Its A Bird, Its A Plane!

No, Its Basuraman!
This week my Pre-AP Biology students finished launching their school-wide recycle-awareness campaign aimed at getting people to think about where they dispose of their paper waste.  This project has been nearly all student-driven and executed; after assigning various roles and leadership, they conducted their own update meetings, sent status emails to the group, and set and maintained their own due dates.  Other than some occasional red-tape cutting and suggestionary interjections, they carried this entire project.

What began as a critical look at our school's own recycle system after a visit to a local eco-community, the class held a panel interview with the high school principal and head of maintenance ultimately deciding that the system did not necessarily need to be changed, just educate people to how it true should function.

Thus was borne the Basuraman campaign.  Making a surprise first appearance during a lunch period calling out to the entire cafeteria from the balcony above to "be super like me" and recycle, to anticipatory "Basuraman says..." announcements in the daily memo, to finally presenting a propaganda video at three separate assemblies, the campaign was successful in its initiation.  In the end we have the support of the administration, giant "Basuraman posters around campus, and teachers have posted specialized signs on or near paper recycle bins in their classrooms asking people to "Think...Recycle."

Basuraman asks students and teachers to "THINK" at a Primary assembly.

But will people remember to "think" after the current school year ends?  Like all superheroes, Basuraman has a weakness too, only his will be time.

Grease is the Word

Four years ago I dipped my toes into directing with a little show that played homage to Elvis called "All Shook Up!" This year we went back to the poodle skirt era with "Grease."  

Though it takes place at a high school, the stage version of the show is a bit risqué for high school; the movie starring Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta has its moments as well.  Our staging combines the two with some songs not found in the film as well as added dialogue to fill some story gaps.

Though this show wasn't my preferred choice, I am very excited about having a fantastic cast of hilarious and dedicated actors to work with.  I also got to design the promotional posters for the show (at right) as well as the cast t-shirts.

The six show run has been nearly flawless and this cast rolls with all the punches like pros.  The last curtain goes up tomorrow and I'm sure a few tears will be shed during the closing of "We Go Together."

Sandy meets the Pink Ladies...and Patty Simcox.

Coach Calhoun "primes" the crowd at the pep rally.

The Pink Ladies have a "Sneaky Pete" at Frenchy's sleep-over.

Danny tries to win Sandy back at the diner.

The gang consider their options at the diner.

Viola reacts to Frenchy's "trouble in tinting class."

Principal McGee getting the American Bandstand dance contest started.

Danny & Sandy strike a pose.

Rizzo & Kinickie have a fight about her potential "bun in the oven."

"You're The One That I Want"

The cast takes a bow.

Cows on Stairs

"Well that's why you never see cows going down stairs; their legs lock up."

"What are you talking about?  Sure they can."

"No, they can't.  Have you ever seen a cow going down stairs? They can only go up them."

"Well then I'll have to check the upper floor of my house to make sure there are no stranded cattle up there to be sure.  Why would a cow even be near stairs?"

Tell me, vaca: how do you feel
about stairs?

Take four college swimming friends going on over ten years of friendship, add in thirty miles of mountain jungle hiking over five days and you're bound to get conversations like this.  We never solved the mystery of bovine agility on terraced surfaces - and frankly I don't care - but we did experience an exhausting and rewarding journey through a beautiful and relatively unknown corner of Colombia.

The week before leaving to hike through the jungle in search of the "lost city" of the Tairona indians in the Sierra Nevada mountains northeast of Santa Marta, I discovered that many of my Colombian colleagues and students had not heard of this "ciudad perdida."

Mike, Peter, and Matt arrived to Cali on Friday.  I showed them around the city and on Sunday we hopped a flight to Santa Marta.  After a great night at the hotel Casa Aluna, we were met Monday morning bright and early by our machete-weilding guide, Juan Carlos.  From there we picked up the rest of our hiking group - two Czech girls and a German girl - and drove three hours into the mountains as far as the bumpy dirt road allowed the Jeep to go.

The first part of the hike is through campesino land; cultivated country-side, sparsely populated by farmers, donkeys, and chickens.  The second half of the hike was through land designated for the Kogi indians, a group of indigenous people who have cautiously embraced tourism while remaining fiercely private and holding to their ancestral way of life.

Some Kogi children in the hills.

The Kogi, dressed in white tunic-like clothing, were present at various turns, either walking the same trails we were - though often barefoot - or hidden in the forest and would whisper a quiet response when greeted.  The children seemed most interested in the hikers, but as a way to barter for sweets, bracelets, or bandanas.  Kogi villages are relatively small, but not terribly far from other settlements.  The grass and sugarcane-constructed circular houses have two points at the peak of the roof, symbolic of the two highest summits in the Sierra Nevadas, both over 5,500 meters.

"Juan Carlos says the 'lost city' is over there."
~Peter on day #1

We took three days getting in to the base of the mountain where the "lost city" was located and two days getting out, including day four when we doubled back and covered around 10 miles.   Juan Carlos was impressed with our drive; I hesitate to use the words "stamina" or "fitness" as some of us are nowhere near the fine physical specimens we were in the pool-days.

Most of the hiking was either up, down, or, as Juan Carlos prepped us, "varied."  Most of our uphill exertions were rewarded with oranges or watermelon wedges and our assents started with a banana and a "good luck."

1,200 steps to the top!

Even to get to the actual "lost city" one has to climb approximately 1,200 ancient stone stairs which begin along the banks of a river and go essentially straight up the mountain-side.  Likened to Peru's Machu Picchu, but older, the "lost city" was originally called Teyuna and was one of the most important settlements for the ancient Tairona indians who were driven out of existence by the year 1600 through a combination of wars with the Spanish conquistadors and retreating into the mountains and beyond.

Also like Machu Picchu, the Spanish never found Teyuna.  However, in the mid-1970's a breed of grave-robber known in Colombia as the guaquero, did.  Archeologists followed, attempting to salvage the damage caused by the guaqueros destructive search for gold.  Add to that the various para-military groups hiding in the area, the Kogi communities, poor campesino farmers, and the secret illegal marijuana and coca plant fields and the Sierra Nevadas are not a place you want to find yourself!

The top foundation belonged to the Shaman's house.  The adjacent one on the same level
is believed to be where his wives lived.  Since he was the most important individual in
the community, his house was at the highest point; only tombs of the ancestors could be
located higher (ie: where this pictures was taken from).

"Ciudad Perdida" far exceeded my expectations.  I had no idea how expansive it was and as Juan Carlos took us to the various sections of the once-spralling mountain town, every painful step along the trail became worth it.

Morning sunrise from hammocks at Camp Alfredo.

Kogi hut used in the processing of sugar cane
at one of the summits along the hike.

Most of the Kogi men carried a poporo with them.
The bottom is a hollow gourd filled with powder made of
ground shells and coca leaf.  They put the stick in through
the hole after applying saliva and then rub in on the
outside, causing it to grow slowly over time.  This is
meant to demonstrate a man's responsibility and his
readiness to "keep" a woman.  It is also a bit sexual.

Taking a break with the guides "Pollito" and Juan Carlos.

Welcome to the "lost city" of Teyuna!

Did I mention three helicopters landed while we were at the "lost city"?
The third one stayed.  Supposedly the President was coming later.  Hmm...
Really happy about that being in my picture.

 Juan Carlos was incredibly knowledgeable, having both grown up on his grandmother's farm in the area and guided tours for close to twenty years, he was always prepared and overflowing with knowledge.  Thankfully I have intelligent and inquisitive friends who were more than happy to sit around after dinner most nights, lit only by candles waxed to the tables and test my translating abilities.

The one question that never got asked concerned those stair-climbing cattle.  However, if we managed to haul our sorry selves all over that terrain, I'm sure a cow can tackle a few steps.  Just let's all agree never to bring this conversation up again.  I beg you.

Shoo Fly!

What to do when you are heading to jungle and normal insect repellent won't cut it with the super-powered mosquitoes?  Make your own!  When I went to the Amazon several years ago, the following recipe was recommended, and, while not the best cologne, is quite effective.  While it does contain some suspect ingredients, it contains no DDT or other known carcinogenic substances.

Since I will be heading off to the tropical forests of the Caribbean, south of Santa Marta to hike Ciudad Perdida, and several friends are heading down to Leticia, we gathered after school one day to concoct our repellent in my science lab.

INGREDIENTS:

• 250 mL alcohol
• 250 mL "menticol"
• 6 camphor tablets
• 1 oz. 10% "Eurax"
• 2 Tbsp citronella essence
• 3 Tbsp Johnson's baby oil
• Nopikex soap

WHAT TO DO:
Other than crushing the camphor tablets and breaking the soap into smaller chunks, the basic idea is just to combine all the ingredients together.  The originally recipe calls for the use of a blender but I don't think anyone would be willing to drink juice out an appliance that at one point created this mess!

Using mortar and pestle to crush the camphor tablets. 

Mixing, mixing, mixing...

The finished product...before it got rebottled.

*No one had a camera so I used my computer's camera, thus the low-quality and backwards images.

Say Whiskey!

In Colombia when you smile for the camera you say "whiskey" (or "wee-skee").  This is appropriate in any and all occasions.  Even for a four year old boy posing in front of a statue of the Virgin Mary.

Last weekend my friend Andrés, another amatuer wannabe photographer, asked if I wanted to go on a day-long paseo fotografía to various lacations in the Valle del Cauca (the department where Cali is located).  He is taking a photography course for fun and as an activity the class and whoever they wanted to invite were visiting the small city of Buga with its "miracle" basilica, the Yotoco Nature Reserve, and the town of Darien on the shores of Lago Calima.

All the locations provided a variety of subjects and potential themes.  Some sites had opportune moments to capture people in their Sunday rituals, whether it be worship, relaxing, playing on the beach or at a park, or eating.  Others were ripe with nature or architecture.  And there never seemed to be lacking sweeping landscapes for those photogs looking to capture the coutryside on film.

The class participants were supposed to choose five photographs to be entered in a class contest.  Since I'm not in the class, these are my five favorites from the day:

Lady selling chontaduros

Fiddlehead

Religion for sale

Nun buying incense

Green bee

Without Words

We've all been reprimanded with the phrase "actions speak louder than words" at one point or another.  And if you're me, your parents cleverly amended this idiom to say "and yours are screaming so loud I can't hear anything else."  In Colombia, this is no exception; sometimes actions can be more effective communication than speaking.

Just as in any culture, there is a unspoken language in Colombia that I find intriguing.  Ever since I arrived I have been fascinated by the little differences in body language that a non-native would notice, that most Colombians take for granted.  For example, beckoning someone to come toward you requires a palm down clawing sweep of the hand versus the North American "come hither" palm-up style.  (Incidentally, the palm-up version is used for animals and therefore offensive here.)

The following video was posted on a friend's Facebook wall recently and I couldn't help but laugh out loud at that fact that some of these have become commonplace for me.  I don't necessarily use them, but when I see people on the street or even in my classroom bust out a "neck cut" or a "lip point," I no longer consider it strange.



It should be noted that my maid is the "'Grave' Floppy Palm" champion and I will confidently pit her against anyone when it comes down to it.  I'm constantly impressed that her hand doesn't fly away, detaching from her wrist bones, with the vigor she utilizes while shaking it back and forth.

Moving Forward

My entire adult life I have been fortunate enough to have been making forward progress; I mean this both professionally and geographically.  Beginning with my first quasi-adult move to enter college from the Twin Cities to Eau Claire, Wisconsin, to my first actual job on the opposite side of the same state in the town of Manitowoc on the shores of Lake Michigan, to Cali, Colombia where the exploits of this blog have been played out, I have found a way to also move toward the rising sun.  That trend will continue, it seems...

While this may not be late-breaking news, I have signed a contract to leave the amazing country of Colombia and further my experience as a teacher and of Latin America in another school in another country.  In July I will be moving to the city of Campinas, Brazil, for what will end up being a combination position of various life science-based courses and probably a Master's degree program.

While I still have about four months left to explore and enjoy a country that I will hold forever dear to me, allow me to share a little bit of information about my new home.  Campinas (say: cahm-PEE-nahs) is located in the Brazilian state of São Paulo, about a ninety minute drive from one of the world's largest cities, São Paulo itself.  While the aforementioned metropolis has about 11 million people - if the surrounding suburbs are included this number doubles - Campinas has a modest 1.5 million.

My future campus.

The school I will be teaching at is similar to the one I have been at, except that the origins of my new place of employment are and continue to be linked to foreign corporations, such as 3M, the company that founded the school.  São Paulo is a financial and corporate force in the world economy and therefore the proximity Campinas has to it is residual in many ways.  I look forward to living and working in a smaller large city with a large professional population with a fair amount of cultural offerings.

Campinas means "meadows" or "plains" in Portuguese, a new language I will have to learn.  That being said, there are many coffee, cotton, and sugarcane plantations around the city, also contributing to the economy.  (After living in Cali and Colombia, I am used to the burning 'cane fields and coffee has become a staple part of my diet. This will be a welcome part of the transition!)  

Because this is Brazil, Campinas has not one, but two professional soccer teams, and three stadiums.  I'm not sure what the plans are of yet for the World Cup in 2014, but a game or two in Campinas at the early stages may not be entirely out of the question!

The climate is pleasant year-round with a slight change in seasons, something comparable to a Midwestern spring/fall to summer.  To put it simply, even the wealthy homes do not have central heating.  Along with several picturesque parks and trails, there is also an extensive public transportation system, two malls, several theatres for the performing arts, and a plethora of reputable universities, ensuring that the nightlife is also on par with larger more metropolitan locales.

A lot of this information I was able to ascertain from my coincidental visit last spring for an educators' conference.  One thing I learned from Wikipedia is that "Campinas was the third city in the world to adopt the technology of the telephone in 1883, after Chicago and Rio de Janeiro."  Who knew?!?!

I look forward to this new change and to find out more things about Brazil and Campinas.

A Colombian Superbowl

Eli Manning and I had a lot in common this past weekend, namely that we both went to and conquered a superbowl.  Only Eli got a nice trophy and ring while I got nauseous and windburned.

Volcán Puracé

Despite the misconception that all of South America is beaches and rainforest, people may be surprised to know that I keep a supply of winter hats, gloves, fleece jackets, and thermal underwear on hand in the event I go somewhere cold.  Last weekend four other teachers and I joined a tour to the Parque Nacional Natural Puracé, which straddles the southern departments of Cauca and Huila.

While the park's main draw is it's namesake active volcano, our tour also included visits to two of its other unique natural attractions.  On the first day we stopped at an overlook of a deep valley where Colombia's only population of condors habitually exist.  Condors apparently mate for life, can live up to sixty years, and only lay one egg every two years - a few reasons condors in many parts of the world are endangered.  The park workers set out raw meat on a rock outcropping to tempt the enormous birds from the sky, which eventually worked, but only after vultures came and tried to take their food.  Vultures, not small birds themselves, looked like little crows next to the majestic condors when they descended to claim the baited meat.

We also made a brief stop at the sulfury-smelling San Juan thermal springs, so named for the river they eventually supply.  The river is composed of the confluence of mountain spring water and volcanic minerals mixing together at the site of the thermal springs.  This is said to be the second most beautiful river in Colombia.

Superbowl Sunday began with a 4am wake-up call and breakfast, followed by a "¡Vámonos!" rally call and a steady march uphill in the pitch dark.  Our ultimate goal: the park's namesake volcano, Puracé, at an elevation of around 4700 meters (about 2.5 miles above sea level).  From our lodge at 3200 meters we hiked through some hillside pastures - cows and all - and over some fences until we reached a relatively flat stretch of muddy trenches and moss fields.  This part of the hike took us through a unique biome that exists in very few parts of the world called a páramo (English: paramo).  Found mostly in Andean locations throughout Colombia, Ecuador, & Venezuela characterized by higher altitudes coupled with cold, wet weather, the páramo is both lush and desolate.

The frailejón, a shrub plant, is characteristic of the páramo biome.

A little after sunrise on the way up; still smiling.

After a brief pit stop at an old geological monitoring station to take shelter from the chilling wind, we began climbing again.  The green landscape turned quickly and dramatically to nothing more than lichen-covered rocks and boulders.  The clouds around us thickened until we were walking in an endless expanse of white, the wind began blowing the droplets of water in the air horizontally so that it whipped any exposed flesh on our faces, and the oxygen thinned noticeably.

Mandi being blown off the mountain a little over half-way up.

My "I paid for this?!?" face.

Over an hour later the ground had gotten less stable and was less like hiking and more like scrambling up an ashen sand dune while only taking tiny half-steps partly from altitude exhaustion and partly from a completely rational fear of being blown clear off the volcano.  By now the hikers had all been spread pretty thinly and one cluster could barely make out the next by their ghostly grey silhouettes severals dozen yards distant against the suffocating white.  I will never again look out an airplane window and think "what nice fluffy clouds!" without remembering how one tried beating me to a pulp.

Finally reaching a semblance of flat ground, my two remaining friends and I found one of the guides with about five other hikers crouched behind some large rocks.  The guide then took us about 100 yards more, across what I imagine Mars looks like, to the mouth of the volcano; even this took considerable effort and coercion from my fellow hikers.  Feeling equal amounts of exhaustion, nausea, and frustration, we looked into the nothingness, took one quick picture, and headed down to base camp as fast as our weary legs could carry us.

What we were supposed to see (left) versus what we saw (right).

Our guide later said that the weather we experienced was more on par with the turbulent season of August, when there are no tours.  Predicting the weather atop the volcano is impossible and nothing below can accurately predict what will happen above.  While the National Park itself was gorgeous, the páramo enchanting, and the climate a refreshing change from Cali, our volcano hike was more or less one of the more trying and uncomfortable experiences in recent memory.  Actually I am not exaggerating when I say that the only sustained event I can think of in the last five years that was worse was when I contracted Dengue.

Manning and I both may have felt like we were on top of the world on Sunday, but I'm pretty sure I was the one who felt like vomiting.

Twice As Nice

"I think I'll take a moment, celebrate my age,

The ending of an era and the turning of a page,

Now its time to focus in on where I go from here,

And I'll do it better in my next thirty years."

~Tim McGraw

("My Next Thirty Years")

In the past I've not tried to hide or avoid my birthday, just not advertise it.  I have no problem being the center of attention - I'm a teacher after all - but only on my own self-imposed, red-faced terms.  Also, birthdays growing up were never huge affairs; most were low-key events involving immediate family, a card from Grandma, a nice breakfast before school, a midnight phone call from a friend.

Turning thirty must have flipped the switch.  I not only observed the passing of my third decade, I got to have two parties.  Two!

The first was beyond my control.  Most Sundays I do a movie date with some friends.  The second weekend in December, my actual birthday, was no different and I went to a cinema near my house with Kristin and Kelsi, who informed me beforehand that we would get dinner afterward.  We did, but not before taking me to a mens' clothing store, having me pick out a tie, then blindfolding me with it, and taking a taxi ride to an undisclosed location and lead to a private room full of friends!  (Side note: A gringo, riding through Cali, Colombia, in the back seat of a taxi, blindfolded surely turned a few heads; of course I couldn't see them...)

Friends at Platillos Voladores...one of Cali's best!

Ridiculous hats and cakes...happy surprise birthday!

The invitation to rumba!!!

My good friend and colleague, Beatriz, also turned 30 recently and we had decided back in November to do a joint celebration - this, after I said I probably wouldn't do anything special, was kind of decided for me.  We wanted to have some sort of a theme but we wanted it simple and ultimately decided on a "black & white" party.  Having parent connections to a local salsa establishment, we were able to reserve an entire end of one room, adjacent to the stage where not only the live band played, but a trio of professional salsa performers did an exhibition and a mariachi group serenaded the crowd.

With Rob and Daniel

Black & White party people!

Dancing salsa, merengue, and a bit of reggaeton until almost three in the morning surrounded by friends who have become my "Colombian family" reminds me how incredibly blessed this experience of living here these past four and a half years have been.  The first thirty years were fantastic; I can't wait to see what God has in store for my next thirty!