How To Talk Like A Colombian

This is the second of a series of three posts on the vocabulary of the three countries I visited in Latin America: Ecuador, Colombia, and Mexico. I collected expressions from friends and from conversations around me. Most of the three vocabularies are in Spanish, but include Quichua, Nahuatl, and Czech, among others. 

Language is a fascinating and rich subject that is influenced by factors as varied as geography, history, and anthropology. I welcome any questions, suggestions or corrections you have to this vocabulary. I hope that you find it interesting, informative, and useful for future travels! Speaking of - this work is by no means complete, and I look forward to adding to it in the future.

Thanks to the friends that helped with the Colombian glossary, including Julian, Anna, Dimitri, Elisabet, and .... Extra thanks go to Ale and Andres, for brilliant hospitality and for teaching me an alarming array of unique Colombian expressions.

N.B. For NSFW Section, See: How To Talk Like A Mexican (coming next week!)
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From its southern tail to its northernmost tip, Colombia combines an extraordinary number of environments, landscapes and people; perhaps it´s no more than you´d expect for a country that spans Gibraltar to the Scottish border in its length. However, one thing is consistent wherever you go in Colombia, and that is its extraordinary warmth. From the ballistic fury of Galeras to the windswept dusty plains of Cabo de la Vela; combined with the hospitality of its people, Colombia is unforgettable. I believe that this warmth is mirrored in their unique expressions, some of which I have gathered here. Enjoy!

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SPANISH

A la orden – lit. at your order. An expression indicating that the speaker is at your service; often heard employed by waiters at restaurants, or by retail workers. 

Ahorita – right now, this instant (also used in Ecuador and Mexico). Anyone who has experienced Mexican time will understand this is a somewhat vague definition of this instant, similar to the French "maintenant". 

Blanco, en gallino lo pone y frito se come – lit. “It´s white, a chicken makes it, and you eat it when it´s fried.” This is a riddle with an extremely obvious answer: an egg! This phrase is used in response to someone saying a truism or something self-evident, a sort of “No shit, Sherlock!”

Broder - from brother, used for friends or as an alternative to "dude" or "man". 

Cachaco/costeño – adjectives that define Colombians from different parts of the country. Cachacos are from Bogotá, Medellín, Manizales - the interior of the country. Costeños are from the coast: Santa Marta, Cartagena, Baranquilla.

Cara de ponque – lit. cake-face. This means that you have a happy expression! "Que pasa, tienes una cara de ponque" - "What's up, you look really happy!" 

Caucho – rubber.

Claro – lit. clear. Often heard in Colombia in the form of: "Claro que si" - "Of course", or "¡Claro que no!" - "Of course not!" 

¿Comiste un payaso por desayuno? – lit. “Did you eat a clown for breakfast?” Asked sarcastically of someone when they are cracking a lot of jokes, or acting much funnier than usual.

Echar globos – lit. "to throw balloons”. Meaning to daydream.

Estafar – lit. "to stuff". The verb used to indicate being ripped off. "¿Me estafas?" - "Are you ripping me off?"

Gomelo/a – of a person, meaning supercilious, snobbish, up oneself. See also freso/a in Mexican dictionary.

Gozar – to get a kick out of something.

Hacer la vaca – lit. "to make the cow". To collect money from friends in order to make a collective pot that will buy something, usually alcohol, for a social. 

Hora zanahoria – lit. "carrot hour". Somewhat hard to understand; it was explained to me that Bogota teens usually party at the weekends in clubs outside the city, in the hills. La hora zanahoria is the hour at which a party finishes, and everyone returns home.

La luz de la calle y la oscuridad de la casa – lit. "the light of the street and the darkness of the house". An expression used for a person, company or situation whose good reputation may hide nefarious secrets. Similar to our expression of "what goes on behind closed doors...". 

Listo – ready, but also used in the style of "got it", or "yep" in response to a question. 

Mas vale bueno conocido que malo por conocer – lit. "More worthwhile to be well-known than bad to know". I am uncertain of this expression; perhaps it is equivalent to our "better the devil you know", or perhaps it means "more important to be well-known than well-liked?". 

¿Me regalas …? – lit. "Will you gift me ...?". Used to ask somebody for an item. For example, "¿Me regalas el agua?" - "Can you pass the water?" 

Paila – vulgar expression that translates roughly as, “I´m fucked!”, or “You´re fucked!”. Used in response to an unfortunate situation, such as when a disaster or fuck-up has happened. Accompanied by a slit-neck gesture.

Paisa – someone from Medellín. From here comes bandeja paisa, literally "the paisa´s tray", a gut-busting meal of 14 ingredients including various cuts of meat, eggs, avocado and beans. Bandeja paisa is the national dish of Colombia.

Papaya puesta, papaya partida – lit. “papaya displayed, papaya gone”. Meaning that if you have something valuable and flaunt it in public (for example, a Rolex), someone is going to take it from you.

Patos en arriba – lit. “ducks up”. When everything is in disarray, higgledy-piggledy or topsy-turvy.

Piña – pineapple, or slang for grenade.

Pobre viejecito – lit. "Poor little old one!" Roughly equivalent to our expression of, “I´m playing the world´s tiniest violin for you”. Used mockingly in response to someone else´s humblebrag or self-pity. 

Porfa – short for "por favor" - "please".

Puro tilín tilín y nada de paletas – lit. "All tilín, tilín and no ice-creams". Similar to our expression, "All sizzle and no steak", used for when a person fails to deliver on their promise. In Colombia it is common to see men wheeling around carts that contain paletas (ice-creams). They advertise the paletas with a little bell on the side of the cart. Imagine how annoyed you´d be if, after hearing the bell, there were no ice-creams ... that is puro tilín tilín y nada de paletas!

“Que hubo, hombre?” – “What´s up, man?”

Rolo – someone from Bogotá.

“Se armó” – “It´s on”. Armar is the infinitive, meaning "to assemble" or "to put together".

Se me fue por el camino viejo – lit. "It took me down the old path". Equivalent to our expression, “That went down the wrong way”, when one drinks and subsequently chokes on it.

Ser guanche – to act like a thug. "¡No seas guanche!" - "Stop acting like a thug!"

Ser sapo/a – lit. to be a frog. To be overly inquisitive, to stick your nose into other people´s business. "¡No seas zapa!" - "Don´t be so nosy!"

Se saltó la manguera – lit. "The gas pump jumped out". This expression explains that sensation when you have eaten so much at dinner that you have to push your plate away and lean back from the table. For context, when you fill your car with gas at the station, the gas pump will jump away from the car when the tank is full. 

WIWA*

Jamaluku – How are you?

*Wiwa is one of the indigenous languages spoken on the Caribbean coast of north Colombia.

Travels in Colombia No.5: Volcan de Totumo

On the Caribbean coast of Colombia is one of the strangest tourists attractions you'll ever find: an isolated clay pot, twenty metres high, bubbling inside with warm, scented mud. Visitors to Volcan de Totumo come to bathe in the mud, receive unctuous massages, and take hilarious selfies. I went to Totumo twice. The first time, at night on the 9th of January; the second, almost a month later, when it was actually open. Here's an extract of what I wrote about my first time.

                                                                                                                    

9th January 2016

20:18 and we were slithering up a narrow road in the fragrant, warm spice of another Colombian night. We arrived at Cartagena de Indias yesterday to meet some friends for a road trip. The meeting date meant that we had spent only a brief night in the fabulous Medellin before pelting to the coast; still, I didn't regret our haste. Each sign that appeared on the road suggested a new world to explore: Taganga, Tayrona, Totumo. This last one jumped out of the dark, too quickly. Had we seen it, or only imagined? A U-turn later, we were retracing our drive. We approached a T-junction to our right, where a timid brown sign demurred the location: Volcan de Totumo, 1km.

Off the beaten road a winding track led us steeply upwards and then down, ending in a wide clearing of patted earth. The car's headlights illuminated snack stands, Parking for 3000 pesos, an eco-hostel; meagre signs of civilization, for the entire attraction sat in civil isolation, distant from any major towns. Even within the landmark itself there was a space, a gap in the centre of the clearing. When we left the car, and the headlights dimmed, we emerged into a sepulchral silence. On one of the weather-beaten huts, wrung hands of tattered tarpaulin clapped threateningly in time to our heartbeats.

As our eyes adjusted to the darkness, we saw it. A monstrous, sleeping bulge of earth, brown, pitted and wrinkled; where the torchlight shone on it, a decrepit elephant hide. We climbed the haphazard stairs carefully, this spine up the creature's back bristling with frozen mud. In the summit crater sat the mud pool. Above us, the stars revealed themselves in a tapestry of colours wilder than we could have imagined at the base.

Together we giggled nervously - schoolchildren caught in the act of trespassing. Surely no-one else was here, now? Still I felt watched; as I climbed down the slippery ladder I experienced the strangest tang of guilt, like sour milk. I dipped my feet into the pool and stirred cautiously at the fragrant stew whose recipe I was attempting for the first time. The mud was coolly warm, and released a fusty scent. 

One by one, we stuck our feet in and retreated. For a moment we stood around the crater, feet clarted with earth; the experience had begun to resemble a ritual. Now we headed down towards the lake, joined by two slippery-friendly dogs (where had they come from?). We washed our feet in companionable silence. Hanging from the branches of a delightfully obliging acacia tree, I dipped my toes in a silvery substance that danced fluidly like liquid mercury. 

Suddenly there was something in my head and underhand: the sense of the sublime. A feeling like honey flowed lazily through me. I tipped my head to the upper left, fixing my gaze on the sky as you would spin a globe and stop it with a finger at an exotic location. In this direction I could see the stars; there, far, Orion loftily holding forth as king in their midst; there, stars, strange and coloured lights like the green lights on the docks that Gatsby had loved. Here, the licking waves of quicksilver lavishing my heels, cleaning the chocolate mud off.

We returned to the car. Standing tall in the night, Totumo appeared a benevolent and dignified force; a mysterious warlock with his black cloak drawn tightly around him. He had just thrown up a handful of stardust and there it grew in the black soil above his wheezing head: cornflower, sienna, mint, in colour and stain incandescent, glowing and shining in the rich dark earth of the firmament and seemingly blossoming and putting out roots and buds endlessly until there we saw a thesaurus of stars across the sky. I imagined the infinitesimal distance the stellar sphere had turned since we had first stood here under it, and I carved out an infinitesimal piece to curate in my memory. The mud pool below, the skies above: we were all in the gutter, and looking at the stars.

                                                                                                                    

Travels in Colombia No.4: Feria de Manizales

April 18th, 2016

The year began excellently, with a week-long stay at the 60th Feria de Manizales in the Eje Cafetero in Caldas Province, Colombia. While we were in Manizales we saw beauty queens, jugglers, birdmen, wild dancers, rappers, artists, street vendors, beggars, tourists, touts and vendors. This is a city that is painted red by the people that populate it, and I hope the two part-post I'm sharing below describes some of the colourful characters we met.


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Nineteen plates spinning in one!

The feathered man statue on the main square

Looks like one of the builders fancies catching a kiss ...

Colours captured in the Carneval parade

What would she give to be a little taller?

View of (some of) the city from Ecoparque Los Yarumos

Giddy night view of the decorations at El Cipre region

Passion at the salsa contest

The wild skirts and dancing, and the reflected glory of the folklore display

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2nd January 2016

Today was so much fun! While in the mall, faces dimly illuminated by our mobile screens, we were approached by a parce (Medellin slang for 'guy') in white uniform, who asked us if we'd like to ride his bus. This could have sounded suspicious; but his engaging manner allayed our fears, and as we left he waved familiarly at the lady who had just sold me a croissant. She seemed thrilled to see 'Don Alberto', and shouted to our retreating backs:

'Que les vaya bien!'

We followed Alberto to the road behind the shopping centre, where a small crowd of tourists were mingling in confusion in front of a double-decker bus. It seemed that we were the last of the pack: within two minutes we had been handed small cups of hazelnut lattes, and were whisked on board the bus. As we took some seats on the upper deck, it became apparent that we were the only non-Colombian tourists around. The bus took off; swaying and ambling slowly, then gathering speed; confronting a brace of taxis that blared horns threateningly, before cruising giddily around a sharp corner. The drive seemed designed to showcase all of the twists and turns of Manizales, built on the upper roll of a steep hill. We needed some distraction - and up it came, in the form of Don Alberto, bouncing up the stairs and twinkling at the passengers, before whipping out a microphone. In a rasping tenor, he gleefully informed the other passengers that there were some foreigners on the bus. A chorus of heads turned round at us. Where were we from? Scotland and England; to which the upper deck responded with a thunderous round of applause!  couldn't help laughing out loud. This was proving to be a rather good whim we had followed. For the next two hours the bus careened drunkenly around, conveying us through all the neighbourhoods of Manizales with barely a backward glance, and Alberto suavely held sway in the middle of the top deck, bellowing facts and regaling us with jokes and stories from afar. He covered the whole world within the scope of his patter! (Except Manizales itself, about which I learned nothing except that it was built in 1849.) For Alberto, the real story of the city was not in the buildings, or the street names, or any historical facts or figures: Manizales was now, Manizales was on the streets. Shop vendors were heckled at red lights; pedestrians were joked with from two blocks away. Twice more Nathen and I were applauded for being foreign tourists. Alberto began sing-songs at a moment's notice, with a chorus of thirty on the upper deck being no match for a man on a mission with a microphone. The highlight of the tour was undoubtedly in the dark: for every time that we went under a bridge a party occurred. The driver would blast his horn furiously, hidden LED lights on the bus's sides would flash, and the whole population of the upper deck would join in a cheer, 'Feliz Año! Viva la Feria de Manizales!'. Mad, fun, incredibly engaging. I was overwhelmed by the spirit of Colombia, and the joi de vivre of this incredible country.

Travels in Colombia No.3: The Cocora Valley

December 30th, 2015

What is it that makes an experience unique?

Yesterday we discussed this on our walk to our campsite (beyond the 'Al Rio' sign we found at the end of this post). We had believed Salento to be a picturesque little town curled sleepily among the sunlit coffee bushes, waiting to be discovered. Instead, we had been confronted with cheerful vendors and loud-mouthed touts, curious tourists and cheeky kids. We were both disappointed by the town, although to different extents: I felt it weigh on Nathen's shoulders as he described a friend's truly unique experience, a New Year's kayak in a frozen glacial lake.

Today we woke up at half-past six. It was pleasantly disconcerting when I opened my tent curtain to see a sliver of fresh woodland, instead of a pre-wrapped, banal slice of city. We packed our gear, and crept up the footpath to rejoin the road with the 'Al Rio' sign that had enticed us to the camping spot last night. Now we walked not back into Salento but onwards, towards the north-west. In front of us was the Nevado del Ruiz National Park and the Cocora Valley, filled with wax palms and waiting for us to explore it.

Palms standing to attention on a windy ridge. Some of these are 60 metres high!

How delicious the first hour of hiking was! Even though our route (following a Colombian A-road) wasn't adventurous in itself, the coolness and stillness of the morning and the occasional glimpse of the cloud-wrapped future present painted a fresh coat of optimism on my morning. I was further encouraged by the incredulous stares of motorists, who would whip their heads round as they passed on bikes, or whoop words of greeting while clinging onto the back of an open 4x4. One wag shouted, 'you are so much more hardcore than us!' It was true: I had 12kg on my back and 9km to walk up a long and winding road that was increasingly hot from the sun and unblemished by spots of tree-shade - you bet it was hard. The unrelenting easy beauty of any photo I took seemed to add salt to my sweat, blood and tears. So it was a relief when, on the last 800 metres of road before the park entrance, a gentleman in a pick-up stopped to offer us a lift.

Whizzing along in the back of a ride we'd hitched.

The National Park turned out to have many unnatural amenities. We lingered over tiny cups of coffee, our first in the Eje Cafetero, and then started to hike through the valley. I was impressed by the size and height of the wax palms, which, when juxtaposed with the ambling tourists and the coffee stands gave an otherworldliness, a Liliputian air of everyday life in miniature. There among the monstrous trees was a tiny fairground: horseback rides, endless stalls of goodies, overpriced cocktails. This natural wander-land was rather unnatural. I wondered, was the rest of Colombia still untouched? 

We continued. The pack was painful on my shoulders, and I was thirsty, but still we walked deeper into the park. Eventually we arrived at La Cascada (The Waterfall). It had no waterfall, but we did find a route which wound down a narrow track to the most exquisite camp site. Dotted with red and purple jewel-flowers, littered with shadows and sun, graced with red-breasted woodpeckers and creaking insects. It was paradise, and just a pity that we had arrived too soon: at one o'clock, now was too early to pitch camp. However, we had no food, and the next hacienda, La Primavera, was 19km ahead, so we returned reluctantly to the valley filled with tourists. Still, we had tried; and found a secret spot that no-one else knew. A unique experience, of sorts.

Sunlight through the wild vegetation.

Even though today was just a walk in the park, it left an impression on me that will take a while to shake off. The juxtaposition of familiar and strange felt 'one-of-a-kind' - although I accept that many people wouldn't agree. So then, I suppose, the answer to my question: what is it that makes an experience unique? Why, it's you.

Sunrise over the hills holding the Cocora Valley.

Travels in Colombia No.2: The Coffee Zone

December 29th, 2015

In the central highlands of Colombia, a crop grows like wildfire. It flourishes on every hill and valley as far as the eye can see: enamelled green leaves with crinkle-cut edges, and glossy, dark red berries hanging like earrings below, spaced out on the vine. Coffee is intimately familiar to me. I associate it with the world of northern Europe and its everyday luxuries: a cardboard Costa on the way to the office, or enamel cups of white nestling a perfect, photo-negative black pool; British tea-time and English elevenses and even the Swedish tradition of fika. Coffee is couched in rules and routine. And yet the provenance of this crop is unrestrained and vibrant and about as different from these straight-laced rituals as you could imagine. 

We are in the Eje Cafetero of central Colombia, where there are giant profusions of orange flowers and fanfares of bamboo, great garlands and tall palms. Coffee grows between them, behind them, under; everywhere. Ordinary people populate this fairytale land in a delightful way; it seems so unlikely that in this magical forest there should be a checkpoint with orange-jacketed ladies, vendors of crisps and fruit, guards balancing guns - but there they are. We zip past them at two hundred miles an hour. Clearly, the driver of our bus has places to be. The speed prevents me from taking more than snapshots of memories, but I do recall seeing a sign for a theme park: Parque del Cafe, it's called. I'm all right for thrills: the drive is ride enough.

We stop for breakfast in Manizales, the capital of Caldas province. Strangely, coffee is not on the menu. In spite of Manizales's loveliness - teetering on a stack of tumble-down hills among the green palms - we are left with a bitter taste in our mouths as Nathen's prized water bottle is stolen. So we decide to flee south to Salento, where the town is smaller and the palms are bigger. We will return at the weekend to bite the Big Apple of Manizales: we have been told that a festival of fruits and flowers is taking place.

Despite our misfortune, I'm already in love with Colombia. Just what is it about this place? I really liked Ecuador, its people, landscapes, history; and yet there's something about its big sister to the north that is just irresistible. Like the people here, the country seems to have the 'it' factor: the wink, the attitude, the flicker of a smile on the lips that draws you in further. My suspicions of Colombia's magic are confirmed that evening, when we pitch camp. We arrived in Salento in the afternoon, and have grown tired of the haggling and hawking at the stalls in the village square. So we leave to begin a lonely pilgrimage north on a small road out of town. We have seen signs for the Cocora Valley and we hope to find solace, if not shelter, under the fronds of a slender wax palm. After a kilometre walking down the silvering road that twists like a live trout, we pass a sign painted in white acrylic that points the way 'Al Rio'. Not ones to pass up an impulse, we follow it towards the river. We pass into a narrow, tranquil valley, empty of wax palms but full of sweet green grass and tall eucalyptus that in the twilight breeze paint the setting sky in shades of pink and lilac. Finally we have found tranquillity. The night is mostly cloudless, and from the comparative dark of our camping spot, hidden under a motherly pine, we watch as capricious fireflies compete with the stately stars to capture our attention.