Culture Wars

"What's your favorite thing about Colombian culture?"

Someone asked me this recently, and I was like a deer caught in headlights. My brain worked overtime to try to come up with something, anything, just a little bit of some positive experience that I could grab a hold of and use.

Fortunately, someone mercifully changed the subject, and I was off the hot seat, but the experience stayed with me, and I kept thinking about it

I started to wonder: Do I in fact like nothing about Colombian culture? Though as soon as I posed myself this question, I felt its lack of truth. If I hated being in Colombia so much, why is it that I have no desire to leave?

Then I tried another line of questioning: What is Colombian culture? I had no idea how to answer that. How does one even begin to define a culture from nothing more than their own subjective experience? Considering the uniqueness of each successive experience in a day, how do I begin to organize them into data sets about which generalizations can be made? And is total objectivity even possible? Are we only able to say something is cultural by comparing it to our own?

For example, if I am in the mall, and people seem to be completely and utterly spatially oblivious, do I chalk that up to:a) Colombian culture?
b) a pan-cultural thing wherein everyone automatically forgets how to walk in malls?
c) a characteristic of Colombian culture that also, by chance, is similar to American culture?
d) or is the vividness of my frustration in these instances causing me to remember those more than all the times that someone actually acted like I existed and let me pass by without saying con permiso three times?

I started to really think about this the more I heard people try to discuss Colombian culture. It seemed that often someone would recount a particular instance and then end it with "Yeah, Colombians are really _____." Because I sometimes wish I were a mentat and can't help to automatically think about sets of premises and a conclusion in terms of what little training I have in logic, I realized that:

1) Ca (Ana is a Colombian.)
2) La (Ana arrives late.)
3) Ca>La (If Ana is Colombian, then Ana arrives late.)
∴ ∀x(Cx>Lx) (Therefore all Colombians arrive late.)

is a total fallacy. A "hasty generalization" to be precise, which is a fitting name.

I think part of the problem is that statements about culture tend to be too narrow. "X culture likes this," "X culture doesn't really eat that," and so on. The problem with these sorts of statements is that they don't leave a lot of room for an individual's manifestation of a particular cultural characteristic. It takes a lot more work, time, and compassion, but I think there's a way to rephrase these thoughts in a way that are not only free of judgement but allow them to maintain their truth as each individual in that culture expresses them in a certain way.

The problem with this is that it takes significant time to gather a lot of data and effort to think through it without falling prey to some sort of mental bias. And patience and work are things that humans are often adverse to. We'd much prefer to leave it as something simple and move on to the next thing. But I've come to penetrate Colombian culture, among other things, and this is my strategy.

Yeah, sorry...

It's something I'd recommend even within the United States, with all our different cultures trying to coexist peacefully and, truthfully, not doing to great of a job at it. This is how the capacity for empathy is built, little by little, and this is how I'll be able to one day not be so frustrated by all sorts of little things here. In fact, even just yesterday, I caught myself thinking, as I walked down Calle 5 from the mall to my home, "Maybe this isn't so bad. Maybe I am getting used to this after all."

So what is my favorite thing about Colombian culture? Maybe it's ability, more so than other cultures I've experienced, to challenge me to think about myself, to realize that perhaps I wasn't as open-minded and free-thinking as I used to believe I was, and it's gift of an opportunity to push those bounds a little farther.

Oh, and the food. I mean, an aborrajado with a jugo de mora en leche.... ♥...

Spreading the gospel of Keyboard Cat

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you might have noticed a bit of dissatisfaction with my time here, and if you did notice it, you'd be correct. Things are moving very slowly here, which is just a bit how Colombia rolls, but there were also several interruptions: the department head was abroad for the first week, my advisor got in a car crash the second week, holidays meant the school was closed for a few days, then my step father died in the third week and I had to take a week off to go back to the US. Now there's another interruption: an enrichment week in Bogotá with all the other Fulbright ETAs. This means the main core of my responsibilities here won't have started until a few days shy of two months after I started my job. And considering I like my job, that sucks. That sucks in a very big way.

This is nothing against Fulbright. Most other ETAs are well situated in their programs by now and hopefully are having the blast I expect to be having. But it just so happened to strike at an inopportune time for me. On the other hand, it's an all-expense paid trip for a week in a nice hotel with fun people, so I guess I can't complain too much.

Lately, though, things are getting more interesting around here. This is partly because I've kicked my advisor out of the driver's seat, and now I basically go around organizing my own stuff and then tell him later. For example, this week I stopped by two different organizational meetings for the English teachers here to introduce myself, and by the time I left, I had scored myself a whopping eleven class visits!

Yesterday, I had five in one day. I spent the day running around and left the university at seven o'clock, which makes for a long day when you're up at four in the morning. By the time I got home, I was so tired I couldn't do anything but buy an arepa with cheese, stuff it down my gullet, and fall down face first on the bed and pass out. It was my most rewarding day here yet.

Even better is that I think I made a good impression on most of the teachers and students, which bodes well for getting students to come to the conversation clubs, which was my primary reason for making so many visits this week. I did my best to take another professor's advice and try to teach them about the interaction between culture and language, the kind of things that they won't find in a text book. Since they were in a technology unit, I decided to teach them about texting and internet acronyms because it was one of the more confusing things for me when I first started making friends in Spain. Like how was I supposed to know "x" meant "por"? I mean, I see why now. "Por" is used in the same sense as "times" as in "two times three is six," hence the use of a multiplication sign to stand in for it. But when you first see it for the first time, you just kind of wonder if it's a typo. 

I spent the second part of my time talking about United States internet culture, particularly different words and a few things that hadn't seem to become international phenomenons, such as the words "derpy" and "troll," explaining the internet obsession with cats (such as cat bread, grumpy cat and keyboard cat), and using the "ermahgerd" meme to explain not only explain how speech is often written phonetically on the internet ("2morrow" or "gr8") but what Goosebumps books are and how memes work in general, which ended up leading to this gem.

I was happy that I noticed that I was even teaching the teachers a few things. I noticed some would write things down so that they might incorporate some of this stuff into their future classes. It's great to think that I not only educated some students under the guise of showing them YouTube videos about cats and how to text like a pro but also helped some teachers develop their curricula further. Of course, there were some teachers who were less receptive than others to my presence, and with the ones who I sensed didn't really want me there, I did my best to just talk about conversation clubs, do a little bit of an activity, and then get the hell out of dodge. It is, after all, my way to not stay where I'm not wanted (re: New York). But if this was any indication of how conversation clubs are going to be when they start, I think we're going to have a great time. Things are about to get a whole lot more interesting around here.

The Rubulad of Cali, Colombia

One of the things I've been trying to figure out here in Cali is how to have the kind of nightlife experience that I like, which has changed a lot over there years. I used to be a nightclub person, and over time, I started to prefer bars with a fun atmosphere. I'm not sure if that's because I'm getting older or if New York made me do it because all the nightclubs seemed to be closing down and no good new ones were taking their place. Whatever the mysterious reason, that's the way it is. But when I do want more of a party, in New York, Rubulad (and other parties that wish they were Rubulad) was what I went for.

Rubulad in the Church

If you're not familiar with the magic of Rubulad, allow me to explain. It was a group that moved around locations throwing kind of free-for-all parties with electronic music. My two favorite locations was an abandoned church in Bedstuy and a big public school in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. They sold cheap beer (PBR.... the champagne of hipsters) and liquor, people came in costumes (which they often got a discount for doing), and there would sometimes be art installments. I remember my friend Frank and I sitting entranced in a room of the school location where they were projecting cartoons on the wall while someone played discordant piano music live.

I know. You're gagging on how hipstery and pretentious this is, but I loved it.

So I didn't quite need to find anything similar here in Cali, but well, I did. Alexis, a friend of mine from a neighboring city, came in to visit. We we're supposed to go play Tejo, a game where you through a rock onto another sort of rock and try to get an explosion to occur. It's a traditional game in Colombia. But when we got there, all the fields were busy, so we just drank beer, watched, and decided what to do next. After some aimless wondering around San Antonio and Alexis looking through Facebook, he told me about a party called convulxion, and while I wasn't super excited at first, I didn't have anything else better to suggest, so I thought, "Why not?"

We killed a bit of time in Granada, going to Cool (which was barren at 7:30) and then to Imaginaria, which is always fun to visit for their cocktail list. By the time we finished there, we walked to the bordering neighborhood, which is where convulxion was.

When I got inside, I was pleasantly surprised. It was a giant, two story room. There was pool, which no one seemed to take advantage of, a DJ booth with crazy scenes being projected behind it (lots of 90s and Nintendo nostalgia mixed with utter randomness) and some nice music playing from the first DJ. There was a makeshift bar in the back where they sold Poker (kind of the PBR of Colombia) and shots of whiskey. For a small charge, you could bring in your own bottle of whatever from the outside, which we eventually did. The placed also reaked of pot. Which is fine with me.

The people were almost all alternativos, and the second DJ who played was absolutely amazing. By the time she was well into her set, everyone was moving, somne stoned, some drunk, some both, many half-naked and everyone dripping in sweat. I looked around and realized there I was: In the midst of beautiful anarchy, where no one was normal and no one had expectations of how you should act, a place where being foreign was no more out of the norm than having your whole body tattoed or your face pierced. And I finally got a moment to relax.

convulxion

Colombian Frogger

Here in Colombia my morning goes as follows: I wake up before the sun at 4 o'clock in the morning. I take about an hour to take a flash shower in cold water (because there's no other option), fix my breakfast and pack my lunch. I then stare at the ground for a good fifteen minutes to mentally prepare myself for the day. When ready, I go to French class, which technically starts at six but in actuality starts at 6:10, and then after class, I walk to work.

When I saw I walk to work, you might think I stroll down streets lined with sidewalks. Perhaps a few stores. Maybe a few early morning joggers and people with dogs. You might think I walk through a field as a shortcut. Something like that.

No. In actually it's more something like this.

A game of human Frogger

You see, pedestrians do not have the right of way in Colombia. Ever. Even when there's a stop sign or a red light. Sometimes, if the road's aren't busy, it's not uncommon for someone to decide that they're no longer into waiting for the light to turn green and they just go for it. Because.... ganas. Addionatelly, stop signs are treated more as yield signs, though I'm not really sure what they yield to. Definitely not me. They kind of slow down and roll through it and then speed back up. Meanwhile, despite running stop signs and red lights, Colombians are always late. Always. Bring a book, or you'll regret it.

You see, parts of the road to work lack sidewalks, and when I get to those parts I have to use the bike lanes. Curiously, I don't encounter a lot of bikes in the bike lane, but I do often end up face to face with cars who are trying to use it to cheat past traffic jams. It's pretty alarming to see a car barreling toward you with nowhere right or left to go. It's also pretty frustrating where you're in a lane that's not meant for cars. (PRO TIP: That's what that bike painted on the ground means.) Normally these attempts to cut everyone in the traffic jam line are pretty fruitless. As far as I can tell, what time they gain in passing the cars, they seem to lose when they have to find a way to merge back into the actual traffic, often unexpectedly because there's a pedestrian or a bike or they need to make a turn. I'm not sure what these drivers think.... Like it's this magic lane reserved only for them so they can get to work late before everyone else. I don't know. Maybe next time one has stopped dead in front of me with no where to go because I have no where to go and the traffic was already jammed up to begin with, I'll ask. Or punch the car, which is what I normally fantasize about doing.

This is the stuff dreams are made of.

This isn't something unique to the road to work. This is everywhere. I was walking through a parking lot, and even in the United States, parking lots can be a place where suddenly all bets are off and people drive wherever they want, don't signal, just do whatever. In Colombia, since the road is often like that to begin with, traversing a large parking lot can be upsetting. Once I pulled the stop sign hand out on someone. I had to. Otherwise, I would've just stood there forever waiting for someone to let me walk. (PRO TIP #2: They will never just let you walk.)

Please?

This all reminds me of when I first came to New York and people would stand in the street waiting for the light to change. I thought they were crazy. I remember I wouldn't get close to the sidewalk because I was afraid a car would hit me. Flash forward about a year and I was standing in the street waiting for the light to change like all the rest. Maybe eventually I'll learn to stop caring and just walk right out into that street like I have the right. And maybe I'll stop viewing Colombian drivers as lunatics with latent homicidal tendencies. I sure hope so at least. It'll make the walk a lot more pleasant.

Das poop

So remember when I said cultural adaptation tends to come from the little things that you don't expect rather than big ones that you can foresee? It's the little changes to your daily life that attack your sense of normality and make you really feel out of place. Things you take for granted. Like grilled cheese, ziplock bags, or pooping.

Yeah. You heard me. Pooping.

Allow me to explain.

For the first few days, I lived in blissful ignorance of how to properly poop here in Colombia, and I continued to do what I've always done: Feel nature's beeper buzz, go to the bathroom, [details deleted for a somewhat family friendly audience], grab a wad of toilet paper, clean myself, throw the toilet paper in the toilet (hence it's name), and then flush. This is not how you do it here in Colombia.

During orientation, I was informed that I've been doing it all wrong. And not just wrong like "they're all going to laugh at you," but I could have possibly clogged up some pipes, which is never a pleasant affair. The water pipes here in Colombia are not as wide as back home, and that gives the toilet paper a hard time when it goes through them. As it turns out, this little trashcan that I had never noticed before by all the toilets in every bathroom, public or private, is for that very purpose.

You put the toilet paper in the trash can.
(But I don't recommend drinking them both up.)

When I found this out, I was embarrassed. First because of the cultural and practical faux-pas, but then later when it came to actually doing it, to put my dirty toilet paper in the trash for all to see. I mean, it's like private. It's so private that it normally stays in my body where no one can see until it's ready and then I go in a small room by myself where no one can see it, and then dispose of it as fast as possible. I mean, not even I see too much of it. I also didn't want to broadcast to the world exactly how efficient or inefficient my digestive system was working. Let's suffice it to say that some days it ain't cute.

Will today be the day
it happens to me?

Perhaps related to this, many bathrooms don't have toilet paper in them. Or so I've been told. I haven't experienced this personally, but every time I'm in a new bathroom and don't think of this possibility till mid-act, fear pierces my heart, time stops, and I stick my hand into the dispenser wondering if this'll be the day that my number is up. Fortunately, so far, I've been okay. What I have experienced a lot of bathrooms not having are toilet seats. Yeah, toilet seats. In the US, when a toilet didn't have a seat, it normally was a bar, and I think the idea was that it was only supposed to be used for doing number one, and doing number two was discouraged, but here, I don't think that can be the case because... 1) There's toilet paper and 2) It's literally like every public restroom everywhere. I mean, is it a germ situation? Is it cheaper? Did one guy do it in an attempt to be avant garde and edgy, and everyone followed because toilet seats "weren't cool anymore"? I don't know. I also don't know what the typical Colombian does in lieu of not having a toilet seat. Squat? Perch? I'll spare telling you my personal solution. Maybe I'll start a survey and get back to you.

However, because to be human is to be adaptable, I'm already pretty used to all of this. So much so that when I had to visit the United States for my step-father's funeral, I kept hesitating over the garbage with my tissue before realizing I could put it in toilet and flush it. In fact, I overcame all embarrassment from the toilet paper-in-the-trash thing pretty quickly. Now it's just routine, which I suppose is ideal. I fold it over and then no one's embarrassed, no one has see it, and no one has to deal with a clogged toilet. Y vivimos felices y comimos perdices.