(From Jach): [I posted this on my personal Facebook Page too] We are heading back to Santa Barbara tomorrow. It has been a wonderful two and a half weeks. Before we leave, I wanted to share some of my ponders while here. I find Colombia fascinating, a real cauldron of wonder and amazement. This country and this city, Cali, speak to me in some fashion. I love listening. So I will share this particular “pondering. Doña Carlotta arrives at the gymnasium each weekday at 7:15 with uncommon precision, but Doña Carlotta is anything but common. Impeccably dressed, her morning make up in place, her hair is always perfectly done. With her handbag draped over her right arm, she moves slowly and her head held high. She does not speak, but only smiles and nods at the staff. She moves with an elegant grace appropriate to her social class and background as she makes her way to the bank of treadmills along the mirrored wall at the back. There Doña Carlotta holds morning court as she carefully places her purse over the treadmill’s side arm and begins her slow morning walk. One lady then another woman approach. Eventually there are three or four women who step up to the treadmills on either side of Doña Carlotta. She smiles, she talks, they talk, and quickly the patterns of morning chatter and morning news are established. The laugher is polite, not too enthusiastic and certainly not too loud. Hushed tones increase in relationship to the seriousness of the gossip or news. Doña Carlotta maintains her regal countenance throughout. When her hour is up, she steps down, and the other woman slow their treadmills to also step down. Doña Carlotta gathers her purse, and make her way between the equipment toward the door. She doesn’t speak to, but only smiles and nods at the staff. The ritual complete, her morning is now fully underway. I don’t know if Carlotta is really her name, but to me she seems like a Carlotta, and she is definitely a Doña. I met her six years ago, but she doesn’t remember me. Doña Carlotta owns a luxurious apartment building. Each apartments ranges in size from 3200 to 3800 square feet, and each is richly designed with the most modern but tasteful appliances and fixtures. The three bedrooms and four bathrooms are spacious and beautifully appointed. The maid’s quarters off the kitchen is large and has its own separate entrance. The terrance is also large, and because the building overlooks a Municipal Park with lush green rolling hills and ample trees, the view is not only beautiful, it’s unobstructed with the assurance that no new building will alter the view. Enrique and I had looked at Doña Carlotta’s building out of curiosity mostly, and we found it far more than we wanted and certainly it cost far more than we wanted to spend. It was a momentary peak into the socially and financially wealthy of Colombia and it was fascinating. To me, Doña Carlotta was far more fascinating. When she showed us the two apartments that she had for sale, she was gracious and soft spoken. Her smile was warm and inviting and she listened with focused attentiveness. Her eyes were deep blue and her hair was soft gray with delicate highlights that suggested the work of an expensive coiffeur. All the while she maintained eye contact both speaking and listening directly to each of us. Confident and assured in who she was, she felt comfortable treating us as peers or at least as equals, even though in her heart she knew we were not. Playfully and curiously we asked the price of each apartment, and we also asked if the price was negotiable. She smile demurely and looked away. Speaking more softly than before she said, “That’s a question for my husband; I don’t know anything about such things.” We smiled back and said no more. We knew she wasn’t telling the truth, but we also knew the conversation was over. We all exchanged pleasant goodbye’s with promises of looking forward to seeing each other again, promises we all knew were also untrue. We left. Each morning I wait for Doña Carlotta to arrive at the gymnasium. She has become a part of my morning ritual. She represents an “old Colombia” that is slowly finding its way from a developing nation to a developed country in a world that is rapidly becoming new. The old Colombia is a country with a small socially elite class of the wealthy and a vast class of the abject poor with virtually no middle class at all. It is slowly, very slowly, becoming a country that maintains its upper class but that class is lowering its elite status with looser boundaries and opening portals that lessen poverty and create ways for a slowly growing middle class. Colombia is a country embroiled in a decades old revolution that is only now moving to avoid a genuine revolution against the paralyzing grip of classism. Doña Carlotta holds on to her stature with stately elegance, but she now engages in the business of managing the apartments in her self-owned building and from time to time selling them. She makes her way to the gymnasium because even wealthy people need to stay healthy. Doña Carlotta has at least one maid and her hairdresser and manicurist come to her home, but she drives herself to the gym rather than being driven by her driver. She has expanded her social circle beyond the parlor with her “ladies with the proper names.” Her world is rife with change and Doña Carlotta greets change with a smile, with curiosity, and a soft willingness. She has been “on top” all her life, and she intends to stay there even as the “top” is changing. I admire Doña Carlotta. I don’t speak to her, but I watch her eyes as I walk the treadmill and look into the mirrored wall we share. I listen understanding the tone and the energy more than the words. Doña Carlotta is a face of Colombia, one of many. She is part of it’s beauty and part of it’s ugliness — the ugliness of classism still so apparent and so present in this country. Doña Carlotta is changing in her way as this country is changing. I watch. I listen. I learn and admire. One day I will speak to Doña Carlotta. Perhaps I’ll learn her real name.
Posted on: Wed, 12 Mar 2014 23:47:17 +0000
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