During the two weeks of holiday break from training, my host family decided to take a family trip to Valledupar, the World Capital of Vallenato, a typical Colombian dance and music that includes an accordian as its signature instrument (Merengue is a type of Vallenato, so maybe that helps with the mental picture). To get there, we trooped onto a 4 hour bus and headed first north along the coast towards Santa Marta before veering to the right into the country, further into the Sierra Nevadas.
To be forewarned, this post got mega long, so here are some highlights:
-it was a definite vacation: the family with which I stayed (my abuelos' daughter and her husband, both doctors) is quite well off. We ate fancy food and traveled everywhere in a car. crazy!
-Navidad included eating a ridiculous amount of food and being mandated to drink inordinate amounts of whiskey
-They abducted me one night and we went to a vallenato concert in a little mountain town that included small children playing the accordion insanely well
-after a long contemplation, during which lasagna made with cream cheese and pickles took second place, I've decided the strangest food I was fed this week included a sandwich on a hoagie bun slathered in mayo, piled with different types of fried sausages, and then topped off with quail eggs and parmesan cheese. (I've almost forgotten what vegetables and/or fruit are. I don't think they showed up on the table once this week! Not counting the pickles)
-I met my first explicitly anti-American here, who happened to be the revered grandfather on the other side of the family with whom we stayed...which made a few family events a little bit interesting
-pictures of things coming soon, when I can load them onto a computer!
And now, my week:
Valledupar is a city that I haven't been able to get a number of inhabitants on, but from what I saw felt like a smaller, but more modern Colombian city than Barranquilla. Some of the biggest differences were more space in the streets, traffic that actually followed rules, a river bordering the city where townspeople and tourists hang out alike, a large population of indigenous people, and oh yeah, an incredible vista of mountains from every point in the city.
(Sad thing about these mountains was that no one goes walking or hiking in them at all. They're apparently not as safe, between rebel groups and unfriendly indigenous folk, so you only get to look at them and, if you're a nature-deprived city dwelling pc volunteer like me, with lots of rules you have to follow and such, you just sigh wistfully an inordinate amount)
The other thing Valledupar is known for is the statue of the mermaid down on the riverside. Rumor has it that there was some girl who liked some guy so much she wanted to stay in the river forever so she became a mermaid. not too original..and of course there's the rumor that if you bathe in the river you'll always return. So I was encouraged strongly to bathe in the river but I abstained...if only because I like the power of choice?!
During the week I stayed in my abuelos' daughters' house in their daughter's room, which entailed sleeping on pink sheets opposite an army of blond haired, blue-eyed baby dolls. If I'd ever watched Chuckie I would be very afraid. I substituted mental images of Rugrats instead.
It was an interesting week for many reasons, highly augmented by the fact that I wasn't kept totally informed (read: at all informed) about minute to minute events. I basically was given a basic overview of the week: on the 24th, we will eat a lot--and then things just sort of happened according to an external plan. In order to not be left in the lurch, I practiced what must be a slogan for some military or police type group, aka "Ready at a minute's notice." Sometimes this accomplished the desired readiness...other times it left me sitting for hours with the abuelos in the ever present rocking porches on the patio. But I suppose that either way the practice will probably serve me will in case of some national disaster.
Christmas gifts and celebrations here happen on the 24th. So, on the 23rd, I accompanied the mother of the little children (7 and 9) on a city-wide gift shopping tour. This turned into an epic quest through multiple "Exitos" and "Carrefours"--the international equivalents of Targets and Walmarts and the like (although these are considered very upscale here, and their prices reflect it although their quality is equivalent). The particular target of our search, in this case, was for "Bey Bladze," which is apparently an international phenomenon. They are plastic tops that are launchable by a little plastic launcher-thing, and kids can have top-battles with them. Here they pronounce them "Blay Blays," which is fairly amusing until you spend an entire day searching for them; unable to find the desired set, we got five of the identical-looking but differently-numbered "bey bladze", and we were finally set, if you will.
(On a side note, brand name toys here are ridiculously expensive...we're talking 40 American dollars for a Barbie, 100 dollars for a bigger doll, 40 dollars for an action figure, and prices just go up from there..)
Here, Christmas celebrations take place mostly on the 24th, with a lot of eating, reunion-izing, sitting, drinking, eating, and a little bit of gift giving. I'd heard church happened, but somehow I never saw or heard of that happening with my family, which still leaves me a little bit confused, in this highly religious country (my family is highly Catholic, so I don't know what happened there)
As for the food, we were a cater-in sort of a family this year, which included ordering a lot of food from Olympica, the local Colombian super market. We're talking, a giant turkey, another spread of turkey-like meat stuffed with spam-and-other-spam-type-meat, desserts, bread, more bread, and well, I don't even remember.
Either way, here's how Christmas goes, (rich)-Colombians-in-Valledupar-style: On the 24th you spend a normal day eating and sleeping. And then, around eight, you gather to wait around. And then one or two hours later you troop 5 feet to the neighbor's house, who happens to be the father in law of the wife/father of the husband of the house. And then you drink an excessive amount of Old Grand Parr Whisky, forcibly given to you in high ball and shot glasses, sometimes simultaneously, and finally eat turkey close to midnight, and keep eating and drinking until who knows. I say who knows because around one, falling asleep in my rocking chair, I was escorted back to the house where I could sleep in peace. Thank goodness.
Christmas morning dawned in relative peace, and I was able to use Internet and relax in my room for a few hours before the small children began running into my room with their newly discovered gifts from Papa Noel. The rest of the extended family stumbled into the house by around noon, at which point it was "espaganza" making time--aka lasagna made with spaghetti because we had spaghetti noodles and not lasagna noodles in the house. Fulfilling the rare role of sous chef, I had a front seat view of this concoction, which included making a sauce from tomatoes as well as onions, red peppers, carrots, celery, and pickles--yes, pickles--and mixing this with the most random assortment of meat loaves ever. I say meat loaves because I don't know how better else to describe these tubes of meat that had things like olives and unidentifed colorful objects there. Sort of like lots of gourmet bologna. The dish also included the colombian version of mozerella cheese, milk, and cream cheese. If anyone is interested, I can write you up the recipe... (it actually tasted much better than it should have?!)
While cooking time was happening, I was asked if I wanted more whiskey. This, I took to be a joke. In fact, I only realized the earnestness of the question when an opened beer was pressed into my hand, and from that moment on, I was never without an alcoholic drink. As I sipped slowly, the men kept remonstrating me, and then taking my half drunk beers and replacing them with full ones because they said the other ones had gotten cold, and I needed to drink more rapidly!
After being yelled at for not finishing my espaganza (was it because I was drinking too much beer? I was asked by the womenfolk rather snarkily, in my opinion, all things considered!) I escaped to my room for a brief respite. But soon thereafter I was told in no uncertain terms that we were going to "the river." As Valledupar has the river and mermaid thing going on, I naturally assumed this is where we were headed. We piled into a car--my abuela, her children, her daughter's husband, and two or three small children on our laps, and off we went. Whiskey was immediately pulled out, and so all the adults, Abuela included, recommenced taking the tiny sips of whiskey that (fortunately) pass as shots around here.
Then we passed the river. "Where are we going?" asked naive Emily. "Oh, a little further away." Hmm, thought Emily, this is an interesting answer, as we headed into the mountains. "We're going to a party," says Manuel. "Oh, with family?" "No, with friends." "Ahh. Close by?" "Not too far--in a different department." (departments here are like states in the US, on a smaller scale). "Oh," says Emily. "Ok."
And off rolls the car for another hour. At which point we pulled up at a giant vallenato music festival. Aka a party...With friends...
So, there we stayed for the next six hours, whiskey on the plastic table we rented, watching amazing little kids compete in a Vallenato competition, and then listening to groups play. Fairly wonderful music, all in all. A car of us left with the children a little before midnight, but apparently it went until 6am. If I hadn't been regulated to sitting with the womenfolk I would have loved to stay...but here, if you're not a man/are a girl but don't have a boyfriend, you either have fun and get thought of as a "loose" woman, or you sit with the women who play games on their cell phones and take care of their children. In this case, my family left me no choice and when I once tried to wander off to explore a little, I was remonstrated heavily!
The other days were reserved for recovery, sitting around the house, and eating said quail egg and fried meat sandwiches, and then driving to different places to chat with family friends. And finally, a bus back to Barranquilla, a home with no internet or frills, but one that serves fruit every day and is not filled with small children! (all of the kids have now met all friends who skyped me this week, whether invited to join in the conversation or not...yay for cultural exchange!)
But all in all, it was the strangest and most random Christmas I've ever had. It was also definitely a window into how "the other half" in Colombia live, since this family is clearly well off and for the first time while being here, neither I nor the people around me were counting pesos--rather, pesos were thrown about freely and for luxery items. I sort of forgot what it was like, to not live on five dollars a day, and to see excess food in the fridge, and go out to eat! It all definitely made me feel quite spoiled, that's for sure. But the family was just wonderful, so welcoming, and I even felt fleeting fondness for the small children, who generally drive me to distraction...but no, in all seriousness, the family was pretty incredible, and made sure I felt at home the entire time (Gradually I am learning what that means, in colombian terms)...Anyway, for not speaking the language (well), not knowing any customs or the people I was with, my first foreign Christmas was certainly a happy affair overall, thanks to the family and despite its idiosyncracies (and fondness for alcohol!) Although what stories they'll be telling about the gringa they had for Christmas, I hope I never know...
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