My Nomad Life

To my 10 Loyal Fans

2010-03-27T13:24:00.001-07:00

I've decided to change blogs. I'm going wordpress now. I like the format better.

So check it out at: http://anomadlife.wordpress.com/

Panama

2010-03-26T18:40:00.000-07:00

I have to admit I'm looking forward to going back to Panama.

As much as I complain about the heat, the lack of a sophisticated capital city (a la Bogota), and all the expats (despite being one myself) it does have a special place in my heart. I went there in early 2008 not knowing a soul, and being relatively shy and introverted, I ending up spending a lot of time alone, just me and Panama. But I think I stopped feeling like a teenager in Panama. Anway, I'm looking forward to Panama the way you might look forward to seeing your high school boyfriend (not that I had one): Nostalgic and excited, all the while knowing there's no hope for a real future. But it doesn't make the reunion any less meaningful.

So, I will be in Panama April 27-May 23. Except for family members, my vacation invitations are rarely accepted, but being of an optimistic nature, the invitation is extended once again. As a selling point, Panama is a really tiny country, so unlike Colombia, it's perfectly realistic to see the rainforest, mountains and the beach in one week. Plus Panama City offers some excellent Miami-Vegas type partying.

April 27-May 1: Panama City, Gamboa and Gatun area
May 1-May 3: Isla Grande and Portobello and Valle de Anton
May 4-May 10: Bocas del Toro, Boquete and Boca Chica
May 11-15: The interior provinces.
May 16-20: San Blas and the outer Darien
May 21: Back to reality. OK, so not actual reality. But back to my everyday life.

Alone. At a Cafe. Doing nothing.

2010-03-25T16:20:00.000-07:00

There is an old man sitting in front of me at Diletto (my cafe/office). He is all alone, drinking a glass of red wine and eating chips. Mostly he's staring out at nothing in particular. Maybe he had a fight with his wife or is in Bogota for a business trip and doesn't know anyone. Except he's wearing khakis and one of those safari-tourist jacket-shirts, definitely not Bogota work attire. So maybe he's foreign. And the fact that he's alone is a big foreigner indication. I don't think Colombians are all that fond of doing things alone. I always feel so sad when I see people eating/drinking alone.

And then I remember that I am here alone almost everyday and don't feel sorry for myself. Well, at least not most of the time. And I would not like it if other people felt sorry for me. But at least I'm doing work. This poor guy doesn't even have a book or newspaper. I don't think I'm the kind of person who can go to a restaurant and cafe with no computer, no book and no company. I prefer to do my thinking while moving. I'm not sure if this preference is because of efficiency (exercise and thinking in one) or because the act of doing something physical doesn't let me concentrate 100% on what I should be thinking about. If you're sitting still, you really have no choice.

Man, khaki pants has his head in his hand and is looking particularly meloncholy. It's a very sad scene. An old man with glasses and a white beard sitting in a big leather chair drinking red wine from a gigantic wine goblet.

Good news: His girlfriend just arrived. Now he looks happy. I assume it's his girlfriend and not his wife because they look happy to see each other. Now it's just me and the fat, six-foot tall gringo sitting alone.

Things Happen

2010-03-24T14:08:00.000-07:00

Things happen here that remind you why Colombia has a bad reputation. When you think things are under control and the violence has passed, it turns out a government worker gets assasinated in Antioquia and a car bomb kills six and injures 30 in Buenaventura. Both incidents, I'm guessing, are somehow related to the FARC or another armed group. It's not particularly shocking news by Colombian standards, but I'm starting to think Colombia is kind of like Tilikum, that killer whale who killed its trainer despite years of good behavior. Unpredictable.

I wonder if anyone has ever written a book exploring why Colombians (as a society) are prone to political violence and organized crime. And it's not just something that started with cocaine...it goes back to the 1800s. I suppose the drug trade fueled things further, but what mix happened here that didn't happen elsewhere? Or what historical factors could have contributed to this kind of prolonged, low-grade civil war? I wonder if the elections will be peaceful.

And in other news, I have my first Year of Yes date tomorrow. He's asked me out a few times and I always said no. Maybe this new spirit of YES will make my blog more exciting.

Also, Frommer's contacted me to update the next Panama Guide. So I will be in Panama from May 23-June 23 or something like that. Quite exciting. Anyone looking for a tropical vacation is welcome to join me. Week-long vacation applications are acceptable. So between the U.S. and Panama, I should be back in Colombia by the end of June. Because I can safely assume to gain some 10 pounds in two weeks in the U.S., I will be starting a hardcore exercise program in order to lose weight so I can gain weight at home. Go me.

The Year of Yes

2010-03-22T22:37:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine had a link on her facebook to this NYT series called Modern Love (http://topics.nytimes.com/top/features/style/fashionandstyle/columns/modernlove/index.html). So I started reading and ended up reading until 2:30 in the morning. I have a reading problem, and once I start, I can't stop. Anyway, one of the contributors recently wrote a book called THE YEAR OF YES, a memoir about a year when she said yes to every guy who asked her out. It sounds fun.

So I started thinking maybe I should do that. Of course, I would have to make "No" exceptions for homeless guys, obviously emotionally/mentally disturbed guys and those who've just gotten out of prison or seem like they might end up there soon. Unfortunately, those seem to be the guys most interested in me. Or maybe their situation just makes them braver than the rest.

It's always my first instinct to say no to everything. Someone invites me out on the weekend? I start thinking of way to get out of it. Coffee? Same thing. Get togethers? Too many people. I don't know why. I guess shyness or not wanting to deal with making the effort to be social. But all that's about to change! Maybe...

Perhaps that will be what I give up for lent. I know is a problematic statement because Lent started a while ago and you're supposed to sacrifice during lent, not look for ways to make life more fun. But technically, I'm giving up shyness. Also, there is the problem that I am not particularly religious. Oh well. We'll see how it goes. I'll blog if there's anything interesting to report.

Colombia

2010-03-21T08:52:00.000-07:00

Yesterday night, in a place called La Esquina del Tango Colombia and I connected again. Sure, we connected under Argentine circumstances, but connected none the less. We'd grown somewhat distant, but I think things are good again. Or at least on the right path.

And yesterday, sitting at my cafe in the posh Rosales neighborhood, I spent the day researching and writing about Brazil, small town Montana, Delaware, Wisconsin and Mexican resorts. Sure, I spent one article's worth of pay on pastries and drinks, but it was nice anyway. I spent an entire day researching and writing, the two things I enjoy most, and made more money than I made in a day in the U.S.

Then I picked up my grandmother because I invited her to a tango show for her birthday, and we listened to tangos until 2am in the morning. It was my grandmother, her cousin Olga, her friend Sylvia and me. There was a full backup band, three singers, two dancers and a half bottle of rum involved (which my grandmother and I drank together because apparently, most women over 65 besides my grandmother, think drinking is bad). The cost of our evening for four including cover, show and rum? $50. Pretty nice, I have to say.

Now I just need to volunteer somewhere. It's good to do something nice for other people once in a while.

Cookies and Pizza

2010-03-19T12:04:00.000-07:00

I have yet to find a place in Bogota that makes good chocolate chip cookies and puts decent amounts of tomato sauce on their pizza.

I have seen tomato plantings in Colombia, so it can't be due to lack of tomatoes. As for chocolate chip cookies, I suppose that's like asking a Centreville bakery to make a good empanada.

Diletto

2010-03-18T08:17:00.000-07:00

There's this cafe in Los Rosales called Diletto. Los Rosales is basically like Georgetown minus the riverfront. Very nicely planned out, upscale neighborhood with non-brand new apartments and a few amazing houses. If I were super rich, I'd live here. Or maybe in La Macarena. But because I'm not, I just come here to do work and make believe.

Anyway, at this cafe I see the same 4 or 5 work-from-home type people, most of them expats. Perhaps it could be the setting for a Hemmingway-esque novel about life abroad. Except I don't actually talk to anyone...

Check it Out:

2010-03-17T17:18:00.001-07:00

www.latinworld.com

Politics

2010-03-17T08:13:00.000-07:00

I think that morality is a little more flexible in Latin America than in the United States, and politicians are very easily forgiven when the next guy comes and leaves the country worse off than the guy before him. I think most politicians can expect forgiveness in a few years out of office. If I were a Latin American political writer, I would write a book on political forgiveness in Latin America. I would entitle it: Forgive and Forget? Latin America's History of Political Amnesia.

I am back in Bogota after a lovely vacation in Ecuador which left me wanting to explore all of Latin America a la Motorcycle Diaries. Particularly Peru, Bolivia, Chile and Brazil. Not so much Paraguay and Uruguay. I am currently particularly interested in Latin American political history, so I may head down to La Calle del Libro sometime soon and see what I can find.

My new disciplined schedule starts today and goes as follows (Not that this is of interest to anyone, but writing it down helps):

1.) 3-5 hotel articles
2.) 1-2 Latinworld articles
3.) Personal writing for at least an hour a day.

At the Hairdresser's

2010-03-15T19:55:00.000-07:00

In our resolve to see all of Bogota, Ivan and I took a transmilenio to the south of Bogota's last week. As I have heard many things about the south (mostly bad) but have never actually gone, this area of Bogota holds a lot of intrigue for me. I don't know what I expected to find. I suppose it has the same connotations as Southeast D.C., which, in my 20 years of living in Washington, I've only seen accidently through a car window while trying to find a club or bar in northwest. The sheltered life I've lived...

Anyway, in Restrepo, which is a commerical area around Calle 40 South, Ivan decided to get his haircut. It was only the equivalent of US$3, but I think we were overcharged for being American. You are taxed heavily in Colombia for being foreign. Oh well. But back to the topic. Even though I'm American, I have Latin roots, and this results in me being unashamedly nosey. I can't help it. It's in my DNA.

So while Ivan was getting his hair cut (which for some reason took about 30 minutes) one of the hairdressers was talking about her son, who was sent to a psychiatrist because he was acting out at school. The psychiatrist asked to meet with the boy's mom (hairdresser) and asked her questions such as: What time do you go to bed? Do you have boyfriends? Do you drink? et cetera, et cetera. Girlfriend was not pleased. She informed the manicurist that she told the psychiatrist to go to hell and stay out of her life. Then she told the manicurist (not in these exact words) that psychiatrists are all nosey skanks who get off prying in other people's lives. Up to there, I didn't really think much of her comments, a lot of people would react the same way to those kinds of questions.

But then she then proudly tells the manicurist that when she came home, she took out the whipping belt and told her 14-year-old son to meet his new psychiatrist, that he was no longer going back to school and had better get a job because a real man doesn't talk to someone else about his problems.

Listening to that just made me sad. A 14 year-old kid has problems, and instead of learning to deal with them, he learns to suppress them and go out of his way to NOT get help. Rich people in the United States talk about visiting their psychologist like a suburbanite might talk about going golfing, but in el Restrepo, Bogota, a hairdresser views the psychologist as the enemy. I'd like to think it was an isolated case, but the way the manicurist and the other hairdresser were rooting her on, I'm thinking it's pretty common. I feel like there's a lot of child abuse in Colombia. I wonder how you even go about changing that kind of education gap.

Ecuador Pictures (Then Explanation)

2010-03-15T06:56:00.000-07:00

Above: Ornate Baroque-style "Compania de Jesus" church in Quito's old quarter.

Above: Panama hats at Plaza Poncho in Otavalo. Turns out Panama hats are actually from Ecuador, not Panama.

Above: Moto taxis in Atacames.

Colombian Words

2010-03-09T17:15:00.000-08:00

Parcero huevon marica hijueputa appear to be Colombian's favorite words.

Nostalgia, Revisted

2010-03-07T15:33:00.000-08:00

Today a cousin invited my grandma, uncle, brother and I for lunch at his apartment, located in an older neighborhood composed of smaller buildings dating from the 1940s and 50s (estimate) out by the Universidad Nacional. I'm most familiar with the eastern part of the city, so it was strange being in Bogota and not hearing any buses or horns -- just birds chirping. A part of the city I had never really considered living in, but we'll see what happens.

While we were there, my grandmother started talking about the Bogota of yesteryear, when members of high society lived in El Centro and La Septima was Bogota's most elegant avenue. She said that back then, you could trust people and that life in Bogota was easier and more idealic. Weekends were filled with trips to El Parque Nacional for theater and ice cream, fun was more innocent and people less devious.

As much as I love listening to these stories and imagining a more perfect world where people care about each other and none of today's modern problems exist, I wonder if there's any reality to this rosy recollection of the olden days, or if it's more of an idealized recreation -- the past reimagined.

Somehow, in my grandmother's stories, Bogota is elevated to a crimeless, cultured, beautiful city devoid of any of its current problems. Even the street people in her recollections are remembered lovingly: La Loca Margarita who dressed completely in red and walked up and down the Septima in the 1930s and 40s with a basket of flowers and fruit, shouting "Que viva el gran partido liberal, abajo los Godos" (long live the liberal party, down with the Godos (conservative party); the almost dwarf-like accordionist dressed in a fine three piece-suit who played his songs in downtown churches and insulted anyone who didn't give him a coin; the Bobo del Tranvia, who jumped from trolley to trolley telling jokes and collecting coins. All of these characters recounted with laughter and nostalgia.

In her story, the people dressed better, loved better and lived better, and today's world has gone to Hell. Nostalgia is a strange thing. I wonder why so many people like to believe the best days are behind us, that the world is getting progressively worse, and the "standard," or the "ideal" has forever been lost. I wonder if the world really is getting worse (in economic/health/social terms it surely isn't -- so aside from perceived human warmth, what else is there?), or if humans just have a tendency to fixate on the "great" things of the past and the "bad" things of the present.

I read a book a few years ago called "Prague," and in the book, one of the main characters is working on a research project regarding nostalgia. I never actually finished the book, but the whole nostalgia thing is an interesting concept. I am a very nostalgic person, but I couldn't tell you why. I romantize the past and tend to imagine it artistically-- as an impressionist painting, black and white photograph, newspaper clip, the deep baritone of 1930s radio broadcaster, or one of the willowy, Grecian-like women in Mucha's poster art. I wonder why.

Regret and Priorities

2010-03-04T18:42:00.000-08:00

I miss my apartment in the city center. I can't really remember why I moved out. I paid the equivalent of US$150 and had Internet, cable (79 channels!) and utilities. Plus, my family could stay and there were no restrictions. The transmilenio was half a block away and I could walk to get anywhere.

What was I thinking when I left???

So my March/April List of Priorities:
1.) Find place to live. With cool YOUNG people with progressive/liberal mindset.
2.) Join a gym or do some kind of exercise. It is not normal for a 25 year old to be out of breath after one flight of stairs.
3.) Get disciplined/organized.
4.) Work on social life.

Somehow it seems like my goals are always the same. This is a problem...

Bus Strike

2010-03-03T18:54:00.000-08:00

Bus drivers in Bogota are on strike. As far as I can tell, they want more money from the government for retiring old buses and are upset that they will no longer be able to pick people up wherever they feel like picking them up. According to the news, business has gone down 66% because shoppers don't feel like dealing with the traffic and employees can't get to work.

I am feeling a bit of cabin fever. I don't have the money to get around by taxi, and live about 15 blocks from the Transmilenio. I miss my daily trips to Chapinero and the center...I can't quite remember why I moved out of my place in the center to begin with. Oh well. Moving forward.

Rainy Season

2010-02-26T07:05:00.000-08:00

So it seems cold-rainy season is back. It was a lovely 2.5 month interlude of sunny, warm days but now we are back to reality. Rainy season here starts with sunny mornings and afternoon showers and ventually evolves into all day general cloudiness and drizzle and strong afternoon rains. Think Seattle or Portland.

On my way to work this morning from a friend´s house, I passed the tombstone street, a solemn looking block selling nothing but tombstones and funeral flowers. It´s located next to what used to be a very prestigious cemetery and looked particularly gloomy in today´s morning clouds and drizzle. Like a scene out of some period piece showing life in a nameless, despondent, pre-industrial revolution European country. I will take pictures one of these days.

First Colombian Hold-up. (Not Mugging)

2010-02-25T10:28:00.000-08:00

As the title indicates, I got mugged today. I was making my way to the bus this morning when a woman came up to me and demanded I give her the COL$5,000 bill I was carrying in my hand. Taken aback my her boldness, I said no.

She then pulled out a piece of glass and told me to hand over the bill, or she'd cut my face. Those who know me well are aware that I am a extremely vain, so this made me rethink my refusal. I told the woman to please hold on a moment and pullled a COL$1,000 bill out of my pocket, but she wasn't having any of that, so I had no choice but to hand over the COL$5,000 bill.

I was actually pretty lucky. I had my credit cards, laptop and $100 in cash on me. Luckily I carry my big bills close to my heart. And in the end, she only took the equivalent of US$2.50. But lesson learned: Don't walk around with my laptop and don't carry money in my hand.

Egyptian

2010-02-24T14:02:00.001-08:00

I remembered to day that when I was really little, my aunt told me one time that my grandfather was European. Somehow in my young mind, I confused this with Egyptian. So through second or third grade, I very proudly told anyone who would listen that I was Egyptian.

Thoughts

2010-02-23T22:06:00.000-08:00

I was doing a little facebook stalking and started getting a little depressed. As it is with facebook photos, my facebook friends (some actual friends, most people I know and am nosy about) were posing in all sorts of happy-looking photos: On vacation with friends, partying in D.C., drinking cocktails on a nighttime Alexandria cruise, celebrating birthdays, white water rafting, getting engaged, getting married, having babies, buying a house – always these smiling, dynamic nano-second stills of life moving forward. Made me feel like my life is somewhat on stand-by, that everyone is making strides toward something and I’m missing out. I think to move forward I need to make a decision: Am I here for a year? Two years? Forever? At any rate, I’ve decided against late night facebook stalking…

Being in a foreign country that isn’t completely foreign isn’t always easy, I have to admit. Of course, I want to make it work because my roots are here and who doesn’t want to think they come from somewhere great? When I was younger, whenever I came to Colombia, I’d have this feeling of euphoria and enlightenment, like everything that made “us” different from “them” (from “real Americans”) finally made sense. I can’t pinpoint what exactly it was that gave me this feeling of relief and belonging, but I guess you could say I was in love with Colombia.

I don’t have that feeling anymore. Maybe I’ve been here so many times that it’s all more familiar now. Even in the most passionate of romances, love fades. Or maybe living abroad for the better part of three years has made me realize how much I enjoy being American. How free being from the U.S. is. In fact, I am realizing lately how very American my mindset is, and how I’m trying to impose my U.S. mentality on my life in Colombia. Which isn’t particularly right either.

Sometimes I think there are aspects of my personality that are irreconcilably incompatible with Colombia. I have never been a particularly delicate or diplomatic person and have always just kind of been myself (sometimes difficult, distant, rough, short) without apology, not caring too much how much or how little people liked me. I always had a nagging thought that this was something I should work to improve, but I had enough friends to feel like I couldn’t be that bad of person, and got away with a lot just by being Jiji. I enjoy being alone (though not in hermit-like proportions) and need a lot of space to feel comfortable. I don’t particularly enjoy unsolicited advice (though I tend to give it), and I like to do what I feel like doing. Here, it seems like someone eating lunch by themselves is pity-worthy. And forget about going to a bar alone. As for advice, it’s everywhere.

Here, it’s harder to be myself. I don’t know if this is specific to me or a more general thing. I love my Colombian family and am thankful for them – I’d probably be back in the U.S right now without them – but sometimes I envy other expats because they do what they want without the fear or dread of reproach or judgment. They hang out with and date whoever they want, party wherever they want and live wherever they want and there is no one asking them what so and so’s last name is or asking them what the hell were they thinking going to this place or that place. They experience Colombia from a completely foreign perspective and I experience it from a sort of undefined middle area, where I’m not really Colombian, but not entirely foreign either. So I’m not completely excused from social norms, so I always feel a certain degree of pressure. If I go out with a guy, it’s always, “what’s his last name, where is he from, what did he study, what company does he work for, what neighborhood does he live in, et cetera. And when I answer that I don’t know on any count, I’m informed that I still don’t get it, that I just don’t understand How Things Are Here. But because I'm not from here, I just can't bring myself to care what someone's last name is or what part of the city they live in.

I grew up in a place where 85% of people were middle class and the small remaining percentage were divided between super rich and quasi-lower middle class. I don’t have experience with massive class/social/economic differences. So basically, I can’t make sense of this social/class system. I try to wrap my mind around it, dissect it, analyze it, come to some kind of understanding with it, but I just haven’t been able to figure it out. In the U.S., if an investment banker married a public school teacher, no one would think anything of it. Not the case here. And I can’t help wondering if maybe I’m just really not made for this.

But then again, there are so many things I love here that I know I could never get in the United States. I suppose every country has positive and negative qualities and I just need to figure out what qualities I can live with. A slightly more honest post than I usually write.

Colombian Honesty Part II

2010-02-22T20:18:00.001-08:00

My grandmother's supportive answer when I told her what the lady said was: "She's just saying that because she didn't see how fat you were before."

Colombian Honesty

2010-02-22T14:51:00.000-08:00

Today I was telling the lady who helps my grandmother that I ate a brownie. She told me I was too fat and how did I expect to lose weight eating brownies. My American sensibilities are not used to such honesty.

Marriage Proposal

2010-02-20T07:03:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I got proposed to for the first time in Colombia. It was not a particularly romantic or tempting proposal. But I do appreciate the guys honesty. Here's how it went down:

Guy: I want to leave Colombia and go work somewhere else. Will you marry me so I can get a visa?

Me: What kind of monetary compensation do I get?

Guy: I'm a good-looking guy. People say I look like Juanes. That should be enough.

Me: Do you have a job?

Guy: No.

Me: Did you finish school?

Guy: No.

Me: How do you support yourself?

Guy: My parents support me.

I declined.

A Long Day.

2010-02-18T20:03:00.000-08:00

Excitement over grown-up new place ends dramatically. Looks like I'm back to being my grandma's roommate for the time being...

A Conversation with My Grandmother

2010-02-14T12:17:00.000-08:00

When I was talking with my grandmother about possible places to move, the following conversation occured:

Me: What do you think of La Candelaria?
Grandmother: They'll shoot you as soon as you leave the house. Or at the very least, you'll be mugged. At knife point.

Me: And the international center?
Grandmother: I wouldn't be caught dead there. Too many muggings.

Me: How about Teusaquillo or La Soledad?
Grandmother: No way, that area has gone really down hill. There are a lot of muggings. And if you leave the house, the robbers will take all your belongings.

Me: What about Chapinero Alto?
Grandmother: No mijita, that's too empty at night. There are a lot of muggings.
Me: But that's a good area.
Grandmother: Only if you have a car. Otherwise you'll be mugged every night.

Me: Ok, what about los Rosales (one of the most expensive, exclusive Bogota neighborhoods)
Grandmother: Absolutely not. There are tons of muggings there.
Me: But it's a super rich area.
Grandmother: Exactly. And the robbers now that, so they mug people all the time.

So according to my grandmother, Unicentro is the only livable spot in Bogota.

Updates

2010-02-14T11:59:00.000-08:00

I've found a new Wi-Fi spot in Los Rosales. It's called Author's and it's an English-language bookstore with an adjacent cafe that sells, among other things, grilled cheese sandwiches, one of my favorite delicacies. Maybe it's not very open of me to seek out an English language bookstore as a hang-out, but it’s nice to have something that reminds you of home when you’re away. Maybe because I’m an English major and a writer, I should like tiny, intimate bookshops, but (except for my family and friends) there’s nothing I miss more about the U.S than the monstrous proportions of Barnes and Nobles and the wonderful, crisp smell of new books and overpriced coffee. Just thinking about it makes me feel nostalgic. To me, there are few smells as wonderful as that of a new book, especially a paperback.

Anyway, Author’s is medium-sized, organized, and they play that laid-back jazzy coffee-shop music so popular in U.S. bookshops. It's about a 20 block walk from my apartment, but leaving the house makes me feel like I'm at an office, resulting in me being more productive. Plus, I get my exercise in, as I haven’t found the motivation to join and actual gym yet. Maybe someday.

So I was exploring my northern England meets Munich meets impoverished Soviet-era Eastern Europe neighborhood (changes by the block), and can report that my local surroundings include half a dozen pet shops (very sad to see puppies in tiny cages), an esoteric bookstore, a cozy little pizza place, more lamp shops than one could ever need, several bakeries and plenty of those huge, unique old houses now divided into several apartments or businesses and in a sad, but slightly artistic, state of disrepair. I feel like I live in the D.C equivalent of Columbia Heights, except my neighborhood is de-gentrifying while Columbia Heights up and fell and is now up and coming. It has that look of faded grandeur, like once upon a time it was a well-kept middle upper class neighborhood, but as Chinua Achebe would tell you, “Things Fall Apart.”

I suppose that by living where I’m living I’m transferring my U.S. mentality to Colombia. If I were living in the U.S., I’d be sharing one of those old south Arlington, U-Street or Columbia Heights homes with an economist, non-profit worker and grad student. Maybe a slightly rebellious act on my part to want to live somewhere edgy, previously disregarded and with a little bit of a bad reputation, and maybe wrong of me to try to apply my American ideas in a foreign country. A phase I’ll probably grow out of when I no longer care about being provocative in that way. So I’m applying my yuppy mentality to Bogota even though it’s different here, and in many ways, you’re judged by where you live. In the U.S., people might think I was a “cool, hipster-type chick” if I said I was moving to U-Street; here, I get whispers from people who think I’m a confused foreigner who is unaware of what’s best for herself. Maybe they’re right, but being young and not taking advice very well, I’ll have to find out on my own.

I’ve always liked to find beauty in strange places, to feel like I’ve discovered something, to feel like I’m seeing something most people can’t; very arrogant sounding of me, but everyone likes to feel like they’re special. And in my neighborhood, with all those beautiful (if slightly decaying) brick houses, unkempt front yards and older-model cars, I can imagine what was and what could be, which is sometimes better than seeing what actually is, if that makes sense. But of course, if we went back to when the houses were well-kept, the lawns perfectly manicured and the cars the latest models, the neighborhood wouldn’t have appealed to me. I don’t know what that says about me.

But either way, I like my new place and neighborhood. My apartment feels like home. I want to hang pictures on my bedroom wall, by a nice frying pan and invite friends over for dinner. I don’t know that I’ll stay here for too long because I’d eventually like to have my own place, under my name, but for now, it seems perfect.

My New Place

2010-02-11T18:56:00.000-08:00

So above are some pictures of my new apartment/neighborhood. The first picture is the view from my bedroom window (central/western Bogota), the second my living room, the third my dining area and the last a my street. By far, the nicest non-parent's place I've lived in in the last 6 or 7 years...

Too Good to be True?

2010-02-09T17:39:00.000-08:00

So, things have been going very well these last couple of weeks in all aspects of my life.

1.) I have 7 students who all want 4-6 hours of tutoring a week. And most of them just want conversation. So I am basically getting paid to talk to people.

2.) I've started working on a new project (Latinworld.com) where I get to write articles about tourism and Latin America. It's not a full-time job, but it let's me do what I like to do and keeps me in the writing field. I'm really looking forward to this project because Latin American tourism is something I can actually get excited about.

3.) I have a new place! And it's an adult place. Not as in XXX adult, but it just seems very grown-up. All the places I've lived in since college are so old that the bathroom and kitchen always look dirty no matter how many times it's cleaned. My new place is in a relatively new building and everything looks clean and welcoming. It's pretty small, but my room has it's own bathroom (having one's own bathroom being a major indicator of being grown-up) and it's completely furnished. My roommate is French and works as a professor, so maybe I'll be speaking French by the end of the year.

The demographics of my new neighborhood are pretty similar to my old neighborhood: middle-middle class, lots of students, a handful of foreigners, some homeless people and about a hundred mariachis. Yes, I will be living on La Calle de Los Mariachis, surrounded by middle-aged men in tight pants and enormous sombreros. My apartment is on a dead-end street with about half a dozen English-style houses and I'm close to an actual grocery store, lots of clothes and shoe shops and lots of cafes and restaurants. A good mix of residential and commerical.

4.) I've made some friends, am going out more and having a very good time. I've met a good mix of foreign and Colombian people, and I'm really excited about the prospect of staying in Bogota and making a life here. I don't know if that will change, but for the first time in my life, I am actually excited about where I am and the life I have rather than thinking about where I'd like to go instead. It only took 25 years...

Routine

2010-02-05T15:26:00.001-08:00

It looks like next week I will be starting a new tutoring schedule, 24 hours a week, at least for the next few months. Considering I've only been tutoring 6-10 hours a week for the last few months, this should signficantly increase my purchasing power. 24 hours a week isn't exactly a full time jobs, but it should give me a pretty nice monthly income by Colombian standards, so I'm pretty excited.

So now I will need to be a little more disciplined. I've been on somewhat of a vacation for the last few months, but now need to return to reality...

Colombia

2010-02-02T13:28:00.000-08:00

I spent my first couple of months in Bogota so absorbed by everything new and different -- architecture, cafes, culture, shops, streets -- that I was in a complete state of euphoria. Going from Centreville (population 50,000) to Bogota (population 8 million) is a big change. And even though I lived in Panama City, I'd be hesitant to put it in the same category as New York or Bogota because something about it seems a little artificial. Kind of a Miami or Las Vegas-type city. So I was extremely excited about everything that comes with living in a vibrant, interesting, culturally fascinating and diverse big city. It was like being on vacation 24/7.

I spent the next few months comparing everything to the U.S, missing everyone at home, criticizing everything that I didn't find up to par and wondering if I'd made the right decision moving here. Especially when I heard about Arlington happy hours, Adams Morgan clubbing, popcorn consumption, Alexandria and Georgetown day-trips, rural country drives, family dinners, my friends' expanding purchasing power (my shrinking purchasing power) and basically, everyone going on merrily with their lives -- without me. I guess I was slightly depressed because after you see everything great about a place, you start seeing everything bad.

But now the euphoria's gone and so's the depression. I've stopped comparing everything, stopped being over critical and have started making an effort to be more social, do more things and go out more, all things that make life better. So now I'm pretty content here. If you know how to take advantage of it, Bogota is a pretty cool place.

Now I just need to find a new apartment. My current place is too far from my classes and my room's a little small. I'd really like to find somewhere in Chapinero because it's close to the center and the north but still has a lot going on.

Street Flattery

2010-01-30T22:41:00.000-08:00

I have reached the point where if I go out and no one catcalls me, my day doesn't feel complete. I assume something must be wrong with the men, because of course, there can't possibly be anything wrong with me. That's the kind of arrogance I've developed in Colombia. I tell myself the poor guys I happend to walk by that day don't know how to appreciate true beauty. Yes, I pretend to be all offended and put-off because catcalls are degrading and I'm a modern feminist-type woman and all that; I give them dirty looks and roll my eyes and sigh to myself. But I can't lie; being told your are beautiful many times a day gives you a slightly dilusional (if temporary) sense of confidence and self-esteem. But then I remind myself that the only real requirement for getting catcalled is being a girl. And under 50.

Anway, aside from the Barbie Botero guy, there are a couple others who stand out in my mind. For example, the would-be Vallenato singer who proudly sang to me that he liked his women bonitas y gorditas. For the non-Spanish speakers out there, Carlos Vives was telling me that he liked his women pretty and fat. That guy has a special place in my heart. Also, the guy who walked by me the other day, licked his lips and said to me -- with very serious bedroom eyes -- "Que exceso tan rico." I have come to terms with the fact that most catcalls I get inevitably include mention of my "Botero-like" proportions.

Then there are the poets, the ones who put their hats on their chest and recite a few lines of colonial-era poetry in your honor as you walk by. I find those to be the most endearing, as it is nice to inspire poetry, even if the same two lines are read to every other woman. Perhaps the most common catcall is "Mamita, estas muy buena." Not particularly inspired or original, but what woman doesn't like to be told that she is a mamita and she is muy buena? But maybe my favorite is the simple, hola, complete with raised eyebrow and seductive smirk. Because those guys -- the hola guys -- are so confident that they barely need words in their game of seduction.

Height

2010-01-26T14:37:00.000-08:00

I remembered today that back in the day, I thought that my American Uncle was incredibly tall. I guess he was (is), in comparison with the rest of the family. Also, at the time, I was surrounded by three foot preschoolers, making him seem all the taller. But it turns out he´s only 5'7. It took me a while to figure out that height does not qualify one as a giant.

Clothes

2010-01-24T19:35:00.000-08:00

Colombian people (in general) dress very nicely. No going to the super market in sweatpants and flipflops anymore.

San Gil and Barichara

2010-01-22T22:03:00.000-08:00

Spent a few days in San Gil with my blonde-haired sister, who might as well be Miss. America in small town Colombia. Or in all of Colombia. Blondes are a rare and highly pursued commodity here. Brunettes not so much.

Anyway, our hotel cost $15 a night and we had a private bathroom, balcony access and cable TV. For that price, you don’t mind sacrificing air conditioning and a hot shower. The hotel was run by a nice young woman who wore those light wash jeans with no pockets in the back, a white spaghetti top and a miraculous wonder bra. My style icon. If only I lived in a hot weather place. Alas, Bogota confines me to sweaters and scarves.

San Gil itself is not a particularly picturesque town and considering it's the ecotourism capital of Colombia, we did not expect that the air would smell like diesel. But my sister and I came to the consensus that if there is one smell that characterizes Latin America, it's diesel. (Mixed with fried food, perfume and cigarettes.) You can’t get away from it. Back in the U.S., I'd occasionally pick up the scent. I'd be walking along minding my own business when suddenly, I'd smell that most Latin American blend of aromas, that perfect mixture of gasoline, old woman's perfume, unfiltered cigarettes and a wonderful, dizzying aroma of fried baked goods. It had the power to transport me straight to the motherland, hitting me with a wave of nostalgia for a country I wasn't even born in and didn't grow up in.

But back in San Gil -- The town is very typical of Colombian small towns: A hodgepodge mix of slightly dilapidated colonial-style buildings, style-less 70's monstrosities, cobblestoned streets that suddenly turn into paved streets, far more pharmacies than seem necessary, too many motorcycles for comfort, and an attractive colonial church in a surprisingly intact plaza populated by old men with little to do (but who cling –unfailingly -- to an undying admiration of all things female). Sometimes I think it would be nice to live in a small town. It’s like living a Marquez or Amado novel. You see the gossipy fat woman who sells lottery tickets and cell phone minutes and never leaves her wooden stool, the good-looking town stud who fancies himself a Don Juan, the teenage girls who knowingly and frequntly walk by said Don Juan, the little kids in their school uniforms screaming and playing during recess and the town drunkard, asleep on the sidewalk with a bottle of aguardiente still in his hands at 3pm in the afternoon. I suppose the story of small towns is the same all over the world.

In the San Gil spirit of adventure, Tati and I decided to go white water rafting. Below you can see us in our rafting get-up. I think my life jacket made me look like a massive German woman named Bertha or Helga or something equally terrible, but as safety comes first, I had no choice but to accept my Bavarian lot in life. Because the river was so low, our outdoor adventure at times seemed more like still water drifting than white water rafting. But if you had seen our rafting team (composed of two slightly overweight and uncoordinated middle-aged moms, two slightly distracted and equally uncoordinated kids, one 90-pound, uninterested teenager, my sister and myself) you would understand that this group was not made for level 5 rapids. I do not think that our 15 year-old guide was impressed with his group of thrill-seekers. But for the equivalent of US$10, we got to enjoy a scenic 10k journey down the river (more like creek due to lack of rain), where we saw several iguanas, many rocks and plenty of trees. And unlike Montana where I happily volunteered to sit in the middle of the raft, I actually rowed this time.

Tati became el Lobster Humano by the end of the trip, serving as a reminder that sunscreen is very necessary when participating in tropical outdoor adventures…

A Day

2010-01-17T10:22:00.000-08:00

To get an idea of the world that is Bogota, let me tell you about our (my sister, father and myself) day yesterday.

We started out by heading to Salerno, a diner cafe with cheap breakfast, good service and a nice ambiance, where we enjoyed omelets, caldo de costilla and pancakes. The place is slightly reminiscent of one of those old-time diners you still find in small town America, but with a mildly European flair. Demographics: middle class families getting together and old men reading the newspaper. If they had Wi-Fi, I'd do all my work there.

Afterwards, we took a cab to my grandmother's apartment in the north, where we had lunch, ate pastries at Guernika and sat around listening to Andre Rieu, Edith Piaf and Enrique Chia, commenting on how relaxing life in Colombia is and admiring the extensive nature of my grandmother's music collection. This went on for about...five hours.

Later that evening, long-lost cousin Jaime (ophthalmologist and music connoisseur who seemed to know everything about every country, including geography, culture and social programs, despite never having left Colombia) picked us up for dinner in La Zona G. We dined on shrimp, salad and coconut rice and chatted pleasantly about life. For those who don't know what the Zona G is, it's Bogota's upscale dining quarter, home to some of the city's best restaurants. I haven't been able to figure out if it's Zona G for Zona Gourmet or Zona Gastronomico. Both work.

So after a lovely, low-key day, we came home at night and my father, sister and I were standing outside on my balcony, commenting on the massiveness of Bogota, the direness of the far-off slums and the sad, long bus journeys that maids and security guards have to make to earn $15 a day. I assure my sister, a little nervous that the slums are not so far-off, that my area is perfectly safe and she has nothing to worry about. Not so true, I guess.

We go to bed and suddenly we hear something that sounds like an exploding tire or gun shot, and I go to the window and see half a dozen people going in and out of what looks like an abandoned office building a block away from my apartment. We can hear a man screaming in agony, the kind of screaming you only hear on news specials about people who've lost a loved one, and we can hear other male voices having a heated discussion. So I have to believe that what we heard was a gun shot. Having spent the first 22 years of my life in Centreville, where the only gunshots I ever heard were in the action movies my dad used to watch every night, it's surreal to have something like that make its way into my real life. I guess that growing up in the upper middle class suburban demographic I think I'm immune from the kind of things that happen in Southeast D.C.

The shot happened late at night off the main avenue on a street full of small, seedy bars (bares de mala muerte in Spanish) frequented by young, unemployed men with suspicious haircuts who start drinking after lunch, but still, it's a bit to close to home when you can hear someone get shot from your bedroom. I guess it brought me back to reality, that I am in Latin America -- not Centreville, where car and house doors can be left open without fear. Maybe the world has spent too much time focusing on empowering women and men have slipped through the cracks and now the focus needs to shift. It seems like men are always at the root of all problems. Maybe they are feeling un-empowered.

Villa de Leyva

2010-01-13T04:30:00.000-08:00

My dad is visiting right now. I've discovered that in order to stay happy in Colombia, it's important to leave Bogota once in a while, get away from the clouds, sad pine mountains, pollution, chaotic architecture and big city atmosphere.

So we went to Villa de Leyva, a museum-like town full of white houses and green balconies. For the Virginians out there, Villa de Leyva channels a Middleburg feel. Just replace the English colonial buildings and Arlington/Washingtonian contractor/government worker-types with Spanish colonial buildings and Bogota uppercrust city dwellers looking for a weekend getaway. Lots of Bogotanos have built homes in the mountains around the city and you see more foreigners than almost anywhere else in Colombia, but you also still see your share of campesino grandmothers with nylon stockings, slippers, knee length blue or dark green skirts, a Bavarian-looking hat and ruana (shawl).

Above: The Villa de Leyva main plaza is massive; it becomes a market square on Saturdays, but with the lack of vendor stalls, plaza cafes or decorations of any kind, it looks unproportionally large considering it belongs to a small town. It's like the Tiananmen Square of Colombian plazas (minus long history of violent protests.)

Above: My father and I enthusiastically signed up for this "mild," "beginners" hike through the Villa de Leyva countryside, to the Paso del Angel, a narrow, six foot long strip of mountain with steep drop-offs on both sides. After miraculously finishing the four hour hike, I realized that any aspiration of climbing Mt. Kilamanjaro are years of serious endurance work-outs away. There was a point where it hurt to breath and I wondered if it was possible to have a lung collapse at 25. We were both very thankful that we signed up for the half day hike rather than the full day hike.

For any of you who've been to the Minho Province in northern Portugal, the Villa de Leyva surroundings look/feel a bit like that. Rural, windy, arid, mountainous, home to people with 400 years of history in the area who stay and do the best they can despite a difficult terrain and few opportunities (outside of tourism). I like comparisons to other places. Maybe because I'm never completely happy being in only one place, so I like to imagine I'm somewhere else too.

Anyway, unlike much of Colombia, which is vegetated, tropical and almost exploding with color, shades of brown, dull green, yellow and orange characterizes the Villa de Leyva countryside. Tomatoes are one of the only crops that grow successfully here, and long-periods of drought mean the creeks and waterfalls sometimes run dry. But within a 45-minute drive of town, you're suddenly in a humid, green forest with much more fertile land. It's always amazing to me how fast geography changes in Colombia.

Above: Myself, Don Parra and son on our hike. Don Parra is a part-time construction worker, part-time guide and all-around nature expert with two kids and a nice little house a few miles outside Villa de Leyva. Politics: Anti-Chavez, Pro-Uribe, anti-guerilla, pro American basis.

He told us a very sad story about Colombian agriculture, particularly tomatoes. Apparently, planting in greenhouses allows 3-4 harvests in the time normal planting produces one harvest, so all local farmers have now taken on the practice of growing tomatoes this way. It's the only way the banks will give them a loan nowadays. Anyway, in order to grow greenhouse tomatoes, the tomatoes are given a specific chemical mix all day and night and the land they are planted on is left infertile within a few years due to overuse. But there's not really anyone right now to stop the practice. The small and medium tomatoes stay in Colombia; the extra large ones head to Canada and the United States. Apparently, some of these chemicals have gotten in the rivers and creeks, causing mutations among the local people. So far for the theory of third world countries and a simpler, more innocent way of life that doesn't include pesticides or chemicals. It always comes down to supply and demand and from here on out, demand for agricultural goods will probably necessitate these kinds of practices.

In the second picture you can see Leonardo, Don Parra's son, crossing the Cruce del Angel.

Above: My dad enjoying our meal at the Gato Gris in Casa Quintero.

T.V.

2010-01-10T15:19:00.001-08:00

Everytime I look at my TV, I am overwhelmed with joy. I feel so grow-up making such a permanent purchase.

My little 14 inch LG has changed my life...

More Pictures

2010-01-07T14:08:00.000-08:00

Above: There are about a dozen Pacific seafood restaurants behind my apartment building. All of them are the cafeteria-style, plastic chairs, no frills variety. As you can see, no one is safe from graffiti in downtown Bogota. The man sitting in front of the restaurant is selling avocados.

Above: I think I've mentioned these little makeshift wooden carts. They sell cigarettes, gum, mints and sometimes lottery tickets and cell phone minutes. The owner of this cart wanted to know what newspaper I was with when I asked if I could take a picture of his cart. I told him I was a tourist. He said he thought tourist liked to take pictures of La Candelaria or Monserrate, not street carts.

Above: The transcendental Sr. Valasquez, hard at work and the famous Rushdie/Tolstoy, reading an old magazine and the bible. The kind of face and expression you'll never forget. Unfortunately, I coudn't get the flash quite right.

Camera

2010-01-05T13:18:00.000-08:00

I braved the less-than-pleasant backstreets of downtown Bogota this afternoon to buy my camera battery and charger. I´m tired of always walking around, seeing things and wishing I had a camera.

Above: A sad-looking Bogota stray dog. One of thousands. This one was in pretty good shape, though it looked a bit depressed. I guess I would be feeling pretty down as well if my home was a sad-looking doorstep.

Downtown Bogota is graffiti central. Most are political and some are pretty impressive. Nearly all are anti-Uribe. Agro Segura was a program that was supposed to help poor, rural farmers. Instead, most of the money went to wealthy land-owners and a former beauty queen. I still don´t exactly understand how or why the beauty queen ended up with the money, but it was a pretty big scandal a few months ago.

Above: Cuba Antigua Discoteca. I´m not sure if it´s actually functioning as a bar or apartments or nothing at all, but anything having to do with Cuba intrigues me. A good example of a formerly attractive but dying building. You see a lot of those former glory-type buildings here. It´s part of what gives Bogota a melancholy, nostalgic feel, I think. A lot that could be done but more that goes to waste.

Above: A typical cheap lunch spot in the city center. At this kind of place you get beans, rice, beef, arepa and a drink for the equivalent of about US$2.50.

Above: Two shoe-shiners next to my apartment. I asked the man standing up if I could take his picture and he called his friend over to sit in the chair. Then asked me for COL$10,000. Around La Octava, there are half a dozen shoe-shiners set-up against a decaying, graffitied wall. When all the seats are full of people getting their shoes shined, it´s an impressive sight; something out of a Charles Dickens novel.

The Price of Feta

2010-01-03T16:02:00.000-08:00

A number of points.

1. ) Today I went to el Exito to buy some feta cheese. I've been in the mood for a Greek salad for the last couple of weeks and I thought it was time to be proactive and make things happen. So I get to the fancy cheese counter and a small jar of feta cheese costs the equivalent of US$15. There seem to be many goats in Colombia, so I don´t understand why it´s so expensive. I just can´t justify spending $15 on cheese...

2.) I work in a very bohemian sector of La Candelaria. In a small bed and breakfast right against the mountains near el Chorro de Quevedo, where Bogota was supposedly founded in the 1500s. After 7pm, the smell of marijuana takes over. I don´t even notice it anymore. One of my cousins explained to me that ever since Uribe took over and made the exporting of drugs more difficult, Colombians have taken it upon themselves to consume the surplus. I don´t know if this is true or not, but judging from the smell near my workplace, I wouldn´t be surprised.

Anyway, let me paint the picture of the sector where I work: Drugged out punks in tight pants and fedoras sitting with their punk rock girlfriends who almost always carry a Colombian mochila and are prone to piercings and tattoos. Half a dozen of these types sitting on the steps around the Chorro de Quevedo (fountain of Quevedo), which is currently in a sad state of abandonment. There are few things sadder than a fountain with no water. That is dire. Hippies with dreadlocks selling jewelry and playing the bongos -- on the weekends, they like to play from sunrise to sunrise. Strange daytime prayer sessions with participants dressed as if taking part in some sort of ancient Native American ritual. Tiny bars on cobblestoned streets playing reggae, serving cheap beer and aguardiente and frequented by lower class locals and staunchly anti-Uribista rich kids looking for something authentic and 'popular' where they can meet real Bogotanos. And of course, the European and Israeli backpacker crowd who stay at the many hostels around the Chorro de Quevedo.

So now, you can imagine me in the evenings, sitting in a nicely restored colonial building at the top of La Candelaria among all this folklore.

3.) When I was on my way to work today, I saw Rushdie-Tolstoy (the old man from the tailor shop) walking down Carrera 3. He had several old magazines in one hand and was wearing an old, over-sized gray suit jacket and blue suit pants. I think he wears it everyday but makes sure it is clean and ironed. He was still expressionless, his face one of those of undeterminable ethnicity. My favorite kind. He had such a bad limp that it probably took him hours to get wherever he was going. It made me sad. He is no longer just a tailor shop caricature of my imagination, but a real person with a severe leg problem. I wonder why it is that -- as far as I know -- only the Germans have an actual word for world sadness. Weltschmertz. You would think it´s a pretty wide-spread sentiment. But maybe the Germans are just more melancholy than the rest of us.

4.) They were blasting vallenatos from the Dunkin Donuts next to my apartment. I suppose it is nice to see that globalization doesn´t crush all elements of culture.

5.) When my dad and sister get here, I think I need to go somewhere a bit less somber and intense than Bogota for a few days. I think it´s an amazing city but it can get you down. There is too much of everything. Except order.

A New Year, An Improved Me.

2010-01-02T12:37:00.000-08:00

According to the Maya, the world will end in 2012. I hope this prediction is wrong because I have committed myself to a number of New Year's resolutions and I'd rather not make the effort toward self-perfection if all we have are a couple of years.

Anyway, my resolutions:

1.) Get organized.
I just bought a 2010 agenda to start this process. I also folded my clothes very nicely in my closet, made my bed, dusted my room and washed all my dirty dishes. I think that is a good start considering it is only the second day of the new year. In addition, I plan to hire a maid to clean the places I'd rather not clean, such as the bathroom and the kitchen. If only we had a vacuum...I do have to say, though, that I have gotten a bit more organized in the last few months, perhaps as a result of living with my compulsively organized grandmother for two months.

2.) Eat healthier/Do exercise.
Perhaps the most popular among New Year's resolutions, so I don't feel particuarly orginal posting this one. But eating pizza and frappaccinos everyday may not get me much further than 2012 anyway, so it is time to start eating "good" things. The problem with living alone is that it's almost cheaper to eat out than cook and no matter how small a milk you buy, it always goes bad. But anyway, to get this resolution started, I just spent a record amount of money at my local grocery store and bought a bunch of fruits, vegtables and other healthy things. I was extremely disappointed to find that the grocery store closest to me does not sell feta cheese, balsamic vinegar or tilapia, but I can't use that as an excuse to eat out...

As for exercise, I am not yet sure how I plan to carry out this part of the plan. I don't want to join the gym, I don't particularly like jogging and group sports have never been my forte. Well, my sports performance in general is sub par. So if anyone has any suggestions on how I can start exercising in a fun way, it would be appreciated.

3.) Be more social.
Life without my family and Rasha as my daily friend can be a little bit lonely. I am on a mission to find a daily friend in Colombia. So far, the only daily friend I have is the homeless guy who carries around a massive trashbag everyday, has not showered in at least a few months and sings Vallenatos to me everyday when I walk by. But this is not the kind of friend I am looking for. I prefer this friend to have a house, be a girl and be able to communicate in a non-musical way.

In order to accomplish this, I will have to actual talk to and smile at people and attend social-type gatherings. I plan to start taking French classes in the next few weeks. Maybe I can meet a daily friend there. Plus become trilingual which will make me seem very interesting and intelligent. Or maybe I will have to join activities like yoga or expat girls' night out events.

Those are the resolutions I have come up with for now. If anyone out there sees another area in which I'm lacking, feel free to inform me and attempts toward improvement will be made.

2010

2010-01-01T15:29:00.003-08:00

I have a feeling 2010 will be a very good year.

Why

2009-12-30T17:29:00.001-08:00

Is it so hard to eat in Bogota? Despite the fantastic weight-loss benefits, I miss enjoying a good meal.

I Would Like to Know...

2009-12-28T17:04:00.001-08:00

Why Colombian Pizza has no tomato sauce.

Conclusion: My Pants

2009-12-22T06:44:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I picked up my newly taken in pants. It turns out Senor Valasquez is a bit weirder than I initially thought. He was telling me how he believed he had discovered the secret to human flight and within a few years, he would be flying like a needle through the cosmos. He informed me very seriously that spirituality and positive thinking can make even the unimaginable happen when I questioned his flying potential. The silent, Tolstoy/Rushdie old man was still sitting in the corner saying nothing, and another long-bearded Russian Orthodox priest-looking old man came out of nowhere, giving me a bit of a fright. It felt like I had stepped into a Paolo Coelho novel.

Unfortunately, Mr. Valasquez left one pair of my pants so very mind-boggingly tight that they only made it about halfway up my leg before I heard the very unpleasant sound of a rip. If only he had used his powers of positive thinking at that moment.

Visa

2009-12-21T10:28:00.000-08:00

So, in order to renew my tourist visa for 2010 it seems I have to head over to Ecuador for at least a 24-hour period. Despite the fact that my soliciations for travel companions via blog have not worked in the past, I remain hopeful. It could be a fantastic adventure into the Andean heartland...

A Trip to the Tailor

2009-12-16T13:41:00.000-08:00

Because I have only one pair of pants that currently fits me (despite my recent frappaccino craze), yesterday afternoon I hit the backstreets behind my apartment in search of a tailor. I unfortunately can't afford to buy all-new pants so I must do what the rest of the world does: Get things fixed when they stop working. Very un-American of me. Anyway, being Hispanic, I like my pants to be so tight I have to lay down to zip them, and the thought of walking around with huge, clown-looking pants is too much to bear.

My search was rather short; within five minutes, me and my pants-stuffed Colombian mochila found ourselves at the steps of a certain Mr. Valasquez, the "clinical tailor" offering "everything from treatment to surgery of clothing."

Mr. Valaszuez's shop is located on 20th and 4th, a somewhat dilapidated, graffitied and seedy street characterized by an unavoidable and penetrating seafood smell eminating from the many Pacific restaurants that make their home there. Across from one of these such restaurants (with their plastic chairs and tables and cafeteria-like atmosphere -- but that's another story) in a poorly maintained -- but still somewhat charming -- colonial-era house, behind a decrepit wrought iron door, I found Mr. Valasquez sitting behind an unstable, shaky wooden sewing table, in front of a yellowed, ancient-looking Singer sewing machine that sounded as if it was just barely clinging to life. I loved it.

To me, something about the word tailor -- sastre in Spanish -- sounds very old fashioned and noble. So it was only fitting that stepping into Mr. Valasquez's shop was like stepping back a hundred years in time. The entire shop was appeared to be a mere 8ft x 8ft, spools of different colored thread sitting neatly on his work table, well-worn old wooden cabinents filled with various sewing tools and cut-off pant bottoms of varying colors and decades piled up a few feet high under his work table. And in the corner desk, with a white bushy beard, perfectly round glassses and deep, almost painful-looking wrinkles, sat a silent and expressionless man who I presumed to be Mr. Valasquez's father. Had Salman Rushdie and Leo Tolstoy had a child, it would have looked just like that old man in the corner.

Mr. Valasquez's arhaic, formal language matched the old-time feel of his shop. Let me give you a little snippet of our conversation (Imagine a serious and poised middle-aged man with yellow measuring tape around his shoulders, spikey gray hair, a white, tucked-in turtle neck and brown trousers slowly and intently circling me while marking my pants with chalk where they need to be taken in):

Me: Do you think you can take these pants in?
V: But of course, su merced (literal translation: your grace). It is, of course, quite imperative that you try these fine vestiments on so that I may adapt them to your particular anatomy. I will explain to you the methodology I will employ in order to maintain the integrity of these pants while tailoring them just so to your body.

And so I left my clown pants at that little shop on 20th and 4th with the high hopes that Mr. Valasquez will work his magic (at $3.50 per pair) and return to me five pairs of pants that leave everyone wondering how someone like me can manage to squeeze into such mind-boggingly tight-fitting jeans.

Just So You Know...

2009-12-15T09:34:00.000-08:00

I am addicted to Frappaccinos. Cafe del Sol makes the best ones. In fact, that's where I'm headed now. Dunkin Donutes' are just cold coffee on ice and were a serious disappointment despite having only 230 calories. La Boheme's are hot coffee with a scoop of ice cream. I've yet to try Oma's or Juan Valdez's, but I will report back when I do. Maybe I've replaced diet coke with frappaccinos. I feel I have become quite fat in the last week. Oh well.

As as side note, I've noticed that men on the street often call me negra, flaca and fea. I think this is some kind of opposites game they find funny. At least that's what I hope with regards to the fea part.

A Question.

2009-12-12T14:42:00.001-08:00

I would like to know why Colombians get so excited about Christmas lights and decorations in the city parks. Does this happen in American cities too?

I found a New Cafe with Free Wi-Fi.

2009-12-11T13:17:00.000-08:00

I didn't actually just find it -- I saw it when Stephen was here and have been intrigued ever since. It is called La Boheme, a much more romantic name than Cafe del Sol, I think. Maybe this will be my new office. It's in La Macarena, in my opinion, one of the coolest neighborhoods in Bogota. It's very small with tiny tables, a brick bar, stone floor, black and white photos of early 19th century France and Italy, old-time Parisian post-card art, a wooden ceiling, lantern lights and iron-rail windows. I like that sort of thing. It's much nicer to write about incontinence due to an enlarged prostate and motels in Jackson, Tennessee when in a pleasant environment. It's located on a lovely tree-lined street and happy hour features two glasses of red wine for COL$5,000 (US$2.50). Maybe I will be here everyday from 5-7pm, although that may result in a drinking problem. Right now, Edith Piaf is playing in the background and the waiter is having a very gossip-filled conversation with a costena he seems to know very well. In fact, everyone who comes in is greeted with a hug, kiss or handshake. Very nice, I think.

The only problem is that La Boheme is that it's about 10 blocks from my house. But maybe that is a good thing now that I've discovered that frappaccinos exist in Colombia and that they usually include at least two scoops of ice cream. This new discovery isn't good for my diet or wallet, but I've decided to sacrifice my public transportation budget in pursuit of artificially flavored, sugar, fat and calorie-filled zero-nutrient coffee drinks and now walk anywhere under 50 blocks.

Anyway, a bit about La Macarena: The vibe is kind of like East Village meets Eastern Europe meets Vancouver. You'd really have no idea what country or even continent you're in when you're standing in the middle of it. I think it's one of the most exciting neighborhoods in Bogota; it's very artfully designed with lots of soul, character and life. La Macarena has a bit of a new-age/bohemian/leftist feel to it, factors that lend themselves very nicely to writing, even if about trivial topics. It's a really hilly, leafy neighborhood with lots of stairs, brick buildings and recently renovated old houses converted into bars and restaurants set against Bogota's pine mountains. If I had my camera charger, I could do the neighborhood more justice.

There's one street in particular -- I think it's La Carrera Quinta -- full of small bars, experimental/funky restaurants and small apartment buildings. There's a Serbian restaurant, a sushi place, a tapas place, a pizza place (La MonaPizza) a creperie and a restaurant called La Jugueteria which looks very intriguing. Perhaps if I didn't squander all my disposable income on frappaccinos, I could visit a few of these places.

Up toward the mountains, there are these massively huge, beautiful Mediterranean-style houses and apartment buildings up narrow, rarely-visited streets and nearly hidden behind stone walls, forest and vegetation. I did some exploring in a gated community up around carrera 3, but was politely asked by the portero to leave, so I was only partially able to imagine myself in a quaint Italian or Greek hilltown. I wonder what kind of people live there?

Maybe I should start a company. I'll call it Alternative Bogota and the logo will be Bogota: More than Unicentro, La Zona T, Gripas and Peligro. It will be aimed at tourists and locals alike. While thinking up that logo I looked up pensively and I think the waiter took it as an amorous, seductive look, because he smiled and winked. I think I am now officially a very welome client at La Boheme.

Just in case you're interested...

2009-12-10T13:03:00.000-08:00

For all you friendly, giving, care package putter-togethers out there feeling particularly generous this holiday season, feel free to send mail my way:

Edificio Residencial Sabana, apt. 1408
Calle 19 Carrera 4-56
Bogota, Colombia

Baked goods and English-language books are most appreciated, not that I'm soliciting gifts or anything, as I'm aware, as my mother has informed me, that one must be present to receive presents.

Why?

2009-12-09T17:08:00.000-08:00

I would like to know how it's possible that my purchasing power is lower now than it was when I was 16.

A Few Observations/Anecdotes from Today

2009-12-08T14:31:00.000-08:00

1.) I was walking along La Septima this afternoon like a woman on a mission  with my arms swinging back and forth as they often do when I have no particular destination in mind when suddenly, I realized my palm landed squarely on the ample, blue-jeaned butt of a teenaged guy. I was in shock over the uncomfortable situation and instead of pulling my hand away, my hand cramped up, an unfortunate reaction I believe the guy interpreted as an admirative squeeze. He was pleased. His girlfriend was not.

2.) Living on a budget is not nearly as fun as spending carelessly, and Milo, as delicious and nutritious as it is, is an unaffordable luxury. Because beans are the second most economical food choice after lentils, I've made a giant pot of kidney beans, which I will be eating for lunch and dinner this week. I remember the days when I'd buy clothes whenever I felt like it, spend $5 on a Grande Frappaccino or $100 on books and stationary without thinking twice about it. Those days are gone. I have abandoned my comfortable first-world life for a more difficult, third world life. My poor immigrant parents probably don't know where they went wrong.

3.) Children everywhere love balloons. Why?

4.) I keep getting e-mails from some "black singles" site and "Latin American girlfriend-finding" site, which starts with lines such as, "Are you a successful Gringo looking for a sexy, wild Latina?..." I am not a successful Gringo looking for a sexy, wild Latina but there is no option to stop receiving e-mails. Oh well. If there are any successful Gringos out there looking for sexy, wild Latinas, Leticia, Leidy and Reina are waiting to meet you.

5.) There are certain less-than-wealthy people I see in my neighborhood everyday and some I feel sorry for and others I don't.  For example, I don't usually feel sorry for the indignantes because (judging by their slurred words and strange behavior) they did something to get where they are. Maybe I'm wrong, but that's just my opinion. But certain people you wonder how life can be so unfair.

Example 1:  There is an old man who stands in front of the Panamericana on Calle 18 with La Septima; he always wears the same blue suit and blue hat with a green feather. His eyelids are so droopy that you can barely see his eyes, and everyday he stands there -- expressionless -- with a scale in front of him and a leather tan briefcase to his side that look to be about his age. He must be about 85 years old and he just stands in that same spot all day, not talking to anyone or doing anything. I've never seen anyone pay to weigh themselves.

Example 2: A legless man who sits in the middle of La Septima (toward La Plaza de Bolivar) with a little money can and a red cap. He sits in the same spot everyday and I don't know how he doesn't get trampled at rush hour when a non-stop crowd of people walk past him.

Example 3: A middle aged man who plays the trumpet, also on La Septima, who always wears a navy blue suit and hat. On Fridays, large groups of up to two or three hundred gather around different street performers but no one ever gathers around him.

Roadtrip

2009-12-03T09:57:00.000-08:00

In a valiant attempt to rise out of poverty, I've written about 20 articles since Monday. Most are only 300-500 words and the actual writing part doesn't take that long, but the research can be a bit tedious and tiring.

Luckily, I've discovered that the company I write for has a travel section, so I can now write about hotels in New Jersey, Ohio and Kentucky (e.g. Hotels and Motels In Somerville, NJ) rather than the phsychological causes of impotence or how to pass kidney stones. This is a very pleasant development as I now just pretend I'm preparing for an all-American roadtrip with the Bitar family. I just think of all the country diners with checkered tableclothes, gravy-heavy dishes and menopausal waitresses we'd encounter on these theoretical roadtrips. Or the gas station convenience stores we'd stop at so I could buy diet pepsi, runts and Slim Jims (As long as Yohis wasn't there as she would not approve), or the generic, Indian-owned, truck-driver frequented highway motels where a room seems to cost $49.99-$59.99 a night no matter the state or decade.

These hotel articles also make me nostalgic for the camping days, when the Perilla and Martin families would pack their cars to the brim in preparation for our yearly summer vacation, which included much back-seat sibling bickering, obsessive visits to the camp store, hot dogs and baked beans, national and state park visits, Giles being hungry, Ivan giving Tati wet willies and me watching everyone else working hard to set up camp. All day long, us kids would circle the campground on our bikes, shocked by our campground neighbors' propensity toward mullets and plaid, feeling indisputably superior because of our "city" upbringing. We felt exceptionally liberated, independent and grown up on those bike rides, never realizing our trajectory only consisted of about 1.5 miles. Such good, all-American days, 10 loud Hispanics gathered around the campfire roasting discount, fruit-flavored Mexican marshmellows my mother found delicious and everyone else found inedible. So despite experiences living in Panama and Colombia and traveling to many, many countries, I've decided that America really is the best country for a roadtrip. But then again, maybe I feel this way because American's the only country in which I've actually taken a roadtrip.

In other news, I did my weekly grocery shopping for COL$14,000 (US$7.50) yesterday, a feat I am very proud of. For this small price, I purchased a canteloupe, queso fresco, milk, half a pound of ground beef, an onion, a pepper, a potato, a carrot, a bag of lentils and a bottle of carbonated water -- in other words, all the necessary food groups. Having decided that lentils offer "the best bang" for my buck, being a very cheap but nutritionally-rich food source, I will be eating lentils for the next week or so.

New York Times

2009-12-01T13:38:00.001-08:00

Despite the fact that they don't actually mention my name, this makes me feel very fancy!

http://travel.nytimes.com/frommers/travel/guides/central-and-south-america/colombia/bogota/frm_bogota_4162010001.html

Milo, Rice and a Can of Beans

2009-11-30T13:53:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-11-29T04:37:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-28T09:36:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-28T06:07:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-25T12:02:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-24T05:56:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-22T17:27:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-20T19:07:00.001-08:00

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

2009-11-19T15:50:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-19T14:46:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-15T12:31:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-15T05:18:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-13T14:07:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-11T19:45:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-10T17:24:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-09T06:09:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-06T08:06:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-04T18:22:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-03T20:51:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-02T11:08:00.000-08:00

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.

Wilson Phillips

2009-10-31T07:35:00.000-07:00

My sister reminded me yesterday that when we were little, she, Kim and I used to pretend we were the singers from Wilson Phillips. My sister was the cute blonde one. Kim was the attractive brunette. And who was I? I was Carnie Wilson. Pre-gastric bypass Carnie Wilson. We also used to pretend we were the witches from Hocus Pocus. Guess who was the fat dorky one on the vacuum?

The worst part is that I don’t even remember objecting to or being offended by these designations.

Urban Anthropologist, Part 1

2009-10-30T19:23:00.000-07:00

Since this is supposed to be a blog about my travels and experiences abroad – currently in Colombia – it would make sense for me to write a bit about what I’ve been up to in the last few weeks.

Let me start today with a recount of last Friday: An unofficial cultural study on partying in Bogota. I took the bus to La Zona T with one of my cousins and we met up with one of his friends at a cigarreria. For those of you not familiar with cigarrerias (I wasn’t), they are these wonderful little hole-in-the wall type places that sell cigarettes, sodas and other snack items during the day and turn into bars at night. There’s usually at least one every few blocks, and they can be identified by the large number of construction workers gathered around and enjoying a few beers between 5 and 6pm. Unbeknownst to me, this is where the less-than-rich-and-famous go to get drunk before heading to a dance club, where half a bottle of aguardiente can cost you up to COL$60,000. So by 10 or 11pm, everyone is all liquored up and ready to party, usually for less than COL$10,000 a person.

Bogotanos appear to believe that there is no liquor worth ordering other than aguardiente, and it seems they even believe it tastes good. I believe differently and fought hard for rum, but when in Rome, one must do as the Romans. Shots are poured into tiny plastic shot glasses and drunk in quick succession so that half a bottle lasts about 10 minutes in groups of three or more. Aguardient is one of those rare liquors that can’t be mixed with anything; it’s not the kind of drink you can sip slowly and enjoy on the rocks. Very few things go well with black liquorish-flavored liquor, so you’re only option is to drink it straight and fast.

So by 11pm, we are all three feeling pretty good and decide to head to Maria Mulatto, a popular Zona T dance club. Because I’m a lady, I get in free but my cousin and his friend have to pay COL$15,000. Being a man can be expensive and sometimes it’s nice to be a lady. The typical Bogota going out uniform is as follows:

Women: Tight, fancy jeans, boots (or high heels) and a swanky – usually purple – long blouse. Cleavage is rarely present, but hair and make up is always perfect.
Men: Dress shirt and pants. Basically, men look like they’ve just come back from work but have taken off their ties and jackets. Luckily, the practice of gelling back hair to mafia-eque proportions isn’t overly present.

You usually stick with your group at clubs, not like D.C. where random guys come up and try to dance without you. All clubs and bars in Bogota unfortunately close at 3am due to worries over drunk driving, so there’s about a four hour window to party like it’s 1999. However, if you’re lucky, the party will continue at someone’s apartment, where you’re likely to encounter their angry, sleepy mother, wearing a bathrobe and telling everyone to keep it down for God’s sake.

One of the main differences I’ve noticed between partying in Colombia versus partying in the United States – or really, anywhere else I’ve partied – is that young and old party together. There were plenty of groups of 20 and 30 year-olds, but there were also 50 and 60 year-old couples dancing just as vigorously. A lot of people might think the presence of these old folks dampens the party spirit, but this isn’t the case at all. A lot of those grandmas and grandpas are more energetic and nimble than any young person. I saw once such couple that didn’t stop dancing till the lights came on.

Can you imagine a 60 year-old couple getting down at CLUB LOVE or one of those other big, four-story D.C clubs? It’s not a pleasant thing to imagine, especially if it’s Beyonce or T.I playing in the background. However, because the common American practice of “grinding” doesn’t happen in upscale Colombian clubs, one doesn’t have to worry about seeing these unpleasantries. Another noteworthy difference is that nobody really goes out alone. In D.C., it’s common for a single person to head to a bar on their own; here, if I headed to a bar on my own, people would just feel sorry for me. Or think I’m a prostitute on the lookout for clients.

Anyway, like most Colombian clubs, Maria Mulatto played a healthy mix of Salsa, Merengue, techno, Cumbia, and of course, Vallenato, Colombia’s much-loved and slightly overplayed coastal accordion music. At about 1am, a man wearing sunglasses and a flannel shirts got on the bar and started playing the drums. To spice things up, he poured alcohol all over the drum set and lit each part with a match, creating an impressive visual effect that would be considered a serious fire hazard in the U.S. Those of us who started our night early were thoroughly impressed by his musical and pyrotechnic abilities.

At 1:30am, Cumbia dancers in fancy dresses and white suits came out and performed, later taking turns dancing with festive club patrons. Around 2 am, I attempted an aguardiente-inspired Cumbia with a very disappointed costumed dancer who abandoned me in search of a more agile and competent partner within 30 seconds. Undeterred, I joined the Conga line instead.

2009-10-16T13:56:00.000-07:00

It looks like winter has officially started in Bogota – the days are getting colder and rainier, but at least this only lasts a couple of months! I think October and November are the most depressing months in Bogota because the sun rarely comes out.

Luckily it was really nice weather when Stephen (previously referred to as Henry Waxman) was here. Bogota was unusually sunny and warm and it didn’t rain anywhere we went. Usually I’m just kind of here, but since I was a guide of sorts this time around, I realized how incredibly huge Bogota is. It goes on and on and on and there are hundreds of neighborhoods, many of them with their own unique character and feel. I think that I’d like to live in La Soledad or in La Macarena or another slightly bohemian/young people neighborhood.

We went to Villa de Leyva with Stephen, where I rode a horse for the first time. After the initial shock of being so high up, I actually really enjoyed it and will definitely be doing it again. I am now an expert horsewoman who should be competing in international equestrian competitions. I will soon post the very unflattering pictures of myself horseback riding. Villa de Leyva itself is really beautiful and quaint but the countryside is eerily barren and dry. I don’t know how much of this is due to deforestation or nature, but it seems in stark contrast to the rest of the country which is almost overly green and fertile.

From Villa de Leyva, we went to El Lago de Tota which was stunningly beautiful, surrounded by high mountains and little mountain villages. But there are a few problems with this area. 1.) If you don’t have a car, it’s hard to get around as everything closes around 7pm; 2.) The air has a permanent onion smell, as do the locals, because onion is the main agricultural product here; 3.) Aside from looking at the lake, there’s not much else to do. No water sports offered, too cold for swimming, et cetera; and 4.) Stephen had a near lung collapse when carrying my bag up hill. Even though I had excessive, unnecessary amounts of clothes with me, it was an altitude related near lung collapse. I wasn’t doing very well either and was very happy when a family offered us a ride down to the town.

Next we went to Villavicencio for the 13th Annual Cowboy Festival. The festival consisted of two men on horseback bringing an angry bull down by the tail. You watched from stands, and there were handicraft vendors, food vendors and chusitos selling beer and Llanero staples around the stands. Stephen was famous in Villavicencio. It was like Tati in China. I think no one in the town had every seen someone so white and tattooed, so everyone stared shamelessly. I didn’t mind. It was like I was walking around with a movie star.

Villavicencio has a very small town feel to it. It’s rougher, hotter and simpler than Bogota. Kind of like a more hardcore version of Medellin -- well, more hardcore than current Medellin, not more hardcore than Medellin in the '80s and '90s. No high culture or sophistication there, but it does have its charms. There’s this street called La 7 de Agosto, and it’s where all the bars and clubs are located, so it’s nice to have a central party street, although there was a lot of cocain use going on, but more than I've ever seen in Bogota or even Medellin. All these 16 and 17 year-olds would leave the clubs big-eyed and faraway, and fights were constantly breaking out.

The countryside around the town was really beautiful though, as was the drive down from Bogota. At the very end of Bogota, where the grittiest, saddest slums are, you go through this tunnel and at the end of the tunnel, you’re greeted by a completely different climate and view. It’s sunny and green with lush mountains, flowers. Colombia is a thousand different countries. Even within Bogota, you can travel through a hundred different economic groups, a hundred diffrerent lifestyle and mentalities. In the U.S., Alabama and New York are pretty much as different as you can get, but you pretty much talk to any American and can recognize them as American. Not so much in Colombia.

So now my little vacation is over and it’s time to seriously look for a job and work on my social life in Bogota. Hopefully everything will work out and I’ll be living in Bogota for the next couple of years. The ideal woud be to get enough freelance/editing gigs to live comfortably, though an embassy job wouldn't be bad either.

My Plan

2009-09-25T11:12:00.000-07:00

From Top to bottom, left to right: Los Llanos; Lago de Tota; Popayan; Cali; Eje Cafetero; Barichara; San Gil; Bogota, Villa de Leyva.

During the next month I'll be traveling throughout Colombia for Frommers and my plan is as follows:

1.) Spend a few days exploring Bogota.

2.) Take a bus out to Bogota to Villa de Leyva, a really beautiful colonial town.

3.) Take a bus to El Lago de Tota, write a box review for El Pozo, a hotel I've heard a lot of good things about.

4.) Take a bus to San Gil, do some water-related things, maybe some hiking; it's known for being outdoorsy.

5.) Go to Barichara, supposedly the most beautiful town in Colombia, explore nearby towns if we have time.

6.) Go to Villavicencio and Los Llanos for the International Cowboy Festival which I'm sure will be very exciting. (It can get pretty rainy here in October though, so I don't know if we'll get a chance to see the supposedly very beautiful sunsets)

7.) Back to Bogota for a few days.

8.) Take a bus to Medellin, do the hotels/restaurants there, visit with the ladies I used to work with if I have time and money.

9.) Explore the coffee growing region (If I can find traveling partner).

10.) Take a bus or plane down to Cali, visit with Alexandra for a few days.11.) Take a bus to Popayan, include a one-page box review of this city in Frommers.

12.) Back to Bogota.

I'd like to go to Parque Tayrona and Amazonas over Christmas break if I'm able to find a job here. So, if you are free or want to take a vacation after October 15th, please let me know. I am currently accepting travel companion applications.

Journal of A residence and Travel in Colombia

2009-09-23T10:07:00.000-07:00

I am reading this book by an Englishman named Charles Stuart Cochrane, written between 1823 and 1824. My uncle recommended it to me and it's pretty entertaining, especially as I'm moving to Colombia so I will probably be seeing things through his eyes when I first get there.

Some of Cochrane's observations:

"The greater part of the civilized Indians of Colombia has been, and still is, a class totally degraded." This is still true, I'd say.

"Every politcal point is discussed with much animation and gesture; but nothing unpleasant arises from this freedom of debate, where every man expresses his sentiments without offence, for they have a mild temper naturally and too much good sense to quarrel for difference of opinion." This observation seems to have been premature. Have not met many people who would describe Colombians as mild tempered.

"They have no idea of giving a quiet dinner party in our English style; if they consider themselves obliged to give a dinner to a stranger, they invite a great number to meet him; load their tables with dishes, and spend in one day what would support their own family a month at least. " I think this still rings somewhat true.

"Kindness of heart is a characteristic of a Colombian, who will put himself to great inconvenience to assist his friend..." Also think this is a pretty accurate observation.

"The majority of women are by no means handsome; they certainly have fine eyes and dark hair, -- but neither features , complexion, nor figure are good when compared to those of Europe. Some have, when young, little bloom on their cheeks, but in general, a sallow or Moorish cast of face meets the eye." He doesn't find Colombian women attractive, but luckily for me:

"The men, taken as a body, are far handsomer than the women, and their dark complexions more agreeable to the eye."

So that is what I've learned from Cochrane so far. I will see how much has changed in Bogota and Colombia in the last 200 years...

Colombia in Three Days!

2009-09-20T07:16:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday morning I will be leaving for Colombia and will be there for an undetermined amount of time. It all depends on if I get a job after I finish the Frommer's project. I am excited to be going and am really hoping to visit a lot of Boyaca and Santander this time around. My uncle gave me this book about a 19th century English traveler making his way through Colombia, so perhaps I will use that as my guide! I love small towns and the tackier the better, so if anyone out there has any good suggestions, just let me know.

My record-setting tan (personal record) has nearly faded to pre-Panama levels and will probably continue to diminish in the cloudy, cold mountain climate of Bogota. The good news is winter clothes is much nicer than summer clothes so I will be much better dressed in Bogota than Panama City.

Life without a car in the American suburbs feels backward and wrong. As there is nothing to do within walking distance of Belle Pond Farm, my week days have been filled with Anthony Bordain, Samantha Brown, Dr. Phil, Discovery Channel and netflix movies. This time of unemployment (or between job transition period sounds better)and car-lessness has also given me an opportunity to explore my artistic side, which resulted in a Bavarian style birdhouse for my aunt and five Moroccan-style wooden plates, one for each person in my family. I am also currently working on three Moroccan style mirrors for my other aunt. Meals mark the passage of time, so I look forward to making my father lunch with unnatural enthusiasm. One can only go on so many walks. After walking around the neighborhood 72 times, you realize that everything is the same as it's always been and aside from noticing that one of your neighbors got a little lazy with their yard this year, you better have enough to think about because your surroundings aren't going to entertain you.

Luckily, it's really only the daytime that gets a little dull. I've gone out quite a bit, traveled to Vancouver a few weekends ago, went to the Farmer's market with Rasha yesterday, had a little going away party yesterday with my family and some friends, got to see Stone's new place, went on a few bike rides and went camping. So I can't really complain (even though I just did) but you don't realize how much freedom a car allows until you don't have one.

Next time I blog it will probably be from Colombia, from my grandmother's apartment. I love being around all the old ladies because they think I'm so young and have all the time in the world.

Wear a Helmet

2009-09-11T06:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was happily riding my bike on my usual path, thinking how well I've been doing with daily exercise and how much I love my bike. Well, there were a bunch of spriklers watering the grass and trying to avoid getting wet, I braked suddenly on a downhill and flew over my handle bars, landing face first on the pavement.

So now the right side of my face is scraped and bruised and I have my first black eye. Not bad, I guess, to go 25 years without a black eye! My right leg is swollen and I can't sit down, bend my leg or put my weight on it...I look a little bit like Quasimodo, the Hunchback of Notredame, but with a limp.

Luckily, yesterday I spent a lovely day with my grandmother, which, of course, inovolved a trip to the craft store where I stocked up on wooden things to paint. It's as if I knew I'd need something to keep me entertained for the next week or so. Being the housewife that I've become, I enjoy crafts, along with cooking and talk shows, but not cleaning, so many of you out there will soon be receiving painted wood gifts, such as jewelery boxes, bird houses, platters and plates.

I guess I won't be hiking or biking too much this weekend on our camping trip (luckily it hurts to eat so I don't have to worry about overindulging in chips and marshmellows). Maybe I'll just go fishing now that I'm an expert and catch the night's dinner while everyone else is out enjoying the outdoors :(. I hope I don't still look the way I look now when I go to Colombia; it's hard enough getting anyone in Colombian tourism to talk to you because they're so suspicious of everyone, but if I show up with a black eye, swollen face and limp, I don't think that will help.

Wonderful Vancouver Vacation!

2009-09-05T19:17:00.000-07:00

Just got back from excellent three-day Vancouver vacation with Emily and Rasha, both of whom I hadn’t seen in a long time, so I was doubly excited about seeing Vancouver and seeing my friends. I think it was actually one of the best vacations I’ve been on: No arguments, good food, lots of activities and going out!

Vancouver is kind of a mix of Portland and Seattle and is pretty much exactly what you’d expect from a Pacific-Northwest city: Mountainous, cloudy, edgy, druggy, strong Asian influence (lots of sushi!), outdoorsy and fun in a laid-back kind of way. Rasha and I talked about it and came to the consensus that we’re just too mainstream and not edgy enough for Pacific Northwest cities, although they do make excellent vacation spots.

I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been in Panama for the past five months, but Vancouver seemed particularly expensive…a glass of wine cost about $9 and the cheapest bus ticket $2.50. The only thing that was inexpensive was sushi, which appeared to outnumber burger joints 10 to 1. I haven’t gone out in the U.S. for a long time, so maybe those are just normal prices and my perception is skewed by my time abroad.

On our first full day, we walked around the city and Rasha and I did some shopping while Emily visited the Vancouver Art Museum. I insisted on wearing four inch heals even though there was a heel nail poking the sole of my foot, but after about an hour of that, I realized the magnitude of my mistake and bought the first cheap flat shoes I found. So as of 1pm Thursday afternoon, I became about a foot shorter than both of my travelling companions in all pictures.

In the afternoon, we rented bikes and rode around Stanley Park, Vancouver’s version of Central Park, and it was a really amazing bike ride…lots of water, mountains and beaches. I was in biking heaven. Later that night we had a drink at our hostel where we were joined by a 70 year old man who informed us that men can have purses too and showed us his. He then started talking about the Canadian army’s role in Vietnam and let us know that 10 percent of Canada’s navy is made up of women. In a hotel full of mostly 20-something year old men, our group of three managed to attract a 70-year old grandpa with a purse. So anyway, we left the old guy pretty fast as he was pretty weird and went dancing for a couple hours at Hip-hop/soul/funk night at a local bar, which felt pretty much like your standard Adams Morgan bar, same kind of crowd and everything.

The next day, after a most educational and enriching trip to the Museum of Anthropology, where we saw a bunch of totem poles (see picture below), we headed to Wreck Beach, a fine nudist beach. The first thing to catch my eye was a young groom-to-be running laps around the beach with assless briefs and about a dozen cans of beer tied to his underwear. I guess that’s some kind of pre-wedding ritual in Canada. There were lots of naked old people and very few naked young people. Funny how the old ones like getting naked more than the young ones. We spent the evening drinking whisky at a very nice-pub like place with long benches and excellent ambience. The last couple of months in Panama really ruined my low tolerance, so a night out is no longer as cheap as it used to be, which is a real shame when one lacks money, which I do. Vancouver is apparently the Hollywood of the north and Rasha wanted to see some celebrities so we headed to Elixer after the pub, which is supposed to be ground zero on the celebrity-spotting scene. Unfortunately, they all decided to stay home that night.

And here I am, back in D.C., at least for the time being. Camping in southern Virginia next weekend! I am still looking for travel companions to Cartagena/Medellin, so spread the word…

Vancouver and Other Observations

2009-09-01T08:05:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I go to Vancouver with Rasha and Emily. Well, I'll meet them there and come back on Saturday, so long as there's room on the flight. I'm not sure if I should fly via Chicago or Denver -- if Iget stuck in either city because the planes are full, I think I'd rather explore Denver on a mini vacation. I am very excited as I've heard that Vancouver is a really nice city, and we'll be there Thursday and Friday, so we'll have an opportunity to enjoy the nightlife. I liked Portland and Seattle, and Vancouver is supposed to be even nicer. I will also be able to wear more creative outfits I wasn't able wear in Panama because it was so hot, and hot cities aren't generally on the cutting edge of fashion. Not that I am either. I haven't seen Rasha in almost six months, so I'm extremely excited to see her! Maybe I will run up to her like in the movies and she'll twirl me around and everyone around us will cheer at our emotional reunion.

Today I biked to Fairfax Corner -- it was a serious, 7 mile uphill ride and I was extremely proud of myself because I could feel the burn. I was only going about 8 miles an hour most of the way, but still, being the lone biker en route, I kept thinking how impressed the passing cars must be with my high level of fitness and endurance. However, when I arrived at Caribou, I felt an uncontrollable urge to order a high rise caramel cooler that, it turns out, has 430 calories. I'll have to bike at least 15 more miles to burn that off. But I've been dreaming of a frappaccino for weeks now, so at least I've satiated that craving.

Fairfax Corner is pretty nice; there's quite a few these planned community type things spread across Fairfax County. You have miles of highway and unimaginative strip malls dotting the landscape, and then you have this little town square type thing every now and then with upscale boutique shops, a nicer than average movie theater, European style street signs, attractive brick buildings and plenty of midrange restaurants with lots of outdoor seating. I guess we're all attracted to this layout because it makes us feel like we have something authentic and quaint, but when you think about it, it doesn't exactly work as a planned community because the nearest grocery store is a couple miles away and beyond the .25 area of the town square, you have to drive everywhere. And another thing that's funny is that the people who work at these coffee shops like Caribou and Starbucks are the kind who dye their hair black and have lip piercings and pride themselves on their extreme individuality, seemingly without realizing they're working for massive chains in which each store must offer the exact same thing as the other and stick to the same layout/atmosphere/ambience in order to promote a united, well-recognized front.

But even if the idea of being able to walk everywhere doesn't quite pan out with this relatively new town square idea, it's still nice to have something pretty once in a while. I think it's a pretty American thing that nostalgia and quaintness is thoroughly planned out and created to the last detail to mimic something else. But I was also thinking that the U.S. is a pretty nice place to live if you like stability, moderately friendly people, convenience, dependability and opportunity. I think there are places with happier people, a higher standard of living, more social services and more efficiency, but I think that the U.S. probably has one of the best overall standards of living. Maybe it doesn't win in any one category, but it's near the top in most, so it comes out pretty well. There's a lot of waste and excess, but I think that's a result of relatively few people per square mile in a very, very large country. I wonder if in the end I'll end up back here or if in the end I'll sacrifice some stability and convenience to live in a place with happier people. Colombia does, supposedly, have the second happiest people in the world....

Back in America

2009-08-28T13:18:00.000-07:00

I'm back from Panama and am car-less in suburbia. Am like a 50s housewife. Spent the day doing laundry and cooking.

After spending the last five months in the business world, I’ve discovered that I am not cut out to be a business woman. That would require me to be driven by money and live a very stressful life, and I’m not driven by money nor do I want to live a stressful life. At least I can say I tried it. I have also discovered that Panama and other equally hot climates are not for me. I need a city with more of an edge, more culture and a little more depth. Panama is like an American colony that drifted too far south. In Panama, you just feel like you’re in a poorer, less efficient Florida and if you wanted to, you’d never need to speak a word of Spanish and could surround yourself with expats without ever having to interact with an actual Panamanian. It’s just a weird feeling.

In late September, I’ll be flying down to Colombia to update the Frommer’s chapter for the 2010 South America Guide. I’ll be in Cartagena for about a week in late September. If anyone is interested in visiting Cartagena and the Colombian Caribbean coast, let me know – I am looking for a travel companion. Usually I don’t mind traveling alone, but for some reason, this time around, the thought of seeing the Atlantic Coast of Colombia on my own doesn’t excite me very much. If anyone is interested in coming, we could go to Parque Tayrona and the Sierra Nevada mountains and it could be lots and lots of fun…lots of good seafood, parties and sites in and around Cartagena. Plus, I might get some free stuff, being a world-renowned journalist and everything. If you would like to learn more about this traveling opportunity, please contact Jisel Perilla at 703.818.0687…

I’ll be meeting Stephen in Bogota in early October, and we’ll go to the Eje Cafetero and Medellin from there, then go back to Bogota to visit Villa de Leyva and Los Llanos, and I’ll finish up my Frommer’s writing toward the end of October. There’s still a lot of Colombia I haven’t seen yet. I’ve never been to the Amazon, which takes up 33% of the country, and I’ve really never traveled the coasts, apart from Cartagena. I’d like to go to Popayan and the southern region plus Los Llanos and the national parks. Unfortunately, I have only 60 pages to cover all of Colombia, so I’ll have to limit myself.
After Frommers, will need to find a job in Bogota…have a feeling it will happen…Am also somewhat intrigued in Chile.

It's finally going to happen

2009-08-14T14:06:00.001-07:00

It appears that Sgroi, Stone and I will be headed to Cape Charles in September. This is the realization of a long-time dream; a dream I feared might never materialize. But alas, plans have been made and it appears that less than one month from today, we will be enjoying a pleasant weekend on the lovely Eastern Shore.

Post College Years

2009-08-13T07:55:00.000-07:00

I kind of realized the other day that I’ve been in a post college funk for the last 2.5 years or so. I think a lot of people have a difficult time after graduating college -- especially if at the end of four years you still have no idea how to get where you want to be – but I think I am starting to have a little more clarity now. I always thought that the whole point of life was to achieve a permanent state of perpetual happiness, but happiness is really more day to day and you go through periods of relative happiness (college) followed by periods of relative unhappiness (post college years). I don’t mean that I’ve been miserable for the last 2.5 years -- just that I feel like I haven’t been my full self due to lack of direction and drive.

Anyway, I think I have a better idea now. In mid September, I’m going to go to Colombia to update the Colombia chapter for the Frommer’s South America guide. I have to thank my brother for totaling my car, because if I didn’t have that money, I wouldn’t have the option of going to Colombia right now. I’m going to give myself six weeks to find a decently paying English teaching job, try to do some freelance writing and editing or give private lessons. If I don’t find anything by the end of six weeks, then I’ll go back to D.C. get a job, pay off some bills and save some money so I can move to Colombia or somewhere else. I want to write, but I think I have too much on my mind right now to be able to focus on it. When I’m in Virginia I tend to get complacent and stop trying. I don’t know why, but I’m just not as happy as I should be there, even though all my friends and family are there, I miss them when I leave, and I have everything there that should make me happy.

When you’re raised in the U.S. it’s hard to accept that you don’t want a traditional life. It’s hard to break away from that ideal because it’s so American and ingrained in us from such an early age. Home ownership is highlighted as the pinnacle of being an American. I’m not sure why, but you just haven’t made it in the U.S. until you own a house, and to own a house, you generally have to have a traditional job and make sacrifices. I think my problem is that I don’t like to make sacrifices. I guess for the last two or three years, I’ve been struggling between wanting to follow some kind of path, get a normal job, save up for a house and move on with my life in a linear, stable fashion or just be free, which is riskier but allows more creativity. Now I can say with certainty that I just want to be free.

Ex-pats

2009-08-12T08:42:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about it, and the whole ex-pat thing is kind of strange. More so when you have people from stable, modern world countries moving to developing countries with less infrastructure and social benefits and more corruption and complications. I did this and I couldn't tell you exactly why. All I know is that when I was in D.C., I knew I didn't want to be there. I just can't articulate the reasons why not. There are several types of ex-pats in Panama.

I think the worst kind are the non-Spanish speaking middle-aged "paradise-seeker" couples who come here to take advantage of all the "benefits" of living in a so-called third world country, but are more or less repulsed by the local people, culture and way of life. I think people who are tired of Midwestern, Canadian or European winters should just move to Florida if they can't deal with what they view as the "negative" aspects of living in the tropics. They live in their own little world where they only interact with other foreigners and never get to know Panama at anything more than a superficial level. And the thing is, these are probably the same people who look at non-English Mexican immigrants with disdain saying that if they don't speak English, they should go back to Mexico.

Then there are the white guys with longish, whitish hair and prostitute girlfriends. Who still try to party like they're 25 and think people are looking at them with envy when they go somewhere with their 20 year old surgically enhanced "girlfriend." They usually have potbellies, wear Hawaiian shirts and have at least one divorce behind them. These are slightly more respectable than the above category because they at least make an effort to speak Spanish and partake in the local culture. Which makes sense, because they came here to enjoy what they can't enjoy (at least without judgment) in the United States.

There are the entrepreneurs, usually men in their twenties and thirties, who come here to make it big. Some of them are perfectly nice, normal men; others are Miami-style flashy/ridiculous. Sometimes they make more money than they know what to do with and sometimes they realized that Panama isn't the Disneyworld of money-making and end up going back to wherever they came from.

There are also the party people, who don't seem to have an actual job of any kind (or a very vague occupation at best), but who spend most weekends and weekdays at some various club or another. There are actually quite a bit of women in this category, and they are the kind I would never be friends with.

There are also the do-gooder peace core volunteers who stayed on to work on various projects or because they just loved Panama so much. They are usually very nice, decent people, but the kind with no kind of malicious intent of any sort, so it's hard to connect with them unless you're one of them. There are the nature people,(generally Smithsonian or other U.S. or international organization) workers, the Colombian prostitutes, embassy workers, older gay man demographic and the outliers, who can't really be put in anyone category, and you're not really sure why they're here in Panama. I think I'm part of that category, but I'm not completely sure.

When I Get Back to America

2009-08-08T09:39:00.000-07:00

I'll be going back to the U.S for about three weeks in about three weeks, and I am experiencing extreme anticipation and excitement about my return to the motherland.

There are just some things in America that are so...comforting and soothing...that I find myself looking forward to going back home more then I would have thought.

This is what I want to do during my time at home (Some won't happen due to lack of funds, but this would be ideal).

Go camping somewhere with a lake or river. Roast marshmellows. Spend a lot of time at the camp ground store and eating out at unhealthy local diners specializing in any dish with gravy and french fries where all the waitresses are over 30.

Go for a long bike ride with my dad. Perferably the Old Town Alexandria, Georgetown, Bethesda route. Or Middleburg Route. Lots of hills, but excellent ice cream shop. I want to ride my bike through my neighborhood, see what houses are for sale, how much they're selling for, who has a nice garden this year, who's made changes or additions to their house, et cetera.
DC9. I like that club. I always have fun there.
Have my mom make me salmon, pesto and salad for dinner. I want to watch movies with Elsie over saying she's really going home for real this time but then going out to her car to get her pajamas.
Eat dinner with my family on the deck for three or four hours. Have Rasha come visit us coming through the backyard fence on a nice, clear summer evening.
Go to Starbucks. Nothing is more American than overpriced coffee and chain ambience. I want a Venti Caramel Frapaccino with lots of whip cream.

I want to have a sleepover in Kim's bed with Sgroi and Stone, talk about life and watch Tivo-d TV.
Kim's wedding. Going to be very happy, emotional day. She's the first one to get married and somehow that signals a new period in our lives, I think. Seeing what wonderful dresses Adriana and Cassandra picked out. It will also be nice to see the whole Perilla clan of the Mid Atlantic region.
Have Ivan invite me and Tati to his basement "parties." Well, I guess that won't be possible because he'll be in college :(.
Hang out at Rasha's house and sing lots of songs very badly while eating condiment flavored popcorn. Man, I've really missed popocorn...haven't had much since leaving the U.S.
Matsu Sushi. Despite extensive travels, have not yet found sushi place that matches Matsu in quality and atmosphere. And of course, familiarity.

I'm really looking forward to going home and seeing everyone.

2009-07-31T16:59:00.000-07:00

Coming home for a few weeks then going down to Colombia for unspecified time period.

It's Been a While

2009-07-23T07:47:00.000-07:00

Dearest Friends and Family,

I am well aware that my blog entries are the highlight of many of your days and you look forward to them more than anything else in life, so I sincerely apologize for my lack of communication in the last few weeks. But really, less blogs is good because it means I have less time on my hands...

Right now I'm really, really looking forward to Adriana and Cassandra coming and I can't really concentrate on anything else because these are two extremely exciting and important guests. I've vacationed individually with each and now I get to vacation with both at once! When they are here, we will partake in all kinds of activities, such as dancing at authentic Panama discos, watching the sunset on the Amador Causeway, exploring the Casco Viejo bar scene, hiking/birdwatching deep in the rainforest, getting tan on the lovely white sand beaches of Isla Grande while indulging in a fruity/tropical cocktails, and the mandatory if somewhat boring visit to the Panama Canal. Yes, we will do all kinds of romantic and exciting things.

There are so many foreigners in Panama....in fact, there are probably more native English speakers in Panama City than the entire metropolitan Miami area. It's like I'm living in backwards, dirtier Florida. Panama is definitely one of those places where you have to know how to enjoy the small things in order to enjoy living here. It's such a flashy, hot, load place...but don't worry young cousins, it's a pretty fun place to vacation...

Valle de Anton

2009-07-06T13:58:00.000-07:00

Went to el Valle de Anton this past weekend for a fourth of July party at my boss's house, and feel a little bit better about decision to move to Panama. Panama City might be a third tier, unappealing place, but at least there are beautiful, interesting places not too far outside the city.

I just need to remind myself that no matter where I'm living I will always think there's something better because that's just the kind of person I am. And I really can't imagine being back in the U.S. either.

It's almost as if Panamanians go out of their way to be as inefficient as possible. There's an obvious easier way, but they choose the most time consuming, ridiculous, illogical route possible. Sometimes, when I'm standing in line for way too long, I just want to yell, "This is why you're still a third world country!!!" But that may not be well accepted. Then again, I live my life in the least efficient, most illogical way, so who am I to complain?

Bogota

2009-07-01T05:38:00.000-07:00

Usaquen: A really cute, colonial style neighborhood in the middle of Bogota. There area lot of quaint little shops and restaurants. It's a big nightlife spot and during the day, it's full of families for the most part. On Sunday, cuenteros (story tellers) come and people sit around listening. If I lived in Bogota I'd probably want to live here.

Monserrate: The highest peak in Bogota. Great view of the city. There's a little church and well known restaurant up here. But it's so cold...I haven't gone up in a long time though.

Zona T: One of Bogota's major party zones. Extremely expensive highend party scene.

La Candelaria: It's really falling apart and there's grafitti on almost every house, but it still has its charms. Lots of cool cafes and bars. It's more of a college student/Bohemian hangout, but a lot of artists and writers are moving here and renovating the old houses. The Iglesia de Carmen that you see in the background is one of my favorite churches in the city.

Ciclovia: One of the coolest things about Bogota is that every Sunday, all the mainstreets close down for biking and walking. During the week, a lot of people bike because there's a lot of biking trails around the city, but Sundays there are group excercise classes, performers, and hundreds of thousands of cyclers.

2009-06-25T16:24:00.000-07:00

Haven´t written in a while so this is long....

Over these last few days, it’s become very apparent that my alcohol tolerance is dangerously low and needs to be worked on. As they say, practice makes perfect and I hope I will be practicing a lot now that I have a new friend. He has red hair and looks like Henry Waxman (though not nearly as good looking), but other than that, I have no complaints. Maybe I will make even more friends soon!!!

In other news, I am very excited to report that Adriana and Cassandra -- my two favorite girl cousins on my mother’s side who hail from Manassas -- are visiting at the end of July. I am thinking that if it resembles Colombia 2004/2005, there will be much dancing and merrymaking, for in three years of college, ten years of international travels and nearly 1.5 years of living in Latin America, I have never met anyone who embraces the art of partying more than Adriana. No one even comes close. It is truly a gift from the good Lord himself. I am very excited for their visit!

In yet more news, my blackberry and I will be taking a much needed break/separation during my time in Colombia. It’s not easy and I will miss it, but I guess I need to prove to myself that I can live without it after all those months together. It allowed me to G-chat with my U.S. friends and family and change my Facebook status with great frequency and flexibility. It was a great companion when I was stuck in the rain and couldn’t get to my computer. On those days when my new house still had no internet, it was my portal to the world. It refined my texting skills and made me look very busy and important. Anyway, over the last three months, the blackberry and I became inseparable; you wouldn’t catch one of us without the other. However, I think this forced separation is for the best. In fact, you can see how very sick this relationship is by the fact that I wrote more about it than I did about my new friend or my cousins’ visit. A little bit shameful. But I completely understand why President Obama didn’t want to get rid of his.

Arriving in Colombia is always very exciting and emotional. I always feel like I’m coming home even though I wasn’t born here and didn’t grow up here. But sometimes I think, I could have grown up in America or Europe or Asia, but no matter where I grew up, my connection to Colombia would always be there. I think it’s the smell that gets me: Old lady perfume, wonderful scent of something frying, diesel and the occasional whiff of garbage and urine. But all very subdued because it´s too cold for the smell to get too pungent.

Bogota is pretty much as opposite of Panama City as it gets. It’s a very somber, gray city framed by dark pine forest mountains. Very melancholy in a way. The people wear a lot of dark colors and scarves and shawls and are extremely polite and formal, almost archaically so. In Panama City, you hardly ever see someone wearing a suit; in Colombia, almost everyone does. All these old men with their white hair, big umbrella eyebrows, always wearing navy blue suits and berets sit around drinking coffee at the Juan Valdez stand in Unicentro. There are dozens of amazing cafes, a rundown but historically and culturally rich Spanish quarter, dozens of first rate museums and an excellent dining scene. The architecture is kind of futuristic and a bit chaotic, but the city blocks are organized and manageable, even for someone with a sense of direction of a five year old. It’s exciting landing almost 10,000 feet in the middle of the Andes, despite the terrain-induced turbulence.

I guess if Panama City was Miami, Bogota would be New York. In a city of nine million inhabitants, I’d say at least one million live in extreme poverty. In Panama City you don’t see the little boys picking up glass and plastic bottles in decrepit old carts pulled by decrepit old horses for a few dollars a day or the street children – gaminos -- who sniff glue all day because they’re hungry and bored and don’t have anything else to do. Panama City has ghettos, but nothing like the massive, sprawling mountainside ghettos of Colombia that could be huge cities of their own. Panama’s are small and contained. But then again, I think poverty is all the more striking in a cold, cloudy, rainy, mountainous city. It´s strange that people in most Spanish speaking countries think Colombians are so horrible and crooked because you don´t really see it when you´re here around the people. Maybe it´s the politeness that makes it hard to see.
I wanted to go to the internet café last night to check my e-mail, but my grandmother wouldn’t let me go alone because she said I might get mugged or get my hand cut off or some other terrible atrocity. Despite being nearly 80 years old, she said she’d go with me to make sure none of these terrible things happened. The Internet café is about ten feet from the apartment door. When I come here, I think that because all of them are so much older, they think I am like five years old. I try to remember that they´re old and scared, but sometimes I just want to go out on my own…

For me, Colombia is five old ladies drinking hot chocolate with queso fresco and eating pastries while discussing the news. It’s my grandmother, her sister Lorenza, a couple neighbors and friends and maybe a distant aunt. They sit in one of their respective living rooms, all decorated in an antiquated, victorianesque way, and talk about this politician or that, how Bogota gets more and more violent every day, and how people just aren’t good they way they used to be. None of them have husbands because they left, they died or they just didn’t marry. They’re always impeccably dressed, their hair hairsprayed into a perfectly stiff, tall bob, a requisite of all Latin American women of a certain social class. I just kind of sit there watching them. They ask me questions about my life and give me advice, which always includes not getting married until I’m over thirty (if at all) and the importance of eating iron and yogurt. And despite being surrounded by half a dozen old ladies, I always enjoy it and it’s one of the principal memories of my life. There are only like five or six of those that stand out more prominently than the others.

I am so happy to be here even though it’s impossible to get warm at night.

Song

2009-06-23T10:34:00.000-07:00

I am obsessed with this song now.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fk9pG53zul8&translated=1

2009-06-17T06:30:00.000-07:00

This morning on the way to work, the cab driver was listening to love ballads of the ‘80s and ‘90s, and it made me very nostalgic for when Tati and I shared a room and slept on the red IKEA bunk bed and listened to 97.1 Greatest Love Songs with Glenn Hollis before we went to sleep. We used to love the dedications and declarations of love when people called in. Glenn had such a soothing voice. Hard to believe more than 15 years have gone by since those days.

I was g-chatting with Katherine (AKA Polish Creep) a few days ago and she informed me about a few things. Apparently, chocolate is not good for cats and I should be put in jail for animal abuse. This is unfortunate news for the cat, who, I’ve discovered, is a fan of Nutella as well as NesQuick. Poor little cat has tasted heaven only to have it ripped away from within its grasp. It will now forever follow me around hoping for another taste of deliciousness and will always be left disappointed. But disappointed is better than dead, and Katherine made me feel a little guilty about being a potential cat murderer. Being the cruel person that I am, I’ve taken to spinning around with that cat in my arms and then putting it down and watching it walk around like it’s drunk. Does this make me a really horrible person that I delight in the cat’s dizziness? It just looks so cute stumbling around. If it was really scared or hated me, I think it would run away every time I approached, but it still follows me around. Maybe it enjoys being spun around.

In other Panama City observations, there are these police officers who go around on bikes. They wear these little shorts and have very voluptuous booties, probably because they spend a lot of time in front of the empanada shop where I used to get breakfast back when I used to live by the Marriott. I guess empanadas are to Panamanian cops what donuts are to American cops. Sometimes I get very strong impulses to just reach out and give one of them a friendly squeeze, kind of like I used to have an urge to pull the fire alarm at school every time I passed it. But then I think to myself, what would I do afterwards? That would be kind of awkward and a very embarrassing thing to go to jail for if the cop found it offensive. When Tati was here, we tried ssssing back to a security guard, but then I think he liked it and followed us for a little bit so that taught me that lesson. Sometimes you just get annoyed with all the sssing, but then again, if no one ssssed me, I would be very sad and would think I was very ugly or something.

I think the time has come to start being friendly and making friends, for real this time though. Also, I think the time has come to volunteer somewhere because that is the right thing to do and my life right now is composed of mostly neutral actions, so I think volunteering would add a little goodness and make be a better person…

More mundane updates

2009-06-15T05:48:00.000-07:00

For those of you wondering the outcome of the bed saga, I have good news. I’ve decided to use the wood from my bed to 1.) Make a bookshelf and 2.) Make a birdhouse, perhaps decorated with happy rainforest scenes. It will have to be a very big birdhouse as I have a lot of wood and not that many books -- maybe birdhouse for elusive harpie eagle who will decide to nest in my birdhouse, making me world famous birdhouse builder, thus surging demand for Perilla-made birdhouses to unprecedented levels. This will result in massive wealth which I will generously share with all those who paved my path to success, those who I like or those deserving of my generosity. Also with sales lady and cashier lady who sold me poor quality child’s bed. So all is not lost. One must think positive in these less than ideal situations. I have decided to go with the bohemian “mattress on the floor” look for my room and even found a foam mattress so now I’m about 14 inches of the ground which is better than 8. I also covered a red camping chair with a blue blanket and throw pillow to use as a lounge chair for my future guests, though only one can sit in the chair at a time. I am very proud of this achievement. I also bought some goblet style wine glasses for future house parties. I bought six but three broke by the time I got home. While disappointed, I wasn’t too surprised. But now I can only have three-wine drinking guests at a time. But it’s OK because I bought 6 shot glasses and none of those broke. OK, enough about my purchases…I seem very superficial if I keep going this way.

I have a cat now. I don’t know its name, so I just call it Cat. The cat actually belongs to Austrian lady, but as she is going to be in Austria all summer, it’s like it is mine. Cats being so quiet and making their presence hardly known, I forgot to feed it or give it water for two days…I felt so bad I made it warm Nesquick chocolate milk and lentils for breakfast yesterday and it was really pleased and ate everything. But now the cat follows me around everywhere and if I leave a cup out and unsupervised, it sticks its paw in and feeds itself. It’s actually pretty cute but I feel somewhat responsible for Cat’s bad manners.

Cats in general are not very fun pets, though, because they don’t pay me much attention and don’t let themselves be smothered. I am not a smotherer, but it’s nice to have the option once in a while. However, this particular cat has grown on me a little, so maybe one day, love will develop. It’s hard to say at these early stages of the relationship. It’s weird to think that anyone who loves me is at least an hour’s plane ride away. You take for granted those things, being near your family and friends and having people who care about you always nearby. But being I try to keep things trivial here, so enough of that.

In other news, I am going to try to start giving children’s arts and crafts classes. I am thinking of charging $15 per class. I’m not sure what a good price in Panama would be; yoga costs about $10 per class, but I’d have to buy materials and I think the neighborhood I’m living in is pretty well off. It would be nice if I could charge $20-$25, but I don’t know if that’s feasible. If I can get a few students, that could be my spending money and I think I’d also enjoy it. Maybe I can do private English tutoring too. I need to start earning a little more money and also figure out how to pay my taxes…

It rained crazy hard on Saturday. Almost all the streets were flooded at least 18 inches and most cars couldn’t even get by. I had to stand under a restaurant awning for almost two hours because the street was too flooded to cross without risking losing my flip flops. Also, water was pretty nasty looking and I was wearing a white dress which was a very bad idea and did not want to parade around in that state. Panamanians, like Colombians, have an almost irrational fear of getting a cold, as if a cold was Ebola or other always fatal disease. To me a cold is nothing, but they all look at you like you’re crazy to be walking around in even a drizzle. With yellow fever, malaria and typhoid, why worry so much about a cold?

I was sitting on the patio of the Duran Coffee Store in Clayton and was pleasantly surprised to discover the inside was very dark and café like. The patio stares onto a parking lot, but you can’t have it all. I kept seeing all these people with kayaks on their cars and that made me wish I was outdoorsy kayaking type because it’s good exercise and very romantic and I could purchase cool looking outdoor gear, but then I reminded myself to stop wishing for everything. Overall though, I am pretty happy with how things are in my life. I hope I am able to keep my job here and stay for at least two years. It would be nice if I was living the reclusive yet satisfying life of a children’s book author and dedicating my days to thinking of new ideas, drawing and writing, rather than working 9-5 job, but I have to do something in the meanwhile before I get there. Also, I am very nervous about getting there because what do you do after you’ve accomplished your life’s goal? It’s like growing up in rich in New York City. No matter what else you see in life, how can it ever compare if you’ve already seen the best of the best? Having something new and better to look forward to is half the fun in life, at least for me.

2009-06-13T06:49:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,

I have a most sorrowful tale to tell.
As you may or may not know, yesterday was a big day for me. I bought a bed. It was between a bike and a bed, and I decided the latter was the more essential purchase.
It was a large purchase by my standards: $150. Not exactly a luxury bed, but after a week of sleeping on a mattress on the floor, I decided I wanted to wake up in a higher place. The time had come for an upgrade, and off I went to Albrook -- haven of budget stores and shopaholic tourists -- for my bed.

Well, fast forward a few hours and Carmen (the maid) and I attempted to put the bed together but realized about 45 minutes in that success was not within our reach after all. Carmen said the bed seemed a little flimsy and that when I had a boyfriend she hoped he had his own place or I could just move the mattress to the floor cause we’d end up there anyway as she had her doubts the bed could hold two people, much less in any kind of amorous state. We shared a laugh but thought nothing more of it.

Fast forward even more hours. Panchi came to my house to put together my bed because Carmen and I put screws in wrong places and caused some serious damage, though Panchi reassured me it wasn’t irreversible. The instructions were in Portuguese, so putting the bed together took four hours. Finally, after a lot of guessing messing around, our mission was accomplished at 12:45: My bed was built. Actually, more like Panchi’s cause I just passed the screws and was fired from hammering after a few unsuccessful minutes. But anyway, you can imagine my joy at finally having a real life bed to sleep in. I don’t know why, but it’s nicer to wake up three feet above the ground than on it. I haven’t been able to figure out the reason, but it is.

However – and this is when the story takes a turn for the worse -- upon placing the mattress on the frame, a terrible realization dawned upon me: My twin mattress was about three inches too big for the frame!

It turns out I had bought a child’s bed and you have to have a special child’s mattress to go with it. I should have known when I saw how thin the boards were, but my denial and desire for a bed of my own ran deep. Plus, as a nearly dwarf height person, the bed looked normal to me. My choices were to sleep on a 30 degree incline on my newly purchased bed or swallow my pride and return to the floor. Well, I tried sleeping on the bed, I really did, but sleeping on a slope like that made me feel like all my blood was rushing to one side of my body and I kept thinking how stupid I must look sleeping on an incline in a child’s bed. It’s like seeing a football player sitting in a kindergartner’s chair or something.

So this morning I woke upon on the floor again. I guess I’m only living large in some areas of my life.

My room is slowly getting furnished

2009-06-12T15:08:00.000-07:00

Dearest Family and Friends:

Yesterday I was feeling a little down, thinking that I should be back in Virginia and spending time with the family and friends I have back there and not living in a foreign country by myself without any close friends or family members...but then when I was there, I kept thinking how I wanted to get out because I always want to go somewhere, usually wherever I'm not. I've reached almost the three month mark being away from home, and it was around this time last year too that I started getting homesick and missing everybody back home.

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Well, I'm going to Colombia in less than two weeks to visit my grandma, so I'm pretty excited about that and think I'm going to surprise her 1.) With my visiting in the first place...she doesn't know I'm coming and 2.) I think I'll take her and Robert to Villa de Leyva for a few days. But maybe it's a bad idea to surprise her, as she'll get stressed out that she hasn't bought me anything to eat or made a bed for me or prepared for my arrival, et cetera.

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Today I went shopping. The good news is I have a bed, so soon I will no longer be sleeping on a mattress on the floor. Unfortunately, I wasn't capable of putting it together, so now I am waiting for Panchi, my favorite repairman to come by and put it together. That is one of the good things about Panama; you find someone honest and kind and they will do what they can to help you out when you need it. I even got some classy fancy throw pillows and matching sheets and pillow case, as you can see from this pic. I couldn't afford a comforter, so I got blanket instead. I still need a bookcase, desk, paintings for my walls and a few more decorative items, but I guess I should wait until I have the actual money to buy these things. Might buy bike on credit...I don't know how much longer I can live without it :(.

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My new neighborhood feels a little bit like I'm on some Desperate Housewives/TV neighborhood because everything is very bright and pretty and perfect. There are all these soccer fields, tennis courts, a big pool and a bunch of other sporty things that I will probably rarely use, but knowing they are there makes me feel like I'm living large. There is also a maid who comes daily, and she told me to leave a shopping list with her so she knew what to buy me at the grocery store! Then she asked me to let her know what I wanted her to make me for dinner and did my laundry! Life with no housework...not that I ever did much house work, but at least now I don't need to worry about getting in trouble or dodging household chore responsibilities. One bad thing about the maid is she keeps squeezing my legs and saying, "haha, look how fat your legs are," as if she thinks it's very, very funny. I guess it's good training for what's to come in Colombia.

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Anyway, I feel very good in my new house and neighborhood. Austrian lady has left for Austria for two months so anyone thinking about visiting Panama is especially welcome in the next couple of months. After my bike, I want a 35 pound, dog that doesn't bark too much, isn't very clingy and has a long-haired coat, but I think I'll wait until September or October for that. Work is work...I need to start writing and painting again, and think I'll start that as soon as I get settled completely into new house. I wish I could go to the bookstore and buy some books to read, but after last month's fiasco I'm a little embarrassed to go back, and there's really only one good English bookstore in town. Maybe I will have to send an alternate.Well, that's about it. Sorry entry is so boring today.

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P.S. The cafe I'm sitting in right now is playing all my Chavela Vargas ranchera favorites. I LOVE IT.

I have decided...

2009-06-09T14:45:00.001-07:00

..my old picture was a little too revealing, and not appropriate for intended blog audience (My family). I don't really like this one very much as I am taking very posed picture of myself in front of my own facebook page which makes me look very vain, but it will have to do for now.