Northern Colombia was simply magical. The magenta bougainvillea tumbling down burnt orange stained Spanish Colonial buildings on cobbled streets of old Cartegena gave way to day dreams of Gabriel Garcia Marquez as a young student following the revolts of Bogota's past. At night the city came alive with rum soaked salsa dancing till the early hours of the morning. The generations of Colombians sitting and talking in poetic Spanish rhythms made me realize I was experiencing something unique, historical even. After years of civil and political unrest, Colombia is safe enough for gringo backpackers to dance salsa and lay beachside, wander into the Amazon (But not too far in..), and converse with locals about what it means to be a Colombian in 2010. The sky seemed bluer, the ocean clearer, the sand whiter and the people more beautiful in Colombia. Our adventures to an island where we slept in our tent on the beach eating fried fish and plantains, slicing mangos with a pocket knife and swimming amongst the starfish will keep me daydreaming for months, even years to come.
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