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Archive for January, 2009

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We Are Under Attack & I´m Not Happy

Monday, January 19th, 2009

Ahhh me.  All night, there has been a bombardment and I haven`t slept.  Any shuteye that I might have drifted into was so shallow it didn`t count.  Okay, so it wasn`t bullets and rockets.  It was NOISE and still is, at 10 a.m.   When it began after I had gone to bed, I blamed that partying bunch of Argentinians out on the patio and waited for the merciful noise curfew that is rigidly enforced within the hostel.  This was stadium-quality Spanish music booming through the air and rattling our teeth.  It all sounds so accordian-like and boring when one can`t appreciate the words, or when one is trying to sink deeper into the sheets and hide from the boombox.  Only the poor cilia along my inner ear canal were dancing and they were getting sick and tired of this.

Finally, the Mama in me got the best of my inertia and I struggled out from under my mosquito netting, tiptoed to the door (hoping not to disturb my two good-guy roommates, and slipped out into the dawn.  Dawn?  This had gone on all night long?  The nerve!

Then, I realized that this awfulness wasn´t coming from the hostel, but from down the hill a few hundred yards.  There were the five rowdies on their front porch around a boombox, shoulders shaking to the beat, beer bottles in hand.  They weren`t ours, at all.  I had no imagined authority over them.  Creeping back to bed, I wondered what terrible bone they had to pick with Filipe, the owner of this hostel.  Surely, they were being vindictive about something and trying to drive away his customers.

Giving up on sleep at about 7:00 a.m., I straggled out for an early breakfast on the patio.  That`s when I learned that this is Par For The Course on the weekends.  These are simply men, doing what men want to do on a Saturday and Sunday and it could well go on throughout the entire weekend.  No one thinks anything about it.  Neighbors do not complain.  This is life.  If we foreigners don`t like it, we can just go back home.  They aren`t attacking us….or even aware of our discomfort.  We can take it or leave it!

Well, I sure do want to leave it and I`m looking into Cartagena hotels, ready to pay good money to go to a restorative silence.  Don´t know if I`ll find anything, but have already given up on the idea of Tayrona Beach as this same experienced guest pointed out.  It`s Sunday, and they`ll be crowding out there to do the same thing.  This is relaxation for many Colombians.  Right now, I have no idea where I`ll wind up, but my computer is timing out, so I`ll continue later.

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Casa de Filipe in Taganga, Colombia

Monday, January 19th, 2009

After two nights here, it`s about time that I described this lovely hostel.  It`s really more like a boutique hotel or a tropical B&B, set on a hillside and a ten-minute walk to the beach.  We have a gorgeous view of soft brown, shrub-covered mountains and a horseshoe bay looking out to the Caribbean Sea.

The beach sand looks like brown sugar and the water looks like weak tea, so it isn`t the sparkling fantasy beach of one`s dreams, but Taganga is a fishing village becoming more and more a tourist destination because it is the jumping off place for Tayrona National Park.  The shoreline is filled with tatty commercial little eating places, which I hope to try, but it`s not terribly alluring and one`s curiosity satisfies quickly.  There seem to be many other spots in better shape to which one must walk…Playa Grande is a 20-minute walk; others are a 45-minute walk.  I may do one today after I fetch my laundry from Katya, the washer woman who has a bunch of stairstep kids and a bright, happy smile, who washes your clothes for $1.50 per kilo.  In this hot climate, I`m sure she does a booming business as signs in this hostel caution us not to do our laundry in the bathroom sinks.

But, back to the hostel description.  My larger dorm room cost $9 per night.  My upgrade to the 3-bed room with the fussy roomie, costs only $10 per night.  I`m breaking his resistence down, little by little, as I went up and introduced myself to him this morning as he was trapped at his breakfast table.  What could he do but give me a limp handshake and say his name (forever a secret here…in case he actually manages to turn nice and make me eat my words).  There was no communication during the night as I was already in bed but not quite asleep…pretend asleep…when he came in late.  I got up first, consequently.

Anyway, back to the description of these surroundings.  It`s a great hostel, very well-managed with plenty of rules which prevent some of the usual abuses, such as loud music and late-night talking.  Families stay here as well, and they have private suites for $17 per day.  An enormous breakfast at tables under the trees costs $3 per day.  Internet is $1 per hour and mine is about to time out.

Bye

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Wrapping Up Medellin and Opening Up Taganga, Colombia

Friday, January 16th, 2009

These Blogs are piling up.  Check the previous one also to see if you have read it.  Good stuff happening here:

Today I woke up refreshed in my new environment of Casa de Filipe in Taganga, Columbia, which is high on the northern edge of the country, right on the Caribbean Sea.  It is hot and beautiful here and I am again in a true Colombian Paradise.  Not the lovely city which Medellin was, but a small seaside village built on a mountainside.  Very different but exciting in its own way.

I was practically a zombie upon arrival because, not only had I stayed awake most of the time on the 16-hour, overnight bus ride, but I had gone salsa dancing with all of my dear friends at Casa Kiwi on my last full night there, so didn`t get to bed until 2 a.m.  Mighty late for the likes of me.

A word about that:  Just as it`s true that an older woman considers any wolf whistle in her direction a very high compliment; so does she view any invitation by much younger ones to go out beer-drinking…or most particularly, salsa dancing (which involves both) … among the highest of compliments that could be paid her.  They really wanted me to come along, so I took an early nap and got ready at 10:30 p.m. to go out and party, thinking it might be to a fancy nightclub and glad I brought my swirly, wraparound skirt along.  I even had some clacky little sandals, which weren`t too good for dancing as they tend to fall off my feet.  Whatever!  They were better than hiking shoes!

Off we went…about eight of us stuffed into two tiny taxis…across town to a strictly local`s scene, a long, dimly-lit, narrow building crowded with people, and the band right there on the same floor as us, playing a special music of the region called Papayete, which is a mix of salsa, merengue, and African drumming.  We all squashed in, ordered beer and stuff and bounced our bodies in time to the music, finally coming to a more open spot behind the band where we could also look out at the characters hanging around on the street.  There was a young guy, obviously a window-washer with his bucket and squeegee dangling from his arm, zoned on drugs and dancing with himself in a Chaplinesque performance.  That street could be referred to as a drug scene and there was even the whiff of weed coming from a guy inside…as Luis pointed out to me.  Otherwise, I would have missed it.  Probably, those elements exist in all the nightclubs of the world – fancy or basic – but you couldn`t prove it by me.   Little Miss Naivete…misses most of this sort of clues.  But, that`s okay.  It`s how I sail through all sorts of things.

Salome and I talked,  like the girlfriends we are, about guys; and dear Luis stayed beside me most of the time, assuring me that if I got tired, he would take me back to the hostel in a taxi.  Then he taught me how to do the salsa steps and we had a great time dancing.  What fun that was!  Then, Scott swooped me up in a fast merengue, slinging me about, my feet flying off the ground like a circus performer, in dancing I haven`t done since high school.  Whee!  In between, we all talked and bounced to the rythmns.

This was a scene that I was very privileged to be allowed into.  No tourists here.  No senior citizens either.  Will I get included in such a close-friend-way into their own private world in other countries?  I surely hope so.  This evening was very special.

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“Juan Valdez” Gives Up The Ghost!

Friday, January 16th, 2009

Here`s the final situation on the ghost who used to reside in the Casa Kiwi in Medellin, Colombia.  At least, it was final on my last day there…yesterday.  He`s gone!  No more noises from the walls or frightened maids scared away as they are cleaning certain bathrooms.  No more evidence of any phantasms on the property.

Except, that my friend, Luis, knows that now, “Juan” sort of accompanies him about, as if in the capacity of a guardian angel.  Perhaps that was his mission all along, because the name that this ghost provided to me when I spoke to him in think-talk, was that he was Juan Valdez, the famous coffee-brand symbol.  Well,  I thought that was sort of foolish, but I mentioned it to Luis and it turned out to have special meaning to him.  Not only does he hang out at the Juan Valdez Cafe, but he would like to bring the coffee franchise to his home country of Mexico.  So, he gravitated to that symbol very quickly.  Felt it must be a personal clue for him from this ghostly being who was known to prefer one particular dorm room and its bathroom shower.
Even providing this unseen presence with a name gave it a measure of approachable humanity which had been missing before and everyone relaxed about the idea of something monstrous.  “Oh, it`s only poor Juan, stuck in these walls and longing to go home.”  It brings out sympathy instead of fear.  But, he`s suddenly no longer pestering or sounding upset, so we all hope that the problem is permanently solved.

Good thing too, because yesterday, a major renovation was begun at that hostel which has workmen tearing up floors and digging holes in the foundation and ripping out walls.  It`s going to be quite disturbed for a few months as improvements go in.  If the late night talking, singing and coming and going in his old house had Juan upset, just imagine what this would have done to him!  We all did a collective wiping of the brow in relief at the timing of all this.

More soon.

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Raise Your Hands If You Think Of Colombia As One Big Cube Of Cocaine

Monday, January 12th, 2009

…And if you have tuned into my oher blogsite, heyboomers.com, today, you´ll think that it is under the influence too.  It suddenly looks and acts very strange.  I don´t know why it says Revolution at the top and is now spread out all over Kingdom Come, but I have written to my blogmaster for rescue.  And no, I didn´t get kidnapped by revolutionaries who are now using my site.  All will be restored to normal soon…  A little bit later:  Sorry to sound the alarm.  My blogsite looks just fine now.  What could have been wrong with it?  I have no idea, but it was spread all over the place and was titled “Revolution.”  Probably, just Juan toying with cyberspace.  He´s a handy scapegoat and might be blamed for every sort of glitch.  To continue:

…Also, no final word on our hostel ghost, Juan, but I don´t think anyone has seen or heard him recently.

Now, to the theme of the day:  To address our common perception of this country as being a hotbed of the drug world, I have to say that if I didn´t already know something about that, I never would have picked up the perception here.  There is literally no clue as to that parallel world….or underworld….here on the streets of the second-largest city in Colombia.  Nor was there in Bogota.

Both cities are clean, progressive places to be and higher on the desirable scale than many, many of the world cities that I have been in.   Only the merest smattering of beggars; actually, not even that really, as statistically, the number is too small to even count.  People all look healthy and happy and they love family life.  Sure, there are poor, but from what I´ve seen, they have a place in the scale of things and are not outcasts.  I have not seen any homelessness here and that´s more than I could ever say about the U.S. and surely, now that would be more true than ever, given our drastic foreclosure rate.

I see no drug scene, whatsoever, though I´m not going to the clubs at night.  I mean the sort that causes wastrels to hang around doorways or city parks.  The only zoned person I have spotted was an Irish guy right here in the hostel and he was a lone exception.  Yes, it is accepted that the wild jungle areas on either side of this highly-trafficed corridor of tourism and trade, are dangerous to travel in.  The local people speak matter-of-factly about that.  But, as long as folks don´t wander off into the rebel strongholds and cocaine areas, then there is peace and safety.

It´s very clear that there is a well-worn backpacker´s circuit here and we all make figure eights on the map, passing each other on our routes from Bogota north to the Caribbean towns of Santa Marta, Taganga, and Cartegena and the great Tyrona National Park with its highest-mountain-near-a-seacoast-in-the-world.  Then, we whirl down south to Cali and out to Ecuador.  The greatest dangers to all of us foreigners is freezing on the cold AC buses or lingering at the rest stop and getting left behind because we wanted to finish the plate of food we had just scored from the cafeteria line.

My plans are shaping up now.  I will be in Medellin until 6:45 p.m. Wednesday, January 14, when I take a 14-hour overnight bus to Santa Marta and then a local bus to Taganga where I already have hostel reservations for Thursday.  Tomorrow, I will take in the local zoo.  Yesterday, I visited the Botanical Gardens.  But, today I stayed home in the hostel as it was a national holiday about the Maji- called the Three Kings, and nothing was open.  Woops!  It just occurred to me that this would have been a significant day to get Juan a ride to the Next World.  Maybe it´s not too late.  If I give a loud whistle from down here in this hostel, perhaps I can get a royal camel to come and pick him up.

More soon on that unfolding story and others.

Posted in Colombia, South America | No Comments »

Another Ghost Story – A Bermuda Dungeon Leftover

Sunday, January 11th, 2009

Since we´re currently on the subject of ghosts, due to Juan in this lovely hostel, I´ll repeat here the only other experience that I have had with such things. I have told this story several times here during this current adventure to illustrate how it goes, as far as I am aware of these things.

In late 1995, I visited Bermuda, the island of my maternal ancestry, and while I was poking around the old fort at the Dockyards end of the island, I felt invisible hands suddenly grab hold of my right calf.  I happened to be in an old dungeon cell deep under the fort.  Hmmmmm.  Suddenly, it felt as if I was dragging an old coat around with every step.  I could see nothing, but there was definitely a sensation to prove that something unworldly had just happened.

So, naturally, as anyone would do, I beamed a thought-question downward to this entity who had just grabbed hold of my leg.  “Who are you?”  He said that he was a sailor who had been imprisoned hundreds of years ago and he had died alone in that cell.  No one had come for him and here he still was.  When he saw me he thought I could help him because I was so brightly lit up, so he grabbed hold and he wasn´t intending to let go as he was desperate to get out of that cell.

“Okay!” said I.  “We´ll go back to the studio apartment I have rented and I´ll try to get Someone Up There to come and get you.  You need to move on away from Earth, but They need to escort you to that realm.”  So, I pulled my leg along, dragging this coat-feeling thing, down the sidewalk and onto the bus.  Later in the evening, I needed to shower and go to bed so I warned him that I would be pulling my blue jeans off down that leg he was gripping so tightly.  He was worried that if he let go of me, he would float away and be lost again.  But, we carefully cooperated in easing the pants down the leg and letting him change his grip so that he could be assured of not flying off to nowhere again.

Then, I dragged him into the shower with me.  All these modern conveniences were making a tourist out of him.  A funny exchange occurred as I stepped into the shower.  In a sort of a sing-song, I said, “You gonna close your eyes?”  and he instantly replied, in the same sing-song, “I gonna close my eyes!”  And so, with that arrangement modestly in place, I took my shower with the coat still hanging onto my ankle, thinking that this was probably his first shower in three-hundred years or so.

Then, I went to bed, still conscious of his form dangling from my leg.  In the morning, he was gone, obviously picked up by an Upper Transport Team.  I´ve never heard from or about him again.  This is what we are trying to accomplish here with our dearly-departed-but-not-departed Juan, though it doesn´t involve such intense personal contact.  Let´s hope his release can be accomplished as easily.

Stay tuned.

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The Ghost of Juan Valdez

Saturday, January 10th, 2009

Everyone knows of Juan Valdez…right?  He´s the guy in the commercials for that special brand of Colombian coffee.  It sure is good because I went to the Juan Valdez Cafe in Medellin´s Zona Rosa for breakfast yesterday and had a Cafe Con Leche and a puff pastry.  They sell a whole line of tee shirts, sweatshirts, gift coffee cups, and coffee-related objects, and I guess there are franchises in many countries.  Big commercial coffee operation.

Well, here in this hostel, we have our own version of Juan Valdez in the form of a ghost who inhabits a particular five-bed dorm room and it´s adjoining bathroom.  I haven´t before, during my long life,  had the pleasure of co-occupancy with a ghost  (my private room is next to said dorm and said bathroom), so I was thrilled with the opportunity to see how this sort of thing feels, being a “sensitive” myself.

Luis and Salome, employees of this hostel, also talented in spiritual things, told me of the goosebumps they could feel when this ghost was nearby and Salome could see him, but with a sensing inner radar, rather than her eyes.  One maid is particularly afraid of him and will often come and get Luis to chase him away while she is cleaning a room or a bath.  The general impression here is that he is good and not harmful but many people, including some guests, just don´t want to deal with such goings-on from another dimension, and they get “spooked.”

So, I decided to visit this “phantasm” in his favorite hangout,  that dorm bathroom.  Instantly, both of my lower arms broke out in goosebumps.  Soon, the light began to flicker in a regular, mathematical pattern.  One.  One, two.  One, two, three.  That´s intended as a clue to say:  “Hey! I´m and intelligent being here!  This is no coincidence.”  Then, I heard a slight crackling, electrical sound coming from the same light fixture.  I knew that I had his full attention and that he was trying to communicate, so I began to think-talk to him.  “Hi, what´s your name?” ignoring the chance that he was a Spanish-speaking ghost, no doubt.

These telepathic lines go to brain cells that ignore language differences, and he answered that his name was Juan Valdez.  I said, “Yeah, right!  Where´s your donkey?  That´s the silliest thing I ever heard! You must be joking!”  Later, when I repeated this experience to Luis, it meant something to him, as he is a great admirer of this coffee and everything about the franchise, so we figured it might be a message for him as the ghost seems to want to communicate with Luis.  By now, we just call this invisible one, Juan, and don´t worry about the legitimacy of the title.  So, he took on a name with this little tete-a-tete of ours.   Previously, he had just been referred to in hushed tones as the Phantasm.

That very afternoon, that same bathroom´s crackling lightbulb burned out….so there´s an out for any practical-thinkers who might be reading this blog and shaking their heads at my foolishness.  That´s all it ever was…an electrical problem.  Except, simultaneously, the lightbulb in the hall outside of my nearby room, burned out too.  I conversed with Juan for a few hours that day and told him that he needed to be on his way into the realms where people must go when they leave their bodies.  When I became unable to sense his presence any more, I thought that he had done just that.

However, the beat goes on with Luis and Salome, so maybe he just didn´t like my line of thinking.  Stay tuned folks.  More on the Ghost of Juan Valdez later.

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An Ordinary Day Around the Hostel In Medellin, Colombia

Thursday, January 8th, 2009

I was too much the early bird this morning and went out about 8 a.m. to try to breakfast at Juan Valdez Cafe.  Silly me.  Nothing opens till 10 a.m., so I sat on a cold stone bench in the lovely green park opposite, writing in my journal.  At nine, I gave up on Juan and found another place for a hot cafe-con-leche and a yummy puff pastry for $1.50.  When my stomach begins to think about lunch, I shall sally forth to take my pick from the many excellent restaurants in the neighborhood.  Eating is one of the great highlights of each day when the world just lies waiting for you.  I saw a Lebonese place; a sushi place; Mexican; many pizza spots.  It´s all just on the Latino timeframe.  Later, man, later!

Fawn, who blogged about me on her www.hardwonwisdom.com blogsite, posed a list of questions for me to answer as I go.  Let´s pick up on those again:

  • What am I feeling?

Very happy, casual, laid-back, friendly and natural with my hostel-mates, striking up good conversations so easily, unworried and unhurried, as ready to go take a nap as to sit around and read or explore.  Today has turned cloudy and cooler and I´ll wait till that clears up to go city-exploring with a good map.  This way I can spend time on the internet here at the excellent facilities right in the hostel…reading the news of the world, answering email, and talking to you guys on the blog.  Life is good and all is as it should be.

  • How far the money goes?

Pretty far, so far.  I have changed a little over $300 into pesos.  Some of it was the supply I brought in and $100 was from my bank account by debit card when I couldn´t locate a Cambio (money exchange) in Bogota open on a Sunday.  So, now I have this stash of high-figure pesos that I use out of and it will carry me for quite awhile.  On January 14, a week from now, my bank account will refill with the Social Security check and that will provide a good cushion.  My hostel private room here costs $25 a day and food maybe $10 – $15 a day, if that.  So, the budget may run about $40 per day at most.  My RTW budget was $65 per day.  The cities and tourist places that I´m in right now are more expensive, naturally, and this is high season.  But, it´s all very affordable.

  • Is it harder than last time?

No, not at all.  It feels very much the same, even though three years have passed.  Body-wise, I am just the same in every way.  I just easily slip into the routine of lugging heavy stuff, trying to find my way about, watching out for my valuables, and communicating with faulty language skills.  Very familiar.

More later.

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Oh, How I Love Medellin, (Maida-yeen) Colombia!

Wednesday, January 7th, 2009

Wow!  This city is so great and so very beautiful with green parks everywhere.  First order of today was to go out and get lost in the Zona Rosa, a place that rocks until 2 a.m. and is full of fabulous daytime restaurants.  My Casa Kiwi Hostel is three blocks away in a quiet but convenient neighborhood.  I wandered about this morning in search of my first taste of Colombian coffee (yum) and 11 a.m. was too early for this sector.  An hour later, the Ave Maria Restaurant served me up a spectacular feast of local specialties for about $11.  Coffee, soup, and a huge platter filled with avocado, fried banana, rice, pork and chicken.  Oh yes, this food is not spicy, but delicately lemony.  So, that´s my meal of the day with a light snack from the market across the street for supper.  I can cook in this kitchen but it´s so much fun to taste about town too.

Yesterday, our bus took eleven hours instead of nine but it was as modern and as comfortable as any airplane interior and I was bundled heavily against the cold AC.  We watched 4 violent American movies, all with the theme of child kidnappings, gun battles, and car chases, variously starring Bruce Willis, Mel Gibson, Steven Seigel and enormous bang, bang, bang, but all dubbed in Spanish so I couldn´t follow the story.  Shame on us for exporting such mental violence.  There ought to be a narc squad for our cinema output.

We wound along hairpin roads in the two cordilleras that cover this countryside, passing through many poor villages and towns, and spotting the occasional wealthy hacienda, with swimming pool and luxurious fenced grounds tucked away behind palms, none of which had visible means of support – such as a coffee plantation or cattle ranch.  Hmmmm?

This countryside is really very beautiful, whether mountainous or in the valley and Medellin, between two cordilleras, is the same temperature as balmy Florida.  Perfect.  I now have two good friends – Georgie (a girl) and Aaron, from Melbourne, whom I met in the Bogota bus terminal as I looked for someone to watch my backpack while I ran to the bathroom before boarding our bus.  They were traveling here, as well, and had no hostel reservations so shared my taxi on the chance that Casa Kiwi could take them in.  Sure enough.  No problem.

I love my Casa Kiwi Hostel and am settling in for probably more than three days.  I went for a private room for $25, shared bath, as I always had four or five roommates in my Bogota Hostel, so decided to treat myself.  I already have many stories to tell about this great place but that will have to wait for another time as my eyes are tired and the sunscreen I sprayed my face with this morning is slipping down into them.  Not very comfortable.

I shall close with some questions from Fawn, which I will try to pose to myself from time to time to keep you updated:

  • What do people over here say about America, politics, economic crisis?

Not much at all, if anything.  They like me being American, but that´s that.  There aren´t many of us.  a few, but many more Aussies and Kiwis.  Zip, zero, nada on politics.  Nonexistent subject.  David from Germany, a financial consultant now traveling to fill his time, said he has met some former Lehman Brothers employees now backpacking the world.  Apparently, he has something to go home to, but they don´t.  That´s it on that subject.  Home and the politics of the world do not impinge too heavily out here on the trail.  I spoke briefly to a lovely Sabra here, who briefly acknowledged the Gaza stuff, and then the subject moved on.

Too tired.  More questions later.  Anyway, I want to go socialize with someone other than this computer.

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I´m Baaaaack! Now in Colombia, South America

Wednesday, January 7th, 2009

Well gang,  It´s been awhile since my last post here.  The days after Christmas became a blur of packing and take-off duties, which I boringly wrote about on my other running blog: www.heyboomers.com, but because I´d forgotten my password, didn´t get duplicated here.  You know the takeoff drill anyway, so I won´t bore you.

I took off for Bogota, Columbia, on January 2, arriving very early Saturday morning, for a three-day at Alegria´s Hostel in La Candalaria district.  It´s pretty and a new hostel but I froze my whole time in that city because of the high altitude and the low temperatures.  Luckily, I had cold weather clothing and wore three or four layers, even to bed.

Yesterday was spent busing through the mountains in a gorgeous air-conditioned modern bus to the wonderful city of Medellin and a late arrival at Casa Kiwi, which is super-good.  I treated myself to a private room, shared bath for $25 per night and am now getting acquainted with the hostellers and the resident phantasm (ghost) who lives next door to my room.  I like things like this and was thrilled to hear that this modern hostel made up of two old houses, had one.  He´s a good ghost.

Anyway, I shall try to share my postings between my two sites and become an active Boots blogger again. Come back for more ghost stories.

Posted in 1, Happy in Medellin | No Comments »

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