Inspiration

It’s funny when you live so far away from where you grew up. When you’re so far away from family and so far away from friends who you knew you when nothing much beyond Saturday morning cartoons, riding bikes, and playing driveway basketball mattered. It’s funny when you have to think in thousands of miles when you think of being home again. And it’s funny – not really “haha” funny – but odd when you find that your heart and mind are still there even though your body is so obviously present somewhere else. It almost makes me laugh when lucid dreams take me back to being 13 years old and – I swear – I can touch and feel him again, like he’s really there next to me in Grand Blanc, Michigan, but then I wake up somewhere else where I can’t even speak the language.

Then again, where and what is “home” anyway? They say it is where the heart is, but what of those who have had their heart split in two? What of all those D₄ dopamine receptors and DRD4-7Rs running amok out there? The penetrance of 7R/long alleles coursing through us for 40,000 years and counting. This is the gift of my great- great- great- great- great- great- (ad nauseam) grandmother. Thanks, grandma.

That said, I make the most of finding new inspirations where I can in my current home. Meeting new people, consuming previously-unspoken thoughts, digesting new sunsets, and swimming in new seas of emotion. Below is a random assortment of recent inspirations worth sharing.

Say Uncle

Secrets

I am an uncle. Twice now (soon to be thrice). I often wonder if I am a good uncle. I tell myself that I am, but there really isn’t an assessment out there to gauge my performance, so who knows. I try to send gifts and make calls to bridge those 3,800 miles, but I know that won’t be enough as they get older.

My niece is beautiful. She reminds me that there are so many little things in life to be excited about, like Hello Kitty. I love that her smile has the power to take me back to 1990 and make me a kid again. Every time I see her laugh I see my brother as a child again. My big brother and I laughing about something of no consequence, but laughing with our entire being, laughing with our entire souls.

Sir Edward Blue Eyes

My nephew is less than a year old, too young to know who I am yet, I suppose, but I hope that changes soon. I look forward to him enlightening me some day in the future about the challenges that kids his age face – how different will his struggle be from those of my day? How similar will they be?

Suesca

 

Road to nowhere

How is it that the skies here seem just a bit higher, or that much bluer? I guess two straight weeks of rain and clouds in Bogota can make the skies anywhere else pop.

Serious cirrus

I am the son/sun, and the heir/air

 Now and at the hour of our death

Full Figures

Well rounded

Medellin native, Fernando Botero, made a name for himself depicting the fuller side of life, yet as I walk the streets of Medellin I wonder from where he drew his inspiration. Is fullness happiness? Have we starved ourselves of life? How often have we denied ourselves happiness, fasting with devout piety and confusing our obedience for some sort of greater nobility? Or, is it simply that bigger is better? Either way, some girls are bigger than others.  

Hips don't lie

Adam and Eve 

Why do they have belly buttons? Think about it

Where is my mind?

Bootylicious

Villa de Nuestra Señora de la Candelaria de Medellín

Tinder's Greatest Hits

Before venturing to Colombia, I spent my fair share of time swiping on the Tinders. My foray into the dating app started one summer a couple of years back while living outside of the US, offering a welcomed respite from an otherwise slow stay in a new city where I did not know a single soul. Since then, my experiences setting the Tinder world on fire have run quite the gamut, from the awkward and uncomfortable to the pleasantly surprising.

After recently settling into my new home in Bogota, I quickly flashed back to that summer when Tinder first sparked a lover’s flame in my heart. My roommates and friendly colleagues at work made me feel welcomed to this new city, yet I yearned to spread my wings and explore all that my new home had to offer outside of the comfortable bubble of readymade friends and colleagues.

In deciding if you “like” someone or not, Tinder asks participants to judge one another based on a handful of pictures and a back-of-the-envelope description of who they are/what they (dis)like. To those interested (like me) in dissecting this otherwise superficial app beyond what it offers on its surface, exploring Tinder's role as a medium for social experimentation offers hours of intriguing contemplation. By creating miniature laboratories within our own little worlds, Tinder presents opportunities for our own thought-provoking anthropological analyses, helping those that are willing to dig beneath the surface to unearth interesting perspectives of today’s society.

What conclusions do you draw about a person after seeing the clothes they wear in their photos? What stereotypes guide the conclusions we draw about someone based on where they went to school? What do we think we know about someone based on the job they have? For example, if I show you a Tinder photo a 26-year-old, white guy dressed in khakis, a pink polo shirt, and a bow tie that graduated from Ole Miss you probably have a few good ideas on the kind of person you think he is – what music he listens to, his favorite foods, his preferred sports, and the like. You could be completely wrong, but, chances are, you’d be in the ballpark on a few things, even if you were as much the opposite of this guy as you think you could possibly be. The point being, if you grew up in the US, you’d likely have a few guiding markers driving your judgment, whether done consciously or subconsciously.

Now, take this same idea, but place yourself in a different country, culture, and context. What conclusions, if any, would you be able to draw about a person based on their photo while visiting a foreign land?  To you, their clothes may seem fashionable and attractive, whereas any local could easily tell you that, in fact, their clothes are outdated, meaning they likely come from a lower class. To you, a listed university of study may indicate nothing more than what city they once lived in, whereas a local could dissect this information to tell you what social class their family belongs to, what circle of friends they run with, what kind of job they probably have today, and how much money they make. 

Comparing these two scenarios, it is interesting to me that, in the former, I might feel comfortable thinking I can "place" someone, while in the latter I would freely admit I could not. Yet, in either of these situations I do not know the person at all. In many ways, I have found the obliviousness from the latter scenario very refreshing. My relative newness to Bogota means I can see people with fresh eyes, free of predisposition of who or what they are.

Philosophizing aside, I have come to note a few trends in the Colombian Tinder world that I find entertaining. Take note, ladies…

The baby bump

Kids, husbands/significant others, and families

The otherwise odd

Anime, always a winner

Dog Princess

And....whatever this is

Certainly, I am not the catch of all catches out there (in the real world, virtual world, or otherwise), but I like to think I bring a decent amount to the table. What’s a modern day renaissance man to do when he otherwise cannot be bothered with the usual bar scene in a new city? Start swiping of course…  

He's back!

For those with a spare minute to kill, I appreciate you killing it here with me. I, myself, found a rare handful of extra time and realized I am beyond due for a brief update / meandering of thoughts for all of my family, friends, and what-ever-happened-to-that-guy acquaintances.

If you have not otherwise been updated on the life and times of yours truly, I moved to Bogota, Colombia in June 2016. For those of you keeping score at home who may have lost track along the way, here is a quick update to get us all up to speed:

2011: Antigua, Guatemala

Jan-July 2012: Lima, Peru

July 2012 – February 2013: San Salvador, El Salvador

February 2013 – June 2016: Washington DC

June 2016 – Present: Bogota, Colombia

Now, after four months of making this city my new home, I feel inspired to share a sliver of this life with those of you who have ever wondered, “What is it like for a 30-something, white, single guy from the mean streets of Grand Blanc, Michigan living in Colombia?” Especially after the numerous conversations keeping in touch with many of you via email, WhatsApp, FaceTime, etc. (thank science and modern technology), I thought it’d be interesting to share some of my musings on my Andean experience thus far for all to feast upon. Looking ahead, I hope to share some more thoughts more frequently, so check back often.

Narcos

Plata o plomo

Let’s cut right to it: it is almost guaranteed that the first thing most Americans think of when they hear “Colombia” is cocaine, or a related topic like Pablo Escobar and narcotraficantes. Especially amidst the popularity of Netflix’s original series, Narcos, Americans back home are being taught this history (albeit, in all its Hollywood fabrication), and it comes as no surprise that this is STILL the Colombia that Americans picture today. Hell, I love that show – no knock on that – but it’s a bit silly that people haven’t bothered to look in a book or do a basic Google search to update their Colombian stereotypes beyond the year 1994. I mean, give me some Shakira, a Sofia Vergara / Modern Family reference, or even some Juan Valdez coffee talk.

My kind of Colombia

In all seriousness though, the Pablo Escobar / shoot-the-captain-of-your-national-soccer-team-upon-returning-home-to-Colombia-because-he-scored-on-his-own-goal-in-the-1994-World-Cup era is a very important part of Colombia’s history. However, it is only a small part of an otherwise rich history and culture, and today Colombians proudly proclaim that this era is behind them and you really feel that when they tell you this. As infamous as Pablo Escobar may be, it’s really quite remarkable how much of a name the guy made for himself and what a place in history he holds. I, and most normal people, by no means respect or admire what he did, but it is an interesting exercise to ask yourself, “How many people throughout history can you identify that, in a way (good or bad) put their country and an era on the map?” That just by mentioning that person’s name, most everyone can say where they hail from and most everyone has at least a basic understanding of why they are known.

Gandhi, Hitler, Lincoln, Mao, Elvis, Mandela, Lennon, Lenin…

Kitler

Maybe Pablo Escobar doesn’t belong among this group of titans, but I’d argue he is close.

Anyhow, anyone who has been to Colombia since the 1990s can tell you that a lot has changed, and has changed for the better. Of course, the internal conflict with the FARC rebels is still, technically, ongoing, but the terrorist reign of Escobar and bombs in the streets is a time that Colombians proudly proclaim has passed. Crazy enough, a small mall one block around the corner from my office – one that I walk by every day – was the site of a car bomb set off by Escobar in the 90s. Hearing that from a friend of mine one day as we strolled by after eating lunch really blew my mind. This is a place that I go into once a month to exchange my pesos and to pay my phone bill, and it by no means screams “I once played a role in the craziness that was Colombia in the 90s.” Yet, here it was – a relic of such a defined era, but invisible and unknown  to people like me and, most likely, tons of young Colombians who were lucky enough to be born after such an era.

Like any place on Earth, Colombia still faces its challenges (e.g. recently voting down a peace treaty to end the civil war with the FARC), but I would say – in my humble opinion – that Colombia is a thriving country with lots of beauty, hope, and opportunity to offer; NOT a “third world country” (yet another outdated term, so please stop living in the 1980s Cold War). While I am by no means an expert on Colombia and would not dare to speak on behalf of other Colombians, my four months here has afforded me a brief glimpse of what life is like here. And I will say that in those four short months, it has become clear to me that the stereotypes of cocaine, Pablo Escobar, and drug dealers are not taken in jest by Colombians.

That is definitely something I have very quickly come to love and respect about the Colombian people. They may be divided over which beer is the best or what local soccer team is better, but they are uniformly resolute on reshaping and polishing their image; and not only for foreigners and their perceptions of Colombia, but for themselves. To me, that is admirable and inspiring. When people can otherwise be divisive and bitter over challenges that face their country (read the 2016 US presidential campaign), it is relieving to see so many different people united to do what is best for their homeland.

The weather

I hate to squander the opportunity this forum presents to drone on about something as mundane as the weather when I could instead crack into more interesting topics like $3 lunch menus, beautiful women, or the ridiculousness of Bogota traffic. However, the weather is something that – although not drastically different from other climates I have lived in – sticks out to me. When asked to describe Colombia, most people will rattle off adjectives fit for a tropical paradise: palm trees, beaches, blue oceans, a scorching sun. All of these things can certainly be found in Colombia, but you will not find them in Bogota.

Bogota, founded 1538

Most are surprised to hear that Bogota is found in the mountains and valleys of the Andes Mountains, at over 8,000 feet of elevation (the “Mile High City” of Denver, for example, is only about 5,500 feet). This not only places Bogota among the highest cities in the Americas, but makes it the third highest capital city in the world (behind La Paz and Quito, which are –surprise, surprise – also located in the Andes). Given the elevation, Bogota is a pretty cool city with average temperatures hovering around 65 degrees year round.

Mastication

The weather here is a perpetual fall. So far, this has excited me since – being from Michigan – I love a beautiful autumn day when I can carb load on powdered donuts at the apple orchard and watch American (i.e. real) football. Bogota has that same vibe: crisp air, but not cold enough to warrant more than jeans and a light jacket, a nice grey overcast sky, and a slight breeze. The sun will often peek out during the morning hours, which warms things up quite a bit given the high altitude, but the afternoons often bring heavy, tropical rains. During a typical day during the rainy season It truly is like getting 3 seasons (spring, summer, and fall) all in one day around here.

Greyest of blue skies

All that said, Bogota – in regards to its climate – is not on the top of my list of recommended places to visit in Colombia. It is a huge, vibrant city with exciting things going on (perhaps a topic for another post), but I sense most people would be let down without this dose of reality from yours truly when their plane lands and they find that shorts and flip flops were not the appropriate wardrobe choice.

The Place of Echoes

While I, of course, enjoy and respect the Star Wars franchise for what it is, I am by no means a diehard fan. As such, I was completely surprised to have stumbled across the site of the Rebel Base from Episode IV: A New Hope (movie clip here). For a brief moment I felt my mind leave the reality of Guatemala and all its natural beauty, and found myself on the planet Yavin IV. How did I get here?

The Rebel Base, Star Wars: A New Hope (1977)

My photo, of which I had no idea that 

I was taking the same shot (2014)

Upon entering the national park of Tik’al our guide was certain to point out the famous tidbits about the ruins we were about to explore (e.g. cameos in films like Star Wars and Apocalypto); however, upon first sight of these amazing structures, all fun facts and claims to fame become strangely irrelevant. The structures themselves, peppered within the expansive, lush greenery that completely swallows everything within it, are absolutely breathtaking. The sheer rawness, power, and history that comprise these megaliths cannot be captured or enhanced by Hollywood or its special effects. The faces of these buildings scream, “Life has been here long before your mind can even begin to comprehend,” yet the vast jungle remains eerily silent – save for the occasional gut-wrenching wails of the howler moneys in the distance. We are tucked away, literally, in the middle of nowhere, and each passing second the earth moves to slowly take back what belongs to it.

Unite, build, destroy

As we trek through just a touch of the total 222 square miles of the national park, I begin to take notice of the small hills that really aren’t hills at all, but instead relics of a powerful civilization that date back to as far as the 4^th Century BC. Beneath these “hills” are the ruins of an ancient city that, despite being re-discovered nearly 200 years ago, still remain unearthed.

Humans as Specks

The name Tik’al is the recent name bestowed upon it at the time of re-discovery meaning “the place of voices” or “the place of echoes” in the Itza Maya language. This becomes evident as our tour guide claps his hands in the Plaza of the Seven Temples and echoes ricochet all around us like little sound bullets whizzing by our heads. I close my eyes and try to picture people – humans like us, but really not like us at all – passing their every day lives here. Observing the heavens and celestial bodies above from the temples, lying on the stone beds in the residences for the elites, selling ones labor to build these amazing temples with limestone from the quarries nearby. How they were able to create such beauty – so precisely – that has survived hundreds of years leaves me in absolute awe.

The Great Plaza (acropolises)

My heart swells as I approach Temple 4, the tallest of this ancient civilization. 

Temple 4’s power feels like the first time you have the wind knocked out of you. What just happened? Why can’t I breathe? Will I be ok? I haven’t yet caught my breath before I trek the 230 feet to the top, where I rein over the canopy below. I see nothing but the never-ending appetite of Mother Earth sprawling in its greenness swallowing everything in its path. Only the peaks of 2 temples peek out in the distance among the green wave of ancient jungle. As I whisper to myself that this view is truly out of this world, I begin to understand why Mr. Lucas found it appropriate for his intergalactic film.

The great below

Nothing else exists in this moment. There is nothing but stillness, vast expanse, and emptiness. Just a mere speck in the grand scheme of time – once so important and so powerful – Ti’kal came and went. Now I sit atop it all as if I were something important and powerful, yet that feeling of a speck is all too familiar. 

Highlights & Lowlights (El Retorno)

Being back here was never quite the plan. When I tell people of my summer plans, and how it all came to fall into place, the first word that comes to mind is “serendipitous.” I suppose the extra benefit from finding a way to inject an otherwise rarely used word into my vocabulary helps make it all worth it in the end.

I left Guatemala at the end of 2011 after nearly a year of working for Habitat for Humanity. I could spend days highlighting the amazing experiences I had here in Guatemala during that time, however, the archived post in this blog would do those memories more justice. As such, I encourage you to flip back. And now I am back in Guatemala for the summer working for the US Government. As I have come to adjust again to life in Central America, I find myself working most on – as one close friend of mine put it – creating new memories, and not living within the many old ones.

That, for me, is an interesting world: caught between the here and the now and the Guatemala of 2011. My mind struggles to process the similarities wrapped within the many differences juxtaposed between the 2014 and the 2011. The ghosts of 2011 haunt me around each and every corner of Guatemala, begging me to relive what once was. To step back and breathe in the tranquility, the love, and the carefree living that once flowed through the breezy streets of Antigua. Yet staring me in the face is 2014, and life in the capital city, which relentlessly push me forward, like a mother bird nudging her youngest out of the nest towards the real world.

“Mother knows best.”

“Packed like sardines in a tin can,” is the best way I can begin to describe life in Guatemala City, the most populous city in Central America. For all its many faults, Guatemala’s most glaring shortcoming, and that which most directly impacts my daily life, is its poor infrastructure. Traffic here is the worst I have seen in my life (caveat: I have been spoiled while living inside of the DC Beltway and have never dealt with rush hour traffic, nor have I ever been to places like Bangladesh or India. I have, however, experienced flavors of traffic in large cities like LA, New York, Chicago, Lima, DC, San Jose, San Salvador, and La Paz).

This doesn't begin to scratch the 

surface of how crowded it really gets

I do appreciate the public transport at moments when we cruise in our private lane past the rest of the traffic that inches along bumper-to-bumper. If it weren’t for the lanes dedicated solely to the public buses, the tin cans of sardines would rot under the Guatemalan sun with the rest of the commuters. An air of VIP-status hangs over the bus as we bypass the horrendous traffic; however, this quickly dissipates among the random odors wafting throughout the humid bus. Jammed shoulder to hip to chest to buttock among what feels like thousands of other locals quickly reminds me that this is not first class, VIP travel.

A taste of Guatemalan traffic

It’s love-hate with the buses and me. They get me to my job faster than any other option, but the lack of common courtesy or common sense exhibited by my fellow riders frustrates me beyond repair. Let others step off the train before boarding. Move to the center of the bus rather than crowd around the doors, so as to create more space for others. These simple concepts are lost upon the commuters, which I’ve moved well beyond trying to understand why and into the realm of acceptance.

If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

However, the work I have been involved with has helped to assuage my daily frustrations with public transport and, more importantly, helped to form new memories and keep those of 2011 at bay. To be a part of Vice President Biden’s visit to Guatemala, no matter how tangential, has made the efforts of this summer worth it. 

Hey, Joe...

For those unaware, the White House has been escalating the issue of unaccompanied children from Central America, which have been especially flooding the US borders in 2014 (52,000(!) children just this fiscal year). Unfortunately, destitute families, seeing no other option for economic opportunity or for escaping the crime in Central America, settle on sending their children to the US – in the hands of coyotes – as their best option. Many believe – falsely – that immigration reform in the US is near, and that such reform will allow for today's new entrants to stay permanently. This is simply not true.

While immigration reform is atop the list of White House’s lengthy list of “to-dos,” it is, in my opinion, a ways away from fruition. Further, if/when reform actually does pass, lawmakers have made it clear that such reform will only apply to those undocumented immigrants that arrived in the US before December 31, 2011. Those caught at the border illegally now are turned back to their home countries, and with their repatriation flight home let's just say that they are not given a notice to return when immigration reform is finally complete.

I've Never Heard of Senegal

Finding inspiration in a blood-red hotel room with gaudy fleur-de-lis-print carpet can be about as trying as a picking out Waldo back when I was an ambitious 8 year old who thought a nightly sit with Where’s Waldo? counted as “reading.”

He's right THERE...

The Senegalese hospitality has me feeling quite welcome, but my head is still reeling a bit as I grasp the concept of being thrown four hours into the future and on my two feet in Africa. Africa might as well be the moon for all I know; it’s a new land with new people and new languages – the things that make it all so exciting, yet daunting all at once. The soothing lulls of French roll from the tongues of everyone from the random taxi driver waving for my attention at the airport to the receptionist at my hotel, and I’m inspired to translate that warm feeling if I could only find the right way as to how.

Stepping into a new country where I do not speak the language is a new experience for me, and an uncomfortably frustrating one at that. It’s an inexplicable experience that truly flips my perception of life upside down while taking the already massive concept of what we call Earth and multiplying it by 10,000. If you think you’ve seen it all, met as many characters as you think you can in this lifetime, or tasted every spice your palette can handle you’re wrong. Throw a dart at a map, catch the next flight/boat/donkey out of town, and go. While it’s anyone’s guess as to whether what you find will be shocking, disappointing, or exhilarating, it’s undoubtedly going to be new.

Pangea?

And so it is in this foreign land that I find myself at a loss to do even the most elementary of tasks, like take a taxi to my hotel. I settle myself in to what now feels like my desk in kindergarten as I rely on my hands and fingers more than my words to strike an agreement with the driver. Four thousand of anything sounds mighty steep, but we agree on this fare and make our way. I know we agree because he mirrors a handful of four digits over his shoulder and gives me a smile in the rearview mirror. “Oui.”

Thankfully my knowledge of Spanish allows me to recognize many words, especially those scrawled in graffiti as we make our way along the Atlantic Coast and into the streets of Dakar. However, ironically enough, this same knowledge, that gives me at least a semblance of understanding as I eavesdrop on those all around me, is just another frustrating dead end keeping me from communicating with my new acquaintances. My knee-jerk reaction is to respond to all inquiries in Spanish, however, this is just as foreign as my English in Francophone Africa. However, as much as I feel like I’m really not getting anywhere, I manage to at least arrive at my hotel.

So, while I’ve seemingly been silenced by my temporary inabilities, I’ve gained a more powerful skill. Listening.

Listen to the world around you. Listen not only with your ears to the words others speak, but also with your eyes, your sense of touch, and your mind. Enhance your connection to the simplest sounds around you and allow no barrier of spoken word to keep you from the warmth that others radiate, which is spoken in thousands of different languages.