Last Sunday I chose to take an early morning walk along the promenade, which runs parallel to the normally busy four-lane boulevard between our hotel and the bay. The water is not the Atlantic Ocean but rather what the Uruguayans proudly term the widest river in the world. It’s the Plate River, which flows into the Atlantic, and feeds so little fresh water compared with the salt water from the ocean that the river is actually salty. You can’t even see land on the other side, which is Argentina. If you look at a map, the river looks like an estuary or bay, since this wide portion is below the river delta. No matter, it is termed a river. Anyway, as I was walking at a brisk pace along this promenade against a very stiff breeze, smiling and greeting the few walkers and joggers I met en route, the peaceful bliss of the morning was suddenly broken by a prolonged squealing of tires behind me. I did not turn around for a long time, as the car seemed to be traveling away from me. Besides, I figured it was just another show-off speedster. Finally, as the sound did not stop, I turned around just in time to see a car careening into a wall next to the promenade and completely flipped over on its roof. The crash site was only about three minutes from where I had just been walking. After a while someone got out of the car and waved his arms above his head, whereupon a couple of people ran towards the car to help. Quite soon several people had gathered and a police car also passed me by on the way to the scene. Bad start to someone’s day, I thought.