Sunglasses in the Rain

A few days ago I was walking to my go-to cafe: the Colombian gem Juan Valdez. I was walking in the rain. My umbrella protecting my freshly washed hair from frizz (ha, like that's even possible) and my sunglasses protecting my squinty eyes from the sun. Yes, the sun was out and yet the rain was pouring down. I smiled at the backwardness of the situation. The juxtaposition. This country is like that sometimes. Seemingly backwards, and yet my gringo friends and I are the only ones that really notice. To Colombia, this is normal.

I can bring this to life with a single phrase that I hear quite frequently, "Si pero no." ...yes, but no. What does this even mean? Are you affirming something or negating it? Or maybe you just don't want to form an opinion? I kind of like the indecisiveness of it. But it's backwards.

Let's talk about another backwardness.  A few weeks ago the presidential elections were on Sunday. Per Colombian law, alcohol cannot be sold during an election weekend. That means no sales Saturday or Sunday. That is unless there is a World Cup game. Saturday Colombia played Greece (and won 3-0!) and I can assure you that there were plenty of alcohol sales occurring. Some things are more important than Colombian law....Colombian futbol! Now that's a little backwards.

That brings us to another backwardsness related to the elections. That Sunday was Father's day. But Colombia didn't want to double dip and have Father's day on Election day so they just moved Father's day. No big deal. It was the following Sunday instead. Backwards.

The Way of Colombian Men

 There are some things I really enjoy about my work week.  One is my morning coffee time in the staff room from 7:00-7:25. It’s pretty much fantastic.  It consists of sitting around a table with some of my favorite co-workers, sipping coffee and talking about nothing of much significance.  Well, it is significant though because it brings us together.  The regulars are as follows:  Leo, the lovable and sometimes vulgar Colombian chemistry teacher; Andrew, the coffee-making, good-natured, super friendly science/math Canadian teacher;  Steve, the witty, tea-drinking, “I do what I want” American English teacher; And last but not least, Bill, the intelligent and thoughtful grandfather figure social studies teacher.  Every morning our crew is there until the bell summons us to really start the day.

Leo walks in this morning, looks at me and exclaims, “hello gorgeous woman.” He threw in another admiration but I’ve since pushed it out of my working memory. These comments don’t mean much to me anymore. It’s the way of Colombian men. They have no reserve when it comes to praising women. Americans might attribute such compliments as flirting, but in reality it’s far from it. Leo is happily living with his girlfriend.  Another example, Alvarito (the 50 year old physics teachers) telling me daily that he’s in love with me and I’m the most beautiful woman in the world.  Turn the corner and he’s saying the same thing to Laura. Colombian men are smooth-talkers and quick to tell women how beautiful they are.  I remember Leo telling me once, “You have a lot of men telling you nice things.”  My response, “Yeah, but they’re saying the same nonsense to every other woman as well.” He quizzically looked at me, “You’re a smart girl.”  I’ll repeat myself: it’s the way of Colombian men. (okay, case in point:  no joke, as I’m sitting in my room writing this, our security guard, Jaime, peeks in my room, “Good morning beautiful . You look great in yellow. It’s like you are brilliant as the sun. And when the sun sets and it is night then you will shine like the moon and the stars. Even more, like the planets. Have a great day beautiful.”  Jaime, thanks for proving my point.)

Another way of the Colombian man: they LOVE to dance. And can they ever dance. It is a stark contrast to the stiffness and reluctance of American men to get on the floor.  Going to staff parties is always so much fun because as soon as the Latin music starts (salsa, merengue, bachata, etc.) people are up dancing. Initially I was so uncomfortable because I was kind of like a tree when it comes to dancing. Meaning I didn't dance.  Now I just relax and have fun. The men know how to lead so all I have to do is silently count the steps, move my hips, and be pulled along. By the end of the night my calves will be aching from being on tip-toe and my cheeks will be hurting from smiling and laughing the night away. Dancing. It’s the way of Colombian men.

One last way of Colombian men that is shocking to me in regard to personal hygiene: they shave their armpits and get manicures and pedicures. When I found this out I couldn't stop laughing. In the United States you sacrifice your man-card by doing these things. Here, it’s completely acceptable and quite common. Colombians care a lot about appearance and therefore do what it takes to stay well groomed. I won’t say all Colombian men do it, but it’s definitely not an abnormality.

Oh Colombia, you've made some pretty fantastic men!

Ultimate Dork: Accepted

It's 1:23 AM on a school night. That's pretty late...or is it pretty early? 1:23. It doesn't matter which stance you take - I should be sleeping. But I can't because nightmares are keeping me awake. Well not "nightmares". Rather one particular thought. Whenever I close my eyes I am absorbed with the anatomy of the heart and can't stop my brain from repeating the path of blood. Superior vena cava, right atria, tricuspid valve (as it closes, you hear the "lub" of the heart), continuing into the right ventricle, pulmonic artery, pulmonic valve (as this one closes the following "dub" is heard)...etc.  It's not just the path of blood that consumes me, but I also visualize my gloved hand sticking my fingers in the orifices. Yes, I understand that it's quite weird. It is also robbing sleep from me. Am I allowed to blame my kiddos for sleepless nights? We started the cardiovascular system earlier this week and they wanted to dissect hearts. I told them human hearts were out of the picture, but if they brought in cow hearts (which are 4-chambered like ours) that we could do it. Did I actually think they'd bring them in? Nope. Did they actually bring them in? Yup. So I learned a lot yesterday. Top 3. Ready, go!

(1) Cow hearts are big. Big and heavy. No joke, I could do bicep curls with them and would probably benefit. Don't judge the size of my muscles. Just let a picture of a giant heart consume your thoughts. But don't think about it too much. You might be infected with my nightmares.

(2) Colombians eat cow hearts. I've never tried the delicacy, but I guess it's pretty popular. Popular enough that you can go to any meat market and request a heart. And to think, I doubted that anyone would actually be able to find one to bring in to dissect. Oh Leanne, when will you learn to think like a Colombian?

(3) I love gloves. Before class I skipped over to the nurse and asked her for a pair of gloves. Best. Idea. Ever. The majority of the kids were squeamishly prodding  the hearts with pop-sickle sticks and forceps while I just dove right in. I'd stick my little fingers right through the major blood vessels and have each group tell me the names. Kind of sweet but I wouldn't be doing it without hand coverings. That particular dead-meat smell tends to linger on the hands and makes me want to vomit.

Being a biology teacher is sometimes hard. Like when your cursed with anatomical nightmares. I guess there are worse things to keep me awake at night. This one just promotes me to ultimate dork. I suppose I accept.

One last thought as my eyelids get heavy: is that allowed in the United States? Just randomly bringing in cow hearts supplied by a meat market and letting kids hack away? These are things I take for granted in Colombia. Every day this country captures a larger piece of my heart. Ha! Pun intended.

My Special 10th Grade

Today is Thursday and I have the day off. It feels like a Saturday. Several times today I've thought about how I'm going to fill my day tomorrow. Maybe I'll make french-toast for breakfast, then read for a bit, hit the gym around 8:00 and meander to a cafe in the afternoon. My floors need mopping, my piano needs playing, and my cat needs brushing. Perfect.  But then I remember: tomorrow I have work. May 1st (today) is labor day, so of course the day is free. Tomorrow is May 2nd, which is not labor day and a Friday, so I have work. It seems logical, but it feels strange. It should be the weekend.

Due to my lack of class today, I was able to have lunch with some fellow gringas. I met a foreigner who works for a non-profit organization a few weeks back and we had been meaning to grab lunch. Today was the perfect day. A few of the volunteers she coordinates also joined us. As we made small-talk the inevitable question eventually came up, "So, you teach English, right?" I laugh. Well, at least on the inside I'm laughing. I find the picture of me teaching English quite comical. If you know me and my struggle with this silly language, you're hopefully laughing with me. Sure, I can usually speak half-way intelligently but the spelling and grammar of it? Yeah right! There's a reason I always make sure my mom is the first to read my blog. She sends me all my errors to correct (even though I read through it 5 times.) My brain just doesn't do language well.

So that brings me to what I really want to discuss here: what I teach.  I'm not certain I've ever clarified that in a blog entry. I teach in the high school: 9th grade general science, 10th grade biology, and 12th grade "environmental science" (Why the quotes around the last one? Well, that's a lame name to make the school look good. It's really remedial biology. The biology teacher these students had in 10th grade didn't fulfill his contract, left before the year was over, and they got jack-squat in their biology class. So instead of having 2 biology classes on their transcripts, the 12th graders now have "biology" and "environmental science". It looks snazzy, but don't be fooled, it's remedial biology.)

There we have it. I teach 9th, 10th, and 12th graders. It's fascinating having 3 different groups of kids because they each have their own personality. The 9th graders are crazy, the 12 graders are lazy, and the 10th graders...well...they're my special group. You see, I had all these students last year and they've been with me since day 1. They've been a part of my most amazing lessons and patiently endured my failures. They've seen me at my craziest and they've seen me at my lowest. They've made me laugh until my stomach hurts and they've even made me cry. We've been through a lot. When I leave in July, they will have been the only students that were with me my entire time in Colombia. And now I'm trying to put words to them. Is it even possible? It's worth a shot.

My 10th graders are my touchy-feely group. In the United States there are boundaries. Or rather, bubbles. First there are bubbles around the teachers and bubbles around the students. They don't come into physical contact as the fear of a sexual harassment charge is always looming. Second there are little bubbles around each student. This is called personal space. Neither really exists in Colombia and this lack of personal space is exaggerated even more in this 10th grade group. Within the first 10 minutes of class I will have been in physical contact with over 50% of my students. The hand shake. The arm around my shoulder. The hand on my arm as they ask a question. At first this was weird, but now, to be honest I enjoy it. Not in some twisted sexual-predator way, but in the fact that it makes me feel closer to them. They also touch each other all the time. Not too much anymore, but last year I probably said "Don't touch each other" about a million times. And no, I'm not exaggerating. None of my other groups really do this, and this makes my 10th graders special.

My 10th graders are my incredibly bright group. It's not just intelligence with them. Yeah, there are a lot of smart kiddos, but more importantly they ask questions like crazy. I can hardly get through 5 minutes of lecture without someone interjecting a question. And these questions aren't just surface level, they dissect the material and desire to know the inner workings. They crave understanding. It's marvelous and humbling at the same time. Marvelous because of their curiosity. Humbling because there are several times when I have to answer a question with "I don't know." It's hard to be a teacher (the supposed expert on the subject) and have to tell an inquisitive mind that you don't have the answer. At first it was uncomfortable, but now I don't mind. What is my other option? Make something up? I respect them too much for that. So, they ask a lot of questions. None of my other groups really do this, and this makes my 10th graders special.

My 10th graders are my continual company. If I leave my door open during any break in class, I'm sure to have a 10th grade visitor. Sometimes they want to do work on homework in my room. Sometimes they want to talk. Sometimes they want to pester me. Sometimes they want to stand in front of my fan. Sometimes they just want a place to hang out. Without fail, I won't be alone. None of my other groups really do this, and this makes my 10th graders special.

There is one major problem that I should address however: my 10th graders mean the world to me. And this is a problem because they make leaving Colombia hard. Really hard.  None of my other groups really do this, and this makes my 10th graders special. 

Cuidado

This is how it works living on the 4th floor: stairs down and elevator up. The first 2 months I practiced equality: stairs down and stairs up. Now I just don't like huffing and puffing my way up to my apartment. Not that I'm entirely out of shape (my resting heart rate is consistently around 60 bpm) but it's just a lot of stairs. I prefer greeting Ami as I walk in the door without the heaving.

A few days ago I was patiently waiting in the lobby for the decent of the elevator. It was a rainy day and I was carrying groceries. I heard the familiar ding and looked up as the door was opening. There standing was a gentleman and we locked eyes. Man alive, did he look familiar. I couldn't place him fast enough, "Are you walking a little slower today?" The memory came back to me. The disaster of last month. The reason I knew this man. I smiled, giggled a little and told him that I'm done prancing around in the rain. He got off, the door closed, and I relived the situation in which we met.

It was a different rainy day and I had come back from being out of town all day. I typically walk with a little bounce in my step and that day was no different. I skipped down the outside stairs to the door and my portero (doorman) greeted me and buzzed me in. As I opened the door he nonchalantly cautioned, "Cuidado". Whenever it's raining he tells me to be careful because the tile floors in our apartment turn into an ice rink with the tiniest drop of water. I stepped over the ledge that makes up the door frame and landed in a giant puddle. Mind you this is in our lobby. I gently stole a glance at my portero: really bro, there are 3 inches of standing water and all you tell me is "cuidado?" 

After less than 2 seconds in the puddle, I took a bounding leap to a dry spot. Splash. I landed in another puddle. What the heck, does the water go on forever? In hopes to escape the water again I made a final jump to the lower level of the lobby. Remember that ice rink I mentioned? Well, that was the last thing on my mind. As I made contact with the tiles, my feet went out from under me, my knee smashed the tile, and then motion stopped. At this point I didn't even try to scramble up. I knew I wasn't going to get out of this predicament dry, so I rolled over to a comfortable sitting position and just let the soaking happen.  The water permeated my tennis shoes and jeans. Then the giggles came. I couldn't help it. My portero just shook his head and looked at me, "Cuidado?"  Thanks for nothing.

At that point my pride is gone and I'm sitting in a puddle of water laughing. I teetered up on the slippery surface and waddled toward the elevator. That's when I saw him. A kindly man standing at the edge of the room gaping. Yes sir, you just saw me take a flying sprawl into our lobby turned slip-and-slide. I promise I'm okay, you can close your mouth now. I said hi, he mumbled something in Spanish (clearly more embarrassed than I was) and I disappeared into the elevator.

And that's how I met him. A nameless man who hasn't forgot my lobby blunder. "Are you walking a little slower today?"

My Small Town Pereira

I walked home alone today. It was 5:00. My principal had driven me to a central position between our apartments and I just did a tuck-and-roll out of the car. Okay, not so much. He pulled over and I hopped out. There is this secretive pathway that jogs over a river (or perhaps sewage stream) at the bottom of a dead-end road. It's sandwiched between an empty building currently under construction and the back side of another building. At night it's pretty sketchy, but in the evening with an hour or so left of sunlight I had no hesitation. That was my route. I choose it because it cuts off a good 10 minutes and a treacherous hill from the normal route.

Down I go, approaching the dead end and I hear it, "Señora!" It was coming from behind me, so I ignored it. Then I heard the same plead again. I turned around and saw a man and a woman sitting on the front porch of a house on the street. Upon making eye-contact the man continued (in Spanish, but I'll do you a favor a translate), "Be careful, there is some riff-raff on the path." I had already scanned out the situation and evaluated it as being safe, but I could understand their concern. Instead of ignoring them and trodding ahead, I decided to just turn back and take the long way home. The hill-of-death (as I like to call it) would be waiting for me. Coming down the road behind me, however, was another single lady around my age. The woman on the porch suggested, "Why don't you two just walk together. Then you'll be safe."

So, there I found myself, walking with a stranger. She told me it was a good idea to walk together. As I explained to her the added significance for me because I'm a gringa, she looked at me surprised, "You're a gringa?!"  Ha! I had passed for 13.5 seconds as a Colombian. We walked the path together without trouble and had a lovely conversation. She was excited that I loved Pereira and curious about my work.Then, when it was time for our paths to split we said goodbye and that's that.

I continued my walk home with an obvious smile of contentment. Those people didn't need to warn me, but they did. They were just looking out for a stranger. Then I was given the opportunity to walk with another single lady and we had a great chat. Although I live in a city of 500,000 people, I felt like Periera was a small town. A small town that I belong to. A small town that I'm proud to be a part of.

My Colombian Names

I'm not just Leanne here. Colombia has given me a handful of new names. It makes me smile as individuals claim the liberty of re-naming me. Sometimes mistakenly, other times because my name is so hard to pronounce, and then the few who call me something because they don't know my real name. No matter the reason, I'm left with multiple identities.

"Mease": This student designated name is enough to drive me crazy. It is used upwards to one hundred times a work week. This is not an exageration.  It doesn't seem so bad written down, but when the whiny tone brings it to life, this address brings a shiver down my back. MEEEEEEEAAASE.  Usually this name is put to rest on the weekends, but every so often a student will see me out-and-about and to my horror the name is resurrected.

"Measter": Yes. I am called mister a handful of times a day. My response, "We need to do a lesson on human anatomy."  ...this links back to the student laziness in using proper english. Maybe that will be the next error I attack.

"Mease Lean": This is another student designated name, but only amongst a sprinkling of beloved 11th graders. I don't really know why or how, but my named morphed into this. Maybe it's easier to pronounce. Maybe they just wanted to give me a nick name. I kind of like it. But only when those 11th graders use it.

"Leannecita": In Spanish when you at "-ita" or "-ito" to the end of something it makes it little or cute. For example, my cat is a "gato" but when I refer to her she is always my "gatito". It also can mark endearment. I have a student, Simon, who has started referring to me as Leannecita. Am I little, cute or endeared? Without knowing, I've lashed back: he is officially Simoncito.

"Niña": This name means girl. If I greet someone walking down the street that appears older than me, I am frequently "niña". It makes me smile and feel youthful. Yes!!! I guess 24 really isn't THAT old. Ha! Even now the name gives me the empowerment and giddiness of girlhood.

"Senora": Then there is the flip side of the coin. On my typical walk from my apartment to the grocery store or my favorite cafe, I pass this little corner store and know all the delivery boys (probably between the ages of 16-22) by friendly recognition. To them I am "senora" - the old lady. Ugh. Okay, it's also a term of respect, but really guys, you're compiling the years onto me as quickly as I'm drinking from the "niña" fountain of youth. Reality sinks in, maybe 24 is closer to 30 than I'd like to admit.

"Reina": Last but not least is the all to familiar name: queen (and sometimes princess). Men here are quick to use these names for unknown unnamed females. Taxi drivers, store clerks, gym trainers, bus drivers, maintenance workers, etc. Initially it made me recoil, but I quickly realized the innocence in the names. They are used for every woman, regardless of age/beauty/clothing/anything and Colombian women expect to be addressed as such. Therefore I've learned to embrace it. While I'm here I might as well get used to it.

Let me explainyou

On Thursday, before leaving work, I wrote in bold, capital letters on the top of my white-board, "I will not explainyou that. -Love, Leanne."

You might think I have made a typo. Maybe you're thinking the lack of space between explain and you is a key-stroke error. Or perhaps you think I forgot the little "to" and scrambled my words. Instead what I really wrote on my board was, "I will not explain that to you." Both are wrong suppositions.

I wrote in bold, capital letters on the top of my white-board, "I will not explainyou that. -Love, Leanne."

The reason: Lovingly mocking my kiddos repetitive English mistake (hence the "Love, Leanne".) Every day I'm bombarded with ,"Will you explainme how such-and-such works?" "Will you explainme why I got that wrong?" "Will you explainme why I'm failing English?" ....my new response - I just point to the top of my board. Friday, some looked at me confused, then the light bulb clicks, "Ohhhhhh, will you explain TO me ..." There we go buddy. I'd love nothing more than to help out. Their blunder makes sense though. In Spanish you just stick the indirect pronoun onto the verb. "ExplicaME" (explain to me) is how they ask to have something explained. But it doesn't work like that in English and it's painful that they are too lazy to create a grammatically correct sentence. So now, I'm enforcing it. I will not explainyou anything.

There are several more examples of lazy translating errors that my kids make. Instead of functioning in English, most of them are still at a stage where they think the sentence in Spanish and then translate it as they go. This works for some instances, but for the exceptions, they don't bother speaking correctly and it drives me bonkers.  Maybe you think that's unreasonable, "Come on Leanne, English is their second language." I'll give you that, but they've been in a bi-lingual school learning and having half of their classes taught in English since 2nd grade. They are now 9th, 10th, and 12th graders and should have a strong grasp of the language. And it's not that they don't, it's that the majority are just too lazy to correct common mistakes. They are content with being understood as opposed to mastery of the language. My first year, I was content with that too and maybe even impressed, but now I'm not. I hold them to much higher standards of English. I correct them. I poke fun at them. I point to the board.

After explainme, the top 3 contenders that evoke a cringe and then a reaction:

1: Starting sentences with "It's that..." :  A kid walks in late and I look at him. He exclaims, "It's that I had to go to the bathroom." A girl comes up to my desk 5 minutes before the bell rings, "It's that I have to go to lunch early today." A boy stands up and walks toward the door, I ask him what he's doing, "It's that I have to sharpen my pencil."  It's not that these sentences are terribly wrong, but you wouldn't catch a native English speaker saying that.  I explain that to them over and over again. It doesn't sink in. Why? Because that's okay in Spanish and quite common. "Es que" + rest of the sentence = okay. Since I've started calling my students out and not letting them start with "It's that" I've noticed how much in Spanish I hear that phrase. So much so, that I've actually picked up the habit when I'm speaking Spanish. At the supermarket I'm looking for weights, I walk up to an employee, "ES QUE estoy buscando pesos." My Spanish is a touch more Colombian! But, it's that I need to explainyou two more errors.

2. Presenting a test: 9 times out of 10 when a student is absent on a test day, they will come up to me the next day, "It's that I was absent for the test.  When can I present it?" Two strikes against you kiddo. But now we're focusing on the verb "present". In Spanish you "presentar" a test. In English you don't. It's that, you TAKE a test. I will not explainyou and you cannot present the test.

3. Losing and winning tests: Kiddo turns in his test, "I think I'm going to lose the test." Oh really? You just handed it to me, you can't lose it when it's in my hands. I think you mean you're going to fail the test. If it were English, that might be so. In Spanish you lose and win tests. In English you pass or fail. The kids know this, but don't take the time to change it. Let me explainyou something, it's that as long as you talk like that you'll lose every test you present.

So there you have the top 4 errors I hear and correct over 50 times a week. I'm not exaggerating. You know, these are small details and I'm not giving my kids credit for how much they do know, BUT these matter. These little things are the distinguishing factors between fluency and mere communicative language skills. I'd be doing a disservice to them if I didn't call them out.

Now I'm in full out war against these top 4. Once they've been mastered, I'll move on to the next 4.

Let me explainyou, it's that if we work in baby steps they may not even realize that their habits change! Goal.

Because Yes

Twelve.

The number of days we sing about each year at Christmastime. But, if I'm being honest here, I'm not really concerned about that anymore.Christmas has come and gone. And I have gone and come. Ha. What a sentence. What I mean is I have left Colombia and have come back.  I've been back for 12 days now. Nearly two weeks and my readjustment period is coming to a close. This time around it's been a little bumpier and has lingered a little longer. The things I had become accustomed to here pre-vacation kind of just smacked me in the face all over again. And I laugh. Oh Colombia. How I love to dawdle in my gringa-ness all over again.

A voice of reason has minimal influence here. I've been reminded of that several times. For example, I could easily see this happening: Steve and I go out to a sandwich place for lunch. The special is a ham and cheese sandwich for $6,900.  I ask for mine without cheese. When I get my bill it's for $8,500. Confused, I ask the cashier about the special. "No, that's for the ham and cheese." Yes, I understand that. I ordered that but didn't want cheese. "Well that's a ham sandwich, so it's $8,500." We go back and forth, I give up, pay and leave.  I guess taking cheese off costs more than putting it on. There are many things like this that just don't make sense. But in all forms of lack of reason it's easy to shrug it off and remember: Oh yeah, I live in Colombia. That seems a good way to close a paragraph, but I want to add one more tidbit: the "because yes." When challenged with a "why?" my kiddos frequently respond, "Because yes." Ha! Of course that's excellent reasoning. The nonsense reverberates through the youth as well.

Along this line, being back has taken a toll on my English. I spend approximately 5 hours a day hanging out with teenagers who don't speak English well. It rubs off on me after a while. Running into class as the bell rang, one student slipped into another persons seat. The poor victim was left without a chair and they both knew they'd get a tardy. I quizzically looked at the offender, "You can't steal him the seat and expect not to get a tardy." Steal him the seat? Wow Leanne. And that just scratches the surface.

Another wow: While being home I forgot how incredible my staff members are. The first day being back at school we all showered each other with hugs, kisses, and lots of Spanglish chit-chat. This is followed by playful jest and messing around during meetings. This comradery at work is what keeps me going.

What else keeps me going? My lovely kitty-cat who is just a little quirkier than I remember. I talk to her. She keeps me company. We've developed quite a relationship. She's weird though. Allow me to expound. My parents have taught me a heck of a lot about life. One that's pretty high up on that list is drying off before getting out of the shower (thank you Scott!). So I turn the shower off, open the door, grab my towel, and in saunters Ami. I dangle the towel in front of her a few times and she bats at it. Kinda cute. Then she proceeds to bite it and play tug of war with me. If I give her any slack she'll go ahead and just carry the towel into the bedroom like it's her stuffed animal or something. This happens frequently.  Kitten, you are weird. Perhaps weirder than when I left you a month ago. But it makes me smile.

More readjustment. Hearing Spanish everywhere. I was chilling at a cafe sipping coffee and overheard the couple sitting next to me speaking in Spanish. "Woah! Spanish, I wonder what they're saying....o wait. You're back in Spanish land." The brain is slowly switching back to living in this place.

I suppose I could go on and on. Things are just much more different than I remembered them ever being since arriving. Not that it's bad. It's kind of fun re-experiencing Colombia. I'll leave it at that for now. Why?  You might ask. Because yes.

...and I'm a tired pumpkin ready for some shut-eye. This teaching thing is a lot harder than I remember too!

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.