Author: doug

Tosca

Tosca:

  • an opera in three acts by Giacomo Puccini
  • the same magically transposed to film in a stirring and wonderfully performed production featuring Angela Gheorghiu and Roberto Alagna asthe star-crossed lovers
  • a downtempo-chillout-electronic-trip-hop lounge duo
  • a fine Italian dining experience in the heart of Washington, D.C.
  • an awesome old school café in San Francisco’s Chinatown
  • a manufacturer of travel goods in Australia
  • a street in Singapore, and …

… dirt. Actually a type of crumbly rock (my scant knowledge of geology fails me), a mountain of which appeared last week on the rambla, probably for the repair of the collapsing stretch nearby, and destined to devolve into clouds of dust, tooth-rattling washboards, and suspension-testing potholes (pozos).

Tosca, the "dirt" for roads, Uruguay

I found this spot a little more inspiring a couple years ago, with a funky car and graceful pines.

Car, tree, ocean — Uruguay

They’ve gone, victim of a storm, as have the railings to the then-new boardwalk. And I haven’t seen that car in a long time either, come to think of it.

This year’s volunteers

Our country house, Uruguay

Our country property included two pig houses, one collapsing. When I took the latter apart, I discovered volunteer zapallos (I think; some kind of squash at any rate). You might recall my fascination with the volunteer zapallos last year.

At some point, I will take up the neighbor’s offer to plow the area between here and the house for a garden, in exchange for letting him graze cattle on our land. Meanwhile, I can be happy that part of my garden has already planted itself.

No Silent Spring – just missing spring

Neighbors in the country tell me there is no spring here anymore – winter ends and summer starts.

After a few hours in the country, gathering poles from slash piles across the road, cutting up storm-damaged trees and hauling them, disassembling a collapsing pig house (the word chancho – pig – also refers to the traffic police, preferably not to their faces), I return to the coast.

In my downstairs office (a 90×90 cm table with two shelves next to a window), a cool breeze blows through. I take dogs to the beach for the first time in several days, wearing a light hoodie, in case the breeze is cooler there.

Not a chance. The beach is hot, and equally littered with sun worshippers, surfcasting fishermen, and plastic trash. It’s not summer, so the beach cleanup patrol doesn’t come through first thing in the morning. The amount of trash amazes me: looks like a garbage barge was scuttled offshore.

Fracking in Uruguay

country house, Uruguay

All of the trees are disappearing from across the road from our ‘little piece of paradise.’

A neighbor tells me a lawyer in Montevideo owns 35 hectares (86.486884 acres, but you knew that) he is turning into a fraccionamiento (sub division) of 3.5 hectare lots. That seems like a pretty clever idea. Many newcomers here would love to have 8.5 acres with easy access to beach, town, etc.

I don’t have strong feelings one way or the other. Yet.

Ya veremos. We’ll see.

Meanwhile footings have been added, floors torn up, walls getting repaired, and a concrete beam (visible) cast to stabilize an old and bouncy flat roof.