The school cafeteria in the primary school in La Pedrera, Uruguay
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Disclaimer
This blog, this post, and all related accounts are not an official Department of State publication, and 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. The last week of August was my first “normal” week in Maldonado. The bright blue sky and newly familiar coastline welcomed me back after a long weekend in Montevideo. Glancing out the hazy bus window, the reflective waves of Punta Ballena winked under the glowing sun. “Keep your chin up, kid,” they whispered.
For the first time in months, I felt rejuvenated. The previous three evenings commemorated Noche de Nostalgia and a friend’s 24th birthday through festivities lasting late into the night. An 11:00 p.m. bowling match melded into a 1:00 a.m. pool tournament, in which I properly learned how to play. (My previous knowledge of the game stemmed from rudimentary solo pool matches in my uncle’s basement at annual Christmas parties. Hint: I did not use the pool cues). Evenings concluded at 3:00 a.m. for carpool karaoke or at 4:30 a.m. for a last-minute McDonald’s run. Although my sleep schedule took a brutal beating, I woke each day hungry for a 1:00 pm breakfast and more time with my chosen Montevideo family. After almost two months of living more out of a backpack than my closet, I found closure in celebrating convivencia —co-existence or togetherness— with my people. It did not matter whether we ate greasy pizza or lavender-vanilla-dulce-de-leche birthday cake with edible glitter. It did not matter whether we wore nostalgic costumes or every day sneakers. It did not matter whether we were crowded around a pool table, on bowling lane seat cushions, in the corner of a bustling neon dance floor, or in the backseat of Mono’s car. What mattered was that we were together. I found peace in our laughter; randomized YouTube playlists on a living room television; Río de la Plata card games (that expanded my Spanish vocabulary in multiple directions); and the secrets and makeup brushes passed on the floor in front of a portable heater. They lifted the cloud of exhaustion. They gave me space to exist in their embraces, so my words could finally be free. Thanks to them, I arrived in Maldonado ready to assemble the chaotic puzzle of August. Planting roots in routine
Paragliders over the Maldonado coast
How do I define “home”? How do I know when I feel “at home” in a place outside my hometown of Roseville, Minnesota?
In a previous post titled, “My ever-expanding definition of home,” I explained how I built a home around the people who made up my concentrated communities across all of my temporary homes before Uruguay: Duluth, Minnesota; Salamanca, Spain; and Zagreb, Croatia. I felt at home as long as I had a stable group of friends, mentors, and locals to regularly connect with. However, this definition, just like the reality of living abroad, evolves. Five months of residing in two Uruguayan cities caused a shift in my definition of “home.” I realized I also build a sense of home through routines. I can plant roots in a predictable schedule, in a dependable social circle and community, or in a saved “Favorites” location in Google Maps. I feel “at home” when I know the walking route to school by heart; when I can recount my schedule without checking my calendar; when I have my cupboard stocked with staple spices, snacks, and sweets; when my phone regularly lights up with messages from local friends texting about weekend plans; when I plan a solo trip to my favorite café bakery. Home is built upon a list of go-tos. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, indeed. This month stripped me of routine. I traveled every other Thursday and weekend to Uruguayan cities outside of Maldonado. And although those trips gifted me opportunities to present at seminars and meet new people, they stole my sense of security. I was always drifting from place to place, packing and unpacking. Maldonado felt more like a crash pad than a home. I longed to shove my travel backpack in my closet and let it gather dust. I daydreamed about stability. Despite class cancellations and an uncertain change between primary mentor teachers, my weekdays in Maldonado followed a dependable schedule:
In my free time, I scoured Google Maps for top-rated coffee shops and bakeries in the area to add to a rotating cycle. I also established routine running routes and found a handful of grocery stores within walking distance. That being said, my list of go-to spots in Maldonado is just beginning. I plan to take advantage of free September weekends to explore more ground with my growing community. Go-To Spots
The sense of comfort and sense of routine exist in a symbiotic relationship within my adventurous consciousness. They strengthen each other like a clownfish and sea anemone. When one is threatened, the other simultaneously suffers. In my first month-and-a-half in Maldonado, I churned through cycles of discomfort to build routine in mundane tasks.
Finally, I established the habit of paying 160 Uruguayan pesos for a fincha, or token to use my apartment complex’s drying machines. The brass tokens settled a previous dispute with several rejected card transactions in attempts to add funds to a laundry card. Rocha, La Paloma, y La Pedrera
Flor, one of the Rocha university students, standing under an umbrella display in Rocha.
My biweekly trips to the department of Rocha replenish my sense of purpose and joy. Over twenty-four hours, I flit between three small cities and two school placements. I begin in La Paloma, a tranquil coastal town of approximately 5,500 residents with delicious takeaway margarita pizza and my Uruguayan soul sister, Flor.
After arriving at the Rocha bus station, I wait in line for the 7:00 p.m. Gonzatour bus to La Paloma (tickets are paid in cash once I board). After arriving in La Paloma, I walk to Flor’s house, where I wait for our scheduled sleepover to begin. We rotate between Gilmore Girls and Harry Potter as background noise as we catch up about classes, gossip, and family. Her motorcycle rests to the right of the television and left of the front door. On my most recent visit, Flor invited me for my first motorcycle ride to school once her mother gave her a second helmet. (There is a first time for everything!) On Thursday mornings, we eat a quick breakfast that rotates among bananas, Brazilian peanut butter, toast, cereal, and coffee with milk. I told Flor that I would bring my American peanut butter on my next visit. It is the least I can do to repay her kindness and hospitality. Breakfast always ends too soon. Between 8:30 and 9:00 a.m., we depart for La Pedrera for our two hours in primary school. 
Screenshot of a map of Rocha province from d-maps.com. Rocha City, La Pedrera, and La Paloma are located in the southwest of the province.
trLa Pedrera is another idyllic seaside town of 225 residents that is serene in winter and buzzing in summer. It is thirty minutes by car and fifteen by car or motorbike from La Paloma. In La Pedrera, the people reflect the attitude of the place: they are tranquil and welcoming. My primary mentor, Noe, extends her arms wide like the stretched coastline to enfold me in a hug. The primary school is small. However, its size is balanced out with its colorful character and breathtaking tree artwork in the cafeteria.
On my first visit, Noe, Flor, her classmate, Augustina, and I began in a mixed room of first and second-graders. This format was common in small interior towns to accommodate the smaller population. It was almost comical how many grownups are squeezed into children-sized chairs in a classroom the size of a trailer car. But no one minded. Noe made room for all of us in her lessons. I scribbled furiously in my notebook in an attempt to keep up with Noe’s patient crisscrossing of the mixed classroom. In my shorthand, I memorialized her impact not only on the students’ learning but on my own. At 11:15, Flor and I depart the primary school to eat lunch. Our university class in Rocha begins at 1:45, so we have time to spare in La Pedrera or (if we decide to return to Flor’s house) La Paloma. At 1:00, we ascend a bus to Rocha and, upon arrival, walk twenty minutes to campus. The following class casts a mellow tone by my sweet, soft-spoken mentor, Cari. The three hours consist of free-flowing conversations about Uruguayan music, children’s books, English grammar, and usually, chocolate. I have found that Uruguayan courses —whether in secondary school or university— rarely follow a predetermined schedule. Going off-topic is normal and sometimes driven by the professor. As a result, the overall mellow tone was broken by liberating laughter. The class finishes at 5:15 p.m. Afterwards, Cari, Flor, and I brave the brisk twenty-minute walk to the bus station. We continue our conversation to distract ourselves from the severe drop in temperature. Cari and Flor depart for La Paloma at 6:00 p.m., so I wait in the quiet bus station until my bus de vuelta arrives at 6:30 p.m. I get a lot of reading in while waiting for the bus. Twenty-six hours after arriving in Rocha on Wednesday, I come to Maldonado. To conclude the non-stop adventure, I pick up a snack from the Maldonado terminal or my kitchen cupboard for dinner. . . .
Extended friends and family at a birthday celebration for Sofie, one of many close friends I met in Montevideo.
SIn the last week of August, I listened to Sabrina Carpenter’s new album, Short n’ Sweet, on repeat. Several songs from Short n’ Sweet, like “Espresso,” and “Taste” were coined the “Songs of the Summer” in the United States. It is ironic, I suppose, that I am listening to “Songs of the Summer” as Uruguay bids a windy goodbye to winter. However, the summer vibe of the country twang jolts me awake in conjunction with the brisk morning breeze on my walks to and from school.
Despite its overall upbeat tone, the album features several relatable tracks in which Sabrina describes the struggles of dating and being single in her early twenties. To not turn this blog post into an album review, I will limit my discussion to the last song on the album: “Don’t Smile.” In this soft-pop track, Sabrina spins the saying “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened” on its head. In the first line, she cooes “Don’t smile because it happened, baby/cry because it’s over.” For the next three minutes, Sabrina confronts the reality of flawed expectations of a breakup. I use Short n’ Sweet’s irresistibly catchy lyrics and the addictive guitar cord progressions featured in “Coincidence” to distract me from my own reality: I have less time left in Uruguay than I have spent here. The start of September kicks off a three-month countdown to my return date. Recently, I began to count my remaining weekends. There are thirteen. While the numbers dwindle down, the anxiety of the impending end builds up. I realized I did not know how to feel about the inevitable goodbyes. So, to avoid confronting my nebulous feelings, I skip “Don’t Smile.” However, I won’t be able to skip the concluding song because the confusion and agony will be all-encompassing. Saying “goodbye” to Uruguay and its people will crush me like a breakup. The reality check that this experience is not forever is heartbreaking. When ripping out the roots of routine, will I cry or smile because it happened? Will I cry or smile because it’s over, and I can return home? There is no right way to feel about goodbyes just like there is no right way to grieve. “Don’t Smile” is an invitation to shatter expectations about the way I should feel when the goodbye is unprecedented. Most likely, I will smile through the tears as I embrace my friends one last time and take the agonizing first steps forward. But for now, I continue skipping the last song. Although it won’t be my soundtrack of the summer, I predict “Don’t Smile” to be the soundtrack of all of the last moments of routine and convivencia in my home I made in Uruguay. Did you enjoy this post?Consider sending a Venmo payment to the Journal of an Evolving Teacher business page!
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AuthorMeghan Hesterman (she/her) is an aspiring educator, storyteller, and traveler. Through regular posts and commentary, she candidly reflects on her evolution as an educator and young adult. Categories
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