I find myself sitting here on the plane as the world falls away below me. I watch as we rise through the cloud cover to sore above the mountains and valleys of white cotton, as if entering a dream world, or is this the real world and the place I left far below me, the dream? Sometimes it feels like that, even now as I reflect back, my past few whirlwind days feel surreal, my days in Colombia.
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| Colombia is a like painting full of beautiful vistas. |
I have always had a small penchant for travel as anyone who has read my
other blog might attest, but there was something different about the days I spent in my first South American country. I was invited there for a wedding, between my friends Tony and Lina, the Aussie and Colombian who took me in while I floundered to find my feet in Australia. It had been a few years since I had seen them and the wedding seemed like a great excuse to do so again and visit an area of the world I had yet to tread. My arrival was smooth as I took a morning flight out of LaGuardia and made a connection through Fort Lauderdale and finally onto Bogota, Colombia. Tony met me at the airport with Lina’s mom, Carmen, a wonderful woman who even though we did not speak the same language was still able to convey her natural warmth and caring nature. That night it was dinner at her house, where I was reunited with Tony’ parents and met Lina’s bothers, sister, and grandmother, (all wonderful people.) I also met two other wayward travelers such as myself, friends of Lina’s, and fellow North Americans, a Canadian and a Mexican national. Dinner was soup, which was particularly good. It was a mix of potato and chicken soup, and just the thing I needed after a long flight.
My adventure truly began the next day as I volunteered to drive one of the three cars that would transport us about four hours north to Villa de Leyva, the small historic and picturesque village where the wedding would take place. I learned many things in those long four hours of driving. First off, I will never complain about New York traffic again. I also learned that Colombian traffic laws are really more or less suggestions to be followed or ignored as one saw fit. Thankfully, I was following Lina’s mother who was an excellent driver, so we stayed pretty safe as I transported myself and my fellow North Americans through the jam packed streets of Bogota and the winding mountainous roads of Colombia. We made it with little incident, other than the rain, (but it seems to rain frequently in Colombia.)
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| Also, my hotel had a painting of Mary Jane's *ahem* full vistas. |
The views, however, were beyond compare. The entire country seemed like it was composed of mountains and valleys that seem more like paintings than actual physical vistas. Even the rain clouds often broke apart to send shafts of light to glitter among the beautiful terrain. The stunning sights did not end at the village either. Villa de Leyva is a town that seems unchanged from its founding in the 1800’s. Cobble stone roads, small shops, simple lives, and a Spanish-inspired town square crowned with an amazing church were all situated on the low slope of a mountain, giving the town's residents and visitors spectacular views of the countryside. The peaceful beauty of the place hit me as we sat for dinner to eat my slice of pizza (It wasn’t a New York slice, but what really is?) Yet, pizza was not the highlight of the my food experience in Colombia.
In fact even now, I am still so full that it is hard to think of ever eating again. Food in Colombia seems to consist mostly of mounds of meat and potatoes, (two personal favorites.) There were sausages, lamb ribs, beef, chicken, and even more than I have a name for. My favorite food was the arepa. Each place makes it a little different, but essentially it is like a piece of cornbread stuffed with cheese. I practically swallowed them whole whenever they were served, and they were served quite often. There was an almost constant stream of food, especially at the wedding. Seven different small courses ranging from empanadas to vegetables and fruits (most of which I had never heard of before,) and of course meat. Juice drinks in Colombia are basically fruit smoothies with milk or water. I consumed them liberally.
However, what would an adventure be without a little harrowing danger and I found plenty of that as well. On the day of the wedding the girls went to get their hair done, (at a steal of roughly 15 US dollars apiece.) Lina’s family and Tony’s family were the first to arrive and loaded up in their cars to make the five-minute journey back to the highway to go to the wedding location, a beautiful ranch situated in a green idealc valley. My two passengers were the last to arrive. I was already dressed and we loaded up our car before heading out to follow the others. The wedding was located down a dirt path, marked with nothing but a small wooden sign, easy to miss, and we did. So I had to turn us around. An upcoming driveway gave me the perfect opportunity. I made a brief check to see if anyone was coming ahead of me and I signaled to make the left before doing so.
The next sound I heard was a scream and then the screeching of tires. A car had come up behind us and as I signaled to turn, the driver thought it a good time to try and pass me on the left, the same direction I was turning. We collided. Thankfully, everyone was okay, but I had a new problem. Two damaged cars and no way to communicate with the other driver. My new Mexican friend was able to explain to the other man what happened. He wanted to call the police, but the obvious problem was that I was not driving a car registered under my name. So my two passengers took off at a run toward the wedding (which was over 2 kilometers away) to bring help, leaving me alone with a portly Colombian who kept looking at me as one would look at a fish in a fishbowl, an oddity. In that moment I wished more than anything that I had studied my
DuoLingo program harder. My Spanish and frantic hand gesturing were hardly up to the task. To make matters worse in the confusion and stress of the situation I went to sit down and split the back of my only suit pants, almost from belt to crotch.
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| Tragic results of my inability to drive in South America. |
Next the police arrived and I was faced with another man who I could only barely communicate with, except this one was in a uniform and wearing a visible weapon. However, I cannot speak to ill of him, for he saw how stressed I was and did his best to help clam me down. We spent the next fifteen agonizing minutes trying to communicate. I gave me him my US license and the insurance information for the car I found in the glove compartment. Of course he picked out almost immediately how my name did not match the name of the owner of the car. I did my best to try and explain that I had not stolen it, but I could not shake the image of me locked away in a foreign country. (My only hope was that they served arepas in Colombian prison.) Finally, a small black car crested the hill and pulled up alongside me. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. My two passengers exited along with two of Lina’s uncles, one of which, Daniel, was a lawyer. They quickly straightened out the one-sided story that the other man had told the police officer. He claimed that I never signaled, but with myself and my two passengers emphatically saying that I did he seemed out of luck. It was also noted that there was a very prominent and clear “no passing” sign posted not ten feet from where we crashed. So after an exchanging of words, (and an exchanging of a couple hundred thousand pesos,) the man went on his way, and I got in the car with Uncle Daniel. The mess seemed sorted out.
However, my dear reader, if you know me, you know my own personal guilt was not so easy to assuage. I offered probably two dozen times to pay for the damage and the bribe that so neatly fixed the situation. Uncle Daniel and everyone else refused, simply saying that Colombian Insurance was the best and it was for reasons like this that it existed. Apparently such minor accidents are fairly common place, but I still felt responsible. However, there was one small bright spot, the wedding had been delayed, not for our sakes but due to other matters. So we made it on time, which was good because it turned out we also had the flowers and the main candle for the ceremony in the car.
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| Releasing balloons after the ceremony. |
The ceremony was beautiful with Tony and Lina uniting together in words and through a ceremony of light which involved the aforementioned candle. We even released balloons, and as I watched the pink, red, and white symbols float away I think I finally started to relax. The story of my adventure spread quickly through the wedding with most people coming over to laugh with me about it, and tell me how it was “no real problem.” Uncle Daniel was especially kind and as the formal wedding wound down the night turned into one of drinking and dancing. Daniel, was especially keen to share a bottle of whiskey with me, making sure my glass never stayed empty for long. He did not speak a word of English and my Spanish was only passable at best, yet through the haze of alcohol and mistranslation we managed to have quite an in-depth and lively conversation. I enjoyed his company, and we talked about the differences between Colombia and America, how beautiful his country was, and even our occupations. We were the last ones to go sleep, and as he stumbled toward his bunkhouse, I tried to do the same. Unfortunately, I got a little lost in the darkness, and my suitcase was still in the damaged car, which I no longer had keys to open. Also, I had never seen the cabin I was staying in before, so instead of risking barging in on someone else, I just found the common couch and laid down. That was where Lina found me in the morning, sleeping by the fireplace, still dressed in my full suit, ripped pants and all.
All and all it was an eventful day, but not as so eventful as the next. Colombia is a place where once in never enough. You can’t have just one drink of whiskey with Uncle Daniel, one piece of meat from the platter, and one death-defying event in a car. After sobering up the next morning with a spicy soup meant to cure hangovers we returned to Villa de Leyva for some shopping and sightseeing. From there it was onto another small village several kilometers away for lunch and more shopping. On our return trip home to Bogota, we found ourselves caught in massive traffic jam, mostly due to the conditions of the road, the presence of slow-moving trucks, and more than a few accidents. (It seemed like such things really were an everyday occurrence.)
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The only tricky thing was the money. That equals about 10 US Dollars.
Why don't they just drop three zeroes off all their currency? |
However, the hour was getting late and the day was growing dark. I was not at control of the car. After my experience I had relinquished that responsibility to a more seasoned driver, a young man who was boyfriends with one of Lina’s cousins. He seemed a nice enough person, even if I couldn’t understand most of what he was saying. The three hour journey back to Bogota took nearly five hours, with even the road signs seemingly confused as to the actual distance of the journey. (100k to Bogota... 70k to Bogota... 76k to Bogota… "Wait, why did it go back up?") It was on this latter stretch that our driver got it into his head to pass a large tanker truck over double lines on a curve. He had been passing people on the left quite frequently, but so was everyone else. I was anxious, but who was I to talk? I had already proved my inability to drive in Colombia. On this particular pass, our driver misjudged the distance to the oncoming headlights in the opposite lane. Miraculously we managed to edge out the truck and beat the oncoming car, but it was only just barely. It's hard to communicate how scary this moment was. My own accident was merely a fender bender, this near-miss had the potential to be so much more, and I am very thankful that I am still here to write these words. Afterwards, we were all very silent, and I personally felt more relieved than angry. After that our driver didn’t pass anyone again, and my Mexican friend made him keenly aware how close we came to a very fatal car accident. He was visibly repentant.
Ironically, as scared as I was, I was also somewhat placated. My thoughts in the moment followed this order: (1) We’re going to hit. (2) I am going to die. (3) At least this one isn’t my fault. In that instant of near-death I found a new understanding, and it was the same as what everyone had been telling me, "These things happen all the time." I realized that my crash was not so much a crash of cars, but a crash of cultures. My accident was a result of driving like an American in Colombia. However, that was nothing to be ashamed of. To the people of Colombia car accidents are just part of life, and in comparison to our near-miss my own worries seemed more laughable than anything. Maybe it just helped me realize that life is full of problems, challenges, and the occasional speed bump, but that's natural. My own accident was just another occurrence on a long road. Much like the people of Colombia, I needed to learn to take certain things in stride and just do my best whatever the circumstances. After all there are more important hings in life than materiel possessions, and I think that is what I really took away from this most recent trip.
As much as I spent a portion of my trip feeling guilty or even somewhat terrified, I cannot find many bad things to say about Colombia. Yes, the drivers are crazy and the roads are basically a game of bumper cars, but my true experience in this South American country is best summed up by that peaceful night I spent eating foreign pizza in a Spanish plaza under the stars. As I listened to the sound of a local guitarist strum out native and international songs I realized how far away from home I was and yet how familiar the people seemed. They were not speaking my language, but they were still just fellow humans going about their lives and loves, and even listening to the occasional acoustic Beatles' song. Their life was not simpler than mine or even less stressful, but they found the joy in the good parts and did their best to let the rest go. Colombia for me is not so much about the beauty of the landscape or even the amazing food, but about those people, like Nina’s mother, Carmen, or her uncle Daniel, or even the police officer that calmed me down after my accident. It is a land filled with kindhearted and caring people, who I am glad I got a chance to meet, and whom I won't soon forget.
