Chronicles from the City: Pocitos

In an attempt to show you what life is like here in Montevideo, I will be featuring the city´s many neighborhoods in a section called "Chronicles from the City." I have already posted photos of the neighborhood where I live, Pocitos, a neighborhood of avid joggers, artists, small business owners, health food enthusiasts, and, in my case, the occasional American. Although just a short bus ride from downtown Montevideo, Pocitos, with its tree-lined streets and family-owned shops, is more like a small town than a bustling metropolis. In the weeks and months to come, I´ll continue to chronicle the city as I see it so that you may begin to form your own impression.

Bridging the Digital Divide

The belief that advances in science and technology represent the first (and most crucial) step toward economic, cultural and social progress is by no means new to the Americas. Over 150 years ago, Brazilian scientists and the socio-economic elite, greatly influenced by the French positivists, rallied around the idea that developments in science would pave the way for social order and material progress in that country. Its flag alone, which in fact boasts “order and progress” as the national motto, proves to what extent Brazil has championed the ideals and potential benefits of scientific innovation.

More recently, like many other facets of social and political life, technological innovation often has been discussed on a global scale, since it pulls the strings of the international political economy now more than ever before. Likewise, the advent of communications and other forms of electronic media have prompted some to envision a kind of “network society,” whereby these technologies have come to dictate social interaction, urban space, and more than anything, the modern workplace.

While this may be the case in many developed countries, advances in science and technology remain a local issue in developing countries, where technological innovation is now widely considered among one of the only viable paths to economic growth and prosperity. One of the many challenges developing countries face, however, is how to advance their scientific and technological capabilities without exacerbating existing social and economic inequalities.

Last Friday’s “International Seminar on Science, Technology, Innovation and Social Inclusion,” sponsored by the Universidad de la Republica and UNESCO (the United Nation’s Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization), was testament to the effort of governmental and non-governmental organizations, universities, and other associations in Latin America to eradicate social inequality through scientific innovation. Many of the speakers—among them researchers and other representatives from the public and private sectors throughout Latin America, Europe, and the US—spoke to the importance of establishing socially oriented innovation that will seek both to promote the sciences as well as address issues of social concern. The speakers challenged other business leaders, politicians, and members of the academy to look beyond profit gain as the sole outcome of technological innovation and toward a form of social inclusion that will work to bridge the digital divide. Their message was clear: Advances in technology will only really begin to benefit the developing world as soon as they are used to benefit all sectors of society and not just the technologically elite.

In case you were wondering what all of this has to do with my time here in Uruguay, I inform you that I will be meeting with the Parque Rodó Rotaract Club later this week, a 12-year-old club that has collaborated with the Computers for the World organization and the Emerald City Rotary Club (Seattle, WA) to bring 200 computers to Uruguay. It is inspiring to know that Uruguayan Rotarians are at the forefront of this effort and are actively helping to bridge the gap between the technological haves and have nots. I look forward to working closely with the Rotaract group while I´m here, and, as always, I promise to keep you informed of our progress.

First day of school

I remember, when I was young, my mother used to take a picture of me on the first day of school every year. During all of elementary and part of middle school, I would stand with my back straight, hair neatly combed, and smile radiantly for the camera. It should come as no surprise, however, that as I transitioned from childhood to adolescence my mother’s ritual seemed intolerable at times and always horribly uncool. But, for good or for bad, family traditions have a way of enduring even the most turbulent teenage years, and so I continued the practice in college, often asking a roommate to snap a shot before class.

Recently, I altered our tradition somewhat by taking pictures at the conclusion of my first course, not at the beginning. Then again, I guess it only seemed appropriate, since the courses I’m taking here in Uruguay are different from what I’m used to at home. Instead of the semester-long graduate courses offered in the States, masters-level coursework in the humanities (including anthropology, history, literature, and philosophy) is divided up among week and month-long seminars that meet between 7:00-10:00 p.m. Most of the graduate professors are guests of the Universidad de la Republica and hail originally from universities as close as neighboring Argentina and Brazil, and as far away as Europe.

(Here I am with a few of my classmates--companeras de curso--and our professor, Haydee Coehlo, second from right).

My first course of the semester, which met between the 10th and 14th of this month, discussed the scholarly work of Brazilian anthropologist and public intellectual Darcy Ribeiro. Always controversial in his unwavering support of indigenous rights and conscious building (concientizacion), Ribeiro spent several years in exile in Montevideo during Brazil’s 1964 dictatorship, where he forged an important and long-lasting relationship with Uruguayan intellectuals. Logically, the class was divided almost evenly among students, many of them teachers and professionals during the day, from anthropology and literature. Others, taking advantage of the fact that the public university system is free to all Uruguayans, were proud to admit they are simply life-long students interested in learning something new.

(After a long week of classes, a cold cerveza with the profesora is the best way to unwind).

To my surprise, as well as most of the other students, the seminar offered us not only exposure to new material, but also a new language. With the exception of student-led discussion, Professor Haydee Coelho of the Universidad Federal de Minas Gerais dictated the entire course in Portuguese. With a little effort, though, lots of gesturing, and even more concentration—especially on my part, since I’ve never taken Portuguese!—by the end of the course at 10 p.m. on Friday night we found we shared a common language.

When in Rome... or Montevideo, Uruguay

Just in case you were wondering where I´ve been since my last entry, I´m writing to inform you that most traditionally Catholic countries are on state-sanctioned vacation this week, which, in Spanish, is known as Semana Santa (Holy Week). Even Uruguayans, who celebrate their long history of secularism, take advantage of this week to escape from the city to one of the country´s many beach communities.

In the name of cultural immersion, I have decided to join my hosts here at la Pedrera, a small coastal town three hours to the north of the capital that serves as a refuge for amateur surfers, fishermen, and artisans alike. Once I am back in the capital and, like most Uruguayans, resigned to winter´s inevitable (and prompt) arrival, I will be happy to share my stories with you.

Until then, I´m turning of the computer and heading back to the beach.

Carnaval, Uruguayan style

After eight straight days of rain and cloudy skies, I was beginning to wonder if the sun would ever shine again in Uruguay. I felt deceived to tell you the truth, as if the country’s own flag, which boasts a cheerful-looking sun in the upper left-hand corner, had lied to me. I suggested to my host family—a good-natured, infinitely patient group of people—that a rain cloud might replace their current national ensign.

Finally, then, on Friday, just as my mood was beginning to reflect the weather pattern, the clouds finally parted and the sun shone for the first time since my arrival. My host family and I decided unanimously that there was only one way to spend a gorgeous evening in early March: ¡carnival!

Forget Rio de Janeiro and its tawdry parade through the streets; most Uruguayans are proud to remind anyone who will listen that theirs is the longest celebration in the world—nearly 40 days—and that it is based on a series of open-air theater performances, not ruckus in the streets.

Normally all carnival celebrations would’ve wrapped up by now, but since the rain put a damper on all festivities, they resumed on Friday. We attended one of the more unique and typically Uruguayan carnival events: the murgas performance.

The term “murgas” was first used in Spain to refer to any popular street music performed during town festivals and other public celebrations. The modern, South American version has been commonly attributed to a group of Spanish minstrels who made Montevideo their home in 1906 and who fused the art form with the spirit of carnival.

A traditional Uruguayan murga consists of an all-male choir of 13-17 participants. They greet the crowd with an introductory song which quickly adopts a satiric tone, poking fun at politicians and other public figures, and retracing the year’s more salient events.

Curtidores de hongos, a tribute to the rugged Uruguayan culture of the interior (as the rest of the country is known), sang about everything from the unwavering ineptitude of Uruguayan bureaucrats to the “shut-up” heard round the Spanish-speaking world. They are slated to win as this year’s best act.

Veni conmigo

Tras dos años de planificación y harto papeleo, me encuentro por fin en Montevideo, Uruguay. Sólo me parecía apropiado, entonces, que volviera a hojear recientemente El lazarillo de los ciegos caminantes, una de las obras más destacadas del fascinante, pero en gran parte ignorado siglo XVIII de las letras hispánicas.

El lazarillo se define como una obra itinerante, tanto por su contenido como por su capacidad de esquivar, a cada paso, los confines de los géneros literarios tradicionales. Desde el punto de vista de un mestizo cuzqueño, Alonso Carrió de la Vandera, apodado Concolorcorvo, el documento cuenta el recorrido de este inspector de correos entre Montevideo y Lima—puntuado por sus descansos en las ciudades de Buenos Aires, Santiago de Chile, y Cuzco—y sirve simultáneamente como una (proto) guía de viajes y un informe antropológico, un coloquio entre los viajeros de la región y una investigación cuidadosa de la sociedad colonial de América del sur.

Sin embargo, la obra no se libera por entero de la tradición literaria que le precede: toma como sus influencias la mitología griega, el tono satírico de Quevedo y, como indica el título, las famosas aventuras del inigualable pícaro español, Lazarillo de Tormes.

Parecido a la manera en que el pícaro de esta obra clásica guía a su amo ciego, Conolorcorvo asume la responsabilidad de dirigir a los demás viajeros e, inclusive, a los que no pueden viajar sino a través de la palabra escrita y las impresiones de su autor.

Aunque en la novela española el pícaro y el ciego terminan por engañarse los unos a los otros—aprovechándose el uno de la ceguera y la ingenuidad del otro—yo intentaré, como Concolorcorvo, a presentarles Montevideo como yo lo voy conociendo y las impresiones que voy acumulando como una caminante en esta tierra tan lejana y, para mi, desconocida.

Así que, entre sus propias andanzas, tantas las cotidianas como las extraordinarias, les invito a acompañarme a lo largo este camino y a conocer otros aires a través de mis palabras. O más sencillamente, como se dice en el español del Río de la Plata, vení conmigo.

First impressions

I know you’ve been waiting, biting your nails to the quick, in fact, to finally hear about Uruguay; but, I’m sorry to say, you’ll have to keep waiting. I’ve been pondering this entry for over a year now, so I’m eager to finally transform my thoughts into words and share them with you.

In December of ‘06 I attended an RI conference for out-bound Ambassadorial Scholars. Most were excited, leaving for their host countries in just over six months; I, on the other hand, traveling to the Southern Hemisphere, would have to wait another calendar year. Suffice it to say that I didn’t share in my cohort’s enthusiasm.

The timing of the conference only exacerbated my already negative attitude: I just barely survived my most grueling semester yet, was anxious about grades, and as if I had nothing else on my mind, I had to drive three hours to a mandatory orientation for a trip that I only imagined would someday come to fruition.

Little did I know, however, that I’d hear at that conference, which I had considered such a colossal inconvenience, the words that currently direct my thoughts and actions.

Late into the evening, well past the span of my attention, a senior Rotarian spoke to us about his experience as a young Ambassadorial Scholar in the 50s and about his continued support of the program. Even when other Rotarians questioned the worth of the scholarship, he came quickly to its defense. With this in mind, though, he reminded us that Rotary diverts funds away from other programs, such as its effort to build water wells, in order to fund individual students.

He said something, then, that sounded more like a challenge than a question: “How can you make your experience as an Ambassadorial Scholar worth ten wells in Haiti?”

His question gave me chills, and to be honest with you, I still find it deeply moving.

The Rotarian was right: my time here in Uruguay will not generate any money, which could be used to help people at home or abroad. In fact, my time here represents a loss of funds for my home Rotary club and RI district.

But it’s only when we begin to think of capital as something intangible, something that only comes from human interaction and understanding, that the payoff of this opportunity becomes incalculable.

During the course of this year, I hope to keep you informed about my life here in Uruguay—always mindful of my place and purpose in the world—and my own attempts to affect change by participating positively in the lives of others.