"Look, still use the cart!" "No, are cartoneros" 
The history of the 'Uruguay is founded on the g esta heroic bandit Jose Artigas. It was the first to realize that it was better work for themselves rather than English or Portuguese. Of him it is said that, in exile in Paraguay, at the head of thirty men valor dare, destroyed the Portuguese army in four key battles: Saranda, Piedras y Rincon Ituazingò. Try again, whispering, these names, and you can experience the thrills of the ...
Here in Montevideo, the collection does not exist. Or at least, not in the way we understand it. On the streets one sees or few green bins. The basura stacked their side. Nothing too dirty. All mixed up, there is no split.
They appear at dusk. You can hear them before you see them for the sound of their horses' hoofs on the asphalt. The first impulse, perhaps directly from childhood memories, is to identify where the shuffling is so fabulous. You In this way, like a cannonball cold and gray, are opening in your field of vision. A dusty wagon with two large wooden planks creaking wheels, surrounded by large black plastic bags or off-white canvas. Full or half empty of material "cartoons". The horse that pulls them, thin but bright in the opacity of the painting, and led by one, often two boys age undefinable. Dirty and ragged, proceed at a trot through the crossings as faces oni. They stop suddenly. The cartonero wearily jump from the wagon, comes close to the box and rummages in basura . Looking for material recycled. Charter, in particular, but also plastic. Glass is not it, too precious. All you are to recycle is loaded into these large bags, gradually more and more hopeful. Little.
A humble, too much for our latitude. Here are starting to assemble for the recognition of their rights as employees.
But the first real encounter with Uruguay, we do so with the clase media . By Ivo, a young 59 year old Roman emigrated here in Montevideo, we know two women in their forties : Silvana (Sicilian father) and Ross (father of Abruzzo). It is no surprise the Italian of their names, being the norm in this country (Paola Tarallo, the leader of Teatro Solis, Lucia Bonomi or Agazzi, a candidate for the next election. All strictly Uruguayans). So you eat a Pocitos, neighborhood , listening to tango, drinking red wine ... you speak.
(note the similarity of the player with fisarmionica Giorgino Savoy ...)
And here emerge, discreet as a whisper and as heavy as the past that I think we can call "complex of 'inferiority. "
I speak, and I nodded automatically, even when I contradict myself. They talk, emotional tension wire stretched between the teeth. We stopped at any vaguely expressive gesture of my face. But above all, their eyes often flee. They seem careful to say interesting things and maintain a resigned tone, almost every sentence.
"......... WHAT `know much, no? The world ..... they are Italian, European .. have seen many things the better, right? ...... and I tell him ?.... what can be interesting for me is clearly obsolete for them ............."
This is the impression: quite like a whisper, as heavy as the story.
(we want to emphasize that we have attended for several days and Silvana and Ross, in their daily lives, have proved very kind people, refined and spontaneous).
Waiting to meet pueblo , we reflect on the timid and frightened the middle class. Walking, drinking Mate breathing in the Atlantic.
