Leavin' On a Jet Plane...

So, you want to travel this year, eh?  Fortunately for you Cali, Colombia made the New York Times' list of The 41 Places To Go in 2011.  At number 10 on the exclusive list, my adopted city is one of four in South America and cited for its salsa culture, restaurants and food, as well as the colonial feel and nightlife in two particular barrios, San Antonio and Granada, respectively.  Also, fortunately for you, I will be staying in Cali for one more school year so strike while the iron is hot!

I "Sea" Your True Colors

Thanksgiving is a time to be grateful.  I am grateful for many things - family, friends, my job, health, etc. - but I found one more to add to the list.  The beautiful island of San Andrés.  For Thanksgiving Break a small group of us hopped on a plane and headed for the tiny patch of land 12 km long and 3 km wide (at its greatest point) closer to the mainland of Nicaragua than to Colombia, for a few glorious days of white sand beaches, crystal-clear waters, and general relaxation.

Normally, as evidenced by the travels documented in this blog, I prefer to explore, discover, and generally fend for myself on my adventures.  We opted this time for exactly the opposite - an all-inclusive stay at the Decameron San Luis.  I may have been converted in the ways of vacation travel.

Despite it's small size, there is much to do on this Caribbean island other than lounging on the beaches looking out at the famous "siete colores del mar" or the fact that the ocean appears to have seven colors, all of them stunning variants of blue.  The easiest way to see these sights is to find a way to travel around the island at your leissure.  Golf carts, scooters, and bikes are all available for rent in the largest settlement, San Andres City, at the northernmost end of the island.  We opted for the latter, mosltly as a way to fend off all the extra calories we were allowing ourselves with three square buffet meals each day.

Swimmin' with the fishes!

While circling the island we stopped at a place known as La Piscinita ("the small pool"), a tiny cliff-shaded cove teeming with tropical fish.  Now, one can assume that these fish were once here on their own accord, however, they congregate now for the chance to eat the pieces of bread tourists are given when they pay their US .50 cent entrance fee.  Fortunately, the fish are only interested in you when you still pocess bread and quietly ignore your presence when you are out.

Getting drenched at the blow-hole.

At the southernmost tip of the island is El Hoyo Soplador (the Hoyo blow-hole), a geiser created by a small channel carved into the volcanic rock reaching out to the crashing surf.  This blow-hole mostly just hisses and mists water with impressive force, however, every once and a while it shoots water two meters into the air, drenching anyone standing near, including yours truely.

Dotted around the the northern and eastern sides of the island are several smaller plots of land.  These smaller islands, or cays, are alos popular as day-trips for tourist who want another option for a beach.  We visited Rocky Cay on afternoon, unique in that a sandbar makes it possible to reach the islet on foot without fear of wetting one hair on your head.  This shallowness was not a friend, however, to the shipwrecked boat moored just off the shores of the cay.

There is plenty more to do on this island, including visiting a Baptist church in the settlement of La Loma on the top of the island, built in Alabama and contructed on the island.  (Unlike most of Colombia, most San Andres residents identify themselves as Baptist.)  Not to mention other snorkeling opportunities, Captain Morgan's cave, and visits to the other cays not within walking distance.

I guess this just means I'll have to go back...you tell me if I'll have company or not.

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

 

As the bus that picks me up at the still-sleepy hour of 6:10 am climbs the hilly Avenida de Chuchas toward school, I am often welcomed, on clear mornings, with this view of the Cordilleras rising to the west of the city. 

Making It Worse

or...How Not To Run 21KM

This last weekend the city of Pereira hosted the 4th Annual Eje Cafetero Half Marathon.  I ran this race two years ago, implausably as the "3rd Annual," and achieved my personal best time for running 21 kilometers (13.1 miles).  This time around was a little different.

I finished in a reasonable one hour and 43 minutes, about twenty minutes slower than my last and best attempt, but given the circumstances (read: excuses) I can live with the time.  Pereira is in the coffee region of Colombia and is quite hilly and a slightly higher elevation than Cali, however, not enough to really blame altitude for my poorer performance.  The race started off gloriously cloudy at 9 am but began clearing about thrity minutes into the race.  The sun, while scorching, will also stay off my "blame list."

Yes, its gross.

First on the chopping block is the fact that I got sick during vacation two weeks ago.  This took some time to recover from and, combined with the start of the rainy season, afforded me only three solid runs last week.  Also to blame: myself, for forgetting my current running shoes in my locker at school and having to use an older pair that just do not fit as well as they used to after my dear maid sent them through the wash.  (Although they are impossibly white.)  This unfortunate mistep resulted in the pain of a blood blister the size of my thumb, pictured at right.

Finally, and the proverbial nail in the coffin, was the decision to eat a buñuelo 45 minutes before the starter's gun.  A buñuelo is Colombia's delicious answer to a donut hole - a deep-fried salty mass of white flour, corn meal, and cheese the size of a billiard ball.  Obviously, this is not the fuel of champions; don't ask me what I was thinking.


All in all though, it was a great day for a race.  The water stations, route, traffic controls, and military presence, were all organized well and its always good to have a feeling of accomplishment to start off a Sunday morning, even if it is with a sore foot and a little nausea.

Stranger Than Fiction

I received a message from a friend after my last post commenting that she was interested in hearing more about my day-to-day existence in Colombia. What about life is different? This question struck me as I used to think everything was different! Different language, different money, different fruits (lulo juice, anyone?), different cars (test drive a Renault 6 lately?), different salutationary customs (kiss, kiss), different daylight...and on and on. I started to think, as I made my way through my daily routines, what still occasionally strikes me as "different" that I take for granted, nonetheless.

• Come and stay at my house and one of the first things you will notice is the man on a bike riding slow laps up and down my block, a machete dangling from his belt.  My vigilante is paid by the residents of our street to keep watch over the neighborhood.  Ironically, I don't really know my street's vigilante as well as I know the vigilantes of the connecting streets.  It is initially disarning to be walking home in the evening and be suddenly aware of a man standing in the shadows of a tree or patio wall, watching as you make your way down the road.  Thankfully, its like having various armed escorts ensuring your safe passage to your house.

Pico y Placa street banner




• The general infrastructure of Cali is terrible.  There are no highways or biways in the city, just several "major roads" that, at times, allow cars to drive at accelerated speeds.  Therefore, in a city of over 2 million, this causes many traffic problems.  As a way to combat this, Cali practices what is known as "Pico y Placa," literally "peak and plate," referring to the peak traffic hours and the license plates of the vehicles.  Depending on numbers beginning the license plate, certain cars are prohibited from being on the road during rush hours.  For example, Mondays people with a license plate beginning with "1" or "2" will be ticketed if they are caught driving between designated times.  The rest of the week they are fine to drive whenever, as other cars will be legally kept off the road.  Interestingly enough, this is the one traffic violation that is ardently enforced.  People will literally pull off the road and sit in their cars rather than drive the rest of the way home if they happen to be caught en route when pico y placa hits.

• As much as the aforementioned infrastructure of Cali is a mess, the city has taken great strides in implimenting a new bussing system known as the Mio.  It works much like an above-ground subway with stations, set unnegotiable routes, and swipe cards; no cash is exchanged with the drivers and there are no surprises along the way.  However, one anomaly that I can not quite wrap my head around is how people wait for the bus.  Hop on the Metro in Paris, the "L" in Chicago, or the train in New York and you will see people patiently waiting for their train, far away from the tracks.  In the Mio stations people crowd close together directly in front of the sliding glass doors that will glide open upon the arrival of the next bus.  The problem is that multiple routes come through the stations, so, when your particular bus arrives and you step forward from the back wall of the station - because that is a normal place to wait - you end up physically pushing and clawing your way through this mass of humanity that are waiting for some future bus, not the one that will soon be closing it's doors.  To make things worse, they look at you as if you are inconveniencing them.

• Telephone etiquette or protocal is another cultural norm that will always seem strange to me.  Its is as if there are different rules.  Rule number one is simple: never leave a message.  If the person you are attempting to get in contact with does not answer it could not possibly mean they are busy, it simply means you should call back repeatedly until they answer.  A subclause for this rule is to do this as many times as it takes to elicit a response.  Rule number two pairs nicely with the former: there is never an inappropriate place to answer your phone and have a full conversation.  The movie theatre, a faculty work meeting, a parent/teacher conference, the crowed bus; these are all perfectly acceptable places to chat.  It is important to know, however, that should you answer your phone in a public place, it is respectful to just cup your hand over the receiver and, if possible, duck under the table; lowering you voice is not necessary.  The third and final rule is that if someone you don't know calls you, they can begin the conversation by asking you who they are speaking with.  Don't try returning the question as that information is not privy to you.

While some cultural nuances are now so commonplace to me that they have been adopted as a part of my behavior or psyche, others will continually cause me to scratch my head in wonderment.  Seriously, though, talk on your phone in the movie, spy on me from the shadows of my own street, but don't try and make me miss my bus; there will be elbows thrown before that happens.

The Song of the Sea

Many people often find Cali on a map and comment that I'm "pretty close to the Pacific."  This is both true and misleading.  Cali is close to the Pacific as the crow flies and relatively close - about three hours - by mini-bus.  However, if its a beach you're looking for, you'll be hard-pressed to find the white sands and sun-soaked umbrella-filled beaches of your southern-California dreams.  The entire western coast of Colombia is largely virginal tropical forest, dotted with a few small predominantly Afro-Colombian fishing communities.  The beaches are mostly black sand and it is almost guaranteed to rain at least part of every day, if not the majority.  The western coast of Colombia is one of the wettest places on Earth.

I've traveled here before, during my first year's Thanksgiving break I got to explore the port city of Buenaventura and take a boat north to the towns of Juanchaco and Ladrilleros but I haven't been back since.  This last weekend a few of us decided to explore the northern part of the Pacific coast, a region famous for its pristine beauty and secluded nature, called Chocó.  From Medellín we hoped on a small 18-seater prop-plane for an hour flight to the coast.  (You know its a small plane when the pilot hands you earplugs as you climb the steps.)  Watching the terrain change and the towns and roads below disappear as we approached the coast was exciting.


We landed outside the town of Bahía Solano and were met by a man who would drive us the rest of the way to the (unicorporated) village of El Valle.  (Good luck finding it labeled on a map.)  The road was terrible at beat and if not for the primitive power and experience of the "wooden" vehicle we were jammed into, along with crates of eggs and bags of fish, I'm not sure how we ever got trough the pot-holed muddy road.  Once in El Valle we were taken to our cabaña which was within sight and sound of the crashing waves.

For the next few days we enjoyed the warm climate, relaxed culture, warm and friendly people, and delicious Pacifico cuisine.  I, however, enjoyed the inside of my mosquito-netted bed after developing what was later diagnosed as a tonsil infection which caused me to throw up everything I ate for two days.  It's never fun being sick while on vacation but at least I had the sound of the waves crashing on the shore and the rain on the roof to lull me to sleep.

One of my colleagues, Tara, had a friend visiting from California.  He brought along his fancy water-proof, bulldozer-proof camera and made this video of our trip.  It pretty much sums up all the sights and sounds of the typical coastal community in Chocó.  Note my conspicuous absence from most of the "field trips":



The music is by a Colombian group called Chocquibtown, taking their name from both the department (state) of Chocó and the department's capital Quibdo.  The lead song is called "Somos Pacifico" ("We Are From the Pacific Region") and celebrates being from Chocó.  In the chorus are the words "...la pinta, la raza, y el don del sabor!"  Translated, this phrase is singing the praises that the colors and race of Chocó are what give it its flavor.  This could easily be the anthem of this unique region.

No Reservations

“It’s crazy that this place [Colombia] exists,
and not everybody wants to live here.”

~Anthony Bourdain (chef and host of the Travel Channel series "No Reservations")

No Two Left Feet Here

Women dressed like brightly colored street walkers? Check.
Men costumed, gelled, and glittered for a night at a gay night club? Check.
A Cher tribute concert? RuPaul's entourage? Nope and nope. There must be a salsa competition brewing...

Cali is salsa. Salsa is Cali. Unlike any other place in Colombia, you hear the horns and cowbells everywhere you go. It pours onto the streets from the radios' of taxis and eminates from little tiendas all across the city. There are sections of Cali where club after club - sometimes for several consecutive blocks - are all salsa bars.

It seems only appropriate then, that Cali is the host of the 2010 World Salsa Festival, a celebration of the dance that Caleños hold with such pride. The festival features concerts of reknowned salsa bands, interviews and forums with famous musicians of the genre, and a dance competition.



We attended the first round of competition on Saturday at the Cristales Open Aire Theatre. Even the "bad" groups were pretty amazing. Both of these videos are of the group portion of the contest. We arrived in time to catch the last handful of contestants in the pairs division, but unfortunately, I didn't have the mind to record any of that.



Despite the glitter and often-times ridiculous hair-styles, this dance has evolved to a point known as "Cali-salsa," adding flairs to the footwork not found in other salsa styles. When coupled with theatrics, cheerleading-like lifts and throws, not to mention the fact that women are in very high heels, this is a sub-culture all of its own. As evidenced by the crowd's reaction and screaming throughout, this is kind of a big deal here.

Not On The List

After three full years in this beautiful and diverse country I have had the opportunity to experience much of it. There are some places that continue to bring me back, such as the quaint mountain town of Salento in the coffee region, or places I dream of visiting again, like the romantic walled city of Cartagena or the quiet cobble-stoned town of Villa de Leyva north of Bogotá. There are, however, places that will never make my "to visit" list.

One such place is the town of Caucasia, north of Colombia's second largest city, Medellín. I had not heard of this town until just recently when I happened upon this article by Elyssa Pachico for the phenomenal website Colombia Reports.

Aside from profiling a still-very dangerous area, Pachico has written one of the better anylises of Colombia's social - political, drug, tourism - situation in recent memory. Feel free to read the whole thing, but two parts that struck a chord with me were her disection of Colombia in the international media and an analogy of the challenges facing the current administration change coupled with the ongoing problem of nacro-trafficking.

To quote the article in regards to why the is little press on Colombia, and when there is it is usually negative in nature, Pachico writes:

"In the international press, especially if you’ve got one correspondent covering the entire Andean region (as is the case for the New York Times and the Washington Post), Colombia’s ongoing drug war is pretty much a story not worth reporting, aside from the occasional grabby headline. For an international audience, trying to explain Colombia’s drug war is like trying to explain Mexico’s – there are too many characters and too much backstory. There are no central protagonists anymore, no central conflict that is easily summarized."

Part of the reason for the lack of "central protagonists" is the work of ex-President Álvaro Uribe and his work over eight years of breaking up the functionality of the FARC and other strong paramilitary groups opperating in the country. With the election of new President, Juan Manuel Santos, in office now for less than a month, she writes this of the current challenges in respect to drug control and gang enforcement:

"Uribe successfully disarmed and/or extradited the top level of paramilitary leadership, and now all the regular Joes too stupid and violent to previously ascend the paramilitary ranks are all scrambling for a piece of the drug-trafficking pie. Territory that was previously respected has now splintered, boundaries ignored. It’s a little as though Uribe punched a mirror and now it’s up to Santos to pick up all the tiny shards of glass, which nobody can find and which everybody keeps stepping on."

Some believe it is bad luck to break a mirror; I guess it would be good advice to follow then, to not visit places still containing shards of glass as well. Sorry, Caucasia.

Waiting for Water

Recently I came across an interesting article on a social trend toward minimalistic living. While this twist on "green" lifestyles, leaning heavily on technology, is intriguing, I realized these last two weeks, that I could probably do it if I had to.

When I packed up and moved to Colombia three years ago - this past August first marks the beginning of year number four - I came with just two large suitcases and a pair of rubbermaid storage bins. This was much less than what I moved out of my apartment in
Manitowoc with by nearly a truck-load. Granted the school here has provided furniture, but some of it serves no real purpose for me other than marking the corners of a room. (The couches are nothing more than glorified dorm lobby pieces.)

Upon returning from the States a couple weeks ago I found I had no water in my home. This was not surprised, and half expected, as I hadn't had time to pay my utility bill before leaving for summer vacation. I was honestly excited when, after taking a deep hopeful breath, I flicked the light switch and the lights came on.

I paid my bill on Wednesday of last week, and it was only restored yesterday after a long holiday weekend and several phone calls. Now, when the utilities people said it would be turning on later on in the day that I paid, I in no way believed them - this is Colombia, c'mon! - but I honestly didn't think it would take over a week's time.

Living knowingly without water has been interesting. Showering at school at the end of the work day and then not over-extending myself for the next 24 hours was tricky, but doable. Having enough forethought to buy bottled water for the brushing of teeth or making tea was a definite mindshift. I already had several used bottles, filled from the tap, frozen in my freezer (as a way to conserve energy) and that was used for rinsing dishes, in moderation, and other chores like shaving and wiping down spills.

This way of doing things went quickly from an inconvenience to a mode de vie. I knew how much water I had stockpiled and how much was needed to do certain activities. I had worked out a bathing system that seemed to work advantageously to my schedule. I am very happy to have my water restored and available at the turn of a faucet, but I learned that perhaps I use more than I need in the first place. When people would ask if my water was back on and my response was that it was not, they gave me the expected exasperated face and "how terrible" comment. Really, though, it wasn't, but I am glad I can now stop feigning agreement.