CRAZY LIFE

February 4th, 11pm over the rooftops of the artist district San Blas in Cusco: Paul and I unsuspectingly do our check-in for the next day's flight to Colombia, which is supposed to depart around noon. Unfortunately, we have to realize that it has been moved forward to 6am in the morning, well then the farewell cocktail is probably off. Paul doesn't want to give up yet and opens the help chat of the airline, describes our problem and wants to rebook the flight. "Sofí" types... And says: "At this point, we can end the nonsense" and closes the chat. Alright, then off to bed.

February 5th, 5am at the check-in counter. Believing that the digital age has also reached Peru, we show our ticket on the tablet. That will cost another 60 euros, as it must be presented in print, no exceptions. Paul runs. To a taxi driver who luckily has a friend in a hotel. They race there, print out the stuff and he comes back four minutes before the check-in closes, we check in our luggage and have made it for now.

Our layover is in the seaside capital of Peru: Lima. 11 hours layover, a small trip to the city is worthwhile! We leave the airport and are greeted at 9am by a surprising, oppressive, smoggy heat. Paul gets red spots on his forehead after a short time, sweat runs down his black clothes and I am overwhelmed by the honking and aggressive driving style of the screaming bus driver. It takes an hour and a half for our less than 20km ride, until we get off with slight nausea and longing for the silence of Janajpacha. We are approached by a very nice woman, Wendy, and her mother Juanita, who give us detailed restaurant recommendations, which we unfortunately still can't find. But we find Hermann, a German-speaking Peruvian who looks lovely, or rather he finds us and doesn't want to leave us anymore. He takes us to a small dive where we have a mediocre breakfast and have an animated conversation with him about dyslexia. Suddenly, Wendy comes around the corner, she had been looking for us and wants to offer us a shower at her mother's apartment and invite us to lunch in the aforementioned unfound restaurant. Just 20 minutes in the center of Lima and we already feel like we've been here for a week. So that's what we do, we enter the messy apartment and are delighted with so much openness and uncomplicatedness. After conversations about spirituality and some exotic fruits, a seashell necklace, and a Machu Picchu pendant, we finally go out for a delicious meal together. The two of them are so inspiring and touching in their openness and helpfulness, that we finally take a heartfelt farewell and hope to see each other again someday. We still have half an hour to greet the sea for the first time on this trip and we drag ourselves, sweaty and with heavy luggage, to the beach. Wonderful! Surfers, the smell of salty sea air, the cool water... What an exciting trip to this fashionable, summery world!

After a brief shock when we are asked to put our carry-on luggage in the designated measuring device to see if it's the right size and Paul expertly fits his hiking backpack with strong pushes and then lifts half of the stand when he takes it out, we can relax briefly and enjoy the air conditioning. At the carry-on luggage check, we meet someone from Paul's language school in Cusco. Then we board our budget airline. A flight awaits us characterized by strong turbulence, demotivated flight attendants, and intense thirst. Unfortunately, we didn't even have the right currency to treat ourselves to a drink after this sweaty day, so we had to rely on Wendy and Juanita's juicy oranges, while an unlucky guy next to us had to run to the restroom to throw up. We listen to a few voice messages from friends, Biggi writes that she wishes us a good flight and has a strange feeling today, I try to focus on something positive amidst all the air pockets. Our seat neighbor folds her hands tightly. Eventually, I lay my head in Paul's lap and doze off, but I am awakened by jolts. After a brief moment of shock, I realize that it was the landing in Bogotá and Paul tells me that it was one of the worst, most wobbly landings he has ever experienced.

At immigration, we naively think that the Colombian looseness would prevail, but no. We didn't provide an address of residence and are promptly led to a separate sterile room to figure something out. About an hour after landing, we finally stand in the baggage hall. And can't find our backpack. Panicked, we run from A to B and are only sent to more offices, but nothing happens. The reunion with David, Paul's former roommate from Marburg who has been living in Bogotá for a month, almost goes unnoticed. Together, we continue to search for our backpack and end up in a baggage search office. When we explain the problem, Paul suddenly screams: In the office, there is a window in the back and there is a baggage belt, on which our beautiful backpack is circling alone. Somehow, it made its way to the separate baggage area for domestic flights. Very happily, we finally drive to David's apartment with a highly motivated taxi driver, have a lime tea, and chat into the night.

February 7th, now we're sitting in a fancy café, Paul conquers his hangover with a second beer and dreamily strokes my hair behind my ear. His face sports a rather interesting than beautiful new beard style and it glitters silver on his temple. I have a sugarcane tea in me, but I left the cheese that was served with it lying around, which seems a bit strange in this combination. We're just cooling down from the action we just experienced. We strolled through the pedestrian zone of Bogotá, which turns into a colorful mile of flea market stands, lots of fried and sweet food, musicians, chess players, and street performers every afternoon and early evening. We joined a larger crowd gathered around three crazy guys who were doing comedy to different music. Suddenly, they pulled Paul into the middle, one jumped on his arm, and they took photos together, the crowd roared and my heart skipped a beat, I used to have a panic fear that I would be the center of attention like that, but Paul finds it rather funny. However, I only felt safe for a short while, although I discreetly pushed myself far behind Paul to avoid being seen. Then one of the Venezuelans pulled me into the middle and we danced a quick round of salsa. I thought I could withdraw already, but far from it! Suddenly, the three artists started intensely twerking me from all sides (for all anglophobics: shake your butt eccentrically and rub it against the other person if necessary), the audience roared with laughter and although I didn't really know what to do with my limbs, I had a lot of fun. Suddenly, Paul joined in as well, he apparently couldn't just stand by and stormed in, suddenly I was twerked by four men. The artists loved it, called us the gringos and told us to kiss, which we happily did, much to the delight of the onlookers. Paul held me in a spectacular dance move. Barely back on our feet, the guys, including Paul, threw themselves on the ground and twerked very sexually, and I forcibly did the same, even though I haven't done it that often, but it worked surprisingly well. Finally, we were allowed to leave the circle to loud applause and made our way out. Wonderful exposure therapy! After a few meters, we were approached by a couple who celebrated our performance and even had to take a selfie with them. La vida loca!

Colombia seems so different from the world we have spent the last two months in. The people are much more open, life seems to be more colorful, characterized by more sociability. This culminates in a very sexualized atmosphere, where people flirt wildly with each other and also dance. David told us that he doesn't know any Colombian who is faithful. We can imagine that well, we are even openly flirted with when we walk arm in arm.

And the moral of the story: Forget the restraints, but not the loyalty!