Today we celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary a couple days late, after trying to resolve an import issue which I will probably write about tomorrow, in the furrows of Latin American bureaucracy. It was a very reasonable (~USD 25 each) gourmet lunch at Alquimista, #1 of Montevideo restaurants according to tripadvisor.com.
Exiting, I noticed this unique take on parallel parking nearby. Carrasco (which I’ve talked about here and here) is visually appealing, upscale, and in general hell for parking. And, lovely as it appears, maybe one would want to think twice about living in an expensive neighborhood where electrical fencing is commonplace.
And then there’s the supermarket Géant, where store display are ingeniously engineered to prevent passage of customers. But then, they also have the FILO shopping cart system. It’s not my position to label them idiots, but, given a label-maker….
Shopping for most things in Uruguay is not fun, given prices, lack of selection and quality, and not-quite-ready-for-first-world business practices. But recently, shopping for tile, at least I found a title amusement in these ceramic tile displays.
OK, the English-sign thing. That’s definitely got appeal. Of course they’re missing out by not including possessive apostrophes, but ta.
I don’t see how ceramic versions of old American license plates would find a place in too many design schemes. But then again I’m often surprised at the limits of my imagination.
Which brings me to what I bought for the terrace above our dining room, in an atempt to solve the moisture/mold problems below. I found a great deal on these 50cm (almost 20″) square tiles: good albedo for summer heat deflection, nice texture. The kid at the store (at a certain age, almost everyone is a kid) advised I should take my 24 square meters in two loads of about 300 kg (660 lbs) each, given my vehicle.
The first trip went swimmingly. On the second trip, I decided I should stop at Tienda Inglesa to stock up on wine, which involved a turn to the right up a ramp. As with the first trip, the tiles were vertical in the back, leaning to the right.
Kar-umpph! Load shift to the left! I did my shopping, then carefully re-leaned the tiles, noticing that happily, few had broken, and with them just corners.
Getting off the Ruta Interbalnearia, I realized we were short on cardboard, still necessary for fire-starting (it’s been a few weeks since this happened) and provision for night time puppy “accidents.” So I pulled slightly off the road, which involved a slight incline, and kar-umpph! This time the fall wasn’t quite as drastic, seeing as it was limited by ten bottles of wine – ten because that’s what fits into a very sturdy bag we have, gift from a friend in Mexico.
And – sorry if this disappoints you – the story does NOT continue with my ruing the odor of alcohol replacing (what’s left of) our new-car smell. No bottles broke, and though significantly more tiles suffered breakage, overall it’s not as bad as you might have imagined.
And there is – at least was – plenty more where it came from.
Three months ago, I told about our original kitchen stove and attempt to buy a new one on Mercado Libre. That experience was so ridiculous that I abandoned the idea for a while. Yesterday I looked online again, found one I liked, asked if they actually had it (yes), ordered. Their confirmation included instructions on picking it up, which I didn’t want to do. So I sent an email yesterday evening after office hours with no expectation of a reply, but pretty quickly got a reply with delivery cost (USD 17). I replied saying yes please, here’s my delivery and contact info. This morning found a message from the seller from 8:00 last night: OK, we’ll deliver it tomorrow afternoon.
At 3:40 this afternoon, a phone call from the driver; he’s in El Pinar and will be here in 20 minutes. I try to explain how to get here, but he doesn’t seem particularly interested. Though easy to find, our house somehow eludes many delivery people, so I tell him I’ll stand out in front. Couple minutes before 4:00, I stand at the end of the driveway, and almost immediately a little nondescript truck appears from the opposite direction I expect, but no matter. Driver gives me a thumbs-up, I reply, very pleasant guy unloads the stove and delivers it to our kitchen on a hand truck. Beautiful!
It would be lovely to say I just connected gas and electric and ¡ta! But no. I decided to replace the plastic gas tubing, so rode a few blocks on my bike to the closest ferretería for that. Then discovered that the gas line nipple on the stove was slightly smaller than that of the garafa (13 kg propane tank), and the previous stove. The screw clamp wouldn’t tighten enough to seal it. Dug around in my collection of plumbing detritus, and found a clamp marginally smaller that, fully opened, barely fit over the tubing. Slathered a little silicon adhesive on the nipple por las dudas (just in case: “for the doubts”) and plugged in the electric …
… oh shit. The electric cord has a Shuko plug. I don’t have an adaptor, and don’t want to replace the plug because of warranty concerns. Oh but wait! Digging around in my electrical detritus, I find an Argentine Shuko socket to match our house installations! Find appropriate circuit breaker, pull out components, only to discover that the plastic frame that holds the plugs is broken beyond hope. Go to the nearby electrical shop, ask for a 3-socket frame plus one Shuko socket (which takes up two) and a filler cap, and the kid brings out a complete unit with one Shuko socket. Brilliant!
Presently, I have gas and electric up and running – uh, no. There’s no gas. Thinking the gas tank is low, I change it. Then, thinking my repair of the switch pin of the regulator (involving a small rusty nail) didn’t cut the muster, I replace it with one from our defunct barbecue grill – which, having being exposed to the weather for a while, exudes rusty water and doesn’t work any better. Ack! Now past 6:00 PM, I race to the hardware store again to buy a new regulator. Happily, they’re open until 6:30.
New regulator installed, nada.
Then the “D’oh!” moment. What if you had the on/off positions of the little cryptic plastic garafa-regulator switch reversed in your mind?
I was informed yesterday that I needed to sign and deliver a power of attorney letter pronto! regarding a Swiss-based investment in Panama that turned out to be a scam. Issue #1: it absolutely had to be delivered on legal-size stationery (8-1/2 x 14″). I do have legal-size documents from Uruguay. Alas, they date from the 1980s. “Legal size” hasn’t been here for a long time.
So how on earth to create a document that size? Visit a papelería and ask them to cut down an A3 sheet to size? Actually, turns out the solution is much simpler – shoot an email to our Canadian neighbors Janet and Wayne, and minutes later retrieve a ream of legal-size stationary from atop the wall that separates our properties.
Issue #2: OK, I am used to this; it has existed for the couple decades I’ve sent shipments internationally with “Federal” Express – but this is just total insanity:
If you have any insight into this, please let me know. Is it just a scam for people who don’t pursue details?
It’s been over a week since I last posted, about dissecting a dead laser printer and discovering that it yielded several pounds of recyclable plastic. Today I was cleaning out files and found a photo taken a month ago.
Some low-functioning individual decided a more appropriate way to dispose of a broken printer would be to take it 180 meters from the nearest dwellings, and dump it in a field.
Meanwhile, doing a bit of spring cleaning – it’s amazing how much grows around the edges of those concrete plumbing junction box lids – I found that ants had been using this unused one as a dumping ground for sand as they made their nest under the patio. All the sand in the wheelbarrow came from that box, which means it probably came from below the wheelbarrow. Great!
After removing all the sand I could, I flushed the rest with the 3/4″ hose attached to our well. (Unfortunately not potable water.) “Someone” who saw the hose “come to life” decided it needed to be taught who’s in charge here. He managed to wrap it around this little orange tree three times, tightly.
Meanwhile “there’s something happening here” in the little park near the intendencia in Atlántida. And, as is to be expected, what it is ain’t exactly clear. Huge eucalyptus and pine trees cut down, all the tile torn up, and – nothing. The eucalyptus stump will send up new shoots; the pine in the foreground won’t.
The real question: will whatever they’re doing be complete in three months, when the summer season starts?
I left my kitchen scale out after making bread recently, unwashed, and some else decided to wash it – not just the detachable measuring cup, but the whole thing. Electronics and warm, soapy water don’t go together well. After a few days, it began to work again, but then simply died for good.
So my challenge was to take it apart without breaking any parts, because that’s what I do rather than simply chuck things. I’m curious about how things work, and how they’re put together. Also whether there might be any parts worth saving.
Despite its apparent simplicity. it was a little tricky –– some well-concealed screws beneath labels and the plastic readout cover. Nothing really useful to save.
I’ve made bagels and pizza dough a couple times since, but I really prefer doing recipes by weight, so have thought about getting another.
I bought this one with points at the Disco supermarket a few years ago, not thinking about the actual cost. Now I see they sell it at Tienda Inglesa for 40 bucks – yikes! They also show one for USD 12 at Tienda Inglesa so maybe, just maybe, I can get them to bring one to our local store. I suppose I could try ordering one online but *shudder* that has not gone entirely well for me in Uruguay (think mattress and oven).
Except for socializing at the weekly feria, I find little fun in trying to find and buy things here. But maybe that’s OK, especially when I reflect on the inordinate amount of stuff we accumulated before moving to Mexico — and that was less than three years after moving ourselves across the country, from North Carolina to Nelson, BC Spokane, Washington.
UPDATE: Yes, this does seem like a rather pointless blog entry, but it reminded me to look at Tienda Inglesa, and guess what?
Bank wire transfers end up costing $60-80 for a realistic maximum of $9,000. Sure, I could have wired $20,000+ but that would have involved jumping through bank hoops. You’re not allowed to just have money somewhere else. You’re supposed to be able to document where it came from. Our local bank branch is considered by many people to be one of the worst for this type of inquisition.
So I was delighted to find I could send $3000 for only $6. This was through a thuggish untrustworthy mob-like operation (TUMO). I didn’t identify it as that at first. You’re familiar with TUMO. If you’re thinking it-which-must-not-be-named has something to do with a W and a U and started in the 1850s, you’re on the right track. TUMO gets seriously bad Yelp reviews. One reviewer who mentioned (not criticized) TUMO in a blog post got threats for “trademark infringement.”
Of course I had to provide ID to set up the account, as you would expect. Above $3,000, TUMO’s fee increases to $15, so I started sending $3,000 at a time.
Two or three months and over ten transactions later, I went to Abitab. TUMO had told me my money was waiting for me. Then some kind of glitch. The teller asked if I could come back in 15 minutes; no problem. When I returned, she said something I didn’t quite get, but it was clear I wasn’t getting any money.
Back home, an email from TUMO. They had cancelled the transaction (while I was there to pick it up!) and would refund my money within a week. (It actually happened quite quickly).
I phoned, but turns out the Impersonal Customer Scrutiny Department only communicates via email. Here’s the response I got:
Dear ________,
The reasons why a consumer is not authorized to use the services of Thuggish Untrustworthy Mob-like Operation can’t be disclosed since it is a private policy. [their emphasis]
As a financial institution, it is the policy of Thuggish Untrustworthy Mob-like Operation (“TUMO”) to conduct appropriate due diligence on consumers who utilize our services.
We are currently working to solve your issue.
Upon completion of the review, we will inform you of our conclusion.
Yes, you are reading that correctly. TUMO does “due diligence” on a customer only after two months and a dozen transfers. I provided them copies of Uruguayan and US passports, and explained exactly what I was doing and why. Two months later, this:
As a financial institution, Thuggish Untrustworthy Mob-like Operation is required to comply with industry legal and regulatory standards in the countries we do business. Part of complying with these standards involves performing due diligence to determine how customers are using our services to ensure that Thuggish Untrustworthy Mob-like Operation is meeting its obligations under applicable law.
We have reviewed your reinstatement request and have decided to uphold our previous decision [their emphasis] on this matter. This means Thuggish Untrustworthy Mob-like Operation will not accept any money transfers from you as sender and will not pay out any money transfers to you as receiver.
Thuggish Untrustworthy Mob-like Operation’s Money Transfer Service Terms and Conditions provide that Thuggish Untrustworthy Mob-like Operation and its Agents have the right to refuse service to any person. Accordingly, Thuggish Untrustworthy Mob-like Operation has made the business decision to refuse and refund any transactions you may attempt to send or receive in the future.
On behalf of Thuggish Untrustworthy Mob-like Operation, we apologize for the inconvenience this process has caused you.
So there you have it. I can almost imagine an employee wiping a tear from his/her eye while typing that heartfelt last line
I made an interesting discovery today. Dispatched to the “hyper” market to pick up crackers, among other things, I saw that my wife wrote “two types.” This caused me to look more thoroughly than usual on the “cracker aisle” (as did the fact that an employee stocking shelves, and two women chatting, blocked further progress).
Low and behold, on the bottom shelf I find flour tortillas, and not the type we’ve been buying, locally produced with the Mexican-licensed “Bimbo” (gotta love it) brand:
From the Tienda Inglesa web site. Note that accessories are not included 😉
So here we have “Azteca Wraps” – kind of fun, because I’ve never seen sandwiches called “wraps” in Uruguay (but they may exist somewhere).
But a glance at the back reveals they’re not just intended for Uruguayans. And they’re not from Mexico, despite the Aztec implication. They’re made in Spain, and the back of the package presents info in twelve languages.
So let’s compare. The product produced an hour away weighs 360 grams. The product produced in Spain, shipped across the Atlantic Ocean, weighs 420 grams, or 17% more. Which do you think is more expensive?
Well, if you’re familiar with how things roll in the socialist paradise of Uruguay, you’ll recognize this as a trick question. Of course the local product, smaller, will be more expensive! In fact 63% more expensive!
And, comparing price per gram, almost exactly 100% more expensive as the imported product.
Better? Hard to imagine. The local Bimbo tortillas are not special in any way.
For a couple years I’ve walked with Syd and his dogs in a large piece of undeveloped land near his house in Villa Argentina. I’ve blogged many times about our finds there. (Tag: dog walk.)
We’ve stopped now. Benji’s aggression toward other dogs has been getting progressively worse. After a hiatus because of Mocha’s broken leg, we resumed walking together, and Benji attacked Jordan, Syd’s only male dog, three days in a row, despite our changing walking and meeting/sniffing protocol (latter for the dogs only, just to be clear here).
Benji (“what me, hurt a flea?”) and Mocha
At this point I don’t dare let Benji off-leash around any dog but Mocha. So I’ve been taking them to our Uruguay “mini-farm” every couple days, where I can walk the property and they can run around like beheaded chickens. It’s about 1.2 km — 3/4 mile for me, only half the Villa Argentina walk, but the dogs make up for it by chasing imaginary rabbits.
I did at one point watch several of the neighbor’s dogs chase a hare there, so they exist. It seemed a goner but somehow escaped. No idea how, but I did watch a couple of amazing rabbit chases in Villa Argentina.
About Villa Argentina: though usually we have had the place to ourselves, you can imagine that those sandy trails appeal to horseback riders, motorcyclists, and four-wheeler enthusiasts, all of whom Benji likes to chase. And in fact, during one of our recent visits to the campo, neighbor’s horses were grazing near the house adjacent to the dog-fenced area (thanks to Burkhard the Model A-and-now-T guy). Benji went batshit crazy. I tried to restrain him with force and yelling, to absolutely no avail.
So today we arrive, ready to walk out of the dog-fenced area, and I see five horses between us and the stream that runs through the middle of the property — the stream we need to cross to go to the back of the property. From the start, I’ve allowed the neighbor access for his cows (I can pretend I’m rich when I arrive and see “my” cattle). But today it’s a gift: a dog training opportunity! I tie Benji to the fence, go back to the car, get the key to the barn, retrieve a 20-foot piece of rope, attach it to the leash, and head toward the horses. Mocha runs over and says hello to the horses; he’s no problem. But Benji….
As we head in, the horses start to head toward us, because I’m being deliberately as calm as possible — don’t think I’ve had horses walk towards me before! I ask them not to come too close: don’t want to push it. Benji is calm, occasionally looking to me for guidance. When the closest is about 5 meters away, I turn my back to it (signaling “no threat/no interest” to Benji), and crouch down to investigate a fallen leaf that is suddenly fascinating. We continue toward the stream, horses following. Across the stream, before the horses have crossed, I drop the lead and let Benji run ahead, dragging it behind him. Halfway to the back fence, I take it off. Later, halfway back to the stream, I put it back on, because the horses have now followed us into the “back 40.” Mocha runs over to them, and Benji makes a couple of tentative tugs on the loose 20-foot lead. Does a shake, meaning he’s relaxed. We get past the horses, 100 meters past the stream, and I let Benji off the lead.
Back in the dog-fenced area, a horse is tethered outside on the road (roughly near the arrowhead above). I put Benji back on the lead, and we walk toward it. Mocha runs over to it a couple times; Benji is content, even lies down in the grass with the horse not far away.
Which brings me to the other gift, why the horses are a gift: theonlinedogtrainer.com (if you’re just remembering it, note “the” at the beginning; without is a bogus site). I don’t remember what led me to it; Universe tends to work that way, but if you are a dog lover, with any concerns – aggression, behavior, separation anxiety – Doggy Dan is simply amazing. One dollar for three day’s access, during which you can easily learn the basics. I’ve upped for a month, and will probably do more: this stuff is simply amazing!
I can’t say for sure I’ve reversed Benji’s behavior toward horses in a half hour. But I know why he acted the way he did, in response to the change in our relationship in one week. I’m now encouraged to expand the training to cows (yeah, those were a problem in Villa Argentina as well), chickens. And strange dogs as well. Since the neighbor’s daughter is a vet and boards dogs, they have stranger-dogs, plus cattle and fowl, all easy to arrange.
This is the third world cup since we’ve lived in Uruguay. While previous ones have been exciting, I was never impressed with the actual playing. Not so this year in Russia. Today Uruguay beat Portugal to move to the quarter-finals, and though I only watched the second half,* it was fine playing. Especially, from my viewpoint, considering how Portugal’s shots on goal almost all went spectacularly wide or high. The Uruguay defense was fabulous, and both its goals were scored, not by superstar Luis Suárez, but by Edinson Cavani. Of course a joint effort: the two strikers are quite amazing together.
Screen shot from FIFA site
Since I haven’t been walking with Syd lately because of training issues with my dogs, I subsequently took them to our chacra (mini farm) and walked the property. This gave them a chance to run around like crazy in the muddy fields, splash into the stream, and further the transition of our new Renault Duster from “new car” smell to “wet dog” smell. Whatever.
When we returned to Atlántida, I had to go on side streets because the main road was still choked — almost two hours after the game — with cars full of people waving flags and blaring horns.
Uruguay next faces France, the leader in terms of salaries of players on the national team: USD 1.1 billion versus Uruguay USD 330 million or so. France advanced to the quarters after beating Argentina 4-3. I can’t speak for Uruguayans, but I think there might be a little schadenfreude at seeing Argentina eliminated.
When the game started, I was trying to collect yet another Western Union transfer I had sent myself. I heard the first goal — seven minutes in — on the radio while waiting for an inexplicable 15 minute delay from them. Then WU cancelled my transfer inexplicably. And locked me out of their site, and claimed-to but didn’t send me a chance to reset my password. I called them, then emailed a section with no phone access, for an explanation. I hate to come across as a grumpy old bastard, but after the recent experiences with Mercado Libre (previous posts), I’m getting pretty fed up with business that promise but don’t deliver. Add Western Union to the shit list.
