Although the weather was a tad damp, the bottles wars and Sidra spraying (hard cider) was in full force, and more than once we had to duck behind the line of trees dividing us from the rowdier crowds to avoid something incoming...
Some showers and backed up drains created the opportunity for puddle fights or 'free refills' and quite a few flying plastic liter bottles were filled with a rather nasty swill of street water and sweet spilled cider...icky!Afterwards, Uruguayans take a siesta before preparing for Christmas Eve celebrations, that normally involve big meals and midnight fireworks. Although we had several invitations from our close friends, we decided to take the rare opportunity to have a quiet Noel night to ourselves. We lit our lights, shrouded the apartment in white sheets, and proceeded to have paper-towel snowball fights before a wonderful romantic dinner. Just us and Christmas in Uruguay. Clink! "To us! Feliz Navidad!"
We knew what would happen when the clock struck twelve. But, after a long day we were already nearly dozed off when the sounds began. Fireworks--being lit in every intersection, park, or beach, all across town. The firework vendors, including one camped outside our apartment, had been selling explosives for weeks. Everyone everywhere had loads of ammo. By ten past midnight, with the growing din and flashes coming through our curtains, I pried my weary eyes open, nudged Leandra awake on the couch saying, "We have to see this, let's go to the roof"...The elevator ride was like being in a tank entering a war zone. Every floor higher we went, the bombs became more deafening. After all, fire codes and safety regulations in South America are --well--a lot different than in the States. In other words, nonexistent. Not only are rockets and flares exploding right next to the tops of all the ten story buildings, but there isn't any sign of police or firemen anywhere...undoubtedly, they're all celebrating the same way with their families...
When the elevator doors opened, the booms and bangs broke our ear drums, echoing, amplifying and reverberating through the cement walls. And now, the purple, red and blue flashes that accompanied them, were filling the final stairwell to the top deck...
As we slid open the glass doors and stepped outside, Leandra leaned out in awe, and I leaned back in fear, keeping my back against the wall, while she bent over the railing saying "WOW!!!" I said, ""C'mon babe, get back a little, one of those could hit you!" To which she replied, "You big baby, this is AWESOME!!!" These things were literally blowing up within arms reach, and the swirling night wind off the Rambla and Rio de la Plata made them frighteningly unpredictable...
"I'm scared," I said. "Ohhh, ok," she said, and we watched the rest in a hug...
The show lasted all night, but after an hour or so, we retreated back to our third floor hideaway, hung our stocking--we shared one this year--and snuggled into bed while the cracks and flashes continued. It was magical...
And, somehow, Santa still found our milk and cookies and stuffed our single stocking in the night...A week later, on the anniversary of meeting Javier, we repeated the process. But this time, the weather was perfectly summery, and we had reservations at another restaurant with a second floor balcony. Upon arrival, we found another friend, another Javier, a neighbor in our building who had the same idea...
Although some of the carne was a bit overcooked, and Budweiser was the only cerveza, we did have the best view in town for our third, and last, opportunity to watch the hijinx in the courtyard behind Mercado del Puerto...
Down in the touristy part of town, they do their best to translate the menus. But, sometimes, they might just be better off leaving things a mystery..."Mmmmm, more bowel please!"
Another new friend from Australia, Mark, managed to find us in the fray, and get his first dose of Uruguayan party attitude just days after moving to Montevideo. After one year, and a wealth of friends, Leandra and I are quite the experts on what to see and do, and how to do it...Minus any rain, plus tons of sun, the champagne spray wars of Sidra were in full force today...
Random attacks are far from rare...
Long distance drinking is another challenging sport...
It's all part of the sticky, stinky, sweaty fun...
Occasionally giggling guys and girls would answer one caveman-style kidnapping with a nice long cider douche of the derrière...
The freshly soaked seek revenge, but against whom, nobody knows...
Some try the "Just ignore it" defense...
Meanwhile, a temporary barrier set up to divide the revelers from the restaurants quickly becomes the war front, and one side starts hurtling semi-empty green plastic recyclable grenades at the "enemies" across the fence. At least they can't fill bottles with street swill this time...
Between swarms of volleys, people catch their breath, cheer and celebrate good naturedly, or break into chants and clapping. "URUGUAY! URUGUAY! URUGUAY!" rings out followed by laughter and rounds of candombe drums...After one such stoppage, the entire army simultaneously turned toward the innocent onlookers who were chuckling and enjoying the spectacle unharmed. Specifically...us! And both sides united, launching their bottles up to our patio perch--which prompted the manager to invite a police officer up to join us. He looks like he's enjoying the view as much as Leandra...
It was all in good fun--although the table full of tourists next to us actually got spooked, and took the precaution of lowering their awning, which, of course, only made them the clear focus of the attack! But, once the bottle hurlers got weary of a target that wouldn't respond--if we had they would have never let up!--they laughed and returned to pelting each other...
Then, the west made a move. The east tried to counter strike. But, the west conquered the wall and brought the war face to face with the recoiling eastern front...
Some self appointed mediator announced the victory with a spray of Sidra and, simultaneously, the drums came within earshot. The war was over. The pulsing crowd gathered around them and moved like a giant rhythmic amoeba behind the marching beats. Peace returned and the people celebrated as one...
Soon, inebriation set in, and an impromptu game of "King of the Kiosk" broke out. Apparently, whoever can climb the highest and take the biggest pounding of bottles, thwacking off their brains and bodies, was the winner...
This guy came in last....
This dude was runner-up...
And, in a supreme display of drunken coordination and insubordination to the mob, this was the undisputed champ. And, the bottles stopped flying, applause thundered, and the drums began again...And soon, we left after an entertaining afternoon...
And, just when you think you've avoided a serious soaking, and you've cleared the raucous port market, walking through the quiet old city streets, children suddenly attack from above, with buckets of water...
Javier drove us home in deja vu, precisely one year from the moment we first met. Again, we chose to be independent this New Year's Eve, declining the numerous invitations of Uruguayan friends, and Javi dropped us off at home...where the other Javier, our neighbor, was spending some quality time with our wonderful and overworked doorman, Sergio. In the lobby of our nearly empty apartment building, we joined the toast for all he does to keep our building safe and clean...
For tonight's fun, we had accepted an offer from Jan and Liz, two more new friends from Germany, and spent the evening in the suburban and affluent neighborhood of Carasco, between their pool and parilla and another mix of multinational new pals...
David dancing with daddy...
Leandra and Shirley enjoying barbecued brochettes...
The guys doing their best version of an oldie but a goodie. "It's fun to go to the..."
About an hour before midnight, we made our way to Ken's, yet another new friend who had a place on the Rambla over Pocitos beach. We knew it would be the best place to see the firework sparks fly for "Año Nuevo"...
We chose well...After another hour of watching the night explode in a friendly war of anything you can blow up we can blow up better, we ambled home for another smiling slumber...
But, the holidays weren't over. In addition to all of these traditions, New Year's Day is one more chance for big get-togethers. This time we did accept an Uruguayan invitation, and went to Alvaro's house for an afternoon asado with his extended family. Alvaro has become, along with Javier, the best of my Uruguayan amigos...
Alvaro's brother ran the grill...
His wife watched an array of little ones, from nephews and nieces to sons and daughters, while the grandparents and neighbors relaxed around the outdoor tables, sipping mate and enjoying cheese, bread and olives before the meaty meal...
Alvaro and his adorable son...
Me and Alvaro's wonderful daughter...After hours of stories, both in Spanish and English, and quite often translated between the older generations, the gringos, the kids, and the bilingual ones (Alvaro, his wife, and brother), we finally returned to our apartment after a week of peak Holiday Season...
It will always be one of the most unique and unforgetable experiences in a lifetime of wonderful Christmas memories. Despite the warm weather, it was as cozy and comfy as any up north. There is one difference though...
You know what January means? Summer break!
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