tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27412954744087828012024-02-19T08:48:01.075-06:00The Other SidePost-cancer in Colombiahappy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-35781723918708500992011-07-18T20:02:00.000-05:002011-07-18T20:02:05.174-05:00Meditation Marathon - Part IV (the final installment)<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><u><span style="color: black;">DAY FIVE <o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">I woke up this morning determined to improve the situation. I can do this; I just need to find a way to get slightly more comfortable.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihF0ZEVWUNM61PtTEJo9ZQ2FzMGCIhcsA0HS5QE6FeUdvy52SP_noQDVzQkcUGYHd4-g-gGefJQS_5D6d7ijqa0sYIIdbIrfU4J9_zQM7qx_d42qSh2054ffkChIewale0xgMey8t0GVZX/s1600/med01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihF0ZEVWUNM61PtTEJo9ZQ2FzMGCIhcsA0HS5QE6FeUdvy52SP_noQDVzQkcUGYHd4-g-gGefJQS_5D6d7ijqa0sYIIdbIrfU4J9_zQM7qx_d42qSh2054ffkChIewale0xgMey8t0GVZX/s400/med01.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">I purchased a special meditation cushion to bring with me, but since it hasn’t really done the trick so far, I decided to supplement it with some of the extra cushions the centre keeps in the foyer of the meditation hall. I put some flat cushions under my own cushion, and I used two more to prop up my knees. This felt a bit better, and I was actually able to sit the full hour. I am greatly determined after all!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">I have noticed today that I am not the only one making cushion adjustments – all around me, the piles of cushions and blankets seem to be growing, so that when we get up to leave, the meditation hall (at least the women’s side of it) looks as though it is full of rows and rows of gigantic nests. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">I have also noticed that as we learn to observe things inside ourselves, we are observing more and more things outside, as well. Details that I suspect I may never have taken notice of are everywhere. This afternoon I found myself watching a small insect perform what looked like a self-grooming procedure on my arm. It didn’t occur to me to brush it off. I am not the only one engrossed in the tiny details in nature – I’ve seen a student staring up into the branches of a tree with a gigantic grin on her face, and another get down on her hands and knees to properly smell the flowers. Most of us seem to be wandering around in a state of awe and I suspect that after a short observation an outsider would conclude that we are all high.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">During our free periods, in addition to staring wonder-eyed at bits of nature, we have the option of sitting around, walking around, or napping. Up until now, I’ve been doing an awful lot of that last one, but I’m bored of napping, so I opted for the sitting around today instead, and watched others walk by. This is actually far more entertaining than it sounds. The grounds are beautiful and well-maintained, but they are not terribly large, and you can’t walk more than about 100 feet without running into one of these signs: <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeUQYjSq81pIDFp_TBIMvcbZKj_yLI1lCPrmYynaoCbufLM2S3AN_QZedcAlz_N8p3TMtNqM6ymTyYbHAWYzWqAjb1fSYzpFMya_3ocpRXiO7oniM6zo2GmFrgEw1leqoURIyZ03ApxTRm/s1600/med03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeUQYjSq81pIDFp_TBIMvcbZKj_yLI1lCPrmYynaoCbufLM2S3AN_QZedcAlz_N8p3TMtNqM6ymTyYbHAWYzWqAjb1fSYzpFMya_3ocpRXiO7oniM6zo2GmFrgEw1leqoURIyZ03ApxTRm/s400/med03.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Some walkers, embracing the fact that they have nowhere to go and nowhere to be, progress at a comically slow pace: two or three steps, pause, a few more steps, maybe nudge a rock or two out of the way, five more steps, stoop down to investigate one of the millions of ant hills on the property...this can go on indefinitely. Others power-walk down the trails, arms swinging – they don’t need a destination so much as an outlet, I suppose.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="color: black;">DAY NINE</span></u></b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">The past few days have been so much better. I have augmented my ‘nest’ further, and it now comprises 14 cushions of various sizes (including my own), three blankets and a shawl. My concentration and practice are improving; last night I enjoyed a prolonged pain-free period. Even when it hurts, it doesn’t bother me as much. I have come to see that the pain is actually a necessary part of the process, and I can learn from it. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Today, noble silence gave way to ‘noble chatter’, as Goenka called it during last night’s discourse. It is a relief to be able to look people in the eye and smile, and speak about our experience, though it isn’t quite over yet. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Walking into the meditation hall this evening we looked less like a parade of zombies and more like a group of exceptionally happy individuals off to do participate in an activity they enjoy. Several of the other meditators commented that they have found it easier today to meditate now that the silence has lifted and while I also feel lighter in a way, I have found the opposite – my mind is already at my parents’ house, visiting enjoying the summer holiday.<o:p></o:p></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Vpoy5nBuXc4-5fpOYDTWtlVxa4vmt8wRGQatam0_CjEfmPhqORpKQ6NSJ44_N_i7TdgeB74W1Iqix8t6yrBxVvyl_V_UgkX7J8m4JKvN9CQ0z0vOgcwFZbi448IUswAyI5CjU7if_P0e/s1600/med02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Vpoy5nBuXc4-5fpOYDTWtlVxa4vmt8wRGQatam0_CjEfmPhqORpKQ6NSJ44_N_i7TdgeB74W1Iqix8t6yrBxVvyl_V_UgkX7J8m4JKvN9CQ0z0vOgcwFZbi448IUswAyI5CjU7if_P0e/s400/med02.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Women's Residence B</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="color: black;">DAY TEN<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span>Today is unlike all the previous days, not just because we are all chatting freely with one another, but because we are also practicing a new type of meditation, called Metta – Loving Kindness. My grasp on this, the third type of meditation we have learned here, is shaky. I think because I am too excited about going home to concentrate properly, though I am trying not to get carried away.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Also, I got to spend large parts of today chatting with the other women at the course; there are university students, a mother and daughter from Colombia, a Polish teacher, a Russian doctor (who asked if I was Russian also, because apparently I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">look </i>very Russian – who knew?) and many others, spanning the ages of 19 to around 70 or older. It’s interesting to hear the stories of the other meditators, and what brought them here, and what they have gotten out of the course now that it’s almost over. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="color: black;">DAY ELEVEN<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">We had our last meditation session and discourse at 5:00 o’clock this morning. Goenka has instructed us on how to continue meditating at home and walking the path. This hasn’t just been a course in meditation, but the beginning steps of a process that is intended to be a lifelong thing (or perhaps many lives, if you believe in that sort of thing). It seems reasonable that monks and nuns who dedicate themselves to the path full time should advance at a quicker pace than the average householder, as Goenka calls working people, but even the two hours a day we are encouraged to sit seems like a lot to me. I can see how I might squeeze in an hour in the morning before work, but between the gym, feeding myself, errands, and a social life, where am I supposed to find an hour in the evening?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">I cleaned my room this morning, said my goodbyes, and must wait for my ride to come collect me. Despite my excitement about going home and seeing my family, I am reluctant to leave the centre, perhaps because I know that my mind cannot possibly remain this calm and peaceful once it is required to face the unpredictability of the big bad world on the outside. I can’t recall the last time I felt so much at ease, so at peace with everything around me, and I want to hang on to this feeling. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Despite low points along the way, I’m so glad I came, and stuck it out. I feel that I have grown here, and learned things about myself. I can’t, at present anyway, buy into every aspect of the ideology that is attached to this brand of meditation. The multiple-lives thing, for example, is beyond me. Goenka says, however, that it is not necessary to accept everything we have been told for the meditation to be beneficial. Thank goodness for that. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">So I’m going to make an effort to keep doing it. I’ll let you know how it goes...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-77825621117564626752011-07-17T10:07:00.002-05:002011-07-17T22:40:42.705-05:00Meditation Marathon - Part III<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: center;"><b><u><span style="color: black;">DAY FOUR </span></u></b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: black;">or </span></b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: center;"><b><u><span style="color: black;">THE DAY OF THE TWO-HEADED OCTOPUS</span></u></b><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><u><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></u></b></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhikkgl4cQVyL8CgnmhrQkxwKus8Ml24auZVjjYW4_oKFaOO_5gjlMk9P-YnkD199z82ecJ5mVI9dMBs_PWvpUPpnmNGnRk0rs_B9L9nt0Q7V30NLgOpYcMXMaQyC2DCua7TwP_WOGpQPBM/s1600/med04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhikkgl4cQVyL8CgnmhrQkxwKus8Ml24auZVjjYW4_oKFaOO_5gjlMk9P-YnkD199z82ecJ5mVI9dMBs_PWvpUPpnmNGnRk0rs_B9L9nt0Q7V30NLgOpYcMXMaQyC2DCua7TwP_WOGpQPBM/s320/med04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The gong that was rung to call students to meditation, or to a meal</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Today has been the hardest day for me, for a number of reasons. I am tired and I want a rest from the intensity of this experience, but mostly it was a shit day because of the octopus. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Day four is Vipassana day. That's right - up until now, we've just been <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">preparing our minds</i> for Vipassana. I knew from reading other blogs/reviews that this was how the course was run, but still I feel as though I've been tricked a bit. They didn't bother mentioning before today that we haven't been doing the 'real thing'. One lady dropped out last night - I wonder if she knew she hadn't really even begun?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">If we are ready for Vipassana, then we are apparently also ready to do sittings of "Great Determination" - when you are "greatly determined" you don't move. At all. For an<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>hour</i>. I don’t feel greatly determined today. I feel “Greatly Pathetic” and also “Greatly Wondering What The Hell I’m Doing Here”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">At the 6 o'clock sitting, my back started to hurt. Understand, this was not a little ache. This was a twitching, writhing, spastic two-headed octopus of pain. Its heads (I don't know why it had two, that's just how it appeared in my mind, even though we’re not supposed to visualize anything) weighed down on my spine between the shoulder blades, and its tentacles extended in all directions, squeezing muscles and my desire to meditate with an equally strong destructive force. It was overwhelming and I couldn't concentrate on my meditation so instead I just sat on my cushion crying, feeling sorry for myself, and mentally cursing this whole bloody exercise, because <i>how can this much pain do anybody any good at all?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">The silence in the room implied that everybody else was concentrating and sitting still, and because the coughing, sniffling, shuffling, farting and swallowing noises have generally ceased, the sound of my tears hitting the cushion seemed vastly amplified and I broke my 'strong determination' to catch them before they could fall, which only made me feel like a bigger failure.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Fuck it. I opened my eyes. I saw that another woman sitting a row ahead of me was wiping her eyes with her blanket. Maybe she was sad, or she had an octopus too? It is perhaps shameful to take comfort in someone else’s tears, but seeing that I wasn’t the only one who was struggling made me feel a bit better. (Only at the end of the course when noble silence had ended did I learn that almost every woman I spoke with had bawled her eyes out at some point.)<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">After an hour of this torture, the discourse video was played. In addition to using unusual expressions and speaking with a rather charming accent, Goenka tells great stories. A few more tears may have escaped at the beginning of his lecture, but by the end my resolve to make the most of this experience – pain or no pain – had returned.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Tomorrow is going to be better.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;">*****</span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;"><i>Below are two videos (Part 1 and Part 2 of the same talk) of Goenka explaining a little bit about the ten-day course, and the technique itself, in case you are curious :-)</i></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/JS1PhpbLvGw" width="425"></iframe><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/--71jSYMMqg" width="425"></iframe>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-55845397423397941842011-07-15T23:22:00.003-05:002011-07-17T22:40:14.785-05:00Meditation Marathon - Part II<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><u><span style="color: black;">DAY ONE</span></u></b><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Noble silence started last night, day ‘zero’. I feel like an asshole wandering around not making eye contact or greeting or even smiling at anyone.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Our task today: concentrate on breathing. Just observe the breath. Turns out my brain is simultaneously bored and challenged by this job.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><i><span style="color: black;">In...out...in..</span></i></b><i><span style="color: black;">.Am I really doing this?...I really want to see that movie, what was it called again? With that actor...<b>Crap. Focus! In...out...</b>.I forgot to write a thank you note to that mom who gave me that scarf as a present....I wonder what my sister is doing...my arm is itchy.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b>Oops. Right. Breathing. In...out...</b>.Has it been ten minutes yet? fifteen? Is there even a clock in here? I feel like I want to open my eyes. But what if someone sees me? The salad dressing at lunch was really good today...<b>In...</b>I feel a bit cold...<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b>aaarghhh!</b></span></i><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><u><span style="color: black;">DAY TWO</span></u></b><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Our task today: not only must we observe the breath, we must observe the feeling of the breath going in and out of our nostrils. The teacher (Goenka, who is not actually present but who gives instructions and lectures through audio and visual recordings) pronounces it nose-strils and says that if we can't feel the breath, we should do a few 'harder breathings', and I think I might giggle out loud. There are 80 adults in the room; surely I'm not the only one who finds this amusing?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Concentrating on breathing, or the breath passing in and out of one's nose-strils is nearly impossible however, when one's mind has converted itself into The Eye of Sauron - focusing with intense hostility on every shuffle, sniffle, cough and other disturbance <i>outside<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>of its borders and therefore completely incapable of concentrating on what is going on inside, like say, the feeling of the breath on the nostrils for even 3 seconds straight.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0gXAN3GNz4x0VSFvQAjjP0l5ieRGiG_gM1fpdI78tqRqwPFeWiRJk5JW9COd1Ymmsvahp1IIsPE-SaiO1mxC2anw0gUkgrlJZbnw7DWs1qjB7CXKKABm8i-MX7KfSOl33DTKz9FPA-su/s1600/eye+of+sauron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0gXAN3GNz4x0VSFvQAjjP0l5ieRGiG_gM1fpdI78tqRqwPFeWiRJk5JW9COd1Ymmsvahp1IIsPE-SaiO1mxC2anw0gUkgrlJZbnw7DWs1qjB7CXKKABm8i-MX7KfSOl33DTKz9FPA-su/s320/eye+of+sauron.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="color: black;">Nose-strils...hahaha....that fan is way too loud</span></i><i><span style="color: black;">...someone to my left is sniffling an awful lot...Why would you come to a course like this when you have such a bad cold? Is that...snorting? Someone is SNORTING? What a pig, that's disgusting - why didn't he blow his nose before he came in here??<span class="apple-converted-space"><b> </b></span><b>HOW IS ANYONE SUPPOSED TO CONCENTRATE WITH ALL THIS NOISE???</b></span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><u><span style="color: black;">DAY THREE</span></u></b><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Our task today: concentrate on a small area around the nostrils and above the upper lip, and see if we feel any sensations.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="color: black;">Nose-strils....nose-strils...I don't feel anything. Am I doing it wrong? Can other people feel sensations? Does an itch count as a sensation? Maybe I'll do some hard breathings. Breathings...hahaha. *sigh* My back hurts. I'm not sure this is for me.</span></i><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Lunch was fairly tofu-heavy today, and this afternoon's meditation was a chorus of stomach gurgles. The men and women have been segregated since our arrival and only come together during group meditations, sitting on opposite sides of the special meditation hall. I think the women get up and move around more, but in terms of bodily noises the men's side of the room wins hands down. I am certain that amongst the members of our group, today will be remembered as The Day That Guy Farted.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">And he didn't just do it once. The first time, being mature adults, and supposedly deep in meditation and therefore not noticing such insignificant disturbances as this, we all ignored it. Again it happened, and again maturity and concentration won out. The<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>third</i> time however, someone giggled and that's all it took for a room full of adults who had committed themselves to ten days of serious mental work and reflection to laugh uproariously at something my second graders are generally able to ignore. Half of the students in the hall got up and left. I tried to focus my mind again, but the giggling took a long time to subside and eventually I had to leave the hall, worried that if I didn't my mind would play this little movie over and over all day, my progress ultimately ruined by some guy's inability to digest tofu.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">I think we’re doing something different tomorrow, and I’m looking forward to it. I hope we broaden the area of focus – I don’t think I can observe my own nostrils any more carefully than I already am...<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><i>(to be continued)</i></span></div></div>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-80489319221656959482011-07-15T15:01:00.002-05:002011-07-17T22:39:54.374-05:00Meditation Marathon - Part I<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black;">Before I begin, if you are interested in doing a ten-day Vipassana course, I suggest you not read what I have written. I recommend the course – it is hard but rewarding work with noticeable results. Neither my account of a very individual and personal experience nor my silly observations will serve you in any way. Find out for yourself!!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black;">If, on the other hand, you are simply curious, or are wondering what the hell I did for ten days because you could never imagine doing so yourself, by all means, carry on </span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: Wingdings;">J</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Sometime shortly after Christmas I was reading<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://www.carlhonore.com/?page_id=6">In Praise of Slow</a><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>by Carl Honore for second time, and it mentioned meditation as a good activity to reduce stress and help people slow down<i>. I could do that</i>, I thought. Reduce stress, have peace of mind, maybe get a handle on my fear-of-relapse anxiety - this sounded fantastic!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Normally I would congratulate myself for having such a great idea and file it away in the "I Must Remember to Get to That Someday" compartment in my mind. Unfortunately, like a pocket with a whole at the bottom, things seem to disappear from this place of safekeeping never to be seen again. How many life-altering ideas have I lost over the years? I'll never know. I keep meaning to get a voice recording device so that I stop forgetting...that idea is in there too, at the bottom somewhere I suspect, and only resurfaces when I realize I have forgotten something else.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Anyway, not wanting the meditation idea to go the way of all my previous flashes of genius, I did something about it immediately. I knew of two previous acquaintances who had participated in ten-day meditation workshop. I hadn't spoken to either of them about their experience, but certainly ten days was long enough to feel as though I'd really learned how to do it properly. I googled it and clicked on the first link that came up: <a href="http://www.dhamma.org/">Vipassana Meditation Website</a>. This was a worldwide organization with courses in many different languages in many different countries. Having decided that I would prefer to take the course in English, and therefore in Canada rather than Colombia (though it was also available there) I signed up to attend a course at a centre close to Barrie, Ontario. Then, I just sort of forgot about it for four months.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Closer to the day, I began to do some research about the technique. I looked at the daily schedule. Morning bell at 4:00am? Meditation for...calculating...ten hours every day?? This wasn't just meditation, it was like boot camp for your mind. But the website promised some pretty cool results (I won't detail them here, you can follow the link if you're curious) so I figured it would be worth it. Also, the course was carried out in silence - students aren't allowed to speak to one another, and that actually appealed to me. Ten days of quiet - at the end of the school year I couldn't imagine a more pleasant rest.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">They say its ten days, but really it's twelve. You arrive on day zero and leave on day eleven. After registering I handed over my illegal goodies for safekeeping: laptop, kindle, magazines, phone, camera, and writing materials - basically anything that could potentially distract/entertain me. My room in the women's residence was clean and equipped with the essentials (I was lucky to have a room and bathroom to myself - some of the others shared). A list of chores was tacked to the inside of the door, implying that before leaving I would be cleaning the room myself for the next student. Interesting.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Keeping a journal was not permitted, and though I've read blogs of other people who have attended the course and secretly made notes, I wanted to follow the instructions thoroughly to have the complete experience as it is intended, so I am writing from memory, which as we have already established is, in my case, a bit sketchy. Here are the important bits, as I remember them:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><i>(To be continued...)</i></span></div>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-86967584678508099372011-06-17T17:12:00.001-05:002011-06-17T17:13:07.117-05:00JourneyI am drinking a Tim Horton's cappuccino, so I must be in Canada. Unlike last summer's whirlwind cross-country adventure, this summer's holidays will be a much calmer affair. A few days in North Bay, a 10-day Vipassana meditation workshop just outside of Toronto, then to stay with my parents until the holiday winds down.<br />
<br />
I'm sure many teachers would agree with me that the last few days (weeks?) of school tend to drag on a bit...At least we went out in style. No classroom-movie-watching end-of-year parties for us, no way. We went to a 'finca' belonging to one of the families for a day, and apart from the bus getting quite stuck on rough road leading to the property, (and then again on the way out) the day was a huge success!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1xJoPlJexoeTUVzA_NPtzFdaOuussuST5uTKxAmlJ9s1v87i0AIHOgQmVQUFP3oraUM6c4KhUQasn_26hMEt2ojeT3PxxdFMuEj9_67XObkpT5-xcmrBp_aGJ4q-RsmG9AiOoGT5f-enD/s1600/finca01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1xJoPlJexoeTUVzA_NPtzFdaOuussuST5uTKxAmlJ9s1v87i0AIHOgQmVQUFP3oraUM6c4KhUQasn_26hMEt2ojeT3PxxdFMuEj9_67XObkpT5-xcmrBp_aGJ4q-RsmG9AiOoGT5f-enD/s320/finca01.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view *sigh*</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0yuqbDLIUfDv8hp8snBuvJHh86fK_3Xlduw1ZkpUKYriuMzwlaZcgSFBbrKDwp1on2OFowS4EnGX5QQQ1JN9DbhWPbHxa9XQDswUMWcsrh8PHEqjShdrUpp51_pVT6lTvQRXUuXp9dA_5/s1600/finca02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0yuqbDLIUfDv8hp8snBuvJHh86fK_3Xlduw1ZkpUKYriuMzwlaZcgSFBbrKDwp1on2OFowS4EnGX5QQQ1JN9DbhWPbHxa9XQDswUMWcsrh8PHEqjShdrUpp51_pVT6lTvQRXUuXp9dA_5/s320/finca02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifeCQwhW39o-z7SXXVwIhWDDeRj7-eAfde4bI50kvkKX9mJYzOPYfOgaWWsFY6S2Hp7GN7cf_59dd-T9HgZe8V7QwMkwKrSzTN1akAmD8ATQEcEEAJ5CHIBgChC9jw_W8pxFl8DOXM-SOs/s1600/finca04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifeCQwhW39o-z7SXXVwIhWDDeRj7-eAfde4bI50kvkKX9mJYzOPYfOgaWWsFY6S2Hp7GN7cf_59dd-T9HgZe8V7QwMkwKrSzTN1akAmD8ATQEcEEAJ5CHIBgChC9jw_W8pxFl8DOXM-SOs/s320/finca04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The kids released a huge whale-shaped balloon...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDvHegJtG9vQVbMC84RJ_i8QEEUDCWiCu5IGGxlLOOn8SxkOabRKwcF5BG_kgK7XkyNfJY-N_VWpvATeyldy0LazyHIPLb-svV9vhIFqjtjvpfV0pCrhXzxmZPFe6RSjiabEt3SoHXIH-j/s1600/finca03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDvHegJtG9vQVbMC84RJ_i8QEEUDCWiCu5IGGxlLOOn8SxkOabRKwcF5BG_kgK7XkyNfJY-N_VWpvATeyldy0LazyHIPLb-svV9vhIFqjtjvpfV0pCrhXzxmZPFe6RSjiabEt3SoHXIH-j/s320/finca03.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Which eventually just floated away, never to be seen again...not by us, anyway :-)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>More to come after the meditation. 10 days of no talking, no looking at others, 2 meals a day... my bum hurts just thinking about it, but I think it's going to be an amazing experience!happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-56420480673383117722011-02-17T18:58:00.001-06:002011-02-17T18:58:46.883-06:00That Shirt is a Funny Colour...<div style="text-align: justify;">We are learning about personal pronouns in Grade 2. I write a sentence on the board, underline the subject, and my students must tell me which personal pronoun I could use to replace it. We've been practicing all week, and they are quite good at it now. They are not as good at identifying swear words, it turns out, something I learned when I turned around in class today and noticed that I had written on the board:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><u>Juan Sebastian</u> is wearing a yellow shit.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Not one of my students picked up on the naughty word, however they were quick to point out that Juan Sebastian's shirt was not yellow, it was in fact blue with white stripes. I don't know where my mind was at the moment of writing, but immediately afterwards it was focused on <i>not</i> laughing, as this would have demanded an explanation which obviously I could not give. A little giggle may have escaped. That's it though. Teehee.</div>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-21438740635322252602011-02-06T08:36:00.000-06:002011-02-06T08:36:09.254-06:00Buga<div style="text-align: justify;">After Christmas, I returned to Colombia like a child on her way back to class after a gratuitous bathroom-break...My body, obedient and obligated, returned directly. My mind, however, took the longest route, reluctant, dallying at the water fountain, walking zig-zags down the corridor. I've been here, but not here.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Something clicked at last though, and I have landed once again. And just in time, because this past weekend could not have been fully appreciated in a semi-absent mental state. I was fortunate enough to be invited to visit the city of Buga, in the Valle del Cauca.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Buga is famous for its basilica, The Basilica del Senor de los Milagros. The story of El Senor sounds a bit like a fairy tale involving a washing-woman and an expanding statue of christ, ultimately leading to the 'deal' currently offered at the home of the Senor: <i>promises for miracles</i>. As in, you promise something, and in return the Senor will do his best to provide you with the miracle of your request.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLeRqdm-7_aIh8Vkkjj1CDSwvumugO167FxuLxWcxc3up7fkDDWAMMqzaKa6OIQ3IKvEdmk0ksGSzeNU172a-eco29pAk9sYC7rO0vfaWJAdrkO8YAUZ7XVYZ0D6iBoDbeU-S7Dp76UA-V/s1600/basilica1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLeRqdm-7_aIh8Vkkjj1CDSwvumugO167FxuLxWcxc3up7fkDDWAMMqzaKa6OIQ3IKvEdmk0ksGSzeNU172a-eco29pAk9sYC7rO0vfaWJAdrkO8YAUZ7XVYZ0D6iBoDbeU-S7Dp76UA-V/s320/basilica1.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Basilica del Senor de los Milagros</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzvhKSd3fbkXsFnC-5fTd9b4QKrEVH9PMOyOoXXTQCeFpAx4cSBirsW9uErbPCzZCo6Cr_EUCPFKBI_6x-a011p2fPf5yCwwzWip3KWZKJoTbU-GLsyl4FJC5WoZTvrvBWmEsp4HXHr5O/s1600/buga+basilica+03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzvhKSd3fbkXsFnC-5fTd9b4QKrEVH9PMOyOoXXTQCeFpAx4cSBirsW9uErbPCzZCo6Cr_EUCPFKBI_6x-a011p2fPf5yCwwzWip3KWZKJoTbU-GLsyl4FJC5WoZTvrvBWmEsp4HXHr5O/s320/buga+basilica+03.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hmmm...what miracle should I ask for?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ2Y_dUW2DRubtw-oL54HHRWCp9YkaCWFcpIjG8ftNVM26-yliieS0GZPHOpMbMEopxLs0iSCh9wQJx7S9oxq-Nb4MreMs-uWCXgnPoqLxGMaKl5oReYQC6wwEo5YAPHa3zLHts1EHJL8d/s1600/buga+basilica+02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ2Y_dUW2DRubtw-oL54HHRWCp9YkaCWFcpIjG8ftNVM26-yliieS0GZPHOpMbMEopxLs0iSCh9wQJx7S9oxq-Nb4MreMs-uWCXgnPoqLxGMaKl5oReYQC6wwEo5YAPHa3zLHts1EHJL8d/s320/buga+basilica+02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Office of Masses and Promises - there is good business in miracles, it would seem...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">Like every city in this part of the world, Buga has a central square or plaza. This is not only a good place to eat snow-cones and people-watch, but turned out to be a good site for watching animals as well.</div></div><div><span id="goog_2037009199"></span><span id="goog_2037009200"></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9UrS3lN9kDqzUjSwiRszES_BoPa99GUgN_0xOmhTqzNzPxaLcghw8dqPpDIsKi-j8Q4FzEdWot2VR2yhbgMiv__9luzyZQIYqady66qJm5AZTDj-VQAQHMWrVdG5IVJiVKqpCbp-nK98/s1600/monkey02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9UrS3lN9kDqzUjSwiRszES_BoPa99GUgN_0xOmhTqzNzPxaLcghw8dqPpDIsKi-j8Q4FzEdWot2VR2yhbgMiv__9luzyZQIYqady66qJm5AZTDj-VQAQHMWrVdG5IVJiVKqpCbp-nK98/s320/monkey02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrJSX8-oO1tITbV7ji7fjgXLLRxXZK3nCc7s8fI09E41bib7O7E7QiIY46Aq1ZDXXCfwvVNFAu1woiFwu_yu9MFroKxg-pLl1WKJ6-O1vxvLs1oMTfUa1OndzsIeM0hqeedNSKy9pTPaj-/s1600/lizard01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrJSX8-oO1tITbV7ji7fjgXLLRxXZK3nCc7s8fI09E41bib7O7E7QiIY46Aq1ZDXXCfwvVNFAu1woiFwu_yu9MFroKxg-pLl1WKJ6-O1vxvLs1oMTfUa1OndzsIeM0hqeedNSKy9pTPaj-/s320/lizard01.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaSjc0YHVC3SphPXPRsRdVl3WuZEp6wWZIMhVt7bgnv2zIc-FRShnhzHJjBrqWteZhRDDXVRztum_x1TU7Xums6__3I5V6LgjvACyKDAMiQ5-1iMbZlejskLXy6YdG6ZoE35UsSCQaV1Lw/s1600/lizard02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaSjc0YHVC3SphPXPRsRdVl3WuZEp6wWZIMhVt7bgnv2zIc-FRShnhzHJjBrqWteZhRDDXVRztum_x1TU7Xums6__3I5V6LgjvACyKDAMiQ5-1iMbZlejskLXy6YdG6ZoE35UsSCQaV1Lw/s320/lizard02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clearly not concerned about people</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">The plaza was interesting, as was the tour of the city generously and lovingly provided by one of our hostesses, however Buga would have been a completely amazing experience even if we'd lever left the house. The entrance, seen below, is unimposing but the home hiding behind that big white wall felt like a combination hotel/museum/garden...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOzPpaSlMC0d0Yy6tntcqGUFEFMYlKb-1g6UBlFr87V-jsZE2M1V1SDDbc3ncxf6-dOj_T6anNLXNvs7cntObHBPtqmZkKuhLDYPESha9CfOGAuCATPGUuxoTu4xBTKrozTkbQLYTIi15M/s1600/entrance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOzPpaSlMC0d0Yy6tntcqGUFEFMYlKb-1g6UBlFr87V-jsZE2M1V1SDDbc3ncxf6-dOj_T6anNLXNvs7cntObHBPtqmZkKuhLDYPESha9CfOGAuCATPGUuxoTu4xBTKrozTkbQLYTIi15M/s320/entrance.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting directions before venturing out into the city</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAO2SBd7gM060Ha-pHjpkdayE8lpQIgyDSqUJTRiUDXSVrP002uklre9WRgTNWmLdOM4YLwitgyhbDvdKoSIQqKlXC_3_hB0qg8LpYvBqTy27XRBHWnhX1Lk2aJbZ3liPa15qjm7jiC9h3/s1600/house01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAO2SBd7gM060Ha-pHjpkdayE8lpQIgyDSqUJTRiUDXSVrP002uklre9WRgTNWmLdOM4YLwitgyhbDvdKoSIQqKlXC_3_hB0qg8LpYvBqTy27XRBHWnhX1Lk2aJbZ3liPa15qjm7jiC9h3/s320/house01.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upon entering the house, you meet the front courtyard</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7_Um7k2JsWlJnR7kTc0HUIG46JANntcbdkrJ2Nzy1YRfRcgJfEOkNbiVs5gg8JpSiyUb1Fmdp3yHaOcgpSMD2vqmfscVen-Ti5wL2YL6stKkaU9ntUF3f7Ud1jZF-8SPGcG1ecnXct0Ir/s1600/house02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7_Um7k2JsWlJnR7kTc0HUIG46JANntcbdkrJ2Nzy1YRfRcgJfEOkNbiVs5gg8JpSiyUb1Fmdp3yHaOcgpSMD2vqmfscVen-Ti5wL2YL6stKkaU9ntUF3f7Ud1jZF-8SPGcG1ecnXct0Ir/s320/house02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another view of the front courtyard</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-G-P1lOdx6ZiwCiPfqFMvIFxxFuQSobXuZpEptA5G5kyYtq6TowWomYKkWXgYUvi7PqEELf6mLyBln5u-3LdFHU88N3R2PeVMg4Tre7bWhluIHD9v-Q9VubAkUOeGwwPwwWab2V1fOpYI/s1600/house03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-G-P1lOdx6ZiwCiPfqFMvIFxxFuQSobXuZpEptA5G5kyYtq6TowWomYKkWXgYUvi7PqEELf6mLyBln5u-3LdFHU88N3R2PeVMg4Tre7bWhluIHD9v-Q9VubAkUOeGwwPwwWab2V1fOpYI/s320/house03.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">there were antiques throughout the house</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuNbk3U-eZ1Es2Ah89d-thuOQ2G11aEa91F5D2lIkVRXZynZfhhKj1_6l2kZ_SlF2tJcmPb2Dva2kX83L1yFt1xEgqYGUNKKwoOQ95IjoKRPHjEqFlowpm6b90O4HHreqN0t89K7POOswm/s1600/house04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuNbk3U-eZ1Es2Ah89d-thuOQ2G11aEa91F5D2lIkVRXZynZfhhKj1_6l2kZ_SlF2tJcmPb2Dva2kX83L1yFt1xEgqYGUNKKwoOQ95IjoKRPHjEqFlowpm6b90O4HHreqN0t89K7POOswm/s320/house04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the rear courtyard</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV1IY6h2scbS-NJJPVxvHX-WQ1baDAWj4RnTbBrt4AmrUImqGYmlAlbNHLrgsSJ0hXItzrdLnai9wS4g1ajXtqWGyCwtCXYtsrwk5BakxFBOdOfbIFk-ctFDjnweNFd9emSBjeCypKhjYh/s1600/house06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV1IY6h2scbS-NJJPVxvHX-WQ1baDAWj4RnTbBrt4AmrUImqGYmlAlbNHLrgsSJ0hXItzrdLnai9wS4g1ajXtqWGyCwtCXYtsrwk5BakxFBOdOfbIFk-ctFDjnweNFd9emSBjeCypKhjYh/s320/house06.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">another view of the rear courtyard</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp2FfelpBM4sj4gD0JcB50TIh3Pf1JKzgSVoMjEixbQKdEdPwiU58_qMuGVWcDcowz1qw4XC7JTe5e7FIKbFTxrDZ_hWVX1Or8iMKwNuI59mIjn_UuADfimc7q1p0CBugmkXUh6Innwo-i/s1600/house07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp2FfelpBM4sj4gD0JcB50TIh3Pf1JKzgSVoMjEixbQKdEdPwiU58_qMuGVWcDcowz1qw4XC7JTe5e7FIKbFTxrDZ_hWVX1Or8iMKwNuI59mIjn_UuADfimc7q1p0CBugmkXUh6Innwo-i/s320/house07.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A sitting area, and behind, the "living room"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpg6SHN7G1HT19mG6Ro3XbdpfGulZS1VpupYoot1yfpVl0OtZbrzEEtkA0EcUjvXLtE2w1Mcw6myxi2DHw2c312gMWc2QCmlQt8Jc1m1MEH5ol6KgZdKW_oYHaoiKPPZ-HsjuRBYp_wF-l/s1600/house08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpg6SHN7G1HT19mG6Ro3XbdpfGulZS1VpupYoot1yfpVl0OtZbrzEEtkA0EcUjvXLtE2w1Mcw6myxi2DHw2c312gMWc2QCmlQt8Jc1m1MEH5ol6KgZdKW_oYHaoiKPPZ-HsjuRBYp_wF-l/s320/house08.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">one of the 14 bedrooms</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfN1dVf4QoI4FkhV77nNMSGs6IweYF5RwyMU5vxozpEEPEnc7CCdOXJGGTpKuJpOLy6AnJscy88iF9lf_A_4jk0uxN2Qu0sQWkHUT-HMQJ9WNv87w92S1JSjUr9eg1J81fNqON9oapdghw/s1600/house09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfN1dVf4QoI4FkhV77nNMSGs6IweYF5RwyMU5vxozpEEPEnc7CCdOXJGGTpKuJpOLy6AnJscy88iF9lf_A_4jk0uxN2Qu0sQWkHUT-HMQJ9WNv87w92S1JSjUr9eg1J81fNqON9oapdghw/s320/house09.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the dining room, in the oldest part of the house</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKckO__fwsCKj9G6nb8CtoWnVXJLVrCdaYnbf9NwrUw2tGd0DrIDi4gAsG_Njb6rPYEIRhIAGZi2zC3xZnwrhxLZw7aRhqKTdtf3EapaXdo1cQLCXFNcPZ3MYPxOrI5W9-43poO13ne6nN/s1600/house10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKckO__fwsCKj9G6nb8CtoWnVXJLVrCdaYnbf9NwrUw2tGd0DrIDi4gAsG_Njb6rPYEIRhIAGZi2zC3xZnwrhxLZw7aRhqKTdtf3EapaXdo1cQLCXFNcPZ3MYPxOrI5W9-43poO13ne6nN/s320/house10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The rear block of the house, bedrooms and bathrooms.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">The best part of the stay though, was meeting our hostesses. The three sisters living here, cousins of a friend's grandmother, are some of the most interesting and inspirational people I have ever met. If I have half of their energy and passion for life when I am their age (in their 70s and maybe 80's?), I will consider myself quite fortunate. (Though frankly it's not looking all that hopeful when you consider the fact that I was the youngest person there, yet drank the least and wanted to go to bed the earliest...Perhaps my vitality will manifest in other ways?)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It was one of those times when you feel as though you should stop periodically and just contemplate how lucky you are, and maybe send some out some thank you vibes, not only to your hostesses, but also to the universe. </div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-84788585377874341362010-12-20T17:00:00.000-06:002010-12-20T17:00:35.417-06:00Almost there now!!!<div style="text-align: justify;">I write from a patch of floor across from gate E-12 in the George Bush airport in Houston. I have been sipping an over-sized, over-priced Starbucks hot chocolate while I wait for time to go by. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I reckon I'm 2/3 of the way there (Vancouver Island being my final destination this Christmas), and it's been a <em>relatively</em> smooth ride so far. My departure from Manizales was, almost predictably, hampered by the weather. The Manizales airport is a delicate, delicate creature...it is only opened between dawn and dusk, and the generally accepted wisdom for determining whether or not your flight will leave is to look at the Morro Sancancio (a rather large hill and landmark in the city) and if you can see the top clearly, you're good to go. If Sancancio is obscured by clouds, you're screwed. I estimate that during the rainy season, you are screwed approximately 50% of the time. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">With that in mind, it was no real surprise when my flight was cancelled and re-routed through the nearby city of Pereira. "Nearby" meaning a 1hour and 40 minute drive through the mountains, but all the waiting and bus-riding is worth it, because though the flight to Bogota is only 40 minutes from Manizales (less than 300km), it would have been a minimum of eight hours in a bus, and during "Landslide Season", as a friend calls it, it would most likely take much, much longer. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">After losing my boarding pass and having to have it re-printed we boarded the bus for Pereira, where I was grateful that they did not play Christmas music, as would be expected this time of year, and as they do every morning on the bus to school. (Christmas music in the Coffee Region actually has nothing to do with Christmas as far as I can tell, but instead is a particularly irritating variety of music that I think of as their version of "country", and is more often than not dripping with sexual innuendo.) Instead we got to listen to the radio airing of the local soccer team's game. The commentary sounded like a cross between an auction and an orgasm. <em>Blah blah blah blah blah (incomprehensible screaming) <strong>Electrodomesticos!</strong></em> (Home-electric appliances! - what does this have to do with soccer?) And then in the final minutes of the game, a crescendo of<em> the game is going to end, The Game is Going to End, <strong>THE GAME IS GOING TO END!!!!! </strong></em>And then, when victory was confirmed, incessant screaming, followed by many thank-yous, particularly to god. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The poor taxi guy struggled for a good long while to find my hotel in Bogota, though he is hardly to be blamed. I have generally found that it is easier to find destinations in Colombia by using landmarks rather than exact addresses. The hotel, for example, was supposed to be located "across from the American Embassy", or at Calle 22B, #44C-09, according to the previous address system. (What the new system is, I have no idea, but I hope it is better than this one). So this is supposed to mean that on street 22B, approximately 9 doors down from the its intersection with Carerra #44C, the hotel would be waiting for me. But of course we could not find <em>anything</em> resembling this address, and instead drove around in circles in what we guessed to be the correct area, until we saw the sign. It was across from a park. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I should have known when I saw the outside of the place that it was going to be an <em>interesting </em>stay. I rang the bell and waited for the oversized, windowless metal door to be opened in a notably hesitant manner. My room was more expensive and more disgusting than I had expected. One of those places where you don't want to touch anything, you know? There were hairs everywhere. The desk chair looked as though it had been hand-constructed out of plywood with some fabric haphazardly stapled on. The really fantastic part was when I looked in the bathroom though. Where did this come from? Attached to my no-frills manky room was a retro bathroom almost the same size, done out in faux-marble,with a massive shower unit (with stairs in it!), complete with faded lime-green towels with cartoon ducks on them, and a wardrobe big enough to store most of my belongings. The ceiling tiles were falling down and the doors were falling off their hinges. What it did <em>not</em> have was hot water.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihTglvBFMMPL8i4ehofDwgWzqeWbTooA1qriRtcN27WL98puJdNvmR6VPh8vkVZotV0rGAaOj-C-Y5DAdFsUrnpdNAtBE99scvcvt_d4w1WUepNfTgvj28i_RDbJ8vmYjVXRhxrACUBpzw/s1600/hotel01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihTglvBFMMPL8i4ehofDwgWzqeWbTooA1qriRtcN27WL98puJdNvmR6VPh8vkVZotV0rGAaOj-C-Y5DAdFsUrnpdNAtBE99scvcvt_d4w1WUepNfTgvj28i_RDbJ8vmYjVXRhxrACUBpzw/s400/hotel01.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The lack of hot water was not really a problem though, as I neglected to set an alarm and slept in, leaving no time to shower anyway. Ugh. At the airport I "raced" through the check-in line, the tax-exemption line, the give-you-back-some-money-though-I'm-not-entirely-sure-why line, the security line, the leaving-the-country-stamp-your-passport line, and the <em>second</em> security get-into-the-gate-waiting-room line.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Upon landing here in Houston, I sought out a location for my first meal since yesterday morning. I ended up, if you can believe it, in the Fox Sky Box Sports Bar. (It was either that, a 50s diner, or a seafood house, and this place happened to be closest to the ATM.) The Fox Sky Box Sports Bar has no less than 27 televisions for me to watch sports on! And you know how much I love sports!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have managed to occupy myself for almost five hours so far, and have only three more to go! My Kindle ran out of juice, so I'm off to find a book that does not require electricity. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Merry Almost-Christmas!!</div>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-79280835808838116222010-12-12T06:58:00.009-06:002010-12-12T07:39:55.815-06:00Travels and Candles<div style="text-align: justify;">There are many, many reasons to love working in Colombia. The one that comes to mind right now is the national tendency to have a lot of holidays; I am coming off a string of almost uninterrupted 4-day weeks which has made the lead-up to Christmas seem a)very quick, and b)not nearly as crazy as normal. We had a day off for American Thanksgiving (not a national holiday, as you can imagine), for All Saints Day, and the Independence of Cartagena... </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">One of these long-weekends however, was enjoyed only by myself as I made my quarterly trek to Medellin for a check-up. The news was good - blood tests all came back normal, and my ever-pleasant doctor says I shouldn't worry. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">Being in Medellin was great, not just to hear a specialist tell me I am healthy, but also because it satiated to some degree the wanderlust that has been nagging at me lately. I've been craving <em>new</em> a lot, perhaps because Manizales has been so dreary. So I went to see Harry Potter (in English!!) and did a bit of shopping and generally enjoyed being in a different environment for a couple of days, before making the somewhat treacherous trip back home.</div><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqq7rakiG3rL_I5HIyJfM9aZTugTSjvufIAZr3_FaOhA4M7gmh47vFIuGatrZgED0X_KTSj4LqHlSQKYpggvnA_cz7T_agR4tSTP4uLHkWspgP2c2vtnG1ZOGFYQNFnj-kjWX-Dyjv_i_S/s1600/geo+hostal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqq7rakiG3rL_I5HIyJfM9aZTugTSjvufIAZr3_FaOhA4M7gmh47vFIuGatrZgED0X_KTSj4LqHlSQKYpggvnA_cz7T_agR4tSTP4uLHkWspgP2c2vtnG1ZOGFYQNFnj-kjWX-Dyjv_i_S/s400/geo+hostal.jpg" width="338" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I tried out a new hostel this time, in the Poblado area. I would definitely stay there again!</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRK3LmVksPmoGpFjzJC9j1O0eERwE6KrSW5ECe2eP6ksc0ZvME5DGB7EZqt6Ndel3DZHQQ_7MxX4eoa9_PfOmZTM1quZ91TpQJwUmliww6-F4xdtZg9qSkjRZgzQj6nm67W04N7kUeJgJe/s1600/poblado+river.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRK3LmVksPmoGpFjzJC9j1O0eERwE6KrSW5ECe2eP6ksc0ZvME5DGB7EZqt6Ndel3DZHQQ_7MxX4eoa9_PfOmZTM1quZ91TpQJwUmliww6-F4xdtZg9qSkjRZgzQj6nm67W04N7kUeJgJe/s400/poblado+river.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A stream that runs through el Poblado - this is usually just a trickle of water...</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIgg82Zcv_s6ZRkNh_Gz7ydl-vDjIqBFLQPo-kF5j6MYw-VkZ5zE6LUpzHcSM_Cdh657OSGSQQgfvsu4IVfO6ywMC-JBUnVx6WUrDHwUz7TlR_VFupiY2ugZ9AJ28jRvCtdnfMTr5w5P8L/s1600/medellin+manequin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIgg82Zcv_s6ZRkNh_Gz7ydl-vDjIqBFLQPo-kF5j6MYw-VkZ5zE6LUpzHcSM_Cdh657OSGSQQgfvsu4IVfO6ywMC-JBUnVx6WUrDHwUz7TlR_VFupiY2ugZ9AJ28jRvCtdnfMTr5w5P8L/s640/medellin+manequin.jpg" width="264" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What do you mean, too much? In Medellin there is no such thing!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">Rain is not just unpleasant and miserable, around here it is a <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/dec/06/hundreds-missing-colombia-landslide">destructive force</a>. Apparently this is the <a href="http://colombiareports.com/colombia-news/news/13310-colombia-in-state-of-emergency-over-rains.html">worst winter</a> in over 40 years, and as a result, the highways are not in great condition. It is 180km from Manizales to Medellin, and on a good day you could cover this distance in maybe four hours, in a car. In a van, when the road is washed out in several places, I discovered, this takes closer to seven hours. We passed under several of these signs on the way: </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgacnclxtwkprbcLYASFhbvvvjQ_MMQftlq2sKWygefIjid_ecq_q3IEOeMDsnn4vf2TYtPKvlQEm2Q2yljaLIQgAxruGkuJuhB0IDQyTX8o2qAy9nXm7NHaxxjF2uBgqwjItWkLqjjflo/s1600/zona+inestable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgacnclxtwkprbcLYASFhbvvvjQ_MMQftlq2sKWygefIjid_ecq_q3IEOeMDsnn4vf2TYtPKvlQEm2Q2yljaLIQgAxruGkuJuhB0IDQyTX8o2qAy9nXm7NHaxxjF2uBgqwjItWkLqjjflo/s320/zona+inestable.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">In some locations it was that the land above the road was not stable, and in one location the warning applied to the land <em>below</em> the road which was at risk of sliding down the mountain, presumably taking with it whatever vehicles happened to be crossing at that moment. The road had sunk several feet here, and I was less than enthused to be following the massively heavy tractor trailer shown above. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">In several places traffic moved in only one direction because of lanes covered in mud and debris. Below you can see the road has been cleared, but all that mud on the right-hand side of the road used to be part of the hill on the left-hand side. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi61P6NvE45MLk_qssdOyoOzSiddwJsHbeeSdT4PfdaX4qQYQeZ7ngekZxk02FazRWee0XvNmJOvquTtazvPJMhyjdoJ3QiH4GClO85KJGBNiooXpF1pUYL37F3woZu2VKQhle_SUDNQF9C/s1600/landslide+debris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="165" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi61P6NvE45MLk_qssdOyoOzSiddwJsHbeeSdT4PfdaX4qQYQeZ7ngekZxk02FazRWee0XvNmJOvquTtazvPJMhyjdoJ3QiH4GClO85KJGBNiooXpF1pUYL37F3woZu2VKQhle_SUDNQF9C/s400/landslide+debris.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Whatever the conditions of the highway, the journey is unquestionably beautiful.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7aIvLElLop5jIuHDtJIBfE12kHjaapUby6MwfyZ30hQvaNqNGaT6q5osrODLbAKTqYNP6Z_RVaWX5auPuhV6RBHtaYOyz2hKOdBPcNkoXCl20PKrfNadBJIobElxsCQbdFk4QW5V7BbwQ/s1600/highway+view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7aIvLElLop5jIuHDtJIBfE12kHjaapUby6MwfyZ30hQvaNqNGaT6q5osrODLbAKTqYNP6Z_RVaWX5auPuhV6RBHtaYOyz2hKOdBPcNkoXCl20PKrfNadBJIobElxsCQbdFk4QW5V7BbwQ/s400/highway+view.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somewhere between Medellin and Manizales.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvF0opM29Pttog194zckGvicHLoQm9a6IKZua444k8fJxTN9Ia6-BRJwDxyTMAAQJwE44gq4LKa8Gfje94q8WyMiD-zq7FgVkEYHQCau-SaUlfieOiDqPr7GHHByPxadvDODh6PydYJunL/s1600/store+on+medellin+highway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvF0opM29Pttog194zckGvicHLoQm9a6IKZua444k8fJxTN9Ia6-BRJwDxyTMAAQJwE44gq4LKa8Gfje94q8WyMiD-zq7FgVkEYHQCau-SaUlfieOiDqPr7GHHByPxadvDODh6PydYJunL/s400/store+on+medellin+highway.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little store/home along the highway.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Our most recent four-day week, however, was not a long-weekend but instead an interrupted work week - we had this past Wednesday off, to celebrate the Immaculate Conception. I'm not sure how exactly this ties in with the tradition of lighting lanterns, but that's what we did on Tuesday night. I was fortunate to be invited to celebrate Noche de las Velitas (Candle Night) with some Colombian friends. We lit the home-made lanterns at the house, before heading out into the city to ooooh and aaaah over the lantern displays in other neighbourhoods.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_x0K0FEQtfHVkRVpH4AwT1Q_yWWFzqYLvhEeeOa5u4nFQSXazGuDIuVUOgG4aWBPPa0Ex8CNIlx1pjptNjdBckuj2-Yoq2ZtOu5KupXXAy4tQzT6_6c1lp49w90I1qk2JPcSqrtbouOcC/s1600/diana%2527s+family+alumbrado.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="306" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_x0K0FEQtfHVkRVpH4AwT1Q_yWWFzqYLvhEeeOa5u4nFQSXazGuDIuVUOgG4aWBPPa0Ex8CNIlx1pjptNjdBckuj2-Yoq2ZtOu5KupXXAy4tQzT6_6c1lp49w90I1qk2JPcSqrtbouOcC/s400/diana%2527s+family+alumbrado.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Colombian family.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYFNzfiMFJOdnOjGwQ8xhB-V0vGxZimzCQpUnMKTpU1EoxzncnKPHM0yeCYX4yorLFmAADaz0NCKmO4Va3ifR7ixTd8PZoLc9yzr-uCuf0NYRbkfaXI63EDdVDpE-ykDIlfsQlfGJvmRa6/s1600/alumbrado+diana%2527s+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="313" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYFNzfiMFJOdnOjGwQ8xhB-V0vGxZimzCQpUnMKTpU1EoxzncnKPHM0yeCYX4yorLFmAADaz0NCKmO4Va3ifR7ixTd8PZoLc9yzr-uCuf0NYRbkfaXI63EDdVDpE-ykDIlfsQlfGJvmRa6/s400/alumbrado+diana%2527s+house.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The maid built all these lanterns using plastic pop bottles and tissue paper. Inside, the candles are stabilized by a bit of sand. And then, after lighting them, we just leave them there, burning, unattended, for hours...</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-qf1vgUubP4EQ-3KWH6mMbtcUcAnCmJWZhUalH_nylvtX8ljV2CJc_G8dHFyxDeEPZ2gk8fQMIWrHHDO8LueaNS6ROaUb_DP73MTFrO_L0lv0REfgnNSSO7C1KRtlntpyCQgMDBg3bUhi/s1600/me+at+alumbrado.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="311" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-qf1vgUubP4EQ-3KWH6mMbtcUcAnCmJWZhUalH_nylvtX8ljV2CJc_G8dHFyxDeEPZ2gk8fQMIWrHHDO8LueaNS6ROaUb_DP73MTFrO_L0lv0REfgnNSSO7C1KRtlntpyCQgMDBg3bUhi/s400/me+at+alumbrado.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was also the coldest night I have ever experienced in Manizales. I have no idea what part of the city we were in at this point...</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy8wO0aFSnIVZ0uJqhJTzJ0GSxLDpeC5WX0-s1JBVBZ08doe57pfw_dUtAYZ2XD7RWuxnlQ8MA9SCyYbgxNMg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">All in all, it has been a pleasant few weeks. I can't wait to get home!</div>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-44476279817064486072010-12-09T09:38:00.002-06:002010-12-09T09:38:54.314-06:00The Countdown in On!It's been on for a few weeks now, actually...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV2V9fiqbijGYbI-sKC6TlQdVSZu9H9ehMpRtQQz9NkBXPR9_15hoNIA7lGGVA22NYBkcieuov886qcGDRRLng1icwC4LfDSsJ5QdyeHH-jyZ7cy8xCxVUhw8grbfq96PRWJNfvqkroaph/s1600/blog01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV2V9fiqbijGYbI-sKC6TlQdVSZu9H9ehMpRtQQz9NkBXPR9_15hoNIA7lGGVA22NYBkcieuov886qcGDRRLng1icwC4LfDSsJ5QdyeHH-jyZ7cy8xCxVUhw8grbfq96PRWJNfvqkroaph/s400/blog01.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-566134007564592372010-11-28T08:04:00.000-06:002010-11-28T08:04:50.678-06:00Relief... or, It's About Bloody TimeThe past few months in Manizales have looked mostly like this: <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG6pJVkpWw8vKirDRkQwp2h4HGZXHPg0b-GHNyEnXn039ZXRZKyFS9bxgnMNi5YcMg_kJLJS7Ps45N9EuCM6Q_k1ZquUD3AufPOBsd5n1iEWiVGCZHELeKAAGY803CxYXVOKy7R7hN0aP7/s1600/blog+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG6pJVkpWw8vKirDRkQwp2h4HGZXHPg0b-GHNyEnXn039ZXRZKyFS9bxgnMNi5YcMg_kJLJS7Ps45N9EuCM6Q_k1ZquUD3AufPOBsd5n1iEWiVGCZHELeKAAGY803CxYXVOKy7R7hN0aP7/s320/blog+01.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKlmCsoAMA6LJ-Bq3SknbaOyF9eOI09DRoshNuvsfUeFnCabzf43-3KJD7fhr8TS7qg5iABy3hVY4MoglX7FQ8BQmXYCoNzDAb1fwCFKcM9jDjnNR3W674LPiPOt9T0Mk66wWiTztPrZX/s1600/blog+03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKlmCsoAMA6LJ-Bq3SknbaOyF9eOI09DRoshNuvsfUeFnCabzf43-3KJD7fhr8TS7qg5iABy3hVY4MoglX7FQ8BQmXYCoNzDAb1fwCFKcM9jDjnNR3W674LPiPOt9T0Mk66wWiTztPrZX/s320/blog+03.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSz5bo-KzUUNKxrpCgkVeo81t3QLZ1X5Y8ADRo3XzIOhvjS8excC197DzFE4dPT7EWvWfUY9ZFs2L2BXxgMyacAufYw6L0EnqsNMAZYcON5WgBRVCiH_AJGb0EarrKlBnm-6sRH-oC_qe2/s1600/blog+02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSz5bo-KzUUNKxrpCgkVeo81t3QLZ1X5Y8ADRo3XzIOhvjS8excC197DzFE4dPT7EWvWfUY9ZFs2L2BXxgMyacAufYw6L0EnqsNMAZYcON5WgBRVCiH_AJGb0EarrKlBnm-6sRH-oC_qe2/s320/blog+02.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>On some days, it was as though the fog and rain dials were being <em>adjusted</em>, but every other type of weather dial remained firmly in the OFF position. Rain and fog. Fog and rain.<br />
<br />
Then last weekend, something absolutely glorious happened:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXE72yZhbYX0tkp5Z9cFKE5imcb_kabjUEsW1PJ_KL3DCKmFDmsx4uTbJ3h7Zv6JTygtLNv78K2lJ3MDfHKHP3Ev56I8DBiEIC26HPDn-29IfB6E6hF6oJq_1eK1lWC9DGASi2qQOWOhIc/s1600/blog+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXE72yZhbYX0tkp5Z9cFKE5imcb_kabjUEsW1PJ_KL3DCKmFDmsx4uTbJ3h7Zv6JTygtLNv78K2lJ3MDfHKHP3Ev56I8DBiEIC26HPDn-29IfB6E6hF6oJq_1eK1lWC9DGASi2qQOWOhIc/s320/blog+05.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPc2iQcXXvkka6U3fV3trVC7NNcn2x3TW7IvIEZ1FTFde8CJ4ntkZ1wVwIyxQrurprjP2MQwPiIheSK8ejpvxKhQ8AnWNcALyPSAPbTbRR1Cq911EZE8fgPjyBGMCHD-soUoE0PfRDX37C/s1600/blog+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPc2iQcXXvkka6U3fV3trVC7NNcn2x3TW7IvIEZ1FTFde8CJ4ntkZ1wVwIyxQrurprjP2MQwPiIheSK8ejpvxKhQ8AnWNcALyPSAPbTbRR1Cq911EZE8fgPjyBGMCHD-soUoE0PfRDX37C/s320/blog+04.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I'm sure you can imagine that sunshine after months of cold and wet is deliciously therapeutic. <br />
<br />
Hopefully this will start happening on a more regular basis now - I <span style="background-color: white;">didn't</span> want to have to start getting jealous Canadian weather. That would just be bizarre.happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-11163816531844317362010-11-22T21:31:00.001-06:002010-11-22T21:32:43.823-06:00Traitor<div style="text-align: justify;">Not a great day, frankly. The dull ache/tingling feeling in my shoulder that I have been trying to ignore for the past two weeks decided that today was the day to make itself Ignorable-No-Longer. By the time I got to the gym tonight at 7:30 the pins and needles had progressed down my arm into my hand, and pain was not far behind. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Fortunately, the gym has an on-site sports physician who was able to see me right away. Treatment: no more shoulder work in the immediate future, ice after all exercise, heat every night, pain meds and anti-inflammatories (in capsule form for now, but injections are the next step if this doesn't work) and physical therapy starting ASAP. We barely do <em>any</em> shoulder work - how did this happen?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Of course, the pain isn't the problem. The tingling is annoying, but that's not the real problem, either. The <em>real </em>problem is what this does to my mental state. It would not be an understatement to say that I am hyper-vigilant about my health. I treat my body well - I feed it good things, and exercise it regularly. I should feel good. And gym time is my therapy; it is far more reassuring than talking to a psychologist because every workout is evidence that my body is well. A successful workout is almost as comforting as good blood results. It is not supposed to <em>damage</em> my body, and any deviation from FEELING GOOD tends to throw me into a bit of a panic. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Even if it is logical that I have been pushing myself and have tensed/pinched something as a result, there is still a part of my mind that wonders...is exercise really the cause of this, or am I more susceptible because something else is going on in my body that I don't know about yet? </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I know that it is hard to understand why this would bother me so much. I know that the problem seems obvious, and therefore silly to worry about. I know that I can't let fear dominate my reaction to everything relating to my body/health (or any other area of my life, actually). Most days, all this logic and sense keeps me in line, however today has been an exception. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Tomorrow will be better. Bring on the Dolonime.</div>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-41825274804042456432010-11-16T20:02:00.001-06:002010-11-16T20:08:52.079-06:00I've Left Canada and I Can't Get back!<div style="text-align: justify;">Alright, so I'm not lying on my back in the bathroom crushed under the weight of my own walker, but when it comes to Decision Time, I feel almost as helpless as that little old lady in the LifeCall Commercial. (Please say you remember those adverts!)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">For the literal minded, I concede that there is nothing <em>physically</em> preventing me from moving back to Canada. I could go, but just because a plane will take me there doesn't mean the move is a logical and financially viable idea. Since I've thought of almost nothing else for the last few weeks, I feel fully prepared to outline my arguments, however after careful consideration I have decided that a visual representation will be more effective.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">If I move to Canada, this is more or less how I imagine things will look: </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPSmKDVNYchi1rBsZOC71bsYhS89d-DQWLV9dRwhkMbZzEfPs_8t_ROSUx68TR3xEh_bueRydeniIeaGYqZXDF301WKejZcse5lMv2tT1w7tI3Jtj8wlLKcVIE_UkMIR0a22kfIAJ5zJtB/s1600/messy_room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; height: 238px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 401px;"><img border="0" height="271" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPSmKDVNYchi1rBsZOC71bsYhS89d-DQWLV9dRwhkMbZzEfPs_8t_ROSUx68TR3xEh_bueRydeniIeaGYqZXDF301WKejZcse5lMv2tT1w7tI3Jtj8wlLKcVIE_UkMIR0a22kfIAJ5zJtB/s400/messy_room.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now...in case for some reason you can't decipher what's going on here, I will break it down for you in a way that doesn't require my spending another hour pissing around on <a href="http://www.gliffy.com/">Gliffy. </a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><u>CONS</u></div></div><ul><li><div style="text-align: justify;">I live in a box </div></li>
<li><div style="text-align: justify;">This is because I have no job, and therefore no income</div></li>
<li><div style="text-align: justify;">The box is a mess because I have no cleaning lady</div></li>
<li><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The box is also a mess because I have no job so I just stay at home and make more messes</div></div></li>
<li><div style="text-align: justify;">I am alone in the box because I don't know anyone except my sister and her boyfriend, who are both at work...also, they can't stand the mess</div></li>
<li><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My parents pay the rent and the bills because I have no job</div></div></li>
<li><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">So I'm 31, poor, and still dependent on my (kind, generous, amazing) parents who, while they love me, are frustrated because I won't just take a job as someones secretary "to tide myself over" though I'm pretty sure I'm not even qualified to do that</div></div></li>
</ul><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><u>PROS</u></div><ul><li><div style="text-align: justify;">I don't have to go to work every day! </div></li>
</ul><div style="text-align: justify;">Ha ha. Okay, the real pros:</div><ul><li><div style="text-align: justify;">Not far from the box are several members of my immediate and extended family</div></li>
<li><div style="text-align: justify;">I have a bathtub </div></li>
<li><div style="text-align: justify;">Stick-me doesn't have to wear eighteen layers to keep warm inside the box </div></li>
</ul><div style="text-align: justify;">Of course it is possible that I am exaggerating the difficulty in finding employment as a teacher in B.C. <a href="http://www.makeafuture.ca/news/news-post/archive/2010/10/article/a-tough-job-market-for-teachers-myth-or-reality/">This article</a> doesn't seem to think the situation is so dire, as long as you are a specialized teacher or are willing to relocate to the sticks...which I'm not.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">Now, I know you were looking forward to seeing my Stay-in-Manizales illustration, but circumstances have prevented me from creating one. Here is a Manizales CON for your consideration: it hasn't stopped raining here in weeks. The weather report <em>says</em> the daily high is around 16 - 18 degrees, but they mean for the 10-minute period every morning when the sun deigns to put in an appearance. Lows are 10 - 12 degrees, sometimes colder at night, and may I please remind you that heating of the air to keep people comfortable does not really exist as a concept here. Just put on another sweater. Or, if you are me, crawl into bed at 7:00pm and refuse to get out (or to draw any more pictures) - on principle. It's just too bloody cold to do <em>anything</em>, end of story, and it's hard to think of anything nice to say when I can't feel my nose. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">So the staying arguments will have to wait. Not for too long though - Decision Day is the 13th of December. I am certain only of one thing: when I left Canada five years ago, I had no idea it would be this complicated to get back. </div>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-31785194373909116162010-11-10T17:30:00.000-06:002010-11-10T17:30:00.003-06:00Home is Where Your Stuff Is<div style="text-align: justify;">So, I moved to a new apartment a couple of weeks ago. The exact reasons for the move are too long and silly to be recounted here, so I will skip to the important bit: I have left my beloved, bright, open-concept (damp, freezing cold, cramped kitchen, studio-style) apartment for something that I feel has a similar energy, minus the lime green and plus a few bedrooms.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">After a quick calculation, I reckon this is my 11th 'home' in the last 5 years, not counting interim months spent at my parents' place over summers. That's not as bad as during the Uni years, but it's enough. All part of the lifestyle choice, of course, but there is nothing to make you loathe moving like having to do it over and over. As part of my resettlement deal, at least, I was spared the task of actually carrying anything <em>myself</em>, though I did feel a pang of guilt as I watched the two movers haul my every personal belonging up the five and a half floors to my new place.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Apartment hunting is sort of a bizarre experience here. Not because the places are any worse than anywhere else I've looked - I'm sure horrendous apartments are an international phenomenon - but because the outsides of the buildings are particularly deceptive. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ9ldnZ_HYW7CeIAavbpMfCv4mcKwaIjUZ5_pZExvxjIl-msXVN20wF1gUwjFCq0j1cDrX-TJMeCcOefkihFyrZzs9LOIusdKwT_Ew8XCpBVO7XUhi1mnFzr8NL-WUeHNPeKYPGnaFgt6y/s1600/apartment01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ9ldnZ_HYW7CeIAavbpMfCv4mcKwaIjUZ5_pZExvxjIl-msXVN20wF1gUwjFCq0j1cDrX-TJMeCcOefkihFyrZzs9LOIusdKwT_Ew8XCpBVO7XUhi1mnFzr8NL-WUeHNPeKYPGnaFgt6y/s400/apartment01.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Any or every one of these unappealing boxes might secretly be harbouring spacious, beautiful, modern apartments but from the outside...there is no point in even hazarding a guess.</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">For example, this is a relatively new building:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaXLuRECmCozASB5xh_v7okYLTJR81dtX9S90WNQ4faW5iN2ZIzgyBfLHhUj_6xK3Z3jAzlzf72iUqW_nL33pobtgPUsuSJz9iFIpACR7KVnpUdgqk-w2lx0QqLbELACVmVqDq4VBx0UKx/s1600/apt02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaXLuRECmCozASB5xh_v7okYLTJR81dtX9S90WNQ4faW5iN2ZIzgyBfLHhUj_6xK3Z3jAzlzf72iUqW_nL33pobtgPUsuSJz9iFIpACR7KVnpUdgqk-w2lx0QqLbELACVmVqDq4VBx0UKx/s400/apt02.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It looks okay, right? There is no way you can tell by looking at this building that on the inside there are <em>entire apartments</em> with no windows looking onto...outside, where every single window displays a view of a very cozily located wall. It would be like living in a ceramic-tiled cave. </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">Of course it's difficult to escape this interior window business altogether, as it seems to be a very common design feature here. My own bedroom window looks out onto someone else's front door. <em>Eeek. </em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS9Htc0MbKt_SJDVIbEnifgMS5KWfMR2N14AMARyG_DeBDRUu7wodJRbu6ShFFmLVieyE17hAPvq-NYDCjlaViyzUzYt4TX8o25KrOqkxkHBeGENw5fTTBeTblIlktcYvBjBpDIoslJdfo/s1600/bedroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS9Htc0MbKt_SJDVIbEnifgMS5KWfMR2N14AMARyG_DeBDRUu7wodJRbu6ShFFmLVieyE17hAPvq-NYDCjlaViyzUzYt4TX8o25KrOqkxkHBeGENw5fTTBeTblIlktcYvBjBpDIoslJdfo/s400/bedroom.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">This arrangement is especially entertaining on the central stairway, where I walk through half a dozen different conversations on my way up or down. And you hear things. Laughing, coughing, MSN messaging, dish washing...<em>everything.</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEfjVnbzUCIdG5xcbkNnL3vT5tnScqVgbUXyx4HIbbC8pZ-vgr3eE9T_9usIPKYb9Za9Ag0-X87hWHqsZeAhVCYXR_N2Nit-fVL39lhh2jPxOJ0QuR2P1jhqe6fA9U_cTJNZLN4pesAua6/s1600/interio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEfjVnbzUCIdG5xcbkNnL3vT5tnScqVgbUXyx4HIbbC8pZ-vgr3eE9T_9usIPKYb9Za9Ag0-X87hWHqsZeAhVCYXR_N2Nit-fVL39lhh2jPxOJ0QuR2P1jhqe6fA9U_cTJNZLN4pesAua6/s400/interio.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Perhaps because of the lack of sound barrier (virtually every room in my apartment has a window looking out onto this echo-y sound vortex) everyone has been quiet and respectful, for which I am infinitely grateful, though I don't doubt the day will arrive when someone has a party and I will get all uptight and <em>gringa</em> about the disturbance. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">For now though, it feels like a good fit. </div></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-87767242910612803532010-11-02T20:19:00.000-05:002010-11-02T20:19:20.089-05:00SmileBlood results are good. Eight months down, 52 more to go!happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-84906127774560726942010-10-29T06:44:00.000-05:002010-10-29T06:44:24.507-05:00I Hate Neighbours<div style="text-align: justify;">At the moment in school I am just wrapping up a unit about Neighbours. Neighbours live in your neighbourhood, maybe in your <em>conjunto. </em>Maybe they go to school with you. Maybe you want them to die, just a little bit. That wasn't in the Unit Plan though. That's just me.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My selfish, thoughtless, horrible neighbours had yet another party last night. It woke me up for the first time at half past one, and finished around four am. I know this, because I was up for most of it. Their last party (less than a week ago) I'm pretty sure doubled as a rehearsal for some kind of theatrical performance. Last night's event on the other hand sounded as though it was inaugurated with a dance contest. My best guess: a fusion tap-break dance team vs. an imported group of Maori Haka dancers. Then the whole thing degenerated into a typical drunken sing-along, which was slightly less irritating than the agressive floor-stamping, but no more conducive to sleep.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have complained to my Colombian friends here, who have all informed me that it is part of the culture to simply be more tolerant of noise. They are used to living in close quarters, and everybody loves a party. Let them tolerate then. This morning, I have cranked my television up to VOLUME 90 and while I think I am going a bit deaf myself, at least I am certain it can also be heard by the assholes upstairs, possibly even disturbing their attempts to sleep it off. I am hoping that they were not so drunk as to render themselves unconcious - I want them to enjoy my sharing of MTV's early morning selection.Queen is up right now. Not bad. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I know it's immature. But after 4 hours of sleep, my mind isn't capable of conjuring upn anything more sophistocated than eye-for-an-eye justice to address this very tiresome situation. I'm just disappointed that I can't stay here for the next three hours to slowly increase the volume to 100 and bang on the ceiling with my broom a bit more. I'd be worried about 'escalating the situation', but I'm out of here tomorrow anyway. More on that next time.</div>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-35024872090020691582010-10-20T17:59:00.000-05:002010-10-20T17:59:24.097-05:00Marching, Marching, Marching...<div style="text-align: justify;">It's hard not to have a good day after being escorted to the bus stop by a marching band playing one of the peppiest tunes on the planet. <em>The ants go marching one-by-one hurrah, hurrah! The ants go marching off to work hurrah, hurrah!</em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I happen to live half a block from the <em>Batallon</em> - I'm not even certain what the equivalent word in English would be (not having a huge army presence in Canada, I guess) but it's the place where the soldiers live and work and play in marching bands. The <em>batallon </em>sits just a bit down the mountain from the sidewalk I tread every morning to the bus stop, and this morning my passing coincided perfectly with the marching band's tour - soldiers in fatigues playing tubas and trumpets like there is nothing they would rather be doing at seven a.m. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
This is way better than coffee!</div>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-978479092745910002010-10-12T10:07:00.004-05:002010-10-12T10:52:04.743-05:00House Guest<p align="justify"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527179633553076930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW32V8z2x7lZfXINUjfYzuKRwOQXLvj6CyZAFoEnGgkotmviVUOH3-uRlvhhoCi0p-QoTigjs3Tj7v3NixOwZg-vy9yQT5xCSeigHHUFBj38GrLdVEbLTG4xLiaihTMuSAHX7MnrkaUssO/s400/Uva.jpg" />This is Uva (Spanish for <em>Grape) </em>though I have more often heard her called <em>Kittycatcita</em> by her affectionate owner and my friend, for whom I am kitty-cat-sitting this week.</p><p align="justify">My cats growing up were savvy beasts who supplemented their Meow Mix diet with whatever beasties they hunted out-of-doors. Mice, obviously, birds often, once a chipmunk, once a snake... They liked to roll in the dirt, and stay out all night, and would sometimes line their catch up on the sidewalk outside the front door, so we could compliment them on their prowess and total domination of 'Mousy-Land'. They were not particularly cuddly creatures, except the hermaphrodite one (odd, but true) who would sometimes try to hump your leg.</p><p align="justify">Uva, on the other hand, is the softest, cleanest, sweetest, most cuddly kitty I've ever met. (Though I heard she did make fast work of a bird not too long ago.) She doesn't use her claws when she she does that cat-kneading thing on you, and twice I woke in the night to find her using my arm as a pillow. The other 57 times I woke though, she was doing something less cuddly and decidedly more playful (read: <em>noisy).</em></p><p align="justify">She battled it out with the cow rug, had a little nibble on a cardboard box (brought especially for that purpose), investigated every square inch of the bookshelf, re-arranged my attempt at a potted herb garden, and stripped my larger plants of some of their more unnecessary lower-hanging leaves.</p><p align="justify"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527179637046145090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDqvRh9s2O6w54cypqKKkE762wPN31-asbiiBYAsz01Mk-hc0ard1HkeWJ2ORaGjcx9V7mehenL9OVKiDfZ-LKbeAg3MG5krWUx62ZefYjXDWRQVIexyE7vDssSh22cif4WHiSM1A_rkfh/s400/uva+destruction.jpg" /><br />The plants weren't doing particularly well anyway, perhaps they will thrive better on my second attempt.<br /><br />Despite the mess, and the sleeping thing, I think we're going to be good buddies!</p>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-47522269226475091882010-10-10T17:25:00.004-05:002010-10-10T22:33:35.945-05:00Barrio Ballet<div align="justify">I actually went out and did something <em>cultural</em> last night, and it felt sooooooo good. It was a last minute arrangement - someone at school asked if I wanted to go see ''some dance thing''. I generally enjoy ''dance things'' so I accepted. </div><div align="justify"><br /><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">When I was little, my mom used to take my sister and I to see the Royal Winnipeg Ballet. It was an event - a trip to the big city, our fanciest dresses...We saw classics like The Nutcracker and Swan Lake and Giselle. Friday night's performance was also a ballet, but nothing like I remember (though I did wear a dress, which I haven't done in years...) The Instituto Colombiano de Ballet Clasico from the city of Cali, here in Colombia, presented two shows. The first, featuring <em>electrotango</em> music, was called Tangueandonos, and was choreographed by an Argentine.<br /><br />Here is a sample <br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/58CXSMTQKzg?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/58CXSMTQKzg?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">The second part, twice as long as the first, told the history of salsa dancing, which is one of the defining characteristics of Cali region. I was a bit confused at first when women came out in full English garb dancing to what sounded like Greensleeves, but apparently Salsa dancing has its origin in traditional European dance. The story after this is a confusing mix of African and Cuban rhythms which I have yet to sort out. The end result though is a different version of Salsa in each area where it is played and danced, and Cali is famous for its salsa dancers. It is natural then that they would want to tell its story, and while I had some doubts about how well salsa and ballet would go together, I thoroughly enjoyed the show, and the company.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/zgiUNx1_Ua8?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/zgiUNx1_Ua8?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-35877981972578231102010-10-06T19:41:00.005-05:002010-10-06T20:17:44.263-05:00Level 3: Identify and Eliminate<div align="justify">I reckon it's a bit like a video game, this getting rid of bugs business. You have to beat a series of increasingly difficult 'levels'. </div><div align="justify"> <br /></div><div align="justify">I never had much patience for video games.<br /><br />Level One, as I suspect is often the case, was a bit of a gimme. The dozy flying beetle-bug things which took over my apartment briefly in the spring sort of disappeared of their own accord. Since they didn't bite we passed our co-habitation in relative harmony, though I can't say that I was sorry to see them go.<br /><br />Level Two I defeated only two months ago. Flea bites were fairly easy to identify, and you've already had an account of my victory. It was a tedious process, but not particularly <em>difficult.</em><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">Level Three is presenting a whole new series of challenges. First of all, what the hell causes bites like these??</div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 312px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525099111231377474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUCCFx4Jj3RNEeLdqEb8GPtioWNFPTmgG46uR5W5zk6GTUgCrHhNHMZ-FyTaJpmsXUVGTkFPDyNbA29N5tGvqFnFwYImgKQ9XAxlIgdTeFfrVzWdnfXGRuAv4VK-RJKxJl3rEdcQFRRsYV/s400/bites.jpg" /><br /><div align="justify">I haven't <em>seen </em>a single bug, yet my body is covered with these itchy welts, neck to toes. Preliminary Internet investigation suggests that these are bedbug bites, but when I went to get the appropriate spray to begin the notoriously difficult process of getting rid of bedbugs, I discovered that nobody here is really familiar with this particular <em>bicho</em>, and there are no toxic chemicals especially geared toward its demise. <br /></div><div align="justify"> <br /></div><div align="justify">Sooooo....I am sleeping on the couch, and still suffering the occasional hit. By Level Ten I swear I will be fighting off pterodactyls, a spray can of EXTERMIN in each hand.<br /></div><div align="justify"> <br /></div><div align="justify">I am considering an alternate strategy this round though - evasive action. It looks like I will be moving to a new apartment, and my plan is to leave all the flying, crawling, bloodsucking critters behind. </div><div align="justify"> <br /></div><div align="justify">Let the new owners enjoy their company. Ha. Suckers.</div>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-77491322843512118542010-09-19T11:22:00.003-05:002010-09-19T12:34:18.390-05:00The Health Gamble<em></em><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBIbr4S3QyDUqwpym9xOIVkhzUKfOVGXwkpZWBNPpwuieYhUtPWcz9R_Ni2r99t1NXh_pqVWaxhDk4M-KrlKPzRz0oO3dZNpIx70GCPt8wUEMqFK85_mx588_NW-gTtTN89_RIjVuh84B/s1600/dice0.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 380px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518676238216529330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBIbr4S3QyDUqwpym9xOIVkhzUKfOVGXwkpZWBNPpwuieYhUtPWcz9R_Ni2r99t1NXh_pqVWaxhDk4M-KrlKPzRz0oO3dZNpIx70GCPt8wUEMqFK85_mx588_NW-gTtTN89_RIjVuh84B/s400/dice0.jpg" /></a><br /><div align="justify">Sooo... that time of year that all foreign-hire staff dread is approaching. Decision Time. Re-sign the contract time. Have a little panic over where your life is going time. Have a massive anxiety event over health-insurance time. </div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Wait...I think that last one is just me.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Here is the dilemma: I want out of here. For a number of reasons that I don't feel up to detailing right now, I want out. For the record, none of them relate directly to my job, and if I could pick the school up and transfer it to somewhere else, I would do so. Of course reality rained on that little parade, so I must come up with a different plan. </div><div align="justify"><br /> </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">So, just go! Right? Easy.<br /></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Except that it isn't, really. Never mind the student loans I'm still paying off and the fact that it's practically impossible to find a teaching job in Canada; while those things scare me to death, they are reasonable risks that I am hesitant but ultimately willing to assume. The real problem is Health Insurance. Here in Colombia, while I am employed, I have excellent coverage. If I got to Canada, I have piss-poor access to Health Care (compared to here) and that's after a <em>three-month waiting period.</em></div><br /><div align="justify"><em></em></div><div align="justify">I am not assuming the worst, but I'm not prepared to ignore what is a very real possibility either. Allow me to play out the possibilities as I see them. Maybe I am missing something.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br />1) I stay in Colombia, with my present employer. I have health insurance and the peace of mind that comes with it, and I will enjoy my work even though I don't really want to live here anymore. The <em>work</em> is good. The <em>everything else</em> is not, really. If I get sick again, I'm covered, and the only problem is that my family would have to go through the drama of coming down here to care for me again.<br /><br />2) I give my notice in December and plan to go home to Canada in July. If I get sick between December and July I am treated here until my contract ends when my insurance presumably also ends, and I am fucked. Being sent home at this point doesn't do me any good because I have no insurance there either, and who knows if I would be in any condition to travel anyway.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">3) I give my notice in December and go home to Canada in July. If I get sick before the three-month waiting period has passed, I am fucked. And unemployed.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">4) I give my notice in December and try to find a job somewhere else in Colombia, on the condition that my health insurance policy is transferable. (Is that even possible??) The only thing is, there is no way to know if this will actually be an improvement. </div><div align="justify"><br /> </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">I realize that I cannot make all my life decisions based on whether or not I will relapse. But it seems absurd to me to risk losing my access to health coverage at this particular point in time. (And please, please don't say <em>it will be fine!!) <br /></em><br /></div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Obviously I don't have the money to pay for this kind of care out of my pocket, and while my parents have said they will help if it comes to that, I'm simply not willing to allow them to bankrupt themselves to pay for something that I <em>could</em> be getting basically for free if I make the right choice. </div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Help?</div><div align="justify"></div>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-3659410906738247922010-09-18T19:07:00.004-05:002010-09-18T20:07:30.028-05:00Love and Friendship<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGOjRNU8sssKAYtpY1-nDnBm1nHL72WOqzGN3yGmus-HzeQhZ41ekS4MVQV5eraNWWhGyl1d9f6Brm5wam8v22WLbmp-j5mqpplqiPMxwQm-hJFS7fz8LDedEO0ip4IykxgDeMqdI4RtyE/s1600/1_1221748440_amor-y-amistad.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 389px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518421778698982706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGOjRNU8sssKAYtpY1-nDnBm1nHL72WOqzGN3yGmus-HzeQhZ41ekS4MVQV5eraNWWhGyl1d9f6Brm5wam8v22WLbmp-j5mqpplqiPMxwQm-hJFS7fz8LDedEO0ip4IykxgDeMqdI4RtyE/s400/1_1221748440_amor-y-amistad.jpg" /></a> Today is Love and Friendship day in Colombia. This is their version of St. Valentine's Day - a highly commercialized extravaganza of hearts and streamers and sweets, except that it encompasses friendship and all varieties of love rather than limiting itself to the romantic version.<br /><br />With no personal experience to guide me, I can't comment on the degree of pressure to perform or provide within romantic relationships in the form of grand gestures and/or gifts, but I did see a number of highly agitated men running around the grocery store this evening with bouquets of flowers, looking as though they wished they had been organized and sensible enough purchase something for their wife/girlfriend/lover/mother earlier on in the day.<br /><br />How Colombian couples, families and friends manage this day will likely always remain a mystery to me, but I can tell you we celebrate at school, and believe me, we are <em>steeped</em> in love there.<br /><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Our 'theme' at school this year is <em>Put a Little Love in Your Heart, </em>and perhaps surprisingly my thoughts on this do not run toward the cynical, at least not where the students are concerned. I do love my students, and I'm allowed, even expected, to show it. If I did not allow a child to hug me, for example, people would probably blame my <em>gringa-ness</em> and forgive me, but I suspect it would be considered a flaw. (I once had a parent accuse me of not loving her son enough, though in her world complete permissiveness and lack of boundaries = love...so I suppose by her standards I <em>didn't </em>love him...)</div><br /><div align="justify">We celebrated on Thursday by wearing Love and Friendship colours and getting the kids all hopped up on sugar. I want to say that it was fun, but mostly it was exhausting. I think it's easier to 'love' 18 children at once when we're following the standard routine.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518422503298659666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMDaYgAgnXsZc8wI_fG4lhSq92Ra_qqgVIwc1RvYVDAA9Lw1joK-KMJJ5X9D_fjQ8oZUVVhe3MbyHb1UT2Vb1uoDHxVOx12OQF4c_Lc-96AkxkfcaAQ1Io2LExcMw1DsrZ2RiL2JONAQZF/s400/love+03.jpg" /> (<em>in our love and friendship non-uniform gear)</em><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw8E-21a5Mbzsj3gBAnzLiUlIWS8t8nGr25Evh2VhcgiCmfedzbqFEIuExKpwKzMImxdAJ5ADuhzCfeC2LQdshtz5AOZoQBXfNnFhTHAB93r2nOADSaFHi-QWUNN5jcpD8N5hMMGapWNDV/s1600/love+02.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518421496279479250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw8E-21a5Mbzsj3gBAnzLiUlIWS8t8nGr25Evh2VhcgiCmfedzbqFEIuExKpwKzMImxdAJ5ADuhzCfeC2LQdshtz5AOZoQBXfNnFhTHAB93r2nOADSaFHi-QWUNN5jcpD8N5hMMGapWNDV/s400/love+02.jpg" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIPgk0tzmRGjWX6D7M2EbB5iVy-k5VUdlY9fbeDecipU-NOeh3FOXpknXJqv7Jwl1PRhXA42Tua8z_XDqmk3tBIvsxdeKi6gEo_XdzjhNQYsovpWxglUZRqC24vnKplimhj7JGCGaNtAD_/s1600/love+01.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 327px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518421489088587026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIPgk0tzmRGjWX6D7M2EbB5iVy-k5VUdlY9fbeDecipU-NOeh3FOXpknXJqv7Jwl1PRhXA42Tua8z_XDqmk3tBIvsxdeKi6gEo_XdzjhNQYsovpWxglUZRqC24vnKplimhj7JGCGaNtAD_/s400/love+01.jpg" /></a> (<em>outside a 3rd grade classroom - too much love? Haha)</em></div>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-40134418977563690642010-09-11T16:58:00.013-05:002010-09-13T16:09:44.692-05:00Chiva time<div align="justify">This is a chiva:<br /><br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHQNOQJ3UanlCpOLsE0Gnay7OEUN1FeiG5U6NweM67jBNWPYXJigeIGydYrrNzTds0m_Xnz5XgkNtVce-SIYfBFSvwfnPZ3sTTZObUpg1ZaDdQai_LZzVPrHXbmzreZFsNE3o2_8iwXpYa/s1600/chiva+04.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 260px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515781050279592226" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHQNOQJ3UanlCpOLsE0Gnay7OEUN1FeiG5U6NweM67jBNWPYXJigeIGydYrrNzTds0m_Xnz5XgkNtVce-SIYfBFSvwfnPZ3sTTZObUpg1ZaDdQai_LZzVPrHXbmzreZFsNE3o2_8iwXpYa/s400/chiva+04.jpg" /><br /><br /><br /><p align="justify"></a></p><p align="justify">It is a modified sort of bus which was traditionally used in rural areas to transport people and their belongings, and they are still used in this capacity in many areas. The streets of Manizales, however, is not one of them<em>. </em>To me, chiva means <em>bus on which one is allowed and even encouraged to consume vast quantities of rum while listening to live music and yelling at strangers on the street</em>.<br /><br />Though I would like to make clear that I prefer to leave the yelling bit to others.<br /><br />The chiva above was actually the vehicle which hosted our annual staff Chiva Night two years ago, shortly after my arrival to Colombia. It was a very successful night out.</p><p align="justify"><br /></p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515786072735544658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqIYjez5FSfGY4Xww_amhasAtdqxP1yDloDOnKVJK-e4lCO10VieMmsqIKda2WoXke7dIjPs4JWTkxuv-7dpXyW6vt42jjbrPnLj7eShfE6sNyZVneEFyY7SmD0GwoN9qnc7-Nxdm3FsWY/s400/chiva+05.jpg" /> <p align="center"><br />(<em>On the chiva with my friend and roommate during my first year in Colombia)</em><br /><br /><br /></p><p align="left">This year's event was, for me at least, a more sedate affair. We boarded the chiva and were given liquor, in the form of a rum-box. Think: juice box, but more powerful. </p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPAAU8n96N1lMSV0i68rh_eN3IdFS_BmwSZM3AZoURluV0IHzVxzyNSinVvXCPg_niXbsgSqG0DmB-jMp91Wj259MLWq4-W79M-oHuyaGNtVoZpl6AG9jw9MvtSpZ3PO8nYnPWDnFZEJK_/s1600/chiva+01.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515787467150308674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPAAU8n96N1lMSV0i68rh_eN3IdFS_BmwSZM3AZoURluV0IHzVxzyNSinVvXCPg_niXbsgSqG0DmB-jMp91Wj259MLWq4-W79M-oHuyaGNtVoZpl6AG9jw9MvtSpZ3PO8nYnPWDnFZEJK_/s400/chiva+01.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><p></p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS3Sz-V-r8Z_7rUK4_hp1xVs51HQCeMADl01lqPSQ0c0FUG2GfxeNBU3vVUdHLduaJ1r8oVYjtPHkQjInDcJn_7bdxz7lDXLcQnxa0rrBbuIOLjq1HnKk7eFls42G6rWYqPvz6Tsqv_iSM/s1600/chiva+02.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515789387129428386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS3Sz-V-r8Z_7rUK4_hp1xVs51HQCeMADl01lqPSQ0c0FUG2GfxeNBU3vVUdHLduaJ1r8oVYjtPHkQjInDcJn_7bdxz7lDXLcQnxa0rrBbuIOLjq1HnKk7eFls42G6rWYqPvz6Tsqv_iSM/s400/chiva+02.jpg" /></a> The band actually rides in the bus with us, playing two different types of drums, a clarinet, and a shaker-type-deal. Though I could not tell you what this type of music is called, I can provide a little sample:<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dynfrj2Bvb91AcmP0bS_fCEn0x5qwW5mdveGHFZMYNqtMQXTUzj2zo7IvIPVm5jjyPlzbfJEB1BlulW1RzD5A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="justify">The Colombians seemed familiar with all of the songs and sang along, but it was a little tricker for the 'gingos'. I was fortunate enough to have the words of one of these songs translated for me...<em>That mound is lovely. I will give you anything to climb the mound..please say yes, tell me yes...</em> But peppy, and with drums!</p><p align="justify">We travelled ever-so-slowly from one end of the city to another, and at one point the chiva pulled over and the party spilled out onto the sidewalk for awhile, so the Colombians could get their groove on. I ate a lollipop.</p><div align="justify"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0S0iQUZaSVSv3hQfiNW77sIDuktm6xou30XzNa_xHZmL3meutwnOMz3sUXIN19SdX9e7G2AtyaKMVKaFJBj1jllkcIaM8fLQHL_W-fDMhtvzMg_EpF_8ckrR5gYsOnzQeSyohlDqL7tH_/s1600/chiva+03.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515789836180621794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0S0iQUZaSVSv3hQfiNW77sIDuktm6xou30XzNa_xHZmL3meutwnOMz3sUXIN19SdX9e7G2AtyaKMVKaFJBj1jllkcIaM8fLQHL_W-fDMhtvzMg_EpF_8ckrR5gYsOnzQeSyohlDqL7tH_/s400/chiva+03.jpg" /></a> <p align="justify">The band's abrupt return to the bus signalled that the tour was to resume, so we boarded as well and meandered in the direction of the club where the second part of the party was to take place.</p><p align="justify">As with many of the events that take place here though, I felt more of an observer than an active participant. This was fine arrangement on the bus, but was less enjoyable inside a nightclub at 9:30pm, so I bailed and got a good rest in preparation for my new exercise classes Saturday mornings - dance and tone - woohoo! </p>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-22073087355477869972010-09-10T14:41:00.002-05:002010-09-10T14:56:44.556-05:00Personal Harassment, er...Training<div align="justify">I had my first appointment with my personal trainer yesterday after school. $100.00 for eight sessions this month - I reckon this is a worthwhile investment, and if it goes well I can carry on next month.<br /><br /></div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify">It is HARD. This is what I'm paying him for, of course; to work me until the world goes blurry and I have to lay down while he goes to fetch "aguita" and quietly prays to the god of chubby gringas that I will recover without any drama. Which I did.<br /><br /></div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify">After the sweat-fest on the elliptical trainer, we moved on to The Machines. I have (in the relatively distant past) been acquainted with weight-training apparatus before, though I don't recall the machines having had quite so many levers and safety switches. I pushed, pulled and squeezed for half an hour, and was set free.<br /><br /></div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify">Everything hurts, which is good, and I'm going back for more this afternoon. We're supposed to be talking about goals, and choosing 'target areas'. Ha. I would have assumed that the answer to this would be fairly obvious: <em>Yes, I want to lose weight in my...ankles. </em></div><div align="justify"> <br /><br /></div><div align="justify"><em></em> </div><div align="justify">If I have enough energy, I'm supposed to be going on a Chiva Tour tonight, but more on that later...</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> </div>happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2741295474408782801.post-50187626657353030642010-09-08T17:13:00.005-05:002010-09-08T17:35:44.023-05:00It's just a birthday...<strong>Me</strong>: ____, when is your birthday?<br /><br /><strong>Sweet Little Boy</strong>: 2003!<br /><br /><strong>Me</strong>: Yes, but what month were you born in?<br /><br /><strong>Sweet Little Boy</strong>: 2003!<br /><br /><strong>Me: </strong>Yes, that is the year you were born. But what month? Mes? Month?<br /><br /><strong>Sweet Little Boy: </strong>Ju.....<br /><br /><strong>Me: </strong>June? July?<br /><br /><strong>Sweet Little Boy: </strong>Yes!<br /><br /><strong>Me: </strong>But which one is it?<br /><br /><strong>Sweet Little Boy: </strong>Either is fine.<br /><br /><strong>Me: </strong>No....you were only born once. Do you know which month you were born in?<br /><br /><strong>Sweet Little Boy: </strong>... ... ...<br /><br /><strong>Me: </strong>Here, take this note to the office and ask the secretary to write your birthday down for you.<br /><strong></strong><br />January. That sort of sounds like Ju.....happy_bloodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13482950621630422650noreply@blogger.com1