Life is funny. It appears that I have traveled to the other side of the world just to be working in the restaurant industry again. Ah well, why fight what the people want? Perhaps I should rewind a bit...
TUESDAY: Andrea and I hopped the 121 omnibus to Ciudad Vieja and canvassed the neighborhood with resumes in hand. We tried to hit every possible tourist location or tourism-related business that we could, which inevitably led us to el Mercado del Puerto, a food court of sorts with a myriad of restaurants that draw people through the doors with the smokey allure of steak, sausage, lamb, and chicken sizzling on la parrilla.
We entered each of the four lovely restaurants that dotted the central courtyard and were told repeatedly to come back tomorrow during lunchtime when the owners and managers would be around. This seemed strange to me, as dropping in on a restaurant in the States during lunch or dinner service is as good as throwing your resume out and getting the evil eye at the same time.
WEDNESDAY: Regardless, we returned the next day around 1:30 and had words with a couple of managers. In fact, we had many words with the manager at El Palenque. Servers were weaving around us frantically, the chefs were yelling in the background, and the asaderos working la parrilla couldn't even pause to wipe the sweat from their foreheads as they tended to the meaty masterpieces in front of them. Amidst all this chaos, Paula Machado led us through the huge restaurant and upstairs to the airy loft-like office space where we sat down with her. I proceeded to furrow my brow in concentration as she rattled off her ideas to us in rapid Spanish.
20 minutes later, we walked out of the restaurant and Andrea immediately started translating the things I was not able to pick up on. I came to learn that the restaurant was in need of some English-speaking employees for the tourist season. They were looking for a couple of girls to promote the restaurant to tourists as they came off their cruise boats and headed into Montevideo for the day. They also have a huge pimped-out van that they wanted us to drive around in to different hotels, offering the guests free transportation to and from the restaurant or even offering to drive them to the El Palenque in Punta del Este for the day.
It seems like we have found a place where we fit! We bring the English and the American charm, El Palenque brings la plata. They're even setting up a little desk for us with our own phone and computer! It's the little details that mean the most to us. Speaking of little details, feel free to peruse the website to get an idea of our new place of employment:
http://www.elpalenque.com.uy/el%20palenque%20ingles/ingles.htm
THURSDAY: The highlight of my Thursday came in the form of an interview for work in a restaurant. I had sent my resume to a guy in response to an ad posted in El Gallito, which is essentially the classifieds for El País, the most popular periodical in these parts. The next day, I received a phone call asking me to meet up for an interview! I was excited and horrified.
So I made my way to 1344 Osioro in the late afternoon sunshine and knocked on the door of what appeared to be a regular old house on a quiet residential street of el barrio Buceo. I tried to shove away the feeling of being sketched-out, which was replaced by a feeling of confusion as no one came to answer the door. I wandered down the street a bit, trying to make sure I was in the right area, when a little white coupe zipped past me and parked in front of 1344. Two young guys got out, mate and thermos in tow, and headed to unlock the door. I called out to them, "Ignacio?" and upon hearing a "Si?" exhaled and introduced myself. We headed into the house and up the stairs where I was greeted by a trendy little office with a glowing red sign on the wall reading "Uopa" and an Ikea-esque red couch. We took a seat, I took a breath, and we were off!
I explained to them my fickle relationship with the Spanish language, which didn't seem to bother them all that much. They explained to me about the restaurant that was opening up in the World Trade Center (Yes, they have a building here that is called the World Trade Center. It's a little tower in a spiffy part of town that houses offices that deal in international finance and the like). We discussed my experience in restaurants, what I would want to do in the new place, and what my schedule looked like. Overall, I think the interview went great! I got along well with the guys, I was able to understand the bulk of what was being explained to me, and I left feeling very proud of myself for just having gotten through the interview on my own. Hopefully I will hear from them tomorrow, but if not, asi es la vida. It's still a little victory for me.
FRIDAY: On the English teaching front, we got an email from the International House the other night when they had to scramble to find a substitute for two of their classes. Andrea took one group, and I took the other. My class ended up being half a dozen kids, ages 17-19, prepping for some sort of Cambridge English exam that is taking place on December 14th.
After having them do some practice with the listening portion of the exam, I tried to move on to the speaking exercises provided for me in a corresponding book. That was dull and boring and the kids were not the least bit engaged, so we ended up just shooting the shit. I would ask them questions about Montevideo, and they would enthusiastically fill me in. We covered everything: mate, fútbol, politics, learning to drive, the best clubs and bars in the city, the drug culture here, etc. The International House probably would not have been pleased to hear some of the topics that were being discussed, but I was having fun and I think the kids were too. They were very polite and talkative and spoke very good English. Definitely an enjoyable couple of hours.
SATURDAY: My Saturday was spent waking up at 5 AM, catching a cab to Tres Cruces bus terminal with Kara, and heading off to San Carlos to give English exams to a school in rural Uruguay. We arrived with our fellow International House proctors to the bus station and waited around for a bit for the school representative to meet us. When that didn't happen, we decided to navigate the streets of San Carlos ourselves. We made our way to the International House of San Carlos, only to be greeted by locked doors and the peaceful silence that can only be found in small towns. Starving, Kara and I walked across the street to the flamingo pink panaderia (bakery) to kill some time. One banana croissant (ew--a choice that was both blind and bad) and chocolate milk later, and still no signs of life from the school. That was when we realized we were in the wrong place.
Back through the streets we went, while I sang a version of "Here We Come a-Wassailing" amended to "Here We Come a-Proctoring" that I am pretty sure only Kara appreciated, and mildly at that. We made it to the correct venue without a problem, and immediately were thrown into the fire. I scooped up some folders that held the tests for Children 2 and Juniors 1 and made a beeline for Room 6, where 24 chicos y chicas were waiting patiently to be given their exam. I called roll, introduced myself, passed out the tests, and pressed "play" for the listening section to begin. An hour and a half later, I had read a couple of pages of The Looming Tower and had attempted to answer a lot of questions posed to me in the rushed and angelic Spanish that tends to accompany nervous Uruguayan children.
After a 15 minute break, my next group entered the class room -- 12 teenagers. Wonderful. Some snotty remarks and rolling eyes aside, they were a decent group of kids. A couple of times I meekly demanded silence from them in my broken Spanish since they were treating the occasion as a conference and not so much as an exam. Other than that, they were pretty well-behaved, even if they did keep asking me to give them answers to the questions:
Gustavo: "Debajo?" (under?)
Me: *blank look*
Gustavo: *puts knick-knack under the desk* "Debajo!" (under!)
Me: *annoyed* "Si, entiendo la palaba 'debajo.' No entiendo tu pregunta." (Yes, I understand the word 'under.' I don't understand your question.")
Gustavo: "How you say 'debajo'?"
Me: "No puedo contarte en ingles! Esto es un examen!" (I can't tell you in English! This is an exam!")
Gustavo: *Grunts. Rolls eyes*
Cue the leisurely lunch break, followed by several hours of oral exams. I felt terrible about how nervous the kids were and how frustrated they would get -- I remember only too well the terror that comes with being tested in another language. Hell, I know only too well the terror that comes with having to speak in another language everyday. Because of this, I tried to be as comforting as I could without being a pushover, but to be honest I think I leaned more toward the latter than the former.
Which brings us to SUNDAY: I just woke up an hour and half ago so sadly there is nothing exciting to report yet. As always, stay tuned.
If you read through this monstrously long post without needing a break, major props. If you didn't, better luck next time.
Besos!
PS - I finally understand the Uruguayan obsession with milanesa. I have to say, I was confused at first as I had yet to experience a truly delicious example. And then came dinner with Tia Adriana, Tio Cesar, and prima Guille on Thursday night. Tia's homemade milanesa was crispy, tender, and heavenly. I'll do my best to wrestle the recipe from her delicate little hands.
