Colombian Road-Trips

Last weekend was another of the many holidays that Colombians celebrate. No I never did figure out the significance although it aparently had something to do with the Three-wise men. But a holiday is a holiday and a perfect excuse to head out of town.

Martha had previously told me about the Parque Nacional de Los Nevadas, the site of a catastrophic erruption of the Nevado del Ruiz in 1985. But today it´s one of the biggest tourist attractions in Colombia. I told her about Mt. St. Helens, but when I learned that 25,000 people perished in Colombia in 1985 it didn´t really seem like a fair comparison.

But this seemed as good a spot as any for a trip. We found a guided excursion that left from Manizales (a city about 4 hours away from Medellin by bus) at 7 AM Sunday morning. I protested the early morning to no avail. Besides how often do I get to trek up to the highest peak in Colombia and an active volcano? Vamonos!

We took a bus to Manizales Saturday. Bus trips in Colombia are definately an experience. The country side is so amazing I just wind up spending most of it starting out the window. We spent the night there enjoying the amazing festival that had taken over the city. Sunday morning bright and early we headed to meet the group. As usual I let Martha do all the talking. She´s the youngest of 8 children and not really used to playing translator and tour-guide but somehow we´ve got decided it´s a better alternative than me and my Spanish.

Martha got all the details squared away and as we were ready to leave I tried a phrase I´d heard her say a lot ¨mil gracias [a thousand thanks]¨ The organizer of the group just looked at me and asked ¨¿eres extranjero? [are you a foriegner?]¨ Uh yeah, I´m from the US. Oh turns out I have to pay an extra 8,000 pesos (about $3) because I´m not Colombian. I don´t know what suprised me more, that he could tell I was´t Colombian from two words, or that he thought I was Colombian before I opened my mouth.

But away we went. A group of 8 of us packed into a little micro-bus and off to the mountain we headed. The trip out of Manizales was beautiful, this is the coffee growing region of Colombia and the natural beauty continues to take my breath away.

Before I visited Colombia everyone I knew thought I was crazy. Didn´t I know how dangerous it was?!?! Well the only times I´ve truly been afraid for my life in Colombia have been on the road, inside a vehicle with an internal combustion engine. The drive up through the Parque Nacional certainly was no exception. The route was quite congested with tourists from all over Colombia. And our driver was a typical Colombian, serving around blind corners, passing cars all on the left and the right, throwing that little mini-bus around like he was a Nascar dad. It was a different experience when driving up mountainous terrain with sheer-cliffs to either side.

And about half-way up the trail our mini-bus started to sputter and cough. That broke-down engine didn´t have no drive at all. But we all got out when necessary, the guys pushed, the ladies changed ¨Suve! Suve! Suve!¨which I think means if we don´t get up this mountain I want my money back! Everyonce in a while the mini-bus just wouldn´t have enough umph to make it up a hill and our driver would throw it in reverse, get a running start and forge on ahead. We only had one real close call where the mini-bus started to tip over a cliff. You should have seen how the group of us grabbed onto the mini-bus and pulled it back on the road.

No we didn´t make it all the way to the top, but 4700 meters ain´t bad. And most importantly for the Colombians on-board we made it to the snow. This is the only place in the country with snow and it was like watching kids on Christmas morning. I showed them how a good ole´gringo from Cleveland makes and throws snowballs. They caught on pretty fast. Of course the entire ride home they complained about how cold they were.

Afterwards we headed to a little resort with piped in water from the volcanic hot-springs. Nice contrast to the day. All in all, life could suck more.

Stranger in a strange land

I don´t know that I´ve ever actually been anywhere where I´ve felt at home. This world is a strange place, but leaving it doesn´t seem like such a good idea either. Maybe it was growing up as a minority of a minority (sure there are other Indian Muslims in the US, but nothing compared to the Hindus). Maybe it´s just second-child syndrome. Or like most other things I can probably find some way to blame my parents. But that all doesn´t really matter now does it.

I actually spent the majority of my childhood rebeling against those facts. I remember being in grade school and wishing I was white. Heck even being black would have been better than being the only Indian kid in school.

Eventually envy turned to bitterness. Not too long ago I was sitting around with friends and going off on one of my frequent rants on the evil white man, and my friend Jason called me out, ¨Dude, you´re as white as I am on the inside.¨ Ouch! That brought back all those memories in a hurry.

But maybe that´s why I feel so comfortable here. Here I obviously don´t fit in. Being ambigiously ethnic I might be able to pass for not a gringo, but as soon as I open my mouth the jig is up. But I don´t expect myself to belong here and neither does anyone else. No one has to understand me, I don´t have to try to fit in. I can just be myself, whoever that is.

And a little bit of better news

Aparently I wasn´t the only Cleveland Browns fan shocked and dismayed by the rumored firing of Phil Savage. No the Browns nation as it is apt to do from time to time took up arms in the form of cell phones, faxes and e-mails and let the ownership know what we collectively thought of this idea.

So instead of Phil Savage getting the axe, it fell to the man who was trying to oust him, team president John Collins.

I don´t know if my relationship with the Browns will ever be the same. Actually I do know. Of course it won´t, change is constant. We´re always evolving. While I might have hated them yesterday, I can´t imagine loving anyone else. How many things do you have in your life that you´ve cared about for more than 20 years? I don´t know if I know how to walk away from something like that.

Havana here I come!

It´s official. Bill is in Cuba, he´s got a reservation waiting for me at some Bed and Breakfast type place and he´s given me the green light. The tickets are booked, the flag is dropped. Havana baby! Jan 18th I fly outta Medellin through Panama and into the land of The Bearded One, hot jazz and beautiful beaches. I´ve only heard the stories, can´t wait to see it for myself.

Feliz Nuevo Ano

Martha and I have been spending a lot of time together lately. It’s actually worked out great. I get to do something other than hanging around with my gringo friends and have someone to show me around so I don’t feel like such a tourist. Plus of course we have a great time together. So when New Years rolled around I was invited to spend the night partying in style with the family.

So off to La Ceja it was, a beautiful little pueblo about an hour outside of Medellin. As soon as we arrived at the Martha’s sister’s house I realized what kind of fiesta this was going to be. I don’t think there is such a thing as an intimate family gathering in Colombia, and there was no chance this was going to be mistaken for one.

Within my first 15 minutes at the casa Martha’s brothers had somehow managed to get 3 shots of Aguardiente into me. Aguardiente, as I was to learn, is famous for the rate at which it kills brain-cells. It’s a locally produced drink derived from sugar-cane and my oh my does it go down easy. It’s never a good sign when everyone insists you chase every sip of a drink with a gulp of water.

The music and food started immediately. Whenever a CD finished a roar would go through the gathering as if someone had commited a capital offense. The Colombians do love their music. For the next few hours more and more family kept joining the festivities. Aunts, cousins, brothers and sisters, everyone was invited.

The laughs and drinks seemed like they would never stop. The entire family worked hard to make me feel like I had some idea what was going on, and as the Aguardiente went down I’m convinced my Spanish got better and better. I even got a chance to teach the family the traditional gringo New Year´s Eve greeting.

Pretty soon the party spilled out into the street. Seems like this is a standard part of every Colombian get together. First the speakers went outside. Then we emptied a bag of charcoal, built a fire and started cooking. Everyone seems to get a kick out of making the gringo pitch in and lend a hand. So of course I had to oblige.

The Aguardiente kept flowing. I lost count after the 6th liter. “Mas guaro!” became the theme of the night. The party went on and on. The food and drink last until the wee hours, and of course so did the dancing. Funny thing about that Aguardiente, not only did it help my Spanish but by the end of the night I was almost convinced I could dance.

What more can I say. I spent the night sleeping next to Martha’s brother in the front seat of his jeep. And amazingly enough, even with the snores resonating in the car, it was one of the best nights of sleep I’ve ever had. Everyone else found a bed, chair or space on the floor to crash. The next day was painful, but a pleasant reminder of the good times we had just shared. Life could definitely suck more.