Dona E. Bowens

It’s the little differences that I tend to notice. Like the fact that the paper products here are tiny. Tiny napkins, tiny paper towels, which means I use twice as much. And I’ve developed a sore throat that I think is a result of my body adjusting to the new air. It’s still winter down here in Uruguay and people have wood burning fireplaces that you can smell in the air. Though overall, it’s a very green country. I felt foolish asking for a straw at Mickey D’s until I saw the little sipping hole in the lid of my diet Sprite. Yes, I went to McDonald’s one day. I didn’t feel like cooking or spending money in a restaurant so forgive me for choosing the path of least resistance.

But let’s talk about the food for a moment. Even the eggs taste better. I bought some mandarins that set my soul on fire with their sweetness. I never bought into the idea of fruit as dessert but these mandarins were all the dessert I needed. I found out why nothing is properly salted. I’ve been consulting with a real estate agent to find a permanent apartment…more on that later. He told me that heart attacks were on the rise so chefs went salt-free. Told me that at the movies, salted popcorn comes in a tiny box, while carmel corn comes in jumbo size. “So they traded heart attacks for diabetes,” I asked. “Basically,” he said. With socialized medicine, why not have all the ailments and indulge your palate?

People know that they have a good thing going on down here. When I tell them that I’m not on vacation, I’m here for a new life and that I’ll be teaching English, the response generally goes something like, “Welcome! You’re going to like it here. We’re a small country, but we’re peaceful. And we need English teachers.” One man went as far as to say, “Welcome to our little paradise.”

In this little paradise I feel like I should be doing more…like time isn’t on my side. But I remind myself that this is indeed a marathon. It’s ok to take short strolls around the neighborhood, down to the beach, before heading to the grocery store and calling it a day. Walking is getting better, my back is protesting less and I use the many benches along my path as milestones and rest stops. I applaud myself for having gotten a bus card and using google maps to get me to the realtor’s office. I take note of the numbers on the busses that pass by my house and figure if I’m ever lost, I’ll jump on the 104 or the 116 to get me back to the vicinity of the airbnb.

So the realtor, Daniel, posted in the expat group on Facebook that he helps people navigate the apartment process. I probably could have muscled my way through it on my own with my crippled Spanish but I figure I’m at a certain age in which I’m willing to pay to avoid additional struggles. Daniel has been a wealth of information and said, “I move fast. How soon do you need a place.” I told him I have to vacate the airbnb by September 8. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “We’ll definitely have a place before then.” And because I don’t have a work history in Uruguay, yet, I’m going to have to put down a big deposit. Daniel pulled out his calculator and punched in some numbers, including his fee. Let me put it to you this way—for the BIG DEPOSIT I’m going to have to put down you couldn’t rent a place in Brooklyn or Houston for a month.

Everyone who is looking to escape Amerikkka looks towards Europe or sometimes Asia. I suspect that when South America enters the conversation, people think of drug cartels and military coups—as if an attempted coup didn’t take place in DC recently. But like the natives say, it’s peaceful here and even the homeless are welcoming and kind. When I was carrying home my bag of Mickey D’s the other day, the homeless man who camps out next to my building said, “Bon provecho!” Enjoy your meal! I hope this little paradise remains off the map for a long time to come. The tourist sightseeing busses pass by the beach all the time, completely empty, and I never hear English being spoken when I’m out and about…it’s the little things that make a paradise.

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