Just a quick “hola” from a Crepes & Waffles in Bogotá, Colombia before the battery dies on my laptop…
I’m writing this in mother fucking Bogotá . After waking up in mother fucking Bogotá with the man that I love. After a night of wandering around eating and drinking in mother fucking Bogotá, with the man that I love, and our actual friends who live in mother fucking Bogo-fucking-tá.
This is my life. This is all happening. This is real. I wake up every morning literally thinking, “holy crap. I’m in mother fucking Bogotá.”
I have no idea how I got so lucky. But I’m so damn thankful for it. I might be annoying Mike with how much I’m thanking him for this experience. But I still feel like I should be thanking him more.
This whole trip has been unbelievable so far…
From my first glimpse of the city lights, nestled snugly between darkened mountains, I felt a moment of shock. The entire month building up to this trip was so fraught with talk of cancelations, that I never really let myself believe that I’d be here. But, once the very real flight started making it’s decent into the very real city of Bogota, I couldn’t deny it any longer. I — WE — had made it.
Wandering around the city, one hand clutching my purse and the other being held by Mike, I can’t help but risk face-planting into the uneven sidewalks (that are littered with gaping holes and missing bricks) as I glance wildly around. I feel like I’m trying to actively take all in, just in case the experience (like my purse) could be snatched away from me at any moment.
And yet, every morning I wake up, and I’m still here. And so is Mike. And every morning I say “gracias.” And every day the city responds “con gusto.”