Day 2: Uruguay

This is from two days ago:

I woke up today at around 10 am to a combination of various animal noises. Domesticated parrots are acceptable creatures. Domesticated parrots poop in confined spaces, which allows for easy cleanup access. Domesticated parrots have to deal with relaying semi-comedic messages as a form of entertainment for their owner who probably finds enjoyment in making Johnny the African Gray Parrot repeat "fuck" as a way of showing off to his nephew. Wild parrots, especially the ones that occupy the several walnut trees outside of my current living space are nothing but degenerate birds with bad personalities who can't even repeat "fuck" on demand, let alone any curse word. They poop in the grass, which when looking for walnuts to crack for my beet salad with fresh goat cheese I obtained from a gas station with two ladies cosplaying European beer garden waitresses, allows for a high percentage chance my new black slip on Vans get stained with parrot poop. The family dog Eclipse isn't quite quiet either. I don't dislike dogs, but dogs don't like me. Eclipse is no different, ignoring me as if I'm just another wild parrot with no form of entertainment value. It hurts, but I'm used to animal rejection. Cockroaches also create a deal of noise, which is quite unsettling when trying to sleep. It's not like the house I'm staying in has an infestation of them but I've learned the hard way that turning on my phone light in the middle of the night should only be done out of pure necessity.

Today the host family left for Chicago leaving me stranded upon their property with my only form of transportation being a motorbike I find highly intimidating. I helped Ashley pack, painted with Issa some sort of princess, by her request, that ultimately was just a stick figure with a crooked crown, and waited. I was informed that Ashley and the rest of the family had a boat to catch at , which would bring them to Buenos Aires and then eventually a plane which would land in Chicago. Before leaving for the ship, Ashley and Patrick wanted me to meet Chris, a 70-year-old gay British man whose partner Patrick (not associated at all with Patrick from the host family) died last year as a form of an emergency contact if needed. Chris's partner Patrick happened to be part of this infamous Welsh LSD drug ring that went down to be known as "Operation Julie" by UK law enforcement as well as being a source of inspiration for The Clash's song, "Julie's Been Working for the Drug Squad." Chris drove us all to the bus station in which we said our goodbyes to Patrick, Ashley, and the kids as a questionable Uruguayan man, with noticeable missing teeth, smoked a joint before his bus departure next to us. It was now just Chris and I. We stood, looked at each other, examining one another's physical features and clothing options. Before me, Chris stood at no more than 5' 10" with what looked to be a Champion brand grey sweatshirt and tennis shoes. I stood before Chris sporting pink Nike SB socks, cuffed jeans with food particles remaining from last night's dinner of Chorizo stew, and a level of uncertainty that has yet to dissolve since arriving in Uruguay. Chris broke the ice in the most stereotypical British accent, "We should probably be going now." We hopped in Ashley and Patrick's truck. The first thing Chris said is, "Well, I haven't driven stick in a while," which was not reassuring whatsoever and it showed. We had only traveled less than half a mile when Chris's phone rang. "Oh man, I should pull over," again, all very questionable. Teresa May, Brexit, Donald Trump, Uruguayan election, Argentinian election, property taxes, all being a few of the topics voiced, it was still incredibly challenging to understand who Chris was talking to or what he was talking about. "Sorry about that, I have a cousin in the UK that's looking over one of my properties for me." The only reasonable response I could provide was "no worries." It was from here we traveled to a small town in which Chris called little Switzerland. The Uruguayans and Swiss share a long history of mutual economic relations. The city still receives funding from the Swiss government for somewhat random operations like providing the local movie theater with the equivalent of $40,000 US dollars. I'm not exactly sure why. John Wick 3 was the featured film for the entire week and only film. We passed the theater and headed to the grocery store in which from here Chris began to open up. Every isle we walked down, Chris had something to say. In the jam and dessert isle, Chris ranted about how fat Uruguayans are because they consume more than the recommended amount of sweets. In the yerba mate and tea isle, Chris expressed his displeasure with yerba mate. He also voiced a story that was barely understandable due to his thick English accent about how Patrick used to get quite stoned on cannabis infused yerba mate. The tea aisle just got expectable more dissected as Chris being a British man, had quite a strong opinion when it came to tea. There were only three varieties of Uruguayan black tea he trusted. Chris also went on this tangent about how Uruguayan water was just not comparable to what he had back home. From the tea and yerba mate isle, we travel to the wine isle. Uruguay, if I remember correctly, is 14th in wine consumption in the world. Tannat, red wine grapes that initially was grown in South West France is regarded as the national grape of Uruguay. I'll keep it brief for now regarding the history of the Tannat grape as I think it deserves its own post in the next coming days or so. The same can be said for the Uruguayan election which is currently underway and is confusing as ever to an outsider like me. To wrap this post up, Chris wanted me to come over for tea at his house after my purchase of the finest chicken I've ever seen. Compared to the America chicken which is breed with such antibiotics and growth hormones, allowing for unnatural breast size, Uruguayan chicken like most of the rest of the world's chicken, comes with a greater red meat to white meat ratio. To keep it short and simple, we're looking at an animal with a larger thigh than breast meat ratio. Perfect for coq au vin, the french dish consisting of typical a rooster soaked in red wine and miraque, then braised until tender. With the luxury of Tannat wine and an outside garden of potatoes and spring onions, that's precisely what I did.