Rio through the lens

For those of you with curiosity and some time to kill, click on the country name to see complete photo albums from this recent adventure: Colombia and Brazil

And below, a sampling of Rio captured on film.


The man, the myth, the legend.



Never too young to become a futebol addict


Ipanema Beach on a beautiful day.



Locals at play. Always.




Precious faces.

Back to Reality

I changed my mind. I have decided that the itsy-bitsy speedo-like bathing suit on Brazilian men is actually pretty hot. Only in Rio de Janeiro do they - and can they - wear it oh, so well.


Shameful exploitation. Sue me.

I have also changed my mind about Rio. It really is the Cidade Maravilhosa: a gorgeous city constantly at play, its people phenomenally kind, generous and welcoming to a foreigner like me. I am happy to say that with just 2 days of (finally) brilliant weather, my high expectations about Rio were met. Funny how everything looks better when the sun comes out.

Now, as I step aboard American flight 452 bound for Boston, I would like to send a special shout-out to all the kidnappers, hijackers, terrorists, rapists, thieves, muggers, pick-pocketers, scammers, con-artists and drug-dealers who left me alone during my travels. Before setting off I was feeling pretty scared of all of you. Thank you for letting me off the hook and passing me by. You have my utmost appreciation.

It would be easy to think of this flight home as heading "back to reality". But throughout my traveling life I have come to understand that just the opposite is true. To me, it doesn't get much more "real" than landing in a foreign village and having no clue where I will sleep that night; or driving past a slum filled with barefoot kids and swallowing my guilt for having just bought another pair of shoes; or searching for a functioning phone and a calling card so I can check in with Grandma; or sharing a filthy shower with 30 young backpackers and their pubic hairs; or trying to explain to a pharmacist exactly what is wrong when we speak two very different languages; or carefully eating around the bits of pork because in this particular country, "vegetarian" includes chicken, seafood, turkey - pretty much everything but beef - and I have no idea how or if to ask for what I really want; or constantly carrying around a wad of toilet paper in my bag, knowing that it would be a rare luxury to find any in a public bathroom... that is, if I am lucky enough to find a public bathroom at all.

You may disagree, but I don't think of this past month as a "vacation." Rather, to me it was just another (albeit very exciting) slice of the life I have built for myself. And it is a life I thrive on! Traveling tests me. It challenges me. It takes me out of my comfort zone and sets me on a path that requires and demands flexibility, spontaneity and one very open mind. Traveling reminds me of all that exists beyond my relatively neat and tidy world. For all of these reasons, I travel. And for all of these reasons, I am already contemplating what and where might come next.

Hey Evan, can you spin that globe for me once again?

It rains in Rio

(September 21, 2009)

I don't know why I got off the bus. I knew it was turning onto the street on which I am currently living, Rua das Laranjeiras (sounds like larangitis).

My Portuguese is still pathetic, but with a little effort I could have mumbled through the words to confirm the bus' general direction. But I didn't ask for help, and instead stepped off and into a swarm of drenched Cariocas rushing home from their work day.

Now, I too am drenched, trudging, squishing and sliding through the flood that was once a street, soaked to the bone, my umbrella a useless shield against the evening's impressive downpour. My shoes have become heavy weights, filled to the brim with cruddy rainwater. My denim skirt is stuck to my thighs, riding up where it shouldn't. Wouldn't you know, I think to myself, it rains in Rio de Janeiro! And just then, I start to laugh out loud as the bus I was just sitting on passes by, and heads right past my front door.

It hasn't been all rain, cold and muck here in the Cidade Maravilhosa. The weekend was pretty nice, and in my first two days I was quite the tourist. Within hours of arrival on Saturday morning, I was whisked away for a jam-packed and carefully planned day under the direction of a local friend: right on schedule, he picked me up and generously treated me to a tour-by-car of Rio's hottest beaches, lunch of toasted sandwiches and frothy, blended Acai at one of the city's many amazing juice bars, then straight to the famous Maracana stadium for some futebol, passionately Brazilian style, then finally ending up at Salgueiro dance hall, a popular school and showcase for the fantastically wild sounds, rhythms and dance moves of Samba. It was my own personal Rio Highlights tour, and all this following the overnight flight from Bogotá left me more than ready for a good long nap. Or, for another glass of energizing Acai... which incidentally I have been trying to slow down on ever since learning that the magical berry is pretty darn fattening. Dammit.

Sunday I woke early and did what pretty much everyone does here on Sunday: I went to the beach. As seen on any postcard or in every guidebook, the beaches on weekends really do become packed to the gils with all of Rio's young, tanned, athletic and beautiful... plus everyone else. Intimidating for a white girl like me? Maybe a little!

It's fantastic, though. Endless miles of picturesque coastal roads are closed to traffic on Sunday, creating a virtual paradise for joggers and cyclists. These lanes become as packed as the beaches, and it would be impossible not to notice what an active and health-conscious bunch the Brazilians are. Every city block is home to a gym, a pilates studio, a natural foods market, a store selling exercise apparel, a juice bar or two. Needless to say I am loving how healthy this city seems to be. And I am relieved to have finally found a place - maybe for the first time ever! - where I can actually enjoy eating. Countless sushi restaurants, tons of fresh fruits and juice bars.... just drop in a Whole Foods Salad Bar and a jar of peanut butter, and I will have found culinary heaven.

The beach provides the stage and setting for exhibiting all the hard work and exercise that create these lovely bodies, and the vast population of well-toned and bronzed young men playing football and volleyball in the sand is particularly nice to look at. And believe me, these boys are plentiful! After so much time spent all week inside a gym, these perfectly sculpted dudes wouldn't dare stay indoors on weekends. I appreciate the spectacle, but I have to say that the itsy-bitsy speedo-like choice of bathing suit is somewhat of a distraction. No offense intended, but I grew up in California where a good pair of board shorts is considered sexy. Hey Rio boys, your bodies are hot but take a cue from those Cali surfers: leave a little to the imagination!

Despite all of this endless beauty and yummy eats, I have to admit that I haven't been as immediately wowed by Rio as much as I thought I would be. Maybe my expectations were too high. Maybe there has been just too much rain. Either way, I haven't really been feeling the essence of Rio just yet. I am thinking a change of scenery is in order, a break of sorts, a small journey to see some landscape, culture... and something different. Maybe I will head South for a day or two - or North - and give this great city a chance to dry out and warm up. I'll be back for the weekend, camera firmly in hand - and photos to share.

I Leave Colombia

18 September 2009

I leave Colombia...

With a counterfeit 10,000 peso note. Not sure how it ended up in my wallet, but it has quickly become my favorite souvenir.

Maybe with a few extra pounds around the waistline, thanks to too many cold cervezas, freshly-roasted corn on the cob drenched in butter, sinfully yummy treats made of arequipe (basically caramel) and the arepas. Oh those damn arepas... imagine a big piece of corn bread in the shape of a thick pancake, lightly fried in oil and butter, and filled with a sweet white cheese that oozes out as you try to slow the speed of inhale. It's heaven on the go for a snacker like me.



With tremendous respect for a culture that is diverse, progressive and open-minded. I never once felt odd for being a solo female traveler. I was never stared at or made to feel uncomfortable or intimidated in any way, as I might be in many other corners of the world. Here's a secret for you: Women completely rule in Colombia. They are modern, educated, sophisticated and confident. Just don't tell the guys this. They would probably deny it.

Having made new friends from Montevideo to Asuncion to Alberta to Tel Aviv, not to mention every corner of Colombia. This is why I travel, after all.

With a few new excellent slang words to round out my Spanish vocabulary.

Waxed, manicured and pedicured for such little money that I felt compelled to give the gals a ridiculously large tip.

With immense appreciation for a remarkable country and its incredibly kind people. I have never before felt so totally welcomed or unconditionally accepted as a foreigner. In every respect, Colombia greeted me with open arms.

Equal parts grateful and annoyed that as a well-kept white girl from the United States, I generally breeze through security and Customs without a second glance. I recognize that I probably just jinxed myself.

So excited to finally be en route to Brasil that I might start jumping up and down and screaming with glee right here in the Customs line at the airport in Bogotá. But I won't. See previous mention.

With the knowledge that I can live and survive just about anywhere, all I need is a yoga mat, a decent pillow and an internet connection.

On my way to Rio but already wondering where the next adventure might take me.

Tourist-ita in Bogota

I am cheating on my Portuguese tutor with another. Yes, I am a two-timer. Please don't tell. But the goal is a lofty one, thus requiring as much help as possible: learn Portuguese in the next five days. Can it be done?

After a two-week whirlwind tour around Colombia, I am now back in Bogota, and it was a formality that brought me here. You see, I rarely follow the path of most "normal" people - that is, plan ahead - and so it turns out that I need to spend a week in Bogota while my tourist visa for Brazil is being processed. Otherwise, I won't be getting on that plane to Rio come Friday night.

I hear the question in your mind right now... and yes, all American citizens need a visa to visit Brazil. A rather expensive visa, I might add. This is because the U.S. requires the same of Brazilians, so it's really only fair. And considering Brazil has long been at the top of my list of Dream Destinations, I have no doubt that it will be well worth the price of admission.

So I figure that while I am waiting around for the Brazilian Embassy to do their thing, I might as well try to learn the language. You may wonder how I managed to find two local Portuguese tutors within a matter of one day of being back here. I would tell you, but this is one girl who doesn't reveal (all) her secrets.

And anyway, I need both of them. Because the truth is I am nervous about being in a place where I can't easily communicate. Despite the rapid-fire pace with which the locals speak around here, Colombia has been too easy, and I have taken for granted my relative comfort with the Spanish language. Portuguese is a whole different, complicated but beautiful-sounding story, one I am trying my best to understand. The challenge though is that I fly into Rio on Saturday morning. Time is a-ticking.

In the meantime, I am making the most of this week in Bogota, and fully enjoying my time here. Despite the dodgy-by-night streets of the La Candelaria area (where my hotel is located), the cold weather, and the general consensus by other travelers that Medellin is a much cooler and more happening city, I like it here.

To me, Bogota feels more authentic than the heavily-cleavaged Medellin. Here there is a surprising degree of sophistication and elegance throughout the city, particularly in the way people dress. The new - global commerce, fancy cars and shiny high-rise buildings - seems to blend seamlessly with the old - a rich history, ubiquitous cultural institutions and well-preserved colonial architecture. The streets are easy to navigate, taxis and public transportation are plentiful, and every service you could ever need can be found here - including, I am thrilled to report, many, many yoga studios with kick-ass instructors. This is the kind of modern, interesting and fast-moving city in which I feel completely at ease - and if I can just manage to not get mugged during the next few days, it will be a very good week indeed.

Meanwhile, I have noticed something rather funny about Colombia - or annoying, depending on your perspective. (Editor's Note: This is not a wholly original observation, but one that was brought to my attention in a Medellin newspaper for gringos). In everyday speech, and throughout the country, there is this odd habit of "ito"-izing everything. For example, poco means a little. And it is super common in most Spanish-speaking countries to say poquito, meaning a little bit. But here in Colombia, everything is a little bit. The bank is cercita: A little bit close by. Pay the bill ahorita: A little bit right now. We are leaving in a media horita: In a little bit half an hour. I would make a good esposita. A good little bit of a wife. Um, ok....

In the spirit of this dimunization of absolutely everything, I have decided to be a tourist-ita while in Bogota. Meaning, I will probably spend more time sitting in cafes, drinking a warm canelazo and reading about all the things there are to do in Bogota, than I will actually spend doing them. Because more than anything, it feels great to stop moving, settle in a bit, and have time to just be here, doing all the things I would do back home - meet friends for coffee, take a language class, go salsa dancing, grocery shop... but do it all in Spanish. A "little bit" of living in Bogota feels like a great way to end my three-week tour of this amazing country. And although I am more than excited about Rio, come Friday I suspect I will be very bummed to leave.

Taking a break in Medellin

Once again, a stranger's hands reach out and grab at my bag. I am startled, but quickly realize this is not an attempted mugging. "Te ayudo?" they ask, and without waiting for an answer, my heavy suitcase if lifted out of my hands and hoisted to the top of the staircase.

Such is the way of Colombia. Maybe I lived in New York and Spain for too long because – and how sad this is – I am repeatedly shocked by how consistently nice, helpful and welcoming everyone is here. This is not an exaggeration: I left a yoga class on Thursday night with email addresses and phone numbers for 5 different people: call me if you need anything. Let's get a coffee tomorrow. You must come eat a meal at my home. My cousin is in Bogota, contact her, she will show you around. Next time you visit Medellin you stay with me ok?... etc., etc. It took me 3 years to make any friends at all in my yoga classes back home, and yet all this in a matter of one hour. And it's not uncommon: I have received offers such as these throughout the past two weeks, particularly in Cartagena, and the offers always seem genuine. Within minutes of meeting, complete strangers have taken me for drinks and for lunch and for walks, and have thus become, at the very least, future Facebook friends.

And as for the bag-carrying, well if this is what a machisto culture means, then I will not complain.

I have already come and gone from Medellin. It was a quick trip but one that was well worth the visit. What a fantastically progressive city Medellin is (pronounced Meh-Deh-Yeen, or with the beautiful Colombian accent, Meh-Deh-Jeen). And compared to the rest of what I have seen in Colombia, the city is so... mainstream. It really could be AnyCity USA, with its numerous parks, wide lane roads, Japanese cars, gleaming high-rise buildings, huge suburban shopping malls and a fast and sleek metro system that runs the length of the valley. There is nothing colonial, quaint or "typical" about Medellin, and I think the local paisas want it that way.

Medellin sits in one long, narrow valley that extends north to south, with numerous homes snacking their way up into the surrounding hillside. At night, the entire city lights up; the view from above is spectacular. With its high-class art, fashion and restaurant scene, and numerous international festivals of all kinds, Medellin clearly has lofty goals of greatness, and the city's hope for making its place on the global – rather than the Colombian – stage is palpable... but is very much threatened to be held back by the pervasiveness of young men sporting mullet haircuts.

Yes my friends, I said mullets. I haven't seen this many tails since I last went to a zoo. If anyone out there can explain this strange phenomenon, I would be thrilled to know WHY.

Anyway, I treated myself to two nights at the zen-like Global Hostel in the Poblado neighborhood of Medellin, a leafy and residential area dotted with designer shops, art galleries, nail salons and funky cafes. And just around the corner, I spy a yoga studio! Here in Poblado I am in heaven, completely chillled out and blissfully unaware of the prevalance of (cheap) cocaine use all around me.

As the middle-upper class zone, Poblado is where the night happens – the five city blocks surrounding Parque Lleras are literally packed with a hopping bar and restaurant scene that is almost too cool for itself. With thumping music ranging from Coldplay to Son Cubano, every single bar is open-air with outdoor seating; a testament to the permanently perfect, spring-like weather this city enjoys. Locals are always dressed to kill (well, at least the women are), with curvacious, bodacious, surgically enhanced bodies to match. Guys are boring in jeans, t-shirts and mullets. But the female look is way more fun: high heels, tight jeans practically painted over enormous rear ends, and much-too-small tops held up by some of the biggest breasts I have ever seen. I have never felt so flat in my life.

But not all of Medellin is so cool or prettyfied. The center of town is a completely different story: hectic, crowded, bustling and overwhelming, this area is literally one huge marketplace – packed with people, traffic, and tons and tons of crap for sale. Think Canal Street in Lower Manhattan, times 20. I suppose if I were writing this piece for a travel guide, or hosting my own travel series, I would take you there. But I am not. So I won't.

Instead, come with me as I ommmmm my way through a hatha yoga class at Sati Yoga on Calle 10. Sit me with as I people-watch and enjoy a Cappuccino spiked with Bailey's at the uber-French Café El Bon. Chill with me as I devour a nutella and banana crepe in Parque Lleras. Sightseeing is oh, so last week. This is one girl who needed a break from being a tourist. I am happy to report that I found that break in Medellin.


The Mothership


Beautiful neighborhood of Poblado

Beaches and big lips and shopping OH MY!

As the saying goes, careful what you wish for.

I have always thought it would be pretty amazing to look like Angelina Jolie. And wouldn't you know, this morning I awoke with lips so puffy and swollen, you'd swear I had been injected with collagen overnight. Only unlike it is for Miss Superstar Humanitarian Wondermom, big lips aren't looking so sexy on me. It must be a sunburn, unless some creepy crawly little thing bit me during the night... but let's not go there.

Maybe the swollen lips are punishment handed down by the Gods of Self-Imposed Rules, because as of now I have officially broken all three of my own. The first: No Coffee. Well come on, I am in Colombia after all. Can you blame me? The second: No Blackberry. Impossible, silly rule for an addict like me. The third: No Shopping. What can I say? I am weak. Pathetic and weak.

But isn't it always the case that when traveling, you just never seem to have the right clothes with you? Or, more like my situation right now, you start to hate the few things you do have? I look back on my 6 weeks traveling around Europe, and wonder how I didn't burn the 8 pieces of clothing I wore during that entire time. Come to think of it, maybe I did.

In my defense, the shopping wasn't completely my fault. The boutiques in the high-class beachfront neighborhood of Bocagrande (think La Jolla) are just too enticing to pass by. They beckon me with their very reasonable prices and fabulously unique made-in-Colombia fashions. Shame on them, not me. Those damn boutiques turned "not shopping" into Mission Impossible. And I am Angelina, remember? Not Tom Cruise.

I spent most of the day on Monday snoozing on the beach in Bocagrande, Blackberrying under a shady blue carpa (rentable by the day for only $5... or $4 with a little sweet-talking). Feigning sleep became my best defense against the parade of vendors marching up and down the beach, selling everything from recently deceased fish to massages to plastic watches. It was a perfectly content afternoon of beach naps and shopping, meant to be topped off with a trendy sushi dinner at Tabetai - where one very sexy Colombian sushi chef (he studied in Venezuela under a Japanese master) mixed up some of the most amazing sea bass ceviche and spicy tuna that I have ever tasted. I am happy to report that the new dress I had just guiltily bought quickly paid for itself. What else explains the complimentary glasses of wine that appeared at my table all evening?!

Tuesday was much less of a perfect day, and all I will say is that those of you considering a day trip to the beautiful Playa Blanca on the Island of Baru, well, don't. Yes, the beaches are gorgeous and oh so Caribbean, with pristine turquoise waters, swaying palm trees and long stretches of sugary white sand. But make this trip only if you plan to spend the night sleeping on a rented hammock or in a tent - something I would have loved to do had I timed my visit a little more, and if I wanted to tolerate the mosquito attacks that would surely be a part of this experience (which I didn't).

Early on Tuesday morning, I booked a seat on a high-speed motor boat, thinking I would avoid all the big tour groups and head direct to the island. Not quite so. By the time the boat actually got going, then made various stops around the bay for who-knows-what, then dropped off some folks at the touristy Aquarium, then slowed here and there to give a talking tour around the archipelago, it was well after 1pm when we actually made it to shore. And we had to turn around and head back at 3:30! The cruise out was fun enough, but the ride back was so smashy, choppy, churny and whiplashy I thought my spine would crack into two. I think actually it did. And so I hobbled my way back to the hotel, popped a few Motrin, and began to wonder if it was all really worth it. The jury is still out.

Wednesday. Hot, muggy, tired, icky. I have given myself a day off, and apart from a luxurious $4 spa pedicure, I have done as close to nothing as possible all day. Later tonight, I will take my achy back, two hilariously puffy lips, some cute new clothes and a dwindling bank account, and bid farewell to the beautiful city of Cartagena. Medellin awaits.


Snoozing beachfront in Bocagrande


Floating by the dock of the bay


Cruising away from Cartagena


There was a time I would only eat Lucky Charms.


Fresh coconut water served beachfront on Playa Blanca


I was caught! Yes, I bought some fruit in return.


Happiness comes in the simplest of forms.

Cartagena, like no other

Under the brightest of moons, with a cool breeze blowing through the plaza just outside the city's walls, the voice of Placido Domingo - live, in the flesh - rises up into the clear night. On the other side of the wall, just steps away, this magical sound is swallowed up by the heavy rhythms of salsa music pouring out of Donde Fidel Salsa Bar. Like you might find in any American sports bar, a large number of men fill the space in this legendary spot, staring intentedly at a big screen TV. Only tonight, they aren't watching any sort of big game, but rather videos of live salsa bands as turned by the resident Video Jockey. Swaying and rocking in their seats, they are enchanted by these native rhythms, completely oblivious to the famous tenor belting a tune just around the corner.

It must be Saturday night in Cartagena.

And lucky for me, I am here now, peering through the gates to catch a glimpse of Sr. Domingo, then strolling across Plaza de Los Coches and straight into Donde Fidel to join in the nightly rumba. There really is no where else I would rather be tonight, because in a matter of hours I have fallen completely in love with this city. Despite the overwhelming heat and the occasional nasty mosquito, Cartagena lives up to is reputation as the gem of Colombia. Hectic, hot and beautiful by day.... steamy, sultry and downright sexy by night. As far as cities go, Cartagena is everything and more.

I felt the city's charm the moment I arrived; it would be impossible not to. Imagine row after row of quaint colonial buildings in every color, old-world balconies draped with magnificent flowers, all overlooking a maze of narrow cobblestone streets that see surprisingly little traffic. Around every corner is a spacious plaza, or a lovely garden, or a bustling marketplace, or an ancient church, or a lone vendor selling plump avocados. A police officer stands vigil on every block, watching over the city as horse-drawn carriages trot by. An entire block of enticing candy stalls make up El Portal de los Dulces, adding more sugar to an already sweet atmosphere.

What makes it all so magical is that all of this life and ambience and beauty is trapped within the confines of an imposing stone wall that encircles the historic center, offering a striking reminder of the city's complicated past. As the LP guidebook points out, the city wall deterred pirate attacks and pillaging throughout the centuries, but in modern times it is no match for the tourist machine that flocks here daily. This may be true, but I haven't noticed the tramplings of tourism nearly as much as I thought I would. The crowds here feel much more authentically local than they do extranjero. Or maybe all the tourists are hiding out in internet cafes and coffee shops, wherever they can find air con and refuge from the sweltering afternoon heat.

I will admit that earlier tonight I was doing just that. In desperate need for a late-afternoon boost and some beloved cafe ambience, I broke down, made a beeline for the nearby Juan Valdez Cafe, and had my first cup of coffee in nearly 2 months. And damn was it good, right down to the very last drop of tinto. I must say, all that hype about the fabulousness of the Colombian roast isn't just hype... or maybe I was merely growing desperate. Regardless, it was worth the wait.

What's more, it seems my pattern of making new friends in cafes has followed me all the way to Cartagena: soon enough, a conversation was struck with a friendly father and son duo from Bogotá, and next thing I know this lovely family is inviting me to their beachfront apartment in the nearby town of La Boquilla. Happy to accept, I spent the afternoon lounging by their pool and completely enjoying the company. And, I was reminded that if making friends is what the cafe scene brings, then I need no other reason to start drinking coffee again.

And so here I am, totally at peace in Cartagena. After 10 exhausting days of traveling and constant movement, I have decided to stay put for awhile. I have completely settled in at a lovely little hotel in El Centro, and have no desire to leave. Why would I? For 20 USD per night, I have a large tiled room in a recently-renovated building, cable TV that includes English news channels, a private bathroom, access to a common kitchen, a huge living room area with free high speed internet, a wonderful staff with whom I have become friends, and a location in the historic center that could not be more safe or perfect for a lone traveler like me. I have groceries in the fridge and some photos on the public desktop. At least for the next few days, I am completely and happily at home.


Splendid balconies


Stunning architecture


Incredible interiors


Plaza de Los Coches


A city's fortress


Candy for sale along the Portal de Los Dulces



Ripe avocadoes for only 1 dollar!



A newfound friend (wearing my jaunty hat)


The central "courtyard" at my current home

Sevilla in Santa Marta

Yes, I lie. And just like when with a group of 20-something backpackers I am 28 years old (end of story), my name when receiving unwanted attention from locals (mostly men) is now "Sevilla". It's a good one, don't you think? First of all, it's more easily pronounced around here than my real name; second, it offers a degree of anonimity; and mostly, I just love the way it sounds. So exotic.

So La Blancita Sevilla now finds herself in Santa Marta, staring at the biggest bowl of fruit salad I have ever seen in my life. Papaya, pineapple, banana and watermelon drenched in fresh yogurt and granola: Colombians certainly know what to do with fruit. Last night for dinner I had sliced mango from a street vendor and an ice cold beer at La Puerta bar. See how much fun it is to be a non meat-eater?

It feels great to have finally reached the coast, and the very long bus journey to get here was well worth it. Here in Santa Marta I am seeing some major contrasts to the pretty, organized city life in the interior. This is Caribbean territory: dusty, hot, chaotic streets packed with people and kids and dogs and construction projects, this town moves fast and slow at the same time. Although the city is apparently building up quite quickly, with big plans in the works to attract more visitors, there remains that chilled-out vibe typical to any beach town. I have noticed here some obvious disparities in income and maybe a lower standard of living than I have so far seen around Colombia. But again, it's nothing like the desperate, painful poverty I have witnessed elsewhere in the world. It's more like living contentedly within one's means - along a very long stretch of beautiful sandy shore. Not exactly awful.

This morning I took myself for a jog and swim along this beautiful sandy shore, introducing myself as Sevilla to the few folks who wanted to chat and cheer me on as I ran. I thought I might get this kind of attention as the only gringa jogging, but within minutes it was happily stolen from me: this kid, no more than 17 years old and clad only in tight little swim trunks and his MP3 player, took to the middle of the beach as though it were a stage, and started to dance. And I mean, DANCE! He was outrageous. Thrusting and grinding and shimmying and shaking - he looked like a backup dancer in a Janet Jackson video. Or Shakira's number 1 fan (she is Colombian, by the way). Literally everyone on the beach just stopped and stared - we really couldn't help it - and a group of giggly teenage girls nearby did their best to copy his every move. He either didn't notice or didn't care: he just kept on shaking it. It was quite a show, and I was glad someone took away all the attention!

I have been here for less than 2 days, but feel I have done and seen enough in this town. There are some Must See places close to Santa Marta, like stunning national parks and rewarding cultural hikes, but I am just not in the mood to see them. I am quite tired of being on the Gringo Trail and going where all the other travelers go. And anyway, I am itching to get to Cartagena (remember Romancing the Stone?), a city I expect to be beautiful and fun and full of things to do.

In addition to doing my laundry, feeding me this gorgeous fruit salad, and generally looking out for me, the wonderfully helpful owners here at Casa Familiar in Santa Marta have arranged a shared vehicle of sorts that will take me door-to-door (a four hour journey) to my next stop right in the center of Cartagena. As much as I don't mind the buses (see previous post) this will be a welcome and convenient way to travel.

And so, Sevilla goes to Cartagena... until then!


Inside Casa Familiar


Fabio and granddaughter Melanie, the management team at Casa Familiar

The Journey by Bus

Let me tell you a bit about traveling by bus in Colombia (photos forthcoming).

First of all, we are not talking rusty old open-air trucks with caged chickens on the roof and 30 people packed into 10 seats. Hardly! These inter-city buses are super deluxe coaches with cushy seats, full power air-con and movies galore. And thankfully so, since the lack of trains leave little alternative.

Walk into a bus terminal, and you are immediately hounded by uniformed reps from the many bus companies whose purpose is to sell you a seat. Santa Marta? Cartagena? Para adonde vas? they all yell out to you. It's a bit dizzying, but if you can stay focused you know to go straight to the ticket counters. Check around before making any commitment: there is a lot of competition with so many companies taking the same route, so prices can be somewhat negotiated. But we are already in the cheap anyway (example: $27 for a 13 hour journey).


Waiting, backpacker style (yes, that is my wheely-bag in the middle)

Waiting for the bus, there isn't much to do other than eat some of the many sweets made of arequipe (caramel), watch one of the dramatic telenovelas that consistently blares from the TV, or use the loo. You may be shocked to hear that the bathrooms at these terminals can be surprisingly clean, but entry is guarded by a very bored-looking attendant. What a job. To enter the facilities, you must hand over a handful of pesos, average 25 cents. In exchange, you might get a smile, and you will definitely get a small stack of toilet paper. The San Gil bus terminal charged all of 35 cents to use their bathroom, maybe because the stack of toilet paper was sealed and stapled inside a little plastic baggie. 10 additional cents for the sanitation measure. Worth it.


Cuantos pesos para entrar?

Something I need to investigate is whether men are charged as well... And do they get toilet paper? Or even a smile?

Once the coach pulls in (right on schedule), bags are tagged and loaded securely underneath as everyone scrambles to get a good seat. A vendor or two walk through the aisle, selling cold drinks, snacks, sandwiches, empanadas, you name it. A movie starts to play, but to my dismay it's Taken once again. I love this movie, and of course love Liam, but I just saw it on the last bus ride and it's a tough movie to watch when traveling solo. So instead I pop in the earplugs, pop some Ambien, and lay back to hopefully sleep through the very long ride ahead. Destination? The beach.

Pretty teeth in Colombia

Here's something you may not have known about Colombia: everyone has great teeth. Shiny, straight, white, beautiful teeth. For those of you who know me, and know how obsessed I am with straight, white teeth, you can imagine how much I am enjoying this discovery.

Apparently, dental work is very affordable here, and those who don't yet have perfect teeth have braces. In fact, I have seen more adults with braces in the past week than I have in my lifetime. Turns out it's only about $100 to have the metal put on, and about $25 per tightening once a month. This is outrageous! As you can imagine, I have already heard stories of budget travelers planning on getting their wisdom teeth pulled and fillings replaced while in Medellin. Maybe I should get some work done as well??

Rumor has it that Medellin is also the place to go for plastic surgery. Lots of fake everything. I will be in that city sometime next week; I promise to report back.

For now, I remain in beautiful San Gil, about ready to set off for the long journey to the northern coast. San Gil really is an adventurer's paradise, like Lake Tahoe or Colorado in the summertime: every mountain and river sport imaginable is on offer here. And everything is very affordable, so how could I refuse?

Paragliding yesterday was fun if not a little bit barfy. A group of us went up to a ledge overlooking the canyon of Curiti, and waited for the wind to be just right. Finallly it was my turn to fly.



Strapped tight to my trusty pilot, Jaime, we set off just as it began to rain, and a gorgeous rainbow appeared in the distance. Floating high above the valley far, far below was an amazing experience. Crazy Jaime was all too keen to freak me out though, with tricks and flips and turns and gliding down so close to the trees inside the canyon that my shoe actually brushed some leaves. I was terrified but loved it. As I said, it was a little barfy. But really fun.

And today - again, simply because I am here and it's THE thing to do in San Gil - I went river rafting with two couples from Bogota. Now, it is a universal rule that to be a rafting guide, you must be hot. Our guide Jason was no exception. So don't feel sorry for me, the lone female traveler sounding like a 5th oar. Quite the contrary: cruising the river with a gorgeous rafting guide and his perfect Colombian teeth.... Well, I was just fine.

When in Colombia

The movie was in German and Turkish with Spanish subtitles. El Otro Lado, The Other Side. It was a compelling indie drama about race and political persecution: a great way to spend a sleepy Sunday night in Villa de Leyva. The real attraction though was the "movie theater", if one can call it that. Set up in La Patriarca Salon de Eventos, the screening room was nothing more than a large-ish meeting room lined with rows of over-sized, swiveling office chairs, set up theater style to face a screen in the front of the room. An attendant offered in-seat service of drinks and snacks to the three people in the room, including me. It was oddly cozy, and I thought, who really needs surround-sound and jumbo screens and extra-large containers of popcorn? This works just fine.

Which goes back to my previous observations about the Colombian people seeming to have everything they need, no more and no less. It's not about bigger, better, newer, shinier, more more more. It's about figuring out what's missing, or what's needed - like a movie cinema in this tiny town - and filling that space to the point of "just right".

As Andres said, si no tenemos, hacemos. Now I am starting to get it.

So today I find myself in San Gil, "adventure capital of Colombia" and 4 hours closer to the Carribbean coast. A fresh glass of papaya juice at one of the many juice bars inside the produce market seems to be the perfect precursor to my first experience with parapente, or paragliding, which happens in about 1 hour from now. I can just picture my dad now rolling his eyes, thinking what a nutcase I am. But as they say, when in Colombia...