There's a small, but significant piece of blue-painted, worn out wood that sits along the beaches of Cartagena. It seems that everyone who goes there feels inclined to take a picture. Translated, it says "A day without laughter is a day lost." Having lived half my journey here in Colombia already, amongst some of the world's happiest people, I've come to identify greatly with this mentality. It's not what you're looking at, it's what you see. I'm looking at a whole lot of foreign people, far-away cities, obvious language barriers and cultural differences, but I'm seeing so, so much more than that. Life here is thrilling, teaching, and captivating, and this week was no exception.
I started my week off at UniNorte with the International Students Fair. As expected, the Mexicans outdid every other country, even having a guest appearance by a fake Frida Khalo. But all together, every country taken into consideration, the event was a great success. I made some new friends, got to practice my spanish, and answer all the really interesting, sometimes absurd and unexpected questions that the students had for me. They were fascinated by the concept of tailgating and themed dorm parties like "Tight & Bright" or ABC. They asked me which states were the worst when it came to certain criteria - being open to foreigners, being expensive for college students, being full of people who speak improper English, etc. The best part was debunking or confirming myths about Americans. I specifically was asked abut the "hippies" in California, the "cowboys" in the south, and the woman in the north who think life is one big episode of Sex and the City.
Tuesday was a slower day, but a noteworthy one. I ventured into a new restaurant on campus, and because I was accompanied by my fellow Americans who live fast paced lives like I do, I went for the quickest of options. I asked the woman working behind the counter if I could talk food to go. She, of course, said yes, so I ordered the nachos. I must've used a tone that made it sound like a question, because it was as if she took one look at me, felt the utmost compassion, walked around the counter, placed her hand on my back to support me in this difficult process, and then began explaining what nachos are. "A Mexican food with chips and ..." // Obviously, I know what nachos are. I politely let her finish, and confirmed that I wanted the nachos, but feared I'd forever be remembered as that one poor little American girl who is so disturbingly uncultured that she didn't even know what nachos were. Oh well.
Wednesday, I did something I've been dying to do - cut my hair. Not because the people here constantly ask my why my hair is two colors, not because my host mom routinely mentions that "natural is better", and not because I haven't seen my real hair color since 6th grade. I wanted to do it to switch things up. I was getting too comfortable. I don't like the idea of short hair. It intimidates me, which is exactly why I did it. It was about a 10 minute haircut costing $5.43 US, and it has made all the difference. These Colombian girls pride themselves in their waist-length long hair, so you can image how surprised the hair dresser was when I asked her to get rid of it. Subtracting the language barrier, I'm pretty sure my 9-inch blonde ponytail was donated to a good cause.
Wednesday, I did something I've been dying to do - cut my hair. Not because the people here constantly ask my why my hair is two colors, not because my host mom routinely mentions that "natural is better", and not because I haven't seen my real hair color since 6th grade. I wanted to do it to switch things up. I was getting too comfortable. I don't like the idea of short hair. It intimidates me, which is exactly why I did it. It was about a 10 minute haircut costing $5.43 US, and it has made all the difference. These Colombian girls pride themselves in their waist-length long hair, so you can image how surprised the hair dresser was when I asked her to get rid of it. Subtracting the language barrier, I'm pretty sure my 9-inch blonde ponytail was donated to a good cause.
This Friday I had no class, so instead, I found myself at a nearby soccer field rooting on a team of international students. Sure enough, we won by a landslide. The coolest part is how much you learn when you stop trying to learn in a classroom. Through blatant immersion, I was quickly picking up the many insults and words of encouragement that hispanics use while there's a game in session, as well as a few random swears in various other languages.
We also made a new friend, the girl who kept calling our goalie "Fernando" when his name is actually Sergio. I asked her why she did that, to which she replied that he simply has the face of a Fernando. Why not? We went with it. Finished up the game, took some pictures with them team, and piled into a few taxis to go celebrate with a post-game ice cream sundae outing.
I spent that night at my friend Claire's house, enjoying the hot air and cold shower combo, discussing professional development strategies, and getting nearly attacked by this harmless little dog named Lupe. When Lupe is bad, they put her on top of this tower of plastic chairs, then push her up to the couch. She's too nervous to escape, so it functions as a doggy jail.
I spent that night at my friend Claire's house, enjoying the hot air and cold shower combo, discussing professional development strategies, and getting nearly attacked by this harmless little dog named Lupe. When Lupe is bad, they put her on top of this tower of plastic chairs, then push her up to the couch. She's too nervous to escape, so it functions as a doggy jail.
We were headed to La Casa de Sergio (famous location by now) for a chill night and cheap entertainment. We called a cab, waited outside, and as we've been instructed to, asked how much the ride would cost before getting in the car. My friend didn't like the sound of his answer, and being in the mood to fight, she negotiated hard. He wasn't having it though, so she confidently said we're going to take a different cab, and shut his door. He drove off, leaving us in his tracks with a sense of accomplishment. We went back to Claire's house to have the family call us another cab and confirm a good price. They said "8 mil" which happens to be the exact price we just picked a fight over. We humbled ourselves, and walked back to the street, waiting for the second taxi, joking about how funny it would be if it was the same guy. A taxi pulled up, and though I couldn't see his face, I recognized the unnecessary hot pink, pin-stripped shirt and immediately knew that, this taxi, indeed, was the exact same one. He rolled down the window, sassed us quite hard, and then drove us to our desired location like a lunatic who is late for a meeting. Luckily, we got there safely, listened to the same three songs on repeat when the power went out, took a bunch of quality action shots like the one featured below, fell asleep watching Friends in Spanish, and woke up early the next morning to make our way to Cartagena.
By now, we're familiar with our meeting points, our crammed little excursion-mobile, and the bus ride entertainment. We watched, and throughly quoted, Mean Girls on both the way there and the way home. We arrived right on time, checked into our definitely-not-American hotel, and headed down the street for some lunch. The portions were insane, especially when it came to the Sancocho.
We spent the rest of the afternoon on a city tour, seeing the oceans, the mountains, the skyline, and some of the historic treasures that Cartagena has too offer. This city is even hotter than Barranquilla, but just as colorful, friendly, and prideful. Way more touristy, but by now, we don't consider ourselves tourists. We intentionally skipped the "wear sneakers to the city tour" instruction for the sake of feeling like true Colombians appreciating Colombia.
We started at a bar named "Puerto Rico." At first, I was super excited about it. They had the Puerto Rican flag, all the same music they listen to in PR, and even some Puerto Rican foods on the menu. We expected a lot out of the bar, but within the hour we spent there, experienced nothing but women wearing clothes that severely don't flatter their bodies, men peeing without an interest in shutting the door behind them, and even a flock of birds, courteous enough to set up camp three stories above us and welcome the foreigners the best way they know how - pooping on them for "good luck". The experience gave a new meaning to "raining on our parade". We left while the night was still young, and soon found ourselves in a Russian Communism themed bar. Floor to ceiling, this place was decked out and throughly passionate about Russia. I was personally exhausted and much more passionate about the Pepsi that kept me awake until we left. I couldn't have been happier to sleep that night, knowing we were waking up early the next day as well.
We woke up, consumed an incredibly carbohydrate-heavy, fried hotel breakfast, packed our beach bags and made the walk to the pier. As expected, we were the only ones on time, so we chilled in what felt like a private boat for a half hour or so, finding the absolute best seating, best views, and best life jackets.
We woke up, consumed an incredibly carbohydrate-heavy, fried hotel breakfast, packed our beach bags and made the walk to the pier. As expected, we were the only ones on time, so we chilled in what felt like a private boat for a half hour or so, finding the absolute best seating, best views, and best life jackets.
Looking around at all the boats, I was reminded of my childhood summers at my uncle's lake house. Every speed boat and house boat had a different, interesting name, and I always tried to figure out the story or significance behind them. There was a boat docked right next to us named "La Bendicion", which in English means "The Blessing". I'm sure there exists a wonderful story behind this name, but to me, the significance was clear - yet another blatant reminder of just how blessed I am to be here.
We took off on a 40 minute, high-speed boat ride, quickly passing what my hosts dad calls "Miami Beach". The skyline in this part of Cartagena is packed full of white buildings, big and small, so to an extent, it emulates Miami.
About half way through our ride, the driver stopped the engine. We saw these little boys paddling their boat with the utmost effort and showmanship. People from our boat began throwing the boys bags of chips, candy bars, sodas, and whatever else they had. When people started throwing coins, these kids were quick to dive right into the water and get them. For a while there, we were looking at the historical building behind this little boat, and these boys. But after a few minutes, this yacht entered the picture. It's crazy to see sitting right in front of you, the distribution of wealth, the polar opposite lifestyles, and the contrast between the two experiences. Eye opening, to say the least.
About half way through our ride, the driver stopped the engine. We saw these little boys paddling their boat with the utmost effort and showmanship. People from our boat began throwing the boys bags of chips, candy bars, sodas, and whatever else they had. When people started throwing coins, these kids were quick to dive right into the water and get them. For a while there, we were looking at the historical building behind this little boat, and these boys. But after a few minutes, this yacht entered the picture. It's crazy to see sitting right in front of you, the distribution of wealth, the polar opposite lifestyles, and the contrast between the two experiences. Eye opening, to say the least.
We got to the beach, and based on the tourists we clearly are, were quickly pressured to pay 40 mil pesos to a random beach goer claiming he was selling tents. I suggested we try the same profession to make a little extra cash. We came across a nice older guy who overheard the beach goer's sales pitch, and informed us we only need to buy a beer per person to sit in his shaded, beach-front restaurant. That, we did. We were blown away by the color and the clearness of the water, the whiteness and weightlessness of the sand, and the fearless and friendly nature of the people of Cartagena.
At one point in the day, Chris, the master of all things adventuresome, had the bright idea that we should go tubing. OF COURSE, everyone was down. Strangely enough, I'll jump out of planes, nearly break myself on trampolines, jello wrestle... whatever you want, but I hate hate HATE water tubing. I was sitting there, in Colombia, staring in the face an opportunity to conquer my fear. So, the 5 of us went tubing. We clearly didn't get a real picture based on my killer photoshop skills below, but that's what our experience looked like. As expected, I was thrown off the tube, and throughly filled with salt water. I had a rough experience and couldn't find the fun in it. I repeated the action of tubing with a spirit of fear, instead of bravery, which tells me I have to do it again before I really conquer it. Either way, proud moment.
Even more exciting than that awful tubing experience was the small, but significant relationships formed with all the children we met on the beach that day. We built sandcastles, practiced writing our names in the sand, and tested them on their English knowledge of the body parts. There was one girl, in particular, that caught our attention. Her name is Gabriela and she is 12 years old, from a town called Bucaramanga. We spent hours on end with her, talking about life. She is one of those girls, though 12 years old, who is drenched in brilliance, wisdom, potential, and power. She is a little Colombian powerhouse that I couldn't wait to talk to more. She left the beach about an hour before us, and upon her leaving, her aunt thanked us for the time spent with her by suggesting we take a trip to her city. She welcomed us to stay in her house for free and experience the lovely little city they are from. Gabriela told me how to find her on Facebook, all the way down to what color hat she was wearing in her profile picture. With two days of searching, I finally did find her, as well as reasonably priced plane tickets to go visit. This is the kind of experience that we need to see more of in the world, specifically in the United States. I truly believe this girl is going to do something significant in the world, and I plan to keep in touch with her for as long as possible. What a blessing it is to have met her and her family! |
We made our way back to Cartagena on the same speed boat as before, walked the same pathway home, and crashed in our now-familiar, far-from American hotel beds for a quick nap. We showered and freshened up, stopped some cabs on the street, and headed towards the hotel that Weston, the red headed friend in all my pictures, had family staying at. He had planned to meet up with his family and go out for dinner, but he brought with him 6 pretty girls, and David. What a way to impress his family, huh? We were shocked at the absolute beauty of the hotel. We sat down, ordered a round of drinks, and soon fell head over heels for Weston's family.
Weston's mom had, crazily enough, invited her tour guide from the last city they were in for a drink. We thought she was crazy and he would never show up, but sure enough, he did. He suggested a restaurant near the hotel, but as would any person on a college-kid budget, we asked "Is it pricey?" The answer was yes, so we did what we do best - fast food. But not your bottom-of-the-chain, dollar menu fast food. We went for the fanciest fast food known to Colombia - El Corral. It costs more, and takes longer, but it's totally worth it for the great wall art, chocolate milkshakes and high quality outdoor seating.
Later that night, we headed to the Walled City for bar hopping part 2. We found ourselves in a bar run by a man straight out of Jamaica. I told him my best friend is from Kingston, and assuming I knew the music, he switched from Spanish music to Jamaican music. It was chill, but no one was there, so we quickly left.
I met up with Alex, a fellow ISA student who also functions as my salsa partner. We were walking through the Walled City and noticed that the mime who is usually entertaining a large crowd had just walked off, leaving all those people with no entertainment. Just the night before Alex had told me he loves "spontaneous", so I was about to give him spontaneous. I suggested we give a speech in front of the crowd, exaggerating the extent to which we are gringos who need money and learned salsa to perform on the streets. We'd then dance a well-known salsa routine from our salsa class, perform like we've never performed before, and then use Alex's hat to collect donations. I was all for this plan, but Alex wasn't. Per his request we skipped the speech and the money collection, and just danced in front of the crowd. No money made, but I was told we had all eyes on us.
I met up with Alex, a fellow ISA student who also functions as my salsa partner. We were walking through the Walled City and noticed that the mime who is usually entertaining a large crowd had just walked off, leaving all those people with no entertainment. Just the night before Alex had told me he loves "spontaneous", so I was about to give him spontaneous. I suggested we give a speech in front of the crowd, exaggerating the extent to which we are gringos who need money and learned salsa to perform on the streets. We'd then dance a well-known salsa routine from our salsa class, perform like we've never performed before, and then use Alex's hat to collect donations. I was all for this plan, but Alex wasn't. Per his request we skipped the speech and the money collection, and just danced in front of the crowd. No money made, but I was told we had all eyes on us.
Once again, we walked home late at night, showered and crashed, physically exhausted but mentally excited to wake up the next day and bike the city. We ate yet another ferociously fried hotel breakfast, and made our way down the street to get some bikes. For $1.58 an hour, we rode all over the Cartagena, squeezed through the small streets of this charming location, up and down the hills of the city wall, through the wide open plazas where we attempted synchronized biking, and everywhere in between. Unfortunately, we ran out of steam, broke three bike chains, and found ourselves covered in bike grease and bird poop before we could make it to the other side of town to see all the street art, but I'm not worried. I'm planning to return to Cartagena when my friends Linda and Stephanie, currently studying abroad in Brazil, pay me a visit next month!
My experiences this week have left me feeling like la reina de cartagena. I felt like a queen, but lived like a tourist, either way, learning how to truly travel, explore, and cling to adventure. My week was worth every single penny I paid, but to make sure I was getting the maximum bang for my buck, just like any college student, young adult living abroad, or money savvy human being, I took the toilet paper from the hotel when I left.
This upcoming Friday I leave for my Semana Santa adventures to Bogota and Medellín. We're spending 12 days, having foregone the "luggage" option on our flights, with no more than this Jansport backpack full of stuff. We're committing to the same three outfits over and over, an all-empanada diet, and an experience like no other.
This upcoming Friday I leave for my Semana Santa adventures to Bogota and Medellín. We're spending 12 days, having foregone the "luggage" option on our flights, with no more than this Jansport backpack full of stuff. We're committing to the same three outfits over and over, an all-empanada diet, and an experience like no other.