When we told family and friends that we were planning a vacation to Bogota, Columbia, we were met with shock, disbelief and fear. The "Western Canadian" perception of Columbia that we experienced was that it is a dangerous, war-torn place where only the most foolish of travellers dare tread... Oh, were our friends and family wrong!
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Bogota is a beautiful, gritty, intense, loud, overwhelming, stunning city and wandering its streets filled my cup. Every street had its own rhythm and vibe. One street was a market overrun with protesters, the next a quiet alley next to a looming church. I found a park behind a cathedral where I sat quietly (relatively speaking) and edited an upcoming book for hours in quiet contemplation, then rounded the corner into a pandemonium of street performers, market stalls, tourists (the few, the brave) and locals crammed shoulder to shoulder staring up at the looming building. The food - I was diagnosed with Celiac disease a few years ago, so eating out - especially while travelling in countries that are new to the concept or where I barely speak the language, can be a challenge, but not in Columbia! Like many cultures in the world, Columbian food is traditionally based on corn - rather than rice, like many Asian cultures or wheat, like many European and American cultures. So the food was delicious, and I even found a gluten-free bakery and enjoyed some fantastic cake and quiche.
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My favourite dish was called Ajiaco - a corn and potato and chicken soup served with avocado and rice. I ate it almost daily and was so grateful for a feel-good staple that stuck to my ribs and got me through the 17 to 24 km hiking days in the high altitude.
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The architecture in Bogota was breathtaking. Layers of ultra-modern shoulder to shoulder with the colonial and the crumbling graffitied ruins of days gone by. Every street offered a different treat and I was so excited to wander the streets, enjoying the buildings and considering those who lived there, those who built them and those who designed what this amazing city would later look like.
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Art permeates daily life in Bogota. You do not need to go to a museum - though I would recommend at least the Gold Museum and the Botero Museum - to enjoy art. Street corners are lined with sculptures. Entire buildings are painted with murals. The graffiti is omnipresent and ranges from quick tags to stunning works of modern art. Everywhere I turned, I found more beautiful things to look at, more artwork to appreciate. I love that art is such a tangible part of Bogota's daily life. Stunning!
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The people. I had heard that people from Bogota were unfriendly, but found nothing further from the truth. My Spanish skills are limited to basic sentences, yet everyone we met was patient and kind, going out of their way to offer support, or guidance, encourage my rocky attempts at the language and offer us advice and guidance where possible. Our Tour guide was an absolute star and a pleasure to be around. Our servers at restaurants and attendants at the hotel were all amazing. People on the street were kind and compassionate, and a sense of community was tangible. I would return to Bogota just to better get to know the people of this amazing city.
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The History. Columbia's past is complex and lengthy, from stunning rituals of Indigenous people to recent history filled with violence and crime, and now a modern city finding its way in modern times while holding sacred its past. I am no history buff, but I love stories about people, and was filled to bursting with the tales this city shares.
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The sensory overload. If there is one always present character that wanders the streets of Bogota with you, it is the traffic. Blaring horns, revving engines, stunning feats of bravery or madness as scooters, motorcycles, cars, trucks, busses, runners and cyclists converge on the city streets is not for the faint of heart. As a small-town girl, I was overwhelmed by the constant steady flow of humanity, the rush and rage of so many people all on their way somewhere else. It was incredible to experience, and one of the most lingering impressions I know I will carry with me long after we return home.
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Back in Canada. I'm sitting now back at my office desk. I can see only trees beyond my window, hear only the fan from my computer, and my fingers on the keys. Somewhere out of sight, my cat is snoring, finally resting after two frantic days of settling back into his home. These trips are everything to me - the humbling reminder that ours is not the only way to live a life. The exposure to a world so foreign that I cannot help but fail - socially, culturally, linguistically again and again. The reset and reminder to be grateful for all I have, while practicing mindfulness and soaking in every experience I possibly can during my limited visits to these incredible locations. I love to travel, and I love to come home. Maybe I love home more because I travel. I may have to think about that for a while longer.
Time to put this inspiration to good use! What inspires you? Where do you go to fill your creative writer's cup?
With Love,