An inquisitive old fart with a camera
Local (Uruguay) campers. Looks like they’ve got it all sorted – solar panels, side awning, sun protection for the truck. There was a couple sitting with a little portable table between the two vehicles.
But: covering the tires to protect them from the sun? I guess maybe a good idea, but I’ve never, ever seen that before!
Montevideo Rambla, Ciudad Vieja. When we arrived here, late 2009, it was rare to see even a single vehicle parked along this stretch of road.
Consumer credit comes to Uruguay! At least that’s one explanation.
Car prices have fallen recently. This may involve poor budgeting by people new to credit, buying cars for only *so much* a month. Perhaps they don’t think about fuel (2.5 times the cost in the USA), maintenance, and insurance. Then enough of them figure out they really can’t afford a car, and try to sell it.
At any rate, it’s distinctly more difficult to find a parking place in Montevideo than a few years ago, to the point that I usually don’t even try, and head to a parking garage instead.
Our first Uruguayan passports, good for five years, were expiring. Arranging to renew them turned out to be relatively easy; done and paid online. When we got to the passport office, though, we lacked our credenciales civicas, which after a trip to the Corte Electoral, turned out to be big pieces of paper we got with our citizenship.
So, the next day we returned with those. No, they were supposed to be renewed after three years. Though an Uruguayan friend told me the credencia civica is nothing more than a voting card, it was indeed required for a passport (which she doesn’t have). The clerk this time had a printed paper we could take to the Corte Electoral, where the same friendly person said no, that’s not here, that’s a block away. So we went a block away, got numbers, and started the process until we got to the address part. We don’t have/can’t invent an address in Montevideo? Then we’ll have to go to the office in our departamento, Canelones. After a nice lunch in a new restaurant (rated #1 in Montevideo), we found the office, and got everything done – until my wife’s fingerprints. They just weren’t sufficient on four or five fingers. So: make appointment with dermatologist, come back with doctor’s note if this can’t be fixed, and we’ll proceed from there.
Booking a doctor appointment online with Asociación Española is also quite easy, but the soonest we could get to a dermatologist was a month away, in Montevideo.
Which is how we ended up there on Christmas Eve. Would there be such a thing as a routine doctor’s appointment on Christmas Eve up north? It somehow strikes me as unlikely.
Anyway, it was a snap. We returned the way we came, which involved me making a left turn at a traffic light which invoked a chorus of blaring horns: yeah, OK, don’t turn left in Montevideo.
Nice lunch at Lo de Mónica, near Géant and Macro Mercado supermarkets, where we spotted this.
I’ve posted many times about Uruguayan handwriting, how 9s look like Ps or lollipops, but this a first: a Y written as a 7.
OK, that’s anticlimactic. So here’s a cool Dodge Power Wagon we then saw in the Géant parking lot.
…push the “down” lever. No, just kidding!
Today, finally signed papers to sell the pobre Meriva (you can see it way in the back).
I called Burkhard to see if there was anything new with the Model T. Not really, he said, I’ve painted the chassis. Well, I said, since I have to go to our chacra anyway to pick up my mechanical sheep (he has real sheep; I require a four-stroke engine mounted on wheels with a blade spinning really fast to keep grass trimmed), that might be interesting to see.
As I pulled in, I didn’t actually notice this at first: another Model A chassis.
But as we walked around the garage, I definitely noticed this:
two more unrestored 1929 Model A’s (I had to ask), purchased at auction for $400 each. The better chassis will remain here; the other will go to someone else into this stuff. Burkhard’s end result will be a pickup truck, hybrid of genuine original Model A and Model T pieces. Seems wife had issues with excessive wrecks populating the back yard. Hey, it’s a guy thing; get over it!
Meanwhile, in the garage he built between two containers, Burkhard’s restored A is joined by a four door Sedan, which he stores for a friend whose mother drove it – in Montevideo – until 15 years ago. Yes, let that sink in. The black vehicle is all original.
Boggles the mind.
Meanwhile, here’s the T chassis – upside-down and lovingly painted. It’s very light, and surprisingly flimsy.
I got curious: the Model A versions ranged from about (USD) $400 – 1,400 in 1929, or ~$5,840 – 20,400 in 2018 dollars. That seems reasonable.
On the other hand, $400 in 2018 would have been worth $27.40 in 1929. I’d say that’s rather a screaming bargain either way.
Today’s Saturday, and the weather’s much like in this photo, but this is from a few days ago, a pre-season weekday. Today this parking lot would have been full of cars. Notice the sand ladders and crane for lowering and raising the monstrous spare tire. And massive fuel tank. And bunker-like windows. Just kinda automatically makes you feel light-footed and adventurous, nein?
Compare this with the last German camper van I posted:
OK, the Unimog is an amazing vehicle, but – is it just me? – seems sort of, um, constipated as a travel vehicle. Hey, there will be more this summer: stay tuned!
And, oh yeah, I’m being sarcastic about the minimalist thing, in case you missed that.
Most of my posts like this are from January and February, hot season, but here we are, late October, and a Deutschmobil appears outside Tienda Inglesa (as many do). Yes, actually from Germany; others similar have been from Austria, France, Slovakia…
This actually strikes me as quite a sweet rig; I’d like to have seen inside. Built on a Toyota versus a quasi-military Mini Mog. Here you can see some of the weirdness I’ve observed over the years here.
I guess this is what happens when you add arrogance to incompetence?
Burkhard’s Model T has now moved from shipping container storage to his garage workshop, on borrowed wheels (his are being rebuilt). Because of course, just borrow Model T wheels. No problem! They’re actually from Francisco, who told him about using rear axle housings to keep the front end level — notice them to the left of the photo.
He thought the jacket draped over the back shouldn’t be in the photo, but it struck me as perfectly symbolic: well, at least this thing has value as a coat rack!
Burkhard chuckled as he lifted body panels, demonstrating how flimsy the whole thing is.
I think at this point I would decide that maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Burkhard is undeterred.
The bodywork in a Ford Model T is build over wood framing. This door is mostly good, but much of the other wood in this critter is rotted or destroyed by bugs. Researching a while ago, I read that Henry Ford owned over 100,000 acres of forest land to provide wood for Model Ts. I also read that — perhaps — they cut up pallets from parts deliveries to use in Model Ts. Perhaps. Just under 15 million of these cars were produced, between October 1908 and May 1927. Insane!
Here’s another view of the Tin Lizzie.
This will be interesting. Stay tuned…!