Pop-krizzle, it's in the elevation

Bogotá, Colombia

The most progressive Latin American city I've been to yet. Well, generally speaking from my limited experience and swayed perspective. In other words, a meaningless opinion. High altitudes make the air crisp. Universities, museums, cultural centers, art hanging on walls, art spray painted on walls, a thriving cyclist movement, cheap beer. Proudly bohemian. Humbly bourgeois. Oxymoronic? That's Bogotá. I stayed in the gay neighborhood. I've never slept safer and more soundly anywhere else on this trip.

R.I.P. Glasses
Reenactment of death: During the night, Glasses clung restfully to the outer mesh pocket of backpack at foot of owner who slept too soundly to be aware of the tragic event to follow. The nocturnal bus swerved through the winding hills of central Colombia, shaking Glasses from slumber. After one sharp turn too many, backpack lunged into aisle of bus, catapulting Glasses forward towards front of bus. Subsequent turns inches Glasses closer and closer to bus door, periodically swung open to allow airflow. Glasses desperately clings to the last step, yet countenance displays acceptance of imminent fate. The courageous fall. You were good to me Glasses. I took you for granted. I'm sorry my carelessness brought you to your end(or perhaps new beginning). But of all places to release you into the wild, I trust the dirt roads that frame the Magdalena Valley in this magnificent country is the home you deserve to live your last.

My Christmas wishlist: Precolombian pure gold head dress (Gold Museum)

wandering the flea market (aerial view)

Stay tuned for Colombian coffee plantations and oh man the views...

Que vaina bucana...

"Begone pissers, we don't want you here. Get educated."

(well, it rhymes in Spanish...)



Cartagena, Colombia

Okay I feel like after my last post, I have to write this absolutely warranted, more optimistic follow-up. Lovely, fortressed, hot and humid, Cartagena. The former slave trading post reminds me of Brazil. Not just in racial distribution and year-round summers, but in the warm attitude of its people. I complimented a cathedral janitor on his paper hat after which he promptly insisted I keep it. It was broken and tattered and made of the same material used to make cereal boxes and I cherished the blessing under that beating sun until I gave it to the jovial taxi driver who listened attentively to my story of recent maritime distress and who happily accepted my token of gratitude for his empathizing ears.* The open friendliness I encountered in Cartagena completely warded off the bad memory of Ruben aka Satan incarnate. Two giggling adolescent girls noticed me looking at my map and asked if I was lost. A man in the street who looked himself in a hurry was intent to help me find a public bathroom so I could blow my nose. There was no one I couldn't easily approach and no one seemed to feel any hesitance in approaching me, usually curious of my origins and my story and enthusiastically offering local knowledge or in one case a free cup of tinto(iced tea).



*I might have gotten carried away in using zero discretion with whom I regaled my horrific experience at sea (since clearly I'm still seething about it), but everyone, from the taxi driver to the hostel receptionist expressed sincere support and affirmed my hopes that Ruben's behavior is not at all typical of Colombians. Very much the opposite.

The paper hat I cherished for 5 hours before passing the love to another deserving soul



characteristic Spanish colonial architecture (for you Kate, my favorite Spanish architecture-phile)

Another Brazil parallel! Pan de queso. Fluffy, cheesy with the perfect amount of crisp. I was first introduced to PdQ in Rio de Janeiro last year and assumed they were unique to Brazil, but to my delight they also fancy jumping borders. What a lovely surprise! Like running into an old friend. Could anthropomorphizing food be a symptom of travel loneliness? Nah.

I stayed with a humble family in the outskirts of town who cemented my already adoring impression of Colombians. Before taking off for Bogota, my host mother prepared some arepas (cheese and chicken-stuffed fried tortilla patties) for my journey and after goodbye kisses and hugs they told me to come back next year when construction on the house is finished. Three days in my first city in this giant country and I'm already smitten with the place.



Stay tuned for more of the safest country in Latin America (seriously)...

never trust a rich man with a poor man's dignity

Asymmetrical sunrise at sea aka boats make terrible tripods

Colón, Panamá to Cartagena, Colombia: 20 hours of seasick delirium, panoramic cloud impressionism, and an assault on my lifestyle du jour

I was able to hitch a ride through (deep breath) my aunt's company driver's colleague's friend who happened to be leaving in his fishing boat for Cartagena the night of my inquiry. What luck! A bit bittersweet because I had to leave quite suddenly and I'd miss my aunt who I was really starting to bond with. But I wasn't sure when the next opportunity would come along and I am on a limited schedule (a month to be in Chile).

When I got to the marina and stepped onto the boat, it was immediately apparent that the captain (who was about my father's age) and his girlfriend (who was my age) did not want me there. They were simply doing their friend a favor. A friend I had met that day. But it wasn't only the obscene number of degrees of separation that explained their unfriendliness. They were clearly from a different world. This was made obvious when Ruben (the aging captain with a model-esque girlfriend who could be his daughter- no judgment, just an observation) let out a malicious, maniacal laugh when I told him I had about $30 in cash. He asked me if I needed to shower in a way that said "you need to shower" not because I smelled bad or looked dirty, but because I was clearly a backpacker. They both carelessly talked down to me, completely shocked when I said I'd probably just find a hostel when I arrived. With wide, judging eyes they reminded me that I had to share a room with...other people, like I didn't fucking know what a hostel was. They actually gasped. And it wasn't with a kind curiosity; they gasped with full-blown, unmasked, pompous disgust. They might as well have spit on me. Ruben shook his head. "Con otras personas? Que no conoces? Esa, no es vida." With other people who you don't know? That isn't life. He continued to lecture me on how dangerous Colombia is, like all Latin American countries (a clueless opinion that shrinks to nothingness when compared to the countless stories I've come across praising Colombia as generally very safe and respectful) while I sat gritting my teeth, restraining my indignation. You think you know what life is? A nice hotel room with a private bath and a girlfriend half your age?! How would you know how dangerous Colombia is when you never leave your upper-crust bubble of Rolex watches and ridiculously shiny cars?! His demeanor didn't indicate a contentment with life. He was a self-entitled curmudgeon, brazenly disrespectful to his infantile girlfriend, and perpetually irritable and grumpy. I'd heard of people like this but only in movies or on TV. Those strange beings who genuinely believe their moral superiority rests on their wealth. But I'd never met them in person. Just when I thought this guy couldn´t possibly be more of a dick, he told me that I should wear smaller glasses. He was dead serious. That was it. The line had been crossed. You can insult my vagabondish lifestyle and I´ll bite my tongue, but insult my glasses and you are dead to me. Since I figured they were at least giving me a free ride (which I would later find out was untrue) I tried to be upbeat and just stay out of their way.

When we finally arrived to Cartagena, he dropped the bomb asking me how I was going to "contribute" to the boat. After suffering bouts of motion sickness coupled with the wonderful timing of excruciating menstrual cramps (and the added bonus of Ruben and his girlfriend's pretension), I was heartbroken. Contribute? He had never mentioned a "contribution" before and he knew I wasn't living on much. We settled on $250 (outrageous!) and I took a cab to a hostel where I frantically wrote a long, useless email to my aunt ranting about Ruben, which I want to publicly apologize for here. He was born in Colombia but spent most of his life in the U.S. Navy and had really only spent about a year in Colombia itself. At least my first impression of Colombians can't truly be found in this money-obsessed douche bag.

I like money more than happiness and that makes me better than you

breakfast

Colombia! South America! It's good to be back on this continent. Now's a good time to jump back a bit. After leaving Nicaragua, Annie and I stayed with our fabulous CS host Giancarlo in San José, Costa Rica. After only a couple days there, Annie had to catch her flight back home. We had a last hoorah, sharing a giant beer neither of us could finish. After dropping her off at the airport and a much needed nap all day, I booked it to Panama City. Costa Rica, filthy rich with eco-tourism opportunities as it is, is too expensive for my budget right now. Since then, I've been moving solo once again until I meet another friend in Quito, Ecuador on November 6th. I get Colombia all to myself.

I kind of want to delete this post.