'Tis a gift to be simple

I was only slightly concerned when Juan Sebastian purchased the same plane ticket as me to Medellin.  I prefer to fly alone.  Sitting next to someone you only kindof know on an airplane is like being stranded on a desert island with only one kind of food.  What if it tastes bad?  Or what if it’s ok but you get sick of it?  You might want to ignore it but there’s nothing else to do.  Thankfully, the flight was less than an hour and Juan is terrified of airplanes so there was plenty of entertainment to fill the time.

First tourist stop: Parque Explora.  Disneyland meets Bill Nye the Science Guy.  If my high school physics class could have involved a fraction of the interactive pulley systems in Explora, I might have actually enjoyed it.  Little uniformed school kids ran around playing with gravity magnets and centripetal force wheels, happier than Charlie in Willy Wonka’s factory.  Did you know that if a face is upside down, the human mind does not register if the eyes and mouth are inverted?

Next stop: Fútbol.  OK, I admit, I was bored at the game (I’m sorry, I’m a gringa and I’m just not into soccer). But afterwards, Juan, myself, and a posse of other gringos and Bogotanos went to a corner store and got our dance on with some other local fans.  When the stadium hotdog and cheap beer started their own dance party in my stomach, I was disappointed--but far from discouraged--to hear that there was no bathroom.  [READER DISCRETION ADVISED]  I found my way to a tree in the dark and took care of business.  A few minutes later I'm back in the buzz of the store front patio with the crew when I see Juan talking with a police officer who is motioning to me with his finger.  Turns out that tree in the dark wasn’t as hidden as I had thought...

Slight public humiliation and minor legal run-ins aside, the Medellin weekend was delicious.  I confess that by the end, the desert island food was turning a little sour and I began to see Juan’s flaws glaring brighter than a burning ant under a magnifying glass.  Extended amounts of shared time + sleep deprivation = hypersensitivity to the faults of others.  
But on the flight back home I stroked his arm as he hyperventilated through the turbulence, and I realized I had quite a happy situation.  He was telling me to put his ID in his mouth so the police could identify his body after the crash and I was laughing to myself at the simplicity of life.  I may be deluded, but as far as I can tell not all relationships have to be complicated.  Maybe there is such a thing as a mutually casual date.  Hallelujah.

Under a fish tank in Parque Explora, a plaque explained that the fish--although seemingly swimming around in random directions--were actually following specific and predictable patterns.  It read: 

“Nos muestra que la vida, llena de complejidad, en el fondo oculta simplicidad, matemáticas y tal vez un toque de azar.” (This shows us that life, full of complexity, deep down is rooted in simplicity, math, and maybe a touch of chance.)

Back to the races

Just when the Vi Boheme was seducing me deeper inter her bosom of carefree-ness, somehow my overachieving tentacles managed to tangle themselves in the web of the Rat Race once again.  I remember that a mere week ago I was marveling at my overabundance of time to surf through all the articles in my Google Reader news feed, watch The Daily Show, and sit in my apartment blowing bubbles out of a plastic bottle.  And suddenly I find myself slapping sticky-note To Do lists on the mirror: 

-Meeting with the Ministry of Education (if nothing else, I might get free lunch out of it)

-Prep classes for next week and grade/edit the essays I assigned (what a stupid idea)

-Make 20 PBJ sandwiches and update PBJ website/facebook page 

-Read/respond to 15 unread emails

-Coordinate weekend travel plans

-Write a blog post for the nonprofit organization’s webpage 

-Clean the apartment before germaphobic brother arrives

-Either buy stronger laundry detergent or buy new socks

Up the stairs, down the stairs, on the bike, around the corner, on the bus, in the line, and on and on and on.  When did this happen?  Not to mention, just when I thought I would be a permanent member of the Society of Intermittent Recreational Exercisers--where a brisk walk counts as a work out and days off are as frequent as days on--I up and joined the university track team.  I happened to meet the coach one day as I was doing my bi-weekly 30 minute jog and before I could say “out of shape” I was doing sprints on the infield.

I find myself scarfing down burned beans doused in hot sauce for dinner and I haven't made my bed in a week.  Pero hay que aprovechar la juventud (you're only young once).  Carpe diem!

And then there was one

RIP Karl, Chimichanga, and the other goldfish that never received a name because it died after two days. 

I confess that I did not feel any particular emotion (other than inconvenience) at the deaths of my new pets, but their passing did heighten my awareness of my own youth.  Goldfish are infamously poor at surviving, but it it shouldn’t be that difficult to keep a few of them alive for at least a month.  The fact that 75 percent of mine didn’t last longer than a week was just one of several indicators I’ve noticed recently of my general lack of maturity.  I’ve never claimed to have “things all figured out”, but lately I am especially cognizant of the mountain of basic life skills I have yet to acquire. 

It took me a week to install Christmas lights in my apartment because I was trying to hammer the screw-in hangers into the ceiling without making an indent hole with a nail first.  I make fake phone calls to avoid awkward social situations.  I still haven’t perfected the art of water-efficient dishwashing.  I laugh when my roommates talk about their romantic escapades but (let’s be honest) I can hardly relate.  I put a plastic plate in the toaster oven.  When I’m by myself for too long I lose the capacity to read my own mood and I can’t tell if I’m lonely, bored, tired, or hungry.  I wander to the fridge and pass up leftover quinoa squash for crackers and chocolate. 

But other than dead fish and a burned plate, being young also has its perks when living abroad.  First of all, your roommates forgive you for your lousy cooking and strange eating habits because, after all, you’re just a kid.  What’s more, your waistline will forgive the late-night munchies too as long as you throw in a few days of exercise.  Got company at your house Friday night until 9am and a trip on Saturday?  No problem.  Fatigue from two days without sleep is cured by one night of rest followed by one dose of pancakes. 

I’m no Peter Pan, but I’m in no rush to move out of my temporary Neverland--even if I have to endure a few goldfish burials while I’m here. 

Friend me

“We become who we are in conjunction with other people becoming who they are... People don’t develop first and then create relationships.  Relationships create people.”  --David Brooks, The Social Animal

In the Facebook Era, the term “social networking” has taken on a different connotation, but the concept of people creating webs of relationships is as old as Homo sapiens.  These internets of humans once emerged primarily from family or tribal groups, then commerce allowed for new connections based on economic interactions, and today the world wide web has made friend-making as easy as mouse-clicking.  But the phenomenon of globalization has created unique environments for social networking in more ways than just a boom for online communities.  Today it is possible (and common) for a young person to move half-way across the globe without previously knowing a single soul in the destination.  How is she--a foreigner, a nonnative speaker, an outsider connected neither by family nor economy--to cultivate her social network? 

The truth is, I don’t have many friends yet.  

I spent my first month in Colombia bonding with one of my roommates who moved back to the States last week.  

I spent the day after her goodbye party regretting that a few of my students had been in attendance (and had seen me in a less-than-professional state) and therefore I spent last Friday feeling cautious and reserved when I was out with a group of students from English Club.  

I spent one evening on my doorstep explaining to one of my few friends why we would never be more than friends (and realizing that we would now be much less so).  

I spend my days preoccupied and happily independent and I spend my nights debating whether I would rather be alone or in less-than-inspiring company. 

I tease my two roommates for their menageries of women that would rival that of Casanova.  The contrast of their love lives to my own could not be more stark.  But I feel neither envy nor reproach.   I’m just casting out my social net where I can and waiting to see what kind of catch I can get.  I hoping to reel in some nice girls (I’ve found myself in too many precariously platonic relationships recently), maybe some runners or climbers...   I’m not desperate enough yet to latch on to whatever comes my way, but I admit I am widening my gaze. 

Colombia 101

I am here in Bogota to teach English but obviously, my own cross-cultural learning experience is one of the main goals of this exchange.  The lessons of this past week have been a bit of a crash course:

Cukas are a typical Colombian dessert made with panela (pre-processed sugar), flour, and eggs.  Also “cuka” is a slang word for a woman’s....

"Tinto" is not short hand for vino tinto.  I couldn’t figure out why so many people kept offering me red wine in the middle of the day until, after a long day of class, I eagerly accepted... only to be disillusioned when my colleague returned with a tiny cup of black coffee. 

Flying a kite is harder than it looks. 

The conversational question, “If you were a type of food what would you be and why?” is fertile ground for all kinds of sexual innuendoes in a classroom of 20-somethings. 

Going to a free music festival is less about seeing the bands and more about experiencing the sweating breathing whirlpool pit of Salsa aficionados.  I pretended to be annoyed at the people attempting to traverse the crowd, shoving through the sardine-packed masses, but I secretly liked the silly sensation of being jostled around like a human sock in a giant washing machine. 

Pedestrians do not have the right of way.

Always wait if you can’t initially get the lid off the pressure cooker.  The faint smell of what I mistakenly took for burning plastic caused a minor panic that the lid seal had melted to the pot of our boiling beans.  When we (my roommate Pauline and I) couldn’t open it, we resorted to desperate measures.  In a valiant effort to rescue our hard-labored meal from imprisonment, Pauline set the pot on the floor and curb stomped the lid like a Chicago thug knocking someone's teeth out.  Hear: shotgun fired at close range.  Picture: Pauline standing up against the wall spattered from head to toe in a bath of steaming exploded red beans that looks like dragon vomit. 

“You learn something new every day” is an understatement. 

Ta da!

If there was a circus performance parodying a stereotypical first day of school, today I was the star.

Act One: While maneuvering my bike over some railroad tracks at a busy intersection, I graced the posse of school-uniformed pedestrians with a 45-second dance of arm flailing and one-footed hopping,  in a failed attempt to salvage my balance.  Exit Stage Left with the universal I’m-OK hand signal.

Act Two: After being hissed at by a police officer for trying to park my bike in an apparently illegal spot, I was taking the long cut across campus (I made the mistake of orienting myself by “The Building with Che Guevara’s face painted on it”--as if there were only one).  Suddenly, a stray soccer ball whizzed across a field and smacked me square in the shoulder.  Cue drums: Ba da boom, psh!

Act Three: The curtain opens on a sunny courtyard, strewn with lounging students and food vendors. At last!  My building.  I stride confidently to the entrance steps and... smack.  Was there a banana peel on that first step?  This time I didn’t bother with the I’m-OK hand signal.  I just laughed at my own improvised slap stick routine and walked (on two feet, without falling) to my classroom.

Act Four: Costume change: clown to superhero.  As soon as the students pieced together why there was an obviously American girl in an English class, you could almost feel the ground rumbling as the imaginary pedestal emerged beneath me.  The new assistant!  You would have thought I was performing a Shakespeare play when I was walking them though a reading worksheet.  They adore native English speakers like kids adore their fourth grade science teacher.

Act Five: An actual circus.  As a karmic congratulations for weeks of jumping through hoops and surviving the comedy of errors that was my first day of school, I walked out of class to find a huge crowd circled around spandexed contortionists and jugglers on stilts in the Plaza Che. I stayed to watch and treated myself to an oblea (caramel/fruit sauce/wafer sandwich).  I think it’s going to be a good year.

Mañana

“Bienvenida a America Latina (Welcome to Latin America),” Claudia laughed.

It’s been exactly one month since my English Teaching placement at La Universidad Nacional, 16 days since my arrival in Bogota, and over a week since my first meeting with Maria Elena, my contact and ‘mentor professor’ at the University. I still don’t have my teaching schedule. I went this morning to see if I could observe a class, but getting a concrete answer from someone in the Edificio de Lenguas (language department building) is like trying to wrestle a jellyfish.

I called Maria Elena but she wouldn’t be coming in until later because she was getting her nails done. I asked Gloria the secretary and she referred me to Pilar the secretary who punched in a few numbers on her desk phone and then shrugged her shoulders when no one picked up. Freddy the tech guy furrowed his brow intently at my predicament, held up a give-me-one-sec finger and then literally ran away. Ironically these are precisely the four people who had emphatically told me on my first day on campus, “Cualquier cosa, cualquier duda que tienes, no demores en avisarme... (If you have any problem or any question whatsoever, don’t hesitate to let me know)”

I had started knocking on random office doors when I met Claudia. After she laughed, she nodded knowingly and explained to me that, “Esta es la universidad de mañana. Siempre estamos diciendo ‘Mañana, mañana...’ (This is the university of tomorrow. We’re always saying ‘Tomorrow, tomorrow...)” She urged me to calm down and relax, even though all I had asked her was if Profe Elizabeth had been in yet--I got the feeling that Claudia liked giving this schpeel to foreigners, as a way of demonstrating cultural awareness.

So I smiled, thanked her, and said that perhaps I would see her tomorrow...