Mate, banana pancakes, and swing dance: one month in uruguay

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This post was written between May 1st and May 3rd.

(This blog, this post, and all related accounts are not an official Department of State publication, and that the views and information presented are the Grantee’s and do not represent the Fulbright Program, ECA, the Post, Fulbright Commission, or the host country’s government or institutions.)

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It is May 1st: Labor Day. The streets are tranquil. No cars honk at streetlights. No buses screech to a halt at their stops. The only sound is the wind whooshing through the falling golden leaves. The whole city stops for a day of rest and asado. Today marks one month since my arrival in Uruguay. 

And I sure packed these thirty days full with pastry and coffee purchases, picnics, bus rides, friend dinners, overlapping conversation, hugs, kisses on the cheeks from strangers, and memories of dancing to Shakira or swing music at midnight. I scrambled to build routine but basked in the spontaneous nature of Uruguayan scheduling. 

Over four weeks, I planted and nurtured connections to Uruguayan culture. I tried mate and vigorously took notes as my mentor coached me in the delicate steps of Uruguayan preparation. (First, pour the yerba, or herbs in the mate gourd. There are several kinds of yerba, from the original and bitter porongo mate to the acero inoxidable, which is less bitter. Then, place your hand on top of the gourd, covering the yerba, and tip it over. Turn it back over, then shake the yerba off to one side. Then, place the bombilla, or metal straw, on top of the yerba. Prepare hot water to place in the thermos. Pour cold water into the pocket created by the yerba; wait a few minutes. Then, pour hot water into the pocket in increments, allowing the yerba to soak up the water and pool at the top of the gourd. Then, enjoy your mate in Uruguayan style: on the go!). Afterwards, I carried pink my matera, a mate carrier, home on my arm on a bus full of other Uruguayans hugging their gourds and thermoses close to their chests. 

At home, in my Airbnb, I grew closer to my host and roommate. The smell of banana pancakes greeted me every morning during my first week, filling the second-floor apartment with aromas of cinnamon, oats, and vanilla. I asked my host to share her recipe, and a few days later, I began to prepare my own pancakes. It is a staple—a comfort food to bond over. (My host shared her chickpea flour with me to try in my pancakes). Banana pancakes served as a gentle invitation to connect with my roommates. Slowly, I am getting to know their stories. 

Food is often the catalyst for our late-night conversations. Tubs of dulce de leche and frutilla de crema ice cream prompted a viewing of Pretty Woman, one of my favorite chick-flick movies. Beating homemade pizza dough with my roommate led to a Cumbia Cheta Uruguaya listening party in the kitchen. My host and I took turns reaching into a Tupperware container of crackers (a Uruguayan house staple) on the living room table, intensely discussing Uruguayan politics on a Monday night. 

Outside of the house, I started attending swing dance classes. Every Monday night at 7:30, I twirl and sway to American jazz music in strangers’ arms in a second-floor studio in Ciudad Vieja. Swing is the perfect balance between comfort and discomfort. The music and movements are familiar from the swing dance club I attended my freshman year of college, but the people and the instructions are foreign. Dance is one of the most intimate ways to get to know people. Even though my dance partners and I rarely talk, I recognize their individuality through their body language. After four sessions of studying the “rock step” and “send out,” (the terminology is not translated to Spanish), the other dancers evolved from strangers to people with stories—people I choose to lead me across the dimly lit dance floor.

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In this post, I share highlights, updates, discoveries, and photos from the past few weeks of finding my community and routine in Montevideo. Please enjoy!
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