Why Uruguay?

(Or anywhere, for that matter)?

I grew up in the United States. After living in England, Malta, and Germany, where I met my wife, Susan Joyce, I returned. We had a great 20-year run there, building a business or two. But within a few months of the great 9-11 false-flag psyop, I saw the handwriting on the wall. Time to start getting assets and asses out of Dodge. And better a year or two early than a day or two late.

It wasn’t about running scared. I saw it as an opportunity to continue exploring.

I had never gotten very good at either French or German. I liked the idea of Spanish—an ‘easy’ language. We made some exploratory trips south. In the meantime needed a solution for our son’s high school.

Canada—no

We bought a house in Nelson, BC, where we found an outstanding high school program. We never got to live there, thanks to an incompetent Canadian “immigration attorney.” We ended up in Spokane, Washington. We gave up on the ever-longer wait for Canadian immigration almost two years later. We got *most* of our $3,500 back from the Canadian government.

México—sí

Two weeks and $137 later, we had Mexican residence permits. Shortly after drove to Pátzcuaro, Michoacán in a large pickup truck. What we didn’t take, went away. Garage sales, eBay, Craigslist.

Red arrow: when we sold our two houses in the United States. And shortly before that, the one in Nelson, BC.

I found the chaos of México refreshing (Susan hated it), but I never felt really relaxed there. I always felt danger in the air. Into our third year, we spent March on the beach in Uruguay. ¡Que tranquilo! We moved here six months later.

Alas, our investment in Mexican real estate ended about the mirror opposite of our US one.

Further south

No place is paradise (contrary to International Living hype). But some places are safer, friendlier, healthier, cleaner, and offer more personal freedom. For me, for now, Uruguay is one of them. I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be—no tsunamis, earthquakes, hurricanes, or volcanoes. And far from the open-air insane asylum that the United States has become.

Location of Uruguay

 

Ah, paradise!

There’s the story, no doubt apocryphal, of a rich Brit in the 1930s. Seeing war clouds on the horizon, he decided to leave. Around the world he traveled, finally building his paradise. On a tropical island where he could sit clear of the war brewing in Europe.

The island? Guadalcanal.