Kaldi Kafe is the local panadería in our neighborhood. A panadería is a bakery where all kinds of sweets are cooked. The first time we students tried some pastels de guayaba, we fell in love. The only days we have not visited the panadería were the days we were out of the city for the finca trip. Kaldi Kafe’s deserts are extremely delicious, and we students will make the time for at least one trip per day for our normal orders of coffee, pastries, and cakes.
Kaldi Kafe, however, is also very social. I cannot begin to count the fantastic conversations I have had with my fellow students (and with the compañeros). It is my version of starbucks, except better and cheaper. The atmosphere is one that stimulates conversation and comfort among the people in the café, and you can’t withstand the bonding that occurs between people who are there. Moreover, it is also a place to relax and just read or do some individual work.
All of our social nights start at the panadería. It is simply the place to be. Sometimes Santana is playing through the speakers, sometimes Alisha Keys. The diversity for music, food, and people is what makes this bakery so inviting.
Molly:
I sat down to dinner Tuesday night with my host dad. I wondered why I hadn't seen him for 4 days, so I asked, expecting an answer indicating that our schedules just missed each other. Turns out, he was in a pueblito about four hours from here with his volunteer group working with families. You see, my host dad is a botanist - he was a university professor of botany before he reached the legal retirement age. This volunteer group he worked with visits family in rural areas who live on their own farms - they all cultivate their own crops, but don't always have the right kitchen tools to prepare the meals correctly. This group goes into the houses, teaches the families about their crops and the myriad ways to cook them, helps set up and build stoves and kitchen areas to prepare these delicious and healthy vegetables more often for themselves, instead of just relying on selling them. As we chatted more and more, he became very intrigued by our project since ours is a documentary-studies based one. They are also creating a documentary of their work. He expressed frustration in having four days worth of footage and consolidating it into a seven to eight minute video. We laughed, because I told him I felt the same way - though our interviews don't last four days, it is still so tough to figure out what to cut out. We agreed we didn't exactly like the feeling that we have the power to decide what's "worthy" or "important" enough to make it into the video the public will see.
Anyway, this is just one interesting meal-conversation I've had with my host family. At breakfast yesterday morning, my host mom and I discussed Argentina's new stances towards gay marriage - how it's a type of controversial progress, especially in Latin America where advances towards full rights for homosexuals was for so long seen as something completely and totally unattainable.
On a pretty regular basis, we discuss Medellín and the changes and transformations the city is seeing, the fruit industry, politics, flowers, family dynamics, music; I practice english with my younger, 14-year old brother, Santiago, almost every night. He speaks in English, while I speak in Spanish. I love when he comes home and shows me his 50 out of 50 grades on an English quiz, or when he asks me to help him on homework. Santiago also likes to play the songs he's learning on the piano. I talk with Marta about her job in a bank that supplies loans to people who normally might not be able to afford them. Carlos, the older brother, is always so interested in my day - where I went, how I like my stay here, when I will finally go salsa-ing at El Tibiri, and more.
This family is really fantastic. They give me the space I need but the comfort of a home and a family that I love. I was worried that it would take some convincing to let me stay out late at night because we had heard all of the families are super protective, but every time I say I'll be home late and I try to estimate what time I'll get back home, Alcira, my host mom always says "tranquila, you have your own keys." As you can see, they allow me great independence by trusting I will take care of myself. Alcira is always so sweet about making food, and making sure that I like what she puts in front of me (and she gasps with complete astonishment when I tell her I wasn't hungry for lunch on those random days). I couldn't have asked for a better homestay!
SALSA
Salsa. It's a sensual, fun, romantic dance full of rhythm, vibrancy, and intimacy. It's so different from Shooters dancing (translation for non-Duke students: dirty, sweaty, no-talent-or-love-for-actual-dancing-necessary, bad quality but shamefully loud and upbeat pop music, dancing with a stranger? whocareslet'smakeout, grinding). Salsa is sweaty, yes, but actually involves rhythmic movements, unlike Shooters dancing which for guys, consists of boringly moving the hips from side to side in the most robotic way possible, and for girls means attempting to ... well, I won't go there. These people, our compañeros who we salsa with, the locals in the Rumba classes at our Forma gimnasio, they were born dancing. I don't know how they do it, but their hips move more smoothly and sexily, in the most beautiful way, than I've ever seen before - and it's so darn effortless! Their arms move completely in sync with their hips. Just thinking about where to put my arms when walking makes me awkward.
When I finally think I have the basic four-step salsa move down, I realize these salsa-experts somehow add in extra steps and hip sways in half, quarter, and eighth beats that I didn't even know existed!
When salsa-ing with a partner, you can tell if there's chemistry. Your bodies mesh together in an intense way, but it's just dancing. If you want it to be more, then there always exists the possibility, but generally people dance here because they just love it. It's an expression of the richness of the culture - a culture fraught with warmth, colors, and passion.
Some of the guys I've had the honor of dancing with are fantastic teachers and really take the time to patiently guide you through the steps - beginning with the basics, and even attempting the more complicated three-turn-in-a-row combo. Others, you only dance with once you at least master the basics. They are willing to teach, but would much rather enjoy you dancing without looking at your feet, and just going for it. Cheeks touching, bodies pressed together, every curvature of your bodies aligned like tightly fitting puzzle pieces, letting the smooth sound of the salsa music pulse through your entire body. It's an amazing, close experience.
There is one place we have yet to go, called El Tibiri. It's one of the most famous salsa clubs in Colombia. It's an underground club, with low ceilings, a compact dance floor, loud music, sweaty, sexy couples, and strictly salsa. The kind of dancing we do here makes me never want to go back to Shooters and grind. I say let's bring salsa back to Duke. Maybe it'll bring a sense of actual romance and appreciation for the art of dance, instead of making something as sacred as dance into something so naughty, lacking any respect or admiration for the body. Salsa possesses this overwhelming power that makes you feel beautiful and ready to dance the night away - never wanting to let go of salsa's pure brilliance or sensuality.
By the time this is posted, we will have been to El Tibiri, finally. It's exactly what we heard it was - a subterranean dance club with the most inconspicuous entrance you could think of. There are no signs announcing the discoteca's name, just a small piece of paper once you finally find the salsa club with tiny font that says something along the lines of "you're at El Tibiri." I loved the range of ages there. We went with our group, our compañeros, Carolina's parents, Tam & Jota, and then there were couples of all ages there. It's like it doesn't matter at all - you dance with everyone. There would be breaks when the dance floor would clear and the salsa experts would take over and do a salsa special. The "salsa king" was there too, in all white from his shoes, to his pants, to his shirt, to his hat. The dance floor is tiny, so people take to the rows between the plastic white tables and chairs. The music is loud, the dancers are sweaty, the ceiling is low, the atmosphere is so alive. The couple of fans save you from being too drenched in your own sweat. It was a great time!
Stephen: On our first week here, we met our compaeñros, university students who had offered to spend time with us to show us around the city. On the first Thursday, we met nearly 20 compañeros and spent time in the Carlos E neighborhood. Carlos E is a place where teenagers, college students, and adults hang out. Sitting in a circle, we introduced each other and share stories about our recent arrival in Colombia, pop culture, and our university experiences. This was not an unusual social outing; Carlos E has become both our meeting spot and often where we spend the majority of the night.
Hanging out far, from being an undesirable slow night, has been a great way to exchange invaluable cultural information and build rapport.
Katrina: Colombians have two priorities—food and family—and their order of importance isn’t entirely clear. After having been here a month, I can say with certainty that I will go back home with a few more pounds on my frame. My meals are usually large enough to feed three people, and when I refuse seconds and claim I’m full, I oftentimes get a suspicious look as if asking me, “Are you sure you’re not still hungry?” Ironically, my host mom’s plate rarely has half the food she serves on mine. I told her last night that I’m going to have to roll back to the United States, and she smiled as if I had just given her the greatest possible compliment.
Though my host mom doesn’t have any children of her own, her nieces are constantly visiting. Last week I met her oldest niece Catalina, who is a university student in Bogotá studying mathematics. She asked me the usual questions: Where are you from? What are you doing in Medellín? What do you think of Colombia so far? Were you scared of coming here? After briefly explaining our project, she exclaimed, “¡Ay, que chevre!” She recommended watching a documentary that was recently released about displaced people, admitting that while she hasn’t seen it herself it’s supposed to be powerful. After talking to her for about half an hour, she gave me her email address and told me that if I’m ever in Bogotá or if I have questions about anything, I shouldn’t hesitate to contact her. People’s genuine willingness to help here never ceases to amaze me.
