Adam and Alexis Do Nirvana

Last week I had an adventure in nature with my favorite partner in crime, Alexis, here in Colombia. You might remember from a previous entry about one of the best parties in Cali, which, as luck would have it, is having a repeat this Halloween weekend. We went to a nature reserve called, fittingly, Nirvana.

Alexis lives in Palmira, which is a city right outside of Cali. I'd never been to Palmira. It's not mentioned in my guidebook, so I didn't have high expectations, but like I've mentioned before, it's not always in big cities that you'll find adventure. And I think that's especially true for Colombia. Nature here is, in all its mega-biodiversity (that's an industry term), amazing.

All the nature!!!

On the way, I read a little bit of Cien años de soledad (A Hundred Years of Solitude). This is literally the fifth or sixth time I have started this book over. Something has always interrupted me and stopped me from ever continuing again: School assignments, moving apartments, ambulance sirens, shiny objects, food. But I'm determined to finish it this time. All 450-ish pages. It's a gesture to the Colombian gods to show them that I'm making an effort in hopes that they'll bless me with more vegetarian food options or less crowded rides on the MIO buses or drivers who give the right-of-way to pedestrians.

Once in Palmira, I met up with Alexis, and we went into a small corner shop for some food. I tried to order a papa aborrajada, and it went something like this:

"Buenas tardes."
"Buenas tardes, me gustaría una aborrajada."

"¿Qué?"

"Una aborrajada."

"¿Qué?"

That's when I turn to Alexis with helplessness in my eyes, and he orders for me. She tells us to hold on a minute.

"Why doesn't she understand me?"
"I don't know."

But yeah, I do know. It's because I'm foreign, and I don't speak Colombian Spanish... Or maybe she was just a fucking idiot. 

I guess that was a little mean. If I say "just saying" at the end, does it sound less mean?.. That woman was a fucking idiot.... just saying...

Okay. Maybe with a smiley?... That woman was a fucking idiot... just saying... J

Good enough.

"¿Usted es de aquí?"

"No."

"¿De dónde es?"

Should I tell her the truth? Should I tell her I was from Jupiter? Should I pretend I like I don't understand?

"Es un secreto." 

And then I smiled diabolically as I locked eyes with her and took my potato.

It turned out to be a good potato, so she was safe... for now...

After that, we took a gypsy cab to somewhere outside of Palmira and began a long, uphill walk to the nature reserve. It took us around two hours in the midday sun, but it was worth it because... BUTTERFLY GARDEN!

They were everywhere! All sorts! All sizes! Even chrysalises! It was wonderful, but as I was marveling over the butterflies, especially this big blue one that was intent on playing with us for a while, something was chilling me to the bone: the call of some apparently large bird. Birds are psychotic creatures and are not to be trusted under any circumstances. Take it from me. I learned the hard way.

Eventually, I worked up the courage to face my fears. I had to. The butterflies were watching, and I'd never live it down. It turned out there were caged parrots near by, and we even exchanged a few words together. And though they seemed friendly and I almost believed they might have even been well-intentioned, benevolent birds, I knew that deep down, under those rainbow feathers, lied a heart of darkness filled with an ancient evil that dates back millions of years. How else do you think all the dinosaurs went extinct? Some say meteors, but I know what really happened. Murdered. By pecking. I've seen the truth in their beady, emotionless eyes. The eyes of a killer.

Need I say more?

After that, we hiked through all sorts of stuff. Hobbit-like, earthy underpasses, narrow paths on the sides of mountains, and a little native hut that someone built and put cardboard cut outs of indigenous people inside looking upset with their lot in life. And who can blame them really? I mean, I'd probably be pretty depressed if my people were massacred too. I got upset for a week when a rain storm destroyed some potted plants I had put outside for some sun once. That's about the same thing in my book.

And after about five hours of hiking, we had climbed high into the mountains, and the view was amazing, and for a moment, the woman who made me feel ridiculous, the failed attempts at reading Cien años, the suicidal drivers, the rude people pushing me on the MIO, the wickedness of all avian-kind didn't matter. There was just this great expanse of green and blue, clouds and dirt, animals and plants. Life. Without the bullshit.