Cut Grass

As I was walking across the freshly mowed soccer fields to class the other day, I felt like Hermione Granger in the sixth Harry Potter when she says she loves the smell of freshly cut grass. Mixed with the smell of soft rainfall, those damn chopped forbs made me think of home. Picture a summer afternoon, with Michael Roske hurrying to mow the lawn before the rain comes, while I undoubtedly sat comfortably in our living room doing nothing son-worthy. Then, our dog gets her run tangled around a tree during said rain, in classic Shadow fashion. Feeling particularly noble, yours truly steps outside to help the distressed pooch, only to be halted by the heavenly smell of shorn green yard. This scene is what sliced through my mind when walking those fields the other day. You might say that what it made me do was reminisce.

Reminisce (rem-uh-nis) verb: to recall fondly, to be nostalgic about, look back on, or reflect on. Best done around a campfire, at a bar table, or looking up at the moon. Best not done paging through old Facebook photos with a bottle of wine and eating a bowl of ice cream while 50 First Dates plays in the background. The point is, some reminiscing can feel good, some can be bad. My last week gave me plenty of opportunities to reminisce, and I'll let you decide where I landed on the spectrum (grabs large spoon and pops in DVD).

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For the last few weeks, the students of Colegio San Benito de Tibati had been preparing for Dia de Tibatiniadad, or what I will reduce to the much less romantic "school pride day." This day included skits and art demonstrations, so there had been art supplies and dance routines all over the school for weeks. From traditional Colombian dances by the 6th graders to the 10th graders' skits impersonating their professors, the day was devoted to celebrating national and local pride.

One highlight of the day was a sort of homecoming royalty beauty pageant. A couple from each grade dressed in the typical school uniform of each of the last six generations of the school, plus some flair. Not only were they judged on their appearance, but also their knowledge of the school. The trivia revolved around school history (when was it founded, by whom, when did so-and-so start working here, etc.) They were all questions that I guarantee no kid in the states would know about their school. There were to be two winners, one couple from 6th through 8th grade, and one couple from 9th through 11th (in Colombia, 11th graders are seniors). The 6th and 11th graders had the appearance part down, but my 8th and 9th graders eventually took the victories with their superb knowledge of their school's history. Naturally, as their teacher, I take all the credit.

As I was watching all these kids cheer for their classmates, I was brought back to the Weber Center of the Prep school, watching some poorly planned skit unravel, but still loving it. I was glad I was able to be a part of that same joy for other kids, even if my "part" was sitting in the back videoing it. Speaking of videos, The following one is from after the kings and queens were announced. Various duos, students and adults were selected to do a sort of Simon Says with different Hispanic dances. This video is the senior couple dancing.

* * * 

Saturday brought an old friend visiting. Jaime worked at La Universidad Adolfo Ibanez, the university in Chile where I studied two years ago, where he helped exchange students to get to know the area and plan excursions. This time, he was on an adventure of his own, as he was on his way to Chicago to eventually move to St. Cloud with his girlfriend, Cali (who was also in Chile when we were). His trial before reaching the good ole red, white and blue, was a wonderful 17-hour layover in Bogota. Knowing that I was, in fact, currently living in said layover city, he asked to hang out. And after checking the blank page that was my schedule for Saturday, I found my way to the airport.

Accompanied by Br. Jorge, we found our exhausted Chilean roaming the terminal looking for us. We promptly got some food in him and discussed plans. Since Jaime had never been to Bogota, we decided to show him the whole damn city at once, which meant a trip up to Monserrate. If you remember my first excursion to Monserrate, you'll be pleased to find that our navigation this time around was much more precise. We enjoyed watching the sun set over the capital, never an easy task with mountains and constant cloud cover, before descending into the lights as the city came alive at night. After ambling around the main plaza and getting a glimpse of the Colombian president's house, we made our way back to the airport so Jaime could attempt to rest his eyes before his flight at 4am.

Not only was it good to see a familiar face, but I sincerely enjoyed chatting with someone who has made such a subtle difference in my life. To be honest, before studying in Chile, I was a bum. I watched a lot of TV, wasn't a huge socialite, and was just generally coasting through life. But I'll never forget our first week in Chile when Jaime took my friend Ari and I to one of his favorite bars in Vina, called Vienes. Over a few beers, we chatted in Spanish about anything and everything, including an attempted bear joke in Spanish on Ari's part. But he also encouraged us to get out and do anything and everything, as well. It was an unexpected catalyst for who I am today.  That sounds too dramatic, so I'll tone it down to Jage status by claiming that studying abroad in Chile not only made me excited for the unexpected, but it also made me learn from it i.e. getting on a bus and not knowing when to get off, or getting to a town at night without a hostel to stay at so you get in a strange woman's car and stay at her house only to wake up early and leave for fear of death. The point of my rambling is that it felt good to share time with someone who was part of that experience for me. Again, too dramatic, so I'll leave it there. The feels have reached their peak.

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On Sunday, we took to the road yet again, this time with the novices of the monastery in tow on our way to Laguna de Guatavita. To the north of Bogota, this lake is sacred to the Muisca people, the indigenous people of the area. Essentially a sink hole at the top of a mountain almost 10,000 feet above sea level, it is also the source of the El Dorado myths. Apparently, some old Spanish dudes (you might call them conquistadors) were searching for gold when they happened upon the Muisca tribe, where they witnessed a unique ritual tradition. In it, the leader, called the Zipa, would cover himself in gold dust and dive into the lake, washing off the glitter as he submerged. Afterwards, the people would reportedly throw precious items into the lake as offerings to their gods. The Spanish saw this and thus assumed that if they had enough gold to throw in a lake, that was reason enough to be conquered. Like we've never heard that narrative before.

But, like any good tourist, rather than reminisce about the similarities between how each of our countries have treated their native peoples, I was ignorantly thinking about how beautiful the landscape was. We were out of the city, away from the noise, and up in the highlands of subsistence farming. But it was the presence of water that made me think of home. Although the hills were hillier and the air a bit thinner, it felt a lot like northern Minnesota as we stood near the shores of one lake after another. More than twice, I anxiously scanned the beach for an abandoned canoe and paddle I could commandeer.

Spanish word of the day: We're going to upgrade to some slang. Q'hubo is short for "que hubo" which literally means "what there was" but colloquially means "what's up?" Also, it's most often pronounced like you're saying the letters QO (kew oh). It still sounds weird to me, and depending on how you use it, you could be coming on to someone. So I'll probably refrain from using it until I know more its context.

Song in my head lately: There's usually a pretty good chance that Mason Jennings is stuck in my head. His songs are deceptively simple musically, yet pretty profound lyrically. Jackson Square is one of my favorites, but he has about twenty greats.

Well, you've wasted another perfectly good ten minutes reading the loose jumble of thoughts in my head. I like to think of them as those old screen savers, where you're either running into brick walls in a maze or watching colored pipes twist into infinity. That's pretty much my brain.

J.

Let's Get Physical: A Week of Belonging

The view from my room.

Last week was a full one, and despite the somewhat bipolar title, has been my favorite so far. Also, given last week's strange post, I've decided to stick to a more narrative approach that is sure to lull you all into deep, deep regret at having opened this post.

I love learning about STD's via PPT

We started last week off with a bang. Or at least, talking about it, since the older kids went to a talk on safe sex on Monday. Chock full of all the classic tips and resources, some of us younger maestros were having quite the time stifling our own giggling at the choice diagrams used while at the same time making sure the kids were taking it seriously. It didn't help that the young woman who gave the talk was quite  nice looking, kept putzing with her hair while she talked, and then invited some students up to take pictures with her afterwards in front of her company's poster - something that seemed to try to market her company more than educate the kids. So much for taking that seriously.
                                                     
                                    *  *  *


On Wednesday, all of the teachers got some pretty unofficial physicals through our school's nurses office. My appointment consisted of getting my blood pressure tested before standing on a Body Composition Analyzer, the sort of name given to a machine only Bruce Wayne would own. Anyways, after holding on to the handles for several seconds this machine spit out a receipt that told me that my BMI was 22 and body fat % was 10.4%.

My physical receipt. It's like the one from
the grocery store, only after you've eaten
everything you bought there.

How?
Science.
I should add that these and other desired stats seemed to be geared towards South American standards, since practically everyone was told they need to eat a lot more. Picture a strong South American mom telling all her kids to eat, eat, eat! Except instead of an apron, she's wearing scrubs.
                                      *  *  *

On Thursday, I walked into the teacher's office area to see everyone dressed casually and looking like they were about to leave. It turned out that it was the dia de autoridad, which is the day when the seniors literally take over the school. And I mean totally; teachers, janitors, doormen, and administration, including principal. Apparently it is meant to give them a taste of the real world, as well as give those students who want to teach a real opportunity to do so.

That speedy right wing wearing the white shirt
is probably an OK guy.

So what did we teachers do? Naturally, we got the hell out of there! we had a day of "pedagogical advancement" which involved skits, role playing and discussing effective teaching methods and classroom management. Some of it was boring, but most of it was, dare I say it, sort of fun. We also spent the afternoon playing soccer, so it had its moments. Probably my favorite part was when we were split into groups and given a teaching method to explain to the rest of the faculty, not knowing that it was to be presented in the form of a skit instead of just explaining it. So when other groups start, I see our leader writing in his notebook and we later get up and totally improvise the whole thing. It was hilarious, mostly because everyone knew we were bullshitting just like students would do.

We take to the streets for our games.

But the Thursday fun doesn't end there! We returned to school for a basketball game, which we narrowly lost against a team clad in purple and yellow called the Lakers. Who woulda thought?? Afterwards we were shooting the breeze with the other coaches and lingering faculty, joking that we should grab a beer sometime. They looked at each other, shrugged, and said, "We got a few cars, vamos!" So that's how we ended up at a bar in Colombia for six hours on a weeknight dressed in athletic garb; a bunch of young professionals drinking unprofessionally. It was one of the best evenings had yet here in Bogota, getting to know colleagues outside of the classroom. Some danced and some told jokes, but we all laughed and enjoyed teaching each other curse words in each respective language.
                                  *  *  *
The next morning was a dia festivo, or festival day, meaning we didn't have classes. We had previously organized with two of the priests at the monastery to travel a few hours to the North to some popular colonial towns. First, we visited Chiquinquira, a town about two hours to the North which indeed does sound like the words chicken and Shakira smashed together. It is notable for its beautiful church and fake horse photo ops like the one seen here.

"Together forever," me, my mini-horse,
and that random dude in the background.

Inside the church of Chiquinquira

Afterwards, we hopped back in the van and headed another hour or two through beautiful mountainsides and traditional farming communities to Villa de Leyva. A real tourist grab, it's an old yet very clean, quaint city with really nice restaurants and parks. It's probably also popular because it feels like you're walking through cobblestone streets of old European cities. What's more is that August is kite month in Colombia (because it's the windiest month of the year + the month commemorating the battle in which Colombia won their independence from Spain), so the church square was filled with couples, families, and lost children following their kites around. All in all, it was a pretty loving atmosphere and everyone was having a good time, especially these little dudes.

 

"Woah, check out my new shoes!!"

Father-son moment

Spanish word of the day: Cometa: looks like comet, actually means kite. Since it is kite month in Colombia, everyone has them and there are at least six flying everyday after work in the park near school. The mountains surrounding the city make for a nice backdrop.

Song in my head lately: Last week my friend Amber introduced me to Shakey Graves, a singer from Austin, TX. His most popular song is Dearly Departed, but I really like the version where it's just him in a bus. 

Thanks for reading.

J.

Kites and cobblestones 

I Gave In

Iconic American man-hero and NRA boytoy, John Wayne, once said, "A man's gotta have a code, a creed to live by." And he was right. What would man be if he did not possess the fortitude and resilience that stubbornness provides? If we caved to every others' wants and dreams, we would be no better than mere shafts of wheat that bend in the breeze. You might say 'tis better to be the oak; unwavering, solid, with deep, strong roots and slightly wrinkly bark.

 =

Just like John Wayne, one thing I pride myself on is sticking to my morals and what I believe. For example, I believe that cats are the devil in animal form, pants should only be tucked into your socks when hiking in the remote backcountry, and pancakes are best eaten with slices of cheese to squeegee up leftover syrup.

I also believe that no rain is strong enough to warrant the purchase of an umbrella. First of all, it's just water, and rain jackets are wonderful things. Secondly, if it is indeed raining devils and dogs, then anyone expecting you to be dry after braving the deluge probably tucks their pants into their socks anyway.

Even after beginning this chapter of my life in rainy Bogota, Colombia, I felt it best to stick to my beliefs: I took a picture of a dog instead of a cat and I have yet to tuck my pants into my socks. But while cheese isn't served with pancakes here, you can bank on the fact that I was fending off the illogical desire to purchase an umbrella.

But it is with a sad and heavy heart that I inform you, undoubtedly nonexistent reader, that today was the day I threw my beliefs in the same sad, dirty canal I walk across every day to get to school. This is because I gave in, up, and out and did the unthinkable. I bought an umbrella. We had been walking through the neighborhood on a characteristically rainy day, and in one small moment of weakness I dropped a hefty 15,000* pesos for a collapsable polyester shield. I can only hope that its ability to block rain is matched by its ability to safeguard me from the disappointed head shaking of John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Arnold Schwarzenegger and Liam Neeson from high on Man Rushmore.

Harry can't believe I failed him, either.

Shamefully, I have become like the weak wheat. No more proudly shaking off my rain jacket in the teachers lounge and sprinkling my colleagues with the morning dew. No more gallantly hobbling across the soccer field in the rain to class only to show up looking like Harry Potter during the Triwizard tournament. No, today was the day Aragorn was dreading when he said, "There will come a day when the courage of men fails." Because that day was today. I now walk through the streets of Bogota bearing my blue-striped albatross over my head, a pallbearer for the funeral of my manhood.

On the other hand, though I might not be that strong oak, you can bet your ass that if I stood under one I'd be dry. I guess I'll put up with this thing for now.

J.

Frequent sun/rain mixes lead to many of these light refractions.
If only my umbrella could shield me from them, too...

Spanish word of the day: Paraguas - you guessed it, it means umbrella.

Song in my head: Let the Rain Fall Down by Hilary Duff. If you know it, then you know why I didn't post a link to it. If you don't know it, you're probably a better human being for it.

*15,000 pesos is less than 6 dollars.