88 little things I will miss about Uruguay

I have just over one week left in Uruguay. It's time to get all nostalgic and stuff.
Anybody who knows me well enough knows that I love a good list. Here's one that I've been making for all of the little things that have made me smile (inside or out) over the past few months.

1. The hot water machine in the cantina at Católica (used solely to refill mate thermoses).
2. The way the ómnibus hauls ass in the 8 de Octubre tunnel. 
3. Clarifying that I want agua "con" or "sin" gas.
4. "tá"
5. The curb at the bus stop in Paso Molino, which is so covered in left-over-bus-driver yerba it is likely to remain that horrible shade of green forever.
6. My host mom, Cuca, telling Michi (our cat) to get out of the dining room. "Salí, Michi!"
7. The door guard at the ORT who rocks a mow-hawk.
8. Ordering a victory empanada in the cantina at Católica after handing in a paper or finishing a test.
9. Mafalda comics––anytime, anywhere.
10. The Peñarol vs. Nacional graffiti war.
11. Ómnibus lip-synch-a-longs because it's the closest I get to speaking English on a regular basis.
12. The fricative "y" or "ll" sound (much like the "ss" in "mission") in words like "playa" and "allá".
13. Similarly, the use of "vos" as the second-person singular. 
14. Dred mullets.
15. Tienda Inglesa.
16. How all the pedestrian x-ing signs are weirdly specific (photo evidence to come).
17. How "Coke vs. Pepsi?" is not even a question; and how waiters tell you they only serve pepsi products with the same care a vet might take to tell you your dog has died. 
18. Forgetting to bring ID and getting into the club anyway by sputtering Spanglish (or straight up English) at the bouncer.
19. Mi amooooor profundo (Francisco, age 2) and mi mamá (Belén, age 3.5).
20. Cigale pistachio and almond ice cream. 
21. Dulce de leche on/in EVERYTHING dessert-like.
22. The sound of the street fair outside my window every Wednesday morning.
23. Crosswalk jugglers.
24. The way Uruguayans bite their bottom lip to express "oh dear" "wow" "ouch" or "shiiiiiit".
25. Technicolor class notes, with bubble letters for emphasis.
26. Diego Forlán on every television screen, billboard, and bus stop telling me to get Direct TV.
27. Drinking bottles of Salus water or juice...with a straw.
28. How people re-use Indian Emporium shopping bags as purses.
29. Putting cash under my plate of gnocchi every 29th.
30. The smell of the open-air fruit stand on Cuariem and Colonia.
31. The Einstein statue en the plaza near Humanidades.
32. Having no classes on national holidays.
33. The ceremonial pit-stop to the gas station on Herrera for previa coca-cola.
34. Romina's spot-on impression of our Psicomotor Education professor.
35. The man who sells used books outside of Puro Verso on 18 de Julio.
36. This boy, who walked home from school one day dressed as a pirate, complete with hook: 
37. That Jack & Jill was an absolute hit at the Uruguayan box office.
38. The difference between "te quiero" and "te amo". 
39. Disco hits on the ómnibus.
40. The way people do their Hail Marys on the bus whenever we approach the cross at Tres Cruces.
41. The ever-present sound of ping pong in the cantina at Católica. 
42. How they sell bottles of whiskey next to the mentos at the checkout line.
43. "Ojo" ("watch out" or "careful"), accompanied by this gesture:
44. Cursing the 183 to Pocitos when it passes by me while the crosswalk light is red. And forgiving it when another shows up 10 minutes later to save me from the cold and/or bus stop creeps. 
45. The overly-impressive display of alfajores (over 30 different types!) at the counter of the cantina at Católica.
46. 9-digit cell phone numbers, all starting with 0.
47. Walking on the beach (doododododooo).
48. The sound of thousands of Uruguayans singing "Me Amo" ("I love me") at a concert on the beach in March.
49. The sound of my name when people say it properly in Spanish.
50. The Guernica graffiti wall in La Paz.
51. Luis Suarez perpetually selling me Garnier Fructis hair products on the LED billboard outside of Montevideo shopping. 
52. Improvisational black light puppet shows with Charles, Tamara, Federico y Andrea.
53. The ceremonial cracking of the chocolate easter egg every night after dinner during the week following Easter.
54. Professors sharing a mate with their students during lecture. 
55. How in el Estadio Centenario there's a song for every occasion ("...y la lluvia de mierda no quiere parar...")
56. Overly-large sugar packets. No joke 5x the sugar of a US packet. 
57. Chivitos. But not so much the taste as the fact they exist. 
58. How "Ta Ta" (a grocery store) and "To To" (a shoe store) always seem to be next to one another in shopping areas. And how unreasonably confused I was (still am?) as a result.
59. The way the produce section in the supermarket is almost always as large as the rest of the store, and how the frozen foods section pretty much doesn't exist (beyond ice cream).
60. The funky shape of their keys. (pictured below)
61. The momentary fear of bombilla burn that strikes me every time I'm the first to be offered a mate. And how I've never actually burned my lips.
62. The phrase "romper la noche", literally meaning "break the night", to describe a having a good time.
63. The tower of Canal 5, which in my earlier days would faithfully guide me home from my run/walk around the Blanqueada. 
64. Iron bars and gates. Everywhere.
65. The 6am post-night-out McCafe run. And how Uruguayans make it an art form.
66. The "cancer" bridge that spans the toxic river in Paso Molino.
67. "Permiso"
68. The way people blatantly disregard postings on the bus which forbid the consumption of mate for reasons of personal safety.
69. Stumbling upon the occasional drum circle on 18 de Julio.
70. Getting lost in the Saturday-morning street fair in Punta Carretas.
71. Improvisational cooking with rusty frying pans, actual table spoons, and gas stove tops and ovens with no temperature control. And the sense of triumph that comes with a successful dish.
72. The look on an Uruguayan's face after eating something even remotely spicy.
73. Hanging out in a crowd where the Santiago : Non-Santiago ratio is the same as the Uruguayan : Non-Uruguayan ratio.
74. Square pizza.
75. Finally mastering the pronunciation of "metropolitano". And the next day realizing I didn't need a metropolitan ticket to make it to Las Piedras. 
76. Shopping to the sound of instrumental Beatles music in the Disco of 8 de Octubre, and everybody in the produce section singing along.
77. Absolutely no societal pressure to cut my hair. Ever.
78. Bus drivers honking hello to each other joyfully on the 183/181 Paso Molino–Pocitos line.
79. Woow – Descuentos urbanos. 
80. How thrilling (and fruitless) the hunt for legitimate Mexican food is.
81. How eggs are never refrigerated. 
82. "NTVG"–the abbreviation more than the band, although the band is pretty good. 
83. Erica's squash soup.
84. Taxi drivers waiting to drive off until you've made it inside the front door.
85. My "secret boyfriend"--a figment of my host mother's imagination to explain why I was away from home so much during the last month or so of classes. I'm sure he's a really great guy.
86. The sound of the lottery numbers being called during dinner. Cuatroooooooo cincooooooo sieteee...
87. There are no Starbucks in Uruguay.
88. The way they say ".com.uy", usually at the end of advertisements. (punto com punto ooey)

You may have noticed this list has changed from 101 little things to 88. You are not imagining things. Perhaps there is not, in fact, a direct correlation between ambition and free time. Oops.

Tirate un memoir

Here's a 6-word memoir for every DJ who's ever fulfilled a song request for a certain little cumbia group from Argentina...

 Played Wachiturros; the whole club hissed.

As I write this, the top comment for this video on YouTube reads: "Estaba viendo este video cuando entro mi mamá. Cambié a porno porque era mas facil de explicar." Translated, it means "I was watching this video when my mom came in. Changed it to porn because it was easier to explain."


I've found shame and/or scorn are generally the only appropriate reactions whenever somebody admits to liking the Wachiturros. It's a bit like the Rebecca Black "Friday" phenomenon, but worse because they're actually touted as legitimate performers. 

ahí, hay, ¡ay!, ai caramba

Saw this the other day on facebook and it made me happy for at least two reasons:

1. It is funny.

2. I am finally getting jokes in Spanish on a regular basis.

I went out with my classmates from the department of psicopedagogía (psychopedagogy) a few weekends ago. Great times were had, although I think I may have danced with a brazilian male stripper to the oober popular Brazilian pop song "Ai se eu te pego" on stage in a boliche thing filled with 100 lovely Uruguayan strangers. 

To clarify, he didn't take actually take any clothes off. BUT he was a little too good at body rolls and shimmy-ing... Actually, it didn't even occur to me until the following Monday in class when my classmates told my professor what happened (yeah that happened). 

To clarify once more, the whole experience was a lot less wild than the picture I've painted thus far. There was a live band in the bar and at one point they started asking for volunteers to dance on stage. First it was anybody who had a birthday. Then it was anybody lucky enough to be surrounded by 10 or so people pointing fingers at them because they're foreign. I was in the latter group.

Yes, somebody in the group took a video. No, I do not have said video. But take comfort in the knowledge that it is out there and that my already tenuous prospects for a political career have been dashed.

Mi feliz cumple!

Better late than never?

Here are a few of the pictures from my 21st birthday, which was April 25th. I realize it might look lame from what you see here, but I prefer the term "low-key." At the time I was fresh off the buquebus (a bus-boat combo trip that takes you from Buenos Aires to Montevideo and back on one ticket) from our trip to Tandil for the long weekend, so a semi-surprise dinner party at home was just perfect. 

Captions will explain what you can see of the dinner below, but here's a rundown of what else happened that day:

• Care package from home! Yes, mom, it took well over a month to arrive, but that's okay. Really. American peanut butter + craisins + the clothing I ordered online at the beginning of February = surprisingly wonderful birthday presents. 
• Lost in the park. The group from Trampolines was meant to go on a field trip to the amusement park and I was meant to meet them there. It turns out that during the school day amusement parks on the beach are a very popular spot for school groups, and so I spent about 2 hours covertly following various hordes of children dressed in white smocks (all of them basically have the same uniform at that age) NONE of which were my group. For how long is it socially acceptable to semi-stalk groups of small children as a single white female of 21 years and average height? One simply never knows. 
• Walk in the park. Using glass-half-full logic, I wasn't lost in the park--I was simply enjoying a nice stroll along the Rambla and Parque Rodo. It actually was a beautiful day, so I can't complain about the stalking-against-my-will part too much. 
• Skype-a-thon. Thanks so much to everyone who joined me for the late-night wine skype, and the family skype after that, and the breakfast skype the next morning. If you're not among those implied above, let's fix the fact we haven't skyped in so long: N-gela is my user name. Add me.

Left: Everybody waiting in the kitchen to surprise me. They almost pulled it off completely, too! My host mom's poker face gave way that morning when she asked me for either Erica or Merelise's phone number "to ask how their apartment is going." Oh, Cuca. :D

Right: They made me french toast!! ....and pizza! Really great stuff all around.

Left: I somehow ended up with two cakes (or 1.5?), both dripping in dulce de leche. They also gave me a Peñarol jersey, which officially makes me a fan of one half of the biggest sports rivalry in town. 

Right: Lily says it's a tradition in Chile for the birthday boy/girl to take the first bite of cake...from the whole cake. Naturally, this was my response. 

Both: Not really birthday-related, but Mary bought an excellent shirt at the Tienda Inglesa close to where she lives. Featuring poorly-translated English flanked by leather sleeves. Oh boy. 

Cuando juega Ururuay

"When Uruguay plays," like TODAY at 3:00, it is best to get in the zone with a little Jaime Roos. The Uruguay national team faces off against Venezuela this afternoon en el Estadio Centenario, which will kick off the next round of South American qualifiers for the 2014 World Cup in Brazil.

I don't have tickets to the game, so I will be watching it from the comfort of my kitchen table. BUT you'd best believe I'll be reppin' the Celeste. I see a win for Uruguay, all biases aside. ¡Vamos arriba Uruguay!

Will keep you updated if I somehow score tickets that don't cost an arm and a leg to the Peru vs. Uruguay match next Sunday.

El Día de Ñoquis

In Uruguay and Argentina, it is a tradition to eat gnocchi on the 29th of each month. Supposedly, placing cash below your plate ("plata bajo del plato") is good luck, signifying that you will not be without cash for the coming month. It's certainly the most delicious superstition I have encountered in my life.

Naturally, we topped of dinner with a little "amor profundo".

Spotlight on: mate

"Mate" is more than beverage, it's a lifestyle. Seriously.

To give you a very basic rundown, mate (pronounced MAH-tay) is a hot drink, not unlike tea, which is created from the infusion of hot water and yerba in a hollow gourd that has been cured beforehand for this purpose. It seems to fall into the family of hot, caffeinated beverages with cult-status followings (e.g. coffee and tea). 

What really sets mate apart from other drinks, besides the taste, is the social component; the mate is generally meant to be shared among a group of people--a bit like a peace pipe. The ritual has its own rules of etiquette, the finer points of which still escape me although I do know the basics. Basically, one person will pour hot water from a thermos into the yerba-filled gourd and pass it to each person in the circle/group in turn. It is considered a breach of etiquette if anybody is skipped or if you take too long to drink on your turn and/or don't finish what you're given (which can be difficult sometimes because the bombilla is made of metal and it gets quite hot). Also, if you say "thank you" when you hand the gourd back to the leader, that means you're done. 

Mate is the "green eggs and ham" of the Río de la Plata, if you will, and any foreigner who refrains from trying it will be just about as successful as Seuss's protagonist was against Sam's ham. I almost posted a version of the famous poem, substituting "Benito" for Sam and "un matecito" (little mate) for green eggs and ham, but I got bored typing it all up. Also, I don't actually know any Uruguayans named Benito, so I obviously couldn't include the story for fear of conveying a cultural inaccuracy.

Had I gone through with it, however, the name would have been the only invalid part of the story. Uruguayans (and Argentinians) actually drink it everywhere--on boats, with goats, in the rain, on trains, in the dark, in trees, in cars, boxes, houses, here and there...you get the idea. One of my professors even shares a mate with his students mid-lecture from time to time. They have come up with a whole slew of interesting places to drink mate (see below). Dr. Seuss, eat your heart out.

In the end, I feel the same way about mate as I do about coffee and tea––I certainly don't mind drinking it occasionally, especially pre- or post-all-nighter, and I might even crave it now and again, but I'm never going to be an aficionado. Nope. I won't bring a mate home for any reason other than to cure the bouts of Uruguayan nostalgia that I'm bound to have in the coming years.

Here are a few of my favorite mate sightings since I've been in Uruguay:

Left: that's my shadow drinking it's first mate at the highest point in greater Montevideo, la Fortaleza General Artigas, during a field trip I took with the kids from Trampolines earlier in the semester. 

Right: On the same trip, groups of us visited the old jail cells of the Fortaleza, where the curators have so kindly included life-sized replicas of a prisoner and his priest. Naturally, adding a mate to the scene gave the display a more realistic quality. 

 

Left: That's our bus driver in Tandil, Argentina. He's got a propane-fueld hotplate (actually, an open flame) up front with him so that he can heat the water for his mate while he waits for us. [For the record, he did not use the hotplate while the bus was in motion. Argentinian bus drivers can be a bit sketchy at times, but there are limits.]

Right: This is Leticia, one of my classmates at Católica, teaching me how to prepare a mate (they use the verb "to arm", btw, which I think makes the whole process a lot more epic). One of my proudest accomplishments since being here, I'd say.

Above: I'm currently writing a paper for my internship about education, child labor, and the situation for children on the streets in Montevideo. This is one of many drawings that was included in a guidebook for people working to address such issues. I found this picture intriguing for a number of reasons (at this point I realize I've taken too many SOC/PSYC courses NOT to find things like this fascinating, but anyway...), not least among them the addition of the mate. Almost every drawing in the handbook features something similar. 

Es el amoooooooooooor!

"Amor profundo" by Jaime Roos is officially the theme for my Uruguayan semester. 

I'll have you know that it's on repeat as I write this.* You would do well to do the same as you read. Just a suggestion.

You know those songs that will forever be connected with a certain period of your life because every time you turned on the radio, went to the grocery store, used the ladies dressing room, or went to sing karaoke with your friends, IT was there? [For example, this song will always remind me of my freshman fall of high school.] "Amor profundo" is a bit like that, but not. I don't necessarily hear the song everywhere I go, but it does seem to keep popping up. Not to mention it's a hellofalot classier than "my humps."

My second or third weekend here I went to this huge summer concert on the beach with what I swear was about half of Montevideo (the younger half, mostly). It was excellent because it was free and because the lineup essentially consisted of Uruguay's most famous music artists, like "cuarteto de nos" and Mr. Jaime Roos himself accompanied by a number of famous murga singers. 

The problem with going to an event like that so early in your abroad experience, by the way, is that you have ZERO appreciation for how great it is. Your only indication is the fact that everybody around you knows every word to every song. Basically, it was 50,000 people crammed onto one tiny beach, and every time those first few bars played, they simultaneously had the "oh-hot-damn-this-is-my-jammm" face--it's a powerful sight, ladies and gents. I took videos, but blogger won't let me upload them; it's a shame because I just happened to take a video of the first part of "amor profundo", and the pure joy (and tone-deafness) of the crowd in that moment is impressive. 

It's also my host nephew's favorite song to sing/dance to, and he demands that I play it for him on my computer every time he sees me. Their family comes to dinner at least a couple times a week, so it happens quite a lot. So much, in fact, that Francisco has started calling me "amor" instead of "Angela."I can't say I mind that too much. Just look at that faaace...

And now I'm writing a paper on murga as an artform of the Río de la Plata. Murga is a mix of theatre, music, comedy, and sociopolitical commentary. It's a bit difficult to appreciate it fully as a non-Uruguayan and/or non-native Spanish speaker, but every once in a while a song will "click" for me. "Amor profundo" is an example of one such murga song; it popped up in my suggested youtube videos after watching so many stage performances as "research" for my paper. 

The lyrics describe the "profound love" that the artists have for their music--a sort of anthem for murga performers. For the most part, they are not professional artists full time, but rather the bankers, construction workers, shopkeepers, and bus drivers of Montevideo who love the artform and become murga artists to compete in the Uruguayan Carnaval during the summer months (December-February here). 

I'm super bummed my semester didn't have any overlap with Carnaval, but I guess that's just another reason to make it back here someday. For now, I will peruse youtube for the best performances and listen to AMOR PROFUNDOOOOO with Francisco. I think the kid has a future as a singer; he already knows more of the lyrics by heart than I do.

If you're still reading this, I just want you to know that I love you. And I'm sorry it's been so long since my last update. I might post pictures from my trip to Argentina and my birthday later. Definitely I will post some pictures of the Peñarol vs. Nacional action and about learning how to prepare a mate, so stick around for that.

*Actually, I'm going back and forth with a little wiggle wiggle; great combo, I know. The man has a free downloadable version up now, in case you're as obsessed with his version as I am. 

Today on ómnibus: The British Invasion

Paul McCartney is doing the Estadio Centenario on April 15th. That's right: one fabulous fourth of The Beatles is coming to Montevideo in just a few short days. Why I had to come to Uruguay to have the opportunity to see Sir Paul in concert is still unclear to me, pero estas cosas pasan.

Anyway, as a result of his impending visit, every ómnibus, supermarket, bar, and iPod-toting pedestrian is playing Beatles music. I must have heard "Hey Jude" about eight times this week, but I don't really mind. I like The Beatles. I also enjoy the spontaneous group humming/singing fits that ensue in the supermarket or on the bus when those really iconic tunes play. This one was playing as I got off the bus a few hours ago, and it has been stuck in my head ever since:

Before I mislead you too much, I'm not actually going to see him in concert. Two reasons: first, the price of a good seat was far from reasonable; second, I discovered shortly before the tickets went on sale that I have a friend who lives literally 2 blocks from the open-air stadium. We are going to listen to the musical stylings of Pauly McC from the comfort of his balcony, subsidizing with youtube videos when necessary. Good times.

Semana de Turismo/Concursos y Pascuas

Pretty much everybody in this region of South America is on vacation during "Semana Santa" (Holy Week). From what I can tell, the grand majority of Uruguayans will spend Easter Sunday at some type of family gathering, while the rest of the week is dedicated to traveling, camping, and straight-up laziness. The week is also referred to as the semana de turismo (week of tourism); it follows, then, that I gave myself photo-taking privileges for the entire week. Enjoy!

In the end, I didn't end up traveling anywhere outside of Montevideo, although it certainly wasn't for lack of trying. The few of us on the Midd program tried to plan several trips (Paraguay, Salto, Paysandú, Rosario, and Buenos Aires among them), but after our fifth or sixth attempt fell through (there were no boats/buses available anywhere), we resolved to stay put. The week was a bit of a mixed bag of activities as a result, all of them enjoyable. My trip with Trampolines (see previous post) was earlier in the week, and what follows is a bit of a review of the rest.

Concursos de Comida:
We ended up cooking together quite a bit, spending the money that might have gone toward city tours and souvenirs on artisan cheeses and baking soda (huzzah!). Our meals had themes; these pictures are all from the Uruguayan-American Pizza War, but we also had "cena estadounidense" (a US-themed dinner featuring mac and cheese, apple pie, fondue, and chicken wangs) and "concurso de galletas" (a chocolate-chip cookie bake-off between me and my fellow American, Lily; winner still TBD).

Top: The Uruguayan boys, somewhat candidly, express doubts about putting anything more than mozzarella cheese on a pizza (in this case, broccoli and chicken). We express doubts about putting excessive amounts of mayonnaise in a tomato salad.
Bottom: The US and Uruguayan pizzas, respectively. I think it's pretty clear who won this round, but we'll definitely bring our capital A-game next time. Watch out, Marcelo.

Prado / Semana de Criollo:
On Thursday, the five of us made the trip to Prado, one of the barrios (neighborhoods) of Montevideo. Prado is synonymous with Uruguayan rodeo, which is held en el "Rural del Prado" each year during Semana Santa. This is probably the closest to home I've felt since being here--home home, as in Newport. The whole event was really quite similar to our rodeo week, down to the folk singers and sketchy foodstuffs.

Top: The table set-up: communal salt, toothpicks, napkins, and (of course) mayonnaise–note that closed containers are for pansies. Mary and I decided to try the asado we've heard so much about. It took us about an hour to eat them because our knifes were so dull, but aside from that they were pretty good.
Bottom: Some of the action, some of the folk singers, and a great panorama of the Rural del Prado.

 

 

Felices Pascuas:

To round-out the week, my host family had a big family barbecue. This is a series of photos from the cracking of the chocolate egg. The stars are Constanza (left), Belén (center), and Francisco (right); the latter two are my host niece and nephew, if you will, and Constanza is one of their cousins. They're all at that perfect age for holidays, and they made Easter about 10x more adorable this year. 

In Uruguay, the hollow chocolate egg is the holiday tradition--no deviled eggs, dyes, baskets, hams, or candy comas. There are literally tens of thousands of huevos de Pascuas (chocolate Easter eggs) on sale in the supermarket for about 3-4 weeks leading up to Easter Sunday, and the displays are nothing less than immaculate. I have pictures of those too, but the photos really just don't do them justice. Suffice it to say it's like Uruguay-does-Wonka's-candy-room, and they definitely do it well. The eggs may not be creme-filled, but I think I actually like them more this way–they're simple, more fun to crack, and...well, just look at those faces. 

NOTE: Belén eventually smashed the egg successfully.

Trampolines!

On the Middlebury program, we have the option of either taking four courses at the university or taking three courses and completing an internship; I have chosen the latter. Every Tuesday and Wednesday, I hop on a bus after my classes at Católica are over and make the one-hour trip to Las Piedras, a small city that lays just outside of Montevideo, to work with Trampolines.

Trampolines (pronounced "tram-po-LEE-nes") is one of many projects in the greater metropolitan area of Montevideo run by "El Abrojo," a well-known non-profit organization for social and cultural development in Uruguay. The focus of the project is to provide social and educational support to the children of Las Piedras. The educators on staff take the kids to the pool, the park, etc. to play, as well as provide interactive lessons on topics like personal finance, government, and youth rights. Put simply, it's a really kick-ass before-/after-school program.

I haven't taken on any lessons yet, partially because I'm not sure what to teach, but mostly because my Spanish isn't strong enough to allow me to act as an authority figure. The kids are fantastic, but it's hard for them to understand the delay that comes with operating in a second language. I don't really mind because it's completely understandable for their age and because hardly any of them have experienced anything similar themselves. I love the look on their faces when I speak in English (at their insistence); kind of a dumb-founded/oh-I-guess-she-isn't-slow-minded/wow-do-that-again expression.

For now, I get to take them on trips to the local pool and participate in lessons by other educators. Or, on days like that pictured below, I get to tag-along on their field trips ("paseos," in Spanish). I'm kind of in intern limbo--neither an educator nor an 11-year-old child, resigned to playing games of red-light-green-light whilst mastering the art of imperative commands. 

These pictures are all from a trip we took on Tuesday to visit la Fortaleza de Artigas as well as the ciudad vieja ("old city"), one of the oldest neighborhoods of the city and the political center of Montevideo. Also, gelato; lots and lots of incredible (free) gelato ice cream. [click photos to enlarge]

    

    

A McCafe memoir

Several weeks ago I said I would try to slip the occasional six-word memoir in when inspiration strikes. Today it struck. Like lightning.

This one is dedicated to the workers at Montevideo Shopping's McCafe who fed me after I left the Hunger Games (partially unintentional pun):

Uniform? Canadian tuxedos, complete with arches. 

They had matching denim hats too. 

Spotlight on: Mayonesa

Uruguayan people have an ongoing love affair with mayonnaise. It is almost literally their bread AND butter--and I say almost because they do in fact spread mayonnaise on bread, but I'm not entirely convinced they would even do that if there were a way to make mayonnaise-based bread products. It goes on everything here, from the normal fair (hamburgers, potato salad, etc.) to the truly odd (fruit, potato chips, cookies, corn-on-the-cob). When you eat out at a restaurant, on the table are napkins, menus, silverware, mayonnaise, and (maybe) ketchup. It even has a song, and they know every word. More than sandwich lubricant, it is their number one condiment-dip-topping-drizzle-super-gel. It's excessive, and it's a problem in our relationship.

EDIT: I stand corrected. In fact, there is a way to make mayonnaise-based bread. I will not be introducing this concept to my friends.

"She's exaggerating," you say to yourself, "This is just comical fodder. She's writing a blog entry for its own sake and she has nothing else to talk about." No. I–pardon my English–shit you not, my friends. We (the girls on my program and I) had dinner with a group of our uruguayan friends last night, and we had an entirely-too-long conversation about the merits of mayonnaise followed by a game of let-the-americans-guess-what-you-CAN'T-eat-with-mayonesa. I think ice cream was the only thing I came up with. 

And now I offer you a series of photos of my friend Marcelo eating corn on the cob, con mayonesa, por supuesto. 

EDIT: To be fair, I haven't really tried it yet. If at some point in the coming months I eat mayo on potato chips/fruit/corn/eggs/etc. and love it, I will post a video of myself doing the mayonesa dance to compensate for the overtly caustic nature of this entry. 

Today on ómnibus: Saturday Night Fever

That's right. I spent quite a bit of time on the bus today and heard not one, not two, but THREE different songs from the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. Listening to Stayin' Alive while on the bus makes people watching infinitely more entertaining. Why? Because, well, you can tell by the way they use their walks...

And, by the way, I must be doing something right when I walk down the street because people have started regularly asking me for directions. AND I CAN GIVE THEM...sometimes, depending on whether I can understand what they're asking me and/or I actually know the answer. I can tell by the looks on their faces after I've spoken that they're not 100% confident I know what I'm talking about, but I'll take any sign of progress I can get.

More tourist photos to come, as well as posts featuring my internship with "El Abrojo" and some unfortunate uruguayan branding efforts. Also, Peñarol game this Friday; I am stoked to say the least. 

Martín Fierro!

Why on earth am I so excited about Martín Fierro? Because it's the best thing ever. And because an entire country has claimed one of my favorite odd food combinations as a national dessert. Is it possible to develop a crush on a country? Because if so I am officially enamored. There are many reasons, of course, but this one little thing puts the cherry on top (or, in this case, the dulce de membrillo).

For those of you who need a little more context, I like to eat fruit preserves on pretty much anything (crackers, hot dogs, pizza....) Yep, it's weird. One of my favorite snacks is strawberry preserves on slices of cheese, and I have always been made fun of for it. Dulce de membrillo isn't exactly the same, but the taste is similar (i.e., sooooooo gooood). I had it for dessert tonight--and not one eyebrow was raised.

This post goes to all the haters out there. :p

Mis asignaturas.

Day 2 of classes at Católica is done, and I can already tell I'm going to have difficulties narrowing my selections down to three. Here are the classes I'm trying out this week, if you care to know:

• Evaluación de los Aprendizajes (Evaluation of Learning)
• Educación Psicomotriz (Psychomotor Education)
• Pedagogía Familiar (Family Pedagogy)
• Psicología Educacional (Educational Psychology)
• Entrevista Clínica (Clinical Interview)
• Psicología de la Religión (Yadda Yadda Cognates)

Aside from three courses of those listed above, I will be taking a Spanish class through my program and (hopefully) completing an internship in the city. My interview is on Friday at 2.00pm--that's 1pm EST, I believe, with daylight savings in effect. Wish me luck :D

And here are some pictures I took on the sly while I was wandering around between classes today.

Left: Hanging out next to the lego wall and reading Freakonomics (en español, por supuesto).

Right: Photographic evidence that the entrance to the psych suite at Midd needs a serious overhaul. 

El día internacional del turista.

When I'm walking down the street in Montevideo, I stick out. Mostly it's because of my appearance (i.e. super fair skin and freckles) and my accent, but I can pass as somebody who's been here for more than a week if I hold my head up and stay away from words like "Colorado," "madre," and, sadly enough, "Angela" (a bit tough to avoid, that one). Unfortunately, all progress toward blending in is lost as soon as I pull out my camera or my city map. 

Thus, I am faced with the study abroad student's dilemma. The truth is that I want to take pictures of everything, but it's difficult to do so discretely. It is my opinion that you lose a certain amount of legitimacy as a student seeking immersion when you behave like a tourist (if you like, we can discuss later to what degree, if at all, this it true). 

In a very round about way, I'm trying to explain to you why I've henceforth declared each Friday to be "el día internacional del turista." I'm quite pleased with this solution: one day each week reserved for behaving like a tourist--I get to take as many pictures as I want and have as many unnecessary misunderstandings with clerks and taxi drivers as there are hours in the day. Ahoy!

SO, here are some of the photos I took for the inaugural Día del Turista. Click to enlarge. Enjoy!!

180 panorama of a park a few blocks away from the Facultad de Humanidades para República.

Left: Motorcycles ("motos") are super common here. With so few parking spaces, it's not hard to understand why.
Right: A glimpse of the entrance hall at the Facultad de Humanidades, complete with a welcome board for new students.

Left: A bit of graffiti near my host family's house. "La Blanqueada" is the name of the barrio (neighborhood) where they live.

Right: My host family's house from the outside. :D More pictures of them will appear in the future, I'm sure.

Left: A football/handball stadium on the beach ("Playa Pocitos," specifically) where Mary, Lily, and I took a walk before our tango lesson. Yes, it was cliche and yes I loved every minute of it.

Right: Mary en la playa. This is the view from the opposite side of the 360 panorama I took the other day.

We ate at a small pizzeria called "The Princess" after the tango lesson. There hints of Italian influence everywhere in Uruguayan culture, perhaps most noticeably in the food. Pizza + Patricia + gelato-esque ice cream after dinner = lo mejor. 

Thank you for your patience. These were both marathon posts and I'm sure they weren't made any better by my choppy English. Oddly enough, my English has suffered at the hands of my Spanish; a David-and-Goliath-esque struggle, I imagine.