Due to unfortunate time constraints (alas, the end of my trip is in sight, I cannot even begin to think about that for fear of a nervous breakdown so we will gloss over that one), I found myself on a bus from Panama City to Guatemala City. Am I really going back to the US? I don’t think I will believe it myself until I see myself get on the airplane. I remember my mom picking me up from the airport after Eastern Europe and her saying she was worried I wouldn’t really come back, now, to be honest, I fear the same thing here. But, vamos a ver.
It was actually a rather strange experience to be traveling through countries that I have already been to, I visited Central America about four years ago for Christmas and New Years. I saw familiar sights and the familiar borders, most of which were pretty dreaded. Crossing through
Central America this time was a rather uneventful trip, once again with everything working out somehow. For example, a guy on my bus sitting behind me asked me what hotel I was planning on staying in (mandatory 5 hour stop in El Salvador) and I told him and he said it was one of the more dangerous hotels in the city, suggested another, so I went to the other one with him and another guy (which I know sounds sketchy, but it wasn’t, there was nothing remotely strange feeling about it, it felt like genuine concern) and that worked out well. Then arriving in Guatemala City, I wanted to get right out of there and was a little stressed about getting to Antigua, but I met someone else who told me he was renting a car and driving to Antigua and invited me along. So that just goes to show how things ALWAYS seem to work out in amazing ways while traveling.
It was nice to chat with people on the bus too and tell them that I am going to Guatemala to study Spanish and have them say I don’t need to study Spanish I can already speak it, even though I know they were lying through their teeth and I was only pretending to understand what they had to say!
But it was a nice journey through the past to watch the world go by and think about all that has happened between my last trip to Central America and now. I mean, think about where you were 4 years ago and all that has happened, the things you have done, the places you have been. What a crazy ride! I am amazed at how much can happen so quickly. So I thought I would wax nostalgic (surprise, surprise) and write about a memory from each country from my last trip.
Costa Rica: I went here with my mom and it was so great to travel with her. I even got her up surfing at one point and she was a natural. We took mud baths in a river in the rain forest with huge blue butterflies, went to Christmas Eve church service in a little church in the mountains and had a great time. Funny how much shorter anecdotes on tamer parts of the trip are, looking at the length of the other countries, but not to diminish how much fun I did have with my mom.
Nicaragua: I was in Granada for New Years, and worried how it would be since I was alone, but met up with a great group of people, including a German, Stephan who wound up traveling with me for the rest of my trip. It was a little funny to travel with him though because he was so freakishly good looking that I couldn’t carry on a conversation with him. He would be talking to me and I would just have to stare at his face, completely miss what he is staying and try to abstain from touching his face and saying, “ Wow, you’re pretty.” But distracting hotness aside, he was a great travel companion, always up for adventure and always with a smile on his face.
We sat on a wall for the countdown in a huge field with a random horse in it that I tried to make friends with. Nights in Granada were spent playing with the local street children, watching guys drum these amazing and huge drums and setting off fireworks. It was all so random but worked out in such a great way. Later, arriving in the city of Leon, Stephan and I got swept up in some parade with the Bishop of Nicaragua, or something like that, all the craziness of the random festivities that seem to erupt on Latin American streets was positively contagious.
Honduras: I pointed at Honduras at a map to find a random city that no tourists would go to that I had never heard of. In fact, I almost wound up off the map which is how we ended up in the city of Amapala on a little island just off the coast of Honduras. Definite adventures ensued.
We got lost on a volcano, which sounds difficult, I mean, you think, you just hike up right? Not that simple. Or maybe we were just that slow. But we finally, made it to the top, literally bleeding all over from scratches of brambles, only to be met by a guy with a machine gun; pointed at us. That was the first time a gun was ever pointed at me, come to think of it, and we were terrified. We were obviously trespassing, nobody would have known if he shot us, and when we turned and walked away, the man still with his gun aimed at us, both of us were terrified we would be shot in the back.
We were a bit of an oddity on this island since it doesn’t see many tourists so news traveled quickly and local kids rode their burrows over to say hello. The family we were staying with invited us to another island nearby for a picnic. This was quite the affair, lots of kids and family members and sports equipment, but I couldn’t help but notice the lack of food being taken on this picnic. This was because over the process of the day on the island we caught our own food. There were all sorts of fish, muscles, crayfish, etc. It turned out to be a spectacular picnic. They did buy beer especially for us foreigners too. And we had so much fun playing with the kids, playing soccer and burying everyone in the sand. Our Spanish was a bit weak, their English nonexistent, but it was one of the most fun days I have ever had traveling, even at this point.
El Salvador: Not until I made it to Africa did anywhere ever rival how unsafe I felt in El Salvador. We had several horrifying instances that I won’t go into, also got stuck at the border, nothing about that was really good. A pretty country, yes. Some nice people, yes, but I have nothing good to really say about my experience there.
So I will reminisce about our sick night. This was the first and only time I have ever gotten food sick while traveling. It hit me before it hit Stephan. So remember, I have this huge crush on this guy and we are sharing a room. This room contains a bed and a bathroom. The room is small and the bed takes up almost the entire room. Which means that the bed is about 5 inches from the bathroom. This is bad enough, but there was no door to the bathroom. There were walls that didn’t even reach the ceiling and a flimsy curtain. So basically, there was no privacy in this bathroom.
I don’t know if it was the sounds or the smells that were worse, but getting traveler’s diarrhea is no laughing matter, except until you look back on it, where this hellacious time converts into hilarity, because let’s face it, these stories are golden if you survive them. So anyways, it strikes me first. And am I wrong to say that I was happy it got Stephan too so I wasn’t alone? I did enjoy the camaraderie and it made it all a lot less embarrassing, but then when you are both fighting for a toilet, it adds a whole new element of annoyance to the equation.
I was definitely more sick than Stephan and I just wanted it to all be over. I had a fever and felt horrible, so I decided to take some Nyquil. There was no way to measure and it tasted horrible so I took a few big gulps and saw after the fact that I had drank almost ¾ of the bottle. You know that rumor that Nyquil makes your trip? Well, it’s true. Stephan drained the rest of the bottle and we were quite the pair.
I was colder than I have ever been in my life so I had put on every piece of clothing that I owned and half of what Stephan owned. I had the blankets and was huddled in a little ball tripping and almost enjoying myself if I didn’t feel so horrible. Stephan on the other hand swung the other way and was so hot that he had gotten completely naked. In his delusional state he became convinced that there was a vicious mosquito in the room. For all I know there was, but I am huddled in this ball on the corner of the bed watching him, butt-ass naked jumping around the bed (remember it takes up the whole room) trying to swat at a mosquito. Ah the joy of Nyquil.
And that way my first foray into Central America. Now I am in Guatemala trying to learn Spanish and come to terms with the fact that my grand world adventure is coming to a close, which is rather strange when this is what I have been waiting my whole life to do. But it has been worth every moment so far, and hey, I still have one month left to make the most of. I think one of the best parts of traveling is how it encourages me to make the most of every moment, take advantage of every opportunity and really be there and appreciate everything. It’s funny how we live with this sense of permanency, when really all of life is as fleeting and temporary as a journey is. So travel, in essence, reminds me how to live.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Colombia to Panama by Sailboat
I was rather devastated to be leaving Colombia. I realized that not only am I crossing the border from Colombia, leaving my favorite country and moving on in my trip, but I am leaving the whole continent of South America behind. I cannot believe the places I have been and things I have seen in the last 5 months. Arriving in Santiago feels like a lifetime ago, really it does. South America is truly amazing for its people, variety and most of all natural beauty. I was really sad to say goodbye to one of the most spectacular places I have ever been. But, I went from Colombia to Panama by sailboat, so at least I was leaving in style!
For some reason, I felt this huge ending colliding with a beginning sailing away and watching Cartagena, Colombia fade into the distance. I felt like a chapter had been resolved in my life, like I was moving on to the next step. I can’t explain why this had such an impact on me, but I also felt this weight removed from my shoulders. I felt free.
Sailing was a great adventure, I still have the burns on my hands from the ropes to prove it. I spent most of the day up on the net on the bow of the ship, at one point almost 20 dolphins came to play in the ship’s wake. It was positively magical since I am pretty much obsessed with dolphins (or gay sharks as the boat’s captain called them). At night there was quite the storm but I couldn’t bring myself to go inside, it was much more fun to be out on the deck with the elements, the rain pouring down and lighting flashing. Eventually the storm cleared up with only these amazing bursts of lightning in the distance and dazzling stars just showing off for us. At first I thought it was clouds in the sky, but then I realized that was the Milky Way! And as our ship sailed through the Caribbean, it lit up the phosphorescence in the sea. There were stars above us and it looked like stars in the water.
After 36 hours of sailing we arrived at the San Blas Islands of Panama. They are really interesting because they are owned by the Kuna people, a small ethnic group with an autonomous government on these islands. But they live on very few islands, choosing to live very close together, which leaves hundreds of these islands uninhabited.
It looks like paradise. These coconut islands, nothing but white sand and coconut trees, floating in the Caribbean Sea, schizophrenic with blues, greens and aquamarines. Picture a postcard of paradise or a calendar of these paradise photos and you are probably picturing the San Blas Islands.
We had a couple days there of snorkeling and hanging out, I went with the captain spear fishing though I didn’t shoot the spear. Sunsets were unbelievable and so many times I just had to stop because I was shaking with incredulity that this is my life. There was some of the best snorkeling I have ever seen and whenever I felt like it I could swim to my own private island from where the ship was docked.
Visiting the Kuna people is a touchy subject. Because they are autonomous they are really one of the very few untouched ethnic groups left in the word, but with tourism this is quickly changing. It is your typical problem of a vicious cycle of tourists brining in money, which creates a demand for more things which creates a demand for more money. There are tours set up for people to visit Kuna villages but it is all pretty awful sounding to me, with the villagers feeling like animals, not wanting their photos taken in traditional clothes and just a whole touristy sham, so I decided not to go visit.
But one day, I was chatting with a Kuna fisherman (they speak Spanish) for a while and he invited me and the people on the boat to his village. I figured this was a different opportunity so we agreed. He took us by motorized canoe about an hour away to his village. There we were definite oddities so a crew of kids followed us around. They were showing off, walking on their hands, doing races, doing all sorts of tricks. They were hilarious. Everyone wanted to talk to us, to show us their homes, the school, ask us questions. It was one of the most rewarding experiences for me because they are this small indigenous group but they speak Spanish so we were able to communicate and close the gap between our relative worlds. I didn’t take any photos of people, though they seemed like they wouldn’t have minded, but it was so much fun to spend a few hours in their village.
Then, the excitement continued when we were heading back to our boat and our canoe’s motor died. We were in the middle of nowhere. We had been stranded for over an hour and the sun was beginning to set. With no water and nowhere to sleep, another guy from the boat and I realized that we should probably start to swim to the nearest island, rest there, then continue to the next until we got to the ship for help. I am not the greatest swimmer, but I figured I could kick and float on my back. We had been paddling the canoe to no avail, all it did was keep us from drifting to the tide. So just as we were getting ready to jump in, the motor started which was a huge relief.
I was sad to leave the boat and get to Panama proper. It is always hard to leave paradise and there is something about leaving the watery world of possibility and stepping back onto land- more chaotic, unforgiving and insistent. But, it was off to Panama and on to Central America.
For some reason, I felt this huge ending colliding with a beginning sailing away and watching Cartagena, Colombia fade into the distance. I felt like a chapter had been resolved in my life, like I was moving on to the next step. I can’t explain why this had such an impact on me, but I also felt this weight removed from my shoulders. I felt free.
Sailing was a great adventure, I still have the burns on my hands from the ropes to prove it. I spent most of the day up on the net on the bow of the ship, at one point almost 20 dolphins came to play in the ship’s wake. It was positively magical since I am pretty much obsessed with dolphins (or gay sharks as the boat’s captain called them). At night there was quite the storm but I couldn’t bring myself to go inside, it was much more fun to be out on the deck with the elements, the rain pouring down and lighting flashing. Eventually the storm cleared up with only these amazing bursts of lightning in the distance and dazzling stars just showing off for us. At first I thought it was clouds in the sky, but then I realized that was the Milky Way! And as our ship sailed through the Caribbean, it lit up the phosphorescence in the sea. There were stars above us and it looked like stars in the water.
After 36 hours of sailing we arrived at the San Blas Islands of Panama. They are really interesting because they are owned by the Kuna people, a small ethnic group with an autonomous government on these islands. But they live on very few islands, choosing to live very close together, which leaves hundreds of these islands uninhabited.
It looks like paradise. These coconut islands, nothing but white sand and coconut trees, floating in the Caribbean Sea, schizophrenic with blues, greens and aquamarines. Picture a postcard of paradise or a calendar of these paradise photos and you are probably picturing the San Blas Islands.
We had a couple days there of snorkeling and hanging out, I went with the captain spear fishing though I didn’t shoot the spear. Sunsets were unbelievable and so many times I just had to stop because I was shaking with incredulity that this is my life. There was some of the best snorkeling I have ever seen and whenever I felt like it I could swim to my own private island from where the ship was docked.
Visiting the Kuna people is a touchy subject. Because they are autonomous they are really one of the very few untouched ethnic groups left in the word, but with tourism this is quickly changing. It is your typical problem of a vicious cycle of tourists brining in money, which creates a demand for more things which creates a demand for more money. There are tours set up for people to visit Kuna villages but it is all pretty awful sounding to me, with the villagers feeling like animals, not wanting their photos taken in traditional clothes and just a whole touristy sham, so I decided not to go visit.
But one day, I was chatting with a Kuna fisherman (they speak Spanish) for a while and he invited me and the people on the boat to his village. I figured this was a different opportunity so we agreed. He took us by motorized canoe about an hour away to his village. There we were definite oddities so a crew of kids followed us around. They were showing off, walking on their hands, doing races, doing all sorts of tricks. They were hilarious. Everyone wanted to talk to us, to show us their homes, the school, ask us questions. It was one of the most rewarding experiences for me because they are this small indigenous group but they speak Spanish so we were able to communicate and close the gap between our relative worlds. I didn’t take any photos of people, though they seemed like they wouldn’t have minded, but it was so much fun to spend a few hours in their village.
Then, the excitement continued when we were heading back to our boat and our canoe’s motor died. We were in the middle of nowhere. We had been stranded for over an hour and the sun was beginning to set. With no water and nowhere to sleep, another guy from the boat and I realized that we should probably start to swim to the nearest island, rest there, then continue to the next until we got to the ship for help. I am not the greatest swimmer, but I figured I could kick and float on my back. We had been paddling the canoe to no avail, all it did was keep us from drifting to the tide. So just as we were getting ready to jump in, the motor started which was a huge relief.
I was sad to leave the boat and get to Panama proper. It is always hard to leave paradise and there is something about leaving the watery world of possibility and stepping back onto land- more chaotic, unforgiving and insistent. But, it was off to Panama and on to Central America.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
The Only Danger is in Wanting to Stay (Colombia)
Feeling Happy in Colombia!!!
If I had to list a favorite country I have ever been too, at the moment, I believe I would say Colombia. It’s true love. I have never felt this way.
Colombia has everything. It has spectacular beaches, unexplored jungle, stunning mountains, huge waterfalls, great canyons and everything in between. It has some of the friendliest people I have ever met. It has great dancing, music and passion. It has adventure. It is just off the main tourist track so I feel sort of like I have the country to myself sometimes. The people here are always eager to help me so it makes getting around easy. And it makes making new friends a piece of cake.
The new slogan for tourists in Colombia is, “The Only Danger is in Wanting to Stay.” As I search for a job and look at getting a working visa, I have to agree. I find myself trying to rationalize putting off the LSATs or maybe just staying another year or so. I do need to work on my Spanish. . .
And right now I am doing just what I want to do. I have some great interviews and am writing about my passions; human rights and politics. I just conducted my first interview all in Spanish, which I have to admit is not as great as my interviews in English or with translators, but this is just what I want to do- be speaking in a foreign tongue, writing about things that are important instead of my weekly travel advice columns, and hopefully in some small way being able to help people through my writing or at least help people understand the situation in Colombia better. I couldn’t be happier.
I get to practice my Spanish since there is hardly any English around and drink fruit smoothies that are absolutely life changing.
The ride from the Ecuador border was amazing, full of mountains and canyons and waterfalls, views that I would have walked for days to see. Popayan, was the first city in South America, that I arrived at the bus station at 11pm and night and felt safe just walking around the city looking for a place to stay by myself and not taking a taxi or anything.
Every bus I got on, people were curious about me and wanted to chat. They always wanted to buy me meals and once the bus conductor even surprised me by handing me an empanada that he bought for me while we stopped. When I walked through the bus station, security guards and just people standing around would always ask me what I was looking for.
The streets are alive and thriving, and the street food is always sizzling in true South American style. But Colombia is one of the more developed countries in South America. It is definitely more expensive but you can find anything that you need and things actually always seem to work here.
I spent a week in Parque Tayrona, which must be one of the most beautiful places in the world. I hitched to the park gates and then there is no road so everyone has to hike or ride a horse to get to the beach. I was hiking through this jungle alone, realizing how fortunate I am to have spent so much time in South American jungles lately and couldn’t believe this was my life. Then the dense jungle broke through to this endless white-sand beach.
I got to meet up with a great old friend I met in Thailand, we seem to meet on some of the world’s most beautiful beaches. Days were spent deciding which stunning unspoiled beach I wanted to hang out on, and I almost always had the beach to myself. Because it is a national park there is no development so it is only jungle, rocks and that Caribbean sea with its spectacular colors that show depth by colors and fish swimming below and can only be described as Caribbean blue. We would crack open coconuts and suck the juice out of mangos all along the beach before swimming in the postcard perfect waters. Nights were spent in a simple campground without electricity, sleeping in a hammock that overlooked the ocean. I don’t know if life can get much better than that.
Now I am in Santa Marta and it is your typical dirty city, but for some reason I love it. I love it because coming back from Venezuela, it felt like home. I love it because the people are so friendly that I feel like I am speaking almost only in Spanish. And I suppose I just love it simply for the fact that it is Colombia. And I am contemplating staying, because I cannot imagine ever leaving this place. And I feel like I have far more people to interview.
Colombia does have this reputation for danger, but seeing the change in the last few years in incredible. It is truly inspiring. And it is humbling to speak to people about their experiences with La Violencia. It blows my mind to meet people my age that while I was taking horseback riding lessons and going to ballet class, they weren’t able to leave their homes because there was a warning about a car bomb. They have told me that I would probably be unable to meet anyone in Colombia that had not had someone that was killed or kidnapped by FARC or Paramilitaries. But instead of hardening people, it has made them strive all the more for change. They have accomplished things in 4 years that I don’t think we could do in 10 in the US, but it is because they had to. They were sick of the violence and sick of the way things were. Uribe, the president really did make some amazing changes.
And the best part for me as a journalist, is that the people here want to talk about things. They want people to realize that the FARC are not the freedom fighters that so many foreigners believe them to be. They are not this group that was fighting for a revolution and really, nobody liked them, even in the beginning. They are a terrorist group and most of all, a drug cartel. It is all about the drugs. The people here are fed up with violence and want to correct the image that Colombia isn’t safe. Times have changed.
It also is interesting to realize how much of Colombia’s problems are directly related to the US consumption of drugs, particularly cocaine. We play a role in this too and it makes me think about the interconnectedness in the world and the things that we don’t often think about, the repercussions of actions in our lives. So what is the answer? Legalization or decriminalization? More aid money to Colombia? Who knows, but it definitely makes me think about the depths of actions.
I am truly captivated by Colombia, the exoticness mixed with the livability. And adventure and feeling like I am in some place really special. It has that sort of undiscovered feeling, but that won’t last for long. I keep searching the world for a place that I would want to live for a while, looking for that paradise. And while Colombia is by no means paradise, it just might be home for me.
If I had to list a favorite country I have ever been too, at the moment, I believe I would say Colombia. It’s true love. I have never felt this way.
Colombia has everything. It has spectacular beaches, unexplored jungle, stunning mountains, huge waterfalls, great canyons and everything in between. It has some of the friendliest people I have ever met. It has great dancing, music and passion. It has adventure. It is just off the main tourist track so I feel sort of like I have the country to myself sometimes. The people here are always eager to help me so it makes getting around easy. And it makes making new friends a piece of cake.
The new slogan for tourists in Colombia is, “The Only Danger is in Wanting to Stay.” As I search for a job and look at getting a working visa, I have to agree. I find myself trying to rationalize putting off the LSATs or maybe just staying another year or so. I do need to work on my Spanish. . .
And right now I am doing just what I want to do. I have some great interviews and am writing about my passions; human rights and politics. I just conducted my first interview all in Spanish, which I have to admit is not as great as my interviews in English or with translators, but this is just what I want to do- be speaking in a foreign tongue, writing about things that are important instead of my weekly travel advice columns, and hopefully in some small way being able to help people through my writing or at least help people understand the situation in Colombia better. I couldn’t be happier.
I get to practice my Spanish since there is hardly any English around and drink fruit smoothies that are absolutely life changing.
The ride from the Ecuador border was amazing, full of mountains and canyons and waterfalls, views that I would have walked for days to see. Popayan, was the first city in South America, that I arrived at the bus station at 11pm and night and felt safe just walking around the city looking for a place to stay by myself and not taking a taxi or anything.
Every bus I got on, people were curious about me and wanted to chat. They always wanted to buy me meals and once the bus conductor even surprised me by handing me an empanada that he bought for me while we stopped. When I walked through the bus station, security guards and just people standing around would always ask me what I was looking for.
The streets are alive and thriving, and the street food is always sizzling in true South American style. But Colombia is one of the more developed countries in South America. It is definitely more expensive but you can find anything that you need and things actually always seem to work here.
I spent a week in Parque Tayrona, which must be one of the most beautiful places in the world. I hitched to the park gates and then there is no road so everyone has to hike or ride a horse to get to the beach. I was hiking through this jungle alone, realizing how fortunate I am to have spent so much time in South American jungles lately and couldn’t believe this was my life. Then the dense jungle broke through to this endless white-sand beach.
I got to meet up with a great old friend I met in Thailand, we seem to meet on some of the world’s most beautiful beaches. Days were spent deciding which stunning unspoiled beach I wanted to hang out on, and I almost always had the beach to myself. Because it is a national park there is no development so it is only jungle, rocks and that Caribbean sea with its spectacular colors that show depth by colors and fish swimming below and can only be described as Caribbean blue. We would crack open coconuts and suck the juice out of mangos all along the beach before swimming in the postcard perfect waters. Nights were spent in a simple campground without electricity, sleeping in a hammock that overlooked the ocean. I don’t know if life can get much better than that.
Now I am in Santa Marta and it is your typical dirty city, but for some reason I love it. I love it because coming back from Venezuela, it felt like home. I love it because the people are so friendly that I feel like I am speaking almost only in Spanish. And I suppose I just love it simply for the fact that it is Colombia. And I am contemplating staying, because I cannot imagine ever leaving this place. And I feel like I have far more people to interview.
Colombia does have this reputation for danger, but seeing the change in the last few years in incredible. It is truly inspiring. And it is humbling to speak to people about their experiences with La Violencia. It blows my mind to meet people my age that while I was taking horseback riding lessons and going to ballet class, they weren’t able to leave their homes because there was a warning about a car bomb. They have told me that I would probably be unable to meet anyone in Colombia that had not had someone that was killed or kidnapped by FARC or Paramilitaries. But instead of hardening people, it has made them strive all the more for change. They have accomplished things in 4 years that I don’t think we could do in 10 in the US, but it is because they had to. They were sick of the violence and sick of the way things were. Uribe, the president really did make some amazing changes.
And the best part for me as a journalist, is that the people here want to talk about things. They want people to realize that the FARC are not the freedom fighters that so many foreigners believe them to be. They are not this group that was fighting for a revolution and really, nobody liked them, even in the beginning. They are a terrorist group and most of all, a drug cartel. It is all about the drugs. The people here are fed up with violence and want to correct the image that Colombia isn’t safe. Times have changed.
It also is interesting to realize how much of Colombia’s problems are directly related to the US consumption of drugs, particularly cocaine. We play a role in this too and it makes me think about the interconnectedness in the world and the things that we don’t often think about, the repercussions of actions in our lives. So what is the answer? Legalization or decriminalization? More aid money to Colombia? Who knows, but it definitely makes me think about the depths of actions.
I am truly captivated by Colombia, the exoticness mixed with the livability. And adventure and feeling like I am in some place really special. It has that sort of undiscovered feeling, but that won’t last for long. I keep searching the world for a place that I would want to live for a while, looking for that paradise. And while Colombia is by no means paradise, it just might be home for me.
Home Sweet Home in Medellin (Colombia)
The absolute best way to see a country is with someone who lives there. When Colleen and I were in India, we met 2 Colombian guys that we joked were our “Colombian Body Guards.” I was fortunate enough to get to visit them in Medellin. It was by far, one of the most fun times of my trip.
First of all, it was amazing to not have to make decisions. Anyone who knows me knows how bad I am at making decisions, so it was great to have Pablo and Santi there to make all my decisions for me. It was just nice to feel taken care of for once too after constantly battling to travel alone.
They picked me up from the bus station and took me to “my house.” They live a good life in a high income bracket for sure. They had a housekeeper that cooked all our meals for us and we even had snack time. She did my laundry every 3 days. It was nice to have a place that felt like home too after staying in so many hostels.
The boys took me on a food tour of Colombia, which is, of course, the best kind of tour. At restaurants they would even order for me. Every meal was a different typical dish in Colombia. One day, Pablo and I went to the supermarket and bought every single fruit that I had never seen before, there were almost 20, and I got to try them all. Colombia is famous for its fruit and I can see why.
Pablo was incredible, teaching me all about Medellin’s history and the region and all about Colombia. The boys patiently helped me with my Spanish and taught me Colombian slang. They took me out with their friends and took me to their FInca, sort of a country house, which most upper class Colombians in Medellin have. I even met the whole family. They answered all my questions about the FARC and politics and what life was like for them growing up (and believe me it was scary, something I could never imagine) and they helped translate interviews for me.
Medellin has some of the most amazing nightlife that I have ever seen too. And the women are by far the most beautiful in the world, talk about intimidating. Days were spent working, going about life with the boys and getting to see the city. One night Pablo and I were extras in a Colombian movie. Random; yes. Fun; definitely.
Medellin has truly transformed as a city. It was once considered the most dangerous city in the world and now I felt completely safe. It seems more like a city in California than in Colombia. It is surrounded by mountains with huge buildings sprawling through the whole valley and climbing up the mountains themselves. Most people live in apartment buildings, not in houses so that makes for a lot of tall buildings. It also has the only cable car used for public transportation in the world. Having the cable car really cleaned up some of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city.
Medellin also has a program that has created these, “Parque Bibliotecas” which they built in formerly dangerous areas. These are libraries with free internet, free classes and places for kids to play. Medellin has transformed itself from Pablo Escobar’s drug filled city to a thriving metropolis that is striving to be a bilingual and the “most educated” city in South America. It is well on its way if it is not already there.
To me, Medellin represents hope. I look at the changes that took place there in the last few years and it is absolutely an inspiration for the world. It’s not perfect, but it is getting closer every day. And the hospitality that the boys showed me was unbeatable. It made all the difference to have friends to take me around. I love Colombia!
First of all, it was amazing to not have to make decisions. Anyone who knows me knows how bad I am at making decisions, so it was great to have Pablo and Santi there to make all my decisions for me. It was just nice to feel taken care of for once too after constantly battling to travel alone.
They picked me up from the bus station and took me to “my house.” They live a good life in a high income bracket for sure. They had a housekeeper that cooked all our meals for us and we even had snack time. She did my laundry every 3 days. It was nice to have a place that felt like home too after staying in so many hostels.
The boys took me on a food tour of Colombia, which is, of course, the best kind of tour. At restaurants they would even order for me. Every meal was a different typical dish in Colombia. One day, Pablo and I went to the supermarket and bought every single fruit that I had never seen before, there were almost 20, and I got to try them all. Colombia is famous for its fruit and I can see why.
Pablo was incredible, teaching me all about Medellin’s history and the region and all about Colombia. The boys patiently helped me with my Spanish and taught me Colombian slang. They took me out with their friends and took me to their FInca, sort of a country house, which most upper class Colombians in Medellin have. I even met the whole family. They answered all my questions about the FARC and politics and what life was like for them growing up (and believe me it was scary, something I could never imagine) and they helped translate interviews for me.
Medellin has some of the most amazing nightlife that I have ever seen too. And the women are by far the most beautiful in the world, talk about intimidating. Days were spent working, going about life with the boys and getting to see the city. One night Pablo and I were extras in a Colombian movie. Random; yes. Fun; definitely.
Medellin has truly transformed as a city. It was once considered the most dangerous city in the world and now I felt completely safe. It seems more like a city in California than in Colombia. It is surrounded by mountains with huge buildings sprawling through the whole valley and climbing up the mountains themselves. Most people live in apartment buildings, not in houses so that makes for a lot of tall buildings. It also has the only cable car used for public transportation in the world. Having the cable car really cleaned up some of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city.
Medellin also has a program that has created these, “Parque Bibliotecas” which they built in formerly dangerous areas. These are libraries with free internet, free classes and places for kids to play. Medellin has transformed itself from Pablo Escobar’s drug filled city to a thriving metropolis that is striving to be a bilingual and the “most educated” city in South America. It is well on its way if it is not already there.
To me, Medellin represents hope. I look at the changes that took place there in the last few years and it is absolutely an inspiration for the world. It’s not perfect, but it is getting closer every day. And the hospitality that the boys showed me was unbeatable. It made all the difference to have friends to take me around. I love Colombia!
Venezuela was Weird
My trip to Venezuela was. . . weird. Really, there is no other way of putting it. Actually, you could technically say that I was kidnapped in Venezuela. I suppose it diminishes impact if I add that I was kidnapped by a sweet, albeit crazy, Abuela. It’s true. To look at the facts: If someone offered to pay me a million dollars to tell them where I was in Maracaibo, Venezuela, I would not be able to do it. However, wherever I was, there was no public transportation and I couldn’t very easily leave the house I was in and walk around where I was because this city is huge, pretty dangerous and it just wouldn’t make sense.
In addition, this woman, who I lived with for a few days, I couldn’t tell you her name either. I’m telling you, this whole thing was just plain weird.
So let’s start at the beginning. I was a bit nervous for Venezuela because it is sort of on the traveler’s Do Not Go list. But of course, this was also a lot of the appeal. I tried to get 2 people to go with me but both guys separately backed out, the first because his mom said she would disown him if he went and he had promised that was the one country he wouldn’t go to in South America, the second just because everyone told him not to go. The owners of the hostel I was staying at in Santa Marta, Colombia offered to let me stay at the hostel for free if I would change my mind and not go to Venezuela, they were that worried about it!
But obviously I went. The difference was big just crossing the border. In Colombian customs, we waited in seats in an air-conditioned room. In Venezuelan customs, we wrapped ourselves around this strange bar and I passed my passport through a tiny window of such tinted glass I couldn’t see anything behind it, it was like passing my passport into a void of mystery and who knows what they did with it. And next to the customs window was a picture of a man carrying a bloody child saying to stop the holocaust of Palestinian’s in Israel.
Just entering the country, there was more trash on the roadside than I had ever seen in one place. We are talking trash as far as you can see, even in the middle of nowhere, I have no idea how it got there. We did drive by some interesting salt lakes though.
One smart thing that I did, though it was weird, was to change money on the bus. I have never heard of changing money on the bus with a fellow passenger before but I got a decent rate and people are hungry for dollars. The problem with Venezuela is the money is so devalued you can’t take it out of ATMs, it all must be exchanged on the black market.
It was fortunate that I did exchange money because, silly me, I thought that the bus that left from the bus station in Santa Marta would end at the bus station in Maracaibo, Venezuela, not some random sketchy place in the city. Luckily I had money for a cab. But then the bus driver, as well as the people around me on the bus who were distressed that I was there alone in the first place, told me I can’t trust a taxi. But I definitely shouldn’t walk because that is suicide. Hmmmm.
As I was debating, the Abuela made up her mind, grabbed my hand, and said that I was coming to her house with her. She told me she lived alone and I could stay at her casa. There was definitely no room for me to object, she was determined and had quite the grasp on my arm.
Arriving at her house was a bit awkward, I was a little unsure how to act in the situation. It was interesting to see her house though which looked like what I expected a 50’s home would look like if everyone froze time and went and hid in a bomb shelter. But at the same time, it was your typical grandmother’s house full of photographs, clutter and knickknacks, ceramic cats, coo-coo clocks and wooden houses on the walls.
She told me that it was best if I slept in her bed with her because it was cooler in there (down-right frigid with the AC cranked up to be honest). I opted for my own bed. The whole house was full of fans because Maracaibo is one of the hottest places around.
The next morning I woke up and expected to take a taxi into town. I had hoped for more time in Venezuela but didn’t have a lot so I decided against going somewhere touristy. I thought it would be best to go to a typical Venezuelan city and experience as much of typical Venezuela life as I could, and maybe take a day trip to a little city since Maracaibo is so big. Well, to be fair, I did get to experience plenty of typical Venezuelan life with this woman.
I went into the kitchen to find that she had made me breakfast. And planned my day. She told me that her neighbor was going to take me around the city in the afternoon. So we spent the morning hanging out in the air conditioned bedroom of hers. I think she was mostly lonely and wanted company. My Spanish isn’t great, but usually I understand that gist of what is happening. Not with her. She talked so quickly and had such a thick accent, I was lucky if I understood 15% of what was being said. I found out later she didn’t understand hardly anything I said either! But she told me it was ok that I didn’t understand her, and I think it was, she just wanted someone to talk at.
And she talks a LOT. And she really was a little crazy. So I sat there was we watched exercises on TV. Then she decided to do some exercises in her pajamas. I was pretty much in the way wherever I sat because the room was small. I was ducking and bending to avoid the unpredictable limbs of this 89 year old woman as copied the exercises that looked like were filmed in the 80s on the beach. It’s ok, it kept me on my toes.
We spent most of the day cooking. Then later one of her neighbors came over. I introduced myself and held out my hand to her. She stared at me. And stared. Then stared some more. Is everyone in Venezuela a little off?
Eventually the other neighbor came to take us around the city. It was huge but the historical center was nice and colorful and I was happy to see the sights. It was a little awkward because I knew I had to pay him and didn’t know they had agreed on a fee, just one of those situations without precedent.
More time was spent cooking and hanging out in the house, my time in Venezuela mostly consisted of just being in the house with the Abuela. Eventually the neighbor came back and spoke to me this time and I could understand her more than the Abuela. My last night there, a man walked into the house. Much confusion ensued when he told me that he lived there. So much for her living alone. But he was really nice and I felt a lot more confident with my Spanish because I actually understood everything he had said. Before the Abuela’s craziness had been wearing off on me and I had become convinced I didn’t speak any Spanish because I couldn’t understand her. So that was a relief.
That last night I asked the Abuela for a needle and thread to sew a hole in my pants. She ignored me so I figured I had already asked enough of her. I said that she was crazy, and she is, but I also cannot stress how kind she was to take me in and feed me and everything too. I think that the situation could have been really bad if she hadn’t have found me.
My plan was to take a taxi (her neighbor) to the bus station the next morning, but actually go to a hotel near the bus station and spend more time free to explore Maracaibo and not feeling like such a captive. There would have been no way I could have told her I wanted to stay there but not at her house without hurting her feelings. The bus that I was supposed to get on left at 5am, so I had to leave at 4 and set my alarm for 3:50.
At 2:45 am, the light comes on in my room. The Abuela is standing over me with a needle and thread. She is in full make-up and nice clothes. I couldn’t tell if she hadn’t slept at all that night or had gotten up and done herself up that morning. Either way, she had decided that 2:45 am was the best time to sew my pants, which she did while I got ready to wait for the taxi. I told you my trip was weird.
Then, she accompanied me in the taxi and waited while I bought my bus ticket, so alas, I found myself headed back to Colombia earlier than I had expected. But to be honest, going back to Colombia felt like coming home and I was happy to be back in the safety of Colombia.
Another strange thing about Venezuela was the road signs. Chavez (who everyone that I talked to said they thought was crazy) likes to put up bulletin boards everywhere that he does something . So there are all these bulletin board say that people should work with Chavez and that he built this school, etc. My all-time favorite though is a picture of him hugging a child. The child looks wary and positively squished, while Chavez, with his arms around the kids looks like he is enjoying himself entirely too much.
As for danger, I have to admit, maybe it was just from all the warnings and the locals being scared too, but I did feel uneasy in Venezuela. It just had sort of heavy energy. It seems like a country that could have had a chance but really was ruined by Chavez and his craziness. But that is another discussion.
In addition, this woman, who I lived with for a few days, I couldn’t tell you her name either. I’m telling you, this whole thing was just plain weird.
So let’s start at the beginning. I was a bit nervous for Venezuela because it is sort of on the traveler’s Do Not Go list. But of course, this was also a lot of the appeal. I tried to get 2 people to go with me but both guys separately backed out, the first because his mom said she would disown him if he went and he had promised that was the one country he wouldn’t go to in South America, the second just because everyone told him not to go. The owners of the hostel I was staying at in Santa Marta, Colombia offered to let me stay at the hostel for free if I would change my mind and not go to Venezuela, they were that worried about it!
But obviously I went. The difference was big just crossing the border. In Colombian customs, we waited in seats in an air-conditioned room. In Venezuelan customs, we wrapped ourselves around this strange bar and I passed my passport through a tiny window of such tinted glass I couldn’t see anything behind it, it was like passing my passport into a void of mystery and who knows what they did with it. And next to the customs window was a picture of a man carrying a bloody child saying to stop the holocaust of Palestinian’s in Israel.
Just entering the country, there was more trash on the roadside than I had ever seen in one place. We are talking trash as far as you can see, even in the middle of nowhere, I have no idea how it got there. We did drive by some interesting salt lakes though.
One smart thing that I did, though it was weird, was to change money on the bus. I have never heard of changing money on the bus with a fellow passenger before but I got a decent rate and people are hungry for dollars. The problem with Venezuela is the money is so devalued you can’t take it out of ATMs, it all must be exchanged on the black market.
It was fortunate that I did exchange money because, silly me, I thought that the bus that left from the bus station in Santa Marta would end at the bus station in Maracaibo, Venezuela, not some random sketchy place in the city. Luckily I had money for a cab. But then the bus driver, as well as the people around me on the bus who were distressed that I was there alone in the first place, told me I can’t trust a taxi. But I definitely shouldn’t walk because that is suicide. Hmmmm.
As I was debating, the Abuela made up her mind, grabbed my hand, and said that I was coming to her house with her. She told me she lived alone and I could stay at her casa. There was definitely no room for me to object, she was determined and had quite the grasp on my arm.
Arriving at her house was a bit awkward, I was a little unsure how to act in the situation. It was interesting to see her house though which looked like what I expected a 50’s home would look like if everyone froze time and went and hid in a bomb shelter. But at the same time, it was your typical grandmother’s house full of photographs, clutter and knickknacks, ceramic cats, coo-coo clocks and wooden houses on the walls.
She told me that it was best if I slept in her bed with her because it was cooler in there (down-right frigid with the AC cranked up to be honest). I opted for my own bed. The whole house was full of fans because Maracaibo is one of the hottest places around.
The next morning I woke up and expected to take a taxi into town. I had hoped for more time in Venezuela but didn’t have a lot so I decided against going somewhere touristy. I thought it would be best to go to a typical Venezuelan city and experience as much of typical Venezuela life as I could, and maybe take a day trip to a little city since Maracaibo is so big. Well, to be fair, I did get to experience plenty of typical Venezuelan life with this woman.
I went into the kitchen to find that she had made me breakfast. And planned my day. She told me that her neighbor was going to take me around the city in the afternoon. So we spent the morning hanging out in the air conditioned bedroom of hers. I think she was mostly lonely and wanted company. My Spanish isn’t great, but usually I understand that gist of what is happening. Not with her. She talked so quickly and had such a thick accent, I was lucky if I understood 15% of what was being said. I found out later she didn’t understand hardly anything I said either! But she told me it was ok that I didn’t understand her, and I think it was, she just wanted someone to talk at.
And she talks a LOT. And she really was a little crazy. So I sat there was we watched exercises on TV. Then she decided to do some exercises in her pajamas. I was pretty much in the way wherever I sat because the room was small. I was ducking and bending to avoid the unpredictable limbs of this 89 year old woman as copied the exercises that looked like were filmed in the 80s on the beach. It’s ok, it kept me on my toes.
We spent most of the day cooking. Then later one of her neighbors came over. I introduced myself and held out my hand to her. She stared at me. And stared. Then stared some more. Is everyone in Venezuela a little off?
Eventually the other neighbor came to take us around the city. It was huge but the historical center was nice and colorful and I was happy to see the sights. It was a little awkward because I knew I had to pay him and didn’t know they had agreed on a fee, just one of those situations without precedent.
More time was spent cooking and hanging out in the house, my time in Venezuela mostly consisted of just being in the house with the Abuela. Eventually the neighbor came back and spoke to me this time and I could understand her more than the Abuela. My last night there, a man walked into the house. Much confusion ensued when he told me that he lived there. So much for her living alone. But he was really nice and I felt a lot more confident with my Spanish because I actually understood everything he had said. Before the Abuela’s craziness had been wearing off on me and I had become convinced I didn’t speak any Spanish because I couldn’t understand her. So that was a relief.
That last night I asked the Abuela for a needle and thread to sew a hole in my pants. She ignored me so I figured I had already asked enough of her. I said that she was crazy, and she is, but I also cannot stress how kind she was to take me in and feed me and everything too. I think that the situation could have been really bad if she hadn’t have found me.
My plan was to take a taxi (her neighbor) to the bus station the next morning, but actually go to a hotel near the bus station and spend more time free to explore Maracaibo and not feeling like such a captive. There would have been no way I could have told her I wanted to stay there but not at her house without hurting her feelings. The bus that I was supposed to get on left at 5am, so I had to leave at 4 and set my alarm for 3:50.
At 2:45 am, the light comes on in my room. The Abuela is standing over me with a needle and thread. She is in full make-up and nice clothes. I couldn’t tell if she hadn’t slept at all that night or had gotten up and done herself up that morning. Either way, she had decided that 2:45 am was the best time to sew my pants, which she did while I got ready to wait for the taxi. I told you my trip was weird.
Then, she accompanied me in the taxi and waited while I bought my bus ticket, so alas, I found myself headed back to Colombia earlier than I had expected. But to be honest, going back to Colombia felt like coming home and I was happy to be back in the safety of Colombia.
Another strange thing about Venezuela was the road signs. Chavez (who everyone that I talked to said they thought was crazy) likes to put up bulletin boards everywhere that he does something . So there are all these bulletin board say that people should work with Chavez and that he built this school, etc. My all-time favorite though is a picture of him hugging a child. The child looks wary and positively squished, while Chavez, with his arms around the kids looks like he is enjoying himself entirely too much.
As for danger, I have to admit, maybe it was just from all the warnings and the locals being scared too, but I did feel uneasy in Venezuela. It just had sort of heavy energy. It seems like a country that could have had a chance but really was ruined by Chavez and his craziness. But that is another discussion.
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