Addresses in Uruguay are an utter mess. Houses have no numbers outside of cities, and even there the idea that numbers should be in some sort of order seems to have somehow gotten lost. And if an address includes “esq” (esquina=corner) it doesn’t mean the house is on the corner of the two streets, but merely that’s the place to start looking.
Some house names are interesting. We liked the previous owners’ choice, Caviahue, so kept it. It’s the name of a ski resort in central Argentina, and means “place of encounters” in Mapuche / Mapudungun.
But what if you lack the imagination to come up with a name like that?
Simply call it “my house.” Instead of mi, write mia and voilà! It’s now Italian and exotic.
I was traveling from right to left in this picture, so yes, the truck that hit me spun me 180°. It was entirely my fault as far as the two vehicles were concerned. It took me a day and a half to realize exactly how and why it happened.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m fine. A couple of small bruises, one on my hip from the seat belt anchor, one on my upper back from who-knows-what. Benji, sitting as usual in the back right seat at the point of impact, fared a little less well. He jumped out and ran away up the median at top speed. I called after him, but then had to turn my attention to the other driver, and Benji was gone.
Shortly after, six friends appeared in four cars, and all set out to look for the dog. A kilometer and a half away was a lookalike, but in a yard with three others; he lived there. Otherwise, nothing.
The next morning, after a widespread and unproductive search in Syd’s car, I was surprised to hear Syd – who had just left – loudly beeping his horn in the driveway. With Benji! After leaving our house, still automatically looking down side streets, he had spotted the limping yellow dog just a few blocks from home. And coming from the opposite direction I had seen him run. He’ll need a week at least before he can run again with the other dogs, maybe more. But dogs are remarkable in how they heal.
A story within a story
At the scene: finally able to get the number for the insurance company, a friend called and a rep for Sura (the new name for RSA) showed up, took tons of pictures, told the other driver – who, breaking the law, had no insurance – that he could leave. Fortunately his truck was drive-able. I then sat in his car with the Sura agent, who made a snappy little diagram on his Samsung tablet, had me do a spoken description of what had happened, and called for a tow truck. It took over an hour to arrive, and I rode in it a couple miles down the road where we left the remains of the Meriva at a mechanic’s shop. It was all very professionally handled. Except for one detail: we don’t have insurance with RSA/Sura.
The next day I talked to our insurance agent (whom I’ve never met) in Montevideo, and got things sorted. Seeing as I hadn’t been in an accident that was my fault in over 40 years, and drivers in Uruguay by law are required to have insurance, I didn’t have collision insurance. But that brings me to my next point, which is:
I will not miss this vehicle
First, what happened:
I was at the PA. Another car was to my right at the RE (Pare means “stop,” a very good idea here). Often cars to the right block the view of oncoming traffic, but in this case I had a very clear view. Except of the oncoming truck, probably about where you see the middle arrow. The black car is probably exactly where he hit me. I assumed it must have been “hiding” beyond the A-pillar of that car to the right, but I remembered it being rather thin. Strange….
It was only two mornings later, meditating, that it came to me: it was myA-pillar.
That has got to be one of the nastiest pieces of design deception, because it gives the illusion of visibility. I am tall, but even for a person of average height, that little triangular window is utterly useless. Suddenly, I couldn’t even begin to remember all the times, in eight years, I have had close calls because of that blind spot. Too late, I realize that I would have done well to simply paint the window black, as a reminder that there was a huge area – possibly more than 10° of the compass – that was invisible to me. Instead of falling, once again, for the illusion of visibility.
Postscript
One of the friends that showed up had a large plastic bag, and while it was still light I loaded all personal possessions from the car into it. The next day I met another insurance rep, who in lieu of a fancy Samsung tablet with accident-diagramming software had a clipboard and carbon paper. But hey, was able to determine we actually were insured by his company!
Only after returning home on the bus did I realize that there was one thing I had neglected to retrieve from the car. The next day, after it had been taken to a nearby body shop by our real insurance company, I rode my bike there and collected this, previously neglected in a door pocket:
an angel pin, given to my wife by her mother when she lived near us in North Carolina, almost two decades ago. It has ridden in our vehicle ever since. To whom I say thank you, because I think it does no harm to acknowledge that perhaps something I don’t necessarily understand helped make something like this.
Kind of like paying attention to retrograde Mercury, the reason we won’t necessarily be buying a new car for the next couple weeks. And there’s no hurry, because yet another friend has loaned us a car for the duration.
If you search this site, you can find plenty of photos of rain damage, flooded roads, etc. But the rain was so intense this morning that we actually had a couple of inches of standing water in our back yard at one point. It’s even more amazing when you consider that we live at the beach, and under the grass there lies merely a few inches of soil, and then just sand.
I’ve got some video, but I have to learn a new video editing program before I can stitch it together, so that will be a tomorrow thing.
This is why I never turn on the pump in our well without first locating the end of the hose. No, ’twas not I who left it pointing into our dining room. In fact, I always leave at the base of our avocado trees. But a certain curious puppy finds it a delightful thing to drag around the yard.
While the puppy has become better at not leaving nasty-cleanup morning surprises, we did find this morning, destroyed by puppy teeth, the end of the ethernet cable that connected to the computer that we use for watching movies. My fault: I left it dangling when I moved that computer to the dining room table while my Mac Mini is the hospital, having succumbed to a panic attack.
Yes, that’s a real thing: kernel panic, where the machine decides something’s not right and shuts down. Over and over and over.
No problem. I have a crimping tool; all I had to do was pick up an Ethernet plug at the local electric store. Since it was easier to see the tiny colored wires outside in the sun, I moved the operation to the picnic table, prepared the wires, and went two meters inside the house to double check on the order of the wires, difficult to see with certainty at the other end of the cable. If the eight little wires don’t match at both ends of the cable, ain’t gonna work.
A handy diagram on the computer reassured me that it was orange-stripe, orange, green stripe, blue, et cetera. I jotted them down, and returned outside…
…to find that in my absence of a few moments the puppy had severed the other end of the cable.
Rode my bike to the store (actually two; apparently I had bought the last Ethernet plug this morning at the first), and bought three plugs. One because I needed it, and two por las dudas — just in case.
It’s all good, but I think I’ll be hiding cables at night for a while.
A couple years ago, I posted about this face cut-out sign near the tourist office in Atlántida. The artwork has changed (or maybe it was different on the other side the whole time), but nearby a newer version has appeared.
With a message: the condom is always fashionable, and advice to condom yourself this summer! (a play on words, I expect).
Yes, that is what you think you’re seeing.
I’m having some difficulty imagining to whom this might appeal, or how. Or who thought this was the best use of $3,000, much less 3,000+ condoms. Maybe I should hang out some sunny day and ask questions.
I sometimes think this country’s motto should be Welcome to Uruguay. Please take a number. Because everywhere you go, you take a number. Even in the feria, the street market.
Overall, it’s a good thing. I recall my nephew’s amazement at the civility of our ferias, compared to their chaos in Guatemala, where he taught at an international school.
In the local ferretería (hardware store), where everyone knows my name, I have for years responded “42” and waved my paper in the air when the clerk calls out my actual number, which is of course never 42.
Alas, inquiring about property taxes in the intendencia the other day, I did get number 42. But there was no line, and no number called out, no number to turn in. What a waste!
