Divided Heart

Last Sunday, on the bus to Pance, I turned to my best friend, Sita, who left England 8 years ago and has lived abroad, all over the world, ever since, and I asked her, "Do you ever get over the pain of living in multiple cultures?"

She replied directly, "Naw, mate. Never."

As we spoke, I looked out the bus windows toward the hazy blue mountains in the distance, feeling comfortably at home in the landscape. I'd been mulling over the unstable romantic relationship I'm involved in while at the same time acknowledging the fact that I love it here, when suddenly I realized that the slow, churning, dull stab of pain in my gut was the presence of two loves struggling with one another.

My dear Spanish friend Paloma came for a visit a couple months ago. She lives and works in Brussels, Belgium where the offices of the European Union are located. Her words to describe the situation we're in were equally blunt: "Once you go ex-pat, you're fucked."

I ended up here due to a heart-expanding experience of love. I dropped everything in my life: my job, my yoga classes, my house, and most traumatically, my partner of 10 years, because a romantic Mexican man swept me off my feet and loved me so much that my free sprit was irrepressibly reborn.

Even as I fell in love with Vlady, I didn't fall out of love with any part of my past, and I realized deeply and powerfully how vast and capable and inclusive our hearts can be. Love lifted me out of Santa Cruz and, over the last year and a half, lead me to Joshua Tree, Hawaii, Santa Fe, Panamá, Colombia, and yes, back to Baja Sur, Mexico. Everywhere I go, I freely tie my heart to the place and to the people I'm with.

Now, my heart is strewn across the world, and I feel a bit unhinged by all the distance.

Meanwhile, Cali is a big city. It's dense and urban and full of relentless energy. It's noisy and difficult to settle down enough to really connect with people or with the moment. I've never lived anywhere like this before.

As a backpacker, I always avoided spending too much time in large cities due to the stresses of traffic, concrete, air pollution, noise pollution, and human density. About a month ago, I suddenly realized, not only am I surrounded by a huge city, but also, I'm surrounded almost entirely by city people. These are not the deeply laid back folks you find on beaches, in the mountains, and exploring the jungle when you travel to exotic countries. These are competitive, fashionable, talkative, technological, opinionated people who don't spend much time slowing down. Ever since that slow-to-dawn realization, I've enjoyed a fervent longing for the solace of quiet redwood trees and the sound of ocean waves.

Gratefully, I'm in touch with most of the Santa Cruz people I feel closest to, however there are five things about life in Santa Cruz that consistently plague me with longing.

• Nature - Particularly, the redwood forests and the ocean.
• Having a yoga teacher - I've been on my own here, teaching and practicing alone. It's difficult to maintain discipline and inspiration, but I'm doing it. Just barely.
• Upper body strength - I was a strong rock climber when I left Santa Cruz. Now, I'm constantly faced with the weakness of my arms and hands as I try to pick up heavy things that once would have been effortless for me to lift.
• Salsa by the Sea - Dancing in my home culture, outdoors, next to the beach, at sunset. Ahhh.
• Meeting Mosi - I left before Rachel brought Mosi into the world and have missed the profound transformations that have come with him. Ack. Sob! < clutches heart >

However, ironically, once I'm reunited with all these things, estaré a falta de the special aspects of life in Cali: communicating in Colombian Spanish, taking salsa lessons with Carlos, eating sancocho (Colombia has mastered the art of soup), dancing Cali-style salsa with Orlando, Alejandro, Carlos, Ricardo, Sergio, Javier, Wilber, Jazon... teaching yoga to people from all over the world, the cool, gentle breezes that come down off the mountains in the evenings, running my fingers through Renato's hair (soft, beautiful, black ringlets... swoon), and the sheer quantity of celebratory human energy that's always rippling through this place.

Typically, wherever I am, there's no one around who can truly share in the daydream of these other places. I hold my distant loves alone.

So Cali and Santa Cruz are wrestling with one another over my body, mind, and heart, and it's literally causing me physical pain. Not to mention that another part of my heart is waiting for me in Baja and that my heart vision for the future takes me to Israel, Europe, and beyond... suspira.

I've planned a 2 month trip back to the US with a short week in Baja Sur before I return for another semester of Spanish at the University here in Cali. Having this trip ahead of me triggers many emotions. Sometimes I feel done here. Other times, I can't imagine leaving. All the time, I feel like I'm getting older y que no quiero perder mi tiempo.

So, the last several days, I've been doing a lot of breathing and listening, feeling into the confusion in my body and in my heart, and giving my attention to the conflicts. Ultimately, I trust that love led me here, and that if I keep listening, love will continue to lead me where I need to go.

Rituals & Connections

One evening in Canoa, Ecuador, I watched fishermen returning to shore on a sturdy little motorboat, plying through the beach waves and onto the sand. Once they landed, two of the men carefully removed the outboard motor from the back, and one of them hoisted the obviously heavy engine up onto his shoulder. Then, at the end of his day, he gathered muscle and bone to calmly and carefully carry all that weight safely up the slope of sand as the rest of the crew, in a well-practiced sequence, rolled the boat across a pair logs to a resting point above the high tide line.

...

Ronald and me

One of my Caleño salsa teachers, Ronald Parra,
recently moved to Quito, Ecuador to work with Estudio Nacional de Baile, a dance school and professional performance team started by Caleños from the Swing Latino dance company in Cali, Colombia. When I visited Quito, Ronald took me to see the team training for the Cali salsa festival (coming up August 2nd-9th).

As we arrived, the team was refining the details of one section in the dance. Each couple practiced individually, then the director would run the whole group through that section together while he sang the music, then they would practice individually with his instruction, then run through it, etc.

After about half an hour, the director finally put on the music and they danced the whole performance, beginning to end.
Cali style.
At high altitude.
It was amazing.

Estudio Nacional de Baile - Quito, Ecuador

They nailed the routine until about 2/3 of the way through when, one by one, the dancers started falling apart. Steps started to falter. Couples stopped here and there to breathe then jump back in when they could. Once smiling faces began to show anguish and fatigue as  willpower struggled to move muscles and bones to the relentless rhythm. Voices rang out to encourage one other: "Venga! Venga!"

When the music ended, they all hit and held their marks for a moment. Then, in the silence that followed - I wish I had a video - each dancer turned soundlessly away from the dance floor, scattering in every direction, into postures of fatigue: hunched forward with hands on knees, faces lifted with hands pressed against sweaty foreheads, gasping breaths. Some sat on the floor, others gulped water, and all retreated into themselves to recover from the exhausting demands of the dance.

Eyes wide, I covered my face with my hands, deeply moved by the power, grace, and commitment of what I'd just witnessed.

...

Whether it's fishermen returning to shore at the end of the day or a group of dancers preparing a performance, some of the most beautiful and important things in life require teamwork, discipline, and a sense of responsibility to one another. I yearn for the meaningfulness of such connection and commitment in my own life.

I would like to join a dance team again some day. I miss tying into a rope and climbing up several hundred feet of rock with my life in my buddy's hands. I long for the powerful yet peaceful energy that arises in a room full of people, who've shown up week after week, year after year, to participate in the ritual of yoga together.

...

So, where do I find this type of connection in Cali?

Mostly, it's in little interpersonal things. It's in the silent communication I have with a friend when we cook together. I find it in salsa lessons, cooperating with my teacher to work out new moves. It's there in sweaty dances at the discoteca when my partners and I listen so deeply to the music and to one another that creative new movements begin to occur spontaneously. I feel it in the presence of people who, for some mysterious reason, bring out the Spanish speaker in me, and the language flows though my lips like water. I see it in the grateful faces of new yoga students from all over the world as they discover the practice with me here in Cali, Colombia. It's alive among the extranjero community as we help one another navigate the foreignness of living here. I even find it on Skype sometimes, when a dear friend from home reminds me that I have deep, meaningful connections with people all the time.

(He's right. I do.)

But Cali salsa clubs have their own special ritual that brings everyone together: At some point in the night, the dj switches the music from salsa to a short set of Musica del Pacifico and funky Colombian pop songs, and everyone line dances. This would seem silly to me in any other setting, but here, it turns a night of paired off couple dancing (that not everyone can participate in equally) into a unified, group experience of rhythm and movement that anyone can join. We sing along with the lyrics, follow a couple of folks at the front, and get all funky together. It's fun to join in, and it's equally fun to watch. Tourists always break out their cameras to capture it.

I loved this group dance the first time I saw it, and I still love it even though it's the same songs every time and the same repetitive steps. For me, this part of the night holds a deeper meaning: it's a sweet reminder of our togetherness and an expression of our equality. On the map of the world, this unique ritual pertains only to Cali (as far as I know), and it's another piece in the puzzle of my love for this city.

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.

Because I Love to Dance

There exist endless reasons to move oneself to a particular place on the map. Leaving behind the old and familiar to discover the new and unknown has always given me joy.

California became home in 1998 and I lived happily in the gorgeous, healthy, eccentric, progressive, seaside town of Santa Cruz for about 12 years. Then last year, I recovered something special that I had been longing to incorporate safely into my life again. So now I live in the place where it was hiding, Cali, Colombia.

On a soul-searching vacation in 2012, I decided to spend 4 or 5 days checking out Cali, a big city in southern Colombia, famous for its own style of high-energy salsa dancing.

Most international visitors to Colombia pass right through Cali, staying only a few nights or skipping it altogether. Plenty of folks have no fun here at all because what's great about Cali isn't what you can do as a tourist. What's great about Cali is the vibrant, life-out-loud style of the Caleños, who welcome people from all over the world into their lives and onto their dance floors. Together, we sing and sweat and salsa together, dancing like humans always have, and as a result, suffering turns to bliss.

I was one of the many innocent tourists who come to Cali with the idea to visit for a few days but end up staying for months or years. Learning to dance salsa reconnected me with one of my deepest gifts, freeing me from an old ankle injury, to dance like my body and soul innately long to do. 

So, here I am. Studying the fast footwork and powerful movements of Salsa Caleña, speaking Spanish, and teaching yoga to locals and travelers alike. Some days are hard, but we have a solution for that here in Cali. We dance.