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

Adapting to a new country is a bitch

Every time you go to a new country, there's always a pesky period of adaptation you have to go through, and Colombia is no different. This period of adaptation is generally characterized by everything going wrong. I mean, EVERYTHING. A secondary characteristic, which may just be a symptom of the first, is that you feel completely out of place and you notice (whether it's actually there or not) a strange look in everyone's eye. You feel like an alien. And not the cute, gray kind, but the kind that like has five eyes, three mouths, some other identified appendage, and no manners whatsoever. The kind of alien where you don't even know where to look at when you're conversing. Some full blown H.P. Lovecraft, Azathoth shit.

It's great for self-esteem, let me tell you.

In order to show you how a day can go from normal to disaster without even trying, allow me to recount to you my last Wednesday, in which I tried to obtain my Colombian ID. It's called a cédula de extranjería, and when you have a long term visa, you're required to apply for one by your fifteenth day in the country or face the consequences which can be anywhere from a fine to deportation. This little nugget becomes important later.

I had intended to wake up at six a.m. just to be safe, but as we all make horrible decisions when we haven't gotten enough sleep, I decided to sleep in until nine. I got up, got dressed, had a short breakfast to try to make up some time, and I was out the door and onto Colombia's main public transportation system, the MIO.

I had never gone to the Migración office before, and I was in a bit of a rush, so I jumped on a bus I was pretty sure would take me there. To make sure, I decided to ask the girl sitting next to me what bus we were on: "¿Cuál es el número de este autobús?" Her response: "No hablo inglés."

Rude.

"No te hablo en inglés. Te estoy hablando en español. ¿Cuál es el número de este autobús?"

"E21."

"....Gracias."

You know, shit like that really pisses me off. Same as when you ask someone to repeat themselves once, and they either start speaking to you in English or they pass you off to their English-speaking co-worker. Like, really? We're in a bar. There's music blaring, and my asking you to repeat yourself has nothing to do with how you might need to speak up but everything to do with that I can't speak a language I've studied for well over a decade. Okay then...

Anyway, it was clear early on it was going to be that kind of day.

I got off two stops early to stop at the bank. I enter what I think is the right bank to pay for my cédula, and I'm told I actually need to go to the sister branch, two blocks down. So I do. As I walk up to the door, in some twist of tragicomedic kismet, I watch them shut the door and turn the lock as they look me right in the eye.

I basically freaked out, which looked something like this.

Click here to see
why Ingress is pretty awesome.

It turns out banks close here from 11:30 to 2:00. Yeah, you read that right. Two and a half hours. It was then that I started to worry about not getting to Migración in time. And that day was the deadline for my cédula. But I tried to keep cool. I played Ingress.

In the course of my wanderings, I discovered a supplement store, and as it was about one thirty at this point, I decided to go in, buy some better tasting whey than they were selling at my local supermarket, and then be on my way to the bank. Not so simple. It turns out they keep all the products in some other location and only keep display cases out. So when I finally decided on some overpriced whey, the guy left to go get it from this mystery storage center. I'm not sure what time he came back because at 2:45, I said I absolutely had to go, and I did.

When I got to the bank, I passed through the line twice because I didn't realize I needed to fill out a form. When I paid, I dashed down the street toward Migración. But when I got there, it was nowhere to be found. After asking about three different people, I found it hidden behind a series of other buildings. I also found it closed. The next day was a holiday. My deadline would be passed. I sat down and cried on the sidewalk. It had been a horrible day.

Epilogue
When I finally went back on Friday, they said I'd have to pay a fine. We went through the process of fingerprinting, registering everything, and they told me the website I can check to see when it's ready. They never asked for the money.