The bike

Ralf, Syd’s brother in law, left for Germany Saturday after several months here.

He had brought his electric bike from Germany to have some adventures exploring Argentina and Uruguay. The bike itself provided some adventures, requiring the German Embassy in Buenos Aires to intervene with the bus company that “lost” it. And then the airport: though the bike had come from Germany on Air Europa just with a plastic wrapping, the Uruguayan employees decided it had to be in a box.

And of course they had no box.

So with airline tape, and the help of four helpful guys who apparently appeared out of nowhere, Ralf scavenged cardboard bits from every shop in the airport.

The end result was equally amusing and terrifying. But OK with Air Europa.

Bicycle packed for air transport, Montevideo Uruguay

Of course, upon arrival in Frankfurt, the whole mess had to be taken apart, which took so long that Ralf missed his train and so, after 25 hours of traveling, had to wait two more for the next one.

Having lived in Germany, I can only imagine what other Germans thought of the mess of plastic and cardboard abandoned in the airport.

The eclipse

I had spent the morning up to my eyeballs in accounting. When we sat down to Sunday brunch, we were both noticing that the day wasn’t very bright. Clouds? The respite from the hot sun was welcome.

It wasn’t until I finished my omelet that I remembered: the Ring of Fire eclipse!

Alas, we missed the best part, but here’s what we did see, projected through a binocular lens.

Ironically, yesterday I made a little device for a friend to do first- and last-light shadow observations for a small group of pilots who are somehow convinced the earth is flat (pilots!). For those of us who are NASA-brainwashed, we at least have Occam’s Razor: the simplest explanation is that a spherical object is passing between this spherical planet and the sun. I’ve asked him to get the explanation of the flat earthers. If past experience serves, it will no doubt involve physics that can’t be duplicated or observed in any other aspect of the physical universe.

During my brief interaction with flat-earthers, I made a graphic for them.

Commercial airlines don't realize earth is flat

Worn out, burned out

While waiting for the repair guy coming to replace the heating element (resistencia) in our water heater, I took a picture of my flip-flops. They’ve lasted at least a year and yes, the grass is showing through the right heal.

Worn out flip flops and burned-out water heater element

I often have to wait outside to wave people down, since my telephone explanations of how to get here are remarkably and consistently misunderstood. Today’s communications snafu also started on the wrong foot, as I didn’t really know how to answer an incoming call on my new smart phone. Seriously.

handwritten repair bill, Uruguay

Here’s the bill: visit, heating element, and cabling – actually for the toll, since he came from Montevideo (it should have been 160 pesos, but then he probably charged it to everybody this side of the peaje).

1,000 pesos is around USD 36.

And if that 1,000 on the bill looks like 7,000 to you, you might share my fascination with Uruguayan handwriting.

Mangos, sort of

A couple years ago, after one of their distinctly non-native mango bushes died, Syd and Gundy gave us the other. The first couple winters, I built a custom greenhouse around it. But it has never produced fruit. Sure, lots of flowers, and lots of tiny starts, then they simply disappear.

Mango tree in our backyard, not native to Uruguay

But this year, it has produced a few tiny, very dry, somewhat tasty fruits. As you can see, something got to a couple of them first. The lemon is normal-sized.

Tiny, dry, almost-tasty mangos from our tree in Uruguay — Our son did the glass piece in 2008

The mango bush/tree is completely uncontrollable, as was the anacahuita (small leaf shade tree) next to it that had become so ungainly that I cut it down a few years ago. After two years, a new shoot appeared out of the stump. I carefully pruned it, until one day it became clear it was not connected to the stump, and had virtually no root system. So I pulled it up and got rid of it.

I’m not convinced that the mango bush-tree is the best use of this space.

By morning light

A spider set up shop on our bedroom balcony last night.

Spider web, Uruguay

Alas, the empty web tells the tale: location is everything.

On the dog walk

dog watering hole, Villa Argentina, Uruguay

Several months ago, Ralf and I (if I remember correctly), wandering far from the usual paths, encountered a little pond, apparently where someone at some point dug sand for construction. We’ve been fortunate to have decent rain this summer, so on this very hot and muggy day the dogs loved the stop. From left to right: Leah, Kiya, Sofia, Jordan (front), Benji, and what looks like a black lump in some grass, Lorena.

Trash in Uruguay

Further along, from one day to the next — in the middle of nowhere — appeared a pickup truck load of construction trash. Yes, even with abundant trash collection containers everywhere, some troglodytes decided the best way to deal with their trash would be to drive into a large empty area and start a trash pile there.

Which reminds me of a story. In nearby Parque del Plata, when the trash containers first appeared a few years ago, my friend Carlos and his wife embarked on the project of cleaning up the trash-dump empty lot diagonally across from them. They filled the “dumpster” over and over, until finally the lot was clean. Then Carlos spots a middle-aged man carrying a bag of garbage to the container. No, right past the container, to the middle of the lot, where he drops it on the ground. Carlos screams at him to use the trash container.

“But this is the way I’ve always done it,” he says.

Welcome to Uruguay.

Carlos, who is Uruguayan, tells me they did eventually “toilet train” that troglodyte.

It took the better part of a year.

A weed shop in Montevideo

Cañabis Protectio shop, Montevideo, Uruguay

No, not selling weed. Seeds, paraphernalia, maybe growing supplies. I didn’t even bother to look inside. I was showing some visitors around.

Uruguay legalized marijuana — sort of — in 2013.

You can legally grow six plants at home, but you’re supposed to register with the government, an idea which for some reason weed users (and people who remember the military rule) don’t universally embrace. You can join a cooperative and grow up to 99 plants. But no weed is available through pharmacies, as planned, because many pharmacies oppose the idea. (Because marijuana is so unhealthy, don’t you know.)

Cannabis medicine — Between 1850 and 1942, Big Pharma did not exist. Thanks @hemprojectsocial on Facespook.

Unlike Jamaica, Uruguay has decided not to sell marijuana, if and when it’s ever available, to non-residents and non-citizens. However,

Montevideo is now littered with shops selling weed paraphernalia to both locals and tourists. A biscuit firm is marketing alfajores – the country’s national snack, two chocolate biscuits sandwiching a layer of dulce de leche – at dope users suffering the munchies. Its yellow “Marley” packaging seems to be in almost every convenience store, complete with a lion waving a Rastafarian flag and a large dope leaf. [source]

Alfajores Marley — Source: subrayado.com

Needless to say, I’ve never seen one. Must be a Montevideo thing. Reminds me of the Macarena: the U.S. nationwide song craze that no one outside the Washington Beltway had ever heard of. But I digress.

Uruguay’s laudable marijuana initiative will hopefully pan out. Meanwhile, it’s looking — to me at least — as a well-meant, and welcome, move, that can only come to fruition through a miracle: the government bureaucracy actually allowing human beings to thrive. Here, as everywhere else, they seem to revel in doing the exact opposite.

Saab story

On Saturday, returning from the organic vegetable market, we passed an unusual crowd of parked cars on the entranceway to the Ruta Interbalnearia, and glimpsed a collection of antique cars on display in a most unusual and inaccessible area.

Atlátnida, Uruguay: location of antique car show