Austin, Texas

I am home, I am safe, and as sound as I possibly can be with the 2nd semester of law school beginning tomorrow. 

In my 30 days of traveling I entered a place where my world ceases to exist. A law degree does not matter in the dusty bordertown streets of Macao.  English is subordinate to Spanish.  Even, admittedly, a college football game pales in comparison to white sands and clear waters.

With sun darkened skin, salsa beats still resonating through my legs, a rested mind, and a full heart I bring this blog to another brief retirement. Thanks to all readers for traveling with me.

(roelgarcialaw.blogspot.com will be back in the summer - Possibly England, South of Spain, Morocco)

Closing Arguments

Before this blog arrives at another temporary pause I offer just a few evaluations...

1. In the US we have a skewed perspective of the current state of Colombia.  It is a country full of friendly, passionate, and incredibly attractive people.  It is home to one of the most beautiful beaches in the world in Tayrona.  I felt more safe in the capital of Bogota than in any other Latin American capital that I have visited.  With the help of the US, by funding Plan Colombia, and the Uribe administration, it is my own opinion that Colombia has become an overlooked jewel.  Only those who have visited can truly know the beauty that permeates every region.  It is the favorite South American country of many, and I understand why.

2. Colombia is home to the most beautiful women I have ever seen. period.

3.  Hugo Chavez needs to deliver results to the people of Venezuela.  In the little time I spent in the country I encountered little that would make me want to return.  Perhaps I am a bit blinded by the outward hatred explicitly expressed against my own country.  Regardless, by speaking with the citizens of the country, and having witnessed a Chavez speech in person, I can only conclude that progress in important areas is necessary. The upcoming referendum to amend the presidential term limits set in the Venezuelan constitution will have a great impact on the world.  Even more, relations with our new US administration will be critical to the everyday lives of those people with whom I had the privilege to speak. Which leads to my final point.

4. My one scary experience is not reflective of Latin America. Don't attach a judgment to my one crazy day in the wild west of Venezuela.

5. The world awaits Barack Obama.  Individuals from across the globe are intrigued by what will take place tomorrow in Washington DC.  It will effect them just as it effects us.  I was told that at what point in history America was a country that was respected and admired abroad.  At this point we are not.  This is not an observation from a pulpit, but rather a relay of the sentiment expressed in every hostel, in every taxi cab, and every bar.  I genuinely believe people want to embrace America again.

In conclusion, be aware of what is occurring in Venezuela and just go visit all the beauty that is Colombia.

Final Day

I had another encounter with the Bogota police today...

But before that I had a productive day of shopping and eating. It would be burdensome to lug around as much stuff as I always end up buying. Therefore, I shop at the end. After bargaining, comparing prices, and taking two trips to the ATM I have provided a substantial contribution to the Colombian economy. No, I didnt buy the gold accessories pictured here.

This being my last day I succumbed to entering the famous Museo de Oro here. I had refrained until today, but broke down assuming that this could be a place about which someone might inquire. Gold must be the longest running joke in the history of man. This is what so many cultures held precious? I look at the boring metal and cant help but laugh at how humans value it. Are we serious? I am now the record holder for the quickest tour through the museum.


I ate a quesadilla at a restaurant arbitrarily named Chicanos. I guess you could say that it was named so because it serves Mexican food. It is certainly not because the owner is Chicano. I know this, I asked. There isnt even a discount for Chicanos who dine-in, again I asked. On a similar point, more people in Colombia have been introduced to the term Chicano than those who actually constitute the group. It is how I have self-identified while here, after proudly claiming Los Estados Unidos.

In keeping with the food theme, I would like to introduce my readers to Arepas. This is the typical food of Colombia and Venezuela. They are made of maiz and filled with different kinds of ingredients including: ham, cheese, chorizo, chicken, mushrooms, etc. When not splurging on food this was the staple.

Now to the police. I must preface by writing that I am touting a really bad beard right now. It was an aesthetic effort to keep safe in Venezuela. Evidently I succceeded in looking haggard. In the nicest area of Bogota two policeman stopped to frisk me on a random check. These police do this from time to time at their discretion - I have stopped to watch on many an occasion. The situation became a satisfying culmination to my trip.


I tried to give the impression I was Colombian for as long as possible to get the full experience. They were firm and really thought I was a local. Only when they asked me to empy my pockets and out came my navy blue American passport did they realize I was foreign. We immediately became friends after that. One by one a new officer would come over to join the conversation and ask me questions. Eventually we had an entire group meeting in the middle of the bar area of the Zona Rosa. I am sure the affluent spectators must have been completely confused. Had these guys not been on duty we would have taken a few shots of Aguardiente together. We finished with handshakes and a picture (frankly, the worst I have taken on the trip).

And thats it. I walked away smiling, proud of my street spanish and of the people of this country. I will likely end the evening back at one of those bars and then waking up for my flight. I promise two more posts, one of a few observations and one of my arrival home.

Back in Bogota

This is how I got back:

Wednesday 9:30 PM - Depart Maracaibo, Ven. - I couldn´t have been more anxious to get out of Venezuela. I appreciate it for the learning experience, but the lady from whom I bought my tickets put the cherry on the sarcastic/figurative sundae by charging me an extra few dollars for ¨seguridad.¨ ¨security for what,¨ I asked, ¨for life¨ she responded. I bit my tongue, barely, and took my seat in the waiting area as if I had just got benched from the 4th quarter. At that point I came to a calming realization - I couldn´t win this stretch of the trip. I was starving myself trying not to eat because I didn´t want to give the country my money, much less pay the outrageous prices for food that is primarily ham and cheese. I tried my best to get across the border without doing anything. Yet finally, I decided to say the hell with it. I would eat and drink and be merry with my situation because Venezuela had completely succeeded in destroying my budget, showing me an awful time, and stressing me out. In that waiting area, I read ¨Love in the Time of Cholera¨and temporarily surrendered.

Thursday 6:00 AM - Arrive and Depart San Cristobal, Ven. - In this last stop before getting out of the ¨Patria, Socialismo, o Muerte¨themed country, I would meet a great taxi driver to get me across the border. We enjoyed a coffee and empanada at a small restaurant atop one of the many hills before getting started. We talked of Venezuela´s challenges and of In-4-More-Days-President Barack Obama. This was about the 24th time I had spoken of our incoming Columbia alumnus president. The crossing was easy, and I have started a new page in mypassport.

Thursday 8:30 AM - Arrive and Depart Cucuta, Col. - In a rush to get back to Bogota I took the ¨directo¨ bus onward. A 3 hour delay atop the rolling and curve intensive roads only made the trip 3 hours longer. Whats another 3 hours?

Friday 2:30 AM - Arrival in Bogota - Finally, I´m back in this tremendous city. I spent the day shopping for gifts and using the subway system pictured here. I plan to lounge the last two days away before reentering the American atmosphere.

The last few posts are ahead and promise to pour some soul into them to make up for these last two fillers.

Santa Marta, Colombia

Victory tastes so good. I had to wait three days to find out the outcome of the Fiesta Bowl game. Today the Texas Football website let me know that we won on the final drive. Congratulations to my team and school. In recognition, I am eating a burnt orange, Zapote flavored, ice cream to celebrate. If Oklahoma wins tonight then that would make us national champions, right? All the way from Colombia I am proud to be from Texas.

Parque Tayrona

I have reemerged from the hidden treasure in Colombia´s national park Tayrona. I am tempted to let the pictures boast for themselves but that just wouldn´t be a blog post.

Before entering the internet-less zone (and Fiesta-bowl-less) that Tayrona is, I had to figure out a way to get there from Taganga. We heard rumors through the backpacking grapevine that tourists were being turned away due to capacity. This being the high season, lines were supposedly long and even longer was the two hour walk from the park entrance to the beaches. So, a few of us cut a boat deal and chartered a small fishing boat with twin motors to take us via the carribean directly onto the beaches. Fortunately, one of the motors decided to stop working.

The motor cutting out was great because it allowed me to feel what it would be like to be caught in a storm in the middle of the sea (without actually being caught in the middle of the sea). I mean I´m talking huge waves splashing against the boat and all ten of us soaked and yelling in excitement/fear. Eventually the motor kicked in, and we sped across the choppy waters, freezing.

We landed on the beaches like the Spanish hundreds of years ago - gracious to be on dry ground and curious as to the treasure that might lay ahead. The treasure was the most relaxing days of my life on the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen. And here is the part where I really will let the pictures do the talking.

For three days I slept in a hammock, read on the beach, ate shrimp, and hiked jungles. That is all. My apprehensions about relaxing, evident in my Taganga post, were swept away by the clear greenish blue waters. Nights were spent sitting on the huge beached boulders, with only the moonlight to help us find our cervezas. There are certain images you will never forget in your life. Like the ruins of Tikal peaking out of the jungle canopies of Guatemala, the sun drenched waves crashing onto the white sands in Colombia while be etched into my memory forever.

As with any pleasure of life there is also the presence of the opposite. An army helicoptor had to swoop into our small tourist village to airlift a foreign tourist to the hospital. The night before she had succumbed to the powerful waves and evidently hurt her spine. Just today we were informed by the local newspaper and by word-of-mouth that 4 tourists died in the past week as a result of the wave/rocks combination. It is disconcerting to know that people lost their lives so close in proximity.

Even more, I saved a man´s life today as we trekked out of the park. The most dangerous thing I have witnessed while in Colombia is falling coconuts. Seriously. I witnessed one fall from a 50 ft+ coconut tree and was on my guard for the projectiles for the duration of the stay. My instinct would serve a local Colombian well. Some people passed by us entering the park as some of us passed by exiting. In one area, all tourists peered up into the branches of the trees to view the swinging monkeys. I learned from the Jungle Book to never trust monkeys. The man about to pass by me took his eyes off the one directly above him but I did not. My instinct told me it would happen, and it did. The monkey grabbed a coconut and tossed it directly down. I screamed out, the man stopped, and it whizzed 6 inches from his head. I don´t even know what to make of this.

The ways of the Carribean continue to be carry a magic quality. Clear waters, white sands, deadly waves, and monkeys just as deadly. I am always amazed.

I am in now in Santa Marta to wash clothes, shave, blog, and regroup beforing heading into Venezuela for a 9 day marathon.

Hook´em

Tomorrow I leave for Tayrona National Park. It is a place that is rumored to be the most beautiful in Colombia. I probably will not have much internet so I wanted to add this one more post. Even among paradise I will be in hades for at least 4 hours. It is the 4 hours I will not be able to watch the Longhorns in the Fiesta Bowl. It will be the darkest day of the trip. I will have my horns held high all the way from the beach tomorrow. Hook´em.

Taganga, Colombia

Since the new year began I have been living at a slow pace on the beaches of Taganga. The village is a small one located on the Carribean coast just north of Santa Marta. The days are simple. I wake up at an arbitrary time giving no respect to the numbers on my watch. Ginger cookies are consumed and accompanied by hot coffee for breakfast. When the sun is high my companions and I are on the beach. When the sun is down we sip the local rum and play cards. Details would be of no consequence. Nothing is elaborate, only simple and entirely sufficient.

It is indeed the peak tourist season. Yet, one can pick their desired level of crowdedness by beach shopping. a 5 minute coastal trek brings one to the most bustling beach - a 20 minute hike brings one to a more isolated one. I visited both, and enjoyed watching the fishermen bring in their daily catches from the clear green water. Because of the blazing sun we had to cut today´s swim short

Seafood is hit-or-miss for me, but the fish I ate for lunch in consecutive days were a delight. Fish infinitely better when at its freshest and I am pretty sure my platters could have been caught just after I ordered it (there certainly was enough time to do so between when my order was placed and when I receieved it). The fish was cooked over open flame in bowls of oils, complemented by plaintains and rice.

Such are the ways of the beach: no timeframe, simplicity, clear waters, hot sun, delicious food, etc. etc. One would assume this would be the most apt environment in which to relax. However, I find it to be a light struggle to completely set myself at ease. I constantly feel a pressure to act. It as if inaction has become an internalized wrong. It is only by conscious effort that I can enjoy moments that do not involve writing, producing, thinking, or moving. Case in point: It took a great amount of will for me not to get upset with the 1hr and 15 min wait for the cooked fish. Even among the dreadlocks, palm trees, and bikinis I am learning lessons that will help me to live better upon returning to the concrete jungles. Which is good, because I head to the national park Tayrona tomorrow and will have more white sands and clear waters into the next few days.

2009

Last night and this morning I said goodbye to 2008 in a way that I will remember forever. For me, the change of the year presents an opportunity to begin anew. It is like being absolved of sin by confession without having to say penance of 10 Our Fathers and 5 Hail Marys.

Most holidays are superficial to me. Most of them stem from something of which I can not feel and have over the years been altered to an unappealing state. However, New Years eve remains as special today as it likely was at the creation of the modern calendar. It is truly a day to celebrate.

And celebrate we did in Cartagena. Within the walls of the old city, among the Spanish architecture, to the beat of salsa music, I rang in the new year with hostel friends from different corners of the world. Underneath the fireworks display we exchanged hugs and kisses, sharing the common bond of being foreigners to each other, in a foreign land, recognizing the completion of the year we all had just lived.

There is no ¨last call¨ in Colombia. At 7am we emerged from the nightclub directly into the beach sunlight. Of all the thoughts and emotions felt over the course of the festivities one thought continued to resonate in my head as we exited: That I will never enter a new year in any fashion less celebratory than the way I entered 2009.

Cartagena Arrival

Before describing Cartagena I want to provide insight into one aspect of backpack travel - the hostel. I am always questioned about this from Americans at home. How do I find a place? what are they like? is it expensive? Answers vary, but Colombia has made the process quite easy for travellers. The guide books are outdated so one finds a hostel by word of mouth or by way of information at a hostel in another city. For instance, in Bogota the business cards of hostels in other frequently visited cities were tacked on a bulletin board. Internet is available and so is beer. Overall Colombia has had the most organized hostels of any country I have visited. Honestly, I havent paid close attention to the cost of stay at each hostel, but on average it is about $7 USD per night. They are filled with people from all over the world and it makes for a potential learning experience.

I include this hostel interlude because I had to hustle my way to find one in Cartagena. I followed my instinct to beat the traveller rush to Cartagena as the new year approaches. I arrived at the bus station in Medellin at 4pm hoping to get tickets for a 6pm bus. As I stood in line an employee of one of the bus companies approached me in a sly manner. He offered to get me on the 4;15 bus at a discount. Hesitant, yet excited to cut a deal to make things easier, I followed him directly to the bus, paid the baggage hand, and took my seat. I had no ticket but only the assurance of the conductor everything would be alright. I took their word and they kept it.

Arriving in Cartagena at 5am I had to find a place to live. The hostel at which I wanted to stay was completely full and they had no information on other places that had vacancy. So, I slept on the front couch hoping someone would check out. Not wanting to waste the morning, I eventually left my bags locked up and walked the beaches and the historic center. At 1pm I returned to find, to my relief, that one bad had opened up and I was given the reservation. My instinct to leave early and to throw on the charm with the ladies making the reservations served me well. Such are the difficulties of a backpacker.

I now find myself in Cartagena. A beach bordered city much like Panama City, Panama. The beach is not beautiful, but it is the proximity to colonial Cartagena that gives it an appeal. The new year has attracted tourists from all over the world and from within Colombia as well. There is an excitement in the air and I feel that that tonight will be eventful.

I caught up on sleep last night in preparation for the evening´s festivities. I always found it intriguing when the television coverage of new years in the US would show live feeds of major cities around the world. This will be my first New Year outside of my country.

Meddling in Medellin

If somebody had told me Medellin would be the most tranquil place I would visit on this trip I would have been hesitant to believe. Yet, so far it is true. Over three days here I have seen little that could qualify as a tourist attraction. So with little must-see places I have just been relaxing.

I took a couple walks to downtown to see more Botero sculptures. The bird pictured here is popular because it was blown up by a bomb during the cocaine wars that occurred here during the reign of Pablo Escobar. Speaking of the drug lord, the city gives little attention to his legacy. I didnt see any Pablo T-shirts for sale or posters paying homage. The cocaine is prevalent but the former mastermind behind its use is not.

Medellin is a gorgeous place. The weather and beauty is like that of San Francisco, CA. It is set among rolling hills and views are available in nearly every area. The aesthetics of the terrain match the aesthetics of the Paisas who live on it.

I spent a little time each day using the workout area pictured here. It is a make-shift gym just around the corner from my hostel. As the beach approaches I figured I needed to work off a bit of the food I have been devouring. Which leads me to another point, I am already a over budget. I didnt expect to be participating in this higher class living. Each hostel so far has been located in the more affluent areas, leading me to have to spend more on each meal. I am missing the tacos carts of Mexico.

I spent yesterday in front of the television. During the day I walked over to the Zona Rosa area to an American owned sports bar called Timeout. I witnessed the most violent episode I have ever encountered on a trip - the Eagles pounding the Cowboys out of playoff contention. The loss made me exhausted and figuratively sick so I took it easy for the night. I rewatched the latest Batman movie for the first time since Guatemala. The joker performance was just as good on the flat screen of the hostel as it was on the imax screen of the theater.

Oh, and in my own defense of this leg of the trip seeming "boring," there was one night of partying until 6am. The sun is alot more beautiful as it rises after a long night out as opposed to an all-nighter to finish an exam paper.

So now I say goodbye to Medellin and head to Cartagena to try and find a place to sleep.

Temporada Taurina

This post is dedicated to my Uncle Roger:

I finally attended a bullfight. For years I have yearned to sit around the wooden walled ring and peer down over at the glory and honor earned and displayed. In high school I accompanied my cousin Tex to bullfighting school in La Gloria, TX. There I was exposed to the intricacies of the sport. As with any art form, having a knowledge base from which to judge allows one to create a more valued if not solely more clear opinion.

That being said, I have not come to a conclusion as to the sport´s relation to civil life. Yet, having watched the fascinating spectacle I do think that it is a glory that might only be understood by the matador who is looking directly into the black eyes of a 500 kilo toro and those who attempt asses the undertaking from that perspective.

I saw 5 toros slain in total. The beauty is derived from the methodical way in which the ends is achieved. What starts as a team task is eventually widdled down to matador v. bull and on this day those of us on the side of opposable thumbs would win out.

Blood? yeah there was blood. Maybe I am a desensitized product of an exposed generation (and hunter culture) but the blood was not bothersome. In fact, amongst the red walls and brown sands it seemed almost natural - just another stroke of the brush on a masterpiece.

Who was I cheering for? the matador of course. Although, it does seem that many people innately feel for the bull as well. Even the older aged woman sitting next to me, who judging by her knowledge of the ongoings must have attended many a bullfight in her day, had sympathy for the bull. I guess the point to be gathered from this is that it really is an adversarial match. As much as it may seem to the naysayer that the bull has no chance, it is simply not the case. The toro is as much a loser to a contest as the matador certainly is if he makes that one small error in precision and grace.

Now can I throw all the politics out? If so, then let me say that bullfighting is damn cool. Through all the tradition I felt as if I was doing something that a 23 year old hundreds of years ago would have been doing across the Atlantic in old Spain. I got chills as the band began playing the traditional anthems and the entire crowd stood up belting out the lyrics in unison. Ole! Ole! was yelled which each pass of the cape.

And lastly, let me add this, just like Golf claims to be a gentleman´s game, so too is bullfighting. If a group of rowdy youths was getting out of hand with the jeers, the crowd would reprimand them. There are both times to cheer and times to be silent while participating. With regard to the actual fighting, there is skill to respect and also careless peformance that does not go unrecognized. In other words, if you are going to take/defend a life then you must do so in a forum that is worthy of respect and in a fashion that demands respect. Sounds a bit like a trial courtroom if you ask me.

It was a magnificent and dignified end to an incredible experience in Cali. There is no question that I will return to this city again and again. Just like is necessary when leaving any love, I tore myself away from the city abruptly. I left the Plaza by taxi, picked up my bags, and headed to straight to the bus station. I am now currently in Medellin after a 9 hour overnight ride.

Medellin posts coming soon.

Cabalgata

The Lonely Planet guidebook could not have been more correct ever in the history of its publishing then when it stated that Cali is the Texas of Colombia. It is very much so in more ways than to which it alluded. Let me count the ways.

First, the city takes great pride in the distinctness of its culture from that of the rest of the country. Some might say that it IS its own country. I do believe that we Texans do the same and wouldnt be crushed if we were to become the Republic of Texas once again.

Second, meat is the only food group. I will likely be fighting at the light-heavyweight class upon returning home. Sausages, steaks, kabobs and arepas con todo are available at all times during the day. I ate at the same restaurant 3 days in a row because I could get soup (possibly the best I have ever had), steak, beans, rice, and a drink for about $3USD. Sorry Texas but I actually like the steaks here a bit more.

Third, the women are stunning. I will not rant about this for more than a paragraph because I dont want to give the wrong impression. However the Caleñas may be deserving of an entire book if not at least an entire blog. They claim they are some of the beautiful in the world and I am beginning to agree. Even without the purchased assets it seems you can not look up without seeing someone that could grace the pages of a magazine. I am not even kidding here - this is a serious subject. Just another reason Cali is much like Texas.

Lastly, and most relevant to the event at hand, Cali has a ranch culture. The Cabalgata is a another Feria parade that showcases the prize horses of the region. I am not schooled in the area of stallions and mares and all that, but I could tell that these horses were extremely disciplined. The riders had a graceful control over the particular trot. Also, the crowd and riders were dressed in their cowboy best. Cowboy hats, jeans, and unbuttoned-buttoned downs were the attire of choice. The unbuttoned applied to the females as well it seemed.

I guess I could describe the horses more thoroughly, but I will just let the pictures convey the message. Right after this event I would catch a taxi to the Plaza de Toros for the bullfight.

Desfile de Salsodromo

I think that the best way of showcasing my experiences during the Feria de Cali is to split up the events. This post is all about the salsa parade.

Cali is consumed with salsa. Every club plays the music and every person knows how to dance it. The city takes great pride in its Rumba (party) lifestyle and it lives up to the hype. Although I have only been to a few places so far it is hard not to believe that Cali is truly the heartbeat of Colombia.

Under the hot Cali sun 5 hours of parade and music would ensue. The atmosphere was electric and the word FUN is enough to completely describe the vibe. The parade consisted of dance school after dance school performing a routine to blasting salsa music. The groups were organized in chronological order with the first group costumed as slaves from early Colombia and the last group concluding in modern attire. The dancing is unreal. Caleñas of all ages participated. Both younger (kids that looked as old as 7) and older (couples at least 70 years of age) entertained the crowd.

To just describe the parade would not be enough. The people around me made the event more special. You know when you go to a baseball game in America, and people try clapping in unison, and it seems everyone is off beat? ha, well that doesnt occur here. Spectators sang along with the lyrics of every song and we all would clap in sync. The day was filled with smiles, laughing, singing, dancing and more and more cowbell. If there was a break in the music then crowd would fill the void with their own beats.

Furthermore, I couldnt help but notice one another characterstic that was recognizable in the crowd. The African, European, and Indigenous ethnic backgrounds of the people here are all commingled and represented. It is a beautiful thing when people of all shades come together under a common love - in this instance music. The people of Cali are incredibly mixed and a de facto segregation is not apparent. It is both refreshing and laudable.

I am including this picture of me as proof I was there. It is difficult to be in your own pictures when traveling solo. I like this shot because of the three people looking into the camera with me. The next day I would go to the Cabalgata and a bullfight.

Christmas Eve

On this Christmas Eve I would like to say Merry Christmas to all readers and especially to my family. Although my Christmas tree is palm rather than evergreen, my meal is made up of international dishes rather than honey baked ham, my climate is tropical rather than frigid, and my music is salsa rather than Mariah Carey´s christmas album, I am still with my family in spirit on this special occasion. So what does one do when abroad on a world-wide holiday? answer: the same thing that everyone does.

The day was spent reading, lounging, and eating. Basically, the same way I would have spent the day if I were in the states. A minor interruption included some grocery shopping for the pot-luck style dinner that we had at the hostel. With representation from Germany, Belgium, Canada, France, Australia, and Colombia we had a variety of foods that made for a satisfying feast. My BBQ bacon cheeseburgers were a hit. I used fellow Columbia Alumnus Bob KRAFT´s BBQ sauce to give the meal an extra American ingredient. Some hammock swinging helped to digest all the food, and I called it a night to be ready for a big next day.

Feliz Navidad.

Calm Cali

So I spent the entire first day checking out the city of Cali. It is a noisy bustling place, lush with high sprawling trees and palms. Cars and people move about like army ants and always in the background is some salsa echoing from one of the hundreds of bars. Imagine a college town atmosphere but without the college. It is very apparent that it lives up to its Rumba reputation. I will be able to offer more about that scene following Christmas day - the Feria de Cali is set to begin then.

Until those anticipated posts I must write about some typical events. I ran around the city in my travel style visiting churches, landmarks, and commercial centers. I have covered all main parts of the city by following the rapid river that cuts straight through the center of town.

In the evening I feasted at an Argentinian restaurant again thoroughly enjoying the flavors of South America. Post food-coma I entered the main plaza to view the city-wide christmas lights display. The entirety of the banks of the river are covered in lights and lit scenes depicting cultural aspects of Colombia.

My time here has been mellow and I can only describe it as the calm before the storm that will take place as the Feria begins. My current hostel is pleasant. We are cooking up a christmas eve barbecue with each person cooking their own dish. It seems everyone will be representing their countries with their addition. I will represent my country of Texas with bacon cheeseburgers smothered in BBQ sauce.

Side note: I am currently 2-2 in Texas Holdém while travelling. Took out some gentlemanly Englishmen last night. Cards, drinks, food and Colombia: Merry Christmas.