Every day Situations in which knowing Spanish is and will be life-saving in Colombia

As has become customary, I will begin this post with a disclaimer: I live in a smaller part of Colombia, not in Bogota. I live in a place where foreigners are still a novelty – yes, that word is very appropriate in this case. If you go to most places in Colombia, expect an array of questions and curiosity, regardless of the situation you might find yourself in, particularly if you find yourself in a less metropolitan place.

Still, there is something you must keep in mind: Colombian culture is a communicative culture. It is a verbal, expressive culture, to such an extent that you have to be careful not to take things at face value because being expressive also means being exaggerative at times. Especially in the coast.

I’ve traveled in other parts of Colombia, but the daily experiences have been had living in Valledupar, Colombia. If you happen to end up in these “wild west” areas for tourists, knowing the language spoken is so essential, even if you’re starting with the basics. Here you will build up that base, which is the value of avoiding the more tourist- and foreigner-populated areas. If what you’re looking for is authentic experiences and interactions, you will find them here. However, you might not always like it.

The experiences I’ve had where language has been essential are more numerous than I expected. As a somewhat reserved person, I wasn’t expecting to need to speak to strangers every time I leave my house. However, that’s what you should prepare yourself for, even if what you’re saying are simple greetings.

In the street, people will greet you. Seems normal, but if you are introverted or used to living in big cities, it can be off-putting to be rushing down the street a wreck to get to work while people are telling you good morning and asking how it’s going. However, your needs for Spanish vocabulary are basic, obviously, returning the gesture is more than enough under most circumstances.

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Unless those simple greetings are accompanied by catcalls. They can be as seemingly harmless as “my beautiful queen” (mi reina hermosa) to more grating like “uy mami me das ganas de pecar” (mami you make me feel like sinning – yeah wishing I was making this up but it happens). The response here can be as simple as a glare or a non-response, gracias if what was said was actually a genuine, non-cringy compliment and you feel like it merits thanks, or a straight up comeback such as, Y calladito te ves mas bonito (“And you look nicer with your mouth shut”). It really depends on your mood what level of Spanish you need for this daily encounter, but the point is, as a woman, you need to prepare yourself for the daily reminder that you are female-presenting and are outside walking around, whether you go out looking like Miss Universe or roll out of bed sick and go out in basketball shorts and a big t-shirt (speaking from personal experience – yes, really). Catcalls get old, but there are other interactions with mostly men you will have ahead of you, such as…

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Taxistas. Even in smaller cities or towns, people that don’t have cars are given options in the form of taxis – either of the traditional yellow variety or mototaxis. Mototaxis are literally just that – motorcycles driven by random men with no special markings. Sometimes they come in “uber” form, but the only app for that is whatsapp. They have no signs or distinguishing features usually since I’m not sure they are technically legal, but if you notice a motorcyclist honking at you like crazy, he is probably trying to get your attention in case you are a potential passenger – not because you’re attractive. So despite all of the catcalling, this is actually less cringe-y.

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So whether regular taxista or mototaxista, expect to have the using “I’m going to…” conversation regularly. But, not only that! Make sure that you have some idea of the landmarks near where you are going. If you expect them to understand a simple address you are dead wrong. Unless it’s a very straight-forward destination that everyone recognizes, then just the name of the place might be sufficient. But as a rule of thumb, I like to have a general idea of what is around the place I’m going, aside from the Barrio – which is more than just a basic sentence. Be prepared to get a lot of practice there.

Then there is the often inevitable conversation that is had with the taxista. Sometimes this happens even when you try to bury yourself into a chat conversation in your phone (which may or may not be genuine depending on if you have data or not – the all-inclusive unlimited text plans aren’t as common here). The questions usually touch on the same familiar territory, so you will be better at this form of small talk before you know it. It usually starts with, “You aren’t from here, are you?” and ends with “So what do you think about that President Trump?” That part might be hard for a new arrival, but hope for that outcome and not the “Why aren’t you married? Got any kids? And your husband? You thinking of marrying a Colombian guy? Could it be me?” route. Oh, yes, most taxistas are male, so that it takes that turn at least once is absolutely guaranteed. Fun.

If you thought you might be safe from verbal/aural overload once you reach your destination, well, I’m sorry to inform you that you are completely wrong. When you go shopping, especially if it’s downtown or in a local tienda, expect to be pummeled with questions. What are you looking for, how can I help you, etc. What you would expect, of course. But if you’re going clothes shopping or more likely window shopping, they probably won’t accept a “just looking” response. I’ve been followed around a store as I literally walk about aimlessly hoping they will get bored before exasperatedly turning and saying, “Look, I literally am just looking, and now I’m leaving.”

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In the tienda, you might need to go with a list prepared. I’ve gone so many times only vaguely knowing what I want, and I literally forget everything because they put me on the spot. Obviously not everyone is as flighty as me, but if you are still in the learning stage of Spanish, expect you will need to communicate what you need. And clearly. I once asked for meat, but I was expecting to be shown a portion, not asked how many pounds (libras) I would like. I had no idea and gave away my foreignness by asking for a reference. You see, I think in the States we get used to shopping visually, the typical supermarket experience where you walk up and down aisles picking and choosing what you need, looking at everything unhurriedly. But if you want to get things cheaper, you will want to shop locally, and if you shop locally, you will be expected to rattle off everything you need – while competing with other Colombians to speak. And costeños will speak over you, and in this case, the first and the loudest gets the fastest service. Facts.

The pharmacy or drug story (drogería as it is called more commonly in Colombia) is another challenge. You see, if you have a prescription, it is pretty much the same as in the states – you show the paper, they give the medicine, you done. But in Colombia, drug stores don’t rely on prescriptions alone. In fact, you can find independent pharmacies like la rebaja and la receta on pretty much every corner downtown. There are a few big pharmacies that resemble CVS and Walgreens in the states like Farmatodo but most of them are smaller cornerstore deals.

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Just like in the tienda, don’t expect calm browsing. Introverts are probably feeling uncomfortable. “You mean I have to describe all of it to the pharmacist?” Well you can go the route of describing your symptoms, because let’s face it: coming to a new country means not always knowing the exact equivalent of every daily item branded under a different name in the states. Tylenol exists, but it has different, more common generic forms like Acetomenofen, the scientific name which most Colombians know regardless of the brand. Most medicines I associated with brands which only exist in the states, I realized. Knowing a brand might be useful when dealing with toothpaste, for example. Colgate is even a “pasta de dientes” replacement – however you need to pronounce it in Spanish: col-ga-te, syllable by syllable, like it’s spelled, otherwise they will stare at you in blank confusion. And so it goes with most everyday products, like hair styling brands, which are still common here. Pharmacies here have all of the products under glass in the display counter where you have to request them in order to receive them from the pharmacist, which is where knowing exactly what you are looking for comes in handy. Not all of the products will actually be visible in the display counter, and some pricing or brand options and preferences will be offered. Cuidado!

But as you can imagine, linguistic adaption takes time, but with time, it comes. So don’t get too overwhelmed if you are imagining how you will handle all of these very direct, verbal situations. Daily you will be immersed, and if you are going to live in another country in order to learn the language, that is ideal. My fluency has increased so much, even if my reserved nature has only slightly shifted, so there’s that!

Sometimes funny, sometimes scary, often a challenge, using Spanish in the coast of Colombia is a reality you should expect and take advantage of because it will make you more confident using the language.

Looking Back: (Mis)adventures in Parque Tayrona and Santa Marta

Finally I had my Colombian adventure. I set off on Tuesday around 1 pm thinking I wouldn’t get a bus until 2:30, but to my pleasant surprise, when I arrived at the bus terminal I was immediately led to the bus leaving at that exact moment. The trip was a bit uncomfortable. Initially, I thought I had the best luck – the back seat to myself. Then this entire family climbed onto the bus, and to my dismay, there were no free spaces other than the ones next to me. So the mother and father sat next to me with their three children piled on top of them. Not the most pleasant of scenarios, but it only lasted about 3 hours. Then I was told to get on a smaller bus that would take me straight to Santa Marta. Again, another cramped voyage. Imagine me, a relatively tall white woman in the last row of a roughly 25-seat mini-bus packed with Colombians of a darker complexion. I was like a sore thumb stuffed in a box of sardines.

But before I knew it, that leg of the journey was over and I was in my hostel, Solaz, in Santa Marta. I had a really neat conversation with the taxi driver who picked me up in front of the terminal about ignorance that leads to hero worship of even the most deplorable figures – in this case, Trump and Maduro. I never considered that there were Venezuelans that admired and even worshiped him with a certain fervor. My taxista, a Venezuelan, understood it just as much as I understand the fervor people in my own family have towards Trump. He left me with his number, saying if I ever needed anything in the city to let him know. A man who had been a successful detective with several houses, for the first time, reduced in a way to a solitary life working in the public sector of Colombia. Now that would make a novel – but that was his life. The whole thing struck me as quaint.

I can’t lie, I had some unrealistic expectations for this trip, particularly for seeing my friend. After all, his posturing of things was pretty ideal. We were to go out wandering around Santa Marta talking and then later drink and dance the night away. I even imagined us traveling a bit afterwards together as well.

Well, suffice it to say, it didn’t happen that way. We all ended up being to tired to properly drink and dance, so I retired early. And honestly, that’s okay. Everything was fun but not life-altering. I kept finding myself getting quiet and pensive because it didn’t feel like I felt it should. And I realize that’s the danger. Thinking too much and figuring yourself into a story that isn’t yours. All the same, I generally enjoyed the experience I had, all because a relatively new friend had the nerve to tell me “ven” – come through.

The great, and frankly unexpected, part of this adventure was the connections I gained along the way. That night I met Clari and Dani, two incredible Argentinian girls. They were both planning on going to the same destination that I had in mind from the beginning: Parque Tayrona. My friend introduced us, and we hit it off fairly well. They are both biology majors from Buenos Aires with a myriad of other skills between them: both cook, sing, dance (tango!), ride horses, among a million other little things aside from being extremely intelligent. It’s not that often that you meet truly formidable people in life, but I felt like they could definitely be described as such.

I got to know them a good deal in Santa Marta, eating out and hanging out in the hostel and going to swim and sunbathe in Rodadero (oh, did I mention they’re both great swimmers too?). But I really saw what made them tick on our trip to Tayrona.

We went into the trip with the entrance tickets to the park pre-bought – a must to avoid long lines in peak tourist season – and (supposedly) lodging already a given. That part ended up being wrong, though, as when we arrived to the camp site with extremely over-priced food, there was actually no tents available for us to rent. It got worse considering the guy that worked there wouldn’t even help us. So not long after, it was put our bags back on our backs and hoof it to the next campsite.

When we got there, we were so relieved to have made it through this jungle of hills and sandy hikes: rivers, ant-trails, and muddy clearings we had to cross by balancing ourselves on logs – so relieved that we didn’t even consider if we were getting a good deal. $35.000 a person for 2 big tents and one little one, in a seemingly less crowded campsite? We’ll take it!

Unfortunately, when we returned from hiking along the beach that afternoon we discovered that not only was the place very crowded (so crowded in fact that the kitchen ran out of meat and there were few chairs to spare for our group of 5 to sit at), but that it was also extremely unsanitary and the food sucked, was overpriced, and lacked variety! There were 2 bathrooms on the entire campsite. One had a shower. One. Fast forward later that night when I’m trying to wash myself off while another person is dying in the stall next to me of food-poison-induced diarrhea…not pleasant. Not to mention the tents were practically on top of each other, plus hammocks outside of them and all around. And this to the fact that most people were loud, intoxicated, and sick, and you get a really big headache. I think we all learned a valuable lesson: always book ahead. And book Cabo.

Backing up a bit, the hike along the beaches were to die for – almost literally – exhausting but definitely worth it. Despite some inconvenient physical circumstances, I managed to get in the ocean, hike up all of those fun jungle hills, and make some incredible memories. I just felt very…unsanitary while doing so. And crampy.

That day, we explored Las Piscinas, la Laguna de los Caimanes, and half-hiked to Cabo before realizing it would be dark on the hike back because we left way too late (we’re talking about starting an hour-long hike around 4/5 pm – not a great idea). So after discovering how fucked up our campsite was, we decided to go to a different, more family-oriented campsite to eat and enjoy some music. Colombia is not Colombia without music (especially blasting Vallenato).

We convinced the lady cooking to make us pasta which was pretty decent (and huge so almost worth the $21.000 we spent on it). We also broke out the aguardiente and beers. I discovered that night that in reality, Argentines don’t drink as heavily as Colombians. Andres and Julian, both from Bogota, were all for passing out the shots. We started during our walk to the other site (in the dark under an absolutely incredible starry sky unsullied by light pollution) and continued once we were mostly finished eating. Food was accompanied by beer, of course.

Then, we started playing some hilarious drinking games. One involved using a specific letter of the alphabet to describe your genitals. I learned a lot of new vulgarities and adjectives in this one, and I actually didn’t do so bad! Another was Pregunta, Pregunta which was literally Question Master – each person can only ask a question and respond with a question. This led to more shots then you would think, but possibly not as much as the categories game (another concept I was familiar with from King’s Cup – ohhh college). Somebody picks a category and each person has to say something within the category. The Argentine girls also taught us a game involving crossing arms and tapping the table in an unbroken chain. Way harder than you would think, especially while walking the knife’s edge of tipsy and fucked up.

We were accompanied by a French girl, Alice, who we met in the shitty campsite earlier that day. Exploring with her was fun, although she also wasn’t much of a heavy drinker. I think Colombian culture has exacerbated my own party-loving spirit. When she and Clari were ready to retire, the fun had only just begun for me. I was tipsy and dancing with Andres, and Dani and Julian had coupled up as well. I’ve noticed that this coupling off to dance thing probably has a lot to do with the hookup culture I’ve seen here. Nothing happened out of the ordinary that night, but it does tend to happen under those circumstances.

When you travel, you learn so much about other people, and from them, you also learn about yourself. I suffered a couple really major crises during the trip. I went back to the party after promising to go back with Andres to walk Julian and Dani back from the site and “take care of them,” which doesn’t work very well when you are well liquored up yourself. I unfortunately forgot that I was carrying my cellphone in my purse – while crossing the laguna de los caimanes – Alligator Lagoon. On the way out of the campsite on the hill, I made an Olympic-metal hop across a log that connected one side to another. Beaming with accomplishment, I turned to share the light with my friend coming behind me. The log was not totally level of course and my foot slipped and – bam! I slipped straight down into the lagoon. Of course, my own welfare wasn’t the real worry for me in my intoxicated state – the damage the water did to my brand new Moto g5 as I scrambled to get out and continued to fall, eventually pulling Andres with me was the real tragedy of the moment. New cellphone – dead. Pride – also dead. I cried so much that night, it was ridiculous. Andres did his best to comfort me, but I was pretty distraught, so we sat by the side of the ocean for at least an hour leaning against a log of sorts, him trying to distract me from my tech tragedy, me trying to rationalize the situation and failing and just being angry at myself.

After the wild, regrettable night, I woke up in the big tent with a pretty shitty hangover, exhausted from barely sleeping, sore all over, and just generally blah. In spite of that, we decided to carry on and hike down to Cabo. We had a breakfast at the same place we had partied the night before and hurried on our way. Hiking in sand, by the way: don’t do it. My shoes were soaked and dirty, which meant soggy feet after spending what seemed like hours in beautiful aqua blue oceans and shiny, gold-flecked rivers. Cabo was a dream, and the hike there and back really was not so bad. We passed the time by swapping stories and singing Disney songs both in Spanish and English. We unanimously decided that next time, for sure, we would have to stay there. And book in advance. Just go Cabo.

What I was not prepared for was the hike out of the park. 2 hours or more, not including the 1 hour hike back to the main campsite from Cabo. My feet were soggy and blistered. Every step slowly became more painful, and then, like fools, we decided to finish the last leg of our hike (which could have been cut shorter on bus) on foot instead. The sensation of stepping on knives stabbed through me with every painful step. At first, the trip didn’t seem so far. Just a little bit further…but after each turn that did not seem to bring us any closer to our destination, I began to bitterly lose hope.

Clari was patient with me, as was Andres, who took my bag to help lighten my burden. Clari distracted me with engaging conversations about past lives (”Muchas Vidas, Muchos Maestros” was a book she recommended me that I must remember to read). We talked about the permanence of energy in the universe and strange dreams and uncanny knowledge of things one has not directly experienced. Andres thought we sounded high, but it was just the mixture of our shared mysticism and hiking delirium. We got on to plan other potential trips, Spain being a shared interest. She assured me that I could go visit in Argentina anytime.

Finally, that little adventure was over. The other tragedy came after deciding recklessly to go out and drink cocktails and tequila shots while suffering from severe exhaustion – and eat meaty, heavy street food. The stomach virus I had the next day was so severe I was unable to even smell food without becoming nauseous and vomited pretty much everything in me that diarrhea didn’t wipe out. Andres and Dani had decided to move on to La Guajira, leaving me in the hostel with Clari and some kind German girls that had taken up residence. Clari helped me get the strength to go to the clinic to get some shots and a ton of drugs to deal with the poisoning. I lost that Saturday in Santa Marta sleeping, and the next day, it was time to go home.

So, big takeaways from the trip:

  1. Don’t take your cell with you on midnight treks over alligator lagoons while intoxicated. Just…don’t do it. Hindsight is a bitch.
  2. Don’t let shit that is over and done with affect and ruin your present.
  3. Don’t be afraid to open up to strangers. They might end up becoming some of your best company.
  4. Don’t overthink the reaction of others to that essence which is you – any negative reaction is their problem.
  5. Street food involving meat should be avoided at all costs. Eating in places where conditions are unsanitary, regardless of how tempting the cheapness of that place is must be avoided.
  6. And finally: don’t wait – buy your entradas (tickets) to the park and book your campsite or hostel in advance. Make sure you have all the facts. Don’t be like me.

In the end, I don’t regret any of it, even the misadventures and all of the callouses my feet acquired. The trip represents life in a big way. It was a microcosm of the wins, losses, and connections one experiences when they dare to live without limits and open themselves up to people. It’s not always going to be pleasant and epic, but it will teach you something if you let it. Those lessons will stay with me, buried away in my consciousness. This is the year of autonomy and letting go of fear. This trip was part of the autonomy. And it was only the beginning. Bring on the next adventure: Central America!

Tu tranquilx: Finding Time for ME, Festival Vallenato, and Costeñol

In life, it can be very difficult to make time for yourself, and more so when you think you’re making time for yourself when you’re actually juggling your time with a million different activities or obligations.

Sound familiar to any of you out there?

We find ourselves running in circles, trying to fulfill so many duties and live up to so many expectations – our own expectations – that we forget to sit back and reflect on the nice little things happening in our everyday lives.

So here, I want to reflect (also because my therapist suggested it and its therapeutic and maybe, just maybe, this will help someone else) on all of the little ways life in Colombia has led me to explore new things and challenge my own mindset.

Last weekend was the celebration of the 51st annual Festival Vallenato. To Colombians from this region, Festival Vallenato is like freaking Coachella. The Coachella of Vallenato music. Of course, Vallenato music is a niche genre (shhh, don’t tell the average Colombian that (obviously I’ve met many exceptions that don’t like Vallenato, but yeah)). So while people here will boast that Festival Vallenato brings people from all over the world to the humble city-town of Valledupar, they mostly mean it attracts cachacos, or Colombias from further inland and south in Colombia, to come visit, drink in the street, enjoy a few parades, live music, and general chaos.

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The Piloneras is one of the biggest cultural attractions – people dance in traditional clothing to the rhythms of traditional music. Carlos Vives happened to be present in the middle of the parade this year, which meant people were even more obnoxious than usual.

Any New Orleanian reading this will probably think, “Hey! That sounds like Mardi Gras!” Well, you would be correct, because just like New Orleans in Mardi Gras, for anyone that doesn’t enjoy an overly-crowded, intoxicated, stuffy, obnoxious atmosphere brimming with tourists, it is absolutely exhausting and overrated. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed going to some Mardi Gras parades (like Bacchus and the more adorable Barkus and the more nerdy Chewbacchus -spin offs for the whole family to enjoy- that’s why I love New Orleans, right there), but overall the city just became a lot…heavier, and I’ve never had much love for tourists. For one thing, everything revolves around making a buck and taking advantage of those that don’t know that things are actually usually way cheaper. It happens here, it happens there, it happens everywhere.

That’s how the two cities are connected. They are both popular for clear reasons: party, music, and atmosphere. However, those same things make the cities slow and stagnant. Which is where I’ve been thinking I feel stuck in a pattern of always picking the same sorts of things, even if I don’t like them and they aren’t necessarily good for me.

Beyond the comparisons between Festival Vallenato and Mardi Gras, the folclor of both lends some time for teachers to rest because the world of these small places revolves around niche annual celebrations. So I had Thursday through Wednesday off. Not bad. However, did I get anything done?

No.

I got drunk, and I got sick. I missed work, and I didn’t go to the gym. Basically, I had a down week. But I’m hoping to use this apparent down week to put together renewed energy to return to old projects.

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Graphic description of how “productively” I spent my relaxing weekend off. Also pictured: Churro.

It’s difficult to start over in the middle of the year, but in reality I’m not starting over because I got a strong start. The school year is almost over, and there’s a lot to do and even more to look forward to. It’s just moving on to a new chapter, really.

In the past few months, and especially during Festival, I’ve become much closer with my Colombian friends, specifically of the costeño variety. Remember that costeños don’t necessarily live in the coast but are referred to by this term based on their location in coastal departments (states connected to the coast in some way), accent/dialect (they share a common language that is deeply embedded in their culture), and folclor, or a general set of musical, dance, and folkloric traditions that the likes of Festival Vallenato and Carnaval embody. I want to share with you guys a small list of vocabulary I’ve picked up by spending more time integrating myself here and practically becoming* costeña:

guandolo/wandolo: an alcoholic beverage, resembling a moonshine that tastes like a sweet beer, distilled from panela, distributed low-key in Valledupar. I have tried it, and all I can say is: I couldn’t feel my face. My ear felt like it was on fire. I felt woozy and like general crap. I drank it too fast. Apparently I was drunk. Without the euphoria. Hopefully it’s better next time (whenever that will be).

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It may not look delicious, but panela does wonders for congestion and a sore throat. Just heat it up in boiling water, add lemon and honey, and voila!
Churro: a strong, tequila-like alcoholic beverage also distilled from panela – not to be confused with the delicious cinnamon treats you can buy from local street vendors. This was great when michelado with lemon, orange, and pepper (weird, I know, but when in Valledupar…), but I swear the hours of high did not prepare me for a whole day of feeling like absolute shit. This brings out the worst in people. However, will try again. It’s hella good but look out for the…
guayabo: term used in Colombia for hangover. Every country has its own term: crudo en Mexico, goma in Nica/Costa Rica/Guate, etc., resaca in most other places. But in Colombia, you can be enguayaba@. And also it feels like shit.
parche: a group of amigos that do amigo things, like drink wandolo in the plaza or go on trips to La Mina or a casa campo. The verb parchar means to do these sorts of things, or just chill/hangout and gossip with friends.
‘So va (eso va): the adorable costeñol way of saying I’m down, that’s on, hell yeah. Also, most words and syllables are shortened here in the coast.
marica/mk: used to express strong or serious feelings which should punctuate all your sentences when talking to someone in confidence (i.e. a good member of your parche), shortened to mk in text, not to be confused with the homophobic insult.
el vacile (se pega): catchphrase of Monofonico (a popular and spectacular local champeta band), the term vacile has several meanings, including a non-serious, uncommitted relationship within which the goal is having fun to anything that is considered a good time, entertaining, or fun; can be applied to music (i.e. a live show), a group of people with a good vibe, an entertaining person or video, etc. i.e. Eso es cule vacile, marica. (That’s chill as hell/a hella good time/fucking amusing, dude – wow this is really hard to translate into American slang because Americans also have way too many phrases and slang depending on the region you’re from, plus it’s constantly changing and evolving. And I’ve been out of the country for most of the time for almost 2 years now, so forgive me if the phrase I use is actually super outdated and lame).
Cule: literally culo de, or an assload of something. A lot. So if someone wants to understate how much they like you, they might say, tu me gustas cule poco.
barro: used to react to something shitty. Oh, your girlfriend cheated on you? Barro, cachon.
cachon: a guy that’s been cheated on. I don’t know why in Latin America they add insult to injury by having terms for people that have been cheated on, usually used to insult or mock them, but here you are. It comes from the phrase pegar cacho which is the Colombian way of saying to stick horns on someone, which was an old English phrase as well (used by Shakespeare, even!) for cuckolding. The more you know! I suppose another translation would be a cuckold or a cuck…without the erotic/fetishy connotation that is. The female alternative is, of course, cachona.
peye: something that is just really shitty or lame. Cule cosa peye – that’s some lame ass shit.
jopo: ass or butt, usually a fat one, but can also be referred to something that’s lame and sucks. Cule evento jopo. “Fucking lame/shitty event.” Cule vaina jopo = any random thing that is really, seriously ass in nature.
arrecho: in la Costa de Colombia, not in Venezuela or many other places, this means horny. Anywhere else it means pissed off. Be careful with this one.
Nojoda: used to punctuate a sentence to express frustration or shock. Deja la flojera, nojoda! “Stop being so fucking lazy!” Nojoda, enserio, mk? “Fuck, seriously, dude? Are you fucking kidding me?” I could list a million examples more, this one is super common. And not only Colombian – I first learned no me joda/no me jodas in Costa Rica back in 2011. True story.

There’s waaaaay more where that comes from, but I think I’ll save that along with a more comprehensive list of examples and English-language equivalents for another post. To summarize, it’s been cool to immerse myself so thoroughly in another culture and dialect. Soon I’ll be talking about my time in Bogota and Medellin and sharing the different ways in which people there speak and act. Language, as I have always believed, is so deeply entwined in culture. It exists to compliment culture and also to express its invisible beliefs and values. So, rest assured: there’s more to come on this subject.

Please feel free to mention any of your favorite costeñol expressions or terms I may have missed below! Costeño Spanish is fast becoming one of my favorites, and it is in no small part due to the expressive, dynamic culture it is a part of.

So, while Festival Vallenato was full of peyes and being sick is even more peye (cule vaina peye, mk, at that), I’m happy with everything I’ve been able to take in while living in Valledupar. I’ve been staying productive with English classes and transcription writing. I’m trying to remain grounded and centered on both what I want and what I need for this moment. Yes, even in a city as small and slow as Valledupar, good times are all around to be had. To appreciate other places, we must also learn to appreciate the place we are at.

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Parchando con las mejores ❤ Festival Vallenato 2018

*Spoiler: I will never actually be costeña; relax people, it’s just a “decir