I live near the top of a hill. Most of Cali stretches eastward onto the wide plains of the Valle de Cauca, but the barrios in the west are built up on the foothills of Los Farallones de Cali. Agricultural land stretches north and south of the city and the Cauca River makes the eastern border. I live in the artsy neighborhood of San Antonio, with colonial architecture, safe(r) streets, and a pretty little park where the mountains begin to rise out of the valley.
The view from el Parque de San Antonio, directly across the street from my front door, is pictured above in the "al Son de Cali" banner. On clear days, the ridge line of La Cordillera Central bordering the other side of the valley appears in the distance.
Weekend nights, people come from all over to eat in the restaurants, sell street food or jewelry, and spend time together enjoying the luscious Cali breezes that sweep through the park most evenings. Local folks run impromptu street parking businesses, stacking motorcycles in precarious "if one goes, they all go!" arrangements on the steep street. Our neighbor two houses over, Luís from Honduras, sells colorful t-shirts depicting cars, robots, deer, Shiva, the Buddha, gigantic headphones, etc., while playing groovy reggae tunes to attract buyers. The park's small amphitheater hosts comedy shows and folk dancing. We can hear people laughing from inside the house.
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| View south from the upstairs terrace |
Speaking of the house: It's two stories with separate entrances, 8 bedrooms, 3 kitchens, 3 bathrooms, a full house in the back, and a garden. The house, like most in San Antonio, is open air with terraces on the first floor opening to the sky. From the laundry terrace upstairs, we have another great view to the south.
"We" is a lot of us.
La dueña de la casa, a flight attendant for Avianca, lives in the separate house at the back, and most of the rest of us are
extranjeros. We have a retired English gentleman, the hilarious young German-Caleño couple, my salsa dancing friend Sita,
the sisters from Wyoming, and the dread-locked, hula hooping, Southeast Asian-looking, actually German with a Chilean mother, Daniela. Silly Sam from England and quiet Arturo from France just joined us, as well.
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| Sombra de la Calle |
The most important resident, however, is the house dog, Sombra. She's a medium sized, black lab-ish mix, with a floppy ear, a sweet spirit, and a nervous system that's a little out of control. Once a street dog, now that she has a home, she defends it from the constant threat of construction workers, house guests, cats, inaudible sounds, and little old ladies walking by outside on the street. She's not a biter, but her bark is fierce, and the hair along her spine stands up when she's agitated. It's really embarrassing sometimes, but we love her.
I teach yoga in the house two nights a week by donation. I never know whether I'll teach in Spanish or English (or both! ack!) until I see who shows up. English is always easier, of course, but I'm starting to be able to express the poetry of the practice in Spanish, too.
It's a great house. It's one of the most beautiful, biggest, and most comfortable in San Antonio, but despite the hot, daily, uphill pilgrimage of the homeward journey, it's not always a sweet sanctuary. At 36 years old, sharing a house with 10 people and all their vistors in a city full of extroverts can be a little overwhelming for this only child. So I am always seeking refuge: in my practice, in the garden out back, on the terrace upstairs, at a friend's house around the corner, and lately, in my own room, with the door shut, music turned up, dancing my heart out, and feeling free.
