ultimos dias en Puerto Colombia

Everything has that rose tinted view when you know you're leaving soon. That is until you are shunted back to reality. A truck driver stopped in the road today and told me that I was everything he had dreamed of and could he carry me away? I said no. One of my pupils wrote to me on facebook chat- and started with the words 'Hey Baby'. I ignored him- you're 14. Took some awesome goodbye photos with some of the classes although one student kept trying to pinch my bum in the photos. Odd. Then he sent me the picture featured. Bless. One of Ledys's many male admirers popped round yesterday, he has taken a shine to me after I went to lunch at his house where he burned everything and I ate it all, claiming it was the most delicious meal I'd had here- he also seems to believe I'm intelligent after I told him the translation for cabra - goat- and could translate 'carpe diem', for once my degree has proven useful. Anyway he was carrying a paper bag and from within it he pulled out a copy of the Karma Sutra in Spanish and asked me what I thought of the translation. The translation?

Semana Santa and what not

Headed away from Puerto Colombia for the penultimate time on our Easter week off- what Colombians gain in random days off they lose in the actual holiday. Surely a week doesn't count?

After a pretty tough teaching week including a renewed barrange of porn quotations- Fiona had accidentally let slip that these were bad phrases which instead of discouraging them only served to make them enunciate more. 2 months of teaching pronounciation and this is what I have created. Although I have mnaged to get them to work more by promising to teach them swear words in our final lesson. Yes I love 15-17 year olds.

So Alex, Fiona and I purged our brownie cravings by heading up to the organic coffee region of Minca which is home to Colombia's best cafe and brownie. Got outrageously bitten by mosquitos in my hammack that first night.

We decided to rest alll our navigational hopes on a hand drawn map pinned to the wall of this cafe and set off on a full day trek to San Lorenzo in the heart of the Sierra Nevada. Walked a long way, hitched a lift in a truck with large sacks of a suspicious looking nature, reached a random bird sancutuary where the lady looked down on us for not wearing appropriate twitcher clothes. Apparently denim shorts and a neon bag cover are not suitable for birdwatching. Found out that Colombia has more species of birds than any other country, in fact a 1/4 of the different types of birds in the world are found in Colombia. No pigeons though.

We reached San Lorenzo, which we envisaged to be a small town with a shop we could buy food and some friendly local who would let us hang the hammacks. No, 2 houses. And not a soul in sight.

We decided to trek further up the mountain thinking that there must be a town somewhere. After all our hand drawn map had depicted a few child like houses. Nothing. We reached the top of the mountain, 3100m up. Still wearing shorts and strappy top and still intent on slinging a hammack up and sleeping in nothing more than my silk liner. Sadly sadly ill prepared. The top was flanked by several telecommunications towers, some for mobile phones and one for the national TV channel Caracol (incidentally the same one Alex and I have starred on twice) We spotted a lone man and in my despair I shouted some random Spanish at him. Turns out he was an engineer living with his family underneath one of these towers and he invited us back. There he had a room in his garage, filled with page 3 newspaper cut outs and posters of naked women over every part of the wall, he bought us some much needed rugs and in return we taught him how to play rummy.

Woke in this Castle in the clouds, read telecommunications tower in the fog, after a blissfully cold nights sleep. The eldest son, who turned out to be a bit of a legend took us to this sacred mountaintop lagoon and told us he liked Blink182. We walked down, meeting a friendly tour group who showed us all the shortcuts. Reduced our journey time down to 5 hours. Plus we bumped into yet more ornithologists who were setting up bird nets to study the birds, and a crazy shop lady who made us try all her fruit wine. We escpaped with half a litre of orange wine in an aguadiente bottle that tasted like a cross between vinegar, orange and cider. Prooved useful when we were sat roadside waiting to hitch a lift.

Another night in Mirimar, crack den, offered more coke, offered more coke again. Ended up ordering a pinapple juice. Headed off to Bahia Concha the next day to meet up with our Colombian friends for what promised to be a 3 day Easter party with bbq's and booze.

Sadly it turned out we had intruded on a couples onlu holiday much to Alex's dismay. 5 Colombian couples, Alex, Fiona and I. But the beach was beautiful, again crystal clear sea and fantastic mountains in the background. It is the only place in the world where mountains meet the sea and it goes from 0m above sea level to 5300m in less than 3km. Fact. Went for an explore round the beach and stumbled upon what looked like a pop music video being made. There was not one ugly or fat person in a 15m area of yaughts and alcohol. It was a party from Bogota- gosh I felt a tad out of place with my diseased leg and brownie belly. swam round the coast. drank whiskey, read Jackie Collins 'Thrill' in my hammack. Sun, sea and sex. Semana Santa.

Went for a run, found a hula hoop washed up on the beach, hula hooped for twenty mintues by the sea, then ran back with it. Saw a man cutting a bath tub in half to make two wheelbarrows to see. Tried a 'dulce' made from potatoes pumped with sugar so it looked and tasted like potatoey syrup. Got asked to play baseball for Barranquilla. Taught the baseball jocks how to tackle in rubgy. drank more guadiente on the street, changed my jeans with a German man so he could get into the club whilst I wore his shorts. Got told that I would catch a fever if I dont wear shoes in the house. Ate a roll filled with cheese and jam, then fried. Battled against the tic invasion in my room. Gave cocodamol to my granny. Danced inappropriately with my students again. Damn reggaeton. Persuaded my students to do a test and then spent 2 hours watching the simpsons in Spanish. Never a dull moment here.

Samba/Rumba/Salsasize and Caopeira

Have just discovered the local gym runs aerobics classes so rocked up expecting standard gym fair. I paid my 40p for the class and to use all the equipment. No induction necessary and mingled amongst the busty and bummy Colombian ladies with my other blonde friend. This great gay man sachayed out and started pumping out the typical colombian beats. They only have about 5 songs here which are played repeatedly in every lugar, from the trendy club in Barranquilla to the radio on the local busetas to it seems our very own 'Gym School Power' rumbasize. The instructor stood with his back to us and his booty took up a mine of its own shaking in circles the rythmn of the music. Hynotising me into a tracelike state. The class feels like you are losing weight by shaking the fat off your bum and thighs. I wish I could move like a Colombian lady/gayman. I have been every night since.

Today went to a Capoeira class, hideously hungover but tempted by the promise of watching a fit Brazilian man all morning. Plus my two lady friends were coming with. I rocked up stinking of aguadiente to discover that I was the oldest by about 12 years in this class. Great. plus my other two friends werent there. Resolved to do something out of my comfort zone every day I rolled with in and proceeded to cartwheel around the patio, walk like a crab on my back and walk on my hands and knees with my bum in the air. Shaking of the embarrasement of being almost the only women, certainly the only one with breasts and the ability to grow leg hair I actually really got into it, handstanding up against the instructor and taking out my headache by kicking the instructor repeatedly in the chest. Then Fiona turned up and we did some more stuff in our typically awkward English way whilst gossiping about the fact that Fi had managed to pull a guy within less than half an hour of meeting him. and that at the kareoke bar, first prize was an actual chicken which one of our group won. An actual live chicken in a club which we all had a turn dancing with to some Salsa befpre we put it in a box to take home. An actual chicken. I love colombia.

Gosh, well what has happened in the last couple of weeks. Muchos. I'm going to try and start hace dos semanas but more than likely it will degenerate into inconguous garble.

Fi, Alex and I decided we needed an escape from the Latiness that is Puerto Colombia and perhaps meet some people from other countries. For many things being the only white person /girl in Puerto does have its advantages- I can now climb for free at the local University, having been filmed for their promotional video as the first white person to climb their wall (incidentally Fiona and I reached the top, whereas the lovely Colombian baseball playing jocks didn't. Girl power) and today in my hideous capoeira class- more later- Fi and I were shot for another promotional video, this time for the local gym, lovingly titled "Gym School Power". Sadly being an English girl in Puerto does have its disadvantages, mainly from the machismo men here who think I will turn aound and flirt if the hiss at me and then tell me I am the most beautiful girl in the continent. A few weeks ago a policeman on a moped cornered me, took off his helmet and then asked if I was an angel fallen from heaven. I just laughed in his face I was so shocked. Now this all sounds very complimentary and nice, but imagine it every single day, from the minute you leave the house to the moment you enter school, where even the doormen tell you they are in love with you. And after that you get to face the porn obsessed 15 year olds who keep asking what "suck my pussy" means in Spanish.

Anyway we escaped to Cartagena, described as the 'architectural gem of the continent' and it is beautiful. Beautiful. Sadly we got there to discover that for elections there is a nationwide ban on drinking for the whole weekend. It's illegal to sell and illegal to buy. We feigned ignorance and cadged some from a local store through the bars and smuggled it to our hosel in brown paper bags. Standard.

Met some lovely Americans and a Swede (ha!) and visited the Volcan de Totumu, which basically looks like a giant ants hill and instead of spewing lava it spews mud, which the Colombians in their infinite wisdom think is great for the skin. It probably was once. You climb to the top of this volcano and slowly lower yourself into this mud which is 2300m deep. The texture is something I could never even have imagined but I will try to describe it. As you lower yourself in you feel this crazy pressure against your body. its too dense to swim in but feels loke slightly whipped double cream, it looked a tiny bit like melted chocolate. I was dreaming this. We thought it'd be a genius idea to skinny dip in this mud as you can force yourself low enough to cover your boobs, although the more boyant ladies had a wee bit of trouble which the locals enjoyed. I proceeded to remove my bikini bottoms as you do and then had horrible thoughts about whether this mud incubated horrible diseases and about whether I could catch an STD from a volcano. I tried to put my bottoms back on. Probably 100 times worse than leaving them on as wehn I exited I had to squeeze about 2 punds worth of mud out from between my bum and shorts. Nice.

Amazing day. Even better wash in the lake afterwards. The next day we all went to Playa Blanca, a beautiful beautiful beach and the first evidence of Colombia actually being on the Carribbean coast. We did all the cliched things, slept in hammocks overnight, drank rum, invented stories about a lesbian hunchback revolution, went skinny dipping in the dark and swished out hands in the water to see the luminescent bugs, got bitten by mosquitos, played the guitar and sang as well as we played (not very) ate fresh fish, ate more rice, discoved there were no toilets on the island, drank pina coladas from coconuts, climbed trees, read, played frisbee in the sea. It was awesome. Awesome. Returned to Puerto ready to face a fresh barrage of compliments.

I've had a weird 2 days. yet again. weird. On the plus side, my mum has taken the hint about fried stuff and I get grilled arepas with salad every morning now, yay! And today I had a race with a moped on my morning run and won. Get in! But today I woke up with a cockroach on my face. ah well rough with the smooth and all that. Yesterday we went to celebrate women's day at a show put on by the twins- kind of like a festival ceebrating women, but just a lot lot weirder. As we walked in all the women were given red roses (bleugh) and sweeties and then a pamphet about practising safe sex and preaching about abortion (its still illegal here). I think I may send that to you just so you can see how crazy it it, and then we got given a flyer saying how great women were and how men couldn't live without us. That was fine. Then came the music, now I have no idea what they were thinking when they formed the line up we started off with a traditional sirenato band complete in giant hats with studded trousers and trumpets, this was followed by an evangelical priest lady who, after having breast cancer and surviving, told us all about her new sex life with her husband now she has no boobs, then went on to say that her new job is singing motivational songs in cancer wards and whilst people are having chemotherapy (I did cry here..) and we were treated to her singing her pseudo evangelical cancer parodies on pop music- including one by Britney. Then the twins came on dressed as ganster rappers and sang their reggeton tunes complete with UV lights and smoke machines. A very very entertaining 3 hours worth, and all the women got snacks and drinks half way through! sweet as.

In other news Carneval was absoultely fantastic. I went out lots with the teachers who are convinced I am England's version of Shakira and that I dance better than a Colombian. I think it was the free bar that gave them this impression! The old men here have taken it upon themselves to protect my honour with Harry and now won't let any man under the age of 50 dance with me. Which makes everything a bit dull, if a lot safer!! But no its great I'm trying to find someone to give me free Salsa classes in exchange for English classes. So fingers crossed!