Since I finished Narcos, I've been watching miscellaneous things on Netflix while I get ready in the morning / during midday naps / when I'm falling asleep at night, such as: The Comedy Store Louis CK special, the Tony Robbins "I am Not Your Guru" special, and "Amy," the Amy Winehouse documentary.
I have thoughts about each of these, but I am resistant to the idea of using my travel blog to review Netflix specials, like maybe I should be spending less time watching/reviewing shows and more time exploring the world and writing about that?
Screw it. Watching Netflix is part of my life too right now and I want to talk about it. I'll keep it brief, though. These thoughts aren't going to blow anyone's mind or anything.
Louis CK: My favorite bit from this special is the one about why it's important to be self-aware when you're being a jerk, and why America is like a terrible girlfriend to the rest of the world. I know that second part might sound unpatriotic, but just watch it and try to deny how hilarious and true it is. When you love something or someone, tough love is necessary; it means holding someone accountable so they can reach their full potential for greatness, and you can't do that by pretending they can do no wrong.
During one of his "Date with Destiny" events, Tony Robbins told a woman to call her boyfriend on-the-spot and break up with him in front of everyone, because he could tell she knew he wasn't the right guy for her, and the right thing to do was to end it immediately. YEESH. In another clip, he helps a woman with a long history of sexual abuse in a "Children of God" sex cult go from being suicidal to having a career path to become a therapist for women who have suffered trauma. Will someone else watch this and let me know if you also think he is brilliant, insightful, and effective, but you still don't quite like or trust him? I'm wondering if it's just me... Maybe his SUPER HYPER INTENSE honesty levels just stretch beyond my "there's probably a more diplomatic way to say that" comfort levels. More on the topic of honesty below.
I would really love to make music in a similar vein as Amy Winehouse someday; she really nailed that sultry jazz vocal style. What a rare talent and a tragic loss for the world.
Ok that's it for my Netflix reviews. Back to international news.
Indigenous Colombian Line Dancing
On Wednesday, I took the night off from trying to go dancing, and spent the evening talking with a couple new people at the hostel: a guy from Germany, a guy from New Zealand, and a woman from Canada. The next night, the four of us went to a place called La Loma de la Cruz, where there was a round area in the middle of a brick plaza (the depth of a wading pool, had it been filled with water), with artesian craft booths and food carts lining the streets. On top of a hill, it also offered a lovely view of the city. On Thursday nights, people gather there to do an indigenous dance that the Canadian woman had described to me as, "like country line-dancing, except not, because it's Colombian." I have to say, even after seeing it myself, I can't think of a more accurate description. I wanted to take video, but my phone is perpetually out of storage space, no matter how much I delete. It is a very mysterious conundrum. In any case, here's a video I found on YouTube of the same indigenous "line dancing" event, on a different night.
Honesty: Why So Difficult?
During the day on Thursday, I walked around the historic center of town, looking for a park bench that would be good for people-watching and reading. I found one, but then a man sat next to me and started a conversation and wanted to give me a tour of the area. Since I know there will always be time for reading, I try to prioritize alternate experiences when they present themselves (even if reading is what I'm most in the mood for), so I went with the man. His name is Marco Antonio.
As we were walking around, he would reach out his hand for me to hold whenever we crossed a street, and I found this a bit annoying and condescending. (Plus, hand-holding is weirdly intimate and I don't like doing it with people I barely know.) Victor did this too when he came with me to Pueblito Paisa and when we went to the salsa bar in Medellin. The thing is, I appreciate when a man wants to be protective -- I see that as an inherent aspect of masculinity and in certain contexts, it's incredibly attractive. But I am 30 years old. I am traveling the world by myself. I know how to cross a street safely. I don't forget how to do it or throw caution out the door when a man who I've just met is walking with me. I realize he was probably socialized to do that, to offer his hand when crossing the street with a woman as a sign of respect and protection, and that's what makes it hard to express my side of it without coming across cold; I didn't feel confident I had the words in Spanish to say "I appreciate the gesture, and I'm sure you're showing respect by offering to hold my hand and make sure I cross the street safety, but it makes me feel like I'm being treated like a little girl, so I would prefer if we didn't do that" without seeming rude. In so many ways, it's just easier to go with it instead of trying to figure out an appropriate way to say "I don't like this."
However, this is becoming a clear theme for me: hesitating to express myself as directly and honestly as possible because I don't want to make the other person uncomfortable or risk offending them. (I know, I know -- how the hell do I manage to do standup comedy if making people uncomfortable is an issue for me? A combination of creativity and progressing slower than my less cautious peers, that's how.) This is especially problematic in my relationships with men and I need to start experimenting around this fear and see what happens when I honor the truth of whatever I'm feeling instead of shushing it. I am a grownup. It's time I learned to say what I mean and mean what I say when I need to say it, even when I haven't figured out the perfect, most diplomatic way of articulating it.
International Singing Debut
Angela (the woman I met on the bus from the Cali airport) and I finally connected over WhatsApp, and made plans to get drinks together sometime on Thursday. However, when the time approached, she messaged to say that she wasn't feeling well, so she was going to give my number to her brother Juan, who would take me out that night instead. I had to read those messages a couple times over to make sure I understood her properly; I have never had someone swap in one of their siblings to take their place for plans we'd made together... very odd. But I went with it, because why not?
Juan and his friend Jorge picked me up at the hostel around 9:15. We went to a neighborhood called Granada, to a New Orleans-themed bar called Bourbon, where there would be live rock music. We were at a table right next to the stage, and when Juan found out I sang in a cover band back in Seattle, he called one of the band members over and asked if I could sing one of their songs. I half-heartedly tried to stop him (l thought it was a crazy thing to ask, but what if it worked?? That would be AWESOME), and to my surprise and delight, the band was totally down. I listed off the songs I could do, and as it turned out, Sweet Child of Mine was the first song in their set. When they were all done setting up, they invited me on stage and then the lead vocalist introduced me (in Spanish): "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a guest singer tonight for our first song. Please welcome, from Seattle, Washington, Michelle Martinez!" And then I sang Sweet Child of Mine at a New Orleans-themed bar in Cali, Colombia and had my second "how is this my life right now?" moment of the trip.
We tried to go dancing afterward, but they wouldn't let me into either of the clubs we went to, because my traveler walking sandals were a dress code fail. I totally get it, they are not hot shoes, but it was hilarious watching Juan try to convince them to make an exception for me because I was an "extranjera" (foreigner) and didn't know better/didn't have any other shoes. I TOLD YOU GUYS I SHOULD HAVE PACKED A PAIR OF HEELS!
Last Day in Colombia
The next day, I had lunch with Angela, her boyfriend, her brother Juan, and Juan's friend at a steakhouse. Juan suggested the New York steak for me, and I was fully on board with that (thank goodness he was paying, though). We drank Aguila Light beer mixed with Colombiano (a sweet soft drink of some kind?) and ate chicharrones and steaks, and I left feeling incredibly satisfied and sleepy.
After half-napping/half-watching-Netflix for a couple hours at the hostel, I made my way to Plaza de Los Toros to catch some of the performances for the World Salsa Festival semifinals. I am so glad I made an effort to see it -- the dancers blew me away. My favorite move was when one of the male partners leapt over his partner -- who was standing at full height -- diving head first into a summersault in front of her. It was unbelievable. Here's a taste of what the performances were like (the quality might be better if you view it directly on youtube, here):
Reflections on Safety
On my way back to the hostel, I was very tempted to walk back instead of catching a cab. The temperature was perfect for a night walk, warm with a soft breeze. I hadn't felt at all unsafe in Colombia so far, and I was pretty sure I would be fine. However, when a cab beep-beeped at me asking if I wanted a ride, I got in. Despite the beautiful evening and how much I would have preferred to walk, I felt it was better to not risk getting robbed or assaulted on my last night in Colombia. I was so close to having a 100% delightful, safe experience there, and I'd tested the boundaries of the (theoretically) most dangerous country on my itinerary enough already.
There's a passage in Wild that I think applies well to my experiences so far as a solo female traveler:
"All the time that I'd been fielding questions about whether I was afraid to be a woman alone--the assumption that a woman alone would be preyed upon--I'd been the recipient of one kindness after another. Aside from the creepy experience with the sandy-haired guy...and the couple who'd booted me from the campground in California, I had nothing but generosity to report. The world and its people had opened their arms to me at every turn."
In Wild, Cheryl Strayed also talked about how much easier it was to hitchhike when she was alone, as opposed to with a male hiker friend, because people felt safer giving a ride to a solo woman and perhaps even more inclined to help or protect her from the elements or ill-intentioned people that could otherwise scoop her up. At the Cali hostel, I told a woman from England about the time in Bogota when Francisco gave me a ride on his motorcycle and warned me that although he was a good guy, and I was safe with him, other people are not safe and I should not accept random rides from other people. She had a very similar story of her own, about being invited to hang out with a few guys at their house, who told her that they were safe, but that she shouldn't do that with other people. For every predator that a woman alone may attract, it seems that we also draw the attention and protection of a hundred people who genuinely want to help keep us safe (some of them may also intend to hit on us, but aren't going to be predatory about it). Knowing what I know now, it seems silly that I was once so intimidated by the idea of traveling alone, because I thought it would be too dangerous as a woman.
It's still not 100% safe, obviously -- nothing is. But I am now aware that there are actually a few advantages to being a woman traveling alone that help to balance out the risks, and that is a pleasant revelation.