Saying good-bye

It is always difficult to close a chapter of your life-- knowing that the experiences, friends, and surroundings that you've known for a certain period of time may never enter into your reality again. While I was, of course, very excited for my homecoming to my family and friends in the USA, I also dreaded saying good-bye to Colombia and the people who'd been a part of my experience there for a whole year. However, in my typical style, I had crammed too much into my last couple weeks in the country, leaving me too little time and energy to get very sentimental about my upcoming departure.

First of all, like I've done at least once a year for the past several years, I had to clean and move out of my apartment.

This is a pile of papers I'd written and texts I'd read during the course of my studies. I had a whole closet filled with such documents, and one of the most time-consuming tasks of packing/moving was sorting through them-- deciding what to toss and what to keep. While it was a tedious process, it really forced me to reflect on all that I'd learned and done in my year, making me feel pleased with my accomplishments.

I also had many "lasts," like...

... the last time that I rode with Paola (pictured here... if you look really closely in the darkness, you can see her) on her beloved motorcycle.

Then, there were the scheduled opportunities for me to say good-bye to those who had been a part of my Colombian existence. Erica had brought the famous Idaho potato pins (Idaho pride!) that I distributed attached to business cards with my USA contact information to all of my acquaintances. They were a big hit!

First of all, I said my formal "farewell" to my host Rotary Club.

I had not prepared an official speech, but I did talk from the heart a lot about how I had benefited from my year in the country and appreciated their support. I also apparently used some pretty exaggerated hand gestures. ;)

I requested that we get one last group photo-- which seemed to be a trend as I was on the "adios" circuit.

In addition, I said good-bye to my friends.

This is (from left to right) María Isabel, me, Addie, Karen (blue shirt), Julio, Paola (laughing), Luz Elena, Lina, and Rosario.

I had to include a picture of me with Rosario, my friend from Valencia, Spain, who was a constant confidant, group project team member, and friend for me throughout the year. It was also a good way to pick up Spain's Spanish slang. ;)

Next, it was off to Carlos' household to say bid adieu to his family and thank them for their hospitality.

Carlos' home had become a sort of refuge for me, a way to escape from the chaos of the city. Here Erica and I are with his sister (Alejandra), father (Carlos Sr.), mother (Licelore), Carlos, his grandmother (Fidelia), and his great-aunt (Rosa) at our little going away celebration. His grandmother even cried a little, saying she would miss me too much.

Finally, it was time to say good-bye to my girls in the María Goretti Home. The director had arranged for a little "fiesta de despedida," although I have to admit that I was a little hurt that not one of the adult employees of the home (herself included) chose to attend or thank me for my constant dedication and work within the facility. But, of course, I really didn't need a thank-you for my services because they were inherently rewarding, and I was really there just for the girls, whom I had grown to know and love.

The event started off with my older class started singing, ¨Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes"-- one of their favorite activities of my course. In fact, I think it is probably the only English they will remember from all of my teachings. They also performed a special song for me, and I wish I could remember what it was. It was a Latino pop song that I'm sure I could find on YouTube if I looked hard enough, and it talked about how they'd never forget me, a piece of me would always be in their hearts, etc. I even shed a tear or two.

They presented me with cards and signs like these ones.

This one says: "We want to thank you for your valuable instruction. We wish you courage and energy in your trip, so that you can be with all of your loved ones. We wish you a merry Christmas and a prosperous new year. May God bestow you with many blessings and much happiness. Just remember that we love you a lot, and we are not going to forget you because you've left a beautiful way of being in each of our hearts."

I presented each girl with a framed photo of herself (or... if I had searched through my thousands of photos of the girls and had not found an individual picture of her, I had selected a group shot).

And then the photo frenzy began!

I felt like a celebrity as I was begged to take pictures with my students over and over again. I started a trend with this photo with Tatiana, which left lots of little and not-so-little girls asking to be lifted for our pose. Such a work-out!

Whew, I was soon really sweating from the exertion of being photographed so much in the heat, and my smile hurt... but it all in good fun.

However, some of the magic of the occasion was lost and picture-taking was interrupted as conflicts broke out, and I was forced to mediate. This image captures the very moment when crying and yelling began after three gals started fighting, with hitting and kicking involved (not featured-- I'm just looking off to figure out what's going on). Another problem occurred when I tried to get girls to come in groups to get a picture of several of them together, but this seemed to upset them. Some said, "I want a picture with Miss Hilary by myself" and pushed the other girls out of the picture. This also led to more crying.

Erica could not escape from the paparazzi-like mentality of my students and soon found herself getting pulled in front of my camera. Once again, just like it had with the monkeys in the Amazon, her eyebrow piercing caused quite the reaction. She didn't need me to translate what they were saying as they pointed to the piercing, made expressive faces that included sticking out their tongues and gagging noises, and shuddered like they'd just seen something very disturbing. I guess they weren't fans.

And many of my young friends took advantage of their last moments together with my camera to apparently practice their super model skills.

The event ended as my sister and I rushed off to another engagement, but it was a little unsettling because my last hugs and cheek kisses (greetings and good-byes are always expressed with a cheek kiss in Colombian culture) included almost all of them saying, "Don't forget me." Many of them also said things like, "You promised that you'd take me with you" or "Please come back and bring me to the USA to adopt me." My basic response (as it had always been) was, "You know I would if I could."

And, with that, I was ready to leave Cali, Colombia behind...

Is peace possible?

Photos like this can be fun, but they also tell a lot about Colombia's reality.

Once upon a time, during one of our class lectures, a professor matter of factly stated that Colombia has a "culture of violence." This produced quite the reaction from some of my classmates, who instantly interrupted her talk and became quite defensive.

"How can you say that? We do not have a culture of violence," they said, "It is true that violence is very prevalent in our country, but this does not mean we are all violent people." One peer added, "I don't just get up in the morning and hit my wife or throw things at my children; I know how to have loving and peaceful relationships."

The professor stood strong. She cited statistics of Colombia's rates of domestic violence, child abuse, road rage, kidnapping, murder, armed robbery, internal displacement, bombings, land mines, gangs, paramilitaries, guerrillas, etc. She returned to her PowerPoint slides about how Colombia's lack of identity had created a void that was filled with "illegality," and she talked about the "logic of survival" in such a "fragmented" society. She reminded us of the basic definition of violence that had been a constant tool of analysis for the entire semester: Johan Galtung's triangle that divided violence into its three forms: direct, cultural, and structural. She then alluded to Colombia's problems with cultural and structural violence, such as the massive gap between the rich and the poor and pervading machismo, racism, stereotypes, and hierarchies. She concluded by stating, "I am just as Colombian as you are, and I know that it's hard to hear. But this is a term used by researchers and scholars alike to describe Colombia. That's just the way it is."

My peers did not buy it. They began quoting anthropological definitions of "culture," referring to massive peace mobilizations within the country, and reciting examples of peaceful behavior of fellow Colombians. They refused to let our poor professor (who was caught off guard) to continue to the next topic; they wanted to resolve this controversy right then and there.

I simply sat back and watched the heated debate unfold. As a foreigner, I felt that any comment I made about Colombia could be taken as an ethnocentric critique, but I did have my own opinions...

I began thinking of the bloody, graphic images that often appear on the news reports and the horrific photographs of 7 men who'd been tortured to death in Cali (presumably related to the drug trade) that I'd seen on the newspapers being sold on my way to the bus stop that morning. I thought of the fight that had broken out between two bus passengers two days previously, simply because one of them refused to move to the back of the bus.

BUT THEN... I also could see the view of my classmates. Colombia has a culture of dancing, of singing, of laughter, of music, of art, of gossip, of families, of excitement. It has been cursed with a violent history and still finds itself in a terrible conflict; it has a long way to go to boast true "equality."... Yet, does this mean that it also has a "culture of violence?"

I resolved to forget these technicalities and labels and simply focus on the facts at hand.

FAST FORWARD SEVERAL MONTHS...............

It was the very last class of our graduate program. A celebratory feast including bottles of wine and appetizers was waiting for us outside of our classroom, and there was certainly a "last day of school" vibe in the air. Our last required activity was a discussion (supposedly a "debate," although I wouldn't call that an accurate description) on the topic of: Is it possible to create a culture of peace in Colombia?

The term "culture of peace" is very important because, after all, the program itself is called, "The Culture of Peace and International Humanitarian Law." Contrary to the impression that many people seem to have when I mention this name, peace in this context does not simply mean the absence of violence or conflict (technically, that would be "negative peace;" our coursework provided us with many definitions of the various classifications of "peace"). Rather, a "culture of peace" is much more comprehensive and refers to a way of life that "makes children and adults understand and respect freedom, justice, democracy, human rights, tolerance, equality, and solidarity." A culture of peace implies rejection of violence of all forms, in all settings.

Thus, it is a pretty lofty, idealistic goal that would be difficult to achieve in any country of the world, let alone Colombia. Yet, with the way my cohorts discussed it in our "debate," you'd think it were something just around the corner for their beloved tierra. It reminded me of those Miss America parodies that show contestants stating, "My goal is to end world hunger, create world peace, and give every child in the world a big hug" or something incredibly far fetched like that. And, all the while, the professor of the module sat smiling and nodding, like a proud kindergarten teacher whose students had just successfully sang the entire alphabet for the first time.

I'm not saying a culture of peace is not possible; I'm just saying that my fellow students forgot to answer one important question: how? With all of the analytical tools, facts about the Colombian crisis, peace construction theories, and problem-solving skills that we had learned throughout our 2 semesters of study, you'd think that they'd be able to make comments with a little more substance. Perhaps it was because everyone was eager for the wine and treats that were waiting for us in the hall, but they certainly didn't appear to apply our newly acquired knowledge to a very real and important question about the reality of their country. I have to admit I was annoyed with the lack of depth and critical thinking demonstrated in what was supposed to be the culmination of our entire graduate program.

Then, it was my turn. (A participation grade was to be awarded, and I couldn't allow a 0 to ruin my grade-point average). Once again, I didn't want to be the critical, ethnocentric foreigner, so I tried to make myself clear. I told them that I feel a true "culture of peace" would be incredibly challenging to obtain anywhere, and I talked about the ways in which I'd seen a true lack of such a culture time and time again in the daily life of Colombians (acknowledging that the same could be said of my experiences in the USA). I mentioned that I'd been incredibly touched by the hospitality and kindness of many of their countrymen, but (at the same time) I'd also been afraid because of the true hostility I'd experienced. I spoke about one potential solution: developing economic opportunities for all people, not just the wealthy elite. That way, people wouldn't need to resort to joining paramilitary, guerrilla, drug-trafficking groups or stealing to make ends meet; they wouldn't feel the need to cut in line or yell/fight with others for hand-outs; they wouldn't feel hopeless about their lack of futures and resort to a life of crime and violence. This, however, would not not be enough to create a true "culture of peace" and would require strategic and complicated economic development plans that I am not qualified to create... I was given a 3.9/5.0 for my commentary.

FAST FORWARD TO THE PRESENT DAY....

As I have attempted to really grapple with whether or not Colombia can become a peaceful nation (I'm not going as far as the "culture of peace" concept), I'm really torn. On the one hand, many scholars acknowledge that Colombia has been ridden with conflict since the Spanish inquisition. And, unlike other countries in Latin America that have experienced horrific civil wars or genocides (like Guatemala, El Salvador, Chile, and Argentina), Colombia has the added factor of the drug industry, which will always refill the pocket books of insurgent groups and cause territorial battles. Furthermore, politicians have been linked to the paramilitary groups on multiple occasions, greatly affecting public policy that could create much needed changes.

I have been greatly impacted what I've learned about the violence during my year-long stay in the country. Human rights workers, members of labor unions, and politicians are often killed-- in addition to normal citizens. Not only have I worked with displaced peoples, but I've seen victims of land mines, heard two shootings in my neighborhood, and listened to some pretty devastating accounts. I will never forget the story of one of my classmates who is a psychologist and works on the National Commission for Justice, Truth, and Restitution-- who talked about the stories of child soldiers that she'd interviewed (at least 6,000 children, both boys and girls, participate as child soldiers. One in six has killed someone; almost all have seen torture; and eight of ten have seen dead bodies. Girls are often used sexually). Her tale involved young boys confiding in her how the rebel groups had a rule that those who deserted must be killed by their best friend, then he/she must perform awful rituals afterwards, like bathing in the blood, to "get rid of the fear of killing." Another horribly messed-up story was that of a classmate who works for the Public Defense Office, who once accompanied a group sent to identify the remains of an entire town that had been massacred. Their trip ended abruptly, as the guerrilla group began shooting at them, purposefully preventing them from identifying their victims.

Evidence of the conflict can be found in many places. Just two blocks from my university, there's a Catholic church where 100 people were kidnapped in mass by ELN guerrillas in 1999. I also regularly pass by a site where 12 politicians were kidnapped in 2002. They were the departmental (province) Assembly Building, and men entered their meeting, shouting that a bomb threat had been received for the building. They were to be evacuated to a bus that was waiting outside, and they all promptly obeyed all orders they were given. A few minutes into their bus ride, their "saviors" announced that they were actually with the FARC, and this was a kidnapping operation. Eleven of the twelve were killed.

And then I've also gotten really upset with the accounts of the human rights abuses committed by the Colombian National Army that is supposed to protect the country's citizens, like this: http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/nationworld/2004315540_farc30.html.

On the other hand, one cannot deny the true progress that has been made in recent years. Roads that were once deemed "too dangerous" to cross are now full of cars, and I have been able to do a lot of traveling that would not have been possible five years ago. Hostages are being released (as a side note, six FARC hostages were released last week as I'm updating this entry on February 10th... although a bombing in Cali on the same day was credited to the same group). People tell me that they feel much, much safer, and (although I have to be careful) I have never felt like I'm in a war zone.

Most importantly, Colombians want peace more than anything. They talk about peace efforts on a daily basis. They come together in mass demonstrations. They demand that their representatives create peace-building legislation. They dream of a Colombia free of conflict for their children and grandchildren. When there's so much hope, optimism and forward-thinking, I truly feel that failure is impossible. Colombia will not ever become a utopia, but improvement is inevitable.

Cheap Labor P.S. and P.P.S.

After publishing my last reflection, I discovered that I had two additions that tie in thematically with my reflection of "cheap labor."

Addition 1: This one's more like an update. I am happy to report that, upon checking email yesterday, I discovered that I'd received a message from Mabel-- the cleaning lady of the Javeriana campus. It was certainly a shock to hear from her, as I had attempted to show her how to use email in the university's computer lab on more than one occasion (at her request), with pretty unsuccessful results. However, one of her daughters had sent a message on her behalf, which asked me to call her and referred to me as "mi querida amiguita." Thus, communication has not been lost! I was pretty touched that she'd tried so hard to contact me.

Addition 2: Another common informal job that I failed to previously mention is that of the recycler, who must perform the trash-sorting function that most individuals perform automatically in the U.S. I'm not exactly sure how payment or logistics of the position work, but I do know that all sorts of men, women, and children flock to trash bins with their wooden carts and go through all sorts of garbage to find plastic, glass, or aluminum items. They never wear gloves, and I cannot help but feel so bad for them as they dig about in all sorts of smelly messes. (Please don't forget that toilet paper cannot be flushed here, so all households' used TP ends up in their trash bins!). There are two mothers who work as recyclers in my neighborhood, and their collections of recycled goods are always topped with their sleeping babies... But, as I've said, a job is a job, and any income is better than nothing...

Cheap Labor

I'd like you to meet Rubiela, otherwise known as ¨Rubi¨ :

Rubi is FABULOUS. We LOVE her. She is able to do things most people only dream of. She comes to our apartment every two weeks and works wonders. In a climate where cockroaches and ants will appear at the drop of a crumb, and in an apartment that fills with dust every time the door opens, her mad cleaning skills are much appreciated. She comes every other Tuesday at 8:00am and stays until 5:00pm, skillfully cleaning windows, washing sheets and couch cushions, scrubbing cabinets, mopping the floor, and beautifying pretty much anything else one could possibly clean in our small living quarters. We contracted her for 30,000 pesos (about $15.00USD) for each day she comes, plus food. I had a little bit of a complex of ¨hiring¨ someone, especially at such a low price, but Rubi was so excited about having this extra little source of income to support herself, her kids, and her grand kids that I realized it would be good for her. I also later discussed this little payment concern with some of my classmates, many of whom have their own non-live-in ¨empleadas,¨ and most of them felt I was paying her too much. Minimum wage in Colombia works out to be about $5.83USD per day (and, of course, there is no hour limit, and under-the-table work need not pay above minimum wage), and one classmate was very adamant that she was a ¨really good employer¨ for the woman (who does not live with them) who makes her meals, cleans her home, and takes care of her daughter daily from 6:00am until 9:00pm for only about $7.00USD/day.

Rubi's tale reminds me of many of the other women working in domestic service jobs that I've met here in Colombia. I am not sure why, but I've always had strong connections with the cleaning staff of the various places I've lived and been (beginning with Earl, my elementary school janitor), and I've carried this tinge of sympathy with me because I feel that they are hardly ever recognized for the work that they do. Furthermore, in wealthy households throughout the world, they often have limited freedoms and lack opportunities to embark down the road of "personal fulfillment." Here are some of the ones who've entered my life during my time here:

This is Gloria, who worked for my host family in Medellín. I found her to be very dignified. She was the only one in the household who actually talked to me, and it was her daughter who kindly showed me around the city. She often confided in me that she was going to leave the home because they paid her less than minimum wage, and I remember one particularly impacting experience when she cried because one of the boys of the family yelled at her extensively for "ruining" a pair of his flip flops by scrubbing it with an old tooth brush. As I prepared to leave Medellín and head onto Cali, we exchanged little gifts and contact information. While I never heard from her again (and I felt awkward about contacting her in the home where she lived/worked), I hope that she has moved on to a more respectful working environment.

This is Marta with her son, Marlon, who were the live-in staff of Liliana and Fernando's home when I arrived to Cali. I loved little Marlon and was constantly holding him and playing with him at any possible opportunity. I also attempted to buy him toys and things a baby should have. However, one day, without any previous warning, I came home from my classes to discover that Marta had been let-go because her "cooking wasn't up to standard." I was shocked and definitely missed my little buddy. Soon, though, Marta was back (although she had been replaced)-- asking for help with getting medicine and milk for Marlon. I noticed a gold necklace around her neck and, without thinking, commented: "Oh, I have a necklace like this that was my grandmother's." Liliana overhead this comment and quietly told me to look for my necklace within my things. Sure enough, it was gone.

I suppose it did seem odd for a housekeeper in Colombia to have the same gold necklace I had inherited after my American grandmother passed away in 1997, but this discretion never crossed my mind until I discovered it was missing. The whole situation left me feeling awful, and I felt guilty for ever having noticed that gold chain with an ivy Black Hills gold pendent around Marta's neck-- or having brought it to Colombia in the first place. Liliana did buy her milk for Marlon on that day, but I never saw either of them again.

Here's another employee who worked in Liliana and Fernando's household during my stay. She lasted a very short amount of time, so I unfortunately didn't get to know her very well.

The current "empleada" of Liliana and Fernando's home is named Carolina; however, since one of their daughters is also named Carolina, they immediately decided to call her "Anita." I have never heard her complain about anything, and she once told me that she hadn't done anything to celebrate her birthday for many years (I learned that she had recently turned 22). She has a five-year-old daughter who stays with extended family in a pueblo a few hours away from Cali-- whom she gets to see very rarely. I have only known her to take one extra day off (in addition to the Sunday she gets off weekly) in all of the months she's worked in the household, and that was only because her cousin had been shot and killed while in a discoteca. My favorite thing about Carolina, though, is that she calls me "Hilarees."

Finally, please meet Maribel-- part of the cleaning staff of the Pontificia Universidad Javeriana campus where I studied. I think I originally met her because I helped her straighten-up desks in a classroom, and I became one of her favorite people after I bought some little knick-knacks from her. From that point on, we had daily conversations, and she looked for me everyday on campus. I found out that she had eight children, and her husband had left them all after she became pregnant with the eighth one (who recently turned two). Always the sucker, I ended up buying many of the Christmas crafts her daughters had made to earn a little extra income-- and they actually came in very handy because I used them as Christmas gifts for the Rotarians of my host club. I never got to say good-bye to Maribel after my classes ended, which makes me very sad. =(

I think the life of a housekeeper/"empleada" seems very desirable to many Colombian women because it's safe and stable work-- even if may not be very rewarding or dignified. With such a gap between the rich and the poor and such a high rate of unemployment, Colombia seems to offer just about any sort of job, and there are many people who are eager to do it. My best example of this was when I was instructed to pay someone to wait in line for me for an official government document I needed after first arriving (why didn't I think of that?!). I gladly gave him a little over a dollar to wait those three painstaking hours for me!

So, the conclusion of this blog entry is as follows: I've seen many good people doing seemingly thankless work, and I hope that they're all able to have a good quality of life and earn the respect that they deserve... And I'm thankful to all of them who've made my surroundings in Colombia much cleaner!! ;-)

Support for Local Artists

Anywhere in Latin America, you'll be able to find cheap handmade crafts that are usually the result of a trade that has been passed down for generations and many hours of hard work. I have always done my best to support these local artists and pay a decent prize for their creations. Here in Colombia, I've also picked up the habit of discussing the process of creating a given piece with the person selling it and taking a picture of my purchase with the artist who made it. This has become particularly helpful when buying gifts-- because, that way, my friend or family member receiving what I've bought feels connected with the ¨mastermind¨ behind his/her present and understands what it's all about. I guess I just like stories, and even the things I purchase have stories of their own. Here are a few of the things I've acquired here in Colombia (some of you may recognize your Christmas gifts... or, if you haven't received yours yet, try to guess which one is for you!):

I bought this woven basket at an Indigenous art fair in Cali. The woman selling it was part of a women's cooperative and taught me a great deal about the natural dyes and fibers used to make it. What a tedious process! Remarkably, it is very similar to a basket Erica and I purchased in Botswana, Africa!!!These woven bags are a trademark of the Wayuu people. They require a very intricate process that is very much like crocheting and come in many bright colors. The vendor here showed us how she carefully crafted each one, creating designs of importance in the Wayuu's history, and explained to us some of her personal history-- like how she'd ended up in Santa Marta from La Guajira.
This girl had recently undergone her ¨encierro,¨ which is a traditional rite of passage for young women of the Wayuu culture. Once they begin menstruating, the process begins. Their hair is cut off (or very short), and they are kept alone in small quarters for many days, which allows them to undergo psychological maturing as well. They also are expected to perfect their craft-making skills during this time because (as this girl's grandmother told us) ¨there's not much to do.¨ She had made the belt (wrapped around her forehead) and begun this bag (it apparently took more days than that to make) that I bought while taking part in her ¨encierro.¨While this little guy did not make this bag that I bought for myself (his sister did), he was such a skilled young salesman that I felt that it was very important to photograph him as well. I really hope that he gets an education because I am certain that a promising career in marketing or sales is ahead of him! =)
I added this one as an afterthought-- not only because it shows me with the Ticuna woman who had made this beautiful hand-woven basket that I purchased in the Amazon, but it also shows why I've felt like such a giant in these parts!

Case sisters hit the road again!

Erica and I had really amazing experiences as we journeyed through some of Colombia's most memorable, exciting, and beautiful sites. Of course, there were times when we were reminded of all of the frustrations of traveling [ahem! Here are some examples: having people try to charge us for a service when we'd already paid someone else for it, being charged the "rich foreigner" price for something, and (the absolute worst) being convinced to pay full-price for a "seat" on an overnight or multi-hour bus ride-- when there actually weren't any seats left-- leaving us to endure hours upon end of extra-uncomfortable traveling... Grrrrrr!]... But, those complaints aside, I can honestly say that we were more than content with all that we saw, did, and felt throughout our travels. Here is a bit about our adventures:

DESTINATION ONE: SAN GIL (and BARICHARA)

After two flights, three taxi rides, and one long bus ride, we finally made it to our first stop: San Gil. We were instantly impressed with the rugged landscapes that surrounded us, and it was relaxing to take it all in with the striking 360-degree natural view from our balcony. Shortly afterward, we found ourselves in the nearby charming and calm, old-fashioned colonial town of Barichara. Our trip was off to a great start!

This is one of the impressive scenes that we photographed during our bus ride into San Gil, which certainly typifies the geography of the area. We were later able to raft down the river featured here. As seasoned rafters, it wasn't exactly thrilling for us, but we enjoyed the scenery and experience nonetheless.

We went on a beautiful waterfall-filled hike to make it to the top of this 180-foot waterfall... Then...

...we got a taste of what the water was like (you can tell how cold it was by Erica's expression here!)... And finally, the next day, ...

... we rappelled down the waterfall-- such an adrenaline rush!

Our adventures also included a very intense spelunking experience. We climbed, crawled, and even slithered through a variety of the "Cueva del Indio's" chambers, which had all sorts of stalactites and stalagmites and varying levels of water. Our caving trek culminated with a very horrifying plunge into a pool of water many feet below a platform, in pure darkness. The guides (it was a one-on-one ratio because there were two guides for the two of us!) explained the pencil-straight jumping technique, mentioning that we must avoid any of the stalagmites that we could not see. They then had to count "uno, dos, tres" about 15 times for each of us before we finally got the courage to jump. (We later redeemed ourselves by climbing up a metal ladder and doing it a second time)... I also must mention the cave was home to many new little friends, including three types of these beautiful...

... bats!

Speaking of beauty, we thoroughly enjoyed the tranquil and cute town of Barichara (just 40 minutes from San Gil). Barichara is known as one of South America's "nicest small towns," and it keeps things "traditional" by using stone roads, instead of pavement; lanterns, instead of streetlights; narrow roads; and traditional materials and construction styles for all homes and buildings.

The town is famous for its stonework. Here I am with two stone oxen statues-- two of many statues skillfully crafted of stone found throughout the pueblo. Barichara even boasts an annual stone sculpting festival, which brings artists from all around the world.

The town's churches and chapels are very unique and also made of stone. If you look closely, you can also see me in this picture! 80)

DESTINATION TWO: SANTA MARTA

Santa Marta was Colombia's first settlement and is home to natural jewels that combine snow-covered mountains, stunning beaches, and jungle. While we had fun exploring the town itself, we enjoyed these outdoor treasures most.

These are my shoes drying on our balcony, happy to be in the sun and adding to the view from our hotel room. (There was even a tinted plastic to prevent any glare-- like built-in sunglasses!).

This is a shot of Parque Tayrona, a national park with gorgeous beaches, surrounded by jungle trails. We didn't have time to do too much exploring, but we hiked around and spent a day playing in the waves.

DESTINATION THREE: [VARIOUS SITES OF] LA GUAJIRA

The department [province] of La Guajira is a little-known destination (in fact, it's not even in my guide book) whose main residents are the Wayuu indigenous people. Like all of the other stops of our trip, it has stunning views... but it also had quite the "off-the-beaten-path" feel to it.

In order to get around Guajira, one must have a special four-wheel drive jeep known as a "bubble." We had the misfortune of riding in one with incredibly bad tires, which forced us to make 5 unexpected stops for flat tires as we journeyed throughout the desert on our first day!!! Ay, ay, ay! (Our poor driver, Jacobo, had some really mad tire-changing skills... and he sure got a lot of practice!).

These stops, however, allowed us to watch the natives go about their daily life. The people mainly live off of goats, who roam about everywhere you go. (I was polite and tried goat meat twice, although I have to admit I was not a fan). This is a local goat herder as he waits for his somewhat rebellious goats to follow his lead.

Aside from goats, the area is able to produce a lot of salt. In another photo, I thought I'd be clever and make a "salt angel"... which was a very baaaaaad idea! I had to endure the rest of the long ride with lots of salt in my pants. =(

This is the site where we watched a couple beautiful sunsets. Behind Erica and me, you can see the various shades of the water; Colombians claim there are places with seven visible colors of the ocean.

We spent our nights sleeping in hammocks by the sea, which sounded pretty idyllic. I soon discovered, though, that I had had a slightly idealized view of this was like. Not only was it rather uncomfortable, but I was also awakened a few times by a stray, smelly (yet friendly) beach dog who came and licked my bottom during the night. Erica (pictured here) also got some pretty bad bug bites.

A small group of Wayuu welcomed us into their community to teach us about their traditional ways of life of yesteryear. The lesson began with them painting our faces with plant dye in the butterfly pattern that women traditionally wore.

Next, they taught us some of their typical dances. Here I am as I attempt to keep up with this little "chief" in a dance that basically involved me chasing him to a very fast drum beat. Funny story: If you look closely, you'll notice this little guy has a bald spot on the top of his head. I asked about it, thinking shaving a portion of a male's head had traditionally had some meaning and wanting to hear more about it. The whole community burst into laughter; it turns out my dancing partner had eaten lots and lots of a fruit that the monkeys of the area love, which tastes a lot like peanuts... Only it makes one's hair fall out! He seemed embarrassed once this was revealed to us and promptly put on a hat. =)

All over La Guajira, the Wayuu send their children out to sell handmade crafts (which, of course, Erica and I could not resist time and time again). I befriended these little girls on the streets of Riohacha (the main city of the department), and their brother begged and begged to take pictures of us with my camera.

Our last day in La Guajira involved riding a canoe to a turtle refuge. We saw many amazing birds on the way, including these wild flamingos. Flamingos are called "flamencos" in Spanish, just like flamenco dancing. I'm not sure which was discovered first (the dancing or the bird), but I can definitely see the connection: flamingos stop their feet like crazy to stir up food from the bottom of the sea floor, and they also swirl their long necks around-- reminding me of the graceful arm movements of flamenco dancers.

DESTINATION FOUR: CARTAGENA DE INDIAS

Cartagena de Indias is a beautiful, historical town on the Caribbean (Colombia's second settlement, after Santa Marta) with lots to see and do, and (once again) our time was too short to really take it all in (rats!). I had been to Cartagena during Cheryl/Kathleen/my mom's visit, but I did feel bad for Erica to "miss out" on all that Cartagena has to offer. I also noticed a huge difference from my previous Cartagena experience, during which there were no cruise ships, and this one-- during which the city was overtaken by loud, rude Americans (OK, so probably not all of them were "loud" and "rude"... but I do have to say that I was not impressed with their behavior!) on a Caribbean cruise. This also changed the dynamic of the city, with the street vendors becoming more aggressive than ever. However, we were still able to visit a few of Cartagena's museums, explore the Castillo de San felipe de Barajas (the largest fortress ever built by Spaniards in their colonies), walk peacefully in the "old town," and marvel at the views and unique architecture found within the city's historic protective walls.

Unfortunately, the cannons were not functional. =(

Cartagena's brightly-colored buildings and flowers are very cheery and uplifting.

This is Erica the in home of Pedro (Peter) Claver, where many scenes of Love in the Time of Cholera were filmed.

And, after all of our explorations and adventures, we were soon back in Cali again-- quite tired, a bit sun burnt, a bit itchy from multiple bug bites, and very satisfied with our new discoveries and freshly-created sister memories.