Relative Danger

It's a common refrain when I tell people that I live in Colombia:

"Really? Isn't it really dangerous there? Is it safe?"

And last year, when my husband and I told people we were joining the Foreign Service and were going to be posted anywhere in the world, many people responded with concern. Weren't we afraid for our safety in other countries?!

Isn't it a horrible irony then, to have a triple-homicide (with two more in critical care as I write this) in a cafe just four blocks from our family house in Seattle as we were getting ready to leave for a day of appointments. Followed by the same gunman taking the life of a women 30 minutes later as he stole her car to escape. This scene, coincidentally, was just blocks from my appointments. He later killed himself miles away as the police surrounded him.

These deaths bring the count to 20 murders in Seattle this year, where the yearly average is 26. It's only May.

And they say that Colombia is a danger post...

So, are we really safer inside our own borders?

Back to the familiar

Friday morning I headed out on my first R & R. The Embassy van pulled up in front of the building at 05:20 – ugh – and our doorman Francisco helped me drag my bag to the curb as I was barely dragging my own self. I took the front seat near the driver, and we started to make typical morning chit-chat. I told him I was leaving to visit family back in the States, to which he asked, “Extraña su tierra?”

I opened my mouth to answer, and then paused, started again and paused again. Do I miss my country? I thought that would be easy to answer, but as I gave it more than a moment’s thought, I couldn’t say definitively that I did or did not. In such a diverse nation like the US, we are accustomed to hearing people from all over the world talking about “in my country…” and longing for their familiar culture, music, food or just particular ways of being. So how should I answer that innocent question for the driver this morning?

I think I miss cultural fluency most. Being able to read a situation, whether it’s in the grocery store, at work or on the road, is a luxury that goes unnoticed until it’s gone. Also, having a shared sense of humor or frame of reference means that things don’t have to be explained and aren't so easily misunderstood; it can keep daily interactions with others lighthearted, easy, and comfortable.

I also miss a common understanding of “how things are done,” which sounds like cultural fluency, but here’s what I mean: There are certain things that people just DO or DON’T DO in American culture, and when someone crosses those lines – it’s apparent and they risk suffering the consequences either legally, criminally or through social scorn. For example, you just don’t slap your child in the face in the supermarket. I’m not saying that they do that in Colombia (quite the opposite, actually), but it’s an example. Living in another country one instantly notices these breaches of our own ingrained social norms, and I’ve caught myself thinking (and sometimes saying out loud), “WHAT?! You can’t just drive in the oncoming lanes! I don’t care how slow your lane is – you just don’t drive the wrong way in the other lane!” But here – you do; it’s simple efficiency.  If the lane next to you isn’t currently being used, why not pop across the ole’ double yellow and take advantage of it, right? So what if you’re on a curve on a windy mountain road. So what if it means that you arrive at the head of the traffic jam by passing 40 other cars and now you have to push back into line – it’s every man for themselves! Or, as the Colombians would say, “Que pena!”

“Que pena!” is the perfect example of a breach of a social norm that drives Americans living in Colombia batty. A common catch-all expression, it can mean, “Oh dear, I’m sorry!” in an honest way when someone can’t stop the elevator door in time for you to enter. It can mean, “Well then don’t park there next time and I won’t have to back my car into your headlight!” And, sadly, it also means, “Sucks to be you!” when it is the only apology offered from your upstairs neighbor whose housekeeper just used way too much water to wash the tile floor, causing your ceiling to fall in and your lights to blow out. 

Okay, I've got to say this: there is the utterly maddening habit Bogotanos have of stopping wherever they are for whatever reason, with complete disregard for whatever is behind them. This means a four-person-wide conversation in a narrow, busy hallway in the Embassy, or someone stopping to reach for a particular CD on the floor of their car while on the highway. Or my husband’s favorite – parking the shopping cart in the middle of the aisle (and leaving it there), to search for whatever it is you wanted, despite the fact that there are five people pushing their carts directly behind you.

So THAT’S what I miss about mi tierra. I miss what I’m used to. I miss the following of unspoken rules. I miss knowing how formal or casual to be in any given situation. I miss “common sense” that really is only common to one’s own culture. True, being surrounded with a whole new set of norms is at first interesting, sometimes jaw-dropping (“No! No! No! You simply CAN’T leave a manhole uncovered on a busy road!”), sometimes fun, and often frustrating. In nearly any country I can find American music, TV, movies, clothing, or food – that’s not what I miss. The part that can’t be duplicated to the same degree outside the borders is simply the comfort of one’s own social understanding. Even crossing into Canada, which on the surface seems to offer a barely discernible difference, there is a (subtly) distinct difference. I’m not saying that I only want the same – quite the contrary! But I can’t deny a certain guilty pleasure in enjoying the familiar that is relaxing and rejuvenating.

Perhaps that’s why they call it R&R!

Less Than an Hour Outside of Bogota...

Now that our time in Colombia has a much-sooner-than-expected end date, Tim and I are trying to cram in as many trips to our wish list destinations in our final months as we can. Colombia, the so-called "Land of Contrasts" has so much variety to offer visitors, it's hard to choose where to start. Should it be Leticia, in our little corner of the Amazon? The "Zona Cafetera" and the heart of the coffee-producing country? Perhaps Medellin, a city of parks, colorful birds darting about, a proper Metro system (which we aren't allowed to use) and great museums. Maybe El Cucuy National Park, an easy 11-hour drive from Bogota (sarcasm noted?) which I've heard described as the secret Andean gem of South America. Or there's the tropical island paradises of San Andres and Providencia. 


Unfortunately, each of our wish list spots involves an airplane and an overnight stay. And our movements are restricted by topography and security concerns. The Andes surround us, making driving more than a few hours outside of Bogota difficult at best. In fact, due to the infrastructural-challenges, shall we say, I've been told that it costs less for a cargo shipment to come from China to the west coast of Colombia, than for that very same shipment to get from that port to Bogota. 


Lest we forget that this is still a danger post, as there was a terrorist attack just 10 minutes south of our apartment last week that took the lives of the driver and bodyguard of a former Minister while his armored vehicle was stopped at a red light. The blast left dozens injured in a bus that was stopped alongside the motorcade. It was the first attack of this type in central Bogota for quite a while and was a rude reminder that there is still a very active and dangerous insurgency in the fringe Departments that occasionally spills over into our Big Brick City. 


So... after my lengthy preamble, I will say that we chose to head to the mountains above Bogota, to the area around the lovely town of Guasca. Despite the light rain that set in as we headed up La Calera to the mountain plateau above Bogota, and the steady overcast and 63 degrees that accompanied us throughout the day - it was just perfect. With a free map given to us by a friendly tourist-agency woman at her roadside booth, we decided to head off the paved road to find a nature preserve, a little cafe for lunch and then a historic chapel in the middle of the hills before ending our tour in the town of Guasca. We'd visited there before and were enchanted by the quiet and welcoming feel of the hillside town. 


Let me now give props to our Ford Ranger for carrying us up the rutted, pot-holed, slippery clay Andean dirt roads. And let me apologize to my liver and kidneys... it was quite a rough ride that infrequently let us hit second gear. But traveling at 6 mph let us see just how lovely this country is. 


The nature preserve folks turned out to be busy taking a group through their property, so we only stopped long enough to learn this. Next we headed across the hills to look for the cafe noted on the map. After getting "red barn" directions from a farmer alongside the road, ("He said we should look for the waterfall and then curve right." "Waterfall? I thought he said we'd come to a crossroads and go straight!" "The map doesn't show this road coming to a T-intersection! Now where?" "Are you sure this isn't someone's driveway? I think this looks like a driveway!"), we finally found the entrance to Cafe Huerta.  Created by a so-called "eccentric gringo" from Texas 20+ years ago, the cafe, bar, restaurant and inn was an amazing find! It felt as if we'd just stepped into a 19th century Irish cottage, with low-timbered ceilings, a coal-burning fire, fresh roses at every table and small-paned windows offering views into the central courtyard garden. We knew it was a good sign when we pulled into the driveway to see a chef buying fresh leeks and other vegetables from the back of a farmer's truck. I was figuring that lunch would be a quick soup or sandwich, but instead we had what amounted to an anniversary-or-special-occasion full lunch. It started with a small skillet of warm cornbread and a shared bowl of garden salad with homemade buttermilk dressing. After that I moved to a fillet of beef wrapped in bacon and soaking in a cream and blue cheese sauce (please don't tell my coronary system...). Mmm hmmm... As we left, we noticed the framed excerpt from "333 Places To Visit In Colombia Before You Die." 

Preparing to be stuffed!

Cafe Huerta Grounds

Dining Room - Cafe Huerta

Inside the Capilla

Capilla de Siecha

With full bellies, we headed back to the roads to look for the Capilla de Siecha. We found it standing in a manicured pasture overlooking the valley just below. Seconds after pulling the truck into the adjacent field, the caretaker appeared to greet us and request the $1 admission fee (for both of us). He told us the chapel dated to the 1600s and walked us through the perfectly white-washed interior and upstairs to a little balcony. His sheep were responsible for the tidiness of the pasture, and were still grazing with their lambs on the grounds. Next to the chapel were the ruins of another building of the same vintage. He said (something) about them taking off the roof and letting the place fall to ruin, but I didn't fully understand what he was telling us. And you reach a point where asking someone to explain it again in other words just gets tiring for the poor narrator.

The friendly caretaker and guide

Resident among the ruins

Finally we turned up towards Guasca, encountering a young boy and a very broken bicycle on the road. We offered him a ride home and tossed his bike in the back of the truck. We drove him (Andres) into the town and dropped him off where we figured he'd either get a walloping for accepting a ride from strangers, or nobody would believe him that the gringos with the blue license plates picked him up in their weird American camioneta and drove him home. 

After that it was time to head back to Bogota...

Passing the Spanish Test

I don't mean to lead anyone astray in thinking that I'm going to give you the secrets to passing a language exam... I just wanted to get your attention to say that if anyone is looking for a Spanish tutor to help improve their skills (at whatever level you may be) - I have a good recommendation. For the past few months I have been working with Maria Elena Guzman via Skype in private tutoring sessions in preparation for my FSI phone test. Even now that it's over, I will continue with her to keep from losing any ground. Plus, I know that once I get to FSI - the official in-person test will come a' calling once again.

Anyway, she came recommended from a friend who was an aspiring FSO (and now is working in Bogota with me), and I can say that her patience, yet persistence, really helped me enormously. She is in Antigua, Guatemala (hence the Skype lessons), and has been teaching for 27 years, particularly with FS officers and aspiring FS officers and Peace Corps volunteers. And just anyone who wants to learn Spanish!

If you're interested, here are the details:
Maria Elena Guzman

maestrago at yahoo dot com

Her sessions are extremely reasonable and she has no end of patience.

Heck - she helped ME pass!

Buena suerte!

An EFM Work Solution and Taking Pets Abroad

That's a pretty long title, touching on two weighty issues, but I've been meaning to give an update on my husband's work situation. Plus, I'd like to offer a sobering reminder about bringing pets into the FS life.

First, after applying for nearly a dozen embassy jobs and interviewing for about five  without success ("We really liked you! You gave such a good interview! It's just that the other man/woman already had the same job in Japan/Bolivia/Tajikistan..."), Tim decided to take an intensive one-month course to earn his CELTA certificate to teach English to adults. Fortunately, the course was offered here in Bogota, as the majority of his classmates traveled from all over the world to attend. He also has a professional background in education so we figured that unless we be assigned to Canada, England, New Zealand or Stockholm, he'd be able to find plenty of students. His decision made sense.

He completed the course at the end of February and in a short span of time, signed on with a company that sends English teachers out to businesses for their employees. He now teaches PT for execs at Nestle and walks 15 minutes to work each morning. Plus, through the Community Liaison Office (CLO) and advertising on the Embassy newsletter, he was able to find Embassy-community students who need after-school tutoring or SAT-preparation classes. It means a very broken-up schedule of mornings, lunches and evenings - but it keeps him busy and he is especially enjoying  meeting the Colombians and learning more about life here.  Now that we're headed back to FSI, he'll try to get as much training as is allowed (for EFMs, it's on a space-available basis), especially in language training.

Okay - now the aforementioned sobering reminder:

This past week was one of great highs and lows. First, learning about my A-100 invitation and having passed my Spanish test. But then on Wednesday night we noticed that Dodger, one of the Tabbies, was acting very strangely. He was exceedingly restless, running around the apartment in an abnormal manner, and going to the litter box again and again. It was when I noticed that he was able to produce only a pea-sized drop of blood-tinged urine that I realized we had a serious problem. Of course, it was 10 pm...

First thing in the morning, I called my vet and my boss (in that order) and brought Dodger in to the vet's office at 8:15 am. At 8:30 the vet determines that his blockage isn't too bad, and that with an antibiotic and an anti-inflammatory, plus a day of observation, he should be fine. Seconds after administering the antibiotic/steroid mix via injection, and before my terrified eyes, he goes into anaphylactic shock and begins to vomit and convulse. I thought I was witnessing his.. well, I can't even bring myself to type that word. My vet, recognizing the severity of the situation, scoops his now-limp body up in a blanket and tells me we're taking him immediately to the emergency vet nearby. We jump in my truck, and with her holding Dodger and me trying not to crash in the morning traffic, we drive less than 10 minutes to the emergency vet. En route, she phones the other vets to describe our situation so they'll be prepared to receive him. We pull up, she jumps out and I go try to park. By the time I return, he is in kitty ICU being attended by the emergency vets. Within 90 minutes, I am allowed to see him and he's in a glass incubator-type cage with an IV of steroids and fluids, receiving oxygen in a warmed environment. He looks like my Dodger again. He stayed there all day, and by 5 pm he was stable enough to go home. He is now 90% better, and we're monitoring the urinary blockage problem and his status in general.

So here is why I bring this up:

As a FS pet owner, or I should note - as the mother of a fur family - because that is the depth of feeling I have for our cats, I have to accept that there is a chance that we will be assigned to a place that is not pet-friendly. We could be assigned to an island nation with lengthy quarantines; we could be posted to a country where there is barely health care for humans, much less animals; we could be posted to a country where it will cost thousands of dollars to get each kitty to post via cargo; and we could go to a country suffering civil unrest where we may be evacuated with two hours notice and no-pets-allowed on the evacuation flight.

These are all realities that haunt me regularly.

We were exceedingly fortunate to have been in Bogota when this event happened.
I had a car to drive my ailing cat to his vet. She had all the necessary supplies to treat him. When the situation dramatically changed, there was an EMERGENCY vet only ten minutes away with competent, well-trained staff and people who believe that animals are worthy of saving. If any one of these pieces of the puzzle were missing - I shudder to even think about it.

How do I handle these two realities: the worry for my cats' health and the knowledge that many posts will not offer the necessities I've listed above.

Basically, by putting my fingers in my ears and going "blah-blah-blah... won't happen to us!!" and denying it. I have to admit that. Naturally, our bid list was submitted with the cats in mind first-off. But there's never going to be a guarantee that we won't get our last-pick, as someone has to go to that post, and what if we ALL have beloved pets?

I really don't have a good answer. It is a reality of FS life and all I can do is hope for good luck, have my "Emergency Cat First Aid" book on the shelf and their kitty go-bags ready for evacuation (pillow cases if needed). I wanted to chew on this subject a bit as I'm sure a good number of you out there find yourself in the same position.

Switching over to becoming an FSO means I've signed up for two more "directed assignments" wherein we'll have to throw the dice and see what comes up. We have not only the cats to think about, but also my husband's work and general life-enjoyment to consider. We got very lucky in Bogota. Let's see what happens in July...