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Jons Journal 18

When we last heard from our intrepid traveler, July 7th, he had just parted from his lovely and intelligent companion of two months and was thus feeling a bit disoriented. This sensation was not alleviated by his choice of lodging that night. The Kiwi House is strategically located smack dab in the middle of the wine, women and song neigborhood called Poblado. This hostel's population increases on Fridays when large number of forieners, predominantly Israeli's males freshly liberated from the armed services, stage their evening festivities which are not, by the way, of a religious nature. After drinking copious amounts of alcohol and, utilizing the better Spanish speakers to draw in the foreign loving girls of Medellin, they vomit, sleep and walk about the hostel the next day all dazed and confused playing pool and chess and just lounging about, only to repeat the cycle the coming night. Very much like living in UC Santa Barbara's dormitories, an odious experience. The next day I left to return to the same room I had been staying in with Lucy. Better to be lonely alone than lonely with other people, I always say.

Fortunately I met an American and his Colombian wife that night and spent the evening on their lovely patio where they had been drinking red wine and subsequently drinking more with me. (Although what follows is a combination of libel and slander, I truly did appreciate my time with them). Later we went to a nearby restaurant where we drank more, you guessed it, red wine and then as I was saying goodbye, the wife bought a small bottle for later. She can, I am told, put quite a bit away when she has a mind to. While normal but pleasant while slightly tipsy, in their drunken states their personalities changed dramatically although I don't think they remembered it well. As the night went on Jon, the American, began waxing plaintively and pitifully about his need for companionship in a strange and at times unwelcoming land. Diana, the Colombian, for her part began, and then repeated over and over again, her statement of purpose, which was to warn unsuspecting foreign men such as myself of the evil ways of Colombian women, who, if she is to believed, often wear a topical ointment on their nipples, which when sucked, administer a sinister drug stripping all will power and possibly memory from the unfortunate victims, who, upon awakening, all too often find themselves compromised in some horrible and possibly irrevertable way - kidney burglary, kidnapping, finding oneself naked and penniless on a piece of cardboard in a not so good section of town. Its all possible, so you have to be careful.

I proposed that we go on a hike the next day, saying that we should climb a mountain, or maybe just a hill, which they weren't in a state to negotiate. When I swung by the next morning they were, as to be expected, suffering some after effects which manifested themselves in slowness, immobility and a low key but indomitable stolidness, by which I mean to say, that we weren't climbing no mountains that day. Instead we walked a short distance, slowly, and mostly silently, to a cafe where we drank more beers and conversed as we no longer needed to concentrate our efforts on the process of putting one foot in front of the other. After this refreshment we made another short leg to another beer selling establishment where the conversation turned to the subject of cocaine, for which both of them had strong, loquacious opinions about when a simple, even ingenuous proposal occurred to me. Why doesn't the Colombian government just make it legal? They turned this idea about in their heads a bit but as I didn't get a a satisfactory answer, and I for my part couldn't quite let it go, the conversation unraveled like a slip not, although not before Jon said something very funny, which I don't remember very well, but had something to do with the insinuation that the motive for my proposal had a strong self serving yet imbecilic character. We walked in near silence back to an internet cafe, where we said goodbye in this guy to guy, Saturday night live, I can respect that way, me thinking that all the silences were somehow my fault, which as much as I'd like to shift the blame, is probably true. I'm not much of a conversationalist and thats the truth.The next day, Sunday, I walked all over Medellin, alone this time in order to satisfy my go where I want to go nature.

I passed the next five days in teacher training at EAFIT although it really should have been called teacher selection process as only a percentage of the trainee-applicants would get a job. Although I like teaching, education theory, like sociology is painful to my babble sensitive ears. Nevertheless, by the end of it, I found myself bonding with a lot of people in the group, possibly because a certain us against them group think that had developed. One black humored, horror film loving, obsessive-compulsive, pretty -ugly type girl wanted to bond, or at least used words to this effect, as we were listening to yet another deluge of useless words, by cutting my fingers off which were resting near the guillotine like paper cutting apparatus. I politely declined. I got her phone number later so I think this was her way of flirting.

Supposedly, we weren't to be told whether we got the job or no until a few weeks later but I began hearing rumors that some trainees were getting the nod. So after giving my mini lesson presentation, which went went well enough by my standards, my potential employer, on hearing my inquiry, said no, you'll have to wait and said good luck as she patted me on the shoulder. This did not bode well. Still, I went out with some of the more successful candidates to drink beer in Parque Lleras where they did their best to teach me guy talk in Spanish. I only learned one phrase, no importa en culo, but I turned a clever one. After my companions made several statement attributing properties of eyes with the anus, one being a remark about how his asshole was crying and the other being a remark about an asshole winking, I said, and I'm as proud of it as my companions were impressed, "The asshole is the eyeball of the World." They didn't believe I made it up. Another instance of the one eyed man being king in the land of the blind. Later I went off with one of the other applicants to his pizza shop for free pizza and conversation with his sister's husband's mother, or at least she was sufficiently removed from him that she had to pay for her pizza.

So I had the weekend ahead of me as I wanted to at least put a little pressure on the EAFIT lady before I left Medellin, and, I reasoned, what better way to spend the weekend than to buy a VCR machine and hook it up directly to the pleasure centers of my brain. So once again I fell into the drink. I came out of it momentarily enough to exchange several emails with Lucy wherein, I, unbeknowenst to myself, agreed to have her come up to Medellin and reunite. I think it was also in these emails that she told me she had lost one of her two jobs and half of her income. I wasn't really paying much attention to it as I had other pressing matters at hand. When she actually knocked on the hotel door I felt indignant interuption and shame for feeling so. I frantically try to remember who I was when I was with her before or who I'm supposed to be now as I hop in the shower and clean the paraphenelia littered room. Fortunately for the night(I don't know about me), Lucy gives me some good codependant loving, by turning the porn back on and catching up to and then surpassing my level of inebriety. I didn't drink any more but we stayed up all night in a delerium.

The next day was mostly humdrum. Lucy had teeth problems and dentists to see and I had to return tapes to multiple locations across the city, have a chat with the EAFIT lady and check in with the folks at DAS. All of which I did in a whirl wind of taxi rides and walking culminating in a beautiful walk through centro just as the sky was illuminated pink by day's end. But most striking were the smells. Sizzling meat, freshly baked bread and pot smoke, among others, waft about the air of a crowded vender filled sidewalk following the shadow of the Metro tracks and pillars hulking above. I remember wishing Lucy was there to share it with me and also wishing I could taste a few of the smells as I was fricken hungry. But no, I was half of a couple once again and knew I should wait. The dumb guy at the gate at DAS said I had to buy a plane ticket and come back Thursday. Grrrr. The EAFIT lady said don't call us, we'll call you. Double Grrrr. So no good news but at least I got everything done.

That night we dropped in on Jon and Diana, the transnational couple, as I was eager to show off the girlfriend I had been missing so much the first night I met them. It was an anti-climax, although the fresh baguette and basil leaves with provolone cheese and tomato slices, all to be dunked in dish of olive oil teeming with chopped garlic that they just happened to have ready was some small compensation. Lucy certainly was very impressed. She must have mentioned at least twenty times since then the magical combination of these foods. But other than the vittles, anticlimax. Because, Jon wouldn't talk to Lucy or his wife and kept trying to talk to me, but I was trying to observe Lucy interact, which is hard enough anyway with my pidgin Spanish. Lucy and Diana talked amiably enough but I felt left out and had the sense afterwards that we might have trouble taking our relationship to a public level.

More evidence on how awkward we are with other people presented itself the next night after she had whisked me off to her hometown of Palmira where I felt like I had landed on Mars. Her whole family is outside her house on this sultry evening, and I mean mostly adults, playing Sapo, which as a stand alone word means toad or gossipy malcontent troublemaker and as a game is played by tossing metallic rings towards a wooden boxy structure with various orifices all signifying different scores. It seemed all luck until I was put on the sapo spot and had to toss the rings myself and rediscovered what inadequate tossing ability I possessed. I watched helplessly as the rings slid from my hand and sailed off in all sorts of directions other that the boxy structure, let alone the orifices I was aiming at. Lucy's mother, an elderly woman with a limp, is the most enthusiasitic gamer, with a fast low flying pitch and ever attentive to the accurate recordkeeping required. This woman really wanted to win, and although there were no monetary stakes that I was aware of, the possibility of winning a tidy sum would have made her eyes open wide with the gleam of desire, or, so I am to understand, as Lucy says that gambling is her only vice aside from smoking.

Due to the Martian like environment in Lucy's home, my desire not to overstay my welcome and also the need to find out more about Cali, I decided to move to one of the hostels in Cali, Calidad house. We were only there for a couple of days before we went back to Lucy's family's house for some reason or other. This past month we've floated about staying in hotels and occasionally other friends and family of hers but constantly returning to the Mothership in Palmira. There is a very warm feeling there with the constant flow of food, obvious rapport amongst several although not all pairs in the group and ofcourse, some very cute kids, especially the 10 month year old. Not speaking the language, and more importantly, not being married to Lucy puts me very squarely in the corner of outsider and living there permanently just won't happen. So I should find a place sooner rather than later.

Before realizing all this, or actually within a week of arriving in Cali/Palmira, I finally climbed to the top of Tres Cruzes, a thousand feet of mountain looming over the northwest side of the city. I had been warned by several sources against doing so but I just had to see for myself. As it turned out I think they were wrong. There must have been about a hundred people on the mountain at about 8 oclock in the morning, old and young, male and female, all in exercise clothes of some sort. There were pairs of soldiers posted in three locations and vendors of water and fruit in two. At the top, adjacent to the 3 enourmous crosses, was an exercise pit with free weights and micelleanious apparatus to bend, flex and otherwise contort one's body. I made friends with a couple who invited me to walk the back way down to the neighborhood where they lived. Tres Cruzes is great and since then I've made two more early morning ascents.

I had been in Cali for almost a week when i got the bad news that I wasn't getting the job in EAFIT. It really got to me and I had one of my tempertantrums, ala Jon Margolis, where I hated everything and everyone around me. Lucy had to be at the brunt of this for an hour or so but I snapped and let her console me. Some days later I took a job tutoring Donaldo, a hopelessly handicapped English learner, at the British School in Cali. All the teachers had had him before and no one knew how to get through to him. He teaches engineering at the university level so I shouldn't call him dumb, but I think I will anyway. He's one dumb ass English student. But his lifelong dream is to emigrate to Canada so he doggedly pursues the arduous task of forcing his brain to go against its grain. Perhaps I will be the one to get through to him and he will be my Helen Keller of Cali. Meanwhile, its a good gig because they pay about $8US an hour, which is very good compared to the two other offers I eventually got for 2 and 3.5US an hour respectively. The differences in pay and lifestyles is amazing. British school only wants British accented teachers for their group classes, and as such only employs British born native speakers but may be opening up a more eclectically accented site later this year. It has a nice resource room, allows teacher creativity and pays well, but I miss the atmosphere of a school full of Colombian English teachers. They are a nice bridge of the cultures.

Planning out my life is becoming more complicated, and the following took a month or so to play out. Normally I think, job then place but no obvious job is presenting itself and I'd like to settle down. I originally decided that I would look for a place in Cali. Thats where more jobs are and it also has a mountain or two nearby for the walking, both very important points for me. I don't know how it happened but somehow I came to the decision that I would live in Palmira, an hour from British School and uncompromisingly flat. Its not an entirely rational thing and I think it has alot to do with Lucy. She would prefer living there and should things not work out with us or I take a job offer in another city, I would feel less guilty leaving her with the apartment. Plusses for Palmira include lower rents, a much more quiet, calm and relaxed ambience than Cali, possibly slightly lower temperatures at night and everything being much more closer and comprehendable. I also may have a private student in Palmira who would be taking alot of hours. Adding to the complication factor is the loss of income on Lucy's part. It was about $1000 a month but now, after losing one of her two jobs, through no fault of her own she would add, its half that so that after this that and the other expense she would only contribute nominally to monthly expenses like rent, food, utilities etc. She's living and eating at her parents for free now. Add to this her desire to keep a room, or at least a space, available for her daughter, Cindy, 22 years old, who according to Lucy is very jealous of me. Its unknown how often, if at all she would stay with us. I must admit that one thing I liked about Lucy was the absence of economic inequities between us - she seemed like she would not be dependant on me. Even if my heart were completely devoid of mistrust and misgivings and overflowing with generosity I still might not be able to afford it. I'm not interested in paying for Lucy's expenses and even less so her daughter. On the other hand, I need a place to stay, and once I have it I would want Lucy as my guest everyday. Bottom line is I'm going to go with it(being as generous and trustful as I can) and hope for the best.

As my attempts at landing and staying with a legal job had proved fruitless, if not downright laughable, and I only had another month or so before my 6 tourist visa months would be up, I changed to plan B - get a student visa by enrolling in a university Spanish course. Within a few days of arriving in Cali/Palmira we found a school, Universidad Santiago, that offered the course and, more importantly, the requisite paperwork. Alas it was not to be so. At the 11th hour it turns out they wouldn't be offering the course - not enough students. So I had to schlep my way all 9 hours back to EAFIT in Medellin with the not too appealing idea of paying for a course I wouldn't be taking from the very same people who wouldn't give me a job. Fortune shined on me though because the nice lady at enrollment(not the same one who wasn't "wowed" by my teaching audition) gave me all the necessary paperwork for the visa application of 10 months without asking for a dime, or peso as the case may be. According to her, if the visa is applied for in the states, its not necessary to actually pay for the classes, just enroll, which I did, level 5 I think. Unfortunately, I don't see myself doing the 9 hour each way commute to take the courses as much as I would sincerely like to take formal classes. Cali only has one university level course available for a rather pricy $1000 US dollars a semester so I will be looking into other ways to gain mastery over Spanish.

August 20th has come and gone so I find myself back in Los Angeles without much to do. I had to leave the country because tourists from the US can only stay in Colombia 6 months out of every calendar year. Add to that my brother is getting married Sep 4th. My luck was still holding out as one of the first things I did in LA was become the proud owner of a Colombian student visa, which is good till Aug 22, 2006. No problem, no fee and only an hour wait while they printed out the thing. It won't allow me to work legally but at least I can legally reside there. My return ticket to Cali is Sep 7th although I'm pretty much ready and rearin' to go back now.

By Jon on Aug 26, 2005, 15:02 in Friendly Talkzone.

sydneygirl says on Aug 26, 2005, 16:11:

Thanks Nice journal entry, much more detailed than I can muster although I aspire. Also nice to know that I am not the only one who is constantly dealing with the balance of Love, lovers family,foriegn cultural issues, work aspirations followed by visa problems. thanks

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utopiacowboy says on Aug 26, 2005, 21:08:

I have read several posts now where people comment on smelling marijuana smoke in Medellin. This is exactly my experience too - I seem to smell it in public there all the time.

I read your entire post and I'm not sure where you stand with Lucy. You seem to be betwixt and between with her.

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.

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utopiacowboy says on Aug 26, 2005, 21:08:

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.

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DayTripper says on Aug 27, 2005, 03:24:

...topical ointment on their nipples... Jon,

Nice stoy although a bit detailled.

Two questions I have. You write:
"Colombian women, who,... , often wear a topical ointment on their nipples, which when sucked, administer a sinister drug stripping"

Questions:
1) Do these women also put this oinment on other parts of their bodies? If yes, which parts?
2) Is it also possible for men to put this stuff on certain parts of his body?

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2retirensa says on Aug 27, 2005, 06:37:

thanks Jon I always enjoy your journals. Especially because they are so detailed, it puts you right there with you! I look forward to more.
Maureen

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