colombia

Strangers talking to strangers

There were a lot of qualities of Calí, Colombia that I appreciated and enjoyed. When I returned on New Year’s Eve, one of my coworkers asked me what my favorite part of my trip was.

That’s always such a hard question for me. I hate playing favorites. I like multiple things for different reasons.

Other than the gigantic, delicious avocados, I really appreciated the camaraderie between individuals that I noticed.

It’s a place where the milk delivery man will stop to chat with your aunt for a solid 10 minutes — or even more!

It’s where people make eye contact with you as you walk by, acknowledging your existence! Not like in Seattle where strangers will do anything and everything in their power to avoid you. Here in Seattle, we’re all just Zombies starring at our cell phone screens … texting our friend, or playing Pokemon GO. The Seattleite may have even faked a phone call just to act like he or she was too preoccupied to look at you.

But Colombia is where a driver will pull over and ask the young boy doing chores, or the woman selling snacks from a street-side cart, directions to the next destination. Yes, they all have cell phones and use them for navigation, but sometimes the quickest way is to ask a fellow human. I think it’s also just in their nature to stop and ask a person, calling out “Hello, friend!” to a complete stranger. (And by “Hello, friend!” I obviously mean, “Hola, amigo!”)

In Colombia, it’s strangers helping strangers. Strangers actually talk to strangers.

Or, maybe they don’t consider anyone a stranger at all. They’re all maybe just one friend away to arriving at their intended destination.

 

colombia

The milk man

I was half awake still in bed as I heard a man’s voice coming from the front door. It was towards the end of our Colombia trip and I guess I was still trying to catch up on sleep. (It took us more than 24 hours to travel to Colombia from Seattle, Washington!)

Bryce poked his head into the bedroom to see if I was awake.

“Who is that talking?” I asked.

“The milk delivery man. He’s talking to my aunt,” he replied.

“But I only hear the man talking.”

“Everyone talks here!”

He didn’t mean it in a negative way. It was a friendly fact. Everyone talks to everyone as if they are old friends, even with the milk man!

It was around 8 am and I finally got out of bed and Bryce’s aunt walked by with a pot. The milk was inside.

I asked her in my broken Spanish if the milk man delivered in a car or on a motorcycle. She said on a moto. He has two canteens strapped to the back, full of milk, no biggie.

A friendly, and well-balanced, man! I mean, I’m assuming you’d have to have good balance to be able to drive a motorbike with canteens of milk in the back!

Just another morning in Cali, Colombia.