El Dia Sin Carro

There was a familiar gathering this morning. A collection of two-wheeled green machines. Most carrying a sole driver. Others carrying some Colombian resourcefulness and extra passengers. Nearly all plugged into headphones, confirming attendance at this mornings traffic lit silent disco.

One of the reasons I thought Bogota would make a good layover on life's journey, is the local commitment to cycling. With the Sunday Ciclovia (link to a nice video worth 9:42mins of your day) and over 300km's of designated cycle paths, it sometimes feels like a South American version of Amsterdam.

Somedays I even cycle through the lingering and soothing scent of marijuana.

En-route to school each day i'm halted by bicycle lane traffic lights on Avenida 19 and Calle 153.

This mornings gathering was larger than usual.

'El dia sin carro', 'the day without car'. Taxis and buses are excused, so the bike lane traffic light still shone red. As the minutes ticked by the silent disco grew. On pause, I shared the bike lane with toddlers, pensioners, two ciclovia cycle assistance staff, a teacher & his whole high school class, and a Phil Collins look-a-like. All smiling, choking on pure, fresh air, and either foot-tapping or playing handlebar percussion. As red turned to green, we shuffled into place like a nervous orchestra. He goes left, she goes right and they seem to follow me while i follow her. To my soundtrack of the George Baker Selection, it seems we're all strangely connected and following a script we collectively dreamt last night. All off in different directions but on the same secret and cool mission. We're probably going to hide all the car keys in Bogota so we can enjoy another dia sin carro. In reality we're simply on the next leg of the mornings commute. A commute without sitting in traffic looking miserable, without horns & road-rage, without oil dependency, and without emissions (unless you count the after effects of my spicy chicken wrap last night).

For me, everyday is 'el dia sin carro'.

Try it.

You're toned buttocks and shapely thighs will thank-you later.

Feliz,

- Glenn x

An Open Letter to Class 1.4

Dear Children,

This week has been a challenging one. I'm sorry my patience has appeared thin. I'm also sorry for breaking wind and blaming one of you, the food in our cafeteria plays havoc with my delicate digestive system. Talking of food, i really enjoyed watching Ratatouille with you, and learning all about the job of a chef. Taking over the auditorium and enjoying a movie is a good education. Firstly, it gets us out of our dated classroom - i remain guilty we can't have a proper reading corner, sofas, an interactive whiteboard, carpets, a non-leaking roof etc. Maybe next year. Bureaucracy and excuses are terrible things - secondly, it's simply good to watch movies. Life lessons come in Disney form. And later in the form of Pulp Fiction, Goodfellas and Talladega Nights.

I'd like to be a chef one day, though not a rat chef. My restaurant would be relaxed, small, cosy and near the coast. Much like my ideal classroom. As you said yourselves in our 'hands on - jobs' unit, people don't have to have just one job. While i enjoy teaching and especially teaching you, i don't think it will be forever. Like i said, sometimes my patience appears thin, and change is rarely a bad thing. However, your ability to remain smiley, happy and animated when i'm trying to be serious makes me look forward to next week. Life shouldn't be serious, and neither should Mr Glenn.

I promise more energy and patience... if you promise to always continue being curious, open, loving, and quick to forgive.

With Love,

- Mr Glenn x

Spontaneity Serves

It's lavishly called 'el Portal del Norte', but in truth it's simply lots of buses pulling up to the curbside of the autopista. To the un-trained eye it's organised chaos, but on closer inspection it's organised chaos. Each bus having a small sign on the front window, indicating it's final destination, and a drivers mate shouting the destination as the bus adds itself to the canvas of noise, activity and colour on the roadside. In the 5 seconds from sidewalk to bus i could have bought copied DVD's, faux-adidas socks, popsicles, beer, empanadas and kitchen utensils.

Welcome to Bogota, escape to the country.

Our destination was un-decided. Laguna Guatavita for rolling countryside and fools gold, or Suesca for rock-climbing. Fate decided the next bus was for Guatavita, so we boarded. I didn't know a lake could close, but we paid our entrance fee with one minute to spare before the gates were locked. The laguna is the site of Muisca mysticism and many plundered treasure hunts, all set amid rolling green and almost English countryside.

I've always took pride in finding ways to feel 'at home' wherever i am. After all, the UK number one single the week i was born was Paul Young's 'wherever i lay my hat, that's my home'. However, Bogota isn't quite home just yet. Maybe it's my procrastination addiction hampering my Spanish language ability, maybe it's the daily rain showers, or maybe it's just a thought i'm inventing.

From Guatavita we took 5's-ies in a farmhouse shack, and found a bus to Suesca. Sticking to the no-plan-plan we'd enjoyed an Argentinian steak and checked into a farmhouse hostel by 9pm. Sunday saw a leisurely breakfast, the Colombian staple of hot chocolate with cheese, rock climbing and a bus back to the hustle & traffic of the city.

This new year i resolve to fall in love with Bogota and Colombia, to speak near fluent Spanish and, to get out and explore despite confusion and inclement weather.

Now if only i could find a job where i'm not governed by a clock...

Love & Hope,

- Glenn x

In Transit

For someone who's technically 'in-transit', i find myself very static. The final flight of the evening is just boarding. Soon the departure lounge will be all but empty. For the last two hours, we've shared departure gates 11-12 and the smell of my well-traveled feet. Now they're off to Miami. This leaves me, my socks and my temporary base-camp in Starbucks solitude. The staff here have been good enough to keep the shutters up, thus enabling me to enjoy the sofa and electrical sockets till sunrise.

I have a brown faux-leather sofa within cables reach of electrofantastic juice for the laptop. This juice is being shared with the phone, who's battery died during a particularly frantic 'Words With Friends' match. A table has been fashioned from a footrest. Upon there rest my feet and a (possibly contaminated) hot chocolate and apricot muffin. I haven't decided if the muffin is a late night snack or breakfast yet.

As the minutes pass by i find myself contemplating not ever being able to leave the transit departure lounge. My passport and I, we were stamped out of Argentina but not stamped into Chile. The transit lounge is no-mans land. I'm here but nowhere. Maybe i don't even exist beyond this sofa. I'd be on first name terms with all the guys and gals at Starbucks, i'd have a different friend on the sofa each day, and maybe the cleaners would let me ride their cool electronic cart once in a while. I'd collect a small library of discarded books and wear a different duty free scent everyday. Though i'm pretty sure these imaginations might be a film i've seen...

Anyway.

Having just completed 'Brida' by Paulo Coehlo, the discarded book library gives me an idea. The book will be left here on my footrest as a gift for a stranger. #recyclebooks

With a resolution to write a little more often, providing i make it out of transit.

Love,

- Glenn x