Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII
Think summer vacation when you’re a kid, when that last week of August begins, and it starts to set in that you’ll have to go back to stupid school soon. You waste those final dog days of summer vacation reflecting back on your summer. Kinda like that episode of Saved by the Bell where everyone from the Bayside gang comes over to Zack’s bedroom to reflect on that one awesome summer they had. It was a cheap clip-show, but a decent episode none the less. It’s horrible when that happiness crash sets in. Because I’m a weiner, this crash set in during my Andres hangover and almost ruined my entire day. I think I’m one more clip-show cut-away story from this trip away from crying on my firm, twin-size mattress in this apartment. I’m having the time of my life, and I don’t want to leave. I’m sure my liver and back teeth would disagree, but screw those guys.
My Accountant has been WhatsApp-ing with his future ex-wife since we left Andres last night. Because that’s what you do here, you use WhatsApp. The WhatsApp notification noise has been the soundtrack to my morning in the apartment. I don’t know how the conversation is going without the help of a certain Translator, and at this point, I’m too afraid to ask him. Don’t want to mess up his mojo.
I, on the other hand, am not WhatsApp-ing with a girl, and want to go out and get a magazine, some coffee, a pizza and maybe some chips. My Translator is currently not answering his phone. He’s probably hung over too. Or dead. Either of those are quite possible after the Friday night we just had. My Account and I decide to leave the apartment fortress to get said items mentioned above. Do we dare go out alone, without our Translator to guard and look out for us? We really do need coffee, magazines and pizzas. We could die without these necessities right now. There is a pizza place down the street, and I’m pretty sure there’s a Juan Valdez around the corner by that park we’ve cabbed by a few times. We’ve been to the !Exito several times for cases of cervezas, so we’re practically regulars there by now. Well let security at the front desk of the apartment a get a good look at us to be sure we can get back in without incident. Alright, fuck it…we’re gonna do it. We hit the streets of Bogota. Alone, for the first time…
…
…
Ok, I’m just being a dramatic asshole. We did just fine on our own. We found the Juan Valdez, ordered 2 black americanos and paid, without a Translator. We drank said black americanos on the Juan Valdez patio. We connected to Wi-Fi and Instagrammed photos of our #delicious #JuanValdez #coffee, without getting our phones stolen by actual middle class drug lords.
I bought a magazine that I couldn’t read, but will keep anyway, and will surely sit prominently on my coffee table/wagon back home in Toronto. The BBQ chicken pizza we got was a bit of a bust and I regretted my chip flavour decision. The bag looked like normal, delicious Doritos Sweet Chili Heat, but turned out to be some sort of new-fangled corn flavour that’s all the rage in South America right now.
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Thus far, we’ve managed to survive in Colombia without being kidnapped or murdered. We’ve seen the richest neighbourhoods, and we’ve seen the poorest neighbourhoods. We haven’t been taken for the millionaire ride, or had scopolamine blown in our faces. Our bank accounts still have money in them. We road-tripped through The Andes (It is The Northern Andes…I looked it up) in a car with about 25 horsepower. We sweated it out and lived a hard-knock life in gated communities near Giradot. We made it out of Andres alive (and with some ‘souvenir‘ glasses to boot) I didn’t partake in any ‘relations’ with a donkey, nor I did I meet anyone who had. We ate a fantastic dinner at THE Burger King Lounge, and I promised myself another before we leave. To top off this middle class drug lord life we’ve been leading, we paid some street performers 1000 Pesos to juggle knives in front of the Twingo at a stop light.
That was 1000 Pesos well spent as far as I’m concerned.
All this, and we didn’t have to bribe a single police officer.
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This country has its demons, but despite that, Bogota, and Colombia as a whole, has managed to survive and prosper, and absolutely must be visited. By you. Like, today. I came here with a lot of stigma, and expectations about certain stereotypes. I half-expected a full-blown hell hole of a country, still reeling from it’s narco past. But I will leave with nothing but memories, stories, a few less brain cells and some new friends.
My Accountant will leave with his black heart belonging to a girl who can barely speak English.
Bury Me In Vans 
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