Hotel Europa, el placer fue tuyo.

I recently had the privilege to stay at the esteemed Hotel Europa or Montevideo, Uruguay. The lobby appears to be 1980's chic whilst the elevators are 1930's chit; the breakfast room is attached to the lobby.

The room was slightly larger than a prison cell, with a bath en suite. The beds reminded me of The Great Escape in the sense that we could have used the wooden slats that supported the gymnasium wall foam-padding mattress to support the walls of our escape tunnel; which would have been necessary if we had to stay there any longer.

I am not sure but, I believe that my pillow was made out of the bottom of a seat from an old airliner. What I am sure of is that in case of an emergency water landing, it would have floated.

The bathroom was complete with a sink, toilet, shower and even bidet. There must have been some sort of sale when they were building the hotel. The bathroom was very well supplied with a bar of soap and one single roll of toilet paper for the duration of my stay.

A few words of caution to any of you planning to stay in Satan's colon for your next trip to Montevideo. It is not allowed to use your laptop during breakfast, and you are not allowed to eat where you are allowed to use your laptop. The only two places in the hotel where the wireless works. Yes, I was amazed that they had it.

The best part of the stay had to be breakfast. When I got off the elevator I was greeted by the sound of a tinny piano, played by the Uruguayan knock-off version of Sam. Please, don't play it again.

La Opresion Nueva

There is currently an international dispute over a paper plant in Uruguay that resides on the banks of the Rio Uruguay; the border between Uruguay and Argentina. The two countries were competing for the plant; owned by Botnia, and now that Uruguay has won it, Argentine citizens are vocalizing their disapproval of the pollution outputs of the plant.

Argentines have shut down the bridge connection Uruguay and Argentina; which is roughly 3km north of the plant, in protest. In a passive-aggressive protest the government of Argentina has done nothing to re-open the bridge; which is a crucial economic connection for the entire Southern Cone. It is a major thoroughfare that connects Brazil, Uruguay, Argentina, and Chile.

The bridge is the shortest and most economical land route between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. Its shutdown is not only affecting Argentina and Uruguay, but all of the Mercosur and Chile. The dispute over the plant could severely rupture relations within the Mercosur, and further delay an EU like system in South America.

I recently had the opportunity to visit the plant; a rarity. This event in and of itself is not particularly interesting, but the visit sparked a very interesting occurrence. Our group was supposed to cross to the Argentine side of the bridge to speak with the protestors, but because some people in the group were without identification we could not cross. Instead, the protestors were going to cross and talk to us.

When the customs officials got wind of this plan they immediately called the plant to warn them. The plant then called the police, who came to stop the protestors from crossing the border; a completely illegal action. This gross display of corporate power is alarming. It seems that Botnia is more powerful than the government of Uruguay.

¡No llores para mí, Argentina!

I have spent the past few days studying in Buenos Aires, Argentina. It may quite possible rival Perpignan for the title of, Dog Shit Capital of the World. Despite this and the fact that there is garbage everywhere, it is a very cool city. The architecture has a heavy french influence, but the appearance is undeniably spanish.

One feature that constantly reminds you that you are not in Madrid is that Buenos Aires has several shanty towns. They are settlements of extremely poor people who live on government land, and are frequently abused by the angelic national police.

The other day we had an incredible experience. There happens to be a Human Rights museum in a clandestine detention center in the heart of Buenos Aires. The stories that I read about an heard absolutely amaze me.

The Argentinean military junta kidnapped thousands of people, many of whom went on the flight of the dead. What they would do was heavily sedate the victims, then fly them out over the ocean and drop them to their deaths. They would then steal all the possessions of the deceased. They even set up a real estate office to sell their properties. You would have thought the world would have learned its lesson after World War II.

Despite the distinctly sad impression the museum left me with, I did manage to enjoy myself in Buenos Aires. I believe that there must be some sort of world's most beautiful women competition going on every day here.

We saw the burial site of Eva Perón, I speculated as to whether or not her coffin was Gucci or Louis Vuitton. 

Carnaval, parte dos

Friday evening's events left me wanting for more. At roughly 12:30 pm I met up with two friends of mine, Kylie and Lucho (Spanish nickname for Lewis) armed with a back pack full of "bombas" and enough Ecuatoriano knock-off supersoakers to dispel a riot.

Our goal for the day was to thoroughly soak anyone who attempted to do the same to us. Our first attackers were two extremely dangerous seven year old children. After throwing four or five "bombas" at their stronghold I asked myself, "Am I too old for this?" Then two "bombas" landed at my feet and the answer became clear.

Looking up I saw a horde of conniving twelve year olds re-loading with what was sure to be my soaking. Kylie and I tucked close to the building to avoid the next volley. In a moment of sheer heroism Lucho ran into the street, drawing enough fire that I was able to step out of cover and return fire.

After this incident we decided we would need more munitions if we were to make longer journeys. After sufficiently arming ourselves with enough water to create an oasis in the Sahara we made our way to Calle Larga. We encountered a group of "Caballeros" on the corner. Kylie and Lucho stated that we should not proceed any further, or we would surely be doomed. I insisted that we press on.

As we approached these wild-men one of them came running at us with a jar of something red, and went on to rub it all over any area of exposed skin. Lucho and Kylie then had eggs smashed on there heads, I had a beer sprayed all over me. We returned the favor by cooling them off a bit. They then offered us a drink and we ended up hanging out with them for a bit. 

This is the nature of Carnaval. You fight strongly, but in the end you share a Zhumir and Cola, shake hands and part ways.

Carnaval, parte uno

On  friday evening I went for drinks and a light dinner with some friends at a small establishment named Monday Blue. A good time was had by all, but I had to return home to change, and drop off my bag before heading back out for the night.

En route to my house; unbeknownst to me, several younger citizens of Cuenca were taking part in the festivities of Carnaval. This generally involves hurling water balloons at pedestrians. Whilst walking underneath their balcony, totally oblivious. I water balloon was dropped perfectly on to my head, knocking my sunglasses to the ground and rendering them useless.

After I got over the fact that my 100 USD sunglasses were now part of the sidewalk, I started to plot my revenge. When I arrived home I quickly changed clothes and began filling water balloons. Once sufficiently armed, I called my compadre. We met in Parque Calderon; about a block from the previous incident, to plan our attack.

We loaded our pockets with "bombas de agua" and set out to seek vengeance. We casually strolled up to the balcony where the victimizers; soon to be victims, stood guard. I opened fire in a fashion that resembled a mob hit. My first hurl landed just above my enemy's head, my second and third volleys landed directly in the house of my targets. Perfect.

They then returned fire with their buckets of water, but our evasive maneuvers were too effective and we escaped, dry as a Dukes martini.