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.