P-O-P-C-O-R-N, Popcorn is a kid's best friend!

mood: writing about things that make me happy in an effort to make myself happy
music: Abed Azrie (Arabic something-or-other)
random word: blue

---

Imagine how you would feel if you stumbled upon a deserted copper mine and found gold. That is precisely how I felt as I walked through the market and spied a small, lonely, insignificant-looking bag of popcorn kernels. I inquired about the price, expecting these kernels to cost a mint; I think they might actually be rarer than gold in this country. When I found out that they were only 20 pesos (under a dollar), I almost choked. I discreetly handed the woman the money (poor soul, she clearly didn’t know the value of her merchandise), scanned the street to make sure no one was watching and took off like a pirate running from the plank, my booty stowed safely in my coat pocket (although it would’ve been much cooler had it been tied to my belt next to my sword and silver revolver, but whatever).

Adventure #2: we have no hot air popper, so I wasn’t quite sure what to do with the precious kernels. I’ve been waiting for the opportune moment to sneak into the kitchen without anyone being there to watch me explore, experiment and possibly light things on fire / make an enormous mess (recall flan). At last, the moment arrived. I got home tonight after a long day of baking inside a tiny, air-tight (though not sound-proof) phone booth at the locutorio in the basement of Tres Cruces Shopping Mall, looking up phone numbers and calling various residencias (university residencias, private residencias, religious residencias, municipal residencias (not gonna lie, don’t even really know what “municipal means), residencias for students, residencias for women, residencias for men (oops…)). After about 20 phone conversations all beginning with “Hola, soy una estudiante estadounidense. Estoy buscando un cuarto…” I walked away with a list of residencias, most of which were full, many of which did not answer the phone or the phone number was no longer in service, a couple where I left a message to call me back, one that I’m going to visit tomorrow, one that doesn’t accept women and one where a small child answered the phone and started babbling something that was completely incomprehensible except for the word “Mamá.”

I came home with a bit of a heavy heart, prepared to open the cranky gate that begs for WD-40 every time you look at it and ascend the stairs to be bombarded by a wall of stale cigarette smoke barely covered up by fresh cigarette smoke and questions about where I’d been, to which I would respond that I had been studying and not looking for a new place to live. Instead, I found the house quiet and empty. I smiled guiltily at my good fortune. It was popcorn time.
I located a good-sized pot that resembled a cauldron, sprinkled some oil into it, turned on the gas, lit a match, placed the cauldron onto the burner and immediately leapt back to avoid being assaulted by the hot oil that was flying into my face. I scrambled to open the bag of kernels, dumped an unidentifiable amount into the cauldron, slammed the lid on and prayed. Within about a minute, I started to hear what at first I thought were angels calling my name from the Heavens. For a moment, I thought the house had exploded and I was dead. Then, I realized that sweet sound was none other than the popping of popcorn. I couldn’t believe it; I was making popcorn in Uruguay!

One tablespoon of melted butter and a pinch of something that might have been sea salt later, I was sitting in my room savoring the taste of popcorn and writing about it. It has been far too long and about the only thing that could make me happier than this popcorn right now would be a hug. But since the people here don’t hug, that’s going to be harder find than gold in a barren copper mine. So for now I’ll stick to my popcorn.