From the airport....

This is my last day in Montevideo and I feel very emotional about it. First I need to tell you what I will not miss: I will not miss the shrill whistle that bus drivers share with each other when they pass on crowded streets. I will not miss the lack of diversity—there are only white people walking the streets because sun tans don’t count. I will not miss the fact that most people, truly, do not want touristas here. I have spent some time in conversation with various people about this and I’ve been told that this whole idea of tourism is new idea—there is some kind of slogan about it—but for the most part people haven’t dealt with ‘other’s except Argentinians or Brazilians, and even then, they don’t particularly want them here either. It’s not that Montevideans are rude—far from it. But they are distant, not welcoming, not even acknowledging. Now, if you are in a purposeful relationship of course you will get air kissed on the right side. And in the places that I have frequented I have had conversations and such. But there has also been suspicion—why exactly am I here. It’s not bad…it’s just a thing I won’t miss because of course I am a tourista. And, I can finally say because it appears as if my mother is never going to read this blog, I am definitely glad that this is my last night in my apartment.

Let me tell you about that briefly. I have never slept in a made bed here. The sheets that were left me were malodorous and more. I had packed one sheet (with a high thread count!) in case I got to a hotel where the sheets were mostly polyester and I know how that sounds but it is a good thing that I did. So, every night I sleep wrapped in this sheet…on top of a towel, one of the towels I bought, this one for the sole purpose of lying under my one sheet. Of course I have my princess pillow and two pillow cases….one for my pillow, and another for my little blanket case that I’ve stuff with clothes to serve as another pillow. The bed, by the by, has its foam coming out of the end which tells you something about its comfort level. I have a bedside lamp that I’ve had to jack up on a turned over plate to reach the plug which is way atop the wall. I have the rabbit ear TV with an antennae that has been broken off halfway (the other is whole). The full size refrigerator in the picture of the apartment turns out to be a small dorm size one which is fine, but according to the landlord I should not expect the freezer to work because it is not a freezer (even though it is full of frost); instead it is only meant to keep things frozen for an hour or two.

All that is fine. The phone in the pictures is not a phone…but a way to buzz people in from downstairs. I can live with that too. But the thing that really started to make me not tranquilo is the airconditioner. I’m not using it now because it is much cooler but at first it was in the high 80s with comparable humidity. And, I showed a picture of what people do with the water runoff. I had a 10 liter jug on the balcony that the landlord explained should be emptied when full. Fine. First day I awoke and the floor was flooded, the curtains wet, everything that the water reached leached. I thougth perhaps I’d forgotten to empty the jug. It was full, so I figured emptying it, turning on the air even later, and I’d be fine. Nope. Flood. Some more of that and I wrote the landlord who told me it was the ‘humility’. Condensed version, Martin from the Academia came over, took the hose out of the container, and now the balcony floods. I was told not to do that because then the water would drip onto the floors below, but hey.

I’ve stupidly gotten very lost several times, comically. I had a day full of getting lost earlier in the week when I assumed that the bus to the Shopping would stop there (I guess I was supposed to be looking out the window for the sign), and then the conductor (i.e. the dude who takes the money as opposed to driving the omnibus) realized I was the only person on the bus when it stopped for break at the Rambla and asked me what the *LKO)() and I told him I was going to the Shopping. He told me no, no, no it was very far back. So I started to walk. I saw a sign that said 500 somethings to the Shopping and I assumed it meant in that direction. But after walking about half a mile and onto the Rambla Armenia (which off my map!) I realized I needed to head north. I did get some beautiful pictures of the marina, however. I found a mujre who looked nice and spoke slowly so she’d reciprocate and she gave me directions that I actually understood and found the Shopping. It was a huge letdown, but it was the first Shopping in Montevideo and so worth a look in that regard. I had the worst meal I’ve had in MVD but it was free Internet, and then I *thoguth* I left by the same exit and thus headed in the right direction. But after I ended up at the zoo & planetarium instead of the Rambla, and utter darkness because nothing was open there at, oh, 11:00 at night, I stood at a bus stop even thought I didn’t recognize any of the routes. Eventually one came by that said Ciudad Viejo (old city) one of my two landmarks, the other being the Rambla. I took the omnibus until I got to a street I recognized---the biggie Av 18 de Julio and got off. Again in darkness, stupidly, and even more so, without any small pesos to take a bus back to my apartment. I only had 200s and 50 is the largest acceptable note. So I wandered down the street—the business section that I was in was understandable dark—until I found a TaTas with the sort of people who would be shopping at that hour, and bought a water. The woman was not happy with me because she wanted a .50 peso coin. Now to begin with, what can that be worth when 20 pesos is worth about 80cents. Anyway, I had my money and waited about 45 minutes for a bus. I counted out my pesos in the dark, but apparently incorrectly because when I handed them to the driver and went to sit down he called me back. He kept telling me I owed him more money, and I asked him, I thought, how much, until. I finally decided to count: 1 peso, 2 pesos, 3 pesos, 4 pesos…and that was the magic number (I think I gave him 1 peso coins instead of 2 peso coins in my dark count). But at least I was on a known bus on a known route and I got home after midnight. I told one f the English speaking administrators the story the next day and her assistant said==I didn’t think I needed to tell you where to get off, just the bus!==and the visiting owner of the school said, but she got lost for three days walking to the Radisson (which is three blocks away I now know) and Kristin said, oh, well had I known that….and then Soledad called me up to class and made me tell the story again in Spanish which of course took three times as long. It made everyone laugh. I guess it is funny that I’m directionally challenged, but apparently it is hilarious. People think that if I can get to Uruguay….which of course is ludicrous since all I need to do is get on the right plane! (I didn’t tell them I almost didn’t find my gate in Panama City because not speaking Spanish and not understanding what people were telling me I ended up in the wrong wing!!!)

So, today I received a little certificate for completing 71 hours of private classes more or less since I can’t seem to get over begin late.

That the 80s are huge: Tres Novias de Travolta is a musical at one of the theaters…meaning three girlfriends of….And just as I was passing the theater today and remembering to write that down the bus driver’s radio was playing Boy George Karma Kameleon., Huge steel girders are going up because the new president gets inaugurated on March 1st, but those announcements compete with that Guns & Roses concert also coming in March.,

How can I not miss a place like this!!!