Classes ended, my research put itself on hold, I attended the last Club Medellin Rotary meeting of the year, and was officially on vacation. First item on order was to catch up on sleep. Then some neglected sightseeing around the city and surrounding countryside. A trip to the airport to collect James, my boyfriend, who braved a long trip from Atlanta to spend his winter break with me. Lots more sightseeing (metrocable, Santa Fe de Antioquia, pueblo paisa, alumbrados, centro...etc). And suddenly it was Christmas.
You may or may not know that I have become close friends with a set of cousins. Three to be exact. They fight like siblings, hang out like college cronies, and have made me feel at home in Medellin. I was thus eternally grateful when they invited me and James to spend the 24th of December with their large and boisterous family at a country home in La Ceja. After never having succeeded at getting into the Christmas spirit, (even after sitting for hours on the couch with the tree lit and English carols blasting over me), the celebrations seemed like just another big party with additional generations. We ate green mangos, fried pork fat, and a lovely Christmas dinner. Watched the young children open presents after saying prayers and singing. Then danced to classic 70's Colombian music until way too late. Unlike the family traditions to which I am accustomed, the 25th is spent nursing a hangover and eating 'sancocho', a typical Colombian stew with chicken, yucca, potatoes, and avocado cooked over a wood stove. James was the hit of the day eating everything that the women offered him and surprising everyone by having enlightening conversations in broken Spanish. It was wonderful to spend the entire time in the bosom of a family and experience a typical Colombian Christmas--which makes me eternally grateful to my friends the cousins for successfully staving off an almost inevitable bout of holiday homesickness.
With my freedom from school and Rotary activities came the long-waited for opportunity to travel to parts of the country that are too far away to visit during the semester. James and I had an awful flying experience with Aero Republica (I recommend flying another airline if you ever visit Colombia), ending up in Barranquilla with free trip vouchers but three hours later than expected. From there we met up with Natalia, a friend of mine from Medellin, and another British boy (yes, James is English), and traveled together into La Guajira.
A desert strip jutting out into the Caribbean, La Guajira is a sparsely populated battleground between a Wayuu native people and smugglers importing contraband drugs, gasoline, and Chavista politics from Venezuela. Only eight months ago was the department overrun with guerrillas and train robberies, so of course it interested me as a destination. After spending the night in a friend of Natalia's boss, we took a 5-hour jeep ride along bumpy dirt roads until reaching Cabo de la Vela.
The next two days consisted of deciding when to eat freshly caught fish, exploring the barren Caribbean beaches, sleeping in a hammock, and laughing at James's attempts at communicating with toothless Wayuu women. If your idea of paradise involves complete seclusion, delicious swimming, seafood and a night sky laden with stars, La Guajira would be your slice of heaven. It was fascinating to not only see the lack of tourist infrastructure throughout the peninsula due to security problems, but how the Colombian government has neglected the region without running water and electricity. Luckily the Wayuu are known as very hearty and independent people, so they have survived such extreme poverty.
Yet no such trip into nowhere can be complete without some sort of surprise. After vomiting for six hours, I had to find a nice driver from a nearby camp to take James to the health clinic at eleven our last night and hoped that this new calamity would result in a funny story to tell later and not a tragic, life-changing event. The clinic of course was closed for the evening, but tucked beneath the cheery Christmas decorations on the door was the cell number for the doctor. We called, waited for him to come, but were disappointed when he had no diagnosis beyond extreme dehydration. Instead of putting in the prescribed IV himself, the doctor and driver had to go 10 minutes down the road to wake up the nurse and bring her to the clinic so she could struggle for over half an hour trying to find an appropriate vein in James's arm.
While feigning calmness, I was freaking out wondering if I really wanted to be responsible for the life of my boyfriend. James couldn't understand what the doctor or nurse were telling him and was bossily asking me to pour water in his mouth, cover him with a blanket, and ask the nurse if she knew what the F*** she was doing. My anxiety was exaggerated by the fact that the floors were covered in a film of sand, three dead flies were floating in the oxygen tank, and the doctor was referencing his medical textbooks from John Hopkins University looking concerned. Working in the public health sector of Colombia has enlightened me with a substantial amount of knowledge of their medical services, and what was offered in this tiny, forlorn town was far below the standards I know exist in the cities.
Luckily James stopped shaking and the color returned to his face until he was calm enough to take back to the beach shack and unstable hammock bed. We think he just had one of the most horrible migraines imaginable, because the next day he was fine. But I kept wondering what I would have done if it had been something more serious, or worse, if we I wasn't a demanding gringa with cultural and economic capital to demand top medical attention. It gave me good insight into the lives of many Colombians who live in rural places without adequate medical care, the people I am studying.
Before the day had a chance to break the following morning a local family picked us up and I watched the sunrise from the back of their pickup truck as we bounced back along the desert paths toward civilization. Looking out at the small houses constructed out of dried cactus stalks, the children squatting in front yards with stomachs bloated from hunger, and the herds of goats roaming freely, I felt like I was in another country...far away from the affluence and organization that I have come to know in Medellin. By asking the young man riding next to me what value the goats hold in his community, I learned that the when a Wayuu woman gets married her family expects to be paid at least 40 goats in a dowry package. Which is worth about $2000 USD. Not quite the same as the apartment, finca, and car that Colombian city women expect from their husband...
The 'civilization' we entered consisted of another small coastal pueblo called Manuare, known for their salt-processing plant. We trekked into the mounds of salt with our overstuffed backpacks and cameras snapping photos of a group of 20 men watching one tractor shovel salt into a hole. Although it was fascinating to see so much gleaming salt right next to the turquoise blue water, we were soon ready to hop onto a cycle taxi and slowly head toward a real city: Rioacha. The running water and fresh fruit were wonderful after camping-like conditions, and even though James was feeling better I was relieved to be near a real hospital.
After resting a night the four of us were ready to brave the 8-hour bus ride to Cartagena, going from desert to jungle to desert again all while keeping the Caribbean close outside the window. We arrived inside the walled city very hungry, sore from sitting for so long, and amazed at the bountiful time-between-Christmas-and-New Year's celebrations taking place. On the search for a hostel we passed a throng of GORGEOUS Colombian girls, and only after saying "Welcome to Cartagena" did we round a corner and bump into the Ms. Colombia beauty pageant.
The next few days we wandered around eating fresh shrimp cocktails, treating ourselves to amazing gourmet restaurants, getting lost in the narrow cobblestone streets that all look the same, and falling deeper in love (if that is even possible). It was wonderful to be so relaxed together with no plans or stress imaginable, and further confirmed my assertion that Cartagena is the most romantic city in the world--although I will admit that I have never been to Paris.
Pretty soon it was New Year's Eve and instead of buying the package dinner/entertainment for $200 we wandered around with a bottle of champagne enjoying the live bands playing on balconies. It seemed as if all the wealthy families in Colombia had come together on this one night, talking on their cell phones and eating their 5-course meals. At midnight we snuck into one of the largest parties and danced salsa on the sidewalk then headed up to a wall right on the ocean to watch the ensuing fireworks...a perfect way to welcome in 2009.
Eventually we had to emerge from our cocoon of non long-distance love and say a tearful goodbye at the airport, knowing that any uncertainty of staying together while living in separate countries had completely dissipated after a fantastic two weeks in Colombia. I enjoyed sharing with James the life I have created for myself here; places, friends, and my comfort with operating solely in Spanish. In return, he helped me see the country with a fresh perspective, noticing things I overlook due to familiarity and asking me uncomfortable questions about the poverty and suffering of people that is easy to look past on a daily basis. Two weeks in Colombia was long enough to make James to become as enchanted with the country as me, and I don't think it will be his last visit.
Chapter 2: Bogota, a return to the Caribbean, and Medellin
Despite having a long and tiring trip with James, my duties as tour guide were just beginning. The next morning I woke up at six to pick up my grandmother and her new husband up at the Bogota airport. Yes, my 80-year old 'Yaya' braved the kidnapping threats and showed up with five weeks notice as my next visitor.
Tired after an overnight flight, our first day in the capital consisted of visited the newly remodeled Gold Mueseum and Botero Museum. One of my only frustrations with Medellin as a city is that it lacks a diversity of culture, so spending hours looking at smelted artifacts, reading about the native Colombian cultures, and giggling at Botero's bloated figures was like drinking a glass of fresh water after running a marathon sipping at a bottle of tepid tea. The next few days we visited Monserrate to get a beautiful view of the endless extent of Bogota, the low dwellings eventually merging into the hazy horizon. We also visited a small lake called Guatavita and the extremely tranquil town planned around its banks. I loved hearing Dwight and Yaya exclaiming at the beauty of the countryside from their back seat in our guide's car throughout the entire day.
On the way back into town we happened across an imitation Taj Majal and a naked, male version of the statue of liberty that an Avianca pilot built as a theme park for people...random and hilarious but without comparison to Disneyland. Our guide also took us to a huge store belonging to one Swiss-owned dairy company where they sold all of their products and had bottles of yogurt and cheese wheels larger than me stuck into the lawn. It was like a surreal dairy heaven...
Thinking that Bogota was similar Medellin in that escaping the suburban sprawl and see the surrounding pueblos is a good use of time, we spent our last two days driving around in a northeasterly direction. We saw a salt cathedral built underground inside of an old salt mine in Zipaquira. It was more extensive than I imagined, encompassing 14 little chapels representing Jesus's walk with the cross and opening up into a huge basilica that seemed more like an artistic sculpture than a place of worship. Along the windy roads we passed hours of non-mechanized dairy farms, watching families go out into the fields in the afternoon to hand milk their plentiful cows and then wait on the side of the road with warmed milk cans for a truck to come by and pick then up. Later on that afternoon we touched down in Villa de Leyva, a town with one of the largest plazas in Colombia set in the middle of dry mountains and boasting of uniform white buildings with green balconies. It was very touristy, which meant that we had a wonderful French dinner and found beautiful jewelry in the small shops...food and shopping being the best parts of traveling abroad, of course.
The following morning we woke up early to head to the far-off destination of Laguna de Tota. After driving through rather boring towns for four hours we arrived at a dirt road that took us ALL around the lake to a white sand beach which wasn't really worth the bumps we endured to get there. However, every inch of land around the lake was farmed for green onions, and as we passed through field after field of green and white spikes sticking up towards the sky I realized that Colombian food does not only involve a lot of the vegetable for taste, but because they grow so many they have to put them in every dish just so the huge crops don't go to waste!!
During these road trips I visited three new departments, which for me validates the excessive driving because it introduced me to a whole different perspective of the country than what I have previously known (although I am not sure if my grandparents felt the same way...). Being at a higher altitude in the Andes reminded me much more of Ecuador and Peru due to the terrain and colder cultures--more of what I was expecting from Medellin. I noticed that the people weren't quite as friendly or outwardly confident as the paisas I know, proving to me how regionalized Colombia is. However, after getting a good feel for Bogota I wasn't jealous of the capital and glad that I chose the city I did to spend the year.
Then I was back in Cartagena, this time staying in a beautiful old hotel in the historical city center. I hadn't really minded the heat during my previous stay, but after seeing how much energy it drained from Yaya instituted a mandatory mid-day siesta. Again I woke up late, ate a fresh breakfast at the hotel, walked around the city (this time with a guide), and people-watched from a sidewalk cafe at night. We learned where Gabriel Garcia Marquez has a waterfront house, and was jealous of the inspiration that the famous Colombian author must entertain when living there (he wrote '100 Years of Solitude'). I guess the history of the city is full of real-life stories, being one of the main ports through which all of the riches gathered in the New World was shipped to Europe, attacked by pirates, and with a precarious decadence built on the productivity of a slave culture.
We also took a day trip to one of the Rosario Islands an hour off the coast, spending the morning floating in crystal-clear water and visiting the Oceanarium. In large open-water pens swim loads of turtles, big fish, show dolphins, and huge nerf sharks trained to perform for their food. The diversity of Colombia's terrain never ceases to impress me; going from capital city to mountains to lakes to coastal city to Caribbean islands, all in a matter of hours just blows my mind.
By the time I returned back to Medellin after three weeks I was utterly exhausted but still not allowed to rest. I took Yaya and Dwight to the big open market where we picked out fresh produce for the week, made similar tourist visits up the metrocable, Santa Fe de Antioquia, and explored the city center including the main museum in Medellin. But it was was nice to come back to my apartment where we could cook, hang out reading comfortably, and sit around a dinner table talking for hours after finishing a meal.
We also attended my host club's first Rotary meeting of the year, and I loved showing off all of my friendships with the 70-year old + members even if my grandparents didn't understand the jokes they told in Spanish. My Rotarian host counselor was extremely hospitable and drove us around the city, as well as invited us out to a great lunch with his wife that ended with us all laughing at traveling stories till we had tears running down our cheeks. As an ambassador I feel like I am fulfilling my duties of creating cross-cultural understanding, resulting in Yaya, Dwight, and James heading back to the US with rave reviews of Colombia and all the myths about violence and drugs having been dispelled with their travels.
And now after this long-winded account of my recent adventures I am back to laundry, research work, and sleeping in my own bed...all while entertaining one of my dear friends from Atlanta who has come to Medellin to study Spanish. Although ready to have my own space and normalized schedule, it is emotionally strengthening to be able to make jokes that are laughed at and be around people who know me well after extended periods of living alone and feeling out of place in a different culture . It is the familiarity of these things that I have missed the most during the past six months, and feel extremely blessed to be reminded while in Colombia how many wonderful people I have in my life.
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