Family, food and politics

Cartagena is hot and humid. Bogotá wasn't.

Matias and I have been traveling with my sister Nathalia and our friend Traci. Nathalia arrived in Bogotá about 45 minutes before us, and Traci arrived about 16 hours later. Jimmy (not pronounced "Himmy"), who's possibly the craziest driver that i've ever known, has been a great host, tour guide, etc. His wealth of knowledge is only outdone by his penchant for brew.

In Bogotá, we're staying with my grandmother. I should have put that last word in quotes. Abuela Sara (a.k.a Señora Sara or Doña Sara) is practically a stranger to me. But it didn't take long to feel a certain familial warmth for her. It's sort of like being around my dad in 25 years...in drag. There is plenty to love, to pity, and to fear. (fyi: i don't pity or fear drag.)

Bogotá is chaotic, just like any other metropolis, but especially on Saturdays, when its driving restrictions ease up. During the rest of the week, Pico y Placa laws limit auto congestion.

We're eating well, which is to say that we're enjoying our meals. But this is a biased assessment; the food comes with nostalgia for my childhood meals.

Some things are the same everywhere. We were fortunate to watch the debate between the 6-7 presidential candidates. Although we aren't too familiar with the politics of the country, we knew that everytime a candidate leaned on a catchphrase with "security" in it, he/she was the rightwing conservative choice. Pocket translator not necessary.