Being Robbed and Possible Explanations:

This heart-warming tale (ok, not) begins on holiday in Villavicencio with my dear flatmate Moisès. First of all, before you start having crazy thoughts like ¨Villavicencio?! More like Villavilencio !¨ allow me to set the scene. The town apparently has a population of one million but it feels much smaller, it is at the jungle covered foothills of the Andes and enjoys an erratic tropical climate. The houses look classic South American colonialist and holiday-makers wander the streets in brightly coloured hotpants. Moisès went to school there and never had any problems before (see theory # 1).

A few words about Moisès - he reminds me of a dream-like character from a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel; he is exceptionally kind, with very dry humour and he says things like ¨I`ve felt like an old man for as long as I can remember¨ (he`s 23). He is embarrassed by his priviledges and undeterred by his set-backs (such as having a Colombian passport). He thinks his having high conversational ability in six languages is `mediocre` and believes in being good, to the point where he will break up with a girl because he has a crush on someone else - ¨because, for me, that`s like cheating¨.

So, on this balmy early Saturday evening, directly after a rather dramatic storm, Moisès tells me his sister has invited us to her restaurant and we are to walk there. I am about to walk out the door in my new jeans (see diagram) when I reach my hand to my neck instinctively and realise I`m not wearing my St. Christopher necklace - I remember seeing it earlier on the bathroom counter and imagining what would happen if I left it in Villavicencio by mistake (see theory #2). I tell Moisès to wait - I forgot my money - and go upstairs. I take my lotus flower bag, realise I only have 10,000 pesos, so I put 50,000 more in (the only other note I have) and put on my St. Christopher necklace (see theory #3).

Moisès and I are walking down the street and I am yabbering in English about my cat at home, India-Ra-Pisspot-In-The-Toaster (see theories #1 + 4), when we walk into a tree shaded bit, where there are 4 - 6 guys and everything goes black for a moment.

Next thing I know I`m on my knees, a man is yanking my St. Christopher from my neck and grabbing my bag - I am confused but strangely calm - I look over to Moisès and he is on his knees, cool as a cucumber, with two guys at his neck with knives and menacing dispositions. I realise I also have a knife/ menacing guy; at first I can`t take my eyes off the knife and stay completely still while someone attempts to check my pockets (they`re too tight! thanks new jeans) but then knife guy is in front of me, waving his knife at me and I look directly into his face. He doesn`t like this, but for some reason I am entirely unafraid and continue blatantly looking; he looks just like a stupid, nervous boy (of about 19), not very happy with his current circumstance or his life in general. As an aside, this is not reassuring, but actually makes him more dangerous.

One manboy expresses a noise and they all quickly disperse. Fast as lightning, Moisès leaps up and runs to the security guard, about ten metres away around a corner, and tells him we just got robbed. The security guard shrugs and looks bored (see theory#5).

Aftermath: I am teary/ shaken for a couple of hours and Moisès and I discuss the loss of dignity we both feel. Moisès` cellphone is stolen and some money (¨I don`t give a shit about money¨). We start to see the funny side pretty quickly, considering, and Moisès ends the evening saying ¨it`s weird, but I kinda like this feeling, like showing me that without my cellphone, which is so important to me, I just keep being Moisès. Nothing changes.¨ (See theory#3).

Disclaimers about the visual aid: I didn`t include Moisès and his robbers since drawing is very exhausting and difficult for me and I have no talent for it. Also, I bought dandruff shampoo because I like the harshness of it sometimes, like once a week, not because I have dandruff.

Why Did this Happen? Five Theories

Theory #1: We were talking in English, thus attracted attention as rich, easy potential victims.
Against: Moisès looks obviously Colombian. Colombians get robbed too, all the time. The guys already had their knives out before they could probably hear us - as far as I can tell.

Theory #2: My St. Christopher wanted to get rid of me and could see no other way to do it. Lately I had been admiring my found (in a flat in Dunedin) St. Christopher more and more, but also having weird thoughts like - he doesn`t belong to me, I`m not really travelling anymore and he`s the Saint of travel, he must be annoyed and I won`t own him forever, but it`s okay; he is a Saint, not a necklace.
Against: A necklace is an inanimate object. I`m supposed to be an atheist.

Theory #3: A harsh lesson in Buddhism. This is really a long story for another time (OR: never!) but the Buddhist philosophy has been chasing me around, in strange ways, for years - even though I would never describe myself as a Buddhist and see major problems with the philosophy.
Against: I`m supposed to be an atheist.

Theory #4: People who talk about their cats at length deserve to be robbed.
Against: Ok, but it`s unfair to punish Moisès for something he didn`t do.

Theory #5: The world is a random and sometimes cruel place, deal with it.
Against: As a human, I have an uncontrollable urge to apply meaning and significance to events in my life. I like my other theories more.

Epilogue: The after-math for one of the Robbers (possible scenario)

One robber goes home and looks at my St. Christopher necklace, realises it`s clearly worthless and thoughtlessly tosses it into a box of other worthless, stolen things. He opens a beer and settles down to watch television. St. Christopher begins to think ¨Shit, this was a mistake, at least Leilana was kind of travelling ...¨
Years later, the robbers now pre-teen daughter, a fiery girl with attitude and a frightening interest in boys, is going through the box on a rare visit to her almost estranged father, when she finds the St. Christopher, looks at him and reads the back - ¨PRAY FOR US¨ and in tiny writing ¨ITALY¨. On the front it says ¨St. Christopher¨ and ¨Si¨ and shows the Saint carrying a baby on his shoulder through some undetermined difficulty. Her worn-out, world-weary father notices her looking at it and says ¨take it!¨ So she does.
St. Christopher is so excited and burns on her chest until she can`t help herself, and at the age of 18, sets off on an adventure matched only by the female pirate captains who sailed the Caribbean hundreds of years ago.

Whatever does happen, things don`t just disappear - they travel, change and mutate. I have no idea where my St. Christopher was before me - whether someone infact bought him in Italy, for themselves of for someone else, whether the person who left him behind at 10 Canongate did so intentionally, or by mistake - whether they cared, and missed him. What I do know is that other things are coming, maybe another St. Christopher - maybe identical, maybe different - or maybe something else entirely different, to lift my spirits when being alone gets too hard. Something like the woven red and yellow star a Cambodian girl called Leila gave me and refused payment for, after telling me ¨Lei is a good name, but I`m giving you a new one, even cuter ...¨ and in the dirt she wrote ¨Lei ... li¨.

Personalised Trash/ Inspiration

I realise this particular blog post may across as extremely off-the-point, but it illustrates my current state of mind extremely well. To learn Spanish I bought a fashion magazine and I have been pouring over it with the devotion of a trappist monk - soon I will be able to describe this seasons giant shoes in Spanish pretty well - ¨Ooh zapatos muy grande, me gusta mucho!¨

Also, I have been generally listening to a lot of too cool, glamourous music, dancing with hot Colombians, and having dreams about University scholarships (I put this in the same category, don´t ask). Before coming to Colombia, I was choosing between this and a few other options which will remain nameless. The other options were more -off the path- and badass, but my corporate uncle told me that people have many sides of their characters and the idea is to find a balance between those sides - not to suffocate one with the other. And right now that is exactly what Colombia is for me - I get to travel and add to my CV blah blah, but I also live in a liberal, modern city with beautiful little boutiques and fashion weeks.

Anyway - this blog represents the best of pop culture, from my perspective. It´s only a small sampling of things I love, and not necessarily those I love the most. The Hermes ad is in this partly for nostalgia´s sake. With Yami and Ellie in BK I spent days trawling the Siam Paragon (basically an issue of Harpers Bazaar in real life) and at the time the Indian Winter line had just come out and there was a beautiful, billboard sized copy of that ad on the building. I think it´s the perfect image of pure luxury.

The Annie Leibovitz photograph of Johnny Depp and Kate Moss should need no justification.

Returning to Colombia

Here´s a photo I stole to accompany an otherwise pointless, cheesy blog.

Well, Colombia. I don´t even know what to say without sounding like a total idiot. Flying in, the immigration card hard two options; leaving Colombia, and returning to Colombia. I ticked returning.

If you know me, you know I am a superstitous atheist and one thing I am particularly attached to is the number 49. Whenever I see it, I know I am on the right track. I saw so many 49s coming to Colombia it was actually insane. EVERY seat number had it in there.

The weird thing is, I don´t feel dramatic about Colombia, like - screaming my head off, blown away. But I feel so happy, so comfortable and really .... at home. Everyone is the same - all the expats I have met go all blurry eyed talking about Colombia. Everyone seems to stay longer than they intended. I feel so good about this next year.

Tamarillos (my favourite fruit) are everywhere and cheap. The buses are hilarious. Everyone is stupidly good-looking, and - this is the amazing part - they seem to think I´m good looking too. The nightlife is the best I have ever seen. Teenagers in school uniforms make out in the streets. The colonial architecture in the old quarter is dreamy, and everytime I look up, there they are, the Andes.

xo

p.s. Last night I drank champagne with 7 potential new friends in a huge industrial apartment looking over the skyline of Bogota, listening to the Pulp Fiction soundtrack. I did a fantastic twist if you ask me.

Weird and Creepy Scenes in the Toy Museum

Of all the world-class museums and art galleries in München, my favourite, without contest, is the Spielzeug Museum - The Toy Museum. Housed in a strange tower with dizzying spiral staircases, you begin on the 5th Floor. To get there, you take a lift which seems to have been built around the time that lifts were invented. This is thrilling, as it seems like it could stop any moment, and it is about as big as a small wardrobe.



From the top, you trip down the spiral staircase to view the history of toys and playing. The staircase is almost totally enlosed, apart from a few tiny, barred windows looking out onto a snow covered München. There appears to be no one else in the building, but you can hear the faint laughter of children.



These photos are best viewed with a circus soundtrack.

War Heroes on Ordinary Days

This blog is a little retrospective although it relates to my current situation also. I am living with my Opa (grandfather) in a large house, covered with snow, beside a Bavarian forest. Today's blog is about my Opa and how funny he is. Also, about my days.

I'm having the kinds of days where it takes forty-five minutes to have a cup of tea. I make everything perfect: tea, saucer, teaspoon, honey, music, magazine and then I finally settle down with a magazine full of photographs of Mount Everest and the people who have climbed it, and I day-dream about difficulty.

As for me, difficulty is the furthest thing from my reality. On my first day in Germany Opa sat my down over lunch and gave me a finances talk. Namely: 'When it comes to finances, I don't want you to stress yourself out, I will take care of it.' I wonder what miniscule percentage of the world can say they are facing the economic collapse with that kind of security. In fact, if this crisis is as memorable as the Depression and my grandchildren ask me - 'how was it for you?' I will have to confess to spending it eating luxury European cheeses, drinking mineral water, driving a beautiful Mercedes and living in a house with an average of three rooms per person. *
Regarding the big fall down, Opa says 'God gives, God takes away, I actually couldn't give a toss.'

When I was younger, I found numerous habits of Opa's annoying - sometimes even insulting and infuriating. I think this is because I was a teenager and teenagers are simply too simular to old people to really get along with them - both groups refuse to compromise their way of life, even an inch. As an 'adult' I am finding him endearing and hilarious.

Everytime he finishes a task - however small - he says 'So!' and looks satisfied. I smile and say 'mmhm!' - mostly because I don't know what else to say - congratulating him would surely be patronizing. This is not to say he's a hopeless old man, quite the opposite. For example, he just picked up the phone: 'Frau Kessler! ... Hallo! Now, tell me, did I stand on your toes in some way or what?! You have been impossible to contact!' and then the sound of laughter.

His Humphrey Bogart brand of charm is certainly having a time-warp effect on me, where I actually enjoy cleaning everything up, setting the tables, being sweetly cordial and grateful, because his appreciation for all this is so evident. I can see how men of his generation convinced women to stay in the kitchen! (This, incidentally, is something he greatly regrets, saying he should have convinced Renate, his wife, to return to the workforce after the children were older. He said it was one of the biggest mistakes of his life to talk her out of it).

This rabbit lives on the shelf and I often admire him (I love Lindt Gold Rabbits) and ring his little bell. Opa noticed and said 'you can eat him if you want' and I was horrified! Of course not!

Sunday breakfast. Notice the lovely German buns Opa goes and buys for me and Burkhard.

* My finances are still dire, despite everything. I basically drive Opa's Mercedes in order to kid myself that things are fine. Also, I can't stay here much longer, so I will need to join the workforce like everyone else. Incase any of you were hating me for being so bourgeoise. It's all I deserve for having so many Marxist friends, no one to brag about rich cars to...

And now for the weather...

Above: Sunday morning after breakfast, Opa and Uncle Burkhard deep into their newspapers.
Below: the snow lately. The next door neighbours (dogs) enjoying it. The backyard in the afternoon.

Imagine it is so quiet you can hear the snow falling from the trees, from inside, and that is my life. On Saturday I spent several hours baking a New York cheesecake in these conditions.

Retrospective: How Indie is Qatar Airways?!

Contrary to the prim apearance of these cabin crew, Qatar Airways is actually down and hip. Maybe not with regard to aesthetics, but certainly when it came to their inflight entertainment. Their available 'Best Albums Ever' collection could have been plucked staight from pitchfork.com - including such greats as 'Is This It?' by the Strokes, several Radiohead and Blur releases, more than one Beck album, 'Melody A.M.' by Royksopp and an album 'Welcome to Mali' released by West African sensations Amadou & Mariam (their song 'Sabali' is #15 on pitchfork's best tracks of 2008, they were earlier produced by Manu Chao and now Damon Albarn - aka hottest man alive - has his fingers in their pie. AND I had never heard of them - thanks Qatar).

Apart from addressing my numerous shortfalls in music knowledge, I also spent many hours watching films and television. Copying Jenna, I have rated the shows/ movies.

• The American Office - I
• Flight of the Conchords - I
• The Doha Debates - *****
• Vicky Cristina Barcelona - ****
• Nine to Five - *****
• Mamma Mia! - ******

I = Irrevelant. You all already know it.

***** = fantastically entertaining and awesome. May I make a special mention of Nine to Five starring: Dolly Parton, Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda. First of all - best casting ever, and secondly - most hilarious, insane, third-wave feminist film I have seen in my life.

**** = entertaining and interesting. Woody Allen's new film with, of course, Scarlett Johannsen. Also: Penelope Cruz. Now, these are two actresses with whom I am not enamoured (especially Cruz who is beautiful but stupid) but this was actually good (and embarrassingly filled with steamy sex scenes... I kept thinking I caught people looking at my screen).

****** = so bad it's good. Meryl Streep and Pierce Brosnan singing ABBA songs to eachother. In Greece.

So if you are taking an indie sweetheart on a trip overseas and are afraid of them spending the entire 15 hour flight scoffing at the lame music and film choices available, safe yourself an earache and book a flight with Qatar. But remember: skinny jeans are not sensible wear for flights longer than two hours. I wore: grey tights and my cute green puff dress from Hanoi.

xo.

p.s. Photos/ rants/ etc coming up about Germany.

p.p.s. Big question: Is it that Qatar Airways is hip or is it that we are getting so old that we are now the 'young professionals' that major corporations are aiming at? Are we the new powerful group? Will airlines soon be playing the soft sounds of Sufjan Stevens while we board the plane?!

A terrifying thought.