Blogging on long-term life just isn’t the same. The bus rides, the encounters, the animal in the street, the music and the heat just don’t llaman mi atención anymore. This is not to say that I am used to living here, or that I don’t experience things every day that shock or delight me. It’s just that shock, delight (along with bewilderment, frustration and occasionally joy) are just the emotions that I find myself grappling with on a regular basis. I usually can’t even remember the sources of my numerous emotional highs and lows. Thank goodness I’ve figured out how to do yoga at home. Without this, my heart might have hardened a little bit here with the many sudden attacks of anger that I go through when something doesn’t go my way.
This weekend is election weekend in Colombia. People are voting for their governors, their mayors, and all of the comities and assemblies that get behind them. Although the streets of Barranquilla don’t resemble the crime-nest that some stories of Colombia might conjure up in your mind, politics are still a sort of dicy game. For example, Soledad has way more voters than residents. Dead people vote in Soledad! I think some ridiculous percentage of the senators of the past couple of decades are serving time. And, people are still killed, kidnapped, and threatened during their run for office. The numbers of homicides, kidnappings, and attempts that I read for this year on the Caribbean coast alone alarmed me.
It still floods everytime it sprinkles
Perhaps for this reason, this weekend is a dry weekend. “Ley Seca” went into affect around the country at 6 pm this afternoon (and the grocery store was swamped with people purchasing their emergency alcohol rations). Last night, my roommates and I went out for a drink to get ready for the crackdown, and I had a frustrating experience where, after 10 months of living here, I ordered a vodka tonic and could not be understood. The words for vodka tonic in Spanish are “vodka” and “tonica”, so I really don’t know how I kept on ending up with Old Parr mixed in ginger ale and who knows what. It took three tries! And the worst thing is that the waiters here have to pay for their mistakes, so once I realized that I decided to forfit my free “happy hour drink” to pay for the misunderstanding. But I swear, people look at me and decide they won’t understand before I even open my mouth. Vodka. Tonica. Vodka con tonica. Vodka y tonica. Dos ingredientes. I don’t have a great accent, but how does that sound like “Old Parr”? It’s embarrassing for me sometimes!
Now I’m waiting for my friend who is a boy. He’s only about 2 hours later than he said he would be (which is actually very unusual for him). I hope that my readers can sense my “This is totally normal and I wouldn’t expect anything else” air...I am not writing these frustrations out of weariness. I still like living here, and learning how to deal with vexation is great. I’m writing this for you because it’s funny! Next time I’ll write something nice...but I guess I’ll have to admit to you that I might be acquiring some of that irritating ex-pat sardonicism. If that is the case, it’s a very good thing that I’m leaving in 2 months.
Cumbia in Palenque
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