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[quejt]

Well, I've transplanted myself once again, just as I was beginning to absorb some nutrients from Pereira's fertile soil. I already feel nostalgic for it. Manizales, or at least the part I'm staying in is so...booshwa, and I'm going to miss some people there very much. I arrived this afternoon and headed straight for a hostel I heard about on the poor but happy site called Mountain House. I had my first hot shower in more than a month and to quote God in Genesis, "It was good." I also cooked for the first time and made an austere pot of vegetable soup which also was good, although not quite as good as the shower. Have I mentioned that I've been taking cold showers twice daily, and that I never got used to it? Granted, I no longer feel a shock great enough to induce cardiac arrest when I get under the cold tendrils of death, I mean water, but darn it, the water still feels like cold tendrils of death. Manizalians apparently like the hot water thing as it seems fairly common here, while in Pereira no one seemed to have it and no one complained.

After getting settled in this swanky new joint, I took a walk down Avenida Santander, east, away from town, all the way up to and past a seemingly abandoned drive in and equally empty romantic looking resturant called mirador something. This road follows the top of a ridge, so views of the city and the surrounding mountains abound. The city spills down on either side of the ridge but eventually the surrounding slopes gave way to verdant pastures grazed by those scrawny Colombian cows and dotted by fortress like houses and more humble fincas, which is the word for farms here. I kept on walking and the night had almost fallen when I decided to turn back. I stuck out my thumb and got a ride from a rickety old vehicle. As soon as I got in the crochety old man put his arm around me and I thought for a moment - I just got in the wrong car. As it turned out he was just closing the door which, due to severe entropy, needed a more complex series of manipulations than a simple slam shut. Went to the local Carulla, which is the Gelsons of Colombia, came back here, took the shower, cooked the soup and am now on the computer at the hostel, which is another of its conveniences. The neighborhood Im in is the equivalent of Encino. I dont know if I like it or not. Im so accustomed to the rough and tumble feel of downtown Pereira.

An aside. According to a few people I've randomly spoken to, one significant difference between the US and Colombia is the porportion of people who own a farm. In the US its something like .00001 percent, but here it doesn't seem to matter who you ask, many people have a farm and if they dont, they all have an uncle or cousin with one that they might go to for the weekend. Its what they do, whether they like it or not, like a tradition. Maybe they roast food over an open fire, well, actually I dont really know what they do. I got invited to one a while ago and I idiotically didnt do it because I didnt realize that its normal to go the farm just like its normal to ask people you hardly know to go with you. I dont know the percentages but my guess is that 30 percent of Colombians have a piece of the earth in the form of finca farms.

My plan is somewhat nebulous as of now. I'll talk to the folks at centro colombo here. Last I heard, they might have a position open in June. Meanwhile, I was thinking I'd set up shop teaching privately and teach some classes sans work visa. Or just walk around and chill. Getting sick, working hard and taking cold showers have all resulted in massive withdrawals from the bank of laziness, and I feel I need to start making some deposits, as it were. I trust that the air here will not only be cooler but also less polluted as the city is perched on a ridge where I imagine the air gets mixed up alot with the wind and all. Buses still belch black smoke as a result of the corrupt smog inspection business down here but I imagine there are more ways to escape their wake than in Pereira where all paths seemed to be on the two main drags, septima and octova. In addition, I must get the lay of the land, look for good hiking trails close to or in the city, in general get my bearings.

I'm still not a hundred percent healthwise, but way, way better that before. I so look forward to even more healthiness from the clean, cool air, hot showers and vegetable soup that I think of Manizales as a kind of Kelloggs Wellsville, a sanitarium, where you wake up early, get exercise, eat right and have regular bowel movements. I can say that here can't I?

[Keithsf]

Hey Jon,

Wanted to let you know I read through your string and am really enjoying it. When you mentioned the job at Centro Colombo Americano, you said the take home pay was $560/month was that the amount after the major taxes you mentioned?

I hope your health is getting back on track.

Take Care,
Keith

[quejt]

I like this city. Its actually a bit smaller than I thought. You can walk from one end to the other but this takes an hour or so and only if you take the high road that avoids any major altitude change. This road is called Avenida Santander and follows the top of the major ridge running east to west and cutting the city in half. The elevation quickly drops on either side on the eastern half and this section is pretty posh, similar to Ventura Blvd in, but then, as it begins to curve to south the ridge top spreads out and this is where the downdtown area is located. Downtown is more typical of what you would expect, lacking the shiny people and signs. Its hustle bustle, dotted with little cafes where older people sip coffee, possibly laced with something intoxicating, over long periods time. Theres a couple of Tango bars I've yet to peek into. All the usual suspects foodwise-overpriced chicken fast food joints, an occasional chinesey looking chinese resturant, surprisingly few 3500 mil almurerzo serving traditional restrurants, more tiny empanada stalls than you could ever wish for, bakeries, little markets, a few supermarkets, and a disgusting downtown meat market under a gigantic gazebo where the corpses(cows, pigs etc only I trust) hang from meat hooks in varying stages of disembowelment. The Butcher vendors desparately vie for the chance to use their huge cutting instruments for(on?) potential meat eaters who pass by. I actually regularly took lunch in the Pereira meat market at a friendly little resturant there, but the Manizales central market is bit hardcore for me. Its the rotten core of an already iffy neighborhood located to the west of downtown, the otherside of the tracks(Carrera 18 to be exact), writhing with frenetic mercantile activity - jeeps line the streets for the renting, fruit spill from overladen crates for the bargaining, and an overabundance of flop house style residencias overlooking all with smoking, shirtless men hanging and looking out the upperstory windows with unkown purpose. Manizales is so clean, so sano, with its well swept streets, well dressed types and university types that the poverty seemed to build up pressure where it wasnt permitted to find its outlet west of 18th street to expand and expode.

In contrast to Pereira, I'm exporing on foot a great deal of the city as it seems safer and is such eye candy to walk through. I'm trying to figure out which neigborhood to live in and as I do, I also wonder how I'm ever going to acquire all the tiny little things one needs in apartment. They dont generally come furnished and I dont want to live in someone elses house so its a bit of a conundrum. The place Im staying in is fine for now, but eventually I will want some privacy and more sense of territory. For the first time in while, it seems the world is full of international foriegn travelers as they all seem to gravitate to Mountain House here in Manizales. It really seemed like I was the only foreigner in Pereria, that I had it all to myself. Not here. Not only because I'm staying in a youth hostel type environment but Manizales I think attracts more visitors. Anyway, itll be nice for a while to come home to a conversation with someone dutch, australian, san diegan, etc.

Heres the latest on the job hunt. Theres three universities here that would like to hire me if I could legally work here. And all three are going to wait a week or so before they let me know whether they are willing to sponser me for the work visa. I was offered a job at a small, private instituto which Im in the process of accepting, having observed a few classes. This would only be temporary as there has been no talk of work visas. They also did an annoying thing by offering 10 mil an hour and then changing their minds, saying full time would be 7. I held my ground and said that I would just do one class at 10/hr. Maybe theyll flip flop again or I will find some private students. Centro Colombo gave me a cold reception but maybe just require a little nudging. If the real job doesnt materialize, it will be plan B, which I havent thought too much about.

[quejt]

Sometimes inspiration comes in a flash. Its often fleeting, but in that moment you
know what your purpose is. Like a dark night momentarily illuminated by a thunderstorm,
I am reminded of why I am here. Not that I could actually put the purpose into words
except to say that there is a feeling of confidence in what I am doing. Or rather,
I know perfectly well what I'm doing here, its just that recently things haven't
gone my way. U. of Manizales and Autonoma both stewed on the requirements for providing
a work visa for a week and they both served up the same reluctance to take on a
foriegner, obstensibly because of the clause that must be included in the contract
saying that should I get into trouble they will be responsible for returning me
to the states. I don't see the big deal - I just want to teach English. Drug traffiking,
political insurrection and other illegal activities hold no interest for me. What
are the chances of me getting deported? Anyway, getting treated like a potential
criminal was like eating a bad meal, I got sick but I'm better now.

All the universities have said they want to hire me except for the visa issue. They
also would pay pretty well. Ah well, now theres just three possibilities employer
wise. I'll be hearing from them early next week, but I'm not counting on them. Plan
C is about to be launched. I'm going to stay in Manizales because I like it here,
with its mountains and cool climate. I'll just teach privately regardless of whether
someone sponsers a work visa. Until my tourist visa runs out then its on to Plan
D. So I'll invest a bit in setting this up. What little experience I've had has
been teaching groups, so I need to prepare a bit. Maybe make a trip to Bogota to
buy some materials, a little internet searching, some basic marketing.

My new decisiveness was inspired by a combination of J.D. Salinger and J.R.R. Tolkien.
I can always count on my literary friends to give me a good kick in the behind to
wake me up from slothfulness. I happened upon the idea of reading two books at the
same time, both the same title but one in Spanish and the other in English. I picked
Catcher in the Rye. I was hoping for The Little Prince, but he was no where to be
found. Funny thing, the bookstores here sell hardly any books in English. Fortunately,
the Centro Colombo here has a shelf full of English language novels, along with
many translations in Spanish. It was a close call, 1984 being a close second with
its bleak descriptions of dehumanization, but in the end, I've always fancied myself
a modern day Holden Caulfield, and I'd like to speak the language of yearning, and
ironic observation more than that of the oppression of the masses. So there I was,
reading at the rate of about 4 pages an hour, in the distracting environment of
the youth hostel when I decided to up and find myself a cafe, be amongst the citizens
of Manizales instead of the traveler types that are starting to all seem the same
to me. They all have backpacks, get drunk at the discotecs, watch tv all day and
then move on to another city for more of the same. Anyway, they were getting on
my nerves, so I took my two copies of Catcher in the Rye and installed my self in
a cafe down the street called the Silmirillion. This is the title of a very obscure
Tolkien book only a true hobbit lover would ever read, myself included. True to
the cafes name, the theme was pure nerd. They had The return of the King playing
on a TV, glass cases held armies of miniture figurines in various poses of battle.
Local geek artists had painted alluring Elf princesses in various stages of undress.
Those pointed ears...they're so...sexy! The backroom was devoted to one of those
fantasy games that require the use of several dice with more or less faces than
the usual six sided cube. There were more than the usual number of pearcings and
ponytails. My kind of place. Not the best for tortuously slow translating but it
had begun to rain pretty hard, so I stayed and divided my attention between Holdens
humiliating-pitying encounter with the decrepit and sinister history teacher Spencer
and the battle for Middle Earth playing on the TV. All in all it made me want to
fight for something, if only for my good spirits.

My other Spanish language learning idea was to watch a movie where they speak Spanish
with English subtitles. With this in mind, I bought a bootleg copy of Maria full
of Grace on DVD so that I can press pause at will. Unfortunately, international
backpacker types have been recovering from last nights drinking all day in front
of the TV. I really don't know about this place I'm staying in. I need more privacy.
I don't mind people having fun, just not in my backyard damnit. I'm a moody guy
and I usually am not in the mood to have an animated conversation with people I
just met, especially if they speak faulty english or spanish. Real Spanish speakers
I feel differently towards. I'm always up for talking to someone in Spanish. It
doesn't really make sense but thats how it is. And all the sexual tension in a 10
to 1 male to female ratio. I mean, I'm not interested in these women but it bugs
me when I watch someone on the make for them. I listen to one guy lie about not
having a girlfriend, another guy who wouldn't look or talk to me when the proprietess
of the establishment was in the room. What jerks. I'd rather not be around all the
drama. And then theres all the imaginary(or possibly real) insults that come my
way in a group environment. Not getting invited to the group dinner, being told
Americans aren't as smooth as Latin Americans, OK, I have pretty thin skin, but
I know it and thats why I'm better off somewhere else. People - you cant live with
em, and you cant live without them.

[JosephP]

I'm enjoying this. Do continue.

[El Monstruo]

[Breezee]

I know that our one-liners don't really give your writings the justice that they deserve, but it really is great to hear about your experiences that you are having in Colombia.

Thanks for sharing your feelings to all. I can definitely say that I relate to living in a different culture and going through the emotional up's and down's.

Thanks again. Breezee

[jello1]

Great thread, please keep writing....

Two questions, (I apologize if I missed these in the thread..) What are your qualifications and what do you wear when you go and talk to a school? THanks,

Matt

[jello1]

Sorry, I see you have a Celta....Still interested in wardrobe issues....

[quejt]

Its been more than a month since I last wrote, mainly because its been more of the same getting my hopes up and then getting dissapointed jobwise and I didnt want to bore you all with more of the same. And also because Ive been up to some mischief that I thought better to censor. But then I like writing and said mischief probably makes good reading so I plan to tell all. All its sordidness and all its lengthyness, so be forewarned. Im going to tell the last months story backwards starting at the end and finishing at the beginning.

Today I�m in Cali, the third largest city in Colombia, poised once again to drop in unannounced to several universities here. Cali has a bit of a eighteenth century antebellum south feel to it, with its agriculturally based economy, sultry climate(at a mere 3000 feet in elevation) and people dressed to match. The surrounding canyons have weekend getaway houses and small farms called fincas(read masters house) for rich people with a caretaker and family living in a small, humble house on the grounds(read slaves quarters on the plantation). Cali has more than the usual share of ionian columns, arches and shaded sidewalks as well as strong willed trees which force their way though the gaps in the concrete covered earth. An aside: of these trees, there�s one that caught my attention. Called Seman, it grows all over the valley surrounding Cali, which quite unimaginatively is called El Valle, or in English, The Valley. Semans remind me of the Valley Oaks that once dotted the grasslands of the San Fernando Valley, which also is quite unimaginatively referred to as "The Valley". Semans have the shape of those chunks of planet adorning the illustrations on several Yes albums. For those of you who don�t get the reference, these trees are tall, large and noble, shaped like an upside down cone of about 90 degrees with a concave, or hemispherical top where the only leaves form a ceiling. Thus, the trunk and all its gradually widening branches can be seen splitting into ever smaller widths and lengths but doing all with sudden angular changes in direction and size. Or if that doesnt make sense, think California Coastal Cypress, its kinda like that but bigger with leaves deciduous and small.

Anyway, enough tree talk, back to Cali and El Valle. The air is laden with haze and an occasional thunderstorm. The city is windy in the afternoon as it is pressed up against the western branch, or Cordillera Occidental, of the Andes. These mountains are of similar shape and size to the San Grabriels surrounding LA or the Whites on the eastern edge of the Owens Valley - steep, rugged, brownish green, roughly equalaterally shaped with angles hovering around 60 degrees. Cali is at the southern, or upstream, end of The Valle, which is well populated but geographically isolated flat area, about, and I mean very roughly as Im guessing here, 200 miles long and 20 miles wide, between the western and central branches of the Andes. Although very close to the Pacific Ocean, water here, of which there is no shortage, flows to the Carribbean via the Rio Cuaca, slowly swirling its way north here in the valley, but further downstream, the distant mountains converge making the adjacent shores more or less uninhabitalble. Eventually Rio Cuaca finds its way out of its mountain maze and hooks up with Rio Magdalena which is the major river of Colombia and flows between the eastern and central branches of the Andes.

I�m staying with Lucy and her sister, sister�s husband and infant child, a more or less self contained household. Downstairs live her mom, dad, othere sister, other sister�s husband and three children. Next door are some cousins. Within a 4 block radius are 6 other households of cousins, but supposedly there isn�t that much communication between them. The queen bee here is lucy�s mom who has been watching me like a hawk. A distrustful mixed metaphor she be. The father is good natured in manner but silent. Lucy says that the question that keeps rolling around their heads is just what is the nature of our relationship. They don�t dare ask because Lucy, although somewhat of a black sheep in the family, has the most income and the household is somewhat dependant on her. I bought some groceries when I arrived but am having trouble consuming them as they cook quite a bit here and I am offered food fairly regularly from both the upstairs kitchen and below. The atmosphere upstairs is warm, simple and open. The couple seem happy with eachother and enamored with their new offspring. That Lucy and I are staying with them doesn�t seem to be an issue. Downstairs is another story. It�s a bit tense, partially I am sure as the culture is traditional and Lucy and I are not married, but also for other reasons I think, although I don�t know the whole story, there is an uneasy truce between Lucy and her mom. My limited Spanish is of no help except to protect me from unpleasant truths. And no, not a word of English is spoken here.

I reunited with Lucy in her hometown of Palmira after being separated for 24 hours or so. After a brief job search we were transported by some friends of hers to a fairly luxurious house high up a steep canyon overlooking The Valle. Lucy seems to have no shortage of friends willing to lend her the use of their Fincas. Recently haunted by paramilitary types the area is supposedly safe now. Definitely very idyllic with several bubblingly clean and brisk brooks and canals interlacing their way their way through horse, chicken, pasture, garden, farm and brick. The couple transporting us acquired the house in leiu of money owed so it�s a bit of a white elephant. Protected by a gate and surrounded by a ceilinged veranda, and all in varying shades of white ceramic, it came complete with a sparklingly clean pool and pagoda, slaves quarters, er, ah, I mean, caretakers house and family, as well as the obligatory hammock, all overlooking a large pointy side down triangle of Valle at the bottom of a V formed by the canyon walls with the Cordillera Occidental usually obscured in the hazy distance. Think I-5 northbound approaching the southern end of the Juaquin Valley, or Grapevine. Three days there passed very quickly.

The previous weekend we traveled alongside the Magdalena River from Pitalito to Nieva in the afternoon and then, through the night to Pereira, where we spent the night as it was quite late when we got there. We stayed in my old home, Hotel Don Pancho, above the evangelical church, in one of the cubicles where amorous couples usually only spend an hour or so. The whole bus ride went very quickly as I had company, the movie, Runaway Jury, was actually very good, I slept in the evening hours and the scenery in the afternoon, alongside the Magdalena was only a little bit short of breathtaking. If The Valle, with its river, Cauca, is like the Owens valley, the terrain around and about Magdalena is more like the mountainous desert south of Lone Pine. Far larger in scale and more ominous in aspect, the bones of the earth here are exposed, picked clean by erosion or other geological forces, interlocking several hundred miles of varyingly colored and shaped skeletal terrain. Relatively dry and hot compared to the higher elevations of Colombia that I have mostly been in, I suppose the surrounding Eastern and Central Ranges of the Andes block a lot of precipitation although an abundant quantity of water flows in frequently seen and varyingly sized streams from the mountains above. Although some land was cultivated, the overall sense was of underutilization, as if there was no need to grow crops on this well watered and relatively flat terrain.

Our destination for the weekend was Manizales, where Lucy attends classes for her Maestr�a, which, I gather, is the semi-equivalent of a masters program. At this point I�m clearly tagging along as I have very little reason to be in Manizales. I thought of, and mentioned the possibility of parting in Neiva where it would be only a short distance to Bogota, the next logical job hunting grounds, but as this seemed to create a sore point amongst us, I agreed to follow her to Manizales, setting up what seems to be a pattern. As it turned out, it�s a good thing I went as I hadn�t followed up on my last conversation here with the director at Universidad de Caldas and when I spoke with him, he indicated that a forthcoming position would be very likely. Two weeks and several instances of postponed communication on his part later, I still don�t have an answer so my optimism has since diminished. Nevertheless, I am hopeful of getting a legal job in the Colombian city I love most. Meanwhile, as I was waiting to hear from this director, Lucy left for Cali, and I left my plans vague. The day before she left, while walking a portion of the road from Termales Oto�o to the alpine volcanos beyond, we debated what we would do next. Tangentially, this is the first time I literally felt slowed down by her physical limitations. My druthers would have been to walk farther and faster without the frequent stops to observe the leaves or views which also, I think, served as rest stops for her. And then my mood is further dampened by her admittedly sensible, but completely unromantic affirmation that, no, she�s not going to look for work in Manizales nor would she give up her job in Cali if I got the Caldas job. I had woken up that morning deciding that I would look for work in Cali as an option to the Caldas position and it was disappointing to hear that she wouldn�t do the same for me. And not just because it wasn�t romantic, it also made me feel like I was pushing the relationship too hard. Ironically this conversation took place in an intensely beautiful environment. The setting sun had illuminated the cumulus in the eastern sky a bright pink. These puff balls in turn hovered over previously hidden high mountain peaks. In front of these, was a verdant valley, dark deep green pasture interspersed amongst even darker swathes of uncut forest. The unique thing about this place, though, was the 3 or 4 abnormally conical hills, actually shaped like traffic cones, that rose a few hundred feet above the surrounding normally shaped hill and dale. As beautiful as this was, I felt sad because I had a premonition of the inevitable goodbye that Lucy and I must face, whether that be the next day, week or year.

Before leaving Pitalito, we had spent 4 nights in a primitive house a friend of hers owns along with another house located amongst a small coffee plantation. The friend, Ricardo, is tall, dark and handsome, went to the best university in Colombia, worked as a biologist meaning he got paid to walk in the woods, and now has bought a coffee plantation, organic ofcourse, and hopes to turn it into an educational hostel of sorts. After watching this over-achiever and Lucy have an animated discussion during lunch which I couldn�t understand, I decided I was jealous as all hell. That, and her dancing about to Latin music as Ricardo fixed up our place, made me think that something had snapped in her, that her feelings had somehow changed. I tried to nudge her into confessing something but try as I might, I couldn�t squeeze a drop out of her. I think it was just about this time that she taught me the phrase, gajes de oficio, which roughly and figuratively translated means nature of the beast, of which several apply to Americans (gringos) getting involved with local women, who don�t speak the same language, have a different culture and live in a poorer country than the US. Fortunately, by the end of the night my paranoia had passed and hasn�t returned since � the rest of the stay there was quite blissful and Ricardo did everything he could to make us comfortable, including leaving us alone most of the time. I taught Lucy how to play chess, we watched the stars, which, with the inexplicable exception of the Big Dipper, seem totally different here, slept almost an entire day, walked in the darkness, cooked by candlelight, walked in the daytime about the area, which was pure Farmersville: horses, cows, cultivation, mud and shit everywhere. We also got lost (I like getting lost) wandering about the farms surrounding a park outside the town of San Augustine. The other house, the one Ricardo slept in, was at the end of the world seemingly and needed only a lazy stream of smoke emitting from the chimney to complete a picture of clich� fairytale idyll. Ricardo actually has lived there three months alone, hermit like, with only a guitar for company which I greedily played for a sweet 30 minutes or so. During this time my body made the transition from feverishly sick to weak, but feeling good except for that nasty cough. Lucy also started coughing and showing other symptoms but seemingly much less severe than what I had experienced.
To get to the farm we had woken up early and met Ricardo at the bus terminal in Popayan. I really had no idea who he was or where we were going. The trip there involved ascending a narrow steep green grassy valley, supposedly the headwaters of the Rio Cauca. I remember feeling very happy with Lucy in my arms, as we bumped our way over that dirt road up the mountain canyon. By the time we reached the top, the elevation was something like 10 thousand feet. The terrain leveled out, clouds swirled about in front of our faces and the plant life was what is called p�ramo. The plants are very similar in appearance to those in the Mojave desert but in soil and air soaked with moisture and temperatures frigid. As I said, the first few hours of this bumpy ride were great but then, as if a feel good drug was wearing off, my sore butt began getting the majority of my attention, the jealousy thing started with lunch and then, as we descended into the upper Magdalena valley, I first brought up the idea of splitting up. All of which had a dampening effect on the euphoria of the morning.

I haven�t mentioned it thus far but the entire time I�m spending with Lucy, I�m getting a thorough immersion in Spanish. I would say that at least half of what we say to eachother is of the how do you say such and such variety. She can more or less read English, say an occasional word or, more rarely a sentence, but conversation, no way. I think we could make a go of speaking only English but she won�t do it. I teach her an occasional word but its usually something that I want to say in Spanish. Needless to say, I have a lot of things to say to her and a lot of motivation to do so. I�m learning much more with her by my side than going it alone. I still have the same problems understanding what is being said to me and even more so what two people other than me are saying to eachother but at the very least, I�m getting more vocabulary and corrections. She cant explain the grammar or the names for different usages but its just as well as I probably need to get out of that left brained manner of learning anyway. Somethings are left misunderstood, such as a good translation for realize or darse cuenta.

I would say my fever finally broke the afternoon we spent in Popayan, the day before the bumpy bus ride to Ricardo�s farm. For the previous 24 hours I had about 3 bouts of feeling extremely cold as well as feeling overall weak with a nasty twitchy cough. We had arrived in Popayan about noon and I badly needed to lie down but Lucy�s friend, who had offered to let us spend the night in her apartment was temporarily out of touch so we wandered about the town, which was actually quite nice, I mean, I knew it was nice in a logical way, but I was in a slightly feverish daze and like I said, I really needed to get horizontal, so the town didn�t seem nice at all. When I finally did I felt much better, and I just lay there talking with Lucy for the next 6 hours, only interrupted by her washing my clothes. I promised her I wouldn�t tell anyone but it just seemed so novel at the time, I can�t help but say it. Lucy can be quite maternal at times and I definitely felt like I was being taken care of. She�s done a lot of things for me along those lines, like watching me eat, constantly stroking me, cutting my nails�its embarrassing to say but I like it, I like it a lot.

The previous day, I arrived in Palmira at about 6 in the morning after finally dozing off and getting an hour or two of sitting up straight, head off to one side, sitting in the bus quality sleep. After the hellish adventures of the night before, and in general crossing the country to hook up with her, I was really worried that she would do a flake. But she showed up and we spent an ecstatic get to know eachother-fall in love kind of day. Adrenelan kept me going until the afternoon when I had my first bout of the chills. It was also pretty emotional for me, I cried a few times, but then again I was pretty maxed out from lack of sleep, a viral infection, and a brain still addled from the heavy drinking I did a week before in Tunja. She also told me the story of her youth, she�s 42 now, how she had a fling when she was 18, got pregnant but wouldn�t tell anyone who the father was, except her daughter when she asked, and got ostracized by her family and soon struck out on her own. Somehow she survived and the daughter turned out fine, she�s in a university now studying Biology or some other life science. And Lucy went to school, majored in psychology and education, and teaches at a university making 12 US dollars an hour and working part time. This is doing very well by Colombian standards. Somehow this life had a price, which I�m still trying to figure out, but at least includes the fact, according to her, that she doesn�t cry, get angry or feel ticklish easily.

The trip from Medellin was by no means uneventful. It started normal enough. At about 4 in the afternoon I got on a bus thinking I would meet Lucy in Palmira at 10 or so. I sat next to a married woman who worked for Coca cola and who didn�t seem to much want to talk. After crossing the Cauca the bus stopped and some unruly looking men boarded the bus and without any observable explanation began a long and unsuccessful attempt at removing a panel from the center of the bus floor. I assumed they were looking for contraband, but the guy was actually the bus driver sans shirt trying to access a pressurized hose underneath that led to what he felt was an important enough component such that he didn�t want to risk moving the bus. But all he said to me after all the passengers had disembarked into the hot and heavy air outside was that we were stopping for dinner. I guess he felt that I couldn�t take the harsh truth that we were about to spend the night on this particular embankment of highway in the middle of nowhere. At this point the passengers began forming herdlike formations and sentiments. I know I did. I had no idea what was happening, so when a group of people moved from one place to another, it didn�t matter why, I just moved with them. Eventually some chairs materialized and we sat around telling jokes while the bus driver, in vain, kept trying to coax the errant hose into submission. Simultanious to the mechanical problems on our bus, the road ahead, and consequentally all the people traveling on said road, had significant problems as well. A large amount of earth, as in several thousand tons, had fallen from above blocking passage of all cars. The people who fix this kind of thing wouldn�t arrive til morning. Little by little, a long line of vehicles began forming along the stretch of road where we were asconsed. Some drivers sat despairingly at the wheel, others curled up in the fetal position. One truck driver was setting up a hammock underneath his vehicle. This last scene made me realize that this thing was going to take the whole night.

Well, I decided to take on a take charge attitude by taking a look at the problem underneath the bus, afterall I worked on cars for a long time. I�m not a sheep, I�m a human being! But meanwhile a group of passengers, not to old nor young nor carrying much luggage began carrying out plan B. A pickup truck was loading up those who were willing to drive on the wrong side of road to the origin of the pile up to see what was there and perchance cross whatever hindrance awaited us there. They were almost all ready to go before I realized what was happening and so without much thought I grabbed my bag and hopped on. Without much to hold on to except other passengers who had nothing to hold on to except what I had, the possibility of ejection seemed a clear and present danger. And he drove really fast considering the side of the road he was on, the darkness, the traffic pile up etc. Still it was a fun ride and very liberating after feeling like a trapped domesticated animal with no will or understanding. Moreover, I was not looking forward to spending the night in a hot bus moving at 0 miles an hour.

When we arrived at the landslide, the driver would go no further. We had no idea how far it was and of the 10 or so passengers in the pickup, only myself and three others were willing to brave the passage. It was a real break on through to the other side moment. With only a cell phone light to guide our way we, with a moderate amount of panic, made our way into the darkness.. After a quarter mile or so, which seemed much longer, we saw lights. And lo and behold, we were on the other side, which, as you might expect, was a mirror image of the first side, miles of cars lined up on one side of the road. We looked for a bus of the same company as ours and also held up are thumbs. Eventually our dogged company was picked up by a bus heading for Manizales which at the time seemed to be a lot better place to be than the middle of nowhere. It was such a relief to be moving at highway speeds once again. At midnight we arrived in Manizales and after a tense discussion with the middle management my compainions and I managed to purloin passage to Cali, or in my case, Palmira. With all the excitement I couldn�t sleep until we had almost arrived in Palmira. They woke me up and I quickly gathered my things, finding myself in the dawn of a new city once again.

My stay in Medellin was a dry mixed bag of job searching and malaise. I was getting over the hangover from hell and beginning to feel the symptoms of upper respiratory infection. I stayed in a hostel when I had no desire to look at other people, let alone talk to them. I was only there one night. I had taken a night bus from Tunja to get here. I went to the 5 or 6 universities in town and got some interest but no promises.

The Tuesday and Wednesday in Tunja are a blur. I know I felt a lot a better than Monday when I was basically watching the second hand of the clock tick around from 1 to 12 wishing that I could will it to move faster. Before I left that Wednesday, I set up my travel arrangements differently. I packed only the absolute essentials: two changes of shirts, underwear and socks; one change of shorts, jeans, warm clothes; reduced item ditty bag-toilet kit, Spanish-English dictionary and English grammar book(which I haven�t touched), water bottle, washing bag, packet of documents. Notice the absence of my beloved pillow and air mattress, both of which I have been missing dearly. I also have been wanting in the towel department. Other than that, I�m pretty happy with my new travel lite style. The folks at the hotel agreed to hold on to my large, heavy and unwieldy library containing suitcase without charge. I think this is a common practice as I�ve seen the service offered at two hostels. I�ve since found out that it�s a pretty simple affair to have it shipped to where ever I end up. At least if its in Colombia, I don�t know whats involved if I want it shipped to another country. The trip from Tunja to Medellin was nice in that a night bus ride is kind of sensory deprevation tank, very relaxing, and much appreciated by my over stimulated and abused body and mind.

I think its about time I describe a really bad hang over. But before I do let me assure all those who are keeping tabs on my drinking that this was the first time I abused alcolhol in Colombia. This time my binge lasted 6 days which is close to as long as I�ve ever drank and after those times I pretty much felt like I was going to die, so I had checked myself into the emergency room on those occasions. I wasn�t feeling adventurous or bad enough to find a hospital so I spent 24 long hours in the hotel room. This is after I ventured out to the street to return the rented VHS player and tapes to the friendly, neighborhood porn outlet. I was very weak, in a daze and had actually made the four block excursion within a hundred feet of my destination when the street made a brief descent down requiring a slightly different set of muscles to be used when walking. The muscle spasm in my lower right calf came suddenly and I froze on the sidewalk, unwilling to move, not knowing if the pain would go away or get worse. It pretty much just stayed the same after 5 minutes, so I limped across the street resigned to accept my future life as a cripple (The limp and the pain have since passed). I took a taxi the four blocks back to the hotel, it hurt too much to walk.

Once back in the hotel room, I pretty much knew that I just had to get through the day and night and everything would more or less go back to normal. I forced myself to take a sip of water every 15 minutes or so. My heart beat was really fast which is OK for a few minutes, but lying down without moving an inch, it gets old really fast. I had the twitches � every so often having the sense of a mild electrocution. My fine motor ability was shot � I could barely hold a spoonful of food my fingers trembled so. My stomach was not very accepting of food either, although I had some bread, avocados and pears as rations for the day. And the halucinations. No matter what surface I looked at, couples in varying positions of coitus would be frenetically doing the deed, or really, various deeds. Then, if I blinked or looked somewhere else, the people and positions would change. Closing my eyes was no escape as this only added the effect of color. Not to mention the black fly like specks that were constantly flying about and the small furry forms that occasionly scurried about the floor. Sometime in the afternoon the saliva started a steady flow 10 times greater than normal. My mouth wasn�t in such bad shape other than that. By nighttime things hadn�t got any better, so I took a sleeping pill and a couple libriums and fell into a kind of paralysis full of evil dreams.

Although the two weeks or so I spent in Tunja were dominated by my falling back into the drink, I did manage to have some non orgiastic experiences there. I was offered a job at a private school for children, ages 5 to 18, more or less. Although the director said that his friends at the Venezualen Consulate would help grease up the passage of a work visa, they only pay 7.50 US dollars an hour and wanted 40 hours of teaching a week, split shift, if I understood him right. I observed a couple classes and hung out with the teachers. One of whom, had definite romantic potential but I didn�t pursue it as I didn�t want to start something I couldn�t finish, meaning I knew I would probably be leaving town in a week or so. I also could have hung out with a guy teacher, about my age, which would have been fun, especially as it is a lot easier for me to meet, get to know etc women than men. In his case, I elected to drink the last days of my stay in Tunja over practicing my male bonding skills. There were two Universities that expressed a strong interest in hiring me but both gave me the usual, it�s a complicated process, we have to consult other people, we�ll get back to you�and I haven�t heard from them since.

The weather in Tunja is really cold. I like cold but I was not prepared for its intensity here. There were a couple of days when my clothes were drying(it takes a long time for clothes to dry here) that I was out and about in flimsy pajamas, without even my lightweight sweater. I was cold to bone with no respite except when I was in bed and probably suffered from a mild case of hypothermia. I finally wised up and bought a parka. The skies often had a thin layer of clouds, enough to blanket the landscape in an almost permanent shadow of gray. It didn�t rain much when I was there and the surrounding, gentle ridges reflected this by not deciding whether to be a greenish brown or a brownish green. The surrounding country side is said to be very beautiful, I would describe what little I saw as pleasant. It looked like it would be easy to walk through as it was mostly pasture and the slopes were gradual. The people in the street had a more native American appearance racially and were more distant than their counterparts in some other places. The buildings seemed very old, colonial in style. Overall it had a very relaxed, quiet feel to it. I could definitely live there should a job work out but I wouldn�t be very excited about it.

The decision to go to Tunja was made somewhat capriciously. I had said in my last email that I was planning on setting up shop in Manizales teaching privately. I had even made a quick trip to Bogota to buy some books that I thought would be useful. But after a couple of days the idea�s enthusiasm wore off leaving behind some obvious drawbacks. I was getting a bit depressed in Manizales after doing such a thorough search there and the idea of going to a different city gave me a boost.

[scott14]

Jon,

Intersting post. I am leaving Asia for Colombia next week for the kind of adventure you seem to be having, hopefully without the illnesses.

Get well.

On another note, what happened to Lucy?

Here is a link with info about teaching in Cali with many job links.

http://transitionsabroad.com/publications/magazine/0205/teachcolumbia.shtml

Go find Lucy!

[eo-nomine]

Fascinating post, Jon. Thoroughly enjoyed it, please keep writing! All the best to you.

[quejt]

I wore a a tie and blazer to my first encounter but it felt like overkill and it made me feel very uncomfortable, I dont know why, Im not a tie person. After that I used it only once on the advice of a contact. For everyone else brown leather shoes, blue jeans, brown belt, white polyester t shirt and weather permiting black pullover sweater.

[Aramas]

[quejt]

This has to be a quickie as the internet cafe closes in an hour. I am alone once again and I don't quite know what to make of it. Lucy had been in my presence for a month now and it feels like a part of me has been cut off. Like an amputation without the pain. Maybe not an arm or leg, more like a middle finger. Definite realtime loss but manageable I hope. Leastways I dont want to spend the next year pining over her. Not that Im pining, I just feel disoriented, like I woke up from a very pleasurable dream not knowing my name let alone where I am.

I may have an opportunity to work at the EAFIT here in Medellin. I should know by the end of next week after I do an interview and possibly a week long training gig. Lucy wants me to get a job in Cali but I'm planning on taking the job should it be offered so I basically chose money over love. Just call me Midas. Decisions, or should I say quandaries, like these come often for me.

I've been very happy the past few weeks but I'm afraid its not going to be a very interesting story because 1) happiness is pretty boring to read about, 2) like a dream, I'm finding myself forgetting large chunks of time, and 3) some of the most memorable moments are of a personal, private nature that can't be shared with 100% of the readers here. So I'm just going to make some quick diary entries.

July 7 I get news about EAFIT and Lucy bids me a teary adeiu. I'm not crying as I'm feeling guilty over the Midas thing. She also has responsibilties to attend to. She says she'll "wait for me" as she turns the knife around a bit which is already embedded in my stomach. I go to the kiwi house which has the same locker room ambience as the hostel that we were kicked out of, the palm tree hostel. I take a walk half way up the ridge bordering Medellin until I hit a super highway and then get a hitch back as I prefer that risk to the certitude of stressed out knees walking downhill.

July 6 Really nothing to write about here but happy, happy, happy.

July 5 That obese "Rule Nazi" of an owner, Sebastian, kicks us, or I should say me, out of the hostel for an infraction of the rules. Keep in mind I'm an honest person as far as these things go and I don't like it when someone assumes otherwise. I had just sat down on the computer, intending to only use it to retrieve a phone number, when Gordo(fatso in Spanish) comes by for an inspection and says in a schoolmarmish tone, with eyebrows raised, "Remember to write your name on the sign in sheet BEFORE you use the computer." Call me small minded but something about this admonishment rubbed me the wrong way and I definitely did not intend to comply. I figured I'd just make a rough estimate of the time after I finished and, besides, he said names not times so it seemed at the time like a petty, purposeless thing he thought of on a whim. Five minutes later he comes by to check on the sign in sheet, which I havent filled in yet, and within 2 or three sentences he tells me leave immediately. It seemed like a pretty serious response for a pretty small non compliance. And to make matters worse, he says later on that the Christina's, with whom I thought I was in good terms with, in Mountain House, a Hostel I had spent a lot of time in in Manizales, had warned him about me saying "I had bad manners". Bad manners? Did they see me using the fork with the wrong hand? Did I fart in the kitchen? Was I anything less than corteous all the time? No, no, no. My reality got fucked with and I was pretty upset. Later we called Christina and she said she never said anything like that. Go figure. Fortunately the day got better after that.

July 4 Pleasant morning and trip on the bus from Armenia to Medellin. Slept in Lucy's arms while the bus waited 3 hours for an accident to clear up.

July 3 More pleasantness.

July 2 Look for work in Armenia. Everything is closed for holidays except centro colombo where I was asked to take the Michigan test on the 7th which is for non native speakers. That, and that she didn't have any idea about the work visa issues made me think that I would be wasting my time waiting for the process to play itself out. As it was Friday and there was a three day weekend, we would have all weekend to play.

July 1 Leave Manizales for Pereia and make a whirlwind tour of universities there. Most are closed for holidays. Get to Armenia late that afternoon. Lucy comes with me after resolving some sort of power struggle with her daughter.

June 30 Bad news from Caldas. It seems the guy I was talking to is on vacation. The person in charge was enthusiastic about hiring me but after talking it over with administration gave me the nix. One possible reason for this mixed message is that some universities are in the process of getting accredited and couldn't do so if there were faculty without proper experience on their resumes. Like me.

June 29 Waiting around Manizales. Sounds boring but no.

June 30 Lucy gets angry for the first time! We're about to get on the bus for Manizales from Cali. I'm in a bad mood, I'm jonesing for a cigarette and just as I'm about to light up one Lucy calls urgently that the bus is leaving. With great speed I make for the bus door but make a pratfall instead, landing on my right palm which now has some missing skin, a patina of Cali's street dirt and a steady buzzing pain. When I get hurt like this, I get mad. I was short with Lucy, who was fussing over me and that got her all upset. She didn't talk to me for like half an hour.

The week before June 29 Hard to remember this part well. I get more rejections from schools in Cali but I only applied to 4 places as I had trouble picturing myself enduring Cali's baking heat. I actually began to enjoy the ice cold showers that I had complained about earlier. I spent the days lazily as if I was in a bowl of honey, surrounded by sweetness yet barely able to move. All this time I am staying with Lucy's sister's family ostensibly waiting to get in contact with the Caldas Director in manizales who is very difficult to get a hold of. That, and the sense that I might be overstaying my welcome got me out of there. Lucy agrees to accompany me to Manizales.