While the state department and our parents warned us not to, we decided to go to Colombia. Of course, we were kidnapped by FARC. Luckily, they allowed us to travel onward to Ecuador on the condition that I would act as a drug mule, being the least likely person in the history of time to be in possession of several kilos of cocaine.
Actually, the above character is our new friend, Lucho! He is a Colombian character, and a friend of a friend of Maggie's. I would estimate that Lucho has approximately six girlfriends, although we only met two. The second was allegedly a university professor of juggling. And his "business partner". For several weeks now, we have been working on not wasting any good luck, so that it could saved up for November 4. We prayed for rain, delayed buses and embarrassing grammatical errors. It worked out quite well. On November 4, we arrived at Lucho's new pad in Bogota. The first thing that greeted us was a golden retriever puppy. Next, Lucho told us that his neighborhood is nicknamed the "G zone".
That is gourmet zone. Then, he showed us his Lesbaru Outback parked downstairs. After a weekend where everything was mysteriously closed, every museum, crepe shop and ONLY English bookstore was open (they had a room full of cookbooks, as well as most of the recent World Bank publications). As we all know, the day only proceeded to get better until reaching the designation of The Best Night Ever. We found ourselves in a British pub with a huge flatscreen projecting CNN before a small crowd of French Obama supporters. They even had pins. Where do French Barack supporters find Change pins in Bogota? This is my question. There were also a few disgruntled American businessmen who left early in the night in a huff. We couldn´t watch the acceptance speech, so we woke up early the next morning, crowded around youtube at an Internet cafe and triumphantly cried to the puzzlement of the staff.
Colombia was a fantastic country to visit. The people were improbably friendly. We met one group, who asked us if we needed help, and then guided us to the museum, which was closed. They then quickly called up
their friend, the travel agent, to find out which museums were open and which were good. They then sent us to this eerie salt mine slash cathedral outside of the city and even gave us their cell phone number in case we had any trouble. How would we call them you might ask? In Colombia, there are kids perched on stools along every block with about 7 cell phones chained to their jackets. It is very entertaining to watch a boy on a stool in the street attached to a businessman, a frazzled mother clinging to her children and a 13 year old girl. We also came to the following conclusion: the person who wrote the Lonely Planet was too afraid to go to Colombia. Every restaurant they suggested was invisible and all advice was completely incorrect.
During the dark days before Bogota, we spent our days honeymooning with our cousin and her newly betrothed in Costa Rica, retirement home shopping in beautiful Boquete, Panama and watching improbably large boats pass through the Canal in the capital.
During the glorious days since, we´ve been in Ecuador. We met up with one of Maggie´s colleagues who is teaching at an international school in Quito. We watched some futbol, saw the town and did some awesome hiking on Cotopaxi. We then journeyed to the Quilatoa loop, notorious for its impossible bus time tables (the milk truck leaves at 8:07, but only sometimes) and gorgeous hills. We hiked from one hostel to the next and spent some time at the wonderfully sustainable Black Sheep Inn. So far, they are winning in the category for the best views from a composting toilet. My triumphant return to Peru looms near.
Actually, the above character is our new friend, Lucho! He is a Colombian character, and a friend of a friend of Maggie's. I would estimate that Lucho has approximately six girlfriends, although we only met two. The second was allegedly a university professor of juggling. And his "business partner". For several weeks now, we have been working on not wasting any good luck, so that it could saved up for November 4. We prayed for rain, delayed buses and embarrassing grammatical errors. It worked out quite well. On November 4, we arrived at Lucho's new pad in Bogota. The first thing that greeted us was a golden retriever puppy. Next, Lucho told us that his neighborhood is nicknamed the "G zone".
That is gourmet zone. Then, he showed us his Lesbaru Outback parked downstairs. After a weekend where everything was mysteriously closed, every museum, crepe shop and ONLY English bookstore was open (they had a room full of cookbooks, as well as most of the recent World Bank publications). As we all know, the day only proceeded to get better until reaching the designation of The Best Night Ever. We found ourselves in a British pub with a huge flatscreen projecting CNN before a small crowd of French Obama supporters. They even had pins. Where do French Barack supporters find Change pins in Bogota? This is my question. There were also a few disgruntled American businessmen who left early in the night in a huff. We couldn´t watch the acceptance speech, so we woke up early the next morning, crowded around youtube at an Internet cafe and triumphantly cried to the puzzlement of the staff.Colombia was a fantastic country to visit. The people were improbably friendly. We met one group, who asked us if we needed help, and then guided us to the museum, which was closed. They then quickly called up
their friend, the travel agent, to find out which museums were open and which were good. They then sent us to this eerie salt mine slash cathedral outside of the city and even gave us their cell phone number in case we had any trouble. How would we call them you might ask? In Colombia, there are kids perched on stools along every block with about 7 cell phones chained to their jackets. It is very entertaining to watch a boy on a stool in the street attached to a businessman, a frazzled mother clinging to her children and a 13 year old girl. We also came to the following conclusion: the person who wrote the Lonely Planet was too afraid to go to Colombia. Every restaurant they suggested was invisible and all advice was completely incorrect.During the dark days before Bogota, we spent our days honeymooning with our cousin and her newly betrothed in Costa Rica, retirement home shopping in beautiful Boquete, Panama and watching improbably large boats pass through the Canal in the capital.
During the glorious days since, we´ve been in Ecuador. We met up with one of Maggie´s colleagues who is teaching at an international school in Quito. We watched some futbol, saw the town and did some awesome hiking on Cotopaxi. We then journeyed to the Quilatoa loop, notorious for its impossible bus time tables (the milk truck leaves at 8:07, but only sometimes) and gorgeous hills. We hiked from one hostel to the next and spent some time at the wonderfully sustainable Black Sheep Inn. So far, they are winning in the category for the best views from a composting toilet. My triumphant return to Peru looms near.
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