An inquisitive old fart with a camera
Not sure what inspired them to get to work again, but they have.
Beach nice and clean again, even a liner in the “trash can.”
The street not as much, but still a major improvement. If there were any full-time residents living near this one, someone like me might take a shovel and finish the cleanup.
Welcome to another season of German one-bag travelers. The one bag, of course, has to have four monstrous wheels, weigh several tons, consume lots of fuel, and be prepared to assault any terrain.
If this looks familiar, perhaps it’s because you saw this post, or this post, or this post.
If you wonder why I even pay attention, consider the last time I was in Germany (2008). We spent several weeks in Europe. I bought a couple of paperback books in Paris, which added to the weight I was carrying. For the flight home, my luggage was up to 6.5 kg (14.3 pounds) … probably the weight of the taillights of this monster.
À chacun son goût.*
*Jedem das Seine, the German version, goes back centuries, but doesn’t play well now due to its incorporation in the entrance sign to Buchenwald concentration camp from WW II.
Start with spread-out chicken breast, add ham, bacon, provolone cheese, red pepper, and hard-boiled eggs.
Wrap it all up (and stick into a round plastic bottle with the bottom cut off).
Pull mesh tube over the bottle.
Tie off the end.
Drop it back out of the bottle, tie off the other end, and
Voilà! Ready to cook.
basura: trash
basureros: them wot spozed to quitar the basura
The day before tourist season officially starts, it appears the basureros have decided not to work.
When they resume, will they pick up all the overflow? Curiously, along the Rambla (beachfront road), the containers have been emptied. The two closest to us were burned to the ground (one for the third time) about a month ago. When I called the Intendencia to inquire, they explained that they were waiting for new, equally flammable (OK, they didn’t say that) containers, so at present had no replacements.
Meanwhile, the usually-diligent beach crew seems to have slacked off as well.
In case you’re curious, the breed of that hunkering creature in the background—who has gone from 10 kg to over 20 kg in less than two months—has finally been established. It’s a rare Oriental Spinkle-Faced Sand Hound.
More about the funky, UV-prone, flammable trash containers:
One thing I love about Uruguay is the sky. Only extremely rarely marred by aerosol geoengineering/poisoning, and then only one telltale streak. And frequently dramatic.
This is from a couple nights ago, when a light sprinkle of rain arrived at dusk to temper the day’s heat.
OK, nothing unusual about this. I went to the US spy center in Montevideo to renew my exceptional blue travel document for ten years: 10 minutes and 110 dollars. Concluded with a stop at an obscure repair place in an obscure part of Montevideo to see about fixing a Kassel blender, used gift from Syd and Gundy, that I managed to burn out (trying to process egg shells as a garden supplement).
In between, about an hour finding the tire place, negotiating one-way streets, and getting new tires for USD 59 each, balanced and installed (175/70/R14). In our local shop, they’d be around USD 85 each. Nothing exceptional about this, except that I’m obviously taking pictures inside the shop: anathema to OSHA and all the safety-nanny-priests of the Great North.
If I’m stupid enough to go to the car jack, release it with my leg underneath to be crushed by the weight of the vehicle, well, then, by golly, maybe I have learned anew about cause and effect. Don’t tell OSHA that people tend not to be so stupid.
Or maybe, in “Murka,” coached by their lawyers, they do.
As it is, I move myself out of the traffic patterns of the guys doing the work, and watch with interest.
It works.
Much of it is simply “queso Colonia.” You have to point, or specify it by price.
No, Uruguay is not tropical and mangoes don’t really grow here. Unless they do. We’ll see.
Just another day of driving in Montevideo.