I was surprised that a high percentage of the people on our flight were senior citizens. The nine hour flight from Miami to Montevideo, the only flight from the US to Uruguay, was around half full (so wasteful!) and all the old people and I got to lay down in our rows. The group I queued up with were the same three I was sitting near in the gate and they also happened to be sitting in the rows in front of and beside me. I complimented the woman’s flawless skin- when I first saw her in the gate, I thought she was a teenager but now realized she is the mother of the young teenage boy she was with. Her mother beside me had to translate my compliment- the first of many translations made on my behalf the past few days. I asked for a glass of wine from the flight attendant working the drinks cart to help me fall asleep and after he asked if I was twenty one and if I was sure I was twenty one, the dear man pored me two plastic cups full of wine. Maybe it was the lack of air pressure or maybe the airlines pick the booziest wine because they know everyone drinking it wants to sleep, maybe both because it went straight to my head. Although I was briefly drunk, I only slept for three hours. Waking up, I noticed for the first time, thanks to the map on the TV at the front of the plane, that I was flying farther than if I were to fly to North Africa. As the plane neared the ground, I noticed the area outside the city was sparsely populated and mostly grass lands dotted with bushes which is perfect for raising livestock, the largest export of the Uruguayo economy. I also saw what looked to me like small shanty villages and I wonder if they are for working or living or both. The grandmother next to me warned me that it’s getting colder here and I’ll need a jacket because it’s Fall (however, I’ve been sweating in shorts every day so far). After making it through customs, the young teenage boy ran up to me and handed me a note in Spanish on the back of the customs card introducing himself and summarizing his trip in America. I thought the saleswoman in the duty free was pointing out an advertisement to me as she was showing me the slot to put my customs card but the second time she explained to me (still in Spanish) I saw what she was pointing to. Then, it was time to find my bag which arrived the previous night (another story). After yet another translated conversation, I found the lost luggage counter and, although I had around five tickets, I didn’t have the ticket with the bag receipt on it. Luckily, the agent was able to find my bag anyway. I left security and found my ride holding a sign with my name on it- a service that costs $40 (and my German roommates say this city is expensive?!) I learned that taxi is an international word. After we got in the car, my driver called his boss and told him he picked up the muchacha. 

I love all of the Spanish words for woman I know so far: muchacha, chica, mujere, and my favorite: mamacita. I love it when people in Miami call me mamacita in conversation or in the context of an arepa purchase ect. Many of my favorite parts of South Florida culture are thanks to the Latin American influence: people with supernatural skin who are fun and friendly, going out late, staying out late, rhythm. Driving into the city, I was surprised to see the occasional horse drawn carriage transporting goods and how extensive La Rambla is- the park along the riverfront (seems more like a beach since you can’t exactly see Argentina on the other side). It completely wraps around the peninsula. I was happy to see so many people running on it- happy to know I would feel comfortable running here (not something I can say for every city, especially not our capital, D.C.) We took a right from the beach front and one park and two blocks later, we made it to my home for the next five weeks.

My landlord, the boyfriend of my Grandfather’s friend’s niece, was waiting in the doorway for me. He gave me two bronze keys, one of them them looks as old as the two hundred year old house, and a Spanish tour. Many of the buildings here are from the 19th century due to the meat export boom in the economy at that time. We walked up a flight of dusty marble stairs to the main living area (the first floor is another apartment). There are five bedrooms (with what looks like original wooden floors) encircling a small living area with a couch and a chair, and two more doorways leading to two small bathrooms and a small half kitchen. When I say small, I mean smaller than notoriously European small. I mean I have to squeegee the bathroom after my shower. Then, we took another flight of stairs to the other half kitchen. Lastly, we climbed one more wooden flight of stairs ( more like a ladder because you have to face it whether you’re going up or down) to the roof which is perfect for tanning and has a view of the river. My landlord left and I got to meet my roommates, three from Germany, one from Spain, two studying medicine, two studying political economy. All of them like to party.

I texted my contact, Manual, also a music student who my grandfather’s friend, a concert pianist named Enrique Graf, also set me up with. Manual was at my door shortly and he gave me a walking tour of our neighborhood and talked about life. I found out Manual also wants to compose for films and he hopes to attend University of Miami next year to study composition. We took a bus to the main street of downtown Montevideo for about $1.00 and checked out five music stores comparing prices of keyboards (I found the best price at a rocker store specializing in guitars.) We went through several squares, including the main square, Plaza Independencia, with a larger than life statue in the middle of Che Guavara, the hero responsible for so many beneficial social reforms throughout Latin America. On the far corner is Teatro Solis. As we crossed the square towards the old city gates to the Old City and the Teatro Solis, Manuel pointed out the conductor of the theater’s philharmonic, looking like any other city goer with a blue striped button down and a backpack. We went inside Teatro Solis to pick up a season program and headed to the other large theater of the city about five blocks away, the very snazzy, 80′s, grand, Auditorio Nacional Adela Reta. Although they were closed, we walked right in and an attendant gave us a tour. We saw stage hands setting up for an a cappella show and she told us about an upcoming performance in memorial of the Armenian genocide (I’m beginning to notice an Armenian influence here in the cultural events and cuisine). Manuel took me to a free museum outside of the Old City gates where he told me there is a white piano we can play. I found out the museum was the house of colonists. The original decorations were maintained including two pianos and a harpsichord. Although the house sits in the heart of Montevideo, at the time it was built it sat in pasture land. We took a closer look at two birds bathing in the fountain of the small garden. Manual dipped his hand in the fountain and exclaimed “This water is potable. All of the water in this country is potable isn’t that amazing? It’s the only country in South America with completely potable water.” I do find that amazing.

Since there was a sign on the piano saying “NO TOCAR”, Manual just asked a woman working there if we could play the piano anyway and took turns showing off to each other. By the time we left, the sun was setting and we had been walking around for a few hours. Manual took me to a restaurant to try a traditional Uruguayan dish of shredded potatoes, vegetables, and eggs. I learned that the Uruguayan pronunciation of “Uruguayo” is “urd-oo-guay-sho” (like show). I find the “sh” sound more Portuguese than Spanish and I hypothesize that the word stems from the Brazilian influence. Brazil neighbors Uruguay to the north.

On the way to the bus stop to go home, we made a couple stops. One was a casino where I gambled for the first time although Manual had to tell me everything to do since all the buttons on the Phantom of the Opera slot machine were in Spanish. The other was an ice cream parlor where I tried a delicious Uruguayan flavor of ice cream with dulce de leche and chocolate wafers that taste like cocoa puffs. After five hours of walking I came home exhausted.

Although I was ready to go to sleep, I decided I should make friends with my new roommates by helping them make chile con carne for a “family” meal around the coffee table. “What language should we speak?” asked Julio since my Spanish is next to nill and so is Claudia’s English. “Espanol por favor.” I asked. In this style of immersion, my Spanish has already improved, especially since Spanish with a German accent is easier for me to understand. During dinner, my roommates invited me to a “Couch Surfers’ meeting”. My curiosity of this meeting was greater than my fatigue so out I went.

We walked three blocks to the couch surfers’ meeting. Although it was around 10pm, we were a bit early. We bought a couple beers to share (the most common local beer is Patricia and it comes in 1L bottles) and walked upstairs to see if we could find a meeting. The last group we asked was having a birthday party and we joined them! I don’t really know why this happened or why I agreed to this but one of the woman painted the Swiss colors on my face. The night, like Montevideo itself, was casually fun.