Negotiating the Curves

Wow, has it really been four and a half months since my last post? For those of you who haven't totally given up on me, our move to Piriapolis in April actually turned into two moves. The second move being in June. Needless to say saving money on a cheap place to live isn't always the best thing to do. 'Nuf said about that.

We are loving where we are except for the unusually cold and rainy winter. The name of our new barrio in Piriapolis is Punta Fria (I guess we should have paid more attention.) We are extremely excited to have our electric bed warmer, gas stove and two electric heaters.

Old business out of the way, it is time to talk about culture shock again. Right now I am in the midst of major negotiations with my new found home. For me, this phase is a combination of stages two (cultural shock), three (initial adjustment), and four (mental isolation). It is the time when differences between the old and adopted cultures seriously collide. What it boils down to is a frustration that things are not the way they are supposed to be. According to experts, mood swings are the norm and depression is not uncommon. Hellooooo!

These stages manifest within weeks of arrival and last anywhere from six months to two years. I am at month 18 and there are still days I have trouble coming to grips with life in a 2nd (some days I would argue 3rd) world country. I guess the sociologists and psychologists had to come up with a "one size fits all" definition of culture shock, but let me tell you, it varies greatly from person to person.

I do actually have moments when things seem fairly normal and I feel like this is home, so maybe I am moving in the right direction, albeit slowly. I just hope the normal moments increase exponentially. Like really soon. Let's just refer to this as the 'winter of my discontent'. Not terribly original, but an apt description nonetheless.

On a lighter note, we are meeting great people, both locals and expats alike. Our circle of friends is larger than it ever was in the States, so I guess there is something to be said for life-altering, mind-numbing change. Oh yeah, and Uruguay placed 4th in the World Cup. I felt extremely proud for our little country. What a huge accomplishment. And this week Joe and I found out we are officially Uruguayan residents.

A perfect transition to the final stage of culture shock. Coming soon...

Remembering the Honeymoon

We recently celebrated our first anniversary of living in Uruguay. It has been an amazing year. I think time passes faster in the southern hemisphere, or maybe it's an illusion due to my advancing age.

We are now in the process of preparing for a move to Piriapolis to save $$ and to get away from the din of the city for a few months.

I thought I would take a break from packing to begin my series on the five stages of culture shock. What better time to reflect on the honeymoon phase than at the first year mark.

We arrived in Montevideo on a balmy Wednesday morning last March at 4:15am after a 30-hour travel odyssey with our small terrier. After a few hours of well needed sleep at the hotel, we kicked off our adventure with a lively parrilla lunch in Ciudad Vieja at the Mercado del Puerto.

We were instantly captivated with the city, the food, and the people. The first few weeks at the hotel were like a dream. Playing the tourists, we tried all of the great restaurants, explored the streets on daily walks with the dog, tested our language skills (or lack thereof) and stretched our wings for the first time in a long while.

How invigorating it was to be in a strange place with no idea what the next minute, hour or day would bring. We knew no one. We had never been here before--we moved here sight unseen. Everything was new and exciting.

Even after moving into our apartment and developing a daily routine, I still felt as though I was on some sort of a high. I was amazed at my patience when trying to get things done, such as setting up Internet access for our bank account and working through the minutiae of the residency process. Nothing seemed to fluster me.

Our circle of friends grew and we felt like we were settling in nicely to our newly adopted home.

Then, without warning, reality started to seep in and the veneer of my seemingly idyllic existence began showing signs of wear...

There's No Place Like Home

I've been out of sorts of late. Up one day, down the next. Kind of tired, kind of restless, kind of bored, kind of anxious...not myself. Yes, I'd say I am flummoxed. What a great word.

It all came to a head last Sunday as I watched the Italian classic Ladri di biciclette (with Spanish subtitles, of course) and went into a two day funk. You see, the protagonist realized the city he knew as home had utterly defeated him. He was dejected, confused and without hope.


After pondering his fate for a few hours, I realized that was exactly how I felt. The city I had chosen to call home had defeated me.

Now, before you get too concerned and suggest I get my hands on some good meds, I will tell you my symptoms are quite normal. What I have is a good old-fashioned case of culture shock.

I am happy to report culture shock is not a medical condition. I don't have a "disorder" or "syndrome". My brain is just confused over the many changes it has experienced over the last 11 plus months.

Culture shock is not just a term describing the realities of living in a foreign country. It's more nuanced and longer term.

While in Piriapolis over Christmas, Joe and I shared a conversation with a Uruguayan sociology major who described in detail the five stages of culture shock. We listened with rapt attention, recognizing each one, except, of course, the final stage of acceptance and integration. Check back with me in year.


For a while. the stages were progressing in true textbook fashion. Now they seem to be flip-flopping all over the place. Apparently this is quite common as well. Wonderful.

Considering culture shock is such a large part of the expat experience, my next five blog posts will describe witty and engaging personal examples of each stage. Maybe not so much witty and engaging as frustrating and irritating.

Today, I'm happy with my life in a strange land. Tomorrow may be a different story. I will say living in a foreign country is like the mother of all amusement park rides. Woohoo.

You People Eat This Stuff?!?

I realize it is the end of January, but I wanted to touch briefly on our recent holiday trip to Piriapolis. We spent a lovely Christmas with a nice mix of expats and locals. There were great conversations, fireworks on the beach, music and general merriment. Like most holidays this one was all about the food, but with a different twist.

For starters, our Christmas Eve meal was a real treat for the expats...a Mexican food feast comprised of soft hamburger tacos, jalapenos, guacamole, Doritos chips and refried beans. It was met with a great deal less enthusiasm by the locals. The basic Uruguayan diet consists mainly of bland foods, so even the slightest hint of spice in the taco seasoning was overwhelming to native tastebuds. And the guacamole...they couldn't get their minds around this mushy green dip that is so revered by those of us from the Northern Hemisphere. Not easily daunted, we tried to win them over yet again.

The next day, our Christmas dinner consisted of all things American...turkey, dressing, green bean casserole and fruit ambrosia. Favorite expat holiday dishes all suited to the North American palette. Little did we know these familiar menu choices would also be considered exotic to the locals.

The one brave soul tried every dish we offered up and was extremely gracious in saying it was all very tasty. Others were not so adventurous...to them the taste and the texture of the turkey was strange. The green bean casserole went untouched. I'm not sure what they thought of the dressing. Probably not much. The ambrosia was acceptable, but only as a dessert. Uruguayans never mix sweet and savory foods on the same plate. So I guess cranberry sauce with the turkey would have been a big no-no! Good news is you can't find cranberries in Uruguay.

Our breakfasts however, were a perfect melding of the cultures. Toast, butter (lots of butter) marmalade, American coffee sweetened with freshly whipped heavy cream and of course, mate (see my post of 7/2/09.)

As with all great American holiday meals there are always leftovers. We expats left it to the local contingent to come up with subsequent meals featuring the massive amount of leftover turkey. Turnabout is fair play. They ate our food, now we try theirs.

I am pleased to say their creativity in the kitchen was the crowning touch to our weekend festivities. They prepared a wonderful turkey casserole with bite-sized bits of turkey, rice, potatoes and hard boiled eggs. The dish was warm, filling and delicious. The same casserole is also designed to be eaten cold, which we did for our next meal. It was served with a fresh tomato and cucumber salad topped with a chimichurri of olive oil, oregano, basil and salt.

The leftover green bean casserole and dressing were shared among the expats. The ambrosia was, of course, served separately as a dessert.

I would like to thank our Uruguayan friends for being such good sports and teaching this expat a thing or two about cultural differences. It was a truly unique Christmas that will always hold a special place in my heart.