Among Chileans, a favorite topic to discuss about the United States is our obesity problem. More than a few times, I've found myself in a conversation about the number and size of gordos in the states (Chileans aren't a big fan of euphemisms). Chileans, it seems, have been watching a lot of Jerry Springer and The Biggest Loser. It's true, obesity is an epidemic in the U.S., however, when I'm told that I'm not the typical gringa because I'm not "large and love eating McDonalds," you know that there's some misrepresentation going on here.
Something that rarely comes up, however, is Chile's own growing problem with health and obesity.
I recently got into a debate with some gringo friends about our perception of how fit or fat people are in Chile. They contended, at first, that people are much thinner and healthier here in Santiago. I disagreed. On the whole, though I'd admit I see fewer extremely overweight or obese people than I would in many parts of the U.S., neither do I see many really healthy looking Chileans. And, I'd go as far to say that, depending on where you are in the city, as, just in the U.S., obesity is largely income-related, the number of the severely overweight in Chile rivals our own.
But, these were just my impressions. So, I decided to bring it up with an expert, a Chilean friend of mine who has a background in both nutrition and fitness. He confirmed my suspicions, and added that childhood obesity is especially grave (18% of school-age children are obese; in the U.S. that number is 16%). This explains the relative lack of awareness, even obliviousness of Chileans to the problem in their own country when discussing this issue. It's a new problem.
According to the National College of Nutritionists in Chile, it has come about partly as a result of socioeconomic changes, and the growing availability and consumption of packaged foods. I've seen this first hand at the grocery store. I was once behind a man in line whose items included: two 2-liter bottles of Coke, a large bag of Super Ochos (candy bars), a a triple package of Frac (oreo-like cookies), and two liter-bottles of drinkable yogurt. Not saying this would never happen in the states, and obviously it's not the norm by any means, but there is definitely an obsession with packaged food here, just as much as there is in the U.S., and with sugar in particular. I've mentioned it before, but Coke and other soft drinks are consumed by the gallon both in Chilean homes at the dinner table and out and street kiosks are ready and waiting on every corner to satisfy mid-afternoon sugar cravings. What's shocking is that sugar content is not listed on nutritional facts here. Perhaps sweets-loving Chileans would rather stay in the dark about how many grams of it they consume daily, but I think that their population's waistline, and the health of future generations will certainly suffer for it.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Out of Hibernation to Share my Stories from the Land of Endless Summer
I'm going to start off 2011 and my homecoming to the blogosphere after a prolonged hiatus, with a post about my new favorite destination, Colombia. You might be thinking, "Colombia of kidnappings and the jungle, drugs and Johnny Depp movies," and that is exactly the response that my friend Marie and I got when we broke the news that we would be traveling there for a week for New Years. Not in so many words, but the tense silence or the gentle admonishments to "Be really careful," said it all.
Unfortunately for the drama factor of this blog but fortunately for my friend and I, these impressions, held by so many in the U.S., couldn't be farther from the Colombia I experienced. In fact, my advice to all: get over these conceptions, learn a bit of Spanish, and book one of the ridiculously cheap and easy flights to Cartagena (Spirit Airlines), NOW before it becomes the next Cancun.
The New York Times travel section, always ahead of the curve, has been pushing Cartagena as the gem that it is since 2008. Overlooking the Caribbean, it's a gorgeous colonial city, the most charming part of which is actually walled, lending to the feeling that you've stepped back in time. The salty, hair tousling breeze breathes freshness into the mazelike streets (don't even try following a map, it was 7 days before I finally got any bearings whatsoever), but I suggest you embrace the heat and humidity -- its all part of the sultry charm of Cartagena.
Arriving from Chile was just as much of a culture shock as coming from D.C. would have been. Everything about Colombia was different. The climate (jungle humid versus desert dry). The people (hello black people! I've missed you!). The music (salsa, champeta, vallenato. A never ending symphony of welcome alternatives to the reggaeton and electronic that's preferred in Chile). The spanish (chevere? nena? bacano? a whole new glossary of modismos to learn, but thankfully clear enunciation by which to learn them). The food (ripe, colorful, juicy watermelon, mango, papaya, guaranya (?) for sale on every corner; dense mouth-drying arepas; and fish (fried) and bananas (also fried), were the staples of our diet for the week. And the booze (wine, Chile's pride and joy, was seldom to be found on the Caribbean. it was all about beer, rum, and aguardiente (a pretty yucky licorice liquor that just happens to be the cheapest buzz-inducer available).
To say that I was thrilled by these differences is an understatement. I'm absolutely in love with Cartagena (and Bogotá too for that matter) and could go on for pages about what I did there, but I'm going to try to condense it into a best-of list:
1. The nighttime energy of the city and the people: I had the good fortune to befriend some Colombians during my stay, and, if you ever go, I suggest you try to do the same, because wherever they are, they take the energy level up about 10 notches. But beware, if you party with Colombians you better have your dancing shoes on because once they start they refuse to sit down. By far the highlight of the trip was New Years Eve, which we spent in one of the main plazas of the city, where a live salsa band played all night. All the Colombians (and luckily, Marie and I too, since we had gotten the inside scoop before coming) were decked out in romantic all-white, and the sticky heat of the night, a two hundred year old church as a backdrop to our dance floor, and the fireworks at midnight, made for one of the most picturesque soirees I have ever attended. I started out the night not knowing a lick of salsa, but by 6 AM, I was one-two-threeing my way down the cobblestone streets to our hotel--my feet wouldn't thank me the next morning, but they had caught the dancing bug, and not even the sun coming up over the walled city meant it was time to quit.
2. The Caribbean speed setting. There's no better place for the overworked, stressed American (not that I'm putting myself in that category) to really rejuvenate and refresh. Because, really, you have no other choice than to slowwwww downnnnn. The climate itself demands it. Moving faster than an amble during the day will only necessitate a trip back to your hotel for a cool shower. As I said, it's futile to try and navigate yourself around the city--simply leave a few hours to wander, and eventually you'll arrive at your destination, whether that's a cafe (where you'll just have to sit back, relax and wait the fifteen minutes it takes to lovingly prepare your fresh squeezed juice or frothy latte) or a clothing store (where, it's about a fifty-fifty chance that you'll have to wait while the clerk runs around the corner to a friend's shop to get their shared credit card machine). If you're serious about wanting some R&R, Cartageneros are great role-models for this, and they are more than happy to instruct you in their tranquilo ways.
3. The "just enough" thrill factor of tourist activities that reminds you you're visiting an off-the-beaten-path destination. The tourism industry isn't yet fully developed in Cartagena, so there is a do-it-yourself element to vacationing there. And, since there isn't a hotel concierge or tour guide to hold your hand in everything, that means leave room for the unexpected--mishaps, encounters, problems, and payoffs.
Take, for example, our first day activity of heading to one of the Islas del Rosario, islands off the coast of Cartagena that have very nice beaches. You get there by boat, and, I suppose the ocean is an unpredictable thing and it could happen anywhere, but I felt like I was on the log flume at an amusement park. We were getting sprayed (no, soaked) from all sides, bumping up and down and jostling our bench mates; luckily, our tour operators must know just how long their guests can take the fun, because we pulled in to the island just as an inkling of nausea was setting in. We spent the afternoon on the beach but the highlight was a snorkling expedition, which, true to form, involved no waivers, no training apart from some surprisingly involved instructions on how to get your mask to stick to your face (?), and another whiplash inducing boat ride to the reef.
Things got even more adventurous when Marie and I took a trip to Santa Marta, a beach city four hours north of Cartagena, for a few days. We had heard amazing things about the remote beaches of Parque Tayrona, but were unsure of the best way to access them. Some people we had met had hiked to them--highly unrecommended due to the recent flooding in the area which made the path a mud pit, foul smelling and infested with biting bugs. No gracias. One friend had recommended entering the park by boat -- this is illegal since it gets you around paying the park entrance fee, but it only takes thirty minutes and deposits you right on the beach. But we had also heard horror stories about this boat ride -- "it was the scariest experience of my life..." "I seriously thought I was going to die...." "I was crying...." "We took the boat there but opted to walk back...that's how scary it was." Although I'm all for a little adventure, I wasn't trying to take my life in my hands for a little sun. Our hostel owner had what seemed like a good alternative: go to the beach that's on the other side of the park from where most people enter...it's accessible by public transportation and quite beautiful.
So to Playa Concha we went. We caught one of the ramshackle city buses and took it as far as it went. Unfortunately, the little plaza in the center of a neighboring town was not what I had imagined the "end of the line" to be. Where was the beach? we wondered. I asked the bus driver how to get to Playa Concha (as Patrick at the hostel had suggested I do) and he told me to "ask the fisherman." (Sidenote: This is another thing about Colombians, they pass you off to others a lot to answer your questions. "Ah, you're looking for the supermarket? I don't know but let's walk down the street and ask my brother the barber because he goes there a lot to buy...." "Hmmm Plaza San Pietro, Plaza San Pietro."...(knocking on a stopped cab's window) "Amigo, tell these girls where Plaza San Pietro is.") I approached the young men I believed to be the fishermen and the second that "playa" slipped from my lips we were bombarded with offers of transport....only thing is, the only vehicles I was seeing around were a broken down looking bus and....motobikes. Taxi? I asked. Bus? Where is the bus? Those were simply not options, my young "fisherman" friend assured me. There was too much mud for four wheeled vehicles to get up to the beach. He laid out my two options plain and clear: moto or walk. Poor Marie, in hindsight I realized all this interaction was going on in Spanish and the next thing she knew we were each perched atop a mini motorcycle, shooting up the mountain road, holding tight to a round Colombian man. What had I done?
For the few minutes during our ride that I began to doubt whether we were actually going to this supposed paradise Playa Concha my thoughts shot to Patrick, our supposed source of reliable information. Wasn't he supposed to know these things?! We were his clients, his guests, he had a responsibility to get us safely to where we needed to go. But, then I realized that no, this was my trip, and I was doing just what I should be while traveling--figuring it out for myself, making my way and getting where I want to go, and enjoying the ride as much as the destination. And I can safely say I did just that in this Playa Concha expedition. Not only was the jaunt on the mototaxi something fun and different, but my moto driver turned out to be the veritable lord of the beach -- he got us everything we needed, chairs, a tent, a delicious lunch of fried fish, beers, and the all important ride back at the end of the day. So, we ended up with the five star treatment -- albeit Colombia style -- it just involved a little DIY to get there, making it all the more worth it.
So that's it. Those are my top three (with about twenty side perks rolled in) of Colombia. I can't recommend Cartagena more, and Bogotá was beautiful and lots of fun as well. It's a beautiful country, with lovely people and an energy that I have never felt anywhere else.
Unfortunately for the drama factor of this blog but fortunately for my friend and I, these impressions, held by so many in the U.S., couldn't be farther from the Colombia I experienced. In fact, my advice to all: get over these conceptions, learn a bit of Spanish, and book one of the ridiculously cheap and easy flights to Cartagena (Spirit Airlines), NOW before it becomes the next Cancun.
The New York Times travel section, always ahead of the curve, has been pushing Cartagena as the gem that it is since 2008. Overlooking the Caribbean, it's a gorgeous colonial city, the most charming part of which is actually walled, lending to the feeling that you've stepped back in time. The salty, hair tousling breeze breathes freshness into the mazelike streets (don't even try following a map, it was 7 days before I finally got any bearings whatsoever), but I suggest you embrace the heat and humidity -- its all part of the sultry charm of Cartagena.
Arriving from Chile was just as much of a culture shock as coming from D.C. would have been. Everything about Colombia was different. The climate (jungle humid versus desert dry). The people (hello black people! I've missed you!). The music (salsa, champeta, vallenato. A never ending symphony of welcome alternatives to the reggaeton and electronic that's preferred in Chile). The spanish (chevere? nena? bacano? a whole new glossary of modismos to learn, but thankfully clear enunciation by which to learn them). The food (ripe, colorful, juicy watermelon, mango, papaya, guaranya (?) for sale on every corner; dense mouth-drying arepas; and fish (fried) and bananas (also fried), were the staples of our diet for the week. And the booze (wine, Chile's pride and joy, was seldom to be found on the Caribbean. it was all about beer, rum, and aguardiente (a pretty yucky licorice liquor that just happens to be the cheapest buzz-inducer available).
To say that I was thrilled by these differences is an understatement. I'm absolutely in love with Cartagena (and Bogotá too for that matter) and could go on for pages about what I did there, but I'm going to try to condense it into a best-of list:
1. The nighttime energy of the city and the people: I had the good fortune to befriend some Colombians during my stay, and, if you ever go, I suggest you try to do the same, because wherever they are, they take the energy level up about 10 notches. But beware, if you party with Colombians you better have your dancing shoes on because once they start they refuse to sit down. By far the highlight of the trip was New Years Eve, which we spent in one of the main plazas of the city, where a live salsa band played all night. All the Colombians (and luckily, Marie and I too, since we had gotten the inside scoop before coming) were decked out in romantic all-white, and the sticky heat of the night, a two hundred year old church as a backdrop to our dance floor, and the fireworks at midnight, made for one of the most picturesque soirees I have ever attended. I started out the night not knowing a lick of salsa, but by 6 AM, I was one-two-threeing my way down the cobblestone streets to our hotel--my feet wouldn't thank me the next morning, but they had caught the dancing bug, and not even the sun coming up over the walled city meant it was time to quit.
2. The Caribbean speed setting. There's no better place for the overworked, stressed American (not that I'm putting myself in that category) to really rejuvenate and refresh. Because, really, you have no other choice than to slowwwww downnnnn. The climate itself demands it. Moving faster than an amble during the day will only necessitate a trip back to your hotel for a cool shower. As I said, it's futile to try and navigate yourself around the city--simply leave a few hours to wander, and eventually you'll arrive at your destination, whether that's a cafe (where you'll just have to sit back, relax and wait the fifteen minutes it takes to lovingly prepare your fresh squeezed juice or frothy latte) or a clothing store (where, it's about a fifty-fifty chance that you'll have to wait while the clerk runs around the corner to a friend's shop to get their shared credit card machine). If you're serious about wanting some R&R, Cartageneros are great role-models for this, and they are more than happy to instruct you in their tranquilo ways.
3. The "just enough" thrill factor of tourist activities that reminds you you're visiting an off-the-beaten-path destination. The tourism industry isn't yet fully developed in Cartagena, so there is a do-it-yourself element to vacationing there. And, since there isn't a hotel concierge or tour guide to hold your hand in everything, that means leave room for the unexpected--mishaps, encounters, problems, and payoffs.
Take, for example, our first day activity of heading to one of the Islas del Rosario, islands off the coast of Cartagena that have very nice beaches. You get there by boat, and, I suppose the ocean is an unpredictable thing and it could happen anywhere, but I felt like I was on the log flume at an amusement park. We were getting sprayed (no, soaked) from all sides, bumping up and down and jostling our bench mates; luckily, our tour operators must know just how long their guests can take the fun, because we pulled in to the island just as an inkling of nausea was setting in. We spent the afternoon on the beach but the highlight was a snorkling expedition, which, true to form, involved no waivers, no training apart from some surprisingly involved instructions on how to get your mask to stick to your face (?), and another whiplash inducing boat ride to the reef.
Things got even more adventurous when Marie and I took a trip to Santa Marta, a beach city four hours north of Cartagena, for a few days. We had heard amazing things about the remote beaches of Parque Tayrona, but were unsure of the best way to access them. Some people we had met had hiked to them--highly unrecommended due to the recent flooding in the area which made the path a mud pit, foul smelling and infested with biting bugs. No gracias. One friend had recommended entering the park by boat -- this is illegal since it gets you around paying the park entrance fee, but it only takes thirty minutes and deposits you right on the beach. But we had also heard horror stories about this boat ride -- "it was the scariest experience of my life..." "I seriously thought I was going to die...." "I was crying...." "We took the boat there but opted to walk back...that's how scary it was." Although I'm all for a little adventure, I wasn't trying to take my life in my hands for a little sun. Our hostel owner had what seemed like a good alternative: go to the beach that's on the other side of the park from where most people enter...it's accessible by public transportation and quite beautiful.
So to Playa Concha we went. We caught one of the ramshackle city buses and took it as far as it went. Unfortunately, the little plaza in the center of a neighboring town was not what I had imagined the "end of the line" to be. Where was the beach? we wondered. I asked the bus driver how to get to Playa Concha (as Patrick at the hostel had suggested I do) and he told me to "ask the fisherman." (Sidenote: This is another thing about Colombians, they pass you off to others a lot to answer your questions. "Ah, you're looking for the supermarket? I don't know but let's walk down the street and ask my brother the barber because he goes there a lot to buy...." "Hmmm Plaza San Pietro, Plaza San Pietro."...(knocking on a stopped cab's window) "Amigo, tell these girls where Plaza San Pietro is.") I approached the young men I believed to be the fishermen and the second that "playa" slipped from my lips we were bombarded with offers of transport....only thing is, the only vehicles I was seeing around were a broken down looking bus and....motobikes. Taxi? I asked. Bus? Where is the bus? Those were simply not options, my young "fisherman" friend assured me. There was too much mud for four wheeled vehicles to get up to the beach. He laid out my two options plain and clear: moto or walk. Poor Marie, in hindsight I realized all this interaction was going on in Spanish and the next thing she knew we were each perched atop a mini motorcycle, shooting up the mountain road, holding tight to a round Colombian man. What had I done?
For the few minutes during our ride that I began to doubt whether we were actually going to this supposed paradise Playa Concha my thoughts shot to Patrick, our supposed source of reliable information. Wasn't he supposed to know these things?! We were his clients, his guests, he had a responsibility to get us safely to where we needed to go. But, then I realized that no, this was my trip, and I was doing just what I should be while traveling--figuring it out for myself, making my way and getting where I want to go, and enjoying the ride as much as the destination. And I can safely say I did just that in this Playa Concha expedition. Not only was the jaunt on the mototaxi something fun and different, but my moto driver turned out to be the veritable lord of the beach -- he got us everything we needed, chairs, a tent, a delicious lunch of fried fish, beers, and the all important ride back at the end of the day. So, we ended up with the five star treatment -- albeit Colombia style -- it just involved a little DIY to get there, making it all the more worth it.
So that's it. Those are my top three (with about twenty side perks rolled in) of Colombia. I can't recommend Cartagena more, and Bogotá was beautiful and lots of fun as well. It's a beautiful country, with lovely people and an energy that I have never felt anywhere else.
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