The Pensieve

We did it!  We arrived in Michigan a couple of days ago and our cats made it with us.  For all the worrying and paperwork, it was disappointingly easy to get into the United States. But leaving Colombia was a different story…

We left Bucaramanga after having stocked up on Hormigas and goat milk.  The bus ride to Bogota was relatively uneventful, but definitely longer than the eight hours we were quoted. Once more the kittens had a wonderful showing and arrived with intense pent up energy which was unleashed on the antique furniture in our hotel.  Without a doubt the best hotel we have stayed in in Bogota and the cheapest as well.  We were relieved as this represented about halfway done with our travels, the rest was going to be by airplane. While in Bogota we hard a pleasant meal in the section of town that could have some out of a Little Italy here in the States.  We also ran around to collect some trinkets and coffee for the peeps back home.

The next day’s travel was fraught with stress and threats of animal sacrifice.  We arrived at the airport quite early and we became happy that we did so, because after waiting on line for some time we were informed that although we had most of our required paperwork, including vaccinations and a letter from the vet stipulating the health of the cats, we needed the Colombia government to validate the cats.  If we failed to do so our cats would be “sacrificed” by the Americans when we arrived in Miami.  Colette politely laughed at what she assumed was the young man’s attempt at humor, but when she found out he was serious we began to flip out as we didn’t have the time to go across town in search of some bureaucratic loser to get a useless piece of paper.  Luckily before we reached the screaming/security calling level, the man informed us that the office was right across the street.  So Colette took off running with all of our paperwork and Blair stayed behind with the kitten.  About 20 minutes later Colette reappeared out of breath and sans official paper.  After waiting in line and showing an annoying guy all our paperwork, he asked “So where are the cats?”.  And Colette was forced to run back for the felines.  At this point it started raining and the cats were none to pleased to go running across the airport. When she arrived at the office once more with the cats, the dude man had decided that now would be a good time to take his lunch, and Colette was forced to wait once more for him to finish and come out to look at the cats. When he was ready, he came out and not once did he examine the cats or even take them out of their cage, simply pointed to another window and said “you can pay over there”. Colette was, through a miracle, able to restrain herself from ripping his face off and feeding it to the kittens.

Upon returning to the check in window Blair was greeted by his mate dripping wet and steaming with anger.  The rest of the process was relatively easy, even with Camila making a break for freedom and fellow passengers having to catch her– someone also scratched Colette hard across the chin (a cat not a passenger). In short the day was long and hard.  luckily in Colombia you can drink beer all the way up to your gate.  We arrived in Miami, again a little late, and we walked about 1-2 miles from our gate to customs.  It was an amazing waste of indoor space and air conditioning, and we couldn’t help but think that it was an attempt by homeland security to “shock and awe” people arriving on our sacred soil.  It really was a sad welcome back to the wastefulness of American culture.  We have so many virtues to put forth why show the worst.  It is like showing up for a date and saying “I have a violent temper and own too many handguns, plus I just lost my job and have haven’t cleaned my house in 6 years. Would you mind picking up the tab?”

Eventually we did make it to customs and they saw our cats, but also didn’t remove them from the cage.  They glanced briefly at our rabies vaccination and waved us through, we didn’t even have our bags searched.  We were prepared with the all-important “sacrificial paper” but the customs agents just looked at it blankly and asked “what is this?”. When we explained that is was from the Colombian Government they sneered and said “Colombia, who cares about Colombia? This is the U.S.A.” What was weird is to be so suddenly surrounded by English once more, a bit of a shock to the system.

We had made arrangements with Blair’s cousin Kelly to stay with her roommates because she was out of town, but after the day that we had we decided it was best to just get a hotel room and never leave it.  We would like to thank those people that we didn’t stay with and Blair’s aunt Colleen for your work.  We ate at Denny’s twice in a twelve hour period, and loved the hamburgers and onion rings. A hamburger was something that we have been craving hard for the past month.

The next day was an absolute breeze and flying with the kittens was so easy there really isn’t anything to report.  We arrived safely in Detroit and were greeted by Blair’s Mom and Aunt Diane.  Who had created a basement apartment for us that we and the cats love.

The mountains are treating us WELL.  For starters, the hotel we are staying in is an old colonial mansion with our own little porch and an inner courtyard where the best restaurant in town sits.  The staff are also incredibly nice and attentive, and we have remembered the mountain hospitality and graciousness which is easy to forget on the coast, where people are too hot to want to chat or help or even look at you.  Did I mention the best restaurant in town is where we have breakfast in the mornings? 

Speaking of restaurants, we have been trying all kinds of wonderful things, and have decided that Santander (the department or state we are in right now) is the culinary capital of Colombian cuisine.  For starters, they’ve got killer tamales, especially the ones for breakfast at our hotel.  Next, mute, which is pretty much the best tripe either of us have ever put in our mouths - it comes super tender, probably stewed for hours with carrots, green beans, peppers, tomatoes, onions, garbanzo beans, and perhaps other secret ingredients.  This tasty treat is only made on Sundays and festivals, so we won’t get another chance, but we licked the bowl clean the first time.  Also, Santander has their own twist on the Colombia arepa, a staple in any Colombian meal anywhere.  A typical arepa is a cornmeal cake, usually probably made with lard and then baked, fried, or grilled.  In our experience, these arepas, which come to the table like bread does in the States, are bland affairs.  But here in Girón, they are made from a more yellow corn (as opposed to white) and they are well-seasoned and buttery affairs.  The cats, consequently snuck in to Colette’s purse after she took some home from dinner one night in napkins, and we found the wreckage in our bedsheets and the kittens licking their chops.  A side note on arepas: the kind on the coast are a bit different than elsewhere in the country, they are more fluffy and thick, like the consistency of mashed potatoes and they are always stuffed with lots of butter and cheese… Taryn can attest to their value on late nights of Rum and Maracuya.

Alas, we have also discovered the world of Fritanga… basically killer mixed grill, as it seems the people of the mountains all make their own great sausage and know how to cook their pork, chicken, and goat.  Yes, goat seems to be the regions main specialty and we have sampled it a few times now, as it is the most tender and tasty goat we have tried.  Goats seem to do good things here in general.  This morning, Blair discovered Girón’s hangover cure extraordinaire - warm goat’s milk, as in milked in front of you, mixed with honey and brandy and some vitamin/protein powder.  We’ll probably play some Tejo (see below) and therefore do some drinking tonight and see if it really works tomorrow… but it was tasty either way. 

Now, despite what you may think, we don’t simply wander the streets looking for food… we have actually managed to make it to Piedecuesta this week, another little town in the area that is supposedly known for its cigars.  We made an overwhelmingly talkative and nice lady in the artesan’s alley, an old Catholic church that is now used to house the town’s artesan booths, as a new church was built right next door.  She was one of the owners of a local cigar factory, and she had innumerable suggestions for us as to what to go do and see in Santander.  Unfortunately the cigar factory was closed to visitors that day, but she did have some killer cigars… so any aficionados will get a puro at the wedding. 

We also visited the Jardín Botánico in Floridablanca, another little town in the area.  It was small but lovely, and we saw two turtles meandering about in the jungle.  Pretty great.  We also saw this strange looking red squirrels that were tiny with huge tails and we imagined pitting the kittens against the squirrels. 

Today we are exploring Bucaramanga proper, the main city center in the area, and we are at this insanely modern mall where there are about seven to ten video game rooms with televisions set up specifically for all of the teenage boys in Colombia to sit and play Xbox until their eyes melt out of their heads.  Everything else here is empty, but every single one of these rooms is packed full with kids waiting.   Inspiring.  We hit up some air hockey and were mocked by 12 year old boys because we (meaning Colette) sucked pretty hard.  (Vengeance will be mine…)  A sign outside the mall advertises for Mother’s Month, it’s not just a day here: ‘She gave you her blood… and you are going to give her just whatever little thing?’  Respect, yo.

Monday was some kind of holiday or feriado as they say.  We think this means a day off for everyone but that it is not a religious holiday, which they seem to call a festival.  We cashed in on this fun day by checking out the local tejo courts.  Now, we have been dying to play this game since we first found out about it last fall.  Basically, the game consists of two sqaures of mud in wooden boxes tilted up a bit against a backboard.  In the center of the mud is a metal ring.  In this ring, you place a triangular packet (looks like a paper football) filled with gunpowder.  Then, you order two tejo and two beer, as you can’t play on the courts unless you are drinking (a dangerous rule).  The tejo seem to be these metallic pogs, thick sort of discs of metal.  You toss these at the mud.  If your tejo sticks in the mud, you get one point, if it hits the gunpowder, you get three points, and if you succeed in crushing the gunpowder against the metal hoop, causing it to explode and flame up, you get six points.  We were greeted by a few tejo players as we stood outside peering in like school boys.  They invited us in cordially and bought us a round of beers.  Soon, we were flying metallic discs through the air and realizing just how talented our tejo teachers really were.  We couldn’t even hit the mud at first… but that first explosion caused by one’s own hand is damn exciting.  Tejo is everything we hoped and more.  We have a date with the court later this afternoon. 

On a final note, out hotel seems to be owned by two lovely ladies who make homemade desserts, all custards or casserole type grandma concoctions of goodness.  We have a least one or two of these a day, depending.  Our favorites are the Muss de Limón, and the Muss de Café.  We are, as of yet, still to afraid to try El Borracho, as it contains high amounts of aguardiente, a strong and volatile liquer that is more prevalent than rum in the country.  The only way we have enjoyed this spirit was again, here in Girón at La Casona, the nicest restaurant (but not the best) in town.  They make a cocktail of the house which is kind of like a drinkable vanilla pudding mixed with lots of aguardiente and garnished with cinnamon.  Delicioso!  And that night we ended up on our balcony smoking tabaquitos (mini cigars) until late into the night.  Potent. 

Okay, so maybe we do just wander the streets looking for food… 

We did it!  We did it, we left Taganga and the coast.  Naturally, after we posted about our imminent departure, we haggled a bit more about whether or not we should stay and do our Rescue Diver course.  Finally, though, when we arrived home to find Penelope, the more insane of our two kittens, stuck in the highest branches of the tallest tree in the courtyard, we decided it was time to leave FOR SURE.  Blair, had to climb the tree, full of huge spines, and grab her, no small feat for one as wily as she, and then drop her to a sheet waiting below.  She grazed the sheet in the fall but, as cats are wont to do, she landed on all fours and was wrestling with her sister in T minus two seconds.  Ridiculous.  Meanwhile, the hero Blair had to extricate himself from the tree.  He was thanked only by Camila, later that night, after he puked (as he was hit with a case of the dragon):  Camila came to lick him armpit (with Blair crying out in the night in a spasm of hilarity, ‘She’s licking my ARMPIT!  It tickles!  It tickles!)  and then proceed to pass our with her nose in said armpit and snuggle.  She is one sick kitty. 

A sight of beauty as we left Santa Marta: there was heavy, but breif rains in the hills surrounding the town and the water flowed quickly down the city streets.  Upon a corner, one could look down all the streets and see brown frothy water flowing about 4 inches deep.  The reason is slightly less beautiful as they lack a sewer system and the streets are the sewers.

But with that adventure behind us, we arose the next morning bright and early for our eleven hour bus ride to Bucaramanga, capital of Santander, City of Beauty, City of Parks, a popular spot for national conventions, and hopefully not as freaking hot as Taganga has gotten.

The bus driver tried to make us pack the cats down below, but with the proper motivation from Blair, we were allowed to board the bus with our kittens.  They didn’t complain much and only got really restless towards the end of the eleven hours.  We took them out at our lunch stop and they endeared themselves to the entire bus by trying to escape and being chased by half the passengers.  The bus driver asked (as many people here do) if they were of ‘raza’ or of a breed… no, they are raggamuffins.  He asked for one as a gift, as he says he needs a cat, but how could we make Sophie’s choice like that… though Blair may have thought about Penelope after the tree incident. 
Alas, we made it to the hotel and snuck the cats past the desk into an air conditioned room.  They spazzed so hard we thought they might knock themselves out running in to walls.  They were so so so good on the bus though.  Didn’t pee or poo, didn’t cry, were just chill.  So they deserved to drive us crazy for a bit, and now they are passed out on the bed like queens.  First leg DONE! 

The mountains are gorgeous and we have secured a quaint colonial hotel in a small village called Giron for the week.  They accept cats, just a long as we don’t let them on the bed… ah hem.  We are happy to have strawberry juice and HOT mountain coffee again.  But alas, no kitchen.  Though there are three ice cream shops within walking distance and a sweet bakery down the road… We think we’ll manage.

It has finally happened: we are leaving Taganga!  It was decided over beers last night that we will be departing this coastal town for the mountians tomorrow morning.  It should be pointed out that we have made this decision pretty much every week for the past 4 weeks, so it should be taken with a grain of salt.  But if we do leave then we will be travelling to Bucaramanga, and from there to some small mountian towns, and finally finish things up in Bogota.

The past two weeks here in Taganga have been ridiculously hot and filled with mosquitoes and loud music.  We have finally reached our limits of such treatment and have called for an end to it.  The days have been too hot to go to the beach, too hot to do anything but lie in a hammock and feel sorry for our unemployed and transient selves.  The only reprieve we have found is to go diving and this we have done well.  We have just recieved our Nitrox Certification, which means that we can now dive with oxygen blended air.

Normally Scuba divers breathe normal air compressed into cylinders, but a few years ago they started adding extra oxygen to change how long you can stay at certain depths.  What limits how long one can stay at a depth can be one of two things: lack of air and too much nitrogen.  Obviously only so much air can fit into a cylinder, but the other part, nitrogen, is a little more complicated. When at depth your body absorbs and uses oxygen, it also absorbs nitrogen, but can’t use it. If you break the surface with too much nitrogen in your system you run the risk of getting “the bends” or Decompression Sickness. The farther down you go the more nitrogen you have in your sytem. There are methods used be professionals (like welders and such) to dive really deep for long periods of time, but for recreational divers the only real answer is Nitrox.  Obviously if you have more oxygen (up to 40% as opposed to the normal 21%) you have less nitrogen and you can stay at deeper depths for longer periods of time. We now have the ability to use those blends when we dive, oh boy.

We are finding out just how difficult it is to travel with animals as everybody wants us to use their services, but nobody wants our cats. The bus tells us that we will have to put the kittens in the unbelievably hot cargo hold that has no air, but we have “un amarrillo” that says differently.

In an unprecendented burst of energy, we actually did something last week. We did a few somethings. First, we went diving again, this time on fun dives, our first ones not being in a course, and it’s true, we had way more fun being able to just look around and see what there was to see.

Next, we managed to head to the town called Aracataca, about three hours from Taganga. This is the birthplace of the Colombian author Gabriel Garcia Marquéz, and many claim it is the town he used as the basis for most of his writing, calling it Macondo. Supposedly, one can see his grandparents house, the one he uses as Aureliano’s house in his masterpiece One Hundred Years of Solitude. Hmmmmmm… well, we did technically see the house, though it is in complete ruins, as it went through a fire some time ago. It is being reconstructed according to descriptions of it in the novel, and the gentleman who is in charge of the wood foundation was kind enough to explain to us the project and then walk us to the museum. He was a super chill guy, down from Bogotá for three months to work on this project. He had spent time in the States and spoke great English, and he was full of the charm and extreme graciousness that first made us fall in love with Colombian people. He, of course, is from the mountains. This, we have learned, is a key difference, in terms of culture, accent, and niceness. He spoke of how much he hates the coast, having been warned by his wife, ‘When you go to the coast, you go to a different place…’ He longed to get back to Bogotá to take a proper shower as he put it. Also, he had little to no interest in Marquéz, he had just won the bidding for the project. We thought there was some kind of poetry in that. In the states, a project like that would have probably been a donation and people would be clamoring to do it, with all the Marquéz historians willing to work on it for free. Anyway, he walked us to the museum, a very rundown one room place with photos and newspaper articles on tables. Oh, we forgot to mention, apparently, the entirety of Colombia was in a blackout the day we travelled, even Bogotá, so the museum had no lights or airconditioning. This is equivilent in size (if not greater) than the U.S. Blackout (notice the caps?), but did you hear of it? Alas, we looked at some pictures of Marquéz with Graham Greene and Fidel Castro, learned that he was the oldest of 11 children, and wished our friend goodluck as we headed out. We wondered if we shouldn’t have just taken the bus to the ridiculously modern Ocean Mall and had a pizza instead. But as we left town, we noticed a sculpture of a large book, open to a page, and on that page we read from One Hundred Years of Solitude about Aureliano’s obsession for the beautiful Remedios (thanks Taryn for the copy of the book, it was cool to read it here in the land it is about) and sitting on the book was the second Remedios, nude, depicted in Colette’s favorite scene of the book, ‘trembling with love amid the scorpions and yellow butterflies.’ That made it all worth it.

And finally, we went to Venezuela. We thought we’d celebrate May Day with our socialist brothers and sisters, and as we walked the streets of Maracaibo, we were happy to know that the citizens of Venezuela would be benefiting from the seizure of all foreign oil fields that was taking place on May Day… we were especially happy as we passed the Hooters, McDonalds, Burger King, and Subway in search of a place to dine (good times foreign interests) and as we thought of the long trip through some of the poorest neighborhoods we have ever seen to get here, to the country’s largest oil producing city, claiming over 70% of Venezuela’s oil - Go Chávez, really, keep on keepin’ on for the peeps. But maybe I should start from the beginning…

We planned this trip to Venezuela because, yet again, our visas in Colombia were about to run out, and we thought it would be a more pleasant way of extending them than of visiting the D.A.S. office again and dealing with our not so favorite D.A.S. agent Gonzales. So we got up at dawn, planning to arrive in Venezuela by midday and do some sightseeing. Yeah. Well. After a ‘three’ hour bus ride to the border, that actually took about five, and then an unairconditioned three hour (supposedly 1 hour) ride in an old, extremely beat up boat car with countless police stops in Venezuela, we were a bit to tired for sight seeing. You see, once you leave Colombia, there is a police stop pretty much once a kilometer. Each stop has a sign that states that the National Guard is a free service and that no citizen is required to give any member of the National Guard money. Meanwhile, one of the six people crammed in to the car did not have his passport, so at each stop, he passed up 10 bolivarianos to the driver, who in turn would say to the policeman, ‘Tenemos un amarillo…´(We have a yellow one) as he palmed him the cash. The guard would then check our passports cursorily and pass us on. This happened at least six or seven times. In between stops, the driver would go hurtling down the road, one in very poor condition with lots of potholes, and of course would try to pass big trucks around blind corners and basically drive like a maniac until the next stop. At one point, off in the mirage of the desert distance, we saw some figures walking out in to the road. As we got closer (without slowing down much of course) we saw that they were two tiny young boys, just out from school, acting as crossing guards, carrying two huge rusted metal signs that said ‘Pare’ (Stop). Imagine a kid walking out into the middle of a high speed highway to try and stop the traffic. His poor face was so sweet. Our driver did stop, suddenly and then revved his engine impatiently as the kids crossed the dusty highway on their way past sickly looking chickens and gaunt cows, goats, and donkeys. We did see a few goat roadkills nearby. Intense. This border crossing takes place on the Guajira Peninsula. We have gathered that this area is somewhat akin to the Reservations for Native Americans in the States. The poverty was really some of the worst we have seen, or maybe it seemed more stark as the peninsula is a brown, dry, hot desert. Either way, it was a haunting ride.

Once in Maracaibo, FINALLY, we went straigt to eat and then to bed. We did catch little of Chavéz giving his big May Day Socialist Viva speak. Good times. Maracaibo itself seems pretty and modern in the center, drifting out to slums. The ride back the next day was, and we could not believe it could be, WORSE. When we arrived at the bus station where the border crossing cars leave from, as no official buses do this crossing except from one at 4 in the morning, we had to wait for almost two hours until the car filled up enough to leave. Incredibly, this car was in worse condition than the last, and as we sat in the front seat, we got the added heat of the overheating engine blasting up at us all three hours. Our driver this time took it easy, as his car couldn’t seem to go much faster than the donkey carts next to us. He was super old himself, and managed to stop for coffee, a fruit salad, a newspaper, gas, and then oil (all separate stops mind you) before we even left town. Add to this the police stops and the stop as we left Venezuela where they charge an exit tax (which one woman refused to pay, turning back and losing her fare completely), and our ride took over three sweltering hours. Why did we think this was a better idea than paying Gonzalez again?

I guess the question is why is Chavez siezing oil fields and donating massive sums of money to foreign countries when his own needs so much work (of course the same could be asked of the U.S.)? Why are Mcdonalds and Hooters allowed to operate with impunity?  We saw more more ads for Coca Cola in Venezula than in Colombia.  So sad.
On the Colombian side, at least the bus had a/c, but the police stops were as frequent, as Maicao, the Colombian border city is notorious for importing contraband goods from Venezuela. By the time we finally did get back to Taganga, it was sunset, so we just plopped down and had our customary sunset beers at the beach. We felt so happy ‘coming home’ and we realized what a life we have been setting up here. We chat with our internet man now, and his sister is going to give Colette a tutoring session on how to make the cool indigenous bags from here, we request movies from our movie man, including a Colombian standup comic whose jokes we actually get… he makes fun of the coastal accent sometimes. We have our kittens and our kitchen and our neighbor the fisherman who gets us good seafood. And as we are realizing this, our time is drawing to a close. So we are back ‘home’ for now and taking it easy after an arduous week of travel. Phew.

Okay, one would think that being in a non-english speaking country would limit our ability to see movies. The truth is much more serendipedous than that. Due do the explosion of bootlegging and ease of DVD production we are able to buy DVDs for about 2 dollars of movies that have recently been released, and we aren’t talking back of the theater with a camcorder, but actual studio copies (Spiderman 3 is avialable on the streets already). If they have been out for a while we can get the full DVD with all the special features. While these are of course available in the States, mainly through special websites, the ease and acceptence that they exist here is amazing. Legitimate businesses are selling these.

The man that we frequent is from Medellin, which apart from drug cartels, also makes the highest quality DVDs we have found. When we enter his store, he greets us warmly and gestures over to an oven which he opens and pulls out a stack of DVDs cases. We go through the cases (they also have movie covers with plot discriptions on the back) and translate them into English. We can also buy movies that we normally wouldn’t because they are cheaper than going to the theater. Two of these examples: Marie Antionette and Ghost Rider, both movies it prides us to say, that due to the wonder that is bootlegging we have not paid a dime to. These are two movies that you feel bad for the obvious waste of money and time that it took to create them. I thought that Ghost Rider was the greatest waste of time I have experienced in the movie watching game until I saw Marie Antionette. Marie Antionette shows what Sophia Coppola is like when she can’t get her father to hire Bill Murray. It is a movie of exquisete beauty that you don’t care about at all. You wonder what Sophia Copola said to get the money for it, what did she say she was going to produce? Because nothing was produced. It is like watching fractals. Actually that is not true, fractals at least have some unlying complexity, this movie was disturbingly bad. I feel shock to my very core.

The Departed (Los Infiltrados) is on the other hand one of the greatest movies we have seen in quite some time, this we know is not a new release but still it is wonderful. The Pan’s Labrynth (Labrynto del Fauno) is also wonderful see it.

Other movies:

Babel: Oscars are so cheap these days. If you cut out the Brad Pitt and Blanchett scenes the movie becomes good. I wish she would have died immediately to save us some horrible acting. See it if only for the beautiful scene at the mexican wedding.
Bomb the System: Don’t touch it lest it infect you with its badness.

Hannibal: Bought still haven’t watched it.

El buen Pastor (the Good Shepard): Blair liked it a lot, but Colette felt that it dragged.

Sonar no cuesta nada (to dream doesn’t cost anything): A colombian film that wasn´t bad. It is about a true story of soldiers finding millions of dollars that Farc had stashed and deciding to keep it as opposed to turn it in. Trouble ensues.

Ciencia de suenos (the science of sleep): Gael Garcia Bernal (the hottie) gets all modernist in this french film. Good, but hard to follow at times. The manager of our hostel has taken this from us and watches it daily.

La Pequena Miss Sunshine (obvious): Who hasn’t seen this yet?

The Contract: Horrifyingly Bad.

Los Tres Cientos (300): Blair liked and Colette hasn´t seen it yet. If you liked Sin City or graphic violence in general you will like it. Blair would like point out that is it estimated that there were more Arcadians that Spartans at Thermopolae, something the movie leaves out.

Many more to follow

We have sadly neglected the cooking section of our website, for this we hang our heads in shame. But fear not we have remedied this. Check it out! We have access to a wonderful (if continually dirty) kitchen and we have been making most of our own food as one can only eat so many plantains and rice.

We especially would like to direct you to the recipes for Octopus and Pork Loin. Octopus is really fun to cook with and we highly recommend it use to everyone, don’t be scared. The equivilant amount of octopus we use in our salad would run more than fifty dollars in a restaurant in NYC. We spent five. Pork loin is just good eats and grilling it is very simple, we mainly wanted to point out the existence of Maracuya (passion fruit). If you can find this fresh it is so good. We have it as juice daily.

Check the other ones out as well you might just learn something.

As our lives have drifted back into leisure and the eating of much seafood after the madness of scuba, we stop here to tell you a tale from one of our first nights in Taganga. First though, a plug… Colette’s work is published again! You may have checked it out before on Hoboeye, a online arts journal. Check it out again, alone with some other writers, musicians, and visual artists, as she is one of the contributing poets for the April issue. Visit www.hoboeye.com. And now, Tales from Taganga. Some identities have been changed to protect the frightened.

We were new to Taganga and new to the house. We had eaten a delicious fish dinner on the beach and had a few beers with friends at sunset. As we strolled leisurely through the town, the lights suddenly cut out. As in, ALL of the lights in the entire town. The blaring speakers that are eternally present and deafeningly loud no matter the day nor the hour were silent. Oh joy. The stars we suddenly piercing in the desert sky. We know now, but didn’t then that this was a somewhat common occurrence. So then, we were a bit anxious, as we didn’t know our way back up the hill nor did we know our neighbors. So we picked our way home in the darkness and lay in the hammocks waiting. Though it was early, the lights were out, so there was nothing to do but go to bed. And that we did.

As we lay trying to sleep, the sounds of an extremely agitated man/men grew louder and louder next door. Apparently, our neighbors had pissed someone off and that someone had gotten drunk and arrived at their door to have it out. Yells, banging, curses. Then rocks and shattering glass. Some friends who were staying with us at the hostal as that time were getting a bit freaked out, as were we, so we convened in our room, sitting still and silent in the darkness, listening. The sounds grew louder, as it seemed more people had joined in on what sounded like a full on riot. Then, gunshots. We kid you not. Now don’t worry, we tell you all this now, as we have learned that Taganga is a normally very peaceful and chill town, albeit never quiet due to the eardrum shattering music. So fret not, but fret we did that night. We suddenly felt the strangeness of our surroundings, the ignorance in our Spanish, the lack of telephones, the lack of numbers like 911, the lack of electricity, hmmmm. Our hosts, whispered to us tensely not to go anywhere, as they had guns. Don’t worry guys, we’re not. But one of them did. He leapt the wall out back and ran down to the police station in town. Now, imaginations can run quite wild, and I think a few in our number let their’s go… paramilitary invasion, drug bust, all the glamorous and yet not at all so now that they were happening visions of life in Colombia. Soon, it sounded as though the entire town was out in force trying to calm it all down. Naturally, no police showed up until well after the people had done their job. Things did quiet, and it was only an occasionaly drunken yell or a falling piece of glass that we heard after that, but it took a bit for us to calm down ourselves. And then, as if timed, the lights came back on, the fan whirred to life and we stared at each other in tense disbelief and relief. Some rum went down quite smoothly to ease us down and we drifted to our separate rooms to sleep.

Next morning, Jake, the foul-mouthed Brit who had been living at the house for three months at that point had quite a lot to say about what had happened the night before. He mocked anyone that had been afraid, and explained to Blair that the townspeople were angry at the inhabitants of the house, squatters of sorts who were artisans not from around there that were known as serious drug users. The peeps were supposedly pissed at these lawless dirty hippies for sullying their quiet streets with smack and cheap jewelry.

Fast forward some months, and we learn, that yes, our neighbors like drugs, even having been known to swallow live scorpions for the high, but that they weren’t squatters so much as the son of the man who owned the house and his friends. Furthermore, they had thrown rocks at a woman’s head, not any woman though, but the one who had stolen their motobomba, or water pump. Theiving of the motobomba is a big deal, as water is pretty much the main concern of most people in Taganga. Alas, the rock throwing was a bigger deal, and it was rumored that a group of people had gotten together to cut the power so that they could attack the house under the cover of darkness. Our hosts DO love to tell tales, so we are not sure about that last part, but we do think the dispute centered around the motobomba and revenge.

All that being said, we have no plans to get anywhere near anyone’s motobomba.

The kittens are well. We may end up sneaking them across the border with us.

The Underwater Adventure continues as we have now also recieved our PADI Advanced Diver certificates.  What is a PADI Advanced Diver you ask?  Well you wouldn`t be the first.  Let`s start at the beginning: PADI.  PADI stands for (we think) Professional Association of Dive Instructors.  It is the biggest organization in the world for dive instruction and probably the most respected and recognized.  It was originally created in the United States, but now exists the world over in many different langauges.  That being said it is a bit of a scam.  When it comes down to it PADI itself doesn`t really do anything besides for produce the book that is required to be bought and authorize the instructor to issue us certificates.  It is supposed to be a regulatory body to prevent abuse of student and increase safety, this it does on a pretty limited level.  For instance one can achieve the level of Open Water Diver in about 3-4 days and our level of Advanced Diver in about 3 more days.  The next step is Rescue Diver in about 4 days and beyond a big step is taken, that is Dive Master in about a month.  After this you have Assistant Intructor and then Instructor, this time varies, but usually not more than a month.  So in reality you can go from never having worn a mask in your life to teaching othes in about three months.  On the whole this should not inspire confidence, when you consider the fact you are generally between 10-30 meters (30-100 feet) under the ocean.  That being said what is comes down to is how good your instructor is and nothing really about PADI.  PADI is said to stand for PUT ANOTHER DOLLAR IN, and looking at our bank account after our adventure I have to agree.

The next word is Advanced.  The first certification Open Water, allows one to dive up to about 18 meters (60 feet) unsupervised, which is nice but a lot of cool stuff lies a little deeper.  The next level is Advanced which allows you to go to 30 meters (100 feet).  Cool things start to happen at about 24 meters, namely Nitrogen Narcosis.  The cause of NN is still unknown but it`s effect is pretty much a state of slight intoxication characterized by euphoria, slowed relexes, poor judgement, anxiety, and even panic.  What fun!  Sadly we were not incredibly affected by it more a sense of woolyheadedness.  Even so it was interesting to witness.  Also cool things happen to colors, red and orange pretty much cease to exist instead appearing as brown.  Finally the pressure at 30 meters (anyone aynone?) is four times as strong as the pressure at the surface, meaning volume like air is four times as small, meaning your are running through your air supply very fast and it is harder to breath.  On a cool note there are a lot of ship wrecks at about this depth. 

We did six specialty dives called adventure dives to get our certification.  The two that are required are a Deep dive, 30 meters, and a Navigation dive, swimming around with a compass attached to your wrist and trying to find your way home.  The Nav dive went poorly for us but we managed to pass, we blame the compass.  We also got to choose four other dives of our choice.  We chose Night, Wreck, Drift, and Peak Performance Bouyancy. 

The Bouyancy was kinda cool as we got to adjust our weight and worked on raising and lowering ourselves in the water using only our breath, very Jedi like.  We practiced hovering in the Buddha position, Mission Impossible spread eagle, and upside down.  We also worked on swimming through hoops, something Blair`s size made extremely difficult. We also took off our fins and practised Matrix style fighting although I don`t think that was part of the course.

In the Drift dive, one is literally supposed to do nothing and let the current drag you around.  Doing nothing being our speciality this struck us as a good idea.  Sadly the current was rather slow on our dive so we didn´t really experience this.  We did get to see an amazing selection of plant and animal life, Angel fish, Lobsters, Trumpet fish, Trunk fish, Drum fish, and many more.  The diveristy was amazing almost like swimming with all the fish at the largest pet store you have ever been to, but far superior.

The Night dive was intresting, but not as cool as we intiatally though it would be.  The cool parts included seeing amazingly large lobsters and really chilled out fish.  There was also Phosphorescent plankton that would glow when you moved your arms rapidly.  On the whole though it was like diving with very poor visibility.  I would suggest it only if you were in search of a special creature that only came out at night like and eel or octopus.

Finally, the Wreck was everything that we wanted and more.  The wreck dive is truly the dive that hooked us.  About 25 years ago the Colombian Government sunk a ship to create reef material.  This being Colombia there is rumor of drugs being smuggled on the boat.  It is amazing at how quickly the sea has claimed the ship for its own and how many creatures have taken up residence.  The visibilty is quite poor so when approaching the ship you see nothing and then BAM! ship.  The ship was not incredibly large but it was about 40 meters long, and it was really cool to imagine it above the waves.  By Scubaing a wreck you get a chance to see a ship in a way that you never would have imagined possible.  The closest is to think of being able to fly and hover over a ship examining every nook and cranny from both above and below.  We plan on hitting up some wrecks in the Great Lakes when we go back for the summer.  Any volunteers? 

P.S. Blair would like to rescind his remark about being the first certified Oesterle Scuba diver.  His cousin Matt beat him to it…the bastard.

Well, we finally sacked up and did what we came to Taganga for: Scuba diving.  Yep, that’s right, after over a month of being here, we managed to get off our butts to the dive shop and signed up for our first course, Open Water Diving.

Well, we were pretty sure we were going to like diving, but now we are DEFINITELY sure.  So sure that even before we have taken our final exam, we have alreay signed up for the advanced course.  Also, the dive shop we went with, Poseidon, offers two free fun dives if we score 100% on our final exam - needless to say, we are studying hard tonight.

What can we really say about scuba diving?  For starters, if you have been snorkeling, you have gotten a taste of the fun, but really and trully, scuba diving is a different beast.  Part of the fun is just completely taking yourself out of your element.  Your natural instinicts must be sublimated and you learn to rely on training so as not to panic.  You also learn to become neutrally buoyant, so then you can control your hovering over the bottom with only your breath - a completely different way of learning how to move your body in space.  Also, a little meditative, as you must concentrate a lot on the type and frequency of the breaths you take.  It seems a skill that is easy to understand but very tough to master.  You do all kinds of drills, like dropping your regulator (the mouthpiece that gives you the breaths of life down below) and recovering it, taking off your mask and replacing it and then clearing it of water, compass navigation underwater and on the surface, and a few others, and then you get to explore the reefs of the Colombian Caribbean.

Our dive instructor, Holly, is very chill and has a pretty sweet set-up in life right now… She is from the bay area (yo yo ALEXA) and she lives right on the beach with her boyfriend, dives pretty much everyday, and can go to some of the most exotic places in the world and get paid to be there.  She has been really great and we are taking our advanced course with her as well.

Today, we dove to 18 meters and saw ten calimari, which we have only every eaten and had no idea they were so beautiful in their live form, completely different than the yummy grilled version.  Yesterday we saw a HUGE eel chilling.  We saw brain coral the size of a large tree, elk coral, French angel fish, schools of sardines, and much more.  The cool part is, you can just go down and chill with the creatures and watch them feed or partner hunt or whatever.  Yesterday, we saw a sea horse and he was much bigger than we expected.  Okay, we will stop, but suffice it to say we have got the BUG!  Good times.  Furthermore, Colette would like to gloat that she is the first certified scuba diving Pittner and recommends that everyone else get in gear… Tony, Jano, Francisco, FORGET SURFING!  You can still use your wet suits…  As a further note, Blair is the first Oesterle to be certified.  And, we plan to explore the wrecks in the Great Lakes this summer, so do it soon people!
On another note, the wedding is fast approaching, and we have finalized the hotel situation, so please familiarize yourself with that part of our site if you are planning on joining the Pittner-Oesterle group rate at the Fairfield Inn.

And one final note, our kittens are getting frighteningly independent and silly.  Their interactions with the puppy that the couple next door has are hysterical.  We will upload those pictures soon.  We are working on developing kittens masks and snorkels so we can make them face a shark soon.