Author: Naomi Stobbe

At lunch today I learned a few new things about eating out in Colombia.

But first let me tell you about the morning. In short, I spent it out walking with my sketchpad and pencil and produced a number of very substandard drawings. While that was frustrating, the  sights and sounds were invigorating and the hot sun on my back was a big plus. The weather here is very changeable so one moment you can be quite warm and the next moment putting on a cotton scarf and down vest. This makes it difficult to sit still and enjoy the outdoors for very long (especially if you are drawing) because much of the time it is too cool to remain stationary (I can hear you Manitobans saying boo hoo to this hardship).   Rudy had spent the morning on an equally frustrating activity. His consisted of checking up on what kind of shenanigans the orange-faced man north of us and south of Canada was up to. Comparing  that fiascos with my art makes my drawings look pretty good. (But I should probably refrain from making light of that stupid man and the havoc he is reeking.)

Anyway in the afternoon we wandered out and down the street. Sunday is a day for markets and because we live on the edge of a rougher part of town the displays and merchandise was all pretty dismal. Old clothes, broken plastic toys, nuts, and bolts,  and many things that looked scavenged. But people were out buying. When we got to the bigger streets there were more markets and although the products were new, the quality was not any higher.

Rudy stopped at a hole in the wall drugstore for some emodium (I will not go into detail here about why he needed it) and came out after 15 minutes with a bottle of Hidralitos (basically gatorade)  and 3 packages of white powder (who knows what it is?) Hmmm, what can I say? Pretty par for the course for these establishments and our lack of Spanish.

After the “medical consultation” and our market tour we set about to find some food to eat. Rudy and I were feeling like perhaps we had had a few too many empanadas so today we went in search of something different. It is always somewhat stressful when searching for food in an unfamiliar country with unfamiliar food offerings.  Menus on the outside of restaurants are often of little use as none of the foods listed are familiar. I had a craving for a glass of juice and perhaps a salad. A salad is a hard thing to find so we wandered up and down streets getting hungrier and less sure of what we should settle on. Finally I steered Rudy to Calle 4, a street we had walked down on our way to the Botero Museum. There were a number of restaurants and we randomly chose a French Bakery and Restaurant. Once inside it seemed like a mistake as it was empty (often a bad sign) and was slightly dirty and unappealing. But we had had enough indecision so we looked at the menu and ordered. Rudy ordered a beer on tap and  cheese, tomato, chorizo and dijon mustard on a French baguette.  I ordered a Jugo de Mora and an Ensalada de Casa. Yummers. Jackpot for me. This was going to be good. The ensalada included bacon, ham, yellow and green zucchini, strawberries, and cheese. (no mention of lettuce or any other greens but I thought this was just an oversight. Rudy got his beer and pronounced it pretty good and his sandwich …..delicious. I got my juice and then I got my salad. Don’t get me wrong, it was delicious too. But it was not a salad as I know a salad. It was a cheesy cream sauce with bacon, ham, zucchini, and weirdly hot strawberries. Well you learn something every day. And in this case I learned that salad can have many meanings…..should have known this as I have had plenty of macaroni salads, bean salads, etc. But probably never have I had a piping hot salad. 

Last night Rudy buried himself in some computer research and announced just before bed that a hike up mount Monserrate (500 metres elevation) could be in the cards for tomorrow.  According to one website the hike was “unique and easy to do solo.” At another site he was warned by the blog poster that the hike was quite strenuous but definitely a highlight during their stay in Bogota. From the top of  Monserrate mountain there are amazing views to be had of Bogotá, its skyline and its surrounding Andean landscape.

Well this morning after breakfast Rudy hurried me out the door and up the street. It was a fifteen minute walk to the base of the mountain… all uphill.  In that short time it became clear that we needn’t have brought our down vests or even our long sleeved shirts. Long-legs Nikkel started off at a brisk pace at the trailhead and I was scrambling to keep up with him. We hadn’t got very far when I began to feel not so great. Very soon it became apparent that something weird was happening. I pulled over to the side of the path and sat down. I could hardly get enough oxygen despite deep breaths and felt like I was going to vomit. I was quite dizzy and could hardly put two thoughts together. Am I exaggerating? Perhaps, but I really did not feel good. After a rest I gave it another try and managed a bit further before another sit down. By the third sit down Rudy suggested that I go back. He could come with me or I could go on my own. I told him to push on and I would go back. But there is too much Stobbe blood in me to give up so soon; I slowly crawled my way up the path, stopping every 5 minutes. My pace was so slow I might as well be crawling on my belly. I took lots of drinks but I was in a brain fog and my feet felt like I had lead weights tied to them. At every turn I considered going back, but I kept on pushing just a little further. The trail was packed with hikers because it is the weekend and there were plenty of people who were moving very fast, some even jogging their way up. It all seemed a bit surreal. Some people had speakers with music pumping loudly. But a military marching song did not speed me up, and neither did the salsa music get my dancing feet going. Periodically along the way there were vendors selling water and snacks. By about halfway up a couple of brain cells had managed to fire across a synapse and I  realized I should buy some refreshment so I purchased a slice of pineapple. Wow! It did wonders. About that time I realized that I was beginning to feel much better. Obviously there was more oxygen getting to my brain and I did not feel so dizzy or so much in a fog. My feet no longer feltl like they weighed a hundred pounds each. And so I trekked on. Getting closer to the top there were vendors selling trinkets and religious paraphernalia. Were some of those necklaces actual medals to celebrate my reaching the top? Frankly, I could do with some affirmation, as it had been a long and arduous climb. And unlike the initial website that Rudy read from last night it was NOT easy to do. After a short rest on the big church steps, I sent Rudy a text that I was on my way down. He was waiting for me at a small cantina about halfway down.

It was close to 2 o’clock by the time we were down from the mountain and it was time to ‘re-fuel’. So on our way home we made a pit stop at the big food court in a mall not far from our Airbnb and gobbled down a couple of delicious cheeseburgers.

Back at home, we sat around and had a little rest. We each had an almost lukewarm shower and a change of clothes and soon felt much better. We checked out our photos from the adventure and selected a few to put on the blog. And we had to catch up on the ‘Trump’ news — who, true to his word, has slapped big tariffs on Canada and Mexico. Sounds like all parties will lose on this deal.

Soon it was 7pm and time for another Winnipeg Jets game. Rudy has found a couple of sports feeds on the internet. It’s not 100% reliable and it involves closing a million popups before you can actually watch the hockey game; and even then, there are many random interruptions when the action ‘freezes’ and the cursor just spins around and around — and maybe the feed will come back, but maybe it won’t. Well, tonight the first and final periods were working pretty good, and so were the Jets, as they managed to eke out an overtime win against a tough Washington team. Ah, all is right with the world. (Well, in the world of sports, anyway.)

It’s evening in Bogota and Rudy and I are cozied up in our apartment. The small heater is blasting warmth. and Warren Zevon songs are pumping out of Rudy’s computer. Rudy is doing the games from the New York Times after reading the news. I have been drawing and gathering bits and pieces for the visual recording of our trip. Included so far in my art journal are leaves, diagrams, drawings, paintings, tickets, and receipts.

We are indeed settling into the new rhythms of our life here.

This morning Rudy headed out for coffee and croissants. After breakfast and while Rudy formatted photos for our blog, I headed out for a walking adventure. I am becoming somewhat more familiar with the neighbourhood. Today I focused on the tagging and street art. There are loads of “junk” tagging all over but there are also great murals and more thoughtful street graffiti all over the walls and buildings. It is a great medium and the concept of art on the street that is accessible to all is something to support.

The morning turned out hot and before long I took off my scarf and wished I didn’t have my down vest or pullover on. By the time I got home I was parched and sweaty. After refreshing myself Rudy and I headed out to look for food and then back to Cinemateca for more film festival fare. We chose the Colombian film El Vaquero (The Cowboy) which had English subtitles. It certainly was film festival material. By this I mean strange and sometimes slow. The first half had very little dialogue but certainly lots of sounds and sights and loads of great storytelling with the camera angles and focus. By the last quarter of the movie, I was more invested. The theme/message was subtle and I had to work hard to piece together where it was going. The story arch was harder to follow than the familiar story arch of a Hollywood piece and maybe a bit more like life where it is not always clear where people are going. But like any usual piece of art, it has more to chew on as I continue to reflect on it.

There are still some more hours left in the day but I have more art to attempt and a book to read so I will sign off.

Today we have hit our stride. Rudy headed to the panaderia across the street first thing in the morning for a couple of hot croissants. With our pot and miniature teacups (everything in this apartment is made on a small scale) we managed to make tea and coffee. After breaking our fast we headed up Carreterra 4 towards the Candelaria district to the Museo de Botero. It did not disappoint. There were sooo many pictures and sculptures by this famous Colombian artist who hailed from Medellin. Rudy could not help chuckling throughout the whole building. Just take a look at the pictures below. So fabulous and the characters have so much to say through their tiny eyes.  I loved it. I felt like I wanted to put a caption beneath each one of the paintings.

There were a number of galleries attached to the Botero one so saw some other art.

From there we headed up through the streets past market stalls. Rudy got himself a coffee and I purchased a large cup of mango. Mmm… both of us enjoying a small pleasure. Mine was probably better;  you can’t get a cup full of fresh mango everyday, whereas coffee is not so rare.

We headed to another square and found ourselves at the huge Museo de Oro. It was massive and we did only one floor before we headed back to our place. How can I summarize the experience? I don’t know except that it was a whole lot of gold, silver and copper. Wow.

I am trying to attempt some art on this holiday so I spent the rest of the afternoon working on a pencil crayon piece inspired by a gold mask from the Museo de Oro. I also tried to do another study of the piece I did yesterday. Today I tried it in watercolour. So far no masterpieces but it is satisfiying and frustrating at the same time to try to create some art. I have purchased some travel art supplies: a tiny watercolour box, a box of pencils, a set of pencil crayons, and some markers. If nothing else, I will document my days with some visual representation of what I am seeing on my travels.

Once we check in to our accommodations for the week we crash. I am able to sleep a couple of hours and Rudy not so much. Our 8^th floor loft is exactly out of an IKEA catalogue. It makes very good use of very little space. It is really like a glorified motorhome. Rudy can stretch his arms across the width and basically touch both of the walls. But the bed is comfortable and there is a pot to boil water for tea so I am satisfied.

We foray out to get some cash and a phone card for me. Because everything is so new we are bamboozled by many things. The Colombian pesos are hard to figure out. One Canadian dollar is approximately 3,000 pesos. We have worked up an appetite after procuring a whole ton of pesos from the ATM so we stop for some street empanadas. Who knows how much they cost?

The man says something that neither of us understand and Rudy gives him a 100,000 peso note. Did we just give him 10 dollars or is it 100 dollars?  The man gives Rudy a fistful of cash back, Rudy smiles as if he understands, and we head off. Were we ripped off? How much is a piece of fried dough stuffed with meat? We have no idea. Next, we comb the streets for a Claro phone shop. We finally find one and the man is super nice. He explains a whole bunch of stuff about the money and the phone cards and we feel like idiots. The one thing we come away with is that Rudy was ripped off at the airport for his phone card. We slink on back to our apartment to count our stacks of cash and see if we can figure out how it all works.

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In our walk around the neighbourhood in the morning we found a Cinemateca that was holding a film festival during Janurary. We find a film called Aqui that is in English with Spanish subtitles. Perfect! The film is not perfect but I try to get my Spanish brain in gear by reading the subtitles to see how much I remember. The Cinemateca  is like a cultural centre that holds all sorts of film classes etc. and is impressive.

For supper we go out to a beautiful old restaurant in an ancient building. It is quaint with quirky art painted directly on the walls. We have a lovely attentive waiter who hovers and anticipates our every whim.  We have arepas for an appetizer (corn meal paddies filled with cheese). I have some sort of traditional soup with chicken and vegetables and rice and avocado. Rudy has some delicious ravioli. It is a great way to start our Colombian adventure.

Hot on the heels of a trip with my girls, their partners, and their kids, Rudy and I are heading to Colombia for a couple of months. I have only had 6 days of turnaround time and into this short week I have packed in walks with friends, a trip to Morden to visit my sister, multiple trips to art shops and other stores to pick up much needed supplies, and loads of other running around. Rudy and I are traveling with only a carryon bag for each of us and it is amazing now much I have packed into that small compartment while at the same time I wonder whether I have packed the right things.

Because of this whirlwind I have had little time to worry about the things that need to be worried about. Thanks goodness Rudy has done some prep (and although he would hate to admit it, also a little worrying). We wake up for the last time in our king-sized bed and Leona and Donna drive us in to the airport on sloppy wet roads. (the weather is what we might experience in March and I wonder why we are getting away for the winter although I know there will be much more cold and blizzardy weather yet to come in Manitoba)

We fly from Winnipeg to Montreal and arrive there late afternoon. I am struck by how Zen I am feeling. None of the usual trip anxieties and my stomach is not upset at all. I am also struck with how airports are the same everywhere. There are so many diverse people and it feels like we are in a foreign country already with all the French being spoken.  But even in this foreign feeling environment Rudy manages to find a TV that is broadcasting a Jets hockey game. We can’t catch all of it before our flight leaves for Bogota but the Jets are ahead and all seems right with the world.

The overnight flight is just what you might expect. It is impossible to catch more than a series of catnaps as it is sooo uncomfortable and the flight seems to drag on forever. But arrive in Bogota we do and after a long wait in customs lineups and a ninety-dollar visa fee we make it out of the airport, into the cool Bogota morning. It is 4:30 a.m. We stop at an outdoor café for a delicious cup of coffee and feeling much revived we catch an Uber to our apartment for our week in Bogota.