An inquisitive old fart with a camera
There must be pothole gods. Or demons. Or entities.
Otherwise — now that our road is fixed and well-drained — why do all the potholes (pozos, same word as well) form right around our driveway?
Today a little kid — just-removed-the-training-wheels little — fell in one of them. Mama cajoled him, stopped his crying, encouraged him back in the saddle to ride on.
And perhaps admonishing him: next time, be careful around THOSE PEOPLE’s driveway.
I noted 2-1/2 years ago the improved beach access, even though the side rails had mostly gone away on the boardwalk nearest us.
I noted a year ago how the dunes had risen to their natural level, depositing a half-meter of sand on top of this boardwalk.
And, 8 months ago, how flooding had overwhelmed the same boardwalk.
Today, I see that — through accident or vandalism — the rail has started to go away. We’re not in heating season, so it may not disappear (as firewood) as quickly as in March 2012.
But probably no reason to think it will be repaired.
Finally doing some much-needed maintenance on wooden ceilings.
Phase 1 is the lambriz, thin tongue-and-groove. Next are the beams, in a darker color, for which I splurged and bought an angled sash brush. Which, believe it or not, is a big deal. The only place I could find one was in Tienda Inglesa. Yes, the supermarket.
And, of my goodness, does it make a difference!
The bottom brush is typical of what you find in hardware stores here: with short, coarse bristles that tend to spread.
Perhaps when next up north I’ll wander through Home Depot and salivate.
A man, 30 years old or so, drawing a figure in the sand with his foot. Maybe he was with the fisherman behind. Couple hundred meters before, another man about the same age, carefully building a sand castle near his two fishing poles, his wife bringing water to help its construction.
An odd sight on the road between La Floresta and Soca (34°43’38″S – 55°40’58″W):
Cold, dreary day. Warm, dreary church.
When we visited Harold and Judith near Soca, we always noticed a very unusual structure, which we assumed was a church.
This weekend celebrating the Día del Patrimonio, many things open to the public that do not ordinarily open to the public, and the dreary weather and prospect of crowds in Montevideo led to the idea of eschewing metropolis in favor of lunch at the Parador Fito on rural Ruta 8, followed by the Día del Patrimonio offerings in Soca, including the Capilla de Soca (page 56 in this thing). Turns out it’s a private family chapel.
Alas, the concrete tetrahedrons, with their bunker-like entrance, exuded anything but welcome. The handwritten cardboard sign said something about sheep (or so I figured, not looking closely since this was not actually the entrance gate, just a nicer view, and I’m used to misspellings in Spanish, especially given Bs and Vs, which are pronounced the same).
So we got to our next destination—I think—the Antiguo Cine, the old movie theater:
El antiguo cine de Soca es un emblemático punto patrimonial, es parte de la identidad local y será recuperado prontamente. The old Soca cinema is an iconic heritage item, part of local identity and will restored soon. (Which probably means, before your last grandchild has shuffled off this mortal coil.)
We went to the location, took a photo of the most likely candidate,
then asked in the nearby bakery, where the best answer seemed to be, sorry.
We then explored another unusual church (see tomorrow) where a couple from Montevideo explained that the Capilla (chapel) was closed because it was infested with bees.
When I got home, I could see in my photo the cardboard sign:
It is not possible to enter. There are ________. Closed.
Ovejas=sheep.
Abejas=bees.
24.35 UY/USD
Last time we got over 24 pesos, five years ago, an entrecot (steak) at a local restaurant cost 245 pesos.
Today? 425; almost 75% more.
