Milo, Rice and a Can of Beans

I've discovered that earning a Colombian salary while paying American bills requires a bit more budgeting and planning than previously anticipated. To prove this point, I will disclose the contents of my pantry: Half a can of Milo, half a bag of rice, a (full) can of Antioquian beans, one egg, three sticks of Colombian hot chocolate, a bottle of soy sauce, a bottle of hot sauce, a packet of cumin, three cloves of garlic and a salt shaker. (Thankfully, my mother left me a 250-tablet bottle of vitamins to get me through this period of inadequate nutrition). Now I will disclose the contents of my wallet: COL $1,700 (Approximately US $0.85). I feel more Colombian already.

So it seems I will have to take a temporarily sojourn from visiting cafes, buying obleas, taking taxis or doing anything else that requires capital. But I chose this life and other than my recently readjusted economic situation, I’m feeling very upbeat and positive about my new Colombian life. And I am thinner than I've been in a long time.

Till We Meet Again, My Love.

I have given up diet coke.

Those of you who know me may find this hard to believe because my consumption of this unhealthy yet refreshing drink was bordering on incurable addiction, but I am writing the truth. I did the math and it turns out that more than 5% of my meager monthly income was going toward this much beloved but ultimately unaffordable carbonated drink.

It’s been hard but I will persevere in my new carbonation-less life, although I've had to make some lifestyle changes to cope with this hardship. In my old life, if I felt stressed or anxious, I simply drank some ice-cold diet coke and all my worries temporarily disappeared. Now, if I feel stressed or anxious I walk around, usually in my sweatpants, glasses and a grandpa sweater, so that I am probably known in my neighborhood as the hoboess of La 19. However, I've found that I need to walk at least 25 city blocks to achieve the same calming effect as one bottle of diet coke. And I usually drank the equivalent of about two or three 20-ounce bottles. This new stress reduction technique has resulted in a five pound weight loss in a one week period. By the time I reach my one month sobriety anniversary, I may be skeletal.

Anger

Went to my "office" cafe earlier this morning to get some work done and much to my anger and dismay, it was full of people! Even my private area was full of college students studying, flirting, talking loudly, and being in no way condusive to me getting my work done. And the so-called quiet relaxing music transformed into blaring "Salsa and Merengue, Greatest hits..."

However, it's true -- even those with normal lives (who don't have as much time on their hands as me) deserve a break and its not as if it's actually my personal office.  Will now have to look for quieter weekend cafe or give up work on weekends all together...

Bogota Street Life

Like any major city worth mentioning, Bogota has an active and entertaining street life (and I don't mean the pay-by-the-hour illicit type, although there's plenty of that as well, if you're interested). You can be perfectly entertained without entering a museum, paying for a concert or heading to a bar. In other words, if like me, you suffer from a seemingly permanent lack of capital, there's no need to panic.

It being my first weekend in my new apartment and neighborhood, I wanted to see what el centro was like on non-work nights, so I put on my sweater and scarf, and prepared myself to brave the cold, penetrating mountain winds that characterize Bogota evenings. Pretty much all the action in my neighborhood happens on La Septima, which was flooded with people eating hamburgers from hole-in-the wall stands, loitering and talking on every street corner and gathered around the dozens of street performers between La Calle 19 and the Internationall Center. There was a mix of university students, desplazados and poor people from the nearby shanty-towns, middle-class workers relaxing a bit before heading home, street vendors, elegant-looking old men wearing berets and suits whose social class and life story I coudn't quite define, skateboarders, punks, hippies and homeless people. Within an hour, I enjoyed a very intricate, excellently put together street circus, watched a group of children peform cumbia, listened to a soulful, talented Calena sing Celia Cruz's biggest hits and saw what appeared to be a hopelessly intoxicated, homeless man shake some water bottles filled with beads (pretending they were maracas) and attempt a very crude and unpleasant version of Guantanamera.

After enjoying my fair share of street theater and street concerts, I turned around and headed toward La Plaza de Bolivar. On my way south on La Septima, I heard a homeless old woman talking with a younger, also apparently homeless woman about the lack of profitability on her relegated street corner and how she was going to have to fight for a more lucrative corner because things just weren't going very well. I noticed that rather than stand attentively on guard in preparation of any disturbances, the police force in el centro seems to hang out together and congregate around the fried papa and yuca stands, especially if the cart's owner is a particularly young and attractive woman.  They are not particularly enthusiastic about being called to duty.

Anyway, generally speaking, every plaza in the center seems to be home to a flea market or handicraft market.  Considering the almost complete lack of tourists and the supposedly dire economic state of Colombians, I'm not exactly sure who is buying all these goods, but that's another story.  However, because Christmas is just around the corner, Christmas lights and decorations adorn every plaza and the handicraft and flea markets have been converted to Christmas markets. While not as charming and beautifully put together as those in Austria and Germany, these little Christmas markets really do highten the Christmas spirit, as long as you don't mind replacing warm pretzels and apple strudels with obleas and arepas de queso, forget mulled wine and accept aguapanela and convince yourself that the light sprinkling of litter is actually the season's first snow. Every plaza had a group of musicians, usually school children, and the churches, all dressed up in Christmas lights and angel decorations reminded me of the miniature Christmas village we -- well, my brother -- puts together every Christmas. There were many little streets I would have liked to go down, but as it was dark and I had no intention of testing Bogota night-time security, I decided to save these excursions for later.

MY NEW OFFICE

As I currently have no desk or chair in my room and don’t enjoy working from bed, I dedicated last Sunday to finding myself an office. As you know, I don’t technically need an office because I make most of my money freelancing, but it’s nice to pretend I need to be somewhere once in a while. (Plus, that way my roommates won’t think I’m an unemployed, antisocial American who spends all her time locked in her room).

Well, I’m happy to report that I’ve found myself an elegantly-appointed 15 x 15 office with excellent amenities and very attentive, hard-working employees in a most historic and prestigious sector just a few blocks from my apartment. And I don’t even have to pay any monthly fees, unless you count the coffees and teas I ask one of the empoyees to bring me every morning.

My office is called Café del Sol, and it is a rather atmospheric place, frequented by students university and government employees. There’s always calming -- if dated -- music playing softly in the background (think 1960s Latin pop, 1940s American jazz), and plenty of pastries and coffee drinks to choose from.

However, despite the romantic aspects of my new office, there are practical reasons for choosing Café del Sol. Upon entering the café, two small salons are visible. However, if one looks a little further, there is another, larger and dimmer salon that no one seems to know about. Naturally, I headed to the hidden salon because it has a three pronged outlet and I can spread myself out as if it were my actual office. In addition, there is free wifi, the Internet being essential to a canine cataracts writer/researcher such as myself.

So I’ve been going to work very happily every morning from 9am to 1pm, because a canine cataracts writer/researcher can afford shorter workdays. It’s taken me a long time, but I finally feel like I’m living my life exactly as I always envisioned it.

Neighborhood Observations

Yesterday I went on an explorative evening walk, and I noticed that Bogota seems to have, without exaggerating, thousands of bookstores. I know Bogota is a city of eight million, but aside from the newspaper and magazines, it doesn’t really seem like the majority of people read all that much, unless they do so only in private. However, there is La Panamericana, La Libreria Nacional, Tower of Records, La Libreria de la Universidad Nacional, engineering bookstores, French bookstores, humanities bookstores, religious bookstores and used bookstores. In the center, there is even a street called La Calle del Libro and all that is sold there are books (most illegal copies) and related items such as agendas and calendars (You can obtain a special discount for all pre-2009 agendas and calendars). Then there are the street vendors selling the latest Dan Brown book and other popular books. I assume there has to be a market out there for so many sellers to exist, but except for my uncle, I haven’t really met that many voracious readers. Maybe Bogota’s book sellers are maintained by school kids and university students? It is a mystery I intend to solve.

Anyway, yesterday on my walk, I discovered shops that sell only hats, only purses, only women’s leather shoes, only Italian men’s shirts, only bread, only dairy, only pork, only beef, only chicken, only vegetables, only fruits, only alcohol, only pastries and on and on. I find it amazing that these small shops are able to survive because all of these items are sold in bigger department and chain stores or by street vendors (usually cheaper). Even in New York and Chicago, I don’t remember seeing this much “divisibility,” as the Full House theme song famously proclaims. Because of all its tiny shops, constant, interesting characters, narrow alleyways, dark, gloomy churches, cobblestoned streets, litter, pigeons, over-flowing trash cans, peopled plazas, street vendors, undiscovered corners, hodge-podge architecture and pine vegetation, the center of Bogota feels a bit like pre-industrialized Europe (minus the thousands of buses, taxis, skyscrapers and pollution). There are elegant, neoclassical bureaucratic buildings just a few blocks from mountain shanty-town invasions, grand avenues running parallel to embarrassingly unkempt, abandoned dead-end streets and important-looking men in expensive looking suits walking by ancient women with head shawls and long wool skirts selling candy and cigarettes from tiny, makeshift wooden stands. Not that I know much about how Europe felt and looked pre-industrial revolution, but the contrasts here and the “historical” feeling of the neighborhood gives me that impression. Or perhaps a Grimm’s fairy-tale. Not a Disney fairy-tale because there’s something a little bit dark, somber, far from innocent and less obviously happy, beautiful and perfect about el centro. I am really happy in my new neighborhood. It is the kind of place where you’ll always discover a new street, new shop, new corner, new plaza or new street vendor, and I’m less likely to get bored when there’s always something new to discover.

The center is also interesting to me because I’m seeing characters here that I had no idea existed in Colombia. Who would have known that Bogota actually has a middle-middle class, not just a desperately poor class and a crème de la crème upper-class? Because 99% of the people I’ve been around on my visits in Bogota live between la Calle 80 and la Calle 127, I’ve really only been exposed to one type of Colombian -- one type of Bogotano: Well-mannered, upper-class, educated and cultured, but choosing to remain in their world in northern Bogota and generally terrified of anything with the word centro associated with it. In fact, they most likely only ventured to the center during their university studies or when foreigners come to visit. I can’t blame them. I wasn’t here when Colombia was the most violent country in the world and Bogota was one of the most dangerous cities in the world. But because I’m an outsider, I’m not burdened with the same sense of fear.

News about my new abode: I put shoes on my bed, so now it doesn’t roll around. I can lean against the wall while sitting on my bed without being propelled two feet forward. My bed looks pretty stupid because beds are not made to wear shoes, but because shoes have leather soles, it’s the only thing that really seems to keep my bed in place. Also, one of my roommates works at night so he sleeps all day; another one works all day and is only here at night; the other one spends a lot of time traveling and is often not here at all. And all of them are from other cities, so they go back home quite a bit. In other words, it’s almost as if I have a huge apartment to myself, another reason all visitors are welcome!

New Apartment

My dearest readers,

It is with great enthusiasm that I inform you that I have officially moved into my new room in my new building. It's a two-level apartment and I live on the first level (but on the 15th floor).  Upstairs there are two more bedrooms, a large family room, a large kitchen and a pleasant balcony. There are four of us living here, two guys from Cali, a girl from Manizales and myself. As I have a new DOUBLE bed, all guests are welcome. For some reason the bed came with wheels, so I am afraid there cannot be very much locomotion during your visit. However, there is also a hammock for your resting pleasure.

In addition, I have inaugurated my very cute mini rice cooker, a gift from my mother, thanks to the encouragement of my grandmother. Due to my -- complicated -- financial situation, I have decided to economize by cooking one well-balanced dish a week and one less-balanced quick dish.  This week, I have decided on rice with chicken, peppers, vegtables, peas, curry, cumin, pepper, garlic and soy sauce for lunch and dinner and oatmeal with milk for breakfast.  This way, I am getting my protein, dairy, vegtables and grains.  We shall see what creative dish next week brings.

Anyway, as many of you know, I am living in the less-than reputatable, less than beloved center of Bogota.  While many look down on the center as dangerous and unsightly (true), I think it's one of the most fascinating neighborhoods in Bogota.  Within a three block radius of my apartment, there are architectural styles ranging from the 1500s to the present.  I am walking distance to La Candelaria, Bogota's colonial, cafe/museum/student sector, La Macarena, an up-and-coming slightly bohemian, slightly edgy neighborhood with nice restaurants and bars, the international center, el parque nacional and La Septima, my favorite avenue in all of Colombia.  Sure, there are a few hobos here and there and many of the colonial buildings are slightly dilapidated and extremely graffitied, but Monserrate is about 100 meters away from my building! Behind my building, there is a street home to Pacific-style restaurants run by Chocanos, serving (or so I've  been told) very delicious fish dishes. There are also many breadshops, cafes, (non-fish) restaurants and bars in my proximity.  The neighborhood demographic appears to be a mixture of "popular," homeless, artsy, punkish, creative, student, intellectual and inde. When my camera's charger makes its way back from Panama, I will post pictures of my new place and neighborhood.

Interesting

I have found that Colombians often begin a racist statement with the words:  "No es que sea racista pero..."  (It's not that I'm racist but...).

Working Hard for the Money

Some of you out there may be wondering how an individual such as myself can afford the comfortable expatriate lifestyle, and the answer is work. Not traditional, 9-5 employment, but a mixture of freelance writing/editing and tutoring. I am currently writing articles for an online company on such fascinating topics as: "Early Symptoms of Lyme Disease in Pets," "How to Stop Cataracts in Canines," "How to Reverse Stroke Damage" and "How to Improve Cardiovascular Health." As a child, when I imagined my glamorous writing career, pet and elderly healthcare wasn't exactly what came to mind, but I have found that realistically, being a writer is more of a romantic notion than an actual career. I also get occasional proofreading/editing assignments from a most generous European benefactor on topics such as "Characteristics of Sexual Murderers" and "Degenerative Macular Disorder."

In addition, I have started tutoring private English classes. At two hours long, I was nervous I wouldn't know what to teach/talk about, but the two hours actually go by very quickly and I've found that I actually enjoy tutoring.  Tutoring is not a particularly high-paying profession in Colombia, but it does pay the rent.

I like to think of myself as a struggling writer (who has not written a novel or book of any sort) living the contemporary, romantic expatriate/writer life, having replaced early 20th century bohemian Paris with slightly disorganized, slightly third-world but fascinating Bogota.

Colds, Danger and Anti-independence

For the most part, I really enjoy living in Bogota, the somewhat sophisticated, progressive capital city of Colombia. The people are educated, friendly and warm and friends are easy to make.

But being an American, I’m kind of used to doing you’re my own thing and taking care of myself. In fact, independence and self-sufficiency are much admired qualities in the U.S. Not the case here, where mothers, grandmothers, aunts, female neighbors and friends cannot come to terms with the fact that a 25 year-old is perfectly capable of feeding, dressing and taking care of herself. Coming from a home where no one thought you’d starve if left to your own devises, it’s initially shocking the amount of interest everyone takes in knowing what you’re going to eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner, where you’re going, what route you’re taking, what you’re going to wear, how you plan to do your hair and what Laundromat you plan to take your dirty clothes to. Whatever your answer, there’s always a better way to do things.

A heightened sense of danger and disease is another common characteristic of Colombian women, particularly mothers and grandmothers. Because watching the news is such an integral part of the day (there's the morning, afternoon and night news, plus radio news) older women hear about every single violent incident that's happened in the country multiple times a day. This means, for example, that if I want to go to the internet cafe about 100 feet away from my grandmother's building to print something out after 6pm (when it gets dark), my grandmother gets panicky and says she'll go with me because otherwise, I'll get (at the very least) robbed at knifepoint. I know Colombia is dangerous, but her predictions seem a little excessive, especially considering there are about a dozen security guards between her building and the Internet café. Besides, no 25 year-old wants to be chaperoned to the internet cafe by her grandmother.

Then there is the obsession with colds. In the U.S., no one is going to feel too sorry for you if you catch a cold. Everyone catches a cold at least once a year, but it's no big deal. In Colombia, the word gripa is uttered with great trepidation. The way my grandmother and great aunts fret about me catching a cold, you'd think they were talking about Ebola or some other deadly condition. Even when it's a sunny 70 degrees, I have to wear a scarf and jacket or else --le va dar gripa, mijita. I've tried explaining that in the U.S., the weather gets much chillier than Bogota during the winter months, yet somehow we've managed to survive over the years without succumbing to deadly colds. But supposedly, the cold in Bogota is more penetrating and dangerous than in the U.S., and a scarf and sweater are essential.

My grandmother often laments the fact that in the U.S., no one cares about anyone else. She thinks mothers don’t care what their kids eat or don’t eat (major preoccupation with food here) and if your neighbor dies, the only way anyone would notice is because of the smell. I’ve tried to explain to her that the reason there’s a lower level of involvement in the U.S. is because people are raised to take care of themselves. By the time we reach our twenties, getting dressed, feeding ourselves, getting around and dealing with life is something we’re prepared to do; it’s not necessarily that no one cares about anyone else; it’s just that we have faith in other people’s ability to make their own decisions and take care of themselves. But my arguments are to no avail here; what I consider over involvement is considered human warmth here.

I have several theories on overbearing women in Colombia. First and foremost, it’s a cultural thing. Women are raised to think about others and take care of everyone else before themselves. It’s considered impolite not to show intense interest/involvement in the lives of others. Secondly, the generally low-quality of Colombian husbands might mean that as a way to avoid future loneliness, Colombian mothers raise their children to be totally dependent in order to keep them close. For whatever reason, it seems Colombian women of a certain age believe that they know best and no one can do it as well as them. Here, a mother and her friends think it’s wonderful if a 55 year-old son lives with his mother and tends to her every need; in fact, this seems to be a lot of mothers’ ideal situation.

I guess it’s these cultural differences that makes you realize how deeply engrained culture is. I'm just glad my parents took an American approach to raising us. Although I guess if I'd been raised here, I wouldn't know any different.

I Might as Well Make This a Food Blog

Today I went to Usaquen with my mom and my grandmother because they have (in my opinion) the most pleasant handicraft market in Bogota.  When I replace my charger, I'll take pictures and post them.  It's kind of a more upscale handicraft market, and there are always dozens of food and dessert stands and Peruvian and Caribbean street musicians. Usaquen is a Spanish-style neighborhood with lots of atmospheric restaurants and bars, so it's always nice for a Sunday stroll.

Anyway, while there, I was struck by an uncontrollabl oblea urge and got myself a triple layer oblea with arequipe, crema de lecha and salsa de mora.  It was so good . They are sold from little stands like this one above, on the corners of the park, and you can put powdered sugar, cheese, arequipe, cream and fruit spreads on a couple wafers and make a little sandwich. Elsie, you must be so jealous.

Early Christmas Celebrations

Yesterday we went to an early Christmas celebration at my great aunt's apartment, as she'll be in Boston for the holidays.  We listened to and danced to Mexican revolutionary music, drank wine, and had very delicious ajiaco.  For those of you who don't know what ajiaco is, it's a soup with potato, half a corn on the cob, cilantro, capers, avocado, chicken, cream and hot sauce (if you want hot sauce).  It's really good and usually only cooked on special occasions like Christmas.  We had a very nice time.

Earlier yesterday, I moved most of my things into my new apartment -- I think I'll be all the way moved in late next week. I still need a bed though...

My Number One Material Possession

Now that I have no car, no bike and no computer, my new glasses (picked up today) are my favorite and number one financial asset.

New Developments

Several new and exciting developments to report which are very likely of little interest to anyone but me:

1.) I am tutoring English. One on one.  As of now, I have a grand total of one student, but I can't help but think that this signals the beginning of my great economic assent in Colombia. I thought tutoring conversational English would be hard as I am not particularly talented at regular small talk/conversation, but the two hours go by really fast. 

2.) I found a place to live.  My room is tiny, but then again, I'm just beginning my economic assent. The apartment is in the center, walking distance to La Candelaria, the Plaza de Bolivar and La Macarena.  Family members may be slighly terrified  I am living in the city center and not in the north, but it's a safe street/busy area. Am beginning slightly bohemian urban life in historic capital district, close to lots of cafes and restaurants. I am also now officially accepting visitors. As long as visitors are not claustrophobic and enjoy sleeping in close proximity to me. And don't mind the current lack of a bed. But potential visitors should note that a bed is my next big purchase.

3.) I have about 10 pounds to lose to be at my college weight.  I've done the calculations, and ten pounds equals about 3,000 Bogota blocks.  Today I walked 60.  This means I am 2% there.  Then perhaps I won't have to deal with Botero painting comparisons.

4.) I got new glasses.  They are red and I get them on Friday.  I wish it were Friday now.  I am overly excited for my new glasses. Wearing contacts in a heavily poluted city is not attractive, as I look like I have permanent pink eye.

That's it for now.

Barbie Botero

Today I was walking around the city center when a homeless man started catcalling me saying "Que barbie botella tan linda." For those of you who don't speak Spanish, this means "What a pretty bottle barbie." I don't know what a bottle barbie is, but I was feeling pretty flattered; I thought maybe he was complimenting my hip/waist ratio. Anyway, he repeated his compliment several times (yelling louder and louder as I walked away), which allowed me -- and the one million people around me -- to figure out that he wasn't saying barbie botella, but barbie Botero.  As in Botero, the Colombian artist who only paints ridiculously fat people.

Dispite the insult, it's nice to know that even Colombians in the worst economic conditions are in touch with modern art.

Home Repairs

In Bogota, everyone seems strangely interested in everyone else's home repairs and renovations. 

I'm not sure why. Home repairs are discussed at length.

The Dentist

In Colombia you greet and say goodbye to your dentist with a kiss, even when he is removing wisdom teeth and drilling screws into your mouth. I wonder what Dr. Gordon in Centreville would do if I greeted him with a kiss on the cheak...

A Day at the Beauty Salon

This afternoon, three generations headed to the beauty salon: My grandmother, my mother and myself. The salon was creatively called “Hair and Care.” As my mother and I are undergoing dental surgery tomorrow, we decided to treat ourselves before the pain…


Because beauty and presentation is such an important aspect of Colombian culture (and Latin culture in general, I think), the beauty salon is an integral part of many Colombian women’s lives. Women of a certain social class make weekly and even biweekly trips to the salon for manicures, highlight touch-ups, and of course, cepillados. For those of you unfamiliar with Latin American beauty salons, let me paint the picture:

A couple manicurists--always women and usually in some kind of uniform resembling a nurse’s outfit--sit on a couple coaches reading magazines and waiting for customers. The hairdressers are sometimes women but usually men with frosted tips and tight black jeans. When you come in and sit down in the waiting area, you’re offered tinto or aromatica (herbal water), as well as an impressive selection of high society magazines. Salons tend to be smaller than in the U.S and there’s at least one salon per block.

Perhaps my favorite part is the salon owner. It’s almost always a woman who’s had excessive amounts of plastic surgery and, despite several probable liposuctions, wears clothing not particularly appropriate for her shape or age, such as pink leather pants, a tight purple top, leopard print high heels and huge hoop earrings. She embodies the “typical Latina” stereotype and walks around like the she’s the queen of England, but a little meaner. You can tell she’s the kind of woman you don’t want to get in a fight with, and even though she’s perfectly polite and pleasant to you, you feel a little sorry for the girls who work for her.

So now that I’ve set the scene, let’s talk about the different things that go on at the salon. Probably the most popular service is the cepillado. It’s particularly popular with older women, and consists of getting your hair brushed and blow-dried while reading a magazine and enjoying a coffee or aromatica. Those of you who’ve traveled to Latin America know the hairdo I’m talking about: The carefully blow-dried bob, dyed blonde and kept in place through lots of hairspray. It looks like a helmet was used to mold the hairstyle and almost every old lady you see is a fan. Typical price for el Cepillado: COL$6,000-COL$12,000.

Then there is the highlighting/hair-dying procedure. Until a certain age, women flaunt their long, shiny black hair with pride. But at some point, usually between the ages of 35-45, it seems most women decide that long hair is no longer age appropriate and the above mentioned bob is acquired. This change in hair length appears to trigger psychological changes that compel the client to dye her hair blonde, even if she’s naturally tanned, dark-eyed and Latin looking. Somehow, it just doesn’t seem right when someone’s hair is lighter than their skin; I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a person with naturally black hair try to go blonde, but the result is a strange, auburn, almost-glow-in-the-dark color. Because I’m American and walk around like a disheveled hobo (as my grandmother says), I’m not a big fan of the cepillado or highlights, though I don’t know if ten years down the road I too will succumb to the cepillado-bob.

But even though -- as of now -- I’m pretty happy with my dark, hobo hair, I’ve become fond of manicures and pedicures over the last few months. For COL$8,000 and COL$12,000, respectfully (at a decent salon), I can get my feet and hands done. For those of you not familiar with the Colombian peso, that’s about $10 for a manicure and pedicure. For three blissful hours, I sit in front of the manicurist and pedicurist, who files, exfoliates, massages and paints my nails. Getting your feet done, in particular, is blissful. So blissful you feel a bit guilty paying only $10.

But women aren’t the only ones who frequent the beauty salon; when a friend who will remain nameless came to visit last month, we went to get our hands done. It was his idea. Thinking it would be a quick, five minute procedure, he was shocked by the large container of products the manicurist brought to the table. He thought a man-manicure just meant the manicurist trimmed his nails. I think the poor manicurist felt like she was torturing him. The more tools she brought out – the file, the cuticle clippers, the oils, the creams – the more his look of confusion and dismay grew. Since I love seeing people suffer (only about insignificant things) I couldn’t stop laughing and provided no sympathetic support whatsoever. After the procedure was over and done with, he still wasn’t convinced. He hadn’t expected a 45-minute nail treatment. However, later that evening, after a few too many rum and cokes at the popular Zona T Irish pub, he confessed he loved the result and couldn’t recognize his own hands because they looked so good. He said he would be going back for regular manicures and brought up the amazing state of his hands at least ten more times that evening. I am sure he will love me telling this story, but it’s all just part of a Colombian sociological study. And you see all kinds of men come to the salon – businessmen, blue collar types with tattoos and motorcycles and old men and yuppies.

So three manicures and three pedicures later, my grandmother, mother and I leave the salon feeling like queens, are hands smooth and freshly painted, our feet rejuvenated and baby soft. These are the luxuries Colombia allows you. Well, at least until you start thinking about how little money the girls actually take home. Third world life can be complex and difficult to process when you’ve grown up in the developed world.

A Day in My Life

Being non-traditionally employed, I work from home (or rather, my grandma’s home) on my own schedule. For those of you with 9-5 jobs, this means I have a lot of time on my hands.

If you’re interested in knowing how a non-traditionally employed expat in Colombia spends her day, please read the following:

Upon waking up, my grandmother asks me about 20 times what I’m eating for breakfast. As I’ve mentioned before, food is a major preoccupation in Colombia, and breakfast is approached with intensified interest. I usually have an arepa with melted cheese. This is a pretty typical Colombian breakfast.

Next it’s time for my morning walk. I generally walk to Usaquen, where I head to the bakery for a diet coke and pastry. It’s very important to counter sweets with diet coke, as artificially sweetened carbonated beverages cancel out the effects of unhealthy foods. For whatever reason, every time I come to Colombia I lose about 15-20 pounds in the first month doing absolutely no exercise and eating whatever I want. I have a theory that this weight loss has something to do with Bogota’s altitude, but whatever the reason, it’s wonderful. In three weeks in the U.S this past September, I gained 7 pounds riding my bike everyday and watching what I ate. People here say that the water in the U.S makes you fat; maybe they’re right. But back to my daily routine…

While enjoying my pastry and diet coke (if non-traditional employment revenues allows this luxury), I usually read. Without exaggerating, my uncle has about 1,000 books in my grandmother’s apartment. Most of them are at least 20 years old. Old books make me uneasy and sad and I’d much rather read something contemporary and recently bound – not very romantic but true. Anyway, a good 75 percent of my uncle’s books are written by American or British authors and translated into Spanish. I’m currently reading Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and somehow, reading about New York and New Yorkers in Spanish doesn’t feel quite right. You can’t capture a New York accent or attitude in Spanish. It makes me think of all the translated books I’ve read and how much I’ve missed out on. But oh well, back to the daily routine…

Around 1 or so, I go back to my grandma’s house for lunch and spend the afternoon writing, editing, researching and looking for traditional 9-5 jobs. There’s not much to say about this part of my day.

One of my favorite parts of the day is onces, or snack time. Onces are usually spent at my great aunt Lorenza’s apartment, which is right next door to my grandmothers. Onces at Lorenza’s consists of five or six people (nearly always elderly women and me) seated around the dining room table, enjoying bread, crackers, and hot chocolate with melted cheese. Some of you out there may be skeptical about the idea of hot chocolate with melted mozzarella or queso campesino, but it’s actually very good. During onces, politics, building and celebrity gossip, music, store-openings and the ever deteriorating state of the world is discussed.

In the evenings, I work a bit more, watch telenovelas and the news with my grandmother, read, and Skype. My social life hasn’t quite taken off yet, but I’m hopeful for the future. As you can see, life for an expat in Colombia is not particularly stressful. Though a bit troubling that all the pictures I've included are of food...thank goodness for Bogota weight loss miracle....

Prostitutes

I just finished reading a book called El Dulce Veneno del Escorpion (The Sweet Poison of the Scorpion). For those of you feeling restless, bored or needing a bit of spice in your life, I highly recommend it. It’s a memoir about the trials and tribulations of a Brazilian prostitute. If you liked Eleven Minutes, you'll like this one too. Usually I hate reading in Spanish, but I finished this book in about four hours.