Well, I made it. I am sitting in my hostel, next to a new friend, typing up a journal entry on a Spanish keyboard for which I have no muscle memory. I still get a few waves of nerves every so often, but I've calmed down significantly since arriving in Bogotá. But, before I get ahead of myself, let's talk about how I got here in the first place.
After a fantastic, nostalgic week of visiting with close friends and family, July 25th rolled around: the date of my flight out of the US and into the wild, uknown reaches of its southern neighbor. I was absolutely freaking out the morning of. Pacing around my apartment, frantically sighing and tapping my feet, thinking to myself, "Oh God, Oh God , what the hell are you doing?" But things were in motion, finances were committed, promises made. I could not back out without significant damage being done...which was of course the point. No more backing out of these plans, I had done that enough.
But when I got in my mom's car to leave for SFO, a strange change began to come over me. It seemed the farther from home I got, the more I was able to let go of that stress, chase away those butterflies and start to feel excited. It was happening! I was going! I could feel my troubles washing away.
This feeling was further amplified with each flight I took on my way to Bogotá. Lift off from SFO: ball of nerves. Lift off from LAX: ball of nerves with a smile creeping across its face. Lift off from Houston: genuine excitement. Touchdown in Bogotá: elation.
And man did I hit the ground running. Determined to speak Spanish as a first resort to everyone, my dad's stories of Panama came to mind as I greeted the customs agent with a simple "Buenos días" and he immediately rattled off a series of unintelligible phrases that left me wide-eyed. Oh man, this is going to be tougher than I thought.
I continued onward, through customs, through baggage claim, out of the airport and into... early morning chaos. The signage in Bogotá's airport is not nearly as generous as the ones in the states, so I had to ask for directions from a few different people. But doing so revealed something very relieving to my jet-lagged in the deep end self: most of these strangers want to help you! And help they did. A security guard pointed me toward the bus station, the bus driver let me know where to get off and make a transfer, the women at the ticketing window helped me get a transit card and in no time I was cruising the main drag with a bunch of Colombian students and workers whose days were also just beginning. The buses here, called Transmilenios for the company that operates them, are efficient, clean and fully taken advantage of by the natives. They filled and emptied quickly, and I just sat back and took in the surroundings while people who had a much better idea of where they were going gave me concerned looks before disboarding. So many strange looks from people, not mean, but slightly bewildered. "Who's this crazy gringo with the oversized pack, and why on earth is he on my morning commute?"
As for those surroundings, they are a pleasant surprise from what I had gleaned from photos. Despite its altitude (over 9,000 feet) Bogotá is lush and green, the temperature is consistently mild, and aside from a slight drizzle when I first got off my bus, the moisture has been a nonissue. I am reminded at every turn that this is still a developing country: delapidated builidings, cracked brick-paved streets that only kind of follow a grid, few if any traffic lights, dogs lounging around and trash overflowing from bins, but I'm also pleasantly surprised at every turn: talented street performers, beautiful street art sticking out amidst the graffiti, an enormous variety of people flooding the streets around lunchtime to go to their favorite hole in the wall or just grab some comida rápida during their break. The parts of the city I walked through lacked any of the urban solitude I've felt in places like San Francisco, although my new friend Sebastian warned me that if you go to the right (or wrong) spots you can find plenty of uptight business types. And surrounding the city sprawl are some of the most beautiful mountains I have seen. Plenty enough to keep your mind off the decay or snobs if you find yourself in a low spot.
Speaking of Sebastian, he is an absolute godsend. I know, and he is quick to remind me, that my gringo head would be waaaay underwater if he hadn't offered to take me around town and help me search for the few extra things I needed to buy. He's a blast to hang around with, cracking jokes, teaching me slang and being patient as I stumble through my own sentences. He is originally from southern Colombia, but had been living in Spain for 8 years before returning just recently, and he is stoked to be home. We are similar in age and character, and it has made for a great transition into what would have been an overwhelmingly unfamiliar place.
He took me on a tour of La Candelaria, the historical traveler's district that houses the bulk of the hostels and cheap hotels. Our hostel, La Quinta, is just yards away from la Plaza del Chorro de Quevedo, the well that was struck on the day of Colombia's founding. We tooled around la Plaza de Bolivar, which houses Colombia's first cathedral as well as government buildings (interesting juxtaposition) and was awash with protesters. The government is about as corrupt as the rest of South America, and the people are not as complacent as those of us in the states who just turn on the TV and forget.
After buying some medical supplies, bathroom stuff that is forbidden on airplanes still, and a cell phone that was mysteriously only good for one call (an important call to confirm my volunteer work, which is good to go!), we decided to go for lunch, and Sebastian knew just where to take me: a little hole in the wall that served authentic Colombian cuisine at an awesome price: about $2 for a bowl of lentil and potato porrige and a plate of rice, beans, squash and meatballs in a sweet orange sauce. I couldn't even finish. Let me rephrase that: I couldn't finish a TWO DOLLAR meal. No complaints, just satisfaction.
So we headed back to La Quinta, took a quick siesta (while 80s hits played in the main room) and here I am, writing a post after spending an hour trying to get photos posted on this dang blog. I can't get them to upload correctly but I'll take another crack at it once I'm done here.... which is now!
¡Saludos!
Grant
