A Meaty Confession

I have a confession to make:

I... eat meat.

I can no longer call myself a vegetarian.

Not even by Colombian standards. (Chicken, here, is not considered meat)

There are some who would argue I could never call myself that in the first place, since every month or so, in the US, I had a tendency to nibble on a piece of bacon or two....(apparently the more appropriate term for a person like this is flexitarian, or, "part-time" vegetarian.)

However, at this point, I'd be stretching even the loosest of terms describing non-meat-eaters. Just tonight, I aborted a trip for chocolate ice cream in favor of picking meat off the bones of a chicken portion at my neighboring "broasted chicken", place, Barranquil-pollo.

(The most common form of fast-food chicken is made "broasted" style here, but it's really just butter-brushed whole-chickens roasting on wall-spits. They snip you off parts and you eat it with one one single gloved hand OJ Simpson-style, no utensils required - or supplied).

Um. Yeah. Actually.

The transition back to carnivore has been a gradual thing--as was giving up meat in the first place. I'd only been a full vegetarian for a year or so, prior to the Peace Corps - which came mostly from moving out of my college co-op, Foley House, where we got to eat organic/free-range meat, and then not wanting to pay the money for that quality just for myself. See, I don't have anything against meat itself, I just think the mainstream industry is not only unsustainable, but gross. As is the feel of raw chicken. As is the texture of meat-gristle between one's teeth.

Why cook meat, anyway, when there are delicious, protein-laden things like garbanzos and black beans and greek yogurt to cook in tasty, wonderful dishes like black-bean sweet potato burritos, hummus, curries, veggie burgers...Ya know.

Fast-forward to a week or so ago, when I was spooning up the limp, lard-coated green beans and carrots my well-meaning host family often serves me for a vegetarian-style breakfast (this is relatively lucky, that they'd feed me veggies at all, in Colombian context, but...) That morning, instead of thinking, "ooh, this would be better not fried in butter," or, "ooh, this would be better with some sort of spices," I thought, "Ya know what would make this better? If it were CHICKEN."

A turning point, perhaps?

Here's the thing, though--I'm not the only one. Take, for instance, two of my fave co-vegetarian volunteers from my cohort, Abby and Jessica. These lovely, vegetable obsessed ladies only reluctantly touched chicken upon arrival as well as for most of the past year (we've never had too much of a choice with chicken v. actual vegges).

A salchipapa: fried hotdogs and  potato
fries topped with  mayo, lettuce,  fried onions,
ketchup, pineapple sauce. Yum?

 In the past few weeks, I've seen both of them devour not just chicken, but salty, oily, unidentified "carne." (Meat from a cow. Often hacked into sell-able pieces on bloody stumps along the road. Tends to be salted, boiled, and/or fried into some sort of gristly softened lump served upon a mountain of white rice and potatoes and spaghetti. Sound appetizing? Well...the meat part at least? Actually...sort of.)

And that doesn't even cover Abby's infectious hunt for dried sausage, or our excited consumption of deep-fried hot dog chips that were served as part of our salchipapas...

The other day, Abby and I split some splurge-worthy food in a nice restaurant. Skipping straight past falafel, chicken with peanut satay, and fish fillets, we went straight for the fillet mignon. (a 3 course meal of pumpkin soup, steak, and fruit crisp for 14 bucks, split two ways...a totally non-regrettable splurge...)  Anyway, the point is, I wouldn't have ordered a steak at ANY point in my life, let alone in the last few years of edging towards, and becoming a vegetarian.

Even to me, this is a bit astounding.

Things that can't be discounted:

•  the terribleness of food here (at least meat doesn't taste wrong to be salty, whereas for vegetables, rice, and beans the excessive salt and oil is perhaps not so intuitive). 
• the general lack of protein we've experienced for the last year (beans are generally served here as specks among piles of rice...or as tiny portions alongside heaps of rice)
• the inability to store and/or cook my own food on a regular basis

Ultimately, no excuses. I don't LIKE meat...I just, want it. When I eat it, I don't have a craving to eat a box of cereal in one sitting. Lacking other options that have taste, meat makes me feel like I'm eating food. I get antsy going through a day without some sort of meat. Sometimes I settle for a pile of eggs, if I can't do better. Things like chicken-pie, broasted chicken, scrambled eggs, and dried sausage have found their way into my weekly, if not daily diet. 

I may have not swung quite as far into the darkside, but, I guess it's not remiss to quote former vegetarian Abby, who at the end of a certain meat-filled dinner, sighed contentedly and said, "Well, the day just isn't complete without eating three different types of meat!"

Another "thinking about the 1 year mark" sort of post.

This will not be the most original or non-cliched post, so I'll keep it sorta short. Just a cute lil life analogy, in regards to finishing up with year 1 of my service and going through one full school year -

Yesterday, I ran a 10K race in 100+ heat around the streets of Barranquilla. I have maybe run a total of 120 minutes, combined, since almost a year ago, last January. I do aerobics and things in my sweatbox of a room, pretend to play soccer a couple times a month, and walk 5-20 miles a week. Ya know. Something sort of like exercise. Before the race, I didn't think I'd make it running the whole way.

So there we are, standing in this crush of people, pouring sweat and entering dehydration status before we even start to run. But once we started running, I felt comfortable. When I hit the 5k mark, I realized it had only taken me 30 minutes to get there, and I was still going strong.

Then, in kilometer 7, an incredible runners' high hit. I couldn't stop grinning. After a year of not running (city streets, bad schedule, pollution, security issues), there I was, running, not as unprepared as I thought, and super happy to be doing it. Can't even describe how happy I was. Movement! Exercise! I was miserable from the heat and a tad short of breath, but starting to feel like I could do this thing.

This coming week, myself and two other volunteers are running a girls' camp for some of our 7th graders. It's a leadership camp. It will be all in Spanish. I've had some experience doing this sort of work, but never been in charge. A year ago, I couldn't speak Spanish. Now, my Spanish isn't close to perfect, I don't have all the words right at hand for my workshops, but, I can look them up, use them, and execute. Woohoo.

So to come back to the analogy, we'll say that I'm still at the "5k" mark of my service. Which means, ya know, I'm starting to think I can do this.  A year in, I'm feeling more comfortable with things...like, Spanish. And being more assertive about my schedule at school, picking counterparts to focus on, and knowing my students. I'm building on this year's momentum with secondary project plans for next year, and getting a handle on what exactly my overall role is (that's for sure a work in progress), but also constructing relevant, informed ideas on how to approach next year, and making my time and role here more productive and efficient.

What I'm saying, is that coming up on next year, I don't think I'm totally prepared. I'm still not a formal teacher, which means I do a lot on the fly without any formal knowledge base to work with. Still don't know exactly what my 2nd year-long goals are, and I know that as always, flexibility and adaptation will be key. But...I've been moving in the heat. Doing some sorts of related activities. I'm at the '5K', with what might turn out to be adequate preparation to finish the race.

I can only hope I'll hit the 7k point soon...not the distance, necessarily, but the crazy awesome runner's high.

My time at the race wasn't great, something like 11 minute miles. AKA, my worst time in any timed distance event ever. But, considering the circumstances, I'm feeling pretty good about it. 'Cause you know what? The race time only matters in context of what I've done in the past, pre-Colombia, rather than in regards to this year.

So I say, context - shmontext... Both for determining what "success" means in terms of the race, and for my service... because, who says that what I'm doing here is anything like what I've ever done before? (establishing a lifestyle where everything builds logically on itself, well, considering that is something else to ponder entirely).

But for now, this is how I know that I'm a real Peace Corps Volunteer...I've become perfectly fine with redefining success!

Elections, and a little bit more

Being in a crazy-developed Peace Corps site means getting to follow as much news as I want, hypothetically, given that internet is never too far away.

Of course, that doesn't mean that I don't still exist in a bubble....it's not like the people around me are following US news on a daily basis, usually, and it's harder than imagined to keep a well-rounded view of the world (or not) just by checking out snippets on CNN.

Turns out, in the nobody-around-me-is-talking-about-it vein, the election was something of an exception. It was all over the newspapers and local news--not just the day of, but for weeks leading up to it.

As for day-of, we followed the election on TV and internet, so I knew the minute Obama was declared president from about 4 different news sources...pretty crazy experience.

I wrote about it here:
http://www.travelgogirl.com/2012/11/15/heard-round-the-world/


******


After all the actual election hoopla, its interesting to play the game, "Where was I when..." and remember that 4 years ago, for the 2008 elections, before a crazy thing like heading to Colombia with the Peace Corps was even a thought in my head, I was living on a vegan animal ranch in Arizona, with people who legitimately believed Obama was Muslim.

(For a fun flashback to that life, I kept a bit of a blog http://livestockautumn.blogspot.com/. Here's a fun excerpt, from when I went to a rodeo that fall:

          To create a diversion, the announcer started making idle chitchat. 

         “Who’s a Hillary Clinton fan in here?” he asked. There was silence. Not that the crowd was interacting much in general, so we from the ranch just looked at each other and snickered. Then it got serious.
          “Who likes Osama’s cousin, Obama?” 
          Now the crowd started to boo.

           Umm, what? Did that actually just happen?
          And then: “Who likes McCain?” 
          *Crowd goes wild cheering* 
          “Yeah! Because who loves freedom?” 
           *More cheers*
           We stood our ground with a few half-hearted boos…but then we sort skipped to raising our eyebrows…because, umm, yikes. Way too many large strong rednecked people that it is really NOT a good idea to piss off…
           So I learned--Liberalism off of Circle L Ranch is apparently not something you should promote?

Speaking of flashbacks, what a Thanksgiving THAT was...floods, goats, and Tofurkey...crazytimes)

Well, I got lost a little bit remembering how beautiful it was in Arizona. And other pretty places I've been lucky enough to visit and/or to live.

While I still haven't come around to being happy about city living, Thanksgiving 2012 is coming up, and I have an insane amount of things in my life to be thankful for. Like mobility, and being able to pursue adventure rather than survival.

So, in a purely self-indulgent sequence, some fun and/or pretty pictures:

Arizona has the prettiest sunsets in the world. This is from the porch of the ranch house, where I lived and worked.

Moon through the tree in the Eastern night sky.

No goat should be able to get this big. Also, Carhartts are wonderful things. 

I really love Arizona. At least, the wild parts of it.

Wisconsin country roads. Heading out for a camping trip. In my last job, I used to tell people I was going camping to "adjust" to the idea of joining the Peace Corps.
Little did I know those were going to be my last forays into nature for a while...

Austin is a beautiful city, even if it is a hot one. Still, for living, I'll take middle of nowhere countryside any day. 

Trees. They are beautiful things. 

Turns out the New England shore has a gorgeous coast, too. 

A Ugandan tree. 

Safari at sunset.

Hanover, NH, I miss your falls.

I don't even remember where this was. But I'm glad I took the picture.

I had the amazing fortune of living in this house for 3 years--Dartmouth's  Foley Cooperative.
That second-story bay window? That was mine. 

Closing my really long rambling: You know what's really awesome? I've had the ability to go to lots of places in my life. Mobility. General knowledge from midwest American public schools. The luxury of being able to pursue adventure, and not just survival. I'd like to think I've learned from what I've gotten to do. At the very least, I've gotten some good story-writing material... :)

Maybe this coming year, I'll actually learn to love this city. At least, meanwhile, I've come to love some of the people here, and maybe that's all that matters.

Barranquilla Bilingualism Week 2012

Today, Barranquilla's Bilingualism Week comes to a close.

It's my second one, here, although as a trainee my participation in the first one was limited to visiting schools (my native presence a "reward" for English well-done).This time around, as a full-fledged "teacher," I had a bit more of an active role.

The week itself is an interesting concept, designed around promoting bilingualism in the city, bringing teachers together to share best-practices and talking about current successes. On the one hand, it's pretty amazing that the city is organized enough to do this--this year marks the 4th annual. It's also a huge step forward in promoting the network of English teachers that the district so desperately needs.

The problem that I see is that it's mostly about "inspiration," and lacks tangible outcomes. Although teachers shared their successes, there weren't many takeaways for other teachers to use these for their own classrooms. Although the theme was technically tourism and global outreach, as inspired by the US-Colombia Trade Agreement that should bring a great deal of English-speaking business to this city in the next years, including the plan for a huge port to be built to support the trade influx, most presentations did not reflect this.

And, of course, the week was held during a school week. Which meant, while teachers gathered to receive inspiration, the students were left without English class all around the district, in one of the few productive weeks left in the school year (Though classes technically end late November, between end-of-year celebrations, two Monday festivos/days off, finals, reviews, clowns, and elephants, we're just about done with any productive class)

I hope that teachers were able to forge connections with other schools, to make some meaningful relationships, and to receive some of the tools they so desperately need--like, how to make curriculums without textbooks. How to teach English when too many teachers don't actually speak English. How to move forward in schools without resources of even the most basic sort, while meanwhile the district is taking away English teachers from schools and increasing the already high numbers of students per class. I hope that one of these years, things start to add up.

On a super high note, Peace Corps at the least has been establishing one of those free "tools" for teachers as best as possible, including the Saturday classes that Jessica and I, and some of the other volunteers, teach. But hey, I won't bore you with more typed explanation, when you can check out the super-cool video Jessica and I (well, really mostly Jessica) put together to advertise our classes for next year, and talk about our progress!

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W2HzSIyN42Y&feature=g-upl

Life: A Colombia Musical

My life is a musical.

There's no getting around it. Life, here, often feels like it's the prelude to STOMP or maybe High School Musical, where at any moment people will break into song and dance and rhythm. This is similar to Jessica's assertion that life is like a telanovela, which I won't dispute. But, there's something about the constant noise and music here that in my mind, has turned life into a musical.

Here's the deal. People here are a lot more comfortable with music than the average gringo. They're good at rhythm the way white people are good at, I dunno, wearing khaki. I really like khaki, so, that's cool by me...but, anyway. A few examples:

People here are not even the slightest bit embarrassed to sing in public. I've been to conferences where the speaker starts her speech up with a few lines from a song, sung full voice over a mic. She's not necessarily great at singing, but the audience drinks it up. Students in class will sing for their classmates without the slightest hint of pena, whereas ask them to read in English and they're cringing like they're the shiest of mice.

At our adult Saturday English classes, sometimes folks arrive early. It's rare, but, it happens. If they happen to be the only student, and we teachers are busy setting up, chances are that within 2 minutes they'll have cranked the music on their phone. 30 seconds after that, they're singing out loud. Silence, you see, is not an option...but rather than make normal conversation, they'll sing!

Then there's the electronics aisles in the almacenes, or supermarkets. There's usually at least one speaker set blaring as loud as possible, which is how potential buyers are convinced they can make enough disturbances on their neighborhood block to vale la pena of throwing down for a new speaker set. Shoppers are usually drawn to this music like moths to a flame. It's not strange to see them salsa-ing around the aisles, just, so happy to have found some music in their otherwise tedious shopping errands. Many times, they'll burst into song as well. (Just like they do in musicals, right? It's like, where'd that come from?!)

And then, to complete the life is like a musical, we have bus rides. I am not, by nature, a heavy purveyor of public transport. I prefer to walk or bike, for miles if necessary...so I don't really remember whether or not public buses in the US play music. Here, of course, that's not an option. Everything from salsa to reggaeton, or, if life is going to be really rough, lugubrious Christian music (it's not the religious notes, but the syrupy, repetitive lyrics that really get me, there) may be blasting from speakers on the city buses. Often times, my fellow travelers just can't help myself—they're tapping the off beats or singing along, making sure that every bus ride is a musical event.

But of course, nothing compares to the traveling band. You know how some Mexican restaurants keep an in-house Mariachi, or, if you're lucky enough to head south to the US border towns, you'll get real ones circulating through the restaurants' openair tables and seranading you with trumpet blasts whether you asked for them to make it impossible to converse or not?

Well, the more Colombian version of these have taken to the streets—in buses. Here, the band members climb aboard a bus with their accordian, drums, and metal rasps and squeeze themselves into the aisle or potentially available seats. Just the other day, I climbed in mid-concert. Sliding myself into the only free seat, which happened to be below the metal rasp player and across from the accordian, I was treated to blasts of vallenato, including complementary head knocks from the rasper on every syncopation, and knee bangs from the accordian whenever he got particularly excited and inflated to full capacity. Needless to say, they weren't that bad, and even managed some exciting harmony. The extra treat came when they started to sing about me.

See, the thing about public buses is that most white people don't ride them. Most white people 'round these parts have money and splurge on taxis, or own cars. So a mona, or monkey/white person, even if of less-than-super-gringo caliber, often attracts attention. Cue my life story being sung into a romance with the accordian player, my every move narrated for the surrounding passengers...

Despite the horrendous ear pain that accompanies accordian blasts in the face, it has to make a person smile. And give up a few pesos for the cause...

This plus the facts that my girls at school are always singing and dancing and trying to get me to sing and dance with them, that there's always some sort of a dramatic love story going on somewhere, and that people smile despite the ridiculous things going on—life is a musical, for sure.**

**This is despite the fact that I'm failing as a protagonist, so I've been told, since I'm lacking a novio. BUT WHY??? demand my students on a regular basis. WHY HAVE YOU NO NOVIO? You've had a boyfriend before, right? Right? Oh thank goodness. Was he pretty? Were his eyes like the sky??? Like Justin Beiber's???!!! Well, I tell them, I don't have one right now because I'm waiting for the right man! Which usually gets a, Que bonita! Followed by the top coo's-- AWWWWWWWWW--they squeal. And then...they dance away, singing.

...And a mammogram, as well!

It's not every day you get to see a dentist set up shop in a tiny storage room, psych evaluations in a preschool room, tetanus and yellow fever vaccines in the hallway, blood-sugar tests in a teachers lounge, oh, and, a breast exam station* right beside the psych exam desk.

But, it was that kind of day at school today.

I was sitting in my teacher's lounge in our planning period, and in rolls an authoritative-voiced, polo-shirt-bedecked woman wearing lab gloves. Now, 99%** of all local costeños are capable of the sort of authoritative voices after which I've long lusted, so that on its own didn't make me blink, but the gloves did have me do a double take.

Turns out it was a nurse. Setting up shop in our teacher lounge. As she unloaded a needle box, "sterile" gauze, clipboards, and checked her phone (all while wearing the same lab gloves that I knew better to question whether they'd be changed, and what I realized was not an officially-logo'd polo but one that instead read DAYTONA BEACH SURF PARTY), I slowly pieced together the somewhat confusing particles and realized what was about to ensue: a whole set of physical exams and other offerings.

All public school teachers here belong to a union, that among other services (a sort of clubhouse with a restaurant, heavy discounts on cabins at the beach), takes out money from salaries each year and puts it towards preventive health, which comes straight to the school to provide services! We're talking full dental cleanings and exams, breast exams, electronic readings on blood pressure and blood sugar, and all the rest.

I find this highly progressive....if a bit disturbingly and completely less-than-sterile. My kind coteachers kept urging me to get exams done, even when I explained Peace Corps gives us the same services. (Aprovecharla! Es gratis! Importante! Animate!--Take advantage! It's free! Important! Animate yourself/Get moving!)

I couldn't help what wonder this sort of attitude resulted in on the vaccine front--"We have yellowfever vaccines. Have you gotten one in the last ten years?"  You could just see everyone thinking...well...I don't want to miss out!

My former healthcare record worker self was cringing to the core..(results were just read out to the participant, not even a stab at documentation!)...but I realize that's not quite where we're at, here.

Although, on a side note, I have heard that Epic, the company where I used to work, did make a sales trip to Bogota...I'd have to assume that doesn't make it to the public health clinics...

Anyway, that was an interesting day. On a sidenote, to appease my coworkers, I got my blood pressure read: I found that even at school I manage to maintain a 100/70 sort of blood pressure. This, my friends, I consider my accomplishment of the week.


*So, there weren't actually mammograms of the x-ray sort, but they kept calling it a mamografia, which technically IS a mammogram...but I guess we were speaking in upgrades, here
** This is completely made up. Therefore, please assume an approximate 5% margin of inaccuracy.

12 months = one year = NOT halfway quite yet.

One year ago today, I arrived in Colombia. Crazy, right? Well, to me it is. All this time thinking about time passing--I can't lie, I pour over my calendar at least three times a week, marking off days and highlighting upcoming events--and bam, a year. Time is just, so, measurable here, between the stark delineation between BC and CC (Before Colombia and Current Colombia), and the knowledge of an expiration date (AC), and plenty of landmarks in between...well, it happens. Thinking about time, I mean. Days and weeks often pass slowly, but months have FLOWN by.

Not a huge accomplishment, in and of itself. Time has passed. Not to mention, the first three months were training, and on top of that, in terms of productivity, this has got to be an occupation with one of the biggest ever learning curves. Also, service is 27 months, so this isn't the halfway point or anything. Still. A year. In Colombia. That's a thing.

Not going to pretend like I know what umm, exactly I'm doing quite yet, but I can at least say I have a better idea. And that things are only going to get better, at least in that respect, from here on out.

So in honor of this not-so-auspicious-but-still-somewhat-noteworthy occasion, I started making a list of things that I no longer find totally strange. Let me tell you, it really takes it out of you when practically every single moment is the craziest thing you've ever seen, so this on its own is going to add up to super amounts of extra energy this coming year. Things becoming normal = adjustment = some sort of personal success, no?

I thought I'd make a small list. Just scant minutes later (seemed like), I'd reached 100. So I left them.

For your entertainment, and in no particular order, here are 100 things that I've come to find normal, or at least a predictable part of life, for the past year in Barranquilla, Colombia. 

1. Mule carts galloping next to  cars
2. So. Much. Sweat.
3. Bloody Jesus watching over my school hallways

4. Speakers that are 5 feet tall blaring salsa in my house

5. Hanging out the door of a bus while trying to get somewhere
6. Flagging down buses so they'll pause for me with a floppy Hitler salute

7. Not using canned tomatoes

8. Not using any sort of bullion or stock to cook
9. Rice made with oil and salt with grains fried prior to boiling

10. Mall food courts being the most productive place in my life to work

11. No air conditioning

12. People knowing how to dance. Every single one of them.

13. People dancing everywhere (Bus. Grocery store. Street corner. School. Clubs. Home. …)

14. Carrying an umbrella everywhere

15. Using umbrella in the sun as well as the rain. Often in the same day

16. Getting called "my queen," "my heaven," "my daughter" on a daily basis by strangers and acquaintances alike

17. Getting cat calls even on my frumpiest days

18. In terms of frumpy: my best days here were probably my frumpiest in the US
19. Wearing sandals every single day
20. Buying my fruit off of carts
21. Haggling over prices, from taxi to fruit to spices

22. Not knowing 1-3/4 of what is said around me

23. Getting told blunt, personal observations on a daily basis (your acne is looking suuuper bad today. Is that everywhere on your body? You're getting fat!)

24. Lots and lots of touching

25. Kissing to say goodbye and hello

26. No windows in my room.

27. Never being cold
28. Spending most of my money on food
29. Getting inordinately excited over vegetables

30. Getting fed things that are so garlicky they give heartburn (who knew overdosing on garlic was POSSIBLE)
30. Heartburn

31. Vegetables being called a salad no matter what sorts of vegetables/form they're in

32. Beans being called "grains"
33. Cilantro being called a vegetable
34. Putting cocoa powder in my oatmeal to get my chocolate fix
35. Not having an oven

36. Getting questioned on whether or not I'm Mormon for wearing skirts

37. Having Spanish come to mind instead of English when thinking of synonyms

39. Being mistaken routinely for people who look nothing at all like me

40. Getting asked if I know famous people on a daily basis
41. Getting asked if I'm from Miami on a daily basis
42. Getting asked about God on a daily basis (do I believe? What's my church like?)

43. Never wearing my hair down

44. Soap operas as a daily feature of life

45. Not walking alone after 8:30 at night

46. Living in a city

47. The fact rain paralyzes daily activities
48. Masses taking place during school hours regularly. In school.
49. Sounds that could be gunshots actually turning out to be gunshots

50. Drinking hot chocolate in 100+ degree weather w/o a/c

51. Eating soup in 100+ degree weather w/o a/c

52. Seeing a flowering plant bloom multiple times a year

53. Eating things cooked in butter on a regular basis

54. Passing a fried food stand on every corner

55. Hour-long bus rides, half of which are standing up in aisles 3-people deep, to get anywhere

56. Living with 9 people in a 3 bedroom house

57. A parrot as a pet

58. 3 chihuahuas

59. Feeding house scraps to the pet turtle pack. Or parrot.

60. Being able to talk about people behind their backs without them knowing it

61. Traffic

62. Traffic noise

63. Living in a city

64. Explaining the difference between real-life US and Hollywood

65. Weekly cultural in and outsights
66. Carrying hot sauce around with me to ensure life has a touch of flavor
67. Carrying toilet paper around with me everywhere
68. Throwing toilet paper in a trashcan instead of the toilet
69. Cold showers
70. Explaining what it means to be a vegetarian
71. Eating chicken

72. Working, officially, on Saturdays

73. Letting someone know every time I leave my house for a night
74. Letting someone know I'm alive, officially, once a week

75. Being watched. All the time.

76. Speaking incorrect English using Spanish structures
77. Hearing incorrect English being used by everyone who (thinks they) speak it

78. Loudspeakers/speaker towers everywhere

79. Public spaces routinely being louder than a crazy punk-rock-dubstep-name-that-concert

80. Sweat pouring out of every pore while sitting at the kitchen table, my desk, lying on (note, definitely not "in") my bed

81. Speaking a second language. (Not claiming fluency, but, I get around…)

82. Being referred to as "La Gringa"

83. Playing soccer

84. Signing up for a fantasy football league
85. No real measurement of success
86. Living in the same city for 12 consecutive month/planning to live there 12 more.
87. Seeing my parents/US friends only by virtue of Skype (minus the super awesome ones who visit!)
88. Having small children around the house
89. Watching Will Smith in terrible tv movies, dubbed over in super deep voices
90. Sitting in plastic-style beach chairs
91. Sitting. A lot.
92. Representing the US
93. Using hand gestures while speaking--not the unspecified Italian sort, but sort of like sign language
94. Having many siblings
95. Seeing extended family on a regular basis
96. Cooing over babies
97. Working as a teacher
98. Thinking every day about how I'll make a difference
99. Thinking every day about if I've made a difference
100. Being in the Peace Corps

Coffee fun for everyone

Even if you don’t drink coffee, Colombia’s Coffee Triangle is a magical place to visit.

I hesitate to write this. If I do you might race and get your plane tickets. You might decide that even without a traditional tourist infrastructure, Colombia’s interior is too good to miss out on. You’d be right to do so, of course, but if you did, then when I return to Colombia’s interior gringos might become a common sight, and then of course that changes everything.

                As it is, I’m barely sitting in my seat, just returned from the swooping valleys and mountains of the Colombian stretch of Andes, wondering why I was so silly as to return to the sweltering coast, the crowded gray ruckus of Barranquilla. I suppose a job here and my Peace Corps commitment was a decent reason...okay we'll go with that :)

On top of Montserrate

                But meanwhile. When a friend who doesn’t like the heat decides to come south to Colombia to visit his Peace Corps, equatorial- located friend, it only takes an instant to decide where to meet up. Eschewing my coastal site, off we headed to the glorious interior, where elevation makes up for location and cool weather rules.

Bogota's main plaza

 After meeting in Bogotá to spend a day or two perusing the city’s collection of esoteric museums, pigeon-filled plazas, and lovely lookouts, we headed to the Ejé Cafetero, or the Coffee-growing region in the Andes Mountains. This area, typically defined by the cities of Medellín, Cali, and Bogotá, is where 85% of Colombia’s coffee is grown, mostly on small farms. It’s also the location of the Cocorá Valley, where Colombia’s national tree, the wax palm, sprouts hundreds of feet high above a cool valley. The valley itself is a beautiful entryway into a cloud forest.

Really beautiful waterfall

                Sticking to the small cities, my friend and I traveled first to Pereira, the closest city on bus routes to Santa Rosa de Cabal, which is home to incredible thermal hot springs. We headed to the smallest thermal which included an incredible waterfall that fell above the concrete pools of naturally hot water. Alternating between the cold waterfall and hot pools, we watched a thunderstorm move in. Steam rose from the thermal pools where cold rain drops fell, almost sizzling as they hit the pool. Rising reluctantly, we moved on and out before the lightning crested the mountains.

Super badass naked Bolivar

Other Pereira notables included one of the best zoos in South America, and an infamous statue of Simón Bolivar. Bolívar is the liberator of countries and cities of many South American countries, and thus there are statues of him in pretty much every town and city. Pereira’s, however, is naked. An impressive work of art, which I enjoyed viewing while munching on eternal cups of chontoduro, a local fruit. Sold for about 1 mil by local vendors, the fruit’s flesh is fibrous, something like a potato-carrot (as Abby so aptly describes it). Doused in honey and salt, it’s a tasty, tasty thing. Or at least I thought so. My friend...not so much, but it’s one of the few plants we don’t see on the coast.

                A day and a half exhausted Pereira, and we went on to visit Armenia, which is the closest “real” city to the Valley of Cocorá. It’s also about twenty minutes away from a luscious botanical garden and mariposaria, or butterfly house. The gardens require that you attend the tour, which is two hours long. Reluctant at first to be trapped for so long, especially since the tour was in Spanish and my friend speaks almost none, we were pleasantly surprised by the incredible variety and depth the tour offered. From matapalmas—trees that grow off, then over and around palm trees, splitting into many trunks and eventually overtaking the palm tree, to incredible bamboo forests with shoots over thirty feet tall and half a foot wide, to a bird sanctuary where we saw the famously shy banquero, a bright teal and green bird that lives in earth banks, and a long, wire-tethered bridge over a small chasm, it was all breathtaking. And of course, the butterfly house, where clouds of butterflies rose from the flowers, feasting on cups of orange slices, each moment one for a painted masterpiece.

                We finished our trip in Salento. Salento is a small, quaint town about twenty minutes from the entrance to Valle Cocorá, known also for its coffee plantations and artisan crafts.  There were more non-Peace Corps  folks from the United States in Salento than I’ve met in the last year, which is to say we met approximately ten. That plus the other internationals meant some public spaces were unexpectedly geared towards English speakers, a plus for my non-Spanish-speaking friend. One of the famous hostels, The Plantation House, owned by a Scottish man, offers a wonderful tour of his adjoined coffee farm, and thus I’ve forgotten more about coffee already than I ever knew in a lifetime.

Some super tall palms. Note tiny cows, for relative size

                Valle Cocorá was my personal trip highlight, starved for rolling landscapes and mountain paths as I am. Rising at 5:00, I took the 6:15 jeep out to the valley, which meant I had the whole path to myself for hours. First an hour trek through the tufted green valley, passing traditional farms and an odd mounted campesino, goggling at the stands of palms stretching into the clouds. Then the cloud forest, with kilometers of incline, breathtaking views at every turn. With its pines and leafy trees, the forest held a comforting familiarity to those in the US, shot through unexpectedly with wild tropical vines and flowers, palm-sized beetles, and of course those rising palm trees. Six hours later I emerged to the crowds of palm-seeking tourists, who tripped along the lower stone-laid paths in fashionable shoes and jeans. Definitely worth the early wake-up.

                It was a sad thing to leave the beauty of the interior. Beaches may be where some find peace, but they are not, shall I say, my neck of the woods. It’s incredible to know how much variety this country holds. Sweating again on the coast, marveling at the idea that snow exists elsewhere in the world, I’m already plotting my next trip, to see yet another slice of this country!

More pictures!!

Clearly on our style of "orange" diet

 The amount of caramel used on a daily basis in Bogota is staggering....this is literally half an orange, candied and then filled with caramel

Bridge in the botanical gardens

"Fat American Filter,"says this sign. For those who ate too many oranges.

Amazing moss

Views from the cloud forest:

 Views in the valley

 Atop Salento

Coffee farm

All types of coffee

Hand-roasting coffee beans