Everybody's Working for the Weekend

I have a variation of the same conversation every day with my doorman. We exchange hellos, then we say how we’re feeling. Given I usually see him at 6:25 am and then again when I return from work, my response is usually “Estoy muy cansada.” I am tired.

Depending on the day of the week, he replies with (in Spanish), “Yes, very tired, of course. It’s Monday.” Or, “Yes, very tired, but it’s almost Friday.”

Today, he responded, “It’s okay because it’s Juernes!”

Juernes is a combination of the words Thursday (Jueves) and Friday (Viernes). At first I thought it was a Colombian saying similar to our “TGIF,” but after living here for two months, I’ve realized it’s just another excuse to party.

It starts on Wednesday. Every hump day, my upstairs neighbor has her girlfriends over. At 8pm the salsa music begins. At 8:30, I hear the clacking of heels on my ceiling. And from about 9pm to one in the morning, I hear them “woooooing” out on the terrace.

Thursday, before class starts, I hear my students talking about all the parties that are happening over the weekend. The boys talk about who they want to make out with and how drunk they’re going to get, and the girls talk about how they’re going to get their hair done and what they’re going to wear. Teaching is difficult.

Then there’s Friday. Reggaeton music pounds through outdoor speakers at lunch time and kids from all grades swarm the cafeteria, shoveling food into their mouths as quickly as possible so they can go dance with friends. The music continues to blast until school lets out at 3:10. If you have class after lunch, you’re screwed.

When I get home at 3:45, my doorman already has the door open, and is salsa dancing with an imaginary woman. A smile takes over his face as he shouts, “Señorita Jennifer! Es Viernes! Que rumba?” He tells me he hopes I’m going out dancing and drinking lots of beer. He also tells me I’ll have a hangover on Saturday and Sunday.

This Friday (tomorrow) will be extra crazy—student council is throwing an “end of the summer picnic party,” complete with hotdogs and hamburgers for lunch. Students won’t have to wear uniforms, and there’s even a mango stand outside the cafeteria (think snow cones but with shredded mango instead of ice).

At the beginning of the school year, I would have fought the kids and tried to teach them something. But tomorrow I plan on showing funny YouTube videos.

I also plan on dancing with my doorman at 3:45, and living my weekend like the Colombians do.

Then Monday will come, and the dialogue with my portero will start all over again. 

Let's Talk About the Weather

The weather in Bogotá is as unpredictable as my 14-year-old students. One minute everything’s great, and the next, it seems the world is coming to an end.

Unfortunately, in both situations, things are usually a bit gloomy. So it’s critical to always be prepared: lots of layers, an umbrella, and most importantly, a positive attitude. 

When I woke up this morning, rays of sunshine peaked through the window. My usual nighttime uniform of flannel pajamas and thermal socks felt unnecessary. (Side note: apartments here don’t come with heat or air conditioning. The average temperature of 55 degrees doesn’t require either.)

Knowing I only had an hour or two to enjoy the balmy weather, I quickly changed into running clothes and headed for a park about a 20-minute walk from my apartment.

I tilted my head towards the sun and soaked up the vitamin D. I smiled at the man on my block selling avocados. I greeted the women on the streets frying eggs and arepas (corn griddle cakes usually filled with cheese). The flowers being sold at stands throughout the city somehow masked the odor of car exhaust. I stopped and breathed in their sweet scent.

Parque El Virrey 

When I got to Parque El Virrey, I stopped into Juan Valdez, Colombia’s answer to Starbucks. The next hour was spent watching parents treat their kids to balloons, dogs playing fetch, and women, with full hair and makeup, rollerblading. I sipped my cappuccino and took in my surroundings.

When asked how I like Bogotá, sometimes it’s hard to answer. The language barrier has been difficult. The city is polluted and crowded with buses and taxis. The gap between rich and poor in painfully apparent. But on a day like today, when the sun in shining and I have nothing to do but drink coffee, it’s nice.

As I walked back to my apartment, the sky darkened. The wind picked up and it started drizzling. My teeth chattered and I reached in my purse for a rain jacket.

My pace quickened, but several blocks later I found myself at a traffic light, next to a woman selling fragrant tiger lilies. She held out a bouquet for me to smell and smiled. She was missing most of her teeth.

I bought the flowers and continued walking. The woman yelled after me in a strained, hoarse voice, and told me to have a wonderful day. I stopped and waved to her, telling her to do the same.

Her hair was already soaked and so were her clothes. But she was still wearing that beautiful, toothless smile.