This past weekend, the whole group…we’re more like a herd actually, of Texans traveled up the coast to Rocha. It’s like a county so there are many things to see. Of all the exciting things to do in the little beach town, La Paloma, Nicole and I chose renting bikes. You can get them for about a buck an hour and the two we chose were marvels of technology. We chose two matching one-speeds. Nicole’s was pink. We called it Pinky. Mine was green with a basket, and obviously named Brain. I don’t think anyone has as much fun as we do. Since La Paloma is a small town, we quickly came into the countryside, and I had forgotten how much I love open nature and animals and trees.

The next day, we went further up the coast. Our bus stopped at a parking lot sort of place, and we piled onto this large four wheel drive, open air dune buggy. We all fit. It’s kind of hard to describe. Anyway, The vehical bumped along for about 15 minutes until we hit a beach, then 5 minutes along the sand, until we reached a tiny town called Cabo Polonio. This place is like nothing I’ve ever seen. I thought Boulder, Colorado was Mecca for hippies, but I was so wrong. The whole place seems like an island though I guess it’s actually a peninsula. Little shacks with laundry hanging outside are scattered everywhere, many with dogs, chickens and cows in front. We got there a little early, so the town’s inhabitants were still lazing in front of their homes in lawn chairs passing around a Mate. It was only later that I realized that not one electric wire was distracting a view.

We walked to a beach past bright red and yellow fishing boats and searched for shells. The cloudy turbulent looking skies were a beautiful backdrop to the ocean. Then, we went toward the lighthouse and decided to sit on some rocks behind it. All of a sudden, one of the rocks moved. I pointed and got so excited, but then thought I must be crazy because no one else knew what I was talking about. Then finally, another rock moved, and we realized we were in sea lion territory. We moved a bit closer to get a better look, and a whole sea lion saga played for us. Two adults slid from the rocks into the foamy water one after the other. Then, a baby was left staring off the cliff not knowing what to do. The mom looked on from a distance where she wouldn’t crash into the rocks with the waves. Finally, she had to swim back, climb onto the rocks and be with her cub. I never saw the two of them make it back off.

When we came into the town once more, it was a whole different scene filled with bare-footed, dred-locked people making jewelry and smoking. I saw several flags and posters of Bob Marley, and I think he would have fit into this crowd. In the winter they fish, in the summer, they sell things to tourists, and that’s all they worry about. I can see the allure.

Later, we took a small boat through a fishing canal to the Ombu forest. Next to the water, sheep and cows grazed in fields of green grass accented with palm trees. I’m telling you, this is the place to be livestock.The Ombu tree is actually not a tree at all, but an enormous shrub that can grow up to 60 feet tall with multiple trunks. If you describe the plant, it really sounds like science fiction. The herbaceous trunks can hollow with time leaving their live shell and canopy. The sap is poisonous, so they are not grazed. The tissues are fire resistant, and immune from locusts or pests. In addition, they thrive with only 10 to 30 inches of rain per year. The plants grow in Argentina, Brazil, California, and of course Uruguay, but they usually grow alone. Uruguay is the only place to have a forest of them like the one we visited. I’ll try to put some pictures up later because I can’t describe how cool these are. All I wanted to do was go lean up against one with a book for hours, sleep, then wake up the next day and do it again. Maybe I should go join the hippies.

http://www.blueplanetbiomes.org/ombu.htm

The next day, we went to some other places……the end.

Ok, you’re right Dad, that was a bad ending. After the Ombu forest, we went horseback riding on the beach at sunset. I feel like I should be writing a romance novel about this stuff, minus the love affair of course. Because I’ve done it so few times, horseback riding still seems as exciting as when I was 6 years old. Nicole enjoyed it, but she also thought biking, then horses, was too much for one bottom. The best part for me other than the beautiful surroundings was talking to our guide. He made it look so easy. I think he was actually barefoot, and the ten year old boy also accompianing us would put on a jacket or turn around. We looked ridiculous clinging with our knees. The guide started talking to me though, and my conversations in Spanish are always hilarious. After explaining our study program…I think I called it an exchange without exchange like cambio sin cambio…we moved on to other subjects. He asked if I went to the gym and then pointed to my thighs. I get it OK, I have muscular legs. Seems weird to bring it up in conversation though.

The next morning, we woke up late and went to another beachy, touristy town called Punta Diablo. It was more of a surf town and may I actually think some of the people might have been from California. I headed straight for the rocks though. The waves came in and crashed in thirty or forty foot high splashes. I was soaked because I just couldn’t help but stand in the splash zone. In fragrances for soap, sea foam always sounds delightful, but I’m here to tell you, it moves like off-white jello and smells like salty dead fish. The foam near where I was standing, was accumalating like The Blob and I’m quite sure Punta Diablo has been overcome by it now.

After lunch, we drove to Fortaleza Santa Teresa, a remnant of colonialism and fights between the Spanish and Portuguese over this marginal land. It was cloudy and so green everywhere. The grey moss covered stones and bright grass made me feel like I was in Ireland. Several palm trees in the surrounding land brought me back. This whole weekend spoke to me about simplicity and nature. Materialism is everywhere, but it is much less prevelant in Montevideo than in the States.  Some of these small towns, the fishermen and shop keepers seem more or less unaffected by it. I return to my little bubble that is Casa ACU, and jump right back into all of the things. I can’t speak for everyone, but I know I feel free the more I can release myself from desiring more. I shouldn’t feel profound by feeling that way, because that very principle is important in Christianity, Bhuddism and many other religions I’m sure, but I have to run into things before I can see them.