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.