Public Urination, Tight Pants, and other Tenets of Monastic Living

Here on the monastic home front, it's about a three-minute walk of staring up at the mountains that surround Bogota to get from the guesthouse where I live to the monastery where I join the monks in prayer and chowing down. At the outset of my time here I was all juicioso (which is Colombian Spanish for a good kid), getting to prayer long before the bell rang, sometimes even bringing a book into the chapel to read while the monks filed in before prayer started. I had fistfuls of time back then as an assistant teacher with few responsibilities who didn't know a lot of people outside the institutions at which I lived or worked. As the weeks turned into months, however, I would regularly hear the bell ring as I unlocked the door to the monastery. Well into 2016, with more tests needing grading and more people needing meeting, the bells were known to frequently snap me out of my mountain stare. Even more recently, there have been bells on the hill that I haven't even heard ringing since there was less and less time spent in the monastery.

The first part of my morning commute.

Last Tuesday brought the second edition of Gringo Tuesdays, the conversation nights that take place at a bar called La Villa. We convinced Wilmer, the English teacher I assisted last year, to come along. In fact, it took little convincing, as he was also excited to brush up on his French. And sure enough, it wasn’t long before he bid us adieu and spent the last hour at the French table. Though contrary to our plan, we did end up staying a little longer and dancing after tables and chairs were cleared, much to my delight at watching Wilmer dance.

After our Wednesday afternoon faculty meeting, I set out to meet Tatiana and her gang down in La Candelaria, the nicer, touristy area of Bogota that’s about an hour south of the monastery. Our mission? To attend a play at a theater in the area. Our result? Getting there twenty minutes after it had already started, deciding to simply go to a movie theater to watch The Jungle Book, finding out the movie was sold out, and walking around eating ice cream before finally finding a theater that wasn’t sold out. The only downsides were that we had spent nearly four hours on our Bogota tour here, and the only movie that had seats was a horror movie called La bruja, (The Witch). Oh, and the remaining seats for the film, a horror movie, were all separated from each other.  Not having any of that, we all sat down on the stairs in the theater and, one by one, pawned our singles off on those who came alone (brave, going to a horror film solo) and convinced entangled couples to scoot down, making room for the four of us. Falling in line with what I generally think about horror movies, La bruja was an assured flop of a film. Good thing I only spent about a dollar on it, what with Wednesdays being cheaper and having recently bought a movie theater card that gets extra deals. On my Rotton Tomatoes scale, I’d give The Witch a rotten tomato.

I’d like to say that Friday started out like any other day, but that would be ignoring the addition made to my dancing repertoire at the beginning of the day. You see, I play a less than integral part of a team of teachers focused on promoting the environment's importance to kids, giving presentations and leading activities that get them to recycle, not waste water, being conscious of consumption, etc. Since Friday was the last day we were all to be gathered as a school before Earth Day, we gave a presentation about waste before, well, this wonderful dance happened…

Those pants were meant for Peter Pan.

It’s called El baile de las legumbres, the dance of the legumes, and the lyrics basically just say, “Look at the beans, they’re dancing and they’re healthy for you.” Think of it as the Spanish equivalent to “Beans, beans, the magical fruit. The more you eat, the more you toot.” In reality, it has very little to do with Earth Day other than the fact that it indirectly supports small scale farming through its bean praise. Also, it should be noted that those pants are most definitely not mine. I had to dress up like a pea pod, and I only knew one other teacher that had green pants. The result was that they looked more like leggings, and I had to leave my shirt un-tucked since I couldn’t button the pants all the way. No worries, no Janet Jackson slips occurred.

But the dancing didn’t stop there. I am also apparently signed up to dance tango for the school’s “Love and Poetry” night in July. We’re evidently taking lessons and trying to do it right, so our first practice was on Friday after classes. Have you ever seen tango performed and thought, wow that looks really hard? Um, yeah, it is. Basically, it’s an insanely intimate dance and the couple’s bodies have to be touching almost throughout since the shifting of the lead’s weight decides where the couple goes next. Stay tuned for more JJ embarrassing moments!

Friday was also game day for the basketball teams, and it wasn’t long before another challenge was thrown my way. The opponents’ bus was late, and our girl’s coach couldn’t stay. So he comes up to me as I’m helping Alex with the boys, and says, “I have to go. Can you coach the girls? This is how we play, and those are our better players.” I walk over to the girls’ huddle blind and say, “Alright, well. First things first, names!” Unfortunately, I didn’t get to test my skills with a team I’ve never spent time with, since the opponents never showed up (it was discovered later that there had been a bad accident on the main road that made traffic completely stop for a couple hours, preventing the teams from arriving on time).

Billiarding it up.

So what do coaches do after a home game gets cancelled? Apparently, head to the local watering hole. We made our way to a bar near Alex’s house called El Zorro (The Fox), and it wasn’t long before we were playing billiards (with three balls, not to be confused with pool). After a few shameful rounds, Tatiana texted me asking if I wanted to hike a mountain in the morning with her and a friend. We had done this a few months ago, but the mountains are always worth a return trip, there and back again. I waited until our billiards skills were dwindling almost as quickly as was our Poker beer stock before hopping on a bus to a section of the city where Tatiana said she and her parents, whom she was with at the time, could pick me up from. I would need to crash on their couch in order to get up early enough on Saturday and be on the mountain before they stop letting people enter around 9am-ish.

I arrived at said bus stop on Calle 63 (where I had previously been with Sergio and his friends months ago) to find no one. What I did find was that I had needed to go to the bathroom for about an hour. The dilemma was that I was surrounded by bars and clubs where you had to buy something to be able to use their bathroom while at the same time not exactly being able to drop trou just anywhere – which is normal here – because of the very fact that I was surrounded by bars and clubs with lots of witnesses. I wandered around looking for the perfect street, pretending I was either going somewhere or waiting for someone. But the real trick to public urination is finding a street that’s off the beaten path just enough to avoid hecklers, but not too far off that you’ll risk getting mugged. I managed to find a nice, quiet, well-lit street just off a main drag past Bogota's scantily clad finest that suited me just fine. I returned to the bus stop to find Tatiana waiting for me. “Where have you been?” She asked. I replied, “Just taking another tour!”

While it's true that going out with friends, meeting new people, and doing exciting things is a load of fun, I do lament the drift that I’m making away from spending enough time with the monks of the monastery. For one thing, the monks have supported all the volunteers who have come through - including me - with exceptional generosity, patience, and kindness. For another, they are some phenomenal dudes who are more than worth spending time with, and I need to do a better job of making time instead of excuses. Here’s to beating the monks to prayer once again!

Spanish word of the day: The verb alcanzar is  pretty versatile verb.  It can mean reach, like me alcanzas ese esfero? (Can you hand me that pen?) Or ella no alcanza (Literally, she doesn't reach. But means more like, she's not tall enough.) Or even "Sera que alcanzamos?" (Do you think we'll make it in time?)

Song in my head recently: While I admit that this song hasn't exactly been in my head the last week, Purple Rain sure will be after today, when the flamboyant and funky Prince died. One of Minnesota's greats, Prince gave rise to the synthy, funky, new wave of the Minneapolis sound and joins a long list of musicians to die recently, well before their time.

Five Different Nachos

There's something about mountains.

“You know when someone lives abroad for a while, tries to tell you about it, and what information you’re given is subconsciously completed with details your mind has made up, often using stereotypes or what you’ve heard about that part of the world? I feel like now my mind is filling those gaps with reality.” This was the beginning of my explanation to Roy when he asked me why I had chuckled to myself.

At the beginning of Semana Santa (Holy Week) I found myself on a short day hike through the mountainous town of Nebaj, Guatemala. I was walking next to my friend and former thesis professor, Roy Ketchum. Amber, a friend from college, was a few steps ahead of us. We had just left the rooster crows and tortilla sellers back in town and made our way onto a dirt path through a forested river valley, plastic bottles and bags bobbing along in the river beside us. I told Roy that at that moment I felt the connection with my sister, Molly, strengthened, which might not make sense to most considering she was thousands of miles away at that time.

During her years in Guatemala for the Peace Corps, Molly and I didn’t communicate much, partly due to distance and her infrequent internet access. But, probably, mostly in part to me being, I’m sure, at the height of my high school angst, thinking myself way cooler than my older siblings and pretending to not care about anything. So while I knew her time in Guatemala had made changes in her life, I never made myself aware of them. And it appears to have taken a few years and a new trip to Guatemala for my mind to fill in those gaps with reality instead of what my high school mind thought years ago. I smiled to myself at that moment on our hike because I was understanding better how Molly would have dealt with life in Guatemala; her wariness towards street dogs, some more aggressive than others, her impatience with salesman and insistent bus drivers trying to trick her into deals, not knowing that this is one gringa you don’t want to mess with, or her aching heart every time she saw a ravine filled with trash, and the subsequent disdain not because she thought the people were careless, but rather for a system that rids them of an education and infrastructure to do anything about it. I felt I understood her a little better in that moment in Nebaj, mostly because I was feeling those same emotions.

              Even though we went to mostly the same schools growing up, I was never in high school or college at the same time as my siblings, seeing as the closest one, Ben, is four years older than me. And I always felt I was missing out on something, since they are all two years apart and shared some college with one another. But then I would come trailing along, riding the coat tails of the good reputation that they paved for me. Because one usually spends more time at school than at home growing up, I thought I learned more about my siblings indirectly during that time. Whether it was a high school teacher talking about how good of a student my brother was, or taking the same college class, reading the same books, or getting involved in the same sport or activity as a sibling, I was learning how they operate and how they had become to be the people they were through our shared experiences at different times. Even my experience now as a teacher is helping me understand the patience and compassion of Michaela, my oldest sister by nine years, and a Spanish teacher in St. Cloud. A polluted river amidst beautifully forested mountains would have been just the thing to get Molly motivated to do something to help, and is likely, in my opinion, a large part of what ultimately moved her into the forestry, ecotourism, and education sector. I was glad to be in that moment, sharing the path with her.

 

Trudging through Nebaj

So yes, I made it back to Guate last week. I had been there with the whole family years ago to visit Molly. But this trip was markedly different. Roy and his partner, Danielle, had opened their doors to me for Semana Santa as they were leading CSB/SJU’s Study Abroad program in Xela (Pronounced Shale-ah). And even though Danielle was still under the weather from their recent excursion to Mexico, she still toughed it out on some great days hikes and night chats that might have created one of the more relaxing travels I’ve had yet. Since the week was really a combination of special moments, I’ll highlight some of them instead of slogging through it day by day.

  

First of all, spending time with Roy and Danielle was needed and welcomed. They are some damn good people, and having the chance to get to know them better was a treat. Also, I hadn’t had such long, thought provoking conversations in English since my family passed through around Christmas, and I often found myself speaking a thousand words a minute in my excitement to finally be able to fully articulate my thoughts in my native language. They listened with a patience practiced thoroughly from leading more than a dozen college kids through new experiences every day there in Xela. I was Roy’s Teaching Assistant for my last year at St. John’s, so I wasn’t new to their frequent tea times. But it was good to have a group that took lots of time out of the day to just be with and learn from one another.

Having time to read: As a kid, I devoured books (Don’t believe me? Ask my mother). Then, like most, I lost that desire as my life got busier with sports, attempting to be social (key word, attempt), school, friends, and invented stress. Through all my excuses, I stopped reading things I actually wanted to read. Last summer, after I graduated, I told myself I’d get back to it. And indeed, I managed to finish a few books before coming to Colombia, a routine that hasn’t been easy to maintain with my schedule getting busier by the month. But I’ve gotten through nearly half of my shelf upon which family and friends have left books either as gifts or luggage lighteners. And, what with all the flights and bussing around the Guatemalan mountain ranges, I had ample time to rifle through a random assortment, ranging from a fictional conspiracy to start World War III (The Whole Truth), to an indigenous Guatemalan creation story (Popol Vuh, Sp.), to a nonfiction account of woodsmen hunting a killer tiger in nowhere, southeastern Russia (The Tiger). Lesson from the trip? Don’t make excuses for not reading. Make time for it. Not enough people do, me included. It might not make you a better person, but it won’t make you a worse one.  

Multiple falls.

Garbage problem: I have to say, I was surprised at how much trash I saw lining the streets and how little the residents regarded its disposal. Now, I should absolutely mention that I don’t know the whole situation, as I would assume that there’s a hefty combination of socio-economics, education, and infrastructural complications at work that are not doing enough to encourage or incentivize recycling or proper waste disposal. It’s also not to say that Guatemala is not a beautiful country with beautiful people, which will be highlighted next. But it did make me cringe every time I saw someone nonchalantly throw a Dorito bag or Gatorade bottle out the bus window or onto the sidewalk.

 

Minnesota nice meets Guatemala nice
as Roy helps push a bike cart up a hill.

Guatemala Nice: Don’t let my naiveté or insensitivity in the previous highlight prevent your desire to spend time in Guatemala. The colors of dress and people were a welcome culture blast that can sometimes be hard to spot amongst the traffic and commerce of Bogota. Guatemalans are also vying with Central Minnesota for nicest inhabitants. In nice places, you might get a hurried greeting and, if you’re lucky, a smile. In Guatemala, you’ll get someone’s full attention, a smile, asking how you are, and asking if you need help if you look lost.

Random Encounters: This trip was filled with them, from the very beginning to the very end. On my way to the airport, I ended up chatting with the taxi driver the whole 45 minute drive. Every topic was covered: the politics, climate, religion, agriculture, economy, and women of both the US and Colombia were discussed. Then, at the airport at 2am in a city of millions, I ran into Leon and Jess, the couple whom Devon and I had met in Peru in October and have since spent time with on a number of occasions. They were set to travel with her parents, I assume as a way to celebrate their pregnancy announcement. On my way back to Colombia, I met up with Colin and Alivia at the airport in Guatemala City. Those two are alums of both CSB/SJU and the Guatemala program with Roy and Danielle and just happened to be starting a Guatemalan tour of their own. We met for coffee at the airport and enjoyed the serendipity of finding friends all over the world. Though my favorite encounter might have been sitting next to a tiny elderly lady on a crowded chicken bus on my way to said airport. After removing one of her five sweaters (not kidding) because she felt a bit warm in the 70 degree Guatemalan-filled bus, she and I began to talk about travelling. This came as a surprise to me, since your typical Guatemalan who has time or money to travel often is most likely very upper class. Yet, here this lady was, on a 5 dollar, retired US Bluebird school bus instead of on one of the numerous coach busses. She recounted her year spent in France, time spent in New York, and how she wants to visit relatives in Spain and France again. After she fell asleep, I held my arm over her against the side of the bus to prevent myself from crushing her when people slid into me as we rounded another bend in the mountainside. We must have looked like a kid and grandmother, a moment that made me miss my own. When we got off the bus, we told each other we’d see the other in Paris in a year.

If life is about taking time to nurture relationships we value, seeking out and welcoming new ones, and enjoying the special moments in between, then I think I did alright on this trip.

 

Danielle overlooking Xela.

Song in my head lately: If it isn't Five Different Nachos from an application on Danielle's tablet, then it's Happily Ever After by He is We, which I found at random on my computer. Neither are phenomenal songs. But hey, you can't easily choose what gets stuck in your head.

Spanish word of the day: On our family trip to Guatemala, my brother and became fascinated with the phrase no tenga pena, meaning something like don't worry about it, don't be shy, or don't be embarrassed, a phrase that shopkeepers will use to entice you in, like "don't be shy, come on in, check out all my cool stuff!" This time around, I learned another oft repeated phrase buen provecho which is easily translated to bon apetit, enjoy your meal. Though I knew how it was said, Guatemala has an interestingly liberal use for it. Not only is it used before a meal, to hope someone enjoys the food, but during the meal, so keep enjoying the food, and after the meal, I hope the food was good, when paying the pill, I hope the food was still good, or even when leaving the restaurant, I hope the food was so good that you come back. 

This video probably needs explaining. So, in Nebaj, we found a fairgrounds set up for Semana Santa. This wooden ferris wheel might have been one of the jankier things I'd seen, but Amber and I convinced each other to hop on. It didn't help that in front of us was a less than half completed ferris wheel, likely the one they tried to use before they found out it wouldn't fly. You might not be able to tell from the video, but we are moving pretty fast, with nothing but a rusty bar clipped to hold us from falling out when we went horizontal. Also, at the beginning, I burst out laughing because Amber looks over at Roy and sees him yawning while we're hysterically yelling.