At the end of a thirty minute cab ride, I am deep inside the old city of Montevideo, close to the Port.

Maria meets me at a corner and walks me to my studio apartment at the top of a flight of winding marble steps. She speaks Spanish but no English and I speak English and only a little Spanish. She shows me the bathroom, kitchen and linens, and leaves me with a key. On Monday, I will take care of rents and deposits at her bosses office. 

It wouldn’t be surprising, from a quick look at the surroundings, to hear a troop of zombies pounding on my studio door wanting me for dinner. I didn’t want to go to a tourist hotel by the convention center with room service, a bar and restaurant, and cable TV so I have to live with my choices.

I lock my front door, plop on the comfortable couch, cover up with a blanket, and vow to quit watching SYFY.

I’m eager to meet Montevideo, even if it is looking, right now, old and used up.

Sometimes places are different in person than they are on the internet.

Close to the Montevideo port, I hear booming deep horns from cargo vessels sailing in to drop off goods for the city.

I know now why little kids cling to their blankets and I pull  mine over my head and let sleep hit me like a sledgehammer.

This is my new home in Montevideo.

 

 

 

 

 

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