On this fine day, I said goodbye to the majority of the group members who would remain in Bogota for their school missions, but not before one last cultural event together. We would, thanks to Uncle Sam, transport to a world of gold and witness the craftsmanship of the indigenous cultures of present-day Colombia. I, along with my colleague, Jessica, marveled at the intricate designs of various artifacts, such as birds and turtles, produced by molding techniques lost to the long sweep of history. In addition, I was shocked at the intense weight of some of the nose rings worn by the shamans and other leaders of these various tribes. No wonder the Spanish, for whom gold produced intense avarice, believed the land awash in indescribable wealth--because the ancients' skill in artistry and in forming this malleable metal made the worth--not necessarily the plentiful element itself. The Spanish, on the other hand, lusted at the promise of unlimited wealth--and I, personally, shuddered at the thought of innocent men, women, and even children losing their hands simply because they did not meet the daily quotas. One exhibit, the legend of El Dorado, will remain lodged in my memory forever. Lake Guatavita, where the leader of the Muisca tribe would wash gold dust off his body and followers would subsequently toss gold jewelry as offerings to the gods, was believed to have given rise to the famous City of Gold. The Conquistadors brutally altered the landscape at one point to drain it in order to extract all its riches, but , having succeeded, the lake bottom turned to mud as hard as concrete--and few artifacts were recovered.
AFTERWARDS....
For those that know me, this may come as a shocker, but I separated myself from the group-at-large. I just get caught up in all of the knowledge a museum has to offer. Most folks want to take a few sips from the cauldron of knowledge and move on, but I like to drain it dry. Thus, I set off on my own to explore the city. Yet, by some kind of divine intervention, my Cartagena cohort, Jennifer Chavez-Miller, John Clark, and Sherri Anderson, sat sipping Colombian coffee at a table next to the gift shop. So, we headed out to explore the city--and what a day to do so---and it all began with a fight over a vase. The city was ablaze with activity, and we all marvelled at the ingenuity of the guinea pig races. Locals would place coins on one of fifteen guinea pig houses, and when the rodents released from their pens, they ran for cover. Whichever house the first guinea pig hid under won the jackpot. I loved this little race! Then, we listened to authentic, tradition Colombian tribal music, played with flutes that looked like life-size tobacco pipes and African drums, and, of course, the musicians dressed in traditional garb. Then, my colleagues and I toured the Flower Pot Museum. Don't Laugh! Colombia's independence began over a spat that involved a vase. Apparently, one of Bogota's elite politicians wanted to throw a party, and the Spanish government stated that a crown sanctioned vase must be conspicuously displayed. A fight erupted, the vase shattered, and Colombia declared independence.
We also enjoyed touring several churches, though we could only gain access to two--Iglesia de la Candelaria (no photographs permitted) and Cathedral Primada, though we also enjoyed viewing the architecture of several others. Walking through these ancient churches filled me with wonder and awe, reminding me once again that artistic expression is a gift of the almighty.
Because it was a Colombian holiday, we also toured the Gabriel Garcia Marquez Cultural Center, where we spent time in the bookstore.
Later, we ate the most scrumptious dinner at Mama Lupe's, a charming cafe nestled in a side street, but I have never tasted such sweet plantains in all my life. I ordered a delightful steak, yet my colleagues and I sampled from all of our dishes. Thus, it was at this spot that I allowed my germophobia to release its hold on me--and the resulting gustatory pleasures delighted my cerebellum. And, for dessert, ordered Marriage, as opposed to Divorce, in honor of my anniversary, and shared with my colleagues. Such a sweet dessert to be shared with such wonderful people!
After finally visiting the outside of the Palace de Bolivar, which had been closed and tightly controlled during the day, we decided to call it a day and head for the hotel. Our Colombian expert, Nick, told us to go into any restaurant and the proprietor would call us a cab. Apparently, according to our embassy debrief, hailing a taxi on your own is like volunteering to bankroll the FARQ--as kidnapping was highly probable. Sherri, who excelled at Spanish, requested a three different restaurants--and no one would accommodate us. One late night street vendor, according to Sherri, referred to us as "lost, $%^&ing Americans." While I regret the slur, we were, indeed, very lost. One man, a Dutchman out for some late night shopping, advised us to walk a few blocks to a hotel and request a cab. Two blocks later, the entire ambiance changed as we entered the business district. One man, dressed in a nice suit, approached us and stated armed robbers had stolen his wallet, and he just needed a few thousand pesos to catch the bus home. I dug into my wallet, moved by his story, and my colleagues pushed me forward, chastising me for my gullibility. "He was wearing a suit!" "That he bought at a thrift shop,and if he lived around here, he would know how to avoid getting robbed," said my colleague John.
At last, we saw a Bogota Beer Company, with a clearly marked sign that read "We will call you a cab here!" We ordered a drink, and we all drank slowly, knowing this magical day and our time in this beautiful city had come to an end.
The cabbie overcharged us a little--but we did not care. It was late.
For those that know me, this may come as a shocker, but I separated myself from the group-at-large. I just get caught up in all of the knowledge a museum has to offer. Most folks want to take a few sips from the cauldron of knowledge and move on, but I like to drain it dry. Thus, I set off on my own to explore the city. Yet, by some kind of divine intervention, my Cartagena cohort, Jennifer Chavez-Miller, John Clark, and Sherri Anderson, sat sipping Colombian coffee at a table next to the gift shop. So, we headed out to explore the city--and what a day to do so---and it all began with a fight over a vase. The city was ablaze with activity, and we all marvelled at the ingenuity of the guinea pig races. Locals would place coins on one of fifteen guinea pig houses, and when the rodents released from their pens, they ran for cover. Whichever house the first guinea pig hid under won the jackpot. I loved this little race! Then, we listened to authentic, tradition Colombian tribal music, played with flutes that looked like life-size tobacco pipes and African drums, and, of course, the musicians dressed in traditional garb. Then, my colleagues and I toured the Flower Pot Museum. Don't Laugh! Colombia's independence began over a spat that involved a vase. Apparently, one of Bogota's elite politicians wanted to throw a party, and the Spanish government stated that a crown sanctioned vase must be conspicuously displayed. A fight erupted, the vase shattered, and Colombia declared independence.
We also enjoyed touring several churches, though we could only gain access to two--Iglesia de la Candelaria (no photographs permitted) and Cathedral Primada, though we also enjoyed viewing the architecture of several others. Walking through these ancient churches filled me with wonder and awe, reminding me once again that artistic expression is a gift of the almighty.
Because it was a Colombian holiday, we also toured the Gabriel Garcia Marquez Cultural Center, where we spent time in the bookstore.
Later, we ate the most scrumptious dinner at Mama Lupe's, a charming cafe nestled in a side street, but I have never tasted such sweet plantains in all my life. I ordered a delightful steak, yet my colleagues and I sampled from all of our dishes. Thus, it was at this spot that I allowed my germophobia to release its hold on me--and the resulting gustatory pleasures delighted my cerebellum. And, for dessert, ordered Marriage, as opposed to Divorce, in honor of my anniversary, and shared with my colleagues. Such a sweet dessert to be shared with such wonderful people!
After finally visiting the outside of the Palace de Bolivar, which had been closed and tightly controlled during the day, we decided to call it a day and head for the hotel. Our Colombian expert, Nick, told us to go into any restaurant and the proprietor would call us a cab. Apparently, according to our embassy debrief, hailing a taxi on your own is like volunteering to bankroll the FARQ--as kidnapping was highly probable. Sherri, who excelled at Spanish, requested a three different restaurants--and no one would accommodate us. One late night street vendor, according to Sherri, referred to us as "lost, $%^&ing Americans." While I regret the slur, we were, indeed, very lost. One man, a Dutchman out for some late night shopping, advised us to walk a few blocks to a hotel and request a cab. Two blocks later, the entire ambiance changed as we entered the business district. One man, dressed in a nice suit, approached us and stated armed robbers had stolen his wallet, and he just needed a few thousand pesos to catch the bus home. I dug into my wallet, moved by his story, and my colleagues pushed me forward, chastising me for my gullibility. "He was wearing a suit!" "That he bought at a thrift shop,and if he lived around here, he would know how to avoid getting robbed," said my colleague John.
At last, we saw a Bogota Beer Company, with a clearly marked sign that read "We will call you a cab here!" We ordered a drink, and we all drank slowly, knowing this magical day and our time in this beautiful city had come to an end.
The cabbie overcharged us a little--but we did not care. It was late.