Little girls have their own language, and Hailey made fast friends wherever she went.
passionate Latin charm. “It is no longer the place you know from the movies. It is a beautiful and wonderful country!” It had been years since that talk, and
Micho never stopped prodding me to go. When a California adventure tour with my 10 year-old daughter Hailey was featured in an Owners News article, the overwhelm- ingly positive feedback got me thinking of other tour opportunities. The Colombia adventure started taking shape. Sirens blare, and I look to see an ambu-
lance fast approaching. I look for a place to get out of its way, but traffic is so tight there is little room to maneuver. “Not to worry,” Micho chimes in. “In Colombia, the ambu- lance finds its own way through.” Without slowing, the ambulance slides by, listing wildly as it traverses uneven humps in the asphalt. “If the person they are transporting is not injured,” Micho jokes, “they will be!” I check in with Hailey, who offers a
thumbs-up. “Traffic is kinda crazy here,” she says flatly as she peers about the city. Placing a 10-year-old on the back of a bike is something I do not take lightly. Motorcy- cling is a dangerous endeavor, and while it takes mere hours to learn the fundamentals, true experience and proficiency require years of practice. I first took to motorcy- cling at 13, and 28 years later I am still learn- ing how to be a better rider. Having Hailey on the back—in a foreign country no less— has me in an exhaustive state of heightened awareness. “Hey Micho, what say we stop and grab a cup of coffee? I’m dying for an authentic Colombian brew.” We stop outside of town at a roadside
cafe. Men with ragged red flags wave at passersby, beckoning them to stop for a snack. We remove our gear, taking in the
heat as we cross into the dining area. It is 85 degrees and humid, and the cool air-conditioned room is a welcome respite. Micho orders a selection of sweets, temping Hailey to sample each delight. I slump in my chair, cra- dling a cappuccino and fighting jet lag. “We only have another hour or so, then we will be at our hotel,” Micho assures me. “You can catch up on sleep there, okay?” The next hour is a blur
of twisty roads and beautiful backcountry. We pass by a party carried on by locals, the music flowing unabashed from large wooden instruments. Broken asphalt turns to dirt, then to cobblestone as we enter a small village. We pass the town square, a huge open space surrounded by chipped white buildings. In its center, a flowing fountain stands adorned with lights and faux snow-laden Christmas trees. “I’ll never understand why Colombians see the need to use snowy Christmas decorations,” Micho quips. “There is no snow for miles in any direction, and there is practically no winter here.” Indeed, a region so close to the equator sees minimal change in the sea- sons. As we continue through the village,
Micho explains the impact of perpetually mild weather. “People living in places like Alaska or Canada must prepare for the cold months. If they do not stock food and wood, they will not survive. We do not need this here. It’s rarely cold, and there is always fruit growing on the trees and fish in the rivers. You can see how living in such a place affects the way a culture develops.” His point is clearly made. Throughout the trip, the Colombians I meet are relaxed and unhurried. They conduct themselves in a slow, methodical dance, mixing productiv- ity and personal enrichment in seemingly equal measure. It is an appealing alternative to my workaholic methods. The next day we head west, traversing a
series of mountains and valleys. We find the rainforest, a stunning mass of thick foliage and wildlife. The weather changes drasti- cally, temperatures dropping 30 degrees in the mountains, then rising again as we descend into the valleys. The roads are expertly cut into the mountainsides, chang- ing from asphalt to dirt, then mud and back again. Construction crews dot the land- scape, fighting an endless battle against a forest intent on reclaiming its territory. We stop in a tiny village, enjoying snacks and observing the lives of locals. “They are very shy here,” Micho explains to Hailey as the villagers give us a wide berth. “Colombia is just starting to know tourism, and we are very far from the places that travelers
In the larger villages, tarmac turned to cobblestone, making for a bumpy ride.
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