Back in the U.S of A

And boy does it suck. No offense USA, but i've become quite accustomed to the Colombian way of life: mainly, surfing or windsurfing during the day and/or relaxing and drinking/playing soccer/watching soccer or bad spanish television during the evening.

I've been on American soil for only about 30 minutes but i can see a difference everywhere. People are rude here or completely full of themselves (read: smug customs dude who thought he was awesome). Get a life, clown. Just because you carry a gun and "screen" people coming into the U.S., that does not mean that you are the shit.

I'm also back in the land of fat people. Looking around the terminal at Ft. Lauderdale international, i estimate that 50 percent of the people here have a weight problem. Not that I really care anyhow, it's just a different look from the people with which I've spent the last month of my life.

Delayed flight again as well (thanks Spirit Airlines for giving yourself a good view in my eyes).

I'll wrap up this whole blog thing in the next few days but I wanted to give a shout to anyone who is still reading this thing. I got a little lazy towards the end but i appreciate you guys sticking around. Hope to talk to all my friends soon.

Back in Chicago wednesday evening.

Rights? What the hell are they?

Police, as I think I've said before, are everywhere here in Colombia. They ride around on motorcycles in pairs, on little golf carts or walk the streets with their nightsticks and revolvers. If something really horrible is happening they bring out the paddy wagon, which is just a Volkswagen van.

Yesterday morning, I had my first run in with Colombian law enforcement.

My cousin had to work early yesterday morning and, since he works at his brother's watersports school on the beach, i decided to join him. His house is about 1/2 a mile to 3/4 of mile away from the school and it's basically a walk down the beach.

We left at about 8:15 in the morning at started walking down the beach. Ahead of us, we noticed two police officers riding the beach on their motorcycle. As we continued to walk, we saw the motorcycle stop in front of us.

Coming from the states, i think to myself, "hey, i've done nothing wrong so these police officers can't do a damn thing to me." WRONG.

Before the cop even asked for my ID, I was getting frisked and my cousins bag was being searched. WTF? After this guy grabbed my junk and the other guy tore through every part of my cousins bag (including the battery compartment of his camera) the cops checked our ID's and waved us on our way.

We must have looked like a couple of bad seeds. At least that's what I thought. But apparently, things like this happen all the time. And not for any real reason.

My cousin told me that cops are always looking for people doing bad things. But not to clean up the streets. These police are just trying to make a buck. If they happen to find anything on your person, you can get out of it with the right (read: large) bribe.

So be warned if you're ever in Colombia: you have no rights when it comes to the police searching you on the street.

Only one week left

I'm back in Cartagena for my final week in Colombia. It's good to be back across the street from the ocean and to have the ability to swim in the sea whenever I please.

I've absolutely loved every minute here (in every city i've visited) and there really are only a few reasons I want to come home; mainly to see members of my family and friends that I care about.

This trip has been one of the most amazing journeys of my entire life. Before this trip, the only foreign country i've seen has been Canada. I've never been to Europe. I've never even been to Mexico. But, now i can say that I've spent 1/12 of a year in South America.

Here are some thoughts:

• If you like milk in the United States, you'll probably dislike it here. Instead of refrigerating milk, it's sold warm here. And it's much sweeter then milk in the States. kind of like they add frosted flakes to the mix before they package it. I dislike it.
• Even though it's near the Equator, Bogota is COLD. In the summer months (there's no seasons down here) 60-ish degrees is the high and, most of the five days i was there, it was cloudy and/or rainy. Pack for the weather and you won't be cold.
• Salt water is not the best thing to drink, even if it's by accident.
• When you live in a climate that is 80-90 degrees each day (ie. Cartagena) with a ton of humidity, there is no need for hot water from the tap or in the shower. Your cold shower is your air conditioning.
• I asked my mother this question the second we stepped of the plane in Bucaramanga: Why in the world have you live the majority of your life in a place as ugly as Detroit when you grew up in a place so gorgeous? Bucaramanga is at the foot of the Andes mountains. The view from the top is AMAZING. And to look up at the mountains from the city is an absolutely glorious site. The one crazy thing: as you drive up the mountain, the population becomes poorer and poorer. The poorest people in Bucaramanga have the best views. Completely backwards from how people in the United States think.
• It takes a little getting used to but down here, you don't flush your toilet paper down the toilet. This may also be the reason why public bathrooms smell horribly. It's also smart to carry around a pocket sized package of Kleenex because there's either a.) no toilet paper in public restrooms or b.) you have to purchase toilet paper and it's never enough to get you completely clean. The Bogota airport is the exception to both those rules. Also, you often have to pay (~1000 pesos or $.50) to use public restrooms.
• I need to learn more Spanish before i come here again. I thought to myself before i came down here "brain, you haven't spoke or thought about Spanish in more then 10 years. But, you were a good Spanish student in high school so it should all just come back to you." It didn't. Although i can understand 80 percent of what people say, I still talk like a seven-year-old. That's why it was so easy to talk with my cousin, Santi.
• When buying things off the street, make sure you are with someone who speaks Spanish and can barter. If vendors know that you can't speak Spanish or think you are an American, they will rip you off.

More to come. Going out on the town for a bit.

God, I love Golf.

I was lucky enough earlier this week to be able to play golf in one of the most beautiful locales i've ever played golf. Beneath the shadow of the Andes mountains lies Club Campestre; one, if not the only, country club in Bucaramanga with a golf course.

The grass wasn't as manicured and nice as a country club in the States would be and it definitely wasn't as hard as the at the country club where I used to work. But, it was nice. Real nice.

There was only one perplexing thing about the golf course: Not a single riding golf cart. If you wanted to play a round on the golf course, you had to do it on your own two feet and not four wheeled vehicle.

And, you can't carry your own clubs. No matter how old you are or how young you are, you had to use a caddie. Honestly, I saw an older gentleman who was walking the course with the assistance of his cane (his caddie looked like he was about as old as he was) and a girl who couldn't have been more eight-years-old both with a caddies.

Things like this would not fly in the States. I know that I may be making a horrible generalization about people in the States, but, kids in the U.S. would never be able to use a caddie for various reasons and the majority of older people tend to use motorized golf carts. I guess they've earned this right and privilege.

Now I've caddied for my fair share of people, including hundreds of times for myself, but I've never taken a caddie along for a round. I wish this fate on no one. (Well, not so much, because after the first few holes i found my rhythm. I even scored pars on the final three holes).

My caddie was one of the most knowledgeable caddies I've ever seen. He knew yardages without even checking posted yardage markers, picked my clubs for me each time I took a shot and even instructed me on my swing at different times throughout the round. He read all my putts for me and, if I hadn't been wearing a skirt while I was putting all day, I would've made 70 percent of my putts.

He was also a bit older then me. In the States, unless you work to become a professional caddie, caddies are usually younger kids and early aged college kids who are just looking to work a good paying summer job. But for people like Dario (that was my caddies name) and the rest of the caddies here, this is their profession. This is what they do. This is how they support themselves.

I also have to assume that they have a love for the game of golf as well and they surely seem to enjoy themselves as much as I remember enjoying myself when i was a caddie. But, because of their lack of money, they don't have the opportunity to move any higher then just being someone's caddie.

Dario could probably work as a teaching professional in the United States. When I was duffing 60 yard chip shots, he grabbed the club and ball and showed me exactly what I was doing wrong. He knocked his ball within 10 feet of the pin. He had a real pure swing.

He also knew exactly where I needed hit the ball every time i stepped up to the tee and corrected my aiming when I was aimed incorrectly.

The caddie uniform was completely a completely different entity then it's American counterpart as well. It consisted of long pants, long sleeve shirts and a required caddie hat that many of the caddies wore over a different cap. I felt bad that i was wearing shorts because it was really balmy out. Every caddie's shirt had padded shoulder pads, their first names embroidered on the front left pocket and their full name on a patch on the back their uniform. The shirts also were apparently sponsored by the local super market and Aero Repulica because they also had patches for both.

The most interesting thing about the uniform was the list of six values on the right sleeve. I can't remember them all off the top of my head but two i do remember were honesty and service. We as caddies never had a list of values we were supposed to abide by. I think I remember learning about some values at caddie classes when i was twelve-years-old but after caddie classes ended and you started working, you forget about creeds and such and just start working.

The best thing was, the caddies seemed to abide to all these values. It was really a neat thing.

It's unlucky that people here don't have the chances like people in the States. Hell, the current assistant golf professional at the country club where I used to work used to work in the bag room when I was a young caddie. He had a vision and spent hours practicing his game to get to that point and now is probably the best golfer I know personally. Keep swinging, Colombian loopers.

Also, kids in the States who work as caddies, be VERY happy with how much money you make. I'm not going to comment on how much caddies here make but trust me. You make really good money. And, be happy that people still enjoy taking caddies when they play golf because one day. Your caddie master always threatened you with this but you all know it may come true one day: be courteous to the people you caddie for because one day, you all may be replaced by golf carts.

(Caddying was my favorite summer job that I ever had. Can you tell?)