10 days, 12 hours, 39 minutes and counting

August 18, 2011: The past 10 days, 11 hours, 24 minutes and counting I have been in the capital of Uruguay desperately trying to figure out where to explore between the small outbursts of the sun while my friend Anita is at work. As the grey days build into towers, my skin is somehow getting whiter…even without the application of the special Michael Jackson Cream.

My Casio Solar watch is just as it says, “Solar”. In consumer lingo: it only works if there is sun every few days. Normally a watch weighing down my underpowered left wrist is not necessary, but today was the rare occasion that I needed to know the time. Sitting next to a window while fueling up on some empty calories, I had to switch my watch to my other wrist directing it towards the very few rebellious rays that made it through the sad clouds between its tears. After an 85 minutes of this (just a guess…remember, it didn’t work), I resuscitated it, bringing it back from the dead…coughing up some useful numbers.

I am getting the feeling that Uruguay is a place that seems to be a summer Mecca for tourism with all of its beaches. When it is not summer, things might be cheaper but might not be worth the cheapness. If taking cheap legal peripheral busting peeks at women’s flesh in bikinis was my sole reasoning to come to Uruguay, I would say that this trip it is a failure because the only flesh on the beach that I so unfortunately saw was the drunken homeless man’s crusty wiener as he was urinating in the sand.

Once again, I am found myself somewhere that would not be much of an interest for me if it were not for its residents - in this case; the thermos carrying, cup touting, silver pimped straw in their Yerba mate, drinking addicts by the millions. Meeting my friend Anita last year in Argentina, I visited her here in Uruguay and this phenomenal social reaction has happened. Her friendship grew into other friendships and then more friendships, eventually becoming no longer reliant on the original roots. So…my original plans to be in Montevideo for a few days happily blossomed to 10 days, 12 hours, 39 minutes and counting.

Are your roommates’ pregnant prostitutes or drug dealers?

January 9th, 2011: During my travels I was kindly invited by a friend of mine to stay with her at her house. The vision in my over imaginative head on how this was going to turn out was so completely off, immediately starting with me being picked up from the bus station…

Entering my friend’s house I was officially introduced to her 2 roommates. Looking around as I rolled my luggage through the living room I felt that perhaps I made a mistake…but at that exact moment, I didn’t know the reasoning behind my internal feelings. Making it to the bedroom to where I was staying, I passed a series of rooms with one room containing an older man in his 60’s looking as if he was buttoning his shirt. This man was one more than her 2 roommates that I just met. Asking my friend Callidora (name changed to protect her identity) on whom that man was, telling me she didn’t know. “How can you not know, he is standing in a bedroom?” I said, making me think that something is not right.

After some mental prying, she then she told me a “piece” of what goes on in this dark house – with other pieces following later in the evening – but never seeming to know the entire pie. Missing pieces, I thought that perhaps I already tasted too much, regretting even asking in the first place, helping me discover during this visit that it is sometimes better…not to know.

I stayed there two of the four days that I originally planned to be there. If I liked to play in the snow from a girl dealing out of a rented room during the weekends or wanted to get a discounted 2 for 1 rate with a pregnant prostitute who also had a strange nightly rental agreement, this place would have been paradise.

Coming to visit Callidora, I sadly didn’t see “her” my entire stay there as she filled her body with the Bolivian marching powder seeming to play Mario Bros and Galaxia the entire nights not requiring any sleep.

I am grateful that the roads I have chosen in my life have thankfully never taking me down any dark alleys - perhaps shady, but never dark. Leaving early, I transformed into a preacher – not of faith, but as a friend…hoping that I can create a spark.

During my stay here, I learned an important lesson that I need to ask more specific questions about friends living arrangements prior to accepting invites…such as, “Are your roommates’ pregnant prostitutes or drug dealers?”