montevideo mikel 9cdr
I mikel 9cdr "Venía en el barco un indiano vascongado que se embarcó en Buenos Aires en mi barco. En todo el viaje de América a Europa no se atrevió a hablarme. Debía de ser un hombre muy tímido. Luego, en el vapor que nos llevaba a Bayona, se acercó a mí y hablamos".
(Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía, Pío Baroja. 1911)
“De modo que no tengo respuesta a ninguna pregunta tuya, sencillamente porque carezco de tus preguntas. Pero yo sí tengo preguntas. No las que vos ya sabés sin necesidad de que te las haga, y que dicho sea de paso, no me gusta hacerte para no tentarte a que alguna vez (en broma, o lo que sería muchísimo más grave, en serio) me digas: Ya no”.
(Primavera con una esquina rota, Mario Benedetti. 1982) Do you know what they say, my dear? They say that the name of this city is a synthesis of the Portuguese words muttered by Magallanes when he first arrived here. The imperialist seaman ended up here on his way from Rio de Plata, and on seeing the hill in this port city, declared “Monte vide eu” ("I see a hill").
There are 1.8 million inhabitants in the city, but it certainly never seems to crowd up on me... sometimes I feel as if I were in Bilbo, and you know just how much I love the “Botxo”. You also know that I’m a little urbanite, and I’d much rather eat at any food stand in the street than in any charming food hole. You can get 2 "panchos" (the local version of the North American hotdog.) for 12 pesos. That’s 35 cent!! The other day we went for a bite to eat at night, and there were two blokes sitting just beside us – one was much younger that the other. Anyway, the younger one hears me ordering something and turns around to me and asks me in a happy kind of nostalgic voice:
- "¿Vós sos español?"
- "Sí, bueno... del País Vasco..."
- "Nosotros tenemos descendencia vasca, verdad papá!?" (the older one)
- "Sí, mi abuelo era de Biarritz, y vinimos acá cuando yo era un chiquilín..." (the young guy whispers...)
- "Esta ya muy mayor... pero le gusta salir de véz en cuando a comer un chorizo frito..."
Every time I go to the Pocito Beach I keep wishing you were here. Maybe it’s because when I’m here I think about all the stupid crazy things I’ve done. And when I’m out there in the silver water, I remember the time we saw the film “En la puta vida”. It’s really hard for me to stomach the fact that I’ve had to get so far away from home to see that I’m the only one to blame for all the bad shit that’s happened to me. It’s really hard for me to understand the fact that my life is not worth a shit when I take a look at a map of the world. It’s hard to accept that we’ve cried away our youth and it’s not coming back.
(Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía, Pío Baroja. 1911)
“De modo que no tengo respuesta a ninguna pregunta tuya, sencillamente porque carezco de tus preguntas. Pero yo sí tengo preguntas. No las que vos ya sabés sin necesidad de que te las haga, y que dicho sea de paso, no me gusta hacerte para no tentarte a que alguna vez (en broma, o lo que sería muchísimo más grave, en serio) me digas: Ya no”.
(Primavera con una esquina rota, Mario Benedetti. 1982) Do you know what they say, my dear? They say that the name of this city is a synthesis of the Portuguese words muttered by Magallanes when he first arrived here. The imperialist seaman ended up here on his way from Rio de Plata, and on seeing the hill in this port city, declared “Monte vide eu” ("I see a hill").
There are 1.8 million inhabitants in the city, but it certainly never seems to crowd up on me... sometimes I feel as if I were in Bilbo, and you know just how much I love the “Botxo”. You also know that I’m a little urbanite, and I’d much rather eat at any food stand in the street than in any charming food hole. You can get 2 "panchos" (the local version of the North American hotdog.) for 12 pesos. That’s 35 cent!! The other day we went for a bite to eat at night, and there were two blokes sitting just beside us – one was much younger that the other. Anyway, the younger one hears me ordering something and turns around to me and asks me in a happy kind of nostalgic voice:
- "¿Vós sos español?"
- "Sí, bueno... del País Vasco..."
- "Nosotros tenemos descendencia vasca, verdad papá!?" (the older one)
- "Sí, mi abuelo era de Biarritz, y vinimos acá cuando yo era un chiquilín..." (the young guy whispers...)
- "Esta ya muy mayor... pero le gusta salir de véz en cuando a comer un chorizo frito..."
Every time I go to the Pocito Beach I keep wishing you were here. Maybe it’s because when I’m here I think about all the stupid crazy things I’ve done. And when I’m out there in the silver water, I remember the time we saw the film “En la puta vida”. It’s really hard for me to stomach the fact that I’ve had to get so far away from home to see that I’m the only one to blame for all the bad shit that’s happened to me. It’s really hard for me to understand the fact that my life is not worth a shit when I take a look at a map of the world. It’s hard to accept that we’ve cried away our youth and it’s not coming back.
