II.III.VI – Recovery
II.III.VI
RECOVERY
Our adventures in Santa Marta were soon over and the rest of Colombia was awaiting! We headed down south back to Bogotá once again, where we were given the warmest welcome by Pedro’s family before being cordially escorted to their bathroom. After four days without a hot shower, I could finally scrub myself clean from all the dirt and sweat that covered my body during our trek. All shiny and fresh, we could then settle in.
His mom, the nicest person on the face of the planet, is the type of person that comes to mind when you’re asked to imagine the perfect mother. She’s pleasant, kind and she didn’t even barf once as she washed our ‘jungle clothes’. I mean, the socks; my god, no words can conceptualise their overpowering stench. And her cooking… Never in my life have I tasted something remotely as delicious as her ajiaco soup or tamales – except maybe for her arepas. Look them up if you’ve never had them, they are reason enough for anyone to go to Colombia. Oh and did I mention she used to be Miss Colombia? The only problem was that she didn’t speak English and my Spanish was beginner level at best. As such, I could never express the full extent of my appreciation to her. “Muchisimas gracias” just doesn’t cut it when someone who doesn’t know you from Adam makes you feel like her own son.
His dad however spoke English just enough to be able to communicate. A hard-working family kind of guy who still works and keeps himself busy, flitting from one project to another, though retired. His mind is a thing of beauty and wonder. Well-learned and educated, he seemed to know about anything and everything; a walking encyclopaedia on all accounts. He was always up to something and knew no rest.
And then there was the nona; his grandma. Behind her raisin-like, overly wrinkled exterior, lied the sweetest old lady you could possibly imagine. If you think that’s your grandma, think again. I mean, my grandma is as sweet as they come, but she doesn’t hold a candle to her. Admittedly, it was quite weird the first time she grabbed onto my cheeks and called me cute and handsome but then it just became endearing.
And then of course were Panchito and Lupita; his chihuahuas. I know right? Chihuahuas. Eew. And I get it, I used to say the same thing, but I am now a convert. Lupita; rat-like and puny, seemed to be as vulnerable and fragile as the wine glass at the top of a champagne tower. Dressed in a pink sweater or whatever it is you call dog clothes, she reminded me of a particular patient we had on the wards; an old lady with severe dementia and cancer to top it all off. And while a yapping, old-looking dog does not seem to be epitome of years of domestication, the urge to give her all of my love and affection was inexplicable.
Now Panchito, her older brother, wasn’t at all like that. He’s bulkier in shape and his space-themed sweater gave him some spunk and made him look as tough and fierce as a pit bull; especially when anyone approached Lupita. Understandably, all they would do was bark at me at first, but by the second day we were already friends and by the end, family. There, I was at home. I was with my boyfriend, in my new home, with my new family.
We stayed in Bogotá for a couple of days before embarking on our new set of adventures. We decided to go off-schedule and take it easy; something I would have never considered prior to that.
First off, Pedro showed me around his district and we visited some of the main landmarks – from lush and vibrant parks and dodgy neighbourhoods to all kinds of churches and museums. But most importantly, I finally got to decimate (nay, invest) all my savings in coffee. Not just any coffee, mind you; Colombian coffee is a whole other thing. I already mentioned how coffee is just as much a part of me as is my blood. And now… Sorry, but I just can’t deal with this like a normal human.
You’ll have to excuse me as I think back to that first sip of Colombian coffee that my tongue ever had the honour to make love with, whilst wiping away such bittersweet tears; knowing I’ll never be able to relive that moment once again. Oh, to be a Colombian coffee virgin again, what I’d give… You’d think I’m being hyperbolic about all of it but trust me when I say I’m not, there’s only one person that could potentially fathom what coffee means to me, and that’s none other than Lorelai Gilmore. It’s not just her who’s considered intravenous caffeination, trust me.
But let’s move on. It wasn’t just the coffee that entertained my taste buds. It was also the aguardiente; or, in plain English, burning water. And burning water’s right. Aguardiente is a strong, anise-flavoured liqueur made from sugar cane that feels exactly as if it were burning your throat raw as soon as you gulp it down. I had my first shot in a place called Andres Carne de Res; the quaintest restaurant-club I have ever been to; a very famous venue renowned for its eccentric and peculiar style and décor. How peculiar? The main entrance is littered with all kinds of random things, from statues of cow-plane hybrids to sculptures that seemed to be taken straight out of Dante’s Inferno.
As soon as we went in, it felt as if I had entered another world; it was lit in red and orange, with the ceiling covered in steampunk ornaments such as gears, old clocks and dangling metal hearts and horseshoes. I felt inebriated just by the atmosphere and all the things happening around me. People dressed in different attires and costumes, doing bits and role-plays that involve the audience; myself included. It was exhilarating, explosive and confusing all at the same time. I was given a sash coloured in the fashion of the Colombian flag; yellow, blue and red stripes, with “Bienvenido a la tierrita” written across it. We drank, we danced, and we partied like there was no tomorrow.
