An inquisitive old fart with a camera
You may have seen the picture I posted of our little farmhouse here.
Here’s another view from the back corner of our property:
That white dot almost dead center is a neighbor’s horse (trees mark the property line) and there are a few cows as well, from the neighbor on the right. All with permission; happy to have them keeping the grass down.
We’re still drawing water from the well with a rope, which gets completely twisted. Our ‘everything’ guy Martín suggested a metal thingie that allows it to rotate, didn’t like the way I installed it, and did it a different way, with a knot that left the bucket at the bottom of the well in the middle of my watering routine today.
He made a hook out of thin metal construction rod and started fishing. (He’s a fisherman.)
No luck. I was heading home for lunch; said I’d bring back a strong flashlight and another bucket so they could continue work in the meantime, since brickwork requires water.
Two doors down, on a whim, I asked my neighbor if by chance he had a strong flashlight. No, but he had a bucket I could borrow. That would definitely save time. Being only 100 meters away, I left the car and walked back with the bucket.
In the few minutes of my absence, Martín had fashioned a treble hook, fished out two buckets from the bottom of the well, and assured me there was a third, which he left for now. Attached a bucket to the rope in place of the hook, and went back to work.
Look what I found in the barn (galpon) – guess I get my very own Uruguayan toolbox after all. It even has a handle on one side!
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.
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.
Yes, there is one. It sits high stop a hill (400 meters altitude; highest point in Uruguay is 500-something) on 600 hectares (almost 1,500 acres) of beautiful barren hills. Inspired by a vision of a visiting lama, started a dozen years ago, it sits basically in the middle of nowhere.
We went in a minivan with a local tour company, at the suggestion of friends with whom we did a bus trip to northern Argentina a couple years ago.
Interesting way to spend a day. Not something I’d be in a hurry to do again, nor necessarily recommend as a must-do. But different – which alone gives it points in a country that is, for the most part, anything but exotic.
Cold this morning, but we didn’t light a fire since we were out the door to Carrasco, Montevideo, for blood work. The Montevideo airport’s name is Carrasco, but Carrasco is also quite a charming beachside community. Going to the clinic there is a satisfying experience in every way: civilized, professional, pleasant. A total contrast to the dreary clinics in the Ciudad de la Costa, closer to us.
If I had to live in Montevideo, Carrasco would be my choice. Whether or not I could afford it – another issue.
Bright, sunny blue-sky day. Almost home, we stop to get gas. No need to get out of the car. Attendant fills the tank, without asking does a thorough job of washing windshield and back window. I usually tip 10 pesos (half a buck). In this case I give him 20. Some attendants ask if you want the windshield done (because they don’t want to expend unnecessary effort); others don’t even bother.
One of my son’s friends worked as a gas attendant for a while. Interesting stories. I know the tips are appreciated, and not always forthcoming.
I ask about a bus company’s location – we know one but not another, and find it challenging to sort out which ones run when to Montevideo. The attendant asks me to pull forward, away from the pumps, and goes to ask another attendant. Comes back with no clearcut answer. But he’s happy to chat, and offer suggestions for ferreting out info I need.
For an American, it’s like going back in time. In a nice way.