For a country that considers itself non-religious, Semana Santa – oh, sorry, Semana deTurismo – is a big deal. That’s Easter Week in case you’re still not up to speed 😉
Duly noted, of course, in my calendar:
Fortunately we had nothing of particular importance to accomplish this week. Our friends Sandy and Don, whom we just left at the airport for their move back north, were kicking themselves that they didn’t factor Semana de Turismo into their planning, but almost everything that needed doing got done regardless.
A little security company mini-minivan pulled partway into our driveway and beeped the horn. When I went out front, the driver got out, leaving two (three?) people sitting in the car.
He was offering a security special of free installation something yadda yadda. I told him we had lived here almost ten years with dogs and no security company, and that the only problem we’d had during that time was the alarms of our absentee neighbors’ systems going off at all hours for no apparent reason.
Still, I asked him about what they had. And whether they were local.
No, not local, he said, but they have detectors with cameras, and when they pick up a signal, an operator checks the camera and calls the police if things look suspicious. I asked enough more to determine that dogs and cat would set off the alarm continuously, and his solution for that was to keep the animals in a segregated part of the house, and … ¡chau! Mr Security Man.
Though of course the idea of giving complete strangers the ability to activate cameras inside my house at any time … how could one not feel warm and fuzzy and secureabout that?
Walking dogs a few days ago, we crossed a wide sand road very recently groomed – the entire thing was parallel furrows. Nothing else.
I took a picture. I lost the picture. Don’t ask me how.
Anyway, same place, same time, next day.
Lots of horses had used it, apparently. I don’t recall ever seeing more than two horses at a time out there, maybe three. And I make no claims of expertise. But that looks like the tracks of much more than two or even three horses. Where did they come from? Where did they go? Who groomed the road?
Instructions: imagine a stainless steel French coffee press on a marble counter, with its handle on your left at an angle toward you. Illumination is a diffuse overhead light on the left.
I’ve documented many times the overwhelming assault vehicles that Germans (and some others) apparently feel essential for navigating the wilds of the Americas. And to be fair, I personally know one who has made thorough use of its off-road provisions, in the Andes and elsewhere.
Mostly though, I see them parked in the dunes or supermarket parking lot. And those closeups often reveal fascinating evidence of wide-ranging travel.
As in, you know, suggesting maybe the vehicle was actually in those places at one point.
Enter the Pathfinder.
Which to take more seriously?
But first, an acknowledgement that a subset of Uruguayan drivers think stickers filling the back window comprise the essence of awesomeness. The vehicle below presented itself a few minutes later. Shooting through the windshield with the camera on my phone, I felt badly about the poor image quality … until I remembered there was nothing remotely interesting there to examine in greater detail.
So, the Pathfinder. First thing to notice are the wheels on the left. Their apparent offset could be explained by perspective, but no, you had to be there: through whatever misalignment, the car was driving somewhat crabwise.
Then there are the stickers. Most prominent, a person on camel. Let’s see, Africa, eh? Or am I jusr cheating based on not one, but two, sticker outlines of the continent? So has this vehicle been to Africa (maybe twice?). Uh, no. Look 10:00 from there (with your ancient knowledge of analog clocks) and spot the Route 66 sticker. So this vehicle has traversed the southwestern United States? Uh, no.
Then on the window to the right, another camel, and then a dog peering through what might be a shrapnel hole. And then a cross motif, and … hmmm. Will I apologize that you can’t clearly see more? Uh, no.
By the way, no intent to denigrate the juggler, whom in this case I hardly noticed. Though considerably less novel than I’d prefer, unsolicited traffic light performers here are often quite impressive.
This will be a little obscure to someone who hasn’t actually suffered through daily life in Acodike’s Uruguay. Gas for cooking (“Supergas”) comes in metal gas bottles sold by many vendors. All have phone numbers, and will bring gas on demand for a slight charge. And of course everyone has a cell phone, so anyone can phone anytime, anywhere, and have replacement gas within a few minutes.
However, one company thinks we still live in the 1990s, and has its drivers – apparently on commission, based on their wasteful repetition and overlap – drive back and forth endlessly, with a tinny and piercing version of Beethoven’s Für Elise screeching at high volume. Yes, the ice cream truck “music,” but not tempting you once a day. No, just driving up and back every street, occasionally turning the noise off abruptly, which makes it no less jarring. Not every truck is the same, and I’ve heard as many as three different ones in the space of a couple of hours.
Everyone (above a certain level of awareness, with the bar set pretty low) hates them. But they just persist with their noise pollution, because es lo que hay – that’s how it is.
Today – blissfully! – we have reached the afternoon without their intrusion. From being an acoustic hell the last few days, Uruguay suddenly seems like a nice place to live again.
One of those old emails that was just too good to get rid of. (So, yes: out of the trash and onto the blog 😉
On Mar 18, 2018, at 12:03 PM, Notification <creditagricolebank@yandex.com> wrote:
ATTN:
It is about your inheritance payment here in our Credit Agricole Bank of Egypt,
somebody call Mr. Allen Roland Jr came to claim your inheritance fund this
morning and said that you authorized him to claim the fund and that he is
your new Next of Kin.
He has provided the whole documentation as to prove that he is your next
of kin, the fund so the fund is yet to be transfer to his account. So that
is the reason why we contacted you to find out whether you are still alive
because he said to us that you are dead yesterday.
Reply to this email below ASAP
Email: kolazakicreditagricolebanking@gmail.com
Mr. Kola Zaki
Administrator Department
Regards,
Mrs. Daina Williams
Form: Secretary Officer
Credit Agricole Bank of Egypt.
Re: Attention
To: kolazakicreditagricolebanking@gmail.com
I’ve always liked autumn. “Back to school” was an exciting for me as a kid. New clothes! New faces! New things to learn!
Autumn here is familiar: crisp air, blue sky, bright sun (and a few sort-of-almost-colorful leaves). But northern hemisphere signals persist, and part of me thinks it’s spring cleaning time: focus on clothes, tools, organizing nooks and crannies, passing on unused items.
One morning my little tinkering-space caught my attention. It was trivial to cut a shelf in half to make cans more organized, but what a difference in terms of quickly locating nails and screws. Then it occurred that I had measuring tools scattered in different places. Since most projects start with measuring, I consolidated them:
Now, in the space of a few inches, I have two types of carpenter’s square, calipers, folding rule, measuring tape, and bevel gauge. All that’s missing is the framing square, which remains elsewhere because of its size. Bring it on!
Of course, none of my most recent projects — painting ironwork, pressure washing, disassembling a decrepit table, re-wiring a kitchen stove, reorganizing the patio and repairing masonry — has required any measuring at all. But the next one will, for sure.
