Author: Naomi Stobbe

Grocery Shopping, Canadians, and Other Regular Things

Today I am having trouble thinking of anything exciting to write about.  I mean,  as far as travel goes we really only moved about 500 metres down the street to our new place. But it feels like we have turned over a new leaf. We have a lot more space even though this new place is a little apartment. But it is all in the comparison.  As I write Rudy is lying on the couch and I am perched on a stool at the island and there is wide spacious bedroom and large floor to ceiling windows that look out at an old church in a square, the mountains on the edge of the city as well as a construction site.

Today was a day to meet more Canadians. After we had settled into our new place we decided to go and pick up foodstuffs at a grocery store. While we waited in line at the cashier, we chatted with two women (one from Kitchener, and her sister from North Carolina). The North Carolina woman is the first American that we have encountered and she and her sister both  were born in Santa Marta, Columbia,  so perhaps they don’t even count as Canadian or American. They were back in Santa Marta to celebrate their mother’s 92nd birthday. They were so excited to hear that we were very much enjoying their much-beloved country.

At coffee this morning we met a friendly Jehovah’s Witness woman from Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. She was very lovely and did not exactly fit the stereotype of a JW.  She was one of those people who so easily can move from one subject to another and share loads of information about her life and travels. At the same time she could not resist inserting loads of JW information into the talk. She consistently baited us to ask questions about the meaning of life, etc. But, to be fair, we all speak about what has meaning for us and perhaps even proselytize about our exercise programs, political views, and spiritual and emotional understandings, so I can give her that. However,  at the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder whether we counted as two house calls or one in her ‘witnessing quota’ for the day.

Then in the evening, as we were catching a bite to eat, we chatted with a Canadian/Columbian woman and her Canadian husband and friends who were waiting for their food at the table next to us. They too had a very interesting story and it was a great conversation to wile away some of the evening.

And so you might ask, how much have we learned about Colombian culture so far on this trip? Well, not too much so far. We are just visitors here and our Spanish language skills are minimal, so we really sit back and watch it all swirl around us and enjoy whatever part of the ride we can take in.

 

 

I Guess We’re Done Here, Redux

Despite having a lovely sleep in our cozy little cave, we are making plans to leave these digs and move into a place that is a little better suited for us. The thought of spending a whole week in this small cramped space with no table (to eat at, or do art at, or read the news at, or to blog at) is not great. Our bed is really the only place where we can sit or lie down, although Rudy has joked about putting the placemats (that the apartment has supplied….WHY?) on the bed so we could enjoy our morning coffee and pastries there. I am really not all that keen to have coffee stains and crumbs all over the sheets, our books, computers, sweaty t-shirts, etc.

But enough complaining about such  small discomforts in a world that seems to be coming apart at the seams. (Just a short look at the news is enough to make a person grateful for so many things and fearful for so many others).

On the upside, I was able to do a large load of laundry today. When I say I did, I must amend that. Rudy provided much needed technical support: he plugged in the washer when I struggled to figure out how to get everything started. (duh!) Also, he spun and hung up most of the clothes while I was on the phone with my daughter, Ana and her kids. Of course when I emerged  from the bedroom (well, let me call it the multipurpose room) after the phone call, I had only critical things to say about how the clothes were hung and proceeded to straighten and move them over at least an inch to the left or the right on the drying rack. But despite my incompetence and my critical meddling, I am happy to report that the laundry all dried in record time due to the unbearable temperature in our apartment.

The long and short of All My Puny Sorrows (special nod to Miriam Toews) is that we are moving to another place that is closer to the historic centre of town, has a table and a couch, and a bit more space. Hopefully our perusing of Airbnb places online this afternoon has been fruitful. It is not always clear what a place will be like just by looking at the photos, but we have done our research, rolled the dice, and chosen. We will move tomorrow late afternoon and stay there for a week (god willing).

Once it cooled in the late afternoon we headed out again. The wind is very strong coming off the ocean and I am totally enjoying Rudy’s new updos. His long locks have a mind of their own and at any given moment his look can change from that of Albert Einstein (brilliant thinker) to Phyllis Diller (not so brilliant but super funny). I get more laughs from these style statements than I should and Rudy certainly lets me know.

Rudy on the spiral staircase
Watch your step!

Our evening was similar to the previous one: wandering, watching people, eating fish, and drinking margaritas. After dark we made our way home over rough sidewalks, dodging dog poop, and keeping our eyes out for any suspicious characters. Once home, we unlocked the big steel door, climbed the stifling hot vertical tunnel via the narrow spiral staircase and carefully, so as not to trip and fall to our death, entered the close quarters of our stiflingly hot, but safe, apartment.

Hopefully for the last time!

 

A Shoe Box

Santa Marta, here we come. Our bags are packed, apartment put to order, and the Uber is waiting at the corner. We drive the half hour to the airport and I am reminded as to how much of Bogota there is still to see and how different it is from our little neighbourhood where we stayed.  It is a reminder that a person only sees little snippets of the places they travel to. (I guess this is true  that I miss  things in  my own neighbourhood around Henry Street as well). We make it to our terminal with little time to spare which does not cause any consternation for my traveling companion but is not the same for me.  I am relieved that there were no roadblocks (both literal and figurative) that got in the way and that we made it on time. Rudy purchased the tickets a few days ago and I find that he has placed himself in seat 1C (in first class) and I am riding steerage in seat 23F.  He will have some explaining to do when we land in Santa Marta. Upon landing Rudy is very refreshed after being served a beer, some chips, and having had a flight attendant pat his face down with a cool damp washcloth.  I am harried. I drop my large metal water bottle on my head from the overhead bin and wrestle my carryon suitcase and overstuffed backpack down the long aisle.

Santa Marta is HOT. We are dressed in our Bogota clothes (long pants, sweatshirts, and socks and shoes). After waiting for our Uber we are more than glad to get into the air-conditioned car. It is a long ride to our Airbnb.  When the Uber drops us off at the address we are unsure whether we are in the right place. Not so for a gentleman sitting on a bench at a tienda across the street. (Who is this guy anyway and who has appointed him our tour guide?) He, very excitedly, directs us up the street a block and when we remain confused, he runs after us and points us around a corner and down another street.  We are hot and tired and sweaty and when we review the address we realize we were at the right place all along.  Our Airbnb host meets us and directs us up a spiral staircase (almost like a firefighter’s pole) and into a boiling hot shoebox. (The motorhome in Bogota seems luxurious next to this terrible place.) Rudy is mad and I feel like I might like to have a good cry. What to do? Rudy determines that nothing can be done until he has a cold beer and I opt for a shower to cool me down.

After we lie very still for sometime as the air-conditioning starts to work I make the decision for us to go out and find some late lunch or early supper (it is 4:30).  At this point things start to look up. The day is starting to cool and we head towards the beach and the historical district. The wind off the ocean is soothing and there is much to see. After walking for 15 minutes or so we come upon El Parque de los Novios. And tucked into one of the corners is a lovely restaurant. It is quiet and shady and there is a cool breeze blowing through the trees. Rudy has done some research about food in Santa Marta and has found that the seafood is the only way to go (duh, we are on the ocean). I could wax eloquent about the Grouper and Sea Bass and Prawns we have.

We sit for a long time enjoying the people passing by and then head back down to the ocean for the last of the sunset.

Tomorrow is another day. We will figure out what to do with our lodging then.

I Guess We Are Done Here!

I guess we are done here in Bogota, at least for the time being. Tomorrow we fly out to Santa Marta and what often happens when I am leaving a place has happened to me today. I had little interest in exploring or any other activity around the city. I guess this type of laziness happens at home as well.

Naomi making her morning tea
Naomi making her morning tea

We sat around for most of the morning. Caught up with the news — checked SteinbachOnline, then CBC, then the New York Times. By now it’s a bit of a routine to do all the New York Times puzzles before breakfast. Speaking of which, Rudy came back from his daily visit to the cafe across the street with a bag of croissants and a cup of coffee. I boiled some water on the stove and made my usual morning cup of tea.

Angle of Repose
Angle of Repose

I had no urge to leave our lodgings and  I spent much of the day reading my book, Angle of Repose by Wallace Stegner.  It is a riveting book but I had never heard of it despite the fact it won a Pulitzer Prize in 1972. It’s about a wheelchair-using historian, Lyman Ward, who has lost connection with his son and living family and decides to write about his frontier-era grandparents. I highly recommend it. It investigates the idea of home and rootedness as well as what happens in a marriage so that an “angle of repose” can be maintained. These themes are studied in the context of the mining and gold rush of the American West. I am learning about people and places in that time period as well.

Rudy and I did manage to get out for a short walk at around one o’clock. We ended up going back to the ‘French Patisserie’ where we ate yesterday. Today I had a vegetarian crepe and Rudy ordered a chicken crepe dish. (Yummers) By the time we were done our late lunch, the skies opened up and it poured. It REALLY poured! We sat hoping it would let up soon, but it actually rained for quite a long time. We decided to order a couple of coffees (yes, I have developed a bit of a taste for coffee) and some French pastries. And when we were finished our ‘dessert’, the rain stopped and we headed back home.

Rudy went online and checked us in for our flights tomorrow and I scouted out some Airbnb possibilities for later this month. We wasted away what remained of the afternoon, reading and doing sudokus,

And now back to more hours of book reading before bed.

A Culinary Lesson

At lunch today I learned a few new things about eating out in Colombia.

But first let me tell you about the morning. In short, I spent it out walking with my sketchpad and pencil and produced a number of very substandard drawings. While that was frustrating, the  sights and sounds were invigorating and the hot sun on my back was a big plus. The weather here is very changeable so one moment you can be quite warm and the next moment putting on a cotton scarf and down vest. This makes it difficult to sit still and enjoy the outdoors for very long (especially if you are drawing) because much of the time it is too cool to remain stationary (I can hear you Manitobans saying boo hoo to this hardship).   Rudy had spent the morning on an equally frustrating activity. His consisted of checking up on what kind of shenanigans the orange-faced man north of us and south of Canada was up to. Comparing  that fiascos with my art makes my drawings look pretty good. (But I should probably refrain from making light of that stupid man and the havoc he is reeking.)

Anyway in the afternoon we wandered out and down the street. Sunday is a day for markets and because we live on the edge of a rougher part of town the displays and merchandise was all pretty dismal. Old clothes, broken plastic toys, nuts, and bolts,  and many things that looked scavenged. But people were out buying. When we got to the bigger streets there were more markets and although the products were new, the quality was not any higher.

Rudy stopped at a hole in the wall drugstore for some emodium (I will not go into detail here about why he needed it) and came out after 15 minutes with a bottle of Hidralitos (basically gatorade)  and 3 packages of white powder (who knows what it is?) Hmmm, what can I say? Pretty par for the course for these establishments and our lack of Spanish.

After the “medical consultation” and our market tour we set about to find some food to eat. Rudy and I were feeling like perhaps we had had a few too many empanadas so today we went in search of something different. It is always somewhat stressful when searching for food in an unfamiliar country with unfamiliar food offerings.  Menus on the outside of restaurants are often of little use as none of the foods listed are familiar. I had a craving for a glass of juice and perhaps a salad. A salad is a hard thing to find so we wandered up and down streets getting hungrier and less sure of what we should settle on. Finally I steered Rudy to Calle 4, a street we had walked down on our way to the Botero Museum. There were a number of restaurants and we randomly chose a French Bakery and Restaurant. Once inside it seemed like a mistake as it was empty (often a bad sign) and was slightly dirty and unappealing. But we had had enough indecision so we looked at the menu and ordered. Rudy ordered a beer on tap and  cheese, tomato, chorizo and dijon mustard on a French baguette.  I ordered a Jugo de Mora and an Ensalada de Casa. Yummers. Jackpot for me. This was going to be good. The ensalada included bacon, ham, yellow and green zucchini, strawberries, and cheese. (no mention of lettuce or any other greens but I thought this was just an oversight. Rudy got his beer and pronounced it pretty good and his sandwich …..delicious. I got my juice and then I got my salad. Don’t get me wrong, it was delicious too. But it was not a salad as I know a salad. It was a cheesy cream sauce with bacon, ham, zucchini, and weirdly hot strawberries. Well you learn something every day. And in this case I learned that salad can have many meanings…..should have known this as I have had plenty of macaroni salads, bean salads, etc. But probably never have I had a piping hot salad. 

A Hike To Monserrate

Last night Rudy buried himself in some computer research and announced just before bed that a hike up mount Monserrate (500 metres elevation) could be in the cards for tomorrow.  According to one website the hike was “unique and easy to do solo.” At another site he was warned by the blog poster that the hike was quite strenuous but definitely a highlight during their stay in Bogota. From the top of  Monserrate mountain there are amazing views to be had of Bogotá, its skyline and its surrounding Andean landscape.

Well this morning after breakfast Rudy hurried me out the door and up the street. It was a fifteen minute walk to the base of the mountain… all uphill.  In that short time it became clear that we needn’t have brought our down vests or even our long sleeved shirts. Long-legs Nikkel started off at a brisk pace at the trailhead and I was scrambling to keep up with him. We hadn’t got very far when I began to feel not so great. Very soon it became apparent that something weird was happening. I pulled over to the side of the path and sat down. I could hardly get enough oxygen despite deep breaths and felt like I was going to vomit. I was quite dizzy and could hardly put two thoughts together. Am I exaggerating? Perhaps, but I really did not feel good. After a rest I gave it another try and managed a bit further before another sit down. By the third sit down Rudy suggested that I go back. He could come with me or I could go on my own. I told him to push on and I would go back. But there is too much Stobbe blood in me to give up so soon; I slowly crawled my way up the path, stopping every 5 minutes. My pace was so slow I might as well be crawling on my belly. I took lots of drinks but I was in a brain fog and my feet felt like I had lead weights tied to them. At every turn I considered going back, but I kept on pushing just a little further. The trail was packed with hikers because it is the weekend and there were plenty of people who were moving very fast, some even jogging their way up. It all seemed a bit surreal. Some people had speakers with music pumping loudly. But a military marching song did not speed me up, and neither did the salsa music get my dancing feet going. Periodically along the way there were vendors selling water and snacks. By about halfway up a couple of brain cells had managed to fire across a synapse and I  realized I should buy some refreshment so I purchased a slice of pineapple. Wow! It did wonders. About that time I realized that I was beginning to feel much better. Obviously there was more oxygen getting to my brain and I did not feel so dizzy or so much in a fog. My feet no longer feltl like they weighed a hundred pounds each. And so I trekked on. Getting closer to the top there were vendors selling trinkets and religious paraphernalia. Were some of those necklaces actual medals to celebrate my reaching the top? Frankly, I could do with some affirmation, as it had been a long and arduous climb. And unlike the initial website that Rudy read from last night it was NOT easy to do. After a short rest on the big church steps, I sent Rudy a text that I was on my way down. He was waiting for me at a small cantina about halfway down.

It was close to 2 o’clock by the time we were down from the mountain and it was time to ‘re-fuel’. So on our way home we made a pit stop at the big food court in a mall not far from our Airbnb and gobbled down a couple of delicious cheeseburgers.

Back at home, we sat around and had a little rest. We each had an almost lukewarm shower and a change of clothes and soon felt much better. We checked out our photos from the adventure and selected a few to put on the blog. And we had to catch up on the ‘Trump’ news — who, true to his word, has slapped big tariffs on Canada and Mexico. Sounds like all parties will lose on this deal.

Soon it was 7pm and time for another Winnipeg Jets game. Rudy has found a couple of sports feeds on the internet. It’s not 100% reliable and it involves closing a million popups before you can actually watch the hockey game; and even then, there are many random interruptions when the action ‘freezes’ and the cursor just spins around and around — and maybe the feed will come back, but maybe it won’t. Well, tonight the first and final periods were working pretty good, and so were the Jets, as they managed to eke out an overtime win against a tough Washington team. Ah, all is right with the world. (Well, in the world of sports, anyway.)

The End of January

It’s evening in Bogota and Rudy and I are cozied up in our apartment. The small heater is blasting warmth. and Warren Zevon songs are pumping out of Rudy’s computer. Rudy is doing the games from the New York Times after reading the news. I have been drawing and gathering bits and pieces for the visual recording of our trip. Included so far in my art journal are leaves, diagrams, drawings, paintings, tickets, and receipts.

We are indeed settling into the new rhythms of our life here.

This morning Rudy headed out for coffee and croissants. After breakfast and while Rudy formatted photos for our blog, I headed out for a walking adventure. I am becoming somewhat more familiar with the neighbourhood. Today I focused on the tagging and street art. There are loads of “junk” tagging all over but there are also great murals and more thoughtful street graffiti all over the walls and buildings. It is a great medium and the concept of art on the street that is accessible to all is something to support.

The morning turned out hot and before long I took off my scarf and wished I didn’t have my down vest or pullover on. By the time I got home I was parched and sweaty. After refreshing myself Rudy and I headed out to look for food and then back to Cinemateca for more film festival fare. We chose the Colombian film El Vaquero (The Cowboy) which had English subtitles. It certainly was film festival material. By this I mean strange and sometimes slow. The first half had very little dialogue but certainly lots of sounds and sights and loads of great storytelling with the camera angles and focus. By the last quarter of the movie, I was more invested. The theme/message was subtle and I had to work hard to piece together where it was going. The story arch was harder to follow than the familiar story arch of a Hollywood piece and maybe a bit more like life where it is not always clear where people are going. But like any usual piece of art, it has more to chew on as I continue to reflect on it.

There are still some more hours left in the day but I have more art to attempt and a book to read so I will sign off.

Hitting Our Stride

Today we have hit our stride. Rudy headed to the panaderia across the street first thing in the morning for a couple of hot croissants. With our pot and miniature teacups (everything in this apartment is made on a small scale) we managed to make tea and coffee. After breaking our fast we headed up Carreterra 4 towards the Candelaria district to the Museo de Botero. It did not disappoint. There were sooo many pictures and sculptures by this famous Colombian artist who hailed from Medellin. Rudy could not help chuckling throughout the whole building. Just take a look at the pictures below. So fabulous and the characters have so much to say through their tiny eyes.  I loved it. I felt like I wanted to put a caption beneath each one of the paintings.

There were a number of galleries attached to the Botero one so saw some other art.

From there we headed up through the streets past market stalls. Rudy got himself a coffee and I purchased a large cup of mango. Mmm… both of us enjoying a small pleasure. Mine was probably better;  you can’t get a cup full of fresh mango everyday, whereas coffee is not so rare.

We headed to another square and found ourselves at the huge Museo de Oro. It was massive and we did only one floor before we headed back to our place. How can I summarize the experience? I don’t know except that it was a whole lot of gold, silver and copper. Wow.

I am trying to attempt some art on this holiday so I spent the rest of the afternoon working on a pencil crayon piece inspired by a gold mask from the Museo de Oro. I also tried to do another study of the piece I did yesterday. Today I tried it in watercolour. So far no masterpieces but it is satisfiying and frustrating at the same time to try to create some art. I have purchased some travel art supplies: a tiny watercolour box, a box of pencils, a set of pencil crayons, and some markers. If nothing else, I will document my days with some visual representation of what I am seeing on my travels.

We Made It: Now To Figure Out How It All Works.

Once we check in to our accommodations for the week we crash. I am able to sleep a couple of hours and Rudy not so much. Our 8th floor loft is exactly out of an IKEA catalogue. It makes very good use of very little space. It is really like a glorified motorhome. Rudy can stretch his arms across the width and basically touch both of the walls. But the bed is comfortable and there is a pot to boil water for tea so I am satisfied.

So... a $100,000 Colombian bill is worth about $35 Canadian??
So… a $100,000 Colombian bill is worth about $35 Canadian??

We foray out to get some cash and a phone card for me. Because everything is so new we are bamboozled by many things. The Colombian pesos are hard to figure out. One Canadian dollar is approximately 3,000 pesos. We have worked up an appetite after procuring a whole ton of pesos from the ATM so we stop for some street empanadas. Who knows how much they cost?

The man says something that neither of us understand and Rudy gives him a 100,000 peso note. Did we just give him 10 dollars or is it 100 dollars?  The man gives Rudy a fistful of cash back, Rudy smiles as if he understands, and we head off. Were we ripped off? How much is a piece of fried dough stuffed with meat? We have no idea. Next, we comb the streets for a Claro phone shop. We finally find one and the man is super nice. He explains a whole bunch of stuff about the money and the phone cards and we feel like idiots. The one thing we come away with is that Rudy was ripped off at the airport for his phone card. We slink on back to our apartment to count our stacks of cash and see if we can figure out how it all works.

In our walk around the neighbourhood in the morning we found a Cinemateca that was holding a film festival during Janurary. We find a film called Aqui that is in English with Spanish subtitles. Perfect! The film is not perfect but I try to get my Spanish brain in gear by reading the subtitles to see how much I remember. The Cinemateca  is like a cultural centre that holds all sorts of film classes etc. and is impressive.

For supper we go out to a beautiful old restaurant in an ancient building. It is quaint with quirky art painted directly on the walls. We have a lovely attentive waiter who hovers and anticipates our every whim.  We have arepas for an appetizer (corn meal paddies filled with cheese). I have some sort of traditional soup with chicken and vegetables and rice and avocado. Rudy has some delicious ravioli. It is a great way to start our Colombian adventure.

On Route

Hot on the heels of a trip with my girls, their partners, and their kids, Rudy and I are heading to Colombia for a couple of months. I have only had 6 days of turnaround time and into this short week I have packed in walks with friends, a trip to Morden to visit my sister, multiple trips to art shops and other stores to pick up much needed supplies, and loads of other running around. Rudy and I are traveling with only a carryon bag for each of us and it is amazing now much I have packed into that small compartment while at the same time I wonder whether I have packed the right things.

Because of this whirlwind I have had little time to worry about the things that need to be worried about. Thanks goodness Rudy has done some prep (and although he would hate to admit it, also a little worrying). We wake up for the last time in our king-sized bed and Leona and Donna drive us in to the airport on sloppy wet roads. (the weather is what we might experience in March and I wonder why we are getting away for the winter although I know there will be much more cold and blizzardy weather yet to come in Manitoba)

We fly from Winnipeg to Montreal and arrive there late afternoon. I am struck by how Zen I am feeling. None of the usual trip anxieties and my stomach is not upset at all. I am also struck with how airports are the same everywhere. There are so many diverse people and it feels like we are in a foreign country already with all the French being spoken.  But even in this foreign feeling environment Rudy manages to find a TV that is broadcasting a Jets hockey game. We can’t catch all of it before our flight leaves for Bogota but the Jets are ahead and all seems right with the world.

VERY early morning coffees at the Bogota airport
VERY early morning coffees at the Bogota airport

The overnight flight is just what you might expect. It is impossible to catch more than a series of catnaps as it is sooo uncomfortable and the flight seems to drag on forever. But arrive in Bogota we do and after a long wait in customs lineups and a ninety-dollar visa fee we make it out of the airport, into the cool Bogota morning. It is 4:30 a.m. We stop at an outdoor café for a delicious cup of coffee and feeling much revived we catch an Uber to our apartment for our week in Bogota.