Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part IIX Part IX
Sitting in our Bogota apartment on our last morning in the city, I’m drinking up the remaining dregs of the left over Colombiana and Aguila. The maid (yeah, we hired another one) is cleaning and I’m doing frantic last minute packing, ensuring all the booze and coffee we’re bringing back is packed properly, and will make it home in one piece. My Translator taught me what to say to the front desk when they call asking to let said maid up to the apartment. Now there’s guys coming to the apartment to fix the internet. I have no idea what to say to let them up. Guess I’ll let the maid take care of that one too.
My Accountant is out on a coffee date with his future ex-wife at the Juan Valdez around the corner. Tinder never really did work out for him here…and he didn’t even need it. I’m sure things are interesting, with the whole language barrier and the ‘not being drunk’ thing.
My Translator is at LCI Bogota, learning how to make things pretty. He’s set us up with Papa Correal to give us a ride to the airport. I’m looking forward to one last le ride across Bogota in his Le Car. We hugged our Translator and said our goodbyes in the drop off zone at the airport. Life goes on, and soon we’ll be back to reality. We’ve got girlfriends, neighbours, jobs and stuffed carrots to get back to at home. We’ll see you soon bud.
Once again, I’m preparing to strap myself into a steel tube with a liquor license, and making the 5000k trip home. Minus a few brain cells of course. If you’ve read this, then you know just how bad I am at public transportation. This airport experience was no exception. Tax exemption forms, customs forms, security checks – all explained to us in broken English. I really hope they don’t ask about all the stolen glasses from Andres I have in my CBC Mobile Recording Kit satchel (Ok…my man purse) We had one last meal at The Burger King (I told you I promised myself another) It wasn’t as good as The Burger King Lounge from our first day, but it will do as my last Colombian meal. Our flight was full of a large group of Colombian kids who were away from their parents, and likely the country, for the first time. Great. This should be a quiet flight. I was sandwiched between my Accountant and one of these kids. GREAT. Of course, he’s probably thinking the same thing…“Great, I’m stuck next to this tall asshole who’s assaulting all of my senses by sweating out 10 days worth of cerveza’s and empanadas” (Say that in a small child’s voice with a Spanish accent…hilarious) I opted for the chicken pasta meal option. Wasn’t as good as the pancakes from the flight down. Now, the headphone jack on my monitor doesn’t work. GREAAAAAT! *BANG* Flights home are always the worst.
It’s been a slice Colombia. I’ll see you around.
Bury Me In Vans 
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