Quien lo Vive, es Quien lo Goza: Carnaval de Barranquilla

I couldn't have said it better myself Barranquilla.  Translated as "Who lives it, is who enjoys it," this serves as the slogan mantra for Carnaval de Barranquilla and seems to fit just about perfectly.  Every year Barranquilla hosts one of the world's oldest and largest celebrations to kick off the Lenten season, starting four days before Ash Wednesday.  We got lucky this year since because 1. we had a three day weekend the same time as carnaval and 2. we are friends with Kristin & Kelsi.  While I had absolutely no idea that Barranquilla had a very large and very popular carnival every year, Kelsi & Kristin have been trying to go for the last two years that they have been in Colombia.  Learning from past experience, they got on top of things in September with booking flights and hotel and were gracious enough to invite everyone else to join in the fun; we ended up having a group of 10 in total. 

 

Colorful and fun shoes I wanted to buy.
Unfortunately 8 is not a common size.

After what seemed to be an endless day of teaching, we flew out from Cali at 7pm on Thursday and spent our first night walking around close to our hotel before calling it a night.  Friday called for some very necessary poolside time and reading before we made our way out in search of some costume wear for the parade on Saturday.  There was plenty to choose from with so many traditional parade costumes, like the Marimonda: a long nosed, floppy earred, bright vest and suspender wearing character.  This is typically the most popular since it is unique to Barranquilla.  There was street after street of costumes, it was a bit overwhelming.  In the end, most of us decided on crazy neon shirts cut and retied so be extra obnoxious.  Needless to say, this was a great addition to my hot pink shorts I was sure to pack.

Traditional carnaval costumes turned into purses!



Jeep decked out as a Marimonda

Friday night after dinner we found ourselves a cumbia (pronounced (kūm'bē-ə not kum-ba-ya as my brain seems to always revert to.  Embarrassing.) concert in a very large open field; yeah, I judged it too when I first realized I was standing in a big open field, but it was actually a lot of fun.  We eventually made it to the very front near the stage, which I thought would be a nightmare, but as it turns out, Colombians are pretty tranquilo; there was no pushing or fighting for space, everyone was simply there to live it, enjoy it and have a good time.  The cumbia music was practically non-stop the entire night; the shrill sound of the flute takes some getting used to, but the music is really quite beautiful and one can't help but move to the rhythmic beats.  Here is a clip of some of the music, not the best quality, but its all I have to offer.

When Saturday morning rolled around, it was time to prep for the big parade, the Batalla de las Flores (Battle of the Flowers).  After breakfast, we gathered our things and eventually the girls left without the boys as they had things to attend to.  Later we learned they had made shirts with their picture on them and couldn't pick them up until 11.  After about a 15-20 minute walk we made it to the line to go through security into the parade area.  After waiting and walking in the sun, I got a little sass when some women tried to cut us in line somethings along the lines of "Hay una fila.  El fin es por alla" (dramatic point).  As you can imagine that got little reaction and then I decided to give up on being frustrated, which is good considering how much more difficult getting to our mini-palco seats would be. 

Although the carnaval is a massive event that practically shuts the entire city down, it was difficult to find anyone who could actually tell us where our seats were located, since obviously the cross streets on the tickets were inaccurate.  Of course.  After wandering down countless crowded streets I selflessly offered to the group "I have no problem if we start telling people I can't walk and we need to get to our seats ASAP".  This is because I was sporting a lovely hinged knee brace due to a very special fall during my volcano hike which may have left me with a torn MCL.  I digress.  So we started telling police officers a parade people I couldn't walk and they had to take us to our seats NOW.  Didn't really work.  Eventually we did find a very large, very helpful military man, who delegated to a significantly smaller badged security officer who escorted us to our seats.  This resulted in a gringa parade for all those already in their seats as we walked the parade route to minipalcos 46 & 47.  Por fin.  And then about 10 minutes later the boys joined, who ALSO had to have an escort because no one could tell them how to get to the seats either.  Go figure. 

Once the parade started, nothing else mattered; it was full of entertaining dances and music, extravagant costumes with absolutely gorgeous colors and patterns.  Not to mention that all of this went on for five hours.   Marathon parade.  I could continue my attempts at describing the event, but I think pictures do a better job in this case.

The sanitation men of Barranquilla, one of the best performances!

What a costume!

Creepy/Crazy/Cool

Two of the more traditional Carnaval costumes

Lots of people dressed as animals and/or warriors

Plenty of extravagant floats as well.

After we lost some friends to the parade (not casualties, they jumped in) we made our way back to the hotel and then found a sushi/pizza restaurant.  I'm sorry, I meant heaven.  My too favorite foods in one convenient location?  I think I love you Barranquilla.  After cleaning up, some of use headed to a a street party, but I didn't last long.  The day had taken its toll and I was definitely ready for some sleep.  Sunday we had an afternoon flight and therefore would miss the parades and activities for the day, so we spent the morning doing more street browsing and shopping.  I left Barranquilla with a new Wayuu handcrafted mochila, three art pieces for our apartment, a beaded necklace, a woven compact mirror turned earring holder, some sunglasses and of course my fancy carnaval t-shirt and bow. 

Typical artisan stand

Of course a great weekend can never just be great, we ended up with a 2 hour delayed flight in Barranquilla that led to us missing our connecting flight in Bogota by about 2 minutes, which meant we didn't get home until 1 am Sunday night, and had to teach the next morning.  Woof.  Regardless, it was a great weekend and there is definitely talk of going back next year.

Congested in Colombia

In case you have been wondering why I sound so nasally, here's why.  I just took a little trip to the grocery store down the street in search of some cold medicine to combat this ridiculous congestion that overcame me yesterday.  There was plenty to choose from in various forms.  Luckily I happened to check the label of one product quickly and noticed it had fenilefrina, or phenylephrine, in it as the active ingredient for decongestion.  Unfortunately, I found out the hard way in college that I have seriously unpleasant reactions to this drug in the form of continuous vomiting for about 2-3 hours after taking whatever medication its in.  TMI?  Sorry.  Needless to say I quickly put this back on the shelf and grabbed another.  And then another.  And then another.  Ultimately realizing that they ALL had fenilefrina in them.  Off to the pharmacy counter I go.  I successfully informed the man behind the counter of my allergy and asked if he had something else without phenylephrine, but with the same cold-fighting benefits.  Drawer after drawer of search and he found that everything he had also contained the drug.  I checked the OTC aisle one more time and finally accepted I would be stuffed up for the rest of the night, and grabbed some extra Vitamin C tablets instead.

On the walk home, I realized I could check with the pharmacy at the hospital tomorrow after I have my appointment to check on the status of my knee.  Hopefully this cold wouldn't get too much worse before then.  When I got home I decided to do a little research, like how to say psuedoephrine in Spanish, as this is the decongestant I normally take.  In the US, this has to be purchased from the pharmacy directly since its used in large doses to make meth.  Somehow in my search I came across this article http://www.eltiempo.com/archivo/documento/CMS-5824648 outlining how psuedoephrine sales have been banned in Colombia for the same reasons that you need to get it from the pharmacist in the US.  I wasn't going to get decongested anytime soon.

This then led to a search of "natural home remedies for nasal congestion" because this its just too miserable to not try to fight.  Looks like I have 10 or more jumping jacks to do and some hot sauce or mint gum and maybe some gin soaked golden raisins (what!?) tonight.  Or maybe I'll keep the tissue close at hand. 

If you're coming to Colombia, PLEASE smuggle down some Sudafed with psuedoephrine, but keep in mind, I bare no responsibility if you are detained or accused of making meth.  That's a rick you'll have to be willing to make.

No Sé

Since returning from winter break, I have been trying to seriously rev up my Spanish studying so that I can stop sounding kind of like an idiot in my day to day interactions with non-English speakers.  I have started one-on-one Spanish lessons for an hour every week, 1.5 hours with  group at school (I actually skipped today, oops). in addition to my random studying of flashcards online and reading Spanish subtitles on movies and while David watches Mad Men.  I do have to say that I feel like I am improving past and future tense conversations no longer scare the bejeezus out of me (well, not as much) and my end of a conversation has a little more substance to it.  Unfortunately, I still have a very serious weak point: random conversation.  Understanding conversations in Spanish is a piece of cake when you have context; most science department meetings are a breeze because I have at least an idea of what conversations are going to be about.  Today I had one of those terrifying interactions with a stranger that leaves me feeling like well, a complete idiot. 

I was in Carrefour shopping for some goodies for David's birthday pool party this weekend when a man walking past me asks me a question.  I did happen to catch the word "donde" so he's obviously asking the location of something, but what?   My mind suddenly starts reeling with possible conversation topics in a grocery store.  Where are the apples? Where can I pay my bills?  I politely respond "como?" asking him to repeat it (as is still the norm with me) hoping that I can catch what he said the second time.  Dammit.  Nothing.  I have a rule about asking "como?" more than once:  I don't do it.  It's embarrassing and I want to at least feign comprehension (poor decision).  I try to work with what I got.  I think I caught a "crucero", but I have no idea how that will help me.  Well, we are in the mall, maybe he wants to know where another store is?  If that is the case I have no idea anyway.  After some awkward silence, I give up on trying to be helpful and revert to my "no sé" - "I don't know".  If someone told me they didn't know something, I'd say thanks anyway and walk away.  Not this guy.  He follows up with asking if the place is close - cerca - to where we are; at least I was right he was looking for a place.  Now I'm even more nervous and sweating, and still have no response but "no estoy seguro" - "I'm not sure".  I awkwardly start to walk away, having not even an inkling as to how to properly continue or end this conversation.  As I turn, the man smiles with a light laugh and points to his forehead, where on my own, I have a cross of ashes that I got at school today.  And suddenly I realized why he was looking at me like I was a complete moron; he had asked where I got my cenizas (ashes) or my cross and I told him I didn't know...  He asked if the place was close and I said I wasn't sure.  I deserved that look and that laugh.  I quickly made my way to the checkout line as a flurry of Spanish words and sentences sailed through my mind for all the things I do know how to say and should have responded, direct object pronouns and all.  I was close to going and finding the guy to prove I in fact did speak more Spanish that just "no sé".  But the damage was done.  Looks like I'll be practicing extra hard this week.  No sé.

The Two Escobars

This documentary comes from ESPNs 30 for 30 and came out in 2010.  I realize that I'm a bit behind the times on this, but I think watching this movie is an obligation if one is living in Colombia.  David & I borrowed this from a friend and finally got around to watching it after several attempts; it takes a bit of concentration since you have to read the subtitles and/or try to follow the Spanish from most of the interviewees in the movie.  If  you are trying to listen to the Spanish and read the English subtitles to work on your Spanish, it takes extra concentration.

The movie was quite good and informative, telling the story of Colombia's not so tranquilo past; I would highly recommend watching it.  The "Two Escobars" are Pablo Escobar, the very rich and very powerful head of the Medellin Cartel and the very talented Colombian soccer player Andres Escobar.  While these two might not seem to have anything in common, their lives are quite intertwined.  The ringleaders of the cartel needed a way to legitimize their massive illegal income and thus use the Colombian National team and others to move money around, giving the team the money it needed to attract and keep talented players.  Many drug lords also placed large bets on games and payoff referees as well, changing the stakes of each game.  The documentary chronicles Pablo Escobar's rise and fall and offers a unique perspective on how the man was seen by the rich political figures, to the poor living in the slums (where he lived before his own millions), for whom he provided homes, soccer fields and a sense of security. 

Alongside this we see also the rise of a young soccer star, Andres Escobar who ultimately becomes the captain of the National team.  While the country is facing the turmoil of a serious drug war, the National team's skyrocketing rise is a glimmer of hope for the country; giving them pride and offering a way to save the violent image of Colombia portrayed to others worldwide.  Just after the team qualifies for their first ever World Cup, Pablo Escobar is killed.  The team goes into the Cup ranked 4th and many predict they will win it all, but before even arriving in the US they are plagued by bad fortune and after losing their first game there are threats to their families.  In a game against Team USA, Andres Escobar scores an "own goal", scoring for the other team and ultimately causing Colombia to be eliminated in the first round.  Shortly after returning to Colombia Andres is shot and killed while out after some exchange about his goal; the killers were believed to be others involved in the cartel. 

Although some believe Pablo Escobar's dirtying of the soccer game ultimately caused Andres' death, others say that had Pablo still been alive, his strict control of the "underworld" would have prevented it.  No matter the side you take on the debate, its a movie worth watching and sharing, that offers much information and insight into an era dictated by the war on drugs and a country's love for a team.

My only disclaimer is this: this movie is about what Colombia was, not what it is.  I won't say the country is without corruption or violence (give me a country that is...), but it is nothing like what is seen in the documentary.  However, the country shown in this movie is what many still picture of Colombia, which is an unfortunate truth.  But that's part of the reason I'm here, to tell you all how great this country is.  Come visit!

Slow and Steady Wins the Race OR To Hell and Back: Hiking Volcán Puracé

This past weekend Amanda, Mandi, Jessica and Stetson set off to hike Volcán Puracé just outside of Popáyan, about a 3-4 hour drive south of Cali.  Some co-workers had completed the hike last year with Bicivan Tours and although we all felt slightly unprepared, we were ready to take on the challenge.  We thought the most difficult part would be the fact that Puracé is about 4,800 meters about sea level, or about 2.5 miles.  We met the vans that we'd be taking outside a store near my apartment in the south at about 4:30 Saturday morning and after meeting up with the vans from the north, set out toward Popáyan. 

 

After a few coffee and bathroom stops later we made it to the condor lookout cliffs, the first part of excursion in Purace National Natural Park. A guide put out meat to attract the condors and we waited quite some time for them to decide to swoop down and eat. In the 1990s they found the condor counts to be low so they took condors to the US to reproduce and then the San Diego Zoo reintroduced them in the park.  Condors mate are monogamous and only lay one egg every two years, which may add to their low numbers.  When they finally swooped in, I was shocked by their massive size and wingspan (compare the condor to the no so small vulture next to it). Watching their flight patterns was impressive as well; at most time their wings did not flap, rather they simply let the wind carry them and would make small adjustments in their wings or feet to change direction as the circled the rock. The pictures certainly do not do it justice.

The next stop on day one was to a waterfall and then we were off to the Termales de San Juan.  This river is said to be one of the most beautiful in Colombia, second only to Caño Cristales, or the river of seven colors. It was by far one of the most beautiful and unique places I have seen yet, and even though it stunk of sulfur and rotten eggs, we took our time exploring everything before us. 

 

When we finally got to our home for the night, we chatted with a new friend and talked about our countries, travels and weather, most of us saying how we could never live in cold weather here despite our Midwestern upbringings; lack of central heating really changes the game and its not one we're willing to play.  A little walking and exploration, some hot soup and one presentation later, we were heading back to our cabin to pack for the next morning and attempt to get some shut eye. 

Our 4am wake up call came all too soon and we quickly found out how unprepared we might be.  We thought we would be taking the vans to our step-off point, instead it turns out our hike started in the pitch black morning at 5am shortly after breakfast.  Due to our lack of headlamps, we had to keep up with other more advanced hikers and blindly climb fences and start our ascent through the fields, passed cows and over small streams and bridges.  We were all just waiting for day light to break.  After the blind ascent, the sun finally rose an we could see our way through the slightly muddy trenches to even muddier land and then to the land of mossy-false-ground where every step was questionable and success relied heavily on one's jumping skills.  Needless to say I walked away from this area with a severe case of wet foot, despite the plastic bags covering my socks.  We stopped off at a shelter to take a break, sip some coffee and refuel for the remaining 2.5-3 hours that would be the most difficult and grueling portion of the hike.

While the first half of the hike was filled with greenery, the second offered nothing but ash and rocks.  The wind was strong and scary, the temperatures were quite low and visibility was less than 50 yards I would say: not quite what we expected based on the photos of other trips.  Later we were told that these were some of the worst conditions they had seen, usually common in August when they don't do trips.  Lucky us.  Eventually 3 of us (Stetson, Mandi and Jessica) made it to the top and later admitted and shared with hikers who were behind us "No vale la pena"-its not worth it.  Amanda and I trekked on despite wanting to turn around several time because of the fierce winds and ultimately made it within about 300-400 meters of the summit: close enough for us as we saw our friends coming back down.  Then we started the adventure back which was at times harder than the ascent due to slipping rocks and severe fatigue from 5 hours of high altitude climbing. 

About 8 or 9 hours after we set out, we had finally made it back to low ground and our cabin.  A little worse for the wear (some worse than others) I think we all agreed it was one of, if not the, most difficult thing we had ever done.  Given the chance, I would do it again, if I could get some guarantee of good weather, which is completely impossible to do at the top of a volcano, so I guess I wouldn't.