After this week, I have a legitimate gripe about Bogotá and Bogotanos. Generally I'm a polite person, and I try to go out of my way to make sure I remember the manners my Mom taught me when I was little. However, this week has seriously tried my patience. I have been pushed around, cussed at in Spanish, and have seen the unfriendliest in Bogotanos and other Colombians. Let me use some examples:
1. Church
Ok, people weren't particularly rude in church, but rather it was just that the communion line is anarchy. In the States, we usually start with the first row, and then filter back, meaning you don't actually go up until all the people in front of you decide whether or not they want to go. The other thing is that while I'm usually kneeling, as we commonly do in the States, other folks are standing and chomping at the bit to get in line, then preparing to bolt out of the church after communion. Because of that, I usually end up getting communion close to last, as I don't really want to step on any toes getting up to the front.
2. Airplanes
This one is close to the worst! There is all the organization in the world to get on these planes, but none to get off them. Getting home from Cúcuta and Valledupar, I noticed that people, once that airplane stops, get up and make a mad dash for the front. It doesn't matter if they're bumping into people in the aisle seat, knocking over old ladies, whatever... they just have to be first off that plane. I remember particularly after the Valledupar flight, I was in like the 15th row, but probably 90% of the people behind me got off well before I did. I even stood in the aisle, just waiting for someone to give me enough space to get out... no luck. Nonetheless, I politely let out about three or four old ladies/kids who had as bad of luck as I did before leaving the plane.
3. Restaurants
This one leads me to believe that Colombians have no concept of the value of lines. I was at a Juan Valdez in Chapinero the other day, waiting to snag a coffee and a delicious pan de chocolate, when suddenly this middle-aged woman decides to walk alongside me, and then in front of me. Here I was, waiting patiently for the doofus in front of me to decide whether he wanted his breakfast heated or not (looked like he was putting a lot of thought into it), and a professionally-dressed, middle-aged woman decides that I must not be in line. When the guy in front of me finished, and the woman (now in front of me) started ahead, I threw my hands up and slapped them against my legs in exasperation. Even the girl at the counter looked at me like, "I know you were in front of her." The woman wheeled back at me, giving me a "What's your problem?" look. At this point I could have said, "Did you forget your lessons when you were a child, such as... I don't know... standing in line when you want something?" Unfortunately, my sarcasm doesn't translate well to Spanish, so I waved her by, irritated. This seems to be common in fast-food restaurants... if you're not breathing down the neck of the person in front of you, someone will assume they can just cut the line in front of you.
4. TransMilenio
The TransMi easily makes me the most angry, as I need to use it almost every day. I can understand that, because there is a wide door that slides open every time a bus stops, that there will be a group of people huddled at the front, not in any single-file line. What happens when those doors open, however, is pure chaos: people lose their morals. I've seen grannies shoved, little kids nearly trampled, and people standing in the way of the entrance because they want the next bus so they can sit down. The last group is the biggest pain in the ass: none of these people are ever particularly old, but they will stand in the entrance and block the passage for the people who have no problem standing on the first bus. There should be some sort of rule that, if you're waiting for the next bus, you should stand off to the side or something. It is unacceptable that I have to find my inner John Riggins or Larry Csonka just to get on a bus that people aren't actually boarding.
Anyways, it's truly strange how you can meet Bogotanos on the street, and they'll be some of the nicest and helpful people you'll ever meet, especially to this perpetually lost gringo. Then, at the moment that they have to wait for something, it becomes a competition of "Me first! Me first!" It's like we all threw out the rules we learned in kindergarten. I was always taught that you allow ladies and children to go first, not to stand still on a crowded sidewalk, and to say "Excuse me" if you bump into someone. With those manners in this city, sometimes I feel like a real chump.
Saturday, March 8, 2014
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Cúcuta: The Closest I've Ever Been to a Real Border...
One wonderful thing about Colombia is the relative ease that exists flying between city to city. About ten days ago I bought a plane ticket to Cúcuta, looking for another small adventure to fulfill the promise to keep seeing new cities. So, on Friday morning, I slept in a little, packed a bag, said goodbye to my apartment, hopped in the cab and took off.
Cúcuta is located in the northern part of Colombia, just a few kilometers from the Venezuela border. Like Valledupar, it has a normally hot climate, therefore I was in no way prepared when I left Bogotá. As you might be able to gather, it rains a lot here in the capital, and it never really gets warm, so any exposure to heat is pretty rough to start out for me. I arrived at the airport around 3:30, a little behind schedule due to the epic rainstorm we got in Bogotá as the flight was trying to leave. Looking at the back of the seat in front of me, included with a map and local weather conditions, I found that Cúcuta's afternoon temperature was around 35 degrees Celsius, or about 95 Fahrenheit. Let the sweat fest commence...
My friend Emily couldn't come to get me at the airport because she works on Fridays, but her sister Rocío found me after I picked up my bags. Walking outside, I felt a similar situation to how the Pitt CLAS Seminar group felt landing in São Luís do Maranhão for the first time in 2012. The best way I can describe it is that it's a "wall of heat." When I say wall, I mean that you actually slow down for a moment, because you feel like you've walked into something solid. Regardless, I pushed on, and we drove to the city.
Emily's family, between her sister, mom and dad, run a few small cafés throughout the city. Therefore, I spent part of the afternoon at her mom's café, sipping on an orange juice, and then made my way to her dad's bakery, where I had a bottle of water and a croissant. Immediately I knew that there was going to be a lot of food involved in this weekend trip, as Emily's mom (Doña Amparo) quizzed me on what Colombian foods I had tried since my arrival. As you can probably imagine, the more "no's" she received, the more things she told me that she and her employees would make for me before I left. I would try sancocho, hallaca, and many other goodies before the trip home.
A few observations about Cúcuta:
1. As a border town, it has a lot of influence from Venezuela. Therefore, over half the cars in the area are from Venezuela, made clear by their license plates.
2. It is common practice in Cúcuta for Venezuelans to bring cheap, contraband Venezuelan gasoline across the border to sell in Colombia for a fraction of the Colombian price. As Venezuela subsidizes its oil and gasoline heavily for domestic consumption, people have found a way to make a business of it as the Venezuelan economy deteriorates, as in recent years.
3. For the size of the city (around 600,000 according to Wikipedia), it doesn't seem all that big. I guess it's similar to Bogotá in this regard, which feels like a bunch of medium-sized cities smushed together. Cúcuta was like a lot of neighborhoods put together without an easily discernible center. You have shopping centers in different parts of the city, which are usually located near nightclubs and bars. Nonetheless, you could tell that a lot of business happens there, as it is not far from Colombia's fifth-largest city, Bucaramanga, and close to the Venezuelan border. Lots of business, lots of people...
Emily and her friends took me out both nights I was in the city, and I must admit, it was a LOT of fun. I'm always nervous about going out with Colombians, as I'm not a great dancer and can bore people really quickly. However, the girls tried (and succeeded) to keep me up on my feet dancing, and it was a great time. The second night we went to a nightclub and sipped on rum while dancing to all kinds of Colombian music, like salsa, bachata, and even a little bit of cumbia!
On Sunday I went with Emily and her friend Ruth to have lunch with some of Ruth's family, and we took a little trip up to a small town about half an hour away, called Chinácota. There we walked around a very small city, enjoyed some desserts, took a look at a ranch house that Ruth's family wanted to buy, and then headed back out. It was nice to make a stop there, especially considering that the town was nestled in the mountains, meaning the temperature was easily 15 degrees Fahrenheit less than the big city. I can never pass up a cool breeze...
Finally, after returning to Emily's, it was time to pack up and head home. I had some pizza with Emily, Ruth, Eliana and Arnold before getting to the airport, and then it was time to say goodbye. Interesting thing about Cúcuta: at the airport, you are required to get a $5 exit stamp on your plane ticket, purchased directly after checking in for a flight. Fortunately, the guy who did my check-in spoke a little bit of English and was able to explain it to me clearly. This is one thing, however, that I know I'm going to have to be aware of if I go to cities outside of Colombia. Anyways, I had a wonderful time in Cúcuta, and I apologize for having waited so long to write this entry. It's just that I've been so busy this beginning of the week (not to mention just a little lazy). I'll post something else at the end of this week. Happy Wednesday!
Cúcuta is located in the northern part of Colombia, just a few kilometers from the Venezuela border. Like Valledupar, it has a normally hot climate, therefore I was in no way prepared when I left Bogotá. As you might be able to gather, it rains a lot here in the capital, and it never really gets warm, so any exposure to heat is pretty rough to start out for me. I arrived at the airport around 3:30, a little behind schedule due to the epic rainstorm we got in Bogotá as the flight was trying to leave. Looking at the back of the seat in front of me, included with a map and local weather conditions, I found that Cúcuta's afternoon temperature was around 35 degrees Celsius, or about 95 Fahrenheit. Let the sweat fest commence...
My friend Emily couldn't come to get me at the airport because she works on Fridays, but her sister Rocío found me after I picked up my bags. Walking outside, I felt a similar situation to how the Pitt CLAS Seminar group felt landing in São Luís do Maranhão for the first time in 2012. The best way I can describe it is that it's a "wall of heat." When I say wall, I mean that you actually slow down for a moment, because you feel like you've walked into something solid. Regardless, I pushed on, and we drove to the city.
Emily's family, between her sister, mom and dad, run a few small cafés throughout the city. Therefore, I spent part of the afternoon at her mom's café, sipping on an orange juice, and then made my way to her dad's bakery, where I had a bottle of water and a croissant. Immediately I knew that there was going to be a lot of food involved in this weekend trip, as Emily's mom (Doña Amparo) quizzed me on what Colombian foods I had tried since my arrival. As you can probably imagine, the more "no's" she received, the more things she told me that she and her employees would make for me before I left. I would try sancocho, hallaca, and many other goodies before the trip home.
A few observations about Cúcuta:
1. As a border town, it has a lot of influence from Venezuela. Therefore, over half the cars in the area are from Venezuela, made clear by their license plates.
2. It is common practice in Cúcuta for Venezuelans to bring cheap, contraband Venezuelan gasoline across the border to sell in Colombia for a fraction of the Colombian price. As Venezuela subsidizes its oil and gasoline heavily for domestic consumption, people have found a way to make a business of it as the Venezuelan economy deteriorates, as in recent years.
3. For the size of the city (around 600,000 according to Wikipedia), it doesn't seem all that big. I guess it's similar to Bogotá in this regard, which feels like a bunch of medium-sized cities smushed together. Cúcuta was like a lot of neighborhoods put together without an easily discernible center. You have shopping centers in different parts of the city, which are usually located near nightclubs and bars. Nonetheless, you could tell that a lot of business happens there, as it is not far from Colombia's fifth-largest city, Bucaramanga, and close to the Venezuelan border. Lots of business, lots of people...
Emily and her friends took me out both nights I was in the city, and I must admit, it was a LOT of fun. I'm always nervous about going out with Colombians, as I'm not a great dancer and can bore people really quickly. However, the girls tried (and succeeded) to keep me up on my feet dancing, and it was a great time. The second night we went to a nightclub and sipped on rum while dancing to all kinds of Colombian music, like salsa, bachata, and even a little bit of cumbia!
On Sunday I went with Emily and her friend Ruth to have lunch with some of Ruth's family, and we took a little trip up to a small town about half an hour away, called Chinácota. There we walked around a very small city, enjoyed some desserts, took a look at a ranch house that Ruth's family wanted to buy, and then headed back out. It was nice to make a stop there, especially considering that the town was nestled in the mountains, meaning the temperature was easily 15 degrees Fahrenheit less than the big city. I can never pass up a cool breeze...
Finally, after returning to Emily's, it was time to pack up and head home. I had some pizza with Emily, Ruth, Eliana and Arnold before getting to the airport, and then it was time to say goodbye. Interesting thing about Cúcuta: at the airport, you are required to get a $5 exit stamp on your plane ticket, purchased directly after checking in for a flight. Fortunately, the guy who did my check-in spoke a little bit of English and was able to explain it to me clearly. This is one thing, however, that I know I'm going to have to be aware of if I go to cities outside of Colombia. Anyways, I had a wonderful time in Cúcuta, and I apologize for having waited so long to write this entry. It's just that I've been so busy this beginning of the week (not to mention just a little lazy). I'll post something else at the end of this week. Happy Wednesday!
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Bogotá's Early Bedtime
One thing that has amazed me so far on this trip is how "industrious" of a city Bogotá is. I've been to a few different cities in Latin America, all of which were pretty good sized; however, never have I seen so many people heading home so early, and waking up before the crack of dawn, outside of Pittsburgh. I'm writing this as my Wednesday entry because Wednesday is normally the night that I'm out the latest, besides on weekends. I have a class from 5:00pm to 8:00pm, so I find myself rolling into Chapinero around 8:45 at night. Most Pittsburghers would ask themselves in this situation, "Hmm... McDonalds... pizza... Primanti's... Subway... what's on the menu tonight?"
It's quite funny to look at the UniAndes neighborhood at 7:50, as I'm leaving the school. At 8:00 in Pittsburgh, you still have a healthy crowd circulating in and out during night classes, not to mention hitting restaurants in Oakland hard, but here seems to be a ghost town. I figure crime has a great deal to do with it, but it's just sad to me because of all the potential that there could be if the area were just a bit safer. It would also make getting on the TransMilenio D70 about ten times easier, as people wouldn't be shoving like crazy to get on the bus to get the heck out of La Candelaria.
My life here certainly doesn't come with that many options. Chapinero is noticeably dark by about 6:30. By the time 8:00 rolls around, nearly every store front on Calle 72 in my neighborhood is either closed or closing, and I'm left to fend for myself with either street vendors or a lukewarm empanada from a nearby cafeteria. It's not that I don't like the street vendors and the greasy, salty arepas that come off their grills: it's just that it gets old after a couple nights. What I haven't tried, though, are the dozen sauces that all the vendors have sitting on top of the grills. Really, I need to figure out which one is the spicy one...
Now it's 9:00, and I'm with even less options. Many of the vendors are even going home, the last grocery store in the neighborhood has closed, and the bologna and cheese in my fridge at home are starting to look better alongside the $1 loaf of bread I have perched on top of the fridge. Nonetheless, I find a small cafeteria that (miraculously) sells liter-and-a-half bottles of water at the inflated price of 3,500 pesos, so I bite. Throw an arepa con chorizo on top of that, and dinner is served. Not exactly a dinner of champions, but hey, I had a big lunch, so my stomach isn't complaining.
Wednesday night into Thursday is usually the hardest for me because I have night class on Wednesday, only to have to wake up and go to early morning class on Thursday. When I don't have work due in either class, it's not a big deal; however, when I've got papers to turn in or other articles to read, sleep is a hot commodity on Wednesday nights. Bogotanos seem to share my Thursday morning dragging, as I find that Thursday is one of the more difficult days to get to school, even when I get to the bus stop early. I've got to give them credit, though: they're up and ready to go far earlier than I can say most Pittsburghers are, and they are slowly making me more into a morning person once again, like I was in high school. Anyways, I'll leave you all for now. Enjoy the rest of your week!
If a large, clumsy young man tumbles to the ground on the wet pavement, and no one is around to see or hear, does he make a sound?
It's quite funny to look at the UniAndes neighborhood at 7:50, as I'm leaving the school. At 8:00 in Pittsburgh, you still have a healthy crowd circulating in and out during night classes, not to mention hitting restaurants in Oakland hard, but here seems to be a ghost town. I figure crime has a great deal to do with it, but it's just sad to me because of all the potential that there could be if the area were just a bit safer. It would also make getting on the TransMilenio D70 about ten times easier, as people wouldn't be shoving like crazy to get on the bus to get the heck out of La Candelaria.
This is a time when American football skills come quite in handy...
My life here certainly doesn't come with that many options. Chapinero is noticeably dark by about 6:30. By the time 8:00 rolls around, nearly every store front on Calle 72 in my neighborhood is either closed or closing, and I'm left to fend for myself with either street vendors or a lukewarm empanada from a nearby cafeteria. It's not that I don't like the street vendors and the greasy, salty arepas that come off their grills: it's just that it gets old after a couple nights. What I haven't tried, though, are the dozen sauces that all the vendors have sitting on top of the grills. Really, I need to figure out which one is the spicy one...
8:30 pm... c'mon, man. I've seen bigger traffic jams in Williamsport.
Now it's 9:00, and I'm with even less options. Many of the vendors are even going home, the last grocery store in the neighborhood has closed, and the bologna and cheese in my fridge at home are starting to look better alongside the $1 loaf of bread I have perched on top of the fridge. Nonetheless, I find a small cafeteria that (miraculously) sells liter-and-a-half bottles of water at the inflated price of 3,500 pesos, so I bite. Throw an arepa con chorizo on top of that, and dinner is served. Not exactly a dinner of champions, but hey, I had a big lunch, so my stomach isn't complaining.
Wednesday night into Thursday is usually the hardest for me because I have night class on Wednesday, only to have to wake up and go to early morning class on Thursday. When I don't have work due in either class, it's not a big deal; however, when I've got papers to turn in or other articles to read, sleep is a hot commodity on Wednesday nights. Bogotanos seem to share my Thursday morning dragging, as I find that Thursday is one of the more difficult days to get to school, even when I get to the bus stop early. I've got to give them credit, though: they're up and ready to go far earlier than I can say most Pittsburghers are, and they are slowly making me more into a morning person once again, like I was in high school. Anyways, I'll leave you all for now. Enjoy the rest of your week!
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Rainstorms... Hell Hath No Fury Here...
So in a few other previous blog posts, I've talked at length about how much I like the weather here in Bogotá. We've had dry days, some cloudy, some sunny, but on balance pleasant to go back and forth between school and other parts of the city. Over the past few days, however, we've just been getting hammered with rain, almost at the same time of the day. Today I had the misfortune of doing my usual Tuesday chore, laundry, a little later in the day. Usually I go at 8:30 or 9:30, but this morning I had to tutor a little bit, so I pushed it back. Anyways, I made it to the laundromat around 12:30. From there, I always give the washerwomen about an hour and forty-five minutes to get everything done, then I pay them and go.
I think God was playing with me a little today. I sat at Juan Valdez Coffee, my usual waiting spot while I'm passing time waiting for my laundry, and I noticed that, gradually, the sky got darker and grayer. Tapping away at my Kindle, I saw that there were thunderstorms in the forecast, but it didn't specify when. Leaving the coffee shop around 2:00, I made it to the laundromat under, shall we say, a light drizzle. Ok, I thought to myself, if it can just stay like this for about the next 30 minutes, I'll be a happy man...
Remember how I said God was playing with me? As I waited the final five minutes for my laundry to cycle out of the dryer, I saw the rain start to pick up. I started to see the drops falling from the sky in neat lines, then saw massive levels of puddling as the intensity picked up. Paying for my laundry, I told the washerwomen to have a nice day, and to keep a good thought that I *might* stay dry.
As I waddled out of the laundromat, fifteen-pound sack of clothing over my shoulder, I noticed that I understated the fact that the rain was picking up earlier. By the time I had reached the next block, my shoulders were soaked. Standing under a bus terminal for about five minutes, I quickly grew frustrated at the fact that every car driving by had driven just fast enough to splash my pantlegs and parts of my lower body, so I made a daring sprint across Carrera 7. For those of you who know, I'm big and awkward when it comes to running to begin with... imagine me with a bag full of laundry over one side! It's probably a bit like watching the Frankenstein monster in fast forward...
Anyways, I made it across the street miraculously without falling on my butt, and walked along the sidewalk as close to the buildings as I could. The rain managed to kick it up yet another notch, making small rivers near the sidewalk. Finding a canopy near a small breakfast hut, I stopped with my laundry and just stood in awe. We've had some pretty intense rainstorms in Bogotá in the past week, and this one pulled no punches. Annoyed with the persistence of this storm, I walked into the cafeteria and got myself a croissant and iced tea, hoping to wait it out. After a good 20 minutes, the rain subsided, and I was able to walk the remaining three blocks to the TransMilenio.
Without rain, my walk to the laundromat is usually quite easy. It's when flood-like conditions emerge that such a venture becomes a living hell. This past weekend, I went with my friend Harrys to buy this:
I think God was playing with me a little today. I sat at Juan Valdez Coffee, my usual waiting spot while I'm passing time waiting for my laundry, and I noticed that, gradually, the sky got darker and grayer. Tapping away at my Kindle, I saw that there were thunderstorms in the forecast, but it didn't specify when. Leaving the coffee shop around 2:00, I made it to the laundromat under, shall we say, a light drizzle. Ok, I thought to myself, if it can just stay like this for about the next 30 minutes, I'll be a happy man...
Remember how I said God was playing with me? As I waited the final five minutes for my laundry to cycle out of the dryer, I saw the rain start to pick up. I started to see the drops falling from the sky in neat lines, then saw massive levels of puddling as the intensity picked up. Paying for my laundry, I told the washerwomen to have a nice day, and to keep a good thought that I *might* stay dry.
As I waddled out of the laundromat, fifteen-pound sack of clothing over my shoulder, I noticed that I understated the fact that the rain was picking up earlier. By the time I had reached the next block, my shoulders were soaked. Standing under a bus terminal for about five minutes, I quickly grew frustrated at the fact that every car driving by had driven just fast enough to splash my pantlegs and parts of my lower body, so I made a daring sprint across Carrera 7. For those of you who know, I'm big and awkward when it comes to running to begin with... imagine me with a bag full of laundry over one side! It's probably a bit like watching the Frankenstein monster in fast forward...
Anyways, I made it across the street miraculously without falling on my butt, and walked along the sidewalk as close to the buildings as I could. The rain managed to kick it up yet another notch, making small rivers near the sidewalk. Finding a canopy near a small breakfast hut, I stopped with my laundry and just stood in awe. We've had some pretty intense rainstorms in Bogotá in the past week, and this one pulled no punches. Annoyed with the persistence of this storm, I walked into the cafeteria and got myself a croissant and iced tea, hoping to wait it out. After a good 20 minutes, the rain subsided, and I was able to walk the remaining three blocks to the TransMilenio.
Without rain, my walk to the laundromat is usually quite easy. It's when flood-like conditions emerge that such a venture becomes a living hell. This past weekend, I went with my friend Harrys to buy this:
I love this jersey, and it will be something I treasure from Colombia for the rest of my life. Anyways, we were talking about rain... after lunch, Harrys and I walked over to Juan Valdez to get a coffee; and, wouldn't you know it, yet another spontaneous downpour. Fortunately, this time I had a coat, and while my head was drenched, my body wasn't so much. In addition, thank God for my closet, as I have room to hang up just about anything I need. In the meantime, though, a coffee was exactly what I needed to cure a good dampening:
We must be entering into some sort of rainy season here in the capital, because I just can't seem to get enough of the afternoon storms. At least we should expect some leafy green trees and flowers, though, when the sun comes out, right? In the meantime, I'm going to have to invest in either some sort of waterproof jacket other than my GSPIA one, and/or an umbrella. If I could only find an umbrella that didn't have flowers or polka dots on it, I'd have had one today. Alas, hopefully I remember that I need one the next time I visit a mall... anyways, that's it for today. As I dry off and fold my clothes, I hope all of your respective weeks are drier and (if not) comfortably contained by umbrellas and rain slickers. Have a good one!
Sunday, February 9, 2014
A Little Bit More about Where I Live
In the first few weeks here, I've heard some pretty funny questions from my American friends regarding where I live. "Does your neighbor wear a poncho and walk around with a pet donkey?" "Do you have coconut water every morning for breakfast?" "Are any of your classmates supermodels?" The list goes on. Colombia is a bit of a trail less traveled by my fellow compatriots, so I can understand the lack of knowledge. That being said, I snapped a few pictures this morning, so I'll try my best to share with you guys a little bit more about my living situation.
Neighborhood: Chapinero
As I mentioned in a previous post, Bogotá is situated in the mountains. Therefore, the climate here is neither tropical nor desert conditions. In spite of the thinner air, it's quite comfortable every day, except for when it rains. Like any other major city, Bogotá has its good neighborhoods and bad ones. The neighborhoods near my school, for instance, are not very good to walk around in after 8pm. Fortunately, I find myself in Chapinero, a nice section of town populated mostly by college students and young professionals. I'm literally a five-minute walk from the Transmilenio terminal, which means a ride to school doesn't set me back too much time. The streets are pretty tight here, but at no point are you far from an arepa or empanada stand in the neighborhood. I'm also a stone's throw from Calle 72, one of Bogotá's busiest streets.
On Sunday mornings, the streets are pretty empty, but one of the cool things about the area (and the city in general) is the presence of the Ciclovía on Sundays: every Sunday, from 7am-2pm, the authorities close off a part of some of Bogotá's major streets for cyclists and runners to take advantage of the space. Though I haven't gotten to run on the streets, it's definitely on my to-do list in the next couple months. Comparing the area to Pittsburgh, think of Chapinero on Sunday mornings to Oakland or Shadyside. It's pretty peaceful, and the busiest times are for the most part dependent on the work day.
Finally, I snapped a picture of the church where I attend Mass on Sundays. It's located on the Calle 72, about a 3-4 minute walk from my apartment. It's a Franciscan church, doing about half a dozen Masses on Sundays (this particular week, I went to the 9am). It's a great start to my Sunday, especially on such a beautiful day as this! Overall, I'm still learning how the prayers go in Spanish, but for now it's nice to listen along. I hope all of you are enjoying your weekend, and I'll post some more about my weekend and the upcoming week later. Take care!
Neighborhood: Chapinero
As I mentioned in a previous post, Bogotá is situated in the mountains. Therefore, the climate here is neither tropical nor desert conditions. In spite of the thinner air, it's quite comfortable every day, except for when it rains. Like any other major city, Bogotá has its good neighborhoods and bad ones. The neighborhoods near my school, for instance, are not very good to walk around in after 8pm. Fortunately, I find myself in Chapinero, a nice section of town populated mostly by college students and young professionals. I'm literally a five-minute walk from the Transmilenio terminal, which means a ride to school doesn't set me back too much time. The streets are pretty tight here, but at no point are you far from an arepa or empanada stand in the neighborhood. I'm also a stone's throw from Calle 72, one of Bogotá's busiest streets.
On Sunday mornings, the streets are pretty empty, but one of the cool things about the area (and the city in general) is the presence of the Ciclovía on Sundays: every Sunday, from 7am-2pm, the authorities close off a part of some of Bogotá's major streets for cyclists and runners to take advantage of the space. Though I haven't gotten to run on the streets, it's definitely on my to-do list in the next couple months. Comparing the area to Pittsburgh, think of Chapinero on Sunday mornings to Oakland or Shadyside. It's pretty peaceful, and the busiest times are for the most part dependent on the work day.
My street is about a block and a half from the busy Carrera 14, where you find the Transmilenio, running parallel. It only goes about two blocks before a group of houses breaks up the street. My apartment is on the left in the picture, connected with the driveway in front of the car pictured. I live on the second floor of a duplex house, sharing the floor with five other people. My room is pretty small: more or less a cell with a desk and a bed. However, I've never been a person who needed a lot of space to function, and so the apartment totally serves its purpose.
Finally, I snapped a picture of the church where I attend Mass on Sundays. It's located on the Calle 72, about a 3-4 minute walk from my apartment. It's a Franciscan church, doing about half a dozen Masses on Sundays (this particular week, I went to the 9am). It's a great start to my Sunday, especially on such a beautiful day as this! Overall, I'm still learning how the prayers go in Spanish, but for now it's nice to listen along. I hope all of you are enjoying your weekend, and I'll post some more about my weekend and the upcoming week later. Take care!
Friday, February 7, 2014
Street Food, American Food, and Learning to Value Drinks
Fourth week of being here, and I'm starting to set in stone a diet. With thrice-a-week visits to the gym, along with relying on just bottled water and fruit juice, I think I'm starting to get over the Christmas bloating. Nonetheless, there are plenty of foods here that can set you back towards big-guy status, a few of which I'll share here.
Street Food: Arepas, sausages, "super" hamburgers, hot dogs, empanadas
They tell you before you even come here to get a Hepatitis A booster shot because of the food and/or liquids that you could consume here during your stay. The first recommendation I would give to any traveler considering getting a quick meal off the street is to make sure that it's cooked. I thought fresh-squeezed orange juice off the street here was a great idea until I found myself running to the bathroom a little bit more than usual over the next few days. Granted, I could have eaten or consumed something else that upset my stomach, but I'm blaming the orange juice because everything else I had either at a restaurant or a school cafeteria during those days.
Nonetheless, I still grab something quick for dinner if I'm not looking to stretch my wallet a given night. I had an arepa con carne the other night, pictured above, and it had to be one of the most delicious yet unhealthy things I've consumed since being here. They take an arepa, essentially a poofy tortilla made of maize, and stuff it with cheese, a little lunch meat and shredded beef. They then butter and salt both sides and serve it in a sleeve. For about $1.40, I had enough to fill me for the night. Earlier this week I also tried some beef and chicken empanadas, sold on the Calle 72 and nearby for no more than about $.50/empanada. Usually two or three will do for me, balanced with some fruit and water.
American food: Subway, Friday's, Papa John's
One of the biggest surprises, as I've mentioned in another blog entry, was the number of American restaurants I have found in Bogotá, as opposed to what I ever saw in Brazil either time being there. Subway is my usual go-to on nights where I'm feeling like having a sandwich with ingredients that I can see. They have a pretty decent deal down here, too: for about $3.50, they offer a 6" sub of the day. Although the variety isn't as wide, you can still make out pretty well with a good sandwich at an affordable price. In fact, last night I had a chicken breast sandwich with provolone and all the veggies/peppers. It ended up being pretty tasty, though I wish I could find some hot sauce or something to throw on sandwiches down here.
Earlier this semester, I've also made stops at Papa John's and Friday's, whose menus are basically the same as the U.S. At Friday's, they don't have as much of a variety, but it's expected that Colombians don't know about the 20 kinds of cheeseburgers and dozens of appetizers that you can get at a typical Friday's in the States. Nonetheless, my burger was pretty good there. Papa John's cheese pizza tastes almost exactly the same, too.
Value Your Drink
I always forget about refills in other countries, as opposed to the United States. In most American restaurants, fountain drinks (sodas, iced tea, water) are bottomless... not the case here. You finish your 12 oz. glass of Coca-Cola here, you're coughing up another buck each time you feel you need a new one. It's probably one reason why wait staff doesn't start people off here with drinks and bring them a half hour before the food is served. I've found that they come with the drinks just minutes before the food comes. Beer is generally cheaper at these restaurants than in the States, and so usually I pay the extra $.50 to get a domestic beer to go with dinner here, unless it's a food I just never mix with beer.
Another note: while I used to rave at length about how cheap alcohol could be in Brazil, you don't necessarily find the equivalent in Colombia. You're still coughing up $5 for a six-pack of mediocre beer in Colombian supermarkets. Bar prices seem to be about the same as in the States, unless (obviously) you find yourself in a craft beer place, and the house brews tend to be more. Nonetheless, I haven't been drinking nearly as much as back home in Pittsburgh, so I still have some experience to gain if I want to comment at length on beer/alcohol here. These are just preliminary notes/perspectives.
Anyways, I'll be doing school work all weekend and maybe enjoying myself a little a night, so I'll try to post something on Monday or Tuesday if something interesting happens. Otherwise, hope everyone has a great weekend! See you later.
Street Food: Arepas, sausages, "super" hamburgers, hot dogs, empanadas
They tell you before you even come here to get a Hepatitis A booster shot because of the food and/or liquids that you could consume here during your stay. The first recommendation I would give to any traveler considering getting a quick meal off the street is to make sure that it's cooked. I thought fresh-squeezed orange juice off the street here was a great idea until I found myself running to the bathroom a little bit more than usual over the next few days. Granted, I could have eaten or consumed something else that upset my stomach, but I'm blaming the orange juice because everything else I had either at a restaurant or a school cafeteria during those days.
Nonetheless, I still grab something quick for dinner if I'm not looking to stretch my wallet a given night. I had an arepa con carne the other night, pictured above, and it had to be one of the most delicious yet unhealthy things I've consumed since being here. They take an arepa, essentially a poofy tortilla made of maize, and stuff it with cheese, a little lunch meat and shredded beef. They then butter and salt both sides and serve it in a sleeve. For about $1.40, I had enough to fill me for the night. Earlier this week I also tried some beef and chicken empanadas, sold on the Calle 72 and nearby for no more than about $.50/empanada. Usually two or three will do for me, balanced with some fruit and water.
American food: Subway, Friday's, Papa John's
One of the biggest surprises, as I've mentioned in another blog entry, was the number of American restaurants I have found in Bogotá, as opposed to what I ever saw in Brazil either time being there. Subway is my usual go-to on nights where I'm feeling like having a sandwich with ingredients that I can see. They have a pretty decent deal down here, too: for about $3.50, they offer a 6" sub of the day. Although the variety isn't as wide, you can still make out pretty well with a good sandwich at an affordable price. In fact, last night I had a chicken breast sandwich with provolone and all the veggies/peppers. It ended up being pretty tasty, though I wish I could find some hot sauce or something to throw on sandwiches down here.
Earlier this semester, I've also made stops at Papa John's and Friday's, whose menus are basically the same as the U.S. At Friday's, they don't have as much of a variety, but it's expected that Colombians don't know about the 20 kinds of cheeseburgers and dozens of appetizers that you can get at a typical Friday's in the States. Nonetheless, my burger was pretty good there. Papa John's cheese pizza tastes almost exactly the same, too.
Value Your Drink
I always forget about refills in other countries, as opposed to the United States. In most American restaurants, fountain drinks (sodas, iced tea, water) are bottomless... not the case here. You finish your 12 oz. glass of Coca-Cola here, you're coughing up another buck each time you feel you need a new one. It's probably one reason why wait staff doesn't start people off here with drinks and bring them a half hour before the food is served. I've found that they come with the drinks just minutes before the food comes. Beer is generally cheaper at these restaurants than in the States, and so usually I pay the extra $.50 to get a domestic beer to go with dinner here, unless it's a food I just never mix with beer.
Another note: while I used to rave at length about how cheap alcohol could be in Brazil, you don't necessarily find the equivalent in Colombia. You're still coughing up $5 for a six-pack of mediocre beer in Colombian supermarkets. Bar prices seem to be about the same as in the States, unless (obviously) you find yourself in a craft beer place, and the house brews tend to be more. Nonetheless, I haven't been drinking nearly as much as back home in Pittsburgh, so I still have some experience to gain if I want to comment at length on beer/alcohol here. These are just preliminary notes/perspectives.
Anyways, I'll be doing school work all weekend and maybe enjoying myself a little a night, so I'll try to post something on Monday or Tuesday if something interesting happens. Otherwise, hope everyone has a great weekend! See you later.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Valledupar: Heat, Hanging Out with Priests, and A Journey
So this past weekend I decided to take a little journey outside of Bogotá. I flew north to a small city called Valledupar, situated just a few hours southeast of the Caribbean coast. It's a quiet city of about 350,000, spread out quite extensively, not so many tall buildings. As it is in the north of the country, away from the Andes, it is a much warmer city than Bogotá, and that was one thing I certainly had to get used to. I arrived Thursday night around 7:00pm, about an hour after sunset, so at the very least I wasn't dealing with an overpowering sun the moment I got off the plane. Sure, the air was a bit muggy, but the trade-off was that it was much cleaner than the fumes I regularly inhale on a crowded Bogotá street.
My parish priest and a dear friend from home, Father Paul Fontanella, met me at the airport with a fellow priest from the Valledupar area, Padre Audrey. Thursday night I had dinner with them and enjoyed company with a group of priests either affiliated with the parish next door or with the local seminary. I also met the dog of the rectory, Toby, a Yellow Lab with about the same amount of energy as my Black Lab back home. He had a good weekend gnawing on my arm every time I tried to pet him. Father Paul, excellent cook that he is, made a pasta dish for the group, the first time I've had pasta since leaving the States... unfortunately, I did not take a picture.
On Friday, we made a trip just a few minutes south to a gated, upper-middle class community outside of Valledupar. There we stayed the day with a couple and their kids, a family I learned was connected to the church. After a three-course meal and some swimming, I was pretty spent. This was the first day I experienced the Valledupar sun, and it didn't disappoint. Though I didn't get burned, I felt an immediate connection to the sun I endured while living in São Luís, Maranhão, back in 2012. There I also tried a whiskey native to Valledupar named Upar, after the tribal chief whose name works itself into the city's name (Valley of Upar). I was impressed with the taste, and might have to bring a bottle home once June comes around.
When Saturday rolled around (and, for certain, more heat), I went on a short journey with Father Paul and Padre Audrey north of the city. There, after driving through unpaved conditions and lots of small mountains, we made it to a small village called Atánquez. Atánquez is a town of about 300, situated about 50 kilometers north of Valledupar (rough estimate). There we walked around the main square of the village, talked to a few locals, saw the local church, and learned a bit about the area in general. The area, though not touched a whole lot by the local authorities, is absolutely beautiful, even in its dry season. Lots of small creeks and rivers cover the landscape, and you can even see one of Colombia's tallest mountains in the distance, the Sierra Nevada. Believe it or not, even in Colombia, you can even see snow at the top of that mountain.
That night I met my friend Liz and her friends and spent time with them. Although it was an early bed time for me on Saturday night, it was still nice to touch base with someone who I met through teaching English. I've helped Liz on and off with her English for the past couple months. We dug into a massive plate called salchipapa, a heap of salad-like deliciousness complete with sausage, french fries, vegetables, cheese and sauce. I met up with them again on Sunday, but not long before I had to prepare to head back to Bogotá. There we had a couple beers and talked a lot about my country, especially colleges and the food and such.
Sunday was also a day for some spiritual renewal. Rising early as I've done the entire time in Colombia, I went next door to the church for 7:00am Mass. I was there maybe ten minutes early: by the time the Mass started, the place was jammed. I was amazed that, as early as it was, half of the people in attendance were families with children. In the States, usually early Mass is for the older folks and not well attended. Anyways, I felt a very strong spirituality in attending a full church that early, and to me it reflected a commitment on the part of a community, something I had not seen much in Brazil or Colombia until now.
I'm very sorry for getting this up late. I've been re-adjusting and busy the past couple days, so to finally be back in the saddle feels good. I'll try to write again this week before reflecting on whatever I do this coming weekend. Either way, I'll post pictures to show you all what I've been doing. Have a great Wednesday!
My parish priest and a dear friend from home, Father Paul Fontanella, met me at the airport with a fellow priest from the Valledupar area, Padre Audrey. Thursday night I had dinner with them and enjoyed company with a group of priests either affiliated with the parish next door or with the local seminary. I also met the dog of the rectory, Toby, a Yellow Lab with about the same amount of energy as my Black Lab back home. He had a good weekend gnawing on my arm every time I tried to pet him. Father Paul, excellent cook that he is, made a pasta dish for the group, the first time I've had pasta since leaving the States... unfortunately, I did not take a picture.
On Friday, we made a trip just a few minutes south to a gated, upper-middle class community outside of Valledupar. There we stayed the day with a couple and their kids, a family I learned was connected to the church. After a three-course meal and some swimming, I was pretty spent. This was the first day I experienced the Valledupar sun, and it didn't disappoint. Though I didn't get burned, I felt an immediate connection to the sun I endured while living in São Luís, Maranhão, back in 2012. There I also tried a whiskey native to Valledupar named Upar, after the tribal chief whose name works itself into the city's name (Valley of Upar). I was impressed with the taste, and might have to bring a bottle home once June comes around.
When Saturday rolled around (and, for certain, more heat), I went on a short journey with Father Paul and Padre Audrey north of the city. There, after driving through unpaved conditions and lots of small mountains, we made it to a small village called Atánquez. Atánquez is a town of about 300, situated about 50 kilometers north of Valledupar (rough estimate). There we walked around the main square of the village, talked to a few locals, saw the local church, and learned a bit about the area in general. The area, though not touched a whole lot by the local authorities, is absolutely beautiful, even in its dry season. Lots of small creeks and rivers cover the landscape, and you can even see one of Colombia's tallest mountains in the distance, the Sierra Nevada. Believe it or not, even in Colombia, you can even see snow at the top of that mountain.
That night I met my friend Liz and her friends and spent time with them. Although it was an early bed time for me on Saturday night, it was still nice to touch base with someone who I met through teaching English. I've helped Liz on and off with her English for the past couple months. We dug into a massive plate called salchipapa, a heap of salad-like deliciousness complete with sausage, french fries, vegetables, cheese and sauce. I met up with them again on Sunday, but not long before I had to prepare to head back to Bogotá. There we had a couple beers and talked a lot about my country, especially colleges and the food and such.
Sunday was also a day for some spiritual renewal. Rising early as I've done the entire time in Colombia, I went next door to the church for 7:00am Mass. I was there maybe ten minutes early: by the time the Mass started, the place was jammed. I was amazed that, as early as it was, half of the people in attendance were families with children. In the States, usually early Mass is for the older folks and not well attended. Anyways, I felt a very strong spirituality in attending a full church that early, and to me it reflected a commitment on the part of a community, something I had not seen much in Brazil or Colombia until now.
I'm very sorry for getting this up late. I've been re-adjusting and busy the past couple days, so to finally be back in the saddle feels good. I'll try to write again this week before reflecting on whatever I do this coming weekend. Either way, I'll post pictures to show you all what I've been doing. Have a great Wednesday!
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