Southern winds

We’ve had several days now of persistent, on-shore wind. Here in Uruguay, off-shore points to Antarctica. Yeah, it’s been chilly. And I’m finally feeling righteous about finally having a proper winter jacket! (Purchased last November in Miami, when we were heading into summer here.) And so, for the first time in six years, we had a wonderfully mild winter, one that barely required a winter jacket.

I’m not implying causality, for the record. But, erm, uh … Uruguay, thank me if you will. It’s been pleasant, no? But this cold wind….

The Rambla (beachfront road) in Parque del Plata has always had a ridiculous stretch that half-fills with sand during the winter. Prior to tourist season, a front-end loader and dump truck appear, scoop up the offending dunes and deposit them upstream in the Solís Chico river, making a nice little beach for the locals. Which can then wash back down the river, into the sea, and — OK, let’s not go there.

This year, they have their work cut out for them, thanks to these cold southern winds.

dune-road
OK, you can’t see it, but the sign says “Calle Cerrado,” which means … well, it’s not the name of the street.

Meanwhile, the dune — above the boardwalk built to prevent further erosion of dunes — has gotten high enough that today I walked through the neighboring gap instead. Sort of like the gap where they built the boardwalk. But, hey.

buried-walkway
Today I approached through the gap to the right, rather than expend the effort to surmount the dune formed above the gap the boardwalk was built to “solve.”

Except for a 6-month amazing stint in Lincoln City, Oregon (1986-7), I have never lived near a beach, until the last six years, and the constant changes fascinate me.

Unlike my father, I’m not an engineer. Nor as smart. But I don’t think I’m thus unqualified to ask, what exactly are we not “getting” here?

OK, forget it: nature is amazing.

 

 

 

 

 

Kittehz

kittehz

I’ve spotted cats around this one vacant house for some while. But never four at once, sitting in the open, watching me and my dog through an open fence.

Fortunately, for my dog, cats do not represent food value. However, if that one in front was 3-day-old, stale, maybe even moldy bread, she’d be in there in a heartbeat. Yes, that daft.

Closer to home, our neighbor emails me a picture of our cat, asleep. On their bed, in their house, upstairs.

2-house

 

The escribano’s handwriting

I was with an escribano (basically, a lawyer for two parties in agreement) getting paperwork done, and was so stunned with his handwriting that I took a picture when he was out of the room:

notes

The first line: my address
Second: townThird: marital status
Fourth: wife’s name – that might be a question mark because I’m not sure what my wife’s proper name is in Uruguay, and I hesitated. She got one from migración, a different one from the Corte Electoral when we became citizens.

Amazingly, it was all correct when he produced the finished document.