I know there are supposed to be 2 more parts, but I decided I can't write reflectively while I'm here. Also, one of the three parts will be written by Warren, and he keeps refusing to be inspired.
In a 2 1/2 hours, Warren and I will board a plane and leave Pereira. We are going to Cartagena today, and then heading home on July 1st. Parents, if you haven't gotten a call from us by 1:30 p.m. on Wednesday, our flight is either delayed or there is a problem.
It's sad to leave Pereira, it really is. I've cried, Stella's cried, and Ricky's mom of the Panella farm definitely cried. So did Diana... it's been a sad time.
But the sad times won't last for long... Warren and I have both accepted teaching positions at LPV that begin in January (when their school year begins) and end in November. So hooray! We're coming back! I hope it's okay with you that my posts will continue from Colombia next year, instead of South Korea.
As motivation for getting up at 4:15 a.m., I've decided to write a quick list of all the things I won't miss about Colombia, since the list of what I will miss is quite long and would take at least 3 hours.
1. I won't miss how the water changes from hot to cold in the shower without warning. Or the lack of hot water in the shower, for that matter.
2. I won't miss watching the Simpsons in Spanish.
3. I won't miss the inability to do my own laundry or the lack of a dryer.
4. I definitely won't miss the taxi drivers here. I'm sure their wonderful people, but my inability to speak Spanish frustrates them.
5. I won't miss the Colombians' meat-based diet. Warren will.
6. I won't miss the un-paved roads after it rains.
7. I won't miss the people that try to open the door to the taxis at Exito in return for payment.
8. I won't miss not having my own kitchen.
9. I won't miss the bugs.
10. I repeat, I definitely will not miss the bugs. That includes the moths that fly into my room and drive me crazy, and the mosquitos that insist on biting me frequently.
Basically, everything else and everyone else, I'll miss. At least until January!
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Part 1: Reflections
This entry is the first in a three-part series of blogs that will address the more serious aspects of my time here.
"Colombia? Is it safe?" was invariably the reaction I got when I told people I was spending the summer teaching in Pereira, Colombia. (That was after I distinguished between Columbia, Missouri and Colombia, the country in South America.) I always answered that it was safe, and that the violence was only in remote sections of Colombia, and that only wealthy government workers were kidnapped.
The fact that I had to explain away kidnappings and drug violence multiple times was, to the say the least, slightly unsettling. Although I love to travel, I'm most definitely a weekend-in-Vienna-with-lots-of-culture-and-wine kind of girl, and I get worried about my safety on the MetroLink in St. Louis. Before I arrived in Colombia, my Spanish was limited to Mexican restaurant menus and "Donde esta el bano?" (Where is the bathroom?). In addition, I had watched the movie Maria Full of Grace with Warren last fall (Mom, if you haven't seen it, don't watch it), and I'll admit that the scenes from that movie were playing over and over again in my head on our flight to Pereira.
Let me say this now, and please pay attention: The real Colombia is not the place that we hear about in the news or read about on the U.S. State Department's Travel Warnings. Drug dealers don't stand on every corner, and people aren't cowering on the streets, worried about cartel violence. This country is seductively charming, possibly due to the obvious mix of European and native cultures, definitely due to the unassuming tropical beauty, and helped along by the rhythmic and passionate Spanish language. It's challenging to explain the natural allure of Colombia. I'm not sure that the English language even has words to describe this place, because English is such a controlled and deliberate language. Nothing in Colombia feels controlled or deliberate. I think the only way one could truly understand Colombia without visiting is by listening to the various styles of music from this country. Each region has its own style, and it is in the music that one can find the emotion, the rhythm, and the pride that seems to ooze from everything from the flowers to the three-year-olds here.
Despite the idyllic location, I would never have learned to love Pereira and Colombia if I had just been a tourist. As a tourist, it is difficult to meet locals, but it is almost impossible to develop close friendships with them. Because I was lucky enough to have the chance to work at LPV, I was able to see a side of Colombia that many people will never see: the people. I have traveled throughout Europe and the United States, and I can honestly say I've never met people as genuinely kind and welcoming as the Colombians are. Don't believe me? Today the school accountant drove us home after school. Not impressed yet? She waited an hour for us and drove 30 minutes out of her way to take us home, even though we were able to take a schoolbus. We were even SITTING ON THE BUS, waiting for it to leave, when she pulled up and waved us into her car. Why would she do this? Because she knew that we were tired, and because the bus trip takes a "long" time.
The people here are also fiercely proud to be Colombian. Americans may be proud, but I don't think we even come close to the pride of the Colombians. For example, we recently gave a writing test to a group of seventeen 9th graders. Please imagine a group of 9th graders in the United States. If you asked them to write about their favorite country and why it is their favorite, how many of them really would write about the United States? In 9th grade, most American students are dreaming about France, Italy, Australia, Japan, or some other exotic destination they've learned about in school. Here, however, 14 out of seventeen students wrote that their favorite country was Colombia. COLOMBIA! A place known for its violence and drugs! They wrote that it was beautiful, that the weather was wonderful, that there are lots of interesting animals and delicious fruits, and that the people are nice. When was the last time that you heard an American 14-year-old praising the United States because it has delicious corn and amazing white-tailed deer?
People here are genuinely interested in us. They are constantly asking us questions, the most common ones being: 1. Do we like Colombia? 2. What is our impression of Colombia? 3. What did we think about Colombia before we got here? I struggle to answer these questions. I love Colombia, but I worry about giving my honest opinion of this country and my thoughts prior to my arrival. I mean, Colombia is a recovering country. It is struggling to come back after years of horrific and wide-spread violence and government corruption. Slums are spread throughout Pereira, and, perhaps what still shocks me the most, I have a maid.
For someone as thoroughly middle-class as me, having a maid is honestly just as difficult to become accustomed to as I imagine sleeping on a dirt floor would be. I'm sure my mother is rolling her eyes right now, but it is WEIRD to have someone make my bed and cook for me every day. My mother thinks I treated her like a maid when I was young, but there is a very distinct difference in eating a dinner made by your mother while she sits at the table with you and eating a dinner cooked by the maid while she eats on a wooden chair in the laundry room. (Believe me, I've tried to get Dora to sit at the table with us, but she always refuses.) When I admitted this to a group of students the other day, they stared at me in shock. They couldn't grasp the concept that people in the United States don't usually have maids. One girl stared at me with eyes full of horror and asked quietly, "But who cleans the bathrooms?" When I said that we clean them, the entire group went "Ewww," as if cleaning a bathroom was the most disgusting thing a person could do.
The obvious divide between the haves and the have-nots here is probably the thing about Colombia that I find the most revolting and uncomfortable. On our way home, we pass a neighborhood that literally smells like manure. The smells comes from the nearby stream, which people use to both wash their clothes and to go to the bathroom. The smell from the stream always makes me nauseous. The school has really tried to shelter us from the poor. I have very little knowledge about what life is like in the slums. I know the minimum wage here is around $200 per month. I know that many poor students do not receive a proper education, and that anyone that can afford it sends their children to private schools. But my life here is spent solely among the wealthy. It's very surreal, and I often feel like I'm missing a huge part of the culture. I would very much like to experience the grittier side of this country instead of only witnessing the carefully cleaned and manicured lifestyles to which I'm allowed access.
Of course, I admit I'm hesitant to jump on a bus and hop off at the first sign of worn-down buildings and homeless people. It's not only unsafe, it seems almost cruel to walk through poverty-stricken areas while I flaunt my white-middle-class-American-college-educated-self. I have done nothing to deserve or earn my position in life, and I don't understand why I grew up sheltered and loved, with everything I've ever needed, while the children here often go without shoes, healthy food, or even a comfortable place to sleep. It's so incredibly unfair and unjust, and I want to help, to do something, but the problems seem overwhelming and culturally enforced. If there is a solution, I'm certainly not smart enough to come up with it.
In the end, Colombia is what it is, and I'm grateful for the chance I've had to experience it. Americans were impressed, if concerned, when I told them I was going to Colombia. Colombians are just amazed that Warren and I were brave enough to venture here despite the travel warnings. People don't come to Colombia because it's "so dangerous," and Colombians really appreciate that we were willing to visit their country. If they were smart, they would have sent us home as quickly as possible. As soon as Americans figure out how colorful and pleasant this country is, it will be transformed into one of those horrid tourist-trap places and lose its original charm. Until then, if you aren't too scared of breath-taking scenery, insanely gorgeous flowers, wildly different and tasty food, and truly caring people, you just might want to visit this country yourself. Just be careful--the hibiscus and orchids can be quite frightening!
"Colombia? Is it safe?" was invariably the reaction I got when I told people I was spending the summer teaching in Pereira, Colombia. (That was after I distinguished between Columbia, Missouri and Colombia, the country in South America.) I always answered that it was safe, and that the violence was only in remote sections of Colombia, and that only wealthy government workers were kidnapped.
The fact that I had to explain away kidnappings and drug violence multiple times was, to the say the least, slightly unsettling. Although I love to travel, I'm most definitely a weekend-in-Vienna-with-lots-of-culture-and-wine kind of girl, and I get worried about my safety on the MetroLink in St. Louis. Before I arrived in Colombia, my Spanish was limited to Mexican restaurant menus and "Donde esta el bano?" (Where is the bathroom?). In addition, I had watched the movie Maria Full of Grace with Warren last fall (Mom, if you haven't seen it, don't watch it), and I'll admit that the scenes from that movie were playing over and over again in my head on our flight to Pereira.
Let me say this now, and please pay attention: The real Colombia is not the place that we hear about in the news or read about on the U.S. State Department's Travel Warnings. Drug dealers don't stand on every corner, and people aren't cowering on the streets, worried about cartel violence. This country is seductively charming, possibly due to the obvious mix of European and native cultures, definitely due to the unassuming tropical beauty, and helped along by the rhythmic and passionate Spanish language. It's challenging to explain the natural allure of Colombia. I'm not sure that the English language even has words to describe this place, because English is such a controlled and deliberate language. Nothing in Colombia feels controlled or deliberate. I think the only way one could truly understand Colombia without visiting is by listening to the various styles of music from this country. Each region has its own style, and it is in the music that one can find the emotion, the rhythm, and the pride that seems to ooze from everything from the flowers to the three-year-olds here.
Despite the idyllic location, I would never have learned to love Pereira and Colombia if I had just been a tourist. As a tourist, it is difficult to meet locals, but it is almost impossible to develop close friendships with them. Because I was lucky enough to have the chance to work at LPV, I was able to see a side of Colombia that many people will never see: the people. I have traveled throughout Europe and the United States, and I can honestly say I've never met people as genuinely kind and welcoming as the Colombians are. Don't believe me? Today the school accountant drove us home after school. Not impressed yet? She waited an hour for us and drove 30 minutes out of her way to take us home, even though we were able to take a schoolbus. We were even SITTING ON THE BUS, waiting for it to leave, when she pulled up and waved us into her car. Why would she do this? Because she knew that we were tired, and because the bus trip takes a "long" time.
The people here are also fiercely proud to be Colombian. Americans may be proud, but I don't think we even come close to the pride of the Colombians. For example, we recently gave a writing test to a group of seventeen 9th graders. Please imagine a group of 9th graders in the United States. If you asked them to write about their favorite country and why it is their favorite, how many of them really would write about the United States? In 9th grade, most American students are dreaming about France, Italy, Australia, Japan, or some other exotic destination they've learned about in school. Here, however, 14 out of seventeen students wrote that their favorite country was Colombia. COLOMBIA! A place known for its violence and drugs! They wrote that it was beautiful, that the weather was wonderful, that there are lots of interesting animals and delicious fruits, and that the people are nice. When was the last time that you heard an American 14-year-old praising the United States because it has delicious corn and amazing white-tailed deer?
People here are genuinely interested in us. They are constantly asking us questions, the most common ones being: 1. Do we like Colombia? 2. What is our impression of Colombia? 3. What did we think about Colombia before we got here? I struggle to answer these questions. I love Colombia, but I worry about giving my honest opinion of this country and my thoughts prior to my arrival. I mean, Colombia is a recovering country. It is struggling to come back after years of horrific and wide-spread violence and government corruption. Slums are spread throughout Pereira, and, perhaps what still shocks me the most, I have a maid.
For someone as thoroughly middle-class as me, having a maid is honestly just as difficult to become accustomed to as I imagine sleeping on a dirt floor would be. I'm sure my mother is rolling her eyes right now, but it is WEIRD to have someone make my bed and cook for me every day. My mother thinks I treated her like a maid when I was young, but there is a very distinct difference in eating a dinner made by your mother while she sits at the table with you and eating a dinner cooked by the maid while she eats on a wooden chair in the laundry room. (Believe me, I've tried to get Dora to sit at the table with us, but she always refuses.) When I admitted this to a group of students the other day, they stared at me in shock. They couldn't grasp the concept that people in the United States don't usually have maids. One girl stared at me with eyes full of horror and asked quietly, "But who cleans the bathrooms?" When I said that we clean them, the entire group went "Ewww," as if cleaning a bathroom was the most disgusting thing a person could do.
The obvious divide between the haves and the have-nots here is probably the thing about Colombia that I find the most revolting and uncomfortable. On our way home, we pass a neighborhood that literally smells like manure. The smells comes from the nearby stream, which people use to both wash their clothes and to go to the bathroom. The smell from the stream always makes me nauseous. The school has really tried to shelter us from the poor. I have very little knowledge about what life is like in the slums. I know the minimum wage here is around $200 per month. I know that many poor students do not receive a proper education, and that anyone that can afford it sends their children to private schools. But my life here is spent solely among the wealthy. It's very surreal, and I often feel like I'm missing a huge part of the culture. I would very much like to experience the grittier side of this country instead of only witnessing the carefully cleaned and manicured lifestyles to which I'm allowed access.
Of course, I admit I'm hesitant to jump on a bus and hop off at the first sign of worn-down buildings and homeless people. It's not only unsafe, it seems almost cruel to walk through poverty-stricken areas while I flaunt my white-middle-class-American-college-educated-self. I have done nothing to deserve or earn my position in life, and I don't understand why I grew up sheltered and loved, with everything I've ever needed, while the children here often go without shoes, healthy food, or even a comfortable place to sleep. It's so incredibly unfair and unjust, and I want to help, to do something, but the problems seem overwhelming and culturally enforced. If there is a solution, I'm certainly not smart enough to come up with it.
In the end, Colombia is what it is, and I'm grateful for the chance I've had to experience it. Americans were impressed, if concerned, when I told them I was going to Colombia. Colombians are just amazed that Warren and I were brave enough to venture here despite the travel warnings. People don't come to Colombia because it's "so dangerous," and Colombians really appreciate that we were willing to visit their country. If they were smart, they would have sent us home as quickly as possible. As soon as Americans figure out how colorful and pleasant this country is, it will be transformed into one of those horrid tourist-trap places and lose its original charm. Until then, if you aren't too scared of breath-taking scenery, insanely gorgeous flowers, wildly different and tasty food, and truly caring people, you just might want to visit this country yourself. Just be careful--the hibiscus and orchids can be quite frightening!
Saturday, June 20, 2009
A Weekend at the Finca
So today, we are going to the finca. A finca is a country home, and in Colombia almost everyone with money has a finca and an apartment in the city. It's totally normal. I'm definitely guessing here, but I think that this comes from the fact that during the violent periods in Colombia, it was too dangerous to live on a farm. Farm owners here do have money, especially compared to the poor, and the FARC or paramilitaries would kidnap the land-owners for money to support their causes. The farmers were told it wasn't safe for them, so many of them abandoned their farms and moved to the cities. Now, their lives take place in the city--this is where their children grew up, this is where the best schools are, and this is where their friends are. Of course, as any good Midwestern girl knows, you can move a farmer to the city, but you can't stop them from thinking and talking about the farm. (If you doubt this, please talk to my Uncle Jerry, who only spent his summers on a farm but wants to be a farmer when he grows up. He is almost 50.) So now that it is safe, people are either going back to their farms or buying homes in the country. I don't blame them--the countryside in the Eje de Cafetera (Coffee Zone) is beautiful.
We are going to Stella's finca. We've been there before, briefly, and it is beautiful. I'm looking forward to grilling, relaxing in the jacuzzi, and drinking Stella's famous coconut limonade (lime-ade). It's made with coconut cream (she gets hers from Thailand because it is creamier than the coconut cream from Colombia), rum, lime juice, and ice. Let's just say it's the most delicious beverage I've ever had.
Monday is a holiday, and we are going to El Parque del Cafe, which is sort of like an amusement park dedicated to coffee.
This is our last weekend in Pereira. A week from now, we should be in Cartagena, and we'll be home on July 1. It's strange because I feel like we've just started to get settled in Colombia. I'm learning the roads, and my Spanish has drastically improved. I think we've also become better teachers.
When I got sick a few weeks ago, I became homesick. I stayed homesick until we returned from Bogota, where I was definitely more homesick than I've ever been. It's funny--the only time I ever got homesick when I studied abroad was when I spent a week in Prague, another city I didn't enjoy. Coming back to Pereira was wonderful, and now I'm not ready to leave. I love summers in the United States, and I'm excited we'll be back for the 4th of July, but I've really learned to love Colombia and all the people here, and it will be hard to leave them.
I hope everyone is well. I know I owe a lot of people emails--I haven't forgotten any of you! Despite what sounds like luxurious weekends, we really do work hard here, and during the week it is hard to find time to do anything but sleep. (Okay, fine, I also watch Family Guy with subtitles. The selection of television shows here is a little depressing, but sometimes I just need to do something mindless.) I'll do my best to email you before we leave, but if I don't manage it I promise you'll hear from me the first week we are back in the States!
We are going to Stella's finca. We've been there before, briefly, and it is beautiful. I'm looking forward to grilling, relaxing in the jacuzzi, and drinking Stella's famous coconut limonade (lime-ade). It's made with coconut cream (she gets hers from Thailand because it is creamier than the coconut cream from Colombia), rum, lime juice, and ice. Let's just say it's the most delicious beverage I've ever had.
Monday is a holiday, and we are going to El Parque del Cafe, which is sort of like an amusement park dedicated to coffee.
This is our last weekend in Pereira. A week from now, we should be in Cartagena, and we'll be home on July 1. It's strange because I feel like we've just started to get settled in Colombia. I'm learning the roads, and my Spanish has drastically improved. I think we've also become better teachers.
When I got sick a few weeks ago, I became homesick. I stayed homesick until we returned from Bogota, where I was definitely more homesick than I've ever been. It's funny--the only time I ever got homesick when I studied abroad was when I spent a week in Prague, another city I didn't enjoy. Coming back to Pereira was wonderful, and now I'm not ready to leave. I love summers in the United States, and I'm excited we'll be back for the 4th of July, but I've really learned to love Colombia and all the people here, and it will be hard to leave them.
I hope everyone is well. I know I owe a lot of people emails--I haven't forgotten any of you! Despite what sounds like luxurious weekends, we really do work hard here, and during the week it is hard to find time to do anything but sleep. (Okay, fine, I also watch Family Guy with subtitles. The selection of television shows here is a little depressing, but sometimes I just need to do something mindless.) I'll do my best to email you before we leave, but if I don't manage it I promise you'll hear from me the first week we are back in the States!
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Bogota
Big, loud, and dirty. That usually sums up most large cities (excluding dirty for places like Stockholm and loud for places like Albuquerque), and Bogota is definitely not an exception. The capital of Colombia is home to over 6 million people. To put that into perspective, it is the 19th largest city in the world, after London and before Hong Kong. (NYC has 8 million, L.A. has less than 4 million.) It's the third largest city in South America. What is truly amazing about Bogota, however, is that the only public transportation system is a network of buses. No metro. No subway. Only buses, and lots and lots of traffic. Don't judge it too quickly, though... it isn't because Bogota is in Colombia. Medellin, which is about 3 hours away from Pereira, has a metro system--but only 2 million people. Yeah, I don't get it, either.
Our experience in Bogota was never going to be amazing. This is partially because I was so exhausted on Saturday, I didn't even want to go to Bogota. It is also because our flight from Pereira was delayed for 4 hours because it was raining. These, however, are minor complaints. Small insignificant problems. Obviously, the main reason Bogota can't be a great place to visit is this: Bogota is freezing. At least that's what people in Pereira think. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, who found out we were going to Bogota said this: "Bogota is really cold. It's freezing. Do you have a coat?" When they discovered that Warren did not bring a jacket with him to Colombia, I think a few people had minor panic attacks. Stella couldn't deal with the idea that Warren might freeze to death in Bogota, so she drove us to her country house on Friday afternoon, found a Juan Valdez sweatshirt, and insisted that he wear it the entire weekend. Warren and I, worried that we had underestimated Bogota's potential to be frigid, decided we had better check the weather forecasts. 67 degrees F (20 degrees C) the entire weekend. I'm sorry, but in Illinois/Missouri, 67 degrees F is a nice fall day. I guess if you live in Pereira, where the temperature stays between 75 and 87 year round, 67 would seem miserable.
To be honest, our trip wasn't very exciting. We arrived much later than planned on Saturday, and simply went to our hotel and slept. A girl named Catalina met up with us on Sunday and showed us around. (We work with her mom at LPV.) Catalina was great, mostly because she was the first person we had met in Colombia who was between the ages of 17 and 27. It was nice to finally be around someone our age. Even better, she invited all her friends to hang out with us, too. We spent Sunday afternoon at a Cuban restaurant enjoying live music and good food, and then her friends showed us around the city. A great deal of our time was spent wandering through street markets, which are always interesting. In Colombia, street markets provide the perfect opportunity for entrepreneurs to molest... I mean sell their wares... to Americans. Thankfully, tourism isn't exactly a booming business in Bogota, so only a few of these kind merchants spoke English. We also went to Bogota Beer Company, where they play a steady stream of bad American pop music and serve things like ribs and onion rings. (The beer is tasty, though!) Sunday night Catalina and her friends showed us the fashionable district of Bogota (where you can find McDonald's, Burger King, Dunkin' Donuts, and the Hard Rock Cafe), and then they took us back to our hotel, Quinta de Bolivar. Warren and I were both starving, but we had been warned not to go outside, so we had to have the receptionist help us order pizza. Please note: It is possible to get vegan pizza delivered in Colombia.
On Monday Catalina took us to the Salt Cathedral, which is outside Bogota in a salt mine. It's very hard to explain, so let's just say we spent a total of 4 hours on a bus (roundtrip) so that we could walk in dark old salt mine that sometimes smelled like sulfur. It was actually really interesting, but definitely not worth 4 hours on a bus. I'll put up some pictures of it later.
Monday evening Catalina took us to Crepes and Waffles for dinner. This is not "typical" Colombian food, but it is a popular chain restaurant here. They have crepes stuffed with everything from curried tofu to blueberries, and they have an extensive array of ice cream. (Even dairy free!) The food was probably some of the best we have had in Colombia. Warren even got a waffle topped with thick arequipe (like caramel, but creamier), whipped cream, and ice cream! After dinner it was raining, so we ended up back at the hotel. I've developed a sad obsession with watching anything on television that is in English. On Monday night, that meant watching Music and Lyrics, which is not Hugh Grant's best movie.
The only other really interesting episode from our trip was on our way to the airport. We had to take a taxi, and the taxi driver didn't say a word to us after Warren told him "aeropuerto." When we got close to the airport, we realized he was in the lane for international departures. Warren quickly explained we were flying nationally, to Pereira. The taxi driver looked alarmed and said, "Avianca?" to which we replied, "Si!" Our taxi driver was so upset he hit himself on the forehead and began muttering what could only be dirty words in Spanish. Apparently, Avianca flights within the country have their own terminal, and we had missed the exit for it. The poor driver had to circle all the way back so he could drop us off at the right location. While this would normally frustrate me, I found it quite illustrative of the assumptions Colombians make about foreigners. Because of the bad press and overly negative government warnings, most people are afraid to travel to Colombia. Those that do usually only see the big cities, like Bogota, Cartagena, or Medellin. Our taxi driver never even asked us where we were going: we were foreign, so we were obviously not going to be staying in Colombia.
Coming back to Pereira was like coming home. The weather was perfect, the flowers were blooming, and our bus driver picked us up in Stella's car at the airport. After Bogota, Pereira felt inviting and comfortable. I've grown to love this place, and I'll be very sad to leave it.
I'll write more about Bogota later, and I'll definitely post some pictures soon. I also plan to update more often this week, so be sure to check back often. We only have 2 more weeks left in Colombia, and they should be interesting!
Our experience in Bogota was never going to be amazing. This is partially because I was so exhausted on Saturday, I didn't even want to go to Bogota. It is also because our flight from Pereira was delayed for 4 hours because it was raining. These, however, are minor complaints. Small insignificant problems. Obviously, the main reason Bogota can't be a great place to visit is this: Bogota is freezing. At least that's what people in Pereira think. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, who found out we were going to Bogota said this: "Bogota is really cold. It's freezing. Do you have a coat?" When they discovered that Warren did not bring a jacket with him to Colombia, I think a few people had minor panic attacks. Stella couldn't deal with the idea that Warren might freeze to death in Bogota, so she drove us to her country house on Friday afternoon, found a Juan Valdez sweatshirt, and insisted that he wear it the entire weekend. Warren and I, worried that we had underestimated Bogota's potential to be frigid, decided we had better check the weather forecasts. 67 degrees F (20 degrees C) the entire weekend. I'm sorry, but in Illinois/Missouri, 67 degrees F is a nice fall day. I guess if you live in Pereira, where the temperature stays between 75 and 87 year round, 67 would seem miserable.
To be honest, our trip wasn't very exciting. We arrived much later than planned on Saturday, and simply went to our hotel and slept. A girl named Catalina met up with us on Sunday and showed us around. (We work with her mom at LPV.) Catalina was great, mostly because she was the first person we had met in Colombia who was between the ages of 17 and 27. It was nice to finally be around someone our age. Even better, she invited all her friends to hang out with us, too. We spent Sunday afternoon at a Cuban restaurant enjoying live music and good food, and then her friends showed us around the city. A great deal of our time was spent wandering through street markets, which are always interesting. In Colombia, street markets provide the perfect opportunity for entrepreneurs to molest... I mean sell their wares... to Americans. Thankfully, tourism isn't exactly a booming business in Bogota, so only a few of these kind merchants spoke English. We also went to Bogota Beer Company, where they play a steady stream of bad American pop music and serve things like ribs and onion rings. (The beer is tasty, though!) Sunday night Catalina and her friends showed us the fashionable district of Bogota (where you can find McDonald's, Burger King, Dunkin' Donuts, and the Hard Rock Cafe), and then they took us back to our hotel, Quinta de Bolivar. Warren and I were both starving, but we had been warned not to go outside, so we had to have the receptionist help us order pizza. Please note: It is possible to get vegan pizza delivered in Colombia.
On Monday Catalina took us to the Salt Cathedral, which is outside Bogota in a salt mine. It's very hard to explain, so let's just say we spent a total of 4 hours on a bus (roundtrip) so that we could walk in dark old salt mine that sometimes smelled like sulfur. It was actually really interesting, but definitely not worth 4 hours on a bus. I'll put up some pictures of it later.
Monday evening Catalina took us to Crepes and Waffles for dinner. This is not "typical" Colombian food, but it is a popular chain restaurant here. They have crepes stuffed with everything from curried tofu to blueberries, and they have an extensive array of ice cream. (Even dairy free!) The food was probably some of the best we have had in Colombia. Warren even got a waffle topped with thick arequipe (like caramel, but creamier), whipped cream, and ice cream! After dinner it was raining, so we ended up back at the hotel. I've developed a sad obsession with watching anything on television that is in English. On Monday night, that meant watching Music and Lyrics, which is not Hugh Grant's best movie.
The only other really interesting episode from our trip was on our way to the airport. We had to take a taxi, and the taxi driver didn't say a word to us after Warren told him "aeropuerto." When we got close to the airport, we realized he was in the lane for international departures. Warren quickly explained we were flying nationally, to Pereira. The taxi driver looked alarmed and said, "Avianca?" to which we replied, "Si!" Our taxi driver was so upset he hit himself on the forehead and began muttering what could only be dirty words in Spanish. Apparently, Avianca flights within the country have their own terminal, and we had missed the exit for it. The poor driver had to circle all the way back so he could drop us off at the right location. While this would normally frustrate me, I found it quite illustrative of the assumptions Colombians make about foreigners. Because of the bad press and overly negative government warnings, most people are afraid to travel to Colombia. Those that do usually only see the big cities, like Bogota, Cartagena, or Medellin. Our taxi driver never even asked us where we were going: we were foreign, so we were obviously not going to be staying in Colombia.
Coming back to Pereira was like coming home. The weather was perfect, the flowers were blooming, and our bus driver picked us up in Stella's car at the airport. After Bogota, Pereira felt inviting and comfortable. I've grown to love this place, and I'll be very sad to leave it.
I'll write more about Bogota later, and I'll definitely post some pictures soon. I also plan to update more often this week, so be sure to check back often. We only have 2 more weeks left in Colombia, and they should be interesting!
Sunday, June 7, 2009
A Wonderful Weekend
To the left: Meat.
Okay, it's chorizo, which they make in Santa Rosa, a town we visited on Saturday. Warren ate one of those thing!
Ahhh... hello again. I've neglected to blog for a few days, but during the week it was because we were very boring people leading very boring lives (I laid in bed and watched Friends on Thursday afternoon), and Friday and Saturday were very busy days. So, I'm sorry if you've been worried about my health (or Warren's health). We're quite well. It took a few days for us to completely recover, but we both are healthy and happy now.
Like I said, we were very boring during the week. We returned to school on Thursday, but only for a few hours, and Fridays are short days, so we really didn't spend very much time at LPV at all this past week. We have to make up a week of our afternoon classes our last week here, but that's perfectly fine with us.
Friday afternoon was our "get better" goal because we had made plans a week before to visit one of our student's farms. The student's name is Ricky, and he came to Springfield last 
year for Camp Bear International. Ricky was actually one of the "problem" children last year (although he was really a good kid most of the time), but he has been one of the most helpful and welcoming students at Pino Verde. His parents are amazing. Last weekend Ricky and his mother, Adriana, took Warren to UniCentro (the mall), and this weekend they took us all over the area. (left: Manu, a student we met in Missouri. She went with us to the Panela trapiche and to the termales. She is eating panela before it hardens.)
year for Camp Bear International. Ricky was actually one of the "problem" children last year (although he was really a good kid most of the time), but he has been one of the most helpful and welcoming students at Pino Verde. His parents are amazing. Last weekend Ricky and his mother, Adriana, took Warren to UniCentro (the mall), and this weekend they took us all over the area. (left: Manu, a student we met in Missouri. She went with us to the Panela trapiche and to the termales. She is eating panela before it hardens.)
On Friday we took the bus to Ricky's apartment and had lunch with his family. They made us a fabulous lunch, and my food was most definitely vegan. I hadn't had anything except potatoes and rice for a few days (everyone was worried about my stomach), so it was wonderful to eat fresh vegetables and pasta. Warren had a huge plate of fish covered in a rich creamy sauce, and we had bread, wine, and salad! For dessert, they even gave me CHOCOLATE Silk soy milk! I was in heaven!!!
After lunch they drove us to the farm. Ricky's family (left) produces panela, which is a form of sugar. It tastes like m
olasses. We were able to see the entire process, from the sugar cane growing in the fields, to the donkeys that carry it to the trapiche, to the processing plant, to the packaging room. To process it, they put the sugar cane in a machine called the trapiche, which squeezes the sugary-edible part out and leaves behind the cane. The cane is then used to heat large vats of boiling raw sugar cane. They boil it multiple times, in different vats. This removes bacteria, and then the sugar liquid thickens. As it thickens it turns to a gold color. The workers then scoop it out onto large metal sheets and work it like they are making peanut 
brittle. Eventually it becomes thick e
nough for them to mold it, and then it is packaged and sent around the world. It is supposed to make little boys and girls grow up strong and tall. (Like milk... but it's sugar.) The finished product has absolutely no additives--it is only boiled and hardened sugar cane. They use it in drinks and in traditional dishes here. Kids also eat it straight, but it's like eating dark brown sugar. I actually really like it, but it is so sweet and rich that it is hard to eat a lot of it.
olasses. We were able to see the entire process, from the sugar cane growing in the fields, to the donkeys that carry it to the trapiche, to the processing plant, to the packaging room. To process it, they put the sugar cane in a machine called the trapiche, which squeezes the sugary-edible part out and leaves behind the cane. The cane is then used to heat large vats of boiling raw sugar cane. They boil it multiple times, in different vats. This removes bacteria, and then the sugar liquid thickens. As it thickens it turns to a gold color. The workers then scoop it out onto large metal sheets and work it like they are making peanut 
brittle. Eventually it becomes thick e
nough for them to mold it, and then it is packaged and sent around the world. It is supposed to make little boys and girls grow up strong and tall. (Like milk... but it's sugar.) The finished product has absolutely no additives--it is only boiled and hardened sugar cane. They use it in drinks and in traditional dishes here. Kids also eat it straight, but it's like eating dark brown sugar. I actually really like it, but it is so sweet and rich that it is hard to eat a lot of it.
After we saw the processing plant we visited the pig farm, and then we spent time at the "finca" (the country house), snacking and relaxing and watching it rain. No one actually lives at the finca anymore because in 1999 an earthquake basically destroyed it. The house is still standing, but it has been deserted. Ricky thinks that witches live in it. Maybe they do, but we had fun sitting on the porch and relaxing. On Saturday we had our morning classes. Saturdays are really tiring because we have over 48 kids in the course of 4 hours, and we are supposed to play games in English the entire time. In the first group we have like 8 seven-year-old boys, and only two of them really understand English. It is exhausting to try to get them to listen and participate.
Ricky's mother offered to take us home after our classes, and on the way we stopped at UniCentro. It's a very nice mall (with the first McDonald's in Pereira... oh so exciting), but we didn't have very much money with us so we spent our time window shopping. I did, however, buy a Spanish-English dictionary. Also, Ricky's mom sat with me and showed me a book called "This is Colombia." The book was in Spanish, but it had gorgeous photographs. She probably sat with me for 20 minutes explaining the pictures (in Spanish). She is much too nice to us.
After UniCentro we went back home, but we didn't stay there for long! Ricky's family picked us up yesterday evening and took us to Termales de Santa Rosa. The Termales are hot springs, and they are up in the mountains! We drove high above Pereira, to Santa Rosa. It's a much smaller town, and it is the gateway to the termales. It is also famous for its chorizo.
We drove high up into the mountains, past little vacation homes and hotels, through lovely forests, and along a moun
tain stream. It sort of reminded me of a jungle-like Switzerland! I would have taken a lot of pictures, but it was night, and it was difficult to see anything. Luckily, there was a full moon, so we could partially see the scenery around us. As we drove, Ricky started telling us ghost stories. It was almost scary... almost. Eventually, the road ended, and we had to take a gravel road up the rest of the way. It took a long time, but we finally reached "the end of the mountain" as Ricky described it. (Left: inside of the hotel at the termales.)
tain stream. It sort of reminded me of a jungle-like Switzerland! I would have taken a lot of pictures, but it was night, and it was difficult to see anything. Luckily, there was a full moon, so we could partially see the scenery around us. As we drove, Ricky started telling us ghost stories. It was almost scary... almost. Eventually, the road ended, and we had to take a gravel road up the rest of the way. It took a long time, but we finally reached "the end of the mountain" as Ricky described it. (Left: inside of the hotel at the termales.) The Termales 
were perfect. Because it was night, I had trouble getting good pictures, but these sort of show what it looked like. The hot springs are on top of a volcano, but because they are so high in the mountains the air is cold. In addition, a mountain stream tumbles down the mountain and ends in a waterfall near the edge of the hot springs. The picture to the left shows the cold waterfall. Another waterfall, pictured below, was incredibly hot. It is the source of the hot springs, and the water falls from a wall of hardened lava! People go under both waterfalls and get really cold or really hot, and then they jump into the hot spring pools. The pools are varying temperatures, but they basically feel like hot bath water or a jacuzzi. The water is very clean, and because it has a lot of minerals it is also supposed to be medicinal. Since we were at a hotel, servers would come by and take 
orders for snacks and drinks, and then they would serve it to us while we sat in the water. It was excellent. We spent the evening swimming between the two waterfalls and relaxing in the pools. I sipped mango juice and Warren ate an ice cream sandwich, all in the comfort of our little hot spring. We also played with the kids that had invited us. Ricky, Manuela, and Manu's little brother Juan Jose are a lot of fun, and since they speak English we really depend on them.
were perfect. Because it was night, I had trouble getting good pictures, but these sort of show what it looked like. The hot springs are on top of a volcano, but because they are so high in the mountains the air is cold. In addition, a mountain stream tumbles down the mountain and ends in a waterfall near the edge of the hot springs. The picture to the left shows the cold waterfall. Another waterfall, pictured below, was incredibly hot. It is the source of the hot springs, and the water falls from a wall of hardened lava! People go under both waterfalls and get really cold or really hot, and then they jump into the hot spring pools. The pools are varying temperatures, but they basically feel like hot bath water or a jacuzzi. The water is very clean, and because it has a lot of minerals it is also supposed to be medicinal. Since we were at a hotel, servers would come by and take 
orders for snacks and drinks, and then they would serve it to us while we sat in the water. It was excellent. We spent the evening swimming between the two waterfalls and relaxing in the pools. I sipped mango juice and Warren ate an ice cream sandwich, all in the comfort of our little hot spring. We also played with the kids that had invited us. Ricky, Manuela, and Manu's little brother Juan Jose are a lot of fun, and since they speak English we really depend on them.After the Termales we went to Santa Rosa for a very late dinner. Our hosts wanted Warren to taste the homemade chorizo because it is supposed to be the best chorizo in Colombia. The restaurant was open-air, and the chorizo was hanging out to dry. It was very Colombian! Warren liked his chorizo, but we both had agua panela, and it was fantastic! It's hot water with panela dissolved into it, so it's basically like drinking molasses-flavored water. Yummy! : )
Today (Sunday) was family day at school. I had been looking forward to it, but after a 2 hour long mass in Spanish, I lost a lot of my enthusiasm. We were a bit out of place, as we don't have family at Pino Verde, so Warren and I found some of the single teachers and hung out with them. They were tired, and I don't think they wanted to be at school working on their day off, so we all ate lunch in a classroom, hidden away from parents and students. Since 3 of us were native English speakers, we ended up having a lot of conversation in English. It was very welcome after two days of trying to communicate with our Spanish-speaking hosts. (Ricky's family is wonderful, but the language barrier can be frustrating.) After a few hours, we wandered out into the crowd. Family day included wine, so many of the teachers and parents were really happy.
We were given a ride home by a lovely couple whose daughter is one of our students. Her mother went to Texas A & M, and she had perfect English, and her father knew a little English. We had a great conversation, but Diego (her father), is convinced that the world is going to end in 10 years because of global warming, so the conversation was a bit unsettling.
FINALLY: I NEED TO MAKE AN ANNOUNCEMENT. I mentioned in my first entry that I had accepted a position at a school in Seoul, South Korea for the fall. After a lot of thought, I've turned that position down. Basically I realized that South Korea isn't right for me at this time in my life. I'm not exactly sure where I'll be in the fall, but I'm really happy with my decision.
Warren and I miss everyone, but we love it here! I hope you are all well!
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
So, you ask, what happens when you are sick in Colombia?
So, the past two days have certainly been interesting. Let's just say... the phone here is ringing every two minutes, and Stella's cell phone rings almost as often. We've created quite a stir in this little city.
On Monday, I went to the doctor. I had some stomach issues, but since they weren't going away everyone insisted I stay home from school and see a doctor. Originally, I was trying to find one through my insurance, but then Stella wanted me to go to her gastrointestinal specialist. Unfortunately, he was at a conference in the United States. Eventually, everyone decided I would see a doctor who had children attending Liceo Pino Verde. It sounded fine with me, but since he didn't speak English, I had to have an interpreter. And since they don't trust sick Melody who doesn't speak Spanish to do things by herself, I also had to have someone ride with me in the taxi to the doctor.
The clinic I went to on Monday was downtown. As usual, there was an armed guard keeping people out of the gates. I realized once we talked our way through the door that we were at a cancer clinic. Andrea greeted me and took me upstairs, and I felt rather odd sitting there with my tummy ache while other people were having consultations about their much more serious problems. Also, since buildings aren't air conditioned in Pereira and it hadn't rained in two days, the building was stifling. It didn't matter--the doctor was very nice. Using Andrea as my interpreter, I explained all my symptoms. He didn't take my temperature or weigh me, but he did take my blood pressure and feel my stomach. After announcing that one side of my colon was swollen, he diagnosed me with a simple case of a traveler's illness. (Okay, fine, it was traveler's diarrhea. Normally, I wouldn't tell the entire world, but since most of Colombia knows, I guess it doesn't matter.) Then, for this very normal and simple illness, he prescribed me five medications. That's right: Five. I've had surgery and been much sicker than I was Monday and only had 1 or two medications each time. I was amazed that I could need that much medicine. How much did all this cost? $8 to see the doctor, and $14.50 for my medicine.
Anyway, I went home that afternoon feeling much better. I ate a bowl of cereal with soy milk. I took my medicine, took a nap, and eventually went grocery shopping with Warren, Stella, and Dora. I had a simple dinner of soup and toast, and I felt much better.
On Tuesday morning Warren and I both got up early and took the bus to school. We were feeling fine, and we were both ready for the day. I ate my two pieces of toast for breakfast, and felt fine. When we were on the bus, one of the parents saw me and looked straight at me and tried to ask me questions in Spanish. When that didn't work, he grabbed his stomach and asked if I was better. I smiled and said yes, and realized that every parent at LPV probably knew I had been sick, along with the kids. Anyway, we got to school and had a very pleasant morning. We worked on testing, and I planned out the day's afternoon class. Unfortunately, around lunch time I began feeling sick again, except this time, I was nauseous. I made it through Warren eating fried chicken and having a long conversation with Agustine before I started to feel really sick... but by 1:30, I was throwing up, and Warren was having diarrhea. Stella and Diana insisted that we see a doctor, and they also insisted that we go home. I wasn't going to fight them since I had to dash to the bathroom every few minutes!
This was also the time that Diana realized something that would have been useful to know two weeks ago: I had been consuming chicken broth on an almost daily basis. You see, in Colombia, vegetarians are basically non-existent. And while I've been careful about what I eat here, I haven't always been able to eat vegan, or haven't always known if I was eating vegan. That's not such a big deal, as long as I don't get sick. But I've been eating vegetable soup at school and at home constantly, because that's what they make for vegetarians here. Unfortunately, despite the fact that they say it is "sin carne," in Colombia, that doesn't mean it is vegetarian. All the soups are made with chicken broth. And even though I asked if they were made with meat, no one considers broth meat. So, Diana realized that they've been feeding me something that I haven't had in two years. (To be honest, I had sort of assumed it was made with chicken broth, but it was eat that or eat nothing.) Anyway, everyone decided that I was getting so sick because I was eating food that my body hadn't needed to digest in a very long time.
Anyway, that's not really the point. Stella drove Warren, me, and Adriana, our new interpreter, to the clinic where my doctor was working. This time, he was working in the pediatric ward at an urgent care. I managed to keep my insides inside while we were in the car, but as soon as I started walking I got sick again. There's nothing quite as classy as vomiting on the sidewalk in front of a hospital while 30 Colombians stare at you. We got inside (of course, after we passed the armed guard and the gate), and Adriana registered us. Warren and I both had to go to the pediatric ward because that's where our doctor was. The hallways were filled with crying babies, and I felt terrible because I knew their parents didn't understand why two grown adults were taking up space. When we finally got into an examination room, I had to vomit again. It took the nurse a long time to do the examination because I had to keep running to the bathroom.
After it was over, they took me to get an IV. The hospital was packed with people. For every nurse, there must have been at least 10 patients. The room where they gave IVs was insane by American standards. There were three curtained off sections with two beds in each part, and a large lounge where about 8 people sat hooked up to their IVs. Everyone else was standing. While we waited, I began to fall, so someone sat me in a wheelchair. Everything at this point is a bit fuzzy, but I know I was finally put on one of the beds, and then I had to go to the bathroom again, and when I got back, the bed was taken. They put me back in the wheelchair and drew my blood. I vomited all over the floor. By now, at least 45 people had seen me throw up in the course of an hour. Once I was hooked up to the IV, I was pushed over into the lounge area and hung out with the other people getting an IV. They smiled and nodded and looked at the vomit on my shoe. It was actually one of the highlights of my day.
Eventually, my doctor came and got me. He put both Warren and I in the pediatric ward. I was given my own little glass room, but since it was see through, I could see all the babies and their parents could all see me. For the next 6 hours, Warren and I hung out with them. I threw up or went to the bathroom every 20 minutes for the first few hours (Warren says it was every 3 minutes, but I don't believe him). The nurse tried to give me Mylanta, but it didn't last long in my stomach. Stella and Adriana would drop by to check on us frequently. They also bought us Pedialyte, toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and tissues. Plus, they gave Warren potato chips. I was hooked up to an IV the entire time. Warren refused it because he's scared of needles. I went through something like 7 liters of saline solution. Along with the screaming babies and my uncontrollable vomiting, we had a very nice evening.
At 9:00 p.m. they let us go home. I fell asleep around 7 and slept until 8:15, when Stella and Adriana came. The doctor let me go home on the premise that I hadn't had diarrhea or vomited in about two hours. Of course, five minutes after we were in the car I vomited again, but I actually didn't vomit again the entire night.
Warren is feeling better today, and so am I. We both slept well, and I've been able to keep down my medicine and some water this morning. We are being kept home from school today, and our afternoon classes were cancelled for the rest of the week. It's sad, because we both enjoy teaching and we feel like we are a burden on the school. (Especially since we are here to help!) We came here to test and teach, but today it looks like we'll spend the day sleeping and watching Stella's movies. I feel guilty, and I think we're going to try to make up all our classes somehow.
Anyway, I hope to have a more interesting post next time. We have a lot of plans for this weekend, so hopefully we'll both be well by then. I hope you weren't too grossed out by this post--it's funny, I'd normally never write about something like this, but since most of Pereira knows I'm sick, I've decided I don't care anymore!
On Monday, I went to the doctor. I had some stomach issues, but since they weren't going away everyone insisted I stay home from school and see a doctor. Originally, I was trying to find one through my insurance, but then Stella wanted me to go to her gastrointestinal specialist. Unfortunately, he was at a conference in the United States. Eventually, everyone decided I would see a doctor who had children attending Liceo Pino Verde. It sounded fine with me, but since he didn't speak English, I had to have an interpreter. And since they don't trust sick Melody who doesn't speak Spanish to do things by herself, I also had to have someone ride with me in the taxi to the doctor.
The clinic I went to on Monday was downtown. As usual, there was an armed guard keeping people out of the gates. I realized once we talked our way through the door that we were at a cancer clinic. Andrea greeted me and took me upstairs, and I felt rather odd sitting there with my tummy ache while other people were having consultations about their much more serious problems. Also, since buildings aren't air conditioned in Pereira and it hadn't rained in two days, the building was stifling. It didn't matter--the doctor was very nice. Using Andrea as my interpreter, I explained all my symptoms. He didn't take my temperature or weigh me, but he did take my blood pressure and feel my stomach. After announcing that one side of my colon was swollen, he diagnosed me with a simple case of a traveler's illness. (Okay, fine, it was traveler's diarrhea. Normally, I wouldn't tell the entire world, but since most of Colombia knows, I guess it doesn't matter.) Then, for this very normal and simple illness, he prescribed me five medications. That's right: Five. I've had surgery and been much sicker than I was Monday and only had 1 or two medications each time. I was amazed that I could need that much medicine. How much did all this cost? $8 to see the doctor, and $14.50 for my medicine.
Anyway, I went home that afternoon feeling much better. I ate a bowl of cereal with soy milk. I took my medicine, took a nap, and eventually went grocery shopping with Warren, Stella, and Dora. I had a simple dinner of soup and toast, and I felt much better.
On Tuesday morning Warren and I both got up early and took the bus to school. We were feeling fine, and we were both ready for the day. I ate my two pieces of toast for breakfast, and felt fine. When we were on the bus, one of the parents saw me and looked straight at me and tried to ask me questions in Spanish. When that didn't work, he grabbed his stomach and asked if I was better. I smiled and said yes, and realized that every parent at LPV probably knew I had been sick, along with the kids. Anyway, we got to school and had a very pleasant morning. We worked on testing, and I planned out the day's afternoon class. Unfortunately, around lunch time I began feeling sick again, except this time, I was nauseous. I made it through Warren eating fried chicken and having a long conversation with Agustine before I started to feel really sick... but by 1:30, I was throwing up, and Warren was having diarrhea. Stella and Diana insisted that we see a doctor, and they also insisted that we go home. I wasn't going to fight them since I had to dash to the bathroom every few minutes!
This was also the time that Diana realized something that would have been useful to know two weeks ago: I had been consuming chicken broth on an almost daily basis. You see, in Colombia, vegetarians are basically non-existent. And while I've been careful about what I eat here, I haven't always been able to eat vegan, or haven't always known if I was eating vegan. That's not such a big deal, as long as I don't get sick. But I've been eating vegetable soup at school and at home constantly, because that's what they make for vegetarians here. Unfortunately, despite the fact that they say it is "sin carne," in Colombia, that doesn't mean it is vegetarian. All the soups are made with chicken broth. And even though I asked if they were made with meat, no one considers broth meat. So, Diana realized that they've been feeding me something that I haven't had in two years. (To be honest, I had sort of assumed it was made with chicken broth, but it was eat that or eat nothing.) Anyway, everyone decided that I was getting so sick because I was eating food that my body hadn't needed to digest in a very long time.
Anyway, that's not really the point. Stella drove Warren, me, and Adriana, our new interpreter, to the clinic where my doctor was working. This time, he was working in the pediatric ward at an urgent care. I managed to keep my insides inside while we were in the car, but as soon as I started walking I got sick again. There's nothing quite as classy as vomiting on the sidewalk in front of a hospital while 30 Colombians stare at you. We got inside (of course, after we passed the armed guard and the gate), and Adriana registered us. Warren and I both had to go to the pediatric ward because that's where our doctor was. The hallways were filled with crying babies, and I felt terrible because I knew their parents didn't understand why two grown adults were taking up space. When we finally got into an examination room, I had to vomit again. It took the nurse a long time to do the examination because I had to keep running to the bathroom.
After it was over, they took me to get an IV. The hospital was packed with people. For every nurse, there must have been at least 10 patients. The room where they gave IVs was insane by American standards. There were three curtained off sections with two beds in each part, and a large lounge where about 8 people sat hooked up to their IVs. Everyone else was standing. While we waited, I began to fall, so someone sat me in a wheelchair. Everything at this point is a bit fuzzy, but I know I was finally put on one of the beds, and then I had to go to the bathroom again, and when I got back, the bed was taken. They put me back in the wheelchair and drew my blood. I vomited all over the floor. By now, at least 45 people had seen me throw up in the course of an hour. Once I was hooked up to the IV, I was pushed over into the lounge area and hung out with the other people getting an IV. They smiled and nodded and looked at the vomit on my shoe. It was actually one of the highlights of my day.
Eventually, my doctor came and got me. He put both Warren and I in the pediatric ward. I was given my own little glass room, but since it was see through, I could see all the babies and their parents could all see me. For the next 6 hours, Warren and I hung out with them. I threw up or went to the bathroom every 20 minutes for the first few hours (Warren says it was every 3 minutes, but I don't believe him). The nurse tried to give me Mylanta, but it didn't last long in my stomach. Stella and Adriana would drop by to check on us frequently. They also bought us Pedialyte, toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and tissues. Plus, they gave Warren potato chips. I was hooked up to an IV the entire time. Warren refused it because he's scared of needles. I went through something like 7 liters of saline solution. Along with the screaming babies and my uncontrollable vomiting, we had a very nice evening.
At 9:00 p.m. they let us go home. I fell asleep around 7 and slept until 8:15, when Stella and Adriana came. The doctor let me go home on the premise that I hadn't had diarrhea or vomited in about two hours. Of course, five minutes after we were in the car I vomited again, but I actually didn't vomit again the entire night.
Warren is feeling better today, and so am I. We both slept well, and I've been able to keep down my medicine and some water this morning. We are being kept home from school today, and our afternoon classes were cancelled for the rest of the week. It's sad, because we both enjoy teaching and we feel like we are a burden on the school. (Especially since we are here to help!) We came here to test and teach, but today it looks like we'll spend the day sleeping and watching Stella's movies. I feel guilty, and I think we're going to try to make up all our classes somehow.
Anyway, I hope to have a more interesting post next time. We have a lot of plans for this weekend, so hopefully we'll both be well by then. I hope you weren't too grossed out by this post--it's funny, I'd normally never write about something like this, but since most of Pereira knows I'm sick, I've decided I don't care anymore!
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