Aloe Blossoms, Three-Course Meals, and the Joy of Slowing Down: What Uruguay Taught Me Outside the Classroom

When I signed up for a Fulbright field experience in Uruguay, I expected to learn about education systems, equity policies, and rural school models—and I did. But what I didn’t expect were the quieter lessons that emerged in between: aloe plants in full, unapologetic bloom, three-course meals that refused to be rushed, and the kind of cultural pacing that made me rethink the tempo of my day-to-day life.

🌺 Aloe Blossoms: The Scene-Stealer I Never Saw Coming

Let me confess: I had no idea aloe could bloom like that.

I’ve lived and worked in the Caribbean and across Asia, and I’ve seen aloe my entire life—tough, dependable, useful. But until this trip, I had never seen one flower. Along the Rambla in Montevideo, I walked past entire stretches of aloe shooting up vibrant red-orange spikes like fireworks on stems. It felt like the plants were having a moment I didn’t know they were capable of.

There’s a metaphor in that, of course. Sometimes the most familiar things surprise you in unfamiliar places—if you’re paying attention. And it made me think: What else have I underestimated just because I’ve only seen it in one season or context?

🍽️ Three-Course Meals: Resistance Was Futile

Another surprise: lunch in Uruguay is not just a meal. It’s an event.

It's been many years since I, reluctantly, gave up on structured meals. US culture doesn't accommodate it. So when our hotel lunches came in three distinct courses—starter, main, dessert—I could barely contain the joy!

At first, I was impatient. How long can fruit and polite conversation possibly take?

By midweek, I’d adjusted. I stopped checking my watch. I started tasting things. I realized there’s something radical about sitting through a full meal without multitasking. It’s a cultural habit that values presence, conversation, and digestion (of food and ideas). It was restful in a way I didn’t know I needed.

🌍 Lessons Beyond the Itinerary

These small, unscheduled moments—the aloe blossoms, the long lunches, the quiet in-between—ended up shaping my experience just as much as the formal sessions and school visits. They reminded me that global learning isn’t limited to what happens in classrooms or government briefings. It’s in the pace, the pauses, the details that don’t announce themselves.

I’m bringing back not only new ideas about educational policy and digital equity, but also a sharper awareness of what it means to be fully present, and how something as simple as a flower or a fruit plate can shift perspective.

And now, I’ll never walk past an aloe plant again without wondering what it might be getting ready to do.