We Have Arrived
DAY 2 in Montevideo!
I meant to write yesterday, but exhaustion said otherwise. Turns out, twenty-four hours of planes, airports, and questionable airplane food will take you down fast—especially at my age.
The only real hiccup happened during security in Lima. The agent decided Mikey’s violin looked suspicious and sent it off for “further inspection.” So Mikey waited… and waited… and waited some more. After being patient, Mikey asked the agent where the violin was. Finally, the agent returned with the violin, and we both exhaled like we’d just survived a hostage situation.
Our first night was off to a promising start. We bought a pizza to bake in the gas oven, watched a little TV, and let the dogs sleep. Around 7:00, we took them out for their nightly walk. When we came back, the apartment smelled strongly of garlic. I figured it was the pizza. An hour later, Mikey noticed one of the burner knobs was slightly turned on. Yep—turns out we’d been slowly filling the place with gas. A fun, subtle way to introduce ourselves to the neighbors.
Soon, there was knocking at the door—people trying to find the leak. Picture it: the Staters, who can’t speak Spanish, standing there like guilty mimes trying to explain it was us and we’d fixed the problem. Then came another knock. Then another. By the third, the Montevideo Fire Department showed up. (No, sadly, they weren’t selling their annual calendar.) Luckily, one of them spoke English, and Mikey explained the whole thing while I stood there smiling awkwardly, probably still smelling faintly of propane. Picture this if you wish: Latin men, in full fire gear! Yep, you know what I was thinking.
All ended well, but now I’m convinced every time we see someone in the building, they give us the “there go the Staters who almost blew up the block” look. Honestly, fair.
When the dogs arrived around 16:00, we met them downstairs. I’ll spare you the gory details, but let’s just say their crates were not fit for human noses. Their bedding went straight to the washer—which, like everything in the apartment, is roughly the size of a breadbox. After the cycle, the beds looked exactly the same. So Mikey went old school: scrubbed them by hand and hung them out to dry. Dryers are rare here—electricity’s pricey—so line drying is our new way of life. Fancy, right?
Day 1:
We woke up, walked the dogs, came back, and all four of us took a nap. Woke up, watched TV, took another nap. Walked the dogs, took another nap. Had dinner, went to bed. It was like a 24-hour flu, minus the fever. Let’s just say I’m not built for international travel anymore—at least not without a nap every three hours.
Day 2:
Today, we’re sitting in the apartment with the balcony doors open, soaking up the spring-like weather and the sounds of Montevideo. Tyson got his bath—he hates every second but stands there stoically, peeking around the corner like he’s plotting either an escape or my murder. Hard to tell which. Later, we’re taking the dogs to a nearby park with actual grass a rare commodity around the apartment. Tonight, empanadas. Tomorrow, adulting.
Oh, and we can see the football stadium (or as the US insists, soccer; that will be last time I use soccer to name the sport) from our apartment. Pretty cool, right?
Stay tuned—if we survive the week without setting off any more alarms, I’ll count it as progress.
More to come!
