Wet Week

A remote beach set in a jungle-surrounded national park on the Carribean coast sounds just ideal doesn't it? When everyone recommends it, saying you have to go to the last campsite because it has the best beach they tend to leave out one minor detail: the 2 hour hike in 100+ degree weather. To be fair, most people leave their stuff at a hostel in a surrounding town, or come into the park via boat. I was not that unfortunate. I'd like to comment more on my way back, leaving the park. Even though I knew what I was in store for, I wasn't totally prepared for what was to come, but I made do.

To start with, my first day of my week-long trip I lost one contact lens and of course it was the one time I didn't have the foresight to pack another pair. So I was stuck with my glasses for the rest of the trip. Which would have been fine, if it hadn't been humid and sticky and ridiculously hot, leading me to have to push up my glasses off of my nose every five minutes while they simultaneously fogged up so I'd have to take them off and then have no where to rub them down because my shirt was soaked with sweat just from sitting down to a meal. But I was prepared for this as I set off on my 2 plus hour hike to get out of the park. I packed just my big backpack, so my front was free of my little backpack (my first mistake when I came into the park) and had put on a good pair of socks to wear my hiking shoes so I didn't get blisters (my second mistake). About a half hour or so into the hike, dripping with sweat and in the full swing of my glasses-push-up routine, I came to the part of the jungle trail that takes you to walk on the beach. First however, there was a bit of an obstacle to cross consisting of a saltwater pool that had filled up from high tides and rain the night before. There was a few sticks and logs going across the pool, inviting hikers to cross. I was unsure, especially with my 15 pound unsteady backpack. But when a local guy came by and said "yeah, no problem" as I was looking for an alternate route, I summoned up the courage and decided to cross with his help. After a few wobbly steps, I thought I had it, but when I went to put my foot on a small, slimy log, I slipped and soaked my entire left side. Great, well it wasn't like I wasn't already wet before, but this time I got to have the smell of salty stagnant water linger upon me. Excellent. This local man put up with my cursing and attitude for the next few minutes, and when I got over it, we actually had a nice walk back. I managed to step in a only a bit of horse shit and mud, but nothing too horrific. The guy was nice and kept me company, not asking the usual questions of gringos, but asking me if they have this particular type of tree in the U.S. and telling me how he goes up trees and fetches coconuts to ship out. Since he had worked there for 12 years, he knew the best paths and we made it out of their in an hour and a half total. I managed to catch a bus into town after a few minutes of chatting with a lovely old lady who sold me a pork tamal (which I swear was chicken, but she assured me) and told me how it was a shame that Colombians didn't get to enjoy their own country as much as foreigners. I agreed. Part of my plan all along had been to go to town to catch an overnight bus back to Medellin. I had only slightly anticipated the extent to which I would be smelly and gross, so when I got to the bus terminal, it was a relief to see a guy I had met back in Cartagena getting on the same bus to Medellin. While he watched my stuff, I made the required 800 pesos (30 cents) to use the bathroom and wipe myself down with an assortment of baby wipes, soap, and a washcloth. I had one more pair of clean underwear left and put on my last only one day-worn clean shirt. When I came back my friend came me the sniff test and I managed to pass. Then I prepared myself for the 15 hour freezing bus journey by taking out a long sleeved-shirt, a fleece, scarf, and sleeping bag to keep my toasty on the A.C. blasted bus. Twenty-four hours after my sweaty trek, salt water spill, and musty bus ride, I finally got home, scrubbed myself rotten, and fell asleep.

Some Things I've Learned From Backpacking

After being in Medellin for a bit and still not entirely sure of what I wanted to do here, I decided to do what a lot of people do when they need time to think: pick up and take a bus 12 hours away to the Carribean coast. When I first got to Cartagena I was a little unsure if I made the right decision of leaving my little Medellin bubble and setting off into the big bad world of backpackers who had been at it for 10 months and a whole new range of local people. After wandering around the city and seeing the historic colonial bit that people say looks like Spain, I ventured back to my hostel's pool to see if anyone would approach me. Let's be clear: yes I have traveled before, and yes I have traveled alone before even, but whenever I have traveled alone I always have had a place to go to with people I knew. So I'm not going to lie, I was a bit nervous about my first time out in solo backpacking land. Eventually, however, someone invited me up on the roof of the hostel to hang out. I played it cool and spent another five minutes or so in the pool and then darted off to shower (which really did me no good as I was sweating again immediately upon turning off the water) to look my best for my new temporary set of friends. They turned out to be a mix of people from places all over including Ireland, England, Australia, Sweden, Norway, and Dubai. We hit it off and I enjoyed the rest of my week traveling on the coast with different people from that first group. Some things that I know I learned from backpackers before but were even more reinforced in my brain this trip that I should point out is 1. Every night is a weekend; 2. It is perfectly acceptable to stay up all night because you have to catch an early bus but then end up missing it because you wanted to catch just an hour's sleep. When you're up and realized you've missed it, you can't just go back to sleep, you're already up so why not take advantage of the wonderful morning and have yourself a rum and coke while hanging out in the pool at 8 o'clock in the morning; 3. You say you're leaving today, but find yourself staying another week; 4. You say you're moving hostels today because this one is too expensive, again you end up back on the roof at 2 o'clock in the morning; and 5. For some reason hiking two hours with all of your gear, getting copious amounts of bug bites, sleeping in an uncomfortable hammock with no room to swing because you're packed alongside fellow travelers like sardines, and having to shower outdoors with your bathing suit on while other guests look on-for some reason all of that is ok because you are on one of the most remote beaches with cyrstal clear water in a beautiful national park, just with 100 other tourists who caught wind of the same "remote" beach.

Disclaimer: These things I've learned did not all necessarily happen to me personally.

Being in Latin America too long does funny things to the brain

I really don't speak Spanish all that much. Only two of the five people I live with speak Spanish, and I keep in touch with just a handful of Colombian friends. So why is it that my English has worsened while my Spanish has maintained a standard definitely-not-a-native-speaker-but-able-to-communicate-herself level? I've tried to "keep up" my English by going out with English-speaking friends, writing this blog, keeping in touch with friends and family from back home, etc. But apparently it's not enough. Either my English-speaking friends here (of whom only 1 is an actual native speaker, the rest being Dutch, German, and Colombian) have been here as long as I have, or I need to skype more.

A recent conversation I had with my friend Jessica back at home via gchat (Gmail's version of aim or a messenger application) subtly illustrates this:

me: is tha ta holiday in the US when you're going?

Sent Wednesday at 15:55

Jessica: ur english has gotten bad love

Whether it be bad grammar or just too many cases of malapropism (dictionary.com's word of the day meaning the "usually unintentionally humorous misuse of a word." And yes, I did have to click the speaker icon to have them pronounce the word for me about five times), it's inexcusable to claim that I'm stimulating my brain by reading the NY Times' coverage of the U.S. Open and witty fashion blogs after receiving a $120,000 college education. That's why I'm going to get a job. Maybe as an English teacher here in Colombia?

What's So Special About Medellín Anyways?

This is not your average Latin American city. Let's forget your tight fitting muffin-top jeans combined with the low cut plastic breasts revealing tops that are typical outfits of any "stylish" Latina, or your run of the mill fruit-selling men old enough to be your grandfather looking you up and down, taking in your blonde hair and light eyes a little too presumptuously. No, this is a list of some of the things that make Medellín stand out, amongst the others, like an Australian trying to speak Spanish, or Tom Cruise in a crowd of heterosexuals.

1. Cultural Activities
Tango: Medellín has a wide range of performances, events, gatherings, and spectaculars that make it quite a cultural city. While attending a free tango show at a local theater, I was delighted that there was a live band on stage, consisting of a keyboardist, accordionist, and bassist. The band was not used to much to accompany the dancing, instead it played fine melodies for a robust female singer with an explosive, deep (can I say man-ish) voice. While the singer was offstage and the audience enjoyed some real entertainment from the tango dancers, the band got to rest. This is when the sunglasses-clad keyboardist took the opportunity to pull out his cell phone and jabber away for a good portion of the dance. Though he wasn't upstage front and center, the lights were still shining on him while he sat chatting in the background. It was until the end when my friend and I realized he was pulling a Ray Charles with the shades when it occurred us that perhaps he didn't even realize that this was an actual performance. Maybe he thought it was just a rehearsal. Not his fault he couldn't see!

Later, I noticed some people in the audience were just as bored as the sly keyboardist. I watched as the couple sitting in front of us sneaked shots of aguardiente, a typical Colombian liquor with the revolting taste (in my personal opinion) of black licorice. I wasn't exactly sure because they had it stealthily hidden in the woman's purse, but when I saw them passing a bottle of Gatorade between the two of them to chase it, there was no question.

hard to see, but that's "La Dany" in a foil dress with a crowd of onlookers

Drag Shows: When my Dutch roommate told me "Come on, we're going to a drag show in the park," I of course obliged. Adriaan explained "La Dany" to me as not your conventional tranny. She put on this show in the park every week and used the money she raised to help feed homeless glue-sniffing kids on the street. They made a documentary on her even. She was legit. We get to the plaza early where La Dany is setting up for her show, strewing stuffed animals, broken electronics, wigs, costumes, toys, suitcases, bags, toy cars, and an assortment of other random crap around her in a circle on the ground. Her outfit did not scream transvestite either. Instead she wore a Shirley Temple like red collared dress, with her hair pulled out in two long and wild pigtails. She wore a pair of ballet flats and thick black plastic glasses to top it off. She was cute, sort of. She entertained everyone from children and families to gay couples to foreigners like me and my friends. Her show consisted of various comical skits with bursts of profanity and rage thrown in there. Halfway through the show, her wig fell off and she lost her teeth (after she had taken them out to do a bit about a person with no teeth), screaming like a girl and running around as if she were naked. She eventually composed herself, got herself a new wig, found her set of teeth, and proceeded. Unfortunately, we couldn't hear her all the time because she kept turning her back to us to address the rest of her 75-plus person audience. She used to have a mic, but people from the church where she does her weekly show in front of came out a while ago and took it away, denouncing her as a noise complaint and nuisance.

Ok so I have no other numbered items at the moment (I need to get some more interesting stories from the homeless man on the steps of my building) but enjoy these photos for now.

nope, that's not an IV drip bag, that's 350 cm³ (??) bag of water!

I went to an anti-Chavez rally and got stopped and photographed for standing up for affluent Venezuelans everywhere!