Day 677: Oh, Colombia

Just LOOK at these faces

People. It's nearly always the people. And the mountains, I suppose, and the birds. And the lush leaves hanging over grass so green it almost looks painted, fat drops gathering their strength to leap from the leaf. Dogs of different sizes, shapes and stink ratings. Rivers. But the people... all that without people is still beautiful, but less enjoyable, for me.

Among the new wonderful people are Karen, Julian and Tea, pronounced Tay-a, also known as Teteretete, Sunene, Chunene and many other names (she is 4 months old – she doesn't care what we call her as long as we do it with wide eyes full of love). 

Wolf (not new, but revisited, a good, solid egg; I love him a little bit) and in that place also Luna, old blonde dog girl with eyes like all the love and sweetness in all the souls in all the world melted together and poured like liquid chocolate into that one dog, so she can look at you that and make you remember that we are all divinity in different shells; Rintin, her milk chocolate,coloured son, bread fanatic, yearny, yearny wanter of anything edible. They both do upside down quite well. There's Janka, beautiful tortoiseshell not quite kitten any more, skinny, pretty and terrified of being touched and Uma (Thurman), skinny grey girlcat with a permanent purr and lap-tenacity beyond belief, both food sirens, and not in a mermaid way.

Doll by Amigo de Sito (fb)

In Mocoa, of particular pleasure were smiling embodiment of mother energy, Mercedes and her much more serious husband Luis. Annie, delicious, delightful shining ball of light from Norway, determined, gentle, funny and affectionate, intelligent and courageous. Oh, and Arne, a really very pleasing man, gentle and strong, funny and clear and kind, with eyes that smile like hindu gods, hugs that make the world seem safe again. His daughters are in luck. They will expect a lot of the men in their lives with his example. Lots of other lovely people too, and these last two are the ones I'm craving more of. You moreish nuts, you. You fudges. You slivers of blue cheese calling me from the fridge.

Natascha playing it cool

Oh, and being beaten with huge nettles, leaves bigger than your face, sting-hairs like thorns. It was surprisingly gentle – I swear the little ones sting harder, though the welts from these were fat – and followed by a wayra-bashing with harmonica, hot palo santo burnt near the chakras and lots of singing. Mint. I liked it so much, I asked for it a second time.

And now I'm offered laughing, life-rich Irene and her confident daughters, Simone and Maria. I have only just arrived, but already we have played and laughed and juggled, collected sticks, and generally had fun. Ich bin gespannt – looking forward to the book- and doll-making I'm about to do with them. I have also been treated to Celeste, an older version of Luna with less cosmic eyes unless you're scratching her, in which case, almost as much universe in them, and lots of bliss. 

Beautiful family

Then there's Natascha, scruffy, with a hairbody that makes her head look like someone replaced her dog-sized skull with a rabbit's head while she was asleep. It's only just possible not to bellow 'PiiiiinHeeeaaad' as I pet her. I'm holding back. And my favourite, scaredy, licky, beautiful Osita (Little Bear), a tall black delight of a dog, low status in the pack, such a gentle soul. I am spoilt here. Again.

Colombians, culturally, it seems, are lovely, generous, open. It's not what the guide books say, as such. Well, maybe they do, but they also tell you you're pretty likely to get mugged, raped, killed or kidnapped... probably all of them. My experience is definitely not that.

Looking for wifi and soup the other day, Annie and I asked around. The wifi was a no-go, so we asked where we could get soup. A very sweet young man said 'I'll ask my mother' and she said sat us down in her home and fed us a delicious soup with rice and sweet black coffee, chatted with us, and then wouldn't take a thing for it. She just fed us because we were there. She said her mother taught her always to cook at least two extra portions in case someone needed feeding. That day, it was us. Grateful, warmed and full, we left smiling.

Uma. Uma Thurman

Today, after an all-night bus up the country, I met a woman in Bogota who had made me a jacket. She drove to where I was to deliver it and then she and her husband drove me miles to a Transmilenio stop to catch my bus. Honestly, we were in their car for half an hour, it felt like. And all the way lovely, warm, funny and open. We can do more of that in Europe, I think. Imagine having the trust to just bring people into your house and feed them, or drive them half an hour in your car because they have a bag, and you can. I did bring a stranger home and feed her once in Scotland (only the second place I've had that's truly mine, not shared), but I'd been at a dance class with the woman and she was visiting Edinburgh, so it's not like she just turned up at my house on a hunt for soup. It was fun. We had a ginger footbath a trois, I remember, with Lovely Ruth. But it's not the norm. I turn away from people all the time. I would like to learn.

Celeste in the Sorting Hat

So as I prepare to leave this country, for now, at least, and this whole, fabulous continent, I vow to carry with me some of its warmth and openness, some of its easy laughter, so much of its beauty. I will fly with hummingbirds in my eyes and leaves the size of torsos in my heart. 

The Sacred Valley mountains of Peru have never stopped singing me to them, nor Bolivia's tropical hills and sudden, rising clouds. The endless stream of dogs will stay with me. The contrasts – city and countryside are so deeply different to each other. Where one has skyscrapers and 10-lane city highways, the other has no walls, only-just roofs, no electricity, dirt roads that melt with rain and make a boat the only way to travel. The magic and the power of this place has changed me. Let's see what England makes of it.