Love and Friendship

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.

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.

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 steeped in love there.

Our 'theme' at school this year is Put a Little Love in Your Heart, 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 gringa-ness 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 didn't love him...)

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.

(in our love and friendship non-uniform gear)




(outside a 3rd grade classroom - too much love? Haha)

Chiva time

This is a chiva:

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. To me, chiva means 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.

Though I would like to make clear that I prefer to leave the yelling bit to others.

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.

(On the chiva with my friend and roommate during my first year in Colombia)

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.

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:

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...That mound is lovely. I will give you anything to climb the mound..please say yes, tell me yes... But peppy, and with drums!

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.

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.

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!

Personal Harassment, er...Training

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.

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.

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.

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: Yes, I want to lose weight in my...ankles.

If I have enough energy, I'm supposed to be going on a Chiva Tour tonight, but more on that later...

It's just a birthday...

Me: ____, when is your birthday?

Sweet Little Boy: 2003!

Me: Yes, but what month were you born in?

Sweet Little Boy: 2003!

Me: Yes, that is the year you were born. But what month? Mes? Month?

Sweet Little Boy: Ju.....

Me: June? July?

Sweet Little Boy: Yes!

Me: But which one is it?

Sweet Little Boy: Either is fine.

Me: No....you were only born once. Do you know which month you were born in?

Sweet Little Boy: ... ... ...

Me: Here, take this note to the office and ask the secretary to write your birthday down for you.

January. That sort of sounds like Ju.....

Three Good and a Bad

Sorry sorry sorry.

I haven't renounced technology, become a hermit, or relapsed. It's just...that thing, that our mothers taught us, you know: if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all, well, it's hard to overcome this brand of intense programming, so I've been keeping my mouth shut.

But now, I am once again prepared to say things 'nice'.

Nice Thing Number One: I had a visit with my doctor in Medellin yesterday. The importance of this cannot be understated. My test results were great. I am now 1/10 of the way towards being 'cured'. (Five years without relapse = cured.) Also worth noting is the fact that I happily travelled over five hours each way in a crowded and sweltering van to sit with this doctor for half an hour and talk about all kinds of things, most of which were not related to my health. It was totally worth it. I shall leave you to your own conclusions regarding what this implies.

Nice Thing Number Two: I have joined a gym, and am reminded three to four times a week how good it feels to be doing exercise again. Except on Sunday mornings. The gym is in a shopping mall, and one side of the gym is actually an open space which looks down into a food court. Sunday mornings they clear out the tables and install a priest with an offensively loud stereo system, blasting Jesus crap powerful enough to drown out the sound coming from my generations-old mp3 player. At the time I had a little chuckle because really what is more offensive - Eminem ranting about some guy looking for a slut of f**k in his hummer truck, or...being force-fed Christian rock music? Tough call. So no more Sunday mornings and sweating for Jesus.

Nice Thing Number Three: Book Club! When I took this job two years ago, a major factor influencing my decision to accept was that my boss told me that we would have a book club. I think this was more influential than the promise of mountainous country-side or ample prep-time. The club itself did not materialize until this year, and we had our first meeting last weekend. The book we read was not spectacular, but meeting with others to talk about it was. Nerdy, maybe, but very satisfying.

Nice Thing Number Four: Erm.... nope. There is no number four. But since I said three nice things, does that buy me one not nice thing without being accused of rampant negativity? I am getting tired of this place. It has been cold and raining a lot, which wouldn't be a huge problem if my moods weren't somehow directly connected to the weather. I am already counting down the sleeps until the Christmas Holiday so I can go see my family. Did I really get better only to be able to spend the vast majority of my free time in almost complete isolation? What the hell was the point of that? So clearly, this area needs some fixing.

Something else to consider; in my class right now we are learning the Five Ws. Who, What, When, Where, Why...The boss will be looking for decisions regarding contract renewal before Christmas, so all of these questions must be applied to my own life in a rather serious way in the near future. (And we mustn't forget 'How', which despite its contrary nature in not beginning with the correct consonant, is perhaps the most important questions to consider...) I am overwhelmed by the enormity of these questions, so for now I am mostly ignoring them. We'll see how long I can keep that up.

How to Make Vegan Chili in Colombia

STEP 1: Find a recipe.

STEP 2: Visit numerous local grocery stores and try not to feel like an idiot when the store clerk looks at you as though you are one because you've asked for help finding the tofu.

STEP 3: Purchase tofu substitute Carve (almost like carne - the Spanish word for 'meat') - soy vegetable protein which looks like a cross between croutons and dog food.

STEP 4: Visit numerous local grocery stores looking for chili powder. When this fails, harass a friend until she agrees to share some of her imported stash. Promise to repay after Christmas holidays.

STEP 5: Hit the grocery stores again, this time in search of kidney beans. After reading seven different labels and determining that all canned kidney beans are pre-mixed with pork products, purchase a pack of dehydrated "red beans" and just hope that they are at least similar to kidney beans.

STEP 6: Get kind of frustrated with the whole process because 3 days have gone by and you've already used up the other ingredients you thought were going to be put in the chili; have something else for dinner and follow it up with a nice big glass of wine.

STEP 7: Soak the "red beans" for 24 hours, during which time you must go out and purchase all of the other ingredients again.

STEP 8: Ask the maid to cook the now only slightly pink-ish beans for the requisite 4 to 6 hours until soft enough to be edible. (It is not a good idea to attempt this step on your own, because last time you tried to cook beans, you nearly burned your apartment down, remember?)

STEP 9: Screw the recipe - make the chili using whatever ingredients they had in stock at the grocery store.

Step 10: Enjoy - it was worth it!

Burns and Bugs

I booked my Grand Canadian Tour from my hospital bed back in January before I knew when school would be getting started again (or if I would even be able to go), and as a result came back to Colombia about 10 days early and have been hanging out mostly with myself. What have I done since my return? Have I made good use of my time? Erm...no.

In addition to watching the entire first two seasons of House (that's 46 episodes, people) my first major accomplishment was to nearly burn my apartment down. On Monday, I went for a leisurely walk then met a friend for coffee. A passing comment of hers brought to mind my carelessness, and I must have looked pretty shocked, because she asked "what, did you leave a pot on the stove or something?". Well yes, actually, I did. "You're kidding," she said. Nope. Gotta run. I grabbed the first taxi I could and hung my head out the window looking for billowing smoke from my neighbourhood... no firetrucks...no people milling in the street...no smoke. Outside, that is.

When I opened the door to my apartment I abandoned the small wisp of hope I'd been entertaining on the way home that somehow I had remembered to turn the element off, then forgotten that I had remembered. Instead, I found my pot of beans, extra black now, filling my home with stinky, stinging, clinging smoke. I am an idiot.

The clean-up after that particular mistake is ongoing. My laundry room is hip-high with every piece of clothing I own here, except the items that have already been washed and aired. My sheets, blankets, and pillow covers, were among the first things to go in, so I could at least sleep without inhaling the smoke stench up close all night. It took two days (no dryers here!) but by Wednesday afternoon my bed was made with crisp, ironed, fresh-smelling linen. There is nothing like a clean bed, right?

Except now, I've taken all the bedding off again, and done this with it:

Why, you ask, would I do this? Any guesses? Well here's a hint:

Not chicken pox. Flea bites. (These are some other victim's bites, but mine look pretty much the same.) And they ITCH like the dickens.

My first year here I also had fleas in my bed, as did my roommate in hers, and I was mortified - how would I have picked up fleas? But everyone said that it's normal around here, it just happens. Same with the cockroaches and termites, and the lethargic flying beetle-type creatures that I was finding by the dozen flying around my plants but seem to have vacated of their own accord. Just part of the Colombia experience. At least now I know how deal with it.

So, to sum up: the lingering smoke odour caused by my stupidity has now been covered up by the overwhelming chemical stink of the product I am using to fumigate my sheets (hence the industrial weight garbage bags), bed, mattress, and everything around it. My beautiful little apartment, my peaceful little corner of the world, reeks.

I can't help but wonder if I'd stayed in Canada for another week or so, might I have avoided this mess? Hmmm...a kind friend pointed out that at least nothing worse happened, and for that I am indeed grateful. In the meantime, I'm off to find a nice smelly candle.