Things that were not immediately obvious to me

Editorial Note: In April, I took a month off in Medellin. For me, this meant an interesting and diverting month. For you, this means 30 days of posts about my vacation. I’ll try to make them somewhat amusing.

I don’t want to say that Colombians are, as a people, reckless drivers, but I will say that you see a lot of this sort of thing:

I will also note that although you sometimes see a police van or ambulance driving around with its flashers on, none of the other drivers seem to care. There’s literally no difference that I can see in the progress of an ambulance with or without its christmas trees going. It’s weird.

(Addendum: Apparently the other drivers will get out of the way when the sirens come on. That still doesn’t explain the purpose of only turning on the flashers, though.)

Also cool are the guys riding tandem on motorcycles carrying 12-foot PVC or copper pipe runs like lances. Wish I could have gotten a picture of that.

Editorial Note: In April, I took a month off in Medellin. For me, this meant an interesting and diverting month. For you, this means 30 days of posts about my vacation. I’ll try to make them somewhat amusing.

Colombians are a little touchy about their country’s reputation, and not without reason. The first or second night I was here I stumbled across a broadcast of “Clear and Present Danger” on cable, and stopped to watch it out of combination of curiosity and perversity.

I think that no reasonable complaint can be registered about the general subject matter. Colombia did and does produce a lot of drugs, and the US was and is actively cooperating in the suppression of that business, albeit less … colorfully … than was depicted in the movie. However, I thought that the shootout-in-Bogota sequence was pretty unfair.

Bogota

In the first place, Bogota is depicted as a dirty, dusty 3rd world hellhole. Now, I haven’t been there, but judging from Medellin I’d have to say that this is unlikely to be an accurate characterization. (Particularly of the parts of the city between the airport and U.S. embassy.) For one thing, Colombia seems to be a green and lush country, and for another Colombians seem to keep their cities quite tidy.

Water

In the second place, characters allege that the water is unsafe to drink. This is certainly unfair as regards Bogota, although water quality is actually a complicated question in Colombia. In the major cities, it’s supposedly perfectly safe. (I’ve been drinking the Medellin stuff by the gallon, and report no ill-effects.) I’ve also heard that, as a rule of thumb, the higher the altitude, the better the water: Bogota and Medellin are fine, Cali might be a little dodgy, and the coastal cities will kill you. But the notion that Bogota’s water is unsafe is frankly incorrect.

Food

Finally and most outrageously, the characters claim that Colombian food is like Mexican food. This is a complete falsehood. I bet there aren’t more than 5 places that make a decent enchilada in this entire country. Reasonable sushi is more prevalent that passable Mexican.

* * * * *

I seem to have drifted a bit from my original point at the end there, but you get the idea. Colombia gets a much worse rap than it deserves. My late-90’s copy of “The World’s Most Dangerous Places” lists it as a “5-star” country. The scale only goes to 5, and here is the description of that rating:

Hells on Earth
A place where the longer you stay, the shorter your existence on this planet will be. These places combine warfare, banditry, disease, landmines and violence in a terminal adventure ride.

As much as I’d like to promulgate that lie in order to burnish my adventuresome credentials, it just ain’t so. And from talking to Colombians, I don’t think it was so in the late-90s, either. Sure, the jungle is dangerous. Don’t go there. (Colombians don’t.)

Editorial Note: In April, I took a month off in Medellin. For me, this meant an interesting and diverting month. For you, this means 30 days of posts about my vacation. I’ll try to make them somewhat amusing.

I can see a lot of apartment buildings out my window, which gives me a pretty good idea of the hours Paisas keep. Judging from when they turn their lights out, they’re a very sober lot. I’d say that 99% of the windows I can see are dark by midnight; that’s certainly not the case even in the sleepy, suburban apartment buildings of Silicon Valley.

In fact, Medellin (or the small part of it that I’ve explored) has the feel (contrary to what you might think) of a very practical city in which almost everyone is busily engaged in earning money in some fashion. After two weeks of this, I find myself increasingly depressed about not having an actual job (having psychologically thrown in the towel on FOLI about a month ago), and am firing up the job search.

Fortunately, modern technology means that the initial phases of a job search can be done as easily from anywhere in the world. (Drop me a line if you want to hire a programmer.)

Editorial Note: In April, I took a month off in Medellin. For me, this meant an interesting and diverting month. For you, this means 30 days of posts about my vacation. I’ll try to make them somewhat amusing.

Colombian prices are strange. First of all, this is not a cheap country. The cost of living is lower than the US, but we’re not talking Bolivian price levels, here. (As a rule of thumb, I hear it’s about the same as Argentina.)

Table

Here are some examples (assuming an exchange rate of 2000 pesos to the dollar, and for Medellin):

Note that I wasn’t trying to economize; I ate where I felt like and shopped where it was convenient. You could probably do better if you wanted to. That said, what strikes me the most is the huge variance in difference from US prices. If you like stuff that’s not popular here, you’ll pay a lot for it. OTOH, if you like steak, you’re in luck.

USB

The one area in which Colombia comes out way ahead of the US is on the prices of USB cables. I’ve always suspected that these things were extortionately priced, and now I have proof.

By the way: gas costs about the same here as it does in California. It would be interesting to know why that is; refinery capacity would be my guess.

Editorial Note: In April, I took a month off in Medellin. For me, this meant an interesting and diverting month. For you, this means 30 days of posts about my vacation. I’ll try to make them somewhat amusing.

Colombia has a lot going for it, but I do have some complaints about their cocktail selection/preparation. A small point, perhaps, but one for which the wise traveller should prepare himself.

First of all, orange juice is pretty rare here. Fruits are common, other juices are common, but ask for OJ (jugos de naranja) and they’ll look at you like you’re from Mars. I’m sure you know what that means as well as I do: No screwdrivers. I didn’t even bother pursing the vodka-cranberry angle.

(Addendum: On my last night out here, I secured a screwdriver. It was presented strangely, though: A lowball glass with ice, into which a shot was poured, presented with a small carafe of OJ. If only they’d brought the vodka in one of those minibar bottles, it would have made for the world’s cutest bottle service.)

Therefore, I’ve been drinking caipirinhas (which the Colombians insist on spelling with a “k”, for some reason) and mohitos. The caipirinhas are OK, but for the Colombian tendency to salt the rim for no reason that I can discern. (As a rule, though, Colombians love salt.) The mohitos aren’t so great. Chunks of lime in lieu of lime juice, and shredded mint instead of bruised.

I’m all for cultural diversity and trying new things, but some things ought to be universal the world over. And by “some things”, I mean cocktail recipes. It’s just not right that a bartender in California should do a better mohito than a bartender in Medellin.

Editorial Note: In April, I took a month off in Medellin. For me, this meant an interesting and diverting month. For you, this means 30 days of posts about my vacation. I’ll try to make them somewhat amusing.

Permit me a brief moment of political soapboxing: I think that the Obama administration’s bullying of the Colombian gov’t over the Colombian Free Trade Agreement is absolutely shameful. (Short version: The US is pressuring CO to change its domestic laws in certain regards according to the dictates of US leftist/labor interests in exchange for moving the FTA forward.)

Colombia is one of the US’s few good friends in Latin America, and, aside from that, has made great strides over the last decade in fighting its way back from some perilous circumstances. It should be applauded for the latter and rewarded for the former. Unfortunately, the current administration seems determined to paint the US as an untrustworthy friend and benign enemy.

Colombia deserves better.

Editorial Note: In April, I took a month off in Medellin. For me, this meant an interesting and diverting month. For you, this means 30 days of posts about my vacation. I’ll try to make them somewhat amusing.

One of the little cultural differences between the U.S. and Colombia has to do with how the waiters in restaurants behave. In the U.S., they’re … proactive. They come by periodically with their “How’s everything? Fine? Good.” checkins, and after the dishes are cleared, the check appears.

It’s not like that here.

Here, the waiters leave you alone until you indicate that you want something. (I’m informed that in some Latin American countries, an unprompted presentation of the check is considered almost unforgivably brusque.) This is fine, but may cause two problems if you’re not prepared for it:

First, if you do want something, you’ll be waiting a very long time for it if you don’t get your waiter’s attention. Want another drink? To see the dessert menu? The check? Well, they’re not going to appear on their own, and no one’s going to ask you if you need anything. This isn’t rudeness, it’s just a different notion of politeness.

Second, if you look around the restaurant, and you see a waiter looking in your direction (and for obvious reasons, they’re always keeping an eye on the diners), you might feel an impulse to make eye contact and acknowledge him. This will likely be interpreted as an indication that you want something … if you don’t, this can be awkward.

Editorial Note: In April, I took a month off in Medellin. For me, this meant an interesting and diverting month. For you, this means 30 days of posts about my vacation. I’ll try to make them somewhat amusing.

Colombia is not a county that’s particularly awash in credit. Real estate, for instance, is often an all-cash deal. On the smaller scale, cell plans have historically been of the pre-paid (prepago … also a slang term for a woman of negotiable virtue) variety.

Tarjetas

Here’s how everyone (outside Colombia) tells you that Colombian cell plans work: You buy your phone/SIM card which comes with an initial balance. You use up that balance as you send text messages and make phone calls. (On the Colombian cell systems, all costs are always borne by the caller.) When the balance gets low/zeros out, you supposedly buy a gift-card-like thing at, for instance, a supermarket, and recharge the phone’s balance by keying in a number from the card.

This is a dirty, stinking, lie. If you believe it, you’re going to waste a lot of time looking for the cards, which don’t seem to exist anymore. The new system works like this: You go to a “recharge point” (i.e., a grocery store cashier), give them your phone number, and ask them to credit your balance. Then they push a bunch of buttons, your phone makes a noise and … you’re supposed to do something, and then you’re good to go.

Cliffhanger

Yesterday, I wrote about the sinking feeling one gets when actual communication — off-script communication — becomes necessary in a foreign language on which one has only a shaky grasp. Well, let me tell you a little story about that.

After much hemming and hawing, I’d been able to work out the new system outlined in the preceding section. The next time I went shopping, I readied myself to ask the cashier to add some credits to my cellphone. At first, things went well. I made my request, she understood it, I handed over a slip of paper with the number on it (hey … you try rattling off a 10-digit number in a foreign language under time pressure without screwing it up), she asked me how much to add, I told her, she keyed in something, my phone buzzed, and … she said something and looked at me expectantly.

About this time I noticed that half the population of Medellin had materialized in line behind me. At the only open register. #^@*!!

The situation was hopeless. I had no idea what she wanted. I tried to wave off the transaction … to indicate that I didn’t care whether the transaction went through, that I didn’t care about the money, that I just wanted to forget the whole thing, pay for the rest of my purchases and move on with my life (and stop holding up the line of what were, under the circumstances, remarkably patient Colombians).

No dice. Ultimately, some manager type was fetched with a manager-type-key that was used, I presume, to back out the transaction. Rarely have I felt so uncomfortable.

Travel. It ain’t all gravy.

The Future

For those of you planning a trip to Colombia, some speculation about the future of Colombian cell plans. I get the feeling that the cell companies are moving more and more towards a post-paid convention; aside from plans explicitly structured along these lines, they seem to be making it easier and easier to recharge your balance by linking directly to your (Colombian) bank account. So, if you travel here in the next few years, you might find that the system has changed from what I described in this post. (The new system might be more or less friendly to the traveler, depending on what it is.)

Or: How to get by in a country where you barely speak the language, and very few people speak yours.

Editorial Note: In April, I took a month off in Medellin. For me, this meant an interesting and diverting month. For you, this means 30 days of posts about my vacation. I’ll try to make them somewhat amusing.

The Facts of Life

The first thing that must be said is that if you’re venturing into a foreign country with a different language, you really ought to make an effort to acquaint yourself with that language. It’s just good manners, really. The second thing that must be said is that is that if you’re venturing into a foreign country with a different language, you’re going to have to learn a bit of that language if you plan on getting by at all. This second point might not apply if you’re going to be encased in a resort/tourist/expat bubble (possibly including the Lonely Planet backpacker/hostel trail) where you’ll be taken care of, but if you’re going to be on your own, you’ll have to face the fact that most people will have no idea what you’re saying unless you speak (some of) their language.

The Good News (Sort of)

The good news is that if you can master 2000 words, you’ll have yourself a pretty functional vocabulary. With that, and some basic rules of grammar, you can probably get your point across. It may not be pretty, but it will work. The bad news is that 2000 words and basic grammar is actually a lot to learn, and you probably won’t be able to master it before your trip. The really bad news is that understanding the spoken form of the local language (in the local accent) is a completely different problem to being able to read, write, or (sort of) speak it.

Workaround

Your bacon will be saved because the vast majority of human communication is completely superfluous. It’s just ritual chit-chat papered over familiar machinery. When you walk up to the cash register, the girl is going to ask you (a.) if you found everything and/or (b.) if you have a club card. When you hand her your credit card she might ask (c.) if it’s a credit or debit transaction and/or (d.) to see your ID. The limited scope gives you an excellent chance at guessing what she’s saying (or recognizing some keywords), and in many cases not responding at all won’t make any difference.

If you’re in a country that works much the same as your own (and, thanks to globalization, this applies to lots of countries) you can get quite far with very limited language skills. It’s just a matter of listening to the music rather than the words.

Pitfall

The problem with this workaround is that when you go off-script — when the local customs diverge from your expectations, or when an unexpected problem comes up — it becomes important to be able to actually communicate, and not only can you not do that very well, but you’ve been acting as if you could for some time. It’s a rather uncomfortable feeling of the bottom dropping out.

Tomorrow I’ll tell you about my cell phone experience to illustrate this point.

Editorial Note: In April, I took a month off in Medellin. For me, this meant an interesting and diverting month. For you, this means 30 days of posts about my vacation. I’ll try to make them somewhat amusing.

Google Maps is a pretty impressive application. In the US. In Medellin, it’s somewhat less impressive. In the US, Google Maps is an all-singing, all-dancing route-planning, street-viewing interactive tour-de-force. In Medellin (more accurately: for Medellin) Google Maps is a … pretty nice computerized map. But street view isn’t supported. And route planning doesn’t work. And while there is satellite imagery, it’s all pretty low-res. Most significantly of all, however: You can pretty much forget about typing in an address and being shown where it is. Oh, you may be shown a map location … but it won’t necessarily correspond to the address you typed in.

Cabbies

To be fair, this isn’t entirely Google’s fault. (Well, it is their fault, but they’re up against a hard problem.) Medellin is a massive maze, its peculiar layout a result of its topography (hilly) and history (undisturbed organic growth). To illustrate: An interesting feature of this place is that cabbies tend not to know where they’re going. If your destination isn’t a major landmark, a street address isn’t necessarily going to get you where you want to go; you’d better know how to get there yourself, so that you can give the cabbie directions.

Addresses

A quick word about how Medellin’s streets are named, and how its addresses work. The vast majority of streets are called Calles or Carreras, and assigned a number. Calles run (more or less) E/W, while Carreras run (more or less) N/S. Calles are commonly abbreviated C, while Carreras are identified with a K. Carreras generally increase in number from East to West (i.e., K1 is on the east side of the city), while Calles generally increase in number from South to North. Except — ho, ho, ho — there are also the Calle Surs, which increase in number from North to South. The switch happens around Calle 1, so you can think of the Calle Surs as Calles with “negative” numbers. Just for fun they like to throw in the occasional letter modifier (e.g., C1A, K43B) to identify a street. Oh, and two (or more) streets with the same name aren’t necessarily contiguous.

Addresses look something like: Calle (or Carrera) XX YY-ZZ. In such an address:

• XX is the number of the street on which the address is found
• YY is the number of the nearest cross-street
• ZZ is the number of meters from that cross-street

Welcome to Colombia.