I ate intenstines

Large intestine, to be exact. The business end, to be more exact.
It looks like this:



But when they cook it, it looks like this:










Why, you ask? Because of this:



More on this later.

They say it's the rainy season

We are living in a house on the side of a mountain, where there is
a) no internet
b) no heat
c) only one way to get to the top: through a river

That's all fine and exciting until this happens:

We spent about 30 minutes parked on the edge of this flooding. "It'll go down in about 20 minutes," the locals said. Well, we got tired of waiting (or maybe Sebastian's long-hidden adventurer gene kicked in) and we did it. We drove across this muddy, swirling, roaring road-turned-river.

We cheered when we got to the other side, only to realize we had not the slightest inkling of how to get to the house. So we tried every possible route up the mountain--one that was nothing but loose stones, another that was solid mud, a third that dead ended with two roaring ditches one each side (resulting in a true test of the boyfriend's backing-up skills).

He didn't disappoint, actually, for all of you who have heard me chew Sebas out for his driving. Turns out he's quite the talented, uh, nature driver. Or something like that.

We made it back to the house, finally, to find:

What? All of the wood for the fire is wet? You don't say.

What? Our room flooded and our duffle-bagged clothes worked as sandbags? Well, that's just swell!

What? The water isn't working in the entire house? Why, that only makes sense--all of the water is flooding the roads!

Good news: Sebas made delicious popcorn and hot chocolate to make up for it all, my two favorite food groups.

P.S. This was 3 days ago. It's still raining.

Holly's first mojito

I've always wanted to try a mojito, but the timing has never seemed right.

In one of Savannah's military-packed, grimy bars? Nah.
At an fragile bistro table in Paris? Nope.
Under an over-sized umbrella in Barcelona? Sangria seemed a better choice.

So when my tour guide, I mean boyfriend, announced we were going to Andres Carne de Res yesterday, I saw a window of opportunity.

Now, there's something you must know about this Andres place. It is indescribable. I could call it a restaurant, I could call it a junk shop, I could call it a club, I could call it bar, I could call it the most amazing place I have ever stepped into--and only the last descriptor would be true.

So as Sebas and I were squeezed into a side bar beside one of the smaller dance floors, I did it: I ordered a mojito. Or rather, I told Sebastian to order a mojito for me, and I avoided eye contact with the waiter, pretending like the only reason I didn't comminucate with him was the loud music (rather than my lack of lingual skills).

They came in bowls. Well, technically they were hollowed-out gourds, called totuma, and they were the size of my face. We started out with half-bowls, and they were sweet, minty, and delicioso. Our second round was much, much, did I say much? stronger but still delicious.

I wonder what I've been doing all my life, negelcting these mojitos? People were dancing, sizzling argentinian steaks were passing inches away from my head, and I consumed hundreds of tiny little yellow potatoes called papa criolla, dousing them with various relishes and chimichurris.

And then I started feeling sick.

Before you start judging me, my stomach has been boycotting life for the last 3-4 weeks. In typical Holly fashion, I ignored it, but it's really begun to backfire in Colombia. At home, managable. Here, with new food, crippling.

So I left the buzzing, dancing, delicious restaurant at 1 in the morning doubled over, apologizing to the boyfriend.

He says we will go again, and this time I will:
a) bring my camera
b) drink 5 mojitos
c) know how to salsa.

Mark my words.

Thank you, http://www.espaciogastronomico.com.ar/files/andres1.jpg for the picture.

Turbulence

Last night, I had the privledge of experiencing the flight from hell.

1. The air conditioning didn't work. Everyone was fanning themselves, babies were crying, leather seats were sticking to skin.

2. The flight attendant interrupted our movies ever 10 seconds to make an announcement. Problem was, once he picked up the microphone he couldn't remember what he was going to say.

3. Worst turbulence I have ever experienced. Turbulence like you see in movies, except those people aren't on real planes above the Gulf of Mexico. Turbulence so bad, I ended up in my neighbor's lap with the urge to throw up.

But, hey, it was only 5 hours long and now I wake up to this view out of my window.

It was worth it.

No habla español

For all of you nice (or maybe sympathetic) people who read my blog this past quarter, good news: I'm going to Colombia, South America and I'm going to use this blog to report on all the ridiculous things that may or may not happen to me.

There will be pictures, awkward cultural moments, and more self-deprecating commentary.

Hot dog!