A Road Trip to Treinta y Tres

Suffering from typical restlessness, Cesar and I decided on the perfect treatment for what ailed us – a road trip. We loosely planned a three day, two night circuit that would take us through the departments of Rocha , Treinta y Tres and Lavalleja. After securing house-sitting services from a trusted friend, we were off.

Then it began to rain. And rain and rain and rain. That meant our scheduled stop to explore the isolated sandy point of Cabo Polonio was a no go. So, with desultory stops to peek at Aguas Dulces (not worth even the short drive from the interbalnearia to the sea) and Punta del Diablo (a tiny but bustling beach encampment with a young, hippie feel) we pushed on the border town of Chuy. Chuy (Chui on the Brazilian side) sits astride a wide main avenue which also is the international border. On one side of the street is Uruguay, the other, Brasil. Chuy is essentially one big duty-free shop. Uruguayos travel here to stock up on inexpensive wine, liquor and to buy Christmas presents. The larger stores here look just like every airport duty free shop you have ever seen – liquor here, wine there, a large cosmetics and perfume counter with overly helpful sales assistants, and a smattering of electronics, clothing and imported chocolate. There are also wine and cheese shops, stores that sell only leather goods, and clothing. Also, on the Brazilian side, there are churrascarias with rodizio service – Brazilian steakhouses where various cuts of meat are brought around the dining room on large skewers, sliced off directly onto your plate. Chuy, however, dies at night, so the churrascarias are open only for lunch. We did find an open parrilla at which at 9:00pm (typically when restaurants start to get busy), we and a Portuguese-speaking family were the only diners.

The next day, rather than stick around and buy things we really don’t need, we headed northwest into the department of Treinta y Tres. Along the way we saw flooded rice paddies, dotted with an amazing collection of colorful birds of all shapes and sizes. Every once and a while, Cesar would stop the car so I could stalk some exotic winged creature with my camera. This area is a paradise for that odd species, the birder. We took in great views of more birds and the surrounding flat and wet landscape from the bastions of Fortin San Miguel.

This restored fort was built by the Portuguese in 1734, and later claimed by the Spanish. In 1933 began the restoration project to bring it from its ruinous state to a well-kept, if not often visited, national park. Its grounds are well manicured, but the fort itself is covered in yellow lichen, probably not conducive to its preservation. After looking at the ombu trees growing nearby, we were back in the car, headed for Treinta y Tres.

The capital of the department of the same name is a pleasant clean little city whose town square is a lively place centered around a large fountain. We were there to visit a 4000 hectare ecological reserve north of town, the Quebrada de los Cuervos (Gorge of the Crows). This is a misnomer as there are no crows in the southern hemisphere. It got the name because of the vultures that cruise the thermals above the deep gorge at the heart of the reserve. As we descended into the gorge with the help of first a wooden walkway and then ropes secured to a steep slope, we entered another world. Gnarled old trees dripped with sphagnum moss. Everything was moist and green. For the first time in Uruguay, we walked in a dark canopy of indigenous trees. This really is a rarity in this shadeless country where the only large stands of trees are non-native eucalyptus. We plan to come back to this place.

The next morning we were ready to go home, taking a different and more direct route back. We stopped just outside of Minas in the department of Lavalleja for lunch at the lovely Parque Salus, where Patricia beer is made and Salus water is bottled. As usual, their elegant restaurant did not disappoint and we had a memorable meal.

We came home to find our pets happy and home well-cared for. As for us, our wanderlust was satisfied by new sights and our little break from suburban life in Atlántida the perfect cure.

Taste of Home

Does this jar of peanut butter look dangerous to you? It is a well-traveled jar of peanut butter, having made it from Washington DC to Montevideo in its own cardboard box, courtesy of a sympathetic agent at American Airlines. As we all know, air travel these days isn’t much fun – from the frantic peeling off of shoes, belts and jackets at the security lines to the cutting of most in-air freebies.
It ended up in our carry-on luggage because of our need to reduce baggage weight. While there is a strictly enforced rule that each checked bag must weigh no more than 50 pounds, no such rule exists for carry-on items.
So, as our bags passed through the scanner, an overzealous TSA contractor automaton flagged it for inspection. She was flagging just about every other bag. Another TSA agent explained we couldn’t carry it on. My weak reply was to point out that it is not a liquid. His retort was that liquids, gels and creams are banned. Since when is peanut butter a cream? He pointed to the Creamy label on my over-sized jar of Jiff… Note to self: buy the Chunky variety next time.

But we weren't giving up. To his credit, the TSA agent was a friendly guy - hey, he didn't make the rules - and he suggested that I go back to the check-in counter to have one of our bags recalled. After replacing my shoes, my jacket and leaving the other carry-on items with Cesar, I zipped back to the American check-in counter. There, instead of recalling one of our bags in which to safely place the threatening, possibly explosive peanut butter, the aformentioned sympathetic American agent found a discarded box in which he placed the threatening spread and checked it through to our final destination. The most gratifying part for me was his choice words about the TSA guy who wouldn’t let me through with it.
So the flight passed safely without any explosions involving roasted crushed nuts mixed with sugar. Meanwhile, I could have killed someone with the undetected nail-clippers and tweezers I accidentally left in my purse.

Home, again.

Wait, where is home now? After stretching our three week trip into four, we are back in Uruguay. Being in the U.S. with friends and family sure felt like home, but coming back to our own house here and our pets felt like a homecoming too. It had been ten months since we had been in the U.S. Though this was the longest I have ever been out of the country, coming back was like being a fish in water again. To be honest, I was not sure what my impression of Uruguay would be upon our return here. Happily, I am glad to be back though I acknowledge that finding ways to beat boredom here and find meaning in day to day life is the challenge ahead.

For all of our friends who are curious about where we live in Uruguay, let me dispel a couple of common myths and misunderstandings we encountered while in the U.S. about our current location. First of all, Uruguay has virtually nothing in common, not even a border, with Paraguay. Let me say it again, we do not live in Paraguay. Secondly, we are way farther south than most of you think and it is not tropical here. I can’t tell you how many people were shocked that we didn’t come back with perfect tans. Now if I am describing you, dear reader, don’t fret; I am not picking on you. I just think it is interesting how our idea of a place can be radically different from reality. I like to be fair, so this is a good time to point out that most Uruguayans I have met think the United States means Miami.

My first impression upon coming back to the Washington D.C. area is that there are so many freaking people, so many cars and so much development – everywhere. Those multitudes of people have a bit more of an edge to them as well (I blame the crowded conditions). In Uruguay, if a driver sounds their horn, 99% of the time they are just saying hello to a friend. In the U.S., at least where I am from, that honk is usually accompanied by the driver telling you that you’re number one. Street lights on the interstates are as tall as the glacier carved cliffs in Mendoza and highway overpasses loom like distant Andean mountains. Everything is big. Uruguay by contrast is quaint – and I mean that as a compliment. There is a definite slower pace here and people are easy going and mostly pleasant.

This morning I took the dogs for a long walk on the beach. On the way to the beach I took note of all the new spring growth and startled a flock of startling green parrots on the path to the sand. The normally dark water of the estuary was a shimmering light blue, a perfect companion to the clear morning sky. The sea was calm as cormorants bobbed up and down in the gentle waves. In this moment I was happy. Every cell in me buzzed with the simple and powerful joy of being alive. Then I slipped on a slime covered rock by a tidal pool and my reverie was broken. No one knows what tomorrow will bring, so we will enjoy our surroundings while we are here. And yes, we’re happy to be back.

Timeout

Postcards From Uruguay is on a three week hiatus while we are in the USA.

Market Day

In the months leading up to our move to Uruguay, I had bucolic fantasies dancing around my brain about raising chickens, having farm animals and being an organic gardener. I had even planned what the hen-house would look like. In my Green Acres silliness, I had already named the goats we would raise after previous co-workers (Ino for the stinkiest one and Kylie for the cutest). Clearly, all those issues of Mother Earth News I had read had taken root in my brain.




Fast forward to the present. It became clear that an isolated life in a rustic cabin in the campo does not suit us for more than a few months of the year. So we traded in our pitch fork and overalls for a modern house in a beach town with all the amenities. Don’t start thinking this is typical suburbia though. The road in front of our house, though level and well traveled, is not paved. The other day I was lured outside by the unmistakable clipity-clop of a horse-drawn carriage going down the road. It could have been followed by a speeding Mercedes. That’s how it is here – an interesting blend of old and new. Just a 15 minute walk to the water and we can buy fish caught that day. We also have an open air market (called a feria) just down the road that we walk to once a week to buy a huge variety of high quality inexpensive fresh local produce.

So, no chickens for us. We can buy lovely organic eggs with rich orange yolks at the weekly market for far less than we would spend on chicken feed. And we don’t have to clean up chicken shit. Even after devouring books like The Last American Man, and Carla Emory’s Encyclopedia of Country Living, and of course, Mother Earth News, I am no homesteader. And that is just fine. Because in Uruguay, you don’t have to grow it yourself and live off the grid to have wholesome, fresh, locally produced food as the norm. It is a small country and they don’t need to turn to factory farming to feed it. Also it bears mentioning that petroleum based fertilizers are expensive and natural farming traditions are preserved because they are simply cheaper. Farm animals pretty much live out their animal lives in a natural way before making their way to your dinner plate. No CAFOs, no so-called “free range” chickens that live their beakless lives without ever seeing the sun, no docking the tails of pigs so they don’t bite off each others’ tails in their horrible fetid confinement. I think author Michael Pollan would be pleased.

Today is market day. I am eating divinely sweet strawberries at the moment. We came home with our usual huge haul. We walked there and spent 297 pesos (about $13).
This bought us: ½ kilo of strawberries, 1 kilo of tomatoes, 2 kilos of onions, 2 eggplant, 1 large winter squash, 1 bunch of spinach, 2 kilos of oranges, 1 large head of broccoli, 1 kilo of lemons, a bunch of bananas (the one non-local concession, they are from Ecuador, it is too cold here for them), and ¼ kilo of black olives. In this country of non-apologetic carnivores where beef is practically a religion, one could be a vegetarian quite easily.

Home, Sweet Home

I have noticed an interesting phenomenon in the expat community here in Uruguay. Among people who have chosen to live in a country other than that of their birth, it is conspicuous how many of these people have nothing but negative things to say about their first country. For example, some people who have lived most of their lives in the United States move here for a change of pace or a more affordable retirement. They then rail against the U.S. and all it stands for. Personally, I think the U.S. stands for some pretty great things. Yes, it is not without its problems, but if you are looking for a country without problems, keep looking and let me know if you find it. It sure ain’t Uruguay.

My explanation for this phenomenon is cognitive dissonance. All types of people emigrate for very valid reasons. But, a lot of them then support and rationalize their decision to leave the United States by putting it down. This rationalization allows them to avoid any discord in their own heads about the bold decision they made to move to another country.

I keep this blog neither as a platform for my views or as my own personal soapbox. So what does the above have to do with it? Well, we have bought a house here. And for the record, it is not because we are anti-U.S. We are absolutely not. We just like it here – for now. Home may be where you hang your hat, but the home in my heart will always be the United States of America.
That said, pictures and a virtual house tour will be forthcoming. We have been preoccupied with moving and getting settled in to our new home – our very first owned together. Now you know why I have neglected this blog for nearly a month. This is not the end of the blog though! I will keep it updated with our continued adventures in South America and home ownership Uruguayan style.

Back in Uruguay

With a few nights in hotels without internet access and many miles on the road, I have neglected our online travelogue. We arrived back at La Gaia yesterday just before dark after driving all day from the city of Santa Fe, in Argentina’s Entre Rios province. Chile we will save for a future trip.

During our two weeks on the road, we covered approximately 5500 kilometers, stayed in eight cities/towns, and ate way too much red meat. Our “Cordoba trip” took us to Mendoza, Uspallata, San Juan, and Tupungato. Uspallata and Tupungato are interesting and beautiful; I will write about them in future blog posts. San Juan, the city in the province of the same name, I will neglect because the only redeeming thing about this ugly and depressing city is the Graffigna winery and wine museum.

I may have quipped that the best thing about Uruguay is its proximity to Argentina. After this trip, that still holds true. However, peaceful, bucolic Uruguay is nice to come home to after a long and tiring trip. The animalitos were all beyond happy to see us again. They were well cared for by our fantastic house-sitters. Except for missing the cats a bit, I did not worry about them at all, because I knew they were in good hands.

Highlights of our trip included the awe-inspiring scenery of the Andes, two fantastic hotels – the Ca’Montana in La Falda, Cordoba province and Tupungato Divino in Tupungato, Mendoza province – Mendoza wine and the freedom of deciding from day to day where the road would take us.

Our little Volkswagon Parati held up incredibly well. Cesar has dubbed it “Sherman”, because it proved to be a little tank. We took it up Andean roads at 2800 meters, along unpaved rocky roads and covered many miles of highway. It performed like a champ.

We came home with further appreciation for our vast and diverse neighbor across the Rio de la Plata. Argentina is so much more that tango and Buenos Aires, the two things most North Americans know about it.

The scenery around Tupungato Divino, in the Uco Valley of the province of Mendoza.

Argentine Road Trip, Days 4-6

Surprise! We’re in Mendoza, land of vineyards and majestic mountains. I would say this wasn’t in the plans, but then we didn’t really have any plans, so maybe it is not so surprising. After two days in the province of Cordoba, Cesar started dreaming of Mendoza. I think he had our shared fascination with Aconcagua in mind.

By Thursday morning, when we were getting ready to check out of the delightful Ca’Montana hotel, we had pretty much decided to head for Mendoza. The only thing holding us back was lack of knowledge about the quality of the roads and just how long it would take us to get there. By kismet, Alejandro, co-owner of Ca’Montana is a walking encyclopedia of Argentina and has made this drive at least several times. He invited us into his family’s private home on the grounds of Ca’Montana and got out his many maps. As we sat around their table discussing the route and the sights, I got the feeling he was as excited about our trip as we were. I felt very privileged that he was sharing his information and love of travel with us.

Alejandro was right on the money. We were able to follow his directions easily and admire some incredible scenery along the way. Taking a road through the Sierras Grandes of Cordoba, we climbed and twisted and turned our way through mountains where condors soared. Before that section of the road, we had randomly put in a CD of Beethoven. The grand soaring lines of the second movement of the fifth symphony were a perfect accompaniment to the scenery. With jaw-dropping mountain scenery and exposed two lane roads, it was an exhilarating drive. At one point I had to brake hard for a loose goat that trotted out in front of the car. Did I mention the local specialty? I felt like having some at that moment.

We came into Mendoza at night. Finding your way in a strange city in a foreign country is not easy, but we managed just fine - with some stern words between a tired, irritable pilot and his exhausted, grumpy navigator - and found a hotel for the night. The city of Mendoza, capital of the province of the same name is attractive and welcoming. Unlike other Argentine cities, it has very wide streets - in case evacuation is necessary for a super earthquake.

Mendoza has it all - an attractive city with every convenience and good shopping (including mountaineering gear), the best vineyards on the continent, the highest mountain in the western and southern hemispheres, and good food. I know a certain Irishman who left Mendoza for Uruguay because he was bored here. Now that I have seen this place, I want to grab this man by the ears and shake him hard, and ask “what the heck is wrong with you, brother?”. Oh well, different strokes for different folks.

So, here we are today in Uspallata, a small village about 90 km north of the city of Mendoza. It was another awe-inspiring drive. The mountains looked close enough to reach out and touch. After our time in Patagonia, we know that distances in grand places are seriously misleading. What looked close enough to reach out and grab is probably a three day walk away. After checking in, we drove west along Ruta 7 to ogle more Andean scenery. We ended up at the Aconcagua national park to get a glimpse of the great mountain for ourselves. We saw an interesting thing on the way back to the village. Two fully laden tractor trailers overtook two more fully laden tractor trailers, going downhill, on a two lane road, with another big rig coming the opposite way. We both breathed a sigh of relief when all four trucks going our way were single file again. That could have been very ugly. I expect a trucker or two had to change his shorts after that.

Tomorrow’s plans include a hike in the Parque Provincial Aconcagua, to ogle the giant again, a visit to a natural stone bridge called Puente del Inca and who knows what else. Maybe we’ll end up in Chile. I’ll try to keep you posted. Hasta Luego.

On our hike to the top of La Banderita in La Falda, Cordoba.

Ruta 7 to Uspallata from Aconcagua

Aconcagua

Argentine Road Trip, Days 1-3

Since my last post, we have been to Argentina twice. The weekend before last we spent in Buenos Aries getting our fill of the city. Ostensibly, the purpose of that trip was to pick up a few things to get ready for our next trip to Argentina, a road trip to the province of Cordoba, but really we just wanted to hang out in the big city again. A week after returning home from Buenos Aires, we were off to Cordoba, this time by car.

I had meant to do a blog post at the beginning of our trip, but was overcome with packing and getting ready. So, here we are, three days into our trip and I am finally getting around to it. Beyond planning to spend up to two weeks on the road, and knowing where we were going to stop for the first night, we have no itinerary. Road trips are best when you wing it.

Well, winging it didn't really pay off for the first two nights. Trusting our guide book, we decided that our stop-over point on the road to Cordoba should be the slightly out of the way city of Rosario, in the provice of Santa Fe. Our Rough Guide to Argentina described Rosario, birthplace of Che Guevara and Argentina's third largest city, as "one of the most attractive cities in Argentina".

Pedestrian street in Rosario

Its charms did not exactly jump out at us and grab our attention, and with only one night there we did not try very hard to seek them out. I am sure that if one was stuck in Rosario long enough, one cound find some interesting things to do, but we were there long enough to have dinner, sleep and go for a walk the next morning before driving off in search of greener pastures. Greener pastures we did see (literal ones, not the figurative ones ot which I was referring) on Ruta 9 to Cordoba. We were crossing the litoral - the bread basket of Argentina - and along the way the sides of the road were nothing but enormous, Kansas-sized farms, nothing but fertile flatness for as far as the eye could see. Then as we approached the city of Cordoba, capital of the provice of Cordoba, the landscape changed all at once. Beyond the city, the sierras lurked like a low hanging cloud. All we could discern was a large shape in the distance, about the same size as the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia, but it was nice to finally see hills. I was expecting Cordoba city to be lovely, but the approach to it was anything but. There was smoke and haze everywhere. We drove by a large area of rubble that looked like a dump for construction materials, with little smoldering piles everywhere. It was the worst introduction to any city that I have ever seen. Cordoba has a rich colonial history, owing to the Jesuits who developed much of it and founded what would become the second largest university in South America. Alas, the Jesuits eventually lost favor with the Spanish crown and were expelled in 1767 by King Charles III. The city continued to thrive and is Argentina's second largest city.

Almost immediately, we knew Cordoba city was not what we want. What we want is beautiful alpine scenery and fresh air. Obviously one does not go to the country's second city for those things. After navigating our way to the city's filthy, smoggy and very convenient beltway, the circunvalacion, we headed north on Ruta 38 for the Punilla Valley. Our destination was a boutique hotel just outside the city of La Falda. First we stopped for lunch in Carlos Paz, a bustling resort town built around a large reservoir with sandy beaches. After sinking our teeth into a pile of fresh, hot, delicious empanadas, we were back in the car and bound for La Falda. We passed through many small towns which clung to the hillsides. After about an hour and an half we arrived in La Falda and asked for directions twice before finding this very private and out of the way hotel that looks like a private residence. We were greeted warmly by its proprietors and shown to our room. What a pleasant surprise after two days on the road and basic hotel accomodations. The hotel itself is an extremely solid and well made home from 1944. The woodwork in it, all local indigenous hardwood, is exquisite and shows remarkable craftsmanship of a quality that simply does not exist in modern buildings. To my delight, our bathroom has an enormous round Jacuzzi surrounded by windows and a glass ceiling and includes a small rooftop patio. We spent the afternoon playing with the two hotel Rotweillers, napping and exploring the town. Then we spent the first hour of darkness trying to find the hotel again after exploring the town. We finally admitted we were utterly lost, found a taxi and together with the driver managed to find the hotel. That was followed by a luxurious soak in the giant tub and a sumptuous dinner prepared by the onsite chef who is the daughter of the hotel owners.

For tomorrow, we are looking forward to a morning hike, hopefully followed by a lunch of the local specialty, grilled suckling goat, and planning the rest of our trip - a little bit. I will try to keep up with the blog postings. Hasta luego.

Walking

One of our great joys here is taking long walks. Flat little Uruguay does not have much variation in scenery, and the sameness can be boring after a while for someone like me whose idea of hiking means steep trails. However, we have found some lovely places to walk which we have not yet tired of. Behind La Gaia is a large fenced in piece of land, maybe 500 acres. Tired of walking only on the road near the house, one day we climbed through the wire fence to walk through an adjoining field. The next day we did the same thing, but went further. Finally on one of our walks, we were met by a man on a horse, the caretaker of the property. We asked for his permission to walk there. After he realized we were not hunters, he gave us his blessing. The property has hills, outcroppings of lichen covered boulders, remants of old stone walls and strange steep-sided valleys. We have to skirt the occasional herd of cows. Even in autumn, tiny wild flowers in yellow, white, purple, pink and blue still manage to thrive. We see liebre (giant rabbits), which to my immense dissatisfaction, our dogs love to chase. I suspect that I will never get it through their thick skulls that this is unacceptable. We also see eagles and a strange long-necked quail-like thing that bursts into the sky with a sudden noisy racket. These creatures nestle unseen in the grass and do not reveal themselves until nearly stepped on, when they startle me as they take off. Also hiding in the grass is the occasional snake. Last week Cesar found a red, yellow and black snake. I said, "oh, that snake is just pretending to be poisonous. See how it looks like a coral snake?" Well, it is a good thing I did not choose to show off by picking it up. I looked it up in our reptile book when we got home and saw very clearly that it was indeed a coral snake. Note to self: stop picking up unidentified snakes. No, scratch that, do not pick up ANY snakes. I will put herpetology right next to mycology on my list of hobbies to NOT take up... With those, it is too easy to die from a misidentification. So, we made it home alive and I am typing this from beside the fireplace instead of from a hospital bed.

Near miss with a coral snake.

Incomplete house.

Happy dogs.

Big sky.


Our own personal stonehenge.

We Like It Raw

Our milk, that is. We have discovered raw milk and are now hooked on the stuff. Devotees of raw milk tout its health benefits. I cannot prove that it is better for me, I just like the fact that it is delicious and all natural and I know its source. Before you get all squeamish about drinking unpasteurized, unhomogenized, straight-from-the-cow milk, consider this - do you know where your food comes from? Do you care? I hope you do. I do, and that is why I am happy to know the cow that our milk comes from and to know the farmer who cares for her.

I admit that initially I had reservations about drinking unpasteurized milk. This was just due to my ignorance. I did not know what it would taste like and have heard many warnings against its consumption. The milk was brought to us as a gift from a friend who knew we were curious about his cows. I assumed that it should be used in cooking rather than consumed as is, so I used our first five liter batch to make dulce de leche. However, we liked the rich creaminess and clean taste of the milk and were soon asking for more. Cesar, true to form, immediately researched the topic and discovered some very interesting things about fresh, raw milk.

For starters, the pasteurization process which kills harmful bacteria also kills beneficial bacteria and destroys certain enzymes which aid digestion and boost the immune system. One of these friendly bacteria is lactic acid bacilli. When this heat intolerant bacterium is destroyed, the milk cannot sour and simply decomposes eventually. This is why old pasteurized milk gets very stinky and foul after its expiration date, whereas raw milk simply sours. Pasteurization changes the composition of milk in other ways too. It makes calcium less soluble and therefore more difficult to absorb by the body and it makes the lactose more soluble, therefore more quickly absorbed. Of course one takes the risk of consuming harmful bacteria as well, such as Listeria, E. coli and Salmonella. But if the cow is pastured rather than kept in a pen and the farmer takes all necessary precautions to keep her clean and healthy, I feel this risk is small. I believe I would be more likely to get nasty pathogen like E. coli from eating bagged spinach in the USA than I would from consuming milk from our friend’s cow. However, be careful before you try this at home, kids! If you do not know the cow and do not have complete confidence in the person who cares for her, do not drink it raw.

We visited our farmer friend at his house for the first time. He let me milk the cow. As a new experience, it was fun, but I wouldn’t want to have to do it every day. His family has four cows and they must be milked twice every day. It does not matter if you are sick, it is freezing cold outside or you are just sick of milking the darn cow - it has got to be done. Each cow gives about seven gallons of milk a day. Perhaps we will own a cow someday. For now though, we are happy just to have a source of fresh raw milk that we know and trust.

Are you curious about raw milk?
Further reading:
from the Washington Post: The Raw Deal
from the New York Times: Making Their Case for Raw Milk and Should This Milk Be Legal?

To Kiss, or Not To Kiss?

The New York Times reports today that many New Yorkers are now squeamish about handshakes and air-kisses because of fear of transmission of swine flu. Not so in Uruguay, where a single kiss on the cheek as the usual greeting between friends and acquaintances is a deeply engrained part of the culture. Even now that the Uruguayan public health minister has confirmed that there is one suspected case of infection in the country, I don’t think people will think twice about kissing, and I hope they don’t.

There are slight variations in the custom for men and women. Men meeting for the first time usually shake hands only. However, male relatives and close friends will exchange a single kiss on the cheek. Kissing men on the cheek is in no way an affront to a man’s machismo. I have seen members of that uber-macho profession, the Policia, exchange a kiss in hello. Women, however, can kiss everyone. So, women kiss women and men; and men kiss women and close male friends and relatives. Got that?

The same goes for goodbyes. Just like my mother does in the U.S., much to the chagrin of my dad, when you leave a place you say goodbye to everyone individually. Not doing so is unthinkable. And of course, if you kissed them hello, you kiss them goodbye.

As for the kiss itself, it is a quick but sincere peck on the right cheek, not exactly an air-kiss and not a lingering pressing of lips to cheek – that would be icky. In Uruguay, they kiss once, not twice like they do in Italy.

Overall, Uruguayans are very polite, to each other and to foreigners. I think this kissing custom may have something to do with that. When a kiss is exchanged in greeting people, one is reminded of their humanity. There is less of a barrier between people and I think this makes them more considerate of others.

This is never okay, though, anywhere.

Things We Take For Granted

On Tuesday I took my first shower in five days. I know what you are thinking and I am just sorry that no one has invented click and sniff technology for the internet. No, my hygiene issues were not by my choice and no, I had not joined some odd religious sect that prohibits bathing. Rather, the pump that pulls water from the community well had stopped working during the worst possible time - semana de turismo. Elsewhere in Latin America, the week is known as semana santa, or “holy week”, for the week ending with Easter Sunday. However, very secular Uruguay calls it tourism week. Never wanting for an excuse to stop work, virtually the whole country goes on vacation. As far as getting a repairman out to the country to fix the pump during semana de turismo - forgetaboutit.

Me climbing the water tank in the back yard. Bravo Randy & Michelle for having installed such an awesome holding tank.

Fortunately, the pumped well water goes to a two thousand liter holding tank behind the house before being used for bathing, cooking, cleaning and flushing the toilet, among other quotidian things we take for granted. Used conservatively , two thousand liters can be made to last a while for two people. It was the weekend before semana de turismo that we noticed our lack of water pressure. Usually this just means that someone has turned it off because of pipe repairs or something like that. On Monday, we still had pathetic lack of pressure so we went to check it out. Bad news - the pump was powered on and just not working. So began our conservation efforts like “navy” showers and a “if it’s yellow let it mellow” policy. Eventually even the super short showers ceased and we reverted to taking what I call bird baths with store-bought water heated in the kettle on the stove.

The pump is back in business as of last Tuesday. We thought we were conservative with resources, but after this, we became aware of how much we had been wasting. We were grateful to be able to flush the toilet again just by using the lever. I even looked forward to washing dishes using the tap water. There is nothing like doing without something for a while to really appreciate it.

La Vuelta Ciclista del Uruguay

160 professional cyclists came flying into Montevideo yesterday in the final stage of the 10 day Vuelta Ciclista del Uruguay. It was the 66th Vuelta and was won for the first time by an American*. That American was Scott Zwizanski of the Minnesota based Kelly Benefits Strategies team.

A Uruguayan team won the team award.

Cesar and I drove to Montevideo to see the finish. We claimed an early handhold on the roadside barrier so we could see the racers on their final sprint to the finish. Then we watched the crowd fill in around us. People watching was almost as much fun as watching the race. Most people were drinking mate. Pretty girls representing large companies, like Claro, were handing out balloons and other advertising freebies. Hawkers sold trinkets, flags and peanuts to the spectators. Spectator does not seem an apt word to describe those waiting to see the race though. When the peloton whizzes past at 35mph, there really isn’t much to see besides a quick blur of color. Then it’s over. The fun was the building anticipation of when the peloton would make its appearance.

So there we stood, taking pictures of the crowd, admiring the architecture, and watching the race officials try to keep the course clear of people. The crowd grew and grew. Then a buzz seemed to swell among the waiting crowd - they were coming. First a long stream of support and marketing vehicles came plowing through, honking their horns and waving to the crowd. Then came the motorcycle escorts and finally the mad crush of riders. At this point in a stage race, the race is pretty much already won, baring any accidents.

Coming into the final stage, Zwizanski had a 59 second lead. This may not sound like a lot, but it is an insurmountable lead to overcome in a single stage. His job on this day was to maintain his lead while staying away from any accidents. His teammates were there to make sure that happened and to help catapult him into the lead group of riders nearing the end of the race. When a group of riders comes across the finish line in a big bunch as they did in this race, they are all given the same time - the 59 seconds held.

The awards ceremony was a bit jumbled and done in no particular order. When they finally got to Zwizanski, he looked a little confused. You would be too if you had to stand exhausted and completely spent on a stage where everyone was talking in a different language. I imagined him thinking, “just get me back to the hotel for an ice bath and massage, damnit”! He was especially confused when they gave him not one but two huge trophies.

Kelly’s other squad won in the Tour of Thailand.

* The term American technically could be applied to any person from North, Central or South America. However, people from the United States also use it to describe themselves as being from the United States of America. It is in this sense that I use it here.

Cow Candy

Uruguay is a country of cows. There are approximately four cows to each human in Uruguay. That is a whole lot of milk. I think that explains Uruguayans’ addiction to dulce de leche, the creamy sweet stuff made from cooking milk and sugar. Dulce de leche is popular in all of South America, but the Uruguayans take it to new heights with their consumption of pastries filled, drizzled, daubed or smothered with it. Walk into any panaderia and you will notice that most of the sweets on display involve dulce de leche. Sadly, they are not very into chocolate here and their chocolate generally stinks.

So what is it exactly? Dulce de leche, heaven on a spoon, is a caramel colored, exquisitely smooth, and very sweet spread. It can be smeared on toast, used to fill cakes, cookies and crepes, or just eaten with a spoon from the jar. North Americans usually mistake it for caramel. It is like caramel, but more creamy and milky in taste and texture.

Living here, I knew I would have to battle my dulce de leche addiction. For the first couple of months, I put off buying any. Then I caved and bought a jar of the La Pataia brand (my favorite). Once the jar was gone, I vowed to not buy any again. That does not mean I don’t eat it when we go out, but there is no reason to have it around the house.

That was until yesterday, when a friend brought us five liters of fresh milk. Just that morning that milk had been in his cow. By the evening, the milk was in my pot, being simmered with sugar, a small bit of baking soda, and a bit of orange zest until it was transformed into the sticky goodness that I love. My first time making real dulce de leche (some people cheat by submerging an unopened can of sweetened condensed milk into a pot of boiling water for three hours) I was expecting disaster, but it was quite easy to make. Or maybe I should clarify that by saying it is easy if you don’t mind stirring the pot for two hours while it reduces and cooks until light brown in color. Luckily, Cesar shared in the stirring duty. The result was creamy and smooth. The taste was sweet, with the rich flavor of caramel and a delicate hint of orange flavor that gave it nice depth.

Now I have to figure out what to do with the stuff. It can’t stay here, or I will eat it all.

A Visit from Mom and Dad

On Thursday night, we saw my parents off from Carrasco airport. They had been in Uruguay just a week for their first trip here, their first ever to South America. My dad kept remarking about how surprised he was that it was so lovely here. I’ll have to review my previous blog entries - maybe I have done Uruguay some disservice in this blog and that is why he was expecting “West Virginia”. I found this notion of his extremely odd, but maybe my postings about dead cows, dogs, giant kitty litter piles, errant bulls and all manner of biting insects had something to do with its formation.

At Arlecchino, home of the best gelato in Punta del Este.

That preconception happily dispelled, we enjoyed showing them around. They benefited from our first five months of trial and error as we got our bearings here. We distilled down the very best of our first months and tried to show them a good time. Uruguay cooperated with perfect weather. And to make sure we had plenty of Uruguay to show them next time they are here (it is a small country after all), we spent two nights in the throbbing, pulsating, very much alive city of Buenos Aires. It was our first overnight trip to the big city (and I mean big, B.A. alone has nearly four times the population of the entire country of Uruguay). In Uruguay, we were the expert guides; but across the river, we were every bit the unaware tourists and didn’t mind playing the part.

Mom and me on the steps of the very swanky Alvear Palace Hotel in Recoleta, Buenos Aires. We stayed across the street, at the Ulises Suites boutique hotel.

Mom and Dad are safely home in northern Virginia now, fresh with new experiences to share with the rest of our family. Steve (Dad) has a little saying – “company and fish, they both smell after three days”. Maybe, but I was still sad to see them go.

World's Largest Litter Box?

Our cat's new wonderland of sand probably is not the largest litter box in the world, but it is definitely the largest I have ever seen. We got the idea for it after visiting friends who are in the midst of a huge construction project. Behind their house are large piles of sand and gravel to be used for a soon to be constructed concrete roof. We noticed how their two cats frolicked in the sand.

That was two days ago. We did not waste any time in ordering our own. So, today we had five cubic meters of fine sand delivered to the chacra. I was wondering what the man delivering it thought of us having a truckload of sand delivered just for our cat. Something along the line of “crazy gringos” was what I was expecting. But no, he does the same thing for his cats. His advice – just show it to kitty and she'll know what to do. And indeed she did.

I am always glad to hear people tell me they have cats. Uruguay is for the dogs, literally. There are dogs everywhere and it seems that everyone has their own pack, especially out in the country. Cats here just don’t get any respect. However, bit by bit I am noticing that people do have cats. You can buy kitty litter, but it is quite expensive, about $35 for a 40 lb bag of the clumping kind. If our cat takes to her giant outdoor litter box, it could save us quite a bit in kitty litter.

Patagonia

One of the objectives of our move to Uruguay is to travel in other South American countries. After our first four months in Uruguay, we finally ventured out. Neighboring Argentina with its incredibly varied landscape offers quite a lot to see and do. It dwarfs Uruguay in variety of climates, terrain and sheer size, being over fifteen times larger than its tiny neighbor to the northeast.

I had been feeling a little fenced in and was getting bored with the flat landscape in Uruguay. Cesar and I were both antsy to get out and see something new. We had planned on going to Córdoba, a province in the northern part of Argentina and within driving distance. However, a friend had just come back from Santa Cruz province in Patagonia and was just glowing with happiness about what she saw there. I had a dim understanding of Patagonia and had it listed in the back of my mind as a place to visit someday. However, after our friend’s trip, we could not wait to see it for ourselves. And, it has mountains, real mountains – the perfect antidote to Uruguayan flatness! It occurred to us that we only had about a month left to see that particular part of Patagonia before winter, when hotels and restaurants close and roads become impassable with snow.

So, we quickly booked a flight with LAN from Buenos Aires to El Calafate, in Santa Cruz province. We spent four nights there then took a bus to a town to the north called El Chalten, Argentina’s self-styled national capital of trekking. It deserves its title. We spent four nights there and went on day hikes each day, all of them spectacular.

The first words that come to mind when describing Patagonia are immense and expansive. It struck me as a playground for giants – everything there, from the mountains to the rivers to the steppes is huge and impressive. Usually I keep a journal when traveling, but had difficulty putting pen to paper on this trip. This bothered me a little, was I experiencing writer’s block? – but then I realized what the problem was, I didn’t want to take my eyes off the landscape for long enough to write. In the evenings, we were either tired from the day’s adventures, nursing sore feet or planning our activities for the next day. We saw glaciers, turquoise lakes, savage electric blue rivers, snow capped mountains, lush emerald green forests and steppes that seemed to go on forever.

We are back in peaceful Uruguay now, with many photos, sore legs and memories of a great trip. Here is a teaser photo until I get the others uploaded:

At Laguna de los Tres midway of a challenging 25 km trek. Fitz Roy towers behind us.

A New Home for Tip

There was a happy ending to the story of the puppies left by the roadside. Tip, the sprightly and spirited female, now has new guardians. When we rescued these pups, we did not think much beyond taking them home and getting them into good health. Later we would worry about what to do with them. However, we soon learned that finding good homes here for dogs is not so easy. Unwanted dogs are seen everywhere wandering the roads. Who would want to take in strays? There are exceptions, but for the most part, North Americans and South Americans have very different attitudes towards animals in general. We wanted to make sure that whoever adopted one these dogs would treat them as a member of their family, as opposed to attaching them to the end of a chain in the yard.

Enter a lovely and kind couple from Canada. When I contacted them, they seemed to want a dog, but had reservations because they already have an older terrier who apparently hated puppies. However, they came out to our place to meet Tip and seemed to like her well enough. Goodbyes were tough for us. I felt like a monster for sending her off. Cesar didn’t help - I think he may have even called me cold hearted.

All that night I worried about whether they were happy with the dog and whether things would work out. The next day I received two emails describing in glowing terms what a great dog she was. I was relieved. Cesar’s non-deserved guilty feelings were put to rest.

So, Tip – now called Kiya (pronounced Keesha) – has a happy home. She is a smart dog and will adjust to her new environment very well. This story had a happy ending for everyone – our friends have a nice addition to their family, Kiya has loving owners who will shower her with attention, and I have a little more peace around the house and a good feeling for doing right by this dog.

Kiya is being pampered by her new parents.

Puppy Love?

The three dogs we rescued from the roadside are really thriving. Good food, veterinary care and lots of love have allowed them to become happy and vibrantly healthy. They were tiny when we found them. In my blog post the day we found them, I had written that they were perhaps five weeks old. I think I was mistaken. Back then, they weighed about one kilo each and I could hold all three in one hand. Now, I can hardly hold one of them with both of my hands. They have grown like crazy and obviously have more growing to do. If they grow into their huge paws and oversized ears, they will be quite big.


Adorable as they may be, we really cannot keep all three. During this vagabond stage of our lives, there is no telling where we will be even a year from now. Also I worry about our cats. The dogs are respectful of them and have learned that in the family hierarchy cats rule, but still I worry. So, parting will be sad, but we really do need and want to find homes for two of them. They are probably about ten to twelve weeks old now and are at the perfect age for adoption.

So, without further ado, allow me to introduce:

Tip

Tip is the female of our trio. She is a spirited sweetheart who absolutely loves to be hugged. She has beautiful short fur which is not quite brown and not quite black. I would describe her as being a sable color. Her paws are white, her white belly is speckled with Dalmatian-like spots and the very tippy tip of her tail is white. She is by far the smartest of the bunch and discovered that bath-time on a hot day is actually nice. Her brothers still run when I pick up the hose…

Mooch

When we found the puppies by the side of the road, Mooch was the first to come to us. A very sociable dog, he is also the first to come out when people come to the house. We call him Mooch because he really hogs attention from his siblings and has to be the first to do everything. He is deep shiny black with a white star on his chest. His eyes are the most beautiful chocolate brown – a very handsome dog.

Red

Deciding which dog to keep for ourselves is tough. They are all great and each has his or her own special characteristics. Maybe it is because of his mellower disposition that Mooch and Tip often leave Red out of their games. But he would rather sleep at my feet than chase and wrestle with them. He seems to have chosen us, so we choose him to stay. Even on their first day here, I had commented that the red one seemed more sickly. Now I think I was just seeing an early glimpse of his laid back personality. He actually turned out to be bigger and thicker than his siblings. I should probably have named him Tank, because he is built like one.

If you have room in your heart and your home for one of these dogs, and can provide the love and care they need, please contact me as soon as possible. You will not regret it.

Water, and Lots of It

Today would be a good day for sipping hot tea and baking scones. The skies are battle-ship grey, and the cold rain is coming down in horizontal sheets. Mother Nature decided to take care of the drought. Unfortunately, she procrastinated to the point of having to give us all the rain at once. The parched earth just cannot absorb the rain quickly enough. The pasture in front of our house is now crisscrossed with rivulets of fast moving water. The pond, in which the water had been steadily receding to the point of the banks almost caving in, is now overflowing out to the driveway, which just may be impassable by our car.

We would have had those scones and tea I mentioned, but had to mop the laundry room floor instead – with an inch of water. We thought it had come in from a window which we had forgotten was open, but noticed as we mopped that the water level would just rise again. Our Sisyphean task was the result of not just the window, but water seeping in from below as well.

Side view of driveway.

Already wet, Cesar and I donned our rain coats (and little else – bare skin dries so much easier than clothes) and had a very wet walk-about. We found white water gurgling into the pond via the formerly dry streambeds which feed it. We began to walk through the shin-deep water of the lowest part of the driveway but remembered the shoddily buried electrical wires there and thought better of it. After our little tour of the property, we came back in and had some hot cocoa and listened to the plop plop plop of water droplets falling from the ceiling.

Water flowing out of pond overflow drainage.

I am not complaining. We are wearing our big fluffy bathrobes and just chilling out. The cows will be happy, the grass will be a brilliant green tomorrow, and the frogs are chirping and squeaking and blurping away having their little Dionysian amphibious orgies. The rain has stopped, probably just for a brief respite, the water has receded slightly and the winds have really begun.

Blood Sucking Devils

I think if given the choice, I would trade vampire bats for mosquitoes. Even though the vampire bat takes about two teaspoons of blood for its meal, and a mosquito takes five microliters (5 millionths of a liter), I would rather play host to a blood sucking mammal right now than suffer the incessant irritation of the plague of mosquitoes we are currently experiencing. Why there are so many, I do not know. Perhaps it is the time of year, recent relief from the drought, or just the normal state of things where we live. Whatever the case, we find them in every room of the house and I am usually greeted by a small swarm of them whenever I open the back door. Our sleep is interrupted every night by their bites and our groggy slaps and involuntary scratching in response.

Short of burning cow dung (which I plan to try this evening), we have pretty much exhausted our options of controlling the little bastards. We have tried a bed net, citronella candles, mosquito incense coils, a wall outlet device that looks like an air freshener plug-in, and various chemical sprays in increasing degrees of toxicity. And still I slap and scratch at myself.

I like to know my enemy, so after reading a bit about mosquitoes, I am not surprised they are such a successful species and impossible to get rid of. Craig Childes describes the mosquito thusly in The Animal Dialogues:

“a nightmare insect that will find you anywhere you hide. Of any creature this size, the mosquito has the most complex mechanical wiring known. Fifteen thousand sensory neurons reside in the antennae region alone. The sensory organs of the head are arranged like clockwork. Electron-microscope examination reveals interconnected rods and chambers, pleated dishes and prongs and plates. It looks like a science-fiction world of satellite dishes and receiver towers. These take the mechanical and chemical environment and translate it into a tactical array of electrical impulses to the mosquito’s brain, a brain the size of a pinprick on a piece of paper.”

The mosquito just goes to show that nature is stranger than fiction.

Through trial and error, we have developed a multi-faceted approach to control the mosquitoes. I can’t say we are bite free now, but this approach gives us some relief. For starters, we keep the doors closed at dusk, which seems to be when the hovering blood suckers are most active. Every few days, I apply a repellent spray inside and around the house. I alternate spraying with a chemical called Stockade (active ingredient is cypermethrine) and a stronger one that is still safe for pets, called Derribador (active ingredient is deltametrina). My goal here is to keep the mosquitoes and flies away while mitigating harm to other insects, if possible. Then, as a final low tech option, we sleep under a mosquito net. This sounds romantic, but try it for a while and it becomes annoying.

The mosquitoes have driven me to these steps. Until moving here, I was very much anti-chemical. Uruguayans have a chemical for everything though. Almost half an aisle at the grocery store is devoted to various insecticides and repellents. I guess I am just fitting in.

Know thine enemy. A few interesting facts about mosquitoes.

• Only female mosquitoes bite. They require your blood for egg production.


• If a mosquito is released in still air, it will come directly to the nearest host, even if it is one hundred feet away.


• A mosquito locates you by sensing the carbon dioxide of your breath, lactic acid from your skin, traces of acids released by the bacteria living on your skin and the moisture and heat emitted by your body.


• Even mosquitoes have a purpose. In addition to feeding on you, they also serve as pollinators, feeding on the nectar of flowers.


• One female mosquito may lay 100 to 300 eggs at a time and may average 1,000 to 3,000 offspring during her life span.