If you've been following the blog lately you know that Natalie and I just launched a website where you can go to practice English & Spanish called Lenguajero.com.
Until Monday of this week we had been working an average of 4-5 hours a day, and while we were working hard, we were not obsessing. That all changed on Monday when we launched Lenguajero, thus throwing ourselves head first into a slow decent into internet induced psycosis.
The first night was not too bad, it was really the second night when it finally took hold, rearing its ugly head and forcing us to obsess over every little detail to the point that, at three a.m. while we lay still in bed, both trying not to wake the other (who we each envied for what we thought was their ability to shut off their brain and manage at least a few hours reprieve) someone finally whispered "hey I was just thinking about Lenguajero", and we both realized that it was OK to begin the chattering animatedly, like to whacked out meth-heads who had convinced themselves they had just figured out a way to prove Einstein's theory of relativity obsolete. (Wow I can't beleive I just managed to fit that all into one sentence.)
Since then we have tried various methods to keep the beast at bay, but every attempt ends in failure and we find ourselves obsessing over the most miniscule of all details, things that would seem absurd to anyone not in the midsts of a crippling mental breakdown.
I do not know how much longer I will be able to write, how much longer I will be able to form coherent thoughts, or observe myself with a slightly detatched sense of bewilderment. I don't know how long it will be until the first piece of feces is thrown, or the first primordial call sounded. I do know that I don't have much time left, the person known as August is fading, and a new more beastly creature is emmerging to take his place. It won't be long now...they are coming for me...
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Bootstrapping from Colombia: Connecting Our Users
Over at the Lenguajero blog our week long series on how we built Lenguajero while living in Colombia continued yesterday with a look at how Lenguajero connects its members for conversations.
From the Lenguajero blog:
From the Lenguajero blog:
The goal of Lenguajero is to connect Spanish and English speakers so that they can have online conversations that will improve their ability to speak the language they are learning. With this goal in mind we knew that we needed to a simple, effective way to put our members in touch with one another.
We kicked around the idea that our members would connect using Skype, and we would simply design our site to help the members find language learners interested in the same topics they were. We would then help members arrange a time for a conversation, and give out Skype usernames when two people had agreed to have a conversation. Needless to say that idea seemed pretty chintzy...Read Full Article
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Bootstrapping from Colombia: Design & HTML
Over at the Lenguajero blog we are running a week-long series of articles on how we built Lenguajero while living in Medellin, Colombia. Yesterday we looked at how we got a good site design by outsourcing the work using 99designs and Elance.
From the Lenguajero Blog:
From the Lenguajero Blog:
While building Lenguajero we came up against one challenge that we couldn’t solve ourselves…the actual site design. Here’s how we got it done with a $1000 budget.
Design – Cost $888
Neither of us are could described as designers in any sort of context. We tried contacting a couple of designers we knew back home. They were busy working full time jobs and/or taking care of their families. So how were we going to find a designer who could do just what we were looking for? Read full article...
Monday, July 27, 2009
Launching Lenguajero
These last few months have been busy for Natalie and I. Aside from studying Spanish, making new friends, and exploring new countries we have also been hard at work building a new website called Lenguajero.
From the Lenguajero Blog:
Our main objective has been to develop a site that connects language learners online (currently only available to Spanish and English speakers) so that they can improve their ability to speak, listen, and think critically and creatively in a new language. We wanted to create a space where users would be able to have conversation exchanges (intercambios) right from their homes... Read full article
From the Lenguajero Blog:
Our main objective has been to develop a site that connects language learners online (currently only available to Spanish and English speakers) so that they can improve their ability to speak, listen, and think critically and creatively in a new language. We wanted to create a space where users would be able to have conversation exchanges (intercambios) right from their homes... Read full article
Monday, July 20, 2009
Dia Dos de Mezcal
Last night was my second night at the mezcal festival. I spent the evening surrounded by the hordes of mezcal drinkers that had descended on the park to soak up all the free mezcal they could. And, of course, I joined them to soak up all the free mezcal I could. When all was said and done I had come to several conclusions.
Mezcal, mezcal, mezcal. I love you. I really do. You taste so good every time you touch my lips, and that warm burny sensation in my stomach tells me that you really care.
So it is with a heavy heart that I must tell you that I don't think I can drink you tomorrow. I'm too drunk right now, and you are too delicious, and the fact that you compel me to eat bacon wrapped hot dogs and chorizo tostadas every night after I put you in my tummy means that you may be more like the lover who hits me and then tells me they love me than the lover who really cares.
No mas! Me entiendes? No voy a tomar ni un tris de ti manana.
Pero nos vemos el miercoles. Te amo.
- Mezcal can at times be one of the most delicious drinks in the world (especially the aged añejo or reposado)
- Mezcal often tastes like paint thinner
- The burning sensation means it's working
- If I keep consuming free mezcal at this rate I will probably end up with a pre-existing condition that will prevent me from getting health insurance
- I can sing English songs in Spanish very, very well when I drink Mezcal (last night was Peaches by the Presidents of U.S.A)
Mezcal, mezcal, mezcal. I love you. I really do. You taste so good every time you touch my lips, and that warm burny sensation in my stomach tells me that you really care.
So it is with a heavy heart that I must tell you that I don't think I can drink you tomorrow. I'm too drunk right now, and you are too delicious, and the fact that you compel me to eat bacon wrapped hot dogs and chorizo tostadas every night after I put you in my tummy means that you may be more like the lover who hits me and then tells me they love me than the lover who really cares.
No mas! Me entiendes? No voy a tomar ni un tris de ti manana.
Pero nos vemos el miercoles. Te amo.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
The Mezcal Mezcla-up*
Free booze is the stuff of legends. Unfortunately, open bars at weddings or company parties, or the occasional free glass of wine on a plane ride is about all the free booze we ever get. It is precisely because of this that last night was a life changer for me.
I had been seeing the signs all over town for the last couple of days, and was really getting pretty excited for La Feria de Mezcal, The Mezcal Fair.
Mezcal, for those of you who don't know, is tequila's older brother (both are produced from the Agave plant, but tequila is only made from the blue variety), and when people talk about "eating the worm" from a bottle of tequila they are actually referring to mezcal since the Mexican standard authority prohibits placing worms or larvae in tequila (thanks Wikipedia).
La Feria de Mezcal is a TEN DAY festival that has been set up in one of Oaxaca's many gorgeous plazas. Small wooden stands have been erected all around the park, and each one is staffed by workers for one of the hundred or so small artisenal mezcal distilleries in the Oaxaca area. And what, you ask, are they doing at each of these small stands?
GIVING OUT FREE MINI SHOTS OF MEZCAL!!!!!
There is no limit to the sampling and since each distillery has anywhere between 3 and 10 different types of mezcal available for sampling it does not take more than two or three stands to realize that, despite each shot being about a third of a normal shot, you have stumbled upon something truly special, the stuff of legends.
I made it through about 5 or 6 stands last night, before wandering (i.e. stumbling) off to devour a bacon wrapped hotdog with all the works (perhaps the best kept secret in the Mexican cuisine). I returned for one final push, before reminding myself that there was no rush. I have 9 more days of this to look forward to. Pray my liver holds out.
* in Spanish mezclar means to mix.
I had been seeing the signs all over town for the last couple of days, and was really getting pretty excited for La Feria de Mezcal, The Mezcal Fair.
Mezcal, for those of you who don't know, is tequila's older brother (both are produced from the Agave plant, but tequila is only made from the blue variety), and when people talk about "eating the worm" from a bottle of tequila they are actually referring to mezcal since the Mexican standard authority prohibits placing worms or larvae in tequila (thanks Wikipedia).
La Feria de Mezcal is a TEN DAY festival that has been set up in one of Oaxaca's many gorgeous plazas. Small wooden stands have been erected all around the park, and each one is staffed by workers for one of the hundred or so small artisenal mezcal distilleries in the Oaxaca area. And what, you ask, are they doing at each of these small stands?
GIVING OUT FREE MINI SHOTS OF MEZCAL!!!!!
There is no limit to the sampling and since each distillery has anywhere between 3 and 10 different types of mezcal available for sampling it does not take more than two or three stands to realize that, despite each shot being about a third of a normal shot, you have stumbled upon something truly special, the stuff of legends.
I made it through about 5 or 6 stands last night, before wandering (i.e. stumbling) off to devour a bacon wrapped hotdog with all the works (perhaps the best kept secret in the Mexican cuisine). I returned for one final push, before reminding myself that there was no rush. I have 9 more days of this to look forward to. Pray my liver holds out.
* in Spanish mezclar means to mix.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Oaxaca Wanderings
I am not a patient person. While I do believe that over the years I have gotten better at delaying gratification as opposed to constantly needing the instant kind, I am not a patient person.
A case study of my choices of rental properties over the last six years of my life would reveal that I basically choose the first thing I look at, every time. As a result I have lived in some rather bizarre locations over the years. The epitomy of a suburban apartment in Renton, Washington, a high rise in Medellin, the list goes on.
Of course my impulsiveness has also always allowed me to move into an apartment or house within two or three days of beginning to look for one. So yesterday morning when I set up two appointments to view apartments in Oaxaca I figured I would be moving into one of the two by the end of the day.
But no, for once in my life I did not move into the first place I saw. Oh, I had my reasons, there was one that was advertised as 10-15 minutes from the center which then turned out to be an awkwardly uncomfortable 45 min drive out of the city just to see the place (plus return trip). The other place seemed like a promising house sharing experience, a flyer having been posted in perfect English in a coffee shop. I called the guy who posted the flyer, Karim, and set up an appointment. There was a bit of confusion when I arrived around 3 o'clock to discover that yes, there was a room to rent in the house, but no, no one named Karim lived there. Maybe I wanted to talk to Tariq? The slightly creepy 60 something year old who was going to rent us his room (I have no idea where he was going to sleep).
And so the search goes on.
A case study of my choices of rental properties over the last six years of my life would reveal that I basically choose the first thing I look at, every time. As a result I have lived in some rather bizarre locations over the years. The epitomy of a suburban apartment in Renton, Washington, a high rise in Medellin, the list goes on.
Of course my impulsiveness has also always allowed me to move into an apartment or house within two or three days of beginning to look for one. So yesterday morning when I set up two appointments to view apartments in Oaxaca I figured I would be moving into one of the two by the end of the day.
But no, for once in my life I did not move into the first place I saw. Oh, I had my reasons, there was one that was advertised as 10-15 minutes from the center which then turned out to be an awkwardly uncomfortable 45 min drive out of the city just to see the place (plus return trip). The other place seemed like a promising house sharing experience, a flyer having been posted in perfect English in a coffee shop. I called the guy who posted the flyer, Karim, and set up an appointment. There was a bit of confusion when I arrived around 3 o'clock to discover that yes, there was a room to rent in the house, but no, no one named Karim lived there. Maybe I wanted to talk to Tariq? The slightly creepy 60 something year old who was going to rent us his room (I have no idea where he was going to sleep).
And so the search goes on.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Playas and Grenades
I just had one of the most fantastic beach vacations of my life. I realized one of my life long dreams (to sleep in a cabaña directly on the beach) and spent six days lounging in a hammock reading books, eating fresh fruit, and drinking beer.
Beach vactions just don´t get any better than that. Indeed it seems that the Pacific coast state of Michoacan has everything a guy could want. As I drove back to Zihuatanejo this morning thinking about Mexico, the lack of tourism (the violence is keeping the numbers down this year) I thought "Man, I am glad all these people are too scared to come down here this year, it´s great having the place to myself." Then I arrive in Zihua and pop into an internet cafe to see what´s going on in the world and I see the headline in the N.Y. Times, Gunmen Attack Federal Forces In Mexico.
Yesterday as I lay on the beach all around me in Michoacan attacks were being carried out on federal forces. Grenades were thrown into police headquarters, police were ambushed on the roads I drove through today, and the "coolest place I have ever been", as the LP calls Morelia, turned into a war zone as a convoy of heavily armed "hitmen" opened fire on police headquarters. I was there last Saturday.
Yo doy papaya, I am naive. And I´m lucky. I wasn´t in the wrong place at the wrong time, luckily I stayed on the beach yesterday instead of getting on the highway, I´m lucky that this war isn´t affecting me. I sit on the beach drinking beer and 50 miles people are being blown the fuck up in a drug war. I´m lucky though. I get to leave. I wonder what that says about me.
Beach vactions just don´t get any better than that. Indeed it seems that the Pacific coast state of Michoacan has everything a guy could want. As I drove back to Zihuatanejo this morning thinking about Mexico, the lack of tourism (the violence is keeping the numbers down this year) I thought "Man, I am glad all these people are too scared to come down here this year, it´s great having the place to myself." Then I arrive in Zihua and pop into an internet cafe to see what´s going on in the world and I see the headline in the N.Y. Times, Gunmen Attack Federal Forces In Mexico.
Yesterday as I lay on the beach all around me in Michoacan attacks were being carried out on federal forces. Grenades were thrown into police headquarters, police were ambushed on the roads I drove through today, and the "coolest place I have ever been", as the LP calls Morelia, turned into a war zone as a convoy of heavily armed "hitmen" opened fire on police headquarters. I was there last Saturday.
Yo doy papaya, I am naive. And I´m lucky. I wasn´t in the wrong place at the wrong time, luckily I stayed on the beach yesterday instead of getting on the highway, I´m lucky that this war isn´t affecting me. I sit on the beach drinking beer and 50 miles people are being blown the fuck up in a drug war. I´m lucky though. I get to leave. I wonder what that says about me.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Keeping it real - til I get the roller luggage
Last summer while driving across the U.S. Natalie and I stopped at a Super 8 motel in some backwater town in South Dakota. It cost about $50 for the night, and included wifi and a continental breakfast. We were in awe of the place. It seemed like our own little slice of luxury, the big TV, the tiled shower, the comfortable bed. After having spent the previous 6 months in fleabag hotels all across Asia, the idea that such an opulent hotel existed was mind blowing.
On my travels I have stayed in more rundown dumps than I can remember. There was the two dollar a night place in Guatemala that I stayed in for an entire week despite the fact that the shower had exposed wires, and that for some inexplicable reason every night at around 10 or 11 the whole room would begin to stink of shit so badly that I would tie a bandana around my face to go to sleep.
Then there was the enormous, and eerily empty, hotel I stayed at in Nepal. As the only guests in the hotel Natalie and I enjoyed the best room they had to offer, a corner room on the third floor with two huge windows looking out at two of the Himalaya's 8000 meter plus peaks in two different directions. The downside, the hotel was falling over and our room had about a ten degree slant to the floor making walking difficult and lying in bed next to impossible.
Or there was the time in Cambodia when I woke up to find a rooster directly below my bed looking up at me through the slats in my bamboo floor. Or the other time when I turned up at a guesthouse only to be informed that they were full, but that there were some mattresses out in the barn that I could sleep on for one dollar a night. I grabbed a mosquito night and spent the night bunked in the barn with a seemingly suicidaly depressed Thai monk as my only company.
That's just how I roll. I'm cheap, I stay in shit holes to save money, and have had some pretty great experiences doing so. But these days, I just don't think I have it in me to do it any more. I have a bit of money now, I'm not out looking for adventure, I don't need a good story to tell, really what I need these days is wifi and a comfortable bed.
I reconfirmed this last night by negating these options and staying in one of my former haunts, the cheapest hotel listed in the Morelia section of the LP. Listed as "basic, but spacious and spotless" (a gross misrepresentation) we checked in to the room and tried to look on the bright side, it was cheap and had a great location. But I couldn't look on the bright side for long. Maybe it was the rather large bloodstain on the door, the foul odor coming from the mosquito infested bathroom, the dead ants stuck all over the wall from when someone had fumagated but not cleaned up afterwards, or maybe it was the thousands of live ants forming a thick black line from the floor to the ceiling near the door, whatever it was I felt crushed. A crippling depression washed over me, and as I sat in a cafe sipping an espresso I realized that the traveler formerly known as August was dead. He simply doesn't exist anymore. Gone are my days of backpacking, replaced with my days of flashpacking, when 25 dollars a night for a hotel doesn't seem crazy, it seems downright sensible, after all there is wifi, clean towels, and cable TV.
I started traveling two years ago with the idea that doing everything as cheaply as possible would help me connect better with the people in the countries I was traveling through. I would stay in the same places they would, eat at the same restaurants they would, and take the same buses they would. And while I still believe that some of this is true (especially about the food and the buses), it doesn't seem to have worked that way. I have made far more friends and learned volumes more on this trip simply by staying in places for longer and staying away from the travelers circuit as much as possible, in the end I guess that means I have grown as a person, accepted who I am, and what it is that I want in life. Wifi.
On my travels I have stayed in more rundown dumps than I can remember. There was the two dollar a night place in Guatemala that I stayed in for an entire week despite the fact that the shower had exposed wires, and that for some inexplicable reason every night at around 10 or 11 the whole room would begin to stink of shit so badly that I would tie a bandana around my face to go to sleep.
Then there was the enormous, and eerily empty, hotel I stayed at in Nepal. As the only guests in the hotel Natalie and I enjoyed the best room they had to offer, a corner room on the third floor with two huge windows looking out at two of the Himalaya's 8000 meter plus peaks in two different directions. The downside, the hotel was falling over and our room had about a ten degree slant to the floor making walking difficult and lying in bed next to impossible.
Or there was the time in Cambodia when I woke up to find a rooster directly below my bed looking up at me through the slats in my bamboo floor. Or the other time when I turned up at a guesthouse only to be informed that they were full, but that there were some mattresses out in the barn that I could sleep on for one dollar a night. I grabbed a mosquito night and spent the night bunked in the barn with a seemingly suicidaly depressed Thai monk as my only company.
That's just how I roll. I'm cheap, I stay in shit holes to save money, and have had some pretty great experiences doing so. But these days, I just don't think I have it in me to do it any more. I have a bit of money now, I'm not out looking for adventure, I don't need a good story to tell, really what I need these days is wifi and a comfortable bed.
I reconfirmed this last night by negating these options and staying in one of my former haunts, the cheapest hotel listed in the Morelia section of the LP. Listed as "basic, but spacious and spotless" (a gross misrepresentation) we checked in to the room and tried to look on the bright side, it was cheap and had a great location. But I couldn't look on the bright side for long. Maybe it was the rather large bloodstain on the door, the foul odor coming from the mosquito infested bathroom, the dead ants stuck all over the wall from when someone had fumagated but not cleaned up afterwards, or maybe it was the thousands of live ants forming a thick black line from the floor to the ceiling near the door, whatever it was I felt crushed. A crippling depression washed over me, and as I sat in a cafe sipping an espresso I realized that the traveler formerly known as August was dead. He simply doesn't exist anymore. Gone are my days of backpacking, replaced with my days of flashpacking, when 25 dollars a night for a hotel doesn't seem crazy, it seems downright sensible, after all there is wifi, clean towels, and cable TV.
I started traveling two years ago with the idea that doing everything as cheaply as possible would help me connect better with the people in the countries I was traveling through. I would stay in the same places they would, eat at the same restaurants they would, and take the same buses they would. And while I still believe that some of this is true (especially about the food and the buses), it doesn't seem to have worked that way. I have made far more friends and learned volumes more on this trip simply by staying in places for longer and staying away from the travelers circuit as much as possible, in the end I guess that means I have grown as a person, accepted who I am, and what it is that I want in life. Wifi.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Dancing (and biking) in the streets
The gorging continues uninterrupted. Gracias a Dios para esta comida tan rico!
Today was another day filled with huevos a la mexicana, squashed filled quesadillas, and pinto beans cooked with tofu and jalapeño pepper. YUM!!!
We also took advantage of free museum Sunday to hit up the Muesum of Modern Art, and the National History Museum. Normally we would have had to take the metro, a cab, or battle walking through the crazy traffic that is Mexico DF, but again as it was Sunday, on of the main roads was shut down to cars and opened to bicyclists, joggers, and lazy walkers like ourselves. Why we don't have this in Seattle every Sunday is beyond me.
As we left the National History Museum we managed to get roped into dancing in a street performance that was being run by a couple of clowns (literally). With about 150-200 Mexicans gathered around watching we got paired up with a Mexican guy and girl, and were forced to dance (and in general make total asses out of ourselves) for about 45 minutes. At least there are no photos of the clown violating me in front of the crowd. Those have all been destroyed...or so I hope...
Today was another day filled with huevos a la mexicana, squashed filled quesadillas, and pinto beans cooked with tofu and jalapeño pepper. YUM!!!
We also took advantage of free museum Sunday to hit up the Muesum of Modern Art, and the National History Museum. Normally we would have had to take the metro, a cab, or battle walking through the crazy traffic that is Mexico DF, but again as it was Sunday, on of the main roads was shut down to cars and opened to bicyclists, joggers, and lazy walkers like ourselves. Why we don't have this in Seattle every Sunday is beyond me.
As we left the National History Museum we managed to get roped into dancing in a street performance that was being run by a couple of clowns (literally). With about 150-200 Mexicans gathered around watching we got paired up with a Mexican guy and girl, and were forced to dance (and in general make total asses out of ourselves) for about 45 minutes. At least there are no photos of the clown violating me in front of the crowd. Those have all been destroyed...or so I hope...
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Viva Mexico
It was hard getting on that first flight yesterday, the one that was going to take us away from our home and friends in Medellin. Yet, somehow we managed to drag ourselves onto the plane, and after 20 hours and three flights we arrived in Mexico City completely exhausted.
After a less than stellar night's sleep (thanks to a bastard mosquito that kept dive bombing my head) we awoke with a singular purpose - to over-indulge in the culinary delights that are Mexico.
Here is day one in food (and a few other things).
Started the day with a breakfast of Oaxaqueño tamales - stuffed with chicken and covered in a dark chocolate mole sauce.
After that we worked up an appetite by walking to some of the obligatory sights like the famous Diego Rivera mural in the National Palace (Palacio Nacional) and around the Zocalo.
This led to the discovery of some great chicken and black bean quesadillas being grilled on the street and served with a spicy tomatillo sauce.
Some more aimless wandering led us to Coox Hanal a Yucatan style taqueria where we finished the afternoon gorging ourselves on panuchos de cochinita y pavo and huevos motuleños.
I'm pretty stuffed, and all this culinary indulgence has been a great way to take our minds off Medellin. Now if you'll excuse me I'm off for a couple of tacos al pastor. Jesus, I am going to get really fat here.
After a less than stellar night's sleep (thanks to a bastard mosquito that kept dive bombing my head) we awoke with a singular purpose - to over-indulge in the culinary delights that are Mexico.
Here is day one in food (and a few other things).
Started the day with a breakfast of Oaxaqueño tamales - stuffed with chicken and covered in a dark chocolate mole sauce.
After that we worked up an appetite by walking to some of the obligatory sights like the famous Diego Rivera mural in the National Palace (Palacio Nacional) and around the Zocalo.
This led to the discovery of some great chicken and black bean quesadillas being grilled on the street and served with a spicy tomatillo sauce.
Some more aimless wandering led us to Coox Hanal a Yucatan style taqueria where we finished the afternoon gorging ourselves on panuchos de cochinita y pavo and huevos motuleños.
I'm pretty stuffed, and all this culinary indulgence has been a great way to take our minds off Medellin. Now if you'll excuse me I'm off for a couple of tacos al pastor. Jesus, I am going to get really fat here.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Mi Vida Aqui
To quote Loyd Christmas "I hate goodbyes." You would think I would be used to them by now. I've done it enough times, but the truth is it never gets any easier. The goodbyes are already starting, so I guess in a way this is my own goodbye, 10 of my favorite pics of four months in Colombia. Hasta pronto parce.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Snapshot
I often find myself in situations where I just sort of step back and think "Wow, I am so fucking lucky to be here right now." That's it, just a brief recognition of how special the moment is going to be for me, an acknowledgment of the fact that I won't be forgetting the memory, the people, the events, or the location that are contributing to it anytime soon.
Last night was a perfect example of one of these situations. Sitting around a large table with about 10 Colombian and American friends having our last Friday night in Medellin. Sitting outside drinking beers talking in two languages (amazingly everyone at the table spoke both Spanish and English), mixing the two together to form our own Espanglish with phrases like ojos en mi chimba, and other phrases which are just too inappropriate to translate here, I realized how much of an impact Colombia has had on me.
I may have been studying Spanish for months before I got here, but I didn't speak Spanish until I found a home in a Spanish speaking country, and that is just what I have found here, a home. A place where I am comfortable, where I understand the culture (well...sort of), and where I have built lasting friendships. A place where someone can say "let's get a drink tonight at Carlos E." and I say "Oh, sure, I know exactly where that is, great idea." A place where I have a regular restaurant, regular gym, pass the same people on the street and say hi everyday, knowing that I will see them again tomorrow, and knowing that we'll smile and maybe stop and chat for a few minutes before continuing on with our day. Hasta mañana, I'll say, knowing that it's true.
But it won't be true for much longer. I'll be saying goodbye next week. Sure, I'll be back, and I hope it will be soon, but you never know. Life is full of surprises. Afterall, when I arrived in Colombia I never thought I would ever be living in Medellin.
I'm glad I was able to stop and have that brief moment. One fleeting thought that somehow encompasses all the feelings I have for this place. 10 people sitting around a table sipping beers, laughing, chatting, and connecting. One brief snapshot I'll carry with me forever.
Last night was a perfect example of one of these situations. Sitting around a large table with about 10 Colombian and American friends having our last Friday night in Medellin. Sitting outside drinking beers talking in two languages (amazingly everyone at the table spoke both Spanish and English), mixing the two together to form our own Espanglish with phrases like ojos en mi chimba, and other phrases which are just too inappropriate to translate here, I realized how much of an impact Colombia has had on me.
I may have been studying Spanish for months before I got here, but I didn't speak Spanish until I found a home in a Spanish speaking country, and that is just what I have found here, a home. A place where I am comfortable, where I understand the culture (well...sort of), and where I have built lasting friendships. A place where someone can say "let's get a drink tonight at Carlos E." and I say "Oh, sure, I know exactly where that is, great idea." A place where I have a regular restaurant, regular gym, pass the same people on the street and say hi everyday, knowing that I will see them again tomorrow, and knowing that we'll smile and maybe stop and chat for a few minutes before continuing on with our day. Hasta mañana, I'll say, knowing that it's true.
But it won't be true for much longer. I'll be saying goodbye next week. Sure, I'll be back, and I hope it will be soon, but you never know. Life is full of surprises. Afterall, when I arrived in Colombia I never thought I would ever be living in Medellin.
I'm glad I was able to stop and have that brief moment. One fleeting thought that somehow encompasses all the feelings I have for this place. 10 people sitting around a table sipping beers, laughing, chatting, and connecting. One brief snapshot I'll carry with me forever.
Monday, June 15, 2009
una frase que vale mil palabras
Every once in a while I run across Spanish words and phrases that are just so wonderful that I only need to hear them once to remember them forever. The Spanish language is chocked full of words that are just so great you can't ever forget them. For example paraguas is umbrella. What makes it so great? It literally means "for water". Or what about retroalimentacion which means feedback, or bendecir/maldecir - to bless/to curse, but literally - "to say well or say bad". All these linguistic luxuries have made learning Spanish an activity to relish.
And then there are the phrases. Sure we may have some great slang phrases in English, but there are just as many in Spanish, which brings me to the point of this blog post. Last night I learned a phrase that can only be described as an artistic masterpiece. The phrase: tener una cagaita en penalti. There is no direct translation in English and explaining each word and the reason that they all fit together so beautifully to convey their meaning would be a lot of work, so I am just going to tell you the closest approximation we have to it in English - I've got a turtle head poking out.
And then there are the phrases. Sure we may have some great slang phrases in English, but there are just as many in Spanish, which brings me to the point of this blog post. Last night I learned a phrase that can only be described as an artistic masterpiece. The phrase: tener una cagaita en penalti. There is no direct translation in English and explaining each word and the reason that they all fit together so beautifully to convey their meaning would be a lot of work, so I am just going to tell you the closest approximation we have to it in English - I've got a turtle head poking out.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
5 Crazy Memories From 2 Years On The Road
It's crazy that I have been traveling for about 15 out of the last 22 months now. Two years ago when I was getting ready for my Bonderman trip I had absolutely no idea what to expect. Now, 22 months later, I have had some absolutely incredible moments. Far more than I could ever write down here, but when I was at the gym earlier I started thinking about some of the more...interesting moments I have had during this trip. So in no particular order here are 5 memories that I have from my life on the road.
1. Eating chapati and curry with a 19 year old Burmese student on the side of the road one night in Mandalay. Aside from the fact that I was gorging myself on some of the best food I had ever eaten in my life (a luxury that many Burmese cannot afford, despite the fact that the total meal cost about 80 cents for both of us), I remember all of a sudden thinking that it was going to be a moment that I would remember for the rest of my life. So far that's true.
2. Climbing over 5416 meter Thorong La pass in Nepal, sick as a dog with Giardia, and wondering if I was going to make it down under my own power or not. I have never been as happy to see a western toilet (a rarity in that country) as I was that night. If I had had to squat anymore I was going to need a couple of friends to help hold me up, and friends like that are hard to come by...
3. Making my first friend in a foreign language and eating a ham sandwich nearly everyday for two months straight on a little island in the Caribbean.
4. Getting tossed in jail in a third world country and becoming an international fugitive. For any of you who don't know, I guess the cat's out of the bag (sorry grandma). For more on said experience read this.
5. Lying on an undisclosed beach at an undisclosed location in Mexico with beautiful woman next to me, thinking I had found paradise, and wondering if my life would ever be better than that moment. So far, no.
1. Eating chapati and curry with a 19 year old Burmese student on the side of the road one night in Mandalay. Aside from the fact that I was gorging myself on some of the best food I had ever eaten in my life (a luxury that many Burmese cannot afford, despite the fact that the total meal cost about 80 cents for both of us), I remember all of a sudden thinking that it was going to be a moment that I would remember for the rest of my life. So far that's true.
2. Climbing over 5416 meter Thorong La pass in Nepal, sick as a dog with Giardia, and wondering if I was going to make it down under my own power or not. I have never been as happy to see a western toilet (a rarity in that country) as I was that night. If I had had to squat anymore I was going to need a couple of friends to help hold me up, and friends like that are hard to come by...
3. Making my first friend in a foreign language and eating a ham sandwich nearly everyday for two months straight on a little island in the Caribbean.
4. Getting tossed in jail in a third world country and becoming an international fugitive. For any of you who don't know, I guess the cat's out of the bag (sorry grandma). For more on said experience read this.
5. Lying on an undisclosed beach at an undisclosed location in Mexico with beautiful woman next to me, thinking I had found paradise, and wondering if my life would ever be better than that moment. So far, no.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
When you walk through the garden watch your back...
When you travel you hear all sorts of horror stories, and usually the worst ones involve violent crimes liked armed robberies. It sucks that it happens, but it happens, and in my mind I always think, "well it could happen anywhere right?"
And so with that attitude I just sort of bumble along going on my merry way, walking where I please and doing what I please. I have probably ended up doing a few stupid things because of that attitude, though I have fortunately never been the victim of such a crime (touch wood). I've always thought that the tourists who act like a total security maniacs (like the ones who travel about with those giant metal mesh cages on their backpacks) are pretty lame and probably shouldn't be traveling in the first place.
Then there are times like last night that make me question if it is just be sheer dumb luck that I haven't been shanked in a dark alley somewhere.
I hop in a cab with a couple of Colombian friends, Natalie, and another American woman living down here. One of our Colombian friends explains to us that even though we aren't going far it is probably to dangerous to walk to where we are going. We drive around for like 20 minutes trying to find one address (the cab driver gets totally lost) and then another 5 minutes to get to where we were going. Net distance traveled: three blocks. THREE BLOCKS!
Had I been on my own there is no way I would have caught a cab to travel three blocks (especially since the neighborhood seemed pretty nice). It's random things like this that make me feel like I need to completely re-think the way I travel and get around from place to place. After all if a Colombian says it's too dangerous to walk, it's probably too dangerous to walk, right?
Or there is this other possibility. No matter what the culture, and no matter what the country, there will always be people equivalent to those overly frightened backpackers with the metal cages on their back, and I should just be thankful that I am not one of them.
And so with that attitude I just sort of bumble along going on my merry way, walking where I please and doing what I please. I have probably ended up doing a few stupid things because of that attitude, though I have fortunately never been the victim of such a crime (touch wood). I've always thought that the tourists who act like a total security maniacs (like the ones who travel about with those giant metal mesh cages on their backpacks) are pretty lame and probably shouldn't be traveling in the first place.
Then there are times like last night that make me question if it is just be sheer dumb luck that I haven't been shanked in a dark alley somewhere.
I hop in a cab with a couple of Colombian friends, Natalie, and another American woman living down here. One of our Colombian friends explains to us that even though we aren't going far it is probably to dangerous to walk to where we are going. We drive around for like 20 minutes trying to find one address (the cab driver gets totally lost) and then another 5 minutes to get to where we were going. Net distance traveled: three blocks. THREE BLOCKS!
Had I been on my own there is no way I would have caught a cab to travel three blocks (especially since the neighborhood seemed pretty nice). It's random things like this that make me feel like I need to completely re-think the way I travel and get around from place to place. After all if a Colombian says it's too dangerous to walk, it's probably too dangerous to walk, right?
Or there is this other possibility. No matter what the culture, and no matter what the country, there will always be people equivalent to those overly frightened backpackers with the metal cages on their back, and I should just be thankful that I am not one of them.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Small Town Serenity
Natalie and I have been living in cities now for the last 5 months straight. Wonderful, exciting cities with lots of people to meet, places to go, and things to do, but there has been one problem with these cities. They have all been cities. So while cities have equaled lots of wonderful things they have also equaled: smog, noise, smog, traffic jams, diesel fumes in my nose, having to catch buses or the metro to go places, smog, and more smog.
For a change of pace this weekend we headed off to Salento, a gorgeous little town of about 3000 people nestled in Colombia's coffee region. Aside from great coffee and great views, there was an (over)abundance of clean air, and hiking opportunities abounded. Small town life seemed to serve as a bit of a wake up call for us. While we may love Medellin and plan to spend a bit more time here, the next stop will definitely be a small town either in the mountains or on the beach. If anyone knows of a place that matches that description give me a shout.
For a change of pace this weekend we headed off to Salento, a gorgeous little town of about 3000 people nestled in Colombia's coffee region. Aside from great coffee and great views, there was an (over)abundance of clean air, and hiking opportunities abounded. Small town life seemed to serve as a bit of a wake up call for us. While we may love Medellin and plan to spend a bit more time here, the next stop will definitely be a small town either in the mountains or on the beach. If anyone knows of a place that matches that description give me a shout.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Funny thing about learning a new language...
...it keeps getting harder. I think I have just come to this realization in the last couple of days. Spanish is not getting any easier. In fact, beyond a doubt - and much to my surprise - it's getting harder.
Four months ago I felt like I was really starting to grasp the language. I was taking courses at a university in a Spanish speaking country, I had made my first friends in a foreign language, obviously it was just a matter of time and practice, right?
Wrong. Four months later my knowledge of the language has grown exponentially, and yet everyday I am reminded at how far I have to go to actually say that I speak this language.
Here's the problem. When you are learning a language you are really focused on the basics. I'm not just talking about the basics like Hola, yo soy Augusto and te odio. No, what I am talking about is that basic collection of say 3000 words or so, and those maybe 300 really common phrases that you will be using all the time. Those are the building blocks (along with the grammer that supports them of course) of basically every conversation. Once you have that down you can have conversations. And there in lies the flaw in my original thinking. I always imagined that when you reached that point you spoke the language. You don't.
What you do at that point is bastardize the language. That's what I have been doing for about the last month or so, bastardizing the language (I had to throw that in for a second time because it is so rare that I get to use the word bastardize, that's three). In a way it's almost worse than when you are learning the language. When you are learning the language you can always say things like "Oh I don't know the pluscuamperfecto de subjuntivo yet, that's why I said that wrong." Now, I don't have much of an excuse. As hard as it is to believe I do know the pluscuamperfecto de subjuntivo. So now I just go around wisely offering sage advise like "Debes demandar que ellos tragan los tiquetes." (You must sue that they bring the tickets.)
Is it hopeless? Definitely not. I've really learned Spanish. Now if I can only figure out how to speak it...
Four months ago I felt like I was really starting to grasp the language. I was taking courses at a university in a Spanish speaking country, I had made my first friends in a foreign language, obviously it was just a matter of time and practice, right?
Wrong. Four months later my knowledge of the language has grown exponentially, and yet everyday I am reminded at how far I have to go to actually say that I speak this language.
Here's the problem. When you are learning a language you are really focused on the basics. I'm not just talking about the basics like Hola, yo soy Augusto and te odio. No, what I am talking about is that basic collection of say 3000 words or so, and those maybe 300 really common phrases that you will be using all the time. Those are the building blocks (along with the grammer that supports them of course) of basically every conversation. Once you have that down you can have conversations. And there in lies the flaw in my original thinking. I always imagined that when you reached that point you spoke the language. You don't.
What you do at that point is bastardize the language. That's what I have been doing for about the last month or so, bastardizing the language (I had to throw that in for a second time because it is so rare that I get to use the word bastardize, that's three). In a way it's almost worse than when you are learning the language. When you are learning the language you can always say things like "Oh I don't know the pluscuamperfecto de subjuntivo yet, that's why I said that wrong." Now, I don't have much of an excuse. As hard as it is to believe I do know the pluscuamperfecto de subjuntivo. So now I just go around wisely offering sage advise like "Debes demandar que ellos tragan los tiquetes." (You must sue that they bring the tickets.)
Is it hopeless? Definitely not. I've really learned Spanish. Now if I can only figure out how to speak it...
Saturday, May 16, 2009
T'was weird...
I know Diego and Angela really well. I spend at least a couple of hours with one or both of them everyday. They are our Spanish professors, and our best friends here in Medellin. I have had interesting conversations with them about all sorts of topics, and while they may speak Spanish, English, and French, they always speak Spanish with Natalie and I. So last night we proposed a grand experiment; what happens when you take four friends who always speak to each other in one language, and instead make them speak to each other in another language?
The answer? Complete and utter mystification and hysteria. As Natalie bluntly put it "I'm really weirded out right now." The implications of changing the language you speak in, and the relationship dynamic that comes with it, especially when one couple speaks their second language way better than the other couple (Diego and Angela's English is way better than our Spanish, and their accents are WAY sexier) was fascinating. Diego kept saying, "You know we are the same people right?" But it was hard to believe. There was only one thing to do in a situation like that. Drink until it seemed normal. Which we proceeded to do with great success.
The answer? Complete and utter mystification and hysteria. As Natalie bluntly put it "I'm really weirded out right now." The implications of changing the language you speak in, and the relationship dynamic that comes with it, especially when one couple speaks their second language way better than the other couple (Diego and Angela's English is way better than our Spanish, and their accents are WAY sexier) was fascinating. Diego kept saying, "You know we are the same people right?" But it was hard to believe. There was only one thing to do in a situation like that. Drink until it seemed normal. Which we proceeded to do with great success.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
My Brain Is FRIED!
Sunday had to be one of the most exhausting days of my life. No I wasn't climbing a mountain or busting my ass at the gym for three hours. Instead I was at a small cabin in the mountains surrounding Medellin, eating BBQ, drinking wine, playing football, and speaking Spanish. Ten hours of nearly uninterrupted Spanish with my professor's family.
While it was easily one of the best days I have had since I arrived here (the kindness of Colombians is truly overwhelming), I am not sure if I have ever tried speaking only Spanish for such a long period of time. Arriving home that night I felt more tired than I have ever felt after any physical activity I have ever done, and as mentally fatigued as I felt after completing the MCAT. I lay in bed, not able to read, nor able to watch tv.
There is no doubt that my Spanish is improving, but everyday I encounter new situations that I don't know vocabulary for, or new situations that I need to focus all my energy on simply to have conversations. I never knew it was going to be this hard!
While it was easily one of the best days I have had since I arrived here (the kindness of Colombians is truly overwhelming), I am not sure if I have ever tried speaking only Spanish for such a long period of time. Arriving home that night I felt more tired than I have ever felt after any physical activity I have ever done, and as mentally fatigued as I felt after completing the MCAT. I lay in bed, not able to read, nor able to watch tv.
There is no doubt that my Spanish is improving, but everyday I encounter new situations that I don't know vocabulary for, or new situations that I need to focus all my energy on simply to have conversations. I never knew it was going to be this hard!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
