Pirates of the Carribean 4
For my own peace of mind and others readin.....I got the right cable for the camera, pictures will be up in the next day or so. Woke up to fresh slices of papaya I knabbed off a street vednor for 40 cents, a cup of steamming Colombian coffee (negra of course), and a piece of bread that more or less tasted like a buttery criosant. Today I met two girls while reading in a hostel. One of them was a shorter half Japanese half Peruvian lady. The other was a an Irish girl with a lightly freckeeld face. They both happen to live in California; quite the small world! They were young, giggly, and didnt seem like they had traveled much even though they had claimed to have been all over much of South America. They kept complaining that they needed to shower every half an hour and much of the food wasnt good enough for them. Overall they were quite niave and much too idealistic.I hope they dont ened up in a situation where they need to call mommy and daddy at home. Every city they planned on going to was made out to be like a vacation in a 5 star resort in the Bahamas: "We¨ll buy dresses , get our nails painted..." im thinking, listen, you are traveling off of mommy and daddys money, through a third world country, wearing pink flip flops, flashing your camera around in barrios pobres, and could be on the next missing persons list if you are not careful! Not that Im a jerk, but you girls need to cut the mall-girl attitudes and tuffen the heck up.
That night I went into a local eatery on a hot sticky night. It was at least 95 degrees, I felt like I was in a steam room, but instead of the fresh smelling eucalyptic oil, its carne saturating my pores.
Along with some other people from the hostel, I prop down in a cafe on one of the busiest street corners in Santa Marta. A wild-fire -like grill is roaring 10 yards away , as 40 plus chickens roast on sceewers. I begin to pour sweat. Im thinking, "if im in this shit-hole for more than another 15 minutes, im going to see stars and faint."
I was sweating more fluids than I could drink. I walk up to order and a the workings of a Colombian brawl were in the works. An old man, eating with his family had apparently gotten in a dispute with the chef right before we arrived. A two year old child had more teeth than this dude. All of a sudden the old man stumbles out of his chair, the smell of rum and stale cigarette smoke on his breath, and swings a right hook! The chef ducks, luckily the old man was too drunk and couldnt hit a damn thing. Immediately all hell breaks loose. the old man starts spitting an cursing at the chef. The chef attempts to Bruce Lee jump over the counter, cooking thongs in hand, reading to beat the crap out of this old man, and make this 2 toothed old man become a one toothed man. All I hear is abunch of "pinchi mierdas!" 3 kitchen girls try to restrain the chef as the old man continues to taunt the chef. Theres a look of a blood thirsty pit-bull in the chefs eyes, and im thinking, if this chef gets over the counter, shit is going to his them fan. Luckily the cops show up (yes, in Colombia they do have some order) and it works out. From what I could make out of the Spanish it appeared as though the old man felt the chef had jipped him on his portion size and he didnt want to pay the full price for his meal.
Well, in Colombia, they speak Spanish. However, depending on what part of Colombia you are in the dialects of Spanish are different. An appropriate analogy would be to compare the different dialects of Californians, to midwesterners, to people in the south, to someone living in the ghetto in New York City. So right, now I am staying in Santa Marta, righ ton the coast. In Bogota, the spanish was slower and easier to understand. However, on the coast, there are Spanish words that do not exist in translating dictionaries. The Spanish from Bogota drives a ford pinto, almost out of gas. The people of the coast, or the Castellanos ( i think the splleing is right?) Spanish, drives a well-greased ferrari engine. My Spanish felt on the level of an intellectual in Bogota, here I feel like a retard.
on July 23, 2009
from the travel blog:
adventures from down south
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