An inquisitive old fart with a camera
I see this dog almost every day, but always on the ground. As I approached, he got to his feet to bark at me. Heavy rain at home today, and I guess he got tired of wet paws. I was in Montevideo making an appointment to get our passports and dealing with ID nonsense for our son.
(This age and condition of car, by the way, is often seen in Uruguay. Probably 25 years old, it would still fetch USD 1,500-2,000.)
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That cat has gotten a little annoying the last few nights. If he doesn’t come in at dusk, he wakes us up in the middle of the night to get in. If he stays in at dusk, he wakes us in the early hours to go out.
Last night, apparently, he found something fascinating to catch by jumping up on the bathroom mirror…
…after stepping in toothpaste that had oozed out of the tube of locally-produced stuff.
I was very excited to see my loofahs growing, especially after transplanting them, which apparently they don’t like. Out of ten or so, it looks like only two will be useable. I was even more psyched when I got the skin off one and was able to use it.
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:
Still keeping himself amused, I’m happy to report.
His name has become Oscar Peepers, because he resembles our last cat Peepers, who came into our yard a very sick stray, got healthy, then died young.
Related:
The local phone rings, someone speaking in Spanish. Which I normally can handle sin problema. This time I’m confused.
Do you speak English? she asks. OK, this is good.
We’re calling about the two unpaid invoices we have for you. This is not good.
Who’s calling? I ask.
Logistics Services in Montevideo.
Are you saying I have an account with you?
Are you David Wilson Douglas?*
No.
Oh, sorry.
* may or may not be the actual name she said
Daniel, our favorite mozo (waiter).
After burying cats Zeus and Mr Peepers (and dog Karma) in the last ten months, we’ve had just two dogs, and while I’d like to say the house has been quiet, when one of them is a Shih Tzu, that possibility simply does not exist.
Meanwhile, it was inevitable that cat energy would return to the house, and here it is. Did nothing but sleep yesterday afternoon. He’s rested now.
No name yet.
While in Connecticut in September, I picked my brother up at the airport. Driving back, I was amazed at cars driving inside the lanes on the interstate, and signalling to change lanes. Finding myself in the midst of a fairly empty stretch, I said, “I’ll show you how we drive in Uruguay,” and started to switch lanes, but only enough to perfectly straddle the line between two.
“What the hell are you doing?” said my brother – who, for the record, is legally blind.
“Driving like an Uruguayan,” I replied.
Today, shortly after an expensive car nearly clipped my fender in the process of creating a third lane in the middle of two eastbound lanes (hey, after all, it is Friday of New Year’s Eve weekend and we’ve got to get to Punta del Este!), I saw this car with Punta plates, which apparently left the highway at significant speed to travel so far and do such damage to the entrance of a children’s recreational area.
I don’t know the details, or what other vehicles were involved, but I can say with some certainty what happened was 100% the driver’s fault.
