Silly (and not so silly) Things to Look Forward To

Last night I was awake in the wee hours of the morning. Not that I would stay up that late on a school night, but my body has been doing this strange thing for the past few nights: the three/four hour cycle. I go to bed at a reasonable time but then 3-4 hours after falling asleep I ping awake. It's not my bladder gradually easing me out of sleep pleading for the bathroom. It's more that my mind is done sleeping; it needs a break from whatever craziness it's been doing during my time in REM.  So I lay there for what seems forever and then give up on that and get up. I usually cruise facebook for a bit, do something semi-productive and then head back to bed for the remaining 3 hours of my night. Last night my something semi-productive was starting the following list. I was thinking about home and everything I have to look forward too:

1) Burnt toast with natural peanut butter and honey - I don't have a toaster here. I could put bread in the oven to toast, but I don't buy bread. I have peanut butter here but it's not natural. I could buy honey, but I don't even like it. Unless on burnt toast with natural peanut butter. Why this came to me as number one? Your guess is as good as mine.

2) Carpet - I have not set foot on a carpeted floor since July 23. It's been too long.

3) A full sized non-keyboard piano with a stationary sustain peddle - I'm super thankful for the little keyboard I have here in Colombia and really it suits me just fine. But it's not full size. And it doesn't have weighted keys. And the sustain petal likes to travel while I'm playing. Living room + candles + Christmas sheet music + me + my parent's piano (that I like to claim as my own) = awesomeness.

4) Driving - Will I even remember how?

5) SNOW - Snowflakes, snow storms, snowmen, snow shoeing, snow angels, snow balls (being gently thrown at someone), snow tubing, snowsuits, snow days (I can hope for my mum to be home with me,) snowplows, snowboarding (we'll see), snowmobiling (oh wait, I've never gone. lol). Enough said? ....not yet, one last thought. After writing snow so many times, it starts to look funny: SNOW!

6) Cookie scoop - I like making cookies. Partly to eat the dough and partly because I love surprising people at school with treats. What I don't like is sticking my finger in a tablespoon trying to coax the dough out into the designated spot on the pan. The problem is solved with a cookie scoop. Imagine an ice cream scoop but much smaller. Quick easy cookie dough transfer. Oh, and my mom has like 3 different sizes.

7) Being cold - Yes. I am looking forward to being cold. Remind me that when I'm cold, being a baby and I want to complain.

8) Family/friends - Do I even need to say this one? Absolutely. Without a question. This is the greatest. And because it's the Christmas season I will see my family in almost entirety. Yes it will be busy. Yes we will be exhausted. But YES I'm looking forward to it. I also get to spend time with a lot of friends: both in UP and in troll country. Again, lots of traveling and lots of pit-stops. But oh, so worth it.

9) The Wheeler's - So this kind of piggy backs onto the last one, but I get to spend a large chunk of time at my sister's place with her husband/in-laws/animals. This will be epic.

10) Being in my own country. Simple. Straightforward. Honest. (Interesting side thought: This time around it isn't the English language I'm looking forward to. It's more being back in my own culture.)

Ten for now. Perhaps ten more in a few days as I get more and more anxious for my trip home!

Crunch Attack

A few weeks back, a dear friend of mine convinced me that doing crunches before bed is a good idea. I don't particularly like crunches, but it's a little something extra that will make my body stronger. At least I tell myself that. So I've been doing them nearly religiously almost every night. Notice the words "nearly" and "almost". You may criticize redundancy in my writing but it's intentional. I need you to know that I don't REALLY do them every night. Nearly. Almost. Anyway, this habit of mine has bred an interesting habit in my cat.

Let's discuss crunch form. Usually, one lies on their back with knees bent. Then proceeds to pull their body slightly off the ground and return to the lying position. Not me. My crunches coach explained to me that a better workout is to lift your feet of the ground until your calves are parallel to the floor and then crunch from side to side. Left elbow hits right knee. Right elbow hits left knee. Do you have that visual?

So this is where Ami comes in on the first night of crunches. Within 3 seconds of starting she had planted herself at the base of my tailbone. I ignored her and kept going. Well, I ignored her until it happened. She jumped up like a rabies-invested monster and started biting my feet. Remember, this is right before bed so I'm sock-less. Owe. Owe. Owe. Silly cat, you can't eat my feet. Can't you see I'm busy here?

First night - Ami: 1, Leanne: 0

The second night, I'm at it again. Usually when starting a new work-out plan the initial days are easy. So I was on the floor and what do you know, Ami returned to the position of the night before. I started my crunches and she laid there just under my legs. I was suspicious as I remembered the last night's attack, but I kept doing my thing. The faster you get them done the faster it's over. I made it to about 15 when the cat was suddenly in the air and her teeth were sinking into my feet. Well, I'm being a little dramatic, she never punctures the skin, but I could not continue the crunch madness until I shewed her away. What the heck cat?

Second night- Ami: 2, Leanne: 0

Third time with my crunches before bed and my cat nonchalantly lays down. I would not be fooled this night. I permitted her lay there, but kept an unoccupied shoe at my side. As I was crunching away I was watching her. And that's when I caught her. Ami's eyes went crazy and I knew she was going to attack.  I had just enough time to slip the shoe in her direction and touch her belly. The attack focus switched from my leg to the shoe. You'd think she was fighting for her life as she mauled the thing. I laughed and finished my crunches. Not me Ami, not tonight.

Third times the charm - Ami: 2, Leanne: winner winner chicken dinner

I still do my crunches. Ami still lays at my tail bone. The shoe gets attacked. Game over kitten. Game over.

A World of Mad Gabs

Some of my kiddos (okay, I'm being generous...I'll change that to "many of my kiddos") have incredibly thick Spanish accents when they speak in English. In fact, per our school culture, when a student tries to speak English correctly and with as little accent as possible, they get ridiculed by their peers. It's not cool to speak English. Seriously people? You have so much opportunity here with native English speaking teachers and yet you tease each other for trying to sound as native as possible. Something is wrong.

This wrong makes life quite challenging for me at times because I often can't even understand what the kids are saying.

Upon a lack of understanding their statement, my first question is always, "Are you speaking to me in English or Spanish?"  My kids know that I understand Spanish, so sometimes they are lazy and will talk to me in Spanish. Most of the time I understand and make them repeat it in English, but sometimes I can't catch what they are saying in Spanish due to vocabulary, slang, or they are just talking way too fast. So when I can't understand what they said, I first need my brain to be listening for the correct language: Spanish or English. If they respond "Spanish", I ask them to repeat it in English. If they respond "English", I ask them to repeat it anyway.

And now we enter into the world of MadGabs. You know MadGabs right? Phrases containing small words that, when put together, make a different word or phrase (fun fact: these are called "mondegreens"...thank you wikipedia) So when you say them aloud really fast they transform into the key phrase. An example might help: If you say "Up He Such Ease" quickly and out loud, it sounds like "A piece of cheese" ....or it sounds like my students talking.

Student: Meese, last night I put chao in abe odd hull luck oak.
Me: Are you speaking to me in English or Spanish?
Student: English
Me:  Will you repeat it please? ....all the while they are repeating, my mind flips to MadGab mode. What could they possibly be saying?
Student: Meese, last night I put chao in abe odd hull luck oak.
Me: Oooooh, you put chao (a type of mints in Colombia) in a bottle of coke? Cool! What happened?

Okay, MadGabs are challenging (and fun!!!) but my kiddos make it even harder for me. Many times, not only do the kids have funny pronunciations, but they also scramble the words. Where a native English speaker will  ask, "Can I go to the bathroom?", my students will say, "I can go to the bathroom?" If I could understand the words, it wouldn't be a big deal. It just sounds funny. But when they don't pronounce the words, my brain is overworked as it tries to put meaning to the mumbo-jumbo that spews from their mouths.

Student: Meese, eye cat row tip ape airway?
Me: Are you speaking to me in English or Spanish?
Student: English
Me:  Will you repeat that please?
Student: Meese, eye cat row tip ape airway?
Me: Oh, sure. But first, how do you ask me a question?
Student: Canite row tip ape airway?
Me: Yes, quickly. Go through the paper away.

You probably think I'm exaggerating. And maybe I am a bit. But really, I teach in a world of MadGabs.

The Top 10

I was reading about haikus today. Here is what the internet told me. "A traditional Japanese haiku is a three-line poem with seventeen syllables, written in a 5/7/5 syllable count. Often focusing on images from nature, haiku emphasizes simplicity, intensity and directness of expression."

Then I made one:

I used to blog more
When did time pass so quickly?
I have now returned

Ha! What a poet I am. I'm certain this doesn't count as"images from nature" but at least its a "directness of expression." Yeah, I'll go for that.

You have just read my confession. I just don't know where time went. The last time I wrote was September 24th. Exactly one month from today (and 50 days from coming home...but who's counting down?) Maybe that's the problem: consistently living off of count downs. It is my secret love. I think it's the anticipation that gets me. Another problem: staying on track.

So life happenings: a lot has gone on. Most note-worthy? Definitely the trip I took to Colombia's Caribbean coast 2 weeks ago. The best parts are encapsulated by the memories with my travel companions: Emily, Stefan and Madeline.  Every night we would sit in a hostel, a random restaurant, or just chill outside and write a top 10 list for the day. A random receipt or scrap of paper would be our tablet, and away we'd go. Stefan initiated such madness and it turned into a ritual of laughing while pondering the past day. It wasn't always the top 10 best things, but more often the top 10 most note-worthy things. Numbers 1-9 were as a group and number 10 were individual. Pretty sweet if you ask me.  I want to have one last go at a top 10 right now. (Well, I say one last go, but I think I'm going to incorporate this in every trip I take. The daily top 10.)

Here they are: The Top 10 of Vacation ....remember, not top 10 best - just the things that stick out.

#1 Cat attack: Yes. It happened. No. It was not fun. My little Ami couldn't stay at home alone the entire 8 days I was gone, so a friend of mine agreed to kitty-sitting. This friend also happens to have a cat, his name is Andy. Ami and Andy have met before and they definitely didn't hit it off. We figured that was okay though and for the week, my friend would just keep Ami locked in a room. No big deal. If I had brought her to the vet for them to watch, she would have been in a cage. So, the night before we left I brought Ami over there. As I was lugging her in her carrying case to the back bedroom, Andy followed us. Suddenly Ami started spazzing. I wasn't certain a cat could make the sounds that she was making. As I stood there perplexed Andy was overcome by a demon (or so it seemed), pounced on my leg, claws in full action, and sunk his feline canines into my leg. My friend was screaming, I was flailing my leg trying to get the cat off, and all the while Ami was helpless in her cage. It was a disaster.  Andy released and was captured in a giant blanket. I was shaken, but I didn't think it was that bad. Then I looked down; there was blood everywhere. Peeking at my leg for damage I realized this wasn't just a playful scratch. It had been a full out cat attack.

#2 Beach. Every. Single. Day.

Reading. Relaxing. Swimming. Tanning. Exercising. Playing. Laughing. Reading.

Sun screen. Hand stands. Sand castles. Coconut water. Crabs. Sunlight. Naps.  Can I go back?

#3 Hot hot hot: I enjoy warm weather. Actually, I even enjoy hot weather. Some would say there is a limit to how much you can like it. And now I finally agree. Here is a good measuring tool: When eating breakfast does your arm drip sweat? If so, it's a little too hot. Welcome to Cartagena. The second most humid city in the world (I just made that up)

#4 Transportation: Before heading to the coast we bought 2 one-way tickets. One from Pereira to Cartagena and the other for a week later from Santa Marta to Pereira. Our plan? Find a bus to bring us from Cartagena to Santa Marta. We knew it was possible, but a lot of times Colombia doesn't work. I mean, Colombia doesn't work as efficiently as I'd like or function how I would imagine.  So really, we didn't know what to expect. On our last morning in Cartagena we jumped in a taxi and asked the driver to bring us to the bus terminal. He looked at us shocked. Seriously? Apparently the bus terminal was over an hour away. Oops, we didn't expect that one. Well, thankfully he didn't take us there. He inquired about our final destination and when we told him Santa Marta he proceeded to explain where we needed to go instead of the bus terminal. Awesome. Bring us there buddy. Turns out it was a 3 minute taxi ride, we caught the earliest bus out, and before we knew it we were on our way to Santa Marta. Score. Transportation success!

#6 Snorkeling  If you haven't done it. I highly recommend it. Especially if you have the mask and the snorkel. The ability to swim around in the water, seeing everything around you, and not having to come up for air is magical. I couldn't get enough of it!

#7 "Que Pena": This phrase translates directly to "How embarrassing ". In Colombia it's a little different.  In Colombia, it's used for "sorry". Not in a sense of genuine remorse, but more out of habit. You run into someone? "Que pena". You cut in line? "Que pena". You forget to do something? "Que pena". It's kind of a go-to word in every uncomfortable situation. I guess it is kind of like "excuse me". So on this trip, Stefan proposed seeing how far the line could be pushed. What is the worst you can do where "que pena" still covers the blunder? Walk up to someone, hold their hand, exclaim "Que pena!", then walk away. No biggie. A lady on the bus has uncontrollable hair so you snip a little off, "Que pena but your hair was bothering me." Shrug it off. We curiously thought over millions of scenarios and came to no conclusion. I guess it will always work, "Que pena."

#8 Ice cream: I ate ice cream every single day on this trip. Not always amazing ice cream, but ice cream none-the-less. One night we stopped at this ice cream shop that one of my students had recommended. She had told me it was, "THE BEST ICE CREAM EVER." (yes, the girl was yelling it when she told me...and she was standing 2 feet away. ha!) So, it had to be good, right? Wrong. It was mediocre at best and quite expensive. What a let down. We sulked out of the shop and continued on our walk. Woah. The next door down: Italian gelado! No way. It looked infinity better than the paleta we had just eating. So we did it. We headed in and got a second dessert. Probably not the most health-conscious decision, but a great decision nonetheless.

#9 Hammocks: The 3 of us girls had gone up to our hammock-hut shortly before Stefan meandered up there. He was hitting it up with the ladies and we were ready for bed. He was to sleep in the hammock next to mine. My sleep was awful. Twist, turn, shiver, twist, shiver, turn, shiver, shiver, shiver. You get the point. We were right on the ocean and the "nice breeze" was not so nice when trying to sleep. I remember waking up and being miserable. I peaked over my hammock and saw Stefan had arrived into his hammock. Sweet. It had to have been about 3 AM. Only 2 hours before we'd see the sun peaking up bringing the heat with it. I could handle this until then. I heard him shifting a little bit, so I tested my luck whispering, "Stefan? Are you awake." He rasped back, "Yeah. What's up?" "What time is it? I'm dying." "11:30." "What?! Are you kidding me?!" A great disappointment sunk in. I now had over 5 hours to fight my hammock for a little shut-eye. Quite a memorable night.

#10: The people I was with. A simple statement for my number 10.

Nameless Friends

It's Tuesday. This means getting out of work at 3:00, getting dropped off at home around 4:00, and then a circuits class at the gym at 5:15. It's the same every week.

Maybe my friend will be there today. She doesn't know that we are friends, but we are. How does this work? Well, if you go to the gym at the same time for a month or so, you get to know who is likely to be there. At least I have. I like watching people. I like familiar faces. And so I'll smile at her, she will courteously smile back, and we will continue on our routine. There is no light-up in her face revealing recognition but that's okay. It's curious how I recognize her. She and I are the few females who wear shorts to the gym. That's not entirely true. There are plenty of women wearing shorts, theirs (unlike mine) just happen to be made of spandex. One time I was on an exercise bike and a woman walked passed me wearing shorts. My jaw dropped and I averted my eyes as I suppressed a giggle. Not only were they spandex booty shorts, but they were covered in sequins. Now how does one successfully match a shirt to that? Oh, don't worry. I guess shirts are extraneous. Instead you can just wear a strapless bra - even if you have a set of obviously fake DDs. Is this real life?  Lady, you've come to the gym.

So back to my friend, we have the same style. Maybe I'll creep her out and say hello today. Perhaps even figure out her name.

Oh, I have other friends at the gym. The guy who probably is a professional boxer. He's fun to watch on the speed bag. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. Yeah, that's him. Then there's the guy who runs for 20 minutes on the treadmill with the sign that says "Don't use if you are over 70 kg". He is definitely over 70 kg. But that's okay, if you run less than 25 minutes it's probably okay? That's what he does. 20 minutes and then is upstairs with a personal trainer for about 40 minutes. Then there is crabby lady. I always try and make her smile. I usually fail, but who cares. One time she actually smiled at me and I felt like I had won the lottery.

After those, there's the old super-fit guy who smiles at everyone. There's the lady who has a body fat percentage well below 15% and works really hard. There are the brothers who run next to each other then do alternating machines.There's also the kid who lives in my building, the maintenance man who's always fixing a machine, and I can't forget the lady at the front desk. In reality, the list goes on and on. A sea of nameless faces that I have made my gym friends. 

Cha. Mo. Meel. Ay.

Chamomile tea and I have an interesting relationship but I'll simplify it for your sake: we just don't get along.

First of all, let's talk pronunciation. After spending 6 months in Argentina I came home with a brain full of Spanish. The Spanish language is really cool because all letters are pronounced. There are no silent ghs (like in the word through) or vowels that don't make a sound (like the "e" in bike). Every single letter makes the same sound every single time. So, I returned to the USA with that in mind. My sister took me to the grocery store and we were looking at teas. I turned to her looking at a chamomile box, "Should we get some cha-mo-meel-ay tea." She busts up laughing. "Ca-mo-meel Leanne. It's pronounced ca-mo-meel." Lame.
Chamomile tea: 1
Leanne: 0

To add insult to injury, I don't even like the flavor. Who cares that I cannot pronounce it when I don't even like to drink it. It reminds me of being sick. That's not something I like to think about as I sip my tea at work.
Chamomile tea: 2
Leanne: 0

I needed some new tea to add some flavor to my work day and get off coffee, so I browsed the tea aisle for something new. I didn't know half of the words I was looking at so I settled on one that sounded good: manzanilla miel. Manzanilla is close to manzana (apple) so I figured it would be light and fruity with a hint of honey (miel). Delightful, right? Well I was delightfully wrong. The overpowering flavor was of chamomile but I just ignored it. One of my students came into class today and was telling me about his tea exploits. I showed him my new manzanilla miel and had him smell it. His evaluation was that it smelled pretty good. I went on to explain that it tastes too much like chamomile so I don't like it. He didn't know what chamomile was so we continued on google translate to find the Spanish word. He hit translate on his iphone and up pops the word: manzanilla. Really Leanne? The one flavor you detest and you pick it out of a shelf of over 50 teas. I should have brought my Spanish dictionary. Well played chamomile tea, well played!

Chamomile tea: 3
Leanne: 0

The Kiss

Ahhhh!!! I have been waiting for this moment since arriving to Colombia a year ago. It happened. It really happened.

Per Colombian culture, as I've briefly mentioned in the past, it is completely normal and entirely expected for women to greet everyone they know with a kiss. Okay, un beso. It is more like brushing cheeks and making a kissing noise, but still, it's a kiss.

Sometimes it can be awkward. I always go in for the right cheeks to touch. But what happens when the other person goes in for a left cheek brush? You weave your head back and forth trying to figure out which way to go. You switch as the other person switches and your back to going for opposite sides. Imagine two bobble heads greeting each other. That's the visual.

And what happens if you miss and get too close to the lips. Ah! So bad. So so bad. And so that happened to me as I greeted Jaime our security guard. I went in for the cheek swipe and as I pulled back I nearly grazed his lips. I basically kissed him smack dab on the lips. Okay, I'm slightly exaggerating and I don't think he even noticed, but it was way to close to comfort for me. I knew this was bound to happen at some point. I turned away red faced and when he was out of ear-shot I broke down giggling. Is this real life?

Ha! The day I kissed my security guard at work.

Wham Shabam New Debit Card

The thought of misplacing a debit card in the United States brings a sense of frustration and an added hassle to the day. It doesn't invoke fear and to be honest, it's more of an inconvenience than anything. At least that's what I'd imagine. I actually have never had it happen.

Now take that same experience and transplant it to a foreign country, like Colombia. Your heart stops. Well at least mine did for that millisecond before panic jolted me back to life. Someone must have pick-pocketed me and my only thought was that the criminal master mind had most likely drained my bank account before I even knew my card was missing. I mean, all the bad guys live in this country (please please please read the sarcasm dripping from the text.)

I will admit that my initial logic was based around theft and how I could protect my account, but then I made myself stop. "Leanne, you're playing worse case scenario and you probably just forgot to put the card back in your wallet. I bet it's sitting on your desk at school this instant." But, just to be safe I checked my online banking.

 Activity: zero.

Well that's good, but now what? I'll tell you what, you do exactly what you'd do in the states: call your mom. (haha, maybe one day I will aspire to handling these things on my own). Except I didn't really call my mom. Instead I contacted the closest thing to a mom I have here - Luisa. Within the hour she had canceled my debit card and explained to me the process of getting a new card. Complicated? Absolutely not. I chuckled as I read the email telling me that I just had to go to the bank and get a new card. I hadn't expected that one. The country where it took me 6 months to get an identification card has an expedited service for replacing lost bank cards. Score!

So there I was at the bank today. In. Out. Wham. Shabam. New card and not a cent missing from my account!

Regardless of the Flaws

The bell system at school had been off since this morning. There had been no blllrrriiiiiing (imagine an old-school ring) signifying we had 5 more minutes until the day would start. I guess my day had started at 5:00 this morning, but that's beside the point. I'm talking about school day. You know: craziness. In all honesty it didn't matter much to me that the bells weren't functioning.  I had first period free and was already settled into my desk working away. I have decided that once I get home in the evenings I like going to the gym, playing ukulele/piano, cooking, cleaning, skyping, chatting on facebook, and relaxing WAY more than I like doing school work. How can I make that happen? Work my tail off at school. Yeah, I know, a revolutionary idea to do work at work and home stuff at home, but really friends, it takes some motivation and determination.

So back to the bells. My second period came waltzing in on their own time. It made starting class a little difficult, but we made do. Just a reminder: I teach in Colombia. Whenever something is askew I just remind myself: Oh yeah...Colombia. Well eventually the entirety of my group of 10th-grade awesomeness arrived to class. I have this obnoxious service bell on my desk so I just rang that until they were all in their seats. I had all these students last year, so it is easy getting into a routine. This class period sped by and before I knew it the class period was over. And the bells sounded. Woah, back in business.

Next came the 9th graders. They are a lively bunch of sweethearts. Or at least for now (3 days into the school year) I'll stick with that description. The bells didn't tell us when to start class but the kids were quiet and ready to go. I jumped on that. Not often do you find a class letting you know it's time to start. We got rolling and it was a circle of energy. I was feeding off their enthusiasm and therefore super excited and lively. My zeal was then returning to them and it made them work harder. I cannot tell you how satisfying that is as a teacher. The hour passed enjoyably and before I had a chance to dismiss them to break the bells rang prematurely. About half of them thanked me and immediately headed out the door, while the rest lingered and helped me get the desks back in order after an activity. Within a minute everything was straightened and the remaining kids had scurried off to get their snacks and play.

And there I was, just standing there alone. Some people might say talking to yourself is strange, but to me, speaking something gives it life. So I let out the words. I'm not kidding, I stood there and spoke into silence, "I love teaching.....I. Love. Teaching."

And that's it. Regardless of the flaws, I love what I do.

Gringa Leaves Colombia

I've lived in Colombia for a year now and I’m currently home in the United States for summer vacation. I claim “currently home” but in reality I’m sitting in an airport waiting to catch my flight out and perhaps I won’t even post this until I arrive back to my apartment in Colombia. Airports just don’t offer free internet like they used to. At least Microsoft Word does not demand that connection.

Wow. Where does time go? We've always been told “time flies when you’re having fun”, so I’m guessing my month home passed so quickly due to the insane amount of fun and enjoyment I experienced.  Before arriving home, I almost forgot how incredible Michigan is (particularly the Upper Peninsula, but I won’t exclude the trolls in the final evaluation of my state.) The beauty of summer is captivating and it’s nearly impossible to be outside without praising the creator of it all. There is so much life to celebrate.  What a stark difference from the last time I was on this continent as the grasp of winter was evident everywhere.  Thinking about the last time I was home also makes me realize how different I am as a person this time around. An expat returning home. And I’m changed; at times  I think I’m turning Colombian.

Obviously, it’s really quite impossible for me to literally turn Colombian , but that doesn't save me from picking up Colombian mannerisms. Since returning home I've realized some strange non-USA-like tendencies that I've pick up from that remarkable country with its incredible people.

The desire to kiss everyone: For women in Colombia, you are expected to kiss everyone on a daily basis. I’m not talking eyes closed, passionate kissing, but rather a brief brush of the cheeks with a kissing sound that is perhaps followed by a hug. This is the way you say hello. It is the standard greeting. If you know the person and don’t do this simple gesture it could be read as being rude or signify that you are upset with the person. I personally like this little culture quirk but it’s not really acceptable back in the USA. Not that it would be inappropriate, just it would be weird. After 6 months of doing this, however, it’s hard to just turn it off. So, after seeing someone I know I go in for the kiss, remember how awkward that would be, and slip into a hug instead. Good thing I’m a hugger! I think I’m turning Colombian.

Responding in Spanish: The little things in life that require responses without thought have a tendency to trigger Spanish. While in Colombia I spent so much time making Spanish filler words second nature. When you run into someone in the grocery store you want to be able to quickly respond, “sorry” or when you want to slide by someone blocking a path you can naturally ask “excuse me”. Because I have been so deliberate to make words like these in Spanish slide quickly from my mouth, I have reverted back to them a few times since I’ve been back. Most of the time people understood what I wanted, but just didn't understand the words. I think I’m turning Colombian.

Toilet paper in the garbage: Okay, upon moving to Colombia the biggest problem was reminding myself every time I’m in the bathroom that toilet paper does not go in the bowl; toilet paper belongs in the garbage. As I've explained before, the sewage systems just can’t handle it.  Now I struggle putting paper in the bowl. After doing my business I’d catch myself looking for the garbage. I’d laugh, throw the paper in the bowl and flush it down. One time I actually threw the paper in the garbage. Dang it. Haha! I just retrieved it and put it back where it belongs. And then washed my hands really well! I think I’m turning Colombian.

Mental peso calculations: When I first got to Colombia I’d walk through the super market and mentally change all the peso prices to dollars to see if it is a reasonable deal. As time passed those calculations happened less and less because I learned what are good peso prices for Colombia. The time I've spent home reactivated my mental calculator.  I would walk through the super market mentally changing all the dollar prices to the peso equivalent to see if it’s worth it. Crazy. I think I’m turning Colombia..

Craving Juan Valdez: For a long time now I've been a Starbucks girl. Coming home I was super stoked to indulge is some delightful coffee. The first stop at the airport was a Starbucks.  I took a sip, frowned, and, no joke, thought, “Juan Valdez is so much better. I wish I could get one here.” I think I’m turning Colombian.

The Umbrella Check: In Colombia I always do the umbrella check before leaving my apartment. Ya know, tap the side of my bag to make sure my umbrella is in there. It is not fun getting caught in a down pour unprepared. Several times I've done the umbrella check without thought, realized what I was doing, smirked and walked out the door umbrella-free. It felt slightly weird. I think I’m turning Colombian.

Can’t a Girl Get an Arepa? :Arepas are these little corn tortilla-like things that are loved by all Colombians. I don’t remember where I was but I was walking through a food court and saw someone eating what I thought was an arepa. I did a double take as I thought, “Wow, an arepa would be super good right now.” As I re-evaluated what the person was eating, I realized it wasn't an arepa. The craving didn't flee with that realization though. I think I’m turning Colombian.

And now I’m heading back to Colombia. Will I readjust back into that culture? I sure hope that these little mannerisms I've picked up are an indication that the transition will be smooth. I’m certain I’ll miss home and I’ll constantly be reminded that I’m a foreigner, but I imagine I’ll enjoy getting back in the swing of Latin living.

Sante Bleu

It's Monday.

You probably assume I'm saying that begrudgingly as the work week returns. If it were another Monday I might be, but today is different. Today is a holiday. Oh yeah, and so was last Monday. I kind of like this 4-day-week/3-day-weekend cycle. It's a nice way to wrap up the school year. I should probably take advantage of the morning and hit the gym, but I'm just not feeling it. Lazy, perhaps? To my defense, I'll claim it's motivation to do a million other things.

The most recent? Wiping up black kitty paw prints from the white floors in every room. I like the idea of painting. Ami likes the idea of walking in black paint. I'm not really painting per-say, just stenciling a quote on a piece of Styrofoam I had glued piano sheet music to.  I'm not in love with it and might not even hang it up, but there is something about creating that brings peace and joy. Peace and joy...I force it to resonate as I clean up my kitten's mess.

But back to my first though, I should probably be at the gym. I bought a gym membership a few weeks ago and I've been pretty pleased with the decision. The sometimes awkward, always entertaining place to work on my fitness. It's a quick 6 minute jaunt from my apartment and has everything I thought I'd like. What I wanted in a gym? An elliptical. Yeah, that's it. I had gotten in the habit of running a few times a week but then jacked up my knee. Replacement cardio of choice: the elliptical. Grab my kindle, 30 minutes, wa-bam. Done. That's all I wanted.

That is until Mario got a hold of me. Mario is one of the trainers at the gym. He likes to try to speak English and isn't intimidated that my Spanish is bumpy. One of the trainers. One of about 6 who are always in an out. The main floor of the gym is on the second floor of the building. From the moment you step foot on the floor one of the trainers jumps you. What do you want to do today? What can I help you with? How's everything going? How are you feeling? Woah. Stimulus overload. I just want to go on the elliptical. I just want to get some cardio in. Dang. I should have looked up some gym terminology. I point to the elliptical and off the trainer takes me. He pushes all the buttons, waits for me to get on, and then I'm set to go. Really? I'm incapable of doing it that myself? At gyms in the states I'd just mess with all the settings until I found something I liked. Here I don't have to worry about it. Muscular trainers to the rescue!

So Mario. The first time I met him he asked me what I wanted from the gym. I was honest and just told him I'd like to do some cardio. He looked at me in disbelief. Really? We have all these machines and you just want to do cardio. Yes? My resolve deteriorating and his gently pressing make me want to do more. But, I stick to what I know: elliptical please. He takes me there, sets me up for 25 minutes and then leaves me to sweat to death. The time passes quickly and soon I'm done. As I slow down and dismount the machine Mario approaches me, "Why don't you give me 20 minutes on the bike?" I guess it wouldn't kill me, so I jump on. My legs get moving, I pick up my book and off I go. After about 10 minutes Mario is at my side and tells me to stand up on the bike. I'm really good at following directions, so up I go. Wow. That position increased my heart rate at least 50%. I finished the time on the bike with Mario standing next to me. Sweat. Sweat. Sweat. I'm ready to go home.

But, he's not yet. Seriously bro?  He takes me through a circuit working my arm strength, sends me to the bike for 4 minutes, and tells me to do the circuit another 2 times with the bike in between. On the inside: can I just go home?  On the outside: Bring it on. I love challenge. So I complete what he tells me and light on my feet I saunter over to him feeling accomplished. Dang girl. I've never been one to do the machines. I assume Mario is going to tell me good work and send me home. Wrong. His thoughts: how about some ab work. Sure. Why not? When a muscular trainer with a joyful demeanor asks you do do something, it's hard to resist (no matter how tired you are). So he sets me up and leaves me to finish on my own. At this point my arms are burning, my abs are burning and I'm just burned out. As I'm reaching the last 10 penguin ab moves (...definitely not what they're called, but that's all I can think of when I'm doing them, haha) Mario comes back with a smile. Lista? (Ready?) I return the smile and acquiesce, sí, señor. I'm tired. There's that smile again, "Good work, why don't you stretch and we'll call it a day." Relief sweeps over me. Certainly, I'd love to.

Mario is great. He pushes me hard. But perhaps that's the reason I'm sitting here on my balcony enjoying the view of the city instead of dying at the gym.

There is so many note worthy things about Sante Bleu. Mario is one of them. More? Water fountains, women's attire, and schedules. I'll save those for another post as I'm off to find something else to captivate my attention for a while.

Identity Crisis

I remember in 5th grade writing "I am..." poems. The idea was to make a compilation of characteristics, family traits, traditions, thoughts, dreams, and a million other things (ok, not a million but it was a lot for a 9-year-old energetic little girl) that defined who I was. I don't remember particularly enjoying it at the time, but now when I read that piece of work, I just beam. The poem shows a part of me; a past showing a glimpse of why I am who I am today.

So what has brought me to thoughts of a 5th grade writing assignment? An identity crisis. Well, not really, but I like to be dramatic. Every so often facts of my current position in life hit me. The most common? "Leanne, you live in freaken Colombia" and "Leanne, you are a teacher." Yes, these are seemingly obvious tiny tidbits, but those simple statements hold enough power to cause a stop in whatever I'm doing and make me consider my life. It's like these facts flood my mind in an instant, I sit to ponder the reality of it, and then that feeling of astonishment slowly recedes like the water in a bathtub. Just like that I return to my normal self.

It's pretty neat and I bet you've had those thoughts before. For the newly wed, "I am married." For those moving home after a long time away "I'm finally home." For the graduate with a new job, "I'm entering the real world." For the girl with a new baby, "I'm mom." The scenarios are endless. When you think about them, these things might feel weird, but it's life.

And so, I find myself today considering one aspect of my life, "Leanne, you are a teacher." Today is teacher's day in Colombia and our school gave us the day off. That means I'm sitting here in my apartment with my cat (she's not a kitten anymore, boo - I mean she'll always be my little girl though) on my lap, piano music soft in the background, and I'm thinking about the celebration of what it is to be a teacher. There is weight and responsibility accompanied by a joy and excitement that I'm unable to express.  It may not be the most glorified job, but it is definitely one in which you can impact a lot of lives. "Leanne, you are a teacher."

Teacher's were celebrated yesterday at school. It was unlike any teacher celebration I've seen before. Not that I've been in this profession for long, but I'm sure I would have heard something if it were taken to this level in the states. First let me tell you about the gifts. Not so much for high school teachers, but elementary school teachers are showered with gifts. Clothes. Jewelry. Perfume. Lotion. Candy. Lots of candy. I saw teachers walking out of school with bags and bags of gifts. Even though I teach in high school, I was not left out. I received 2 bottles of really nice perfume and a pillow. I felt spoiled.

Let's celebrate some more. During break time (a 25 minute break in the morning for snacks...yes, I know, it's awesome) the teachers were ushered into our tiny staff room to find a full blown mariachi band (if you do not know what this is, youtube it - for real that's what we had) playing for us and an entire table of snacks. The senior class organized it all for the teachers. How incredible. We stood there admiring the music, ate some goodies, and then moseyed back (10 minutes late I mind you and it didn't matter) to our classes. Awesomeness.

To follow was an assembly that students organized. They did several skits impersonating some of the teachers which were shockingly hilarious and presumably quite accurate. Afterwards, the main event: a transvestite singer/dancer/comedian. Is this real life?  Ha! It still shocks me. It was funny, gave me the creeps, and I couldn't figure out how this was permitted. Yes, I'll spare you the details and we'll just leave it at that.

By the end of the school day I was exhausted but there was more celebrating to be done. The school rented a really nice farm, fed us, gave us drinks and we danced the night away. I'm not really a great dancer, but the Colombia staff is always more than happy to help me. We traded partners, danced merengue, cumbia and salsa, jumped around in a semi-mosh to a Spanish song with a chorus, "I don't want to work..." and really just enjoyed the company of the Liceo Ingles staff. It was a great end to an amusing day!

So this morning I return to the "I am" poem of my 5th grade self. Who am I? I am Leanne and I am a teacher.  ...and a celebrated teacher at that!

Happy teacher's day to all you teachers out there!

Science Teacher Fun

Being a science teacher is pretty awesome. Not only am I permitted to be crazy and have a free pass to wear turtle earrings when I want, but I also get to go on sweet trips with my kids. For example, for the next 6 days I am chaperoning a grand adventure to the tip of Colombia into the Amazon jungle. It's going to be challenging. I'm going to be walking/canoeing many many miles. I'm going to be sleeping in hammocks. I've been told there are killer mosquitoes. I'm disconnecting from the internet/civilization. It's going to be great. I'm pumped!

See you in week blogging world!

Spanish Fails

My capabilities in Spanish basically trace the path of an EKG. You know, the heart line? Beep. Beep. Beep. Trace the picture above: the flat line goes up a little, then down a little, then spikes up, crashes down, bubbles up a little and then starts the process again.  This basically happens throughout the week. Some days my Spanish is decent. The next day? Maybe it decreases a bit. Then the next I'll have a rockin time in the language and then before I've had time to pridefully pat myself on the back I'm shot down and reminded how far away from fluency I am.

What I'm trying to say? I have good days and bad days in Spanish. Days when I function normally and even have the confidence to provoke conversation with strangers, and then there are days when I struggle merely counting to ten or telling the taxi driver where I live. Initially this was frustrating because I never knew where my Spanish would be on any given day, but now my response is just to laugh because Spanish fails make some of the best stories!

One day while I was grocery shopping I decided to go up to the meat counter and buy some ground beef. It is a little intimidating because I have to tell the guy what I want. Usually I'll have the conversation in my head before going up to the counter, but today I was feeling good with Spanish and didn't think I needed to rehearse. So up to the counter I walk with my head held high. The man asked me how he could help me. In my head I knew that I wanted 500 grams of ground beef, but I couldn't for the life of me think of the Spanish word for 500. So what do I do? I proceed to count on my fingers up to 5: uno, dos, cuatro (yes I forgot 3 haha), cinco. I stopped at 5, held up my fingers and added a "ciento" (means hundred) to the end. He just looked at me and grinned, "quinientos gramos de carne molido?" ...exactly! Thanks man! Then he proceeds to ask me in Spanish, "Are you from another country?" The other workers behind the counter explode in laughter: it was very clear that I am from another county. haha I don't even know my numbers! We continued laughing, he handed over my beef, and I turned and walked away with a bright pink face. Spanish fail.

Sometimes the bad days speaking Spanish is a little more detrimental. Last week I went to get a hair cut. Well, I mean, what I was really looking for was a trim with a little extra face-shaping in the front. I thought I explained this to the girl really well. The first cut? Oh, no big deal just 5 inches or so gone. I gasped. She kept going. Too late to try and re-explain now. Well, good thing hair grows back. Spanish fail.

Walking to my small group bible study a few days ago I thought I saw someone I knew walking slightly behind me. I turned and did a double take and realized I had no idea who the guy was. I guess doing a double take opens the door to conversation. So this guy starts talking to me. I just smile. Every few words I catch a word he says and so I randomly insert "si" or "cierto". At this point he has no clue that I don't know his language, so he keeps talking. A good minute passes and it's time for me to turn off the main drag and part ways with the guy, "Well, gotta go. Have a nice night." I walked away with the biggest grin. Just thinking about how little I understood made me giggle. Spanish fail.

It's comforting know I'm not the only gringo who makes a fool of myself in Spanish. Yesterday 5 of us gringos were taken to get pictures and fingerprints for our identification cards. In the process you're separated from the group to go get fingerprints done. Emily was the last one and shuffled over to the little desk. About half-way through the process the guys tells her to "Pongase de pie" (stand up). The only word she caught in the phrase was "pie" which means "foot". Her first thought was that he wanted to see her foot. So, she hauls the thing up on the table. She quickly realized her error, so did the man, and they just about died laughing. Spanish fail.

As long as my sweet Spanish skills remain on track of a normal EKG I'm certain I'll have more stories for you in the future. At least they make things a little more interesting!

Perspective

While I was in the United States for Christmastime I bought a daily calendar. You know, those ones where you get to rip off a piece of paper every day and reveal a new picture/quote below? Mine is super cool. It's of cats. I can't get another cat (once you get your second you become a crazy cat lady and I'm not ready for that yet) so the next step down? Making sure I can experience another cat every day without actually giving Amiguita a sibling. Scoooore! So my daily cat calender just chills on my desk. The students like to cheat and peak ahead, and I constantly fight with them about patiently waiting for the next one. Therefore, every day feels like Christmas! They aren't as convinced.

Well, yesterday as students were bustling in, each wanting a piece of my attention, I tore off the sheet revealing the new date and was shown a cute bunch of cat groupies and this quote, "In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary." Things disappeared around me and for a good uninterrupted 10 seconds I was lost pondering the incredible truth found in that statement. It's all about perspective. Everything is extraordinary: students, situations, meals, weather, daily life, etc. This counts for you too. You are extraordinary.

Brilliance.

"In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary."

Vaca Part Dos: Fish, Plantain and Rice

I can add photos in my blogs!? What?! How did I miss this before?! Goodness. This takes blogging to a completely new level.

So, out of all the photos I could have chosen for this first step in a more advanced direction, I've chosen to encompass this post with a dead fish and a crazy girl with her tongue dangling out. Yeah that crazy girl is me.

What's with the fish? Well, I don't like fish. I mean, I love looking at fish and they're kind of cool when you try and pick them up, but to eat - not my cup of tea. I don't like the fishy taste of fish. I tried to explain that to someone once and they just didn't understand. Fish is supposed to taste like fish. Ugh. But not that icky fishy flavor.

So what's with the fish? Well, I've reached a new development in my life: I DO like fish...it just has to be fresh. Like pull him out of the water and stick him in a frying pan. I guess there's something you have to do in between, but I'll leave that to the experts. I came to this conclusion on my vacation to the Pacific.

I remember the feeling at the restaurant the first day as the waitress explained the set lunch for the day: fish, plantain, coconut rice, and lemonade. My stomach lurched a little. I don't eat fish. Well, that was the only option so I was ordering fish. It made it better know that everyone else was too. The waitress brought out the plates and I looked down at mine. I frowned and turned my head away. There on my plate was a full fish staring back at me. Yeah, in Colombia they don't bother chopping off the head or the tail. So there I have a plump little fishy with vacant glassy eyes chilling on my plate waiting to be eaten. I looked up at my companions, "I'm not certain I can do this."

To be honest, I didn't even know where to start. Is it okay to eat the skin? Are there scales on this guy? What about bones? Am I going to choke and die? How about the fins or the tail? Should I eat those too? Pop the eyes out and suck on them? You'd think that a girl with a thick linage of Great Lakes' fishers would know what to do with a fish. Not this one. That would have meant eating fish and remember, I don't like fish.

So I sat there for a few minutes, watched what everyone else was doing, and dug in. It was quite laborious. Fork on fish. Flesh in mouth. Chew. Chew. Chew. Then the flavor hit me. BAM! I was taken aback. What? Is this even fish? Yummm! Wait, I don't like fish. But, it was so good. Then you add some coconut rice and fried plantains. It was a plate to die for! I gladly continued working around bones until I had finished my very first full fish. I felt like it was such an accomplishment!

You know, It's a really good thing that I discovered that I liked fish. Guess what we had for dinner that night: fish, plantain and rice.  The next day at lunch? Fish, plantain and rice. And when dinnr time came around the fish, plantain, and rice returned. For 5 lunches and 5 dinners that's what we ate: fish, plantain and rice!

Whew, I'd say this crazy girl with her tongue sticking out has had her fair share of fish for a while...and plantains and rice

2 Weeks and a Wicked Vaca

I started writing this blog post a few days ago, got distracted by who-knows-what and forgot to return. It's a pleasure knowing that I'm being distracted though, it kind of makes me feel like I'm living a normal life again. I've struggled through the culture shock of living in a foreign country and now I'm just living an every-day life again. Well, I mean, I'm still a gringa in Latin American and there will always be things that make me cock my head and curiously wonder what the heck I just saw, but at least my emotions are planning out. Planning? Kind of like a plain. Flat lined. Should it be plained? I don't know. But anyway I don't often feel the urge to break out in tears from the home sickness, I don't find myself criticizing the way Colombians do or don't do things, and I don't have the super highs and super lows that I experienced the first few months here. So yeah, I think this is home for a while.

Finding myself in a "home" also means that I get to go on "vacation". Since I live in Colombia and not in Michigan anymore, this also means that I get super sweet vacations on steroids for about 1/2 the price as I could in the United States. Perk of the life style I'm living I guess. I just came back from a vacation such as this. The other foreign teachers and I went to a small town on the Pacific coast. I wasn't sure what to expect, but these are some of the things I experienced:

...wait, before I continue I just want to clarify something for my mother back home...everything we did was surrounded by thought and precaution against dangers. Some of these stories may lead to to think otherwise, but really we never found ourselves in danger-some circumstances.

So here we go:

(1) The trip to El Valle (the town) took quite a toll on my brain. We left Pereira at 9:30 PM after a full day of teaching, cleaning, packing etc. The bus ride took 5 hours and we arrived in another city around 3:00 AM. Our plane didn't leave that city until 8:00 AM that morning so we crashed in the bus terminal. Of course we all didn't sleep at once and I took guard of our luggage first while my companions crashed. It was quite entertaining watching them struggle for sleep. Steve eventually passed out and a cockroach was crawling around him. Sick.  Eventually it was my turn to sleep but that turned into a grimacing 30 minutes of struggling with the chill in the air and the lack of comfort at a cafe table. Time passed surprisingly quickly though and soon we crossed the street to the airport. Quite convenient if you ask me. We checked in, went through security, and waited for our 8:00 departure. 8 turned to 9 without explanation. 9 turned to 10. 10 turned to 11. I didn't really pay much attention. I was suffering from sleep deprivation and every time I closed my eyes I felt a release into a world void of problems. My traveling buddies were getting anxious though. The only thing we were told was, "No, don't worry, you'll leave in a little bit." Colombians view time in an interesting matter. "A little bit" could probably mean "day" if they wanted it to. Luckily for us it only meant waiting a few hours. So, we finally got to board our plane. Ha! It was this dinky little puddle jumper in which I could lean into the aisle and see into the cock-pit. It was fascinating watching the pilot and her first hand man flipping switches and getting us ready to go. At take off it was even cooler watching the runway ahead of us. Maybe it was pretty awesome, but it was also kind of nerve wrecking. Who knows if this plane was up to regulation. Thankful for my exhaustion I didn't dwell too much on that fact and passed out.  I was opening my eyes as we landed on a dirt runway in the middle of the jungle. I felt like I was a world away. It could have been Africa. After arriving we gathered our luggage, jumped in a mototaxi and were taken to El Valle. Boom. We made it!

(2) The stay in El Valle wasn't really in the town. We booked nights at a hostel but didn't realize how far away it was. Soon the mototaxi turned off the main drag and onto the beach. Really? We were cruising down the beach for a while when we came to a river that was uncrossable.  Here we go, we had to walk the rest of the way. Under normal circumstances this wouldn't be a problem, but I had packed a rolling suitcase. Rolling suitcases on sand do not mix. Again, really? I didn't think that one through much. We finally made it to the hostel though and were in for a surprise.

(3) Humback Turtle: We stayed in a dorm room at a hostel that was basically a jungle hut. Although we had running water and electricity, all the walkways were dirt and the bathrooms were outhouses. It was all worth it though because it was situated right on the ocean. The drone of the waves, the smell of salt water, the view of the sunset over the ocean from the balcony of the hostel. We were in Paradise.

(4)  The town itself was made of dirt roads, a few little diners, houses here and here,  fishermen galore  and a world of people sitting outside passing the day. What a simple life. It was beautiful.

(5) Snorkeling: I've never gone snorkeling before, but let me tell you it is one of the coolest things I've ever done. Getting to that point took a little convincing though. We waded into the water from shore and popped our heads in the water. Jellyfish. Jellyfish. More jellyfish. They were startlingly beautiful but also terrifyling dangerous. I've been stung by a jellyfish before and it is not pleasant. There was no way I'd swim through their barricade to go look at fish. No way. Not happening. Our guide, who was about 100 yards away up at a hut on the shore kept motioning us to get in. He just didn't understand, did he? Every once in a while one of us would scream as a jelly approached and he would motion again to get in. Gah. No way. Eventually he came over to us and told us they weren't dangerous. Bro. I've been stung before. Not cool. He kept at it. Was he really trying to convince us? Then he did the unthinkable, he swooped his hands in the water and scooped up a jelly. Bare hands. What?! My mind was blown. Apparently these ones weren't the stinging variety. We just hadn't understood, had we?

(6) One of the highlights of the trip for me was not wearing makeup, not caring what I wore, and living in a bathing suit. The bliss of all that cannot be explained. If you're a women, maybe you understand.

(7) While on the trip I also felt like I slipped through the cracks of civilization into a more simple life. My cell phone didn't work, I couldn't access the internet, and I had no plans or commitments. Ah! Even returning there in my mind brings me close to that point of peace that is nearly impossible to reach in real life.

...So, I have a slight problem. I have the desire to keep writing and writing but I'm back to real life and the preoccupations of work are pulling me from the screen. Maybe this will be a 2 or 3 day post. Spreading it out, re-living the adventure-sounds like a plan to me. Besides, it has been more than 2 weeks since I've written anything ...can I blame it on my wicked vaca?

....vaca is short for vacation and should not be confused with the Spanish word for cow.

Forehead...yeah, I meant Forehead

One joy of teaching in Colombia is experiencing students learning English. I would consider all of my students fluent in the sense that they understand nearly everything (maybe missing a few new words here and there) and can communicate anything they want (again, maybe missing a few words.) However, what I thoroughly enjoy is when they say something and don't realize what it means until after it comes out.

An example might help capture this:

On my desk I have a cat calendar. Yes, every day I am a little more cat-lady-like. Well, one of my kids was looking through the pictures and came to a picture of those fur-less rat-cats. Okay, they aren't rats but this breed of cat reminds me of a rat. Google "sphynx cat" and you'll get the picture. So my kiddo saw that picture and he excitedly told me that he has one of those cats. Really? Weird. What does it feel like when you pet it? Is it soft? This is when another kid reaches his hand to my forehead and  pipes up, "It feels like when you pet your foreskin." Pause. Pause. Pause.

He then realized what he said and started dying laughing. I couldn't contain myself either. We just laughed and laughed. "No mease, I meant forehead!!!"

Yes. I'm still sitting here smiling thinking about his blunder. Haha. Forhead...

Women's Day

If there is one thing I've learned about Colombians, it's that they love to celebrate holidays. I swear there is something every week. And it's not like how us United Statesians (the word "American" encompasses Colombians too...so I needed to clarify? Spanish has a word for it, so I made it English. Maybe I should just say estadounidenseTION...if you've followed my blogs, I hope that makes you smile...well, where was I? ha!)  ....so it's not like us United Statesians celebrate. Colombians like to go all out. In school that means days devoted to activities, assemblies, snacks, clowns (yes...clowns), gift exchanges, etc. With that being said, today is "Women's Day": a day specifically devoted to women. My male students were complaining that there isn't a "Male's Day"...the response? The other 364 days of the year are devoted to them! Ha!

My Women's Day started out fantastic. Per usually, I went to my favorite little restaurant for my Friday morning breakfast. The 2 servers (Andres and Jorge) are basically my friends by now. We always talk and with Andres I even exchange the typical greeting of a kiss on the cheek. Well today Andres came specifically over to my and Emily's table, graciously greeted us, and wished us a wonderful women's day. Not only did he wish us a wonderful women's day, but it was in English. He was like a nervous school boy but it was the sweetest thing!  A few moments later, Jorge arrived at our table with chocolates for Emily and I and wished us a happy Women's day. He's is a lot more shy than Andres, so it was just special. Emily and I were flattered. Happy Women's Day!

At school it just got better. The first student that saw me (he's not even my student), came up to me, wished me a happy women's day, kissed me on the cheek and then continued on. What a cutie! (he is a 7th grader). Throughout the morning students stopped in with the sole purpose of wishing me a happy women's day - just the little things make one feel special. Happy Women's Day!

One of the male teachers also brought all the female teachers breakfast. He made a lovely sign that said Happy Women's Day. Again, I just feel special being a woman. Happy Women's Day!

Later on today the Women will be given a special lunch and there will be a program for all women to attend. From 11:30-1:00 we will forego all of our responsibilities and relax. And what about the male students? Oh, no worries, the male teachers have that under control. How sweet. Happy Women's Day!

So Colombia has a million holidays. Today I'm appreciating it and soaking it in! Happy Women's Day!

Attention Grabber

This Friday marks my 7th month living in Colombia. Every once in a while it still hits me: Leanne, you live in Colombia. I will close my eyes and imagine a map. Yes, I live in the southern hemisphere. Wow. It's surreal to think about and yet sometimes it seems so normal. I never imagined living here would feel normal. There are faces that I recognize, walking routes I'm familiar with and cultural norms that I'm aware of. This is my current home.

Even though I acknowledge this as home, there are certain things that will always grab my attention. My inner gringa will forever be on alert and no matter how long I'm here, I'm certain certain things will catch my eye. This post is dedicated to these such things.

1)Random horses walking down the middle of the road: I live in a city with over half a million people. It is developed. There is cement everywhere. Walking down a deserted street at 6:00 AM on my way to breakfast and I see a horse walking towards me. No bridle. No saddle. No owner. Now that's an attention grabber.

2) Public make-out session: couples here enjoy expressing their "passion". In public. It's just awkward to me. I  don't care how long I've been here, it will never seem okay to me. I can't help but do a double take when I walk into a cafe and see 2 people heavily involved with one another. Come on people.

3)High heel shoes and plastic boobs: No matter how many pairs I've seen, it seems there are always bigger or more colorful ones out there. It just seems so unnatural.

4) Being stared at: No, I am not from here. Yes, I am a gringa. That doesn't give you permission to stare at me like I'm an alien. Can't I just blend in for once in my life? I will always be aware of the intensity of their stares.

5) Monos: In Colombian Spanish they call people with light features (light skin/hair) monos. This literally means monkey. there are so many people with dark features that when I see someone with light features my eyes are immediately drawn to them. I knew that Colombians were prone to do this but I never imaged I would fall into this too. But alas, monos grab my attention.

6) English: In my city I don't hear a lot of English. It is rare to come by, so when I do it immediately stands out. What?! You know my language too. I just want to go hug that person. I'll just call it my gringo radar.

7) The man selling aguacate: I cannot tune out his voice. "Aaaaa - Guuuuuaaaa - Catttayyyy". There are several that walk throughout the city selling avocado and they have the exact same loud bellow of the word. If I could insert a sound clip I would. I could probably mimic it myself. Maybe I'll change my day job.

8) Homeless people: I'm not certain I'll ever become "desensitized" to the number of people who live on the streets. It breaks my heart and it's impossible to ignore. It's hard knowing how to process it though and thinking about what I could possibly to do help does nothing. It seems hopeless and it's something I cannot get used to.

9) Hand holding: When I see a teenager holding hands with their mom/dad I can't help but stare. I think about teenagers in the United States and the idea of them holding their parents hands just makes me laugh. They wouldn't be caught dead doing that in a million years. And yet here I see mom strolling hand in hand with their teens. Girls hanging on their fathers arms. I even once saw a teenage boy holding hand with his mom while walking with his arm what appeared to be his girlfriend. What? Ha!  Attention grabber.

10) Men releaving themselves where/when they need to: It is not uncommon to come across a boy, man, or old man peeing in public. I guess it is acceptable? This is just confusing to me and always causes the side-ways-head-tilt that accompanies the though: Really bro? Really? 

So there we have it: 10 things that will never seem "normal" to me and will always strike me as interesting.

The Rules of the Road

I had an interesting conversation with one of the other gringos last night walking home from the bus stop. We had crossed the road half-way and were waiting for a break in traffic to complete our trek to the other side when the diaglogue began. It was intiated after 3 or 4 cars passed in front of us, completely blowing off the stop sign in the middle of the road. And there we took up the topic of traffic rules in Colombia. The following is what we decided:

1) First of all, it seems that all traffic signs are merely suggestions. Speed limit? Never inforced. Stop signs? Possible cause for slowing down. Street signs? I'm not certain they even exist.

2) One-Way streets aren't necesarrily one way streets. If the one-way street happens to be the shortest distance from a location, a taxi driver will usually take it. Even if this means driving the wrong way. I've seen regular vehicles do this too.

3) The double yellow line signifying no passing zones are ingored. To my great fear I've been on several busses winding up mountains that decide to pass. There is NO way the driver can see around the corner, but it doesn't matter. The semi truck in front of us was just going to slow. At least the bus is fairly large, so when we have a head on collision I have a high chance of surviving?

4) People with motorcycles do what they want: weave to the front of a line of cars in traffic; drive on sidewalks; ride with babies on their laps; speed through heavily populated areas; Really anything....interestingly enough, however, they all wear helmets. Helmets must make you invincible.

5) If you're sitting in the front seat you have to wear a seatbelt. They are pretty insistant about this one too. Maybe this is the only rule they inforce?

6) Speed bumps are everywhere. I ride a bus every day to school and these blasted speed bumps cause fierce application of the brakes followed by a brief moment of slowing down and then a surge forward. This is a recipe for a headache/nauea

So these, my friends, are the rules of the road...or at least what 2 gringos were able to deduce while standing in the middle of the street waiting to make our move across.

Now that's a bad day

We've all complained about having bad days. You know, the ones where everything that can go wrong does? Well, just saying, I think my little kitten has tipped the scales and is in the running for the worst day ever.

This morning she's running around like a playful kitten. No big deal. Ignorance is bliss. I smile the long sad smiling of knowledge as I consider the long road ahead of her. Today is the day she is getting spayed. It is neat to think about pets having no ability to stress over something in the future. Interesting. Anyway, so I'm getting ready for work and she's having a grand old time. Maybe she's a little hungry (she can't eat/drink) but I can't tell. Pretty soon I get the cat carrier out. This moving jail cell is not her favorite. I can't even say she likes it a little bit. The moment I lock her inside she starts the meow. Meooooow. Meoooooow. Okay, Amguita, I know it's not fun but you've got to go.

Not only is she shoved into a cage, the weather is not cooperating with me this morning. Cats don't like water. It doesn't matter. In the bath, in the sink, or falling from the sky like flaming daggers. Amiguita can hear the rain battering down and her bellowing intensifies. I'm calling a taxi. Meoooow. Meeoooow.

The taxi arrives and I sprint to the back seat. As I jumped in the car clutching my cat carrier I realize Amiguita has never been in a car before. Great. I hope she doesn't get motion sickness. Please don't vomit. All throughout these thoughts I hear the background bleating: meeeeow. Meooooow. Meeeeeeeoooooow. You'd think she's dying.

So before going to the vet, I ask the taxi driver to take me to my friend Emily's apartment. Emily is the proud owner of Amiguita's sister Mona. It is a day for sister bonding - both of them loosing their sex on the same day! Ha! I ask the kind taxi driver to wait for me as I run up to Emily's apartment with my cat carrier. Emily doesn't have a way to transport her cat, so she asked me to bring my carrier over. Sure. Through the rain. Into the building. Up the elevator. All along: Meoooow. Meoow. When I finally set Amiguita down on the table she immediately goes silent. Safety? Not quite. Before she knows what is going on, Emily opens up the carrier and tosses in Mona. The hissing fit begins. Both cats spatting and instantly separated: one cat at the front of the carrier, one cat smashed up against the back. I guess they don't remember each other.

There we have Ami's stressful morning. From here it just gets worse. At vets she gets analyzed, put under anesthetics, cut open, and her reproductive structures are taken out. Bad day. At least she's not meowing anymore. When I came to pick her up, she was covered in blood. The vet took one look and explained that the place where they gave her an IV had opened up and that she'd go clean it out. She picked up Ami by the scruff of the neck and carried her off. My pour little girl with 25% coherence gets rinsed off. Man did that wrench my heart.

When it was time to take her home, I placed her back in her cat carrier. My silent, groggy Amiguita didn't protest. I wanted to get her home as quickly as possible. I could feel her shaking in the carrier and I knew she was stressed. We made it to my apartment in record time and I decided to take the elevator. I didn't want to bump Ami around anymore than I needed to. Into the elevator. There was this awful buzzing noise and all I could think about was how Amiguita would perceive that. Still 50% under anesthetics and there is this bzzzzzz. Bad day. I pushed the button for the fourth floor and the buzzing turned into a squealing. Then as quickly as it had started, it stopped. So did all function of the elevator. I pressed every single button. Nothing. Door open button? Nothing. Door close button? Nothing. There was a picture with an alarm on it, so I hit that one. Blllllrrrrrrinng. Ah! I don't like that. The final button was a picture of a phone. I hit it and I could hear Elvin my portero: Proteria. How can I help you? Now is when my vocabulary fails me...um...ummm...Elvin, I'm in the elevator. It's not functioning. He responded: I can't hear you, speak up. I'm yelling at this point and then it's silent. I peer into my cat carrier at my little girl, consider the inopportune timing, and laugh. Really? I'm really stuck in an elevator right now? Ha! I just couldn't stop giggling. I knew they'd get me out at some point.

A few minutes pass and all the lights go out in the elevator. It's pitch black and my mind flicks to horror films. Come on Leanne. Not now. Before I have time to imagine more the lights come on and the door opens. Wooo hooo!! Once again my Portero saved the day. He comes running up to me to make sure I'm okay. Everything is fine, I assure him. No problem, it was just bad luck. I decide to take the stairs and haul Amiguita up the 4 flights. I'm breathing hard at this point, but I just want to get my little girl home. Whew. We made it.

But the day isn't over for Ami. I open the cat carrier and she tried to come out. Fail. Her little legs just aren't working quite yet. I help her onto a blanket and she lies there for a while. Her eyelids are half open and every once in a while she tries to move. I smile the sad smile and sigh: Ami, I'd say it's been a pretty rough day!

My Colombian Children

I've decided just now as I've sat down to write that I will now refer to my students as my "Colombian children". On one hand it makes me sound like some humanitarian helping poor kids in Latin America. The other hand portrays the real picture: their not poor and destitute (actually quite the opposite), I just really like them. So yeah, I have 60+ Colombian children. If I told them their new name I can already hear their whiney response, "Mease. You can't call us your children. You are too young." Oh well, they'll just never know!

Well, my Colombian children are enough to make me crazy sometimes. One reason is the cultural difference of personal space. As a North American, I value my personal space. For those of you that know me, you can attest that my bubble is a lot smaller than most people from the United States - BUT my bubble is still there. I'm of the strong opinion that Colombians just don't have space bubbles or maybe they just don't respect them. Case in point: standing at my desk when the bell rings I immediately have 3 children standing within 3 fingers of my body. I move to the left a little to give myself more space and they naturally move with me. I'm pretty certain they don't even realize this. So I move a little more. They follow. I move - they move - I move - they move. And before we all know it, I'm standing at the door and they are still close enough to count my eyelashes. Sometimes it makes me claustrophobic. Especially with my taller kids. Last week 3 boys were standing around me harassing me about some homework assignment. All 3 of them are at least 5 inches taller than me. I was surrounded. Thankfully the bell rang and they departed. The truth of being saved by the bell!

One of my fellow North American teachers can't handle the closeness of students. His 7th graders suffocate him. His response? He took a roll of masking tape and made a box around his desk. No one is permitted into the box without permission. And if some kid happens to make it into the box without asking? Oh, this teacher will just stare at the students feet until they take a few steps back and respect the box.  Even though his personal bubble has been popped in Colombia, he has more than made up for it with his box of tape. I haven't gotten to that point yet.

Another thing about my Colombian children: they love to touch. It is not uncommon to find a students hand resting on my arm/shoulder while they are talking to me. That really isn't much of a big deal to me. I am a "toucher" by nature anyways. It helps me show people I care. What IS the problem with their touching is that they also are always touching each other. Poking. Messing around. Celebrating. You name it and they are touching. About 7 times each period you can here me say: No touching. Khaleb, stop touching. Sebastian, why are you touching Felipe. Carolina: no touching. At least they aren't violent. They just like physical contact. I think it's fair to blame it on culture though. Colombians are touchers. Males always shake hands when they greet each other and females (with females or with males) always greet each other by touching cheeks and making a kissing noise. There is so much to be said with the cultural norms of greetings. I'll save a later post for that.

So yeah, my Colombian children. They drive me up the walls sometime, but I certainly adore them...and I think they know it too!

His AmbiTION

There is nothing that can quite awaken the senses on a relaxing Tuesday afternoon like getting your legs waxed. Hot hot hot wax spooned onto the leg and then ripped off with hopes of taking all hair with it. Really, I voluntarily made this happen. I even was willing to pay for it! A whole $25,000 pesos. Although this is a start to a great story, this isn't the point. The highlight was talking to the main man in charge of the salon I went to.

Alright, us native English speakers like to make English words Spanish by adding an "o" to the end of our words. Come on, I know you've all done it. It's after dinner and we want to relax...let's go sit on the couch-o. Yeah and we can have some dessert-o to accompany our coffee-o. Just stick on an "o" and it's automatically Spanish, right? Well sure, to us it makes sense but it may make a Spanish-speaker cringe.

Little did I know, Spanish speakers like to do something like this to make their words "english-ized" too. Certainly they don't add an "o". The suffix of choice? -tion. I recall hearing this at some point but I thought it was nonsense. Well today, this myth became a reality. The man at the salon quickly realized I was American and so began his attempt to speak English with me. Not English-English, but rather his Spanish-ized version.

"Señorita, quisiera un aguitation" ....Miss, would you like some "water" ....agua + ita +TION

"I speakey poquito inglestion" ....I speak a little "english" ....ingles + TION

"Mucho gustation" ...."happy to assist you" ...gusta + TION

On and on it went. The entire conversation was like speaking Spanish is piglatin. In my head I had to chop off the "-tion" and figure out what Spanish word he was trying to say. It took everything in me not to giggle as the man was talking. I know he was just trying to accommodate me and I appreciate his ambiTION.

Shocked

Sometimes things at work go really well. Sometimes things at work go really poorly. I've found a comfortable roller-coaster (like the oxymoron??) of emotions in my job. Being a first year teacher is quite the challenge.

So one of these days when work hadn't been going well I thought of one of my teacher friends. His advice to me was that when things were spinning down the drain in class, just repeat this one phrase over and over and over, "3:00 will come." I struggled through each period. 3:00 will come. 3:00 will come. 3:00 will come. In actuality, I only had to make it to 1:15 when lunch started. After lunch I would stake my claim as a survivor of the day. Guess what, I made it! The bell rang for lunch and I sank into my chair for a few minutes before heading to lunch. Here we go Leanne, you've made it!

Lunchtime is always nice and I savor the adult conversation. I'm uncertain my co-workers realize the oasis they are on a teaching day in the desert. Well this day I didn't quite make it to the oasis in time. As I cruised through the line with my tray I heard the voice of my principal, "Leanne, when you set do your tray can you come talk to me?" Oh great. How did he sense my awful day. Did he figure it out when he stopped by my room earlier? My mind was racing. What could James need to tell me or ask me. The majority of time, things like this don't make me nervous. That's probably because the majority of the time when this happens a bad teaching day isn't lingering. Think Leanne. Think. What was he going to tell me.

After setting down my lunch I strolled over to where James was camped. Here goes nothing. The following coversation ensued.

"Leanne, do you know how the 10th grade takes a trip to the Amazon every year?'

"Yeah, I've heard a bit about it through the grapevine. The kids seem pretty excited."

"Well, we are looking for a female chaperone and I'm wondering if you would like to go. The school pays for everything."

My eyebrows shot up, my eyes got real big, and I did what any logical person would do: Say yes to your boss, "Yeah, sure! I'd love to go."

The remaining conversation was just small talk and I don't remember much.I was consumed with thoughts of the amazon.

Consumed: Rainforest. Rivers. Swimming. Pink dolphins. Manatees. Peru. Brazil. Amazon river. Hiking. Yellow fever. Culture. Indigenous villages. Mosquitoes. Galoshes. Canoeing. Crocodiles.  Hammocks. Dancing. Huts.  Fishing. Cooking over fires.  Bonding with students. Speaking Spanish. Adventure. 

...I think I'll have a little fun...

Feast on a Platter

If you come to Colombia, a Colombian might ask you to do a strange thing. Don’t do it. Use your better judgment! Let me lay out a scenario for you.

It’s a Saturday afternoon and I’m walking to my friend’s apartment building to meet up so we can stroll downtown. As I turn up his street, I notice something twitching in the middle of the road 25 yards ahead. I pensively tilt my head and try to make heads or tails of it. Nothing.  Upon approaching I notice it is a bird that is wounded. I don’t know if it was hit, if it ran into a window or if some ninja street cat swiped it out of the air. All I know is that it’s laying there flopping a wing every once in a while. It made me sad.

This Colombia man was standing at his balcony 2 floors up and starts telling me something in Spanish and motioning to the bird. He killed the bird!? Yes. That must be what he is saying. He was trying to tell me he was an airsoft gun extraordinaire with incredible marksmanship. Okay, that’s not what he was saying. But what he was telling me to do was just as bizarre. “Niña, go pick up the bird and get it off the street.”

Really man? Really? Yes. He motioned again and told me it needed to get off the street so it doesn’t get hit by a car. Seriously bro, the birds going to die. But this man was persistent. I couldn’t just walk by him and ignore his request. I had thrown out that option when I had made initial eye contact. Fail. So, what do I do? I inch my way towards the bird and see the blood. How the heck do I explain to this frantic man that I am in no way touching that thing.  I look at him, charading fear the best I could, “There’s a lot of blood. A lot of blood. I can’t touch it” Then, I continued walking.

So, the next passerby came and you’ll never believe it: Balcony Man actually convinced the man walking by to pick up the bird. Yes. The pedestrian walked up to it, took his bare hands, lifted up the limp bird, and placed him on a ledge nearby. Woot woot. Bird saved? I smiled a little on the inside. Because the bird was safe? Naw... Balcony Man just served our street cats a feast on a platter.