Bogota 3: Ok, Maybe Colombia isn't Perfect.

Post date: Sep 19, 2010 10:15:38 PM

Colombians know how to make bread the way Mexicans know their tortillas and Americans know their apple pies. I can see why that include it in so many of their meals. Growing up, I would get a buttered slice of white or wheat bread with my Hamburger Helper or goulash. That was great. I loved to wrap up that pasta in the bread. But, I think the bread here edges out buttered sliced bread. American toast wins though. Here you can buy pre-toasted loafs of sliced bread.

I found a miracle store ten blocks from me. It’s this tiny store with massive stands of fruits and vegetables. All day long a man reads the sales prices for the day. I thought it was a recording until a rounded the one corner in the store, and saw him standing there. I don’t think such announcers are born with such rich voices. Their voices are enriched by continuous talking. Kinda like a metal singer’s screams improve the more he rips and scars his throat during performances. At this store I found prices to my beloved Henry’s in San Diego. For $5 I filled two bags with oranges, onions, potatoes, red bell peppers, apples, and broccoli. I said, “I can afford to eat!”

I was relieved when I went through that cashier because Gringos are overcharged left and right. I am clearly a Gringo, so I always look for and prefer stores that post signs listing their prices. The ones that don’t usually charge you more. That’s an advantage of a Mom and Pop shop, I guess. I’ll buy a roll of tape on one street for $1. It will be $1.50 on another. Sometimes I am patient enough to ask the price beforehand, and when I hear and compare the price to memory, I say, “Caro!” and walk away. “Caro” means expensive. It’s annoying, racism. I am prejudiced against here. They say, “Oh, Gringo! Let’s take his money!” Of course, they don’t stop to question my work ethic, my money saving ability, and my not such great account figures. American=$. I am a walking bill. And we pay the extra, don’t we? So we just feed the stereotype.

I’m also the scary one here. Here I am, teaching people self-defense, and when I walk behind someone on a quiet sidewalk, they stop, pretend to tie their shoes, and watch me carefully as I pass. In a way it’s nice to know that I look like someone not to be f’d with. The police stare at me often. Gets a little old. They are on every corner, almost. Bottom line is that something in Colombia is unstable, people know it, and people are on the watch, like deer drinking from a pond. I chuckle at how when I get on the bus and scan the passengers for ruffians, they are probably identifying me as the red alert person to be wary of.

It’s nice not dealing with people on the buses, but the downsides of the independence motorcycles give to man are the insane one way streets stretching without turnarounds for miles and the frequent pits (not potholes) in the roads. The moment I got my motorcycle back, I did what I do best in Latin America: I got lost. Oh, how I miss American efficiency.

Which brings me to the lesson I feel Colombia (and every Latin American country) must learn to become more comfortable, wealthy, and globally competitive. “Time is Money.” Work should yield long-term, efficiency improving results. The two key ingredients, on a national level, are communication and transportation. We must transfer goods and information ASAP. I spend so much time waiting, doing nothing here. Ride the bus, wait. Wait in line here, wait in line there. Wait for shower to get warm. Wait for the cars to pass, which never seem to pass because there’s too many people in one place, wait for the motorcycle shop to feel like working on your motorcycle, wait for customs to clear the parts you need to continue with your business… People are so conditioned to being relaxed, humbled, and defective quality that their ambitions, greed, competitiveness, drive, and all those related feelings have dwindled. That’s great for a person’s peace of mind, I suppose, but that probably won’t make the country wealthy or comfortable. A girl from Bolivia, who lives in London, but who is on termporary assignment in Colombia through her German bank, said she cannot believe how easy and frequent fraud occurs within the banks. She is also appalled at how people bring their children to work, let them play on their computers, and just ignore work awhile. She’s not the majority; she’s agrees there is a time to work and a time to play. Americans are spoiled for a well-deserved reason- they bust their butts and systematize intelligently. They are so used to high quality, they have difficulty settling for less. They are so well rewarded for success that they are addicted to achieving it. This cultural stereotype stands true, I believe, but there are always and forever exceptions to the rule.

Nothing comes without a price. That is the balancing act of the universe. Wealth and prosperity. What distinguishes Europe, America, and Japan from the rest of the world are their greed and dissatisfaction. What prompted them to expand outwards into “less civilized” lands was greed and dissatisfaction. The Indians are no less intelligent or success-oriented; they simply possess different priorities in and opinions of a good life. The tribes of the Amazon do not crave more than that which is around them. They are content with the world provided them. Remove the vacuum that creates the white man’s hunger, and he is no different than the Mek Tribe of Papua New Guinea.

The motorcycle returned to me on my brother’s birthday. I felt like a man again, sad as that is to say. It’s a feeling of being above and outside the city; free and in charge. So, I went riding (longer than I had expected due to getting lost for 1 hr), but I got a good break-in. I was actually terrified to hop back on there after over 1 month of ridelessness. But minutes into the cruise I was back to darting around the road. The vibration feels good, corrected. It started slowly after I stopped at the gas station. Other than that, it felt great. When I got home I thought I saw a drop of fluid fall from the bike, but I looked around and saw no colored fluid on the ground. So, I thought I imagined it. I was unable to ride again until three days later. I took it in to Kawasaki to have them finish the job of straightening and bolting the skid plate to the frame. Got home from that and saw another drip, and the sunlight spotlighted the source: the fuel separator. Took it back to Kawasaki. They took it off, found numerous cracks. They asked if it had fallen, and I said, “No.” (Remember, they speak no English, and my mechanical vocabulary in Spanish is a bit limited.) They said they would try to tape it to prevent the leak. I figured “whatever, as long as it holds. But they really ought to replace it.” When I returned, the leak was not fixed, the mechanic said I must order a new one, and that it would cost about $70. I said, “I’ll be back later” but thought much unkinder things. Vicky and her Dad have now offered to take me a trusted mechanic of theirs and to scold Kawasaki for me. They’re like my parents. It’s hilarious.

Not sure how much I’ll be riding to my teaching lessons. Parking at the first place I checked, which was nothing fancy, was $1.75 an hour. I can take Transmilenio two ways for that price, not risk injury or accident, and probably get there close to the same time, since I’d probably get lost anyways. I believe I will stick to joyrides and longrides for awhile.

One of the things I must still do for the motorcycle and myself is prevent the Colombians from fining or jailing me for not getting out of their country on time. I am applying for a student visa good through January, and for an extension to my motorcycle permit and insurance. Would it suffice to say Visa processes take forever? I am writing this from office #1 of the Visa process. This is day #2 here. Had to leave midday yesterday to make a class, only to start from scratch again today. This is the worst place for a perfectionistic control freak. Maybe not the worst. Antarctica would be rough, but this is bad. I cancelled today’s class to accommodate Colombia. There have been so many ups and downs this week related to work, my motorcycle, my sensitive health that I am having these anxious bursts of visions of dropping all this crap and getting on with it. But eventually things pull through and equilibrium returns. Growing pains, most of which are self-induced. I guess I haven’t learned enough here yet.

Like how to fix a camera. I think I sufficiently straightened the bent lens casing, but lo and behold it is a bit trickier to assemble a Panasonic Lumix than it is to disassemble a Panasonic Lumix. I bought a service manual to assist me. Attempt #1 Saturday failed. When will I even have time for attempt #2?

I teach Mondays and Thursdays 7:15-9:45am in a town 1 hour away. Wednesday and Friday mornings, it’s more English from 6:15-7:45am in the toweringest Bogota building, a 25 minute walk from home. Also Wednesday and Friday I teach a Hapkido class from 9am-10am. M-F it’s more English from 12:30-2, and 6-8pm. Then I have two Hapkido classes on Saturday and Sunday at 4pm. Transportation tacks on another 17-18 hours for all those commitments.

I have had 6 people attend my classes so far, and over that many who have said they would come but have not. Word is spreading from my returning students, however, so perhaps business will grow. My time slots are not efficient for everyone. Who knows if my Gringo status is a factor. It’s hard to believe $2.50 per class is a deterrent. And martial arts is intimidating. I doubt I will acquire many more students, but that’s okay. Many days I am alone, stretching and doing knuckle pushups on concrete as I wait at the appointed Hapkido corner, and no one shows. At least I amuse people. I just switched the location of my morning workouts to a park 2 blocks from my place where college kids hang out all day. I posted twenty red flyers on lightposts around the area. Twice I have had police stop me while taping the flyers. The first said I was spotted by Embassy cameras, and he ran my passport and let me go. ??? Another one said I required authorization to post where I was, but after he read my flyer, he let me go. I love teaching Hapkido. Far more than English. In fact, my interest in self-defense outside the techniques of Hapkido has expanded. I’m genuinely interested in helping people feel safe. It sickens me to think a person can’t walk down certain streets due to fear. Of course, fear is useful, but one friend of mine was robbed by knife waving teenage boys last week. Now she’s afraid to go anywhere for fear of losing her ID (IDs take a minimum of 6 months to arrive, and often take 2 years… God Bless the USA and our “pathetic” DMVs!) Without her ID, she cannot enter some places she would like to go. I’m encouraging her to take classes somewhere.

When I return to the U.S…. I want: my black belt; an MA or greater degree; a farm with animals and a pond and lots of trees; a woman to love and love me; the world record blue cat on my hook; DnD; family visits; my djembe drum…

After a night of dancing at an electronic music club, about 20 people from the club, including Vicky, Paola, David and some other hostel friends went to this house party up the street. There they played flamenco, which was just bizarre sounding, and then a drum circle, which produced some rhythms I cannot remember hearing before. Wow did it feel good to have a drum in my hands again. I learned some new beats. I miss my occasional drum circle in San Diego.

I’ve been watching The In-Fisherman videos and reading their articles. Little cheers me more.

Language is a big deal to me. I have slowly shrunk in expression and feelings of being understood ever since I left “home.” That pertains even to when I speak to English speakers because I have simplified my expression, a necessity to non-native speakers, and this has become habit. So much meaning is lost without the use of one’s culturally and self-created tempos, inflections, gestures, hums, slurs, growls, and squints.

As a matter of adventure business, I need to contact Couchsurfers in Maceio, Brazil and Cuzco, Peru to learn the rainy seasons for the Amazon between those two cities. That info could change the time and course of my ride through those part. I also want to know when the Amazon is in full flow from the heavy rains so that I can plan the best time to fish there. I’ll have to restart my malaria pills around the time I head into the Amazon; I forgot taking them two months ago.

My property owner is annoying. She didn’t want me to use the kitchen that was one of primary reasons I paid for the place. It’s more of a house than an apartment; I have a bedroom in a place shared by 7 others. There’s three floors, and I’m on the top with some girl with a kid who is causing all kinds of drama and who never appears happy, and the suspected ex-husband of the owner, whom I suspect to be gay and talks way to nice to people with a sound like he has no teeth. My stove has four burners, two gas, two stove. The gas ones don’t work. If I use both the electric ones, the light kicks off! So, if I want to cook a real meal, I have to run down stairs to use one of their functioning gas burners. I get a workout stirring my food. The owner is generally irritated, and that makes me uncomfortable. Apparently it’s against house rules to leave dishes in the sink overnight, to keep a garbage can in the bathroom, and to do your own laundry. I am presently missing one of my expensive shirts because of someone’s elses “caretaking.”

So, I’ve considered moving, and last night, my first class with this student, I am offered to live in his apartment for sorta free, in exchange for our regular 6-8pm class plus some interspersed lessons through the day. I’m actually considering it in spite of the fact that he is hyper-alert and a bit off. His place is nice. I’d have everything I need in a place. I love saving $450 million pesos per month. But would it be too much? The time I spent teaching him extra may not exceed the time it would take to travel to his place for the already scheduled classes. But, I’d be 15-120 blocks further from my other classes, my friends, and Transmilenio. “Money Talks!” I hear screaming.

Back from the Visa office. Our scam worked. In order to minimize the pains of going to the Visa office every month for another 1 month extension, to avoid the extra costs, and to avoid the risk of being denied an extension, my boss offered to forge a document saying I was a student, not a teacher (since that would require a hefty Work Visa), so that I could apply for a Student Visa, which will last me until the end of January. They almost didn’t take the documents, but we succeeded in true Colombian style- clever sneakiness with shades of gray truth. I am certainly not studying or paying for French classes, but I sure am studying the language and culture here! It cost me $80 in all. Now I have to extend my bike permit and buy more insurance. Ugh. That’s for tomorrow, but I am reassured by today’s success.

I forgot to mention that a surprising number of Colombians here have bad breath. Not sure why. There are also a lot of young adults wearing braces.

I just heard that Kawasaki’s excuse for my broken Separator is that it was sitting unlubricated for over one month, and the change of temps and stuff caused to crack. They said it was brittle from age. At least they are offering to install it for free in one hour after a 24 hour shipping time. We’ll see what my research says. I still think they’re not fessing up. I have got to learn to do this maintenance myself!

Ok, update just before I post this thing. First, my separator arrived yesterday and was installed free of charge. It’s running okay, and I think it is starting a little bit easier now that the clutch discs are settling into place.

I have a running bike, but now I can’t ride it. My Student Visa arrived Friday, making me legal here through January, but my motorcycle permit expired. I think the letter I wrote to take to the Embassy best states the situation. It reads:

“I must leave Colombia in one to three months, and I need to be able to drive the motorcycle I brought with me to Colombia from Panama on 7-16-10.

The problem is that I am now and with no end in sight unable to drive my motorcycle in Colombia because the government will not extend my “Temporary Importation Of A Tourist Vehicle” Permit (No. 181), which I received in Cartagena on 7-16-10. It expired 9-16-10.

I knew that I must extend my right to stay in Colombia if I wanted to extend my permit for my motorcycle. I did not receive my Student Visa ID until Friday 9-17-10, but I received a stamp of the Visa in my Passport late on 9-14-10. So, on 9-15-10, the day before my permit expired on the 16^th (the same as my Tourist Visa), I went to DIAN (Direccion de Impuestos y Aduanas Nacionales) at their downtown location. DIAN is the government agency that initially issued my Import Permit. This office instructed me to go to SIM (Servicios Integrales Para La Movilidad) on Crr 7, No. 26-16 L-S. This office told me to go to the Ministerio de Relaciones. The Ministerio de Relaciones told me to return to SIM and show them by Student Visa ID. I went with my ID to the SIM they told me to try on Cll 59 No. 13-97, and they told me to go to the Ministerio de Transporte. This Ministerio told me to go to another DIAN office, and when I went there, they told me to go to another DIAN office, and that office finally directed me to the correct DIAN office. I made it to this correct office at 4:40 pm Friday, 9-17-10. The manager there said that I had two problems: 1) My motorcycle permit had already expired, and 2) I could not extend the permit because I now have a Student Visa, not a Tourist Visa. I asked what I could do to make my motorcycle legal to drive, and she said nothing. She said my only legal option is to fly the motorcycle out of the country.

I did not even receive my motorcycle back from the Kawasaki mechanic until Friday, 9-10-10 at 5:30pm, after over 5 weeks of repair. Due to the processes of the Ministerio de Relaciones, my Student Visa ID did not arrive until 9-17-10, after my motorcycle permit had already expired. None of the offices knew where I should go, but if they had known, I would have made it to the appropriate office the day before my permit expired. I was also not told at the DIAN in Cartagena how to extend my permission to drive my motorcycle in Colombia. But even if I had made it before the expiration, I am told I would have been unable to extend the permit due to the change in the nature of my Visa.

Why are students not allowed to drive their imported vehicles? Why did 7 government offices not know how I could extend my vehicle permit?

I should be allowed to drive my motorcycle, and there should be no penalty to me because I have done everything I was told to do by the Colombian government.”

The Embassy told me today, Sunday, that I must call the Consular’s office tomorrow between 2-3pm for assistance. I will be doing that. Vicky’s dad, a modern knight, in my opinion, has asked for photocopies of all my documents so that he can advocate on my behalf. What would I do without all these beautiful people to help me?