The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree...

This post is dedicated to my parents; two of the coolest people I know and my best and oldest friends. The two who raised me, who taught me to be outside when the sun is shining, to not answer phone calls during meals, to always offer to do the dishes when a guest in someone’s house. Yes, this special pair deserves a post on their own, for it is their legacy, their amalgamation of forces in the universe 30 years ago in Cuzco that made my very existence possible and inspired my recent trip to Peru. They taught me to open up my arms and heart to the world, to indulge in her tastes and smells and cultures, and to always follow my nose. And the seed they planted in me has sprouted a deep love for adventure, and for that I’m eternally grateful. Thanks guys.


I can just picture it now: my father, a strapping 30 year old man stopped in his tracks by the slender and confident blonde. They would sit along side one another on the train to Aguas Calientes and he would offer her one of the bananas he’d bought at the central market earlier that day. She would enamor him with her cool poise, broken English and radiant smile. They would hike Machu Picchu and fill up on ancient energy and the fresh, cool air that is so unique to the Andean high-lands. Perhaps it was the altitude, or too many Pisco Sours, or simply the power of an initial attraction, but whatever it was they decided to each abandon their respective plans and forge a new path together. I suppose it seems fitting that such a dramatic country would set the stage for three decades of marriage. The mixture of hot and cold, dryness and humidity, desolate Andes and thriving jungle is symbolically representative of two beings whose acute differences compliment each other and strengthen their overall union ("the whole is greater than the some of its parts"). I wonder sometimes if it could have occurred to either of them when they met that first night in Cuzco that they would lead a life together and raise 3 kids together. Could mom have possibly imagined what she was signing up for when she agreed to sell her train ticket and travel the Amazon with this stranger? That in a matter of months she would give up her apartment and café in Germany to start a new life in the United States? Did she know that she would drop routes in Northampton, MA, raise her children Jewish, and (by obligation if not will) become a life-long Red Sox fan? I wonder if dad had an instinct that this lady could become the mother of his children. Could he have possibly understood, that first night, that he’d be getting the most beautiful, wonderful, intelligent and dynamic woman on the planet? How could they have known. At the time it was simply an adventure, a leap of faith.... but I must say, gracias a dios for it.


I imagine the Cuzco I got to experience is quite different today than it was in 1980. Much of the local way of life has been hampered by mass tourism, commerce and consumerism - all of which have increased exponentially in recent decades. Downtown Cuzco is a dizzying array of hotels, restaurants, tour companies and artisan shops. I found it a bit sad, though not surprising, that indigenous families sit on street corners and charge tourists to take their picture (can you blame them?), every archeological site is full of craft-sellers and tourist-hagglers, and Machu Picchu is teaming with tour guides and international back-packers. But to expect anything else would be naive and romantic. This is the 21st century and a place as magical and historically rich as Peru can’t possibly exist without thousands of people, like myself, curious to explore that magic and history. It’s mind-boggling, really, to think that just a century ago Machu Picchu - the cradle of Inca civilization - was “discovered” by Yale historian Hiram Bingham. Even more shocking is that the Spaniards managed to bring down such a rich and extensive civilization centuries before that (unless, of course, theories are correct that suggest the empire was already crumbling from within and the European conquistadores only added the finishing touches). The Incas were brilliant architects and their domain spread from southern Colombia to Chile, including parts of Argentina, Bolivia, and Ecuador. Although they were predominantly a mountain-dwelling people, the Incas developed trade routes leading to the jungle and the coastlines. The coca leaf, for instance, famous for helping combat altitude sickness and aid digestion, was chewed by Incas but originally comes from the Amazon lowlands.
Not long ago a group of archeologists discovered that Inca rulers in Cuzco had a diet consisting of fresh fish from the ocean. This was a marvelous fact since at the time obviously no form of rapid transportation existed between the mountains and the coast. Cuzco is an inland city at an altitude of 12,000+ feet about sea level. As it turns out, the Incas had established a sophisticated set of checkpoints along a trail from Cusco to the sea, with ‘stations’ every 20 miles or so. An obviously very fit athlete would take fresh fish from the ocean and sprint with it 20 km to the first checkpoint, where it would be handed off to another runner who would carry it on to the next. The fish would be passed along in spurts until it reached the Inca in his Sacred Valley. Symbols of wealth never die: today the rich and powerful eat fancy foods from across the world; in the days of the Incas, they got hand-delivered seafood.


Despite the inevitable effects of globalization that have altered Cuzco for better or for worse, Inca history is omnipresent: it’s in the faces of the people, the taste of the food (chicha corn beer and quinoa are staples of Peruvian diet) and is what characterizes the landscape. Indigenous people still speak Quechua and practice traditional agriculture. Scattered ruins fill the Sacred Valley with remnants of once bustling temples and ceremonial buildings. Cuzco is surrounded by drastic mountains and steep hills, many still marked by ancient techniques for growing potatoes and corn. Crops were planted on step-like beds of soil along the side of a mountain so that different altitudes would be conducive to growing slightly different types of potatoes.


After living 1.5 years in Medellín where bumping into tourists is still relatively unusual, it was surprising to be in a much more touristy place. Colombia still hasn’t made the cut for many South American backpackers due to its dangerous reputation. Peru, on the other hand, and esp Cuzco due to its proximity to Machu Picchu, is probably on the top of most travelers To Do lists when touring the continent. Perhaps for this reason I found it more difficult to connect with people and break the invisible boundaries between local and foreigner, whose most common relationship is defined, in one way or another, as seller and buyer. Folks seemed to me to be a bit exhausted and annoyed by the endless slue of visitors inhabiting their city, but who can blame them.


Overall, I left Peru in awe and admiration for the incredibly rich history that has shaped the country and its people. I feel like there is so much to see and do in Peru (visit lake Titicaca, fly over the Nazca lines, eat Ceviche and rumba in Lima, hike ruins along northern coast, take a boat from Puerto Maldonado and explore the Amazon... to name a few) and my 10 day trip was just enough to wet my appetite. If I ever get the opportunity to go back, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

A Long Weekend Trip to the Coast: Trigana, Capurgana, Sapzurro

Colombians say despite international press that tends to focus on the dangers and problems of this country, the biggest risk of all is that once you come here you’ll never want to leave ("Colombia: el riesgo es que te quieras quedar"). I must say, this risk is becoming a reality for me! Monday was a national holiday, so a group of us decided to take advantage of the 3 day weekend and accompany our friend Andrea to an isolated corner along the Atlantic coast where she was doing a training for work. Her NGO, Makaia, provides basic internet and computer classes to indigenous and Afro-communities in Chocó. So we all piled into an over night bus and rode 10 hours along a pot-hole ridden highway to the city of Turbo. From there we took a boat to Triganá where we spent the weekend hiking in the jungle, swimming, and falling asleep to crickets and ocean waves. We cooked big dinners and sat along the dock telling jokes and playing games. It was quite an adventure for such little time, but well worth it despite the bumpy drive and the back-breaking, wave-smacking boat ride. We returned to Medellín Monday night tired and sore, but with recharged batteries to face another week of work and school.

I fell deeper in love with Colombia this weekend, partly due to the natural beauty of its geography and partly due to the warmth and positivity of its people. The golf of Urabá is a region where the Caribbean ocean meats the Antioquian and Chocoano departments. If you’re looking at a map of Colombia, it’s situated on the upper left corner by the boarder to Panama. This weekend we stayed mostly in the territory belonging to Chocó, the only state in Colombia that has access to both oceans. As noted in my last entry, in September I also traveled to Chocó, but to the Pacific side, which - despite being the same department - has a whole different vibe and history from its Atlantic counterpart. Along the Pacific coast, the geography is marked by thick, wet jungle and persistent rain with less frequent glimpses of sunshine. This weekend on the Atlantic side, however, I tasted a drier, milder and less dense version of Chocó. The jungle is still there, and it kisses the coastline, but the climate is less humid and more typical of the Carribbean. Despite the negative consequences that undeniably come along with being one of Colombia's most abandoned areas (see previous post), from a naturalist perspective, Choco's isolation has allowed it to maintain its pristine beaches and rugged mountains relatively untouched by both Colombians and foreigners alike (those with most contact to this region have been migrants and outlaws).

The golf of Urabá has historically and strategically been of extreme importance to Colombia - serving the communal interests of both the government and armed terrorist groups, resulting in heightened clashes between the two. It’s rich biodiversity and natural resources are valuable for attracting foreign investment (Chiquita Banana, among other multinational corporations, has chosen to set up shop within the region), but for the same reasons the territory stretching between both coastlines and including the Darien Gap is attractive to many illicit groups, such as the FARC. It's location along the boarder to Panama means virtually all of the drug trafficking between the Americas passes through this region. This, combined with a lack of state presence, explains in large part why a potentially thriving tourist hotspot has taken long to gain momentum.



For us, however, having peace and quite away from the buzz of other travelers was absolutely perfect. A dear friend Yomaira let us all crash in this dream house on the water for free of charge. We wandered the coast and visited her neighbor, Juan Guillermo, who had designed her home and lived in his own little refuge back towards the jungle.

One afternoon we took a boat ride to the quiet town of Sapzurro. From their we climbed over a hill to the Panamanian border and continued to La Miel, the first beautiful cove on the Panamanian side.


Now, back in Medellín, I can already feel the city winding down for the holiday season. Here the Christmas fever starts way into November: most stores and houses are already adorned with flashing lights and everyone is talking about their plans for December. I just can’t believe how fast the time is going by... it seems like Christmas just happened!


My friend Astrid from Denmark is back in Colombia, preparing to work on a sustainable development project in the northern desert area of la Guajira. For the next few weeks she’ll be staying in my apartment. We met up for dinner and drank tea on my balcony while watching a rainbow form over the city. Reconnecting with good friends never gets old!

Vive Colombia, Vive Chocó, Vive San Pacho!

These last few months have been a slew of travels, visitors, school (finishing my political studies program and graduate on dec 15!) and work. I recently finished translating my boss’s doctorate thesis on innovation and development, and am now helping out on various other smaller projects at ECSIM. As previously noted, translation work is pretty uninspiring, but the office environment is great. I love my co-workers and my boss, and this job has allowed me the flexibility to create my own schedule, which is particularly convenient when visitors are in town.

This past weekend I went with a group of friends on a 4 day adventure to celebrate and participate in the annual San Pacho fiestas in Quibdó, the capital city of the coastal department of Chocó. San Pacho is a two week long cultural and religious celebration, in which Afro-descendants along the pacific coast pay homage to patron saints by dancing, singing and marching in elaborate parades throughout the city. Surprisingly, these celebrations remain widely unknown throughout the rest of the country. Our group was comprised of 8 Colombians (Paisas from Medellín), 1 Italian, 1 German, 1 French, 4 gringos, 1 Kenyan, and 1 Australian. We were quite a neon spectacle and represented a high percentage of all the foreigners in town, which attracted the attention of various news anchors who followed us around with video cameras.

Chocó is the poorest and least developed department of Colombia. It has historically been isolated from the rest of the country due to a harsh terrain of swamplands and thick jungle. Building roads through this area is difficult and expensive, which has resulted in poor infrastructure and lack of development. The department overall has been largely abandoned by the state and considered a hopeless case due to political corruption and overwhelming conditions of poverty. Indeed, the Colombian government has - dare I say, carelessly - pumped money into the region only to see it vanish into the hands of several elite politicians. While Chocó is practically bursting with natural resources and wildlife, a lack of clear vision, proper leadership, community responsibility (“pertenencia”), and effective programing has left the area economically devastated and largely undeveloped. Most people lack basic needs like food, shelter, and health care. There are few schools and even fewer with quality education. Due to a lack of government presence, its vulnerable population and highly geostrategic location (the state of Chocó contains all of Colombia’s border with Panama and access to central America), the department has become a stomping ground for many guerilla and paramilitary groups as well as an important narco pathway for the illicit trafficking of drugs.

Perhaps it makes sense then, that despite the awesomeness of this event, San Pacho remains ignored by much of the rest of Colombia and the world at large. It surpised me that so few people in Medellín, including classmates, co-workers, friends and neighbors had any clue what San Pacho was. In Quibdó, this is the sole most important cultural event of the year, as it involves the whole city and months of preparation. Each day a host of onlookers would congregate on sidewalks and rooftops to watch the colorful parade and dancing troupes pass by.

We stayed with the lovely Jose, who was born and raised in Quibdó, though now attends one of the best universities in Bogotá. His father opened up his home to all of us for the weekend. Everyone slept on the wooden living room floor, lined up like sardines. Because there were so many of us using an already delicate plumbing system, at least once a day the water shut off, which meant bathing outdoors with buckets and using no-flush toilets. But it was a great excuse for group showers! Overall we had a blast.

The hospitality of Jose’s family gave us just a taste of Chocoano warmth and generosity. Despite the economic poverty that faces the region, the people are so rich in culture, spirit, wisdom, and energy. It seems that the Chocoano people have a natural positivity to them that shines through the way they smile, walk, talk and interact. During the day, neighbors or cousins or friends would come by Jose’s house and stick their head in the door to share fried corn patties, or offer us traditional Sancocho stew, or simply to say hi to us and witness the goofy parche of foreigners. The quality and style of life in Quibdó reminded me a lot of life in Botswana, where I spent my junior year of college.

Our time in Quibdó was basically a pattern of waking up in the morning, eating breakfast, and hitting the streets in one flashy mob to dance the day away – rain or shine – until our voices were hoarse and our legs wobbly. We would then come home and rest for a few hours, eat dinner, splash some water on our faces, and change before going out again for the nocturnal part of the fiesta.

Choco is the wettest region on earth... it rains over 50% of the year. There seems to be a perpetual drizzle, though the rain has hardly stopped locals from carrying on with life. At least every day there was some sort of shower, but folks would still be out and about riding motorcycles, selling fruit, walking in the streets, singing, dancing and marching in the parades. At night, the rain would often lull us to sleep. Those who weren’t already utterly smashed from passing around bottles of Aguardiente all day would let their last bit of consciousness drift away with the pit patter of water on the tin roof. It was wonderfully soothing as it drowned out the perpetual thumping of reggaeton and salsa beats that seemed to fill every space in Quibdó.

On our last day, we took a bus outside the city, through a windy jungle road to the beautiful Tutunendo river. We spent the whole afternoon wading in the fresh, cool water and laughing about the weekend (or at least what we could remember of it). We finished off the afternoon with a delicious Sancocho that was prepared on a big pot near the banks of the river. A heavy downpour started on our ride home, just in time for a late afternoon nap.

The whole trip was really amazing and allowed me to gain a deeper understanding of Colombia’s diversity and richness. I hope one day people loose their fear of Chocó and open their minds to the energy and uniqueness of this region. May more people discover the beauty of Chocó, not to steal its riches or exploit its population, but to appreciate all it has to offer and help improve the grave situation that Chocoanos are facing. May the country come together to find away to support the sustainable development, protection and integration of this special land and its inhabitants. Vive Colombia, vive Chocó, vive San Pacho!

A Glimpse of Cuba

Note: this entry is going to be a bit of a long one as trying to describe Cuba in a few short paragraphs would be a bit of a crime, if not altogether impossible. In fact, even the locals who live and breath Cuba are struggling to understand such a bewildering and complex nation. While any attempt at making sense of this most unusual land feels somewhat over-zealous and in vain, let me offer some humble reflections. Two weeks walking her soils and I’m left feeling Cuba is a land of contradictions. It’s a place where everything is no... but yes. Where music, culture, and education thrive yet where hope, opportunity and development are repressed. It’s a place where the government gives with one hand and takes away with the other. Where many Cubans strongly identify as “Fidelistas” but not “Revolucionaristas” (indeed a confusing distinction to an outsider), where a doctor makes the same salary as a cab driver, where 1950’s American cars cruise the streets and where the nearest buzz of capitalism is ringing 90 miles offshore to the north. How bizarre a place where education, health care and simple food rations are provided gratis by the government, yet the freedom of choice (to start a business, to openly oppose the regime, to LEAVE) is denied. Despite the desperation and restlessness many Cubans express regarding the reality in which they live, the Castro brothers have miraculously managed to remain popular local heroes that are associated more with their original struggle for equality than the banal miseries of life in a socialist bubble. When one compares modern Cuba with life under the former Batista dictatorship, its hardly shocking that Fidel is considered a Robin Hood type character. Cuba in the 1940’s and 50’s was a country ruled by a rich elite in which thousands of campesinos suffered under brutal, horrible conditions. When Ernesto Guevara y el comandante roused the masses to overthrow the onerous (US- backed) regime and replace it with a more tolerant one that equally distributed land among everyone and shut out ‘yankee imperialism’, it’s all but surprising that the Cuban people took to the streets in support of such a revolution.

It’d be hard to deny some positive changes that were born of the 1959 Cuban Revolution (Cuba has one of the world’s best health care systems and the highest literacy rate in Latin America). Yet the egalitarian utopia that strapping Che and young Fidel envisioned (and promised) hasn’t proven to be quite so sparkling after-all. Folks are struggling to get by and there is a growing divide between have’s and have nots (due in large part to the tourist economy). But perhaps most debilitating of all is the psychological tax that comes from having no space to hope and dream. "For you, Cuba is a paradise" a young man told me one evening, as we sat on the steps of an open courtyard turned dance-floor. "But me? I am sick of it. I love my culture, but I want to see Paris and Montreal. I want to feel snow."

To generalize, Cubans are a very educated populace and somehow well versed in global affairs (impressive considering closely monitored access to internet/social media); yet the vast majority of people will never leave the island. Even if political factors made it possible for Cubans to travel easily outside the country, economic factors would keep them trapped. The economy in Cuba revolves around 2 currencies: la moneda nacional (the pesos that Cubans use) and CUC (the Cuban convertible peso aka tourist currency). $1 US dollar is roughly equivalent to 1 CUC, which is about 25 pesos in moneda nacional. Whatever logic gave way to its original formation, over decades this system has proven to be chaotic, inefficient and straight up confusing. The collapse of the Soviet Union left Cuba in dire straits once economic assistance in food, energy, and military supplies basically stopped over night. The Cuban economy wasn’t prepared to replace the Soviet vacuum and in an act of desperation the government opened up Cuba to the world - but left the world closed off to Cuba(ns). The establishment of a dual currency system began in 1994 when CUC were introduced as the dominant $$ for international business, particularly tourism. This means that a Cuban can buy a pizza on the street for about 10 pesos (less than a dollar) while a tourist can buy the same piece of doughy bread and cheese in a restaurant for 3 CUC. (BTW, Cuban cuisine is not much to write home about but they do throw it down hard on fresh juices and soft-serve ice cream). Over the years the economy has become jumbled into one confusing quagmire: a tourist now can change their CUC for pesos, allowing them to purchase the same street pizza for 10 pesos (what do you think we lived on the whole time...) and a waitress might be tipped in CUC which could significantly affect her living situation, as just a 2 CUC tip might translate into a tenth of her monthly income. To give a concrete example of the perplexity: my 25 min taxi ride from the airport to the casa I was staying in cost me 20 CUC which is the rough equivalent - if not more - to what a doctor makes in one month. (The rest of the $$ goes to the state)



Perhaps this sheds a bit of light onto why our heads where spinning after just a few days in Havana. At first we spent hours trying to understand how life around us worked, discussing and analyzing everything to exhaustion until we eventually realized it’d be impossible to come to any clarifying conclusions in 2 weeks: other than Cuba is a complete and utter anomaly to the world. “Guys, it’s day two. Take it easy” Laila reminded us one afternoon. Oh yeah. But how fascinating an island that has managed to resist the infiltration of American capitalism and consumerism. In Cuba there are no billboards or shopping malls or people haggling you on the streets to buy chachkees. No McDonalds or Burger Kings or Gaps.

So eventually - and with the help of some strong Mojitos - we learned to not dwell so much in the Why?’s and How?‘s of Cuban life, but rather sit back and enjoy her unique rhythm. Before leaving Medellín, a Colombian friend of mine had given me the contact info of Jorge, a man she had met in Cuba through couch-surfing years ago. Couch-surfing is an exchange network and website that connects travelers with local hosts around the world. Jorge became our life-line, showing us Havan's hidden hotspots and the best local eateries. He helped organize our transport and invited us to private cultural events. He even introduced us to his adorable family and had us over his home for the best meal we ate during the whole trip. After working hard as a doctor for many years Jorge eventually found the oppressively low wages unbearable. While sharing his story one day, he pointed to his face, "Look at this" he said sternly, "esto no es una cara de esclavo" this is no slave face. Jorge abandoned his life as a doctor and began studying Japanese-style massage from a teacher in Havana. He took a rare - and precarious - entrepreneurial step and started his own small practice in private. His clients are travelers (mostly through couch-surfing) and now he's able to do what he loves while providing for his family, though life is hardly easy. Couch-surfing in Cuba is unusual (and risky) considering Cubans are not supposed to house foreigners if their home isn't legally registered as a casa particular. "The government can prevent me from seeing the world," Jorge told me on our drive back from the airport my first night, "but it won't stop the world from coming to me".

All in all, we had an incredibly memorable two weeks. Liza and Laila flew in from Nicaragua where they’d been working for the summer at Global Glimpse and Julia was wrapping up 10 months of backpacking/living in Central America. It was such joy traveling and getting to know this dynamic, fun, independent and sexy group of women. We each brought something different to the table and had a great mix of intellectual stimulation and dance-floor boogieing. All of us became enamored with Havana’s dilapidated charm, the romantic seashore avenue, the omnipresence of rhythms floating around the city. After several nights of salsa dancing and singing songs on the Malecón til the wee hours of the morning we decided to venture onwards to the coastal town of Trinidad.
Days of wandering around colonial streets, chatting with neighbors, and visits to the ocean always ended with nights of music and rumba at the Casa de Cultura - an outdoor public venue with live music and dance every night. One evening we even spent deep inside a famous cave-turned-disco.













From Trinidad we continued westward to tobacco country and Cuba’s outdoor adventure mecca, Viñales. We did some hiking but the insufferable August heat made any day time activities a real challenge. Ultimately, we couldn’t deny Havana’s strong pull, which was calling us to spend our last few days in her sweaty, musical, chaotic palm.









Cuba, like the rest of Latin America, is a hyper-sexualized culture. A stroll down any street inevitably arouses full body stares, whistles and cat-calls "preciosa, linda, hermosa!”. Cubans love to play the guessing game of where tourists are from. “Jer-man-ee? España? Italia?” they’d often shout from balconies, horse-drawn carriages, bicycle taxis or street corners as we walked by. It became clear folks aren’t used to seeing too many American tourists because when we did share our nationality, people often responded with pleasant surprise: “ooooo! Americanas! I have cousin in (insert: Nueba Yol/Miami/Nueva Jersey!” At times we were confronted with vulgar comments by male passer-byers, but nothing I wasn’t already used to from living in Colombia. In a place where limited dialogue regarding sex is coupled with little physical space (often 5+ people of varying generations share a 2 bedroom apt) it makes sense that music, styles of dress, and body language on the street become outlets for sex and sexuality.


Now I’m back to Colombian Paisa life where everything seems much bigger and faster. I can’t imagine what it’d feel like to go straight from Havana to New York City. I am so thankful for having had a glimpse into Cuba. On our last day, exhausted and hung over I asked the group over beans, rice and cooked yuka at our favorite restaurant if anyone would ever want to come back. We unanimously and unhesitatingly said Yes.

Back in la Ciudad de Eterna Primavera

It’s been over two weeks since I returned to Medellín and I already feel like my visit home is slipping into the abstract folds of memory. It was absolutely wonderful to be reunited with family and friends and I relished every minute of morning coffee-talks with my folks, bikerides, river dips, and reggae-dancing. What joy to indulge in fresh blueberries and raspberries again, eat goat cheese and walnuts, drink kombucha!! I’m already missing the luxuries of liberal, plentiful Northampton. And the general gloriousness that is Western MA in the depths of summertime. How bizarre to switch so quick and seamlessly between diverse realities! But I feel deeply grateful for having such a global, diverse, and rich sense of community. When I arrived in Colombia one year ago, I felt nostalgic, confused, culture-shocked and lonely. Setting up a bank account, registering for classes, finding an apartment and just navigating through daily life seemed daunting and I remember countless nights collapsing into bed with exhaustion. This time, however, returning was easy and normal. It feels so comfortable jumping back in. It is precisely the joy of chatting with neighbors, wandering through the market, sipping tinto coffee with classmates and watching the sun disappear behind the Andean peaks that makes living here so lovely. Sometimes it’s fun to fantasize about melding worlds; wrapping up all the mountains and jungles and oceans and rivers that separate this place from home into a tight ball and then poof! send it flying into the atmosphere as all my people come together into the same time and space. But alas, I suppose its the diversity of these worlds, the impossibility of ever completely blending them that makes this experience so profound. Different styles of eating, talking, walking, gesturing, conceptualizing,... all of these things fit so comfortably into the context of one’s culture. There is something quite electric - but at times lonely - about having one foot in two worlds.


Medellín right now is bustling with energy. The annual “Feria de las Flores” festival is taking place. Each day there are fireworks, live shows, parades and concerts celebrating flower culture all over the city. Today I went with a friend to lie in the grass and listen to live jazz at the modern art museum. We enjoyed the last rays of sunshine before gray thunder cracked through clear blue skies and unleashed a powerful rainstorm. This year the Sub-20 World Cup Soccer games also happen to be taking place in Colombia. Tomorrow night I’m going with a group of friends to Mexico vs S Korea and Argentina v England. The combination of these events has brought a lot of tourism and energy to Medellín. On top of it all, the weather has been spectacular (though it seems that might be changing). I’ve been leaving the windows and the door to my balcony open, letting the warm breeze float through my apartment and fill it with moonlight and street sounds from below.


There is also political buzz sweeping Colombia right now regarding upcoming Mayor elections. The leading candidate for the city of Bogotá is Enrique Peñalosa, former mayor and member of the Green Party. He is strongly backed by ex- president Alvaro Uribe, who himself is facing a lot of criticism as more and more corruption scandals are seeping into public consciousness regarding his past two administrations. People here tend to identify as "Uribistas" or "anti- Uribistas"; the former being conservatives who support democratic security, investment promotion, and social cohesion as the most important policies. Opponents of Uribe tend to criticize him for being corrupt and elitist and for worsening the income/ opportunity gap between the country's rich minority and poor majority. Uribe is no longer in office, but these terms continue to float around public discourse as ways of describing one's political orientation. It’s interesting to witness the elections unfold and watch the political climate take shape. Despite the embarrassingly high levels of corruption and old school populism that have historically characterized Colombian politics, I’m always surprised at how many people I know follow government affairs with anticipation. I often feel more disillusioned and hopeless about the state of politics (and democracy) than most of my peers here. When asked my opinion about what takes place in Washington, I struggle to provide an optimistic perspective on the future of US politics or the prospect of bipartisan compromise (though if there's any way to make light of the political debt squabble, Jon Stewert nailed in last weeks Daily Show: http://www.thedailyshow.com/full-episodes/tue-july-26-2011-juan-williams)

Right now at work I’m developing the methodology for a qualitative research project conducted by EPM (Empresas Publicas de Medellín) - the countries biggest public utility service company - on the effectiveness of their services in poor, rural communities around Antioquia. It’s been interesting to collaborate with others on this project and to experience office life in Colombia. People are so laid back and friendly and it’s not unusual for someone to bring in chocolates or pastries to share - often right at the fortuitous moment in the afternoon when my energy is fading. In the mornings and after lunch break folks take a few minutes to catch up with each other over coffee. Sure, the chatty, relaxed environment might (read:does) take away from efficiency and productivity, but it sure makes for a warmer and more pleasant work environment. I’ve been also working part-time for the last 7 months on translating my boss’s doctorate thesis, and though I’ve learned a lot and developed certain skills in the process, more than anything its helped me realize that I do not see a future for myself in translation! On the school front, classes are going well though I can hardly believe I’m approaching the end of my program. On Saturday I'm slipping away to meet 3 friends - all living or working in Latin America - in Cuba for a 2 week cultural and spiritual journey of a country I’ve been dreaming of exploring for so many years. It’s cheaper and easier to fly from Colombia and when my friend Liza proposed the reunion several months ago, I couldn’t resist the opportunity.

Speaking of culture and spirit: Joe Arroyo, the legendary Salsa icon and symbol of Colombia's rhythmic bounty died last week, leaving behind a nostalgic population and a legacy of some of the world's most beautiful music.
One of my favorite songs: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=opsRqv9GBIo

Reflections on Time and Space

Last week I watched the sun set over Los Angeles' Pacific coastline. A few days before that I was in NYC, a few days later in San Francisco, and last weekend I spent in Washington DC. I feel like I’ve been on a tour of the United States. It’s a bit overwhelming having spent the last year outside of the country, but it’s also nice to be reminded of the diversity and greatness of this most unusual land. At moments I find myself lost in all the sounds, colors, people, cars. I shut my eyes and remember that another reality exists, that thousands of miles away, the wind is blowing into my apartment in Medellin, vallenato is floating out of restaurants and cafes, and that the Andes timelessly enclose the city like protective walls around a fortress.

***

The reason - or at least the official one - I went out to California in the first place was to give a required hour-long Rotary talk to my sponsoring Rancho Cucamonga club. As I drove back to LA from Orange County on the 1-10 I was flooded with memories of college and 4 years of southern California life: all-nighters at the library, wrestling over controversial ideas with friends, my old lacrosse team, college roommates, trips to LA, ex- boyfriends.... it all came back so fast with each bend in the road and every glimpse of Mt. Baldy’s glorious peaks. I even visited Pitzer, my alma mater, and wandered anonymously through the grassy mounds and in and out of old classrooms. As I made my way back through the Inland Empire I couldn’t help reflect on life - in all its glory and confusion. My life in Northampton, Massachusetts; in Claremont, California; in Medellin, Colombia; in Maun, Botswana. What is reality? We tend to think of life in a linear way, like moments and days and years that each succeed the last. But then memories confuse everything. All of a sudden we are reminded of someone, something, some moment and it’s no longer in the past but right here, right now. I love Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughter House Five interpretation of time: moments don’t exist continuously like beads on a string, but rather all moments -past, present and future- always have existed and always will exist. Ultimately we’re all individual souls with unique realities but overlapping experiences and moments on this earth... and the overlap can take form in physical space, in romance, in intellectual thoughts, in age. It’s incredible to think that all the people I love in this world are scattered in a million directions, yet breathing the same air and drinking the same water under one sky.


I’ll go back to Colombia in July and finish my certificate program in Geo-politics. Then I have to decide.... stay and keep working there? Go somewhere else? Come back to the States? These questions feel daunting to me right now, especially on this visit home as I float in and out of so many places and realities. But what keeps me grounded is faith in the flow of things. And connections with people. I trust my own capabilities and am blessed to have a powerful community of family and friends who have illuminated my life with wonderful, beautiful, inspiring energy. Life is dynamic, so full of new experiences, new connections, suffering, pain, beauty, clutter, doubt, love...but ultimately it is this myriad of emotions that we are capable of experiencing - and do experience - that makes us human! What a gift to feel so full of life, even amidst the chaos.

Walking with my wonderful mom and aunt this morning, we contemplated life in its many dimensions, and reflected on a William Blake poem that has really stuck with me all day:

“He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity's sunrise”

El Caribe

Just got back from a week of backpacking, hiking, fish-eating, salsa-dancing and bus-riding along Colombia's Atlantic coast. Two wonderful friends from Northampton, Kate and Susannah, joined me as we bounced between different national parks, secluded beaches, and little villages, sleeping in hammocks and letting the ocean air cleanse our minds and bodies. Was so awesome! And such good company! I'm now back in the office, on lunch break, dreaming of coco-locos on the beach. Just yesterday morning I was sipping fresh pineapple juice in Cartagena, absorbed by the vibrancy of the old city. Now Im in Medellin, watching a violent thunderstorm shake trees outside my window. Trying to focus on translating my boss' doctorate thesis, but my mind keeps wandering off the page and back to the crystal blue waves of the Caribbean sea slapping against unyielding, stoic rocks.