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.