Not much else to report. I planted a bunch of sunflowers at the chacra. Just another attempt to get something to grow there that I actually have planted. My failure rate is very high double digits.
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:
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.
From the No Comment Department
Uruguayan bureaucracy (a visual metaphor)
Maybe, finally, maybe … !
My wife woke up this morning after a dream that one of our avocado trees was starting to produce! She walked outside and voila! Seems like we just checked the other day and saw nothing.
I’m guessing these two trees are around seven years old.
Landmark day 😉
Surf’s up! Well, relatively speaking.
Perfect weather, empty beach. Still, walking even 100 steps with eyes closed is a challenge. Reminds me of riding a bicycle with eyes closed on Edisto Island, South Carolina. Makes a calm, flat, empty beach considerably more adventurous.
Onshore wind, nice clean break. I kept walking until I reached the mouth of the Solís Chico, probably the best surfing spot nearby.
Four patient surfers. And no, the waves rarely get much larger than that.
La palta penúltima
Alas, our most generous gift of avocados had only one problem: they all ripened simultaneously. So, a few friends each got one, and our second-to-last went tonight into a wonderfully lemony guacamole…
… accompanied by thoroughly decadent Doritos.
Just another boring blue sky day
Being off-season, we pretty much had the beach to ourselves.
And we’re not in it
For the first time in six years, I have phone books. For the entire country, outside of Montevideo, maybe 1.5 million people. (Half the population lives in Montevideo.)
I was returning my shopping cart outside Disco, a most un-Uruguayan thing to do, and a guy with a small pile of phone books asked if I wanted one. Asked my cédula (ID) number, started talking to someone on his cell phone to verify, then hand-wrote my name on a sheet of paper.
First thing, of course: check to see if we’re in it. We’re not. Did we opt out long ago? Wouldn’t surprise me.
Joy of the mundane
