i will skip the tired, taking-forever-to-get-there part.
we watched the finale of a very long election at the hilton miami international. me and my road crew made up of to lifelong friends from home, black mountain (tammy and nikki), and chan. it was so nice to see Obama win but i did not know what to do. i couldn´t shout. i was sleepy. so, then i just started jumping up and down. lol!
on the plane the next day i kept dreaming of the obamas. (in reality) i had seen a story where they were comparing the obamas to the kennedys. oh the idea that michelle can become a fashion icon like jackie o is such an exciting idea that i never even considered.
the few brasilians we have spoken with since our arrival last have told us how happy they are “obama barack”! not sure why they same his name backwards. they all also seem to want to impress upon us americans that the US elections are sooooo important to the rest of the world. “it´s not just important in america”, our taxi driver Luis said, “it´s important here in Brasil, France, Kenya, Everywhere.” He said everyone in the world was watching the US with their fingers crossed hoping the Americans would make the right decision.
Glad we did.
Today we woke up to beautiful sun rising through the clouds. A view from our private veranda shows us Pao de Azucar (sugar loaf mountain) and Corcovado (Jesus Statue). good stuff.
I woke up early this morning. Couldn’t sleep partially because I am excited about my trip to Brazil (which begins this evening). Partially because I have an image block on what my airport fashion should be. And partially because today is Election Day. A moment of truth.
I think the issue with my airport fashion has more to do with not knowing what to wear on the day the President of the United States elected could be a Black man and one may have to go to an election party straight from the airport. Now, if the president elected isn’t historical, I won’t think back on this day and wonder what I wore. But if he is I want to look cute…for pictures celebrating his election. Isn’t that shallow? I’m sure when I am 93 I won’t be saying to my grandchildren (i’m getting a late start on kids), “yes, baby, your granny wore a beautiful denim wrap dress with comfortable wedge sandals. I remember my feet were cold but the airline staff and other passengers were very appreciative of the fact that my dress and earrings went well with the Obama sticker.”
While laying in bed at 5 AMish, I thought about my outfit. Then I decided to say a little prayer for Obama and Michelle. I told the Lord that I really like Obama for who he is and that, if I’m honest with myself, I would say my main reason for voting for him is that he is a good Black candidate and i’m just ready to see how it is to have a person of color as president of our great states. I asked the Lord to overlook my being shallow or unable to fully explain myself because it is 5AM. I also prayed, if Black people decide to celebrate like those emails that play on Black stereotypes, that they have a BLAST and relish in CHANGE and…and…and make babies and name them Barack!
I was disappointed when I opened my email account and there were no emails from Barack. I guess the millionth one i received last night was the last.
Anyway, when i went to my closet ’round 6 I saw my green wrap shirt and decided it would inspire my Election Day Airport Fashion. It’s a cute default piece* that I will soon replace with another cute default piece. I will wear it with wedge sandals, dressy denim pants and a pair of long silver earrings.
Click here to see what I am listening to in Brasil (until I get some more fabulous music)
* cute defalut piece: fashion that inevitably you wear because you know it’s a crowd pleaser and it pleases you. BUT you tend to wear it to many a thing!
Hot ‘n Sour soup from Osaki proved to be a tasty-sinus-headache-causing dinner for Chan. With her laid out in bed, I had time to look at work email, return some calls, pack, and go to the grocery stores. I bought a huge piña (pineapple), apples and water from the first store. Went to the fancier store for the cookies and was happy for myself that they didn’t have any. I bought hummus and pita instead. Then I went to the pasta store in between the two grocers and bought cheese stuffed spinach triangles, pesto with tomato, alfredo and parmesan. ThenI remembered that the housekeeper, Melinda, prepared a big pot of coffee for us. So, I went back to the first grocer and bought some azúcar (sugar).
We finally got out the door near 12:30 and were taken by taxi Cerro de Monserrate which is a church on top of a big mountain overlooking the city. For $7.00 roundtrip on the cable car or steep-ass train, I think it is a worthwhile activity. On a clear hour (we had 1.5 clear hours), you can see a lot of the city. Bogota is a big city. 8 million. The church itself is not nearly as breathtaking as the view. The architecture is basic and it is has a lot of images and statues of Jesus during the really rough times. I am not Catholic. So, I don’t know the meaning of that.
We walked around the grounds and the went to a restaurant positioned on the side of the mountain. I had a canelazo (sp?), which is a local drink. Think hot rum with cinnamon (canela), limon and maybe nutmeg. Not bad.
We returned t the Harley store where I purchased the shirts for my folks. Then we went to a cigar store. I considered buying Cubans. My daddy always requests these when he knows we are doing international travel and may be able to buy some in duty-free. Well, these cubans were expensive. Besides, I don’t think cigars travel well without the right equipment. I did buy him two Colombians and three cigarillos for myself. Later that evening we dined at a French restaurant. The only thing with French flavor, in my humble opinion, was the decor. Still it was a nice last evening with my girls.
Wednesday morning we packed up and went to the airport. If you ever go to Colombia, know that you have to pay an exit tax ($70.00 in US or more in Colombian). That is unless you stay only a short while and wait a long while in line to get an excaption stamp. While we checked a team of tall, beautiful Black men who did not appear anywhere I was in Bogota showed up at the ticket counter for the neighboring airline. I tried to take a photo as proof of height but Queen chastised me for taking a photo in the airport because it’s illegal. Booooo!
We ate lunch at El Corral, a burger joint. Then we went through the security. Lord. It’s immediately post-9/11 security. Everyone gets inspected. Then there are lots of “random” searches. They compenscate (sp?) your liquids including likka you just purchased at dury-free. Glad I didn’t get any. I was pulled off the plane to witness a random search of my luggage. (side-eye). Normally this would piss me off but I was in a good mood because I had just seen a guy I grew up with on the plane. Plus I was going home.
Yes, I have done Bogota. I can’t say I have done Colombia because I only visited one city. However, I am also not pressed to go back. I know there are other great places there and if I have an opportunity to go back I will consider it seriously. But it’s not in my plans. The whole fear thing really got to me, I guess.
Monday was quite simple. The morning was spent relaxing. Then we went to the grocery store to get cash and items for the house. I got $300,000.000 (pesos), water and some strange fruit. I’m rich, b*tch! JK. That’s more like $150.00 (US). There is a fancier grocery next door to this one that has these lovely cookies with mystery filling and coconut. They are no wider than a fat nickel and are dangerous. Fortunately the line was long and slow. So, we have no cookies.
We returned to the apartment building and requested that the portero (sp?) or Mr. Bentley call us a taxi. Our lady taxi driver arrived in five short minutes and whisked us away to 39 y Septima.
Lesson: Primarily, streets here are numbered and I haven’t quite figured it out but I have a decent understanding. Calles (streets) increase in number as you get further north. Carreras go parallel to the hills and increase or decrease as you move away from Calle 1. Hmm. That makes no sense. However it works. I am somehow able to maintain a loose grip as we rolling with taxis. So far, they have all been fair and travelling by taxi has been cheapo.
At 39 y Septima (seventh) we stood on the corner and waited for our date, PT. We were all running a little late. So, I took the opportunity to just soak in Bogotano energy and smog surrounding us. Many people on our corner appeared to be meeting others perhaps for lunch dates or meetings. Some were saying goodbyes and heading back to work. Vehicle traffic was also heavy with the little yellow taxis, big strange looking buses (they are old and look like red, green, and blue swamp monsters, personal vehicles and commercial trucks moving about with harried intentions. Everything creating pollution smell and noise), except the mountains and buildings. The setting was so surreal to me. You have all this physical noise and activity going on and then there are the mountains and the old buildings surrounding you. In the mix but not moving. Not a part of the every day chaos but defining it.
For me, growing up the mountains had a huge pyschological impact on me and my fellow mountaineers (i am sure). So peaceful. So graceful. So beautiful. Also, protectors from letting bad (and good) pass through their strong hold. My hometown, though, is in a wide valley. You have to reach for the mountains. In Bogota, they are right there very much so in the mix. I reckon I don’t have enough time here to learn whether they are more a part of the mix than I know. Who knows what goes on up on them.
Anyway, PT, showed up and we cheerfully strode over to a busy, whole-in-the-wall restaurant that specialized in Atlantic Afro-Caribbean food. Our happy waitor offered the daily special which was universal “Black” food. Fried fish, rice, and plaintains. LOL! We tried to order from the menu but he persuaded us to save money and get the special. Ok. The fish was similar to trout, the rice flavored with coconut and the fried plaintains savory. The meal also came with a bowl of soup flavored with fish and potatoes. I took a risk and had some juice from a local berry. It tasted like…shit. I don’t know. Flat Faygo soda? If you don’t know Faygo, go to your nearest Black neighborhood cornerstore (it can’t be one carrying fresh Coca Cola). Lunch for three was a total of $10.00. My kind of spot.
We left the cafe and went to heaven known in Bogota as Crepes y Waffles. Oh joy. I love ice cream and have limited my consumption of it this Summer due to the limited nutritional value. So, my two scoops of maracuya (passion fruit) and feijao (pronounced fay-HO-ah) were two spiritual moments for me.
One pleasuring moment and diverted taxi ride later we arrived at a “Colombian Artisans” market near La Candeleria (sp?). I bought jewelry and a couple of gifts. I have noticed that people here do not bug you to buy buy buy. Usually you are greeted with “Buenes Tardes, Senora. [Insert 'at your service (but in espanol)']. Then they leave you alone unless you ask for help or offer to buy.
Even negotiating is easy. Their is no ripping off. Just gentle suggestions for 1,000 pesos mas. Say I offer 25,000 pesos for something that would cost 35,000 normally. The common response was a pause and then “por favor, senora. 26,000?”
Ok.
They may have been ripping me off with the prices but I was comfortable with all the prices I paid.
Ready for a nap, we hailed a taxi (safely and by ourselves) and headed back across town. I walked down to the Harley Davidson store to scope out t-shirts. I really didn’t understand the lady helping me but we both spoke Harley-anish. I had the cashto purchase the shirts for my padres but it was in my bra and I couldn’t figure out a discreet way to pull it out given my Harley-anish partner’s proximity to me. So, I told her I needed to return with a credit card and strolled home.
That night we ordered from Osaki and watched Shottas. Hilarity!
Despite having gone to bed near 4am, las tres amigas woke up around 8:30am local time. Why are we crazy?! As has become customary, we chatted. lol! We chat about the most random things. It’s usually a good mixture of reminiscing, teasing, laughing and intelligent stuff.
By 10:30 we had dressed and headed out to Restaurante Club Colombia, only two blocks away. This is a beautifully decorated restaurant that serves Colombian foods and has a fixed price brunch on Sundays. The buffet has a soup (similar to pho but with potatoes), rice dishes, pork meat (similar to fried fatback, eww!), an omelet station and an array of fresh fruit and fresh fruit juices. I have to say that so far I have only been minimally impressed with Colombian food. There is something missing and I think it is flavor.
jk. I mean I haven’t really liked the traditional food I have had thus far but it’s not flavorless-just flavor-lite.
But the beauty of the restaurant and serene setting more than made up for it. It’s in a huge house made of stone and covered with…hmmm..kudzu (?). Inside is dark and made of richly dark wood floors and walls. The main sitting area has a very large fireplace (which was burning, of course) and there are lushly colorful couches and wide cushioned benches to relax on while you wait for a table. Throughout the building the walls are decorated with colored glass wallpaper-like fixtures and art work. Then attached to the building is the outdoor dining rooms that are completely surrounded by glass walls and plenty of green plants (some with blooms). So very nice.
We were there for at least three hours eating slowly and talking. Queen’s friend, R, joined us. She was with us Saturday night but I didn’t get to talk to her much because the music was loud and I was busy being nosey. But let me tell you I am fascinated by this woman. Lord have mercy! She works for an agency which I will not name but if you think about our government and your first thought (albeit likely ignorant) when you think of Colombia, you can guess who she works for…yep. The title of this entry should help you too.
R is amazing on so many levels but mainly because she is a Black woman like me and has had a similar upbringing yet she is involved in this world that we only see in movies. Of course, yours truly asked her a billion questions including the most cliche questions. Oh I wish I could share but I won’t. R convinced us to ride out San Andrecito with her to do some shopping. Before we went we stopped at her apartment. I looked around for signs of her occupation. I found none. She is creative but non-commital to art like me. She has a big, fancy piano which I was excited about. I tried my hardest to remember Gone with the Wind, one of the few songs I learned during my short time as a piano student. I couldn’t even get Swan Lake right. Hmph! I was so frustrated but this is an aside.
We took the 25 minute ride in R’s very protected vehicle to the other side of the city. On the way there we (well, she) almost hit a cop on a motorcycle. Why did we get pulled over?! The officer did a short diatribe about how he could have been killed and how she’s a dangerous driver, etc. etc. Meanwhile I was taking secret photos through the tinted windows. Eventually Queen joined in the negotiations and being nosey as I am I joined too.
me: Senor! Tenemos much respecto por tu y la policia de Colombia! (<–I’m already messing up because I used the familiar form instead of the formal form of Spanish)
me: (again) Puedo tocar un foto con usted? (<–I’m formal now).
mr. officer: Si! Usted puedes.
me: (some kind of yelp)
So, Chan, R and I get out of the truck and R takes photos of Chan and me with Mr. Officer. and his bike. omg! He’s cute too. We hopped back into the secured vehicle and R continued her negotiations with the officer. Ok, even from my tinted passenger window I could tell he was flirting with her. And she was flirting back. LOL! I love it! Whatever was said (or was looking good) was convincing enough for R to get away with a kiss on the cheek and no ticket. Holla!
We then went on our way to the market which reminded me a lot of downtown Los Angeles and a swapmeet. So much stuff going on. Anything you want to buy can be bought in San Andrecito. In fact, it gets its name from an island where a lot of people go for cheap shopping. I reckon this is the miniature version, hence the ‘cito. There were tons of people and small cars negotiating spaces. Every step we took we were being offered something. Of course there were stares. We definately were a unique grupo being that we are brown and tall and with big hair! After passing up several opportunities to have street meat we settled instead at a pollo broaster. Here they served extra fried to death chicken, potatoes and yuca. oh and extra sweet punch. I like that the serve their chicken with honey. nice touch.
Our adventure wrapped up around 4 and we headed back to the north. We said goodbye to R and then Chan and I headed out for our afternoon date with PT. We met her oustide of a Juan Valdez coffee shop (they are ubiquituous here) where they were filming a Juan Valdez commecial. I saw Juan, ya’ll! He cute.
We walked over to the next street (away from the film crew) to a nice restau-lounge, Chivas. Again, another example of well-used outdoor space. Bogotanos have got the idea on creating beautiful spaces that combine natural light, comfort and beauty. Chivas is (as the name implies) an Asian-themed spot sporting statues of Ginesh, young buddha and a huge big buddha sitting in the very back of the long, narrow outdoor space. This space has wicker couches and chairs decorated by pillows covered by southeast asian material. They also play wonderful music. The chilly air could not compete with bossa nova and maxwell! or the likka-laced coffee drinks we had. The menu was odd in a Cheesecake Factory kind of way. A bit too much going on. So we focused on conversation instead and afterwards headed over to a cozy (read: tiny) bar where we spent the rest of our date listening to Atlantic AC and Caribbean music with a touch of american hip-hop. Good stuff.
Our full day was capped off by a session of beauty salon. From this point forward I will be less annoyed with hairdresser who charge me more than the regular price due to my having a lot of hair. Queen has a lot of hair and I spent a considerable amount of time massaging it with oil, drying it, and putting some more heat to it with a flat iron. Nonetheless I am not deterred by my life-long dream of going to cosmotology school!
We opted for Pacific due to the fact that the Atlantic choice was mostly patronized by youngins (24 and under.) Friday morning I had set my hair on rollers to get a bob with looser, bigger curls, a change from my pinned up naturally curly hair. However, I knew that, while it may be cool and dry in Bogota, the same probably could not be said for inside the club. So, I pinned my big curls up and had a semi-dramatic hairstyle complimented by deep turqouise eyeshadow, long dangling earrings, a shiny sleeveless black top, fitted pants and some heels.
We arrived at Saoco 54 shortly before 11pm and were seated at a tiny table. PT came with her friend Hernando (Pacific. lol!) We ordered a bottle of local rum which is customary at these spots. I’ve never done bottle service in the States but now I have done it in Bogota! Hernando loved to dance and since he was with five ladies he had ample opportunity to do so. Other men asked us to dance too. So we would rotate with sipping rum and dancing. Hernando, PT, and Queen are very popular among the Afro-Colombians and we were introduced to many people including an Afro-Colombian news reporter and a female rapper from the group Chocquibtown.
Club observations:
1. Everyone gets bottle service. You must. Club policy.
2. People are extremely polite and friendly. No molestation when passing by you. Hallelujah!
3. Bathrooms are clean and tiny!
4. Salsa is done at very very close proximity with your partner but nothing nasty about it.
5. A flat screen with videos of famous Salsa bands is common.
We decided to try another nearby club (also Pacific) and left Saoco just as the music was getting really good. PT, Hernando, Aduem, the news reporter and his girl, and I walked the three blocks to Pachango Pacholo (sp?). As we strolled, H and I practiced our Portugeuse which was a relief for me because I was not understanding much in Spanish. He has spent some time in Rio, Brasilia and Salvador. When we arrived the club was jumping. Thanks to Queen’s popularity we didn’t have to buy a bottle but were seated at table. I couldn’t sit, though, because I was excited because the people in the club were excited. At Pachango P they had a huge screen featuring a popular Colombian group, Grupo Niche. You would think it was a live show considering how people were so hype and were looking up at the screen. For the next hour or so I danced with H, Aduem, and a little, little man who was a great Salsa partner.
Friday evening was muy low-key. I cooked dinner again (such a homemaker!). I made Frango da Passarinho (Brazilian-style fried chicken) which is basically chicken fried after being marinated in tons of chop garlic (tons!), salt, pepper and oil. I also roasted some potatoes with uchuva, my new favorite fruitegatable. Chan contributed with her sauteed green beans. Afterwards we watched more music videos on MTV Jams and called it a night.
I Got Friends in Low Places– A sunny Saturday morning was spent reading. I finished the Alexander McCall Smith’s #1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, a good read given to me by one of my clients. Chandra took a walk through the hood and returned very excited about the market nearby. We had a morning chat and then I felt bored.
Then I remembered that I have a friend here, PT! PT and I met in 2004 at a fundraiser for Levantamos: Center for Afro-Brazilian–American Cooperation. PT was on their board and I volunteered to help with developing their website. She and I spent several good hours on the phone planning the site and talking about Brazil and such. However, I haven’t talked to her since then except for a couple of exchanges on F*cebook. That damn F*cebook is amazing! Through this tool we found out about each other being in the B. And so, I called her and we caught up. She’s here doing research and is very tapped into the Afro-Colombian scene. Through my conversation with her it seemed that the prospect of seeing Bogota through a new lense was good. PT and I agreed I would call her back in the afternoon to make plans to get together Saturday night.
We got dressed and took a short stroll (literally two blocks) to a trendy Bagatelle Deli. This is a panderia (bakery/cafe) “dedicated to the art of baking.” <–that’s what their site says. My girls and I shared a basket of local bread served with loosely formed rasberry preserve and butter while we decided on our orders. The menu was entirely in Spanish and, while I could understand a good portion of it, it can be very risky to just pick something. And that’s exactly what I did. I picked something that I couldn’t exactly figure out. I would describe it as Colombian fried rice. My bff, XFG, who is Vietnamese, told me the best way to make fried rice is to throw a whole bunch of leftovers into the pan with day-old, cold rice. I think that is what they did at Bagatelle and it was delish! It was rice, tiny round potatoes, platanos maduros (plaintains), mushrooms, cilantro, green onions, and bits of meat (hopefully, beef). A cup or two of strong, black coffee topped it all off.
As we lingered after our meal, which I believe is customary in many cultures, Queen’s friend from the department came through and joined us. M is a neat guy. I say this because he’s very intelligent, appears to be well put together and is risque. His two posts have been Pakistan and Colombia. His next is Afghanistan. WTF?! I think he likes danger…? His lady friend, M2, later joined us and the five of us had great conversation that ranged politics to dating to local gossip. M2 has a very enchanting look and way about her. She’s a blond, blue-eyed, fair-skinned Black. That in and of itself is not what draws you to her. My own grandmother is a very fair-skinned (white even) lady whose looks can be perplexing if you pay enough attention. There is something about M2, though, that draws you to her. If I had not been told her occupation I would have guessed she was a news anchor or yoga instructor. I guess that means she is both engaging and soothing. Plus, her posts have been the same as M’s. Crazy!
By afternoon the morning sun had worn off and Bogota was settling back into it’s chilly mode. Of course, I had on a inappropriate-for-this-shitty-weather fashion, a short sleeved dress. So, we hugged our friends goodbye and headed back to the apartment. The rest of our afternoon was languidly spent. Chit chatting here and there, videos, napping, reading, trying to figure out what to do next. Then remembered I was supposed to call PT back. PT recommended two clubs where we could interact with Afro-Colombians.* She offered that Colombians are regionally-minded regardless of race. So, we could hang out with the Pacific Afro-Colombians or the Atlantic Afro-Colombians. The difference? On the surface, it would seem the music. At the club with Pacific ACs we would get mostly salsa, some hip hop and other Colombian styles local to the Pacific. At the club with Atlantic ACs we would get more Caribbean music e.g. reggae, dancehall, reggaeton plus a ton of salsa.
Both possibilities excited me because I just wanted to be out. I love to dance and I love meeting new people. And then, being Black and part of the African diaspora, I love to meet other diasporic Blacks. So, PT’s proposal had me very excited about the evening to come.
Yesterday Chan and I ventured over to Queen’s job. I think we spent more time in security than with Queen but it’s all good because we were able to meet some of her co-workers and see her workplace. There will be no photos as we are not allowed to take them there.
Afterwards we went to the Museo de Botero. Botero is supposed to be Colombia’s most popular artist. Hmm. Me no like. He paints a lot of round fruit and round, squat people. The structure itself is nice and attached to other museums sponsored by the state and industry. Admission was free. I like gratis (free)! We meandered around and took photos. Then we walked through the streets of La Candelaria, the historic district of Bogota. It, of course, has very old, Spanish colonial-style buildings with lots of colors. An deep gray overcast spanning the mountains above us and the District did not deter us from feeling fancyfree. It was nice to not feel fear for a change. I think the presence of lots of men with guns (la policia) helped too. I mean I figured if someone did something to us they would be promptly shot. Eye for an eye is satisfactory. I guess… .
When we returned to the apartment later, Queen called to make sure we were safe because there had been bus bombs in the part of the city where we were. Damn!
On another note…let’s talk about appearances.
So, most places I have travelled to I have been identified as other (usually American, Somalian, Malian (sp?), etc. etc.). Colombia is no exception. Only in Brasil and Mexico have I been identified as a local. Even when my local language skills fail the people have insisted that I am one of them. sidenote: there are Black Mexicans on the coast in Veracruz. in case you were wondering. lol!
Disclaimer: I have only been in Bogota for 2.5 days or so and I have not been to any other part of the country. So, this is just my observation: (at least in Bogota) there seems to be three distinct groups of people Black, Indian, and “white”. That last one is a little hard to use because what is “white” in South America? But anyway. I have seen very few people who look mixed or mestizo. Like I can count on one hand how many people I have seen that look like they are mixed race. But, hey, cakes bake differently here due to the altitude maybe babies do too.
My point is I know we look different and how we look (besides American) has attracted stares. However, I think because people are generally friendlier here we don’t get stares of looking inferior so to speak. I have only felt this in Switzerland. I think we get stares of curiosity and amazement and attraction from the menfolk. The average height for men and women in Colombia must be 5′3. Women will stare and then smile. Many men will stare and say something illegible. I smile back and speak.
We definately do not receive any notion of familiarity with those I would identify as Afro-Colombians. No ninja-nod. We just don’t exchange that look that Blacks do particularily when we are in places where there are few of us. They speak but the sense is the same as with every Colombians.
While we checked a team of tall, beautiful Black men who did not appear anywhere I was in Bogota showed up at the ticket counter for the neighboring airline. I tried to take a photo as proof of height but Queen chastised me for taking a photo in the airport because it’s illegal. Booooo!