Every Saturday I used to look forward to the words “It’s been a quiet week in Lake Woebegone…” and now I feel like I’m living it as the days in Uruguay drift on by.
We went to the beach yesterday, a sunny afternoon showing 55 degrees and a frigid north wind. There was a police checkpoint where they peered with curiosity at my Florida driver license and weird floppy piece of registration paper and we chatted about the weather as you do.
He pointed out it’s a damp cold which feels colder than it should and he added you haven’t seen anything yet, it’s not properly winter for a few more weeks.
Layne did some cleaning while I went out into the breeze and walked a surprisingly energetic formerly dying dog. Today he gets another vet visit and I hope clearance to travel.
It was let’s face it a cold mid week winter afternoon not ideal beach weather but Rusty trotted off down the strand with me in ambling pursuit. We had it to ourselves except for one Chilean registered camper van parked up the road.
I was chatting with Adrián’s girlfriend Maria José and the subject of building homes came up. She was astonished to learn that in the US it is illegal most places to live in your camper on your own land.
It didn’t help when I explained you had to have permission to build a house. Permission from whom she asked. She thought I was joking.
Their friend Luis had brought his Mercedes camper by, the vehicle built by Adrián and sold to Luis years ago. Now Luis, divorced, wants to buy some land in the hills in the interior and build a tiny house and Adrián is selling the camper on consignment for him.
I’m not ready to settle down just yet but imagine building what you feel like on land you own with no one around to tell you no. It might be a concept worth remembering, in the land where the women are strong, the men are good looking and the children are all above average.
No comments:
Post a Comment