Little by little, we are becoming more comfortable with life here. Crossing the street does not evoke the same fear that it did the first couple of days. We have learned to keep our eyes ahead of us on the sidewalk to avoid stepping in the ever-present dog poop. I've mastered carrying a load of wet laundry up the very high and very steep stairs to the clothesline on the roof. After spending an entire blister-producing afternoon last week walking from bank to bank, ATM to ATM, following all sorts of inaccurate advice, I have discovered, with assistance from a very helpful housemate, the secret of getting cash with my debit card. And after getting stuck twice in the private little ATM booth, I now know how to get out. We've been to a couple of restaurants and I have some idea of what I'm ordering when the menu says "milenesa" or "pascualina." I even recognized the Uruguayan word for pineapple on the menu last night. (It's ananá, not piña, and strawberries are frutillas, not fresas.) We have learned that catsup is not automatically served with French fries. I can navigate the busses fairly well at this point, though I have to follow our route closely on my map so that I know where we need to get off. And although I am still not certain which way home is once we do get off the bus, I have learned to trust Teo and Javy's sense of direction.
Our Spanish classes continue to go well. Besides taking them on outings to the markets and the park, Teo and Javy's teachers have had them creating signs to post in various rooms in the school with the Spanish words for objects in each room. The teachers assure me that the boys are understanding quite a bit, although they don't talk much, in Spanish, that is. I have no doubt that they talk plenty in English. The word traviesos has been applied more than once to them since we've been here. My astute teachers have learned that a good way to get me enthusiastic about conversation is to ask me about immigration issues, or to offer to teach me something about Uruguayan history or geography. Yesterday, we watched a video about the Rio de la Plata. Although I still need a bit of convincing that this body of water is actually a river (the widest in the world, they claim -- which it certainly is if one doesn't choose to call it a bay), I am more accepting of the idea than I was initially. Another of my teachers has me slogging though a short history of the extermination of the indigenous people of Uruguay, the Charrúa. There is much in this article, besides the sometimes cumbersome grammar, to stop and discuss, including the similarities between this history and that of the United States.
On Tuesday, the boys and I visited a very interesting museum to learn about a more recent event that is central to Uruguayan identity -- the 1972 crash in the Andes Mountains of a plane carrying, among others, the Uruguayan rugby team. The survival and rescue story are powerfully told in the museum's exhibits, and we got to chat briefly with the curator, who is clearly passionate about his work to keep the story alive. The trip to the museum was also our first venture into Ciudad Vieja, a bustling area with pedestrian walkways, street artists, lots of tourists, and the impressive Plaza Independencia.
Yesterday, we had plans to visit the zoo with our new friends Edy, Steve, and their son Daniel. Although it's supposed to be free on Wednesdays, we got there to find that it was closed. So we went instead to Edy's apartment where the three boys had a great time creating a Lego saga involving zombies while Edy and I chatted about all sorts of things. After an enjoyable dinner together at a nearby restaurant, Teo and Javy and I caught a bus home. At one stop, the bus picked up several passengers, including one in rather odd clothing and with a thin mustache penciled on his face. After the bus got going, he started making a loud announcement. I deciphered that he was talking about some theatrical production, and thought I heard "Jamaica," but I was wary. More than likely, it was just another strange word masquerading as a familiar one in a sneaky attempt to throw me off course. But after his brief soliloquy, the guy began belting out, in a deep and powerful voice, "DAY - O, me say day-o, daylight come and me wanna go ho - ome!" As I was congratulating myself on correctly identifying the gist of his announcement, five other passengers, not in costume, but clearly in cahoots, joined in the song, and the rest of us were treated to a delightful serenade. Dancing as best they could in the aisle of the crowded bus, the singers completed the song, passed a hat, reminded everyone of the time and place of their production, and hopped off the bus at the next stop, where presumably they waited for another audience to come by and pick them up.
As I mentioned last week, each Thursday, our language school hosts an event with a group of kids with disabilities who live in a home down the street. Today's activity was a holiday party. A dozen or so kids and young adults, and one older adult, joined ten or twelve adults from the school, plus Teo, Javy, and two other kids, to bake cookies, play a game, assemble and decorate a Christmas tree, hang garlands and set up a nativity scene, sing carols, and receive presents that Papa Noel surreptitiously left at the door. It was really a lovely time, and very touching, especially after I learned that these children are not only disabled but also have been abandoned by their families. The home that cares for them is supported only by donations, so they enjoy very little beyond basic necessities. Their joy over receiving the small gifts and being treated to a fun afternoon was heartwarming. And to look around the room and see students and teachers from Germany, Brazil, Denmark, the Netherlands, and the U.S., all with varying levels of Spanish proficiency, and all with hearts so wide open to these children (and to mine) made me think I was glimpsing what King described as the beloved community, what others might call the Kingdom of God, what in any case is the kind of world I want to live in. It was a beautiful, beautiful reminder that in the midst of all the problems that weigh so heavily on us, caring hearts have the power to bridge significant differences, and that is where the work of peace, and the promise of Christmas, starts.
Que bonito :)
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