A day without music is a day wasted

Colombia, and especially its Carribean coast (and Cali, Colombia's Capital of salsa), is the place to go if you like to dance. There is music everywhere. Literally, EVERYWHERE. Every car, house, bar, shops brings a different kind of tune: vallenato, salsa, merengue, bachata, reggaeton, cumbia, hip hop, house even. This leads me to dance uncontrollably all day long. I just can't help myself! Here's a glimpse of what Colombia sounds like:

Vallenato

To me vallenato is Colombia's equivalent of Dangdut (to which I have not even dedicated a blogpost yet!) and what we in Holland call smartlappen or levensliederen (croon songs). The songs are catchy and sentimental. It's popular music, or music for the working class. The themes is usually romantic, the lyrics often speak of lost loves. Lots of the Colombians I meet here don't like it (but all my neighbors so far definetely do). Even though I wouldn't want to listen to it all the time, I kind of like it (a lot). One of the things I like is that the accordeon is important instrument for vallenato and that the songs are sung straight from the heart. I will soon try to sing a song (like I did in Vietnam).

Salsa

On every street corner you can hear a salsa tune, often it´ll be one by Joe Arroyo, Cartagena's pride. This song always make the clubs explode - people in general all sing along to all the songs, no matter whether they can sing or not. I kid you not: the neighbor is playing this song as we speak, or well, as I am typing this - at twelve thirty at night on a Thursday, I might add.

Reggaeton
Many taxi driver's listen to radio Tropicana and will have reggaeton playing in their car. The lyrics are mostly very offensive to women or just disgusting (or both), but oh, is it fun to dance to this!

Solution to fear of failure: just don't do anything

Or Struggling to manage myself (part 4)

It has already been more than five months since I arrived in Cartagena (and I am getting ready to go back to Holland for a few months). During this time I have studied Spanish and now I can actually get around pretty well - if only I get these people of the coast to articulate their consonants. I am meeting a lot of interesting people, am working on NGO toolkit, and on some interesting other projects. I have explored Colombian culture, observed and wrote about it. I'm planning a Fifteen Minutes of Fame event and have started another blog with my friend Laura.

But I had many more things on my wish list, most of them having to do with making videos and writing articles for the NGO toolkit website. I want to work together with local NGO's and of course offer them my services - I do need to make a living too. A few months ago, I realised I had frozen in the face of fear. This theme is nothing new for me, as you know. This time I hadn't realised it straight away, since I thought I was already facing my fears going to an unknown land to learn the language. The real fear is of course in putting myself out there. It is fear of failure, of looking ridiculous. 

This very funny talk by Larry Smith focuses on this particular fear. For many people having this fear means they never end up having a great career, or even taking the leap to try to have one. I fooled myself in thinking I was already there, because I faced many of the excuses I was telling myself not to go for it. Also, I do watch Steve Jobs' commencement speech a lot. However, even though I know what my passion is and am taking the leap, the battle has just begun...

Great quote from this talk: "I would pursue a great career, but I value human relations more than accomplishment. [...] I will not sacrifce them  on the altar of great accomplishment. Do you think it's approprate to take children and use them as a shield?".

How Marc Anthony taught me Spanish

Learning a new language is not fun. At least not for people like me who don´t enjoy learning by doing. Yes, yes, I know doing as in trying as in making mistakes and even failing is part of the learning process. Be that as it is, I still do not like it. Five months ago I started to learn Spanish in Cartagena de Indias, Colombia. It has been a long journey, but at the moment I am actually quite satisfied with my level of Spanish. I did not completely start from scratch as I had studied latin in high school, did a Spanish course when I was 18, spent a month in Mexico a few years ago and had a few hours of Spanish class before departure.   

What I hadn't realized though is that I had an entire vocabulary at my disposal: the vocabulary of love. As I love salsa music, I have listened to certain albums a zillion times. As a teenager, it was Gloria Estefan's 'Mi tierra' album. For a few years now, I've been really into the Mexican singer Julieta Venegas. But how much as I´d like to deny it, it was Marc Anthony who taught me to speak Spanish. I still remember bying the Celos CD (remember those?) at a record store in Hawai´i and listening to it over and over again. Of course, at the time I did not realize it would pay off years later when actively learning Spanish. So, thank you Marc! 

I have to add that here in Colombia it is not a bad thing to like Marc Anthony.  Every hour you can hear one of his songs being played somewhere in Cartagena. So, here I can sing along without feeling ashamed. At last. Thank you, Colombia!

A stack of me

How journaling helps me make sense of my world

                                 12 journals in 17 years

For as long as I can remember I have been writing. First in what we call 'poesie albums' in Holland, which were friendship albums where you'd write a nice poem for a friend and paste a drawing of a cat next to it. When I was about 13 years old, I got my first journal for my birthday. It was pink and had one of those tiny locks on it - the ones that you can pick with a paperclip. I wrote about the things that kept me busy: boys, school, girlfriends, my family, my dreams for the future. Basically, in all the years since, not much has changed. I still write about the same things, albeit in a slightly different way. Or so, I tell myself.

These journals are harder to find these days - luckily I have a stash!

For the past ten years, I have always used notebooks which were sold at Chinese stores in Amsterdam. I have them in all different colors. Up until now, no other notebook is accepted - this is one of the few things I am extremely picky about. 

It's been said that people with journals tend to be more successfull (really, it's been said!). I'm not sure that is really the case, but I do believe that writing a journal helps personal development. After writing the same negative crap to yourself over and over again, there has to be a point were you realise (and I did, and do, all the time) that it's time to change course.

People always ask me if I write everyday, which I don't. I don't think it's necessary to keep a log of all the things that happened in my life. It's more important to take time to reflect on those things that are that important that I feel like writing about them. Having a rhythym for writing (at least every week, for instance) does help.

'This journal belongs to Amis Boersma, others are NOT allowed to read this'

I (and yes, it's very Oprah) often take time to be grateful for the things that happen in my life. I write down specific events or people I am happy with and I do find that overall I am happier now than before. I am more at easy with how my life is. In a way, my journal carries me through the good and the bad.

Would I want you to be able to read my journals after I am gone? I'm not sure. The crazy talk is better disregarded - and there's quite a lot of that. So, maybe if you only read the gratitude parts, yes. For now, I'll just stick to being grateful for yet another day on this planet.

Keeping a journal supports personal development

New goal: to always live near to a mango tree

This week I created a new goal for myself: from now on I want to spend most of my time living next to a mango tree. From my balcony of my apartment in a cosy neighborhood near to Cartagena's old center, I can almost reach for a big, soon-to-be ripe mango. Spending some time reading in the hammock last Saturday, I witnessed how about ten different groups of boys threw pieces of wood, stone or whatever else they could grab at the tree, hoping to hit a few mangos to the ground. The downstairs neighbor (officially named 'Cascarrabias' or grouch by his upstairs neighbors) seemed to be calling the police the other day to make an official complaint. Interestingly the mango tree is not even his. It's on the street and is public property. 

Blogging in the hammock while monitoring mango movement

Just now (as I am writing this) a boy asked me if he could have a go at the tree, to which I invitingly said yes. But Mr. Cascarrabias (obviously) did not agree and sent the boy scurrying off on his bike. When coming home today, there was a man in the three with a huge bag filling it up with mangos. The mango I have had my eye on is still there. But how do I get it? If it falls down, it will land on hostile territory - unless with some divine intervention it is blown a meter to the left towards the entrance of our humble abode. If only I'd have time to keep my eye on the mango all day, I may be able to get a hold of it... But well, I guess I just have to live with the fact that the mango I see so well and so desire, will never be mine. However, the guy in the tree offered to sell me some, so maybe I still stand a chance... 

There it is, the mango I desire...

What's in a name? There's a whole lot in mine!

Last week I went to the immigration office here in Cartagena to get my tourist visa extended with another 90 days (yes, no way I am leaving this place if I don't have to). I was asked to fill out a form which had several interesting boxes to fill out such as hair color and distinguishing physical features. My friend Marcela suggested 'freckles', but I decided to leave it blank - which in turn made the officer ask me if I had any tattoos (don't worry, mom, I still didn't get one). The best box however was  SUEDONIMO/NICKNAME. I also didn't fill this one out, but it did made me think of the different names and nicknames I have. It reminded me of the book 'The Namesake' in which the main character has different names adjusted to the different stages of his life. 

I love my name. Thanks, mom and dad, for giving it to me. I have loved it ever since I can remember. I have loved telling people how it means 'Sweet' in my mom's mother tongue, Sundanese, spoken on West Java, Indonesia. But how vividly do I remember the day that some annoying Indo (mixed Indonesian-Dutch), giving me ride home after a party, told me that no, it didn't mean 'sweet', it meant 'smelly of fish'. I decided to ignore his comment, but had to face the truth when I started studying Indonesian and was surrounded by non-Sundanese Indonesians all the time. Yes, in Indonesian it does really mean 'smelly of fish'.

This discovery led me to improvise with my name: In Indonesia (everywhere outside of West Java) I now go by the name Ami. It took me a while, but now I can switch gears between Amis and Ami with ease. I respond to anything that could possibly be my name, even 'Amice' (which is how frat boys address one another in Holland). Amish is a bridge too far, but a few people have made the mistake. Anne-mies or Anne-Marlies have been tried as well. Those I just pretend not to have heard.

Aampje

Then there are the real nicknames. You'd think there's not a lot to do with a four-letter name like mine, but you'd be surprised! I guess I just have lots of creative people around me, because my nicknames are many. My mom, my sisters, my little brothers and my close friends call me Aam, or Aampje. My eldest sister sometimes calls me Mango after learning that Aam means mango in an Indian dialect that of high school friends speaks. My big brother calls me Plaam or something else which I will not mention here on this blog. A nephew used to always call me Misa. My first digital nickname was Amsi (amsi@dds.nl was my first email address), thanks to my geeky first boyfriend. In Indonesia some of my close friends got rid of the A and just call me Mi. No one calls me 'I' (as in Bee), thank god! Someone (let me add this was in the US) did think my name was 'Is' (an 'Ease'), thinking I had said "I am Is" as opposed to "I'm Amis". Yeah. A primary school teacher called me 'Bami' (when I was younger I looked more Asian, I guess). Is very that politically incorrect? Two of my friends call me 'Mies' (which is a very old fashioned Dutch name). One of my best friends calls me Mavis or Mave, but I am not actually sure how that started. I think it was supposed to be my stage name... Then there are a few people that call me by my second name 'Agung' and some other friends call me Boersma. I in turn call them by their last names too (De Vries!).

Amisita

The latest nickname I obtained is 'Amistad' (Spanish for friendship). Marcela started this new trend and says it in the way that my grandmother calls my uncle by his full name 'Benno Peter Boersma' - usually when scolding him. I awarded myself the nickname Amisita while dreaming about going to South America and use it with pleasure here. 

In every nickname a different part of me is represented. Some go unused for years and pop up when I meet an old friend. Some change users, depending on the people I hang out with most. I'd say the possibilities to improvise more with my name are about to be depleted, but who knows what more is to come... For now, I'll explore being Amisita 

Big butts - the side effects of Colombian cuisine

The past weeks in Cartagena have been jam-packed with new sensations. I am learning more Spanish everyday (have gone through all forms of verb conjugations and am now in the phase of complete and utter confusion about which tense to use), I am making friends and soaking up as much of Colombian culture as I possibly can. Of course I have tasted lots and lots of food by now. The streets here are filled with the sound of music and scents of great food. Food is certainly taken seriously here. They like it big here in Colombia. Everything, including butts (they sell push up panties to make butts look bigger!) and bellies (Colombian men drink too much beer). While I lost weight when I was living in Indonesia, I will really have to pay attention not to gain too much weight here. The diet consist mostly of carbohydrates and is very greasy. The frightening part is that it's very tasty...

Who wants lobster for lunch?

For breakfast many people here (as in Indonesia) eat fried salty snacks (Ieeugh!) with a cup of very sweet black coffee on the side. I still go for  the sweet option; yoghurt or a caffe con leche with cake. 

Sweet coffee with milk and cake

Lunch is a huge meal, often including a soup, a main course consisting of meat or fish and something sweet for desert, and often a drink. Besides meat and rice, you will find (often fried) platano (tropical banana) and potatoes on your plate here. Tasty and very filling. For about 3 euros you'll be full and ready for a siesta.

Mote de queso - cheese soup made with cheese from the coast

Fish with coconut rice and platano

Three course lunch for 3 euros

If you are hungry again in the afternoon (dinner is often eaten quite late - for Dutch standards at least), you can go for an arepa: mais dough filled with meat and eggs, which is briefly fried (see picture below). The best arepas of Cartagena can be found at Dora's on Calle Tumbamuertos, in between my language school and Casa Nativa (my second home here). My friend Sara hypothesized that there may be a relation between breast size and the amount of arepas women eat. Now we shout out 'Arepas!' when we see a fine rack passing us by.

With all this food, it surprises me that not more people are obese here. Vegetables do not seem to have priority here.  I'll keep you posted on the state of my weight and arteries - if I'm not too busy eating, that is.

Bollo de mazorca - maisdough with local (very salty) cheese

Arepa filled with egg and meat