I am now five days behind in my writing, but there is little reason to be too detailed so I'll do them all in one entry.
7/31
By far the lowest point of my trip thus far. I woke up and went for lunch with Sebastian and then to our favorite park above the hostel, not feeling very well but that seemed normal after 4 nights straight of parties with new friends. We sat on a bench-shaped rock, talked, Sebastian smoked a cigarette, all was well... then, behind us in the road, a motorcycle pulled up. Two young policemen, visors flipped up on their helmets, bright green jackets, suspicious looks in their eyes. They pointed up to a camera in the corner of the park and said they were told we had been doing suspcious things, smoking unidentifiable substances. I was in disbelief, shaking in my boots, but Sebastian did his best to explain the situation to them. They weren't buying it, asked to pat him down, empty his pockets. Of course... just our luck... he had a joint in his pocket. Things quickly changed. I was asked to empty my own pockets, I could barely make myself understood or understand what the officer, who couldn't have been older than I was, was saying. One was chubby-cheeked, darker complexion, wide eyes. The other hatchet-faced, oily-skinned, brackets from braces that no longer functioned shining on every other front tooth. Each took turns grabbing my arm, asking if I wanted to be deported, imprisoned. I could barely speak. I knew I was innocent, or at least thought as much, but also didn't know what on earth I would do if it went as far as to be detained. One flashed his handcuffs at me, I couldn't believe what was happening. After a while Sebastian grew impatient, asked how we could solve this problem. They didn't come out and say anything in particular, stood back and let him make the suggestion. So that was it, eh? A bribe. Should have known. Sebastian had no cash, I reached for mine and the "officers" shouted that we couldn't do it like that. Of course, they're on camera, can't just go handing them a wad of money. So I told them which pocket, the oily one reached in and grabbed it, as well as a few pieces of gum just to be a jerk, and they left as quickly as they had appeared. Sebastian apologized profusely, promised me I was never in danger of being arrested, that they were just trying to intimidate me. Well, it worked. I had to go back and lie down for a while. After a nap I began to feel ill, but confused it with hunger. Halman and Ian had bought sandwich supplies for their bus trip that ended up being changed to a short flight, so they offered to feed us all. I made a few sandwiches, ham and cheese, but my stomach turned, I could barely swallow anything. I lay down, my mouth filled with saliva... here it comes. Dashed to the bathroom, nothing stayed down. I blame the fruit salad I had eaten at a pretty sketchy buffet for lunch. That's what I get for trying to eat lightly in Colombia, I guess. I hit the hay. Sleep came quickly.
8/1
A day of rest, reflection, convalescence after the traumas of the day prior. I was out of it pretty much all day, most likely a combination of nerves, altitude, food poisoning, who knows what else. I had never felt more lost, confused, alone, selfish and immature for the way I had behaved thus far, for letting my bad habits follow me here. My cycles of beating myself up are well known to my friends, but here they don't last as long. I am able to get to the bottom and recover my sense of purpose much more quickly than back home. So many things are possible from here, so many destinations and opportunities.
Sebastian returned from the personal matters he had to take care of while I was taking the day to myself in bed. He looked shaken. He had gone to see his ex-girlfriend, with whom he will have a child in late September. They have a complicated relationship to say the least, but he wants to support her and be there for his son. Things had not gone well. He asked me for a hug, could barely keep it together. It hit me heavily, brought back a world of my own emotions and romantic struggles. I am constantly discovering things about him that endear him to me, that show me we are so similar. I think I will be spending a great part of this journey with him at my side. I think we can help each other recover from lives that went off the rails faster than we could regain control and find a new sense of self, of purpose.
Well, I had spent the entire day in bed, was feeling better. We kicked back with a few beers and games of chess in the main room of the hostel. Sebastian's friend, Kyle, a traveller from Seattle had arrived the night before and it was relieving to be conversing in my own language, even if I was cheating a bit on my lady Spanish. Sebastian wasn't having it, didn't like being cooped up with two Americans speaking a language he wasn't comfortable speaking. I could tell the earlier events of the day had put him in a bad way, and he insisted again that "Vamos a morir, locos." I didn't want that, Kyle didn't want that, but Sebastian was far more insistent than we were argumentative. Back to Doña Ceci's, I was going to behave myself this time. (I think I called the bar Doña Suci in my first blog, mistake). Before leaving, Sebastian and I had another emotional moment outside. He told me he knew we had a strong connection between us from the first day I arrived, something he hadn't felt with anyone who had been through the hostel in the month he has been in Bogotá. He told me he wanted me to meet his son, Samuel, when he is born. That he wanted me to be his child's godfather. I was touched, surprised, honored. I couldn't outright agree to it, but I didn't feel I had a choice in the matter. We'll see what time does to that emotional decision on his part. Having a connection in Colombia, a dear friend, seems like a great thing to me, but I can't get carried away. We'll see.
Then, we were off. Doña Ceci, la oficina. I wasn't yet 100%, so I slowly sipped on a beer with Kyle while Sebastian went hard. He struck up conversation with a girl who was having a drink after being stood up by friends, and we joined her at the table. He tried hard to make a move, she wasn't interested, turned him away time after time. I kept my eye on him, took him outside a few times to talk, cool him down a bit. He was a mess, at one point sobbing and throwing himself into my arms, lamenting that he had lost his family forever. I assured him it wasn't so, that the arrival of his son would change everything, but he was well down a path of destruction. Back inside, the girl finally had had enough and turned Sebastian down strongly, which sent him off in a huff. Kyle and I rolled our eyes and followed. We asked him to go back to the hostel, chill out a bit, call it a night. He returned with us but swore he couldn't say, that he wanted to go back out and forget everything, lose himself, but swearing that he'd be back. I was too tired to argue, and watched him bounce out into the night.
8/2
Spent most of the day writing in my journal (the fancy, leatherbound one that was a parting gift from my boss and dear friend, Sean). Couldn't shake my nerves, couldn't focus, wrestled with the idea of calling it all off, running home to be taken care of by everyone else yet again. No, not possible, you're doing this for you, Grant, you need this. Again, for whatever reason, motivation is becoming easier to find. After spending the better part of the day fretting, reminiscing, pacing about, it was time to do something else. We had made a call to the farm and arranged to arrive on Monday, so this was our last Friday in Bogotá, which meant one thing: fiesta. I was reluctant at first, but friends can be very convincing and I have never been one to stand for long in the face of pressure.
Doña Ceci, will I ever escape you? Live music and a promotion by Poker, the beer company. We saw all kinds of people wearing Poker trucker hats and wanted ones of our own. They came free with a sixpack, and Sebastian negotiated with the Poker girl until she agreed to give us a three for one deal. I made adjustments for my enormous dome and donned my prize. The sixpack, Poker Light, was simply awful, but we managed to choke through it. Sebastian said it was like someone had put a cigarette out in his beer, and I have to agree. One of the Poker girls struck up conversation with us, unable to escape the allure of two gringos (we are so exotic here!). She let us know she was off work soon and wanted to know if there were any good clubs in the area. Coincidentally, she happened to live right next to our favorite one: La Casa Babylon. We arranged to meet her there and jumped in a taxi ourselves to hit up an ATM to keep us going through the night.
The place was packed, the bartenders and guards all recognized and welcomed me back, which made me blush like an idiot in my silly Poker hat. The downstairs salsa bar was lively, but the reggae club upstairs was absolutely wild and packed. We all danced and laughed and goaded each other into making advances on girls. Sebastian told me to buy a drink for someone standing at the bar, I did, but after paying and turning back to talk to her she had apparently disappeared. I didn't notice at first and started talking to the girl that had replaced her, but when I saw her beer didn't match my own I realized my mistake and, tail between my legs, ran back to meet up with Sebastian and Kyle. Sebastian rolled in laughter when he heard what I had done, Kyle was too busy dancing with Paola, the Poker girl from Doña Ceci. After this went on for a while, and especially after one of Paola's friends came and gave the same amount of undivided attention to Kyle (an effortless ladies' man) Sebastian had had enough yet again. He was sick of gringos stealing his thunder. He came round with the same enormous cocktail we had ordered our previous night out, but this time around it didn't sit so well with me. I couldn't keep going, too tired, too drunk. Sebastian offered to take me back to the hostel, for which I was very thankful.
8/3
OK, that's it. This time the night was no where near worth the hangover, which put me in a bad place yet again. Overwhelming feelings hit me in waves. I missed everyone, felt contempt for where I was and the mistakes I was making. You know the drill, and it was only a matter of time before enough of my confidence came back to stop the barrage of negative thinking. I had spent too much time in one place, it was time to move on. I looked forward to Monday, to the farm, to a stable, steady lifestyle, and honest, hard work.
So imagine how crushing it was for me to receive a short, simple email from the owners that they could no longer receive me due to "unexpected circumstances". I had to take some time to recover. My world came crashing down for a good while as I lay rocking gently in the hammock in the hostel, wondering what the hell I was going to do. But no, this wasn't it. There was no way this had to be the end. Too much to do, to see, to explore. I was here and I had to make the most of it. I sent an email to a hotel called Playa Koralia, on the caribbean coast of Colombia. They wanted volunteers for their organic gardens and I wanted a change of scene. The beaches in the north look gorgeous, and I'd love to be in a climate more aggreable than the wet, gray mess that Bogotá serves up for me nearly every day. This had to be a slow day, a thoughtful one. I needed to form a plan.
8/4
I awoke early enough for breakfast, which is served everyday here until 10am. Long spears of papaya, a simple roll and hot chocolate. Light and refreshing. I sent a few more emails to other farms, one on the same coast as Hotel Playa Koralia, the other in the southwestern valley of the country near the city of Cali. I can't stay here any longer, must get out of Bogotá, Sebastian or no. He had another rough night and ended up losing his ID, but he thinks we will still be able to leave together come tomorrow after he gets things back in line. I am starting to wonder what will become of our friendship, but don't want to leave him high and dry. He needs time apart from his personal issues just like I do, and I think we can help each other find ourselves again. I hope we can.
After sending the emails, I decided to show a newly arrived German traveller, Linda, around town a bit, and it was fun to practice Spanish with her and hear of her travels. She made the same trip through Bolivia that I'd like to make, heading east through Peru into La Paz, then further east to Uyuni to see the famous salt flats. Apparently the altitude is murder and it gets freezing cold at night, but she assured me the adventure is well worth the discomfort. We made a pass through the typical spots. The Plaza de Bolívar was packed with people, as Sunday is a popular day for families to take their children out to see the city. They even close an entire stretch of La Carrera Séptima to cars so that bikes and pedestrians can enjoy the day with more freedom. Street performers dotted every corner, dressing like monsters from classic movies, vendors shouted for people to sample their fruits, juices, fried snacks and more, and mimes performed simple tricks for passersby.
Linda and I headed to the Museo del Oro, which was free to enter on Sundays, which meant the crowds were wild. On two separate occasions, young schoolgirls approached me, as I was obviously a foreigner, to do a short interview about my thoughts on Colombia. Typical activities for a field trip to a museum, I happily obliged. The museum proved to be a bit overwhelming in its information about the importance of gold to the indigenous cultures of Colombia, and the masterful skill with which they shaped it into decorations, jewelry, idols and more. Case after case of gold artifacts, plaque after plaque of information. After an hour my head was spinning, I was ready for lunch. A quick stop in a dark chamber meant to mimic a shamanistic offering to the gods, which was a little corny but served its purpose, and we headed back into the street to find food. Ended up going back to the old Colombian standby: arepas. These weren't nearly as good as the ones I had bought in the street with Sebastian and Kora, but they satisfied. Gulped one down with a juice made from the mora fruit, which is similar to a blackberry but much milder.
Linda and I parted ways in the Plaza del Chorro de Quevedo. She had decided to move to a cheaper hostel, but we exchanged Facebook info and entertained the idea of grabbing a beer later on. I haven't had much interest in drinking lately, but we'll see. Went back to La Quinta, talked with Sebastian about what I really wanted out of my trip, and what we could do to make it happen. Tomorrow we will be calling the two farms on the coast, since I have heard nothing but wonderful things about the area, and heading out. I can't wait for the next step in my journey, to get out and see this beautiful country instead of hole up here and lose my mind to anxiety. The time has come to move forward, to find an adventure, and the sooner I begin my search the better.
