A Whole Lotta Nothing

My cold is starting to wane. Other than not being able to taste anything and not being able to tell how loud I'm talking due to clogged ears I'm feeling much better. If anything I'm being entertained by the fascinating world of mucus. So many colors and textures!

My new favorite thing is Kellogg's Frosted Mini-Wheats. Of course I had fallen into the trap that most people find themselves in. Wow! Wheat-like cereal! I feel so healthy! Such fabulous fiber! This is such a healthy snack, I'm glad I picked up a bowl of this instead of a cookie! When in reality I'm eating bowls and bowls of kiddie cereal. Sure there is no fat but lots of calories and sugar. But I'm not going to let it get me down. I mean besides the fact that it's one of the only things to eat here (long story I'd rather share in person than be totally rude and explain in a blog), I really entertain myself with my method.

To me, everything is like eating a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. You have to have a way. So I pour myself some Mini-Wheat crack. I pour enough vanilla soy milk to cover it just to the tops of the crack nuggets. I settle into my seat. I must let every nugget get saturated and then I turn them over one by one to saturate the other side. Then I place every nugget frosted side up and I begin the evaluations. I examine the level of frosted-ness. I rank them. Then, after assuring that each one is saturated enough with soy milk (I'm not a soggy cereal fan, but I'm not into the crunchy either), I begin eating them from least frosted to most frosted. I always spot and designate "The Last One" which tends to be deliciously over-frosted and I keep my eye on it the entire time to make sure that the frosting doesn't get washed away by the milk and that I don't eat it by mistake which would ruin the entire experience and leave me sad and depressed.

This is how I've been entertaining myself in San Diego.

Now that I'm back in the country of clean mirrors and sufficient bathroom lighting I have officially confirmed that at some point in the past few months I did indeed chip a tooth. Totally minor and doesn't mess with the way my mouth looks (thank god because that funky crooked tooth would've been pissed that it wasn't the center of attention anymore) I can't stop rubbing the new rougher edge with my tongue. It's a totally annoying habit that also continues to officially confirm that I am as totally neurotic as my mother likes to tell me.

A Glimmer of Hope and then...

For some strange reason the other day I got it in my head that Mark and I should totally just face reality and go to New York City because we would have a network of people to help us in some way get on our feet. Sure most of them would be loud Puerto Ricans who are in some way related to me but Mark has friends there too so it wouldn't be so bad. I mentioned this and he totally agreed!I suddenly started thinking about neighborhoods that we could probably afford, maybe inviting over my parents for a dinner I cooked (would I make it vegetarian to annoy my dad? maybe), commuting on the subway, practicing fake interviews where I assured the interviewer that if there is anything I know, it's customer service. I imagined calling friends I really don't talk to anymore and creating a new little social circle for myself that involved off-Broadway shows, random jazz performances, tasty pizzerias. I went to town. I was excited. Nervous and scared of course, but excited.

And then he backed out on me. He said he wasn't so sure. It was too expensive. Maybe we should pick a city near New York City; like Philadelphia (which he always pronounces as Philadalphia). Because I have fears about moving back to New York myself I just sadly smiled and said sure, we'll still think about it. I slumped off to bed, soggy tissues in hand, nose lotion in pocket, and as I started to fall asleep I cried (just a little!).

Little do I realize he's keeping up some dialogue with a friend about how he still really wants to move to San Francisco (New Yorkers: gasp here) because he knows so many people there. Now we all know how Mark feels about my family:Big yawn at last Christmas. Notice how thrilled he looks to be there.

But he knows people in New York too! I understand that a city that is so expensive can have that as an argument against its quality of life, but it has everything else he wants! He'd never have to drive, he'd have culture galore! Loads of diversity! I'm sorry Mark's friends in NY. He obviously doesn't regard you very highly. But as I said before and it will continue to be my argument: Mark knowing a lot of people in San Francisco (just as equally expensive as NYC) is not a reason for me to move there.

The Battle continues...

Where the heck have I been?

So. As you can probably tell Mark and I made it back to the states alive. I didn't want to post right away on what was the most ridiculously infuriating experience that is flying through South America. I was too angry. I was dreaming up posts and all of them had insanely explicit language that would've made my mammy and pappy very sad to hear.

Let it just be said that the Biatch in Bogota who checked us in screwed us big time, created an insane luggage mess that was to be the next 84 hours of our life and in the end when Mark's bag finally got returned to us some jerk-off somewhere out there had stolen some of his clothes and the kick-ass hammock we had bought in Colombia which was truly a devastating blow to realize it was gone forever.

So ultimately I guess it is a fitting end to all the annoying bullshit that was sometimes a major part of my trip to Colombia. No, I don't regret going. Yes, I'm thrilled to be back.

Because of all the luggage mess we spent 2ish days sleeping on a futon in LA where a two-year-old who doesn't like me coughed on me constantly. Knowing that I hadn't had a cold since I was training "the new girl" who had a cold and didn't heed my advice about disinfecting keyboards; I immediately knew that I was screwed because my grace period was over. So of course on prompt arrival in San Diego we discovered that not only the Anderson family-at-large had all had colds but they had basically been giving it to each other since Christmas and there were still germs lingering around. Mix that with frigid temperatures (in San Diego you say? When a house doesn't get heated it gets pretty cold) and Jamie was instantly full of snot and miserable.

I've been blowing my nose so consistently that I don't even have skin on my nostrils anymore. And they don't skimp on tissues here, this is the good shit. I sleep with two sweatshirts on and Mark is constantly arranging my 5 blankets and a sheet to insure maximum warmth. I'm not taking any actual medicines but thanks to the obsessive compulsive disorder that a certain Anderson has about their allergies I'm laden down with Benadryls and Sudafeds and there is even some Tussin when I'm ready!

However today we may have some progress: I seem to be blowing my nose less frequently. The cold has moved to the chest cavity. Normally with my occasional asthmatic tendencies this can be really bad but there is no wheezing or anything scary that causes the Voice of Diana to appear and begin nagging my thoughts. Just a nice hearty cough here and there. Maybe tonight I'll really sleep!

The Last Day

This is it. Our last day here in Colombia. Of course our last experiences here wouldn't have been complete without some annoying tidbits taking place. Let's divulge!

We have some loud chicas now living on the hall who walk back and forth all morning to the bathroom, all the while puffing on cigarettes and stinking up our room. It's been so long since I awoke to the sensation of second-hand smoke. I still don't miss it.

We went to eat breakfast at the one place we knew would be open, a diner-type place called Salerno. This was to be our third outing there. I went back to the trusty french toast and was super excited to find that instead of two lukewarm pieces of bread, this time I was given four nice and warm pieces of french toast. Part of me was very glad that I got the bigger plate this time because if I was given four my first visit and two my last I'd be seriously annoyed at me being ripped-off. It was super tasty and instead of maple syrup I was given honey which made it amazing. But french toast needs butter and so I asked for some since we were never given any even though they gave us a basket of toast (which had never been done before either).

When we went to pay our standard 13,000 pesos that we had paid every other time suddenly the check was 18,000 pesos. I looked at the receipt and saw that we were being charged for an extra juice which we didn't have and the bitches were charging us for the butter. We asked for the juice to be taken off and were of course suddenly looked at with great suspicion even though we absolutely didn't ask for any extra acid, thank you very much. But the butter charge prevailed which is total bullshit and we walked out of there feeling totally ripped off. The worst part is that I could proclaim I'm never going to go there again, but it's really not a choice.

Mark of course was feeling his insatiable need for beverages and so we hung out while he drank a latte and then we headed back to the room. I took a really good nap while he went out and blogged it up.
After I arrose we headed out for yet another meal (all we've done for 2 months is search for food) and enjoyed some grilled meat. As we headed down the street, amazed by the amount of street performers out on this fine Sunday, I heard the sweet, sweet sound of a marching band. I love the sound of a gaggle of snare drums, the blasting of some horns, a group of bass drums, and the tinkle of xylophones. Mark rolled his eyes as I demanded we hurry to the Plaza Bolivar. It was the changing of the guard and a whole military band was out playing while a team of colorfully uniformed men folded a ginormous Colombian flag in a very awkward choreographed manner. It was really neat to watch and I really enjoyed the music, minus the few bits where a xylophone was definitely a little off. I walked away feeling full of patriotic pride. Even if I'm not from here.

We headed off to yet another cafe where I bought a souvenir sweater and Mark had yet another hot chocolate. I refrained from any beverages as I was saving myself...for ice cream. I had waited until the very end of our time here in Bogotá for a decedant indulgence at Crepes & Waffles. It's a chain of restaurants that has insane desserts and I was going to have one for dinner. At 5pm on this leisurely Sunday we headed to Crepes & Waffles as I dreamed of brownies and nuts and ice cream and syrups. Of gooey warm amazingness. I could see it ahead! There is a pep in my step! We reached the doors with their golden borders. And they were closed.

I Took This One!

The Jardín Showdown

Back in Medellin, Mark and I had an agenda of things to do. One of them was to go to the Jardín Botánico. We woke up early one day, ventured onto the Medellin Metro, and arrived at the Jardín. Initially we were bummed because according to the banner on the outside we had missed the free days by one day. But alas, what's to fret about when the normal entrance fee for one person is equivalent to 1 American Dollar.

As one would gather from past posts it was only semi-surprising when the garden turned out to be closed. We found a security guard who informed us that it would be opening at noon and so we walked around, had some coffee, and headed back at noontime. When we arrived at the gate that doesn't look anything like an entrance we were told that actually the garden was closing at noon and wouldn't be open for another two days. Needless to say I ranted all the way back to the metro.

Eventually we managed to get back to the Medellin Botanical Garden and find, once again, the obscure entrance. After paying our cuatro mil pesos we entered the garden. We walked, and walked, and walked and discovered something was amiss. There were renovation and construction projects all around us and yet...no flowers. Not a damn thing. Where are all the damn flowers!?
We were starting to get frustrated thinking maybe we were just not following the correct paths and that the signage wasn't correct but that was truly hopeful thinking. It became quite obvious that everyone else in the joint was also wondering where all the freaking flowers were. Wasn't this Medellin? City of Eternal Spring? Apparently the only interesting thing that was occurring was the appearance of a red squirrel. As I stared, barely containing my laughter for the ridiculousness of it all, a gaggle of Colombians became amazed at the presence of this squirrel and cameras were turned on and food was offered to get a chance to pet the squirrel.Overall it was quite a disappointing garden and if I was fluent enough to speak my damn mind I would've demanded my money back because there was no way anyone should be paying for a walk through a construction site.

So then we arrived in Bogotá and Mark announced (to a roll of my eyes) that he wanted to try the Bogotá Botanical Gardens. This time we hopped in a cab and arrived to another entrance that seemed to be under construction. But quickely our hopes were proven worthy and we entered into a wonderful land of trees and flowers that kept us entertained for some time.

The cacti and succulent plants were amazing (if you ignored the fact that in this country people think it's a great idea to carve their names into the leaf of a cactus in a botanical garden). Stunning, jewel-toned peacocks wandered about enjoying the weather.

The greenhouse had all sorts of jungle plants and were really cool to walk through. It had massive mangrove trees growing out of lagoons covered with lily pads and lotus flowers blooming.

A highlite was the rose garden. In a pretty square with a huge stone fountain in the center roses bloomed. Every color, shape, every type of bud, and rose (who knew there were so many kinds!) bloomed and it was just so gorgeous. I definitely didn't think of myself as a rose person but I'm a new fan. (Mark has a pic of a beautiful rose on his page)

So the good news is that the Bogotá gardens kicked butt and we weren't let down in our search for some gorgeous flowers.

Call It Gushing

I just wanted to say that a few posts of mine have recently been plagiarized. By Mark. That's right. Mr. I've-been-blogging-for-years-and-I'm-an-eloquent-writer is so amazed and stunned by my word magic and by my ability to actually create emotion with my sentences that he's stolen a few of my nuggets.

Unfortunately I'm pretty insecure and was sure that people would think I stole the cleverness from him so I insisted he remove the filched metaphors at once. Which means that you won't find them now on our respective blogs but if you are a reader of posts "hot off the press" then you may have noticed.

So...go me!

The Hunted

Beggars everywhere. Now this is something one expects in a big city in a poor country, regardless of the fact that the economy seems to be doing good as the Colombian Peso grows (I know this because it happens to be at the same time the American Dollar weakens).

But the problem isn't all of the beggars. There are the beggars that plant themselves on the sidewalk and call out. There are the beggars that paint themselves up in some gimmick and then when a child drops a coin in the bucket a small performance occurs. There are the beggars that stand against the wall and jingle a can and if you decide to come on over and give me a peso, well thank you (my preference). My problem is the really aggressive beggars. Or otherwise known as the beggars who get giddy at the sight of Mark and I approaching and follows us for blocks. Or the ones who chase after us and then park themselves outside of our restaurant until we come out and then they follow us for blocks. Or the teenager last night who somehow got distracted and got about a half block away from where our restaurant was and then when we did come out he LITERALLY sprinted over to us, hollering in glee, and proceeded to beg for money and followed us for awhile.

Now part of it is really an interesting twist. When they are begging they are definitely begging-really truly harassing because after the first three no's and the half a block it ceases to be just begging-Mark. They definitely think Mark is the man with the money (obviously a white man must be rich). They don't even look at me, who is clinging to Mark's hand hoping that this isn't the one beggar who snaps and swings at us. This could be ironic because whenever we go into an establishment and some sort of conversation between representative of museum or waiter occurs, they only look at me, because obviously the dark-haired girl is the one who speaks Spanish. This is also funny because I usually don't get what they're saying the first try and I'll turn to Mark for help and they still will only direct their talking to me.

But the whole reason for me writing this is because it's starting to bother me in my sleep. Last night I had a nightmare of this really scary guy-looking reminiscent of Filch from Harry Potter-following us down the street (same street where hours earlier we were followed for a good while until he spotted some police ahead). I don't remember if any violence occurred but I was definitely distressed in my dream-not because of the Filch thing-and awoke feeling really uncomfortable. I hate being prey.

More Tid-bits

We're staying at a hostel in Bogotá that I chose because in the book it said the rooms were quiet and had great natural light and the water is always hot. Being on the coast of Colombia one learns to appreciate the cold water showers because it's so damn hot. But Bogotá is not hot. It's cold here. It's actually colder here now than it was when Mark and I first arrived (Okay friends and family in chilly US you've gotten your revenge).

Our room does have some great natural light, the water sometimes is nowhere near hot, and it can be really quiet IF our Creepy Neighbor isn't home. Let me explain. The light thing is pretty understood. There is apparently only one bathroom on our floor that has hot water (after spoiling ourselves with private bathrooms we have returned to the communal bathroom situation to bookend our trip) but that means that the bathroom is always occupied and that there will always be some 'tard that doesn't understand the concept of communal bathroom and will be in there forever. So then when the rest of the floor gets to shower there is no hot water to speak of.

Creepy Neighbor: We were first introduced to Creepy Neighbor the day we checked in. He was in the communal bathroom violating it. I'm not talking about a little poo smell. I'm talking about an odor so rotten and disgusting that it practically comes to life and walks right into your room and you have to run through the hallways with your sweater to your face like if the SWAT team has just gassed a hostage situation. We wondered what on earth could have created such a terrible event.

It turns out that Creepy Neighbor wanders the streets of Bogotá all night drinking. Then at precisely 6:30am he stumbles back to his room, trips over his disgusting mess (the door was once left ajar and yes, of course, I peeked) mumbles to himself, and then proceeds to put on techno music (again with the techno music!) on speakers and falls asleep to it. This of course wakes us up and falling asleep again is rather unlikely since Creepy Neighbor sleeps all day with this annoying music on. So basically, if you did nothing but drink all night and eat god-knows-what because nothing is open for food then your poo might smell like something has died in you too.

Speaking of everything being closed. If you read Mark's blog then you will have noticed that since we unknowingly scheduled our trip to Colombia during their high season of holidays or vacaciones we have to deal with very crowded roads and buses and often run into stores and cafes and pretty much everything under God's blue sky being closed. Now I understand it's the holidays but give me a break! I won't even go into the travel thing because back in the States travelling at this time is a nightmare as well. However in the States you can always find a place to eat and a place to get a cup of coffee no matter the day.

Here it's like: Oh, I'm not going to open today even though this street is closed to traffic and so a whole city of pedestrians is leisurely walking by my shop and would probably come in for a bite to eat. And look, it's Monday so I'll open but it's noon right now so I'm going to go to lunch and maybe I'll be back at 2 if I don't get distracted. And today is Christmas so I won't open today. Today is Three Kings Day and even though I wasn't open for Christmas, or New Year's and that day my toe was really itchy, I won't open today. But since today is also a Sunday I won't open tomorrow in observance, and maybe on Tuesday I'll put up a sign that says because it's vacaciones I won't be back until February. Well, I'm back and maybe I'll open for a few hours but I heard the Pope had a bowel movement today and so now it's a Holy Day so maybe I'll just go have a beer at the corner store and close up here.

I somehow read faster than I thought I would and now I'm afraid that I'm going to finish my last book before I get on the plane back to the States. This is a disaster! The last time I overread was when I went to Puerto Vallarta with Kristy and I liked my book so much I flew through it. I was left buying the only English language novel they had in the PV airport. Said novel was a Mary Higgins Clark. Now mind you I once enjoyed reading MHC when I was in sixth grade but I've moved on to reading people who can actually write novels that don't make you gag due to their lameness. So we're now on a hunt for a bookstore that would actually have some enlish language books that I would actually read. We went to check out this one store today. But it was closed.

I've fallen in love with granizados. I've mentioned these things before and I'm pretty sure I've never come into contact with these things back home. Essentially it's granulated ice, coffee, and cream. I think it's refreshing and I (delusionally) think it's lighter than a frappucino (something I've never liked anyway). Here they are consistenly good at Juan Valdez Café. You can get them sencillo (plain), con chocolate, or with leche condenzado drizzled on top or inside or however the barista does it. I always get one claiming that it could be my last and then I visited the website and alas, there are Juan Valdez Cafés in New York City! (1: I never knew. 2: Should I really be surprised? 3: F*ck, I don't live in New York City anymore!)

So I don't know if they menu is the same in the States but if you are near NYC and you think granizados might be your thing you should check them out.
Juan Valdez Café:
- 140 East 57th Street

-1451 Broadway

-480 Lexington Avenue

If I was Lady Godiva

Going to the Rock

After rum on New Year's Eve, Mark decided he must really hate me because we headed out to El Peñól de Guatapé, where we commenced climbing 649 steps up very Hogwarts-esque staircases to the top of this monolith, two hours outside of Medellín.

I thought I was going to die. No, I was pretty sure of it. I was sweating so profusely that even my legs were saturated and my jeans were sticking to me. What's funny about all this (if it can be called funny) is that on the way up when you're insanely embarrassed-because you think this climb shouldn't be hard for someone who is technically young and yet old guys are passing you- you think you're the only person struggling. But then on the way down when you're glad you're not going up anymore and you're just making sure you don't tip and fall off the rock completely you start to notice all the other people who are stopping on the stairs, panting heavily, confused as to why they are doing this, and all the while trying to remain slightly graceful in their skin tight attire so common to Colombians. (There were quite a few English speakers and if consistency has taught us anything it is: if an American of Latin decent is visiting Colombia they most likely reside in Florida)

The top did have some nice views of the watery landscape below. Strangely enough it felt so Italian. It felt like I was overlooking Lake Cuomo. And I've never even been there! I've only seen pictures of it in PEOPLE magazine whenever George Clooney is at his villa (You know what I'm talking about Blair!).


After yet another crappy lunch of chicken (fried) and rice we waited around for a bus to take us back to Medellín. We were crammed into the cab with the driver and at first it wasn't so uncomfortable. But then the bus pulled over to pick up another couple and these two fatties sure made themselves at home. The guy full-on laid down on what could be called the dashboard and took a nap while Gigantor, his girlfriend, made sure she was nice and comfy- legs spread and belly hanging as Mark and I were squished into the corner behind the driver's seat. I hate buses.

New Year's Eve

Long ago during our visit to Cali we were told that all the major cities compete in the game 'Who has the best Christmas Lights?'. While the caleños we spoke with are very proud of their city and really were enjoying their lights this year they did state that over the past few years Cali had pooey lights, Bogotá usually wasn't shabby, but that Medellín had been kicking butt for the past few years. This sentiment had been spoken by a few other people so therefore we decided we really wanted to see them.

First there were precautions we had to make. We had decided that the neighborhood we were staying in was decidedly sketchy so we wanted to get comfortable with our surroundings and know how to find our way back before we wandered out in the dark. This means it took a few days before we decided we were ready to head out to see the lights. However we were comforted by a conversation we had with a cabbie. He told us that there were lots of people afoot in the evenings to see the lights and even drove us down a street crowded with families enjoying the colorful show. So on New Year's Eve we had a few sips of rum and coke (I was against it from the start) and making sure we still had our wits about us we headed out.

The first thing that happened was that I was quickly removed from my pedestal of 'Wow, people in Medellín are really nice!' when a cab pulled over and when I told him where we were going his face quickly turned sour and he yelled something at me -that even though I didn't know what it was there was no doubt that it was very mean- and quickly sped away. I was pretty devastated as I've had a hard time really liking it here in Colombia and I was maybe on an upswing. Without getting too into it (there is always personal conversations we can have later) Mark was reminded of something someone said to us not too long ago (maybe even his cousin?) it went something like 'Colombia is a really beautiful country. It's just Colombians that are the problem.'

But anyway we evenutally snagged a taxi with a strange jerry-curled man blasting techno (I sometimes wonder if they are putting on this shit music because they think Americans like it) and headed up to Pueblito Paisa. Essentially a fake typical country town kinda remiscent of the villages in Busch Gardens, situated on top of a hill to give you great views of the city all around you.

This is really just a smidgeon of the city. It spreads 360 degrees around you and up into the mountains.

We had been up there earlier in the daytime to get a bird's eye view and were returning in the dark (don't worry, lots o' people) to see the lights along the Rio Medellín, before walking down and along the lights on the river.

So we walked around the pueblito for the second time that day in awe of how many people were really still around and snagged some photos of the lights from above.
Afterwards we walked down to the river and the lights truly were amazing. Giant trees glowed green with different types of 'decorations' glowing on them in contrasting colors. It could be apples or flowers or candles. Rope lights dangled below along the water and above like a canopy. Every once in awhile a kiosk of crazy light scenes appeared, mini North Poles or mini Bethlehems all in lights.
Once we left the Rio we even came across a park with yet another theme of lights. It was decorated with mini scenes of how the rest of the world spends Christmas (a small menorah was thrown in there somewhere) and giant letters spelling out how other languages say Merry Christmas as well.
After getting our Christmas light cravings out of our system we headed back to our room along the slightly abandoned- and yes- slighty sketchy streets. We drank more rum in our pajamas and when midnight hit we listened to the sounds of the insane amount of fireworks going off in the streets.