I caught up on some movies (Moana and Lala Land!) before landing and finding Mark after immigration and customs. We headed back to his place, and were soon asleep - unlike last time, we both had work in the morning.
I wanted to check out where he worked, so he arranged for me to get a pass and wander around with him. I had to be escorted at all times, so that resulted in him dropping me off with his new coworker that came down a few weeks ago. This is the coworker/housemate that he has started playing board games pretty frequently with; we chatted about his favorites at home and Dominion strategies while Mark was running around. I called into a meeting or two while at his office, but didn't get much work done.
His office is pretty impressive - they cater to Americans, so have things like a store with imported products (with questionable expiration dates - I think those turkeys might have been there for a while) and a hair salon. Where I might have had us stop so I could get a haircut. Because labor in Colombia is cheap compared to the US, it was $13! A bargain for a full styling afterward as well.
Lunch was at a food truck that pulls up pretty frequently. They were serving Mediterranean, and we sat with a few of the coworkers that we were going to see in the evening for dinner - sneak preview of Mark's social life.
By the food truck was also a few tables of gorgeous produce, jams, honey, and yogurt-like dairy products (potentially kefir, which is what Mark had in his fridge instead). They apparently come weekly, though Mark walks to the grocery store that's maybe ten minutes from his apartment. The fruits are foreign, and so hit-or-miss. I love the dragonfruit, haven't had a goldenberry from here yet, didn't love the lulos I tried last time, and haven't had a good soursop to compare with the underripe one from last trip.
After a frustrating afternoon battling with the internet back at his place, Thursday ended with a dinner at Black Bear Cafe. Mark's coworker (who also lived in his flat) was finishing up his rotation, and another couple was headed back to the States in a week, so it was ostensibly for them, but I got a kick out of it too. The restaurant was so pretty - like so many things in Bogota, there was greenery, there was good design, and there was good taste. The service was slightly odd - it felt like we were rushed for ordering, then the meal came out in a slightly staggered way. The food looked and tasted good, but they were a little liberal on the sea salt, so every other bite had a little too much.
It was so good to meet more of the people in Mark's life. His manager, others in his office - all had great things to say about Bogota, about Colombia, and about his workplace. Those times that I was worried that he might be lonely or bored - no excuses now, Mark!
It wasn't too too late when we finished. The stream of runners and cyclists along the park's path was gone (another thing I like about Bogota - people are outside and active!) but some of us happened to be walking home in the same direction and looked for a bar on the way. Cheers-ing "little Mark" as he headed back to the States was top priority. A bar that might have been named Sports Palace fit the bill. A small cluster of people were around a few tables; a tiny dance floor was being used by two couples. We sat in the vacant outside area and ordered a bottle of rum. Mark has been telling me that this is how you do it in Colombia. (Given that his new coworker ordered vodka without having to buy the whole bottle might belay the truth, though maybe it is just cheaper in bulk.) We got Coca Colas in glass bottles that had no weird aftertaste (real sugar, perhaps?) and limes. The bottle got passed around the group of 8 or so, with no problem finishing it off, even for a weekday.
On Friday, I had been invited to Mark's boss's house to use her internet, since Mark's has been pretty spotty. Her nanny was there to let me in, so I started off on my 20-minute walking commute a little after Mark & co. left for work. Being out just at 8am was nice; a slight haze has covered most of my days here, and Friday morningwas no different. The weaving traffic stayed within the high curbs (which might be why there are such high curbs) as the flower shops, banks, convenience stores, and street peddlers were getting business done. Business suits weren't highly prevalent, with many more people casually dressed. (Granted, there could be a bias there, since I saw more people on bikes than walking, and cyclists move faster, so I saw a larger population of them...)
Regardless, the building I was aiming for was after a Royal Enfield dealership (the make of my motorcycle that's been hanging out all winter), in the middle of an urban forest - cars on the two lane road barreling along as 50-foot monsters shaded it all. I stumbled through telling the doorman where I was headed, and the nanny was there to greet me. I set up shop in their living room, and got to work.
I knew they had an 18-month-old, so hearing the noises and the toddling coming from her wasn't surprising. Around noon, I heard nails skittering, and a Schnauzer-type dog was surprised by me and barked before we became friendly. My work was clearly interrupted at 3 when a black and white cat found me, and she needed all the pets. I spent five minutes scratching and massaging, and, when I went to take a picture, she got jealous that my hand was doing something besides those and bumped against it. I had a cat's worth of hair on my lap, but I was able to transition to her just occupying the space - mostly on my lap, but partially on the keyboard - and finish up for the day. At one point, she stuck her face in mine to let me know that more attention was needed - a classic Ellie move, but without me getting licked as well. She kneaded her claws into me a few times, but very tenderly, so I couldn't complain (and didn't notice until later that I had tiny bumps on my jeans where she made little holes).
I commuted back to Mark's along Carrera 15. Bogota's address are enormously logical; "calles" go east-west, "carreras" go north south. An address is first the street it is on, then the cross street's number, then the building number: "So if you see an address 'calle 76 # 9-60', it means that the building you need is on calle 76, near where it crosses with carrera 9, and the building number is 60." (from http://www.howtobogota.com/2014/01/04/bogota-letter/).
I had dodged the rain that was thundering down most of the day. I wanted some wine with our "Italian" dinner of leftover spaghetti, so we walked to a convenience store and got a $16 bottle. Wine, sadly, is expensive compared to a lot of things. The trick if you're there for longer is to take a trip to Argentina, where the wine is cheaper, better, and you can bring back something like 30 bottles per person. You know, if you ever find yourself living in Colombia for a few years like Mark's boss.
Another coworker had reserved a lane at the local "tejo" place. Mark had told me about this cornhole-like game when he visited Jose's family a few weeks ago. There is a wooden container propped up against a wall with wet clay in it. The goal is to get into the metal circle embedded shallowly in it with your metal puck (the smallest are the size of hockey pucks; the largest are the diameter of an saucer but with an inch and a half of true killing power). The secondary goal (or primary, depending on your love of explosions) is to hit one of the four triangle packets of gunpowder that are placed on the metal disk. Hitting just the disk causes your flying metal object to ricochet off. Hitting the powder packet makes a giant bang! while your disk flies off - that's three points. Five points is if you stick it in the middle of the ring; one point if you stick it anywhere else. Given that we were averaging a single point per throw, and we were playing to 21, it was good there were four people per team.
Granted, we weren't sure that the points were exactly right, and we definitely made up a rule that if it bangs AND sticks in the middle of the circle, you get eight points, but between that and the beer, it was super awesome. (The food that got ordered was pretty rough - boiled meat, potatoes, and gross blood sausage - and the incredibly loud trio that was making musical noise right near us didn't detract too much. The Colombians danced away as we chucked heavy objects twenty feet down a lane just a few feet from them. The cheese grater instrument was definitely not my favorite.)
Curiously, there was a tiled urinal and tap right next to one side of our lane. Handy for the gents, I suppose. We were kind of taking a break between one of the sets when Mark casually picks a puck up, feels its heft, then underhands it for a perfect hit on the top popper. Bang! His first explosion of the evening! If he's making it look easy now, guess I'll go for it... and hit the same spot he did (which had been replaced with a new one). Bang! Two in a row when we hadn't had any previously!
Just so happens that the mighty bangs went off while one of the group was occupying the urinal three feet away. "It's like I was peeing in Vietnam!" he exclaimed, probably politically incorrectly. (This was the same guy that decided that the chicken was too good to leave as the club started closing at 10:30, so put some in his pocket for a snack as we walked back. Pocket meat!)
Our Saturday was pretty busy, so it was fine that we didn't get back much before midnight. One of Mark's roommates was shipping out in the morning (per that celebration dinner on Thursday), but his ride had gotten moved up from 4:15 to 4am. No one at the apartment was still awake when Mark got the news, so he woke up at 3:30am to let him know the updated arrival time. A caring guy, that Mark!
My 7:30am wake up call was much better (and Mark got some sleep after, so had to peel himself out of bed a second time). We were meeting Loon, a food tour guide, at the biggest fresh market in Bogota (or one of the biggest, it was unclear). An Australian, Loon has been in Colombia for a few years, writing and guiding, and he wanted to make sure we came hungry!
We wandered through the flower market, an outdoor area filled with tubs and tables stacked with greenery, roses, daisies, peacock flowers, sunflowers, and more. Just like the rest of the market, it was mostly trafficked by shopkeepers who bought from the wholesalers. There were a slew of neon-colored bouquets; it's a trend to dye or spray paint some of the flowers. The ground had splotches of the evidence.
We got to a stall, still partially outdoors, for our morning meal. I was ready! It was Mark and me, and two of his roommates, so we paired up to try the sancocho de pescado (a yellow-brothed catfish soup with some starches) and tamal (a bowl of plantain leaves with masa, rice, and yellow peas with some super tender chicken). Us Americans agreed that the tamal was the favorite there. I think the idea of soup for breakfast was just off-putting enough that we stuck with the grains we were expecting. Both had subtle flavors, which we kicked up a notch with like in the soup and hot sauce on the tamal. With that kind of start, the day was going to be great!
Next, we entered the maze of the indoor stalls. The building was constructed mostly seamlessly - unlike the shacks on top of Monserrate that were built out one by one, each adding another sheet of metal or plastic as a roof. The building was high-ceilinged, with restrooms that cost a coin, but walkways where two-abreast was possible, but only if no one was walking in the other direction pushing a cart or hauling crates or bags on their heads.
Like a bridge between the flowers outside and the food inside, a few shops were selling potted plants, including a lot of succulents. A leafy green one was waving, but only when Loon pointed it that it was marijuana did I see the five long finger-leaves. I didn't fully understand Loon's explanation of how legal weed is, but it is something like you're free to grow it but can't buy it. (Though maybe in plant form it is ok!)
We rounded the corner to the fruit section, with dozens and dozens of vendors in their stalls. Loon had his friend who "served" us - cutting the various new fruits into pieces for us to try.
Feijoa was the first on the list. It was green and had a rind like mango, but the flesh inside was soft. Loon asked us eagerly what we tasted. It was sweet and had a sweet flavor (don't ask me more what that means - I can describe a wine, but not a fruit), and Loon called it bubblegum! Apparently it's a hit in New Zealand.
Next was one that Mark had already tried and gotten me addicted to - pitaya. This is the kiwi-like dragonfruit. This is also the second time now I've been warned that it will - ah - clean your system if you eat more than two a day. Oh well - guess I'll just get my fix one at a time.
The "sugar mango" was a special treat. They had just come in the day before and have a short growing season. I had Mark pick some up for us on the way out - mangoes that are this juicy and ripe are a rarity in the States.
We scooped out a few of the tart berries that Loon described as "very healthy" and usually juiced, but he didn't have a name for them. My guess is a goji berry, but that description is pretty vague. The tartness was enjoyed by the Americans, but Loon grimaced.
The expressions were swapped when they cut open a granadilla for us to try. It reminded me of a pomegranate, where the seeds are encased in a gummy, slimy coating and you crunch down on them. Mark's roommates called it "alien fruit" and were too off put by the texture to enjoy the taste. Mark and I were fans though!
Next was the vegetable section. At the farmer's market at Mark's work, I had seen some pretty giant carrots. Loon explained that the extra UV light at this altitude and the fertile soil made the vegetables humongous. The giant carrots (easily the size of a fist) were right next to green onions that looked like leeks, and leeks that looked like... giant leeks? Their spinach and mild pepper varieties (with the pepper being described as a pepper crossed with a cucumber, but usually used to stuff with rice and meat) were the size of my forearm. Looking back at pictures, everything looks normal because it all has been scaled up!
I found a chayote squash - a mystery ingredient I had gotten in my Hungry Harvest basket a few weeks back and had to crowdsource the name of. There were two varieties of avocado - the larger, watery green one, which explains why guacamole is much thinner than we're used to, and the Hass (that I've been eating for breakfast every morning). At least four different types of potatoes came up, yellow, white, size of a baseball or a golfball. Starches continued with yucca, plantains, and hominy spotted among the stalls.
It was these starches that we got to try when we got to the fried food stand. Empanadas were what we get back home - corn dough, potato and meat tucked inside. What I enjoyed much more was the pastel de yuca: a mashed yuca coating in a mini football shape with a boiled egg poking out of the rice and meat mixture. Add some of the salsa fresca and it was a great texture.
As we were sitting at the little metal table outside the stand, we were essentially on a loading dock. Butchers came by with their blood-covered smocks and boots, which nearly led us to our next stop...
But we got sidetracked with the sweets. Loon got a tray, and it had three spectacular treats on it. A drink that looked like horchata, tasted like a slightly sweetened oatmeal, and had the creamiest taste was leaving white mustaches on us and the groups of families that were also clustered around the bakery stall. The other two were bread-based - a fried dough bun that had cheese inside the batter, making it super dense, super moist, and just a tad savory. The second bun was hollow, with a thick guava jam inside the crisp outer coating. It was trickier to eat - I definitely got sticky and getting the ratio of bun to jam was not perfected by me - but had great flavors and textures too.
Back to those butchers, we headed through the cases of prawns, octopus, and giant catfish to the cases of chicken and then finally to a stand (on yet another loading-dock-type area) with a smiling pig being doled out to customers. This roasted hog had been stuffed with rice before cooking, so the plateful was a mix of flavored rice and the tender meat. I was full at this point (and, honestly, if I'm going to eat meat, I'm not going to dilute it with rice), so grabbed some of the pork and let the guys dig in.
Loon's favorite coffee place was actually a mile away, a few blocks from the Museo de Oro (the Gold Museum showing intricate pre-Spanish art that Mark saw last weekend). We first hit a pastry shop to get a tres leches cake, then wound our way to the back of a souvenir shop. Tucked away, surrounded by rooms of tchotchkes, tshirts, and "certified emeralds", a little food court had a table with rainbow-woven cloth-backed chairs where I ordered a coffee (it is Colombia!), doctored it was as much milk and sugar as was on the table, and still only enjoyed it when I dipped some of the tres leches cake in it. Mark finished off the remainder of my half cup after drinking his black. No caffeine went to waste.
The caffeine was for nought because, after darting through the now-pouring rain to the Uber that took us home, Mark and I both napped before our massages.
She was slightly late, but set up the table in Mark's room. I went first.
I've gotten a good handful of chair massages free through work. I've paid for a back massage in Fiji and a massage in Thailand by a female convict. It probably shouldn't be that much of surprise that this massage was by far the best I've ever had (and for $30 an hour, a bargain!).
She did the typical legs, arms, neck (where I need it and love it the most), but included a stomach massage (slightly uncomfortable if you have anything in your bladder), a face massage, including ears and jawline (which, once she did it, I can't imagine a thorough massage without), and a light circling inning eyelids to massage my eyes. Remarkable.
Mark went next, then we both showered off the oil and started planning our evening. Mark had been contacted earlier in the week by - see if you can follow this - his cousin's wife's friend. Mark had met the guy eight years ago at his cousin's wedding in Medellin, and his English was great, so he helped translate Mark's toast.
He was going to pick us up for dinner, but we thankfully had time to finish the mediocre bottle of wine while playing a game of Dominion with his roommate. I found a strategy and stuck to it, while Mark got excited by a variety of cards and got sloppy. I won handily, and just in time for us to change (out of our post-shower scrubs) for dinner.
A silver SUV was waiting with Mark's Colombian friend. In the intervening years since the wedding, he has gotten married, had a kid, and been in Bogota, working at an international company that has kept his English up to snuff. His wife could understand, but was embarrassed to pronounce words. His kid was asleep most of the time, but got shy when he woke up and found "funny-talking strangers", as Mark put it. They had a cousin staying with them, an 18-year-old who was taking classes for a few months, who didn't know English, so got some stories translated.
We headed to a mall with a food court designed by Andres, who is responsible for elevating Colombian food to restaurant diners. Andres D.C. is a restaurant I've heard mixed things about - giant cuts of meat for cheap, but in a gaudy, loud environment - and this had aspects. Mark got a meat platter, the decorations were more colorful and bright than outright gaudy, but we had no trouble hearing each other. Understanding was much more difficult. Spanish is Bogota is so fast!
What makes me not enjoy the meat so far in Bogota is that it really isn't marinated or flavored with much. I much preferred my vegetarian quesadilla and the arepa cocana (definitely not right, but an arepa with cheese).
The juice station had a lot to pick from, but I wanted something with lulo, the citrus fruit Mark had eaten that was normally meant for juicing. I tried a pinalada, which had the lulo, corn, and pineapple, all fermented together, but nice and chunky. It was good, but the flavor was foreign enough (with the corn kernels floating around) I settled on the lulada, which was lulo with guava, chunky and served with sweetened condensed milk.
We spoke a lot in English, some in Spanish, with his wife translating particularly funny things to her cousin. When they pushed me to try aquadiente (their anise-flavored liquor), you didn't need to translate my puckering face. No translation was needed either when, as we were leaving the mall, my beltloop got stuck on a bench as I was trying to tease their little boy by sitting next to him. I was rescued, then proceeded to immediately turn and bounce my face off a sign next to the bench. Graceful, I know.
They drove us through Usaquen, a district a few blocks square that was a neighboring town that got swallowed by the urban sprawl of Bogota. It had its own plaza, with a church on one side and a mayor's office on the other. The tight streets have restaurants with Italian and Spanish names, with giant windows, stucco, brick, and exposed metal. I loved how cute it was, but it was hard to tell if any of it was authentically old or just meant to look that way. They pointed out their favorite pub - London Calling, a British one - as we circled away from the crowded epicenter back to the main roads.
Mark and I got dropped off with a "ciao!" and I made sure all my stuff was in a corner to make packing easier in the morning. Mark's requests (his giant set of Dominion, another game, another set of loungewear) had taken up a suitcase, so, at my 5am wake up call, I condensed it down to a backpack and a carryon.
We rode in the car with another American - he was doing work that touched some of Mark's teams, so they chatted and shared some products as we smoothly sailed to the airport. The lines on a Sunday to check in are much bigger than on a Monday, so it was nice to just get my boarding pass from a kiosk and go through immigration.
My passport continues to not scan in Colombia, so the guard took me to the supervisor for a quick once-over. Mark is convinced I need a new passport. I've still got pages left in this one - 7 out of 19! That's nearly half left!
This direct flight is certainly making me spoiled. I booked a flight for April that has me going through Miami before Bogota before Medellin - figured I'd get the same flight as Mark so I wouldn't have to land in a new foreign city by myself. That is going to be much more arduous than the 4.5 hours of flying time I've been used to.
Hasta luego, Colombia! See you in a month!
