They exist!!!

In one of my recent blog entries, I doubted the existence of the afiladores, the modern Pied Pipers of Montevideo, who traverse city block after city block, in search of those in need of sharpened knives. Well, I’m here to confirm that seeing is believing, and afiladores really do exist.

I was working at the ceramics studio on Monday, when I heard the sound of a flute in the distance. One of my classmates mentioned, offhandedly, that an afilador was passing by. I think everyone thought it was strange (if not slightly rude) when, all of a sudden, I jumped out of my seat, flung open the door, and yelled out: ¡vení! I was only slightly embarrassed when the sharpener turned his bike around in the direction of the studio.

As Flor searched for something to sharpen, I asked permission to take a few pictures and explained my interest: This profession simply doesn’t exist where I come from, and I doubt people there would believe me if I couldn’t let them see for themselves. I guess we’re just kind of cynical like that. Plus, I fibbed and told him the pictures would soon appear on a Yankee website, making him instantly famous. He was suddenly willing to comply with my somewhat strange and totally unexpected request to document his work.

The movement generated from pedaling his bike turns a small metal wheel, which the afilador uses to sharpen everything from butter knives to household scissors.

Afiladores are really few and far between, my classmates tell me. This just happens to be a street where they commonly make their rounds.

This is my first lesson towards becoming an afiladora. Don't worry, Mom and Dad, I think I'll keep my day job.

Winter's solstice

The word “solstice” derives from the Latin words sol (meaning sun) and sistere (meaning to stand still). Winter solstice, which occurs on the 21st of June in the Southern Hemisphere, is known as such because, during that day, the sun is as far as it will ever be from this half of Earth and its movement at a virtual standstill.

That doesn’t mean that life stops during winter months; rather, it just slows down a bit, giving us the time we need to catch up with ourselves.

And in our frenetically modern lives, which only continue to estrange our bodies from our souls, winter begs us to remember what makes us fundamentally human—the aches, pains, and occasional discomfort of existence…

while allowing us to better appreciate the things that really give our lives color and warmth.

Surreal/So real country

Uruguay is a strange place. It is still difficult for me to wrap my mind around the fact that just over three million people make up this tiny country, only slightly smaller than the state of Washington. Less conceivable still is the fact that an average of 20,000 (young) people have emigrated annually since 2002 (the first year of the bank crisis, simply known as “la crisis” in this part of the world), something I will address in a later blog entry. I am convinced that I will never completely understand their pathological nostalgia—especially among young people, who really only know the present—nor the compulsion of most Uruguayans to introduce themselves as a poor, depressed, and rather gray group of people.

There are other attributes of this country, though, that make it downright surreal. For example, imagine this: you’re lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, when all of sudden you hear the explosion of a car muffler as it goes rumbling by. Not such a strange sound, really, coming from a large, modern city. But wait: you try to go back to sleep, grumbling that everyone here drives a 1978 Chevrolet Better-Left-in-the-Past, when you hear the clip-clop of horse hooves. You’re suddenly relaxed, transported in an instant to your grandparents’ horse farm, the one where you spent sunny days and restful nights as a child… until you realize that what you’re hearing is totally incongruous with your surroundings. You spend the rest of the night wondering if you’ve ever heard that sound before in any of the other major cities you’ve visited. You realize you haven’t.

Before jumping to any overly exotic conclusions (or into a big steaming pile of magical realism), this is not a Gabriel García Márquez novel, and horses do not run wild through the streets of Montevideo. Rather, they pull the carriages that transport cartoneros from one on-street dumpster to another. Cartoneros provide a vital service to the city by collecting, classifying, and then selling its waste, mainly cardboard boxes, glass and plastic. And, since Montevideo has no official recycling program, cartoneros ensure that certain refuse will indeed be reused. They are a resilient group, having successfully resisted every attempt by the city to privatize trash collection and unionized under the more formal title of Clasificadores de residuos (Classifiers of Residual Waste).

Cartoneros themselves may seem to be what gives this place its hint of surrealism. However, they are precisely what make the country… well, “so real.” In one form or another, cartoneros are a universal phenomenon, synonymous with globalization, expanding cities, and mass migration. Wherever a culture of consumption and socio-economic marginalization exist, cartoneros are sure to follow. In fact, although more out of protest than necessity, “dumpster divers” in the US have taken to foraging for their food as a way of subverting consumer culture.

What makes the cartoneros of Uruguay so unique, then, is the extent to which they, like the rest of society, cling to the rustic traditions of this country’s past, traversing the city in horse-drawn carriages instead of on foot and contrasting the culture of the interior with the modern city at every pass. In fact, cartoneros confirm Chilean author Alberto Fuguet’s observation that everyday life in Latin America straddles the traditional and the hypermodern: “Latin America is quite literary, yes, almost a work of fiction, but it’s not a folk tale. It is a volatile place where the 19th century mingles with the 21st. More than magical, this place is weird.”

I have heard, in passing, that if I listen closely enough on Sunday mornings I will hear the whistle of the afiladores (or sharpeners), men who ride around the city on bike, summoning out to the street those in need of having their kitchen knives sharpened. To date, as far as I’m concerned, afiladores only exist in Uruguay’s modern urban lore.

I'm sorry about the distance...

I know how you must be feeling right now. You’re feeling somewhat slighted, like I’ve abandoned you in this vast blogosphere. You’re a faithful reader, but weeks have gone by, and I’ve given you nothing new to read, nothing to ponder, no new perspective on life in Uruguay. I could ask for forgiveness, or I could just confess what’s been keeping me so busy.

Here’s a list of the five most interesting things that occupy my time:

Portuguese: I’m taking Portuguese 101 at my university and absolutely loving it! Forget sudoku; learning languages is the best way to train your brain. Eu gosto muito do portuguese—é ótimo! Salamao e eu tentamos falá-lo cada dia por meio, a vezes durante uma hora! Espero viajar ao Brasil este ano também. Olá Rio de Janeiro!

Ceramics: As you know, Flor owns her own ceramics studio, which has meant that, largely by virtue of living with her, I also get to learn her craft. Don’t expect to find me at home on Monday and Wednesday afternoons; I’m throwing pots at the studio. And if you didn’t already know what you were getting for Christmas, now you do J

Dissertation research: I sometimes forget that I have to write a dissertation when I get back to the States. Such a small thing to forget, right? … Anyway, despite temporary gaps in my memory, my dissertation is really never too far from mind, which means I spend my time meeting with filmmakers, scouring bookstores for new works, and taking lots and lots of notes. Not a bad job, really.

HTML/English lessons: Once a week, I meet up with my friend María (we call her “la flaca,” which means skinny) to learn HTML. We are creating a website for a community center where I volunteer on Saturdays (see Piedras Blancas pictures). In exchange for her expertise, I help her with her English. We both agree that verbs in English are easy to conjugate, but that correct pronunciation can make you want to pull out your hair.

Auditions: This really only took up about an hour of my time, but, all the same, I feel like it’s worth mentioning. Flor, Lucas, and I auditioned for a television commercial last week. Flor and I got the short end of the stick, since all Lucas had to do was read a book with a pretend grandpa, and we had to hang laundry. Flor was a natural, singing and dancing while she worked. She hung the shirts up perfectly! I, domestically illiterate, was not so graceful, dropping pins and nervously hanging up shirts as quickly as I could, even if they were upside down. Maybe they’ll call me back for the commercial about the American woman living in Uruguay who can’t even hang her own clothes. I think I’m on to something there… Anyway, enjoy the pictures!