A Night at Vinikus

It was Saturday evening. We had no plans and with not much to do in Monteria, our options seemed limited. But that really wasn’t the case. You see, I have a theory, especially when traveling, and in a sense this theory has spilled over into my regular Vancouver life. The truth is that I don’t like making plans. I much prefer to go somewhere and leave the planning in the hands of fate or blind luck and go from there. It seems much more interesting to have a starting point with no specific goal or objective in mind. Roll with it, go with the flow...that sort of thing And so the starting point for this evening was Vinikus—a small little counter bar outside with loud music, smiley waiters, lime green décor and hard-on-your-ass metal chairs. We had just come from the internet café and I was in need of lemonade or at least some re-hydrating liquids to quench the thirst from the previous evening’s bender. We sat down to a wonderful fresh squeezed lemonade and began talking and just enjoying the cool that breeze that seems to come with evening. I knew something would transpire, it always does…and within 20 minutes, our English conversation got the attention of 2 English speaking Colombians, who came over and joined us. And that is when our evening began. I smiled at how quickly destiny dangled its fingers and plucked these individuals out and plunked them down beside us. Our conversation drifted to our being here, and why we actually chose to come to this place. Not many foreigners find themselves in this town, and I suppose most locals find it odd or at least intriguing. I suppose if I were to live in a small town in northern BC and met a Colombian, I would find it unusual that they chose that place over a city like Vancouver or Victoria. A discussion came about the differences between North Americans and Colombians, and I was asked to name 3 to compare the people. My response; Colombians are much more open, warm-hearted, and show their emotions readily. And so far, it is so true. Open in the sense that they don’t seem to bullshit you, they tell you like it is, but also open in the sense that immediate friendships seem to develop almost instantly, through the form of invitations to homes, farms and companionship to other places. And then I began to silently wonder why it is that most North Americans are not as warm. Is it because we have some self-preservation mechanism that doesn’t allow people to get close? What has made us so guarded? I am just as guilty as anyone I know, but why does it take so much effort to let people into our lives? I felt the same when I was in Indonesia, and also wondered the same things. It isn’t a new thought or self-posed question, but one that resembles some conundrum in that I alone cannot explain or solve it. Don’t get me wrong, there are amazing and beautiful people that I have met back home, but friendships seem to take more effort, unless of course there is that immediate inexplicable connection—you know the one where things just click and you really begin to think about previous lifetimes and soul groups. Regardless, as the evening progressed last night, more people joined the little circle of chairs we had formed around the bar and discussions flowed between English and Spanish with less ease than the rounds of drinks, smokes and fits of laughter. There are some wonderful people here, and it is great to know that no matter how far away one comes from, or the differences in culture, there are just as many if not more similarities.

Ode to the Amoeba

You creepy crawly microscopic flagellum waving son of a bitch
You reside somewhere in my gut,
But I’ll seek revenge, be sure of that.
Your nasty ways gave me a bloated belly,
A feeling of my intestines being minced through a meat grinder,
And sessions of intense cramping that lasted 2 moons and a day.
Trips to the loo where the exposed skin, besides my ankles, was the prime target for ravenous mosquitoes…if only those trips could accumulate air miles, I would be flying around the world for at least a month.
And finally a trip to a physician to confirm a tummy full of amoebas, and maybe parasites.


Ahh, yes, the infected gringa, welcome to Colombia
“Don’t drink the tap water, don’t drink juice from the street stalls, don’t eat the food there either, be careful, be careful, be careful,” they all say
I don’t! I haven’t! I wouldn’t, not just yet, and I have been oh-so-careful—I’ve learned this from experience.
So where the hell did you come from?
Where did I pick up my unwanted cargo?
It is still a mystery to me.
But the dose is ready, set, chug it down
Does your one cell feel ripped and torn?
Does it cramp and twist and freeze your cilia?
This is war little ones…And I shall win this battle this time, but I have a feeling that it may not be the last.

RIP you little buggers that have caused me hell for the past 4 days!

My First Weekend in Monteria

It has been a week since I have been in Monteria, and my general impressions are definitely positive. As I write this on a rainy Sunday morning, it is actually the first time since I have been here that I am not sweating, or my pants and shirt are not clinging to my body. In fact, I think I may be acclimatizing to the weather—at 25 degrees in the evening I actually had goosebumps. It felt so wonderful to feel cool and actually go to bed and use a thin sheet to hunker down under. I think Milo also likes the cool weather, but still hangs out under the ceiling fan on the cement floors and keeps a watchful eye on the geckos and other bugs that like to pay their respects to our apartment.

We worked yesterday until noon, an occasional occurrence that I am not fond of already, but the work wasn’t hard especially with the slow pace of the coastal people. Once we finished, Deirdre and I were ready for a siesta, but the cable guys she had been waiting on all week finally showed up to install the 60 channels of Spanish.

We hung around, lounging the afternoon heat, when Augustin from across the hall decided to pay us a visit. He is the sweetest little 4-year old boy. He still doesn’t realize that I don’t speak a lot of Spanish but it doesn’t stop him from blabbering away to me and Milo in his native tongue. We gave him a freezie and he took off to show his mom, a wonderful lady from Argentina who married their father, a Monterian. We asked about the brother, Gian Carlos, to give him one too, but apparently he was visiting his grandparents. But within five minutes Gian was running into our apartment. The kids made themselves at home and soon enough we had a small collection of toys in our apartment. Their mom sent over 2 glasses of Colombian soda, Manzana, an appley-fizzy drink and 2 donuts for Dee and I. Then their dad came over to invite us to their farm.

We left at 3 and drove down the main road of the city and turned off onto the dustiest path which led us to their ‘finca’. Farms here are not like Canadian farms in the closest sense. Think of some movies where the plot revolves around a Colombian drug-lord and his farm…you will start to get the idea. It was a large sprawling ground, with the main house, beautiful garden, swimming pool, a few dogs running around, including 2 baby Dalmatian puppies, a large BBQ, and a palm thatched hut with rocking chairs and tables under it for social gatherings during the rainy season. It pissed me off that I didn’t bring my camera, but I have a feeling that we will be back. We swam, drank and ate lots of beef (typical because most of the farms are cattle farms). We hung out and socialized with the moms and the kids, some of which were our students. It was a brilliantly relaxing day, something which I needed.

Generally the people of Monteria are incredibly friendly and are very accommodating and patient. I just wish my Spanish was better, but I know it will improve. If people talk slowly and clearly, I can understand about 30% of what they are saying, it just takes a horrific hodge-podge of gunshot Spanish to respond back…I talk mainly in nouns and omit most verbs since I don’t know them yet, but it takes time. I realize this. The trouble is I am not the most patient person.

Monteria - the main cathedral

Like most catholic countries the main cathedral towers over the city to remind its citizens the omnipotence of god...Monteria is no different. In the plaza that surrounds the church you find iguanas hanging out, dirty old men smoking and talking trash, shoe shiners, jewelry vendors, cigarette and gum hawkers, little old ladies with rosaries around their wrists and an assortment of vegetables, fruit, and juices to be bought.

Monteria - the main cathedral

Monteria - City Centre

Along first avenue, or what they call in Spanish Avenida Primera, are lots of colourful little bars that belt out everything from reggaton to vallenato(coastal music). The place is nuts during the evenings, but seemed pretty quiet in the late afternoon.

Monteria - The Centre of the City

A New Friend

School is good, busy and not too much time to write any other posts, but a quick one today.

Coming home seemed normal at first until the roommate, Deirdre, let out a horrible scream. And that is when she somehow said, an iguana....

At this point Milo was standing in front of me wagging his tail...and I wondered, what the hell did he do with it.

I walked down the hall to see the iguana the same length as the hall´s width, and wondered if Milo had the iguana pinned or trapped there. There were no scratches on him, nor was he cowering in fear. In fact he seemed like nothing was out of the ordinary, but I wish Milo could talk, and wish he could tell me his adventures or surprise with the local creatures.

anyway, Deirdre went and got the porteria (the man at the front gate of our apartment) and he came into the house and scared the iguana away, it went running down the hall on its 2 back legs, puffed up ruffles, and finally made it outside, past Milo and I. Of course with a moving thing, Milo wanted to chase it, but held him back.

So everynight as the bats fly, the geckos hang out and munch on the buzzless mosquitos, the ´mothra´type moths find the light, the dragonflies soar during the day and the iguanas find solace in our home, i am sure the rest of the encounters should be interesting. I just wonder what is next.

Until next time...the first day of school (promise!)

Monteria Bound

I said my good-byes to Valentina at the airport on Sunday afternoon and I was left at the gate. I think it really was the first time that it had hit me of my whereabouts as suddenly my support was gone. There would be no more translation, there would be no more assistance and explanations, and I was to fend for myself here on out.

Checking through immigration was a bit of a trip though. You see, I packed a carry-on bag specifically for Milo. The contents included some of his food, shampoo, toys, treats, toothbrush and nail clippers. Checking into Vancouver and Toronto, the x-ray picked up the nail clippers and both times my bags were searched. After a closer look, they decided that his clippers weren’t a potential weapon and let me through with no hassle. Colombia airport, however, was different. They investigated and then decided to confiscate the clippers as they figured that the hole was big enough to stick the tip of a baby finger in and cut it off. Needless to say, Milo is now minus his clippers and I have no idea if I will be able to find anything like it in Monteria.

I went to my gate, and decided that since there were few people there, I would go check out the smoking room. A brief conversation ensued with 2 pilots and then a university student. It was 20 minutes before the plane was about to leave and headed to Gate 9. My heart dropped when I saw only 2 people sitting in the area. I quickly found an airport staff and bastardized his language to find out that my gate was changed to 6. I hurried down the corridor, to find yet another area empty but two staff manning the doors.

My heart jumped a bit but I did ask if the plane was going to Monteria and all was good. The majority of people were boarded and they were doing a final call. Now, something that I was told, and was great advice, was before I ever physically get on the plane to have them call down to the cargo hold and verify that Milo was on board.

“Senora, esta possible per telephonar la cargo per mi pero” I asked, once again bastardizing and creating a French/Italian/Spanish hybrid form of communication.

“Si, claro, blah blah blah blahblahblahblahblah,” she replied at a break-neck speed with a reassuring smile. I waited while she picked up the walkie-talkie and once again sped through a language that is so very new to my ears.

The gruff voice on the other ended spewed more words I didn’t know, and the lady smiled at me, nodded and then said, “Si, blah blah blah blah blah blah?”

“Si, gracias,” I replied.

She then motioned for me to head down the ramp to the plane. I took about 2 steps and suddenly began thinking that maybe I had just agreed to have my dog taken off the plane. The doubt began to surface, but I then figured she would have asked a million other questions about taking the dog off the plane. As well, if Milo was left in Bogota, the flight is only an hour away and Val and her family live there.
I got onto the nearly empty plane, found my seat and got comfy for the ride. It was a quick flight with a few Colombiana drinks – a soft drink that tastes like red Fanta and 7-up. The ride was cloudy most of the way, but as we got closer to Monteria and away from the mountains it cleared up. As far as the eye could see, the land was green. As we got closer, you could see the division of land with bushes, you could see cows roaming free, and you could see palm trees.

Flying into Monteria was a bit shocking in a sense. All you could see were fields, farms and farm houses. I started wondering where the city was, or even if there was one at all. I started wondering why the hell did I agree to be in the middle of nowhere for the next 10 months. But just as the doubts were creeping in, I looked up from my window seat to see a large hawk circling and from the corner of my eye, there was a dragonfly that zipped past the plane. The doubts subsided and I knew things were going to be fine.

The doors of the plane opened and we exited down the stairs straight to the tarmac. With one step onto the pavement the humidity hit me like a wall and I could feel the heat creeping up my pant legs and the sweat begin to form as we walked to the airport.

“Muy caliente,” I said to the man walking beside me as I peeled my sticky shirt away from my chest. He laughed and in Spanish, he responded that this is Monteria, not Bogota. It reminded me of that line from the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy looks at Toto and says something like, “we aren’t in Kansas anymore.”

The airport was a meager brick building surrounded by palm trees and is one room. Think about the size of your local 7-11 and it is about comparable. The one conveyor belt looked like an antique and I grabbed a porter and we both waited. I looked outside for Margarita (my boss) and Deirdre (my colleague), I just wasn’t sure who they were and figured that they would find me.

Two teenagers came up to me and asked in English, “Are you Amanda?” “Margarita is waiting outside for you,” and they pointed to her outside. And they then asked me where my dog was. I found out later that both of these kids are my students.

The first load of baggage was unloaded and no sign of Milo. I ran outside to the man tossing the luggage onto the conveyor and secretly wondered where the slave was who cranked the handle to operate it.

“Mi pero?” I asked. He responded in Spanish to what I believe was the next load. My guess was good, because with the next load Milo appeared along with my luggage. He was chilled out yet again, but panting almost as much as I was.

The meet and greet went well. My boss seemed nice, and the colleague as well. We piled into the car and dropped everything at the apartment. I was then escorted to the shopping area where I was fed and watered and told a few things about the school.

We stopped at the supermarket, more like a Wal-mart, and Margarita bought Milo a welcome gift – dog food and a big water dish. And that is when she told me that more people are fascinated by a Canadian dog being in Monteria than a Canadian girl.

The day passed quickly and turned to night. Deirdre and I were back at the apartment and all I wanted was a beer and a smoke. We went out, and to all my Foggs friends, I found the best bar ever! Besides the beer being about $1.25 a bottle, it is all open air. The staff is great and within 20 minutes we met Jorge, Jorge, Jorge (NOT a typo), and Edwin.

I actually told Jorge (barman 1) that this was going to be my 2nd home. He laughed, but later after a yawn and an apology he replied, “It is OK, this is your home, you do what you want.”

A few hours later and it was time to head home and catch some sleep. It was a restless sleep – the sounds of geckos, crickets, cockroaches, and other critters that live in the tropics, and the heat was unbearable. The ceiling fan just spun the warm air and cooked me like a convection oven. Milo found the coolest part of the apartment and splayed out on the floor, and I think tonight, I may just join him…

Until next time…my first day of school.

Final Thougts of Bogota

The time spent in Bogota with Valentina’s family was terrific. They are a close family and wonderfully friendly and hospitable; and I owe them for a great and comfortable time in Bogota. I wish my Spanish was better so I could communicate more with Valentina’s mother and father, but that shall happen next time. Valentina’s brother was great too—a friendly guy with a sharp wit. I was constantly asked if I had slept alright, if I wanted something to drink, or eat, or just if I was OK. It is comforting to know that there are people looking out for me as I drift into this new country. To Val and her family – thank you!

Milo made himself completely at home, and even went to a Bogota daycare to have a bath and a grooming session. And again, it amazes me how calm and easy going he has been with all the traveling and moving around. He watched me pack my things and kept a close eye on his bed. I started moving it around and packing it up and he began to bark and jump. He knew he was going somewhere and was excited about the possibility. Who knows where he thought he was going, but he was excited.

Until next time…an update of my arrival in Monteria.

Shots of Bogota – Andres Carne de Res: Fabio and I

Outside of Bogota in the area of Chia is a strip of lively cantinas. As part of the Bogota tour we hit Andres, named after the neurotic and creative genius owner. The place is a sensory overload—you don’t know where to look as there are signs, gadgets, recycled art, knick-knacks and things posted, hanging, and tucked into every corner of the place. The menu comes in a metal box, the bill comes in a treasure box with a newspaper flag to indicate that you have paid and drinks arrive in thin wooden bowls. The atmosphere is festive and is the place for everyone; movie stars, DJs, families, friends, the hip and trendy youth, and people with ‘mode’.

Shots of Bogota – Andres Carne de Res: Ali and Manolo (a Colombian actor)

Shots of Bogota – Andres Carne de Res: Valentina and Guio

Shots of Bogota – Ghetto Colombian Style

One of the things that surprised me the most is how quickly the neighbourhoods change as you move through the city - there doesn’t seem to be a gradual shift from a good neighbourhood to a poor one. The best way to equate that would be the shift from 200 West Hastings to 100 East Hastings in Vancouver. The thing is that this seems to happen all over Bogota.

Shots of Bogota – Plaza de Bolivar

In the centre of the city is a wide open square which reminded me of the Piazzas in Italy. It is flanked by the Catedral Primada (shown) the Palacio de Justicia (Supreme Court), the Capitolio Nacional (seat of Congress) and the Edificio Lievano, Mayor’s office.

Shots of Bogota – Museo de Botero

In the mansion known as Casa Luis Lopez de Mesa, rests a permanent collection by Colombia’s own Fernando Botero.

Shots of Bogota – Red Tiles

Shots of Bogota – Hotel de la Opera

In the heart of La Candeleria is the Italian designed opera. Beside it is the hotel, a charming 5-star hotel with a great rooftop restaurant.

Shots of Bogota – La Candeleria

This is the oldest part of the city where Spanish architecture dominates the small and crowded streets.

Shots of Bogota – City view from Calera

7 million people call Bogota home. It is a city with diverse people, architecture and culture. The area of Calera is perched high above the city and is known for its view. Although it was a bit cloudy and most of the city seemed to be covered in haze, you could still make out just how far this city stretches.

The Journey Begins

The past 36 hours have been a bit of a blur and quite surreal. Preparing to leave Vancouver demanded most of my attention—from packing up the apartment, moving things to storage, finalizing the last projects at work to running around to ensure that Milo would meet travel requirements that I seemed to have lost focus on where I was going and actually being able to enjoy that I was embarking on a new adventure and a new chapter of my life.





Vancouver to Toronto
I love airports and I love to fly. But flying with a dog was a new adventure. Sure I had done my research and I was somewhat prepared, but that did not quell the anxiety I had of sticking my baby boy in a crate in the bottom of a plane for several hours on end. Air Canada was fantastic in dealing with me and Milo. We got to the airport and they checked us in. The staff cooed with adoration giving the mutt attention while making sure that the fretful human was OK.

I had the option of checking Milo straight through for the flights – Vancouver to Bogota- but that would mean I would not see him for at least 12 hours, or I could pick him up in Toronto and then book him in for the 2nd leg. A nightmare tale from a pet-totting traveler stuck in my mind—a transfer in Toronto that went very wrong and had the humans making their connecting flight and arriving in their destination city while their dog was still sitting in Toronto; needless to say, I choose the latter option.

The time came to stuff the boy in the crate. After watching the scene of other passengers jamming their Weimeraner into his crate with both hands and a foot, I was beginning to wonder if I would be making the same scene. Perhaps that dog knew what he was in for, and Milo being completely ignorant to the whole flying experience went in with ease.

We left Vancouver on time and the flight was great besides the double-bounce on the landing but flying into Toronto was amazing. The city was covered with low clouds and on our approach, all you could see was the top of the CN Tower peeking above the clouds.

I couldn’t get off the plane fast enough to meet my boy in the over-sized pick up area. It was 1:30 and our next flight was boarding in an hour. Time seemed to move so slowly and the worry I was beginning to feel mounted. Would Milo be delivered out in time? Would we be able to make the connecting flight?

1:45 and Milo came out. I walked over to the crate, and there he was, calm and just hanging out. I opened his door and with a cookie in hand a big hurrah for the little guy, I knew he was fine when he had a ‘spatty’ (a run about with ass down, tongue out and all teeth showing). Out the exit and off to find a tree or grass for the guy. Nothing but concrete and I knew I wouldn’t have time to find a suitable place. As the adage says, when you gotta go, you gotta go.

We went out to the end of the terminal, and a large concrete pillar seemed the best option. (Now, since Milo was a puppy, he has been trained to pee on command, and I will say, that that is the best training advice I was ever given.) When we were close to the pillar I gave the command of “hurry.” Milo looked up at me with confusion as he knew this was the ‘right’ place to pee. But I gave the command again, and he squatted. It was perfect timing when a police officer walked by, nothing was said, but a definitive “look” was given.

“Sorry, there is just no green space or trees here, and we have a flight to catch in 45 minutes.”

We ran down the pavement several times, giving him time to stretch his legs, a quick bowl of water and then into the terminal to find our connecting flight. We went up to the 3rd level of the terminal to find the check-in line absolutely full. There was no time to waste, and right away, I looked for the most sympathetic and helpful looking person I could find and explained the situation. We were expedited to the front of the line and began to check Milo in.

There was a brief moment where the clerk wasn’t sure if Milo would be able to get on the flight, but with a quick, “no, he must, and we must make this flight,” a phone call to cargo was made and all was good. We left the check-in area with a reminder of leaving more time when traveling with a pet, and Milo was put into his crate with yet another good-bye.

Valentina and I ran around the terminal to try to figure out where our gate was. 10 minutes to boarding, and we had to catch a bus to a different terminal. Time was ticking, but we knew that there were still people in that massive line heading to Bogota and the airline knew we were on our way. We got to the gate and found that the plane wasn’t even there. This gave us a bit of a reprieve from all the rushing around. We were to board at 3pm and thought that it was a suitable time to grab a beer and smoke in the lounge. That 6 dollar Corona never tasted so good.

Toronto to Bogota
3 o’clock came around and we boarded the plane. Once I made sure that Milo was also on board, I felt reassured that at least we would both make it to Bogota.

With the beer in my belly and lack of sleep, I briefly remember the take off and passed out shortly there after. We flew from Toronto over Washington, South Carolina, and over the Caribbean—Cuba and Jamaica could be seen from the air.

The flight passed quickly and soon enough we were coming in for landing in Bogota. Valentina warned me that the airport was going to be a zoo, and she was correct. Apparently the airport was the busiest it has ever been, 6 international flights all landing within a hour and the line up to immigration stretched for over 500 metres down the corridor. It was chaos, but also a perfect time to hit the loo.

Using the public bathroom in any country has always been a bit of a thrill for me. I believe it gives you a different perspective on the country you are in. I walked in to find the toilets without a seat, nothing new, as most toilets in Japan were similar. It just provides more of an open space for the hover/squat technique. Thank god I had previous knowledge and unfortunate experience, but the first thing I did was look for toilet paper in the stall. It was empty. I went to the next stall, and empty again. And that is when I noticed a communal roll fastened to the outside of the last stall. Perfect. I tore off my sheets. I had also read in my Lonely Planet that the sewer systems can’t handle toilet paper, and I noticed that every stall had a waste basket to the side. I wasn’t sure if I could get used to throwing the toilet paper in the basket, alas, when in Rome.

I rejoined Val in the line and after 30 minutes had passed and we decided to pull the ‘travelling with a dog’ card. The Air Canada representatives didn’t bring us to the front of the line, but they made sure that someone was with the dog in the baggage claim area. Finally I got to the front of the immigration line and my Spanish, or lack there of, was tested. A couple simple questions of “how long will you stay”, and “what will you do” were asked, a few flips through the passport and check on the visa and I was good to go.

More chaos ensued in the baggage claim area as people were shoulder to shoulder, and bags spread all over the floor. A brief scan for the crate and I could see it across the room. I jumped some bags, darted between people and I could see the lady Val had spoken to standing beside Milo’s crate. He was in the crate, hanging out, all “tranquillo”. It seemed nothing had fazed him. I was relieved he had made it. I even more relieved that he was much cooler with the situation than I was.

I didn’t care about my bags. I stood by the crate waiting for Val. Porters were all over the place speaking Spanish at break-neck speeds to me, and by the time Val had met me in the baggage claim we had no problem finding someone to help us with the 300 pounds of luggage.

It really was amazing, and it goes back to the fact that I know there is someone or something watching out for me. Everything went smoothly. We were the ones that seemed to screw up situations, or leave little time here and there, but it all worked in our favor. But I knew we weren’t in the clear yet. If difficulties were to arise, customs would be the place. Although all of Milo’s documents were in place, you just never know what problems may come up, but like in most developing countries, any problem can be rectified with cash.

The Customs procedure in Bogota is a ‘red-light / green-light’ system. Simply, you hit the button, if it is green, you go, if it is red, you are checked. Val approached and worked her magic. She used the foreign girl and dog card. The custom slip was taken, the light was never pushed and we went directly to the animal/food claim area.

Again, Val worked her magic, and 20 American dollars later for an importation tax, we were out of the airport for more chaos.

There were heaps of people crowded around the main exit which was barricaded and leaving just enough clear space for the passengers. They were at least 7 rows deep; people with signs, with whistles and New Year’s horns all to attract the attention of their friends and family. Val and her family have a designated meeting place. We wove our way through the crowds and were met by her mom and dad and the 2 cars they had brought to pick us up. Val went with her parents and I went in the other vehicle with the driver, Milo and the majority of the luggage.

From the airport to Val’s house was a quiet ride. Once again my lack of Spanish was tested, but the stadium that holds 60,000 people and the bus line was pointed out to me. I was also told that the month of August in Bogota is cold because it is the season of wind.

We arrived at Val’s house and it still didn’t hit that I was in Colombia. It just felt that I had taken a very long voyage to be in a house of great hospitality, warmth and comfort. Val’s father, Ali, her mother, Guramija, and brother, Fabio are wonderful people. Most of the conversation drifted between Spanish and English, and just to confuse me, Ali spoke in Italian.

We sat down to a dinner of plantain soup and arepas. We relaxed over dinner and the conversation floated in several languages freely. After Beja, the maid, and I took Milo for a walk in the apartment’s park. He sniffed every corner of the park, every bush and every blade of grass. The park is now his.

Milo and I crashed hard last night. We both woke up in the same position as we fell asleep. But after 8 hours of sleep, we were up to greet the new morning.

Out to the park for a quick run, and I can’t believe how well adjusted he is. He knows exactly where the kitchen is, and is currently working on wooing the maids as they prepare meals, hoping for something to fall on the floor. He wanders freely around the apartment and has found his spots to crash. There is absolutely no indication from him that he is stressed or nervous. Everything seems normal to him – at least from my perspective.

I was reminded once again this morning at my elementary communication in Spanish. Going down to the park requires a key to exit, I asked the security guard for the keys, but he just walked me out to the park to show me that the doors were open. I appreciated that he didn’t try to explain. When I came back up, the maid began a brief conversation with me. I think she was trying to ask me if everything was OK and if I was hungry or thirsty. I asked for a coffee. Who knows, she could have asked me if I had a good sleep, and therefore my response could have been quite rude, but I did get my coffee and have been topped up since 8:30 this morning.

As I write this now, I still can’t believe that I am in Colombia. I guess it just hasn’t hit yet.

I will admit that I have come less prepared than I would have liked to. There were so many loose ends to tie up, that some things on my ‘to do list’ had to be neglected and forgotten – like changing money, or adding a PIN number to my visa to withdrawal cash, or even giving Milo a bath before we came. But that will be done today here in Bogota.

The dreamlike state that I have been in for the past few days is starting to fade and I suppose the reality of my being in Colombia will hit soon enough. But for the time being I will enjoy this haziness and slowly wake to the sights and sounds of Bogota before I head off Sunday for yet another flight to my final destination—Monteria.

Until next time.

Signs

[For those that have read my other blog, you may have come across this piece, although slightly adapted for this space, as well as a new addition.]

Signs are around us, but it is us who choose to ignore them, blow them off as mere coincidence, or actually listen and watch. I choose the latter.

Part of my listening and observing signs seems to be heightened during a time of immense change or upheaval, and needless to say, that is a phase I am going through now. Leaving for yet another country and new adventure, although gives a great sensation of butterflies and excitement, I am still a touch apprehensive. And in the past when that slight trepidation crept in, I would become more accute to the signs which seemed to quell the wavering and uneasiness and allowed me to have reassurance that going was the right thing to do.

A brief jaunt through the past will show you what I mean.

Before Australia I was flip-flopping on my decision and mentally weighing the pros and cons during my drive to work and that is when I saw a flock of geese, about 5 metres above the road, flying in a vee, towards me and my front windshield. The geese flew above the car and I saw them fly over my sunroof. Besides being totally freaked out with the geese heading straight for me, I started to smile because I knew right then that going to Australia was in the cards and things would work out. I was right. That voyage not only took me up to the most remote parts or the northwest coast, but opportunities opened and allowed me to set foot on aboriginal land (which had not been done in many years by any white folk), it led me from Australia by sailboat to Indonesia (and once there, a few memorable incidents which has only made me stronger and believe in human kindness and the power of a warm smile).

Before my trip to Japan, and still full of the same pre-departure doubts, it was dragonflies buzzing in front of me while walking down a city road that pushed me onward. Sure, dragonflies aren't an oddity or a rare sight, but the fact that they were buzzing around in the city is. My first trip to Japan gave more possibilities, so much so, that the first trip turned into a second.

And so the signs are beginning once again.

About two months ago, while walking in the city, a butterfly buzzed me and almost landed on me. Even a passerbyer commented on the idiosyncrasy of the event. (And this was before I even knew that Colombia was an option).

Once I knew the option of heading to Colombia was becoming more of a possibility, I opened my eyes...waiting for the dragonflies. But I didn't have to wait too long. A student of mine walked in with a new bag, took it off her shoulder and set it on the desk, removed some papers and that is when I saw a huge embroidered dragonfly. I could only smile.

In the middle of July, a friend signed into MSN messenger with an image I had never seen before, but it did look Mayan (maybe Incan - not well versed in this area) with the sign in name Cor-do-ba - Cordoba being the district I am heading to, and the name of the car he wants to buy. Coincidence some may say, I don't.

Towards the end of July, I opened the Georgia Straight and flipped to the first page. Yep, a photo of a dragonfly.

And during the last weekend of July, I was enjoying a great walk in the beauty of Saturday with a beautiful person. As we progressed along the seawall a dragonfly crossed my path. And again, a smugness overcame me. I know I am supposed to go, I know this is the path I am supposed to be on. And all these little signs seem to reassure me and push me forward.

For the past week, everytime I go out, there are dragonflies around me. Sure, it is summer and it is hot, but it never fails, I will always see one. Maybe it is coincidence, and maybe I just needed a bigger sign.

Sure enough, I got one tonight. I was at the beach enjoying the bright nights of summer with my dog, a friend, and his kids. It was a usual dog beach kind of night - barking, yelping, splashing, fetching with hidden-apprehension talks of Colombia thrown in, sandy feet, smiles, crashing waves, soaked pant legs...when from behind me, I could hear, "Look girls, look at the eagle!"

I looked up and about 20 feet above us was an eagle flying parallel with the beach soaring in the wind. It was close enough that you could see the ruffles in its neck feathers; where the white head meets the brown body. I had never seen one so flying so close. I followed the eagle on its route, and had a grin as wide as its wing span.

I will admit that for the longest time Colombia has felt right, I know there are opportunities to be had, I know the doors to those will open, but behind the belief, there are doubts. Is this the right thing to do now? (Especially since the last 6 months out of 13 years I have started to feel comfort in Vancouver) What if I stay in Vancouver? What if I don't go? But then I go back to that little yellow paper I have carried around since Australia (thanks Mike!)

“How much longer will you go on letting your energy sleep? How much longer are you going to stay oblivious to the immensity of yourself? Don’t lose time in conflict and don’t lose time in doubt. Time can never be recovered and if you miss an opportunity it may take many lives before another comes your way again.”

So, screw the doubts, and focus on this opportunity that is in front of me now. And if the eagle is any indication, things will work out-I can take solace in this sign.

Some may say signs are all a coincidence, while others may say they are rubbish. But I don't. I belive in many mysterious things...I believe in magic, I believe in true love, I believe in make-believe and I believe in signs.

St. Christopher

The preparations for Colombia are underway; clothes are packed for storage, clothes are set aside to go, things are being sold, and slowly my posessions are dwindling down. It is a good feeling actually; to be back with the minimal amount of things. But something hit me the other day and realized there is one thing that perhaps I should look at bringing.

You see, the school I am teaching at is a Catholic school, and Colombia is a predominatly Catholic country. So where does this heathen fit in? I don't wear a cross, nor would I want to - not my style nor would I feel comfortable in portraying something I am not. A cross is just too much for me. I guess it would be like me following some principles in Buddhism and shaving my head and wearing a robe - see...too much and over the top. I figure I needed something that showed that I am not a total heathen in all senses of the word, and have some belief. Taking my Buddhist beads or Shinto amulet just wouldn't cut it in a Catholic country, so the next best alternative was to raid Dad's jewlery box.

My father used to be an alter boy many many years ago and has all sorts of medals of various patron saints stashed away. I thought about St. Christopher, the patron saint of travellers among other things, and knew it would be perfect. It is perfect in meaning and it is perfect that I can take something of my father's with me.

So there I was today, searching through the medals, and I came across St. Christopher. He was badly tarnished, but with a bit of elbow grease (thanks mom) he is now shiny and placed around my neck ready for the voyage to Colombia.

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His fame derives from the pious legend of him being a "Christ-bearer" (= Christopher). He was a powerfully built man who wandered the world in search of novelty and adventure. He came upon a hermit who lived beside a dangerous stream and served others by guiding them to safe places to cross. He gave Offero instruction in the truth of God. Offero took the hermit's place, but instead of guiding travellers, he carried them safely across the stream.

One day he carried a small child across the stream; the child's weight nearly crushed him. When they arrived on the other side, the child revealed himself as Christ, and he was so heavy because he bore the weight of the world on himself. He then baptised Offero with water from the stream. Christopher's service at the stream led to his patronage of things related to travel and travellers, people who carry things, etc.

Patronage: archers, automobile drivers, bachelors, boatmen, bus drivers, cab drivers, floods, hailstorms, lorry drivers, mariners, market carriers, motorists, porters, sailors, storms, taxi drivers, toothache, transportation, travellers, truckers, watermen