My mother has kindly reminded me several times recently that my blog is much less frequently updated than it was last year, and I in turn reminded her that I am, under contract, responsible for the health, safety and general well-being of 21 other human beings. I also like to entertain the idea of a social life, and if all else fails I have luxurious internet at my fingertips! Not just an hour or two paying at a public computer every day, but all-hours instant internet access (when it’s not flickering out and causing me to yell bilingual obscenities and personify My Colombian Internet so I can insult its mother and kids.)
In conclusion, I don’t have as much time to write these days, and sometimes I don’t feel like I have content either. Really. I live a very satisfying yet uneventful routine for the most part and sometimes I forget that my routines aren’t like a lot of other people’s routines, at least a lot of people who read this.
Getting stuck at an enclosed bus stop for an hour due to treacherous floods that turn the streets into rivers? Normal.
Saturday conditioning practice gets moved from our usual spot (because some punks were trying to fight the boys’ team) to a hill between neighborhoods, a cracked and potholed street littered with broken glass and a border of garbage-strewn trees and brush. Teammates quip, “I bet you’ve never run up such a beautiful hill that smells like dead animals! Don’t tell everyone that this is the real Barranquilla.” and my first response is, “Actually, this kinda reminds me of my hometown….”
A thirty-minute errand turns into four hours of confusing instructions and paperwork. The only solution is 30-cent lemonade from the aquarium perched on a corner cart and it doesn’t even occur to me anymore that the water or ice could make me sick.
This is the intersection next to my apartment, consisting of a stop light and two one-way streets:
It usually functions like any other intersection, until there is a bus vs. taxi fender bender. Cue cars and buses cutting left through a gas station and a vacant lot on the right, ignoring the changing traffic signals. Throw in a mango cart, pedestrians and some construction during rush hour and you have quality entertainment.
It’s hot here, all the time. By now I’m used to being some degree (ha!) of hot at all times – from a sweltering, suffocating hot with sweat literally dripping into my eyes to a sort of cooled-down memory of hot in the evening, with a fan and a breeze coaxing air through my window.
Yep, pretty boring.