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.