together, and tradition, among other things yet to find out.
Seeing someone walking the streets holding their mate cup, and carrying their thermals (holding hot water) under their arms is not strange - it is expected. They don't mess around. I have fallen back into the mate way of being...I love the stuff. But not as much as I love what it signifies: friendship, mellow times spent together, and tradition, among other things yet to find out.
House Party - Montevideo Style
Time Orientations: I am still figuring out this one here. Sure, latin blood is in the thick of the game - things are late. Dinner at 11PM - sure. Business hours not really kicking into gear until 9AM or so - yep. OK, how about when someone says that they will meet you at a certain time. Do they show up on time, a bit early in case something unforseen (sp?) happens, or are they late?
I invited a few friends, and some of their friends, over to my small pad in Ciudad Vieja (which I will be using much more often to invite friends over - this place rocks!!). Earlier in the week it was known that at 930PM the fiesta-ing would be begin. The first group of friends to arrive, besides my buddy Antonio (Payaso) who I was already hanging out with, came at around 10:30PM.
The main point being, however: We had a ball...so much so that we didn't want to leave the confines to go hit the street. Thoroughly enjoyed times - whether English, Cuban Spanish, or Gringo was spoken (and yes, the group was having fun with my pronunciations).
I invited a few friends, and some of their friends, over to my small pad in Ciudad Vieja (which I will be using much more often to invite friends over - this place rocks!!). Earlier in the week it was known that at 930PM the fiesta-ing would be begin. The first group of friends to arrive, besides my buddy Antonio (Payaso) who I was already hanging out with, came at around 10:30PM.
The main point being, however: We had a ball...so much so that we didn't want to leave the confines to go hit the street. Thoroughly enjoyed times - whether English, Cuban Spanish, or Gringo was spoken (and yes, the group was having fun with my pronunciations).
I thought I was Italian
I've grown up in the States and I've been asked frequently of my Italian heritage...to which I always affirmed and stood up for. But truth being told, I am just as much Irish as I am Italian...and then throw in some American Indian and German. I think. But nonetheless I hold onto my Sicilian blood very tightly.
Juan (my tutor) is from Argentina; has lived in Uruguay for the past eight years while forming a few different language schools and running a stellar business model. Point being though, Juan is a third generation Argentine - wait, that's not the point but I am getting there. Here he is:
Points:
1) Juan has much more right to be proud of his Italian heritage (all of his maternal and paternal grandparents arrived from Italy to Argentina) - I am merely an imposter.
2) If you are one of those who think that generally all Mexicans look like Peruvians who look like Argentines, rethink that guess - it's embarrassing.
I didn't have time to train today, and it is now time for me to head to the walking street for my nightly mate session with Antonio and the passing gente. Until tomorrow...
Juan (my tutor) is from Argentina; has lived in Uruguay for the past eight years while forming a few different language schools and running a stellar business model. Point being though, Juan is a third generation Argentine - wait, that's not the point but I am getting there. Here he is:
Points:
1) Juan has much more right to be proud of his Italian heritage (all of his maternal and paternal grandparents arrived from Italy to Argentina) - I am merely an imposter.
2) If you are one of those who think that generally all Mexicans look like Peruvians who look like Argentines, rethink that guess - it's embarrassing.
I didn't have time to train today, and it is now time for me to head to the walking street for my nightly mate session with Antonio and the passing gente. Until tomorrow...
It Took All These Years...
to finally find a decent Mexican restaurant...outside of the southwestern States or Mexico (but actually in Mexico I don't like their mexican food as much...if that makes any sense). Today I was checking out a neighborhood with a friend, and I saw a sign for Mexican food. I made a comment about my past experiences in foreign places and how they couldn't pull it off - the tastes, the spices, the richness, the simplicity of a good Mexican taco or burrito.
I was told to change route immediately, and then I experienced on of the best meat tacos I have ever tasted. Here it is:
I would recommend this place to my good friends back in Southern California, where we are spoiled with a plethora of Mexican food options. This is legit...oh Montevideo...could be the start of a song actually.
I'm off...have to go train for my race coming up, and then speak Gringo Spanish for a few hours. Ciao.
I was told to change route immediately, and then I experienced on of the best meat tacos I have ever tasted. Here it is:
I would recommend this place to my good friends back in Southern California, where we are spoiled with a plethora of Mexican food options. This is legit...oh Montevideo...could be the start of a song actually.
I'm off...have to go train for my race coming up, and then speak Gringo Spanish for a few hours. Ciao.
Setting Into a Place
So now it begins...I have been here a week. The rhythms and usual movements of the day start to form. Going to the same grocery store to grab some water (or wine of course), walking past Lorena (the charismatic waitress) on the walking street and saying hola, going for a run everyday to train for the Nativa 10K race I was talked into doing, and two hours of tutoring everyday among other things.
I have been hanging out with a few wonderful locals here. Very sweet people, and generous with their time and patience with my Gringo Spanish (although every single one of them can speak English at anytime, they are just humoring me).
Back to the rhythm of the city. For the moment, I have found my nightly rhythm for the hours between 7pm and 9pm - I drink mate with artisans on the walking street. Actually one artisan in particular - my friend, Antonio the Payaso. And just tonight I learned more about him...he studied singing when he attended the University of Montevideo. Seriously.
I have been hanging out with a few wonderful locals here. Very sweet people, and generous with their time and patience with my Gringo Spanish (although every single one of them can speak English at anytime, they are just humoring me).
Back to the rhythm of the city. For the moment, I have found my nightly rhythm for the hours between 7pm and 9pm - I drink mate with artisans on the walking street. Actually one artisan in particular - my friend, Antonio the Payaso. And just tonight I learned more about him...he studied singing when he attended the University of Montevideo. Seriously.
The Bus Stop
First things first: I can either call myself a local now, or a worry-wart (is that spelled correctly, and did I actually just type that into the keyboard?). I choose the former - and I feel 100% healthy, even with the H20-DNA strands ingested. It was 4:40PM this evening while I waited for the #117 bus to my tutor's neighborhood. The lesson was scheduled for 5:00PM, and I was getting a little ancy for this bus to arrive. But then I something caught my eye, relieving me of any angst. Did I just see that? There is no way he will do it again. Click on the play button to see:
It all began when the street dog walked up to the area, sat down, and started to maintain himself in the lower region. But not satisfied with this cleaning via the mouth, he had to take it further. And he did it twice...very thankfully.
It all began when the street dog walked up to the area, sat down, and started to maintain himself in the lower region. But not satisfied with this cleaning via the mouth, he had to take it further. And he did it twice...very thankfully.
To Drink the Water or Not
I did it today. Admittedly I was a bit desparate, but I did it. The setting: I am in Parque Rodo (a nice neighborhood outside of the city center) at my tutor's apartment/school. It was 5PM, and I had just sat down at the table to begin going over how the weekend was blah blah blah. Then it hit me: I had forgotten to drink water the whole day, and actually hadn't eaten that much either - I was light headed and couldn't focus on the lesson.
"Juan, could I ask you for a glass of water? I am dying of thirst." But when the water came to me, I immediately realized that this was not bottled "safe" water...this was the real thing. I took a few sips (for the lesson's sake so I could concentrate), then continued on with Juan. About a minute later I looked over to the glass and noticed DNA type strands floating around in the glass - and not just a few of them.
Well, sooner or later I needed to accustom my system with the bacteria down here - might as well have been today...the seventh day of my stay.
"Juan, could I ask you for a glass of water? I am dying of thirst." But when the water came to me, I immediately realized that this was not bottled "safe" water...this was the real thing. I took a few sips (for the lesson's sake so I could concentrate), then continued on with Juan. About a minute later I looked over to the glass and noticed DNA type strands floating around in the glass - and not just a few of them.
Well, sooner or later I needed to accustom my system with the bacteria down here - might as well have been today...the seventh day of my stay.
Uruguay vs. Argentina #1
This weekend I was lucky enough to already have a visitor - a friend of mine who lives in Buenos Aires. We spent the whole weekend exploring the city more...although Paula wasn't liking me too much after we had walked a few miles and I was still eager for more.
This was especially a treat for me because I am constantly eager to hear locals' opinions on how they are different than Argentines. I hear "We are not really different" to "They are loud, always cuss, and need attention pointed to themselves" among a few other things.
After this weekend, I can definitely say there is one difference.
A difference without any question and one that can stand up to any argument (I think): Uruguayans drink mate; Argentines drink mate, with a lot of sugar.
This was especially a treat for me because I am constantly eager to hear locals' opinions on how they are different than Argentines. I hear "We are not really different" to "They are loud, always cuss, and need attention pointed to themselves" among a few other things.
After this weekend, I can definitely say there is one difference.
A difference without any question and one that can stand up to any argument (I think): Uruguayans drink mate; Argentines drink mate, with a lot of sugar.
The Best Payaso In The World
The old city of Mvd (Ciudad Vieja) feels much like San Telmo of Buenos Aires. Old (in case that wasn't clear), rustic, historic, full of tourists at times, full of poor people at all times, real, artsy, and on the weekends festivals flair up. Although here the scene is a bit different - here's a video that I had to take:
The most important part of the day for me, bar none, was meeting Antonio. He plays the flute, says hi to kids and people, and has a great spirit about him along the walking street of Ciudad Vieja. Oh ya, he paints his face in various colors. Point being, I got to speaking with him and he is one hell of a guy. Probably 45 years old, he has been doing this in various countries for a long time it appears. Not sure if he has a home, where he comes from, or any of his history - but I know that I will be asking him to lunch, or for a mate (Mah-Tay) session soon to get his story.
The most important part of the day for me, bar none, was meeting Antonio. He plays the flute, says hi to kids and people, and has a great spirit about him along the walking street of Ciudad Vieja. Oh ya, he paints his face in various colors. Point being, I got to speaking with him and he is one hell of a guy. Probably 45 years old, he has been doing this in various countries for a long time it appears. Not sure if he has a home, where he comes from, or any of his history - but I know that I will be asking him to lunch, or for a mate (Mah-Tay) session soon to get his story.
What Is This Sound Now?
Today held no Spanish classes, no searching around for houses/apts, really nothing too productive it felt like. But then I realized what today’s value held: meeting the locals on the street. And these are not the locals of the ritzier areas or the locals that I have been in contact with via the internet before meeting face to face. They are the workers in the old city quarters where at night you should not walk through. It was considered the red light district back in the day due to the sailors landing at the port here, and the necessary prostitute market.
I woke up this morning to a bustling street outside of my balcony (I live three stories up) and the accompanying scene out of a trashy Portabello Road in London. But what a treat, nonetheless.
Then the singing started, “Fresh Strawberries here (in Spanish).” Every Friday and Tuesday the street market thrives with two long blocks full of vendors selling fruit, vegetables, meats, cheeses, and dog. Well, not dog – lame joke.
Walking through the street I dropped my trusted pen. I heard a grunt behind me and realized what had happened, and this nice gentleman with a cigarette permanently stuck to his mouth pointed to it. We then started to talk and walk together. The ‘did you vote’ question came out immediately after discovering I was American. I felt as if I were back home in ways. Then he starts talking about “El Negro” but never uses Obama’s name in the conversation. Needless to say though, like all other Uruguayans I have met, he was stoked that America, and the world, has Obama leading the States. And for the record, he posed for this picture and dictated where the shot was to take place. Classic.
I’ve started to become comfortable in certain areas that I was told were dodgy when arriving, hence I carried my small camera and clicked the picture of El-Negro-Man. He’s actually the vendor down the road at a convenience store – I will be seeing him again and asking his name…again. And he made me go to this spot next to his store, while holding the pose.
Later on I took a run through the other part of the old town, but this time in the area that you REALLY should not go to during nighttime. I stopped into a small mom and pop convenient store and fell into convo with the owner, Sandra, for a few minutes. She let me in on how long she has been there (60 years), the switch from the red light district to people with money coming in, and the fact that I need to watch out for children here. Ones under 14 are the most dangerous, and they are all on drugs…more specifically the residue from cocaine that is sold very cheaply, and obviously very addictive. After I walked out of the store there was a group of ten kids chilling outside. I have never looked at a group of children with those thoughts running through my mind. Children scare me now, especially because Sandra says they will kill you because they don’t think, and don’t know the laws. They just want their next fix. Wow.
I woke up this morning to a bustling street outside of my balcony (I live three stories up) and the accompanying scene out of a trashy Portabello Road in London. But what a treat, nonetheless.
Then the singing started, “Fresh Strawberries here (in Spanish).” Every Friday and Tuesday the street market thrives with two long blocks full of vendors selling fruit, vegetables, meats, cheeses, and dog. Well, not dog – lame joke.Walking through the street I dropped my trusted pen. I heard a grunt behind me and realized what had happened, and this nice gentleman with a cigarette permanently stuck to his mouth pointed to it. We then started to talk and walk together. The ‘did you vote’ question came out immediately after discovering I was American. I felt as if I were back home in ways. Then he starts talking about “El Negro” but never uses Obama’s name in the conversation. Needless to say though, like all other Uruguayans I have met, he was stoked that America, and the world, has Obama leading the States. And for the record, he posed for this picture and dictated where the shot was to take place. Classic.
I’ve started to become comfortable in certain areas that I was told were dodgy when arriving, hence I carried my small camera and clicked the picture of El-Negro-Man. He’s actually the vendor down the road at a convenience store – I will be seeing him again and asking his name…again. And he made me go to this spot next to his store, while holding the pose.
Later on I took a run through the other part of the old town, but this time in the area that you REALLY should not go to during nighttime. I stopped into a small mom and pop convenient store and fell into convo with the owner, Sandra, for a few minutes. She let me in on how long she has been there (60 years), the switch from the red light district to people with money coming in, and the fact that I need to watch out for children here. Ones under 14 are the most dangerous, and they are all on drugs…more specifically the residue from cocaine that is sold very cheaply, and obviously very addictive. After I walked out of the store there was a group of ten kids chilling outside. I have never looked at a group of children with those thoughts running through my mind. Children scare me now, especially because Sandra says they will kill you because they don’t think, and don’t know the laws. They just want their next fix. Wow.
Pocitos, Montevideo
I need to show you guys what I see before going to sleep each night...the view from my balcony. Last night I saw a more affluent neighborhood of MVD, Pocitos. This place had bars and nightclubs similar to those I would expect to see in the States, or any other first world nation. We sat for a few hours drinking $3.50 beers (yeah, seriously, and they weren’t liter bottles either) and listening to music by Billy Joel to Jamiroqui. Pocitos is a very clean, safe, comfortable place – it’s not one of my favorite areas. But definitely a place that shows potential to have some careless fun.
Today I interviewed with Berlitz (located next to Plaza de Independencia - shown on the right) to start teaching...for 4 dollars an hour. Well, I knew it wasn’t for the money, so that’s OK. Just about meeting more people. Later the first Spanish lesson with Juan – a fifty year old Argentine who has called Uruguay his home for the past eight years. He is going to be a good one in getting this Gringo-ism out of me.
Did I just see a Monkey?
I spent last night wandering around the streets of downtown in search for a pub to meet the local couchsurfing crew here. I refuse to take taxis, and thus got very lost. At one point I realized there weren{t enough lights around, so I did the smart thing and turned around. But I found the pub, called Fun Fun about an hour and a half later than I should. Cool little venue, jazzy and latin at the same time. People here are very European. Before the bartender spoke, I thought he was going to come out at me with a thick Irish drawl. That dude was really white.
The bar scene would have been better if I understood the comedians on stage. They had the place rolling around in laughing fits, along with me sitting there not even feigning that I understood their humor. Or language for that matter. Some definite work to do.
Today I stopped by the Berlitz language school to apply for a position there. Not so much for the two cents an hour I can earn, but rather for more contact with the locals.
My property manager came by at 11AM to help a handy man fix my living room window. The prop manager and I got to talking about real estate - how long he{s been in the business, where are good investments, the taxes, the prices on some places, and before I knew it we had made an agreement that he is going to be my guy. I like him, I do trust him, and I think this is the one I have been looking for. We are going out and looking around on Friday...can{t wait.
After meeting with the prop manager I went to meet with the Spanish tutor that I decided on before I came out. Two hours of one on one lessons for every weekday - 75 dollars. That is it. And this guy is legit to. I told him to smack the gringo accent out of my mouth (as best I could in Spanish anyways). He has a heavy task, but I have faith in him at least.
Dom being that guy, a walk for about 5 hours ensued...in sandals. This place is beautiful, not so beautiful, intriguing, and seemingly forgotten all at the same time. Interesting stuff. But not as interesting as seeing at least 10 over 60 yr old men walking around with their shirts off. Sure we were by the beach, but there seems to be a rule here. If you are over 60 and within 20 metres of the beach, take your shirt off or be punished.
Off to meet a local tonight that I met via Facebook. Oh ya, and the friend who picked me up from the airport I met via Facebook. Up until this point in Montevideo, I owe ALOT to social networking. The airport pick up, my apartment, friends to meet up with at night, possibly an English job, and hopefully more. We shall see.
Oh, pictures will be coming up soon. Oh number two - this morning I looked
outside of my kitchen window and saw a live, real monkey hanging on a branch. I love moments like that.
The bar scene would have been better if I understood the comedians on stage. They had the place rolling around in laughing fits, along with me sitting there not even feigning that I understood their humor. Or language for that matter. Some definite work to do.
Today I stopped by the Berlitz language school to apply for a position there. Not so much for the two cents an hour I can earn, but rather for more contact with the locals.
My property manager came by at 11AM to help a handy man fix my living room window. The prop manager and I got to talking about real estate - how long he{s been in the business, where are good investments, the taxes, the prices on some places, and before I knew it we had made an agreement that he is going to be my guy. I like him, I do trust him, and I think this is the one I have been looking for. We are going out and looking around on Friday...can{t wait.
After meeting with the prop manager I went to meet with the Spanish tutor that I decided on before I came out. Two hours of one on one lessons for every weekday - 75 dollars. That is it. And this guy is legit to. I told him to smack the gringo accent out of my mouth (as best I could in Spanish anyways). He has a heavy task, but I have faith in him at least.
Dom being that guy, a walk for about 5 hours ensued...in sandals. This place is beautiful, not so beautiful, intriguing, and seemingly forgotten all at the same time. Interesting stuff. But not as interesting as seeing at least 10 over 60 yr old men walking around with their shirts off. Sure we were by the beach, but there seems to be a rule here. If you are over 60 and within 20 metres of the beach, take your shirt off or be punished.
Off to meet a local tonight that I met via Facebook. Oh ya, and the friend who picked me up from the airport I met via Facebook. Up until this point in Montevideo, I owe ALOT to social networking. The airport pick up, my apartment, friends to meet up with at night, possibly an English job, and hopefully more. We shall see.
Oh, pictures will be coming up soon. Oh number two - this morning I looked
outside of my kitchen window and saw a live, real monkey hanging on a branch. I love moments like that.
Am I Going to be OK Here??
I am finally in Montevideo, Uruguay. I{ve been thinking, talking, and more about it now for almost a year now. Here I am (with a sigh of relief)....
Today I arrived via Miami, after an hour and a half delay in Miami in which I was sitting next to some very friendly Mexicans. I realized at this point that my Spanish will have to take a leaping jump, and will, into fluency with multiple people surrounding me.
So as the plane descended to the airport I realized my situation - potentially no ride from the airport, no place to stay, and not too much of an idea on where the airport was versus the city. I am a planner, can you tell? But strangely, something told me everything would just work out. And as the plane flew over lush green farmland that immediately turned into a sprawling little city next to the ocean into an aiport with no other planes leaving, arriving, or moving around I knew it. This was my place.
OK, the fact that the ground crew was very cute (5 girls all dressed in the neon orange vest) helped me come to this conclusion as well.
Speaking more with my Mexican friend at the baggage claim, who turned out to be a neurologist from Mexico City, I realized that my Spanish is much better, it just needed a few gringo jolts. That was relieving to say the least. OK, now onto figuring out how not to get jacked for a small fortune by the taxi man because of my Gringo-ness.
As I walked out of the terminal area, a crowd of people awaited their loved ones or people they were hired to drive. My mind was thinking along the lines of how nice that would be. Then I saw the smile...hey, I think I recognize that...then the wave...then it hit me - my facebook now reality friend, Kaira, had come to the airport on time to pick me up. But not only this, she had to come back to the airport because my plane was so delayed. Such a sweetheart. Thanks Kaira.
We spoke the whole way into town about this and that, passing a FDR national park (what?), and within an hour I had my apartment hooked up. Sure, I did some pre-leg work to get this done, but it wouldn{t have happened without some really nice people. Thanks Uruguay. I look forward to getting to know you more....
Today I arrived via Miami, after an hour and a half delay in Miami in which I was sitting next to some very friendly Mexicans. I realized at this point that my Spanish will have to take a leaping jump, and will, into fluency with multiple people surrounding me.
So as the plane descended to the airport I realized my situation - potentially no ride from the airport, no place to stay, and not too much of an idea on where the airport was versus the city. I am a planner, can you tell? But strangely, something told me everything would just work out. And as the plane flew over lush green farmland that immediately turned into a sprawling little city next to the ocean into an aiport with no other planes leaving, arriving, or moving around I knew it. This was my place.
OK, the fact that the ground crew was very cute (5 girls all dressed in the neon orange vest) helped me come to this conclusion as well.
Speaking more with my Mexican friend at the baggage claim, who turned out to be a neurologist from Mexico City, I realized that my Spanish is much better, it just needed a few gringo jolts. That was relieving to say the least. OK, now onto figuring out how not to get jacked for a small fortune by the taxi man because of my Gringo-ness.
As I walked out of the terminal area, a crowd of people awaited their loved ones or people they were hired to drive. My mind was thinking along the lines of how nice that would be. Then I saw the smile...hey, I think I recognize that...then the wave...then it hit me - my facebook now reality friend, Kaira, had come to the airport on time to pick me up. But not only this, she had to come back to the airport because my plane was so delayed. Such a sweetheart. Thanks Kaira.
We spoke the whole way into town about this and that, passing a FDR national park (what?), and within an hour I had my apartment hooked up. Sure, I did some pre-leg work to get this done, but it wouldn{t have happened without some really nice people. Thanks Uruguay. I look forward to getting to know you more....
Analysis Paralysis Has Been Beaten
So I am finally going to Montevideo, Uruguay. If you were to ask me 10 months ago up until a few weeks ago I would have told you it was for the final move. Or something to that effect (depending on how many cervezas possibly). But an opportunity that I couldn't pass up came to me.
My Montevideo mission is now a shorter one - probably around two months. I bought a one way ticket, but plan to be back in the beginning of January 2009. Although the first time I came to South America I bought a round trip ticket giving me two months...and didn't get on the return flight. And then I forgot to get a return flight for the next 8 months or so.
My Montevideo mission is now a shorter one - probably around two months. I bought a one way ticket, but plan to be back in the beginning of January 2009. Although the first time I came to South America I bought a round trip ticket giving me two months...and didn't get on the return flight. And then I forgot to get a return flight for the next 8 months or so.
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