halloween

couch surfers

During my last week of school, two new students were added to our class, much to The German’s and my dismay. They were more or less on the same level, but the whole dynamic of the class totally changed (for the worse). They’re from New Zealand and not terribly interesting. They only tidbit worth mentioning to further the story is that they are couch-surfing their way across South America.

The person that they are currently staying with is in a band and he played a show last night that they invited me to. Not having anything better to do and unable to turn down the offer of live music, I obliged. I got there at about 12:30am and the bar barely looked open, so I waited for while on a stoop like the Montevideoans. Eventually I asked the bouncer what time the music would start and he told me it would still be another hour so I grabbed a beer to go to kill some time and returned. Not surprisingly, the bore of a couple never showed, which ended up being for the better.

Without even realizing it, I had tapped into the couch-surfer scene and I met people from everywhere who host and/or travel all over the world relying on the kindness of strangers and their more-or-less comfy couches. Continuing with my luck of great music this week, there were three live acts and then a DJ spun fun dance-y music like Depeche Mode and Madonna. I had such a blast and wish I hadn’t waited until my last weekend to go out alone.

candombe

The other night I saw this amazing candombe show with no less than a dozen drummers and a DJ. It was by far the best music I’ve seen in Montevideo. When the bar was closing down, they walked out still playing and continued the show on the streets.

I learned that this group and the drummers I saw way in the beginning are a huge part of Carnavale and they play these shows to practice for February.

la feria tristan narvaja

The expansive market I visited on Sunday, named Tristan Narvaja for the main thoroughfare the miscellaneous wares are sprawled out on, made Plaza Matriz look like K-mart.

At the entrance, I was greeted with an array of live animals for sale. At first it was mostly fish with some lizards and frogs, nothing too crazy until I saw small glass containers each with one palm-sized tarantula crawling around inside. Quickly passing the spiders, I moved on to the live poultry section in which wire cages were stacked and each stuffed with a different kind of bird ranging from chickens and geese to parrots and pigeons. The cute and cuddly section was last with tiny puppies, kittens, hamsters and other furry things. These were also spread all over the fair and it was uncommon to see a t-shirt vendor who also had bunnies for sale or a guy with scrappy little dogs crawling all over each other in the basket of his bicycle.

Beyond the petting zoo, this market had everything, and I really, actually think it was everything (except peanut butter to my dismay). This is just a small sampling of the stuff I saw there – bunk beds, toilet seats, keyboards, samurai swords, naked baby dolls, old burned and dubbed DVDs, prescription glasses, eggs, false teeth, ceiling fan blades, a big plastic hand with the middle finger sticking up, toothbrushes, giant squash, sexy nurse lingerie, lamps, giant painted glass bottles and also some regular old glass jars and bottles, herbs and spices, booze, etc.

This stuff, including parts of mannequins (sex dolls) was laid out on the street right in front of a junkyard. This, and a lot of other crap I saw, makes me think that some of the vendors are dumpster divers and make their living selling back to us all the stuff we throw away.

If I were living here, I think I could have decorated an entire house with one trip to Tristan Narvaja. But I’m not and I can’t afford to fill up what little free space I have in my suitcase so early on in my trip, so I ate my way through TN. Oh yeah, and I bargained for a red Budweiser King of Beers fanny-pack.

continuing with the trend..

Last night, I had a dream that my teeth were falling out and since I woke up this morning, I've been consumed with the image of spitting them out one by one.

I was obsessed with the question of what this could possibly mean, so naturally I googled it. Apparently, this theme is quite common.

Also from the very resourceful site - "A dream about one's teeth falling out usually means and symbolizes that the dreamer is having a hard time or a challenge getting their voice heard, their ideas acknowledged or feelings responded to."

Truer words have not been written.

MOWs

Since I’m boring and barely ever go out, I spend my Friday and Saturday nights watching hilariously dubbed films. I don’t know who makes the choice of what movies to translate, but they are so bad I wouldn’t even want to watch them in English. Since I’ve got nothing better to do, I’ve seen Pamela Anderson’s big fake lips move over Spanish in “Barb Wire.” Danny DeVito was a fluent speaking gangster in “Heist.” I understood about 10 percent of the conversation that Jason Lee and Julia Stiles had in a bathtub in “A Guy Thing” and Spanish probably made “Intolerable Cruelty” a bit more tolerable.

my blog has gotten me in trouble

Today, my teacher told me that he took a look at my blog this weekend and he won’t stop teasing me that one of the things I listed as missing is making out. He also told me that there’s a church that has an English-speaking Sunday School in Montevideo to which I replied that the Sunday School that I miss is actually in a bar, where I learn about beer and wine and cheese. Anything like that in English? Maybe with a hot bartender so I can kill two birds with one stone?

plaza independencia

This is one of, if not, the main plaza in Montevideo. It’s very beautiful and has all the makings of a great city square – lots of trees, well-kept grass and fountains. It’s about four blocks from my house and I get to walk through it every day on my way to school.

In the center of Plaza Indenpendencia is a ginormous monument to Artigas, Uruguay's liberator.

Underneath this monument, two honor guards keep watch over his remains in a huge, elaborate tomb.

Palacio Salvo, a striking building that was once South America’s tallest, is often considered the symbol of Montevideo. Don’t quote me on this, but it looks now as if some people are lucky (rich) enough to live there.

In addition, the city’s only 4-star hotel is located here so I have a place to take a bathroom break when I am reading/sleeping in the park.

dreams

Almost every night since I’ve been here, I’ve had the most vivid dreams. A lot of times they involve my friends. I had one where Jessie and I were taking a cruise together and we were running away from her boyfriend. I had one in which Rachel and I were listening to music and I was trying to find this one song to show her and I went through every CD I had with no luck. Sometimes, they are really odd and ridiculous. But usually, they are really miniscule events, even down to looking at my hands and realizing my nail polish is chipping. They are always very real and when I wake up in the morning, I have to remind myself where I am and tell myself that these things didn’t actually happen. I’ve always had dreams, but never as often and never as realistic. It’s bizarre.

My theory is that my brain is working on overtime, as I attempt to wrap my mind around an entirely different language. So, when I go to bed, it just doesn’t really know how to slow down. This would also explain why I am able to sleep 9-12 hours each night.

Amparo has a different theory, mainly that I miss all you guys. In the same breath, she also told me that I am very brave for coming to a place alone that’s so far away from all the people that I love. A place in which I don’t know anybody or the language (very well). I wanted to tell her that yeah, it is hard (meh!) but she’s done more than she knows in making the transition easier for me. Of course, all I could get out was “Gracias.”

i really need a new dagger

Every day in Plaza Matriz, which is where my school is located, there’s a market and they sell the weirdest stuff. Among the things I’ve seen are old license plates, various coins, a demon ashtray, Beatles records and forks. Each day, the vendors meticulously arrange long tables full of shiny things and every afternoon what is not sold is packed up to be put on display the next day.

three things

Over dinner last night, I was talking about how my mom says there are three topics that you never bring up with strangers.

“Of course – religion, politics and futbol,” Amparo declared.

I guess it’s okay to talk about money among Uruguayans.

the things i love

Amparo, palm trees, Spanish (most of the time), constant discovery, empanadas, South American fruit, getting hollered at even when I feel disgusting, open-air markets, Tannat (Uruguayan grape varietal), plazas, being blissfully unaware of the time, Los Simpsons, dulce de leche, not working, receiving e-mails/comments/wall postings/messages from people I love, 25º C, soccer, meeting people, clubs that open at 3am, naming the wild dogs, laughing at myself and The German, 35peso ice cream sundaes from mcdonald’s, free time, menu ejecutivo, my school and teacher, street music, free museums, La Rambla, pretending to be a guest in expensive hotels, wandering aimlessly, daily naps

the things i miss

Mom, my bike, hamachi tacos, text messages, Sunday School, Mondays with the LWLs, Thursdays at the Copa, coffee to go, flirting, my leopard coat, Steve’s cooking, New York, the D (on occasion), Abby’s magazine subscriptions, spicy food, HBO, running in to people I know, making out, striking up a conversation with the person next to you (highly underrated), IPAs, long showers, Silk City, my shoe collection, the buy-back, afros, brunch, my bed, Rittenhouse Square, cocktails at the Franklin, sushi, 100.3 The Beat, The Phillies, peanut butter!

laundry

My laundry’s been piling up since I got here and for the last week I’ve been crafting a way to ask Amparo if I can use her washing machine that 1) makes sense and 2) is polite. Last night at dinner I finally found my courage.

“Por supuesto (of course) you can! Just put it in the machine when you’re finished eating.”

In the morning, before I could offer any help, Amparo took my clothes off the line and folded them at the kitchen table while I ate cookies.

the u.n. of lost girls

As of last week, there are a few new students at my school. There’s now a German girl who left home with the intention of living here. She’s in Montevideo for three months, until she goes on to Cuba. There’s also a pair of best friends, another Canadian and Kiwi, who have both lived in London for the last nine years. They, like me, are traveling until they’re out of money. They’re all are in the level below the German and I, so they make our Spanish sound really good.

the canadian

I have to admit something. The Canadian has become one of my best friends in the Southern Hemisphere. She’s a bit older than I am, but still the youngest of the E.P.L. bunch, which has since dissipated.

In a way, I feel as if the Canadian and I are kindred spirits and a majority of that probably has to do with the fact that we share a native language. But also, I really just admire her lifestyle. She’s been studying Spanish for years and has done programs in Ecuador and Mendoza. She also lived in Russia with a boyfriend for a while and has traveled extensively throughout Europe and Asia. A few months ago, she was wondering if she could for-real live in a Spanish-speaking country, so she quit her job and rented an apartment in Montevideo.

subte

I'm a little blurry on the details, but from what I understand, Montevideo once tried to build a subway system. Most likely due to a lack of money, it didn't work out. The main station still stands right by my house and instead of letting it become a dark, damp and dangerous underground lair, they've converted it into an art gallery full of wonderfully peculiar things.

This is kind of what it looked like when Abby and I emptied the drawer where we kept unidentified wires and cords.

This is now the second photo of a toilet on my blog.

I think this was some sort of social commentary on sports.

A bin full of shit, including but not limited to, an Everything but the Girl CD.

the most beautiful restaurant i've ever seen

This photo of a restaurant, located in a historic castle along the beach, doesn’t even do the place justice. It’s a fantastically open space with a marble staircase leading up to balconies, exposed stone walls and a glass ceiling. Now, will someone please get there ass down to Montevideo and eat with me?!

my dictionary

Admittedly, I expected the process of learning Spanish to be a little bit more organic. The word “immersion” conjured up images of some sort of social osmosis, adeptly picking up the language through street-side conversations, watching art-house films and listening to underground music. However, since I’ve been here I had to get a little more realistic and understand that I first need to have a solid grasp on grammatical basics and have a substantial vocabulary before I can “pick up” on the subtleties.

So, I finally broke down and bought a Spanish/English dictionary, which is a bit cumbersome and was fairly expensive. But it’s already more than made up for it’s weight and cost. I carry it with me almost everywhere. I was definitely more than a little idealistic to think that I could do this without one.

two weeks

Today marks two weeks that I’ve been here, the halfway point of my time in Montevideo. They say it takes someone roughly 28 days to form habits and adjust to major lifestyle changes, but I already feel settled in my Montevideoan routine. So much so that I was thinking that I’d really like to stay here a bit longer to continue studying and uncovering more of what this city has to offer, mainly the food and music scenes.

But alas, I have an entire continent to discover and the next part of my vacation only just recently started to become real in my mind. Yesterday, I cracked open one of my thick travel guides and actually read, took notes and made cerebral plans about the extraordinary places Tori and I are going to be so soon.

Our meeting place is Sao Paulo, the capital of Brazil and the biggest city in South America. A population of 17 million also puts it at the third largest city in the world. Also on the list is surfing in Rio de Janeiro, a 40-mile bike trip down a mountain from La Paz (a city more than 12,00 ft above sea level), eating ceviche (with popcorn!) on the beaches of Ecuador, touring the vineyards of Mendoza and exploring the sure-to-be-indescribable wonder that is Machu Picchu.

It’s nearly impossible for me to wrap my head around these plans, as the closer the time comes, the more unbelievable it seems to me. Two weeks.

politics

There’s a lot politically going on in Uruguay right now. The senatorial and presidential elections are both coming up at the end of October and everybody is campaigning very aggressively. There are people all over the streets handing out literature; flags and signs hang everywhere and there are even people who ride around on bikes with political messages ringing out of speakers they’ve attached to their handlebars.

Uruguay has a multi-party system with two mains – Colorado and Nacional. There’s also the independent, the socialist and a whole slew of others. Each party also corresponds with a number – 2004, 2001, 71, etc. and no one I’ve asked was able to explain the origin of the association.

It’s mandatory for Uruguayan citizens to vote, which at first I was not in favor of. What about people who don’t know/care? But, there is an option to vote “blanco,” which is exactly like it sounds, blank. I’m not exactly sure of the reasons behind the obligatory voting system, but there are severe penalties for not participating. And they do keep track.

On television, the commercial breaks are about 15 minutes long and 90% of the ads are of a political nature. One commercial really struck me because a woman looked straight into the camera and said “Soy una socialista,” a statement that would never fly in the states. The other commercials are usually about futbol, and say something like “Don’t worry Uruguay, Ecuador will not be able to bring it.”

a typical day (in food)

Usually when I’m on vacation, I whip out the credit card to dine on tasting menus with wine pairings at the most expensive and luxurious of restaurants. This situation is a bit different. First of all, Montevideo is not really a food city. Secondly, I’m trying to save money. Finally, Amparo cooks me breakfast and dinner every day. This I paid for.

A typical Uruguayo breakfast consists of bread and crackers with various spreads – some unidentified spreadable cheese, butter, marmalade and dulce de leche, which is my favorite. I love that it’s totally normal for the first thing for me to put in my mouth everyday is a cookie smothered in caramel sauce. She also heats up milk for me in this huge mug and gives me Brazilian instant coffee. It’s not that good, but I drink it anyway. When she asked what I usually eat for breakfast, I told her eggs or cereal to which she replied that no one eats eggs for breakfast in Uruguay. The next day, though, there was a bag of corn flakes on the table.

At school, they have this thick, dark coffee free for the taking and drink my weight throughout my four hours of class, which fly, by the way. After school, I get lunch with the German at some place close to our school. The other day we walked to the Mercado del Puerto and got empanadas at a counter. I ate one with carne, queso and olives and one pollo, jamon and hongos and had a coke for a total of about $4.

Dinner is around 9pm and pretty common, but always delicious – stuffed zucchini, pasta, chicken with rice. Amparo doesn’t eat dinner, but she sits and talks with me. Every night, she makes me dessert, which is the best part. One night, it was fruit salad, which tastes much better down here. She makes flan all the time and sometimes, she even brulees the top.

the rock concert

Last week I went to a rock concert. I’ll start at the beginning – Wednesday, I took a free tour (in Spanish) of the Teatro Solis, a very famous and important and old theatre in Montevideo, a city known for such. I was paying close attention and doing pretty not bad, until I caught a glimpse of a boy (yes, cute) taking a private tour in English. It became increasingly difficult to listen to my tour guide and when I’m not concentrating, Spanish may as well be Arabic. It was all I could do to spy on him and his English-speaking tour guide and bask in the feeling of complete understanding of my own language.

I spent the rest of my tour keeping tabs on the blue-eyed boy’s whereabouts and thinking about what my opening line was going to be. Afterwards, I did my best stalker impression by chasing him down Plaza Independencia. A little short of breath, I smiled and asked him how he was able to swing a private tour in English while I was lost in a group of 30 Uruguayos.

And oh my god what happened next was absolutely incredible. With this person I’d never met, I had the most intelligent, comprehensive and fulfilling conversation of my week. To go back to a language that I am so comfortable with, that allows me to express myself on a far deeper level and that which I am infinitely familiar was deeply satisfying. And that was before we even got to – what are you doing here?

Kevin, who was in Montevideo for a very short time, was trying to do as much as possible and was headed to another theatre to see if there was anything going on that night. I went with him. The show? La musica de rock. Perfect. I invited myself along.

Later that night, we met up and together encountered the strangest cultural experience of my time in here so far. Enter – rock band of skinny Uruguayos, front man who looks straight out of an 80s hair band, two less-than-enthusiastic female back-up singers and the creepiest bare-chested bass player complete with goofy smile and red mustache (who kind of reminded me of Dave Allen). In Kevin’s words, if we weren’t in Uruguay, this band could have easily been from Alabama. They sang solely in English. They covered The Animals.

I was speechless, but it got even better. Enter main act – Silverados. In English, again. This time, skinny, sexy front man with perfect hair and sunglasses. Guy in pink furry jacket (no shirt) rolling around on the floor, guy wearing a “Jack Fucking Daniels” t-shirt who didn’t move once, guy dressed like a feather-duster. And that singer – kind of like an Adrian Grenier type and totally full of himself. I guess that’s kind of a necessary quality in lead singers, but he was clearly pretty pleased with himself, lifting the mic stand, screaming and leaving the stage to touch people in the audience. And it was quite the audience – grandmothers, babies and little groupies alike sitting in theatre-style seats.

Kevin didn’t care for the vocals, but said the guitarists were pretty talented. It wasn’t really my kind of music, plus I couldn’t get past the bizarre nature of the whole thing. Hands down though, definitely worth the 6 bucks.

After the show, Kevin (bless his heart) had a couple of beers with me. I could have kissed him. I didn’t. He left today, playing a very small role in my grand adventure, but leaving an indelible mark, nonetheless.

Photo rising, Kevin's just taking his sweet time on that...

the movies

At the movies with the lights dimmed and surrounded by the senior-set, a song started playing. Everyone rose to their feet. For four full minutes what I think was the national anthem rang through the theatre while everyone sung along. Then, the curtains opened and the movie began.

Oh yeah, and this was the toilet. I held it for 2 and a half hours.

manu chao

This is a song my professor used to teach us some informal Spanish. This guy is pretty famous all over the Spanish-speaking world. I wasn’t really impressed with him, until I watched the video (awesome) and learned that he speaks and records songs in 5 or 6 different languages. Here, that’s called políglota. Take that Justin Timberlake.

shopping

I went shopping today. I bought a birthday card for a friend that shall remain unnamed (please pretend that you’re surprised) and an orange. Seemingly simple, but alas, yet another challenge. I went to the supermarket first and brought my cashews and orange up to the register. The lady looked at me and spat something incomprehensible. My response was to pick up my stuff and go to another register. At this one, I got the same look from a different girl then she turned around and handed my orange to someone else. I stood there smiling for lack of anything else to do or to say. After an agonizing 45 seconds, my orange was returned, now in a plastic bag with a price sticker. I ate the orange on the beach, but saved the bag and sticker so I can figure out how to shop properly next time.

My second try was at the Mercado de los Artesanos, which is this beautiful store where you can buy stuff directly from the artists who make it. It’s full of lovely and weird things. I took this photo there. The sign says “made of leather,” which blew my mind. When I found a card I liked, I picked it up to bring it to the register. The artist followed me and asked me if I wanted a receipt. I said yes and he took the card from my hand and handed me a piece of paper in its place. I went to the register. I paid. I walked back to the artist’s stand and handed him the receipt. He told me to go to the side of the register. I went to the side of the register. They told me to go to the other side. I went to the other side. I handed the guy behind this register my receipt. I got my card. By the time I left, I was feeling half like a fool (I crossed the store five times) and half on the top of my game (I understood all the Spanish!)

Encounters such as these, obviously, 1 – embarrass me and 2 – put things in perspective. Essentially, I am a child here, unable to complete simple transactions. When I have a basic interaction without incident, I feel like my mom should be standing behind me cheering me on and giving me cookies. It’s terribly humbling.

gracias a abby

Abby recently wrote me a message in which she said that she shared my frustrations regarding language during her time in Paris. Her take on the experience was something that I hadn’t even considered.

“I used to like to think of it like I had more of an opportunity to grow than everyone else, since I had so much more to learn.”

I love this positive perspective. Thanks mama.

no wonder i don't have any friends

This is a rough translation of some phrases that have left my mouth over the past week–

I like...green paint, your walls.

I forgot, I need to stir, no, return…my school for…a program of conversation.

I need to buy…a card for birthday of my friend…where am able?

I live…close to…the big street.

What…means this?

Tonight I goes…a show of rock music…at theatre.

Much people…talk…many languages, more than I.

I go…to walk, looking, the internet.

These, on the other hand, I’ve got mastered – please, thank you, thank you very much, you’re welcome, I don’t know, I don’t understand, I don’t understand anything, hello, goodbye, good morning, good night, good afternoon, what time is it?, see you later, please speak more slowly

Reading this post makes me realize that I pretty much don’t have a personality in Uruguay. I just smile. I wouldn’t want to hang out with me either.

accent, slang, etc.

It makes sense that a language spoken in as many countries as Spanish is has some colloquial differences. For example – the other day, I learned the word pinchar, which is kind of like to stab or poke, as with a fork. Well, I’m used to working with los mexicanos who will happily tell you that pinchar is a very dirty word.

Another – Spanish people (the ones from Spain, that is) have a lisp. They call it castillano. It sounds like “Bar-the-lona” instead of “Barcelona.” Where I live and I’ve heard in Argentina as well, they have their own special accent in which y’s and ll’s are prounced “sh.” Calle, in my previous experience pronounced “ca yay” here is said “ca shay.” Uruguayan people are called “Uruguay-shos.” It’s a bit difficult to get used to and much harder to understand, but you know…when in Rome.

language

This following statement may seem trite, but - Language is everything. It’s fascinating to me how many emotions it conjures up. There’s the obvious – omnipresent frustration, confusion and exclusion. However, I also daily experience extreme pride in small victories – seeing a number and thinking it in Spanish, asking a question and understanding the answer, and when a phrase just rolls off my tongue seemingly without thought. These sentiments, although far less occurring, make suffering through the negative ones worthwhile.

In my short time here, I have met people who speak 3, 4, 5 and 6 different languages and am constantly affirmed in my belief that multilingualism is the number one most impressive and admirable trait a human being can have. This experience so far has only strengthened my desire to travel all over the world to soak up as much language and culture as humanly possible. First, I should probably learn how to tell Amparo that I don’t really like instant coffee…Baby steps.

saint francesca

I’ve only been here for a few days, but I have pretty much taken on a saint-like existence. I go to bed at, like, 11pm and am woken up every day by Amparo at 8:30am to eat breakfast and go to school. After class, I lunch with the German and then go to a museum, take a nap or just walk around. At night, I watch Spanish tv, check my e-mail, write and do my homework. I’ve had two beers since I’ve been here. It’s definitely a different sort of lifestyle, but I am enjoying the tranquility and simplicity for the time being.

damn those canadians

Yesterday, I went on a mini field trip to Punta Gorda, a beach in the east (rich) part of the city with some people from my school. I was excited at the possibly of meeting some friends, but as it turns out, at this time, the 28-year-old German is the person closest to my age. The other students that came with us today are three women seemingly on their Eat-Pray-Love trip. One, who’s Canadian, quit the banking business and rents her own Montevideoan apartment. Another is from Holland, and is a writer. The third is a psychologist from Oregon. Obviously, they are all nice, but not exactly the type that I can go to clubs and dance on tables with. By the way, all of them are wayy beyond me in language skills. So, the majority of my day was spent listening and smiling and trying to time my laughs to make it look like I knew what was going on. Occasionally, they directed simple questions my way and listened patiently while I attempted an answer. The Canadian, however, straight-up speaks to me in English.

and one final one for today

For you Matty!

it's spring!!!

In case I didn't tell you, which is impossible because I told everybody, it's spring here on the other side of the world. (5,288 miles away, my mom told me in one of her 20+ e-mails) and it is evident by the fact that everyone is outside all the time. I've made a daily habit of sleeping in the middle of the day, usually in a park or on the beach and when I wake up, I'm always surrounded by hundreds of people, drinking mate and celebrating the weather and life in general.

There's also always stuff going on, like outdoor theatre and music. Above, is a picture of this drum group I saw while walking down the street one night.

my big day

Today was a big day for me. I started school, which I LOVE. Yesterday, though, I had a bit of scare when I couldn’t find it right away and I wandered around the ‘bad part’ of town wondering what I was going to do if this whole thing was a sham and how I would get my $1500 back. Anyway, I found it eventually (look up!) and it’s this beautiful 2^nd floor space of tile and skylights and murals and spiral staircases. The staff is all smiles and heavily-emphasized Spanish.

After I blankly smiled back at this curly-haired woman who chatted animatedly at me, I was placed in the beginner’s level. At first, I was minorly disappointed, but after the first class I realized it was perfect. I only have one other classmate and he is German. Yes, he is very cute. Yes, he also has a girlfriend, and it happens to be a rather sweet story. What I got from his German-accented Spanish- She is Uruguayan. They met in Germany. She studied there for 6 years, then moved home. He followed her and is now learning Spanish, his fourth language. He also speaks French and English. The good part for me is that because our native languages are different, we speak Spanish to each other.

AND…I moved into my homestay today, which I love just as much as my beautiful school. Above is a picture of my room. It’s green and I like it. I have one picture that Abby gave me of her and I in Amsterdam. It hangs on the inside of my wardrobe on the mirror. I’m glad I only have one, because it nearly brings me to tears every time I look at it.

I don’t have internet at my house, but I think that’s a good thing. I found a hotel across the street that gave me their wifi password so the excitement of internet can be blamed for this slew of blog postings. I also have a tv with 4-ish channels, depending if you count the blurry ones. I will use it to my advantage.

My Uruguayan mother’s name is Amparo and she’s about 60 and very sweet. She doesn’t speak a lick of English. Again, a good thing. We just had dinner together and the range of topics that were peripherally covered is almost comical – family, Miami and black people. Sometimes, when I am speaking Spanish I just start to smile at the pure ridiculousness of it. I know I sound terrible, yet I just keep talking like I am making sense. It’s much harder than I thought it would be; yet at the same time, I feel I am progressing at a much faster rate than I thought I would. I already feel like I added hundreds of words and phrases to my lexicon.

my semi-beautiful city

This photo is a lie. Montevideo is not very beautiful. Most of the buildings are (it seems like I’ve been quoting LonelyPlanet a lot) "soviet style," which translates to concrete and usually graffitied. There are palm trees, though, which can make any place look desirable. Much less of an eyesore, however, is the rich people side of town, located near the airport.

I see no airplanes from my school nor from my homestay.

as promised

Mate is this tea-like beverage and (in the words of LonelyPlanet) “a national obsession.” It’s true, though, I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s more common than Jennifer Aniston with her Smart Water. Everyone carries a big thermos filled with hot water and a little leather canister stuffed with mate. They drink it through these metal straws that strain the tea at the bottom. And it’s hot, did I mention that?

I tried it the other day and it’s fine; I really don’t understand the mania. It is very high in caffeine, which I guess is a draw, but I rather enjoy my daily naps.

my first real meal

Grilled meat. This is what the Uruguayans eat. They drink mate (mah tay). That deserves it's own separate post, which will follow shortly. Anyway, back to the meat- there are these places called parillas, where all different cuts and kinds of beef are cooked and served. They also typically offer chivitos (sandwiches with steak, eggs, mayo, lettuce, tomatoes, bacon, etc.) and pizza, which for some reason is a ubiquitous menu item in these parts.

Today, I went to my first parilla and ate all by myself. I even kept the conversation in Spanish, although we didn't say much beyond "carne, futbol and Montevideo." I'd been a little scared to go out to eat without my friends (who left for Punta del Este today) as a crutch. But by 7pm, I realized I couldn't survive on postres con dulche de leche alone, so I went down to the Mercado del Puerto, where all the parillas are concentrated. Needless to say, I was starving and had two huge ribs, fries, a beer, desert and cafe. (Not that my order would have been any different if I had been eating all day.) In this particular parilla, the mostly toothless chef cooked the meat on open flames behind the bar. It was absolutely delicious, especially the fries all soaked in steak blood. Desert was this postre typica de Uruguay and it was this wonderful mess of meringue and honey and cream.

Total bill - $200 pesos, equalling about $10, mas o menos. I think I found my place.

my first friends

These are my friends Nathalia y Diana (which I thought was Llana) until she wrote it down for me several hours after meeting her. They are from Paraguay and they are angels.

I met them in my hostel and they immediately showed me that my Spanish absolutely sucks. Luckily, their English is much better, so we speak that which, yes, I realize is counterproductive, but I justify it every once in a while, by asking "como se dice en español?"

the cougar

This morning, the day I leave for Uruguay, I received an e-mail from a girl who found my wallet and told me I could pick it up whenever. Obviously, I won’t be able to get it and at this point, I don’t really need it, but it was a nice thing to wake up to.

In keeping with my ups-and-downs, however, my mom’s car broke down on the way to the airport this morning and it wasn’t just your standard flat - there was fumes coming through the vents and some very loud, undistinguishable noises. We pulled over on 95 and our little civic shook as trucks drove by at frightening speeds. My mom being the responsible, problem-solver she is, paged through her blackberry of contacts and found a friend to meet us on the shoulder by exit 13. (By the way, do you know it’s illegal for cabs to pick up people on the side of the highway?) So, 10 mins later we were throwing my luggage into a prius parked in front of us and I was back on my way.

On the first leg of this impossibly long trip (23 hours!), I was forced into the middle seat. On my right – an nondescript older woman that looked pretty much like any other women in her 60ish age group. On my right - the quintessential cougar. She was wearing an anklet, toe-rings and had flowers painted on her toenails. She carried a logo Louie Vuitton baby backpack and when she opened up her shiny purse, you could see her pack of Malboro lights. The best part was that these two women despised each other and I somehow, ended up as middle-man for multiple pee breaks and various other forced interactions.

a walk in tori's (unlucky) shoes

As most of my friends know, I misplaced my wallet Monday on Phrancesca’s Pharewell to Philly tour. And by misplaced, I mean I got drunk and left it in a cab. However, I was sober enough to take out all of my money first, almost like I knew I was going to forget it. Many phone calls were made and angry cabbies were hailed, producing no luck. After wasting battery life on all the iphones, we said fuck it and went to Silk City. Except for that little blip, Monday was fantastic and lovely and wonderful and I want to thank all my girls (and Seth) for it and for all the other LWL dates in the past few months, which were, by far, my favorite days of the summer.

That night, I ran into Tori at Silk after losing my wallet and she said that obviously something bad had to happen to me before I left. She has terrible luck (in a 36 hour time span, her car was towed and got denied a visa), so it was almost like I was being cursed for agreeing to take this trip with her. But generally, I’m not a particularly lucky or unlucky person and things usually work out in some sort of way for me. So, I woke up the next day and ran all the annoying errands that losing a wallet necessitates – DMV, bank, et al and even though I was totally freaking out, it didn’t turn out that bad.

The worst part was that a week ago, I handed a beautiful Brazilian $130 and the most important piece of paper I own only to get a stupid little receipt which for some reason, I didn’t take out along with the cash from my wallet. Then, when I went up to NY on Tuesday, I got a little bit of attitude from a less beautiful Brazilian. She was supremely annoyed that she would have to open up each passport to look for my name and told me to come back in an hour. Instead, I sat right in front of her and Sierra and Sacha and I watched her do nothing for a while. I guess then she felt a little bad, so she casually started looking through them and after about 15 mins and some harrowing questions that led me to believe it may have been lossed, she produced my passport with a brand new visa containing a picture that makes me look like a 300lb convict with red lipstick.