Little Lebowski's Peri-Urban Achievers

When schools are on vacation for Christmas, it's important to find projects and activities to do to occupy your inevitable free time. As the break was approaching, I was planning on holding a basketball camp at my school during the break, since the school has the only basketball hoops I've seen in my neighborhood. I submitted a proposal to the Nun/Principal, after being assured by my counterparts and other teachers that it would be approved. After some deliberation, it got rejected because something about how they needed the space for construction workers to move around while working on a new school building. Although I believe that it still would have been possible to have the camp at the school during construction, since they have been working on the building for months during the school year, I'm just going to chalk this one up as differing ideologies that Sister principal and I have concerning what activities have priority at the school.

After the secondary project setback, I was searching for other activities I could do to avoid being stagnant. No work and no play makes Tyler a dull boy. So I decided to help out my friend Mike, another Peace Corps volunteer that lives in Cartagena, with his girls' softball/leadership camp. He had equipment donated from a U.S. organization. He planned the camp with one of his counterparts, Vilma, who is famous among the volunteers for wearing, to an official Peace Corps conference, a giant wolf t-shirt. It was pretty bitchin'.

Mike lives in a small town just outside Cartagena called La Boquilla. It's a bit higher on my "dirt roads/naked babies running around" index for judging how, lets say "simple," a place is than where I live. I never thought I would say it, but after staying there for two weeks, I missed all the amenities I had in Barranquilla like toilet seats, running water, and stoves that don't singe off your knuckle hairs every time you light them.

The camp started out great. About 25 girls showed up the first day. In the mornings we had workshops about topics such as self-esteem, nutrition, the environment, and leadership. We also taught a dance to the girls each day. Some went better than others. They really liked the funky chicken and the apache dance from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. They weren't really feeling it when we tried to teach them to move it like Bernie. After a short three hour break for lunch, we would meet up at the beach to have some softball drills and play a short game. Or this was the plan at least. We soon found out that many girls tended not to come back after going home for lunch. On Monday, most of them from the morning made it back for afternoon softball, but by Thursday, only a handful showed up. And on Friday, we had to cancel that day of camp entirely because no one showed up at all.

We decided we needed to get the word out about the camp to the community again. We made flyers and spent a hot, sweaty afternoon walking around the town spreading the word. We also decided to start the camp earlier and have it only in the morning, because once them girls done gone home fer lunch, they ain't gonna come back. The next Monday, about 50 girls showed up, which was way more than we could really handle. Luckily, the numbers thinned out to a manageable quantity later in the week. The second week went much better than the first week. Most days 20-25 girls came and most of them stayed all morning. It was great to see them improving over the course of the camp. Girls normally don't play sports very often in these communities, so many were excited to have an opportunity to participate in organized team sports, especially when all the equipment was available.

On the last day of camp, we held an Olympic type decathlon. We had events like softball tosses for distance or accuracy, frisbee tosses for the same, 50 yd. dash, and long jump. I was somewhat surprised at how well it went. The girls all seemed interested and focused until, toward the end of the morning, when a dead dog washed up on the beach. After that, the girls seemed a bit distracted, so we only got to finish 9 out of the 10 events. Still not too shabby.

This is Mike's blog, where he has a day by day recap of the camp: It's Always Sunny in Colombia

Funky Chicken time

Base hit!

Breakin' it down

They got the frisbee fundamentals down

Dangers of being an outfielder: getting hit by a bus

And how proud we are of all of them

Christmas in Colombia II: Y Esta Vez Es Personal

This Christmas marked my third in a row away from home. Now, I'm not a big Christmas guy. I'm not big on all the Christmas celebrations, family time, or music. It's mostly the food that I get excited about and, now that I'm here in Colombia, the idea of being cold. So I can't say that I'm not jealous when I hear stories friends tell of going back to the states for the holidays.

Christmas time here starts even earlier and in fuller force than in the U.S. They start rolling out the decorations around Halloween, and it gets exponentially stronger from there on in. I'm not a fan of U.S. Christmas music, but I would take it any day over what they play here. If it's not the four or five songs they have on repeat, in which the word "navidad" accounts for  roughly 75% of the song, it is a song sung by a chorus of off-key children. It's only made better if I'm awoken at six in the morning by my family blasting the songs from their giant speakers. I find that I'm much more prone to grinchiness here than ever before.

 On Christmas Eve, I played the role of a good host son and went with my family as they visited other family around town. Here, Christmas Eve is a bigger event than Christmas Day. It usually involves staying up all night drinking with your family, which is something I can get behind. At the relatives' house, we hung out for a while and listened to loud Christmas music. Then at midnight, we gathered inside for some sort of Christmas prayer sesh. Afterward, we went around in a circle and each person spoke for a bit, something along the lines of what they were thankful of. Before my turn, my host father went. He started talking about how grateful he was for his wife and about his struggles after getting heart surgery and how he appreciates his second chance at life. It was really emotional and he got choked up saying it. Then it was my turn. I had one hell of an act to follow. I threw out something about how grateful I was to have such a nice host family, which is true. But luckily no one really expected much out of me, so I got off easily. After a second dinner and the most dairy-dense desert I've ever eaten, we went back home at around 2.

A Long Way from London

A couple weeks ago, my school held the opening ceremony for their Olympic games. Coming into this, like with most events here, I had no idea what to expect. My experiences with school Olympics have involved day-long undertakings that included the typical easy to set up competitions, such as sprints, long jumps, and the softball toss. I show up in my athletic clothes because I hear that there will be a teacher vs. ninth grade (the oldest grade at the school) soccer match. And since there are only a few male teachers, that means if I volunteer, I'd have to be picked to be on the team. Not a situation that has historically happened often to me. Suck it, grade school kickball teams; I got picked for a real sport.

I arrive at the school when the ceremony is about to start and I hang out for a bit with the students. The ceremony starts about an hour late, still better than NBC's Olympic coverage. After the national and city anthems, we are treated to several dance(?) routines. It's hard for me to categorize what I saw, but I can say there were cheerleaders, boys walking in circles bouncing basketballs, and even a couple kids whipped out a chess board right quick to play a few choice moves for the crowd. No Danny Boyle opening ceremony, but I liked that they showed off some of the sports that I believe will be involved in the games, plus I didn't get sixty years of British pop culture shoved down my throat. After those routines, I thought that we'd probably start the games now. But, like any good infomercial, wait, that's not all. A professional soccer ball juggler person came out and busted a few moves. At first, I had to say that I would have been hard pressed to be amused by his tricks. But I have to say that he pulled out all the stops, going above and beyond what you'd see in most Nike commercials and even getting some crowd participation. He finished and left to an ovation. OK, I thought, with him out of the way, surely we must be...what's that, a cheerleading group? All right, I'll bite. This bunch, unfortunately, didn't do much for me. Call me old fashioned, but I only ever go to cheerleading competitions for the falls, of which there were none that day. And to be honest, I've seen better flips on my pancake griddle.

After over three hours of opening ceremony, the games kicked off after the lighting of the torch. Since there was no fire, nor anywhere really to go, a few kids ran in circles with the paper torch around the cheering crowd, up and down the stairs, then back to the front. We then started the staff vs. student game. I figured, although I didn't have much soccer experience, that my size and athleticism should allow me to at least hold my own with kids almost ten years younger than me. Turns out, not so much. One would most accurately describe my style as flailing, like someone trying to tread water that doesn't know how to swim. Graceful I was not, but I do quickly become frustrated when I don't fair well while playing sports. This led to me using my girth to my advantage over these smaller, underfed children, pushing them around a bit and so on. Although this didn't necessarily improve my level of play, I did feel a bit better after establishing my physical dominance. I don't remember the score, but the only score that mattered to me at the end was Tyler: 0 Soccer Confidence: 0.

Once the game ended, people started dispersing from the school. It turns out the bulk of the Olympic games consist of soccer matches and a few other random events to be played during recess for the following month. One of the other sports was cycling. Their version, however, was more akin to musical chairs; several children on all types of bikes (big, small, with and without training wheels) ride around a circle of cones until an official blows a whistle and all the kids break for the start/finish line. I assumed they were keeping track of who had the lead, but they gave it to whomever broke free of the circle first after the whistle. I also witnessed the roller skate race. It seemed as though almost half of these children had never used roller skates before. I was reminded of the Monty Python sketch of the 100m dash for people afraid of yellow tape.

But the events that everyone really cared about were the individual grades' soccer teams playing in the month-long tournament. I particularly enjoyed watching the younger kids, the first, second, and third graders play. Their strategy centered around swarming the ball and kicking the hell out of it until someone falls into the scrum and the whistle is blown. A strategy not seen enough in major soccer leagues today. I liked to
 imagine this was happening to professional soccer players with real commentators calling the action:

The ball enters the box and everyone seizes upon it. It is a whirlwind of kicking legs amongst a mass of bodies. I can't even make out the ball in this hullabaloo. Oh no! It seems as Wayne Rooney has lost his footing and fallen into the mess. He is being pounded unmercifully by tiny feet of fury. Look at that! The ball has managed to escape the scrum and is headed straight to Messi, who was before now sitting on the ground playing with dirt. He gets up and takes a mighty swing at the ball. Although he doesn't connect, the ball still rolls in the net because the opposing keeper was distracted by a butterfly that has landed on the crossbar! GOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAL!

Tyler Fingers Panama....Wait, That Doesn't Sound Right

I took a trip with some volunteers in the beginning of July to Medellin and while there, I managed to fracture my middle finger going off a rope swing. I didn't think it was that bad. Even though it was swollen, only partially flexible, and grotesquely angled to one side, I thought that I could probably just let it ride and not do anything about it. But, to play devil's advocate, I decided to see the Peace Corps doctor anyway. She sent me to get x-rays and those determined that yes, I had a fracture and it was located on the joint in my finger. After seeing an orthopedist, it was determined that I needed surgery. Then, because the doctor in Barranquilla was not a "hand specialist," it was decided that I needed to be sent to Panama to have surgery. Now, sending volunteers to another country for medical procedures, known as medivac, is usually reserved for cases that involve words like ruptured, malignant, or complete reconstructive surgery. And here I was being sent to Panama for a broken finger. Part of me was saying "This seems a bit much, flying me to Panama just for finger surgery." But then another part of me was saying "Hey, there's a Popeye's Chicken near the hotel."

I had no idea how long I would be in Panama. The Peace Corps had initially booked me a return ticket for 2 weeks after I was to arrive there. I thought there's no way that I'm going to be there that long. I mean, it's just a stupid finger. After a consultation with the doctor there, it was determined that the earliest I could leave was after I had a follow-up with the doctor a week and a half after the surgery. So, yeah. There was a way that I could be staying there two weeks. A couple days after I get to Panama, I have my surgery. Right after I was admitted to the hospital, a woman came in to my room and collected all of my belongings because I would be transferred to another room after the surgery. But these items included all the things I brought to occupy my copious amount of waiting time. I knew a hospital was where some people went to die, but I didn't know that it was chiefly from boredom. Despite asking for these things back after the surgery, I didn't get them back until right before I checked out the next day. Yes, I did stay overnight and I had general anesthesia for finger surgery. But I was just so bored. OK, now that I got my whining out, I can continue.

After completing the surgery, I had a week and a half to kill before going back to Colombia. The first couple days, I walked around the city a bit after lunch. It was around this time that I really took note of how muggy Panama City was. I've been getting used to heat in Barranquilla, but there was something about Panama City that made it feel like I was walking around in John Goodman's armpits. Maybe it was that there wasn't much breeze,or it might have been more humid, but after walking around for a couple hours, I must have sweat out the equivalency of a Super Big Gulp. Following the revelation that "It's hot," I decided that walking explorations were to begin and conclude before noon. I had only brought so many shirts and I be damned if I was going to walk down the block to use the laundromat to wash them, so I tried not to punish my clothing too much with my sweat. There were a few days where I planned to get up early to go explore a park or another part of the city. More times than not, I would wake up early, eat breakfast, and by the time I was readying myself to leave, it started raining hard. Usually this rain would let up later, in the hottest part of the day. This climate pattern led me to catch up on some tv shows or read quite a bit while staying in the air conditioned hotel room.

I did manage to make it to the Panama Canal. It was....there. I know that it's an engineering marvel and it is crucial to world commerce, but it was a stream that big ships passed through. Cool. I mostly went because I felt I had to at least see it. Plus, it was on the way to Summit Nature Reserve. This place was great. It was a nature reserve/botanical garden/zoo. And because it was the middle of the week in a down time, there was almost no one there. I stayed there for a while, until I noticed that my profuse sweating was being perceived by the animals as a sign of weakness and I suddenly felt very vulnerable.

I spent some time in Panama City malls in my search for heat refuge as well as American fast food. One mall I visited, The Albrook Mall, was definitely the biggest mall I've ever seen. I walked from one end to the other and it took about 45 minutes without stopping in any stores. It was so big, they ran out of stores and had to repeat some of them a few times. There were also two full sized food courts and I counted a total of five Cinnabons. So after getting a cinnamon roll at each one, I started to think that this might be a bit of overkill.

One of my last days in Panama, I managed to make it out of the hotel early on a clear day and headed out toward this park that is a giant hill that supposedly offers a beautiful view of the city. As I was walking there, I had to pass through a busy market area. It was at this point that someone came up from behind me and hit me with a baseball bat in the leg. As I turned around to see what the hell that was, I saw two men coming toward me and it was clear that they probably had a motive for hitting me. Seeing this, I start running away from them, toward an area of more people. I looked back and they did not follow me. I reasoned that they probably aimed to get me to fall to the ground by taking out my legs so they could grab my backpack, which was only filled with granola bars, and run away. But they hit in me in a spot where my ample thighs could absorb the blow. And that's the story of the time I didn't go on a hike. But in those guys' defense, the granola bars I had were Clif bars. Those things are worth their weight in gold.

On my last day in Panama, I went shopping at a nearby grocery store that sold all the hard to find American food products. I managed to bring back $90 worth of groceries to Barranquilla. I feel like, if nothing else, the trip was worth it just for this.

I Don't Want to Go Back to Barranquilla

In our positions as English teachers it seems, to me at least, that it is difficult at times to find an opportunity to take a vacation because our job behooves us to be at school frequently to see that our co-teachers are following through with the curriculum or teaching methods that one implements. So when there is a school break and an opportunity for vacation comes up, you have to carpe that diem. During the most recent school break, some fellow volunteers and I traveled to the interior city of Medellin for a week. We were told that this city should be first on our lists for traveling. It also didn't hurt that Medellin is known as The Eternal Spring for its yearlong agreeable climate. You didn't have to tell me twice to go there.

We hit a slight snag en route to Medellin when we were held up at the Barranquilla airport for a few hours. I think it had something to do with the military plane catching on fire on the runway earlier that morning. Apparently the planes had been held for some time, because we ran into a couple other volunteers there who were supposed to be on an earlier flight to Bogota. Needless to say, they were not in a peasant mood. After some complimentary/apologetic apple-flavored soda provided by the airline, we were on our way. Because we had to change our original flight, naturally there was a mix up and my friend's checked bag was lost by the time we arrived at the Medellin airport. During this second airport delay, I took advantage of the Dunkin Donuts stand they had in the airport. These are not found on the coast and I have seen many people bring a dozen donuts back from the interior. I had to take advantage when I could. We eventually made it to the hostel in one piece after "traveling" for about 10 hours, including about 1.5 hours of actual flight time. By the time we got to the hostel, we were all starving and we immediately hit the bricks looking for a place to eat. We found a Mexican food restaurant that actually had sauces with spice in them. Spiciness is another thing not found often, if at all, on the coast.

Our first actual day in Medellin, we just wanted to walk around for a bit. We visited Plaza Botero, which houses several statues by Colombian artist Fernando Botero. His signature style is giving all his subjects some "meat on their bones." Essentially super sizing them. It might be the American side of me talking, but I am quite fond of his work.

Which one is the Botero statue?

The following day we decided to visit this recreation of a Colombian village called El Pueblito Paisa. It's located on a hill in the middle of Medellin. After climbing a fair amount of stairs (a theme of the trip), we reached the summit of this tourist trap. It was a kitschy little square block or so, but it had a great view of Medellin. Next we headed to this area where some outside escalators were installed to help people commute from their homes in the hills much easier. Medellin is a very hilly city and at times it seems as though one is climbing up a mountain face. It was interesting to see these escalators in the middle of this poorer neighborhood. There were 6 sets of escalators and we rode them up the hill. There were plenty of local kids playing on the escalators which had an attendant situated at each one, which seemed a bit odd for how poor the neighborhood seemed to be. We found out that the escalators had only been running for about three months. Later we were able to find a place that served one of the area's renown dishes: La Bandeja Paisa. Traditionally, this plate includes rice, beans, sausage, a fried egg, and avocado. But the place we found threw in a quarter of a chicken and a mound of fries as well. Not too shabby. Afterward, in a daze of gluttony, we all decided to get matching spray-on seahorse tattoos. Why? Because that's just what friends do.

El Pueblito Paisa

Outdoor Escalators

"What Pride! We live in the only neighborhood in the world with public escalators."

Seahorse Club ASSEMBLE!

Oh baby

The next day we made a trip out to a mammoth rock called El Peñón de Guatapé. We hiked the 740 steps to the top where there is a beautiful view of the surrounding valley, as well as a number of overpriced gift shops and restaurants. I couldn't help but think that making it up and down those steps everyday does not make for a fun commute to work. When we got back into Medellin, we treated ourselves to another taste of home: Domino's Pizza. It was quite refreshing to have pizza that a) had a crust with a measurable thickness b) used more than a fine mist of pizza sauce and c) definitely did not use queso costeño.

View from the top

We went to a nature reserve on the Rio Claro the next day, July 4th. Highlights on the trip there included: a) a small traffic delay due to a large chunk of road that had just crumbled down the mountain b) a couple military tanks parked at a gas station c) another short traffic delay due to two buses that had crashed head-on and d) a baby vomited a few rows in front of me, which in turn caused another child to vomit (reminiscent of the pie eating contest scene from Stand By Me). Luckily this reserve was this beautiful spot located on a river in the jungle. Our hotel rooms only had three walls, so you can fall asleep and wake up to the sounds of nature. The first day we went rafting with a few other people staying at the reserve. Although we only encountered miniscule class one rapids, one girl still managed to fall out of the raft. During this trip, we stopped a couple of times to try out a rope swing or a jump off an overhanging tree branch. After one of my tries on the rope swing, I noticed that one of my fingers had a kink in it. As it would turn out, I had a fracture in it that I would find out after I got back and I'll talk about that ordeal in the next post. Although that night we didn't have any fireworks to celebrate our American-ness, there was an intense thunder storm that rolled in and we were treated to quite a show from the comfort of our three-walled rooms. The next day we did a bit of zip lining and more relaxing by the river before heading back to Medellin.

On our last full day there, we took the metro to cable cars that go up the mountain that Medellin is positioned at the foot of. At the very top of the mountain is a park, but it was closed by the time we got there. It was still worth it for the ride in the cable cars. Our flight was to leave early the next morning, so instead of booking another night in the hostel, we decided to go clubbing all night and head to the airport early the next morning. We were able to make it through the night and made it safely back to Barranquilla in one piece...except for my finger.

There were a few differences that I noticed between Medellin and the coast of Colombia, most of them for the better. I noticed that cars honked far less than on the coast, nor did they speed up whenever a pedestrian crossed the road. That was quite a refreshing change of pace. Medellin was also cleaner, had in tact sidewalks, and one day even closed down a road to traffic for the day so that people could jog, ride bikes, and roller blade on it.More things not seen on the coast. Medellin is also the only Colombian city with a Metro, which we used just about every day and was incredibly cheap and easy to use. When/if the Peace Corps expands to the interior of Colombia and the Medellin region, those are going to be some lucky volunteers.

It's All About the Finger Strength

When considering the public transit system, I think Forrest Gump put it best: It's "like a box of chocolates, SOMETHING JUST JUMPED UP AND BIT ME." With that said, I believe I had the most...fulfilling bus ride the other night. I was waiting for a bus sometime in the early evening. It had been thunder-storming all day, but at the moment it was only drizzling. I saw my bus approaching and hailed it down. All I could see was a congealed mass if Colombians on the front step. But the bus had stopped, so the driver expected me to hop on. I wasn't about the let the guy down, so I clung on to what available hand bar and foot space was available and away we went. Needless to say, it was a tight squeeze. There was quite a bit of hardcore spooning going on. It was getting more intimate than I'd care to admit, but maybe it was just me. I'm not a smoker, but I felt like I needed a cigarette after that. Anyway, the ride itself was memorable in many different ways. The roads on the way to my neighborhood are in poor condition, so I had to employ my vulcan death grip to ensure I didn't get thrown from the bus as it swerved to avoid massive pot holes, oncoming traffic, stray dogs, hostile donkey carts, etc. The great part about dangling from the edge of this speeding bus was the fact that I could take in this majestic storm front. Because of the heat and humidity here, when it storms, there is constant thunder and lightning. So here I was, using all my finger strength to clutch my vicarious hold on the bus, lightning perpetually lighting up the entire night sky, soft rain gently spritzing my face, a giant blue strobe light placed by the door flustering my senses and possibly causing some slight astigmatism, and giant speakers playing inaudibly loud music at every turn. Total sensory overload. I was taking it all in when I noticed we were going to skim a roadside mango tree. Luckily, I was able to pull myself together and duck before a branch could have laid me out. Toward the end of the ride, the bus emptied out, but I remained on the step because this experience was too good to give up.

This morning, I awoke in a lake of sweat, as opposed to the wading pool of sweat I have grown used to. I noticed that my fan wasn't going, which could only mean that the power was out. Now, there are pros and cons of "the light leaving," as they say here. Although the outage leaves me without my beloved, cherished fan to pleasure me with its glorious blows, the neighborhood is much quieter due to all the speakers being nullified. I took this opportunity to read in the hammock in the back patio. Shortly thereafter, I heard someone playing loud music nearby. I checked again and the power was still out. I figured they must have a battery powered stereo or a generator dedicated to ensuring that the party never stops. I tuned it out, as I have become increasingly better at, and continued reading. Then, in Colombia's seemingly constant one-upmanship, a Cumbia band started up a couple of doors down. I had to say that I did not expect to my neighborhood play that card so far in the year from Canaval, in which the majority of Cumbia is played. Touche. I have to say, in that scenario I felt similar to the man from the classic Twilight Zone episode where he is the last man on Earth and he is left to his books with all time in the world, but his glasses fall and break. THAT'S NOT FAIR!! THAT'S NOT FAIR AT ALL!!

Where is My Mind? or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Chaos

This is another piece I did for the Peace Corps Colombia newsletter.

I am not a particularly verbal person, which means that here on the Coast, nobody ever listens to me. Ever. So I am usually left with only my thoughts throughout the day. Here are some of them:

• What is that banging outside the window that has just woken me up at 5 am? Oh it's just my host mom cleaning off the bars on my window by hitting them with a rag. OK then, back to sleep.
• Good morning, Mr. Butcher Man. What a great day to be cutting meat on a stump of wood. Mmmm, smells great. I'll see you tonight for dinner, random cut of meat sitting out all day.
• Come on, school doorman. I've been out here knocking for five minutes. What could you be doing right now? Your job is to open the door for people, not too hard, right? Please open the door; it's so hot out here. It should be a crime to be this sweaty before 7 am.
• I'm just going to wait outside this classroom until my co-teacher shows up. What's that, little student? You're inviting me inside? Do you hear the noises coming from inside the classroom that sound like animals fighting over a carcass? No thanks, I'm good out here.
• Ah, finally my co-teacher shows up. Now I can go in the classroom. Let me just take a seat at the desk and- hey, wait, where did you go? You were just here. Got me with the old Bait and Switch again. Clever girl.
• Oh textbook, how I loathe thee. We are required to follow you, but you teach these children words like wakeboarding, minestrone, croquet, and Personal Digital Assistant before they are able to conjugate in the simple present. Really? They stopped making PDAs over ten years ago.
• You want me to do what activity with the kids? No, that's a stupid idea...but since you never told me what we were going to teach today and I have nothing prepared, I guess I'll have to go along with your pointless activity. You win this round.
• Man, that kid is really going to town picking his nose. He's about two knuckles deep and he couldn't care less that other people are watching. Atta boy. You go on with your bad self. Your kind of gross bad self.
• All right teachers, it's time for our planning session. I don't know when you all decided that this would start off as a game of hide and seek, but you guys are good at hiding. Getting all the teachers in the same room at the same time is like herding cats, and I only have two co-teachers.

But despite all this, I am finding the balance between things I can change and things that I just have to go along with. And it's important to find this balance, or else you'll start to lose and mind and before you know it, you'll be nailing pancakes to the wall. It's happened before.

Hopelessly Lost in Translation aka Oh Google Translate, You Slay Me

Google translate can be a very useful tool. I use it frequently when I chat online with my Colombian friends. However, if you don't have a fair grasp on the language you are translating, you could end up with something that makes absolutely no sense.

With that said, I came to school for my first day back in a week because the volunteers had a HIV/AIDS awareness and prevention workshop all the week prior. In one class, the students had been assigned the previous week to make a cookbook in English. One of the few good ideas my co-teachers have had. But once I started reviewing these books, I noticed many egregious, but hilarious lost in translation errors.

• "Power of wheat." What the student was trying to say was powder of wheat, but really meant wheat flour. The power is yours.
• Many students translated potato wrong. Potato is papa in Spanish, but el papa means the Pope. So some recipes called for "fried popes," "peel and cut the popes into slices," and "boil the pope." Ironically, these seem like punishments popes would have subjected unto heathens in the Middle Ages.
• There was a recipe called "Chicken Burger of the Sea." My co-teacher and I were both confused as to what the student meant, but then it dawned on me. I asked the student "Is this a burger made of tuna?" She said yes. It's a burger made with Chicken of the Sea brand tuna. Gross.
• In this burger recipe, there was one step that said "Make patties with small hands." Apparently this means to just make small patties with your hands. Which is good, because midgets aren't always available to help you with your cooking needs.
• Pasaboca means snack in English, but when you translate the two individual words that make up this word, pasa and boca, you get "Raisinmouth." Close.
• "Pour the chin for 25 minutes." Neither I nor the student had any idea what this was supposed to be.
• "Bile-sized pieces." The student meant bite-sized pieces. Mmm, tangy.
• "Yeast or an envelope." I think the student meant an envelope of yeast. You can use yeast to leaven the bread or, in a pinch, an envelope.
• "Smooth as fried cake." I didn't even want to ask.
• "Put in separate bowl little girl chopping vegetables." Once again, both the student and I didn't have an answer for this one.

In addition to these understandable student errors, I found out how little my teacher knew about food and cooking. She saw "thyme" and tried to correct it to "time." I had to tell her that thyme was a spice. Not that she'd know. Not many people here on the Coast use any spices in their cooking. She also didn't know what leeks, macadamia nuts, cardamom, and cannelloni were. I'm not at all surprised that she didnt know these things. In the whole scope of things, those are small popes.  

It's Gonna Get Graphic

Here's a graphic I made about Peace Corps experience here in Colombia for the volunteer newsletter.

Thank you, Barranquilla

I have a few thank you notes to write (a la Jimmy Fallon) to the city and people of Barranquilla:


Thank you, man across the street the school emptying an underground sewage container into the street.

You made my school smell great all day. I had been thinking to myself that it's nice and excruciatingly hot, but unfortunately there's no awful smell to accompany it. And you came through, good sir. Now I know what it feels like to be in a Port-o-potty at an Indian food festival held on the Sun.


Thank you, most people I pass by on the street.

Yes, I notice you giving me the once-over, and all I have to say is "Finally." Obviously I am dressed to impress with my polo and jeans, but it's my face soaked in sweat that really makes the outfit shine. But seriously, I get pretty shiny out there. And let me say that you're not looking too bad yourself, mister. I like the t-shirt folded half way up to show off your sculpted (like a sphere) midriff/beer gut. I especially like how you do it when it's not even hot out. Damn, did it just get sexy in here?


Thank you, cricket hidden in an inaccessible corner of my room.

You remind me that it is 10:30 each night. I love how you keep reminding me all night as well. I enjoy our game we play, where I take a shoe and swipe around underneath my dresser and you keep quiet for a few minutes, pretending I got you. And then you all like "jk, lol, jus' playin'," and then I'm all like "haha cricket, you so crazy."


Thank you, first rain of the season.

You cleaned all the dirt and grime off the buildings that has accumulated in the past few months without rain. And with that cleaning, all the smells associated with that filth are sent everywhere. The delicious odors fill the air and make my lunch taste like a public toilet smells. Mmmm, who's hungry?


Thank you, host mother.

Thanks for waiting to tell me important information or asking me questions until I have just woken up in the morning. I have enough trouble understanding English, let alone your rapid fire Spanish. I know you wait until the morning because you must like it when I ask you to repeat yourself five times, and then just nod along, not really understanding anything. I mean, why else would you confuse me like that?


Thank you, horrible fantastic school technology department.

I understand why you require four days prior notice to use a simple projector. Obviously I need a "technician" to come in to: 1) plug it into the wall, 2) plug my computer into it, and 3) point the shiny light part at a wall. This should be an easily manageable obstacle for teachers to overcome in order to use this to enhance their lessons, because they definitely plan lessons at least four days in advance. Definitely. Super-duper definitely.


Thank you, co-teachers.

Thanks for leaving the class and ditching me whenever I take a turn at teaching a lesson. I know that part of the suggestions for co-teaching is to have the other teachers be in the room as to learn some teaching tactics, but that's ok. You go take your smoke break. Or talk to another teacher down the hall for 20, 30 minutes. No worries, it's not like these kids jump out of their seats and yell constantly. They certainly don't laugh at me when I try to yell at them to sit back down because my Spanish isn't perfect, or it's too good and they are only used to listening to slanged up and accented Spanish. But it's ok, take your time.

You're Telling Me There's Music Other Than Salsa?

This week, I taught what I felt was the most enriching lesson so far to these kids. Seventh graders were learning about musical instruments, so I told the teacher I wanted to do a lesson about musical genres popular outside of Colombia. I started the lesson by asking the kids what musical genres they knew. Of course, they started with the few that are popular here: Salsa, Cumbia, Vallenato, Reggaeton, Champeta, etc. Then I asked them about any others, perhaps outside of here that aren't so popular in Colombia. I got a few responses. One said rock, one said rap, more than one said opera, which confused me. But for the most part, that exhausted their knowledge of "world music." I put many more genres on the board and explained a bit about each one. Although it was technically an English class, I spoke mostly in Spanish. I really wanted the kids to understand and broaden their horizons, if that meant that they didn't learn much English one day. I was a bit dismayed at how unforgiving these kids were if I made a mistake in speaking Spanish. Now, I'm not fluent, but I speak decent Spanish. But whenever I made a mistake, every student at the same time corrected me, in the most condescending tone possible. Hey, at least I'm trying. Despite having 7 years of English class, these kids for the most part can't formulate a simple sentence if their life depended on it, but I'm always encouraging and non-judgmental. I definitely don't get the same in return.

I then described a bit about each genre. When I got to Blues and mentioned slavery in American, my teacher added a few interesting pieces of history. She told the class that back then, slaves weren't allowed to sit in the front of buses until Martin Luther King Jr became president and fought for their rights. After I made the longest sigh ever, I started correcting all the things wrong with that statement. After some American history damage control, I played short examples of each musical genre to the students. No matter what I played, during each song, there are at least a couple kids that get up in their seat and start dancing typical, ridiculous little kid dances, even to Beethoven. I found this fairly amusing. Next, I would call on volunteers to come to the front, where I would play a song and they would have two guesses to guess what genre of music it is. I kept it pretty easy for them, and they performed mediocre to fair in guessing the genre, which is about all I can ask for considering these kids have never heard this music before.

I Have This Crazy New Idea You Should Try: Planning Your Lessons

It is more or less a given that schools in Barranquilla don't really get down to serious teaching until after Carnaval. So that means that kids are in school for over a month before teachers decide that they'll start actually teaching. Good, quality learning time. One of the many focuses of the Peace Corps here is to try to implement lesson planning among the teachers, who prefer the "just wing it" method. I was lucky enough to have my principal set up an hour and a half each week where I can sit down with the two teachers I work with and plan lessons for the upcoming week. It seems perfect. So every week the teachers and I sit down, focus on planning, and get quite a bit done. Hahaha, oh, my crazy imagination. For the first month I was mostly observing classes, which means that I watch a class for a bit, until a teacher calls on me to repeat an lesson they had just done, but in my swarthy American accent. And during this month, the teachers said that it was the time that they do diagnostics, so they don't really need to plan anything. So these first few sessions involved the teachers meeting with me and borrowing my laptop to work on other projects or check their e-mail or, I don't know, shop online for Faberge eggs or something. Needless to say, not much got accomplished.

Finally Carnaval rolled around and people decided that they should, you know, like teach and junk. But not before they celebrated Ash "Thursday." The Wednesday after Carnaval was Ash Wednesday, but there was a school meeting, so that meant no school. But principal nun couldn't let a prime Catholic holiday like that just pass by, so the school celebrated Ash Wednesday on Thursday. It consisted of two two-hour masses, one for each half of the school, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. They should have been hour-long masses, but both times the priest was an hour late.

Once they got that out of the way, I was told that it is time that I start actually co-teaching. Now, the Peace Corps says that I should take at about six weeks to observe before I start co-teaching. This was a month in, so I've done a bit of observing, but I wasn't expecting them to just straight up tell me that I'm going to start next week. I could have thrown a fit, and asked them "Who you think you are, telling me what to do? I'm an American, for pete's sake. No one tells me what to do." But I saw this as an opportunity to actually get these people to get on track with lesson planning and actual teaching, so I complied. Now in our planning sessions, I feel it is a major accomplishment if they just tell me what they are going to teach the next week so I can  be prepared and maybe think of an activity or small lesson. Baby steps.

During our previous planning session,out of nowhere, a counterpart asked me why I don't believe in god. at the moment, I was not expecting the question, but overall I was surprised I was not grilled sooner over this, seeing as I'm an atheist and I'm working in what is basically a Catholic school. Our conversation went as such:

Me: I believe in science. To me, I find it much more reliable than believing in god. Plus, I don't like organized religion.
Her: OK, so you believe in evolution, right? You believe we came from monkeys, right?
Me: Well, apes to be exact, but yes, I do.
Her: OK, well, what about that tree? Did that also evolve from apes?
Me: No, that's ridiculous.

She then crossed her arms and gave me this smug look, like she felt she just won. Now, we were conversing in English, which is her second language. Although she is a fairly decent English speaker, much better than I speak Spanish, topics with such gravity and complexity as this require a high level of verbal manipulation to get your point across, which she did not have instant access to. I told her to think about her argument some more and come back to me with some new material for her case.

Carnaval aka Where Did All These White People Come From?

Carnaval is a pretty big deal here in Barranquilla. And saying that is still a bit of an understatement. It's hard to describe how much people here care about Carnaval and how important an event it is for them. To put it in an American perspective, it would be similar to if Christmas, Thanksgiving, the Super Bowl, and Shark Week were all on the same four day weekend. So yeah, kind of a big deal. And it's not just the four days preceding the beginning of lent that it is celebrated. Events for Carnaval start sometime in mid-December and happen every weekend until the end of Carnaval. So by the end of Carnaval, I was glad it was over. A man can only take so much Cumbia and the same five songs that they play on the radio on repeat.

On the eve of Carnaval, many schools have a celebration at the school, where they usually have songs, dances, and elect kings and queens of each grade. I assume that it was because of my novelty that I was chosen as the King of Carnaval at the school. I was excited for this, because I had a few dance moves in my pocket that I was going to bust out Soul Train style and melt these kids faces off. They always play a music called Cumbia here for these types of events and it's not too hard, as a foreigner, to impress locals by learning a couple simple dance moves So I showed up to school the morning of, in my bright orange Carnaval shirt, ready to party. When I entered the school, I was greeted by some odd looks on many gloomy faces. My main counterpart told me that the student who had been diagnosed with Leukemia a week ago, stunningly still has Leukemia. "What?!? How can she still have Leukemia? You have been praying, right?" is what she expected me to say. When I didn't say that, she let me know that the principal, who is a nun, and not the cool flying kind, decided to cancel the school's Carnaval, and instead there would be an hour and a half long mass in the girls honor. Plus, I was told I was told that I need to change my shirt. What was I thinking wearing a bright orange shirt to a mass, you know, considering that the principal didn't tell anyone about the change in schedule until people arrived to the school. I felt bad for the parents that spent money on nice Carnaval costumes for their children only to have it cancelled at the last second. Now, don't think me insensitive. A few kind words and perhaps a moment of silence before the Carnaval celebration would have been perfect. I just believe cancelling this big celebration for this kids is a bit harsh, but hey, what do I know? I'm just a gringo.

With that said, the first day of Carnaval is great. Everybody drinks most of the day. There are parades, including a huge called Batalla de las Flores where, in order to see anything, you need to drop, from what I hear, the equivalent of 30-40 American dollars for a seat in the oppressing hot midday sun. So I caught some great views of the tops of peoples heads in the parade while I stood in the shade, drinking a nice cold beer, and watching people burst into flames in the bleachers.

A very rudimentary outline of Carnaval events consist of parades during the day and small concerts or drum circles at night. A note here, when I say drum circle, it is the exact opposite of drum circles that I, and perhaps you are familiar with. My experience with drum circles usually involved at least 10-20 people, each with their own drum, in a circle, and maybe a few people really "tasting the music" dancing in the center. Here, it refers to an event where there is a small band of about five drummers or less on a center stage, and over a hundred people dancing and doing their own thing around the outside.

An event that some friends and I frequented at night was called The Carnavalada. A city block was blocked off and they had a stage set up where various bands and acts performed all night. We went the first night where I was thrilled to see a band from Belgium to perform. You see, up until then, I had only been exposed to the three or four types of music popular in Barranquilla, every second of every day, whether I like it or not, since the day I arrived here. So this was a great change of pace. And they played great music. Kind of upbeat gypsy-ish. Similar to Devotchka or Gogol Bordello perhaps. It's a good thing there were so many foreigners there, because the locals probably would not have enjoyed it, because it is different.

Speaking of foreigners, I just couldn't grasp how many lighter skinned people there were. Barranquilla is quite homogenous in terms of people. Mostly darker skinned Colombians or even darker skinned Afro-Colombians. Needless to say, I usually stick out quite a bit when I make my way around town. During Carnaval, however, many tourists migrate in since it is the second biggest Carnaval outside the one in Brazil. Many of these tourists are from other, more southern South American countries such as Argentina and Chile. Occasionally I would start talking to a stranger that I was sure was Caucasian in English, only to be returned with a confused stare or confused Spanish. Whoops. Lost that round of  "Caucasian or Argentinian."

Fresh Turds. Get 'em while they're hot.

This guy is basically charging two cents to cross this flimsy bridge. Touche, modern day troll.

Even Star Wars reject Blue Jar Jar Binks is welcome here.

We had it made in the shade.

Ship 'em out

Saturday, January 14 was the last full day we would spend in the houses we were staying in for training. The night before, we got together for a potluck-type get together. I believe I made the best thing there: a bean dip with tomatoes, onion, garlic, and plenty of cilantro. I originally planned to make guacamole, but of course the grocery store, out of the 50 or so avocados it had in stock, had no ripe ones. So I had to think on my feet and come up with something else given that grocery stores here have horrible variety of, well, anything, and that this was last minute, of course. So I whipped together this bean dip and it turned out great. Pretty much everyone left on that Sunday, including myself. But unlike many people who had to take a bus three hours or more to get to their sites, I took a taxi for about ten minutes to get to mine.

The neighborhood where I currently live in is considered one of the most neighborhoods that Peace Corps volunteers live in. It is actually included in a list of barrios around Barranquilla that we should avoid. So, that really put me at ease. In my packet of information about the barrio, it had a long list of security rules for living there. Here are some highlights:

• "At least the first month the PCV should be accompanied by a local counterpart, from home to workplace and on the way back." I live only about seven blocks away from my school and none of my school counterparts live in this barrio.
• "Transportation to and from the site can only be done by taxi." Taxis can range from 5000 to 10000 pesos. Buses are 1500 pesos. I was originally told I would be given extra money to make up for this, but then I was told I would only be compensated for travel to secondary projects. Great.
• "Never return to your community after 10 pm, if it is not possible, PCV should stay the night in some place previously arranged in Barranquilla."
• "PCV must steer clear of estaderos (bars) and avoid weekend festivals" in addition to "PCV must steer clear from pool halls and other shops where alcohol is [being] consumed." My next door neighbor is a pool hall and the street that I live on is littered with bars and tiendas where alcohol is sold and consumed.

 One interesting detail about my living situation that may or may not burrow itself into my subconscious and infiltrate my thoughts until I lose all touch with reality altogether. I am talking about the dos mil store across the street from my house. The exchange rate here is usually 2000 pesos (dos mil) to one American dollar, so it's basically a dollar store.  What's so harmless about some dollar store you ask? Well, it has these speakers out front that play a running loop of some man frantically saying "todo dos mil, todo dos mil," and lists off various things in the store "vasos dos mil, medias dos mil, burros dos mil, etc." And these speakers play all day, from 9am to 9pm, every day. My family plays loud music out of their own speakers to combat this. It is never quiet in my house.

Where do I begin about the school I work at? Well, I found out the first day or so that it's basically a Catholic school, run by a nun, that was founded by a priest. Holy cow. I picked up on this when, on the first day, we spent half of the administrative meeting singing religious songs, including one to the tune of The" Sound of Silence," and engaging in long, meditative prayer sessions. I just kind of twiddle my thumbs or hatch schemes to destroy the dos mil store's speakers during these. I was somewhat fearing the moment when teachers would ask me about my religion, since I'm an atheist. That moment came up the first week. I was in a group of teachers and one asked me if I was Catholic. I said no. They looked mildly surprised, then asked cautiously if I was Protestant. I said no. This brought substantial surprise and then they asked if I was Jewish. I said no. Then there was kind of an awkward silence. To break the silence, I put two fingers above my head and said "I'm the devil," and started laughing at my joke. No one else laughed. Thank Satan that the nun came in right after to gather everyone together again.

I don't even know why they had me come to those administrative meetings for the week and a half before school started. I couldn't understand most of the things the people said, and even if I could, it's not I had any say in anything at all. Although, I was semi-amused by the way teachers "discussed" topics. Someone would say something and then everyone in the room would start screaming and arguing at the top of their voice. Sometimes I would just make random guttural noises to blend in. It's like British parliament or a group of chimpanzees throwing feces at each other. Uh oh, did I just do political commentary? Probably not. I have no idea what I'm talking about.

Cartagena New Year's? Don't mind if I do.

With New Year's Eve approaching and remembering that Christmas Eve was painfully boring despite the fact we were told that there normally are a lot of fun parties, many of us wanted to take a trip. A few fellow volunteers and I decided to go to Cartagena for New Year's Eve, which is about a two hour bus ride from Barranquilla and is known for being more touristy. Staying true to my procrastinator roots, we only started looking for a hostel two days before we were going to leave. I searched for about an hour with no luck until I stumbled across the Makako Chill Out Hostel, which had just enough beds for us and only cost 20,000 Colombian pesos (about $10 US) per night. We lucked out big time.

We were inside the historic walled part of the city. Cartagena used to be a Spanish stronghold, so there is a large portion that is surrounded by a giant wall that even has cannons on top. This area is the most popular spot for tourists to visit. The buildings were beautiful and surprisingly well-maintained. The streets were very narrow, just wide enough for one car to pass, which made me think that driving around in this area is maddening at the very least.

The first day we were there, we visited the beach near our hostel. Many of the beaches in that area were actually turned into bays of sorts because there were jetties made of rocks, however, this made the water very shallow and you couldn't go past water up to your waist without getting too close to the rocks and having a lifeguard whistle. That part I didn't understand. There were multiple lifeguards patrolling a mellow body of water and constantly whistling at people to move or come in, while where I come from, there are infrequent lifeguards in an area with surfable waves. 

The next morning we decided to skip going out for breakfast and I cooked everyone some scrambled eggs and bacon using what limited resources the hostel kitchen had to offer. Everything was going smoothly until I barely nudged the skillet with the bacon, which by the way had way too heavy a handle to balance well, and it started to fall. I catch the pan by the handle, but before I can pat myself on the back for having the grace of a swan with the hands of Jerry Rice, the bacon grease in the skillet sloshes over the edge and spills on the floor. I try first to wipe it up with napkins. Not even close. It just smears it more. So I find a mop and essentially just smear it around more with soapy water. Realistically, this is isn't clean, but in Colombia it is. Moral of the story, food was delicious and the bacon brought a tear to my eye, reminding me of 'merica.

New Year's Eve night started off with a shindig in the hostel that included a dinner of pizza, chicken, and a whole lotta coconut rice. A bit before midnight, we went in search of other festivities. We came upon some major fireworks that seemed incredibly close to where all the spectators were standing. In fact, it probably would have been illegal in the U.S. to have people be that close to the fireworks, but that just made them that much more awesome.

After that we started scouring the area for festivities. We came upon many parties in the streets with live bands playing traditional Colombian music. Overall, it was a long, fun night and I'm glad I was able to get out of Barranquilla for a while.

Finally some time off

For the past two weeks, we have had a break from training to celebrate Christmas and New Year's. There was an optional program offered to us during this break for us to occupy our time. It was presented to us as if we were going to help out in a program that helps people who want to work at American call centers to hone their English. It was supposed to be held in a school called Pies Descalzos, which was built by Shakira's charity foundation, who, if I'm not mistaken, is from Barranquilla. We arrived there on the first day. We were waiting outside the locked school for an hour until we were told that the principal was sick and not going to come to let us in and we were going to have to find a new location. Luckily a Colombian teacher counterpart was able to find a very small school about a few hundred feet away that we could use.

After sitting through the first day's orientation, we found out that this program was aimed more as a general English course for people of all levels and may not necessarily have a goal, or to put it in a more cruelly honest way, a shot of working in a call center. Initially, we were told that everyone in this program has taken a diagnostic English exam and we would be able to use it to place them in groups by skill level. However, those results were in Pies Descalzos, so we would not be able to access them. By this point, this kind of news just seemed par for the course. So we told everyone to fill out a brief questionnaire that asked their name, why they want to learn English, and what they already knew. After reading over all the papers, we figured that anyone who even attempted to answer in English, which were only about 6 or 7 people out of 40ish, should go into the advanced group. The rest were put into groups by a selection process that might of well have been blindly throwing darts at them. My favorite response to "Why do want to learn English?" was "yes." Mind you, we wrote the questions in English and Spanish.

The classes overall went pretty smoothly. Luckily I had a fellow volunteer to teach with, so the classes were a bit less stressful for me. I had the advanced class and I was actually impressed by the English level of one student. Most of the rest were about what I expected, except for one. It was obvious that he had little to no English experience. After a while of clearly struggling and obviously understanding very little at best, I tried to convince him to move down to an easier class. He told me he was OK here, which made me wonder if he even understood me speaking Spanish to him. One funny story with him: we were doing a lesson about the market, so we taught everyone phrases and vocabulary related with market interactions and haggling. The day before, we had told everyone to bring in three things that they would practice "selling" and bargaining. I decided to help out the struggling student the whole time. In his first interaction, he was selling his cell phone. Another student asked him how much. He thought for a bit and I told him to tell her how much it cost, and he said "One Peso," which would be worth about 1/20 of one U.S. cent. She said she'll buy it and he turned to me with a big smile, very proud of completing the "transaction." He clearly was not getting the point of the exercise.

One day during the break, several of us went watch the local baseball team, the Barranquilla Caimanes (Alligators), play a game. Tickets cost 5,000 Colombian pesos, about $2.50 US, and we were able to sit anywhere in the stadium. Food and beers in the stadium were only slightly more expensive than usual. But we could walk out anytime, buy some street food, and bring it back inside. The gate security was so lax, at one point I noticed stray dogs walking in and out of the front gate. I'm waiting for the day when the game is delayed due to a pack of stray dogs occupying the outfield. Since you don't ever see several gringos at any of the baseball games, we attracted the attention of a local news reporter. She interviewed two of us, myself not included. From what I heard, the interviews never made the news, but a shot of us doing the wave did, which is just fine with me.