There are quite a lot of things to report on this week, and unfortunately, I had written an entire post just moments ago when my internet connection failed, the computer shut off, and I lost everything.
Tranquilo.
This word, translated literally, means ´´tranquil.´´ In Colombia, it is an expression which means ´´relax, no big deal, don´t worry about it, take your time.´´ It is important to me to continue to remind myself to be tranquila because sometimes once you lose something, it´s gone. It´s fine. I can re-type this. My intense, type-A perfectionistic, idealistic personality is really getting a good exercise in patience. Latin America is a good place for me to learn these lessons. If all else fails, you can always abandon your work for the moment and go take a nap, or drink a cup of coffee, or work on something else, and go back to it later.
Many things are unpredictable in life, and even more so in Manizales, largely in part due to the ever-fluctuating weather. I might even go as far to say that they experience more of a range of climate than we do in my beloved New England. They even have the same expression we often hear during the winter in Boston, ´´if you don´t like the weather here, wait a minute.´´ Today was a good example.
As today is Saturday, we woke up later than usual. When I crawled out of bed and stepped outside to stretch, I remarked on the great difference between the warmth of the sun at 8am and its heat at 6:30am, which is when we get up on weekdays. The sky was bright and the air was dry. It felt really delicious. Jenn and I made plans to go into the city, so after our morning chores, we packed our bags and prepared for the four kilometer trek down the dirt road to the bus stop. Not one second after I closed the zipper to my bag, I heard the resounding crack and boom of thunder in the near distance. The sky darkened, and the crescendo of falling water approached us, until we found ourselves under attack by gumball sized drops of rain, which fell from the sky with an intensity I hadn´t experienced.
Determined not to let a little (or a lot) of rain hamper our city plans, we trudged ahead anyway, and marched headfirst into sheets of precipitation. About a minute or two into our soggy stroll, a rickety, rusty truck rattled its way down the road towards us and stopped a few feet ahead. The driver rolled down his window and asked us if we wanted a ride down to the bus stop. I peered inside his vehicle and saw that there was already someone sitting in his passenger seat, and that the backseat was stacked with boxes, farm equipment, and bunches of freshly-picked bananas. ´´But, there´s no room,´´ I said. ´´No, the back!´´ he replied. Of course. How very American of me, thinking inside the box of safety and low-risk. Of course there was room--on the back of truck, especially if you grip onto the racks on top of the roof. Jenn and I exchanged affirmative looks and hopped on.
The rain and wind picked up, and it would appear that we got our ride in the nick of time. The dirt road became a mud river, and the water fell with such concentrated showers that it pelted us in the face in sharp needles. I had to keep my eyes closed out of fear of losing a contact lens (or eyeball). I waved to every neighbor we passed, even if I didn´t know them. We certainly were a sight to behold--I can only imagine what the onlookers must have thought. Gangly white giantess and her equally pale compatriote, dangling off the edge of the truck, bodies swaying with each curve and bump of the road. We both had smiles plastered to our faces for the entirety of the five minute ride. It was not unlike what I imagine an Epcot parade to be. We arrived to the bus stop completely soaked, like, we-just-jumped-in-the-lagoon-with-our-jeans-on-soaked. But elated. This is what traveling is all about.
Yesterday was another soggy day, and another lesson in tranquilidad. When I went to go visit my chicken friends at mid-morning, to check for eggs and refill their water, I forgot to close the door behind me. As I greeted my gurrrlfriends and we had our typical repoire (´´awwww gurrrrl whatchu doinnnnnn bwahhh bwwahhhhh gurlll whatchu got in that nest gurrrrrrrl´´[see my last post for insight into this relationship]), about fifteen of them streamed out behind me, a reddish-brown sea of poultry. Crap. I ran out after them, and began to grab them two at a time with impressive swiftness, especially given the fact that three weeks ago I had never touched a chicken in my life. I picked one up by the legs even, since I had read somewhere that if you pick them up that way they become peaceful and dream-like. Not true. The little bugger squawcked and flapped like nothing else, and I hurried to dump her back in her home. Just as I was rounding up the last few, I caught The Bully jumping on top of the babies´ cage, pecking at them, causing their trap door on the top to cave in on top of them, which allowed them to escape out as well. They hopped and peeped around in an anarchous mess, and I had to take a deep breath and find my tranquila before deciding on who to chase down first, and how to do it. I finally grabbed the last of them, put them all back where they belonged, and then sat down to have a one-on-one with The Bully.
I had been noticing that The Bully has been picking on the younger ones for a few days now, so I asked Trinidad, the animal guru at Cecilia´s farm, what the deal was with her. She told me that this chicken had been persecuted when she was a baby, and was certainly at the bottom of the totem pole, of the pecking order, literally. So, there I sat with Bully, and tried to reason with her using kindergarten logic. ´´Don´t you remember what it was like when they picked on you? Why are you doing it to them? Be a role model and break the chain!´´ She cocked her head to the side, and I thought I got through to her, until I caught her moments later picking through the compost heap, which is pretty much closed off, except for a little hole. This heap is where we throw the chicken poop and the leftover feed that has been pecked-through and clogged up with poultry saliva. It was then that I realized that a chicken who eats her own excrement, and the excrement of her brothers, sisters, and contemporaries, probably lacks the mental capacity necessary to comprehend empathetic logic. Ingesting poop and ABC feed certainly won´t increase brain mass. Oh well. I now fully understand the term pecking order. I will write about the social breakdown of the chicken community in later posts.
Other noteworthy points from the week, in bullet point, since this post is already obnoxiously long:
-I learned how to make goat cheese.
-I sorted and cleaned about 50 pounds of dried coffee beans, which are now ready to be roasted and processed
-Horses poop about 30 pounds a day!
-You can eat orange peels, if you scoop out all the white parts and soak them in water for a week, then dry them and sweeten them with a little sugar or honey
-I learned how to make peanut butter, by hand
-Manizaleños also dress up for Halloween. There are armies of little nugget children wandering around the city in costumes, and it´s really cute.
It rains here like I´ve never experienced. Right now it sounds like someone is pouring a dump truck-sized bag of quarters on top of the tin roof of this internet café. I get these wild daydreams of our little house on the farm being swept away into the coffee valleys.
Life on the farm can be simplified into two acts: pooping and eating. We eat, we poop, we throw our poop (and the poop of our animals) on the food we will eat in the future, we feed ourselves this food, we feed the animals this food as well, we all poop, and we throw this poop back on the future food. It´s beautiful.
Our goat is named Navidad, or Christmas, and she is the furthest thing from merry you will ever meet.
Thanks for reading! Tranquilo!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Farm, a Week in.
¡La Finca, Al Fin!
So, I´m finally at the farm. I am beginning to see that it will be sort of difficult to post with regularity simply because we are kind of far from things like computers and stores. Which is charming and was certainly the goal of this trip, but yeah, it might be a while before the next post. Also, I now have a mailing address, so feel free to contact me if you want it! I like presents!
Jenn and I arrived 2 weeks ago after carefully following Cecilia (the owner)´s directions on how to arrive at her rural abode. After boarding the local buseta (read:minivan with a few extra seats squeezed in) and winding slowly out of the city of Manizales, through little hilly towns, and finally along the windy country road that snakes around the edge of the valley of coffee fields down below, we finally arrived at a rickety old sign with the name of the town. ´´A walk of fifteen minutes from where the bus drops you off, and you will arrive at our home´´ was what Cecilia what had said to us. I pictured a casual stroll down a dirt path. What she should have said was, ¨after forty five minutes of straight uphill mountain climbing, you´ll encounter a brief break of flat road, and then another steep hill awaits you. This should take at least an hour.´´ So, needless to say, with all of our belongings strapped to our backs, after a brief ´´you´ve got to be kidding me´´ exchange, we began the ascent in silence, like two little goats. Good thing we both used to be varsity athletes. An hour later, we arrived. Sweaty and buggy, but relieved to have finally found our new home!
The next day we boarded a bus with Cecilia to attend an eco agricultural conference in Pitalito, which is in the south of the country. It was an international venue for farmers, vendors, and people from various non profits to meet and learn about what others have been doing around south america in the name of ecology and agriculture. It was really interesting to me because it was organized by a leg of the Colombian government called SENA (Servicio Nacional de Aprendizaje, or national learning service). Every region of Colombia has an office, and they run a school for children who mostly come from rural families with few resources, and in these schools the children learn all about sustainable agriculture and managing projects, and they each choose a practical focus like business management as well. And, it´s completely free. Really cool stuff. I wish our country had governmental programs that taught kids how to farm! Once the students graduate from the high school, they typically only have to go to university for 2 years instead of four because so many of their credits transfer. This makes university access more affordable as well. Brilliant.
Ok, so like I said, this conference was international. International, yes, but only for nations in Latin America. So, you can imagine that Jenn and I created quite the stir. Everytime I stepped out of the auditorium, someone grabbed my arm to either take a picture of the giant gringa, or they wanted to ask us what we thought of Colombia, or they wanted to practice their English. At one point, we had a giant crowd of about 70 people surrounding us, asking us questions and taking pictures. It was the Jenn and Ali show. I was interviewed for their local television channel, and I was also interviewed by one of their journalist students for their radio station. Famosas. Apparently they don´t get foreigners around there often.
Now, back at the farm, life is more simple. I feed the chickens every morning. The big momma ones make so many glucking and clucking noises when I enter their home to feed them, and it really makes me laugh because it sounds like they´re saying, ´´gurrrrrrrrrl...........whatchu doinnnnnnnn....gurrrrrrrrrrrrrl.....´´ and so I talk to them in the same way. They are large and in charge. Other daily chores involve feeding and milking our goat, whose name is Navidad. She is essentially a dog on crack, with horns. I´m slightly terrified of her, but I pretend not to be because I think animals can tell when they have the upper hand, and then they manipulate you. See last entry on cat attack.
Cecilia also typically has school groups come to visit the farm, and both Jenn and I help out with these as well. I really enjoy working with children, and I think it´s so cool that they get to have these types of experiences at such a young age, coming to a completely sustainable farm and learning about the importance of biodiversity. Cecilia is so charismatic and the children all stare at her, wide eyed, during her presentations. Then we take walks through her trails around the house and learn about the many different plants and animals that make that space their home.
I intend to be at this farm until the beginning of December. I already feel like it´s not enough time.
So, I´m finally at the farm. I am beginning to see that it will be sort of difficult to post with regularity simply because we are kind of far from things like computers and stores. Which is charming and was certainly the goal of this trip, but yeah, it might be a while before the next post. Also, I now have a mailing address, so feel free to contact me if you want it! I like presents!
Jenn and I arrived 2 weeks ago after carefully following Cecilia (the owner)´s directions on how to arrive at her rural abode. After boarding the local buseta (read:minivan with a few extra seats squeezed in) and winding slowly out of the city of Manizales, through little hilly towns, and finally along the windy country road that snakes around the edge of the valley of coffee fields down below, we finally arrived at a rickety old sign with the name of the town. ´´A walk of fifteen minutes from where the bus drops you off, and you will arrive at our home´´ was what Cecilia what had said to us. I pictured a casual stroll down a dirt path. What she should have said was, ¨after forty five minutes of straight uphill mountain climbing, you´ll encounter a brief break of flat road, and then another steep hill awaits you. This should take at least an hour.´´ So, needless to say, with all of our belongings strapped to our backs, after a brief ´´you´ve got to be kidding me´´ exchange, we began the ascent in silence, like two little goats. Good thing we both used to be varsity athletes. An hour later, we arrived. Sweaty and buggy, but relieved to have finally found our new home!
The next day we boarded a bus with Cecilia to attend an eco agricultural conference in Pitalito, which is in the south of the country. It was an international venue for farmers, vendors, and people from various non profits to meet and learn about what others have been doing around south america in the name of ecology and agriculture. It was really interesting to me because it was organized by a leg of the Colombian government called SENA (Servicio Nacional de Aprendizaje, or national learning service). Every region of Colombia has an office, and they run a school for children who mostly come from rural families with few resources, and in these schools the children learn all about sustainable agriculture and managing projects, and they each choose a practical focus like business management as well. And, it´s completely free. Really cool stuff. I wish our country had governmental programs that taught kids how to farm! Once the students graduate from the high school, they typically only have to go to university for 2 years instead of four because so many of their credits transfer. This makes university access more affordable as well. Brilliant.
Ok, so like I said, this conference was international. International, yes, but only for nations in Latin America. So, you can imagine that Jenn and I created quite the stir. Everytime I stepped out of the auditorium, someone grabbed my arm to either take a picture of the giant gringa, or they wanted to ask us what we thought of Colombia, or they wanted to practice their English. At one point, we had a giant crowd of about 70 people surrounding us, asking us questions and taking pictures. It was the Jenn and Ali show. I was interviewed for their local television channel, and I was also interviewed by one of their journalist students for their radio station. Famosas. Apparently they don´t get foreigners around there often.
Now, back at the farm, life is more simple. I feed the chickens every morning. The big momma ones make so many glucking and clucking noises when I enter their home to feed them, and it really makes me laugh because it sounds like they´re saying, ´´gurrrrrrrrrl...........whatchu doinnnnnnnn....gurrrrrrrrrrrrrl.....´´ and so I talk to them in the same way. They are large and in charge. Other daily chores involve feeding and milking our goat, whose name is Navidad. She is essentially a dog on crack, with horns. I´m slightly terrified of her, but I pretend not to be because I think animals can tell when they have the upper hand, and then they manipulate you. See last entry on cat attack.
Cecilia also typically has school groups come to visit the farm, and both Jenn and I help out with these as well. I really enjoy working with children, and I think it´s so cool that they get to have these types of experiences at such a young age, coming to a completely sustainable farm and learning about the importance of biodiversity. Cecilia is so charismatic and the children all stare at her, wide eyed, during her presentations. Then we take walks through her trails around the house and learn about the many different plants and animals that make that space their home.
I intend to be at this farm until the beginning of December. I already feel like it´s not enough time.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Cat Attack
So, continuing on our romatic exploration of the old historical district of Bogotá, we stumbled upon a ´´Pastelería Francesa´´ (French pastry shop) and, despite the budget we had set for ourselves, moseyed on in for a look and inevitably a tasty treat.
I should have known the place would be kind of expensive, due to the rather high ratio of gringo to latino. Upon entrance, I spotted a crusty-looking white dude with a blondish-reddish beard, writing in a leatherbound journal. I was willing to overlook the potential sticker shock of the establishment simply because, through a little arched doorway, I could see a sunny little courtyard with a glass roof and many hanging plants and little armchairs and other cozy little nooks. A photographer´s paradise. We sat down and ordered some espresso and a couple of little sweets.
Almost immediately upon taking our seats at a little wooden table, a rather lively and feisty cat bounced in to join us. She began doing the ´´scratch me please´´ dance by rubbing her head and body against our legs. I don´t really love cats, nor animals in general so much, but Jenny really does, so she indulged the creature while I kind of scowled at it and used the opportunity to dig into the chocolate tart while she was occupied.
The cat caught my eye, and I swear I saw a plan brewing behind her little slitted irises. She crept under the table and was soon directly underneath me, which caused my chest to tighten slightly. I took my first sip and placed the cup back down. Cat was doing the pounce face. She lurched back, jumped up on her hind legs, and hooked her paw around the edge of the table, hitting the espresso saucer and catapulting my espresso cup (and its entire scalding contents) onto my lap.
I had to trek back into the main room of the café, tail between my legs, to explain rather sheepishly to the barista that I had been attacked by the cat. I showed her the giant wet stain on my pants. Her eyes widened, and I saw her doing her best to hold back a good cackle, but she was quite the lady and instead handed me some towels and brought me a new cup. Awesome.
I asked her if this had ever happened to anyone else before. Nope. Of course it hadn´t. Friggin cats.
I should have known the place would be kind of expensive, due to the rather high ratio of gringo to latino. Upon entrance, I spotted a crusty-looking white dude with a blondish-reddish beard, writing in a leatherbound journal. I was willing to overlook the potential sticker shock of the establishment simply because, through a little arched doorway, I could see a sunny little courtyard with a glass roof and many hanging plants and little armchairs and other cozy little nooks. A photographer´s paradise. We sat down and ordered some espresso and a couple of little sweets.
Almost immediately upon taking our seats at a little wooden table, a rather lively and feisty cat bounced in to join us. She began doing the ´´scratch me please´´ dance by rubbing her head and body against our legs. I don´t really love cats, nor animals in general so much, but Jenny really does, so she indulged the creature while I kind of scowled at it and used the opportunity to dig into the chocolate tart while she was occupied.
The cat caught my eye, and I swear I saw a plan brewing behind her little slitted irises. She crept under the table and was soon directly underneath me, which caused my chest to tighten slightly. I took my first sip and placed the cup back down. Cat was doing the pounce face. She lurched back, jumped up on her hind legs, and hooked her paw around the edge of the table, hitting the espresso saucer and catapulting my espresso cup (and its entire scalding contents) onto my lap.
I had to trek back into the main room of the café, tail between my legs, to explain rather sheepishly to the barista that I had been attacked by the cat. I showed her the giant wet stain on my pants. Her eyes widened, and I saw her doing her best to hold back a good cackle, but she was quite the lady and instead handed me some towels and brought me a new cup. Awesome.
I asked her if this had ever happened to anyone else before. Nope. Of course it hadn´t. Friggin cats.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Día de la Marta
¡Hola from Bogotá!
Well, after a slightly ridiculous series of bumps on our South American road, Jenny and I have arrived safely in Bogotá. Our flight was delayed about three hours due to exceptionally strong winds in Newark. So strong, in fact, that the catering company´s little food truck tipped over (at least, according to the Spanish account. The english explanation left that part out. It´s fun to be able to understand the flight announcments in both languages). Anyway, we waited an hour and a half on the runway, buckled in safely, for the catering company and the airline to make a decision about whether or not we´d even get food. When it was decided that we would be fed, it was another hour and a half of waiting for them to manually load the carts onto the plane. It was quite the production.
Silver lining: The extra time spent on the plane allowed us to meet Marta, the woman with whom we shared our row. She was about the age of our mothers, and we struck up a conversation with her. What an amazing woman--so warm, so loving, so funny, and so welcoming! After five minutes, she had given us her phone number and address and told us if we needed anything, to please call her. I think she was kind of worried about us, simply because we are two young women traveling alone in Colombia without any big strong men to fend off the rif raff. She would not leave the baggage claim until we both had our stuff, and then she waited outside the airport to make sure we went to the ´´official´´ taxi stand. She didn´t get into her husband´s car until we were safely inside the taxi. Nice lady. But this was not our first lovely Marta, oh no.
In the airport, back in Newark, a woman asked Jenny if she´d take her picture. Jenny took the photo and as we were waiting in line to board, we started chit chatting. I kid you not, after no more than 32 seconds, she let us know that if we needed anything, anything at all in Bogotá, that we could call her. She gave us her number and trust, and off she went. Her name? Also Marta. I really love Colombians. I feel so good about this trip.
Our hostel is warm and plant-filled, and it perpetually smells like a wood burning stove and spices. There are sunsplashed patios and multi-colored hammocks hanging from the pillars that surround the little courtyards, and there always seems to be a hot kettle of tea or coffee sitting around somewhere. I´ve met the most lovely poeple and eaten some delicious food (today´s lunch included chocolate completo, which is hot chocolate served with bread and cheese for dipping). We are in the old part of Bogotá, called La Candelaria, up on a hill, and when you start to walk down the hill towards the main plaza and turn around, the view uphill is breathtaking. In the foreground you see this palette of pastel-colored buildings with balconies and spanish tile roofs, and then in the background it´s the rolling green hills that surround the city. Romantic doesn´t begin to describe it.
This has been a fantastic start.
Well, after a slightly ridiculous series of bumps on our South American road, Jenny and I have arrived safely in Bogotá. Our flight was delayed about three hours due to exceptionally strong winds in Newark. So strong, in fact, that the catering company´s little food truck tipped over (at least, according to the Spanish account. The english explanation left that part out. It´s fun to be able to understand the flight announcments in both languages). Anyway, we waited an hour and a half on the runway, buckled in safely, for the catering company and the airline to make a decision about whether or not we´d even get food. When it was decided that we would be fed, it was another hour and a half of waiting for them to manually load the carts onto the plane. It was quite the production.
Silver lining: The extra time spent on the plane allowed us to meet Marta, the woman with whom we shared our row. She was about the age of our mothers, and we struck up a conversation with her. What an amazing woman--so warm, so loving, so funny, and so welcoming! After five minutes, she had given us her phone number and address and told us if we needed anything, to please call her. I think she was kind of worried about us, simply because we are two young women traveling alone in Colombia without any big strong men to fend off the rif raff. She would not leave the baggage claim until we both had our stuff, and then she waited outside the airport to make sure we went to the ´´official´´ taxi stand. She didn´t get into her husband´s car until we were safely inside the taxi. Nice lady. But this was not our first lovely Marta, oh no.
In the airport, back in Newark, a woman asked Jenny if she´d take her picture. Jenny took the photo and as we were waiting in line to board, we started chit chatting. I kid you not, after no more than 32 seconds, she let us know that if we needed anything, anything at all in Bogotá, that we could call her. She gave us her number and trust, and off she went. Her name? Also Marta. I really love Colombians. I feel so good about this trip.
Our hostel is warm and plant-filled, and it perpetually smells like a wood burning stove and spices. There are sunsplashed patios and multi-colored hammocks hanging from the pillars that surround the little courtyards, and there always seems to be a hot kettle of tea or coffee sitting around somewhere. I´ve met the most lovely poeple and eaten some delicious food (today´s lunch included chocolate completo, which is hot chocolate served with bread and cheese for dipping). We are in the old part of Bogotá, called La Candelaria, up on a hill, and when you start to walk down the hill towards the main plaza and turn around, the view uphill is breathtaking. In the foreground you see this palette of pastel-colored buildings with balconies and spanish tile roofs, and then in the background it´s the rolling green hills that surround the city. Romantic doesn´t begin to describe it.
This has been a fantastic start.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
