High in the North

After our one full day in Chiclayo and Lambeyeque, we headed to Chepen (the aforementioned “ancestral” homeland of Cesar’s clan). We had a lovely visit in that city with distant relatives who demonstrated graceful hospitality even though our visit was a complete surprise. At 11pm we boarded a bus for the five hour trip to the city of Cajamarca in the Northern highlands (2800 meters a.s.l.), where the last Inca leader, Atahualpa, was captured by Francisco Pizzaro in 1532.

Hotel options are slim when one arrives in a town at 4am, but someone did respond to our banging on a door in the town square and we all flopped down for a rest in a hotel low in amenities but high in character. With rumbling stomachs we headed out for breakfast around 8am and managed to find some turkey sandwiches (turkey sandwiches are a typical breakfast in most of Peru, accompanied by fresh fruit juice or god-awful instant coffee). After admiring the graceful colonial Plaza de Armas with its intricate antique wooden balconies, 350 year old fountain and fantastically ornate baroque cathedral, we visited the infamous chamber where Atahualpa was kept after his capture. A red line on the wall memorializes where he reached up and indicated how high his subjects would fill the large room with gold and silver to secure his release. He was clearly a tall man. Sadly, despite the ransom treasure, Pizarro drew up charges against Atahualpa and had him executed anyway. The Inca Empire quickly toppled under cruel European domination.

From one empire to another: our next stop was a mind boggling example of the excess adornments of the Catholic Church. This particular church however is a museum now and not a working church controlled by the Vatican. Our guide also gave us a very educational tour of the church’s hospital, also restored, and a museum of the local Cajamarquina culture. Interestingly, after the municipality’s complicated and expensive renovation of this once neglected and ruined space, now extraordinary and well maintained, (the church courtyard was used as a garbage dump before the renovation), the Catholic Church wants it back.

After hearing of that dirty business with the Church, we needed a bath. A 15 minute taxi ride took us to Los Baños del Inca – sulphurous thermal springs where Atahaulpa himself took the healing waters. The water’s natural temperature is 78 degrees Celsius. To make the water bearable, some is cooled and then mixed in with the hot. We enjoyed a leisurely soak in our individual private baths and then went in search of typical Norteño cuisine. Peruvian cuisine is varied, interesting and always delicious. More on this subject later.

It was time to end our little excursion to the Northlands and return by “cama” bus to Lima.

Next... High in the South.

Escape from Lima

View from the mirador over the beach in the wealthy neighborhood of Miraflores, in Lima.

It had been 5 days since we arrived in Lima. True to form, we came to Peru with no set itinerary. We had vague ideas that at some point we would head south, or north, or whatever… So, on Wednesday at 3:30pm Cesar discovered there was an 8pm bus to Chiclayo, the capital of Lambayeque Department. Since the bus-ride from Lima to Chiclayo is 12 hours, we wanted to get it over with at night, so we could sleep instead of wasting a day on the long, dusty, Pan American highway through the desert along the Pacific. To my Norte-Americano friends and family – I know that the word “bus” in South America fills you with images of an ancient vehicle packed with sweaty peasants with their assorted farm animals. Sorry, folks. Buses in South America are incredibly civilized and a comfortable way to travel. This one had fully reclining “cama” seats that turn into beds. It even had meal service, movies a bingo game with prizes and a “urination only” bathroom policy.

So, that would give us four hours to get ourselves ready. No problema. No problem for Cesar’s dad either. To the three of us, simply say “vamos” and we’re ready to go anywhere. Cesar’s mom opted to stay in Lima. She’s a city girl.

By the time we had decided to go, explored other transportation options, and then finally bought our tickets, our four hours had been whittled down to one and a half, with just barely enough time to get from the bus depot, through dense Lima rush-hour traffic across town, back to our apartment to pack in five minutes, and back through the same streets to the bus depot. Thanks to a cab driver with uncanny navigation skills of back streets, we just made it. Looking out of the taxi window on the way meet our bus, I saw a colorful blur of row houses to my right – sky blue, ochre, mango orange, algae green and deep purple. This was nice, but looking right or left in intersections is another story. I don’t recommend it. You will see the onrushing flow of traffic coming straight at you. At night the lights of the cars headed for your side door are blinding. Cars in Lima don’t really stop for each other, they just all kind of merge in with the flow and fill in the gaps. Lines painted on the road are there for decoration only. At lights, taxis jockey for position to try to get a slight edge on the other cars they are lined up with. With much swerving, honking of horns, and sudden braking, we arrived just in time for our bus.

We arrived in Chiclayo at 8am and went in search of breakfast, which turned out to be delicious turkey sandwiches – fresh hot rolls with moist real roasted turkey - like the day after Thanksgiving but better. Then we found rooms and headed to a town to the north which houses museums of nearby archeological finds of pre-Inca cultures. We spent an hour or two in a dark and cool museum shaped like a pyramid. You start at the top and descend down, just as the archeologists did who excavated this particular find at a site called Sipan. It contained unmolested burial chambers of important Mochica leaders and priests, buried with huge amounts of intricate objects of copper and gold.

It was an interesting day for transportation too. We arrived in a luxurious bus, took a taxi to the town of Lambayeque to see the Museo de las Tumbas Reales de Sipan (12 soles for the 12 km drive), then after our museum tour went to a restaurant (for outstanding cebiche, and stewed goat and duck) by way of a taxi cholo – a lot like a rickshaw, but with a motorcycle converted into a three wheeled contraption with a long seat in the back, then another taxi cholo, which broke down on the way to our destination, then a collectivo which is the size of a VW microbus in which they cram up to 15 people. That ride, from Lambayeque back to Chiclayo was only 3 soles. The collectivos really are something. In addition to the driver there is an assistant whose job is to look for pedestrians in need of a ride. The assistant will hop out of the vehicle to shout prices and route information and generally try to get walkers to get in and take a ride. Then he’ll run for the already moving vehicle when it’s time to go and jump in. Ours was nearly left behind though because Cesar closed the sliding door just as he was trying to grab it. Cesar swears it was just force of habit that lead him to close the door. All of the passengers had a chuckle over that.

Tomorrow we’re off to Chepen, 40 km to the south to see Cesar’s ancestral homeland.
One of these days I’ll get around to posting more about our recent trip to Patagonia. For now I’ll try to keep up with our time in Peru.

Taxi cholo, taken from the back of our taxi cholo

Return to Patagonia

We are back in one of our very favorite places, Patagonia. Patagonia is immense. Everything here is huge, from the mountains, to the rivers, to the steppes, to the portions of lamb served for dinner. Patagonia is a land of extremes. It is not uncommon to experience four seasons in a day while hiking here in Argentina's Glacier National Park. It is a mythical and magical place which had captured my imagination long before it captured my heart.

More specifically, we are in the town of El Chalten, in Santa Cruz province in the south of Argentina, very near Chile. This is a young town, built in 1984 after a border dispute between Chile and Argentina resulted in this area being in Argentina's possession. To stake their claim, the Argentines quickly established a town here. El Chalten feels like a frontier town. 500 people call it their home during the entire year. The summer (December through March) sees a large influx of tourists from all over the globe. Out on the trails, we hear a lot of German, French and English spoken. The town is a four hour drive through immense nothingness from the airport in the next largest town, El Calafate. Until recently, the highway here was an unpaved "ripio" road. Ripio is a washboard road that will rattle the fillings out of your teeth. But now the highway is paved and an airport is planned. The tourism industry is booming. It also helps that the current and former presidents of Argentina are from this province. Things here will change rapidly.

Patagonia, technically The Patagonia, is a region spanning across the bottom of South America, including both southern Argentina and southern Chile. No one knows exactly why the region is called La Patagonia. My favorite explanation is that Magellan, when he first encountered the very tall Tehuelche indians who lived here, exclaimed "Patagon!", which could mean "Big Foot". This isn't proper Spanish though and I for one am skeptical that this is how it got its name. The idea of Big Foot on the prowl here is easy to imagine though, once you experience the scale of the place.

It is our third day here and we have covered many miles already. On our first day, the clouds fell away from the major peaks and we were treated to fabulous views of Mount Fitz Roy and Mount Torre. Today, our third day, the wind has picked up considerably. Sometimes it gusts so violently that it takes ones breath away. The butterflies, dragonflies and birds are all grounded today. It is too windy even for Condors. I did see one this morning, but it appeared to be flying sideways. I heard someone say that they wished the wind would blow away the clouds hiding Mount Fitz Roy. This is not the thing to wish for if you want good views because mountains make their own weather. As the wind passes over the peaks, it speeds up and gets chilled, creating condensation which results in cloud formation. The indian name for Mount Fitz Roy is Chalten, meaning the mountain that smokes - because of the wisp of cloud usually trailing from it. No worries, if you don't like the weather in Patagonia, just wait, it will change.

p.s. I will upload photos as soon as I am able. The strong winds today seem to have an effect on the internet signal.

The Small Stuff

Not many words today.
Let these photos be a reminder to stop enjoy the small things.
There is wonder in nature.
Photos taken in Aguas Blancas, in the Department of Lavalleja.

Coati Quest

I knew I should have brought my camera… In fact, I thought I had packed it, but the moment I needed it, it was nowhere to be found. The odd creature who would have been my model seemed to know this and stuck around, watching us, coyly waiting to melt into the underbrush the instant a camera lens appeared.

We had been trudging up the small boulders that make the trail to the top of Cerro Pan de Azucar. This was our second outing to the park and I had left my camera at home. So there I was, admiring a ring tailed Coati staring right at us from 8 feet away while my husband, whose philosophy about picture taking just prior to that moment had been to “experience” rather than be behind a lens, expressed his disappointment that I was sans camera. Naturally, I told him to just be in the moment and enjoy rather than getting caught up in bagging a photo trophy. We stood there for a while, him watching us, us watching him, awed to see a creature like this here. The Coati didn’t seem awed though, he just yawned as he approached us with curiosity.

I could substitute one of the many Coati photos I took in Tikal, Guatemala seven years ago. In Tikal, ring-tailed Coatis are like squirrels are in most parts of the United States – everywhere. However, the same creature here is unlikely to be seen. Up until now, we had not even heard of Coatis in Uruguay. Their habitat is forest, which Uruguay does not have a lot of.

Hopefully, we’ll see this little guy again. If you should come across a Coati, or any wildlife for that matter, please don’t feed them. In doing so, you would be habituating a wild animal to humans, who may not all have good intentions. Wild animals have adapted beautifully to fit their environment, of which your snack food is not a natural part.

Cerro Pan de Azucar

Ever since I first laid eyes on the impressive stony flanks of Cerro Pan de Azucar, I have wanted to climb it. Pan de Azucar (not to be confused with the nearby town of the same name) is the tallest of three large hills near the city of Piriápolis, in the department of Maldonado, about 50 kilometers from Atlántida. With steep, bald stone shoulders rising to 423 meters above sea level near the Rio de la Plata, it is a picturesque sight.

We finally got around to exploring Cerro Pan de Azucar today. The route to the top is a well established and well marked trail, not the mad thorn-choked bushwack I suspected it may be. At the bottom near the trail entrance is a zoo of some sorts. We avoided it since I find wild animals in cages to be depressing. However, on the way to the trail-head, we did enjoy seeing in large enclosures two examples of Uruguay’s increasingly rare indigenous fauna, Pampas Deer (“venados”) and a small cousin to the ostrich, the Nandu.

Nandu

Venados

Our walk to the trail and ascent took just under an hour. We started at noon, when the sun is at its most brutal. I don’t know what it is about Uruguay, but the sun here seems extra strong and punishing. My unscientific theory is that the ozone layer above the country has been depleted by Uruguayans’ incessant burning of wood and the methane released by their many, many cows. But I digress. Our shadeless and broiling hot ascent was punishment for not getting there in the morning, as we had originally planned.

It was hot.

One of the things I admire about Uruguayos is that they don’t seem to worry about anything. All is “tranquilo”. In fact, the most frequent comment we heard while traveling in Argentina in response to our choice of place to live (next to “¿por que?”) is “ah, Uruguay, tranquilo”. Sometimes, though, the Uruguayan lack of worry can go a bit far. I am thinking of shirtless guys on motorcycles, often without helmets and wearing flip-flops; or today, seeing people going up craggy, rocky Pan de Azucar wearing flip-flops. By comparison, my all-leather trekking boots from L.L.Bean that I am breaking in must have looked seriously overkill to them. They may not be outdoors people as we are used to in the northern hemisphere (the Uruguaya idea of camping is being as close as possible to your 500 best friends), but I think Uruguayans are a hardy lot. Unfortunately, they don’t quite grasp the idea of protecting and respecting our natural environment, so litter and graffiti are common sights in parks.

Litter aside (anyone want to help me on a clean-up campaign?), Cerro Pan de Azucar is a fun experience, not to be missed if you live nearby. Enjoy the photos.

View from the trail

Typical disrepair of local parks.

Duh, where's the trail?

Lagarto

Antiques Shopping, Uruguayan Style

Last month’s road trip took us to the eastern edge of Uruguay, to Chuy, the Brazilian border, Fortin San Miguel and Treinta y Tres. So for a change of scenery this time we traveled west, towards Argentina. Our excuse to hit the road this time was a grand estate sale outside a sleepy town in the department of Colonia, called Ombues de Lavalle.

When I was a kid, we would sometimes go to auctions in Pennsylvania, the home state of my Pennsylvania-Dutch family. My Grandmother, aunt and cousin still go to these sales. The custom there is to auction off a house and most of its contents instead of just selling the house through a conventional realtor. They call them “sales” in Pennsylvania and publish flyers advertising them. Sales are often whole day events and are just as much a social and entertainment event as a buying opportunity. Our family home, sadly, was sold in this manner. I wasn’t at all surprised to find that the same is done here in Uruguay. Here, they are called “remates”. It could be Pennsylvania –simply substitute paisanos (country people, who foreigners mistake for gauchos because they wear the traditional gaucho clothing) in their baggy gaucho pants, wide belts, leather hats and gaucho boots for Amish and Mennonite men in black suits, straw hats and ladies in long dresses and bonnets. (I regret not taking any pictures of the paisanos. Yet again, I erred on the side of politeness and respectfulness, not good traits in a photographer, plus I hesitate to photograph a cow-hand with a dagger tucked into his belt. I'll work on being less shy on future outings).

I think this particular remate was an unusual one for its size and the quality of the items. In contrast, check out the heap of junk for sale at the first remate Cesar went to in Uruguay. I’m glad I passed on that one. So, just like the Pennsylvania sales, this remate had a glossy flyer with the details and pictures of the most photogenic or desirable items. An auction house was hired to manage the event. An event it was – at 9am it began with the auctioning of farm equipment, it then progressed to different locations around the property to sell off smaller farming tools, odds and ends and common things like cook pots and knick-knacks. The main event, scheduled to start at 6pm, in typical Uruguayo style did not start until 8pm. Before sunset, we gathered in plastic lawn chairs before a large screen set up just outside of the main house.

The auctioneers warmed up the crowd by dispatching a few small items while people walked around serving the crowd complimentary cold soda or Johnny Walker Red on ice. Later there were free sausages and meat cooked over a fire nearby. A lot of people, probably from the nearby town, seemed to know each other and had a ball just watching and commenting on the items for sale. Mixed in the crowd were some serious antique hunters who clearly came for specific items and bidded assertively on them and left when the item was in their possession or in the hands of a competitor. As darkness fell, the remate went high-tech. A team with a video camera and lights went around the inside of the house to project each item on the large screen outside as the auctioneer in front of us did his job.

The items the crowd seemed most interested in were some antique gaucho accoutrements, such as ornamental daggers, boleadoras, a horse’s headstall and bit beautifully decked out in silver, solid silver stirrups and two beautiful and old gaucho coin belts, one of which fetched $20,000 pesos (about $1000 US).

We came away with a fascinating antique Uruguayan-made balance scale with silver feet, a wood body and marble top for $8000 pesos.

By this time it was past midnight. When we left at 1:30am the crowd had thinned and the auctioneer was trying not to yawn, but there were quite a few smaller items left. The thing I coveted was this dining table which went unsold as there were no bites at its base price of $35,000 pesos.

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.