Cali Nights

Today is a little bit surreal. I am walking down The Sexta, a thick vein of bars and salsa clubs and sketchy dark corners that runs through our neighborhood, down to the main grocery store. The street is covered with flour. Everywhere are people with hoses, looking a little hungover and pissed, cleaning everything (kind of how I picture the other Keebler Elves who weren't in the commercials). All the tables, all railings, even all the morning-after garbage is covered with flour. I just passed a man having a friendly conversation while balancing a mounted ox head on a park bench. My glasses are halfway across town, hanging on someone's Christmas tree (an idea I knew would probably turn out badly, but that I pressed on with anyways). And I know all of these disparate events are somehow related... to... America de Cali, winner of the Mustang Cup - Championship of Colombian club soccer. 

So, as I walk, I allow my mind to wander to Cali in December. December in Colombia features the soccer championship tournament. In Cali, it is also a perpetual party. Party here means Aguardiente (distilled from sugarcane, the name literally means firewater) and Salsa. 

The last few weekends Jessica and I have spent some time in the sweaty salsa halls of Cali, kinda like Dirty Dancing; Havana Nights, except lose the hunky, cut-up leading man and insert John Kruk.  Luckily, there is sometimes a bit of Vallenato, Cumbria, and Merengue mixed in But then there is Bachata too, which is even more difficult, incorporating a little last minute hip hitch that is all but impossible for me. Those of you who know us well know that I dance like a stub-toed clod. Jessica, on the other hand, moves effortlessly through these new dances. But I don't want to take you to far along the wandering stream of my mind. Instead, we'll get back to the oddities of today.

So, I had planned to watch the final of the Mustang Cup Championship game at a salsa establishment of the masses (all places were broadcasting the game), El Viejo Barril (the old barrel). However, Jessica's friends from school advised that it could be a little hairy in that area. This idea was reinforced by the SWAT vehicle parked kitty-corner from the bar. So, instead we went to a less intense location featuring Mexican Ranchera music. It is hard to get too rowdy with this music playing.

Setting: America de Cali has won the first game against Medellin 1-0. As we settle into our booth at the bar, among bottles of Aguardiente, cups of water, and slices of lime, the crowd crackles with excitement. With a win or a tie America wins the championship. A one-point loss will bring penalty kicks for the championship. Since America won the first game, you cannot walk outside without being assailed by speeding cars, horns blaring, with the shotgun passenger hanging out the window waving an America flag.

Soon the game began. We sat with a collection of people, some Jessica's coworkers, others their friends and relatives. Soccer games in Colombia are broadcast with an almost endless barrage of in-game commercials, which make it essential to watch closely. You can easily miss a great play and end up cheering without knowing why.

America got out to an early 1-0 lead, and the crowd reacted appropriately. One woman in our group in particular really let loose with ear piercing screams. As America went on to win 3-1, we got a lot of exposure to her exceptional lung capacity. At a certain point, I figured, if you can't beat her, join her, as pictured below:

So, after the game everyone was excited. You could hear fireworks and screaming from every direction of the city (in fact, a gun battle between police and some criminals went unnoticed in one Cali community because the neighborhood residents thought it was fans celebrating). On this community high, it was generally decided we would hit a local salsa joint for some dancing. As usual, Jessica hit her stride quickly:

I, however, did not:

But, all in all, it was a productive night. I got some much-needed salsa lessons, and Jessica was able to dance with people who actually know salsa. The dancing continued until the wee hours, finally releasing us into the fog of the early morning, slightly sweaty and (for me at least) with slightly less self respect. 

Here are some more views of the evening: