Our last Spanish class for the first week was pretty much uneventful. We did have to say goodbye to
our teacher John. He wasn't going to
continue with us the following week because he was taking time off to finish
his Master thesis. I was going to miss
him because he had been so encouraging of questions and presented his
information in such an organized manner.
Michael thought he was ok, but complained that John was too
soft-spoken. Little did Michael know at
the time that John was going to be the best teacher we would have.
Colombian Interpretation of Mexican Food
To celebrate the start of our weekend, we sought out our favorite
cuisine, Mexican food. We had seen the
restaurant Ay Caramba the other night filled to the brim with people and
broadcasting lively music. I ordered
nachos, Michael ordered a burrito, and we bristled with curiosity about how the
Colombian version of Mexican food would stack up to Southern California's, the
best iteration we've had.
While we waited, we sipped our drinks and twiddled our
thumbs. This was when we realized that
Mexican restaurants in Colombia don't give out chips and salsa as Americans
do. We really missed it! Man, we're spoiled in the States. Michael was curious what their hot
sauce tasted like because Colombians are known for not liking spicy food. At. All.
Michael had a bit of what was
provided at our table and was pleasantly surprised! Finally, Colombians are doing something
right, he thought. He read the label to
find out where the restaurant bought their hot sauce (maybe we would put it on
our list of possible daytrips) and was unpleasantly surprised. The sauce was manufactured in Mexico! It makes sense now that I think about it that
the restaurant would try to be authentic, but Michael was so disappointed. It also makes sense now why our friend Diana
doesn't like Mexican food too much. She
had claimed it wasn't spectacular to most Colombians. Now I think it's that it's just too spicy for
them.
My nachos came and they were so beautiful! And then I dipped a chip in the beans and
what I thought was the cheese. It was
delicious and went well with my alcohol, but it was just different. It was more like a soupy cream of beans,
mushed avocado, and sour cream that sog out the chips. Michael's burrito arrived and it looked
odd. I unfortunately had not taken a
picture, but my first thought when I saw it was that it looked hollow. Michael found it refreshing because he thinks
Qdoba and Chipotle burritos are too stuffed and messy. To me, it looked more like a pre-assembled
fajita, which is beside the point of a burrito or a fajita. It tasted alright, but was just different.
Trying new things, or even just new versions of what one has
already tried, is a benefit to traveling to a new city, state, or country. Our visit to Colombia, however, was tinged
with the consideration of living there in the future. So when I had the Mexican food and observed
its difference from Mexican American cuisine, I had to gauge my tolerance of
being without the exact comforts of
home. Honestly, I myself could survive without my favorite foods. I
recently lasted an incredible 3 years without having had Jack-in-the-Box's
Sourdough Jack. I did not wither, nor
did I find the reunion with the savory sandwich lackluster. After the long absence from my mouth, the
Sourdough Jack was welcome with open and enthusiastic taste buds. In conclusion, I may not be able to enjoy the
nachos I'm used to in the States, but it would be only a mere 2 years until I
would return to delight in them once again.
Weekend Nightlife
After our lunch we did what we used to do before kids - take an afternoon nap. We worked out and then got ready to
experience the infamous nightlife around Medellín's Parque Lleras. There had not yet been a night that we did
not see Parque Lleras crowded with people, young and old, but we noticed that
the numbers increased as the weekend approached. I wondered exactly how crowded and how
rambunctious the nightlife district would get.
At 8pm, Michael and I wandered around looking for a nice
restaurant that would have a great view for people watching. We came across a (surprise, surpise) steakhouse
called Triada. What attracted me to it
were their welded lighting fixtures. Hanging from their ceilings are these amoebic
metal shapes that house the nucleus of light that is the bulb. Ever since I've tried welding from Michael's
tools, I've been so fascinated with clean executions. Welding is difficult and when one sees the
creativity of art welded with the finesse of technique, it's
inspiring. But what really sold us on
the place was that it was at a busy pedestrian intersection, near which was the
one bar in the area that plays rock music.
There seemed to be only 3 types of music played in Colombia. New Latino Pop, Old Latino Pop, and American
Rock. There are loads of venues and
restaurants that play the first two but only a handful in the entire city that
play the last one. Hip Hop and English
Pop from America, Australia, or Europe are rarely heard. In fact, I heard Hip Hop (circa 2000s) once
on a Tuesday night at a diner-like restaurant and it lasted only 5 songs before returning to the usual Latin playlist.
At Triada, we had some samplers and wine. Our platter featured popular Colombian appetizers:
Starting from the french fries
("papas fritas") on the bottom center and going clockwise, we have
chorizitos, arepa chócolo, something I forget the name and taste of, grilled
steak and chicken, pork ribs, and finally ... the most Colombian thing on the
platter ... morcilla, or blood sausage.
I thought I would like morcilla because Filipinos have a blood stew that I grew up eating with gusto. But I didn't. I think it was because the morcilla was a bit dry. I later tried other morcilla in Colombia and concluded the same thing: dried up blood is not as tasty as soupy blood. I must be part vampire.
Old Man and Old Lady
When we finished our meal, the time was about 10pm. We walked around the entire nightlife
district again to see where we would want to have some more drinks and
dance. Despite our enjoying our recent
salsa lessons, Michael did not feel like practicing them. One restaurant's dance space was too loud
with the band so close. Another
restaurant didn't have dance space and patrons just danced in the aisles. Finally, he just admitted that he wasn't
enamored of salsa dancing. I was a bit
disappointed, but not crushed.
We realized that we were also not into the nightlife as much as we
used to when we were younger. Despite
the throngs of people and the quality of people-watching, we were getting
pretty bored. Maybe pretty people get
boring if you see too many of them at once.
Maybe we should have had more drinks.
Who knows? I just felt like
heading home and lounging around in our PJs.
Maybe the good food and wine was all this old lady needed to feel
satisfied. It may sound depressing to
come to the realization that one is getting too old for the activities
glorified in youth, but I personally felt comfortable telling my partner that I
was over all the gawking and parading and now just wanted to veg out - dare I
say even konk out!
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