A vicious reminder

Today started pretty much like any other day. I got up, turned on the coffee maker, and made a quick and delicious breakfast of fruit, yogurt, and granola. After packing a light lunch and swallowing the dredges at the bottom of my coffee mug (they really do pack an extra punch). I walked to the metro station and headed downtown.

I suppose that is where my day would diverge from a normal work day, though in truth I have never had a single "normal" work day in my life (Woohoo for working from home!). I arrived in downtown Medellin, met a couple of friends, and hopped a nearby bus headed for an ecological reserve about 45 minutes outside of town. As we began climbing the steep and winding road out of town that was when it really struck me. What it was that struck me I'm not exactly sure, but strike me it did.

Maybe I should go back to when I first arrived here, after leaving the island. Landing in Bogota was like re-entering the world. There was advertising, new cars, proper restaurants, things that I hadn't really seen much of for the last two months. More than that, it was the choices that grabbed me. I could choose what kind of meat I wanted on a sandwich (it wasn't just ham), I could choose where I was going to buy my groceries, or which bus service I wanted to take. And that choice, those near endless options, those are what sucked me in. I was eating, drinking, and breathing capitalism, and it felt good.

Did I notice the poverty in those first few weeks? Yeah I did. Did I feel any sort of connection to it? I don't know. I know it felt awful to see homeless people on the streets. I know I gave spare change here and there to the blind beggers lining the path up Montserrate, but that's about it. Somewhere between lying on the beach, worrying about my own money situation, and simply (and perhaps unconsciously) being able to remove myself from that poverty I think I stopped thinking about it. After all it is pretty hard to notice poverty when you are able to move to a nice neighborhood, go shopping in upscale supermarkets, and spend time with middle-class friends.

And that's what hit me this morning. The poverty. It felt like it was the first time I was feeling it, at least since Mexico. Say what you will about the island, but everyone has food, everyone has shoes. Today I saw again the viciousness of life in a country where people get left behind. There was a lot of images flooding my vision, but what I will remember most, what is burned into my mind, was the man using his teeth scrapping mango flesh off a rind pulled from a garbage bag, while sitting barefoot in the middle of the street, shivering violently while the rain soaked him to the bone.

Settled...for now.

It had only been 18 days without a home base. So why does it feel like it had been so much longer than that? It feels as though I left behind my apartment on the island months ago, and as far as Seattle goes? Well, that seems like a life-time ago.

I am happy to report that, as of noon today, I am no longer homeless. Instead I am the proud renter of a two bedroom apartment in Medellin.

And what an apartment it is! Situated on the 14th floor I look out over a wide swath of Medellin which sprawls out endlessly before me. There is pool, wifi, and (at long last) the much needed second bathroom, thus ensuring zero wait time 100% of the time.

But has it all come at a cost? Sure there is the 1.7 million pesos a month, but what about the additional tax on my soul? Should I really be living in a neighborhood where the closest nightlife is the mall (though it does have soccer fields on the third floor)? Do I really want to walk past fast-food restaurants, tire shops, and car dealerships instead of coffee shops, bakeries, art galleries, and boutique clothes stores every morning?

Oh My God...I've moved to Agrestic! AAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

It's actually not that bad. It's more like I have moved to Agrestic, were it to be situated 10 minutes away (walking) from the urban environment I have so grown to love, and for now I can deal with that. It feels good to have a home again.

Now, if you will excuse me I think I'll get back to down on all the plebes situated 14 floors below me. BWHAHAHA.

Finally!!!!

I would be lying if I said that last month has not been completely exhausting, and one of the more challenging months I have ever had during my travels. The last two weeks on the island seemed to drag on forever, and despite being sad to leave our friends we could not wait to get out of there. Then, after we arrived in Colombia we had "The Bus Ride" only to arrive in Cartagena and discover that it was not the city we had expected it to be. With all our luggage (we have more than we should) traveling is not easy and the failure to find a place to settle added immensely our stress level. Throw in not really speaking much Spanish for two weeks (just enough to ask directions, get food, etc.) and we were both miserable.

When nothing is going right, and you are feeling as stressed as we were, there is really only one option, go to the beach. Which is exactly what we did. Unfortunately, it took me a couple of days to unwind at the beach (As an aside: If you ever find yourself standing in crystal clear turquoise water with a beautiful girl in a bikini shouting at you to come join her for a swim, and you are to grumpy to go do it, there is something very wrong with you, and you may wish to seek professional help. Not that that happened to me or anything.....ummmm....).

Eventually I started to unwind, it started right about the time I kicked back in a hammock for the first time in nearly three months, sipping on Coca Cola and reading Harry Potter in Spanish.

Then, to finally cement my relaxation and turn things around I discovered paradise. Again. I've discovered quite a few paradises in my day, but I'm quite certain that this one takes the cake (after all the campground in which we slept next to the beach was named El Paraiso. As pictures are far more telling than words enjoy looking at paradise from afar. I assure you it was even better than it looks!

The suppression of dreams (by an overpowering stench of urine)

Cartagena was the dream. It was always the dream. It was the dream before I had ever heard of the Bonderman Fellowship, before I traveled through Central America, before Asia. For me this trip was about one city, Cartagena.

Arriving in Cartagena after the worst-bus-ride-ever (see last post), I was tired, cranky, and hungry. It was time to decompress and enjoy the "Fairy Tale City of Magic" (as it had been dubbed by the LP).

What I found was a city over run by tourists, where I was constantly harassed by all manner of, what I would call, pushers. However, instead of pushing drugs it was taxis, hotels, water, restaurants, etc. And then there was the overpowering smell of urine. Was I back in Asia again?!? And, BALLS, was it ever hot out!!

Half broken hearted, half furious with the situation, I was about to have a melt-down when a solution presented itself. Medellin, the land of eternal spring. Within 24 hours the dream had changed completely (funny how that can happen when you are traveling), now my sights are set on Medellin and the university there, where, I have been told by numerous people, I will encounter friendly people, clear Spanish, a gorgeous outdoor playground filled with all sorts of possibilities, and only a few whities hopping around.

I fled Cartagena yesterday for the beach, where I find myself writing this post. Unfortunately this particular beach town (which technically speaking lacks a beach) is filled with far more whities than Colombians, and there are barefoot hippies everywhere! Someone tell these guys to put some fucking shoes on!! AHHHHHHH!!! I'm losing it.

Bogota to Cartagena. One bus ride I can't recommend to anyone.

Sometimes buses suck. That's just a fact of life when you are traveling, and I feel like I have done a pretty great job being fairly Zen about it. Just except it and move on. Unfortunately, it's not always that easy. Case in point, the worst bus ride of my life, which I just completed yesterday afternoon, and after telling this story here I never want to think about again. And yes, it involves vomit and feces.

It all started by boarding what was hands down the nicest bus I had ever seen. I mean the seats reclined almost all the way to a bed, and the leg rests were actual LEG rests not just a platform to place your feet. It was like those seats you always see in the first class section of a transcontinental flight, but never get to sit in. Instead, you just keep walking back to your cramped little seat, without the kick-ass leg rests.

And then it began...

The treacherous, winding road turned the ride into a roller coaster, made worse by the pedal-to-the-metal driving style of our conductor. This caused my seat-mate to vomit. Twice. The second time resulting in vomit on the floor, her bag, and, worst of all my bag, all thanks to a leaky plastic bag that just didn't quite do the trick. Thus, for two hours we sat in the aforementioned spewed chunks, waiting for the bus to stop so we could clean everything up.

OK, everything was clean, we had some food and the bus started out again. We could still recover from this. But then the bus broke down. And then we waited on the side of the road for about an hour as the driver tried to fix it, finally we were able to start driving again, only to be forced to change buses an hour later, which would not have been so bad except there were not enough seats on the bus for everyone. By "everyone" I mean myself and a German guy who had come along with us on the ride. And that is how I found myself lying on the floor in the middle of the aisle at the back of the bus, next to the lavatory.

Now, lying on the floor of a bus when you have a twenty hour ride (1l down at this point) is pretty unpleasant, but it was made all the more unpleasant by the fact that the toilet on this particular bus was not flushing, that the bus was not making any rest stops (and thus everyone was using the lavatory), that the sun was starting to rise, that the rising sun meant warmer temperatures, and that warmer temperatures meant a stench that you could not possibly imagine began emanating from the lavatory. Which happened to be where my head was located.

Luckily after a couple of hours I was able to grab a seat and ride out the rest of what turned into a 22 hour ride sitting in front of a kid who decided that he needed to frequently kick the back of my seat as hard as he could in order to exercise his legs. But you know what? After lying on the floor with my head next to the lavatory for two hours it wasn't so bad.

And that was my worst bus ride ever. The End.

Booyha Bogota!

Damn! Does it ever feel good to be here. I have been sipping drip coffee, using high-speed internet, and enjoying eating things such as fruits and vegetables again (I had almost forgotten that there are edible substances out there other than ham).

Last night as I lay in bed streaming the Daily Show I finally felt like I had reconnected with the outside world. A strange feeling after these last two months.

I know I am supposed to have some profound metaphor to describe my last two months, but I don't. This is about all I got: Have you ever wanted to eat a turkey sandwich, but when you went to your favorite sub shop all they had was ham? Imagine having that happen three times a day for 60 straight days, and having to wait in line for an hour each time. That was what my last two months were like.

I'm outta here!

And not a moment too soon! Not that it's been terrible here, but really there is only so much a good ol' red, white, and blue American, such as myself, can take here.

Next stop Colombia, which after these last two months has become a land where all my dreams will come true: high-speed internet, drip coffee, clear and easy to understand Spanish, Coke (no, not the white stuff, the real stuff, the good stuff, because that just does not exist here.), delicious food, and a whole lot more.

Colombia, la tierra de oportunidad, aqui vengo!