A Martian in El Jardin

The noise in this Colombian town was pulverizing during the holidays so I thought I’d invest in a pair of earplugs. I made my way through the disassociated throngs near the plaza and entered a pharmacy, the counter manned by several overworked women. My Spanish isn’t too bad, I thought, and asked if they sold tampones de los oidos.

“Tampones?” the first women asked. “Tampones for who?”

“For me I said as if it wasn’t clear enough. Tampones por mis oidos. (Tampones for my ears).

The other started laughing.

“You mean tapones, not tampones,” she said holding up both.

“Oh, no” I flinched. “I was wanting tapones,” I said looking around to see who was eavesdropping on the conversation.

I bought the tapones and mad a quick exit thankful that I knew the proper name for toilet paper.

Everyone says hello back

The majority of the residents here have never been out of Colombia and to many the concept of global geography is limited to the bright green world of coffee farms and the wondrous mountains of the Cafetera.

That said it is not surprising that a foreigner gets a few stares on the street. The antidote: A boisterous Buenos Dias! or colloquial Que mas? That changes playing field. The response is a friendly, though surprised, greeting, usually sincere.

It is clear that somehow they think 1.) gringos can’t speak Castillano  2.) visitors are here because it’ a cheap place to live 3.) foreign males spend 24 hours a day looking for women. Misconceptions as the arepa (corn tortilla concotion) turns.

Often, when they are more relaxed they will ask “De donde” (Where are you from). My answer to a robotic exchange is “Hollywood.” with no trace of a smile. Then I accessorize my claim by adding No es claro? (Isn’t it clear?). Then, depending on the person I confess my fib, and give them the real poop. Most give me a gentle slap on the arm and laugh.

Almost always, after I meet someone they remember my name (easy since there are few gringos living here) and a warm relationship begins. Just try eating at the same restaurant three days in a row. All of a sudden you are treated almost like family.

El Calle de Borachos (Drunk Street)

Sunday is a good day to stay home. That’s the coffee workers’ day off and many spend it slamming beers and aguardiente in the raucous parade of bars wedged on 9th Street or on the plaza. If you were a fly on the wall you’d need tiny, little tapones (see above). If the booze won’t kill you the loud music will.

Although the drunks are peaceful enough they are often over-friendly and a pain in the ass, especially if I am in the company of a woman. Is this a demented flirtation? Maybe these men are the official poster children for the recruitment of nuns. After observing their common ritual many women might just prefer the cloistered life. If a find myself in that inebriated barrio I just whisper a prayer to Saint Pancreas, the patron of fried food, and keep moving.

Trash Days Take the Cake

On Tuesday and Saturday the trash truck blows its horns at about 6 am. That’s the day to put out your organics. Friday is regular trash pickup while Wednesday is recycles day. I don’t know what the local hygienic engineers do on the other days. Maybe they hang out on Drunk Street but more than likely they tend their gardens, drive tourists around in moto-ratones (tuks-tuks or more precisely motor mice) or work their small coffee farms tumbling down the side of the mountains. Lazy bastards.

I simply take notes on the meticulous agenda so as not to be keeping trash on my balcony well after its time.

It’s all well done with an additional corps of street cleaners keeping the town very clean. They also get a hand from the regular afternoon rain that washes away the remnants of the Paso Finos, the horses with the natural four-beat gait that proudly grace the lanes of the village.

The rubbish and refuse are then taken to the landfill and buried. It is not, as many up north believe, magically transformed into cocaine to be sold in Miami. That is our problem, not theirs, in this cowboy-as-Colorado community of 1700 souls. The trash service is provided free of charge unlike some Latin American towns where residents, often of limited means, are forced to choose between paying for trash pickup and buying a six-pack of cold beer.

– Dolores Alegria

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