Well, that's new to me.

I have a secret admirer. Twice now I’ve found mysterious little gifts attached to my door – a flower crafted out of wire, and a heart-shaped balloon. Of all the unexpected occurrences that I could potentially encounter in this country, this would happen. Kind of fun though. I suspect the neighbor boy across the hall. We hung out a bit the weekend before last – Saturday night, went to a spot down the street to hear a band play costeña music and spy on the U.S. ambassador, who was there attempting to soak in a little culture incognito. And Sunday morning we went to the Gold Museum, which was surprisingly more interesting than I expected. But I believe now this boy is smitten. Or the real culprit is still out there…

More importantly, that Sunday I also attended an event as part of my internship, a concert supporting a group of men who are going through some complicated, and completely unjust, court procedures. All for organizing a workers’ strike two years ago – something they have every right to do. Even more alarmingly, for their leadership role in the strike, these men and their families have been the target of some serious intimidation tactics, even threats on their lives. This is not uncommon. Labor rights are a huge issue in this country. For example, out of 101 unionists murdered last year worldwide, 48 were Colombian. So almost half. Often because they choose to exercise rights that we in the States take for granted.

After the event Sunday, one of my duties was to write a short blog post about the event for Witness’s website, which you can read HERE, the first entry for October. Other duties lately: making speakers’ tour promotional videos, translating, and accompanying another event this past weekend (I’ll elaborate on this in the next post).

Back home in hostelworld, I pass the evenings with my neighbors and occasionally get to witness happy travelers making memories. The other night, for example, I came across Miguel in the restaurant, having a few beers after hours with some guys from the neighborhood. I joined, and eventually a few backpackers wandered in – a Brazilian and a Canadian who wanted food but settled for the wine that Miguel offered. More time goes by. Miguel is being loud and dancing. My other neighbors egg him on. The Israeli guy from across the street comes in, Hebrew-speaking black lab always in tow. A bum outside passes by the open door with his cart and stops, a huge teeth-baring smile plastered on his face, eyes glazed over. Miguel calls out to him, the guy keeps smiling brainlessly, Miguel praises him as the happiest man he knows, then blasts the music and goes on singing in Portuguese. It wouldn’t have been that noteworthy of a night, except what I really liked was watching how much the backpackers were enjoying the whole scene. They absolutely loved it. “Life is so random,” the girl says, and it’s fun because I know that feeling when you just stumble upon the unexpected. And when a situation so normal to some people, seems so extraordinary to someone else.

Some other ordinary things that are new to me: Using the Transmilenio, the city’s mass transit system, which is highly confusing and obnoxious in my opinion. But a challenge. Also, foods like arepas – corn patties grilled and usually filled with cheese or meat, or just loaded with butter and salt, and chicha – traditional indigenous fermented corn drink, really sweet and somehow delicious, unlike the Mexican counterpart (pulque) which I hated. I also drink a lot of tinto – black coffee, served in tiny, tiny little cups.

I could go on. But long story short, there’s plenty to discover in Bogotá.