Learning Spanish

So I lied about the not speaking Spanish part a little, I took three years in high school, but it was so long ago I'd forgotten what ‘ser’ and ‘estar’ mean (they mean ‘to be’, basically the most common verb used in any language).  Plus, at the time, I paid more attention to the wall than my teacher, so not too sure much actually sunk in.  I figured now that I’m much more mature and have the strong motivation to learn, it'll be much much easier… however I neglected to consider the obvious fact, learning Spanish was terrible in high school, and it’s just as terrible now!

It’s not that it actually sucks, or that it’s really that hard (for my purpose at least), it’s more that there are beaches and bars and more expeditions that I could be undertaking, but instead I’m playing games a 4 year old native Spanish nina would destroy me at.  It’s like college, when you have a Friday final, but all your friends were done on Tuesday, so everyone you know is celebrating like crazy, but you're still trying to understand verb conjugation. 

But it is slowly helping, I’ve only had 2 lessons and Casa Holanda, but I’m picking up more words and phrases each day, and slowing beginning to understand what others are saying.

Yesterday, when I was reviewing for my lesson, this giant lizard crawled up the tree next to me.  Pretty awesome!!

A great ocean hike

I went on a really nice hike today, past Playa Grande another 45 minutes or so to some more secluded beaches.  It was a really nice trek, with some gorgeous views:

Playa Grande

View from the cliffs above

Found this HUGE grasshopper on the trail

Made it to that far peak in the distance

I rocked the trail solo and had lots of time to ponder the world, here were a few of things that came to mind...

Today I passed a blond girl who said ‘gracias’ to one of the locals, in an accent that rivaled that of Brad Pitt in Inglorious Bastards.  It’s also exactly how I say it, I instantly thought the blond girl and I should be best friends.

I can’t speak Spanish, barely a word, but I really hope I don’t do this to foreign people that don’t speak English back home:

• Colombian guy – ‘ sdfkjasdf;kl.’ Might as well be Chinese, I have no idea
• Kevin – ‘lo siento, yo no hablo espanol,’ rough translation, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t speak Spanish’
• Colombian guy – ’;dfj;fj;lskfjl;ksfhasfjkhajhasklfjhsfhsfhjsaklfhjslfjkhashjasdfhflksdjfhasklfj.’
• Kevin – blank stare

Why when I say 'I don’t speak Spanish,' it is code for blast this guy with a ton of Spanish, sorry man, I wasn’t lying, maybe try smaller words, or hand gestures.  Usually I just have a walk away while they're talking.

Made a quick friends with a Colombian drug dealer after a group shot of Aguardiente, which tastes a lot like Ouzo, or black liquorish.  I said, ’I like that!’ and before I knew it we high fived like 10 times and he was trying to sell me cocaine and weed. 

I got berated a bit about American politics.  I thought that might be over with Bush out of the picture, but people still don’t love the US.  It was about the Swiss banks and the US tax officials… those of you that know me best, know that I have no clue what they were talking about, even though it was in English.

I learned that this pink and white flower when made into a tea is a powerful hallucinogen, now if I could only find that recipe....

I can’t decide which is stranger - that I’m in Colombia, or that it doesn’t feel weird to be in Colombia…

First weekend in Taganga

Playa Grande

I ventured to the beach for reals over the weekend, to read and relax.  It’s a really cool secluded beach (Playa Grande) that requires a 15 minute hike over the hills to get to.  But it’s totally worth it, really nice water, not too cold (but certainly not warm), super sunny, and warm soft sand.

Today was a little sad though, as my first real friends (like we’re facebook friends, so you know it’s legit) left this morning, so also I had my first real goodbye.  They were a cool group of Australians and New Zealanders (except many had also lived in London, Ireland, the state, so their accents were all over the place), 7 in total, most were friends on a big trip.

It should be good though, they were big drinkers, and I had trouble saying no to them.  Like last night I was trying to write a little more about the trip, and Jules (the guy who I knew the best) walks into my room with two cold beers and says, ‘yeah man, I hate to see you like this, you gotta come drink with us.’  It was only still early evening, but they’d been at it since 3, though it was their last night.  So we drained a few beers and hit up the town.  We ended up dancing with a bunch of locals behind a bar, outside down by the beach.  The locals are all crazy good dancers.  Probably the highlight was when we were all dancing barefoot, this scorpion came crawling by, no more than 2 feet from my foot.  I was glad I was a little drunk, or I would have freaked out.

In the end them leaving will be good, as I’m starting my Spanish lessons this week and the less I want to go out drinking, the better...

My home away from home - Taganga

Small fishing town of Taganga

Taganga is by far the smallest place I’ve seen this trip, it’s a little beach town about a 10 minute bus ride from Santa Marta.  It’s great though, they have a really good Spanish school with private tutors, it’s very near my launch point for a 5-day excursion through the jungle, and the beach here is much more chill than the bigger cities.  It’s poifect!

I found my home almost instantly, right off the main road at Hostal Pelikan.  Right off the bat, I lounged in one of the many hammocks and met my first friends of the trip, a large group of Australian travelers who were doing a world tour, along with a New Zealand woman who been cycling around the world.  She has a pretty cool website, www.indianajune.com.

We all quickly ventured to the beach for a swim, and spent the evening drinking Aguila and exploring the town filled with hundreds of stray dogs and beachfront bars.

Hostel in Santa Marta

The hostel in Santa Marta was my favorite of my short trip thus far, and I think I’ll be tough to beat.  Two floors with rooftop access, with the whole center cut out and open to the outside world.  It was basically a three story square donut.  The first floor had a very nice Mexican restaurant, whose chicken burrito with enchilada sauce was the first meal of the trip I had trouble finishing.  The walls were lined with dorm room doors encompassing a big swimming pool in the middle, with sign reading ‘beyond this point, clothing optional.’  The second floor had a massive bar, pool table, and yet more rooms.  Finally the rooftop terrace offered patio furniture, hammocks, and a cool evening breeze.

The night before I arrived it was Australia Day, which is basically the day that anyone living in Australia, is Australian, or has ever seen Australia on a map gets insanely drunk and celebrates.  The residents of this hostel were up until 5am, declined the option of clothing in the pool, so on this night things were much more on the mellow side.

I relaxed in hammocks on the roof, sipping on a cold Club Colombian, looking on the city from above, and talking to a few Australians and a German girl about their travels around South America.  

The next day I’ll be home for the while…

I almost died, like 700 times – trip to Santa Marta

You’ve probably heard that driving anywhere south of the boarder is dangerous.  Well apparently the further south you go, the worse it gets…  Every bus on the road is beat to shit (I know, I really shouldn’t talk), and after my first bus ride it’s easy to understand why.  I think an accident happens on the roads of Colombia every 10 seconds, with a horn being honked nearly constantly.

I used one of those private bus company deals, takes you door-to-door and is only slightly more expensive than a traditional bus.  I read and slept while we picked up the other travelers, and got out of the city for our 4 hour bus ride up the Caribbean coast.  I awoke from my peaceful slumber with the driver cursing in Spanish (obviously I’m assuming his words here), straddling the double yellow line (creating what I can only assume in his mind is a third lane) on this busy two land highway, with cars and buses speeding past in both directions.  I reached for a seat belt, found nothing but air, and tried to reassure myself that this guy's a pro; he’s just at the office right now.  I was also reassured (I guess reassured is the right word) by his arrogance, that although he had a seat belt, he chose not to use it, only pretending to put in one when we encountered the Colombian police.  I read it as ‘yeah, I can handle a bus…’ 

But just as advertised, I was safely dropped at the front door of La Brisa Loca, my home for the night.

The morning in Cartagena

Cartagena, the city I flew into and spent the first night, is a beautiful place.  It’s just over a million people, with some super clean beaches, right on the Caribbean…  well, at least that’s what I read, because after exploring the town for part of the morning, I blew town for something smaller.

I’d done a bit of research, and found what I believe to be one of the best Spanish schools in the area: private tutors, reasonable price, and in a quaint little beach town.  I was headed there immediately!

During my morning, I hit up Cartagena’s old town, which is filled with a huge stone wall, an even bigger fortress, Castillo San Felipe De Barajas, that you can go inside and see the dungeons (for a moment I got lost down there and it was terrifying!) and the cannons on top.  I also walked by a clock tower and lots of cathedrals.  But my time here was short lived, and I had to move on….

Dungeons in Castillo San Felipe De Barajes

Fortress in Cartagena