Cannibals in Texas and Other Plausible Things

It was one of those days on the Mio, the public transit bus system that carries me south to teach a yoga class every Thursday. The outbound journey was mellow today, but on the return trip, I declined to pack myself in like a sardine with, literally, hundreds of other people on any of the first four double buses (the E21, E31, or T31) stopping to release and absorb passengers like chemicals across a semi-permeable cell membrane.

While waiting for a fifth bus, a diminutive Caleña lady who appeared to be in her 50's started chatting with me, asking which buses went to Chiminangos and if I speak English and if I'm from Europe or North America and which part of the USA, etcetera.

All the normal questions cropped up: How long have you been here? Do you like Cali? How long will you stay?

Eventually, we got on an E21 bus together, and, while standing in the aisle, squished between college students, and desperately trying stay on my feet in the swaying bus, she shared with me that the one place in the USA she's afraid of is Texas because of all the cannibals.

Um...the what?

Cannibals. You know, people who eat people.

Now, every country has its own sayings and expressions, so my initial response was to nod calmly thinking this was a Colombian dicho (a "saying") meaning that people are competitive or prejudiced or something like that. However, I have been in Cali long enough to know that Caleños are capable of believing completely implausible things, so I decided to confirm. I asked, "Es un dicho, verdad?" and with fervor she replied, "No! Es real!"

omg.

Apparently, family members of hers living in the US told her that Texas is full of cannibals and specifically, she told me very seriously and sincerely, the Thompson family of Dallas, Texas (omg! omg!) is known for having buried the remains of hundreds of bodies under their homes.

Sometimes, I feel like the people here live in a parallel universe. This is just the latest example in a long list of incredible things Caleños swear are true. (In future editions: how reading on a bus will make you blind and how to stop the rain using kitchen cutlery. Seriously. Stay tuned...)

While grinning from ear to ear and trying not to laugh out loud, I decided to keep it to myself that I grew up in Dallas, Texas (well, technically in Plano, but close enough) and that my last name is Thompson. I guess if a conversation as coincidental as this one can happen on a crowded Mio bus in a city of 2.5 million people, anything is possible.

El Son de Cali

Sr. Caleño & namer of this blog, José M.

When thinking about starting this blog about living in Cali, Colombia, I asked friends for title ideas. One of my most Caleño of Caleño friends suggested al Son de Cali.

Being new to Cali and having only a semi-decent grasp of the Spanish language at the time, I had to look up the meaning of the word son in this context. As a noun, son refers to sound, specifically to the particular way something sounds, but it can also more generally mean the style or manner of something. It encompasses the sound, flavor, rhythm, and general feel of things, and when it comes to Cali, Colombia, life is full of son.

Salsa Competition, Aug 2012

Different styles of salsa are danced around the world, and Cali has a style all its own. Some styles are elegant and linear, others funky and circular; here in Cali, salsa is fast, and it swings. At the professional level, Salsa Caleña is high energy with fast footwork and acrobatic tricks. Among the people, the basic steps swing side to side with back steps and additional toe taps thrown in on the pauses. In the clubs, dancers sing along with the music whilst whirling around each other on the dance floor. Music and dancing provide the fundamental connection for people in this city, and that foundation influences everything.

The typical Caleño/a (person from Cali) is extroverted, talkative, happy, dances salsa (obvio!), loves Cali, loves being Colombian, likes to travel, and enjoys nature. Caleños flirt freely, laugh easily, tell stories about their lives, are helpful, wear colorful clothing, get excited about food, and kiss on the cheek to say hello and goodbye. Caleños are a party waiting to happen.

All over town, salsa music pours out the windows of passing taxis, homes, and storefronts. Salsa accompanies supermarket shopping experiences, days at the waterpark, and drifts down into our house from the neighbor's balcony on a daily basis. Add to this soundtrack, colorful, creative murals brightening walls and buildings all over town, cars, motorcycles, buses and taxis weaving around one another, their drivers ignoring lane demarcations and traffic signals while cutting one another off in a manner as fluid and certain as river water, and buses packed to the gills with passengers who board and disembark simultaneously at every stop. There is an organic, vibrant, primal hum to it all, but with an easy-going swing in the background that allows life to follow the flow of events rather than the ticking of time.

When I first arrived, I was acutely aware of my own incongruent rhythms of language and culture as I tried to adapt to the son of my new home: to the emotional cadence of the language, the bright energy of the people, the pulse of a big city, and the sultry movements of the dances (mostly salsa, but other latin styles as well). Now, el son de Cali is becoming more and more a part of me. I find myself flirting with whomever I'm talking to, regardless of my feelings for them, simply because the language I'm speaking happens to be Spanish. I get excited about arepas con queso for breakfast before I've even gotten out of bed in the morning. When riding in taxis or on the back of a motorcycle, just inches from the neighboring vehicle, I trust and enjoy the watery flow of traffic, gloriously freed from the inhibiting constraints of lanes.

Aside from the cultural immersion of learning to speak and understand Colombian Spanish, the touchstone of my adaptation to Cali has been studying Salsa Caleña, learning the professional dance from professional teachers. Recently, I've been astonished while dancing in clubs to find my feet flying in complex patterns I've never done before. The movements swirl spontaneously through my hips, matching my partner's lead with quick kicks, toe taps, and cha chas, even though I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing. As I trust my body's ability to move, my ear for the music, and my partner, something authentically Caleña comes through.

Ultimately, salsa me vuelve a bit more Caleña each day as I bring el Son de Cali from the dance floor to everything I do.