Colombia South America

Four Days Wandering in Colombian Jungle to La Ciudad Perdida

Last week I left Santa Marta (in northern Colombia) in order to complete a four-day trek through the Sierra Nevada to the Lost City (Ciudad Perdida in Spanish). The fun part of the trek (or the problem if you don’t like trekking), is that the city is located 23 kilometers in the thick of the jungle (around 46 kilometers walking round trip). At first, I wasn’t sure how I felt about doing the trek since the Colombian government requires all trekkers to go with a guide and a group (some people got kidnapped back in 2003, you can watch the documentary on Banged Up Abroad). Typically, I don’t enjoy group treks because I want to go at my own pace. However, the tour ended up being really fun and I really loved my group.

La Ciudad Perdida
Day One
La Ciudad Perdida
Map of the lost city trek

Physical Ability and Rough Terrain

I mentioned in my last post that I’ve been working out a lot and so I wasn’t too worried about the trek. Plus, I figured it couldn’t be more arduous than Everest Base Camp which I completed last September. The altitude is not high, and some girls I met told me the worst parts are just the humidity, the rain, and the mosquitos. They told me to prepare to be wet constantly. I packed a lot of extra clothes in plastic bags.

In my opinion, the trek was a perfect level of what I wanted. It wasn’t so hard that I got left behind, nor was it so easy I was bored. It felt adventurous, despite there being so many people on the trail. And because I could go at my own pace, I really pushed myself. I’m extremely competitive, so I ignored the first piece of advice given by our guide: “It’s not a race, don’t feel you have to rush.” I typically tried to see how fast I could push myself and how many other trekkers from other groups I could pass.

La Ciudad Perdida

There were a few difficult parts going straight up which just involved cardiovascular determination and honestly weren’t as hard as the parts going straight down and covered with mud (el barro). I definitely slipped and fell on my butt the first day. My pinkie finger is still having difficulty bending, hurts if I apply pressure, and the knuckle is still swollen. A medical student said he didn’t think it was broken but I’m getting suspicious.

One of my favorite parts of the trek was the area near our camp the second night. Since we literally just turned around after the Lost City, I got to do this part twice. It was lots of little hills in the forest, a river crossing, and a narrow path along the river where, at one point, I literally had to climb up a vertical rock with my hands and knees. Crossing the river, I decided to leave my shoes on (they were already wet from the rain and I figured it would be easier than balancing on sharp rocks barefoot against a strong current).

On the way back, we found this little sketchy metal box with a rope to cross the river. You jumped in the box, and someone on the other side pulled you across. Super fun!

Colombian Jungle River Crossing

My shoes were constantly wet and by the last day I was a little worried I was going to get trench foot again or that the soles were going to peel off the shoes completely and I wouldn’t be able to walk. Luckily, neither happened, though my feet were very saturated and my shoes did this by the last day:

Colombia
R.I.P. Brand New Shoes. I killed your in your first week of life.

The Lost City

(*Please note that most of this information I received in Spanish from my guide so it may be incorrect. I tried to double check but Google has very little information on the subject)

La Ciudad Perdida
La Ciudad Perdida in all her early morning glory

It is believed that the city was built around the year 800 CE, centuries before Machu Picchu. Archaeologists have found housing foundations over burial sites. People of importance were buried in the city in the fetal position with a rope tied around their waist in order to signify the return to the earth from which we are born.

In order to reach the city, we woke up at 5am, had breakfast, and started trekking. After about 30 minutes, we had to cross the deepest river of the trek. The water came past my waist and the current was very strong. Two guides had a rope to help people walk. I simply traversed the river in my shoes and clothes. However, I will never forget standing on the banks watching semi-nude people clinging to their clothes and shoes and the rope in their undies.

La Ciudad Perdida
Actually, this is just from a random day we trekked twenty minutes through the jungle to a waterfall.

You then need to walk straight up 1,200 stone steps, worn from the passage of time into slick and small bumps.

La Ciudad Perdida
This isn’t on the steep part, but you get the idea

The site was abandoned during the Spanish “discovery” of South America. The natives traded their gold religious items with the Spanish conquistadors. Shortly after, disease began wiping the people out, as happened everywhere in “the new world.” Exposed to new bacteria and viruses, such a small pox, the natives had no immune defense. I believe our guide said 80% of the natives were killed.

Convinced that the Gods were punishing them for giving away their gold relics, the survivors abandoned the site and fled higher into the mountains. It is believed these natives are the ancestors of some of the remaining indigenous tribes in the Sierra Nevada, some of whom claim they had been visiting the site long before its rediscovery by local treasure hunters in 1972. Four indigenous tribes still live in the region. I wanted to write about them but this post is already double-length so I’ll simply provide a link for you to read about the Kogi people and the Arhuaco people.

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Sleeping in Nature

Every night we went to bed around 8pm and woke up at 5am. I was under the impression I would be sleeping in hammocks every night but we actually got beds! The bunk beds had mosquito netting around them which seemed to do the job. However, that just left the mosquitos hungry for the morning.

The very first night there was a tarantula on the mosquito netting. (Spider: araña). I’m not sure I have ever seen a spider this big. I didn’t take a photo due to the lighting, but it was pretty impressive. Luckily, thanks to my mom, I’m not very afraid of spiders, though I didn’t really want to touch it and find out if it could bite. The guide brushed it off my bed and onto the floor.

That night I had trouble getting to sleep, not because of the sounds of nature coming from the river, but because my bed faced the TV that the family running the camp had set up. They were watching Titanic in Spanish. First, I watched some of it with them, but then I wanted to sleep. It’s really hard sleeping with people dying and screaming. Honestly, rewatch Titanic. People are screaming for ages. They take so long to finally die.

The morning of the third day, while we were packing our bags before going to the Lost City, I checked under my bed to make sure I didn’t leave anything and there were two hens under my bed! They were just hanging out down there. I told the Spanish people “pollo” and they laughed and taught me the Spanish word for hen (gallina). I told the Austrians and apparently one of them had an egg in his bed.

La Ciudad Perdida

The Trek

I highly recommend doing this trek if you are in Colombia. It’s a great adventure and I learned a bit about the indigenous cultures and Colombian history. Plus, since the entire thing was in Spanish, I got to practice my listening skills a bit.

At the end of the trek, back at the restaurant where we started, one of the French trekkers asked us all what our favorite part of the trek was.

Mine probably wasn’t seeing the Lost City, but rather the end of the third day. It was one of the longest days, and I had pushed myself extra hard. My feet were raw from trekking in wet shoes, I was exhausted, and I finished half an hour before most of the group. The Austrian guy and I walked down to a river we had passed. Honestly, intense exercise is a bit like a drug. I relished in my endorphin rushes at the end of every day. I got in the cold water in my leggings and sports bra and laid on a rock in the river under this tree and watched the rain fall off the leaves and felt 100% relaxed in that moment. I know it’s really cheesy, but it’s own of those moments etched into my brain and labeled: “Pure happiness.”


Colombia South America

Happiness Colombian Style



I have to say that I may be the happiest I have ever been. Perhaps it’s the fact that I am currently living in the city of eternal spring and the weather hovers around a solid 75F everyday. Perhaps it’s because I spend the majority of everyday working on things I find fulfilling and important (writing, exercise, and language). Or maybe it’s just the view from my apartment.

Medellin

Medellin
It’s so beautiful here it almost makes me feel violent. Every time I look out the window I get so happy I feel like I need to punch something.

El Poblado is definitely an ex-pat bubble. This has been both good and bad— good because I can easily grab a salad, I can go to an English-speaking gym, and there are loads of opportunities for Spanish classes. Bad because, well, it’s a lot harder to slip into Colombian culture when you are living in a miniature United States.

Tomorrow I am flying to Santa Marta for two weeks but before I go, I just want to share parts of why I am feeling so happy in Medellin recently:

  1. Health: I discovered this gym geared at expats here. Usually I don’t like that sort of thing, wanting to “blend into the local culture” like a true hipster. But this gym really made a difference in both my body and my mentality. I’m actually planning  an entire post next week just about my experience working out while traveling.Workout while traveling
    Plus, it’s easy to buy fresh fruits and vegetables (and AVOCADOS) for super cheap, so I’ve been eating ridiculously well. I’ll post some before and after photos soon, but it’s been a pretty exciting transformation.
  2. Language Acquisition: My lack of Hindi in India actually started to depress me. After awhile, every time I spoke English I started beating myself up. I really wish I had taken a real class, but there just wasn’t a market to teach foreigners Hindi in Chandigarh, India (population of foreigners: 0).So when I moved to South America I vowed that I would speak Spanish like a pro by the time I left. Since this is the fourth language I have studied formally (and fifth informally), the process is going quickly.
    Spanish Grammar
    Every possible grammatical tense in Spanish

    I am also planning to write an entire blog post just on learning a language, but I’m pretty excited about where my Spanish is now (it’s a solid “meh” status) as compared to where it was when I first landed in Argentina (I could say ‘pollo’ and ‘hola’).

    Finding a good language teacher can be difficult. It took me three weeks in Medellin before I found a teacher that was a good “fit.” Now I almost don’t want to leave Colombia just because I like my Spanish teacher so much.

  3. Friends: Actually, my social life in Medellin hasn’t been very lively. I’ve gone out a couple times with my AirBnB hosts (I’ve stayed in two AirBnBs now). A few years ago I would find this “sad” but honestly I think not having a ton of social pressure is what is making me so happy. I’ve had tons of time to work on myself, my writing, and my hobbies.
    Me timeRelaxing Medellin
    Me time

    In Argentina, I had a thriving social life but I wasn’t taking care of myself. I’m excited to go back, but I’m happy to have sort of taken a bit of a “break” and gotten myself in order so I can better withstand the social pressure to eat badly and drink a lot.

    Plus, it’s giving me the time to catch up with some of my old friends in the US, India, and Argentina.

    Whatsapp
    We finally convinced Rachel to get on Whatsapp and now I’m basically on a 24/7 conference call
  4. Food: No words needed
    Restaurants Medellin

    Typical Colombian Food
    Menu del dia
    Colombian Cooking
    My attempt at Colombian cooking

    5. Work: I have an amazing routine which involves me waking up at 7am, getting ready, arriving at my café at 8:30am, ordering the exact same thing every morning and working.

    IMG_0609

    Like I said, this neighborhood is an expat bubble. While I don’t love all the English, it is nice that café culture is thriving here. Everyone jams inside with a laptop and is living up the “digital nomad” lifestyle. I get a ridiculous amount of work done in the café from 8:30-12:00/1 everyday.

    6. Festivals: Colombians are great at partying. The next two weeks are Feria de las Flores, the festival of the flowers. This involves parades, flower vendors, free concerts, and traditional food/crafts being sold in parks. I’m sad I will miss so many of the events, but I’ve been working every weekend for a month and a half to justify going on vacation.

    Feria de las flores
    https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4118/4886246817_d7c5fb2938_b.jpg

    Festival de las Flores
    Santa Fe Mall, Festival de las Flores

 

 

Ramadan in Morocco
Adventures in renting abroad Africa Festivals Abroad Middle East Morocco

TBT: The Ghost of Ramadan Past


Recently I’ve been feeling a bit nostalgic for my Middle Eastern adventures, learning Arabic, and gorging on Ramadan sweets. I stumbled across all these old photos from Morocco and decided that’s where we should start.

Ramadan in Morocco
Camel on the beach in Morocco

What is Ramadan?

First, for those who don’t know, Ramadan is a month of fasting. Muslims do not eat, drink, or smoke between sunrise and sunset. Obviously, there are many variables and exceptions which I’m not going to get into.

If you are not Muslim, no one expects you to participate. Of course, different countries have different rules. In the UAE, for example, you can get a ticket for drinking water in public even as a foreigner. Whereas in Lebanon, tons of people smoke and drink on the street all day long.

Moroccan Culture Shock

I’ve traveled to Morocco twice. In 2010, a mere 20-year-old, I arrived with no idea what Ramadan was and little knowledge of the Middle East (or the world).

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The first time I heard the zowaka (the early morning city alert that fasting was beginning again for the day), I sat straight up in bed thinking there was an air strike.

Ramadan in Morocco
Marrakesh Market

It was the first time I ever experienced culture shock. I’m glad I did though, because I’ve managed myself quite well in a host of countries since.

Ramadan in Morocco
Morocco might be the most colorful and photogenic place I’ve visited outside of India

Morocco Part II: Culture “oops”

I returned to Morocco in July 2013 for a one-month Arabic course. I stayed with a Berber woman in Tetouan and her family. She didn’t speak any English or French so we essentially became pro pantomimes in this month.

Ramadan in Morocco
Berber woman in the Tetouan market

The family was incredibly good to me. I cringe thinking about how little clothing I walked around in. It was hot. I was 23. I was whole-heartedly feminist despite the cultural consequences. And I saw no problem with what I was wearing.

Ramadan in Morocco
Me on a day I dressed somewhat decently (2013)

I see the problem now. There’s pushing the limits and then there is just blatantly ignoring them. Part of traveling is realizing when you make a travel “oops” and try to never do it again.

Ramadan Food

The family never said anything. Even when I paraded down the hall in the middle of the night in shorty shorts and a tank top to use the bathroom (cringe).

They still invited me every evening for Iftar (the first meal of the day after sunset). In Morocco, this means lots of dates and harira, a lentil and tomato soup.

Ramadan in Moroccoa
Harira
Ramandan in Morocco
Typical Moroccan Iftar: dates, egg, sweets, and hariria

For some, fasting means waking up early, going to work or school, and carrying on the entire day as normal (without food or drink). Of course, there are others who try to sleep the day away.

Ramadan in Morocco
man napping in Asilah market

The best part of Ramadan is how alive everything becomes at night. From sundown until sunup everyone is gathering on the street, having a mint tea, eating, and enjoying themselves. It’s really like a month-long party.

Ramadan in Morocco
Marrakesh Market

So here’s to all my friends celebrating Ramadan and to everyone else who indulged in my bout of nostalgia. I’m definitely feeling the “itch” to get back to the Middle East. Maybe next Ramadan.

Living in Argentina
Adventures in renting abroad Argentina South America

Life in Argentina



I moved to Argentina a month and a half ago and haven’t been very good at updating my blog. Most of this is due to the fact that my online business is going incredibly well. Who knew remote freelance writing and editing could be so lucrative? Being able to create my own hours and rates provides me with the independence I need, but it also motivates me to the point that I’ve tucked away some of my other goals. I’ve barely done any personal writing, nor have I studied for any of the exams I’m planning to take in a few months.

Life in Argentina

 

But life in Argentina is easy. I have a co-working space called Urban Station where I spend the majority of my time. This is mostly due to unlimited free coffee and croissants. I also have a gym in order to balance out my croissant addiction.

Remote Work

Urban Station
Slightly fuzzy photo from Urban Station

I have Spanish lessons 6 hours/week with a private teacher. Spanish grammar is incredibly easy compared to Arabic or Hindi. The language is so much like French that its not much of a struggle to read. However, with any language, its taking time to commit everything to memory and to get used to speaking and listening to the accent. Especially since Argentinian is different than other Spanish. The double ‘L’ seen in pollo and calle is pronouned “sh” instead of “y” which confuses me sometimes.

Life in Argentina
Playing “Adivina quién?” in Spanish Class

I moved into my apartment a month ago which I share a love-hate relationship with. It’s a pretty cool place, located in a courtyard in one of the more “happening” areas of Buenos Aires. I have my own loft, with a bedroom upstairs, and couch, table, and tiny kitchen downstairs. I share the courtyard with 3 Guatemalans, 2 French people, 2 Brazilians and there is an upstairs unit which is, ironically, housing a friend of mine from college that I met here by coincidence.

Life in Argentina
My courtyard

I like the apartment and all the people, but the issue arises in the fact that most are university students and it’s a bit of a party house. The walls are paper thin so this means if I have to wake up early for work, or want a quiet night at home to be an abuela— no such luck. My earplugs are only so good.

Life in Argentina
Mural inside the courtyard

Actually, the level of partying is downright impressive. Two weekends ago my neighbor started the party at 1am. I left for the gym the next morning around 10am and he was still belting Mulan songs in Spanish.

de alguna manera haré de ti un hombre.

I returned around 2pm to change and the music and alcohol were still flowing freely. At 6pm he came over and invited me to a bar. He finally passed out at 1am the next night.

This morning I woke up around 10am to someone sobbing in the courtyard.

Aside from the crying, it’s a fun place when I want to party. Everyone is very friendly and I love meeting new people. But it is taking its toll on my energy levels. So I’ve decided I will move for sure. The apartment upstairs becomes available June 1st so I’m planning to take that.

Life in Argentina

Living in Argentina
The undecorated loft

That is, if I decided to stay in Argentina. It’s getting cold here and I’m starting to rethink my decision. I’ve met some really cool people here, but I don’t feel emotionally attached the the city like I did Chandigarh or Beirut or Budapest. I still have five months left on my Indian visa and I’m tempted to try living in Mumbai for a few months and return to Argentina in October once it is warmer. Or, I’ve considered going somewhere else in South America with better weather until the winter passes. Maybe Brazil or Colombia.

What do you guys think? I’ve attached a poll for your thoughts

Western Woman in India
Asia India

When Indians Mistake You for a Prostitute



*August 2017 Update: I am not  involved in any way in sex work and never have been. This blog is about about white women are sometimes mistaken  for prostitutes in Northern India and in no way about actual prostitutes.

Living in Buenos Aires is different than living in India. Obviously. But I think it’s giving me some reverse culture shock. Being a Western woman in Argentina isn’t something I ever think about. Being a Western woman in India definitely had it’s drawbacks.

Honestly, I can’t believe how easy things are here.

For one, I am eating red meat just about everyday. In the grocery stores, the entire meat section is beef and pork. I had to actively seek out the chicken section. It had been banished to a small corner away from the “superior” meats.

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I’m going to die of a heart attack

And of course, no one notices me here. This is good and bad. Being the center of attention constantly is pretty exhausting. But then again, sometimes it was fun feeling like a celebrity.

IMG_6963 - Version 2
Girls in India who wanted a photo with me (Oct 2015)

I could launch into a list of all the reasons why Buenos Aires is easier (note: I don’t necessarily think this makes it “better”) but there is one thing that I think is the best:

No one thinks I’m a prostitute.

Being a Western woman in India is a weird mix of benefiting from racist standards of beauty and everyone thinking you are easy. Or worse. Sometimes, away from the touristic centers, they think you are a prostitute.

I soon learned that outside these tourism districts inNorthern India, many “white women” actually are Russian prostitutes. Chandigarh was a rich city. People can pay top dollar to do the dirty.

Don’t Be Caught Alone with Indian Men at 2am

It started my first month in Chandigarh. My friend, Saksham, and I were leaving Rohit’s house a bit late one evening. It was about 2am when started walking toward our Uber driver who had parked around the corner from Rohit’s house, no more than a 2-minute walk. A police officer approached. He and Saksham started talking in Hindi. It didn’t take me very long to figure out what the issue was. Saksham convinced the police officer pretty easily to let us go, but then another officer came over.

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Saksham, the Indian Hipster-Pimp

I had to show the policemen my ID cards— my U.S. Driver’s license, my University of Chicago student ID, and just for kicks, I pulled out a few BCG business cards. I guess even when they do get foreign tourists in Chandigarh, they don’t typically see a Western woman in India getting into a car alone with an Indian boy.

Don’t Be Caught Alone with Indian Men at 2am AGAIN

About two months later, the exact same situation happened. Saksham and I left Rohit’s house around 1am and were waiting in the market for our Uber. A police car pulled up and Saksham didn’t even let them get going with their questions. He very curtly told them we were leaving his cousin’s house, I’m an American working in India, and he was going to make sure that I got home safely because women shouldn’t be left alone in cabs at night in India.

This seemed to do it. They left immediately.

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Saksham and I on the second night we avoided arrest

The Police Just Want Bribes

All my Indian friends told me that the police just want bribes. Apparently, they can’t legally take women to the police station between certain early morning hours. They are actually just hoping to scare the girl and the boy into paying them to leave. Either because she is a prostitute or because the horror of getting a phone call to your parents that you are out drinking with some girl is worth spending a few hundred rupees to prevent. Knowing this, I became emboldened when facing police.

It happened again months later when I was walking through my gate last one night. A policemen followed me home. When he confronted me I just said, “Mera house yehuh hai” (this is my house) and walked away.

IMG_0318
The Indian Army taking an ice cream break 😀

Not Just the Police

Then, of course, there were a few incidents a group of guys walking by and calling some stuff out—basically the Hindi equivalent of, “’hey gurl, hey!”

Or a number of times I was walking during the day and men would ride up on their motorcycles and try to talk to me and get me to add them on Facebook or give me a lift home. They would ask in bad English if we could be “friends,” and I would kindly tell them, “Thanks, but I have enough friends.”

Once a man walked up to me in the park and asked if I would have sex with him. I said, “Ew. No.” I hope he did think I was a prostitute but that he was just so disgusting I had to reconsider my career choice.

The cigarette walla in my market asked Rohit if we were “just going around” (aka prostitution) or if it was a “shaadi thing” (aka marriage).

Version 2
Most guys weren’t That bad. This guy and his friends just wanted some photos with Rohit and me (Oct 2015)

Not That Bad

Honestly, India gets a bad reputation. Being a Western woman in India could be hard, but I’ve been treated much worse in other countries. I never got groped. I never thought something was actually going to happen. I actually didn’t get catcalled that much more or less than in the U.S. Almost everyone was unnecessarily kind to me and treated me with respect.

That being said, it’s nice being in Argentina and not worrying that people think I’m a prostitute.