It's baaaaack! I have once again decided to insult the blogosphere - nay, the internet itself - with my blog posts. This time, from the high plateaus of Bogota instead of the beaches of Vina del Mar.
What? That seems obvious: this is a poorly planned blog.
Who? You few, bored readers plus me, JJ, Jay, jage, jota jota, or el duderino if brevity's not your thing.
Where? Me, in Bogota, Colombia, and you, likely in your respective residences, though the occasional mobile read whilst upon a porcelain throne would make my year.
When? Now, because that's the best place to be.
Because I'm still in the orientation phase of my time here, it feels cruelly fitting that I bring up to speed everyone else who cares about me enough to read this. So, here it goes, Mom.
My partner in crime on this journey, Devon Fleck (hereafter known as Devon or Bro D) and myself flew from MSP to Miami, then to Bogota, Colombia, with unusually delicious food on the latter flight. All in all, it was probably the most enjoyable flying experience I've had, complete with good conversations with strangers in airports and blackjack on the flight, where I learned that 17 is the most frustrating hand in the game. Throughout the flight, I was all-knowingly warning Devon about the possible trials of getting through customs since we purchased a one-way but had no Visas of any sort. This short meeting with the customs officer illustrates the foot in my mouth:
Customs Officer (CO): How long are you staying?
Devon & JJ (DJ): About a year (When we realized how sketchy this sounded, we added) We're volunteers (as if that solved the matter. Case closed. Let us into your characteristically crime-ridden country)
CO: Where are you staying?
DJ: A monastery (real specific; we're not entering an entire nation rife with churches or anything)
CO: Can I get a contact name or address?
DJ: Uhh, Prior Philip, aaand no idea.
CO looks at gringos with understandable apathy.
CO: Make sure you get Visas... have a nice night.
Devon and JJ exchange glances, not wanting to overtly give away their disbelief that the previous dialogue just worked.
Other than the Spanish listening and speaking, this mini-play solidified for us that we weren't in Kansas anymore, which makes sense because we never were. Euphemisms aside, walking away from that conversation and into the lights and speeding cars of Bogota, Colombia, made me feel out of my element like few things have before.
So, how did I end up in Bogota? I just graduated from college, aren't I supposed to get a job? Like many students during the late fall and early spring of their senior year, that was the mentality: get a job related to your major, make $$. So I, too, immersed myself in a world of resume writing, cover letters, correspondence with faceless employers, etc. During this process, a monk at St. John's - Br. Paul Richards - reached out to me about the possibility of joining the Benedictine Volunteer Corps (BVC). The BVC is an opportunity for recent SJU grads to live in another Benedictine monastery somewhere in the world, living and working within the local community for a year. I had known many other Johnnies who had gone all over the world through this program. Many went on about how much fun it was and how meaningful the work proved to be. However, since the type of work is site dependent (some build houses, others farm, some teach) some other BVCers ended up returning early if they didn't feel the same level of significance in their work.
Amidst the craze of applying for jobs and commencing research for my thesis, the prospect of volunteering for the BVC was admittedly put on the back burner. But the more I thought about it, the more I considered it. For better or worse, I began to compare the BVC to the jobs I was applying for. In each case, the conclusion ended up becoming Well, that job would still be there when I get back. Soon, it became hard to rationalize not doing the BVC. Let's see, you're telling me I can travel abroad, learn or improve a foreign language, and experience a new part of the world for a year? Oh, and did I mention that room and board is included, with round trip flight and medical costs covered, as well as a stipend for spending money? After accepting the position, when friends would ask me why I was doing this, my smart-ass answer became Why not?
Still, I wasn't 100% sold. So, I have to give some credit to those I consulted - friends and professors - who gave similar advice: do it, that sounds awesome. My siblings, especially, were heavy proponents of my eventual decision. With varying degrees of international travel/living experience, they echoed what all my profs advised: travel when you're young, life gets complicated quickly.
In the end, I convinced myself that in five, ten, twenty, or fifty years, I would probably thank myself more for living and working abroad than in an entry level job directly related to my areas of study.
So, that's why I'm here. I realize profundity was somewhat lacking in this post. But hey, asi es la cosa. Future posts will explain in further detail the Geography/History/Climate of where I'm living, monastic life here, and teaching at the school.
Song in my head lately: Love is All, by Tallest Man on Earth. I've had it in my head for about a month, really fun to play on guitar. Check it out here!
Spanish word of the day: Huésped, meaning guest, has quickly become a significant word and idea for me here in Bogota. This is because all of the monks are bent on making sure we're as comfortable as possible in and around the area. Today, the Prior took us to the mall and bought us loads of toiletries and other comforts of home for our rooms. He also gave us his soccer ball to use. Not to be outdone, just about every other monk we've met so far has been telling us to let them know if we need anything.
So far, so good aqui en Bogota. Hasta la próxima vez.
J.
