This is what you’re doing with your life today

To those of you who follow my blog on the regular, muchas gracias! I’ve been meaning to publically thank you for a while now. I know it’s only a hand full of people, but I think you all deserve a shout out. It’s not an easy task to decipher my ramblings week to week. More than that, however, I really do appreciate your comments and feedback. So un montòn de gracias to Mom, Dad, Justin, Kaitlin, aunties Lisa and Nadine, Anna J., Lisa S., the fine folks at the ECU Department of Cardiovascular Sciences; Mike F., Sabrina and the JFI crew; Levans, Bodeker, Elaine Z., Soccer Mom Soto, Christine V. and the SPC circus; and the other four or five of you that I’ve left off my list- sorry I forgot you and thanks!

To give you some insight on how I compose my blog, at any given time I’m writing/ editing drafts of a hand full of posts. In combination of whatever I jot down in my journal day-to-day, I am simultaneously composing two or three stories, and whatever one I finish first gets posted. So, today is a rare occurrence. What I am about to write hasn’t been scribbled in my journal or randomly edited for a week. Here we go….

At least once a day I find myself thinking, “Ooooooookay Caroline. This is what you’re doing with your life today. This right here is how you are living your life now. This is your reality.” Last Thursday I had this thought as I was walking down a dirt road  in the blistering cold wind at 10:45 am behind 3 men on horseback on my way to a teacher training institute. Allow me to back track about 4.5 hours to explain why I was taking a mid-morning stroll through a cow pasture.

My alarm went off at 6:30 am for the fourth day in a row. I’m not quite sure why, but this week demanded more early mornings than I’m accustomed to. I was at IPA by 8 am to visit a 1st year English History class. I hadn’t visited this group before so I wanted to make the effort to work with a new teacher. Unfortunately, due to my varied schedule, the only time I could do this was for her 8am class. There was also another reason for my visit.Today, I was going to visit another teacher training institute (CERP del Sur) in Atlantida, a town about an hour east of Montevideo. And although I’m pretty darn savvy with the buses, my mentors (and I) thought it best if someone accompanied me on my trip to the CERP in Atlantida. God only knows where I would have ended up otherwise, roaming the outskirts of town with a gaucho probably. On Thursdays, Ivonne, the English History professor, works at both IPA and CERP del Sur, so she graciously let me tag along with her for the day.

Ivonne was nothing but an absolute delight. Despite my serious lack of caffeine, upon meeting her I was immediately infected by her wonderfully positive attitude. After a class about the Roman invasion of the British Isles (yea….I may be an English nerd, but I’m pretty sure I was learning just as much as the other students in this class), we quickly rushed out of IPA, caught a cab to the main bus terminal, and bought our bus tickets to Atlantida. All of this took less than 10 minutes. Now, Ivonne may be old enough to be my mother, but I was STRUGGLING to keep up with her fevered pace. She was going a mile a minute while I was still dragging my butt along trying to wake up (how is it that I’ve been here for 3 months and STILL cannot get a good sleep schedule down? Going to bed at midnight and waking up at 6:30 does not make for a speedy Caroline….not to mention I’m slow to begin with). Anyways, I caught my breath when we boarded the bus to Atlantida. I relaxed a little as we chatted and got to know one another. And per usual in Uruguay, we found that we had an oddly close connection. When I told her I was from North Carolina, she said, “Oh. I worked in North Carolina for a while. I lived in Burlington.” You have to be kidding me. I’m lucky if people here know NC is on the east coast, but this woman lived in my place of birth?!! Yet another shining example of how Uruguay is the smallest of small worlds. In fact, she worked at Haw River Elementary school. For those of you who aren’t current on your NC geography, I’ll break it down for you. Burlington is a solid suburban town in the middle of the state. I would guess that only about 60% of NC residents could point out Burlington on a map (that is if it’s even ON the map). Even at Appalachian, a NC university, I would have to clarify where I was from by saying, “Oh yea, it’s near Chapel Hill.” Haw River is about 20 minutes outside of Burlington in the middle of a cotton or tobacco or corn field. I don’t know if it’s on ANY map. Ivonne lived and worked there! I don’t know if this coincidence impresses anyone, but I know my fellow North Carolinians can empathize.

Ok, back to the bus. After about 45 minutes, Ivonne looked at me and said, “Ok we’re getting off the bus now.” I looked out the window and we were in the middle of nowhere (it might as well been Haw River). We were cruising down a rural highway when Ivonne and I made our way to the front of the bus and hopped off. She then said, “Do you want to walk or catch a cab?” Huh? WHERE is there a cab? We were literally on the only paved road for as far as I could see. I didn’t think we would be coming across any cabs so I said, “Let’s walk.” We crossed the rural highway, and started our 1 or 2 kilometer trek down a dirt road. This is where our story began.

It was a pretty cold day, about 10 degrees celsius (look at the jerk I’ve become using the metric system), and the wind was blowing hard. Again, I struggled to keep up with Ivonne’s brisk pace, but this was mainly because I couldn’t stop staring at the cows in the pastures next to me and the 3 gauchos on horseback in front of me. We crossed another rural highway, made our way down 2 more dirt roads and arrived at the CERP. It was a cute, clean, and surprisingly modern building. Very charming. But why did I make the haul to this quaint CERP? A few reasons. The truth is that most people in the provinces don’t get exposure to native speakers, so for me to come and talk with them was a really nice change. Also, I wanted to invite the students personally to the Symposium I’m organizing for the end of August. I met with 2nd year and 4th year students during the morning and the 1st and 3rd year students in the afternoon. Although their class sizes were smaller than those at IPA (biggest class at IPA= 40 students, biggest class at CERP=12 students), they were just as driven and enthusiastic as everyone I’ve met thus far. Talking with the students was a fantastic insight into the Uruguayan mindset of people who are from outside Montevideo. It was worth every moment of my trip.

So, here’s where the fun begins. I’m not sure what was going on with the weather, but it started thunderstorming in the afternoon. It was freezing in the morning and by the afternoon it was warm and lightning. Bizarre. Since it was pouring rain, another CERP professor offered us a ride to the bus stop (i.e. side of the road in the middle of nowhere). We hopped in her VW bug (circa 1970) and cruised down the long highway. It was about this time, 5 pm, that two things happened. I got hit with a massive wave of fatigue and I got a migraine. I didn’t want to be rude to this incredibly nice lady giving us a ride, but I could barely see straight between the rain, tiredness and head-splitting migraine. So, aside from some “muchas gracias”s and some general pleasantries, I was pretty quiet. She dropped us off in the rain, but luckily our bus came within a minute. I was exhausted, dizzy from my migraine and soaking wet when I boarded the bus.

I don’t think I would have felt so exhausted if this was the end of my day, but the truth of the matter was I needed to rally big time. I was not only making my way back to Montevideo, but back to IPA. I was going to two different language classes. This is where my Thursdays usually begin. I go to two different night classes at IPA from about 6-10:30pm. All I wanted was some dulce de leche and my bed. When we reached Montevideo, Ivonne and I parted ways and I thanked her for letting me shadow her all day long. I got a cup of coffee and despite my haggard look (you would be looking pretty rough yourself after trekking through the rain all afternoon with a blinding migraine), I felt a little better. I visited my two groups then headed back home earlier than expected around 10pm. It was here that I encountered my last hurdle: navigating back home in a thunderstorm. What was going on with the weather?! That guy may have got the rapture date wrong, but perhaps only by a few weeks. It felt like the apocalypse. Luckily, I just got soaked from the rain and not struck by lightning. I arrived back home and within 15 minutes was passed out, face down, in star position, on top of my bed with all my clothes on. Yep. Sleeping in my work clothes. And THAT’S how I ended my day.

Lazy Sunday in Piriapolis

I worked last Saturday. Most middle schools here have class on Saturday because most students have 9-11 subjects during the week. Studying for tests must be a nightmare even for the greatest multitasker. Well, two teachers invited me to their Saturday English classes. Although attending an 8am middle school English class is not my ideal Saturday morning, I don’t suspect it’s ideal for the students either. At least, I could provide a change of pace for them by talking about peanut butter and answering their questions about Justin Bieber. So, from 8am-3pm, I visited four different classes, in two different middle schools on two very opposite sides of Montevideo. I was absolutely exhausted by the time I got home. On my hour-long bus ride back to Pocitos, I realized I had done nothing for myself all weekend. That was going to change. Since I dedicated an entire Saturday to work, Sunday was going to be all about me. I’ve been wanting to check out the neighboring town of Piriapolis for sometime. So, I decided to go and coaxed Amy and Sarah to go with me.

Describing a peanutbutter sandwich. I’m not lying. All I talk about is food, particularily peanut butter

We were up by 10 and on the bus to Piriapolis by 11am. This is a record for us, especially on the weekends. On the way, as I peered out the window, I saw mountains (or big hills really). What? There are mountains here? Uruguay has the geography of Florida- more or less: rolling hills but mostly VERY flat plains. So, I was surprised when I saw anything higher than a sand dune sticking out of the earth. Uruguay’s highest point is right outside Piriapolis- Cerro de Pan de Azucar (Sugarloaf Hill. Wow. I really can’t escape sweets, even in my destination choice. When we arrived in Piriapolis, it was a cloudy, sleepy, Sunday afternoon. We walked from the bus stop to la Rambla (heaven forbid we go anywhere without a Rambla! Although I will say, from all the Ramblas I’ve seen- Montevideo, Colonia, Punta de Diablo,  this was my favorite). Piriapolis was cute and charming, but had probably seen better days. This is because a) it’s winter here and people don’t go to the beach in the winter…duh and b) the “golden age” of Piriapolis was probably a half century ago. The town reminded me of hotels and buildings that might be in the Great Gatsby: regal, European, ornate but with flares of art deco. Also, there was this cool Bavarian looking hotel. With the background of rolling hills running towards the sea, it was quite picturesque even though it was overcast. We walked along la Rambla to a chairlift that went to the top of one of the hills. It was broken. Bummer. We weren’t too dismayed by this, and we walked along the fishing pier until the wind picked up. At this point, we decided to head back and find Piria’s castle. Piria was the architect of the HUGE, Gatsby-esque landmark Hotel Argentino. It was a beachside resort sans beachgoers. He apparently built his house as a castle towards the edge of town. We went to check it out.

Because it isn’t a visit without a trip to the Rambla

Bavarian Hotel?

On our way we walked by a train “museum”. It was literally a rusty remnant of a train. I loved it all the same. Those of you who know me know my odd affection for trains. Ever since I discovered Amtrak a year and a half ago, I haven’t turned back from train travel. Why drive and deal with traffic when there is a train? Why fly and starve to death mid-flight when you can take a train? Don’t believe me? Last summer I took a 2 day train trip from Seattle to Chicago. I and my fellow train-lovers (mainly senior citizens and crazy people) spent 48 hours rolling across Washington, Idaho, Montana, North Dakota, Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Illinois. Just call me the train troll.

Pretty sure the gate on the train meant I WASN’T supposed to climb aboard

Anyways, back to storming the castle. We walked along a road for about an hour that took us out-of-town. We walked past a park, flowers, horses, an abandoned church and although we neared Sugarloaf, we didn’t find the castle. We looked at our watches (as the locals looked at the 3 weirdo, gringas walking down a rural highway) and realized our bus left in an hour and it would take us an hour to walk back to the bus stop. We abandoned our search for Piria’s castle. Bummer.

Facinating Flora

Sugarloaf Mountain! only reason to climb it is to see if there are some Dulce de Leche waterfalls

On our trek back to town, it started to rain. We arrived at the bus station tired, wet and hungry. Bummer. We grabbed some milanesa sandwiches and chowed down at the bus stop while being harassed by harassed by a dog. Actually, not so much harassed but all out molested. This mutt was headbutting my legs, sniffing my sandwich, sitting on my feet, and going through my bag for food. Luckily our bus arrived before the dog rubbed any more fleas or mange all over my belongings. We escaped the bothersome dog and headed back to Montevideo. Side note: Why don’t I think my food choices through? A milanesa before a 1.5 hour bus ride? Not really the best decision gastrointestinally speaking. I suppose

Just walking down a rural highway….no weirdo, gringas here….

t is my fate to end every weekend trip with a bus ride full of heartburn and indigestion. As we pulled away from Piriapolis, the rain had stopped and the sunset was peaking through the clouds. The bright oranges and reds burst through the dark clouds and contrasted beautifully with the rolling hills of the countryside. So, I guess Piriapolis wasn’t really a bummer. We went to Piriapolis to see views from hilltops. Failed. To see Piria’s castle. Failed. To enjoy the weather on a Sunday afternoon. Failed. But we did the best Rambla I’ve seen in Uruguay, cool architecture, a visit to the world’s smallest train museum, a fried meat sandwich (always welcome despite the stomach aches), and a beautiful sunset….and I would call that a success.

A few of my favorite things

I miss certain things about home. Food, family, friends. This is obvious. BUT, just because I have daydreams about Cook Out burgers and Neomonde and Krispy Kreme Donuts, doesn’t mean there aren’t things here that I don’t love. There are certain things that ABSOLUTELY make my day, and lucky for me, they happen often here.

1. Exact change for the bus. A bus ride (practically any bus in the city) is 18 pesos. Pesos come in denominations of 1, 2, 5, 10, 20, 50, 100 and so forth. Although 20 pesos is about one dollar, handing a bus driver a 100 peso bill almost always results in a groan for having to make change for such a big denomination. So, whenever I have exactly 18 pesos, I get SUPER excited because a) I won’t be given the evil eye by the bus driver and b) I don’t have to look like a moron as I try to simultaneously watch my balance and put away my change as I walk to the back of the bus.

18 pesos of bliss

2. The sun. Mondays and Tuesdays I am at my bus stop by 7:20 am. In the teaching world, this is not early. When it’s 40 degrees, windy and dark outside (remember it’s winter here), it’s really flippin’ early. Having the wind cut through my clothes as I pick crust out of my eyes and count my change for bus fare is not how I like to start my day. There is one bright spot in being at the bus stop this early: the sunrise. Every Monday and Tuesday morning I watch the sunrise over Rio de la Plata. The way the reds, oranges, and purples in the sky blend from the morning clouds down towards the water and flicker across it is breathtaking. For a brief moment, I forget that I’m tired, cold, and without an appropriate amount of caffeine, and just enjoy my morning.

3. THE bus stop. While we’re on the topic of buses, there is a bus stop exactly 23 paces from my apartment building (I know, I counted). I consider it a good day if the bus line I am riding drops me off at this bus stop instead of the one two blocks away. Call me lazy. I don’t care. BUT, after riding 40 minutes on a crowded bus, standing cheek to cheek with my fellow (and sometimes stinky) Montevideoans, it’s a nice treat to walk 30 meters to my apartment rather than having to do a dance with death as I cross the busy Avenida Brasil. I love you, corner of Juan Benito Blanco and Jose Marti, and how your convenient location contributes to my laziness.

mere steps from my door

4. Miguel. Days when I have exact bus fare, watch the sunrise and get dropped off almost curbside to my apartment are good days. Solid days, in fact. No complaints. But a truly lucky day is when I get home from work and Miguel opens the door to my apartment building. Miguel is one of the doormen that work in my building. He typically works the afternoon shift, and is an absolute encanto. Now, things weren’t always so peachy with Miguel and I. When I first met him, I didn’t understand a word he said. This was probably because of his accent and more so because of my sucky Spanish, but for the first few weeks I lived here, I dreaded having to ask him for anything because I knew I wouldn’t understand his response (even though he was delightfully patient with my repeated questioning). Prime example of a Miguel misunderstanding: one of the first cool nights here, the 3 of us were going out to eat. As we walked out the front door, Miguel bid us good-bye and said “Abrigos en pie!” HUH? This literally translates as “Jackets on foot!” What did he mean by this? Jackets on a walk? Jackets en route? Jackets on the town? I had no clue; it was probably some expression to which we were oblivious. A few days later, we asked a friend what this phrase meant. After she laughed at us, she said, “It’s not ‘Abrigos en pie’, it’s ‘Abrigense bien’! hahahahaha!” Translation: Bundle up! Wow, my Spanish sucks. But, ever since this misunderstanding, I’ve come to appreciate Miguel more and more. When he sees me walking down the street toward the building, he pushes the elevator button, holds the elevator for me, and greets me with a vibrant (and sometimes deafening) “HOLA! ¿Como andas?!!” Miguel, what a guy.

5.T-shirt time. When constantly surrounded by foreign stimuli, it’s nice to have some normalcy. Everyday I try to make sense of a completely foreign world. A world that until 2.5 months ago, I had no clue how it functioned. It can be exhausting. Every Sunday night, at 7pm, I have my taste of normalcy with syndicated episodes of Jersey Shore. The episodes are from last season, and I am a bit ashamed that it’s Jersey Shore that makes me feel at home again, but I fully enjoy every minute of Ronnie and Sammi Sweetheart’s nonsensical, backwards, toxic arguments. So thanks MTV for broadcasting your trash programing to Latin America. For an hour each Sunday night, because of you, I can watch Snookie’s drunken antics and feel that all is right with the universe.

6. Eu Sou Mèdico. I’m taking Portuguese classes because I like to be misunderstood in as many languages as possible. Why speak one language horribly when I can do it in three? But really, in truth, I’ve been legitimately wanting to learn Portuguese for at least 2 years now. I’ve bought a book, which is worthless because I’ve never read it. I have a bootleg copy of Rosette Stone, which actually does work, but I haven’t been disciplined enough make it worth while. So, since I am the closest I will ever be to a Portuguese-speaking country, I decided to take advantage of my location and flexible schedule. Monday and Wednesday nights, 6 other people and I butcher the Portuguese language. Our pronunciation is horrible, it takes us  forever to put together simple sentences, and all I can say with confidence is “Where, sir, are you from?” It’s pretty bleak. There are some key aspects, however, that I LOVE about my Portuguese class. a) No one has asked me where I’m from. All day, everyday people ask me where I’m from and why I’m here. I’m happy to answer them, but for once, for at least 3 hours a week, it’s nice to blend in. Now, I’m sure the people in my class know I’m a foreigner. They aren’t blind or deaf. It is a nice change, however, for people to try to speak Portuguese with me instead of English. b) I love language learning. Being in this class reminded me why I fell in love with the Spanish language. I love learning new words and how to put new phrases together. It’s like piecing together a puzzle and when you finish you are able to communicate to an entirely new population. Plus, Portuguese is extremely similar to Spanish, so practically all the words are the same. c) I LOVE CONJUGATING VERBS. Those who know me, know that this is my one and only talent. I can’t knit or sew or cook well or juggle or breakdance, but if there is a verb, I can conjugate it. In college, in one of my education courses, we had to bring in a talent and teach it to the class. I brought in my 501 Spanish Verbs book and conjugated verbs in the Imperfect tense. I don’t really remember anyone talking to me after that point in the semester, but whatever, I suppose they were just jealous or intimidated 🙂 In one month of Portuguese, I already know 4 different verb tenses. d) The pronunciation of Portuguese is just different enough from Spanish to trip me up. However, I actually enjoy stammering my way through a language. I feel connected in someway to my Spanish and English students. I can feel their pain when they are desperately searching for the  way to express themselves and can’t find it. It’s a nice reminder of how frustrating it can be to learn a language. Even more, I love the multitude of ch-, sh-, and nasal sounds that run rampant through the Portuguese language. It makes the sound romantically sloppy, but coherent all at the same time. My personal favorite phrase to say: Eu sou mèdico, pronounced You soo magico (translation: I am a doctor…..no you’re so magical).

it’s been one month…..we’ll see if it comes through on it’s promise

7. Business cards. I have business cards from Fulbright. Guess I’m a grown up now. I’ve never had a job that warranted a business card nor have ever had the official letterhead to make one. I’ve also never considered myself mature enough to posess business cards. Business cards are for people who want/ need others to contact them. I’ve never wanted/ needed anyone to contact me. Truth be told, I would probably make some business cards, get carried away, and give out all 200 of them in one day to everyone I meet- at Walmart, the grocery store, the bar, Starbucks, my dermotologist. I am obviously not old enough to handle this type of responsibility. Fulbright provided us with business cards to use during our stay. Needless to say, with my lack of maturity, I become a complete nerd and act like a goober anytime I get to hand them out. I get really wide-eyed and start smiling REALLY big (the smile that not only goes ear to ear but all the way down my neck), and at top volume say something like, “Oh wait! I have something for you!!!!” I carry some in my wallet, and I’m not going to lie, I feel like a bad ass everytime I get to whip out my official Fulbright business card to people I meet.

8. Dulce de leche. This sugary concoction makes life worth living. It can brighten my day, lift my mood, cure a migraine, stop the rain, create a rainbow, work a miracle. Basically, when world peace is acheived, they will be eating dulce de leche that day. When they find a cure for AIDS, I’m pretty sure dulce de leche will be involved. When I die and I reach heaven’s gates, if dulce de leche is not on the other side, I am going to have a lot of thinking to do. Dulce de leche is integrated into my day, everday (much to the despair of my hips, butt and abdomen regions). Dulce de leche is made from sugar and milk and is similar to carmel, but more flavorful and far more addicting. It makes every sweet or pastry 349508305834 times better by being in it. Most cookies, pastries, and cakes have dulce de leche in them, but if not, they sell it by the vat at the grocery store. So, in theory, you could just dip any cookie or pastry into a vat of dulce de leche to improve it’s quality (this is a dangerous activity I have yet to partake in). The most dangerous/ addicting dulce de leche item I have tried has been the dulce de leche empanada. Literally, an entire emapanada filled with dulce de leche. Ho.Ly. Cow. Last Saturday I had to work at 2 different liceos from 8 am- 4pm. I REALLY didn’t want to get up early on a weekend, but I told myself that if I got through the day in one piece, I could have a dulce de leche emapanada. It would be my motivating, metaphorical carrot. I finished my day and got my emapanada. Way better than any carrot I’ve ever eaten.

it’s frightening for my waistline that this exists

Colonial Indigestion

Last weekend Sarah was invited to a charla- a talk (and if there is one thing Uruguayans thrive on, it’s a good charla)- in Colonia, so we used it as a good excuse to get away for the weekend and visit a place we’ve wanted to go. Colonia is still on Rio de la Plata, like Montevideo, but west. It’s about an hour ferry ride to Buenos Aires. It’s pretty small, quaint and tranquil. It’s the only Portuguese colony established in Uruguay, and the center of town still maintains old, colonial buildings and cobblestone streets lining the waterfront. Since the charla was early Saturday morning, we left late Friday night after work. Really nothing of note happened on the bus minus the fact that two minutes into the trip I was caught licking dulce de leche off my alfajor wrapper much to the amusement of Amy and Sarah and to the terror of the poor lady sitting next to me. After making sure no sugary goodness went to waste, I promptly passed out with my mouth wide open and occasionally leaning on the woman next to me for the duration of the 2 hour trip to Colonia. We got there at midnight, and after being abruptly interrogated by the bus driver to verify my ticket with my luggage (really? Do I look like I am trying to steal one of the two bags left on the bus? I am 5’2″, have arms the size of buffalo wings,groggy from my nap with alfajor bits on my face. I’m not a thief; I’m just trying to get my bag and get to my hostel), we took a cab to our hostel, La Casa de Teresa.

It was literally Teresa’s house. This small woman greeted us at the gate chasing away a stray dog and warmly welcomed us. She didn’t ask our names, credit card information, or for our passports, but enthusiastically showed us our room and even drew us a map of Colonia to help orient us. After bidding us good night and giving us each a kiss, she left us to our cold (the window was open) private room with private bathroom (Yea. We learned our lesson in Punta del Diablo with the stinky males). We bundled up and passed out.

We woke up to a lovely breakfast prepared by Teresa herself. I’m telling you it was actually her house that she converted into a hostel- she herself lived in one of the rooms. We dined on medialunas, dulce de leche and multiple cups of coffee. La Casa de Teresa was head and shoulders above the stale bread and butter at El Diablo Tranquilo. After the charla (given by a Uruguayan Fulbrighter), we had lunch with him and another english teacher from Colonia.Talk about the nicest people on earth! They even gave us magnets. After a leisurely lunch, they drove us around Colonia to show us the town. We drove along the Rambla, drove past seaside summer homes, and circled around an abandoned bull fighting ring (apparently, a former president reeeeeeally wanted to promote bullfighting, so he started to build a bullfighting ring and jai alai courts. The next president outlawed bullfighting, so the project was abandoned.) They dropped us off at our hostel and invited us back to Colonia anytime. It really is people like this that make me never want to leave Uruguay. I spent the rest of the sunny afternoon napping, writing, wandering around the small cobblestone streets and plazas in the center of town and drinking wine. At night, as we listened to this old couple play Spanish guitar, we ate until we almost exploded at El Drugstore (quirky name for a quirky place). We had a giant meat and cheese board, beer, wine, and paella for two, which I’m positive was meant for 6. Pretty sure the waiter had never seen three girls take down so much food. I suppose we needed a break after 2 months of lentils, sweet potatoes with black beans, and microwave-poached eggs. Before reaching the point of never-ending indigestion, we left to hibernate at Teresa’s house. All in all, a Saturday well spent.

The next day was spent similarly: calm, slow-paced, and quiet. I didn’t realize how loud Montevideo was until being surrounded by the tranquility of Colonia. We climbed up a lighthouse, explored old streets, and saw some falcons in the trunk of a car. To be honest, my pictures paint a much better picture than my words do. But, before we made our way back to the bustling Montevideo, we had one last meal on a rooftop: Pizzanesa. So, milanesas are a common food here: a thin piece of meat, breaded and fried, typically served with fries. Well, a pizzanesa is where the milanesa acts as the bread and is topped with pizza toppings. Mine had tomato sauce, mozzarella, arugula, and pancetta. Oh yea, it came with fries too. And yep, I ate the whole damn thing. It was delicious, was 3 days worth of sodium, and burned in my stomach all the way back to Montevideo until I fell asleep that night. It was probably still burning as I slept, but I was too knocked out notice. Plenty of food, a little indigestion, a great weekend.