So Woody is stuck in Cuenca tonight; I guess it is pouring rain (better than our late May snow) and seven hours before he can stop again. This means we get to hear the promised story of socialist revolutionary party in Bogota, Colombia...and boy oh boy is it a goodie! Warning: you will experience fear, disgust, joy, humor and "you're shitting me" all in one story, and it is long.
"
as it were.....i traveled through most of colombia with three other riders; two from the u.s., and the third, from canada. however, wading through such dynamics is always difficult, so when my motorcycle went into the ktm shop for a valve adjustment, the split was natural. i found myself in the ¨old city¨ of bogota, after a painful, confused, hour long taxi ride with a driver who had no idea where i wanted to go and little idea how to operate a manual transmission. he was burning his clutch right up climbing the hills, and we were crawling
at times. i arrived however, at ¨hostal platypus,¨ and immediately met two adventurous norwegian travelers with whom i shared stories for a few hours. they had some good ones, which i will not share as i may intend on attempting similar travels and my friends and family need not know about them until they are safely over. onward."
[side note: my brother is the king of double clutching for maximum speed. He loves to criticize me shifting in heels or flip flops -- both of which are troublesome. Also, I love how he tells us that there are travel plans that we would object to --- this, while I'm still funding his sorry excuse for an adventure, okay, okay, so it is a good adventure. Still, I'm older and wiser and do not intend to start sending money for new cameras, bribes or better yet, bail, while he makes questionable choices. Point made, I hope.]
"
the next morning, may 1st, started out like many others. i walked the streets getting a sense for this new city in this much feared country. as i walked, i happened upon a parade. interesting. i watched. so i can be a bit slow, especially in the mornings before i drink coffee, and it took a solid 10 minutes of watching before i truly realized that it was a protesting march as opposed to a happy parade. of course the signs were all acronyms so i didn´t yet understand......i watched a bit longer then wandered on down the sidewalk, where i sat down to read and watch the people streaming by. it was interesting, viewing the faces of the passerbys--happy, confused, enthusiastic, outright disgust...the reactions varied greatly. a couple enthusiastic colombians cruised by smiling, and asking me, ¨estas listo?¨ -- ¨are you ready?¨ oh boy. ready for what?" [parade...typical, backwoods, small town homeboy brother...Alboroto, Woody, alboroto!]
"i continued on walking, finally finding the elusive coffee house actually serving colombian coffee (apparently more than 95% of colombian coffee is exported, making it truly difficult to find a cup in-country). sitting on the second floor, overlooking the sidewalk through enormous plate glass, i was really enjoying the coffee when i heard the first explosion. enough to shake the glass a bit. i immediately looked to the faces of the people on the street below, and my stomach dropped a bit as i saw fear registering on their faces. many began to quickly move away, looking back down the street at something i could not see......i guess that perhaps this is where the adventure of may 1st begins.....i became incredibly curious. out into the street i went, heading (cautiously, of course) in the direction of the explosion. shortly after came the next explosion (closer this time...), and more people shocked and moving quickly away. i continue in the same direction (cautiously). from around the corner comes a stream of motorcycles; two-up, the driver in ordinary police-dress, the passenger in full-on riot gear complete with shield, shinguards, and shotgun. i counted over 50, and as i counted, a number of the passengers dismounted and began pursuing punk-rockers on foot (okay, so they were anarchists, but i bet some of them listen to punk rock). i didn´t witness much brutality......"
[Sitting on the edge of your seat? Marveling at how he has made it this far with such slim common sense? Me too. Who walks into explosions?!]
"so i continued on into the heart of the old city, hearing sporadic explosions (which were tear-gas grenades, my lungs can attest to this...), and coming upon dozens of smashed building fronts and graffittied walls. around each corner i would come upon a group of riot police, and usually on the other side of the street, in a lingering sort of procession, the anarchists. some great mohawks in this crowd. the stand-off seemed to be occurring all over the city, and moving slowly towards the center.....finally i arrived at the central square to see thousands of protestors before a stage set up in front of the president´s mansion. as fate would have it, i came across an older gentleman who was dying to talk to someone about what was happening in his country....and fortunately, for both of us, he spoke some english so between the two languages he was able to explain it all to me. i can sum it up very simply for everyone: corruption at the highest level of government. we stood and talked for an hour, all the while the crowd was shrinking slowly. apparently the stand-off was over; there would be no all-out riot. the tear-gas was still lingering....as our conversation was coming to its end, i was approached by a middle-aged woman who was accompanied by an elderly woman wearing a crown and a sash, declaring her the queen of something. the queen had a tape recorder, and she stuck it in my face after she asked me what i would do if i were the president of colombia. well.....i began. you can imagine the rest." [oh good lord...somewhere in norseland, a crotchety father is muttering, 'serenity now, serenity now.']
"i was encouraged along with nods and smiles and eyes full of revolution. my interview lasted only a few minutes, but by its end a crowd had gathered and i began to sweat a little. many more questions from many more intense faces (thankfully the recorder was turned off at this point, as my platform promises had been properly documented). somewhere in the midst of the barrage, the middle-aged leader, calling herself ¨luz¨, which means ¨light¨, asked me if i was hungry. starving, i was. political turmoil, protesting, and rioting has a way of draining....so off we were, a rag-tag group of about a dozen, bound for some backdoor with luz leading the charge."
[That's right, following fictiotious/delusionial queens -- who, granted, feel you may have what it takes to be the next President of Colombia -- terrific plan, wonderful idea, and you wonder why we all worry...]
"
it was upon this march that i randomly ran into g**** and a***, a couple from california traveling on a kawasaki klr, whom had been aboard the ¨stahlratte¨ with me. all i could tell them was that i had just met these people, we were on our way somewhere, and i may have just become a candidate for the colombian presidency...after a coup......i was glad to see them, nonetheless. we arrived at a metal door leading into an inner courtyard, greeted by, no, stopped by a man who made it his business seeing that his will was accomplished. we were not going to get into this party. but luz charged forth, seeking a face in the crowd and returning with him--an organizer of some sort. she made him look at the faces of each of the uninvited guests, and somehow, he nodded with satisfaction and we were granted access. the flurry began. i was seated, brought beer and plates of cuban food, and looked upon intently by each set of eyes in the circle. [well, of course, you're the latest presidential nominee...]
many questions, many struggled, muddled through answers in spanish. all the while g**** and a***, who were receiving similar treatment, would look up at me from across the circle, confusion flooding their faces but all the while being overcome by a smile.....this is why. why we travel. why we leave home for unknown, unsafe (so they tell us), far-off destinations, where truly God only knows what lies ahead each day.
the courtyard quickly filled up and the cuban guitarist had begun. early on i was cajoled into dancing, being passed around from one to the next, fumbling for the elusive rhythm that each partner had no difficulty discovering. it was a blast. i couldn´t believe any of it, and continually looked around trying to understand how i had gotten there. i was introduced to dozens of people, and each one was genuinely interested in me; where i was from, what i did there, and how i found colombia and colombian people to be. it was somewhere in the middle of all of this that i realized the answer to this last question, and i gave it enthusiastically to each and everyone: the best."
[For those who have danced with Wood, you can imagine the experience --- clumsy, strong, lanky, aggressive -- it must have been quite the sight next to the South American rhythmic movers. Ha. Serves the fools right for selecting such a hero; I bet there was at least one dislocated shoulder. And note, that last line, "the best". Remember that other travelers told him that months ago; piqued his interest and I guess they were right.]
"my favorite and most frequented dance partner was the 80-year old ¨queen blanquita¨. we danced most of the night, and she, at random moments, would simply start yelling. i have no idea what she was saying. as the night boiled on, the dancing only increased. between each song, the time was short, i was introduced to someone else. soon enough my notebook was being passed around and people were writing down phone numbers, addresses, and notes telling me that if i needed anything, anything at all, call them. g**** and a*** were long gone so i was finally enjoying the title of: ¨the only white guy here¨. with invitations for the rest of the week, i was ready to head back to the iguana, but.....the hospitality did not stop. luz and queen blanquita, along with luz´s daughter and her boyfriend, invited me to come back to their house. i don´t think that i could have said no to the invitation and not felt terrible, honestly. moments later i was squeezed into the backseat of a taxi, headed somewhere, once again......i was welcomed into the home, given more food and orange juice, along with more questions. queen blanquita took me down the street to meet her son and his family, after which, luz took me walking further down the street to show me some points of interest in the neighborhood. bogota is huge and i had no real idea where i was in the city. it was late, aye, later when we finally got back to the house. i was shown to my bed and wished goodnight.the next morning i was nearly choked with hospitality, and the question of the motorcycle arose. i was to pick it up from the shop and be ready to head on south, to meet up with the other riders. it took much convincing as luz and blanquita gave me a dozen options on where i could put my bike so that i could continue to stay at their house, one option that luz gave, as she did not understand the size or weight of the bike, was to lift it up onto the roof. three stories. lots of space up there, no doubt. i finally did break away sometime afternoon, headed for the shop and the unfortunately expensive bill. it took me the rest of the day, and half of the next, to process all of what had gone on.
oh, i failed to mention earlier, though i knew immediately upon entering the courtyard, that it was a socialist/communist gathering to which i had been invited to as something of "guest of honor". it was a week later, my last night in colombia, when i saw luz on television passionately speaking on a political rant. i listened for my name, but since ¨woody¨ is impossible for latin-american people to say, i wouldn´t have heard it anyway.....and my spanish is not quick enough to put together what she kept referring to....all i heard was, ¨.....big, tall, white, and motorcycle...¨ alright deahl, that is bogota. love you, gotta go."
Yeah, well, all right THAT is Bogota, and that is Woody...the next leader of the aft-feared Colombia, a country which, remember, he promised he would not enter under any circumstances. Thank god he didn't tell me this until he was through customs. I might have had him arrested.
-- luludilly
