First thoughts from the Motherland

A sleepless Sunday night. A 6:35am flight from Detroit Metro to Fort Lauderdale. And, finally, an 11:00am flight from Fort Lauderdale to Cartagena, Colombia. I have arrived.

I’ve never before exited a plane and walked directly onto a runway, but here in Colombia, it’s the norm.

After a short conversation with the gentleman at customs, my mother and I grabbed our luggage and walked outside the airport, where everyone’s loved ones were waiting for them. From what I could gather, if you weren’t coming off of a plane or getting ready to leave on a plane, then you weren’t allowed in the airport.

We were greeted by my aunt, Liliana, and my cousin, Juan Carlos, two people who, at least from my recollection, I had never met before (although I may have met both of them the last time I was in Colombia at the age of three). But family is family and after a few hugs and handshakes, I felt as though I had known them for years.

Sitting in the back seat, I got my first glimpses at the country where my mother grew up and where the majority of her family (including seven siblings, a number of nieces and nephews, her step mother and god knows how many other relatives) still live today.

Driving past numerous beaches, gas stations where the price of gas was between 7,340 to 8,400 pesos per liter, small shops, a Colombian naval base and restaurants, we made it to our final destination; the home of my aunt, uncle and cousin.

We parked the car in a small parking lot behind the nine-story building and hopped into the elevator. After pushing the button for the fifth floor and traveling to the floor, I got a first look at the place that will be my home for the next week and will once again be my home in three weeks.

After putting our things away in what will be our room for the week, I walked around the house. It’s plenty different from any home I’ve seen in the past. I’ve spotted two televisions in the entire house (not that I really care about television right now because I’m still trying to remember my high school Spanish at the moment). The only reason that I bring this up is because, at least from my experiences, most rooms in homes in the United States usually hold a television, especially rooms like the living room. But here, at least at my aunt and uncle’s house, the living room/dining room area did not have a television. This small cultural anomaly really brings me to the conclusion that, when families are spending time together here in Colombia, it’s not while sitting around a television.

After a long nap and a bout with a little bit of cold bug (let’s hope this is from Leslie and not the H1N1 virus), my other cousin Philippe and his girlfriend showed up at the house and the four of us (Juan Carlos, Philippe, his girlfriend and myself) decided to go out onto the town for a little while.

We didn’t go to a bar or to a restaurant; we went to a small store and bought four beers, opened them in the store and began to walk through the older section of the city. At first, I felt a little bit of culture shock. If we were to walk into a 7-11 and open our beers and walk out onto the street and drink in the streets of Chicago, the police would have a field day with us. But in Cartagena, this is the norm. Young boys sell loose cigarettes, street vendors are everywhere and people walk the streets, enjoying themselves at every turn.

Philippe and his better half retired to their apartment and Juan Carlos and I continued our journey, stopping at another little store to grab another beer. I waited in the car as Juan Carlos grabbed two beers and was kind of astonished to see that he handed me an open beer. I guess if you’re not completely smashed, drinking and driving is okay in Colombia (the drinking age is 18 here taboot). We drove to the beach where we parked the car and sat outside car and drank and had couple of smokes. Although my Spanish is, at the moment, very minimal and Juan Carlos’ English is minimal, we managed to communicate pretty well with each other. And as every moment passes, my Spanish continues to improve.

It’s 2:30 in the morning right now and I couldn’t think of another place I’d rather be. I’m sitting on a terrace overlooking the ocean. Palm trees line Calle 5 (that’s the road that is right below me) and it has got to be at least 70 degrees right now. It’s paradise. One more smoke before I go to bed (and I told myself I was going to quit. Too bad these 10 packs of Marlboros are so cute).

Pictures of how beautiful it is here will follow.