My first weekend back in Medellin and who would have thought it'd be stuffed with culture leaving with me with mixed desires of going back to Argentina, take up violin lessons, and experience a Colombian hip hop club.
Friday night Giovanni, Patrick and I went to a ballet show at the local theater. Of course, after seeing Patrick's spectacular moves around the house, I immediately thought of him when I found out about the show. The show consisted of two parts, classical and neo-classical (a bit more modern) with about 30 dancers, four of whom were boys. Though the dancing was pretty good, the real entertainment was in the costumes. One boy wore nothing but Aladdin-style pants and no shirt, another wore a turquoise furry body-suit topped off with a feather on his head, and another had on a gold number that included a see-through midriff baring top that appeared to be for a 7 year old girl. After this hour and a half spectacle, we caught a cab and met the other roomies at some site that seemed random to me (a pedestrian walkway by the Modern Art Museum with some benches and trees), but was in fact the spot to be. Colombians lined the benches and curbs, hanging out in the street talking, smoking, eating, drinking from YIKES open containers! But this is what I love about Medellin: the relaxed attitude, dozens of people convening in an open space, not really do anything. After we downed the bottle of rum we had bought, we decided to accompany Checho to a salsa bar. We arrive to the underground salsa bar and I immediately see this is no place for amateurs. Right about now I'm thinking "How have I managed to spend so much time in Latin America and never master a basic salsa step?!" and envying Cait and her salsa lessons back in CT right now. Checho tried to spin me around a few times, but I just didn't have enough rum in me to fake it well. When I mentioned to Patrick that I guess I just can't let guys lead me around, he said maybe that's a good thing, which made me feel only slightly better as I observed all of the young Colombian couples salsa-ing effortlessly around the dancefloor.
As if I hadn't learned my lesson the night before, I decided to accompany Giovanni, Patrick, and Patrick's girlfriend to experience some traditional porro music Saturday night (and perhaps I should admit that I might have joined to wrap my mind around this whole May-December (or more like May-April-two-years-later- romance) between 41 year-old Patrick and 18 year-old Daniela. Anyways, porro music it turns out is a mix of salsa, kumbia, and tango, making it EVEN harder to dance to because it has 3 different types of dance that you can mess up. But again, it was fun watching the couples dance (who were all in Patrick's age group) but no matter. The amazing tango show made it worth it, and I realized how much I missed the impromptu tango shows on the streets of Buenos Aires while eating lunch outside or walking around randomly.
And if I hadn't had my fair share of watching and envying the skills of the dancers in Colombia, Sunday I went to a breakdance competition. Breakdancers really do not get enough credit. Not only do they have unbelievable dance moves like balancing on nothing but their forearms with their legs extended and rotating on their head for minutes on end, but their style is just something all on its own. When you think about it, they put more thought into what they're going to wear for the dance-off than they put into their dance moves, since they're all improvised on the spot. But seriously, these breakdancing-offs were really impressive, and I couldn't stop thinking how they would just be phenomenal at yoga with that upper body strength.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Not Quite the Typical Colombian Household
Ok so before this blog goes any farther, I need to give a brief overview of the five guys who I am living with here in Medellin, so my stories that follow won't seem quite so strange:
First we've got Jimmy, who is in his mid 20s, stays in his room all day (he currently has sequestered his younger sister who is visiting for a...week? and I've seen her for all of five minutes when she makes brief trips to the kitchen to help her brother cook), and after I left in December had been pestering me via MSN messenger with requests of bringing another gringa with me when I came back to Medellin. Sorry Jimmy. Since he never really leaves his room, he's become pretty good at maintaining relationships with women via the telephone. He currently is unemployed and lives off the little money his mother supplies him with and the 200,000 pesos he charges 2 other roommates a month to be their personal chef.
That leads me to the other 2 foreigners living here, a Dutch guy named Adrian illegally residing here for over a year who I have never seen go without a cigarette for more than 20 minutes, and Patrick, an English guy in his 40s who was living in Spain but wanted a change in scenery so picked Medellin, Colombia as his destination with no knowledge of any other place in Latin America. Not bad if you ask me, but if that doesn't seem a bit strange well how about these other clues: fluttering about the room when we play any kind of music, demonstrating his ballet poses that just weren't good enough for a real ballet company as he sadly found out as a teenager after years of classes; apart from the one meal a day Jimmy cooks him, only eats arepas (these tortilla-like Colombian staple) that he heats up on the stove and then forgets about, so he only ever gets to eat half of the pack after burning the other half; never leaves the apartment, working from his laptop in his room for the Spanish company and when he does leave, it is only go to pick up his ahem, 18 year-old Colombian girlfriend (!!) who got whisked away to Bogota by her mother, but who Patrick tries to whisk right back to Medellin every weekend, until she gets her passport so they can whisk off together to the Canary Islands.
The other two Colombians are pretty normal compared to these other characters. Giovanni is in his late 20s, has a 6 year old (the norm here) and works with Adrian on Colombia Reports, an English language Colombia news web site for expats living in or out of Colombia. And then there's Checho, who wears a different pair of tinted prescription lenses every day, goes to his job at a bank in a corduroy blazer and t-shirt underneath, and is very tranquilo with lots of "amiguitas" instead of having any one serious relationship after getting his heart broken by his wife when they went to the US on vacation to repair their relationship and she ended up staying there, marrying an American, and moving to Norwalk, CT.
Three Colombians, a Dutch guy, an English guy, add a loca gringa to the mix, yep, sounds about right.
First we've got Jimmy, who is in his mid 20s, stays in his room all day (he currently has sequestered his younger sister who is visiting for a...week? and I've seen her for all of five minutes when she makes brief trips to the kitchen to help her brother cook), and after I left in December had been pestering me via MSN messenger with requests of bringing another gringa with me when I came back to Medellin. Sorry Jimmy. Since he never really leaves his room, he's become pretty good at maintaining relationships with women via the telephone. He currently is unemployed and lives off the little money his mother supplies him with and the 200,000 pesos he charges 2 other roommates a month to be their personal chef.
That leads me to the other 2 foreigners living here, a Dutch guy named Adrian illegally residing here for over a year who I have never seen go without a cigarette for more than 20 minutes, and Patrick, an English guy in his 40s who was living in Spain but wanted a change in scenery so picked Medellin, Colombia as his destination with no knowledge of any other place in Latin America. Not bad if you ask me, but if that doesn't seem a bit strange well how about these other clues: fluttering about the room when we play any kind of music, demonstrating his ballet poses that just weren't good enough for a real ballet company as he sadly found out as a teenager after years of classes; apart from the one meal a day Jimmy cooks him, only eats arepas (these tortilla-like Colombian staple) that he heats up on the stove and then forgets about, so he only ever gets to eat half of the pack after burning the other half; never leaves the apartment, working from his laptop in his room for the Spanish company and when he does leave, it is only go to pick up his ahem, 18 year-old Colombian girlfriend (!!) who got whisked away to Bogota by her mother, but who Patrick tries to whisk right back to Medellin every weekend, until she gets her passport so they can whisk off together to the Canary Islands.
The other two Colombians are pretty normal compared to these other characters. Giovanni is in his late 20s, has a 6 year old (the norm here) and works with Adrian on Colombia Reports, an English language Colombia news web site for expats living in or out of Colombia. And then there's Checho, who wears a different pair of tinted prescription lenses every day, goes to his job at a bank in a corduroy blazer and t-shirt underneath, and is very tranquilo with lots of "amiguitas" instead of having any one serious relationship after getting his heart broken by his wife when they went to the US on vacation to repair their relationship and she ended up staying there, marrying an American, and moving to Norwalk, CT.
Three Colombians, a Dutch guy, an English guy, add a loca gringa to the mix, yep, sounds about right.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Have I been here before...?
*precursor*
After 2 months at home in Chester, CT substitute teaching and interpreting at various medical appointments around the state, after taking weekend getaways to Ithaca, NYC, Boston, and DC, after experiencing the horror that is the US economy and job market, I was left with only one option: get out. fast. My only dilemma was where. I considered returning to my first Latin American love: Mexico, but decided against it as I had already dedicated 6 months of my time (3 years if you count a certain Latin love affair) there and wanted to be fair to the other Latin American countries (and other potential Latin love affairs). So after debating it, going back and forth way too much and having too many restless nights, I made my decision: Medellin. I came here back in December for a week and loved it-perfect climate, pretty clean city, easy to use public transportation, and very friendly people. So I bought my ticket, one-way. What was I going to do in Medellin for who knows how many months? Ni idea. But I had somewhere to stay and some random Colombian friends who I'd met back in December for all of one week so, why not?
I arrived two days ago and not much has changed, which is nice. The same crazies are still there, people are still selling cell phone calls for 8 cents on the street, and rain pours down from clouds that emerged out of nowhere for an hour followed by blissful sunshine, like in December. But apparently I missed some things when I was here last time. My first day while walking around with my friend Giovanni, we kept running into his friends and he would introduce us. I would proceed to do the kiss on the cheek, but after a few of these meet and greets, Giovanni turns to me and states: "oye eso no se hace aqui." Apparently if I do not know the person I am supposed to just shake their hand and ya, no beso. Boy did I feel silly after that. Nonetheless, I was struck with recollections of walking with Miguel into a bar or room in Mexico full of all of his friends who were strangers to me and having to make the rounds and kiss all ten of 2o of them on the cheek. I distincly remember getting tired of it that by the end I would lean my head into theirs and end up slamming my cheek into theirs. Well, glad we cleared that up.
Another thing that has managed to slip my mind which astounds me after having to ingrain it into the brains of 16 year-old teenagers the entire summer in Costa Rica is: Don't put toilet paper in the toilet! AHHHH. Luckily I've managed to realize my mistake now (after 48 hours here!) without any embarassing toilet clogs and having to figure out how to say plunger in Spanish.
After 2 months at home in Chester, CT substitute teaching and interpreting at various medical appointments around the state, after taking weekend getaways to Ithaca, NYC, Boston, and DC, after experiencing the horror that is the US economy and job market, I was left with only one option: get out. fast. My only dilemma was where. I considered returning to my first Latin American love: Mexico, but decided against it as I had already dedicated 6 months of my time (3 years if you count a certain Latin love affair) there and wanted to be fair to the other Latin American countries (and other potential Latin love affairs). So after debating it, going back and forth way too much and having too many restless nights, I made my decision: Medellin. I came here back in December for a week and loved it-perfect climate, pretty clean city, easy to use public transportation, and very friendly people. So I bought my ticket, one-way. What was I going to do in Medellin for who knows how many months? Ni idea. But I had somewhere to stay and some random Colombian friends who I'd met back in December for all of one week so, why not?
I arrived two days ago and not much has changed, which is nice. The same crazies are still there, people are still selling cell phone calls for 8 cents on the street, and rain pours down from clouds that emerged out of nowhere for an hour followed by blissful sunshine, like in December. But apparently I missed some things when I was here last time. My first day while walking around with my friend Giovanni, we kept running into his friends and he would introduce us. I would proceed to do the kiss on the cheek, but after a few of these meet and greets, Giovanni turns to me and states: "oye eso no se hace aqui." Apparently if I do not know the person I am supposed to just shake their hand and ya, no beso. Boy did I feel silly after that. Nonetheless, I was struck with recollections of walking with Miguel into a bar or room in Mexico full of all of his friends who were strangers to me and having to make the rounds and kiss all ten of 2o of them on the cheek. I distincly remember getting tired of it that by the end I would lean my head into theirs and end up slamming my cheek into theirs. Well, glad we cleared that up.
Another thing that has managed to slip my mind which astounds me after having to ingrain it into the brains of 16 year-old teenagers the entire summer in Costa Rica is: Don't put toilet paper in the toilet! AHHHH. Luckily I've managed to realize my mistake now (after 48 hours here!) without any embarassing toilet clogs and having to figure out how to say plunger in Spanish.
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