Dona E. Bowens

Day 5 in Montevideo and I’m entering the figure it out phase. There’s been so much detail that I’ve wanted to share with you all, like the brotha who gave me a fist bump in the park for no apparent reason, or the grandma in the grocery store who asked me to reach a bag of yerba mate for her and then proceeded to describe the finer points of her favorite brand, but I’ve given myself permission to slow down this week. The past several weeks have been a whirlwind of activity to get me here, and now that I’m settled into the airbnb for 2 weeks, I can breathe and be lazy for a bit.

But not so lazy as to ignore those things I must learn. Today’s goal is to walk the beach, throw out the garbage and get a bus pass. My landlord described to me the garbage situation in Spanish. Organic goes here, dry rubbish goes there, but I was only half listening. I’m really embarrassed by my Spanish. I used to think that I had a talent for languages but, as it turns out, I only have a talent for English. My Spanish should flow after 16 years in Spain, but it doesn’t. The only conversations I can follow without concentrating are related to sports. In fact, I prefer to watch futbol in Spanish. But what I like about Uruguay is that, unlike Spain, when I ask someone to speak slowly, they don’t switch to speaking English. This forces me to figure it out and I appreciate that.

Getting the bus pass will be easy, Dana told me how to do it. Then I might just hop a bus or two to see where I end up—but not today. I’m a landmark walker and don’t have my address in my head…but I can picture where I live—the modern building with the folding chair out front. If someone moves the folding chair I’m screwed. So until I know my neighborhood better, and my address, I probably won’t be hopping the bus just yet.

I have to confess, I was so excited to try a chivito as my first meal here and it was DISAPPOINTING. In fact my first 2 meals, the second was a milanesa, were so lackluster I resolved to carry a vial of salt with me wherever I go. I’d been warned that the Uruguayans loath spice. But is salt a spice? I mean, that chivito would have been stellar with just a dash of salt. But third time’s the charm. Went to a joint with Dana and got the ribeye stuffed with provolone with a side of fries. My stomach came up and kissed my mouth in gratitude. Perfectly seasoned, and the waiter didn’t even ask how I wanted it cooked. It came rare and delicious. Gout, here I come.

I have to figure out the money situation, too. I exchanged $200 at the airport and walked away with thousands of pesos. There’s a 2,000 peso note down to a 20 peso note. My wallet is bulging with bills and the police woman’s daughter in me doesn’t like revealing that roll in public. And my ear for Spanish is especially bad with numbers. I have to see the number to understand anything over 100. Converting prices in my head isn’t automatic yet, so it wasn’t until I got home from the grocery store yesterday that I understood that I’d paid 20 bucks for a rotisserie chicken. Guess who’s going to be eating chicken the rest of the week? Chicken sandwiches, chicken salad, chicken pasta.

But I’ll be eating that chicken far from America and happy about it. It hasn’t been a week since I left and I’ve tuned back into the news to see what kinds of bullets I’ve dodged. My friends. It’s a dictatorship. Full stop. I remember listening to a podcast during the first term of idiocracy. This woman who grew up in one of those behind the iron curtain countries said, you never fully realize it’s a dictatorship until one day there’s a military checkpoint on your corner. Well, there are military checkpoints in DC and coming to a neighborhood near you. You’re next Chicago. I hate, yeah, I said HATE the buffoons who voted for this shit—the 53% of white woman and the 70% of white men and the 8% of Black women—hate all y’all. Good people are going to suffer and die. There will be camps, there are already disappearings. I say to my friends, again, what are you willing to give up for freedom?

That was a digression, sorry. Back to Montevideo—everyone who finds out I’m newly arrived says welcome. One dude said, “Welcome to our small paradise.” When I mention that I’m going to teach English they say, “Great! We need you here!” It’s great to be needed and welcomed—and in return I get peace of mind and my health back. I think I’m getting the better part of this deal.

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