Gringa Leaves Colombia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sante Bleu

It's Monday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Identity Crisis

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Science Teacher Fun

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

See you in week blogging world!

Spanish Fails

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perspective

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

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

Brilliance.

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

Vaca Part Dos: Fish, Plantain and Rice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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