on the way to colombia, and beyond: part one

the "sailing" (there was not much wind 90% of the time, so we were generally running on the motor) from portobelo, panama to cartagena, colombia (a ridiculously common route for crossing the colombia-panama border) was a big mix of oxymorons- fun and boring, beautiful and less so, the captain started out a huge bastard but ended up being a giant sweetheart, you love the others on board but you cannot stand them later on, sailing feels fantastic and... well, you´re later found vomiting off starboard.

the first day was straight sailing for 14 hours. long, long day. but really gorgeous, and the stars at night were phenomenally clear. there was a huge argument over vegetarianism that i had had too many times before and wanted desperately to avoid (neither side listens or is going to change their ways and everyone just ends up pissed and angry because it is not a healthy argument, it is just stubborn and stagnant fighting), so i fled to the front and joined sara (she was also trying to avoid it, and we instead talked about how stupid the arguing was) under the blanket of stars. just lovely.

we arrived at around 9 the night before, so it was pitch black, save the light from the moon. so the next morning we unexpectedly awoke to paradise. i always thought tiny deserted islands were like... a scam. i had never seen one, so i assumed they did not exist. (idiot). but the archipelago of san blas off the coast of panama, where we stayed for two days, was just that! a million tiny little deserted islands- a slim lot of sand and nothing but palm trees- super small. it was so neat! i would swim over to them from where the boat was anchored and feel like i had found my own little paradise. i was the ONLY one on the island. neat feeling. when i would walk along the beach all the shells, in a wave of motion, would simultaneously tip over as all the crabs curled inside for protection. we had perfect weather in the daytime, so the bright blue sky strongly contrasted with white sand and bright green palms and clear teal water. gorgeous, and so (seemingly) untouched.

we went snorkelling with the captain and it was nothing compared to thailand or honduras, or even northern panama... but we were in a spot with a heavy current hitting rocks, so it was really fun to just lazily sumbit to the waves and watch the fish all work with the current- flopping back and forth, but seeing each ebb and flow as a new opportunity for coral-munching. you could say they really define go-with-the-flow.. hardy har har. we saw a shark, and when david did not know i was watching him, he hid behind mike which made me laugh really hard.. underwater, again... thus filling my mask with water. back in the mini-boat to go back to the sailboat, we chased a giant black stingray around- i had never seen one so large so that was amazing. also, back at the sailboat, david was peeing off the side of the boat and saw the largest shark i have ever seen- probably about 13ish feet... that was crazy.

cliff, sara and i went and visited one of the islands with the kuna indigenous people on it. it was really awkward, making this trip to see them and walking along their little island trying to strike conversation. fortunately, four naked children who wanted their picture taken with their dog made a pleasant segue into speech. their grandmother came up to me and gave me the once-over, then told me she really liked my clothes! i told her i loved her clothes (i really really do). the kuna ladies fascinate me to no end- they have short, blunt haircuts, dress in bright colours with amazing fabrics, covered in an armor of homemade bead creations. not only that but, especially in the city, they have a look of fierce power and strength about them. their customs have lasted the test of time and the kuna have not given in to money or power in releasing their land (the islands) to either panama or rich hotel corporations. i was so proud of them. the men dress and act normal... they did not really fascinate me in the least. sara decided she wanted a bracelet, and although i did not really want one, one of the ladies started putting it on me anyway. my wrist is much fatter than the average kuna, so it did not fit properly and she lady had to bite off beads (it still did not make a pattern after that) and since my wrist was suspended right in front of her... she would spit the remains into my hand. mmm.
that night, we celebrated the captain´s 49th with a surprise party on a deserted island. wudda life.

after the two days in san blas islands, we were off for 38 hours of straight sailing. when we were far from any land mass, being surrounded by blue blue blue was a little humbling (we are so small)... and a little more boring.
cliff looked about 35. i asked him about his life because he was really quiet and ended up hearing he was 51. ironically, before he told me this, he really reminded me of the 40-year old virgin. so he looks younger than he is, he has the dimpled perma-smile, the awkwardness, the very hairy chest, the politeness, and the laugh. he IS steve carrell. he lost his virginity before 40 though because he has a 19-year-old daughter.
the two peace corps workers on board were cleaning the underside of the boat for fun and maja flushed the toilet... into lane´s face. we were hysterical.
i felt absolutely fine until day 4 when i was staring at my feet rhythmically and entrancingly dipping into the dark blue with every dip of the vessel into the deep waves... and then i felt sick. i lied down, felt sicker. i went to the back of the boat, and that did it... i scrambled to the side to be out of sight and was sick and sick and sick. i was not the only one- half our ship was out of commission.
at one point, the winds were ridiculous and our sail was up and we were tipping at LEAST 45 degrees. i was silently terrified we were going to tip and die. even the captain said this was an unusual amount of wind, which did not make me feel better.

finally reaching colombia, it took a while to not feel the rocking of the sea in our legs. it was kindof intimidating to be on land again, having to not be so lazy and plan where i want to go and what i want to do and having to be confronted with more then the same ten people for five days. that meant it took me three days to get out of cartagena, which really merits no more than a one day stay.
on the night we arrived, we went searching for food and everything was closed, but there was street food (I MISSED IT SO!) and a convenience store. the guy at the convenience store broke my large bill that the street vendors could not, then he gave me a free banana and blew me a kiss... everytime i passed his store. he later told maja when we entered the store that he was crazy about me. it was so funny. and hey, i got a banana out of it. later when i was brushing my teeth, i stepped on the bed (i do not know why) and a board fell out and it collapsed in the middle. i felt like i was in some cheesy cartoon where they fall or get knocked on the head by something large and they just stand still, blink once as the dust settles, without making a sound. this happened again as i got up the next morning, sitting this time. the board clapping the ceramic floor was terribly loud- i don´t know how my roommates did not wake.

the walled city of cartagena is really gorgeous- i had not seen a colonial city in a long time, so it was nice to revel in its safety and beauty and colours and simplicity of life. you enter the walled city and you feel like you have entered the alternate cartagena universe. sara, maja and i wandered and they went into the exact shops i would never have touched and had a cup of coffee that was just hot milk with a hint of cafe (they were very disappointed because a cup of coffee was the only reason they came to colombia. seriously). went to the art museum that had some reeeaally interesting stuff, including the "wingchair" (that is my name for it, because it is a chair... with wings...) and some crazy never-ending sex bodies. that eve we celebrated simon´s birthday with a cake, rum, and a big night out. unfortunately tuesday´s night life is awfully nonexistent, so after going to a variety of different bars, they settled on one, but i was bored, so i talked to nice sandwich and candy vendors instead. i ended up looking for the other group with the candy vendor, going to the bathroom in a really expensive restaurant, and then dancing with him in the streets to a mariachi-like band. really random, i loved it.

uneventful next day full of journal-hunting and vegetarian food, but the day after i planned on going to the mud volcano. i awoke early just go to, packed my bag so that i could return and go straight to santa marta, put clean clothes on a semi-dirty body because i did not have time for the shower... and then the hostel worker tells me there is no trip to the MUD volcano because it is RAINING. i was so disappointed. especially because it was so illogical. i sat and talked to one of my roommates who had not come back that night. she was still up, watching spanish simpsons and reeking of booze. i wondered why it was 8:30am and she was still wide awake when, ten minutes into the "conversation" that consisted of solely her speaking and consistently shrieking that things were ccrrraaazzzyyyy with gnarled fingers and squeezed-shut eyes... and that is when i realized how naive i was- you are in colombia, my dear shayla- your friend is wired on cocaine. she confirmed this minutes afterwards by remarking on multiple trips to the "stall", and then blatantly, how good this shit was in comparison to last time. quite entertaining, short-term, i let her ramble on until the hostel owner then asked me if i still wanted to go to the volcano. hell yea. i ran through the rain to the overly A/Ced bus and froze my ass off as we took double the time to get out of cartagena due to the ridiculous flood. when you have sewers, you never really think about where the rain goes. i mean, you would know, if asked, that it goes down the sewer, but i never thought of life without sewers. in my head, it was kindof thoughtlessly assuming the water just streamed into oblivion wherever you were, magically making its way out of our streets. but again, naive little shayla learns her lesson in the streets of colombia, where there are, more often than not, no sewers.

the mud volcano was soooo neat! we arrived at what appeared to be a giant wet mound of clay. we took off our clothes and ascended the sketchy wet-clay steps in bathing suits. at the top, you jump into the ten by ten mud oblivion, and are shocked by the sensation- everyone struggles a little to adjust by awkwardly doggie-paddling with a look of fear. it felt like swimming in a zero-gravity ice cream shake. it would be impossible to drown in this muddy mess because there is this strange force pushing you up. this makes it ideal for children, but unfortunately they are all freaked out by the feeling so they cannot stop crying. you can lie on the top of this semisolid as if it were a bed, yet easily turn to standing, as well. it was also neat because the mud is so thick that it does not just drip all off, so everyone is covered in a thin layer of grey, thus appearing as dynamic sculptures. the muscular men looked especially sculptur...ous. there were also massages by random men. then you descend and slip your way to the lagoon, where a plethora of old women are available to strip you naked, clean your clothes and body, and send you on your way. what a crazy experience. our skin felt soooo soft afterwards. i loved it. i got on a bus to santa marta when we got back and of course, this bus was even colder and now my hair was soaking from the lagoon and my clothes soaked in rain. buses must know when you need air con and when it is the last of your earthly requests... and then do the opposite so as to displeasure you to the max.

the highlight of my day in santa marta was speaking to three little girls on the bus. one sat beside me. then kept looking at me. then i asked her about where i was going. then we talked and then her two other friends came up and sat with us. colombian spanish is absolutely impossible to me. i am finding it really REALLY hard to understand it- they speak incredibly fast and use what seems like an entirely different vocabulary from central america and mexico. i am kinda pissed because i feel like i am trying to learn a whole new language, after all that. so i understood about twenty percent of what these girls were saying, but when i did not understand, they would all go teacher on me and speak to me like i was a retard. i did not mind, it actually made me laugh really hard on the inside, and it was touching as they said their "for example"s and spoke all slow using their hands a lot. they seemed so much more mature than they looked. i was proud of them. they told me i was the first english person they had ever talked to. they made my day. which helped me overlook the 2.5 hour bank break in the middle of the day, and the "aid" american VISA supplied by telling me the bank that would accept VISA was on "carretera". carretera means road. thanks for the help, sweetheart. i ended the night building the man across the road´s crush on me by buying 3 five cent chocolates.

the next day, equally slow as i simply waited for my trek to the lost city, was spent bartering for colombian market sandals. the man told me that he would sell me one pair for a discounted price because i was ¨just so pretty¨, a common line used to either pick up chicks or sweeten us up for the sell. he told me the FIXED price for another pair, the ones i wanted, and i asked for a discount because i was ¨just so pretty¨. "no, that is the price". "but so pprreetttyyy!" he laughed and i got him down fifty cents.
my night was devoted to finding a vegetarian restaurant. after a long, long hunt i found "hare krishna", the only restaurant in the city that even sold any food lacking animales at all, according to the guy down the street. the lady at the door told me there was no food, then told me to wait and ran off. while i waited a man in the male version of an indian sari appeared before me and asked me if i liked yoga and farms in the colombian countryside. as i spoke with him, the lady returned and told me she could make me some soup and rice. deal. the man sat with me through my supper, which ended up being huge and accompanied by blinking, singing christmas lights because apparently it was the indian christmas right then (CHRISTmas in india? no comprendo), and he offered to include me in the night´s ceremony. he told me the four parts of hare krishna...ism was no drugs or alcohol, no sex without marriage, no coffee, and vegetarianism. i figured, well hell, two out of four ain´t half bad (in fact, it is exactly half bad), so i joined the ceremony, especially because i was bored and remember being in a room at the veg food fair with people chanting hare krishna and it was incredibly powerful. so i watched them sing with their bongos and triangles, declining every offer to read from the book or do some crazy cleansing with candles, but still really enjoyed watching it. the people there were so calm and peaceful, pure and radiating kindness. what an incredibly random thing to come across in a small city of colombia. and we all know how i love random. alas, i did not join the clan. finished the night off talking to a 30-year old who had been travelling since he was 16. he was very interesting. he said he could never go back or talk to old friends now, with all he knows and has seen, insinuating with his tone that it was an extremely irregular life he was alluding to (no doubt, half your life lived on the road). he did not elaborate and for some reason i felt compelled not to ask. he told me that everyone in latin america knows how to make a business, because they have to. ironically, the streets flooded again that night and two little boys set up planks across three milk cartons spanning the streets so that people could cross without getting their knees wet. they charged for this service. how smart. i crossed once, but when i went to return i gasped in horror. the bridge was gone! the guy from whom i bought three chocolates the night before offered to carry across, as he slipped on his massive rubber boots. he was about five feet tall, but he did it, with me hanging off his back, laughing til i cried. i should remark now, before i forget, that this was not the last of his love. he also gave me five cents off a bag of chips, accompanied by a sly wink. later on he began to just let me off without paying if i did not have the correct change, telling me to pay whenever i can. someone has a cruuu-ush.

FINALLY i was off to ciudad perdida, the lost city, the next day. but not without a hitch. normally, late stuff would not reeeaaallly bother me, but i got about 3 hours of awful sleep the night prior, and i was up and ready to go for the jeep arrival and we ended up leaving about three and a half hours later. i was bitter, especially because this meant ten minutes into the trek being drenched by torrential downpour, which would have been avoided had we left on time. but no matter! we were greeted at the trailhead from a group coming back down. one man was about 60, proudly riding a mule, wearing only a towel on his bottom (where are his ppaannttss!?), absolutely covered in awful bug bites and scars and bloody bandages, missing toenails. it was an awful, awful sight. i sat my bag down and later realized the log on which i placed it was the one used to axe the large portions of carcass into smaller bits. the boys got a laugh out of this- they said it would only happen to a vegetarian because that´s the only person it would bother. i was grossed out.

the 6-day trek to ciudad perdida probably could have been done in four, but that´s okay. the trek was not hard itself, but the mud was just ridiculous. even after you stop battling it and just plop into the pools of mud without trying to avoid it, it´s STILL annoying. every step you must work again the mud suction while trying not to slip down the hill. i always loathe mud treks, but all things considered, for some reason i didn´t mind this as much as i would have expected. some girl at my last stop told me she heard there was quicksand on the trek and i was so excited and terrified since that is one of my biggest fears. i would suspiciously eye every plot of moist greyish sand... until i realized i was a gullible idiot- why would they have a path with quicksand? but up until then i was really excited to see quicksand, if not scared for my life. i even considered looking up ¨getting out of quicksand¨ techniques on the internet before we left. that would have been serious indiana jones. everyday it rained at around 1-2pm, but after getting soaked in both a river and downpour ten minutes into the first day... no one really minded for the rest of the 6 days. we were all moist, smelly, and disgusting, and we came to beautiful terms with this. the scenery on the trek was phenomenal, and we had a really great and hilarious group. i was eaten alive by these small bugs without a name (or a repellent). i have never been so itchy in my LIFE. seriously. hellish- i would wake up EVERY night for about 1.5 hours and itch itch itch while trying to use mental imagery and techniques to stop thinking about it... this guaranteed i never got a good sleep. tom was also a vegetarian and whenever we would be in ¨the lead¨, we would obnoxiously yell out ¨veggie power!¨, high five, and remark on the pros of a vegetarian diet. we must have been really annoying.

eber was the cook and the... well, the ¨bitch¨, if you will. the poor guy had to carry everything, lead the pack, cook, clean, and he gets paid less than our short, chubby guide, omar, who did almost nothing but walk at the back of the group and hit on me... hard. eber was quiet, dignified, unaffected, honest, and skinny as a rail- but pure muscle. omar was loud, hilarious, silly, and had a giant gut the boys made fun of constantly. they were complete opposites, the only thing they had in common were their lovely smiles and that they both made me feel special- eber would shyly grab my hands and call me amiga and would make sure i got food before all the boys went wild, while omar would hilariously hit on me constantly, hugging me and making me laugh. they were nice guys. i just had a lot more respect for eber. he fascinated me. both of them would always help me while i was descending or off a precipice and at first it pissed me off, because i felt like they thought i was the incapable little girl when i was doing just fine without them, but then eoin said they were probably just trying to be gentlemen and i was torn between allowing them to be the gentlemen they yearned to be, and representing women as strong individuals. i ended up giving in and since it was oftentimes harder to do what i was doing with them grabbing my hand, i saw it as more of a challenge instead heh.

anyway, we also saw cocaine being made in the jungle. the man was skkeettchy and looked like he was almost undoubtedly using his own product. he looked at me and licked his chops and i thought i was going to be sick. his ¨lab¨ in the middle of the jungle was a table and a cement patch in which to stomp on the coca leaves- no walls, nothing. it was actually a really gorgeous work environment! i think if people saw what went into cocaine, they mmiigghhhttt think twice about it. sulfuric acid, caustic soda, gasoline, cement powder, carbon, acetone, the dirt of his shoes are just a few of the ingredients i remember. also what was sketchy was how completely unexact his measurements were- if one part is supposed to neutralize another, i doubt with his measurements that that would happen to a great degree. though i must say, his final product WAS clear before adding the other powder. one kilo of coke takes one thousand kilos of coca leaves... crazy. we asked him about people getting killed in the name of cocaine and he just muttered that you have to get used to it. all these people get killed and ruin their lives so that (they can make a load of money and) give the richer a good night out. it made me a little sad.

we found out mid-trek that the company actually PAYS the guerillas to leave us alone. 35000 pesos per person. on one hand, we´re pissed that they get that money from us... on the other, i think we all felt a little safer knowing the guerillas are paid to stay back. kindof funny situation. there was a pool table at a house in the middle of the jungle.

the day up to ciudad perdida and the next day down is pretty hardcore if for no other reason than because you´re struggling through raging rivers up to the small of your back. on the VERY last river we had to cross, as we all rounded the corner to view it, every person let out a ¨you´ve GOT to be kidding me¨... the river was narrow, but obscenely strong. it had been raining for about two hours prior and it was unbelievable the difference two hours of water makes in a narrow river. so eber got halfway across, in front of a rock, and beckoned for me to come. i turned and gave travis a look of ¨errr i don´t know about this¨. he asked me why we couldn´t stay at the place on this side of the river,. i yelled at eber the same question and he started to come back, muttering and shaking his head. on the way back though, his big rubber boots slipped and he grabbed onto the rock. it was then i had a newfound respect for the men wanting to help me- it is just human nature, to want to help even if you know you aren´t helping. so as the current began to take him, i leaned over and tried pulling up his arm, which actually probably made it worst, and the current took him for good, with the 50lbs of food and mosquito nets in the bag atop him.

i was TERRIFIED. i just started yelling ¨o god, o god, o god¨ as we all ditched our packs and ran into the forest, hoping to find him in the water. i tried to not think about it, but as i discovered later, we ALL thought he was dead. i was on the verge of tears. i saw it happen, did nothing, and probably made it worst in trying to help. the heavy rain made it all the more dramatic.

about 15 minutes later, someone spotted him way back at the beginning of the waterfall, clutching a rock with one hand, the food bag with the other, with the tremendous force of the river passing him- he had ¨only¨ dropped about 25 feet, thank goodness. i held my breath the entire time they pulled him up via rope- the guy even tied the food on before himself!! they untied the food and let it take off in the river, and tied him up. he was without any sort of bottoms by this point. when they got him up, i silently cried a little with relief.

he was in shock and hypothermic so we put all our clothes on him, and sleeping bags and warmed up water and put bottles around him while david made the ultimate sacrifice and got down to his boxers and layed beside him. it was all very intense.

two hours later, eber, whom i consider the definition of ¨wudda guy¨, got up.. then walked down the stairs and sat with us... then an hour later, was cooking us dinner with a broken finger. he is probably the toughest person i have ever met- no complaints, no sitting and whining, even embarrassed if anything! i think it´s also cultural, perhaps a little machismo- suck it up and move on. it was impressive. he didn´t work the sympathy and pity of the crowd at ALL. later on, i slipped in some mud and got my clean sandals and socks a little dirty. i let out a quiet ¨ewww¨ and looked up to see eber limping by me in silence. i shut my mouth. later, poor eber got a scorpion bite and about an hour later sat on a bench as it collapsed. jesus cristo.

the lost city was really really gorgeous. there are no buildings, but numerous platforms, all overlooking the misty jungle. it was magical, stunning. i can´t imagine being the first person to find it.

the boys deprived me of the pleasure of the bus game, so we played apples and oranges instead, where you vote one (either apples or oranges) off the planet, and replace it with something else, while discussing the ridiculous reasons WHY it is being voted off, or the pros and cons of each. the boys smoked up at the beginning, so by the end of the game, sex could not be voted off, while the sun, nature, gravity, woman (how they´re having that sex then, i don´t know...), sports and love all got voted off. i laughed so hard- it was utter hilarity. we tried to get eoin, the irishman, to say things about lucky charms and top of the morning to you, but he refused. ¨never in HISTORY has an irish said that.¨ he then told us, in his thick irish accent, that in ireland, on st.patrick´s day, they don´t dye their beer green, or wear green clothes, they just DRINK. ¨you wake up and you start drinkin because there´s no use in doin anything else¨, and his tone became somber and his eyes went into his sad alternate universe, ¨because y´kknnoo it´s gonna be rainin.¨ there was a moment of silence before we all became HYSTERICAL at the poor irishman´s weather report.

some spots on the trek were so humid that our cameras fogged up and we could only take fotos of hazy ghost worlds. unfortunately, one of those days was when the indigenous people of the area didn´t care if we took fotos, so i was pissed that i couldn´t! these people were fascinating- the first time i saw them i was really taken aback. they are like the raw indigenous peoples you see in the movies. wearing burlap sack-like clothes, all bearing long black hair (which means nothing differentiates the sexes, and we often mistook men for women)- SO untouched by modern society, except the strange alien trekkers that pass by once a week.

so a great trek all in all! good people, vistas, exercise. lovely time.

we went back to santa marta and i cleaned myself up. i sat on my bed in my pink room in my underwear between the force of the fan and the wall, and i blew bubbles. to my surprise, the remarkably strong winds did not push the bubbles to their untimely death on the wall opposite, but circulated the bubbles around the room like planets in sporadic orbit. i´ve never seen bubbles so alive. it was endlessly entertaining.

aaannndd the next morning i was off to parque tayrona. i met a guy on the bus who worked there and he took me to the cheapest place- finca (farm) don pedro, in the middle of the jungle as opposed to on the beach. el cabo, the beach an hour´s walk away, was GORGEOUS! in terms of landscape, it was one of the nicest beaches i have ever seen- the huge soft-edged rocks made me feel like i was in a playground full of gigantic (rock-shaped) bouncy balls. i don´t know why. but it was a fun feeling. on my first walk to the beach i crossed paths with an enormous two metre black and yellow snake. i froze, and watched it slowly slither across, and then up a tree. i surprised myself by not running away... but it was actually kindof calming.. in a terrifying way. it was cool to see something so large, likely dangerous and exotic in the wild finally. at the beach i asked a guy with a snorkel if there was much to see in the water. he told me all the stuff and asked me if i wanted to see it. i told him it was okay- i didn´t have a snorkel. he lifted one out of the water. well, why not? then he started giving me signals he´d use. is this a class?! do i need money, because i don´t have any? he did want money, i later found out this was in fact his job, while i was thinking he was a normal guy, but lucky me, i got the awful tour for free. the water was full of sediment, there were barely any fish, and he kept making excuses to touch me that i didn´t like at all. oh well, i tried.

next day i hiked to pueblito (little town) with some random french-translator colombian guy. he was 40 years old, and realized, as he verbalized it, that he could be my father.. and yet STILL told me i was beautiful and he likes me and wants to kiss me. SO WEIRD. WHY?! and before i said any of this, i had no feeling whatsoever that he felt this way. in fact, that´s why i felt comfortable with him- i didn´t feel like he was going to hit on me. goddamn latin men. the hike was good exercise and the forest was nice, but the views were unremarkable and pueblito was a lame version of ciudad perdida. i ditched colombiano on the way out and fled to the beach. he also tried to help me on the hike, but i declined, especially after his comments- he told me it was incredibly rare for colombian women to be independent.

that eve rafael, the guy that manages the people that stay at the farm, and i decided to celebrate our joint birthday. his was the first, mine was the 12th, we were somewhere in between- why not? mixing whiskey with my anti-malarial medication i took for ciudad perdida was NOT smart and i ended up having a horrifyingly realistic dream that we were being invaded by guerillas and i was lurking in the forest, scared to death. i woke up still thinking this had happened. nope, all that had happened was me holding the faucet to the outdoor showers and crying for no reason heh. nevertheless there were really nice people there the night before and we were all friendly and the next morn they all said hi to me cheerfully and were terribly nice and knew my name.. to the point that i thought it was conspiratorial! but that´s colombia: ridiculously nice people all over the place. it´s the first time i´ve agreed with someone´s statement about the niceness factor of a country´s people. they are really phenomenal.

the guys working the farm were incredible too- i felt really good here, really comfortable. almost too comfortable- it got to the point that i felt bad asking for dinner. i talked to them all day long and they were very patient with my spanish and would always make fun of me in fast spanish so i wouldn´t understand them. it was just a really, really good time. i stayed four days because of colombian holidays. when i left, one of the brothers told me, in slow english, ¨come back... and know... that there is... a little piece of heaven.. waiting for you... at finca don pedro¨ with a smile. it was so cute!

back in santa marta i realized how nice it was to have a place where people kindof knew you! the hostel people remembered me as this was my third visit, the deaf laundry lady, the people at the restaurant where i always ask for a special vegetarian order, the guy who has a crush on me across the street, the man who always yells at me when i´m walking and then runs over and kisses my hand. it felt homely!
and then i left.
as always.

now, for random additions:
- i definied mexico and india as having strong culture and i was fought as to what exactly that means. how can one culture be stronger than another? a culture is that culture whatever it is- there is no strength in being itself. he made a good point. at the time i couldn´t explain it, but i have thought about it a lot. i THINK you could say a culture is strong if its sense of tradition is present, and from an outsiders view, there is how distant it is from their own culture. also, how uniform it is- i believe this would be an indication of strength. any thoughts?
- in asia, i couldn´t have cared less if i smelled, how i acted, what i wore, etc... but i have found that here i care a little more. i believe this is because asian culture is SO drastically different from our own, and so far removed that i felt like i was in an alternate universe... where nothing western mattered anymore. central and south america so far is not nearly as different from western culture and so i don´t feel removed, therefore, unfortunately, i still care about normal things at times.
- i love how hot chocolate is a staple in countries that produce it, like guatemala and colombia. it makes me so happy- a dream come true.
- ¨why is that man yelling?¨ i asked.
¨he has demons and his body that need to come out, at every corner.¨ the lady answered in complete sincerity. s´a different world.
- i was soooo excited for november first, day of the dead, and i happened to be in one of the only latin countries that doesn´t celebrate it. i WILL see a day of the dead.. if it kills me. heh get it?
- i spent halloween in the colombian jundle begging my short fat colombian tour guide for chocolate and lollipops.
- no one says ¨mi amor¨ the way a spanish person says ¨mi amor¨. so fluid. i love it.
- i didn´t realize how few latino women sport short hair until i saw a woman with a short cut and was a little shocked myself.
- with enough sugar and milk, i think almost every fruit can taste the same, from tree tomatoes (a citrus! who would´ve thought?) to passionfruit to lulo (whatever it is.. i like it.. it in fact may be the colombian word for passionfruit.. which explains why it tastes the same).
- a lot of vendors thinks that if you say no to a product, they can actually get you to buy it by giving you a blank stare and pushing the object slowly further into your face. the only way to get them to go away is by giving the little ¨you´re invading my space¨ facial twitch, or the quick brow furrow.
- i think i´ve unconsciously developed an unspoken scale of sorts to determine whether my day was satisfying and well-wasted. there´s if i have met people, and then the degree to which i like them, the quality of conversation, if they taught me something really valuable or anything at all, if we connected. then there are activities- seeing one cool thing may be better than seeing a bunch of stupid things, how much i care about it gives more or less points. there´s nature- sometimes the hours spent in it matter, sometimes it just matters how spectaular it was, bearing a spectrum of possibilities. exercise for one hour is okay, but over three hours is much more in the points department. the exoticism or excitement of something also contributes. then there´s random other stuff, like to-do lists getting finished (shopping for a toothbrush, sending postcards or emails) adds to the satisfaction of a day. then it all comes down to sheer quantity- how much of each did i rack up today? and, without mentioning any number, i get the feeling.. it rises... and then it relates back to the scale... and i am either satisfied with my day... or i am not. or somewhere in between.
- i miss all the normal stuff- friends, family, food... and now i can add to it the crunching of autumn leaves, the turning to autumn colours, and pumpkins. *sigh*

adios!