Orlando and I spent the day chaperoned by a pair of love-struck sixteen-yr-olds, Juan y Maria. After touring an underground chapel built by salt miners, we visited the town of Chia - no relation to the pet. Judging by our time in the car together, I think Juan wants to be a Reggaton singer and Nascar champion. I'm staying with his family in a posh apartment in North Bogotá.
At the beginning of this trip I was expecting to spend a few nights at the hostel, meeting other travelers and throwing back beers at places called "Platapus". But no, Victor's five million cousins wouldn't hear of it. I've been kidnapped by the most hospitable, loving Colombians I can imagine. They're already arranging places for me to stay in Cali, the sunny salsa-capital of the country. I'm not even sure there is a hostel in my future until wedding bells ring in March.
What makes these people so generous? Is it the water? My bet is on Curuba icecream.
2 comments:
You have to admit the posh apartment is preferable to slovenly hostel. Go to a warm place, get a job as a pin setter, but wear a shirt.
Love,
Dad
Sounds great - I'm pretty jealous of the the curuba ice cream! Look forward to reading more on the blog...
-Dave Z.
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