PBH / Colombia / Start Forums▼ (active) Travelguide Cheap hostels Pictures

Jons Journal 16

Its been more than a month since I last wrote, mainly because its been more of the same getting my hopes up and then getting dissapointed jobwise and I didnt want to bore you all with more of the same. And also because Ive been up to some mischief that I thought better to censor. But then I like writing and said mischief probably makes good reading so I plan to tell all. All its sordidness and all its lengthyness, so be forewarned. Im going to tell the last months story backwards starting at the end and finishing at the beginning.

Today I’m in Cali, the third largest city in Colombia, poised once again to drop in unannounced to several universities here. Cali has a bit of a eighteenth century antebellum south feel to it, with its agriculturally based economy, sultry climate(at a mere 3000 feet in elevation) and people dressed to match. The surrounding canyons have weekend getaway houses and small farms called fincas(read masters house) for rich people with a caretaker and family living in a small, humble house on the grounds(read slaves quarters on the plantation). Cali has more than the usual share of ionian columns, arches and shaded sidewalks as well as strong willed trees which force their way though the gaps in the concrete covered earth. An aside: of these trees, there’s one that caught my attention. Called Seman, it grows all over the valley surrounding Cali, which quite unimaginatively is called El Valle, or in English, The Valley. Semans remind me of the Valley Oaks that once dotted the grasslands of the San Fernando Valley, which also is quite unimaginatively referred to as "The Valley". Semans have the shape of those chunks of planet adorning the illustrations on several Yes albums. For those of you who don’t get the reference, these trees are tall, large and noble, shaped like an upside down cone of about 90 degrees with a concave, or hemispherical top where the only leaves form a ceiling. Thus, the trunk and all its gradually widening branches can be seen splitting into ever smaller widths and lengths but doing all with sudden angular changes in direction and size. Or if that doesnt make sense, think California Coastal Cypress, its kinda like that but bigger with leaves deciduous and small.

Anyway, enough tree talk, back to Cali and El Valle. The air is laden with haze and an occasional thunderstorm. The city is windy in the afternoon as it is pressed up against the western branch, or Cordillera Occidental, of the Andes. These mountains are of similar shape and size to the San Grabriels surrounding LA or the Whites on the eastern edge of the Owens Valley - steep, rugged, brownish green, roughly equalaterally shaped with angles hovering around 60 degrees. Cali is at the southern, or upstream, end of The Valle, which is well populated but geographically isolated flat area, about, and I mean very roughly as Im guessing here, 200 miles long and 20 miles wide, between the western and central branches of the Andes. Although very close to the Pacific Ocean, water here, of which there is no shortage, flows to the Carribbean via the Rio Cuaca, slowly swirling its way north here in the valley, but further downstream, the distant mountains converge making the adjacent shores more or less uninhabitalble. Eventually Rio Cuaca finds its way out of its mountain maze and hooks up with Rio Magdalena which is the major river of Colombia and flows between the eastern and central branches of the Andes.

I’m staying with Lucy and her sister, sister’s husband and infant child, a more or less self contained household. Downstairs live her mom, dad, othere sister, other sister’s husband and three children. Next door are some cousins. Within a 4 block radius are 6 other households of cousins, but supposedly there isn’t that much communication between them. The queen bee here is lucy’s mom who has been watching me like a hawk. A distrustful mixed metaphor she be. The father is good natured in manner but silent. Lucy says that the question that keeps rolling around their heads is just what is the nature of our relationship. They don’t dare ask because Lucy, although somewhat of a black sheep in the family, has the most income and the household is somewhat dependant on her. I bought some groceries when I arrived but am having trouble consuming them as they cook quite a bit here and I am offered food fairly regularly from both the upstairs kitchen and below. The atmosphere upstairs is warm, simple and open. The couple seem happy with eachother and enamored with their new offspring. That Lucy and I are staying with them doesn’t seem to be an issue. Downstairs is another story. It’s a bit tense, partially I am sure as the culture is traditional and Lucy and I are not married, but also for other reasons I think, although I don’t know the whole story, there is an uneasy truce between Lucy and her mom. My limited Spanish is of no help except to protect me from unpleasant truths. And no, not a word of English is spoken here.

I reunited with Lucy in her hometown of Palmira after being separated for 24 hours or so. After a brief job search we were transported by some friends of hers to a fairly luxurious house high up a steep canyon overlooking The Valle. Lucy seems to have no shortage of friends willing to lend her the use of their Fincas. Recently haunted by paramilitary types the area is supposedly safe now. Definitely very idyllic with several bubblingly clean and brisk brooks and canals interlacing their way their way through horse, chicken, pasture, garden, farm and brick. The couple transporting us acquired the house in leiu of money owed so it’s a bit of a white elephant. Protected by a gate and surrounded by a ceilinged veranda, and all in varying shades of white ceramic, it came complete with a sparklingly clean pool and pagoda, slaves quarters, er, ah, I mean, caretakers house and family, as well as the obligatory hammock, all overlooking a large pointy side down triangle of Valle at the bottom of a V formed by the canyon walls with the Cordillera Occidental usually obscured in the hazy distance. Think I-5 northbound approaching the southern end of the Juaquin Valley, or Grapevine. Three days there passed very quickly.

The previous weekend we traveled alongside the Magdalena River from Pitalito to Nieva in the afternoon and then, through the night to Pereira, where we spent the night as it was quite late when we got there. We stayed in my old home, Hotel Don Pancho, above the evangelical church, in one of the cubicles where amorous couples usually only spend an hour or so. The whole bus ride went very quickly as I had company, the movie, Runaway Jury, was actually very good, I slept in the evening hours and the scenery in the afternoon, alongside the Magdalena was only a little bit short of breathtaking. If The Valle, with its river, Cauca, is like the Owens valley, the terrain around and about Magdalena is more like the mountainous desert south of Lone Pine. Far larger in scale and more ominous in aspect, the bones of the earth here are exposed, picked clean by erosion or other geological forces, interlocking several hundred miles of varyingly colored and shaped skeletal terrain. Relatively dry and hot compared to the higher elevations of Colombia that I have mostly been in, I suppose the surrounding Eastern and Central Ranges of the Andes block a lot of precipitation although an abundant quantity of water flows in frequently seen and varyingly sized streams from the mountains above. Although some land was cultivated, the overall sense was of underutilization, as if there was no need to grow crops on this well watered and relatively flat terrain.

Our destination for the weekend was Manizales, where Lucy attends classes for her Maestría, which, I gather, is the semi-equivalent of a masters program. At this point I’m clearly tagging along as I have very little reason to be in Manizales. I thought of, and mentioned the possibility of parting in Neiva where it would be only a short distance to Bogota, the next logical job hunting grounds, but as this seemed to create a sore point amongst us, I agreed to follow her to Manizales, setting up what seems to be a pattern. As it turned out, it’s a good thing I went as I hadn’t followed up on my last conversation here with the director at Universidad de Caldas and when I spoke with him, he indicated that a forthcoming position would be very likely. Two weeks and several instances of postponed communication on his part later, I still don’t have an answer so my optimism has since diminished. Nevertheless, I am hopeful of getting a legal job in the Colombian city I love most. Meanwhile, as I was waiting to hear from this director, Lucy left for Cali, and I left my plans vague. The day before she left, while walking a portion of the road from Termales Otoño to the alpine volcanos beyond, we debated what we would do next. Tangentially, this is the first time I literally felt slowed down by her physical limitations. My druthers would have been to walk farther and faster without the frequent stops to observe the leaves or views which also, I think, served as rest stops for her. And then my mood is further dampened by her admittedly sensible, but completely unromantic affirmation that, no, she’s not going to look for work in Manizales nor would she give up her job in Cali if I got the Caldas job. I had woken up that morning deciding that I would look for work in Cali as an option to the Caldas position and it was disappointing to hear that she wouldn’t do the same for me. And not just because it wasn’t romantic, it also made me feel like I was pushing the relationship too hard. Ironically this conversation took place in an intensely beautiful environment. The setting sun had illuminated the cumulus in the eastern sky a bright pink. These puff balls in turn hovered over previously hidden high mountain peaks. In front of these, was a verdant valley, dark deep green pasture interspersed amongst even darker swathes of uncut forest. The unique thing about this place, though, was the 3 or 4 abnormally conical hills, actually shaped like traffic cones, that rose a few hundred feet above the surrounding normally shaped hill and dale. As beautiful as this was, I felt sad because I had a premonition of the inevitable goodbye that Lucy and I must face, whether that be the next day, week or year.

Before leaving Pitalito, we had spent 4 nights in a primitive house a friend of hers owns along with another house located amongst a small coffee plantation. The friend, Ricardo, is tall, dark and handsome, went to the best university in Colombia, worked as a biologist meaning he got paid to walk in the woods, and now has bought a coffee plantation, organic ofcourse, and hopes to turn it into an educational hostel of sorts. After watching this over-achiever and Lucy have an animated discussion during lunch which I couldn’t understand, I decided I was jealous as all hell. That, and her dancing about to Latin music as Ricardo fixed up our place, made me think that something had snapped in her, that her feelings had somehow changed. I tried to nudge her into confessing something but try as I might, I couldn’t squeeze a drop out of her. I think it was just about this time that she taught me the phrase, gajes de oficio, which roughly and figuratively translated means nature of the beast, of which several apply to Americans (gringos) getting involved with local women, who don’t speak the same language, have a different culture and live in a poorer country than the US. Fortunately, by the end of the night my paranoia had passed and hasn’t returned since – the rest of the stay there was quite blissful and Ricardo did everything he could to make us comfortable, including leaving us alone most of the time. I taught Lucy how to play chess, we watched the stars, which, with the inexplicable exception of the Big Dipper, seem totally different here, slept almost an entire day, walked in the darkness, cooked by candlelight, walked in the daytime about the area, which was pure Farmersville: horses, cows, cultivation, mud and shit everywhere. We also got lost (I like getting lost) wandering about the farms surrounding a park outside the town of San Augustine. The other house, the one Ricardo slept in, was at the end of the world seemingly and needed only a lazy stream of smoke emitting from the chimney to complete a picture of cliché fairytale idyll. Ricardo actually has lived there three months alone, hermit like, with only a guitar for company which I greedily played for a sweet 30 minutes or so. During this time my body made the transition from feverishly sick to weak, but feeling good except for that nasty cough. Lucy also started coughing and showing other symptoms but seemingly much less severe than what I had experienced.
To get to the farm we had woken up early and met Ricardo at the bus terminal in Popayan. I really had no idea who he was or where we were going. The trip there involved ascending a narrow steep green grassy valley, supposedly the headwaters of the Rio Cauca. I remember feeling very happy with Lucy in my arms, as we bumped our way over that dirt road up the mountain canyon. By the time we reached the top, the elevation was something like 10 thousand feet. The terrain leveled out, clouds swirled about in front of our faces and the plant life was what is called páramo. The plants are very similar in appearance to those in the Mojave desert but in soil and air soaked with moisture and temperatures frigid. As I said, the first few hours of this bumpy ride were great but then, as if a feel good drug was wearing off, my sore butt began getting the majority of my attention, the jealousy thing started with lunch and then, as we descended into the upper Magdalena valley, I first brought up the idea of splitting up. All of which had a dampening effect on the euphoria of the morning.

I haven’t mentioned it thus far but the entire time I’m spending with Lucy, I’m getting a thorough immersion in Spanish. I would say that at least half of what we say to eachother is of the how do you say such and such variety. She can more or less read English, say an occasional word or, more rarely a sentence, but conversation, no way. I think we could make a go of speaking only English but she won’t do it. I teach her an occasional word but its usually something that I want to say in Spanish. Needless to say, I have a lot of things to say to her and a lot of motivation to do so. I’m learning much more with her by my side than going it alone. I still have the same problems understanding what is being said to me and even more so what two people other than me are saying to eachother but at the very least, I’m getting more vocabulary and corrections. She cant explain the grammar or the names for different usages but its just as well as I probably need to get out of that left brained manner of learning anyway. Somethings are left misunderstood, such as a good translation for realize or darse cuenta.

I would say my fever finally broke the afternoon we spent in Popayan, the day before the bumpy bus ride to Ricardo’s farm. For the previous 24 hours I had about 3 bouts of feeling extremely cold as well as feeling overall weak with a nasty twitchy cough. We had arrived in Popayan about noon and I badly needed to lie down but Lucy’s friend, who had offered to let us spend the night in her apartment was temporarily out of touch so we wandered about the town, which was actually quite nice, I mean, I knew it was nice in a logical way, but I was in a slightly feverish daze and like I said, I really needed to get horizontal, so the town didn’t seem nice at all. When I finally did I felt much better, and I just lay there talking with Lucy for the next 6 hours, only interrupted by her washing my clothes. I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone but it just seemed so novel at the time, I can’t help but say it. Lucy can be quite maternal at times and I definitely felt like I was being taken care of. She’s done a lot of things for me along those lines, like watching me eat, constantly stroking me, cutting my nails…its embarrassing to say but I like it, I like it a lot.

The previous day, I arrived in Palmira at about 6 in the morning after finally dozing off and getting an hour or two of sitting up straight, head off to one side, sitting in the bus quality sleep. After the hellish adventures of the night before, and in general crossing the country to hook up with her, I was really worried that she would do a flake. But she showed up and we spent an ecstatic get to know eachother-fall in love kind of day. Adrenelan kept me going until the afternoon when I had my first bout of the chills. It was also pretty emotional for me, I cried a few times, but then again I was pretty maxed out from lack of sleep, a viral infection, and a brain still addled from the heavy drinking I did a week before in Tunja. She also told me the story of her youth, she’s 42 now, how she had a fling when she was 18, got pregnant but wouldn’t tell anyone who the father was, except her daughter when she asked, and got ostracized by her family and soon struck out on her own. Somehow she survived and the daughter turned out fine, she’s in a university now studying Biology or some other life science. And Lucy went to school, majored in psychology and education, and teaches at a university making 12 US dollars an hour and working part time. This is doing very well by Colombian standards. Somehow this life had a price, which I’m still trying to figure out, but at least includes the fact, according to her, that she doesn’t cry, get angry or feel ticklish easily.

The trip from Medellin was by no means uneventful. It started normal enough. At about 4 in the afternoon I got on a bus thinking I would meet Lucy in Palmira at 10 or so. I sat next to a married woman who worked for Coca cola and who didn’t seem to much want to talk. After crossing the Cauca the bus stopped and some unruly looking men boarded the bus and without any observable explanation began a long and unsuccessful attempt at removing a panel from the center of the bus floor. I assumed they were looking for contraband, but the guy was actually the bus driver sans shirt trying to access a pressurized hose underneath that led to what he felt was an important enough component such that he didn’t want to risk moving the bus. But all he said to me after all the passengers had disembarked into the hot and heavy air outside was that we were stopping for dinner. I guess he felt that I couldn’t take the harsh truth that we were about to spend the night on this particular embankment of highway in the middle of nowhere. At this point the passengers began forming herdlike formations and sentiments. I know I did. I had no idea what was happening, so when a group of people moved from one place to another, it didn’t matter why, I just moved with them. Eventually some chairs materialized and we sat around telling jokes while the bus driver, in vain, kept trying to coax the errant hose into submission. Simultanious to the mechanical problems on our bus, the road ahead, and consequentally all the people traveling on said road, had significant problems as well. A large amount of earth, as in several thousand tons, had fallen from above blocking passage of all cars. The people who fix this kind of thing wouldn’t arrive til morning. Little by little, a long line of vehicles began forming along the stretch of road where we were asconsed. Some drivers sat despairingly at the wheel, others curled up in the fetal position. One truck driver was setting up a hammock underneath his vehicle. This last scene made me realize that this thing was going to take the whole night.

Well, I decided to take on a take charge attitude by taking a look at the problem underneath the bus, afterall I worked on cars for a long time. I’m not a sheep, I’m a human being! But meanwhile a group of passengers, not to old nor young nor carrying much luggage began carrying out plan B. A pickup truck was loading up those who were willing to drive on the wrong side of road to the origin of the pile up to see what was there and perchance cross whatever hindrance awaited us there. They were almost all ready to go before I realized what was happening and so without much thought I grabbed my bag and hopped on. Without much to hold on to except other passengers who had nothing to hold on to except what I had, the possibility of ejection seemed a clear and present danger. And he drove really fast considering the side of the road he was on, the darkness, the traffic pile up etc. Still it was a fun ride and very liberating after feeling like a trapped domesticated animal with no will or understanding. Moreover, I was not looking forward to spending the night in a hot bus moving at 0 miles an hour.

When we arrived at the landslide, the driver would go no further. We had no idea how far it was and of the 10 or so passengers in the pickup, only myself and three others were willing to brave the passage. It was a real break on through to the other side moment. With only a cell phone light to guide our way we, with a moderate amount of panic, made our way into the darkness.. After a quarter mile or so, which seemed much longer, we saw lights. And lo and behold, we were on the other side, which, as you might expect, was a mirror image of the first side, miles of cars lined up on one side of the road. We looked for a bus of the same company as ours and also held up are thumbs. Eventually our dogged company was picked up by a bus heading for Manizales which at the time seemed to be a lot better place to be than the middle of nowhere. It was such a relief to be moving at highway speeds once again. At midnight we arrived in Manizales and after a tense discussion with the middle management my compainions and I managed to purloin passage to Cali, or in my case, Palmira. With all the excitement I couldn’t sleep until we had almost arrived in Palmira. They woke me up and I quickly gathered my things, finding myself in the dawn of a new city once again.

My stay in Medellin was a dry mixed bag of job searching and malaise. I was getting over the hangover from hell and beginning to feel the symptoms of upper respiratory infection. I stayed in a hostel when I had no desire to look at other people, let alone talk to them. I was only there one night. I had taken a night bus from Tunja to get here. I went to the 5 or 6 universities in town and got some interest but no promises.

The Tuesday and Wednesday in Tunja are a blur. I know I felt a lot a better than Monday when I was basically watching the second hand of the clock tick around from 1 to 12 wishing that I could will it to move faster. Before I left that Wednesday, I set up my travel arrangements differently. I packed only the absolute essentials: two changes of shirts, underwear and socks; one change of shorts, jeans, warm clothes; reduced item ditty bag-toilet kit, Spanish-English dictionary and English grammar book(which I haven’t touched), water bottle, washing bag, packet of documents. Notice the absence of my beloved pillow and air mattress, both of which I have been missing dearly. I also have been wanting in the towel department. Other than that, I’m pretty happy with my new travel lite style. The folks at the hotel agreed to hold on to my large, heavy and unwieldy library containing suitcase without charge. I think this is a common practice as I’ve seen the service offered at two hostels. I’ve since found out that it’s a pretty simple affair to have it shipped to where ever I end up. At least if its in Colombia, I don’t know whats involved if I want it shipped to another country. The trip from Tunja to Medellin was nice in that a night bus ride is kind of sensory deprevation tank, very relaxing, and much appreciated by my over stimulated and abused body and mind.

I think its about time I describe a really bad hang over. But before I do let me assure all those who are keeping tabs on my drinking that this was the first time I abused alcolhol in Colombia. This time my binge lasted 6 days which is close to as long as I’ve ever drank and after those times I pretty much felt like I was going to die, so I had checked myself into the emergency room on those occasions. I wasn’t feeling adventurous or bad enough to find a hospital so I spent 24 long hours in the hotel room. This is after I ventured out to the street to return the rented VHS player and tapes to the friendly, neighborhood porn outlet. I was very weak, in a daze and had actually made the four block excursion within a hundred feet of my destination when the street made a brief descent down requiring a slightly different set of muscles to be used when walking. The muscle spasm in my lower right calf came suddenly and I froze on the sidewalk, unwilling to move, not knowing if the pain would go away or get worse. It pretty much just stayed the same after 5 minutes, so I limped across the street resigned to accept my future life as a cripple (The limp and the pain have since passed). I took a taxi the four blocks back to the hotel, it hurt too much to walk.

Once back in the hotel room, I pretty much knew that I just had to get through the day and night and everything would more or less go back to normal. I forced myself to take a sip of water every 15 minutes or so. My heart beat was really fast which is OK for a few minutes, but lying down without moving an inch, it gets old really fast. I had the twitches – every so often having the sense of a mild electrocution. My fine motor ability was shot – I could barely hold a spoonful of food my fingers trembled so. My stomach was not very accepting of food either, although I had some bread, avocados and pears as rations for the day. And the halucinations. No matter what surface I looked at, couples in varying positions of coitus would be frenetically doing the deed, or really, various deeds. Then, if I blinked or looked somewhere else, the people and positions would change. Closing my eyes was no escape as this only added the effect of color. Not to mention the black fly like specks that were constantly flying about and the small furry forms that occasionly scurried about the floor. Sometime in the afternoon the saliva started a steady flow 10 times greater than normal. My mouth wasn’t in such bad shape other than that. By nighttime things hadn’t got any better, so I took a sleeping pill and a couple libriums and fell into a kind of paralysis full of evil dreams.

Although the two weeks or so I spent in Tunja were dominated by my falling back into the drink, I did manage to have some non orgiastic experiences there. I was offered a job at a private school for children, ages 5 to 18, more or less. Although the director said that his friends at the Venezualen Consulate would help grease up the passage of a work visa, they only pay 7.50 US dollars an hour and wanted 40 hours of teaching a week, split shift, if I understood him right. I observed a couple classes and hung out with the teachers. One of whom, had definite romantic potential but I didn’t pursue it as I didn’t want to start something I couldn’t finish, meaning I knew I would probably be leaving town in a week or so. I also could have hung out with a guy teacher, about my age, which would have been fun, especially as it is a lot easier for me to meet, get to know etc women than men. In his case, I elected to drink the last days of my stay in Tunja over practicing my male bonding skills. There were two Universities that expressed a strong interest in hiring me but both gave me the usual, it’s a complicated process, we have to consult other people, we’ll get back to you…and I haven’t heard from them since.

The weather in Tunja is really cold. I like cold but I was not prepared for its intensity here. There were a couple of days when my clothes were drying(it takes a long time for clothes to dry here) that I was out and about in flimsy pajamas, without even my lightweight sweater. I was cold to bone with no respite except when I was in bed and probably suffered from a mild case of hypothermia. I finally wised up and bought a parka. The skies often had a thin layer of clouds, enough to blanket the landscape in an almost permanent shadow of gray. It didn’t rain much when I was there and the surrounding, gentle ridges reflected this by not deciding whether to be a greenish brown or a brownish green. The surrounding country side is said to be very beautiful, I would describe what little I saw as pleasant. It looked like it would be easy to walk through as it was mostly pasture and the slopes were gradual. The people in the street had a more native American appearance racially and were more distant than their counterparts in some other places. The buildings seemed very old, colonial in style. Overall it had a very relaxed, quiet feel to it. I could definitely live there should a job work out but I wouldn’t be very excited about it.

The decision to go to Tunja was made somewhat capriciously. I had said in my last email that I was planning on setting up shop in Manizales teaching privately. I had even made a quick trip to Bogota to buy some books that I thought would be useful. But after a couple of days the idea’s enthusiasm wore off leaving behind some obvious drawbacks. I was getting a bit depressed in Manizales after doing such a thorough search there and the idea of going to a different city gave me a boost.

By Jon on Jun 24, 2005, 13:57 in Friendly Talkzone.

caslug says on Jun 24, 2005, 14:27:

Excellent travel journal JON.. I hope you keep this up, it's very informative and descriptive. It read like a fiction book. I've a few questions for you..

1) where did you meet LUCY(i gather she's your the main character's love interest)? Last report i read, you were in armenia or something.

2) Have you tried getting jobs at the langauge institute? You mention the place offering 7.5/hr, what were you looking for? My understanding is it's difficulty to get more in COL for teaching English.

3) Do they have COL Porn at the porn video rental? I always thought it was all foreign porn.

anywya, keep up the great work and good luck with your travel and job hunt. I may be in Cali in the next few weeks, i'll PM you. if you're still around i'll buy you a beer! It's always exciting to meet a character in a book(hint..) LOL!

0 funny, 0 helpful.

Cerealkiller says on Jun 24, 2005, 14:55:

Hmmm Sounds quite interesting...Youve done a lot ever since I last read...You were in Manizales, living with people who didnt speak much or something...I enjoy your entries. Makes me feel like there is just so much I havent experienced myself here in Colombia.
Good Luck!

Conservatives are not necessarily stupid, but most stupid people are conservatives -John Stuart Mill

0 funny, 0 helpful.

Desideria (Moderator) (Trustee board) says on Jun 24, 2005, 14:55:

good reading, jon your journal transported me back to my lovely Sultana del Valle. Just a couple of minor things...the tree is called saman; the river is the Cauca River. Actually, your spelling of the name of the river "Cuaca" almost brought tears in my eyes; that's what my five-year-old used to call that river when we were still living in Cali.
Cheers,
Desi

"When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?"(First Witch in Macbeth)

0 funny, 0 helpful.

Dan says on Jun 24, 2005, 15:50:

WOW!! Now that's gotta be the most detailed story I've read from anyone going to Colombia. Very good story, well written. Thanks for sharing your experiences.

God Bless America!

0 funny, 0 helpful.

utopiacowboy says on Jun 24, 2005, 22:35:

Very good story which, in spite of its length, kept my interest.

Your experiences learning Spanish with Lucy remind me of my early times with my wife and all the "como se dice?". I, too, used to have difficulty with group conversations with many people speaking. I used to sit next to my wife and focus on her part of the conversation since I could understand her fairly well even though I might not understand the other participants.

I don't think that there is anything sadder than being in a relationship and knowing that it must and will end.

Disclaimer: any comment I make is inane and is not to be taken seriously, and is so patently ridiculous that no one should take it seriously, even as an insult.

0 funny, 0 helpful.

Jon says on Jun 27, 2005, 08:48:

Answers and thanks 1. I met Lucy about a month ago in the same hostel that I was bitching about in my last entry.

2. I dont know what you mean by "the language institute." I made a mistake about what the colegio offered me. It was actually 7.5 thousand pesos which is more like 4 dollars an hour.

3. Most of the porn I've seen has been imported.

To everyone else, thanks for responses. Its a real kick to know people like to read my entries.

0 funny, 0 helpful.