I drove the red minivan for the second time today. Dawn, her mom, her little brothers and I all went up north so she could go meet my counselor. (She's ready for some counseling; long story for another time.) It was raining and miserable and traffic was slow. We were late and the gas tank was almost empty. Aurora's mom was beginning to worry we wouldn't make it to the office before we ran out of gas. Fortunately the BP and the counseling office are within steps of each other.
I let Dawn out and waited, double-parked, until she got in the building. Then we went around the block and ended up back at the gas station. I put in about half a tank of gas and left Dawn's mom with Joey and the new baby parked in front of the convenience store while I went over to the office to wait for Dawn to finish. I read the paper. My counselor keeps the music up pretty high so you can't hear, which is good, but I heard them laughing a couple of times. That seemed like a good sign to me. She came out and we went down. She liked him. She got homework--he gives me homework, too. I didn't ask what it was. I just hope she didn't lose it or leave it in the car.
Driving back was a trip and a half. The weather was miserable and it was smack in the middle of rush hour. The car radio was on, in Spanish, and the announcer said something about Oaxaca and then about Veracruz. I was pretty sure the gist of it was don't go to Oaxaca for vacation this year, try Veracruz instead. So I said, "Yeah, this is Veracruz's year. Only fools like me are going to Oaxaca now."
Dawn's mom laughed. She was trying to say something about only people who like problems would go there. I said, "People who like a dangerous life?" She laughed and said yes.
I leave for Oaxaca tomorrow night. Who knows what I'll find when I get there, if I can get out of the airport in Mexico City--protests are expected there Friday as Vicente Fox steps down and Calderon is supposed to take power. Meanwhile, narrow loser (some say victim of fraud winner) Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador is setting up a parallel government and a massive protest at the Zocalo.
I've never been to Mexico before--at least it'll be an interesting visit. Even if it's interesting in the sense of the Chinese curse, "may you live in interesting times"....
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Workings of the Spirit...or was that spirits?
Late this morning I heard the bumping noises out front that mean somebody, probably Joey, is playing soccer in my front yard. Around noon the bumping stopped and I heard a lot of talking. Eventually I looked out and found five kids, four boys and a girl, sitting on my steps. There were two young blonde coeds at the bottom of the steps, and two well-scrubbed young guys in coats and ties standing on the sidewalk outside my front gate.
Great. The missionaries, I thought. Probably Indiana church.
The First Baptist Church of Hammond, Indiana sends buses into poor neighborhoods on Sundays and takes kids off to their massive campground for kid stuff and indoctrination. I knew about them from the North Side, where a Mennonite friend of mine who runs a youth center warned me about them. The mission was very heavy-handed and often the food and games promised didn't live up to expectations, she told me.
So I came outside. The two guys cleared off immediately, but the girls, especially the curly blonde with way too much eyeshadow, were more persistent.
"You're coming tomorrow, right, Eric?" Eric, who is new to me, stayed quiet. "But you came before," Curly pressed. "If you don't come, I'm gonna cry."
To a littler one she said, "You like it, right?" giving him what she thought was a friendly poke in the shoulder. The kids were very polite. Too polite. Frozen, like deer in the headlights.
I just stood and listened for a bit, taking in the situation. The only kid on the steps I knew was Joey. A couple of these kids apparently were veterans. While Curly was definitely giving an emotionally manipulative hard sell, I didn't really want to just go in guns blazing.
Eventually I asked Curly, "What church are you with?"
"First Baptist Church of Hammond, Indiana," Curly said proudly.
She went on in the same vein a bit longer, promising candy on the bus ride to Hammond: "not just a Tootsie Roll, but a whole candy bar or a bag of chips or a pop, something like that."
Then she said something to Joey. That was the last straw.
"Excuse me," I said. "I'm Catholic, and he's Catholic. We already have a church we belong to. I appreciate what you're trying to do with young people, but I'd prefer you not proselytize in my yard."
"I'm sorry," Candy said. She and her sidekick split immediately.
All the kids looked at me with relief. Jose put his hands in the namaste position, like a prayer of thanksgiving for deliverance.
"You're like our teacher," one of the other kids, maybe Eric, said admiringly.
"If they come back and bother you again, ring the bell and I'll come out and tell them to leave," I said, and went back inside to get the garbage and throw it out.
After a few trips in-and-out and a long stretch of indoor cleaning, I came back outside. The kids were still on the step, and one of the regular stray cats who hang out here was on the front walk below them.
"That cat's going to die in four years," Joey said.
"How do you know?"
"We're talking to the spirits," he said. The girl in the group had a notebook with various numbers written on the open pad.
"Oh, like with a Ouija board?" I asked. I don't know if they knew what that was. "Well, I don't believe in those things, but have fun."
Maybe we should have stuck with the missionaries!
Great. The missionaries, I thought. Probably Indiana church.
The First Baptist Church of Hammond, Indiana sends buses into poor neighborhoods on Sundays and takes kids off to their massive campground for kid stuff and indoctrination. I knew about them from the North Side, where a Mennonite friend of mine who runs a youth center warned me about them. The mission was very heavy-handed and often the food and games promised didn't live up to expectations, she told me.
So I came outside. The two guys cleared off immediately, but the girls, especially the curly blonde with way too much eyeshadow, were more persistent.
"You're coming tomorrow, right, Eric?" Eric, who is new to me, stayed quiet. "But you came before," Curly pressed. "If you don't come, I'm gonna cry."
To a littler one she said, "You like it, right?" giving him what she thought was a friendly poke in the shoulder. The kids were very polite. Too polite. Frozen, like deer in the headlights.
I just stood and listened for a bit, taking in the situation. The only kid on the steps I knew was Joey. A couple of these kids apparently were veterans. While Curly was definitely giving an emotionally manipulative hard sell, I didn't really want to just go in guns blazing.
Eventually I asked Curly, "What church are you with?"
"First Baptist Church of Hammond, Indiana," Curly said proudly.
She went on in the same vein a bit longer, promising candy on the bus ride to Hammond: "not just a Tootsie Roll, but a whole candy bar or a bag of chips or a pop, something like that."
Then she said something to Joey. That was the last straw.
"Excuse me," I said. "I'm Catholic, and he's Catholic. We already have a church we belong to. I appreciate what you're trying to do with young people, but I'd prefer you not proselytize in my yard."
"I'm sorry," Candy said. She and her sidekick split immediately.
All the kids looked at me with relief. Jose put his hands in the namaste position, like a prayer of thanksgiving for deliverance.
"You're like our teacher," one of the other kids, maybe Eric, said admiringly.
"If they come back and bother you again, ring the bell and I'll come out and tell them to leave," I said, and went back inside to get the garbage and throw it out.
After a few trips in-and-out and a long stretch of indoor cleaning, I came back outside. The kids were still on the step, and one of the regular stray cats who hang out here was on the front walk below them.
"That cat's going to die in four years," Joey said.
"How do you know?"
"We're talking to the spirits," he said. The girl in the group had a notebook with various numbers written on the open pad.
"Oh, like with a Ouija board?" I asked. I don't know if they knew what that was. "Well, I don't believe in those things, but have fun."
Maybe we should have stuck with the missionaries!
Death to the Disciples!
Yesterday afternoon was full of vignettes. I'll start with the most disturbing one.
Friday dismissals in high schools are always the craziest time. The nasty fight I saw in my brief stint as a high school teacher this fall happened on Friday afternoon. Everyone remarked on how Fridays are often days when teens act out violently.
Yesterday at 2:45 I was home, for once, hanging out on my neighbors' front porch while Joey and some of his buddies were playing football in my front yard. In fact, they were playing American football with a soccer ball because they didn't have a football.
"That's pretty smart," observed one of the older boys hanging on the porch with me. He goes to Big Picture with Julian. Dawn, Julian, Julian's buddy and the buddy's girlfriend were all hanging out watching the pee-wee football, petting the stray cat, etc. Big Picture lets out at 2 p.m. every other Friday, I think for teacher meetings.
Meanwhile, Richards High on the east side of Ashland lets out at 2:30 or so, I believe. It was about 2:45 when a young man ran down 50th with four other young men hot at his heels. One of the pursuers was carrying a baseball bat. I whipped out my cell phone immediately and called 911.
One young boy, so fair I thought he might be white, stood in the intersection and hollered, "Death to the Disciples! Death to the Disciples!" before heading west to rejoin the chase.
All my neighbor kids were staring down the street.
A girl they knew went by. "What happened?" called Julian.
"Gang on gang stuff," she said. Well, we knew that already. Within a few more seconds, the pee-wees were back to football and the big kids were petting the cat again.
As far as I know, the police never came. I'm pretty sure Mr. Worrisome saw me make the phone call. Later on he was coming down the street with a guy who might have been in the fray, but I wasn't sure. He certainly looked too old to be in high school.
As they parted ways, Mr. Worrisome told his companion, "Stay out of trouble."
Friday dismissals in high schools are always the craziest time. The nasty fight I saw in my brief stint as a high school teacher this fall happened on Friday afternoon. Everyone remarked on how Fridays are often days when teens act out violently.
Yesterday at 2:45 I was home, for once, hanging out on my neighbors' front porch while Joey and some of his buddies were playing football in my front yard. In fact, they were playing American football with a soccer ball because they didn't have a football.
"That's pretty smart," observed one of the older boys hanging on the porch with me. He goes to Big Picture with Julian. Dawn, Julian, Julian's buddy and the buddy's girlfriend were all hanging out watching the pee-wee football, petting the stray cat, etc. Big Picture lets out at 2 p.m. every other Friday, I think for teacher meetings.
Meanwhile, Richards High on the east side of Ashland lets out at 2:30 or so, I believe. It was about 2:45 when a young man ran down 50th with four other young men hot at his heels. One of the pursuers was carrying a baseball bat. I whipped out my cell phone immediately and called 911.
One young boy, so fair I thought he might be white, stood in the intersection and hollered, "Death to the Disciples! Death to the Disciples!" before heading west to rejoin the chase.
All my neighbor kids were staring down the street.
A girl they knew went by. "What happened?" called Julian.
"Gang on gang stuff," she said. Well, we knew that already. Within a few more seconds, the pee-wees were back to football and the big kids were petting the cat again.
As far as I know, the police never came. I'm pretty sure Mr. Worrisome saw me make the phone call. Later on he was coming down the street with a guy who might have been in the fray, but I wasn't sure. He certainly looked too old to be in high school.
As they parted ways, Mr. Worrisome told his companion, "Stay out of trouble."
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Mr. Married Sighting
I saw my old friend Mr. Married on the street this afternoon, but not on Marshfield north of here, his last known address. Now he's south of 51st, a Mexican pioneer in African-American territory. He was washing his car on Wood somewhere beyond the pale. He looks terrible--he's aged even more than when I last saw him, and it looks like he's lost some teeth.
I rode down to Garfield Boulevard and was reminded that Chicago International has a charter campus right on that corner. About a year ago I was talking to the director of that network of schools and asked if she had any Latino kids yet. She said no. I said, "Get ready. They're coming." Mr. Married has a nephew who may be school age by now. I wonder where he's going to school.
I rode down to Garfield Boulevard and was reminded that Chicago International has a charter campus right on that corner. About a year ago I was talking to the director of that network of schools and asked if she had any Latino kids yet. She said no. I said, "Get ready. They're coming." Mr. Married has a nephew who may be school age by now. I wonder where he's going to school.
Report Card Pickup I
Yesterday we went to get Joey's report card. It was literally take a number. Chairs were lined along both sides of the hallway and some young blonde was handing out slips of paper with numbers, like a homemade version of the deli counter. She estimated we'd be waiting 20 minutes. I took the number while Joey played soccer out in front of the building and his mom waited in their van with his new little brother. I saw School Lady with her daughters. She tells me she's not spending as much time at Chavez these days because Richards is eating up all her time. Her oldest daughter is sporting a little henna in her hair, I think.
Junior and Oscar and their mom were all there, too. We met them in the stairwell. Mom says Oscar's writing is terrible. I assume she means his handwriting, but if a teacher actually told her he needs to improve how he's communicating on paper, I'll be delighted someone was paying attention.
When Joey and his mom and I went in, all three of his teachers were there. They kicked off in English until I told them I wasn't a strong translator. One of them was, so she took over and repeated what had been said already. The basic message was Joey needs to do his homework, but his homeroom teacher has spent a good bit of time with him so far this fall and that is sparking Joey's interest in school. A good sign. I gave them my phone number and asked them to call me and explain the assignments to me when he has major projects or reports to do so I can help him more effectively. They seemed delighted by that.
Later that evening I stopped by Joey's house and he was on the sofa doing his math homework while his big brother had the baby on his chest, watching TV with Mom. Very cute.
Junior and Oscar and their mom were all there, too. We met them in the stairwell. Mom says Oscar's writing is terrible. I assume she means his handwriting, but if a teacher actually told her he needs to improve how he's communicating on paper, I'll be delighted someone was paying attention.
When Joey and his mom and I went in, all three of his teachers were there. They kicked off in English until I told them I wasn't a strong translator. One of them was, so she took over and repeated what had been said already. The basic message was Joey needs to do his homework, but his homeroom teacher has spent a good bit of time with him so far this fall and that is sparking Joey's interest in school. A good sign. I gave them my phone number and asked them to call me and explain the assignments to me when he has major projects or reports to do so I can help him more effectively. They seemed delighted by that.
Later that evening I stopped by Joey's house and he was on the sofa doing his math homework while his big brother had the baby on his chest, watching TV with Mom. Very cute.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Halloween in the Hood
Well, the Tattler returns after a long hiatus. (I'll write another post another time to fill you in on life since August.)
Today I got home later than I had hoped. I was on the Ashland bus around 6 p.m. and rode past the Haunted Horde of children, from tots to teens, invading the stores along Ashland and 47th. The Walgreens parking lot on the corner had the fewest cars I've ever seen, as a score of children and some adults pressed in to get goodies. "Are you buying something?" a security guard asked a boy. "Candy?"
"No. My mom sent me to get..." I kept going. In the decimated candy aisle, Papa was trying to pacify little gorilla-costumed Cesar, who was wailing and squirming in his stroller. "Ay, Cesar, calmate..." I squeezed past them and past Mama, who was picking over the remnants. Fortunately they had a big bag of trial size Hershey's bars, some old-school Reese's peanut butter cups, Twix and 100 Grands. (I'm old enough to remember when they were $100,000 Bars, but don't tell Cesarito, OK?)
So I get home and it's too late for the crowd. One mom and her spiderwomanish clad toddler are coming down the street as I'm checking the mail. "Do you have any candy?" Mom asks politely.
"I'm just getting set up. Can you come back in five minutes?"
"Sure."
It was more like 50, but she and her little one return. I did get to see Junior and his family--they were going somewhere and not in costume, but I gave the boys some candy anyway. Joey came by in camo--he hid alongside the door and said "boo!" when I came out. It was way cuter than scary.
My favorite girls from down the block stopped by with their mom and big sister. "You missed!" the younger one told me, when I dropped a Hershey's in her bag. She had a paper bag inside the plastic one. I dropped in three more before I got it right. We were laughing. She's gonna be a gordita (little fatty, an endearment among Mexicans) if she keeps up that trick to get more candy!
Then all was quiet, but the two guys I've seen sitting out front of the house next door strolled by. One had his cell phone to his ear. They have the distinction of being the first dealers I've ever actually seen drugs on. They appeared to be eyeing their favorite perch. My neighbor is turning the fence out front into a wall, but the job is less than a quarter done, so the "wall" makes a nice seat for passers-by.
I saw them eyeing the wall, and I looked at them very carefully. They saw me. We all said 'hey, how you doing?'
At first, nobody said anything else. Then, the guy without the phone said, "Trick or treat?" kind of jokingly, kind of in a "why not?" spirit.
I caught the spirit of why not, and said, "Sure."
"Do you have Reese's?" he asked, walking over.
"Why, yes I do!"
He brightened up and put some extra spring in his step. His buddy liked Reese's, too.
I gave each of them a Reese's peanut butter cup. They thanked me.
"Happy Halloween," they said, and kept going down the block.
A bit later the cry of Yup-yup could be heard on the corner. I am so tired of that guy I just called 911 right away. "He's a nuisance," I told them. He left before the squad car arrived.
When the cop car drove the wrong way down the street, flashing that annoying small spotlight, I was standing in my doorway, looking for trick-or-treaters, wearing my bike helmet and orange vest (I guess I thought I would dress up as a bike messenger while handing out the goodies.)
"Thanks for coming by," I said to the cop. (Since all the criminal element was long gone I figured I might as well out myself."
"Did you call?" the cop inquired, on the same principle.
"Yeah. The guy left a few minutes ago. But thanks for coming anyway."
Today I got home later than I had hoped. I was on the Ashland bus around 6 p.m. and rode past the Haunted Horde of children, from tots to teens, invading the stores along Ashland and 47th. The Walgreens parking lot on the corner had the fewest cars I've ever seen, as a score of children and some adults pressed in to get goodies. "Are you buying something?" a security guard asked a boy. "Candy?"
"No. My mom sent me to get..." I kept going. In the decimated candy aisle, Papa was trying to pacify little gorilla-costumed Cesar, who was wailing and squirming in his stroller. "Ay, Cesar, calmate..." I squeezed past them and past Mama, who was picking over the remnants. Fortunately they had a big bag of trial size Hershey's bars, some old-school Reese's peanut butter cups, Twix and 100 Grands. (I'm old enough to remember when they were $100,000 Bars, but don't tell Cesarito, OK?)
So I get home and it's too late for the crowd. One mom and her spiderwomanish clad toddler are coming down the street as I'm checking the mail. "Do you have any candy?" Mom asks politely.
"I'm just getting set up. Can you come back in five minutes?"
"Sure."
It was more like 50, but she and her little one return. I did get to see Junior and his family--they were going somewhere and not in costume, but I gave the boys some candy anyway. Joey came by in camo--he hid alongside the door and said "boo!" when I came out. It was way cuter than scary.
My favorite girls from down the block stopped by with their mom and big sister. "You missed!" the younger one told me, when I dropped a Hershey's in her bag. She had a paper bag inside the plastic one. I dropped in three more before I got it right. We were laughing. She's gonna be a gordita (little fatty, an endearment among Mexicans) if she keeps up that trick to get more candy!
Then all was quiet, but the two guys I've seen sitting out front of the house next door strolled by. One had his cell phone to his ear. They have the distinction of being the first dealers I've ever actually seen drugs on. They appeared to be eyeing their favorite perch. My neighbor is turning the fence out front into a wall, but the job is less than a quarter done, so the "wall" makes a nice seat for passers-by.
I saw them eyeing the wall, and I looked at them very carefully. They saw me. We all said 'hey, how you doing?'
At first, nobody said anything else. Then, the guy without the phone said, "Trick or treat?" kind of jokingly, kind of in a "why not?" spirit.
I caught the spirit of why not, and said, "Sure."
"Do you have Reese's?" he asked, walking over.
"Why, yes I do!"
He brightened up and put some extra spring in his step. His buddy liked Reese's, too.
I gave each of them a Reese's peanut butter cup. They thanked me.
"Happy Halloween," they said, and kept going down the block.
A bit later the cry of Yup-yup could be heard on the corner. I am so tired of that guy I just called 911 right away. "He's a nuisance," I told them. He left before the squad car arrived.
When the cop car drove the wrong way down the street, flashing that annoying small spotlight, I was standing in my doorway, looking for trick-or-treaters, wearing my bike helmet and orange vest (I guess I thought I would dress up as a bike messenger while handing out the goodies.)
"Thanks for coming by," I said to the cop. (Since all the criminal element was long gone I figured I might as well out myself."
"Did you call?" the cop inquired, on the same principle.
"Yeah. The guy left a few minutes ago. But thanks for coming anyway."
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Freakazoid
That's what I'm feeling like today. Am I the only person here who is trying to think about how to develop a scope and sequence that isn't just topics and what to do for a semester? I don't have time to do what I was trained to do (and barely remember, let's be honest)--develop a scope and sequence of conceptual units that spiral skills upward over time. I don't see that in what I'm getting for this American Lit course at all. And I don't know how I'm going to teach this if I'm not doing what I'm trained to do. Yikes.
Now it's on to learn how to beg for stuff on Donors Choose. I'd like to beg for a few dozen reams of paper right now. Two schools are allotted six reams of paper a week. That's handouts for 800 kids. Those reams will disappear quickly.
Now it's on to learn how to beg for stuff on Donors Choose. I'd like to beg for a few dozen reams of paper right now. Two schools are allotted six reams of paper a week. That's handouts for 800 kids. Those reams will disappear quickly.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
My Whole Life Changed
...and so did this blog. I just started my first day at my new job, teaching English at the School of Social Justice on the Little Village/Lawndale campus.
School/campus web site: www.lvlhs.org
click on the tab for Social Justice.
Yesterday I spent half a day at the Chicago Public Schools New Hire Center trying to get on staff. There was a snafu about my position between the board and the school, but it got fixed somehow.
My first question to my principal, Rito Martinez, this morning was, "So, am I hired yet?"
"You're staffed," he told me.
Some folks at CPS central office know. Best comments were:
Arne Duncan, CEO: "That's a gutsy move."
Peter Cunningham, communications director (excuse me, director of external affairs):
"Wow, my life just got a whole lot easier."
Mine just got a whole lot harder, I suspect. There's a lot of work to do here. I have a relatively light load--four classes of 25 students, two preps. Sounds like the suburbs, right? But I haven't taught in 10 years, I have a more-or-less weekly elective I'm cooking up from relative scratch, and while one of my English classes seems to have curriculum in place, the other is much less fleshed out and I don't feel really supported by my partner.
So I have work to do.
School/campus web site: www.lvlhs.org
click on the tab for Social Justice.
Yesterday I spent half a day at the Chicago Public Schools New Hire Center trying to get on staff. There was a snafu about my position between the board and the school, but it got fixed somehow.
My first question to my principal, Rito Martinez, this morning was, "So, am I hired yet?"
"You're staffed," he told me.
Some folks at CPS central office know. Best comments were:
Arne Duncan, CEO: "That's a gutsy move."
Peter Cunningham, communications director (excuse me, director of external affairs):
"Wow, my life just got a whole lot easier."
Mine just got a whole lot harder, I suspect. There's a lot of work to do here. I have a relatively light load--four classes of 25 students, two preps. Sounds like the suburbs, right? But I haven't taught in 10 years, I have a more-or-less weekly elective I'm cooking up from relative scratch, and while one of my English classes seems to have curriculum in place, the other is much less fleshed out and I don't feel really supported by my partner.
So I have work to do.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Aldermanic Challenger???
I found a flyer in my mailbox last night for a lady who plans to challenge Shirley Coleman in February. Alas, I've forgotten her name at the moment. All I can think of is Joan Crawford but I bet that's wrong. (No, she's not Mommie Dearest, at least one hopes not.)
Anyway, we'll see if she has any substance.
Anyway, we'll see if she has any substance.
Cool Link
http://anai415.spaces.live.com/PersonalSpace.aspx?_c02_owner=1
I found this blog today, written by a woman from the Dominican Republic. She's a teacher and a novelist, and she's a lot better at posting photos than I am.
If you'd like to see what Marshfield Avenue might feel like in the DR, check her out.
Apparently she has to pay off the garbage guys to take her trash. We've yet to sink that low on Marshfield, but who knows??
I found this blog today, written by a woman from the Dominican Republic. She's a teacher and a novelist, and she's a lot better at posting photos than I am.
If you'd like to see what Marshfield Avenue might feel like in the DR, check her out.
Apparently she has to pay off the garbage guys to take her trash. We've yet to sink that low on Marshfield, but who knows??
Pandillera (Gang) Marketing
...or...When the Souls Come Marching In: The Latin Souls, that is. Apparently somebody got out of jail while I was in Colombia and the Soula are back in action. They have taken to graffiti marketing--there's a lot of new Souls graffiti along Marshfield Avenue, most notably across the railroad bridge above Marshfield at 48th. The rusty railroad bridge has panels that exactly match the number of spaces needed to write "LATIN SOULS" in white spray paint. Look out Madison Avenue, here come the homeboys...
Of course at least three of us have been calling 311 and the alderman's office to get Graffiti Blasters out there, but nothing has happened yet. Alderman Coleman has her meeting tomorrow at her church west on 50th. Guess I'll have to get up and go.
Of course at least three of us have been calling 311 and the alderman's office to get Graffiti Blasters out there, but nothing has happened yet. Alderman Coleman has her meeting tomorrow at her church west on 50th. Guess I'll have to get up and go.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Homecoming
I never wrote about what happened the night I got home to Chicago. Dawn and I had a long catch-up session out on the back steps. I got the impression she hadn't had too many people to talk to while I was gone, and lots of things had happened that piled up in her mind. So she put them out there.
Boy troubles, friend troubles, family pressures, just feeling lonesome. Eventually she was crying and hugged me and said, "You are my mom."
I hugged back, but I said, "I'm not your mom, honey. Maybe your aunt."
Everybody needs a grownup friend who's not their mom or their dad, right? But I sure wish I spoke better Spanish, because I'd like to be a better friend to Dawn's mom, too.
Dawn's really wishing her mom could be more of her friend. She'd like to talk to her more about boys and problems and being a teenager. But from what Dawn told me, I think her mom is afraid if she acts like a buddy she won't be a strict enough parent to keep her daughter out of trouble. But if her daughter doesn't have a buddy, she'll act up and get in trouble.
I understand that dilemma very well. It's actually a lot easier to talk to teenagers about their problems when you aren't their parent. Even being their teacher is harder than just being their friend. There's less pressure to have all the answers or do exactly the right thing. And there's less worry that if something goes really wrong you'll be held responsible. It's bad enough being held responsible by your own conscience, at least if your conscience is anything like mine.
It's been hard to decide whether to encourage conversation about teen problems. I don't want to say things that would counter whatever her parents are telling her, but I know my experience of teen life is a little closer to hers than theirs, in some ways. I know what kids are up to and I know how kids who aren't up to it get through that time. But I've been deliberately holding off on letting the conversation get anywhere near sex until she's 15 and officially come of age in some way.
Despite my resolve, we got there, at least a little, on the back steps two Sundays ago. As I suspected, she hasn't done anything I would disapprove of. My standards are probably less strict than her parents (she's not allowed to date until she turns 15 and my sister was dating at 14--I wasn't!), but they are stricter than the U.S. average (we're all Catholic here). But I'm a big believer in forewarned is forearmed and I know that sex education in CPS is not very good, generally speaking. I also think there are things a grownup friend can say that don't get said enough in classrooms, about love and respect and having your own bottom line that nobody can push you into crossing.
She'll be 15 in two weeks or so.
Boy troubles, friend troubles, family pressures, just feeling lonesome. Eventually she was crying and hugged me and said, "You are my mom."
I hugged back, but I said, "I'm not your mom, honey. Maybe your aunt."
Everybody needs a grownup friend who's not their mom or their dad, right? But I sure wish I spoke better Spanish, because I'd like to be a better friend to Dawn's mom, too.
Dawn's really wishing her mom could be more of her friend. She'd like to talk to her more about boys and problems and being a teenager. But from what Dawn told me, I think her mom is afraid if she acts like a buddy she won't be a strict enough parent to keep her daughter out of trouble. But if her daughter doesn't have a buddy, she'll act up and get in trouble.
I understand that dilemma very well. It's actually a lot easier to talk to teenagers about their problems when you aren't their parent. Even being their teacher is harder than just being their friend. There's less pressure to have all the answers or do exactly the right thing. And there's less worry that if something goes really wrong you'll be held responsible. It's bad enough being held responsible by your own conscience, at least if your conscience is anything like mine.
It's been hard to decide whether to encourage conversation about teen problems. I don't want to say things that would counter whatever her parents are telling her, but I know my experience of teen life is a little closer to hers than theirs, in some ways. I know what kids are up to and I know how kids who aren't up to it get through that time. But I've been deliberately holding off on letting the conversation get anywhere near sex until she's 15 and officially come of age in some way.
Despite my resolve, we got there, at least a little, on the back steps two Sundays ago. As I suspected, she hasn't done anything I would disapprove of. My standards are probably less strict than her parents (she's not allowed to date until she turns 15 and my sister was dating at 14--I wasn't!), but they are stricter than the U.S. average (we're all Catholic here). But I'm a big believer in forewarned is forearmed and I know that sex education in CPS is not very good, generally speaking. I also think there are things a grownup friend can say that don't get said enough in classrooms, about love and respect and having your own bottom line that nobody can push you into crossing.
She'll be 15 in two weeks or so.
Meeting Ricardo
I'd like you all to meet the man who got me to go to Colombia. (Or at least one of them.) Ricardo Esquivia is a lawyer-turned-organizer who has created some very impressive church networks and NGOs. He is currently working in the Montes de Maria region of Colombia, which is a flashpoint on the touchy subject of paramilitary demobilization. Part of the reason I went on this trip was to get to meet him. I've heard a bit about him and his work over the last few years.
A few years ago, one of a number of times when Ricardo's life was in danger due to his work, I received a request to write letters to the Colombian government on his behalf. It was a big moment on this trip when he talked to us about his experiences surviving night raids and arrest. Afterwards I was able to thank him for the opportunity to make his acquaintance. Over the last 15 years I've written a lot of letters to a lot of different countries hoping they might help save an activist's life, but Ricardo is the only person on whose behalf I've written whom I've ever met afterwards.
Here's a photo and article about a peacemaking award he received last year:
http://www.churchworldservice.org/news/archives/2005/10/348.html
This link, to an interview in which he talks a lot about water, has a photo of him with Barbara Gerlach, a UCC minister in Washington who helped lead our delegation:
http://www.churchworldservice.org/Educ_Advo/partners/2005/esquivia.html
A few years ago, one of a number of times when Ricardo's life was in danger due to his work, I received a request to write letters to the Colombian government on his behalf. It was a big moment on this trip when he talked to us about his experiences surviving night raids and arrest. Afterwards I was able to thank him for the opportunity to make his acquaintance. Over the last 15 years I've written a lot of letters to a lot of different countries hoping they might help save an activist's life, but Ricardo is the only person on whose behalf I've written whom I've ever met afterwards.
Here's a photo and article about a peacemaking award he received last year:
http://www.churchworldservice.org/news/archives/2005/10/348.html
This link, to an interview in which he talks a lot about water, has a photo of him with Barbara Gerlach, a UCC minister in Washington who helped lead our delegation:
http://www.churchworldservice.org/Educ_Advo/partners/2005/esquivia.html
Friday, July 28, 2006
Ajiaco Photo
If you read my earlier post on ajiaco and want to see what it looks like, check out this link:
http://www.geekroar.com/leopoldo/archives/co_ajiaco.jpg
http://www.geekroar.com/leopoldo/archives/co_ajiaco.jpg
Colombia Fried
Wow, there was a lot of great fried starch to be had in Colombia. There was a whole snack shop near the Palm Tree Hostal featuring Chilean empanadas. I don't know why Chilean empanadas in particular were a big deal, but they were yummy. I'll pretty much eat anything that involved fried dough. You could have your fried dough with ground beef inside, with chicken and cheese (that was especially tasty--ate a lot of those), or as a long bread stick with a length of cheese inside. I even had those for breakfast at home in Envigado when the food situation improved!
Maybe the best thing ever were the bunuelos. They are basically fried cheese balls and came in various sizes, from tiny to grand. I of course ate the super-sized ones. Forget Wisconsin cheese curds, people!
The really amazing thing was I ate all this heavy food and didn't gain weight. I may even have lost a couple of pounds. Not sure how that worked, whether it was a lot of walking or two bouts of diarrhea or both, but I wasn't arguing.
I found a recipe for Colombian bunuelos. They're different from Mexican ones. Check this out:
http://fooddownunder.com/cgi-bin/recipe.cgi?r=38898
Maybe the best thing ever were the bunuelos. They are basically fried cheese balls and came in various sizes, from tiny to grand. I of course ate the super-sized ones. Forget Wisconsin cheese curds, people!
The really amazing thing was I ate all this heavy food and didn't gain weight. I may even have lost a couple of pounds. Not sure how that worked, whether it was a lot of walking or two bouts of diarrhea or both, but I wasn't arguing.
I found a recipe for Colombian bunuelos. They're different from Mexican ones. Check this out:
http://fooddownunder.com/cgi-bin/recipe.cgi?r=38898
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Block Party Post Mortem
Back to local news, at least for this post. Last Saturday night was the block party. Though I was in Raleigh, last night I got plenty of gossip about it from three or four different houses.
Mr. Worrisome's sister and her friends in the house down the block told me they have had it with our block captain. (I think I told you all way back when that I didn't get a good vibe from her.) She drove by us last night and called out that she wanted to talk to me. I told her to come by the house when she was free. I thought she would stop by last night, but the doorbell rang twice and both times it was Dee, the hooker who took Priscilla's place on the corner back last winter. (For once I didn't give her some cash--I was on the phone and told her to come back another day.)
The only thing that holds true in everybody's story is that the police were called Saturday night. The detailed version from Sister W and Co. was that Block Capt. wanted to open the fire hydrant, but Co. objected, saying the water would flood her basement. So they didn't open that hydrant but words were exchanged, and Co's niece and lots of her friends showed up to back up her auntie. This made Block Capt. nervous and she called the 5-0, who took them to the station for mob action. Seems highly unnecessary to me that it got to that point.
By the way, apparently it was Co's kids who came over and got some cake and got in the water fight at my birthday party. I didn't know who she was, but apparently she moved on the block about the same time I did.
Anyway, now Sister W and friends want a new block captain, maybe me, but I wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole right now. Apparently our current block captain is buds with the alderman, and until 2010 and the remap comes around, I have no intention of crossing wires with the alderman. They want to know where all the money Block Capt. collected for the party went, since she charged like 10 or 15 bucks a household and told people if they didn't pay they couldn't eat. They say she said the DJ cost $250, but they asked the DJ and he said he only got paid $60. I don't know if what they said is true, but it's certainly pretty funny to hear from a lady who refused to come to my housewarming party because it was potluck. "You ain't spending nothin!" she chided me.
I'm willing to see if they'll go to the alderman's monthly meeting in force to complain, however. I'll be very curious to see if they still have juice about this two weeks from now.
I still have plenty to say about Colombia, but it will be interesting to see whether I find time to post it here.
Mr. Worrisome's sister and her friends in the house down the block told me they have had it with our block captain. (I think I told you all way back when that I didn't get a good vibe from her.) She drove by us last night and called out that she wanted to talk to me. I told her to come by the house when she was free. I thought she would stop by last night, but the doorbell rang twice and both times it was Dee, the hooker who took Priscilla's place on the corner back last winter. (For once I didn't give her some cash--I was on the phone and told her to come back another day.)
The only thing that holds true in everybody's story is that the police were called Saturday night. The detailed version from Sister W and Co. was that Block Capt. wanted to open the fire hydrant, but Co. objected, saying the water would flood her basement. So they didn't open that hydrant but words were exchanged, and Co's niece and lots of her friends showed up to back up her auntie. This made Block Capt. nervous and she called the 5-0, who took them to the station for mob action. Seems highly unnecessary to me that it got to that point.
By the way, apparently it was Co's kids who came over and got some cake and got in the water fight at my birthday party. I didn't know who she was, but apparently she moved on the block about the same time I did.
Anyway, now Sister W and friends want a new block captain, maybe me, but I wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole right now. Apparently our current block captain is buds with the alderman, and until 2010 and the remap comes around, I have no intention of crossing wires with the alderman. They want to know where all the money Block Capt. collected for the party went, since she charged like 10 or 15 bucks a household and told people if they didn't pay they couldn't eat. They say she said the DJ cost $250, but they asked the DJ and he said he only got paid $60. I don't know if what they said is true, but it's certainly pretty funny to hear from a lady who refused to come to my housewarming party because it was potluck. "You ain't spending nothin!" she chided me.
I'm willing to see if they'll go to the alderman's monthly meeting in force to complain, however. I'll be very curious to see if they still have juice about this two weeks from now.
I still have plenty to say about Colombia, but it will be interesting to see whether I find time to post it here.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Back in the US...
But still not back in Chicago. Am in Raleigh,North Carolina for a cousin's wedding.
During the trip, one of my fellow delegation members said she would be having her partner do the grocery shopping for the first week after she got home because she couldn't bear the sight of a US grocery store after hanging out with very poor people for two weeks straight. Although I know what she means, I don't personally have the same feeling about a grocery store, not least because I went to the big superstores in Cartagena and Medellin, Vivero and the French chain, Carrefour, so it's not like they don't exist there.
What I think about after any international trip is water. Even coming back from Europe. Even after Medellin, which has astoundingly great water supplies by Latin American, and really, everywhere but US and maybe Japanese standards--I had great showers in Medellin. And I never got sick from Medellin tap water, unlike tap water in rural Ireland. (There was a water alert upstream from my great aunt's house and we didn't get word on the radio until it was too late for me. I had a raging case of turista on the bus to Dublin as a result. I bet you didn't expect to hear that about a trip to Ireland, did you?)
However, even the nice suburbs of Medellin run out of hot water pretty fast, which the shower at my godfather's house in an upscale suburb of North Carolina doesn't do.
The other thing I noticed this weekend was electricity. The power went out twice in less than three days in Sincelejo, and went out almost all night once in Cartagena when a transformer blew out, which is unusual. I went around turning off lights in empty rooms at my cousins' house with particular fervor this weekend.
And I thought a lot about the oddity of driving an air-conditioned rental car with fake-leather seats and power everything two days after watching the occasional horse-drawn cart along side the Renaults and diesel trucks filling Medellin's autopistas.
During the trip, one of my fellow delegation members said she would be having her partner do the grocery shopping for the first week after she got home because she couldn't bear the sight of a US grocery store after hanging out with very poor people for two weeks straight. Although I know what she means, I don't personally have the same feeling about a grocery store, not least because I went to the big superstores in Cartagena and Medellin, Vivero and the French chain, Carrefour, so it's not like they don't exist there.
What I think about after any international trip is water. Even coming back from Europe. Even after Medellin, which has astoundingly great water supplies by Latin American, and really, everywhere but US and maybe Japanese standards--I had great showers in Medellin. And I never got sick from Medellin tap water, unlike tap water in rural Ireland. (There was a water alert upstream from my great aunt's house and we didn't get word on the radio until it was too late for me. I had a raging case of turista on the bus to Dublin as a result. I bet you didn't expect to hear that about a trip to Ireland, did you?)
However, even the nice suburbs of Medellin run out of hot water pretty fast, which the shower at my godfather's house in an upscale suburb of North Carolina doesn't do.
The other thing I noticed this weekend was electricity. The power went out twice in less than three days in Sincelejo, and went out almost all night once in Cartagena when a transformer blew out, which is unusual. I went around turning off lights in empty rooms at my cousins' house with particular fervor this weekend.
And I thought a lot about the oddity of driving an air-conditioned rental car with fake-leather seats and power everything two days after watching the occasional horse-drawn cart along side the Renaults and diesel trucks filling Medellin's autopistas.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Goin' to the zoo, zoo, zoo
Leidi and I went to the zoo today. I figured even if it was a cheesy zoo, it would probably have animals not common in U.S. zoos, and really just a spot of green and some local wildlife seemed like a nice change of pace from city and museums. Leidi was really fired up to go--she told me she loves the zoo but not many Spanish students want to go, so she doesn't get there very often.
Getting there was a bit of a challenge. Originally we were going right after lunch, but then the teenage man of the house had something for Leidi to do, so she couldn´t leave until 4 p.m. So we had to find the zoo in the phone book to see how late it would stay open. Dear Leidi is not too strong on spelling, although she likes to read, so she was looking for the zoo under the letter S. Oops. And then it took me a few tries to get her in the Zs because I forgot the word in Spanish for Z is zeta and kept saying zed. LOL. We were a hell of a great pair, I'll tell ya.
Well, Leidi got through to the zoo and it appeared to stay open late enough to make it worth going. I suggested a taxi but she said no, we can take the bus. I said, OK, I'm afraid of taking the bus by myself because I don't know my way around but if you're coming we can take the bus. So we took the bus and we got lost. I think we ended up in San Antonio but I'm still not too sure. Someplace downtownish with lots of stores and concrete and loud music playing that I almost mistook for a live concert or something.
I said, 'Leidi, how bout a taxi?'
She started freaking out. 'It's more expensive from here and I don't have the money.'
'I have money,' I said. 'Come on!'
So we got a taxi--that one had a very friendly driver who tried out his miniscule English for fun--but I'll tell you going through Medellín afternoon rush hour in something lower to the ground than a bus was the second-worst driving experience here, or maybe the third. (I forgot to mention our drunk taxi driver on Friday night, but he didn't actually worry me as much as the guy tonight did, probably because even drunk off his ass he still got us there with a minimum of fuss.)
The owner asked me to get off the Internet, so that's it for now. Zoo part two.
Getting there was a bit of a challenge. Originally we were going right after lunch, but then the teenage man of the house had something for Leidi to do, so she couldn´t leave until 4 p.m. So we had to find the zoo in the phone book to see how late it would stay open. Dear Leidi is not too strong on spelling, although she likes to read, so she was looking for the zoo under the letter S. Oops. And then it took me a few tries to get her in the Zs because I forgot the word in Spanish for Z is zeta and kept saying zed. LOL. We were a hell of a great pair, I'll tell ya.
Well, Leidi got through to the zoo and it appeared to stay open late enough to make it worth going. I suggested a taxi but she said no, we can take the bus. I said, OK, I'm afraid of taking the bus by myself because I don't know my way around but if you're coming we can take the bus. So we took the bus and we got lost. I think we ended up in San Antonio but I'm still not too sure. Someplace downtownish with lots of stores and concrete and loud music playing that I almost mistook for a live concert or something.
I said, 'Leidi, how bout a taxi?'
She started freaking out. 'It's more expensive from here and I don't have the money.'
'I have money,' I said. 'Come on!'
So we got a taxi--that one had a very friendly driver who tried out his miniscule English for fun--but I'll tell you going through Medellín afternoon rush hour in something lower to the ground than a bus was the second-worst driving experience here, or maybe the third. (I forgot to mention our drunk taxi driver on Friday night, but he didn't actually worry me as much as the guy tonight did, probably because even drunk off his ass he still got us there with a minimum of fuss.)
The owner asked me to get off the Internet, so that's it for now. Zoo part two.
¡Felíz Cumpleanos!
The live vallenato band is thumping and grinding (organ-grinding, that is) at a cheerful and volumious level two flights down here in the backpacker hostel I'm crashing in for two nights. I couldn't take it in the suburbs any more, so I booked a room at the Palm Tree Hostel in Medellín proper. Here it is:
http://www.palmtreemedellin.com/
Somebody´s niece is having her 18th birthday tonight, so there´s a band and an incredible amount of grilled meat piled up. Hostal guests are invited to join the party for 10,000 pesos, but I'm not hungry right now and not entirely sure I'm ready to party in español with total strangers. I did meet one of the other guests earlier when I was checking out the festivities--she's from Seattle and working on her master's in public health. For those who are curious, we spoke quite a bit in Spanish, and then one of the aunts of the birthday girl joined us for a little bailar (dancing) up here on the top floor by the computer.
Getting here verged on my worst nightmare about traveling solo in Colombia, but gracias a Dios, everything turned out fine. Taxis are muy interesante here, to say the least. First of all it's worth your life to drive in the traffic, and the back seats of taxis mostly don't have seatbelts. I would say my Spanish is good enough to chat up taxi drivers a bit, but not good enough to get out of trouble if they don't know where they're going. Let's just say that has put a bit of a damper on my ability to take in Medellín nightlife.
So tonight I took my very first solo taxi ride at night. Leidi, the maid out in Envigado, called the taxi. I tried to give the driver the Palm Tree's street address but he didn´t pay attention to the A in Calle 52A and just made like he knew where he was going. He didn't. I spent 10,000 pesos and my blood pressure went through the roof during our tour of some shady-looking neighborhoods, during which I was beginning to wonder if he was lost, running up the meter, or planning to mug me or worse, especially when we appeared to be hitting a dead end in one of the shady backstreets. In the end, I think he was just lost, but it was enough to make me quite nervous. Finally we passed a Metro station and I said '¡dejame por favor!' which I hoped meant Let me out! Whatever it meant, it worked. The guy told me the station was Estadio but when I got inside I discovered it was Poblado, which isn´t even on the same line. I was just grateful to be out of the cab, even if it meant hauling my now rather heavy suitcase a few blocks.
So then I got here and walked into a fiesta muy grande. And I have a room on the first floor right in the middle of the action. And I'm supposed to be back at that same Poblado station at 7:45 a.m. to go to a colegio (school). Whee!
http://www.palmtreemedellin.com/
Somebody´s niece is having her 18th birthday tonight, so there´s a band and an incredible amount of grilled meat piled up. Hostal guests are invited to join the party for 10,000 pesos, but I'm not hungry right now and not entirely sure I'm ready to party in español with total strangers. I did meet one of the other guests earlier when I was checking out the festivities--she's from Seattle and working on her master's in public health. For those who are curious, we spoke quite a bit in Spanish, and then one of the aunts of the birthday girl joined us for a little bailar (dancing) up here on the top floor by the computer.
Getting here verged on my worst nightmare about traveling solo in Colombia, but gracias a Dios, everything turned out fine. Taxis are muy interesante here, to say the least. First of all it's worth your life to drive in the traffic, and the back seats of taxis mostly don't have seatbelts. I would say my Spanish is good enough to chat up taxi drivers a bit, but not good enough to get out of trouble if they don't know where they're going. Let's just say that has put a bit of a damper on my ability to take in Medellín nightlife.
So tonight I took my very first solo taxi ride at night. Leidi, the maid out in Envigado, called the taxi. I tried to give the driver the Palm Tree's street address but he didn´t pay attention to the A in Calle 52A and just made like he knew where he was going. He didn't. I spent 10,000 pesos and my blood pressure went through the roof during our tour of some shady-looking neighborhoods, during which I was beginning to wonder if he was lost, running up the meter, or planning to mug me or worse, especially when we appeared to be hitting a dead end in one of the shady backstreets. In the end, I think he was just lost, but it was enough to make me quite nervous. Finally we passed a Metro station and I said '¡dejame por favor!' which I hoped meant Let me out! Whatever it meant, it worked. The guy told me the station was Estadio but when I got inside I discovered it was Poblado, which isn´t even on the same line. I was just grateful to be out of the cab, even if it meant hauling my now rather heavy suitcase a few blocks.
So then I got here and walked into a fiesta muy grande. And I have a room on the first floor right in the middle of the action. And I'm supposed to be back at that same Poblado station at 7:45 a.m. to go to a colegio (school). Whee!
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Medellín
To see a bit of Medellín, check out this link:
http://www.abel-art.com/medellin/
I´m writing this from the Internet café at the Hotel Nutibara in downtown Medellín. Once the fanciest hotel in town, I'm told, its elegance may be a little faded, but it is a great spot to take a load off after lots of walking and window-shopping downtown. Here it is:
http://www.hotelnutibara.com/sitioweb/hotel.php
I keep getting lost here in downtown. Somehow I'm not following the Lonely Planet map's orientation. I keep having to ask directions which is always an adventure since I'm never too clear how well I understood whatever was said. A very nice older gentleman walked me here to the hotel when it was all of about two and a half blocks away. I'm sure he could tell I was pretty disoriented and that just telling me directions wasn't going to penetrate my language barrier.
Things I´m loving about Medellín: climate (perfect!), scenery (spectacular!), potable water (in plenty, and even a hot shower in my suburban apartment), the Metro (newer, nicer and cleaner than any US public transit system I've ever been on), the vast majority of people I've encountered (friendly and helpful), the play I went to last night, which starred one of my Spanish teachers.
Things I´m not loving about the experience, none of which are Medellín's fault, most of which have to do with my lodgings, which were arranged by the Nueva Lengua language school. NB: I have two teachers at the school, both of whom are female--my first female Spanish teachers, gracias a Dios--both of whom are good, and both of whom are interesting people who extend themselves beyond the classroom. For that, I'm very grateful to Nueva Lengua.
But I wouldn't recommend the school unless you're someone who wants to stay in the suburbs. They put their students up in Envigado, which is a middle to upper-middle class suburb of the city. It is close to the Zona Rosa, aka party central, and to lots of great shopping, but our lodging is not that close to the Metro and taxis don't know where it is. So if you came with the idea of exploring the city, it's not so fun. And the so-called homestay is very unhomey. There is no dad, the mom is on vacation, the son is 20-something and working (selling cookies, he tells me), and we get to hang out with the maid. No disrespect intended to her, she's great and I like her a lot, but if I wanted a family homestay I could have stayed home and hung out at Dawn's house and saved a pile of cash!
It's also been more than a little weird to go from visiting country folk without mucho dinero to probably the most bustling commercial center in Colombia, and hanging out in some of its posher areas. My homestay here only confirms my observation that worldwide, it's generally the poorest people who are the most generous with their hospitality. And frankly that was so heartbreaking to be the object of for ten days straight, followed by the coldness and stinginess present in my current homestay--my fellow classmate says before I got there they weren´t feeding her enough!--it was all enough to make me cry in front of one of my teachers during class yesterday.
http://www.abel-art.com/medellin/
I´m writing this from the Internet café at the Hotel Nutibara in downtown Medellín. Once the fanciest hotel in town, I'm told, its elegance may be a little faded, but it is a great spot to take a load off after lots of walking and window-shopping downtown. Here it is:
http://www.hotelnutibara.com/sitioweb/hotel.php
I keep getting lost here in downtown. Somehow I'm not following the Lonely Planet map's orientation. I keep having to ask directions which is always an adventure since I'm never too clear how well I understood whatever was said. A very nice older gentleman walked me here to the hotel when it was all of about two and a half blocks away. I'm sure he could tell I was pretty disoriented and that just telling me directions wasn't going to penetrate my language barrier.
Things I´m loving about Medellín: climate (perfect!), scenery (spectacular!), potable water (in plenty, and even a hot shower in my suburban apartment), the Metro (newer, nicer and cleaner than any US public transit system I've ever been on), the vast majority of people I've encountered (friendly and helpful), the play I went to last night, which starred one of my Spanish teachers.
Things I´m not loving about the experience, none of which are Medellín's fault, most of which have to do with my lodgings, which were arranged by the Nueva Lengua language school. NB: I have two teachers at the school, both of whom are female--my first female Spanish teachers, gracias a Dios--both of whom are good, and both of whom are interesting people who extend themselves beyond the classroom. For that, I'm very grateful to Nueva Lengua.
But I wouldn't recommend the school unless you're someone who wants to stay in the suburbs. They put their students up in Envigado, which is a middle to upper-middle class suburb of the city. It is close to the Zona Rosa, aka party central, and to lots of great shopping, but our lodging is not that close to the Metro and taxis don't know where it is. So if you came with the idea of exploring the city, it's not so fun. And the so-called homestay is very unhomey. There is no dad, the mom is on vacation, the son is 20-something and working (selling cookies, he tells me), and we get to hang out with the maid. No disrespect intended to her, she's great and I like her a lot, but if I wanted a family homestay I could have stayed home and hung out at Dawn's house and saved a pile of cash!
It's also been more than a little weird to go from visiting country folk without mucho dinero to probably the most bustling commercial center in Colombia, and hanging out in some of its posher areas. My homestay here only confirms my observation that worldwide, it's generally the poorest people who are the most generous with their hospitality. And frankly that was so heartbreaking to be the object of for ten days straight, followed by the coldness and stinginess present in my current homestay--my fellow classmate says before I got there they weren´t feeding her enough!--it was all enough to make me cry in front of one of my teachers during class yesterday.
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