There is a strange dichotomy inherent in traveling at breakneck speed. On one hand, your days are so full that they overflow and spill into the next, blending into one unit. The edges of your hours are coiled inwards, a knot of time indecipherable from the others. Memories are vague but those that linger are reduced to the basest level: smells, sights, tastes.
On the other hand, the things that do stand out really stand out, rising sharply above the rest of the mess below. And so it was with Colombia:
Trying my first arepa con queso in Chapinero’s bustling Calle 63, the sweet corn flour and soft cheese fusing together into one perfect bite. Connecting with one of the agents so well in no time at all that after our meeting she brought me for a quick coffee, having a bare bones “my life in a nutshell” conversation that only two kindred souls with limited time to talk can afford. Talking geography with my cab drivers, and explaining that Montreal’s vast networks of underground tunnels stem from the undeniable fact that it’s disgustingly cold in the wintertime. Finding my favourite graffiti of all “I like your smile and coffee”....
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