The worst part of traveling

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And he is not the one either. This aircraft mechanic from the Air Force, tall, handsome, with a smile so wide that it seems he has more teeth than the rest of the people. With eyes of a beautifully indefinite blue. And with a pin up girl tattooed on his ribs. He, who bought me a pair of flowers so a beggar would stop chasing us through the streets of Bogota on a Sunday night. He, who carried me in his arms so I would not hurt my feet among the stones of a honey-moon-that-we- are-never-going - to-have-lonely Read more [...]

Prelude: Colombia, tierra querida

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There is nothing better than regressions on a story, right? So let’s begin: I just arrived to Bogota in a prelude of my trip to Madrid, Spain. 9-hour layover. Airport? Obviously NO. Luckily, I have two lifesavers: Pedro and Carlos. The first one was a potential victim of IICD. The second one, a survivor of IICD Michigan and official recruiter, so be careful when you talk to him, because he is sooooo lovely that you can end up like me: spending months in Africa carrying water from the well, and Read more [...]