4th of July rhymes with Uruguay! (I am SO sorry about this title)

It had all of the makings of a traditional Fourth of July celebration: cotton candy, hotdogs and hamburgers with all the right condiments, hordes of Americans milling about, indiscriminately double dipping and discussing pleasantries, like the weather and the potato sack race taking place outside. The only thing that made my Fourth of July different this year was the fact that I celebrated it on a cold day in July (which still sounds funny to me, if nothing else because it’s slightly reminiscent of another saying we have in English) in downtown Montevideo, Uruguay. To be more exact, from exactly 12-3 pm last Friday afternoon the neatly manicured lawn of the US Ambassador to Uruguay, Frank Baxtor, better resembled the setting of a Tennessee-style barbeque than the residence of an international dignitary.

I arrived to the event uninvited but with my passport in hand, ready to prove that, by virtue of being born in the US—and Texas to boot!—I should be granted admittance to the party. I approached the security officers guarding the entrance and smugly handed them my documentation, knowing full well that my name did not appear on the list. They searched for a second among the Pattersons and the Pottingers but could not find me. Finally, sensing that I wasn’t going anywhere, they simply waved me on to the second phase of security: the metal detector. I was suddenly starting to feel at home in my surroundings.

The day’s celebration had a few aspects that were new to me, though. After passing by the hotdog stand more times than I care to admit (those of you who have attended a Lookout’s game with me know what I’m capable of), I made my way back inside for Ambassador Baxtor’s formal greeting, which included singing the Anthem and a short performance by an a cappella group from San Luis Obispo, California. Baxtor then addressed us directly, peering out over the crowd from the stairs of his home. In a speech more reminiscent of a fireside chat than a Fourth of July salute, the Ambassador reminded us of the generosity of the American spirit, something Toqueville observed in his early writings on America and which still stands true today.

I didn’t stay at the party much longer after Ambassador Baxtor’s speech; I had found the food comforting but was ready to slip back into my anonymity as an undercover American among Uruguayans. All the same, though, it was worth crashing the party just to say I had, spending a few welcome hours and inside jokes among compatriots.