La Guajira

Just when I thought I couldn't be more blown away by my own country, it surprised me again. If there's such a thing as the perfect place, I believe that paradise exists in the northern coast of Colombia.

La Guajira is absolutely magical. I felt it the minute I got to el Cabo de la Vela, a small town in the region where the sun doesn't stop shining until the stars make their way to cover the entirety of the sky at night. One after the other, shooting stars take over the coal-colored sphere. At nights, when you look towards the horizon, the curvature of the Earth is so visible, it feels like you're literally at the end of the world. Not quite falling off, but far enough from the rest of humanity to feel completely at peace.

Instead of sand, the beach is a gold color desert where the arid and dry lands seem so inhospitable that it's truly mind blowing how people live there. But, the natives-- most of them part of the wayuu tribe-- have created a life that fits into the hostile environment, rather than molding the land to fit their needs. The wayuu culture is very different from anything else in the country and they have fought to preserve their unique traditions. This respect and love for the land is proof that they have been successful in their attempt to conserve their lifestyle.

In the Cabo de La Vela, the wind hugs you the entire day, preventing the sun from becoming unbearably hot. At night, when you're resting in hammocks 20 meters away from the sea, it's the sound of the wind that puts you to sleep.

The days I spent in La Guajira, I forgot about time. In this place, where not much happens during the day, time works vertically. There's no after or before, no late nor early. Today is the same thing as tomorrow, as yesterday is the same thing as next week. No one rushes to do anything because the concept of lateness does not really exist. You are forced to live in the very present. Undoubtedly a change from my every day life.

A great change, that is.

Heartbreak

So you’ve heard I was infatuated and in love. Well, not so much anymore. There I was thinking love could last forever, when really only a month later I was back to feeling loveless. Eternal love was a mere holiday affair that quickly turned into a cold break up. So now I’m heartbroken. In a typical post-breakup state, I have been listening to music that reminds me of the times spent with my ex love. And, if it weren’t for the fact I am still suffering from severe repercussions of an intoxication produced by a garlic seasoned lobster two weeks ago, I would too, be eating my feelings away.

Translation: I’m homesick. I’m homesick like a six-year-old child who gets sent off to a camp in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin where she is the only person who does not speak English.

After spending two weeks in La Guajira, in the northern coast of Colombia-- the most beautiful place I have ever been to (if you don’t believe me wait for pictures that will come in the following blog post)--I arrived to NY last Tuesday night. From 15 days in a bikini and a pair of shorts (quiet literally. The same pair of shorts was worn every day) I had to step back into the freezing cold to wear my one winter jacket that makes me look like I am part of a baseball team. No, it’s not my senior jacket. But close enough and I hate it equally the same. On the bright side, it was the first time I walked into JFK and I was not stared at for the being the whitest (palest) person to step of a plane coming from Colombia.

But now the tan is gone. And how does NY receive me? The driver from the Super Shuttle van yells at me for eating a granola bar in the car. It wasn’t even the crunchy kind. It was a cereal bar, which leaves no crumbs so I don’t understand what the whole fuss was about.

To top off my homesickness, in comes my jealousy. Right about now my entire family is happily reunited in the beautiful sunny weather of my cousin’s summerhouse to celebrate my grandmother’s birthday. So my family excludes me. Great. Being Robi a smart man, he neglected to tell me this event was going to happen until my last day in Bogota. Nice move Robs. I would have, no questions asked, changed my ticket for this coming week.

Knowing about this party that I was excluded from I decided to get a little wild last night. However, I stepped out into the big apple nightlife just to be more disappointed than I was before. Explain to me, if you can, why is it that some clubs believe that it’s a good idea to cut songs half way through the lyrics? Just when I’m starting to feel the song, feeling the groove and getting my dance moves on, bam! The song switches to something else. Last night, 2 a.m. Sexy Bitch comes on. Trashy choice? Perhaps. But it was one of my road trip songs, so let me be sensitive for a minute. I step into the dance floor and by the look in my face everyone knew that clearly this song has touched a soft note. (God sometimes I’m even surprised by my music choices).

But then the DJ decides it’s appropriate to mix up the song, which ends up sounding like: “Se se seeee sexy bbb bb bitch sexy you sexy sexy bi bi bitch”. And when you thought it couldn’t get worse, the DJ throws you a surprise--an extra mix with One More Time which ends up with me trying to sing something that sounds somewhat like: “Se se sexy time. Uhuu One more Bitch. Sexy Bi Bi Bitch. One More Sexy Bitch Time.” Horrendous.

But then at 4 a.m. I am hungry and only in Manhattan can I find food (real food: vegetable soup and a chicken sandwich) at this hour. Then I walk into my building, which is slightly slanted to the right side and may or may not fall soon. Then into my apartment which is freezing cold because the heat doesn’t really work and weirdly enough I somehow remember why NY is in fact so charming.

Note to self: raise standards of a charming life.

Infatuation

Clearly the updating from home has been harder than I thought. Sorry… It´s been hectic, to say the least. But you know how I feel about the holidays and the Christmas nostalgia is starting to kick in so I guess it´s time to write.

Since Christmas is all about getting together with family and friends I deem it appropriate that we talk about love. So I´m completely infatuated--the type of love that´s kind of sickening. The one people ask you “what´s gotten into you?!” and you just kind of smile with a glee in your eyes and respond, “well, I´m in love.” That sounds so gay. But it´s true. So, who is this mystery person? No man. No woman either. I´m completely straight if you must know (and so is Lady Gaga in case you were wondering).

My love is no other than this god forsaken place I call home.

Were you expecting something more exciting? Well keep reading and you´ll understand why this place makes lovin so easy. (Yes, lovin).

You all know that I think “Colombia is the BEST place in the world.” (Quote me on that one). This is when people start rolling their eyes… yeah yeah Colombia is cool, whatever. No. It´s awesome. And why you haven´t been here is beyond me.

But more so than the country, which is already pretty fabulous, it´s its people. I don´t want to write a tear jerker here or anything like that, but it´s impossible to explain why this place is so amazing without talking about the people. Colombians are great.

First of all, we don´t need sleep (this has been proven these past six days with a total of around 20 hours of sleep). Not sleeping is pretty fabulous because there´s no chance of boredom when one´s up and about every minute of the day. Also, when you don´t sleep you start getting a little crazy. (I know this to be true since MJ decided to take it upon herself to experiment with this theory and pulled two all-nighters in a row. She was somewhat delusional, constantly saying some Asian guy named Yuki was following her). So everyone here is somewhat off. In a good way though. Trust me, it´s good for you to go crazy once in a while. New friendships tend to develop when one´s not completely sane. Or lucid.

So, Colombians. We like to party. That sounds terribly superficial. But, truth be told I´ve created the biggest connections with people at parties. There´s no inhibitions at parties and you discover another side to people during these situations. Well, that, plus the good music, the dressing up and the going crazy (in a different sense) is always fun. And when it comes to partying, Colombians are pretty good at it. But that and sanity, or lack off, is just one part of this love.

My infatuation with this place has to do primarily with the closeness between the people--between my friends and me. There´s just too much trust between all of us. Take my best guy friends for example whom I have known since 5th grade. They saw us go through the duck tits era. (Duck tits: direct Spanish translation. Picture boobs in the shape of ducks). Yes. We all went through that stage and they saw it. Any closer and you guys would be growing duck tits yourself.

Ladies, we suffered together through the duck tits era, so connection is stronger than anything. Isn´t it?

They know too much about me… could potentially be used against me. I can think of that one time when you all saw me pee my pants out of laughter (perhaps I´ll tell this story on a later post).

Oh, beautiful confidence.

For those who are not in Bogota right now… I miss you. For those who are in Bogota… let me sleep.

Merry Christmas fools!

Quick Departure

Friends, avid readers, avid friends, readers who think they´re friends, friends who think they know how to read and you….

I just wanted to let you know that the next post you read will probably be written from Bogota City! That´s right, tomorrow I´m going home. Semester is technically over (minus one terribly procrastinated paper that´s still pending) and it´s time I go back. Back to the Spanish-speaking, real-meat eaters, overall disasters who I call friends. And family of drinkers, as I mentioned in an earlier post. Back to the good, the bad and the drunkenness. Too much? Sorry, Colombia gets me excited.

I suggest that you keep reading the blog because Bogota+theabovementioneddisasters will absolutely deliver good material for posts. I promise.

Good night (and good luck).

Actually,

Disregard the last post. I may have won a battle against technology at last. Believe it or not, yours truly is the proud winner of an 8GB iPod courtesy of a raffle from the NYU Computer Center. After an entire year of iPod-less living I now have two. That´s right, TWO. I gave me an iPod nano as a gift for Thanksgiving. All the work this semester, you know taking three classes, and having class three days a week, and the fact that I had to see my last iPod fall flat face in a pool and drown, earned me my gift… right?

So apparently I entered this raffle (don´t remember when or how) and yesterday I got an email saying I was the winner. I reclaimed my price this morning. A post-it on top of the iPod read: “The winner of this iPod is Laura Steiner.” WINNER. Not the owner or even the champion, but the WINNER. Oh, how I love that word. Actually, why don´t you go ahead and call me winner next time you see me.

So I now have two iPods, but really I only need one. So, if you´re looking for an 8GB iPod touch call me up. I´ll give you a good deal.

Bye Loosers!

I never win

Technology and I have a love-hate relationship. We always battle. I always lose.

For the past two and a half years I have had the worst laptop ever known to mankind. It´s huge, slow (that´s an understatement) and the keyboard is in Spanish. How many times have I used the letter Ñ in the past year? Once. This once.

Thankfully Robi decided to really embrace the Christmas spirit this year and bought me a new Mac. Thanks Robs!

For two whole days your daughter oozed coolness.

But then my blackberry died—(R.I.P. my loyal addiction)—so I´ve been waking up alone (my blackberry slept in my hand) and my right thumb has been gaining weight.

If you think I´m sad for my loss, you should have seen my friends´ faces when I told them I wouldn´t have a blackberry until February. It was as if I had told them I was going to live without a limb for the next three months.

“What Lau?!” they said. Their faces were stun with confusion. “But how will we communicate with you?” You know where I live and face-to-face interaction never hurt anyone. Of course that was my “I´m strong, I don´t need a blackberry” attitude. Really, on the inside I was crying like a child. One who´s favorite doll fell on the street on a rainy day and got squashed by a cab. (True story. It took me 16 years to be able to share it with anyone.)

So I decide I needed a phone, any phone. The cheapest one at AT&T was an old-school black Nokia. You know, one of those that were popular back in the day. Say, circa late 1990´s when the first cell phones came out, Y2K became a household name and the world was possibly coming to an end. Why do you think I was praying so much in 99?

Anyway, back to my new Nokia.

Circa 1990´s Nokia, my ass. This phone has color screen and you can access the internet. Most importantly, you can play Snake on it. Beat that.

So I´m happy, but God forbid Chloe let´s this one slide. She had to post this New York Times article in my facebook wall.

Not cool Tins. There I was thinking I was so cool and unique, when really, once again technology slapped me in my face.

Bingo

This was my last story for my journalism class. I think the subject really defines one of the many aspects of the downtown scene. Thought I share it with you...

Every Monday night, The Bowery Poetry Club is packed with hipsters, foreigners with heavy accents and students. They come together on this trendy block to indulge in an exciting game of… Bingo.

The crowd is lured into Bingo Night by hosts Murray Hill, one of the top names in the downtown comedy showbiz, and famous Big Apple drag queen Linda Simpson. They keep the audience entertained by telling jokes that get raunchier by the minute.

To start off the night, Hill compares his oval shape pen holder to a pickle. Then to a butt plug. And finally to a pickle look-alike penis.

Bingo players laugh hysterically.

Forget about the stereotypes. This game of chance isn’t just popular among senior citizens at Florida retirement homes or charity fund-raisers. Bingo is the cool thing to do these days in the Manhattan neighborhood of Noho.

“I’m proud of the mixed audiences we get and that people mingle over bingo boards,” said Hill. “The energy is always great, and no matter who you are, everyone needs a good laugh.”

The event at 308 Bowery is creating a network of regulars like Dana Sacco.

“I like the energy,” said Sacco a medical resident who graduated from NYU. “I like that everyone gets excited and no one really cares too much about the prize. They care about hanging out together.”

Sacco won her first prize last Monday night—a round mirror with a picture of the Last Supper that radiates multi-coloured lights when plugged in. Other kitschy prizes included a battery-operated wooden parrot that repeats everything you say, a Hannah Montana puzzle, a light saber and four free drinks.

Those drinks, however, came with a challenge. The winner had to stand naked on stage with only one prop to cover any part of his body—a tiny plate. Once the challenge was completed, the brave player got the free drinks.

The crowd went wild.

An unexpected twist to a regular Bingo game. The only thing that remains the same at Bingo Night is the way it is played. Your fate is based on a card that displays a total of 25 numbers, arranged horizontally and vertically over five columns. The word BINGO is on the top corresponding to each row. The host calls out numbers at random and if the player finds that number on the card, it must be crossed out. Once an entire row, in either direction, has been covered the player must yell “BINGO!” The card is checked by the host to prove accuracy. If it turns out not to be accurate the round continues.

Bingo in the U.S. has become increasingly popular especially in the online gaming community. Websites such as www.bingozone.com, and www.playlivebingo.com host Bingo competitions as well. However, none are as lively or as unexpected as Bingo at The Bowery Poetry Club.

“I came in not knowing anything,” said Daniel Lloyd, 23, who was there to celebrate a friend’s birthday and was happy to win the light saber. “Expectations were exceeded. I loved it!”

New prizes are showcased every week. But there is one prize that never changes. The final prize given out each Monday night is the money that has been collected from selling the $2 Bingo cards. It usually adds up to more than $100. To win, you must cover every single number on your Bingo card.

Monday Bingo Night runs from 7:30 to 10 p.m. Alcohol runs steady all night. By the third round of the game voices yelling out “Bingo!” slowly become more confident. The crowd gets increasingly excited as the jokes become more vulgar. Apparently a male dolphin ejaculates at 75 mph, according to Murray Hill.

Next prize? A small toy dolphin.

“I loved it and I’m definitely going to bring people over,” said Katie Parrish, 20, originally from Melbourne Australia. Parrish, who moved to Brooklyn two months ago, was one of the few players who came to Bingo night by herself. By the end of the night, Parrish had made friends with a French guy sitting beside her. Bingo!