I look up and wonder if my eyes are even open because all I see is black. The wind is blowing my wet hair across my face and I can't remember what day it is or what I did yesterday. I just hear the sound of water running and the fan blowing; everything else is quiet. And then I sit up in bed and realize it's already 4:45am. Already 4:45?; that's a sentence I would have never expected my fingers to type. And the day begins.
The warm Cartagena wind blows leaves and flowers across the empty streets as I make my way to a bus stop 3 blocks away at 5:25am, and I find myself stepping over exoctic flowers and dog doodoo with equal frequency. I buy a water for .75 cents through a window at the tienda because it's still not open and tell a man advertising for vans that I don't want to go to Baranquilla today, just like yesterday, and will have the same answer tomorrow. I get on a bus labeled with the name of the 4th largest laminating company in the world and immediately fall asleep in the airconditioned interior. 45 minutes later, the bus stops and the sleeping inhabitants slowly disembark to disapper among the crowd of workers filing off buses and walking around ducks and chickens to go to work. I make my way to the guard station and trade my Iowa State ID for a visitors badge and finally find myself in an airconditioned lobby drinking sugared coffee out of a shot-sized cup waiting for 7 o'clock to roll around and my class to start.
95 minutes later I re-trade my pass for my ID and the guard eyes my picture and then me before he hands it over and smiles at me for 2 seconds too long. Then I get into a taxi driven by a guy named Sergio who has both a Colombian and an Italian passport and immediately fall asleep again. It's 8:45.
Around 9:45 I'm awoken as the taxi stops and Ryan gets out in front of Berlitz. We go in and the cold air hits me and I realize I've taken 2 unsatisfying naps already and now I need to get to work to prepare for the classes I have this afternoon or later this morning. I greet the friendly secretaries, say hi to my boss, and head upstairs to plan my lessons. By 9pm I will have taught at the Naval Acadamy, and at least one other class at Berlitz. The classes are usually spaced so there is enough time between them to eat (2 hours) but not long enough to do anything further than 4 blocks in any direction. And this has been my reality for the past 2 weeks with only Sunday to live my life. I realized that I haven't seen the Cartagena sun in 8 days. I didn't even have a chance to see it on Sunday because I was running the errands I don't have time to do the rest of the week....
So my question is... when is enough enough? Why am I here? To work from 5am until 9pm and make $200 a week? Or am I here to learn Spanish (which is really hard to learn when you spend all your time in an English center and when you finally leave the only interaction you get is with the taxi driver...).
Tomorrow I'm moving into my new apartment. This week I should get a bank account and a phone... which I haven't had in over a month. Weird. Things are falling into and out of place so fast I feel like my life is made of tectonic plates; constant shift and volatility but things still seem to work.
Until I come to a conclusion about whether to fight another round or whether to drop the gloves, I'm going to try to sleep more and stress less. After all, at the end of the day, I'm still in Colombia living an adventure and even if that adventure turns into a knock out round for the other guy, I'll still be able to say I fought.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Speak Americano
Finally, work has commenced. Everyday at 6am. Which means I am awake around 4:45am to get to the businesses who learn English before working hours by 6. I can hardly speak English that early, how can anyone do it as a second language? :)
So far teaching has been pretty fun. Despite my feeling of frustration when things aren't going smoothly or when it seems like I'm getting through and then some role plays show that I've actually been talking to myself the whole time...
The only hard part is the hours: 6am-7:30am. Then again from 2:10-3:40. And again from around 5-9pm. The breaks allow for some time to prepare classes but not enough time to have a life. It's a good thing I never got a chance to start one othewise it would be coming to an abrupt halt. I don't remember the last time I felt so tired.
With that said, it's 10:15pm and I'm laying on my air mattress of sleepless nights in the room of claustrophobic roomsharing days, ready to sleep for a glorious7 hours (if I'm lucky).
More when my brain cells can funciton.
So far teaching has been pretty fun. Despite my feeling of frustration when things aren't going smoothly or when it seems like I'm getting through and then some role plays show that I've actually been talking to myself the whole time...
The only hard part is the hours: 6am-7:30am. Then again from 2:10-3:40. And again from around 5-9pm. The breaks allow for some time to prepare classes but not enough time to have a life. It's a good thing I never got a chance to start one othewise it would be coming to an abrupt halt. I don't remember the last time I felt so tired.
With that said, it's 10:15pm and I'm laying on my air mattress of sleepless nights in the room of claustrophobic roomsharing days, ready to sleep for a glorious7 hours (if I'm lucky).
More when my brain cells can funciton.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Cultural Correctness: to take or refuse shots of Aguardiente?
Since we've returned from Miami things have been a whirlwind. I'm not exagerating when I say 10 minutes after walking in the door from the airport (we walked the 4 blocks home after an easy customs check out in which they didn't even look at my brand new visa) I was on my semi-mobile phone (aka computer) with someone I was told was looking to rent an apartment. Thirty minutes later we were walking into an Olimpica to meet some Americans about the apartment we hoped would end our 2 week search and finally stop being guests in our new life. An hour or so later we were at Berlitz talking to our boss and filling out forms. By 9:30pm we were home. Did I mention this day started in Miami? With a 6am wakeup call, a bus, trolley, and metro ride to the Colombian consulate, more forms, a taxi ride to the airport, 2 hours of waiting, then a flight...
Since then, that night, we've had 2 visits to a doctors office, been to Berlitz every day (sometimes twice a day), seen the American apartment (not quite worth what they're asking... and I'm disappointed that some fellow patriots can't cut us a break), seen a concert celebrating the independence of Cartagena in 1811, seen a parade, and taken taxis to hell and back. Now, we're finally relaxing on Saturday night. I almost, for a second, thought about showering and going out tonight. And then the moment passed and I realized I would be lucky to take a shower before I fall onto the airbed of my sweaty yet all-too-short Cartagena nights.
In other news teachers are dropping like pine needles from a Christmas tree. The tree looks so beautiful and smells so nice until little by little it begins to degrade in your living room. So the story of Berlitz. So far, 2 teachers within our 6 person training group have quit or been "relieved" and another one has gone back to Canada to work to gain some money to get a visa. And another is looking elsewhere for work. If I said I didn't see this coming I wouldn't be lying, but I wouldn't be telling the whole truth either. The whole operation seems kind of shaky. More and more I'm seeing the gold leaf fall away from this magical deal in this magical city, and unfortunately there isn't enough wind for me to miss seeing the piles of it around my feet. I can't say it's not still magical or that I'm unhappy to be here but... I'm becoming disillusioned with both the job and the people and... horror of horrors, the culture.
After having to stubbornly insist on semi-drinking abstinence today at the parade with a friend and her friends/cousins/whoevers, Ryan and I had a thoughtful conversation about work ethic. After explaining to our friend that our week must have been designed by a cousin of the devil and that we needed to pick up our stuff from work and get cracking, she still complained that we were lame and told us we'd better come out tonight. Or else we might be lamer. I could probably tell you already that I'm lame, and very happy about it. :D Obviously there are cultural differences, but are Colombians really interested as work as an outlet for talents and ambitions, or are they more likely to work just to pay the bills, buy nice stuff to show to other people, and party every chance possible? I am sure the answer is that there are people who fall on both sides of the spectrum, as in any other country. The question is, in our realm, how will our perception of hard-work and responsibility to our work differ and parallel those of our co-workers. And how much will we suffer because we take our job, and ourselves, seriously when it comes to work?
Now, if you're wondering why I am so gung-ho, you have to know that I've been watching my bank account (which I worked hard to see grow since May) dwindle on seemingly neverending expenses related to this job, I'm still a guest in my wonderful friend Carmen's house, I still don't have a phone, and I still have no idea how to make a bank account. Now, after my 3 week vacation including a short trip to Miami, a visa ($205) to work, and the sadness of throwing money into the black hole that investments sometimes seem to be, I want to work. I don't want to drink, dance, or party. I want to work. So, whether it's culturally acceptable or not, please take this shot of Aguardiente away from me before I toss it in your face. I'll get back to you after my life has settled into a pattern, I feel like I have some kind of control, and I know what I'm doing at work. Maybe I'll even blog that I can hardly find a moment to share my life because every free minute is spent living like a Costena on vacation... but until then, I'm still an uptight American who likes to sleep and work and organize before I make a controlled mess. And then clean it up again.
Since then, that night, we've had 2 visits to a doctors office, been to Berlitz every day (sometimes twice a day), seen the American apartment (not quite worth what they're asking... and I'm disappointed that some fellow patriots can't cut us a break), seen a concert celebrating the independence of Cartagena in 1811, seen a parade, and taken taxis to hell and back. Now, we're finally relaxing on Saturday night. I almost, for a second, thought about showering and going out tonight. And then the moment passed and I realized I would be lucky to take a shower before I fall onto the airbed of my sweaty yet all-too-short Cartagena nights.
In other news teachers are dropping like pine needles from a Christmas tree. The tree looks so beautiful and smells so nice until little by little it begins to degrade in your living room. So the story of Berlitz. So far, 2 teachers within our 6 person training group have quit or been "relieved" and another one has gone back to Canada to work to gain some money to get a visa. And another is looking elsewhere for work. If I said I didn't see this coming I wouldn't be lying, but I wouldn't be telling the whole truth either. The whole operation seems kind of shaky. More and more I'm seeing the gold leaf fall away from this magical deal in this magical city, and unfortunately there isn't enough wind for me to miss seeing the piles of it around my feet. I can't say it's not still magical or that I'm unhappy to be here but... I'm becoming disillusioned with both the job and the people and... horror of horrors, the culture.
After having to stubbornly insist on semi-drinking abstinence today at the parade with a friend and her friends/cousins/whoevers, Ryan and I had a thoughtful conversation about work ethic. After explaining to our friend that our week must have been designed by a cousin of the devil and that we needed to pick up our stuff from work and get cracking, she still complained that we were lame and told us we'd better come out tonight. Or else we might be lamer. I could probably tell you already that I'm lame, and very happy about it. :D Obviously there are cultural differences, but are Colombians really interested as work as an outlet for talents and ambitions, or are they more likely to work just to pay the bills, buy nice stuff to show to other people, and party every chance possible? I am sure the answer is that there are people who fall on both sides of the spectrum, as in any other country. The question is, in our realm, how will our perception of hard-work and responsibility to our work differ and parallel those of our co-workers. And how much will we suffer because we take our job, and ourselves, seriously when it comes to work?
Now, if you're wondering why I am so gung-ho, you have to know that I've been watching my bank account (which I worked hard to see grow since May) dwindle on seemingly neverending expenses related to this job, I'm still a guest in my wonderful friend Carmen's house, I still don't have a phone, and I still have no idea how to make a bank account. Now, after my 3 week vacation including a short trip to Miami, a visa ($205) to work, and the sadness of throwing money into the black hole that investments sometimes seem to be, I want to work. I don't want to drink, dance, or party. I want to work. So, whether it's culturally acceptable or not, please take this shot of Aguardiente away from me before I toss it in your face. I'll get back to you after my life has settled into a pattern, I feel like I have some kind of control, and I know what I'm doing at work. Maybe I'll even blog that I can hardly find a moment to share my life because every free minute is spent living like a Costena on vacation... but until then, I'm still an uptight American who likes to sleep and work and organize before I make a controlled mess. And then clean it up again.
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