EL PULPO

Menu:

Course 1: El Pulpo: served with mangos, parsley and garlic

Course 2: Seared ("raw") Marlin Steaks: served on a bed of lettuce with avocado and tomato

Course 3: Strawberry Salad: five different cheese (did I mention that one of them is bacon flavored)

Course 4: Calamari: served in a butter cream sauce

Course 5: Shrimp: baked in plantains

Course 6: Salmon Manicotti

Course 7: Vino

Graciela our neighbor had announced earlier in the week that she would be making a gourmet dinner for whomever wanted to put 15.000 pesos (equivalent of $7.00) in the pot. Beko (Jota's mom) was anxiously bustling about as I danced my way into the dinner party. Lani had been put to work making sure all appetizers and wine were properly arranged on the table.

I followed her into the kitchen like a gosling, explaining to her that I was not satisfied with my foot work in dance class. She was laughing at me as I showed her the different moves that I had so carelessly, easily and consistently mess up just moments before in dance class. Although Omar (my teacher) was impressed by my improvements in Meringue. We were joking around and I was about to leave the kitchen when Graciela called me back to carry "el pulpo" to the table.

This is when the night took a turn -- I would like to call it a comical turn. I carefully picked up two of the crystal appetizer glasses to bring them to the table. In each glass lay a crisp, fresh piece of lettuce that was covered with a ceviche looking like concoction. I could tell that the mixture contained: mangos, parsely, garlic and a surprise, rubber like seafood. Now being honest with everyone and myself -- I would say that I am a fairly picky eater thanks to Tom and Jenny Wilder. When I was just a little tot I loved seafood until I became extremely ill one night after eating Alaskan King Crab. However, in the last five years I would like to think that I have made great strides with my seafood phobia. I now love fresh fish, lobster, shrimp and crab again! Thanks to Danny and Kelly I can say that I almost enjoy sushi sometimes! However, there are just some types of seafood that no matter what I do or how many times I try them I just can't stomach them.

As I meticulously placed the two glasses on the table, I began to repeat "el pulpo" over and over again in my head. It was a word that I was not familiar with and I had this sinking feeling that it belonged to the feared class of seafood. When I reached the kitchen for the second time I realized that Lani was alone. Before anyone else wandered back into the kitchen the mystery was solved. Lani exclaimed, "It's octopus Megan! And I sampled it...it's so delicious!" This girl was pumped about the appetizer that was awaiting us in the next room.

Under my breath I quickly replied, "I can't stand octopus...let alone the texture." Deep down inside I was wishing that I could somehow bring myself to appreciate and like this food, but it just has not happened. Plus whenever I eat octopus I have these visions of eight legged creatures swimming freely through the sea. As I pondered how I was going to dispose of my octopus I made trips between the kitchen and the patio with the remaining glasses of ceviche.

The ambiance was magnificent with only one light shining on the middle of the table. I figured if I got a place at one of the ends I could slip "mi pulpo" into the gardens or feed it to the hotel cats. No such luck because on my third trip back to the table, Lani was seated smack dab in the middle. There was no way my clever plan would work. Not only was my plate going to be visible the entire night but we were in the midst of everyone. All eyes would be on us!

Lani could see my panic stricken face as I took my seat beside her. We managed to handle the situation fairly well. We politely told Graciela that I had just never acquired a taste for pulpo. And made a joke about how there would be more for everyone. Turning down the first dish was taking a major risk because there was no way I could decline any other food that was placed in front of me. Instead of giving you a play by play of how I choked down the food I will just summarize it below with the menu from above.

Menu:

Course 1: El pulpo -- Megan politely declines.

Course 2: Seared ("raw") Marlin -- Megan gets served a heaping portion. She chews each bite for about 5 minutes. When no one is looking she slips the rest into a napkin and hides it under the table for some creature to feast upon later in the night.

Course 3: Strawberry Salad w/five types of cheese -- Megan is looking forward to washing the raw fish flavor out of her mouth. Her plate gets load with salad, only to find that one of the cheeses is bacon flavored. So she quickly chews and swallows each bite as not to gag on the bacon flavored cheese.

Course 4: Calamari -- When Beko asked Megan if she had calamari salad. Megan quickly and confidently replies "Yes, yes we did." Meaning yeah Lani did.

Course 5: Shrimp w/plantains -- Best dish by far. Edible!

Course 6: Salmon Manicotti --Megan serves everyone so that she can take the smallest portion possible. Normally Megan loves salmon except in pasta...so yeah that was the food in a nutshell.

Course 7: Vino -- When asked if Megan would like wine. She accidentally shouts, "Si!" Embarrassing to say the least...

Let's just say it was quite the menu for Megan's enjoyment! Wish you could have joined us for dinner!

I will try to recreate it when I return.

Until then take care,

Megan

La ciudad que no existe...

So for the last week I have been trying to think of the short story that I was certain to I have read about Mompox, Colombia in one of my Spanish Literature classes in college. No such luck! I finally came to the conclusion that I had written this story in my own head. I think I had combined the works of Julio Cortazar's collection of short stories Todos los fuegos el fuego and Gabriel Garcia Marquez's novel El general en su labriente. I have never read Garcia's novel -- only heard people here in Colombia talking about how Mompox is incorporated into the story. And I imagine like his other masterpieces it is worth reading. However, I highly recommend Cortazar's collection of short stories. Arguably one of the best pieces of literature that I read during my college career.

Anyways don't want to bore you with what I may or may not have read in college. Mompox, Colombia is a small city that is hidden in the interior of this nation. Situated on the Magdalena River and surround by swamps, it takes a determined soul to reach this place. There is current discussion of putting a highway through Colombia that would connect Venezuala to Panama. With the construction of this road this quaint city would forever change, most likely losing it's charm that makes it so unique. In my mind I call it "La ciudad que no existe" (the city that doesn't exist). I encourage you to visit it before we lose the city of sleepy glory.

Until next time,

Megan

In order to get to Mompox you have to take a ferry across the river it's about a 30 minute trip, but only departs at certain times throughout the day. Of course Lani and I got to chill in a little hut for a good two hours before we board the ferry. Very relaxing afternoon -- on Colombian time.

See if you can spot the iguana. We went on a trip down the Magdalena River and hiked the river banks.

A picture of the front of our boat and the river banks of Mompox.

The cemetary of Mompox. People are still buried here today and the graves are above ground. The tombstones are massive.

I have never been so close to monkeys in my life. They were incredibly loud and tried to poop on our heads. Thankfully, we both escaped. They don't look that close cause my camera is ancient.

The shores of Mompox. Interesting fact that we learned from our boat driver -- the presidents wifes parents "live in Mompox." Or they own a second home in Mompox, but not sure how often they visit.

La gordita

I immediately had a flashback to my host family in the Dominican Republic. I was often the only person in the family who would be forced to sit down to three complete meals a day -- gluttonous meals . When no one else was eating -- you could be sure to find Megan at the kitchen table. My host mom's goal was to make me fatter before I returned to the United States. She was pretty blatent about here objective with the portion of food that I was served, not wanting to be rude I would eat the two sandwiches on Wonder bread with ham (one of my all time favorites), 32 oz. chocolate milk (which I truly enjoyed) and a mammoth size fruit salad too. When neighbors stopped by and inquired how her new "daughter" was doing, she would say something along the lines of she will be "una gordita" (a fatty) when I am done with her. Let's me just say she succeeded at the very least. I came back to the US 20 pounds heavier after only living with "mi mama" for less than two months.

After being in the house of Jota's grandparents for less than five minutes, I had been served a massive plate of traditional food of Barranquilla, Colombia. Furthermore, there were numerous side dishes to complement my main course --(fried yucca, platanos, salad, soup, fresh juice and coca-cola). The quantity of food sitting on the table implied that Jota's grandparents had the same idea -- except their time table was limited to 48 hours. I glanced around the room and realized that all eyes were on me.

Perfect...right?

Then it hits me. If I mess this meeting up I will forever taint the image of my best friend and the United States. I realize that the gaze has not shifted away from me. I pick up my fork and pray to the gods that I will like the food on my plate. Props to the chef -- I didn't have to pretend to love the food. Right away I assured Jota's grandparents, his great aunt, his Mom and cousin that the food was outstanding. Which quickly put everyone at ease and saved me from being chopped liver. After trying to put a decent dent in all of the foods on the table I realized that the next couple days were going to be filled with eating, trying to understand Jota's grandfather and practicing my Spanish.

It was a successful couple of days. I got to see where my best friend's boyfriend had grown up. I also went to the ice cream parlor that Gabriel Garcia Marquez wrote about in Love In the Time of Cholera and had the traditional ice cream of Barranquilla. Furthermore, Jota's grandfather was the the biggest hoot. He would go off on tangents about US politics and what my opinions were; however, I would only catch about half the conversation before I was completely lost with his train of thought. Then he would proceed to say how I didn't understand a lick of Spanish, which I found to be rather entertaining. I am starting to comprehend some parts of the language. I think a lot of people still think I am completely lost like a few weeks ago, but not as often (I don't want people to know that I know what they are saying). Because let me tell you it's the best way to find out people's deepest and darkest secrets. Just learn another language.

Peace and Love,

Megan

PS -- When I got back to Cartagena, Lani informed me that she was the first girlfriend that Jota's family liked. Thankfully, she didn't tell me that before I left. Lani and Jota are doing well. And la familia de Consuegra was thoroughly entertained for those 48 hours.

Abuelo por favor permitame sentar!

My definition for grandpa is a person that is USUALLY caring, jolly and protective of the generation that could potentially be their grandchild. From my travels and life experiences -- I would say that generally no matter where you go in the world this is the case. I want you to keep this in mind as you read on.

I was positioned in the middle of la Plaza de Santo Domingo with a bunch of my friends. At night this plaza is vibrant with life -- many vendors and street performers. Gorgeous Colombian men and women shakin' their hips to the cumbia. I was mesmerized by the way these women could shimmy and shake. From listening to the conversation that was taking place between the people I was with it became obvious that I was going to need to make a decision on what to do. I could either go to la Plaza de San Diego for beer with my close friends. Or the other option was to dance the salsa with the Brit and her Colombian friend Andrea. Before I go into what I decided to do -- let me preface the rest of this with both the Brit and Andrea are professional dancers.

Lani looked at me for an answer, I was torn and didn't want to miss out on anything. With my eyes I gave her my answer and turned abruptly away from her. I gave the Brit an enthusiastic smile and accepted her invitation to go dancing. The three of us parted from the rest of the group and began to wander the mysterious streets of Cartagena. Andrea was practicing her English with the Brit and discussing some of the latest dance techniques. I on the other hand was daydreaming about the place that I was in when Andrea announced that we would be meeting her friend Andre. I thought nothing of the name at the time.

As she hustled ahead of us to meet her friend further down the road -- we bumped into our other friend from the hotel. Before I knew what was happening Andrea had returned with her friend. I just about fainted when I realized that I was going to go dance the salsa with one of my dance teachers (thankfully not the one that I love).

I could feel the knots beginning to form in my stomach. All I could think about was how embarrassing the next seven hours of my life could be with three professional dancers. Thoughts were racing through my head. Then I had an ingenious idea -- what if I just quickly clenched my stomach and proceeded to tell the three of them how sorry I was, but I was about to be deathly ill. Then it hit me -- this poor guy had repeated the same question about three times in a row. For the fourth time he said, "Megan, how have your other dance classes been going?"

I chuckled a little, let out an exasperated sigh and made myself comfortable with the fact that I was not going anywhere. I replied by saying, "You would be blown away by my progress. If your company is looking for a professional dancer I would be thrilled and honored." So thus began another fateful night of dancing in Cartagena.

I don't want to bore you with the minute to minute details, but I want to make the night come to life. Unlike my first dance experience in Colombia this is the exact atmosphere that my dance skills thrive in. I didn't have to worry about being spotted -- the lighting was obscure and I could have easily slithered into the back corner to hide. Quiebra Canto is a perfect place to dance salsa for the whole night. It has a balcony that overlooks La Torre de Reloj (The Clock Tower) and the view is magnificent creating a magical mood.

We all sat down at a table in the middle of the bar. Both Andrea and Andre turned towards that Brit. She was leaving Colombia in two days and they wanted her to choose the drink for the evening. The variety of liquor and alcohol in this country would blow many people away. Both of them told her that we had a choice of either ron (rum) or aguardiente (type of alcohol that Colombia is known for). The Brit's facial expression made it apparent to everyone that she had never tried aguardiente and with that the decision was made. One bottle of aguardiente for the four of us. I later found out that she thought it was a mixed drink. Nope -- not the case in Colombia most drinks 95% consist of either straight ron or aguardiente served like a shot or over ice. If you have never tasted aguadrdiente, imagine black licorice in alcohol form. Another name for this alcohol is English is "burning water" or "firewater."

Just as the bottle of aguardiente arrived at our table, Andre asked me if I wanted to dance. Without hesitating I jumped up from me seat -- I figured if I danced I would miss one round of shots. I knew I was in for it when I turned towards the dance floor. Picture this no one on it except Megan and Andre. The shot of aguardiente was looking more and more appealing. But now I had committed to dancing. Thankfully, every table in the place was filled so it would be like a recital or performance for everyone in the bar!

Uno-dos-tres-toque-cinco-seis-siete-toque. My teacher was counting every beat for me quite entertaining if you are Colombian and dancing is second nature. Besides laughing, thrusting my hips in the wrong direction and perhaps stepping on Andre's feet a couple of times, it was a successful first dance. I was thrilled with my progress and ready to sit down again. Again I began to practice the number one rule of dancing that I had learned my first night here --keep the eyes down and look enthralled in your conversation. If you follow this rule you can sometimes avoid dancing with randoms.

Ironically, I love dancing but don't have the technique or practice to blend in with my surroundings quite yet. Just a few minutes after sitting down it became obvious that I would not be sitting the entire night because I broke the number one rule. Now whatever direction I looked in a dance partner was waiting to sweep me off my feet. In the early hours of the night the place was packed with locals, but as the night progressed a group of foreigners wandered in. They too thought that I would make a perfect partner because I was foreign and pretty much clueless.

My first foreign dance partner of the night was a young man who lived in L.A. but was born in Kosovo. In slurred Spanish he asked me if I spoke English. When I respond "Yes" he immediately gave up all effort to speak Spanish. As he lead me crashing into every other pair on the dance floor, he somehow managed to explain that he was attending a bachelor party here in Cartagena. Over the music and excitement on the dance floor he asked me what brought me here and where I was headed. I quickly explained what I had been doing in Cartagena and how I was headed to Haiti to volunteer in the beginning of May. This is when I got dragged off the dance floor to meet his friend Pierre.

Pierre is a French kid who also lives in L.A. and is adorable. He too is going to Haiti in the beginning of May with a medical organization that he works with in L.A.. As we got to talking I was again pulled onto the dance floor. Now this kid could dance on the beat and was fairly talented foreign dancer. Probably because his motto was "Just roll with it." He figured that if we whipped and spun across the dance floor in every direction no one would know the difference. At the time it seemed like no one noticed two gringos killing it on the dance floor.

For the rest of the night I had numerous Colombian men asking for a dance. My favorite was Grandpa -- he seemed to know the moves and looked eager to teach me a thing or two. At this point it was about 2 o'clock in the morning and Grandpa was still riping it up on the dance floor. He extended his hand out to me just as I was about to take a seat and rest. Not wanting to be rude to my elders; I smiled, took his hand and began to dance the salsa. Things were going more smoothly now and some of the techniques and steps that I had learned in class were being put to good use. As the song came to an end I thanked him and began to turn away. However, he had obviously had about 50 years of quick moves on the dance floor and swept me into him. By this point it was too late and he had plopped a kiss on my check. He then began to alternate between my two cheeks.

As you can imagine -- I am a bit taken aback and in shock! After the second set of kisses on the cheek I am hysterically laughing and trying to pull out. In my head I am thinking "Abuelo por favor permitame sentar (Grandpa please let me sit down)." Then out of the corner of my eye I see Andre coming to my rescue.

The night was a hit! Learned many killer moves, made new friends and found out that Gramps can still shake it. Grandpa Colombia was just excited to teach me to dance. All I have to say is entertaining and hilarious!

Miss you all,

Megan

(Dedicated to J Deets)

Los hermanos

Hola! I was blessed with the presence of both Hans and Peter Gulstrand -- like many of you already know these two boys can pretty much show up anywhere in the world. They decided to come to Colombia for their Spring break. They literally announced that they would be arriving a week before they actually came so we had no idea where the week would take us.

However, I was blown away by the beauty of this country. We ended up going to El Parque Tayrona. This national park has some of the most beautiful beaches that I have ever seen. The water is absolutely gorgeous and pristine. In order to reach the first beach you have to hike for at least 45 minutes or pay to take a boat to the beaches which is illegal because you have to pay a fee to get into the park.

This time we didn't break the law and decided to enter and pay. It was well worth the money. The hiking was beautiful and the rainforest and ocean were spectacular. I will let the Gulstrand boys share their experience with you. If you want their numbers just let me know. However, I will tell a story through the following picutres -- hope you enjoy! Not sure what is going on with this computer but the first paragraph is just going to be underlined. Love you all!

~Megan

Hans and Peter arrived in the wrong city 24 hours before I thought they would be in Colombia.

Lani and I received a phone call from Hans and Peter when we were in La Guajira. Thankfully, we were on our way back towards Riohacha, Colombia. When we got to Riohacha, I jumped on a bus to Santa Marta. I met the boys at a hostal around eight that night. Thanks to the Baranquilla bus company's concern for these two blonde Americans we received a phone call and Lani told the bus company to drop them off in Santa Marta.

Ready to hike the trails of Colombia with my friends.

The two dots are Peter and I hiking through the jungle. It was very beautiful and I saw lots of ants carrying leaves across the trail.

After hiking through the jungle for about an hour we reached the ocean.

The beaches were outstanding! Every beach was extremely different -- the sand was different colors and textures. However, all were gorgeous and the water was shades of blue and green.

I don't think I have ever been to a place quite like this. Where you have mountains, jungle and beaches within steps of each other.

Our next stop after the national park was Taganga. A fishing town located in between two mountains. We had quite the experience. Met new friends from Bogota, Colombia.

Looks like a pretty clean bed. Until you wake up the next morning covered in bites -- from bed bugs. Thankfully, people no longer think that I have the chicken poxes or some serious illness because the bites have finally gone.

Thanks to Peter and Hans I had a great week. Most of these pictures were snapped by Hans!

La libertad de la tortuga

In Colombia people celebrate Semana Santa (Holy Week). So we decided that we would spend the week traveling the Northern Caribbean coast. In the beginning, our group consisted of Manon, Lani and myself. Our goal was to reach Guajira. The northeastern region of the country facing both the Caribbean Sea and Venezuela. It is also a region of Colombia that is populated by many indigenous tribes -- the most well known being the Wayuu.

The first day we made it to the city of Riohacha, Colombia. It was a fairly smooth trip we rode in four different buses and only took two taxis. For a grand total of about 12 hours. Manon was thrilled to have a seat on the floor of the second bus after traveling on a broken bus that trucked along at a solid 20 km/hr. It was really a beautiful drive and the scenery kept us all entertained. We were able to arrive early enough to be able secure a ride to the northern parts of the Guajira peninsula the next day!

We were picked up by our trusty Colombian driver Andres in his pimped out four wheel, cafe colored trooper. It took me back to my good old days when my Uncle Ralph drove a red troop through the north woods of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. But to my disappointed Ralph was not behind the wheel ready to make his nephews and niece screech as powered through the muddy roads near the shores of Gitche Gumee!

Nope this adventure would be with Andres. For the first hour of the drive we learned quickly that the easiest way to refuel your vehicle was to pay someone to pour it into the gas tank. Not only were we traveling with Andres, but to make his efforts worth the money we had the company of two of the sweetest Colombian women that I have meet on my travels. The daughter had just been married a month before and was headed to the same place Cabo de la Vela as us with her jolly mother to escape married life for the weekend. As we flew along, Andres explained that we would be touring the salt fields of Colombia before arriving at our final destination.

Seeing how much salt was collected from the Caribbean Sea was quite amazing. The mounds of clean salt formed a small mountain range on the coast of the Colombian shore. The guard allowed us to tour the field as long as we promised not to climb the heaps of crystallized salt. I was constantly entertained by the gorgeous scenery of desert, sea and salt.

I will never do the trip justice by trying to describe where we drove. People were not joking when they said that it was nearly impossible to reach many areas of the Guajira Peninsula without a hired driver. Had I been behind the wheel I don't think the three of us would have ever returned. There were no paved roads after the first hour just hot, arid desert. Sometimes it was hard to differentiate between the sea and the shadows of the sun, but thankfully we had Andres. He seemed to love his job. He knew every road like the back of his palm and loved jamming to his Salsa tunes.

You really have no way of knowing where you are going because every path is unmarked. But Andres never ceased to amaze us with his sense of direction. Before long we were pulled over to a house located in the middle of nowhere. The view was spectacular. This was by far the best food that I have had since arriving in Colombia. The coconut rice was to die for and the fish was cooked to perfection.

Andres kept us moving along because he wanted us to reach the final destination. My two new Colombian friends that were traveling with us were in love with their camera and kept stopping the vehicle so that they could take photos of the beautiful scenery. I guess for the benefit of all of you I now have more photos thanks to them.

As we were zooming along the beach Andres said, "tortuga." Now turtles have always been one of my favorite creatures and I just about flew through the rough when he announced that there was a turtle swimming close to the shore. To my surprise he was not stopping like he had been every other time the two ladies saw a mosquito.

And now here we were about to rip past a huge sea turtle. I kept glancing out the window looking for an enormous turtle either at the edge of the sea or on the beach. All I saw was a young man dragging something through the water. I was about to turn to Lani, when I realized that someone had convinced Andres to stop the car. I was located in the very back seat stuck behind everyone else.

Without even realizing what I was doing I had strategically allowed myself to fall into the middle seat right between the two Colombian women. Lani and Manon were cracking up because they had never seen someone so excited about a turtle. I think the two women just thought I was a bit insane, but I was not going to miss this opportunity.

I still had not realized that my poor turtle had been captured. I was scanning the beach for my little turtle, when I suddenly saw the suffering turtle flailing through the water. I wanted to reach out to snip the rope with a huge gardening shears. If I had one I probably would have, but to my dismay I had to watch as the proud young man show off his prized turtle.

My heart dropped this turtle was going to be someone's dinner in less than 24 hours. Nothing I could do -- would save this ancient sea creature. I guess it is the circle of life, but I have never seen something with such grace and beauty completely helpless. Nothing I said was going to save the turtle!

As I sulked at the thought of how many relatives this guy was leaving behind I was able to snap some pictures. I was so tempted to tackle the young to the ground, but quickly realized that Tom Wilder would prefer not to have to rescue his daughter from a Colombian prison. So instead I obediently returned to Andres's vehicle. As I strapped myself in I listened to the Spanish conversation about how much money the lad would receive for his catch. This turtle was about to provide for his family. I tried not to feel too guilty about my lack of efforts to save the turtle.

The Guajira Peninsula is absoluletly gorgeous and thanks to my two new Colombian ladies below are many pictures for your enjoyment! Deep down inside I have convinced myself that the turtle managed to reach his freedom. Maybe the rope broke!

Peace and love,

Megan

La Tortuga

Arid Beach -- Northern Colombia

Top of the Mountain

Pelicans on one of the beaches!

Puedeets! I decided to do a little bouldering.

Lani wanted to kill me, but if you look closely

you will see that it is me on top of the cliff!