Author: doug

¡Que humedad!

First time we came to Uruguay from Mexico, we were amazed to wake up to passport covers curled by the humidity. Where we lived in Mexico,  March was so dry it might have been called Parch. It was refreshing; our skin felt moisturized.

It has a down side, though. In many parts of the world, locals build houses adapted to the environment. Not in Uruguay: a typical house is a single wall of brick, stucco, and no insulation, as if the objective were to grow mold. Ironically, now mostly-eschewed traditional building with adobe rarely has problems with moisture, as long as the walls are protected.

Today, the temperature is almost balmy, but the humidity continues to be incredible. They’re reporting it at 88%, which I’m tempted to disbelieve. I delivered the bases for some kitchen cabinets to the chacra, and almost got stuck just inside the gate.*

humidity

I’ve never had this happen before. Our mason has had a tough time the last few days; each coat of paint on the kitchen light fixture I’m making takes a couple days to dry.

* Called a potera; were I to bring that gate 10km to town, it would become a portal. Go figure.

 

Rodrigo’s back!

I hear a yell from my wife upstairs, and look to see Rodrigo, who left for New Zealand over 18 months ago, strolling up the driveway! Seems he likes surprises; he told no one but his brother (since he needed a ride from the airport) that he was arriving. Serious noise at his parents’ house: what are you yelling about, his mother demanded of his sister, who saw him first.

New Zealand gives out 200 work permits per year for Uruguayan kids; he left last year ahead of the others. Great joy to see him back.

Elsewhere in the news, we had chivitos today. Big deal? At Marcos, yes. Big. When we moved to Uruguay, I promised myself I would not have a chivito more than once a month. This is my first (I think) this year. What’s a chivito? Watch (note: since posting, blocked in Uruguay; requires VPN…or just have fun searching chivito on your own!)

¡Cinco!

After almost four years here, I finally saw it: five people on a motorbike, an entire family.

Configuration: kDkM&i — kid in front, Dad driving, kid between, and Mom clutching an infant behind.

No helmets, of course. (To their credit, they weren’t on a fast/busy street, unlike the ones I showed here and here.)

Remember, here you often see cars like this. And if you want to see for yourself how ridiculous the prices for used cars can be, spend a few minutes rummaging around Mercado Libre…U$S means US dollars, simply $ means Uruguayan pesos, currently 20/USD. When we moved here in 2007, I sold my used Toyota 4Runner which, at best, might have fetched USD 7,500 in the US. Here, I found the equivalent listed for USD 32,500.

Helps put into perspective the otherwise insane thought of a young family of five on a motorbike, especially when you reflect on the difficulty of earning a living.

Aloe!

Even underexposing two stops, can’t do justice to the brilliance of
these aloe plants cross the road, glowing as the sun descends
toward its local disappearance at 5:43 PM. Four days past the
 winter solstice, nice to know that each day will be a little longer now.

En conflicto

Sceneon the Ruta Interbalnearia today.

A worker earns 11,000 pesos per month, the Secretary General 97,000.

Sounds like a reasonable ratio of CEO-worker pay.

But:

132,000 pesos = US$6,600/year.

Sueldos de hambre (starvation wages) indeed.

 

I got it! Well, sort of.

This morning I got a number for my son to see the doctor who bolted his leg together a month and a half ago, for next week. When he was released from the hospital, they told me to do a followup in a month.  Except they didn’t bother to explain exactly how. So when the time came, I went to the local clinic, who told me a number to call for an appointment, which I did.

Time out: the number they give out is 1920 1212. Since all phone numbers in Uruguay have eight digits, you might imagine this is the number to call. You would be wrong: in the event you’re not in Montevideo. You have add a 2 in front, making it a nine-digit number. This is apparently so obvious that they don’t bother to tell you, and wonder why you’d ask.

No appointments were available, they told me. Call back May 30—at 6:30 AM. 6:30 AM? Right. Well, I got around to it a few days later than that, at which point there no appointments available; call back June 13 at 6:30 AM. Someone tipped me off I could arrange it online, where the system also indicated that the next appointments would be available June 13 at 6:30 AM.

I set the alarm and got up at 6:15 this morning. At 6:33 their system went live and I got #1, meaning that a week from now, we will be the first served at 6:00 PM and perhaps home in time for supper. Twelve hours later (now), all slots are full; please come back on June 20th at 6:30 AM

God only knows what it must be like to try to phone at 6:30 AM: they list 100 specialties. Assuming 50 appointments needed per specialty per week (and each has numerous doctors), that means potentially 5,000 or more incoming phone calls on one line before 7 AM.

I don’t want to be judgmental about a system despite it’s being seemingly designed to make life difficult for patients, but one does have to wonder who exactly thought making every appointment for every location of a hospital for for an entire week at the same time was a good idea?

Oh wait—maybe they hired someone from Migración….

Need firewood? Go away.

firewood

When we got our first wood stove, I saw several places on very busy roads, with massive piles of firewood (leña), apparently for sale, unattended, and no way to contact the seller. Surely they would paint a phone number on the wall, at least?

After a few years here, despite some excellently run local businesses, the simple act of procuring materials often seems like a game of “catch me if you can.” Still, I think might suggest a sign if I meet the owner:

Marketing in Uruguay

The harvest

The younger brother of our albeñil (mason/contractor) said the yellow squash and pumpkins should be brought in before the last rain, so I did last week. Except for the six in the foreground I found today. Yes, you would think they’d be hard to miss.

These all came from volunteer plants. I know of about a dozen more smaller, green squash still on the vine.

The green ones lower left are loofahs, which I did plant, from a loofah I bought at Tienda Inglesa that had plenty of seeds inside. When they dry out completely, the skin will crack off easily. I hope. I tried to speed the process using heat on the first I picked. Wrong.

A new bridge

Venturing east recently, we noticed some odd construction: in La Floresta at Ruta 35, what had been traffic lights in the middle of nowhere had become a roundabout. Turns out they’re building a traffic overpass, only the third between Montevideo and Punta Del Este, and replacing one of only four traffic lights between the mandatory toll stops.

Why there? Ruta 35 does not have that much traffic. However, examining the traffic lights (red arrows) from left (Montevideo) to right (Punta del Este):

  1. Neptunia: nothing but a small residential area on the north side.
  2. Salinas: the town’s iconic arch wold need to be removed.
  3. Parque del Plata: nothing but a small residential area on the north side.

In La Floresta, no problems, wide open, through road to Soca and beyond.

So they’re building it there because they can. That’s good news for anybody wanting to hit the road east, because after the Parque del Plata light (new since we moved here) things are pretty wide open. Unfortunately, the space west of Parque del Plata is not wide open, and heavily populated, but the people racing between Montevideo and Punta act as though it’s their god-given right to drive as fast as they can past things like this and this and this.

Punta del Este license plates begin with B. Montevideo license plates begin with S. BS drivers are not the only offenders (BA also comes to mind: Buenos Aires), but it was not a local car in this scene.