Month One: Colombia!

Hello dearest family and friends,

Well, it’s been over a month since I began this journey, and so I thought it appropriate to (finally) take a moment to assure you all that I am alive, well, and most of all, very happy.

March was a blur of Colombian culture, slang and food.  I arrived in Medellín, Colombia’s second largest city and home of my good friend Diego, only to leave with him the next day for Barranquilla, a coastal city famous for it’s celebration of Carnival.  Upon arrival, the festivities were impossible to ignore.  Many streets were blocked, traffic was heavy, and the taxi driver had to weave through a sea of people to take us to our destination.  Our good friend Jairo was waiting for us with open arms and led us back to his apartment, right in the thick of the party.  We later met Jairo’s long-time girlfriend, Vanessa, our soon to be fellow compadre and partner-in-crime. 

We grabbed a quick bite to eat and did what everyone does on a Carnival night—drink and dance!  That’s right, whole families were out there with us until the wee hours of the morning when I (being the boring North American that I am) became too tired to go on. 

 (Reunion with my friends from our internships in Brazil: Jairo and Diego)

The next day we met Jairo’s family and saw one of the many parades happening in the city.  Many dance troupes marched to cumbia, folkloric music, and a variety of traditional musical styles that had everyone on their feet.

I’ll take a moment now to explain a little about the holiday, for those interested: as with Mardi Gras, Carnival is a traditionally Catholic holiday that celebrates excess before Good Friday and lent.  As in New Orleans and in Brazil, people celebrate with parades, dances, performance art and, as appropriate, booze.  

In Barranquilla many parade-goers dress up as “negros”, “negritas”, “marimotas” and the like.  

"la negrita"

("el son del negro", left and "la marimonda", right)

When I first saw some of the depictions of Africans during this festival, I was quite taken aback.  I needed several explanations before the idea started to make sense to me.  As one Colombian explained, “we are all ‘negritos’; we are celebrating that part of our heritage, laughing about it, and connecting with it”.  To Colombians, their Afro roots represent an invaluable part of their cultural personality—the dancer, the enjoyer, the jokester.  While it's still difficult for me, being culturally "american", to understand this, the idea is more palatable to me now. 

After four days of cultural festivities and partying, we deserved a rest.  We laid low and went to a museum, cooked food together and generally enjoyed each other’s company. 

(Vanessa and I making breakfast)

The following weekend we went to Cartagena to enjoy the beautiful beaches and tour the Ciudad Amurallada, or Walled City, where the Spanish initially settled.  

While I thoroughly enjoyed the tourist attractions, one cannot help but notice the vast socioeconomic differences that exist between the tourist-filled colonial sector and the rest of the city.  It was sobering to see such wealth juxtaposed with such poverty, and it begs the question of where all the money generated from tourism goes.

Saying goodbye to Jairo and Vanessa was not easy, but we have already made plans to gather together at another year’s Carnaval, drink Agua Ardiente (anise-infused liquor) and make new memories.

Going back to Medellín felt like going home.  Diego was a dear host, and despite some minor personality clashes (we will never learn to wash dishes together!), we had an excellent time touring the city.  His roommate even took us to a small pueblo outside of the city called Santa Elena, where we hiked, cooked, and enjoyed the breath-taking countryside. 

It was hard to go back to the city after experiencing such an oasis, but off we went!  I met many of Diego’s charming friends, all of whom patiently repeated and explained the “paisa” (from Medellín) vocabulary. (I can’t say I remember everything, but “parce” is one I will never forget—they say it as often as a surfer boy says “dude" and the meaning is similar.)  

One of Diego’s friends, Daniel, and his mother, Doña Stela, took a shine to me, and I couldn’t have been more thankful—Stela even took me to Guatapé, where I not only scaled a gigantic rock, but also walked around a very unique pueblo with unique "zócalos", wood panels that represent each family's history. 

Before we knew it, it was time to travel to Bogotá, the country’s capital.  We arrived in the evening and spent it walking around the Candelaria, the city’s hippie/bohemian culture.  The next day we visited museums and walked around the city center. 

(Diego, Daniel and I at the top of the Serro de Monserate)

(did I mention that the food was delicious too?)

I am eternally grateful to all the beautiful people that helped and accompanied me during my trip, particularly to Diego for tolerating me for so long, and to Jairo and Vanessa for tolerating Diego AND me at all.  J 

Well, if you’ve made it this far in my tale, I’m proud of you!  I didn’t want my first entry to be so verbose, but that’s what I get for trying to fit a month of experience into one post.  Next entry: Peru!