santiago--bogota--newyorkcity

Bogota, where I had a 12-hour layover, may be the most confusing city I've tried to navigate on my own. Colombia seems to be promoting tourism, with some bombass videos and really helpful tourism centers that even provide free tours of the city, but unfortunately, the strange arrangement of numbered streets (sin street signs) plus indicaciones malas from many friendly but wrong people together made for a bad situation. I couldn't find the pickup location and just winged it on my own.

One thing I realized--at the Museo de Arte Moderno Bogota, there was an exhibit about political cartoons from all over the world, and included artists from Bogota; similarly, in Buenos Aires, we always found exhibits that featured pretty piercing commentaries on life and politics all over South America, including Argentina. Whereas in New York, the political art in the big institutional museums like the Met or the MoMA is at least 30 years old, unless it's hidden away in Queens at PS1. We're still so careful. Or at the whim of large donors, perhaps.

Anyways, Bogota was pretty sweet, for the ten hours I was there. Of the four major cities where I've taken micros (or collectivos, as they're called in Peru and Argentina--small buses that go all over the city), Bogota was definitely the most interesting. First of all, there are buses that look like a cross between a school bus and a tank, which is a little unsettling especially given the large numbers of uniformed men carrying large guns in the city center. Second, when you get on the bus, you have to squeeze yourself through this tiny space, turn the turnstile, and hand your 1300pesos to the driver, who has already started driving and will simultaneously shift while counting your money and finding change. Then, standing on the bus is like riding a bull--I swear there were times when if I hadn't been desperately hanging out to the seat backs (designed for absolutely no grip), I would have been flung probably all the way through the windshield. And finally, somehow the seats are too small even for me, making for some creative sitting positions--most people's legs were bent in some strange configuration.

But I survived, took the micro all the way back to the airport, and after a surprisingly pleasant flight on Avianca am BACK IN NEW YORK CITY! Which doesn't seem to have changed much, besides this ridiculous rain and wind and also wtf why is a subway ride $2.25?

It's strange to be back in the States again, and I have to train myself to both speak in English and to expect to hear English--I accidentally said "gracias" to my waitress today and still assume that English speakers I hear are gringo travelers who don't know Spanish. Which may be true, metaphorically, in some way, I suppose. But oh! New York! I don't understand it either, but the loudness of the metro, the endless stretches of pavement, the familiarity of this campus, are comforting to my soul.