Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Oscar el Grouch


Believe it or not, there are a few interesting things about Uruguay that don’t involve how sad my apartment is.

I mentioned the “trash-mules” without explaining them. Here is something you may know but may not think about: Americans produce an astronomical amount of trash. Most people I know have very large trashcans in their kitchen and in their garages (if they have them), and then smaller, bucket sized trashcans in almost every other room of the house. If there’s not one in in the living- and bedrooms then at very least they have a trashcan in the bathroom. Everything collected in these into large bins, which go to the curb, or down chutes into dumpsters or wherever. If sanitation workers went on strike like Sara Cynthia Silvia Stout in that Shel Silverstein poem, we’d all be swimming in filth.

Well. I don’t think I’ve ever travelled to a country with enough trashcans for my huge American consumption-level. In Panama we had to buy trashcans, in France I horded plastic bags so I had somewhere to throw things away, in India people just throw things on the ground so I suppose that’s just one enormous trashcan, but I will never get past the voice in my head that screams, “OH MY GOD, SAVE THE LITTLE ANIMALS!! PICK THAT UP!” I came home with trash in my pockets.

(Apparently--I consume everything on a ridiculous American Supersize Me level. Our apartment came with "one month" of  internet. I used it up in three days.)

Here in Uruguay our “furnished” apartment has two trashcans: one in the kitchen the size of a very small bucket, and one in the bathroom the size of a measuring cup. As you can see from our giant trash pile, this arrangement is inadequate.

I think this must mean that people take their trash out every morning and are not ok with living surrounded by buckets of their own filth like Americans are. But I also know this isn’t true because, like the French, Uruguayans allow their dogs to shit everywhere, and leave it there. I think, maybe, somehow, they truly just produce less trash.

Montevideo is a city filled with enormous apartment buildings. That seems to be almost all it is. Every couple of blocks sits a small green dumpster. The contents of these dumpsters are collected by wooden carts with large canvas sacks on the back, which drawn by mules. I do not understand how all of the trash from four 12-story buildings can fit in one dumpster, and then be carted away by one sleepy, bored-looking mule.

I’m not all that surprised by the presence of the mules—the streets are narrow and the traffic is only loosely governed by any discernible laws (people seem to instinctually know who has the right of way where and when—there are very few street signs and lights) so the mule carts are more compact and easy to navigate than a big truck. Mules or no mules, it was not my personal agenda to produce more garbage than the entire population of the city, but somehow it looks like we’re on track to set the record. America: go big or go home.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Being Here.

What is there to say about Uruguay so far?

Surprisingly not much. The shocks of getting accustomed to a new country are sometimes far more mundane than you might expect.  For example, everyone's soap and detergent smells different. And people here love mayonnaise more than most people in the states would consider reasonable, and hence, mayonnaise-based sauces are more popular than any other sauces.  If you've been to Europe, that's not all that shocking, but if you hate mayonnaise as much as Tim does, it requires some patience. (I on the other hand will eat mayo on just about anything and am glad about it.)

The biggest adjustment, by far, has been our living situation.  I don't like to complain but I also don't want to sugar-coat things. When we went to Panama, we raved and raved about it because we lived in a beautiful apartment in a great location, in a park, with a view of the Panama Canal.  We very literally had nothing to complain about.  This time we haven't been so lucky.

Montevideo's economy is, apparently, booming, and the housing market is, apparently, slim.  When Tim arrived he was temporarily placed in a hotel until better accommodations could be found.  I would agree that what we've got are "accommodations" though I'm not sure about the word "better."  Our apartment does have a nice little sun porch that, for a good part of the day is sunny and warm and has a view of the beach on the Rio de la Plata--the wide river that separates Uruguay and Argentina and eventually runs into the ocean.

Otherwise... the apartment has just enough quirks and inconveniences to drive a person quickly and dramatically insane.  But I don't really want to talk about it because a.) Tim had an adventure even trying to get us into this ridiculous place and b.) I'll admit it, it makes me homesick.

Although going on rotation with Tim means that I will eventually travel and have adventures (like seeing the Uruguayan trash-mules) it also mostly means that I sit around in the apartment a lot, planning the wedding, etc, which was the plan, but which is a lot more depressing as a prospect when the apartment is not a very homey place.

So. Uruguay so far has been two interesting meals: a three-hour one at a very expensive and fancy restaurant with iPad menus and no other customers (but delicious duck, oh yes), and one (unintentionally) in a restaurant where Anthony Bourdain ate. This is a few blocks from our apartment and we were hungry and wandered in. Another American was there and helped us order and told us what we were in for, which was this:


Beyond that it's just trying to deal with our not-so-great living arrangements and the shock of jumping from summer to winter all at once. Deep breaths. Cowboy up.

Saturday, August 20, 2011

The new math.

I mentioned on Facebook a while back that my goal for this year was to read 52 books this year.  According to Shelfari, this week I met my goal. Since lists are always fun, it's below. However, I've crossed out the ones that I don't think really count, leaving me with a total of 46 books so far this year--which is still ridiculous by anyone's count.

Note how the three main subjects are the obviously related... boxing, African-American women, and hard-boiled crime. Yay, Grad School!

Also as you can see, a book review is forthcoming.

Friday, August 19, 2011

Over the rails...

Colorado has lots of roads with sheer drop offs into total oblivion on one side.

About three weeks ago I had this very vivid dream that we were driving along at night (I don't remember who the other person in the car was) and we suddenly plunged over the edge. The car plowed right through the guard rail and over the side. I remember the feeling of being suspended in the air, of being completely aware of that liminal moment: the moment between being firmly on the ground and the impact. I felt my stomach drop and I also felt suspended. I grabbed the hand of whoever it was that was in the car, and I woke up panting and incredibly freaked out.

And also not dead.

Is this an elaborate metaphor for being done with school and plunging head-long into the next year with no job, traveling to a foreign country and planning a wedding and answering the question, "what do you do?" with, "read?"

Nooooo.
Well, maybe.

I just got back from my trip to Colorado, where I attended my super-fun and totally non-stereotypical ten-year high school reunion. My primary objective was to see people that I missed and my secondary objective was to prove to Tim that my high school actually WAS fun and I'm really not making that up. Both objectives were accomplished and I'm so proud of those class members who showed up.  Those who didn't missed out. More than anything they missed out on the pleasure of my company and of seeing me and Trina run around in swim suits and make fun of each other.

They also missed the opportunity to ride in Tim's rented Ford Mustang convertible while we blasted 90's music at full volume.  Not that we actually gave anybody rides, but we would have if they'd asked.

I'm really not sure if our generation is at all interested in reunions because Facebook makes us think we're in touch, but it's a lie. Seeing people face-to-face, sitting around a bonfire or even at the crappy local bar, is worth the effort.

I also got to be a timer, with my mom, at the Demolition Derby at the Delta County Fair, and Tim I decided 100% for sure and for true that we're going to have the wedding in the orchard at my grandparents' ranch on June 16, 2012.  Those two things are entirely unrelated, but I wanted to make that sentence as exciting as possible.

In Boulder I got my Ukulele. Ukulele!  It was just as much a graduation present to myself as an excuse to go to the music store with my dad, who is the same way with guitars as he is with old cars: "I had one of these that I sold to Arnold Gibson in 1973, and this is just like one of mine but mine is more white colored, and I had one of these but mine was..." Trying to record him is like trying to record the illusive bigfoot because he'll play 15 second of a song and then walk off to a different instrument and start playing another song and he knows about 100,000 songs by heart. Anyway, I recommend it sometime.

That's all. I just finished a 600-page book and I leave for Uruguay on Wednesday. I have to figure out what books to take. Annnd, if you have an e-reader and you're bored, Harper Perennial is offering 20 e-books for 99 cents apiece, including Celebrity Chekhov, which Kacie sent me and I'm excited to read. (If you can't follow the link or don't have facebook, just search Amazon Kindle or Google Books for Celebrity Chekhov and look at "related titles" to find the rest.)