A truly enormous bag, gratitude, and reflections on Colombia

Buenos dias!

6am: Medellin.
I started my day at 4am, after only managing to fall asleep 3 hours earlier (that fascinating phenomenon where I normally can sleep to music loud enough to dance to, but on a Night of Import the gateway to sleep is somehow barricaded) and then a g-force taxi ride up the edge of the valley to airport 1 of 5 today. I focused dutifully on retaining my stomach during this ride, Mr Taxi whipping and zipping through the wee hours. At the tollbooth, "buenas dias" he said to the attendant, and then as thank you for his change, "mi amore".

[Side note: I love how people address each other here, friends and strangers alike. I get called "mamì" and "niña" and "mi amore" by older women, "chica" and "gringa" and "amiga" by the men. All of these are totally respectful but affectionate and playful terms. "Mamì" and "papi" sound the most endearing to me, I hear groups of girlfriends arm in arm, "Mamì!", and a mother calling to her little boy: "ai papi!" I heard a man address his dog affectionately as "papi" once, and an old woman to her husband, "papi".]

My bicycle is in an enormous bolsa. I found this bolsa at a little bike shop in the crevices of Medellin, and the grinny man even took the bike apart and put it in the bag for me; the work ticket attached to the bag had my total at $60 for everything, with simply "Gringa" written on the nombrè line. I got a kick out of that, and was thrilled to see that Mr Grinny even cleaned the bike, winking at me as Elise and I carried it out between the two of us.

My first flight is with a Colombian domestic company, Medellin to Bogotá. So far this has been relatively effortless: Senora Desk looked completely apologetic for charging me extra for the bicycle bag (but they took it!) and security took less time than to unfasten my sandals (which I didn't have to). A line of us walked amicably outside in the dark towards the plane, and seating was open, as if on a bus. "Buenas dias", politely, was heard all throughout the cabin.

The seats next to me are occupied by two Colombian women, in tandem applying an entrancingly varied array of makeup. They have been at this task for the entire time I have been writing so far, peering into little mirrors and bringing out container after container of different products. The detail and time is astounding: they are perfectly beautiful.

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So I look at the hats of clouds and reflect on my time in Colombia. 

"Why would you go THERE?" my parents had asked in horror, when I told them I'd be coming here. The way they spoke of it--and how it must have been portrayed in the media-- I could see a country with bandits waiting at every corner ready to push us off our bikes, streets rife with cocaine, pick-pockets sneaking behind us at the bakeries, people evaluating us with cold greedy stares to rob us.

Instead we have been met with welcome, friendliness, and curiosity. I believe it is possible to FEEL goodwill, and it is palpable in the air here. It comes out in Señor Watermelon inventorying his entire display to hand me the biggest slice, in how the truckers give us as much room as they can, tooting gentle tips on their horns instead of deafening blasts. Thumbs ups and waves. People stare, certainly in the country, but it is a simple regarding, a checking-out. It feels different than the unchecked ceaseless stares of Southeast Asia.

This country is a true success story in our world of poverty, drugs, and violence. Granted, there is a long way to go still, but the reduction of violence and poverty here has been astronomical since the 1990s. The new paved roads, the Bicycle Sunday Events, the metro system....these little supports for the people, along with some major political changes, can go a long way towards peace and happiness.

Por supreso, we stayed out of the very rural departments and areas still under Farc influence, and were smart about being out alone at night. But this is normal caution, necessary as in any American city.

On our daily rides we passed through at least two or three police checkpoints on the road. We were never stopped, but waved on with polite nods. I wasn't able to figure out the system for who was chosen to be stopped, but I watched quite a few motorcyclists being patted down, showing documents. Much of the time the officers looked thoroughly bored, standing there in a group of three roadside, all of them bent over their cell phones.

The first week of the trip I was in high-alert mode, being suspicious of anyone approaching me. But I soon learned that people were only trying to tell me I had dropped something, or ask if I needed help, or just to say "hello!".

Never once did I feel that cold piercing of true fear. An amazing blessing.

I am truly impressed and enchanted by this country. And it is largely unexplored by tourists. We bicycled through so many country towns that would have been front-page guide book material ("after checking out the ornate church on the hill, meander down to the local pizza shop for an economical and delicious meal; then enjoy the youths as they pop wheelies in the town plaza") if they had been discovered. As it was: we were the only ones.

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Later: 9am, in Airport 2 of 5. Bogotá.

I had my loins tightly girded for a tumultuous morning through the Bogotá airport, having the many puzzle pieces of: arriving from domestic flight, transitioning to international, getting my bicycle in its enormous bolsa through security, heck: getting it into an airplane at all (remember the hell I went through to get it here). My experiences in Puerto Rico and Costa Rica airports had been nothing less than severe sandle-sweating experiences, and I expected a mess in Bogotá airport.

But the entire experience in this airport has been as pleasing and happy as the rest of my experiences with the people of Colombia.

Also the JetBlue people in Colombia charged me nothing for the enormous bicycle bag. God bless them. I grinned all the way to security.

But I should add that Colombians are decidedly THE MOST leisurely walkers-through-airports I have ever experienced. None of this hurried passing and pushing I'm used to. Amicably sauntering along. Like watching a popular film, just in slow motion.

There are insufficient adjectives to say how amazing and mind-stretching this month was. I am so happy and grateful I used my February in this manner. Also I cannot express enough how much I enjoyed the people of Colombia. They somehow manage the amazing combination of polite without being reserved, playful without being disrespectful, happy, loving, beautiful people.

They know how to live.

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