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.