la fragilidad
se desarolla
en pedazos
y se se rompe
en silencio
eso es todo
y no es nada
El pensar es separarnos del mundo
el ser humano
nos parece tan humilde
(o es que nos parace tan grande)
que tendemos a decir –
hay cosas que no hacen los animales
cosas que pertenecen solamente
a nosotros:
los monstros,
los angeles,
los cerebros, almas y organos
sobre todo el piel
con que enteramos
a todo
incluso lo no pensado
lo tacto, sin palabras
Sunday, January 29, 2006
The Corner Store
It was because of the season – the proprietor said
On fifth street, just one block from where I stand,
three people died, all within steps of one another
An old woman nodded sagely
Just beyond the awning it had begun to hail
small round drops of ice hit the cement with emphasis
And don’t forget Mrs.…what’s her name?
The daughter of the woman who owns the sewing shop?
A customer chimed in – it was Ana Maria
The old woman sighed with every dead name dropped
She barely came to my shoulder
a blue wool scarf reached up to cover her mouth from the soot
It started to thunder then,
and ten more names were recalled, each in its place
The sons at the glassworks – their father went too.
It was the season, he repeated
Handsome in his day, but without his usual bowler hat
his chin tilted in remembrance
It’s never happened before like this
ventured the customer, the one who knew names
No -- a year ago, maybe two -- five people died on a single street!
It was the season
their season
the rain slacked,
conversation lulled
started to roll up my pants
she’s going to risk it
a heretofore quiet one ventured
she’s going to risk it
On fifth street, just one block from where I stand,
three people died, all within steps of one another
An old woman nodded sagely
Just beyond the awning it had begun to hail
small round drops of ice hit the cement with emphasis
And don’t forget Mrs.…what’s her name?
The daughter of the woman who owns the sewing shop?
A customer chimed in – it was Ana Maria
The old woman sighed with every dead name dropped
She barely came to my shoulder
a blue wool scarf reached up to cover her mouth from the soot
It started to thunder then,
and ten more names were recalled, each in its place
The sons at the glassworks – their father went too.
It was the season, he repeated
Handsome in his day, but without his usual bowler hat
his chin tilted in remembrance
It’s never happened before like this
ventured the customer, the one who knew names
No -- a year ago, maybe two -- five people died on a single street!
It was the season
their season
the rain slacked,
conversation lulled
started to roll up my pants
she’s going to risk it
a heretofore quiet one ventured
she’s going to risk it
Saturday, January 28, 2006
the nightlife is the right life...
Last night was my first venture into Bogotá’s nightlife. We went to La Antifaz (the masquerade) after hanging out at the apartment for a while, drinking mojitos and eating old Christmas cookies. Not as many people came as we’d expected, but as usual Mauro had to pick up some girls he knew along the way, and we were about 7 total, or two cabs’ worth.
The scene was much younger than I’m used to, but we danced like mad for a few hours. Great release for all the nervous energy accumulated during the week. It seems to me that dancing is a particularly necessary pastime in a place that has more than its deserved share of dangers. I went home reasonably early because I planned to go to class this morning. Big surprise, I didn’t make it, although I got up early enough and set out on time. Problem: I didn’t know the building or room number, and none of the internet cafes were open yet to check. Then it occurred to me – I would have to miss class every single time I wanted to go out of town! No, no, no, no, no. I’m signing up for public economics instead. Why are all the the CIDER classes at 7 AM???
That afternoon, tiring of waiting for a return phone call from the commission, I had decided to head out on my own to buy a bed. That sofa just was not cutting it, after ten days of getting up and remaking it every morning. My back was starting to complain, too. So it was off to the bed neighborhood for me. One of my roommates had directed me to the intersection where he thought it was located.
When my taxi and arrived, nothing. Turns out the highway had been built since the last time he’d visited, and all the stores were on the other side. When we finally made our way through the construction traffic, I spent four hours, yes four hours, going to what felt like every single store, collecting cards and cotizaciones at each. The thrift store syndrome attacked with a vengeance – I had to see every potentially suitable bed and get the very cheapest one possible. This involved lots and lots of tilting my head and mmming. Mmm, I would say. I don’t know. This one looks…very decorated. Do you have anything more economical? Not cheap – I learned not to say that, but economical.
At 4, my commission mom called, in a bit of a panic. Where were you? Why didn’t you answer the phone? What? I have a man here to accompany you to the bed neighborhood! Finally, after agreeing to be very VERY careful with my wallet, I continued my shopping. Long boring story short, I finally have an actual bed.
The scene was much younger than I’m used to, but we danced like mad for a few hours. Great release for all the nervous energy accumulated during the week. It seems to me that dancing is a particularly necessary pastime in a place that has more than its deserved share of dangers. I went home reasonably early because I planned to go to class this morning. Big surprise, I didn’t make it, although I got up early enough and set out on time. Problem: I didn’t know the building or room number, and none of the internet cafes were open yet to check. Then it occurred to me – I would have to miss class every single time I wanted to go out of town! No, no, no, no, no. I’m signing up for public economics instead. Why are all the the CIDER classes at 7 AM???
That afternoon, tiring of waiting for a return phone call from the commission, I had decided to head out on my own to buy a bed. That sofa just was not cutting it, after ten days of getting up and remaking it every morning. My back was starting to complain, too. So it was off to the bed neighborhood for me. One of my roommates had directed me to the intersection where he thought it was located.
When my taxi and arrived, nothing. Turns out the highway had been built since the last time he’d visited, and all the stores were on the other side. When we finally made our way through the construction traffic, I spent four hours, yes four hours, going to what felt like every single store, collecting cards and cotizaciones at each. The thrift store syndrome attacked with a vengeance – I had to see every potentially suitable bed and get the very cheapest one possible. This involved lots and lots of tilting my head and mmming. Mmm, I would say. I don’t know. This one looks…very decorated. Do you have anything more economical? Not cheap – I learned not to say that, but economical.
At 4, my commission mom called, in a bit of a panic. Where were you? Why didn’t you answer the phone? What? I have a man here to accompany you to the bed neighborhood! Finally, after agreeing to be very VERY careful with my wallet, I continued my shopping. Long boring story short, I finally have an actual bed.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
First Day of Classes and Dinner with the Ambassador
I’m taking four classes (well, taking two and auditing two, for the moment anyway…so this is what being a full-time student is like!) at la Universidad de los Andes, the rich kids’ school. I think I’m okay with that for the moment, though. It’s definitely one side of the Colombian reality.
Next semester I think I’ll take classes at La Nacional, which is currently on strike over the administrations’ proposed changes – the students and professors are not “de acuerdo” – as anyone who has seen the graffiti covering the city knows well. Although some of it is quite poetic, the overall effect makes me miss Atlanta graffiti, which is much more artistic.
Anyway, I really like my classes! The 7 AM one I’m not completely crazy about, as you can probably imagine (insert joke about my Antitrust hours here), but the theme is interesting – collective action and democratic theory. Should be challenging, to say the least – it’s a graduate seminar course…in Spanish. At 7 AM. What was I thinking?
The second class is Architecture for non-architects, and I love it! Another Fulbrighter took it last semester and keeps in touch with the professor, who is dynamic, super passionate about architecture (it’s essential to the human condition, you know), and charismatic. Today the discussion ranged from Greek mythology to poverty in Colombia to the objective/subjective nature of beauty. The class will mostly consist of tours of the campus and city to see and draw buildings that represent various styles and eras.
After class #2, I went home and took a nap. So don’t feel sorry for me! Life is good. It was the most delectable, satisfying nap ever. I woke up, got dressed for the ambassador shindig set for that night, and headed off to campus again.
From here in the El Recuerdo neighborhood (The Memory for those of you not on the Spanish bandwagon yet…yet) to the campus in bus is maybe a ten-minute ride, and there’s NEVER any wait, so I wasn’t too worried about my 5:30 class in (drum roll please) Public and Mass Transportation.
I’m so thrilled to be finally taking a class in my second nerd nature. Back among my people, the transit geeks. Actually, they didn’t seem very geeky. I was a tiny bit disappointed at first, but cheered up quickly when the professor (the famoso Arturo Ardila) mentioned bus counting at 5 AM and a field trip to Medellin to tour the metro system there. This is gonna be great!
After class I looked at a friend’s apartment, but I think I’m going to stay put. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how cheap the place I live now is, so I won’t. Never mind, like any good woman I can’t keep new of a bargain to myself. The total, including all bills and internet when we finally get it: 300,000 pesos, or about $132. The only downside is that I don’t have a guest room for visitors, but we will work something out! There’s always the huge living room, where I could sleep if I had an important visitor like the momma J , and hotels here are very cheap. I also know of several sweet older women who rent out rooms in their homes for about $15 a night, breakfast included! This girl’s apartment was charming, though, and close to school. Still.
On to the main course: an invitation-only event at the Ambassador’s house to celebrate the naming of a new Fulbright director. The bulletproof hedge in front of the house was only a preamble to the poshness we were about to experience. We didn’t let the chandeliers cloud our judgment, though – I was first in line for food (first!) so we got an entire room full of gilt armchairs and slightly strange American flag-inspired artwork all to ourselves.
I met a literary agent and we had a great talk about changes in the city of Bogotá, its mayors, and TransMilenio. There’s an international theater festival taking place here March 31 – April 17th, and she invited me to go along with her so I would know which companies were worth seeing. Russian theater in Bogotá, Colombia! This place rocks.
Finally, the ambassador “dropped by.” I can’t tell you what we talked about, top secret you know (okay, it was mostly buses), but he was charming and single, for all you older diplomatic types (I’m guessing he could go younger, too).
My roommate got into a discussion of US policy vis-à-vis Colombia with him, an actual discussion. When I heard her broach the subject I was glad we’d eaten and drunk, since I didn’t expect us to last much longer after that. But they talked for quite a while, and she found him surprisingly willing to listen to her point of view. I don’t think any of the Fulbright students here are in favor of current policy, so he probably wasn’t terribly surprised, but regardless, I was proud of her.
It was a long day, from 5 AM to midnight. I hope every Tuesday is like this, but with more sleeping and web chat. I missed my internet messenger!
Next semester I think I’ll take classes at La Nacional, which is currently on strike over the administrations’ proposed changes – the students and professors are not “de acuerdo” – as anyone who has seen the graffiti covering the city knows well. Although some of it is quite poetic, the overall effect makes me miss Atlanta graffiti, which is much more artistic.
Anyway, I really like my classes! The 7 AM one I’m not completely crazy about, as you can probably imagine (insert joke about my Antitrust hours here), but the theme is interesting – collective action and democratic theory. Should be challenging, to say the least – it’s a graduate seminar course…in Spanish. At 7 AM. What was I thinking?
The second class is Architecture for non-architects, and I love it! Another Fulbrighter took it last semester and keeps in touch with the professor, who is dynamic, super passionate about architecture (it’s essential to the human condition, you know), and charismatic. Today the discussion ranged from Greek mythology to poverty in Colombia to the objective/subjective nature of beauty. The class will mostly consist of tours of the campus and city to see and draw buildings that represent various styles and eras.
After class #2, I went home and took a nap. So don’t feel sorry for me! Life is good. It was the most delectable, satisfying nap ever. I woke up, got dressed for the ambassador shindig set for that night, and headed off to campus again.
From here in the El Recuerdo neighborhood (The Memory for those of you not on the Spanish bandwagon yet…yet) to the campus in bus is maybe a ten-minute ride, and there’s NEVER any wait, so I wasn’t too worried about my 5:30 class in (drum roll please) Public and Mass Transportation.
I’m so thrilled to be finally taking a class in my second nerd nature. Back among my people, the transit geeks. Actually, they didn’t seem very geeky. I was a tiny bit disappointed at first, but cheered up quickly when the professor (the famoso Arturo Ardila) mentioned bus counting at 5 AM and a field trip to Medellin to tour the metro system there. This is gonna be great!
After class I looked at a friend’s apartment, but I think I’m going to stay put. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how cheap the place I live now is, so I won’t. Never mind, like any good woman I can’t keep new of a bargain to myself. The total, including all bills and internet when we finally get it: 300,000 pesos, or about $132. The only downside is that I don’t have a guest room for visitors, but we will work something out! There’s always the huge living room, where I could sleep if I had an important visitor like the momma J , and hotels here are very cheap. I also know of several sweet older women who rent out rooms in their homes for about $15 a night, breakfast included! This girl’s apartment was charming, though, and close to school. Still.
On to the main course: an invitation-only event at the Ambassador’s house to celebrate the naming of a new Fulbright director. The bulletproof hedge in front of the house was only a preamble to the poshness we were about to experience. We didn’t let the chandeliers cloud our judgment, though – I was first in line for food (first!) so we got an entire room full of gilt armchairs and slightly strange American flag-inspired artwork all to ourselves.
I met a literary agent and we had a great talk about changes in the city of Bogotá, its mayors, and TransMilenio. There’s an international theater festival taking place here March 31 – April 17th, and she invited me to go along with her so I would know which companies were worth seeing. Russian theater in Bogotá, Colombia! This place rocks.
Finally, the ambassador “dropped by.” I can’t tell you what we talked about, top secret you know (okay, it was mostly buses), but he was charming and single, for all you older diplomatic types (I’m guessing he could go younger, too).
My roommate got into a discussion of US policy vis-à-vis Colombia with him, an actual discussion. When I heard her broach the subject I was glad we’d eaten and drunk, since I didn’t expect us to last much longer after that. But they talked for quite a while, and she found him surprisingly willing to listen to her point of view. I don’t think any of the Fulbright students here are in favor of current policy, so he probably wasn’t terribly surprised, but regardless, I was proud of her.
It was a long day, from 5 AM to midnight. I hope every Tuesday is like this, but with more sleeping and web chat. I missed my internet messenger!
Things to which I have not yet grown accustomed:
Armed guards on every corner, but only near the rich kids’ university, banks, and bridges. They are young and have red, exhausted eyes.
Covers missing from every utility hole in the city except those that have been welded shut. You do learn quickly – look down, look up, look down, always be looking.
Toothless children too old to be awaiting their second set.
Lines a city block long that wind up at the phone company’s door.
The explosion of humanity that awaits in wide plazas and on narrow streets.
Sudden mountains, verdant and so near. They recede for most of the day, then reappear at sunset when the waning glow catches the silvery branches of the trees that still cover their upper slopes. The city encroaches quickly, tries to stop and catch its breath – will it be able?
Covers missing from every utility hole in the city except those that have been welded shut. You do learn quickly – look down, look up, look down, always be looking.
Toothless children too old to be awaiting their second set.
Lines a city block long that wind up at the phone company’s door.
The explosion of humanity that awaits in wide plazas and on narrow streets.
Sudden mountains, verdant and so near. They recede for most of the day, then reappear at sunset when the waning glow catches the silvery branches of the trees that still cover their upper slopes. The city encroaches quickly, tries to stop and catch its breath – will it be able?
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Sunday Shopping
My arms feel tight today with Saturday’s sun. Bogotá is 8,000 some odd feet above sea level, and surprisingly, to me anyway, that makes a real difference. I’ll be paying for that afternoon in the park all week.
This morning was sunny again, unusually so, they tell me. I read about bus rapid transit in Latin America and swung in the living room hammock (I love this apartment!) all morning. In the afternoon, I took a taxi to Usaquen, a market on the north side of town, with a Norwegian friend of my sister and her Colombian boyfriend. Silje insisted I call a taxi rather than simply hailing one outside the apartment. Apparently all of her foreign co-workers have been victims of taxi robberies. Naturally, it was the scariest ride I’ve had here yet, even though I knew for the first time that I was in no danger of being separated from my wallet and backpack. I prayed the whole way, appropriately enough for a Sunday, but landed at the Hacienda Santa Barbara (a real hacienda from years ago) entrance with my heart in my mouth. The combination of extreme recklessness and a Geo Metros did not inspire much confidence.
In Bogotá, the north end is ritzy and green, while the south is where most of the displaced population of Colombia lives, in shacks on hillsides. I haven’t been south of the city center yet, although I live further south than most Americans do. Much of the security briefing we sat through at the American Embassy involved admonitions not to live or visit places between this number street and that. Anything above 100th street is crazy rich, or so I think from my slot on 24th street. But I really liked Usaquen – it was an open-air market, what Liz and I were expecting to find yesterday at San Andresito (we got a strip mall with a million tennis shoes instead). There were lots of household goods made from bamboo and wool, most of them fairly artistic, great paella cooked in enormous cast-iron pots and served with sharp vinegary tomatoes and tender pork loins. Yum.
Silje remarked on something I found interesting, given that I’ve definitely been nervous here once or twice – that most people who had only been here a week still had that jumpy green look to them, whereas I seemed fairly relaxed. That was nice to hear – my goal has been to be careful and stay safe without panicking or being overly cautious – wouldn’t want to miss anything worth experiencing out of fear. I’m not sure about the whole taxi thing – today’s nerve-shattering experience is not one I hope to repeat, but it was reassuring to have the code and know that at least someone knew exactly where I was.
Afterwards we waited for a Germania bus together. Today was Sunday, so Ciclovia was in full swing – several of the main roads are closed for cyclists, which tended to be mostly families with small children where we were. Because of this, I was initially charmed by what I thought was normal youthful exuberance – kids doing cartwheels in front of cars stopped at a red light. It was chastening and disheartening to hear that these children were putting on a show for coins. Silje thought the two nearest us were probably not street kids by their clothing – a small boy juggled a single one ball, and a girl, his sister perhaps, danced with abandon until the light turned green and the cars drove off. The bus came, and we clambered aboard, the kids getting smaller in the distance as the bus lurched away.
This morning was sunny again, unusually so, they tell me. I read about bus rapid transit in Latin America and swung in the living room hammock (I love this apartment!) all morning. In the afternoon, I took a taxi to Usaquen, a market on the north side of town, with a Norwegian friend of my sister and her Colombian boyfriend. Silje insisted I call a taxi rather than simply hailing one outside the apartment. Apparently all of her foreign co-workers have been victims of taxi robberies. Naturally, it was the scariest ride I’ve had here yet, even though I knew for the first time that I was in no danger of being separated from my wallet and backpack. I prayed the whole way, appropriately enough for a Sunday, but landed at the Hacienda Santa Barbara (a real hacienda from years ago) entrance with my heart in my mouth. The combination of extreme recklessness and a Geo Metros did not inspire much confidence.
In Bogotá, the north end is ritzy and green, while the south is where most of the displaced population of Colombia lives, in shacks on hillsides. I haven’t been south of the city center yet, although I live further south than most Americans do. Much of the security briefing we sat through at the American Embassy involved admonitions not to live or visit places between this number street and that. Anything above 100th street is crazy rich, or so I think from my slot on 24th street. But I really liked Usaquen – it was an open-air market, what Liz and I were expecting to find yesterday at San Andresito (we got a strip mall with a million tennis shoes instead). There were lots of household goods made from bamboo and wool, most of them fairly artistic, great paella cooked in enormous cast-iron pots and served with sharp vinegary tomatoes and tender pork loins. Yum.
Silje remarked on something I found interesting, given that I’ve definitely been nervous here once or twice – that most people who had only been here a week still had that jumpy green look to them, whereas I seemed fairly relaxed. That was nice to hear – my goal has been to be careful and stay safe without panicking or being overly cautious – wouldn’t want to miss anything worth experiencing out of fear. I’m not sure about the whole taxi thing – today’s nerve-shattering experience is not one I hope to repeat, but it was reassuring to have the code and know that at least someone knew exactly where I was.
Afterwards we waited for a Germania bus together. Today was Sunday, so Ciclovia was in full swing – several of the main roads are closed for cyclists, which tended to be mostly families with small children where we were. Because of this, I was initially charmed by what I thought was normal youthful exuberance – kids doing cartwheels in front of cars stopped at a red light. It was chastening and disheartening to hear that these children were putting on a show for coins. Silje thought the two nearest us were probably not street kids by their clothing – a small boy juggled a single one ball, and a girl, his sister perhaps, danced with abandon until the light turned green and the cars drove off. The bus came, and we clambered aboard, the kids getting smaller in the distance as the bus lurched away.
home, tiny sweet home...
I haven't taken any photos of actual Colombia or Bogota so far -- not a lot of people running around with digital cameras here...I'm saving that for after my initial, security-briefing induced caution has worn off.
My¨bed¨-- Apparently there is a neighborhood for every kind of household good here -- I really need to find the barrio camas!
my desk -- the room is really pleasant.
the view from my window
where the wild things live (the closet)
the other side of the window
Saturday, January 21, 2006
happy day
I’m so happy today...if you know why, why then, you know it’s true.
Recent events: last night I met some of Liz’s friends, peace workers and journalists, all very inspiring. We ate spaghetti and meatballs, drank cheap wine, and laughed about nothing. Amy, one of the women in their shared apartment, had given up everything (in the American sense) to be here. I identified with her – said she was just plain bored, couldn’t find an interesting job in her field, had been gardening and helping film a documentary that was never finished for the past few years. She quit her jobs, cashed in her savings, and with the help of community and parents signed up as a volunteer in Colombia.
She and her roommate, an arresting personality from Britain, work with an NGO resettling people displaced by the conflict. As Amy described their experience – a small group of extremely dedicated volunteers whose contacts and meetings access the very top levels of government here – I thought about small group theory. She had ascribed the influence they have been able to exert to their being foreign nationals in Colombia, but back in the world of Atlanta transit (geek hour, sorry), we had a similar experience.
Although the scale and relative seriousness of the issues are obviously different I think the influence varies more with the quality of information the group has to offer and the dedication it demonstrates, more so than the absolute number of members or financial resources it can access. At least, that’s what I hope.
Today I am burned, sun-tired, and content. We got up this morning, Liz made breakfast (platanos maduros con huevos, for the gourmands, with mochas) while I cleaned up a bit. I love our kitchen – it’s bright and sunny, with nooks and crannies and the sweetest table. Perfect for morning coffee klatches.
We headed for Parque Simon Bolivar around 11 am. We got completely lost, but I got to see the campus of La Nacional, the public university here. The students, professors and staff are striking now to protest proposed changes. I don’t know enough to describe them yet, but it’s the longest strike they’ve had in some years. The quality of the students and education there is supposed to be among, if not the, best in Colombia. I’m thinking if Los Andes is too elitist for me (and I think it may well be), I may take classes at La Nacional when (if) they begin in March.
Anyway, back to today – the park is soulfully beautiful. Lush green, lake with paddleboats and kayaks, the greatest playground ever (after Piedmont Park of course), sport fields, fruit vendors, shade and paths, everything you need to have a gorgeous afternoon with great people. Many of the Fulbright students were there – I haven’t met a single one I don’t think is great yet. Sarah, who plays on Los Andes’ rugby team, invited me to give it a try – Julia will be so proud! We talked about our projects, life in Colombia, and pirated DVDs...
Later Liz and I went to San Andresito, an area known for its market. We were expecting something more open-air but it ended up being almost exactly like the Buford Highway flea markets, only even more crowded and lively. I bought a bundle of cherries and a fruit called mangosina – delicious. San Andres appears to sell mostly sneakers – I could get into some serious trouble there.
Recent events: last night I met some of Liz’s friends, peace workers and journalists, all very inspiring. We ate spaghetti and meatballs, drank cheap wine, and laughed about nothing. Amy, one of the women in their shared apartment, had given up everything (in the American sense) to be here. I identified with her – said she was just plain bored, couldn’t find an interesting job in her field, had been gardening and helping film a documentary that was never finished for the past few years. She quit her jobs, cashed in her savings, and with the help of community and parents signed up as a volunteer in Colombia.
She and her roommate, an arresting personality from Britain, work with an NGO resettling people displaced by the conflict. As Amy described their experience – a small group of extremely dedicated volunteers whose contacts and meetings access the very top levels of government here – I thought about small group theory. She had ascribed the influence they have been able to exert to their being foreign nationals in Colombia, but back in the world of Atlanta transit (geek hour, sorry), we had a similar experience.
Although the scale and relative seriousness of the issues are obviously different I think the influence varies more with the quality of information the group has to offer and the dedication it demonstrates, more so than the absolute number of members or financial resources it can access. At least, that’s what I hope.
Today I am burned, sun-tired, and content. We got up this morning, Liz made breakfast (platanos maduros con huevos, for the gourmands, with mochas) while I cleaned up a bit. I love our kitchen – it’s bright and sunny, with nooks and crannies and the sweetest table. Perfect for morning coffee klatches.
We headed for Parque Simon Bolivar around 11 am. We got completely lost, but I got to see the campus of La Nacional, the public university here. The students, professors and staff are striking now to protest proposed changes. I don’t know enough to describe them yet, but it’s the longest strike they’ve had in some years. The quality of the students and education there is supposed to be among, if not the, best in Colombia. I’m thinking if Los Andes is too elitist for me (and I think it may well be), I may take classes at La Nacional when (if) they begin in March.
Anyway, back to today – the park is soulfully beautiful. Lush green, lake with paddleboats and kayaks, the greatest playground ever (after Piedmont Park of course), sport fields, fruit vendors, shade and paths, everything you need to have a gorgeous afternoon with great people. Many of the Fulbright students were there – I haven’t met a single one I don’t think is great yet. Sarah, who plays on Los Andes’ rugby team, invited me to give it a try – Julia will be so proud! We talked about our projects, life in Colombia, and pirated DVDs...
Later Liz and I went to San Andresito, an area known for its market. We were expecting something more open-air but it ended up being almost exactly like the Buford Highway flea markets, only even more crowded and lively. I bought a bundle of cherries and a fruit called mangosina – delicious. San Andres appears to sell mostly sneakers – I could get into some serious trouble there.
Day Three: the numbness wears off
Day Three: Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Today started auspiciously, with a “security briefing” at the American Embassy. I fell asleep halfway through but when I drifted back in we were still talking about being aware of our surroundings. I would have felt better if they’d just said, “we have no idea how to keep you safe. Best of luck out there.” I also could have lived without the advice: “don’t be a target.” Gee, so that’s what I was doing wrong. The Embassy people are known for being a bit scary, though – their employees are not even allowed to eat at sidewalk cafes. In Bogotá, that’s like being condemned to eternally bad seating. Ah well, at least the air is cleaner inside.
I can’t get over the swarms of buses. Even for a bus hugger like myself, it’s a bit much. And outside of the TransMilenio system (more on that later, probably more than you want to hear…), none of them have any kind of emission control. The result is a spew of exhaust and smoke at every stoplight. The penny competition for passengers (drivers get paid by how many they pick up, so letting people off is not as high a priority) makes every ride, not to mention walking, pure adventure. I couldn’t begin to count the number of times I could taste my heart as it jumped into my throat today. But I’m happy so long as I’m not doing the driving.
On my way home tonight I looked around me at one point, and there were no fewer than six other buses, yes six, on all sides. If the windows had been open, I could have touched a rider on the bus next to mine without reaching. The city is overrun with these tall, leaning, belching, sputtering and quaking creatures. And now that I realize that, I no longer have to ask the question, “who runs the city?”
But the convenience of having so many buses is amazing. This afternoon I walked down to the corner (well, I was walked – they’re really holding our hands here, which is nice but tiring) and got on the second bus I saw, thirty seconds (if that) after reaching the intersection. That bus, identifiable by a sign reading “VillaLuz,” took me all the way to the Biblioteca Virgilio Barco.
Simply put, it was otherworldly. I’m a sucker for libraries, but this one was different. In the distance, but seemingly closer than when in the city center, loom the mountains, gray and green and ever so slightly menacing. Knowing, they penetrate the clouds to reflect an alien glow on the library. Weirdly twisted paths, some dry and others cut out to let water flow along the walks, lead a circuitous route to the door, below gardens and more fountains. These are half-full and slowly winding as if they hadn’t decided quite whether to get out of bed yet.
The library itself is mostly made of a rich deep brown wood. The paths continue through the library entrance, snaking upstairs and out onto a roof that resembles a fanciful high school football stadium, minus the grunting and groaning, although it did seem to be a favorite couples hangout (sorry, so bad!) As I sat on a rounded concrete wall overlooking the city, I was overcome with a sense of the sacred and the profane intermingling. I shivered and just let it wash over me. I wish you could have been there.
Today started auspiciously, with a “security briefing” at the American Embassy. I fell asleep halfway through but when I drifted back in we were still talking about being aware of our surroundings. I would have felt better if they’d just said, “we have no idea how to keep you safe. Best of luck out there.” I also could have lived without the advice: “don’t be a target.” Gee, so that’s what I was doing wrong. The Embassy people are known for being a bit scary, though – their employees are not even allowed to eat at sidewalk cafes. In Bogotá, that’s like being condemned to eternally bad seating. Ah well, at least the air is cleaner inside.
I can’t get over the swarms of buses. Even for a bus hugger like myself, it’s a bit much. And outside of the TransMilenio system (more on that later, probably more than you want to hear…), none of them have any kind of emission control. The result is a spew of exhaust and smoke at every stoplight. The penny competition for passengers (drivers get paid by how many they pick up, so letting people off is not as high a priority) makes every ride, not to mention walking, pure adventure. I couldn’t begin to count the number of times I could taste my heart as it jumped into my throat today. But I’m happy so long as I’m not doing the driving.
On my way home tonight I looked around me at one point, and there were no fewer than six other buses, yes six, on all sides. If the windows had been open, I could have touched a rider on the bus next to mine without reaching. The city is overrun with these tall, leaning, belching, sputtering and quaking creatures. And now that I realize that, I no longer have to ask the question, “who runs the city?”
But the convenience of having so many buses is amazing. This afternoon I walked down to the corner (well, I was walked – they’re really holding our hands here, which is nice but tiring) and got on the second bus I saw, thirty seconds (if that) after reaching the intersection. That bus, identifiable by a sign reading “VillaLuz,” took me all the way to the Biblioteca Virgilio Barco.
Simply put, it was otherworldly. I’m a sucker for libraries, but this one was different. In the distance, but seemingly closer than when in the city center, loom the mountains, gray and green and ever so slightly menacing. Knowing, they penetrate the clouds to reflect an alien glow on the library. Weirdly twisted paths, some dry and others cut out to let water flow along the walks, lead a circuitous route to the door, below gardens and more fountains. These are half-full and slowly winding as if they hadn’t decided quite whether to get out of bed yet.
The library itself is mostly made of a rich deep brown wood. The paths continue through the library entrance, snaking upstairs and out onto a roof that resembles a fanciful high school football stadium, minus the grunting and groaning, although it did seem to be a favorite couples hangout (sorry, so bad!) As I sat on a rounded concrete wall overlooking the city, I was overcome with a sense of the sacred and the profane intermingling. I shivered and just let it wash over me. I wish you could have been there.
Friday, January 20, 2006
although the title of this blog is perhaps a bit less true in Bogota than other places...
I moved into Liz’s apartment, which she shares with a Colombia law student, Thursday after three nights at Susana’s. Susana was wonderfully helpful and kind, but I needed to get into something more permanent before classes started. I had no idea how much paperwork and organizational stuff I would have to do this week, so my assumptions about how long it would take to find an apartment were all off. There is a loft opening up this week in La Candelaria, which is the colonial part of town located right next to my university, so I may end up moving one more time, but for now I’m fine here. Their apartment is incredibly charming and comfortable – see photos below! I’m lucky to have the option of staying here – it’s also super cheap and fairly centrally located.
So far I’ve taken only busetas (small, smelly buses) and cabs here. I haven’t even been able to use TransMilenio, although every time I see it go by it’s completely packed. Last night I read an article in La Semana about the problems the federal government has had translated TransMilenio’s popularity and relative success to other cities in Colombia. The transportation scene is certainly not as rosy as I’d been led to believe, but there is some merit to the BRT model for the developing world, as anyone who’s been stuck behind of the busetas with no catalytic converter can attest.
The layout of the older parts of the city are what make the transportation work so well – you can walk to almost everything you need in your own neighborhood, and it’s ridiculously east to catch a bus to places out of walking distance. Busetas cost 1000 pesos, which is about 27 cents. And for places that require transfers, especially if you are traveling with another person, it often makes more sense to hail a taxi. This also is inexpensive and incredibly convenient – most days I just step out of the door and there one is. A taxi to the Fulbright commission costs about 4000 pesos, maybe $1.50.
So far I’ve taken only busetas (small, smelly buses) and cabs here. I haven’t even been able to use TransMilenio, although every time I see it go by it’s completely packed. Last night I read an article in La Semana about the problems the federal government has had translated TransMilenio’s popularity and relative success to other cities in Colombia. The transportation scene is certainly not as rosy as I’d been led to believe, but there is some merit to the BRT model for the developing world, as anyone who’s been stuck behind of the busetas with no catalytic converter can attest.
The layout of the older parts of the city are what make the transportation work so well – you can walk to almost everything you need in your own neighborhood, and it’s ridiculously east to catch a bus to places out of walking distance. Busetas cost 1000 pesos, which is about 27 cents. And for places that require transfers, especially if you are traveling with another person, it often makes more sense to hail a taxi. This also is inexpensive and incredibly convenient – most days I just step out of the door and there one is. A taxi to the Fulbright commission costs about 4000 pesos, maybe $1.50.
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