Who knew he would be selling slacks in Colombia? What a disguise!
Sam’s VIP Hostel’s location is so good that when a presidential candidate spoke in the main square, one of the army’s snipers hung out in the balcony. All of us were so busy taking photos with him, he might have been too busy to respond quickly if something happened. Sam said the candidate never had a chance to win anyway, so probably the risk of him getting shot was low.
It is only Cynthia from Iowa(!) and me left in the hostel; everyone else skedaddled for the coast. Cynthia bought an inflatible little thing for lounging in the pool. I bet when she left home she never guessed she’d be buying pool accessories in Colombia.
Last year in a flea market, but more literally called a garbage market, in Budapest, Hungary, I bought a bunch of soccer stickers/cards from the 1990 World Cup. I brought all my Colombian ones with me and randomly gave one to Sam, the hostel owner here. It happened to be of Antony de Avila, a childhood hero of Sam’s. He was pleased.
I have Orlando Cabrera baseball cards to give away if i make it to the north coast, and I have so many Andres Galarraga baseball cards it is the main impetus to go to Venezuela.
Andrew in fine form
Sam’s VIP Hostel–if the website ever gets finished–is a great hostel, one of the best ever. As an American girl told me, it is nicer than any home she has ever lived in her life.
Today Sam reluctantly put up a board with business cards since he didn’t want his place to look like a hostel. He has a pleasant, well-stocked kitchen (an extreme rarity), a little rooftop pool, clean rooms, homey furniture, cable TV and the location is directly on the main square.
There’s also a great group of travelers here, most of whom migrated from the hostel in Villa de Leyva. I have been telling everyone about my website ideas, and some people are nervous I am going to mention them by name or put a certain photo of them on my blog, as if I have billions of page views a day and am so devious. Besides, they should be more worried that I will out them on their washing habits. Lots of travelers seem to wear the same clothes everyday and I know there is a lot of infrequent showering. I find myself falling in the same trap, so I should’t crow.
It turned out that this isn’t the first time all of us have met. Kyle, a UCSB alum, realized he had met Melissa in Oregon. Small world.
Andrew, Iris and I went took a van north to Arcabuco to catch a bus to San Gil. I lent sunburnt Iris my hat, but she lost it almost immediately. I had been around the world once or twice with that hat. She felt bad. She asked, “Was that a special hat?”
It wasn’t, but I remembered a Woody Allen standup line I had to use. “Well”, I began with a heavy heart, slowly, “In fact, my father, on his deathbed, sold me that hat.”
At a restaurant in Arcobuco we had a protracted negotiation with two buses that had stopped for lunch to get to San Gil. We knew the price shouldn’t be more than 20,000 pesos (US$11), but they pressed for 30,000. Both parties went into disinterested mode, but when zero hour came and they were about to pull away, they tried for 25, we held up two fingers, and we got our price.
We sat in the back and I saw the driver’s assistant insert a DVD into the player. I feared the worst: three hours of a loud slasher movie, but it turned out to be Shawshank Redemption.
I thought there might be some lingering residual resentment at the way our negotiation went when I saw the assistant come lumbering down the aisle with some intent to me in the back. He looked just like Pablo Escobar, but with a more benevolent face. He asked with a touch of urgency, “Are you from the United States?”
I said yes, and tried to tell where the other two were from, but he cut me off. As an American I held the answer to a mystery that had been gnawing at him. “What is Dr. Pepper?”, he asked.
Dr. Pepper?! After trying to say that it wasn’t a person, but it may have been initially–how do you explain Dr. Pepper in Spanish, anyway?–I finally said it was like a less-sweet Coca-Cola, which seemed to appease his curiosity.
And let me say to all those who are grievously pained whenever people from the United States call themselves “Americans” which is seen as a bright shining example of our hegemony: everyone else calls us Americans. South Africans should start calling themselves Africans and see if it sticks.
Below, some Colombian hostel toilet humor:
Villa de Leyva hostel
San Gil hostel
Fierce sky over the main square
I got crazy sick from eating or drinking something bad. I don’t suppose I need to go into great detail about it, but it had the telltale symptom of having a rotten egg/sulphurous smell every time I burped. The staff here is great and they have been making me a special tea. I was stuck for days, but Colombian Highlands hostel is a great place to be stuck.
In a hostel dormitory my habit is to put my camera and extra money and papers–even journals and address books no one in their right mind would want–inside my bag and lock it while away for the day. Meanwhile, my dormmate Andrew has his laptop laying on the floor, undisturbed. I asked if he was worried about theft. He shrugged. “It’s only $350.”
There is an Aussie girl at the hostel who asks everyone where they’ve been as she formulates her own plan, which is commendable, but she has a relentless obsession with costs. “Is it cheap?” is always the second question.
I met a Korean girl and was disoriented to find that her Spanish was better than mine and we couldn’t use English at all. Both she and a Taiwanese friend of mine presently traveling in Central America said it was hard to travel as they got too much attention from the men. I suppose Asian girls aren’t used to it at home.
The Main Square in Villa de Leyva
I was sitting in the huge, atmospheric, sparse main square in this pretty colonial town, minding my own business, when two identically dressed girls came to me. They were walking around with open bottles of rum and little cups, promoting their drink. Their pants were so tight the top button was unbuttoned–and the only reason I know that is that they were standing in front of me at that line of sight. They sauntered around in heels as best they could on the rough stone plaza, looking for any takers.
That’s Colombia: young girls wandering around, trying to give rum away while the police pistol-whip you for wearing shorts on Wednesdays.
This is my 4th time in Colombia and 5th in South America. I was last in Colombia just one year ago.
I stayed with a CouchSurfing host, Mauricio. He already had a young German traveler visiting, Mark, so I am on the couch. I guess I should always expect it to be that way as the name of the organization implies, but it is rarely so.
The temperature was nice, but Mauricio discouraged me from wearing short pants, saying that shorts are for Sundays. I am glad I took his advice if only because in the afternoon a definite chill comes. Bogota sits in the Andes mountains at 2600 meters (8300 feet) and it is downright nippy at night.
It seems strange to say, but on my second night in Colombia I had Kaiserschmarren, an Austrian dish of a thick crepe with applesauce. Mark made it for us. I was impressed.
As everyone gathered more tightly than necessary at the gate to board the plane, an agent made the announcement in Spanish to pre-board those with small children and pregnant women. If I was traveling with a woman I would have yelled, “I am trying to get her pregnant, is that the same?” And, after a pause, “Can we have the back row?”
I guess that is why I am not traveling with a woman.
My measure of a civilized society is when a plane lands and it is taxiing, how many people stand up before their plane is near the gate. Colombia didn’t fare well in this instance. This always amazes me, the rush to the front of the plane. It’s as if the door might open early and they can jump down and scurry across the tarmac.
Long Beach Airport at sunset
St. Patrick’s Day.
I paid $127 including all taxes to fly tonight from Long Beach, California to Fort Lauderdale, Florida on Jet Blue and then $83 including all taxes to fly Fort Lauderdale to Bogota, Colombia on Aires, a 3.5 hour flight. Both companies let you check in one bag free.
How did I manage to get such an amazingly cheap flight down here? I don’t think you could ever find it on a search engine like Kayak or Orbitz. I did it through research–and I know where to look. I was thinking of this blog acting together with a redesign of my website to be a tool to show that it is easier and cheaper to travel the world than you might think, but I am not sure right now how it is going to play out. I know indecisiveness is very unsexy, but that’s where it’s at for now. I am starting the blog now and we’ll see where it flows.
This will be a rambling trip, probably around the world, maybe not–who knows? OK, enough ambiguity! Let’s go!
