Returning to Colombia

Here´s a photo I stole to accompany an otherwise pointless, cheesy blog.

Well, Colombia. I don´t even know what to say without sounding like a total idiot. Flying in, the immigration card hard two options; leaving Colombia, and returning to Colombia. I ticked returning.

If you know me, you know I am a superstitous atheist and one thing I am particularly attached to is the number 49. Whenever I see it, I know I am on the right track. I saw so many 49s coming to Colombia it was actually insane. EVERY seat number had it in there.

The weird thing is, I don´t feel dramatic about Colombia, like - screaming my head off, blown away. But I feel so happy, so comfortable and really .... at home. Everyone is the same - all the expats I have met go all blurry eyed talking about Colombia. Everyone seems to stay longer than they intended. I feel so good about this next year.

Tamarillos (my favourite fruit) are everywhere and cheap. The buses are hilarious. Everyone is stupidly good-looking, and - this is the amazing part - they seem to think I´m good looking too. The nightlife is the best I have ever seen. Teenagers in school uniforms make out in the streets. The colonial architecture in the old quarter is dreamy, and everytime I look up, there they are, the Andes.

xo

p.s. Last night I drank champagne with 7 potential new friends in a huge industrial apartment looking over the skyline of Bogota, listening to the Pulp Fiction soundtrack. I did a fantastic twist if you ask me.