It’s Easter – in Bogotá. My normally very quiet neighborhood has been even more quiet than usual for the last three days. The city emptied last Wednesday. This evening traffic will be horrendous, as hundreds of thousands return from the holiday. I have a client today; I expect she’ll have trouble getting a taxi this evening. I’m glad I’ll be staying in.
Every morning I sit for a few moments and look out the living room window at the forest
Tonka Truck, Waaay Up There...
on the mountain behind me. A few days ago I saw what must have been a hawk, circling near the very top. Yesterday morning I saw two lovely white birds, perhaps a little larger than pigeons. No, not seagulls, this far inland. On weekends and holidays like today, I often see a brilliant green dump truck parked on a steep street higher up the mountain. From here it looks like a Tonka truck, and sometimes there’s a red one parked just behind it. Not much work for earth movers during Semana Santa.
Home
Little by little I’ve been turning my new apartment into “my” place. Humberto helped me install a hanging light fixture in the dining room and a matching wall lamp. Since I’ve been a renter for most of my life, it’s been many, many years since I’ve purchased fixtures for walls or ceilings, and I’m just amazed by the engineering. The living room lighting we put up in January was a challenge,
Dining Room Lamp
but this was much more complex. Unfortunately, the photo doesn’t really do justice to its complexity. It took us a good four hours to put together the two lamps– so many tiny pieces: over a thousand, not counting the little screws, washers and wires you can’t see. And yet, the construction is incredibly logical and easy to understand once you get into the process. One of the most surprising things about these lamps was the price – about $40 for the two of them. Looking at the display in Home Center, I assumed they were all glass and brass. But in fact, only about half of the glassy bits are actually glass – the rest are clear plastic. In my experience, plastic is pretty expensive in Colombia – recently I broke down and paid $40 for a plastic laundry basket! I didn’t realize it when I bought the lamps, but they’re made in China, and perhaps that explains the price. Cheap Chinese lamps or not, I find it hard to believe that two fixtures, over a thousand pieces of brass, glass and plastic, can be manufactured, packed and shipped from China to Colombia, and still sell for $40.00! I know labor is often criminally cheap in Asia, but I’d have thought the materials and shipping alone would come to more than that!
Corner Shelf
I’m becoming a devoté of assemble-it-yourself modular furniture. I have an anomalous mechanical gene tucked away somewhere: I do enjoy assembling furniture. (I also used to enjoy troubleshooting the photocopier at my school, back in my teaching days – and I was pretty good at it!). I picked up a kit for a five-sided, corner display shelf a while ago. It also had a zillion parts, and would have been significantly easier to build if I’d had an assistant to hold the odd shaped pieces in place while I screwed them together. It took hours, but eventually I managed, and now it stands in a corner of my living room. Since it was made in Colombia, it cost more, about $55. Yesterday I went back to Home Center and found a chest with three drawers for the same price, so now it’s not necessary to store my undies and socks on hangers! (One thing about this apartment – unlike every place I’ve rented here in Bogotá, there’s not a single drawer in any closet or cabinet, in any room, not even in the kitchen. You never think twice about the beauty that is a drawer until you have none!
Health
Re the kidney stones, the ultrasound showed no sign of them and no more have turned up, thank you very much! The urologist was disappointed – he wouldn’t get to operate after all – and amazed that all three could have passed on their own. One, sure; two, maybe; but all three? A miracle! He asked me to have another CAT scan, mainly to satisfy his curiosity, he admitted. “No rush,” he said, “it’s just so hard to believe!” I haven’t had that done yet. I decided if it was indeed mainly to satisfy his curiosity, he ought to pay for it! Or I should at least wait until I’m covered. Which I am now! – yay!
Armando, my accountant, suggested that I go to an HMO called SaludCoop. He felt it would be less likely to be picky about my age or medical history because it evolved from Colombia’s old government run system back in the 70s and 80s. SaludCoop handles not only medical care, but dental, vision, and even the mandatory contributions to the Colombian version of Social Security. It probably covers more people than almost any of the newer HMOs that only got into the medical business after the reforms in the 1990s made it moderately profitable.
The day I enrolled, I took the letter from my US doctor, stating that I’m healthy, a letter from Armando, stating what my income is (on which the monthly fee is based), and an extra copy of my cédula. When I got to the SaludCoop office, they gave me two forms to fill out. One was a medical history of sorts, but rather hit and miss… On the one hand, it asks how often you take preventive measures (like flossing or self breast exams). On the other, it doesn’t ask about mammograms, or what illnesses you’ve had and when. But does ask how frequently I have my doctor do a pap smear. I felt a little uncomfortable stating “never,” but there was no place to indicate that I’ve had a hysterectomy “plus” and no longer need pap smears!
The building contained several huge waiting areas for the different types of services SaludCoop provides. The one for medical services was packed with people – not patients, just people like me, turning in paper work. When my number finally came up, about an hour and a half after I arrived, I handed the clerk the forms I’d filled out and my supporting documents, and prepared to explain about the pap smear and a couple of other answers I thought might look a little funny. She refused to look at my supporting documents and did nothing but date stamp the medical history form. She said that my health history was irrelevant (irrelevant!!) and that they would base my premiums on whatever income I indicated on the form – no verification needed. Wow – that has to be a first! I quickly signed on the dotted line and fled before she changed her mind!
Signing the forms got me immediate coverage for emergencies. Ten days later, after they’d received my first premium, non-emergency coverage kicked in. To pay the premium (about $55 a month) I was instructed to call a phone number to request a PIN. I assumed that the PIN would be an ID number of some sort. Wrong. My cédula number is my ID. The PIN changes every month. On the first of each month SaludCoop will send a text message to my cell phone with the current PIN. I must go to a particular branch of a particular bank to deposit my premium. There is no account number to write on the deposit slip when I make this payment. Apparently, the PIN includes codes that tell the bank who’s paying and where to put the money. And it seems that this is the ONLY way you can pay your premium – no automatic deduction from bank account, no paying over the internet, or by phone with a credit or debit card… Inconvenient for some, but I have no objection to this system. I’ve gotten very used to doing all my business in person, in cash, and I’d as soon continue operating that way. Takes a little time, but you know for sure you paid it – and it’s a great cure for cabin fever…
I may actually use my SaludCoop coverage this month. As soon as I arrived home from the US, I caught a nasty cold that remained with me throughout the kidney stone caper. Eventually it receded, and the honking cough that was it’s worst feature gradually began to go away. I think I got about three cough-free days in before I relapsed. I’m not sure if my cold just mutated and re-infected me, or if a client gave me a new one. Whichever, it was déjà vu all over again, except thank goodness, no kidney stones the second time around! That cold’s mostly gone now. But although I rarely cough or sneeze any more, I seem to be left with a little congestion and some positional vertigo. If it doesn’t go away in another week or so, I’ll venture into the SaludCoop medical center nearest me and see how it goes.
Holdings
About a week ago, the coughing having subsided somewhat, I decided to venture outside to finally close my business account at Bancolombia and transfer it to Banco Santander. One of the reasons I hadn’t left Bancolombia sooner is that whenever you withdraw funds from a Colombian bank, the you pay a fee of 4 pesos for every 1,000 withdrawn. So the more money you have in the bank, the more expensive it is to withdraw it all and move it to another. Makes you think twice… But I’ve finally reached a point where Bancolombia’s bumbling is more than I’m willing to put up with. I discussed transferring my business account with the manager of the Colina Campestre branch of Banco Santander back in November. I opened a personal account there for the transfer of funds when I bought my apartment, and they seem pretty efficient. He told me how to make the change, insisting it would be very simple on their end. The words, “and if you believe that….” echoed in my mind at the time, but he’d done well by me so far, so I believed him.
For once, the simplest part was getting away from Bancolombia. Although they did want to know WHY I was leaving. I tried to evade, assuming that if I told them precisely why I hate their bank, I’d be subjected to a series of promises to do better and pressure to remain. I was in no mood for that. But my evasions didn’t save me from probing by the account advisor, so I eventually cut him off by listing Bancolombia’s many sins of omission and commission. That list is so long, he gave in and noted on the forms that I was leaving due to “poor account service and inefficiency.” I’m glad it’s on record somewhere, though I’m sure nobody who matters will ever see that form.
Bancolombia issued me a cashier’s check, and I headed for the Chamber of Commerce. The new bank would require a copy of Prolinguistica’s certificate of “existence” as a legitimate Colombian business. Since I moved in December, I needed to request an address change, so that certificate would agree with the address I filled out on the account application forms. Sigh. I already had financial statements from my accountant, a copy of my cédula, and a copy of Armando’s professional ID. So next I took all this paperwork and my check to the Colina Campestre office of Banco Santander where I had such a pleasant relationship with the manager.
Only to discover that he no longer works there. New manager. And they’ve either changed the rules since December, or my old guy exaggerated how simple the process would be. I needed additional tax and financial statements from Armando before they’d give me an account. Sigh. I ran home, requested the documents, and the next day went to a much closer branch, at Unicentro.
Unicentro is a very large mall in one of the most expensive areas of Bogotá. To the south lies Santa Barbara, an older but very high class neighborhood, and to the north, La Carolina. A lot of extremely well to do foreigners live in very modern and upscale Carolina. Carolina doesn’t have apartments – it has flats and penthouses. I doubt you could find an apartment there under 3,000 square feet, and the architecture is massive and highly polished. I can remember looking at rents in that area back in 2006. You probably don’t recall that at that time, my apartment in Modelia cost me around $320 per month. At that time, rents in La Carolina averaged from $2,500 to $3,500 per month. Today, rents are probably even higher. Because of the proximity of these two top drawer neighborhoods, Unicentro is full of pricey American and European stores I never shop at, and I go into dizzy sticker shock even in its grocery store. But since it caters to people who are used to having at their fingertips all the advantages that money can buy, you can find just about anything in Unicentro – including a Banco Santander. Of course, my corner of Bella Suiza is definitely not top drawer, but Unicentro is close, a convenient place to bank.
So I took the escalator to the second floor of the mall, found my way to the new accounts area of the bank, and eventually got to speak with a very crisp and efficient young account advisor. She informed me that I STILL hadn’t brought all the accounting documents they require. Sheesh. But said she could open the account as long as I emailed the missing information to her later that day. Okay… (Frankly, I don’t believe they really “need” all the information they ask for. Their excuse is “the drug trade, the money laundering, we have to be so careful, so sure your funds come from legitimate sources, etc…” But I think they ask for most of it so they can determine whether or not to offer you more expensive extra services, like a credit card, loan, or line of credit. I’m utterly uninterested in anything but the most basic (read: cheap) services, but they simply won’t give you an account unless they have copies of your financial DNA.)
When the advisor and I had agreed about the extra documentation, she segued smoothly to, “And which insurance plan would you like to sign up for?” Insurance plan? “Well, you can insure the physical structure of your apartment against fire, earthquake, etc., or the contents against theft or damage, or you can take both policies!” And if I don’t want any insurance? “It’s a new policy at Banco Santander: when you open a new account you must buy at least one of these insurance policies.” And when must I decide? “Right now.” What insurance company provides this? “AIG.”
In that case, says Laura, give me back my cashier’s check and documents, and throw away all those forms, because a.) I never sign up for anything “right now” – you must give me written information to read at home calmly; b.) I wouldn’t sign up for any service from AIG under any circumstances, period, end of sentence; and c.) any bank that requires me to buy something so I can have the privilege of allowing IT to make money off MY deposits and transactions, is not a bank I want to be associated with. Merely suggesting this has broken my trust, and I have half a mind to close my personal account with you as well!
“Well, in that case, Sra. Laura,” (after protestations that there’s nothing wrong with AIG – in Colombia…) “there is another option. I can open your account today, and you can instead simply insure your personal bank account against fraud, theft of your ATM card, theft of cash, etc., etc., etc. Here, you can take home this booklet about the service, read it, and I’ll call after Easter to sign you up.”
And if after I read about this, I don’t want it? What do you do then, close my account and charge me the 4 pesos per thousand for withdrawing funds from your bank? “Oh, heavens, no, Sra. Laura, that would be illegal!” She blinked. “If you really don’t want the insurance I will simply ask the manager for authorization to exempt you from this requirement.”
Aha! So you don’t actually have to take their insurance policy, after all. You just have to be stubborn enough refuse to be bulldozed into a purchase you don’t want!
In the end I allowed Santander to open the account. I really didn’t want to be without a business account with monthly tax time approaching. Nor did I want to hang onto the cashier’s check any longer than necessary. After all, so far they’d handled my personal account with very un-Colombian efficiency. So unless every couple of months they try to badger me into buying insurance, I expect they’ll be FAR less irritating than Bancolombia.
And the technology at the Unicentro branch is seriously up to date. They have two cutting-edge ATMs. They’re are so confident about these super-duper ATMs, you’re not allowed to deposit checks inside the bank any more – you can only stand in line if you need to deposit or pay a bill with cash. If a client pays me with a check, and I want to make the deposit at the Unicentro branch, I must take it to their super ATM, punch in my codes and insert the check directly into mouth of the machine (no envelope needed!). A few seconds later, I’ll get back a receipt that includes a miniature photocopy of the check. (Wow! – an ATM receipt it might actually pay to hang onto?) I didn’t bother to ask what happens if the machine chews up your check. I’m certain the account advisor would have assured me that could NEVER happen… and it did fine with my cashier’s check from Bancolombia. I do wonder though, whether they suddenly need to sell insurance in order to pay for their fancy new ATMs…?
Hell and High Water
The Colombian meteorological society announced some time ago that winter was here to stay – until at least June. Last Wednesday night so much rain fell in one part of the city that a river overflowed, flooding a couple of neighborhoods. At one apartment complex, the water was about chest high in the parking lot, submerging most cars almost completely. The electricity, gas and phone service went down of course, and most residents were trapped inside the buildings. A few rescuers floated by in canoes and rafts, and teams of residents joined forces to push cars a block or so away where the water level was lower. Some residents walked down the stairs to the still dry second floor, and got permission to jump out their neighbors’ window to make grocery runs for food that wouldn’t need cooking or refrigeration. When they waded back with supplies, the second floor occupants helped haul the goods inside with baskets, bags and buckets on ropes. The water receded by Friday, but clean up will take much longer. Avenida Boyacá, one of the major north/south routes through the city had to be closed for almost a day in that same area. And of course, mud slides have destroyed homes and blocked several major highways. What a mess…
In my corner of the city, it’s damp and cold, but there’s been no flooding. The complex gets drenched on a daily basis, but the rain all flows downhill from here! And I doubt the mountain could slide down onto us – pretty dense forest up there. Thank goodness. Still, I’m sick of the rain and cold. If only I could go to bed now and not wake up until mid-June!
Hippo News!
Remember the hippos that escaped from the estate of long-dead drug lord, Pablo Escobar, a couple of years ago? The experts tracking them lost their trail for quite some time and suspected they’d left the wide Magdalena River for more remote tributaries, swollen with winter rains. Apparently that’s exactly what they did, since in late February someone managed to snap a photo of the male, swimming in the Bartolo River, not far from Puerto Berrío in Antioquia.
The male has disappeared again, but the female is still in the area, and yes, it’s confirmed there is a wee one now – if you can ever call a baby hippo “wee!” The hippito stays close to his mother, and the vet in charge of tracking them expects to trap the two some time this month by hiding iron cages in the weedy shallows, filled with irresistible hippo snacks. Ha! I say, Ha! Good luck, Sr. Veterinario!
Oh, and BTW, the male has developed an irrational dislike of noisy outboard motors and campesinos with guns. Charges ‘em when irritated, so these days, not be trifled with… Go, hippos, says I!
A bit later….
It’s just begun to rain and hail. Lightning is striking all over the place two or three per minute – miles away, blocks away, and seemingly right on top of us. Thunder is a continuous roar in the background, punctuated with louder claps every time I see a flash of light. Or perhaps that roar is actually just the sound of rain pummeling the building. Out my living room window I can no longer see the mountain behind me – all is fog, cloud, ice and water. I’ve just made a cup of hot chocolate, and in the kitchen the rainwater wooshes so loudly through the drains outside those windows, it sounds like someone’s taking a shower in my washing machine. I’ll be very surprised if we don’t lose power. Such is Easter in the tropics this year!
Fifty minutes later….
I can see my mountain again. But it’s still raining, thundering and flashing lightning. Haven’t lost power… yet.
