Not For Tourists: Roadside Burgers

The people I meet probably know more about me than those of you reading this blog entry. I think it’s because everything is so new (aka Me) and there’s an ongoing question and answer conversation.

For example, did you know that I do not eat eggs or cheese (except for on pizza), I don’t drink milk, but I love ice cream? If you don’t, my trainer does.

This evening we were continuing a discussion about me not eating beef or pork and comparing the costs of hot dogs and hamburgers in our respective countries. In the middle of our conversation, my trainer told me that under no circumstances does he eat a hamburger from a street vendor. (Now when a local tells you they don’t do something, this is when you need to put on your thinking cap and get a pen to take notes.)
It seems that those roadside hamburgers are more than likely not beef. Let’s try donkey or horse meat. Sounds tasty, right?

The Snack Xchange: Taste Like Jiffy

My snack arsenal is pretty serious. I bring a couple of boxes fruit snacks, trail mix, a snickers or two. Some of the snacks are for me. The rest of the snacks are to give away to my trainer(s) and other athletes. Well, the snacks go both ways. The other day at training they were passing out cake slices (bollo) by Bimbo. Bimbo is probably the equivalent of Little Debbie as far as the snack game goes.

This was my first time trying it, and it was good. My chunk definitely gave me a dose of energy. Check it out!

What Could Have Been Had The King of Pop Went South….

Every time I travel outside of the U.S., it amazes me just how big our cultural footprint is on the rest of the world. Many of my conversations with natives include questions about American movies, politics (if something really good is going on) and music.

I cannot tell you how many crazy American songs that I hear in stores, on public transportation, and in people’s homes. (I don’t think I have ever gone to someone’s residence without them showcasing their knowledge of American music via playlist! For the record, many of the songs can be caught on one of those throwback VH-1 countdowns..)

So it only makes since that Michael Jackson show up somewhere, right? Well, I guess but in Colombia this dude is in such random places. On my very first bus ride to training, I see a wall tag that read, “Michael Jackson Lives.” I made a mental note and thought to myself, “It’s good to see the respect is here in Barranquilla.”

Last week, my trainer and I took my laundry on a tour of the city. (I will explain in another post.) As we were riding the bus, I hear some notes and told my trainer, “I think this is Michael Jackson.” My trainer was a little unsure; but as soon as the beat played, it was confirmed that someone did a Spanish cover of I Just Can’t Stop Loving You. Now, I had to start laughing because this is the second time the Pop King has appeared, and I am a believer in the 3 incident rule.

What could possibly be next? A t-shirt? An album? A painting?

Well, a week later I received my answer. At my trainer’s birthday party, my trainer was the DJ/Selecta/Turntable Master (via computer). About halfway into the evening, We Are the World begins blasting through the subwoofer on the patio. I wasn’t expecting it, but maybe MJ wasn’t either. What if he would’ve headed south to Colombia for a little R&R? I still might be watching him live on the concert channel in Barranquilla….

Wrong Taxi, Wrong Street: Qiana's Encounter with Colombian Police

This evening I attended a small birthday celebration for my trainer in Barranquilla, Professor Alzate. Everything was great, and I had a fabulous time.

However, there was a small, but jarring twist to my evening. Ronald, a fellow athlete, was charged with the task of making sure that I arrived to my temporary residence safely. He, along with my trainer, flagged a taxi and negotiated the fare.

We had to have gone maybe 3 side streets when two Colombian Policeman stop the car. It is around probably midnight or so at the time (I think). They are waving their flashlights in the car and asking the driver questions. Before I know it, we are asked to get out of the car. One policeman is asking me questions on one side of the car, while his partner is questioning my escort.

Now, the Spanish is coming fast from the policeman and slow from me. I was instructed to step away from the car, open my bag and answer whether or not I had drugs. I was processing everything as fast as I could, but it was obvious the Policeman wasn't understanding why I was giving short answers and not pleading my case.

Ronald was doing all he could to explain as fast as he could why in the world I was looking like a panic stricken, non-Spanish speaking American on a side street in the middle of a nontourist neightborhood in Barranquilla.

For the first 3 minutes, I started to get a really sick feeling to my stomach. You know you hear about those stories of shady police, being in the wrong place at the wrong time and the stigma (unfortunately) of being an American.

Ronald could sense I wasn't looking too well, and he told me to stay calm. I, too inserted a mental note of looking at peace because those guilty of transporting drugs panic, right?

Taxis passed down the dark street and there were a few passersby, as Ronald and I watched the two cops talk on their radios, check under the hood of the car and continually ask questions of our driver.

Finally, the police agreed to Ronald's plea to let us go so that he could make sure that I arrived to my aparthotel. I was happy that whatever the ongoing situation with the taxi driver didn't automatically include the passengers.

We were told to get back in our original taxi. One of the policemen hopped in the front seat...and that's where the video picks up. Here's the remainder of my trip after my encounter with the Colombian Police. Getting a lift to a main street. Ronald negotiating with another driver, and then recounting our hold up. Of course, I follow up with my English synopsis.

Walking on Coals: The Sand of Puerto Colombia

My first day of training was pretty uneventful. I did wake up in the middle of the night to realize that I had a small puncture in my left foot. I guess my adrenaline from all of the day’s events finally reached a normal level at 3:00 a.m…

It wasn’t anything that a little antibiotic ointment couldn’t begin working on. Well, the second day of training I figured couldn’t be that much different. I had devised a way to provide slight relief to my feet when they couldn’t tolerate the temperature of the sand. It’s a little sand shuffle that I do that turns over the top sand to reveal a slightly cooler layer underneath! LOL

Well, at 8:30 a.m. on the training grounds of Puerto Colombia, there was no shade and just a straight outpouring of bright sunshine from the heavens. It was very picturesque until I took off my shoes and socks. My professor and his footvolley partner were moving around like it was a normal day. I tried to play it off, but about 40 minutes into training I thought I was walking on hot coals. My quick 5 minute rest request intensified as I walked over to get my shoes and socks because the sand had just been heating up the whole 40 minutes. Hotter Sand! Fear, Shock and Fast tipping. I couldn’t get my socks and shoes on fast enough. Even the warmth of my shoes paled in comparison. Needless to say, I trained the remainder of the session in socks. It made a world of difference, but the Colombian sand and I will have to make peace with one another—it’s an inevitable reality.

Gringa Vs. Local: Walking A Fine Line

I know you want to travel everywhere with me in Barranquilla. However, I can’t make any promises on the images that you are gonna get.

I really try my best to blend in with the crowd when I travel. I do this for a couple of reasons. I train and travel in areas that are not frequented by tourists. Why call undue attention to myself?

I will admit that here are some obvious things that I do or wear that make me stand out like a sore thumb. (I will discuss those challenges in later entries) However, I try to keep those to a minimum.

Fortunately, I will not be short on commentary on the city with some of the hottest sand that my feet have encountered. Stay tuned to learn more about my latest South American adventure.