Home while Abroad
I write this letter from Bogotá, Colombia in the backyard of a casa located on the perimeter of where I am safe and where one takes their chances roaming the streets.
My mantra for writing this email is But First Coffee, yet in this area there is no coffee like what I was served yesterday where the barista grinds the beans at my table and brews it with me while we look at the scale and talk about ratios and extraction methods.
No, this coffee came from a corner store that doubles up as a bakery where you order through a metal gate. Una cafe with a piece of pan por favour.
The elderly men sitting at the tables are wearing a variety of outfits ranging from soccer fan to getting ready for church.
While I sip my cafe con leche, one of them is double-fisting bottles of Poker, one of the region’s most popular lagers.
Now the salsa music turns on and I am at home, drinking out of a styrofoam cup and living the life.
Yet travel isn’t always a Kodak moment. I don’t believe you should post money shots as tempting as they are.
My Kodak moment was a photo of my foot covered in ice packs and bandages after I sprained it the morning of flying, which was made worse by the altitude of the airplane and the elevation of this city.
Still, the fruity drip coffee called my name. I picked a random location and took an Uber there.
While I didn’t expect to use my hiking pole this early in the trip, it came in handy while navigating the narrow, rickety streets of La Candelaria, Bogota’s old city.
Not before long I found the street musicians and spent a good hour chatting, singing, and playing the shakers with them. When you’re in the right place at the right time, you don’t need a drop of intoxicants, because again, just like I wrote above, you are home even though you are abroad.
While there is a hoard of tourists across the street waiting to get into a fancy restaurant, some will come by to take a closer listen or take pictures. None of them put a peso into the guitar case.
My friend Sebastián tells me he doesn’t do this for the money. He does it for the joy of playing music and getting better.
Only by being in front of the audience, no matter how temporary it is, he gets over his fear of being seen and heard.
Later that evening I am eating dinner in a restaurant in the same area. My server is over the top with niceties. But it doesn’t feel disingenuous.
The 10% tip is already built into every purchase here. He is nice and enthusiastic because that’s his job and he does it extremely well.
When I tell David that I am not here to meet a Colombian woman and that the chances of it happening are low anyways because I barely speak any Spanish, he reveals that many people here do speak a bit of English, but they’re terrified to speak it with people like myself.
If you connect these two stories together, you see that you will only get over your fears by doing the thing.
The man playing guitar on the street, the young woman behind the counter, both have the opportunity to grow but only one of them is taking the chance.
The street musician has gone out of his way to get over himself.
Ask yourself if the plans you are making are pushing you farther into the heart of challenges, or are they keeping you safe where no one will laugh at you?
