61 YEAR OLD MALE (contemplating about life)

How do you know you are getting old?

When young males sit around with their buddies and talk loudly; they often discuss how many times they had sex the previous night. It does not matter if everybody knows that the numbers are grossly inflated, youth is the time of bragging, the time of shooting the breeze. Young people want to show off with their vitality. After all we are all on this Earth to make sure our species survive.

But later on in life, men sit with their best friend, their confidant, and the conversation is reduced to a one on one situation and the voices are kept low. They discuss how many times they got up during the previous night to go to the bathroom. And these numbers are painstakingly accurate, they are neither inflated or deflated. They are not bragging, they are merely acknowledging how life has changed and what keeps them up at night. No need to discuss the other intimate facts of the night, each learnt it by now that it should be kept between him and his partner.

When I was a small child I spent hours with my grandfather. I learnt from him to read the daily papers and that it should be read from the back page going towards the front. For me that meant to read the sports pages first, for him it meant to read the obituaries first. I could see the smirk on his face when he discovered a familiar name among the dead who was younger or who was exactly his age. Not that he was happy about their demise but he was happy that he was the one who read about them and not vice versa. He would look at me and say, that poor bastard will smell the lilies from six feet under. That was one of his favorite expressions. We could talk about any future event, and he would look at me and say, I will be smelling the lilies from six feet under by then. I just laughed and the thought never occurred to me that he was at least half way serious.

Death is always lurking around the corner. My father used to say, every man receives his death sentence at the moment of his birth. Yeah, but when do we start thinking about it that it could happen to us, as well? As we go through life we learn about acquaintances and sadly about friends and relatives who were close to us, who die at a young age. As much as it saddens us we still do not think that it can happen to us. As long as some ugly illness does not affect us or our most loved ones, death happens to somebody else. To the old. So, again, when do we start feeling that we are getting old? Or rather, when do we actually acknowledge that we are not young anymore? Maybe not old, but not young either.

By the stroke of luck, a fluke ultrasound exam that seemed totally unnecessary, revealed that I had an aneurysm, well actually not one but three abdominal aneurysms. One big and two cute, little ones. I was very well versed about the seriousness of aneurysms – thanks to the high quality medical shows I now admit to watching on TV – so I knew I had to take care of them immediately. I knew it is routine on the one hand, and I also knew it was a dangerous operation. The funny thing is I was not scared. Not yet, not before the operation.

So there I was in the hospital and I saw my medical record. It said: 61 YEAR OLD MALE. That was me. Short and sweet description, my new identification, telling the medical staff all they needed to know about me. Wow, my name became irrelevant. I was a 61 year old human being who happened to be male. Being male is relevant, when you think about how they are going to place the catheter in you. 61 years of age is relevant when they have to consider how radically they can treat you how much abuse you can withstand. Your name, national origin – unimportant.

Religion came into the picture, in case you want someone to pray for you, or maybe to give you the last rite? I was already upset learning that I was 61 years old, so perhaps it can be forgiven to me when I sent the good chaplain on his way using somewhat irritated words.

The operation was successful and the patient did not die. That he was in excruciating pain, was not the doctors' concern. Nothing to do with the operation. Well, fuck that, I did not have the pain before and now I have it?

Walking in the hallway with the help of a nurse’s aide hours after the operation:

Aide: “You are feeling better now?”

Me: “Better? Better than what? I felt perfectly healthy before I came in here and now I have to lean on you and tubes are hanging out of me? Why would I feel better now?”

Her face was priceless, poor thing she had no idea what operation I had and I was mean enough not to explain immediately.

But yes, I have to admit, I finally know I am not very young. Maybe not too old yet, but I know now I should cherish and enjoy every minute of my life that is left. And I know I am surrounded by a great family and the best friends one can ever get. So who cares if they think I am a 61 year old male. I am me, nothing has changed.

 

 

MEDELLIN/BOGOTÁ - COLOMBIA PART 2

We have survived!

Is it a dangerous country? – we were asked more times than I care to remember. People looked at us, their eyes could not hide what they really thought: you must be a couple of idiots to go there when you could go to Cancun! Or is Colombia not in Mexico? Well they speak Spanish there, don’t they? Some actually knew the difference – thank god to Netflix and Narcos. They have heard of Don Pablo. And there were some who even knew about the guerillas, maybe even heard of the FARC if not ELN. I never bothered to explain, just kept smiling, reinforcing the image they already had of us, yes, a couple of idiots.

But of course we have our friends, they knew better.

But we did survive, and I will tell you how and what we survived, because it was dangerous and scary. I mean the cab drives, well those you have to experience in order to understand. Most of what we lived through and saw I cannot really describe, the beauty of the country, the roughness of the drives, the liveliness of the cities, the ever present crowd, the emptiness of some streets at night, the poverty, the riches, the old, the new, the slums, the modern buildings and the funky architecture, the mixture of the people in color and race that give them their incredible beauty and attractiveness, and how we could never have enough of this all.

Bogotá the beautiful, the variety!

So let’s start at the end. We thought we knew how it is to survive cab rides in Bogotá, until we got to Medellin. Not that the drivers in Bogotá are any less crazy, but they only have to race through a city, whereas in Medellin they also have to negotiate the steepest and curviest slopes going at least 50 km faster than they should. There are actual lanes painted on the road, although it is possible that only foreigners can see them. There may even be traffic rules in place, such as stop at the red light, but again, those apparently do not apply to taxi drivers. So who needs a roller coaster or the Beast at Kings Island when you can ride a cab in Medellin and it is a lot less expensive. There may be a slight difference though, in Medellin the danger is real.

Well Medellin. We were there for only two and a half days, so everything I say is only my impression and not to be quoted. Just like in Bogotá, there are different barrios (neighborhoods) that are so different it is hard to believe they are in the same city. Poblado is Medellin’s restaurant and party district. Cincinnatians, imagine Mt. Adams at its best and most crowded times and multiply it by a couple of thousands. My Hungarian friends should do the same substituting Gozsdu Udvar for Mt. Adams but use a multiplication of ten thousand. The place is full of restaurants and people all night. It is loud, maybe not as loud as the Caribbean night clubs in Barranquilla, but definitely loud enough to make conversation difficult. The variety of food is endless but still overwhelmingly Colombian. And by American standards, it is dirt cheap. We had a bottle of excellent Argentinian wine for about 15 dollars. My stepdaughter and her boyfriend dragged us to an after dinner salsa place. The nights in Medellin are quite pleasant around 22 -23 C, (72-74 F) but when I entered the club my glasses fogged up as if I came in from the Helsinki winter. The club was in a cellar, and must have been heated by all the energy coming straight from the dancer’s bodies. This was a real dancer’s paradise, no high heels, not much Colombian butt enhancers, or butt implants.

By the way, Medellin is the world capital for plastic surgery and we have witnessed the Colombian infatuation with fair size butts and busts. But if you are reluctant to go through with butt enhancing surgery you can buy the above enhancers or padded underwear. It is beyond me why this is good, but it seems to be taken off in Colombia. But the salsa crowd did not seem to be into this, they just wanted to dance and sweat. And they did both. It was fun to see.

Young people in Poblado - Emilia and Hernando

Still in Poblado is the Museo el Castillo of which you can read on your own. It is worth seeing and it is also a heaven for meat lovers. Meat galore seems to be part of Colombian cuisine. We have indulged with the help of our Colombian friend.

Our Colombian friend, Noris, is amazed about the size of the meal!

And then, public transportation. It is fantastic! Of course taxi rides are easy and cheap throughout Colombia, but in Medellin it is fun to take the train and the connecting cable car. Medellin is built not on seven hills but innumerable high and steep mountain slopes.

Originally this hillside was home to poorest most destitute of people in Medellin. The cable car made it more accessible and provided a cheap way to work thus made the place more livable and less crime ridden. We took one of the gondola lines up and down the hill and could not stop clicking on our IPhones taking pictures, but non gave back what we really saw. You must be there.

Botero park in Medellin:

So let’s now go back in time a couple of days, and we are in Bogotá again. It was our second time, yet it felt we saw the city as it is for the first time. Bogotá for most visitors means Candelaria. And while it is definitely something to see in order to have a feel for this incredible place one must venture out to other areas as well. We walked a lot and breezed in a ton of exhaust from buses and cars when on the main streets. On the side streets there are few cars and the air is fresh when the wind blows from the mountains. Walking was hard, especially the first couple of days due to lack of oxygen at the altitude of 2,600 m (8,300 feet).

We discovered several new neighborhoods and visited tons of restaurants and cafés. Starting with Macarena, where Emilia lives and our hotel was conveniently located. The hilly and narrow streets hid many restaurants from Peru, Spain, Mexico, Italy, France and here and there Colombia. I even got to watch the UEFA European finals at BBC. Bogotá Beer Company.
Macarena:

Walking around Macarena

And there was the market. Plaza De Mercado De Paloquemao. Mountains of fruits, avocado, vegetables, fish, meet and eggs and eggs, and eggs.

Market with mountains of eggs

We walk to Park Way a bit further north, with a nice park that reminded us a bit of Tel Aviv, surrounded with many coffee houses.

Then we got to go to Chapinero and Zona G. Zona G is a bit more affluent neighborhood with again tons of variety for food and drinks, from Japanese and Lebanese restaurants, combined with antique furniture stores, residential areas on the hill side.

Café in Zona G

Add 

Joanna at the rooftop café with a view

Of course we saw Emilia at Universidad de Los Andes, what a campus! And coffee houses all around with students and young professors, dogs and cats. We walked back to Candelaria and visited the Gold Museum and the Police Museum. The Police Museum was free for all, with a private guide to show the history of the Colombian Police Force including some paraphernalia from Pablo Escobar of whom, I must admit, we have a slight obsession. Why else would we have watched El Patron del Mal, an 80 part Colombian series about his life? Both museums were fun, and my reluctance to visit them was soon turned into amazement. The gold art of ancient times was incredible, beautiful and full of humor. And the view from the Police Museum was fantastic, albeit different than that of from Monserrate.

Gold Museum:

View from the roof of the Police Museum and Handcuffs appropriately named Esposas!

One more thing, we had Turkish food at a mall, that I named Mall of South America, in the tradition of the mall in Minneapolis.

And I know we have not really seen Bogotá. One must live there to get to know the place. But this is true for all great places. So little time and so much to see. 

BARRANQUILLA, COLOMBIA

Disclaimer: This post strictly and only reflects my feelings about Barranquilla. The emphasis is on feelings as opposed to even opinions or views. And these feelings came about only after a short three day visit skillfully guided by my stepdaughter who lives, works and teaches there for the past 15 months.

Colombia:

My wife and I spent eight days in Colombia – the first four and a half in Bogotá and the last three and a half in Barranquilla. Bogotá is an amazing city with 8 plus millions people and closely as many taxi cabs and buses. It is up in the mountains 2,600 m (8,660 ft) high surrounded by mountains.

When you arrive, after a short 4 and half our flight from Atlanta, you know you are on a different continent, indeed in a different world. It is a modern metropolis and, at the same time, it is a throwback village from the past with horse drown buggies, donkeys and stray dogs and cats at the most unexpected places.

The occasional llamas are only there to confuse you. We stayed at the most unique hostel in Candelaria, the old city.

Courtyard of our hostel

We took in the city on foot and by buses. We ate the traditional Colombian food (which is to be honest, is quite bland) and drank tons of Coca tea to fight the altitude.





 

We took day trips to the amazing mountains and visited an old colonial town with a salt mine and a fake new town with a nearby laguna.

Zapaquirá near the salt mine

Inside the church







Guatavistá fake town



The laguna





      



When the Colombian government decided to build a dam and flood a whole town they financed the rebuilding of a completely new settlement with buildings all painted white. And now every year the city buys paint for the residence and in turn they paint the town white anew. Had I been three months older I could have entered the park for free. As it is, I had to pay the exuberant 3 or 5 dollars, and fight the altitude.

We visited the Botero museum – where my ignorance shined again. I had no idea who Botero was, but I know now!

Mona Lisa



Botero museum

Barranquilla:

But really, this blog was supposed to be about Barranquilla. And since these are my feelings, which transcend my whole view of this wonderfully beautiful and interesting country, let’s start.

Admit it, you never heard of Barranquilla, or if you have then all you know is that Shakira is from there (that is if you have children who are up to date in these trivias). On the surface all you need to know is that Barranquilla is in Colombia.

The spelling:

You think you know how to spell Barranquilla, but this is an illusion. It is really spelled with five, no, wait, at least with six r’s, for if you hear a native pronouncing it, you might think that an angry bear is growling. Barrrrrrrrranquilla. Yeah, you got the feeling?

The weather:

Barranquilla is at the Caribbean. It is close to the equator. It is hot and humid. Look it up on your phone weather icon. No need to forecast. It is always the same. But that is only half of the story. Have you heard of the windy city? Chicago, you think. Think again. It is Barranquilla. But while in Chicago the wind is a curse, it is a blessing in Barranquilla. It makes the heat bearable not even needing air conditioning. It helps you to stay awake during the day and sleep at night.

Walking:

Like all good tourists you want to walk in the city, to take in the people, the atmosphere, the streets and the squares. You want to be like the locals. It is an adventure. The sidewalks as we know them don’t exist. Well, they do, they are just different. In front of each house or storefront they look and feel different. They are of different height, made out of different material, present different challenges. It is an athletic field. Your walk soon becomes an Olympic steeplechase event. Although the water may be missing 99% of the time, but when it comes, I heard, it is formidable. The sidewalks therefore are built quite high, often the difference between the street and the sidewalk is more than 2 feet, for there is no draining system to deal with the rain which when it comes it pours. So to protect the pedestrians the sidewalks are built high. But there are also other obstacles the clueless tourist must negotiate. Occasional sleeping homeless people, stray undernourished dogs, steps, holes in the pavement to mention a few. Yet none of these are life threatening. But crossing the street is.

Nice street, easy sidewalk

Yielding to pedestrians is something no resident of Barranquilla have heard of. In fact, they seem to speed up, rather than slow down at the sight of an unsuspecting pedestrian. So be ready to run, literally for your life! I do not mean to say they are mean or impolite. No, not at all, it is just how it is. Suck it up.

Public transportation:

Going out on a limb, I am considering taking a cab ride part of public transportation. Partly because it is cheap, especially by American standards, partly because at least half of the cars on the streets are yellow cabs. Most are so small that I needed a shoehorn to get in and even pushing the front seat all the way back I bruised my knees raw. So cabs, they are in abundance and easy to be had. Most are safe. Well, the driving attitude is something special. For some unknown reason most cabs we took - and we took a few - had empty gas tanks. At night they routinely ran red lights with cops in tow, just another rule to be ignored. One driver kept the non existing speed limit and drove no faster than 30 km/h - perhaps expecting to run out of gas any minute. One more thing, you better negotiate the price before you get in, meters are the invention of the future.

Try to focus on the window treatments

Then the buses. They are the salt or rather the pepper of life. Music and window treatment is part of the offering.

Bus stops, if they ever existed, are relics of the past, disappearing in oblivion in today's exciting city life. You can flag a bus down anywhere to get on, or you can make it stop at your convenience wherever you want to. Figuring out where they go is another matter; you better speak Spanish and understand the local dialect. Then you have a 50-50 chance of getting on the right bus. You pay but don't get a ticket. Yet, you are keenly aware of the fact that they actually know what they are doing. Then there are the vendors. They ride for free and try to sell anything you can thing of. You accept their goods - they had them out to everyone. Then they go around and if you don't want them you simple give them back. Some buses are so small that I could not stand up straight. And the knee problem persisted here too, no way I could sit down.

Vendor climbing over the bar without paying



In Barranquilla there is a pier, quite possible the worlds longest and definitely the most interesting one. We took a train all the way to the end.

The pier runs between the river and the sea. It is not wide, maybe a couple meters on both sides of the track that runs in the middle. Cars and motorcycles drive on the tracks as well, but this goes without saying.

A touch crowded

That the tracks and the trains are old and in need of repair is an understatement. Safety may not be a concept that enters in the mind of the companies that run this adventure. But that should not deter anyone from taking the ride that sometimes is crowded. They employ regular plastic chairs as additional seating between the benches. Colombians like closeness, personal space is another unknown concept invented by gringos. Colombians are the strongest people on Earth, they can pick up the train when needed and turn them around for there is only one track going back and forth.

And when it derails, because it does as surely as the sun goes down, they pick the train up, fix the tracks and then put the train back on it. Night repair is not a problem as of late since the driver has a mobile phone to provide adequate light in the pitch dark night.

 No headlights on the train, for it is not supposed to run at night, but one cannot help the delays when the train jumps the tracks.

At the end of the pier there are huts and yes, people live there.

And crabs as well.

Family ride

Food:

I mentioned before the sad affair of small but identical menus of most restaurants in Bogota. The sea meant a definite improvement in Barranquilla where fried fish and grilled too was delicious.

Hot spices though are unknown to the cuisine I experienced. I may challenge you all to find jalapenos in regular Colombian stores! But the atmosphere more than compensates for the food. Don't forget to take earplugs with you for the music will shake you to the bones! And the people are wonderfully friendly and welcoming. Vendors frequent the restaurants as well often selling their goods from baskets carried on their heads.

Try this

And the country, at least in Barranquilla, dances all the time!

And we came up we a theory why the music is so - at least for me -

unbearably loud.



Shaving the ice

 






The restaurant owners hearing is getting worse and worse and in turn they turn the music up louder and louder. We frequented the restaurants on the beach, on the bank of the river, and in the city. The people, the pretty and the ugly (if there is such a thing), the young and the old (if there is such a thing) danced and drank. We shook hands with the legendary Gabriel García Márquez at his favorite restaurant. We ate the the Crapes and Waffles chain where food was surprisingly good served by mostly single mothers. It is a place you would never pick to go and once there you are happy and look around with wide eyes. And you eat from the street vendors who shave the ice with funny machines and put syrup on it to give you a refreshing drink. A country that has many wonders and I am sure we have only scraped the surface.

2012. FROM FINLAND TO RUSSIA WITH LOVE – ARE FINNISH AND RUSSIAN SAUNAS DIFFERENT?

 
 

THE CRAZY FINNS!



Helsinki

It is official the Finns are crazy! Of course if they are crazy then Joanna and I are even crazier! Wait, Joanna is a Finn, so it means I am the one who is crazier than the Finns. It is a heavy duty statement so I better have a logical explanation. Hear me out.

We left Cincinnati in search of a bearable climate in which we could spend our vacation. Gone were the 100 degree (36+ C) days with 90%+ humidity. We arrived to paradise; 72 (20 C) degree and sunshine with a mild breeze. So what did we do? We went down to a basement, women and men together, took off our clothes (that was the good part) and went, literally butt naked, into a small room, where the temperature was deliberately kept at 75 C (167 F) and sat on a bench, like birds on a wire, only arm's length away from some hot stones. And if this had not been enough, one of the crazy Finns started pouring water periodically on the stones, making the air hotter and harder to breath. Meanwhile another one was telling us a joke that went like this: "Do you know how a crazy Brit defined the sauna experience?" Of course I had no clue and I was literally dying to find out, so he went on. "It is like a real serious car accident. The only difference is that you come out of it unhurt!" He chuckled, apparently he found his own joke real funny, while I was thinking; "really, I would get out of here alive?" And then, I was let out of the oven, only to find out that now I had to go swimming in a shallow pool filled with nearly freezing water! The weird part is that I actually loved it!

I also have to mention the strange paraphernalia I found in the sauna room. In other parts of the world people use place mats under their plates when sitting down to eat. The Finns invented what I call butt mats. It is supposed to have the shape of your butt, and you place it on the seat, not on the table, before you sit down on the bench in the sauna chamber. The mats I saw were big enough for nice Texas size butts. The holes on the mats were placed on the wrong place; suggesting that the designer was anatomically challenged. See picture below.

I tried of voiced my opinions about the sauna culture to one of our friends in Helsinki who is a member of the Finnish Sauna Society.  I just wanted to find out why a whole nation is torturing itself almost on a daily basis. Here is what she said: “Just imagine, you can go swimming in an ice hole” – I tried to imagine that and the horror probably distorted my otherwise fine features. But she went on: “Your system is actually exposed to the worse possible conditions, extreme heat followed by extreme cold. Your blood is boiling like sparkling wine!” That was as good of a reason to subject your body to torture as I could possibly have hoped for.

I do love sauna, unfortunately we only were able to enjoy (torture ourselves) twice during our short visit to Finland.

I had the pleasure to be invited to Joanna’s niece’s wedding. It was the second wedding I saw in Finland, and again I was not disappointed. The bride and his three best men were donning kilts, just to be different.  And they were! The groom was wearing a beautiful dress designed by her sister. The minister was leading the wedding ceremony with speeches in Swedish and English. One of those ordinary, run of the mill weddings!

 

Then we walked from the church to a small house where a delicious buffet waited for us, or rather where we waited for the buffet to open. Food should not have been served for another couple of hours according to plan, but apparently others must have been hungry as well, for we got to eat an hour ahead of schedule. And it was worth the waiting! According to customs, there were speeches by just about everybody. Swedish, Finnish, English and Spanish were the languages of choice of the speakers. So the first weekend flew by rather quickly.

This being my fourth or fifth visit to Finland we ventured out to the country side to see Joanna’s childhood friend who keeps Icelandic horses. 

Again, nothing special, Icelandic horses are common in just about any part of the world! Or not.  They have this very special additional gait that is called tölt. Iceland forbids importing other horses in order to preserve the purity of this special  breed.  She is in the process of restoring her beautiful farm house. It was amazing to see how well the old farm house accommodated a modern kitchen and bathroom, yet still preserved many of the rustic elements that make a farm house so charming. And what wonderful mushroom pie and lemon tart were served at the old kitchen table! We enjoyed the good food, watched the peaceful countryside and listened to the silence that was only disturbed by a mild wind and the occasional sound made by the happy horses gracing around. We then decided to visit some other friends at the nearby town, about 30 kilometers away. We could not turn down a dinner invitation especially when they told us that the sauna had already been turned on just for us. We did not mind to stay for the night in Lovisa. 

We got an excellent tip how to get there quickly; instead of taking the main road which looked like a 40 minute drive, we took a short cut. Or at least that was what we thought! I started to become suspicious as soon as the asphalt disappeared from the road and we were driving on a narrow dirt pass in between the trees. And the road constantly split and we never knew which direction to take. I owe a big thank to iPhone and its GPS, that guided us through the dense woods of Finland. About two hours later we were literally out of the woods and arrived to sauna heaven! Nothing like Finnish food and sauna after a long and treacherous drive.

Next day we drove back to Helsinki and had the good fortune of seeing a special exhibition of Joanna’s favorite Finnish painter, Helene Schjerfbeck.  It was a real treat, especially in light of some strange events that occurred just a week before our trip. A good friend of ours visited us at our house and gave Joanna a book. James used to be an exchange student in Sweden years ago and he still speaks excellent Swedish. He went to the public library a few days earlier where they were selling some books that the library deemed unnecessary. Knowing Joanna’s mother tongue being Swedish, a book caught his eye; the works of Schjerfbeck written in three languages. He picked it up for practically nothing and gave it to Joanna. The book was not unknown to Joanna, because it was co-authored by her ex sister-in-law. She always wanted to have it, so now she was pleased to receive it as a gift. She was surprised to see it in James’s hands, but she was even more surprised when she opened it and found the following inscription: “To Jim for his magical work” signed by Joanna’s ex-husband! Apparently he gave it to a friend as a present.  I guess some people don’t appreciate gifts! At least the rascal donated it to the library, but they did not want it either! So now we have the book and we got to see the exhibition as well.

So after all these boring days we decided to spice up our trip by going to St. Petersburg, Russia. 

TO RUSSIA WITH LOVE! Will follow.