Even in the midst of pain, there was one really humorous situation that I thought would be a good way to restart my missives here.

Those who are residents here know that you need your Cedula (National ID) number for EVERYTHING, even more than one uses a social security number in the US.  The Cedula is used in business as well as the government and the same number is used on your driving license and even passport.

Because of that, and because the numbers are simply issued in order, my Cedula number is relatively high, reflecting about 50 years less than my age–this caused a really funny incident some months ago.

I was having some health problem or another so one of the staff here called SEMM, the Ambulance/traveling doctor service connected with my health insurance at COSEM.  The SEMM operator didn’t bother to look at my file, but assigned a doctor based simply on my cedula.  As such, they sent a pediatrician, (it’s a good thing that Cedulas don’t indicate sex or they might have sent an obstetrician).

When the doctor arrived at the main gate she asked “¿donde esta el bebe?”   Someone explained the mistake, but the doctor said that since she was here, she would take a quick look at me to ensure the next doctor sent was the correct one.

As she came into my room, my assistant explained the foul up and after greeting the doctor, I told here “Soy el bebe grande.” (I am the big baby).

Later that day another doctor appeared better qualified to treat “el bebe grande”.

(To those who speak better spanish than I, I apologise for any acentos I have missed or mistakes in translation–perhaps I have simply become too accustomed to “masomenos”.

But, I beg to differ; at least in part.  Uruguay is not very Catholic, but the people here are VERY religious, and almost all of them practice what amounts to Uruguay’s State Religion (even those who are also practicing Catholics).

Need a hint?  Check out Uruguay’s flag–the emblem of its State Religion is emblazoned there….

The State Religion of Uruguay is SUN WORSHIP.  That’s right, good old fashioned (or should I say “ancient fashioned”) unabashed adoration of Sol Invictus, the unconquered Sun.

Perhaps one of the reasons for the popularity of this religion is that it has few commandments, lots of feast days, no fast days and everybody loves its required pilgrimages.

COMMANDMENTS:

I.  Thou shalt worship the Sun whenever possible, if only for a few minutes at a time between clouds or even in the dead of winter.

II.  Thou shalt wear as little clothing as the weather permits when worshiping the Sun.

III.  Thou shalt drink maté and eat bizcochos daily in honor of the Sun.

IV.  Thou shalt make pilgrimages to Punta del Este (or father East) as often as possible.

FEAST DAYS:

Any time the Sun is out, especially if you can find an excuse for not working and going to the beach instead.  Paros and huelgas (protests and strikes) are considered signs of special piety towards the flaming deity.

FAST DAYS:

Are you kidding?  Asado, chivitos and milanesas are ALWAYS appropriate.

PILGRIMAGES:

Trips Punta del Este are required as often as possible.  Special devotions are mandated every day from 15 December through the end of February.  The especially devout also make pilgrimages to Rocha whenever possible, and the ultra orthodox worship on the beaches there that are accessible only by 4 wheel drive army vehicles.

And if you think the Uruguayans are NOT serious about their religion, they even made a hole in the ozone layer so they could worship more intensely–beat that for dedication…

Because yerba maté (the tea and the gourd) is so popular in Brazil, Argentina and Uruguay, there are many different styles of  matés from which to choose.  Being the clumsy sort, I asked for one with the legs firmly attached to decrease the chances of spilling both the tea and the tea leaves all over my keyboard.  So my maté is not fancy–it is simply a workman-like gourd with four well braced feet attached and a metal rim around the top to further prevent me from breaking it.

I understand there is some arcane process for preparing the gourd for use, but since I am not yet a Uruguayan citizen, it is illegal for me to know the secret.  I think is involves snippets of ritual from the Freemasons, the now extinct (or nearly so, depending upon with whom you speak) Charrua Indians, and probably a bit from the 16th century Rituale Romanum.

Starting the day with yerba maté is quite an evolution for me (and we all know how much I dislike that concept). No doubt some of you will remember my description of the taste of mate in my book as similar to “cigarette ashes”.

The main reason for changing was simply that I thought drinking maté might be healthier for me than consuming a liter of coffee every morning.  Certainly, there appears to be a consensus that maté is superior.  But then, there was once a consensus that Saint Joan of Arc was a witch a needed to be burned at the stake…

For the sake of accuracy, I must point out that in many situations, yerba maté can be extremely dangerous.  More than a few Uruguayos bear the scars from this danger.

The primary danger from yerba maté is not the chemical that supplies the stimulation in place of caffeine, it is from the darned thermos bottle that is invariably carried by maté drinker crooked in their left arm (unless they are southpaws).

More than once, some holding a maté in one hand and a thermos in their arm has leaned over to give me an abrazo and poured boiling water on me–once day they even managed to scald my dog Harry.  This is not fun!  Now, when someone approaches me with a thermos in their arm, I stiff arm them like a Notre Dame lineman and hope that my exposed arm doesn’t get burned…

Maybe it is a hold over from the concept of “the survival of the fittest”?

I would like to thank the fat guy in the wheelchair for setting the record straight about Lucy and her brats, err, ummm, I mean puppies.

Let me make one thing doggedly clear! I was mislead!!! Someone in the office circulated that cute picture of those adorable little Westie angels, and I was so overcome with pride that I mis-barked myself. It was all a biggggg joke on this little white doggie, and when I find out who started those photos around…

…I am going to leave him a personal thank-you under his desk where he can step in it!

I am just as happy Lucy’s brood is not mine!

Boy are they UGLY. No nice white fur with little pointed ears, just big long lumpy worm looking things that are almost all black with just a little brown about the color of doggie you-know-what.

And to think I claimed parentage—I could almost cut off my kilt in shame.

Regardless, a promise is a promise is a promise. Here are the latest pictures of the little brutes.

As you can see, they are ugly—not a beautiful white with just a touch of brindle for class.

I will add more pictures, and sanguine commentary later if the fat guy will let me—he gets soooo touchy about what I write here sometimes. After all, it’s not like I am giving away the house secrets like that stupid baked bean dog on the telly…

Happy butt sniffing.

Signed, or rather pawed by

Harry the Westie,

Head Dog and Lord of Calle Golfarini, Parque Oribe, Rambla Armenia, Puertito Buceo and all I survey, not to mentiuon anything I see when riding in that great big dog house with wheels that reeeeally tall guy who does the driving for the fat guy.

]]> http://www.uruguayliving.com/2007/11/20/fat-ugly-furry-worms/feed/ 1 http://www.uruguayliving.com/2007/11/15/sorry-harry-you-are-0-for-8/ http://www.uruguayliving.com/2007/11/15/sorry-harry-you-are-0-for-8/#comments Thu, 15 Nov 2007 20:53:37 +0000 The Southron http://www.uruguayliving.com/2007/11/15/sorry-harry-you-are-0-for-8/ I think my Westie got a little carried away earlier today and made a few slightly exaggerated claims regarding disputed parentage.

An impartial investigation has presented me with the following evidence.

Sorry Harry!

We have octuplets and they all look like Hassan (the dog from Piriapolis) and Lucy, not a patch of white anywhere…

I guess you’re stuck being an Uncle again.

More pictures in a day or two.

Hello, My name is Harry and I am a West Highland White Terrier, or “Westie” if you prefer. For the last 7 years I have lived with the fat guy in the wheelchair in a whole bunch of places: some hot, some cold, some ugly, some nice—in most of them the dogs had really funny accents, but I am coping.

Anyway, the fat guy is letting me write this blog because it squarely falls within my jurisdiction as “Jefe de los Perros/Head Dog”.

Starting at 11:05 this morning, Lucy, my favorite bitch started having puppies. Being a German Shepherd’s Dog, she was exactly on time—of course!

At as this writing she has had four. When she was examined last Saturday by the Real Doctor (not a people doctor—what do they know?) he said she would have at least 6, maybe more.

The reason I am writing this is to dispel the scurrilous rumor that the puppies were sired by some dumb dog from Piriapolis. It is not true! I have photographic evidence to prove it. Here it is.

You’ll be happy to know that Lucy is fine. And I will keep you informed as her delivery progresses.

Until then, happy butt sniffing!

Signed, or rather pawed,

HARRY, Head Dog and Lord of Calle Golfarini, Parque Oribe, Rambla Armenia, Puertito Buceo and all I survey

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This is The Southron. It is fair to say that the facts are in dispute. Documentary evidence will be forthcoming later.

]]> http://www.uruguayliving.com/2007/11/15/puppies/feed/ 0 http://www.uruguayliving.com/2007/11/14/hollywood-in-parque-prado/ http://www.uruguayliving.com/2007/11/14/hollywood-in-parque-prado/#comments Wed, 14 Nov 2007 18:19:23 +0000 The Southron http://www.uruguayliving.com/2007/11/14/hollywood-in-parque-prado/ Last night Borko and I were having dinner at Cafe Misterio in Carrasco with an attorney friend. We were there mainly so I could have good sushi and Borko didn’t have to endure it. For some reason the only fish he likes is a nasty bottom feeder that only lives in the lakes and streams of Montenegro….go figure.

Anyway, as the story goes, we were sitting there minding our own business when a well known face went by. I vaguely recognized him, not being much of a movie buff (the last time I went into a cinema was in 1991) and Borko and our friend immediately knew who it was–Mickey Rourke the actor.

It turns out he is here making a movie in Parque Prado( I have no idea about what) and that it was broadcast on the radio that “if you think you have seen Mickey Rourke, you have”.

With Hollywood here, the neighborhood is surely going to HELL. (I was going to say, “to the dogs”, but I LIKE dogs!)

Considering the price, the provider and the location, everything should have been first class…

WRONG!

The first thing that was nostalgic was the chicken–it had been frozen and put away when I was still in diapers. The next item on the nostaligia top ten list was the free wine and whiskey–they were both so cheap and nasty that they reminded me of when I was young and poor and actually drank that stuff…

Then there was the music–it was a group doing oldies “a capella” (“without musical accompaniment” for those of you who are musically impaired). I love a capella singing. In the Orthodox Church no musical instruments are allowed except bells and we have many fine a capella choirs–some are so good they have been called “human pipe organs”.

I can say with metaphysical certainty however, that none of those guys were ever in an Orthodox Choir…nor any other respectable choir either.

Their singing was so bad that it was a cross between the sounds made by an alley cat being tortured and the chanting of some middle eastern shouter wearing underwear about 4 sizes too small. Mercifully, our table was next to a very noisy heater, so the racket from it covered up a portion of the caterwauling from the stage.

Despite all that, I am sure many of the people in the audience enjoyed the show–most of them were over 80 and probably couldn’t hear very well anyway…

I am sure Nostaliga Night it is great idea. It is supposed to be a fun time for people of all ages. Maybe next year we will have an experience to remember other than in our nightmares….

While sitting here in my office and staring into the fog on the Rio de la Plata I had a vision….

At first I was in a place that seemed a pleasant enough, but no matter how hard I tried it there were always obstacles that I had to climb over–the harder I climbed, the more obstacles there were, until one day I slipped and fell…

As I tumbled through space I tried to get my bearings: I finally landed alongside the river. This place seem bigger and prettier and certainly flatter than the place before it. But, it had a problem too: some of my friends were allergic to it, and every time I left it, I had a bigger and bigger hole in my pocket. It bothered me so much that I could not sleep. Finally, well after midnight, I fell into a fitful sleep while weighing the contradictions…

I awoke to a cacaphony of music and voices and found myself in the midst of a celebrating crowd–but the crowd was so big that I couldn’t move; I was caught like a sardine in a can with mustard sauce. The noise became so great that I shut my eyes and put both hands over my one good ear until I finally blacked out…

And lo, and behold when I awoke I was in familiar surroundings with a fireplace cheerfully crackling, my little dog Harry sleeping next to me, and my big dog Lucy at my feet.

None of that really happened! But, I thought it was kind of an artistic way of retelling the story of our peripatetic Sunday gatherings.

The time for a change has come again!

In fact, this time there will be two changes:

• First, the meeting with will be reincarnated from its Sunday life to a new life on Thursday; and,

• Second, the meeting will be trans-migrated from Don Pepperone to Casa de Southron, UruguayLiving.com’s office in Buceo.

• Instead of a Sunday brunch, we will host a Thursday happy hour from 6 to 9 p.m.

From the beginning we had hoped to have more Uruguayos participate in our get-togethers, but Sunday is a difficult day for them, as it is generally reserved for family events. Restaurants have proven unsatisfactory for one reason or another, but perhaps the worst feature was that it made it hard for people to talk to anyone except those seated nearby.

UruguayLiving.com will supply potables, both potent and otherwise, as well as basic snacks. Everyone is encouraged to bring along anything they would like to share.

There is plenty of parking on the street, and we have a newly built ramp in the front for wheelchair access.

People will be able to gather around the fireplace, or the card table; at the dart board or the foosball table.

Valiant though undoubtedly insufficient efforts will be made to accommodate both smokers and non-smokers–disputes will be resolved in the square circle according to the Marquis of Queensberry rules (that’s a joke, I think).

We purposely have chosen an early starting hour so that attending is convenient for people on their way home from work, is before the weekly “guys night out”, and well before the local Thursday night revelries begin at 10 or 11 o’clock.

This happy hour is open to everyone, and no reservations are required–we hope to see you here soon.

Don’t forget your favorite mantra: Ommmmmmmmmmm…

]]> http://www.uruguayliving.com/2007/05/21/reincarnated-and-transmigrated/feed/ 2 http://www.uruguayliving.com/2007/03/24/have-i-missed-anything-a-party-guests-anything-at-all/ http://www.uruguayliving.com/2007/03/24/have-i-missed-anything-a-party-guests-anything-at-all/#comments Sat, 24 Mar 2007 14:30:03 +0000 The Southron http://www.uruguayliving.com/2007/03/24/have-i-missed-anything-a-party-guests-anything-at-all/ If one is going to be sick I highly recommend having a fever.

A fever keeps you warm, it gently blends reality and hallucinations into a fabric that can keep you amused for hours; best of all, it’s is a wormhole in time that transports you from “before” to “after” without having to bother with all the intervening daily annoyances of life.

That pretty much describes my last week: I remember meeting some new people, a guest arriving, a gathering with way too much green involved, seemingly endless series of dreams having to do with banking software, and of course the usual giant Martian spiders and man-eating porpoises.

I’ve come to realize that by carefully reviewing these memories I can usually filter out the real ones from hallucinations. For example, I’m pretty sure the meeting with new people was real because I remember it either occurring in my office or a cathedral in Argentina–since I have found a new icon that I didn’t have before it is a safe bet that I actually met these people, and based on my health I’m pretty sure that he occurred here.

The next memory is a little harder, it has something to do with a redheaded toy soldier on a horse–since I have not stepped into anything untoward, I’m guessing this might be a hallucination, or at best tangentially connected to a real occurrence.

The next one is a no-brainer: in it, I am dressed up in green like a giant leprechaun, my house is filled with a strange mix of people including the usual suspects, a bunch of people with a Japanese connection including at least one Uruguayo who works in Japan (???), and even some people who knew St. Kitts and Nevis (one of my former residences) intimately. I also remember lots of green food, most of which I never got to try–I specifically remember sushi rolls and I was never able to reach: damn. Obviously, this was the central hallucination for the entire week, because snippets of it kept repeating almost daily.

These repeating themes were interspersed with the ongoing nightmare about banking software. The red headed toy soldier on the horse also kept blinking in and out. (Most of the time it was to fight off the giant Martian spiders and the man-eating porpoises.) Now that I think of it, there was also a really disturbing nightmare about trying to buy a car here–I will have to recount that another time, I don’t have nearly enough strength to tackle it today.

For someone who never touched drugs, even in the 70s when they were really popular, I must have had my share of hallucinogens last week…