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jons journal 12

Major depths of frustration here, technological and social. What with the impossible to understand phone calls to cell phones with barely a whisper of a signal, people who just dont comply, my own soon to be broken promises of music to a class, Im about ready for a major meltdown. I made an impulsive purchase of an Ipod on the way to the airport right before I left LA and I just made a futile attempt at using it. You have to install a program before you can download, which is a major inconvienence at an internet cafe, and an impossibility when you realize you forgot some critical item back at the hotel. Do I have the stomach to go back to the hotel, get the missing item, reinstall the program only to discover that I had to take seriously the warning that had appeared saying the service wasnt available in Colombia? No, I might scream, but im not going to replay the last two hours. Better to just accept that my will is a tiny unimportant speck that just flits about on the winds of chance.

Speaking of tiny little things that float about in the air, some run of the mill Colombian bacteria decided to make an incursion into the back of my throat a week ago. Harmless to, and spread by local people, foriegners often react unfavorably to their homemaking activities in the form of repeated hacking coughs, sore throat, difficulty swallowing and a general malaise. After sloughing through a week of these symptoms and envisioning my vital life signs slowly and irrecoverably draining down the Rio Otun, I made some inquiries into the local health care system. One of the teachers at Colombo was studying to be a doctor, so I spoke with her. She recommended a clinic to go to and gave me a few pointers on what to say. She also mentioned the word tuberculosis which, although I dont know the meaning exactly, I do know that its a very bad word, worse than trogar, churra or even hijo de puta. My head now full of all the star crossed heros and heriones people diying of tuberculosis in all the 19th century literature and period movies Ive read and seen, I bravely go to the doctora to accept my fate. The Clinic is spotless with a operating room decor of white with lime green tiles. The nurses all have white tights and smart looking smocks which were obviously remnants from those period piece movies I saw. The doctor, who is dressed a bit more 20th century, doesnt agree with the T word diagnosis and gives me her bacteria theory which is the one Im going along with now. Two shots of penecillin and an antiinflammatory prescription later, Im out of there with the expectation that there should be some improvement in 72 hours, which, Im happy to report, is the case. My throat is no longer nearly as sore as before although I still have the cough. Jon 1, Death 0, game to be continued.

Aside from the brush with death and the occasional frustations, things are going along swimmingly. The teaching is falling into a kind of routine. I made peace with the 10 year old in class by giving him lots of exagerrated acknowldegement for good and bad things he does. He also has bonded more with the other students. He still has trouble focusing but hes getting something out of the class and enjoys it. My teaching style is improvisational. I read the course book and often come up with a way of presenting the material or other small changes, deciding what I want to emphasize. I would prepare more stuff ahead of time but I lack ideas. There are hardly any "recipe book" type books in the school which I could use for skeletal activity ideas to be filled in with whatever the teaching points were. And as i have accepted some subbing classes the past couple of weeks, I havent had time to search the internet for ideas. I wish there was a good ESL bookstore around here like the one I visited in Bogota. Ive heard onestopenglish is a good site...

I find myself more and more wanting in the language department. Situations Im in motivate me to be able to say things I cant currently say. So I head back home, look up words or grammar. If I have time that is. Lately, with teaching and being sick, not much time for spanish studying or conversation. I really need work in the listening department, Im not too sure how to go about it. Real life conversations help but have a tendency to be excessively directed by yours truly or be a flood of incomprehensible, and therefore boring, gibberish. Im thinking a language lab, tapes of some sort, formal classes or a private tutor or teacher friend.

To which end, I´ll probably be making some changes. Pereira is too hot, the bugs are biting, my lazy bones are crying out for descanso and Im confident that I can find as nice a job somewhere else as what I got now. It feels a wee bit fickle and it kind of hurts to say goodbye to people and places I´ve grown fond of and accustomed to. Hopefully its not a big mistake, but Im moving on. Most likely to Manizales, with its cooler climate, rugged mountain terrain, unversity town feel and maybe a job starting in June at the centro colombo there. Inbetwixt then and now, I plan to work on my spanish, look for part time, temporary or private tutoring gigs and, maybe take some tango lessons. Ive read on the pbh site that theres a hostel there with a kitchen which would be a relief on my cholesterol clogged veins. Ive really got to start eating better. This steady diet of tasty whatever I want street food must end.

Went to a lovely place last weekend. Bussed to the pituresque, small town of Salento, rain lightly falling. After a hearty breakfast of beans, eggs, arepas and hot chocolate, the weather cleared up a bit and a jeep went up to the valley of Cocora - a delightful horsey kind of place with a trail leading up into an intensely green pastured side valley, surrounded by steep canyon walls which wended their way this way and that, pressing in more narrowly the higher and steeper the valley went till it dissapeared from sight blocked by a distant pyramidally shaped green peak, a sentinal beckoning-warning for the unseen and even higher forms beyond. As the arrival time was about noon we didnt get too far and we got back even later. The last bus back to Pereira had already left, so I had the chance to travel briefly through Armenia, to transfer to a bus bound for home. I would like to go back to this place.

By Jon on Apr 11, 2005, 09:35 in Friendly Talkzone.