The Bogota Lesson: Bounce Back

Trip data

• Days: 16
• Flights: 12
• Miles traveled: 19,290
• Current location: San Juan, PR
• Next Stop: Boston, MA

Recap

I arrived into Bogota at 8:30pm after 22 hours of traveling and was immediately introduced to the mayhem that would be a pervasive theme of my 36 hours in the city. A bus crammed full of humanity transferred the flight’s passengers to a hallway where we and several hundred passengers from other flights stood in line for around 2 hours to clear immigration and customs. A few minutes after exiting the terminal, and by only a pure stroke of luck, I found my driver in the crushing mass of people. He escorted me to his car and treated me to my first harrowing experience on the mean streets of Columbia as he darted in and out of oncoming traffic and raced through along narrow, twisty and pothole-ridden roads. Thirty minutes later, I entered the Chorro de Quevedo bed and breakfast in the old colonial district of Bogota and soon passed out from 25 hours of traveling.

I woke up and headed out for my morning run, looking forward to getting the blood pumping at 8,600 feet. The Candelaria district was established in 1538 by a Spanish conquistador, and the roads are windy, narrow, made of cobblestones and not ideal for running. I truly enjoy a morning run in a new location, because it gives me a chance to explore when most people are still asleep and provides me with a sense of the geography. Zipping up and down the cobbled streets was a heart-pounding experience as I battled the altitude and did my best to avoid being run down by a car or eaten by one of the many dogs that chased me.  I can’t remember a run in which I was pursued by more dogs. None of them (I think) had vicious intentions; I think they were just as curious as the people who stared at me as I jogged by. After returning to the B&B, washing up and wolfing down the wonderful omelet and local coffee prepared by the staff, I prepared to explore the city on foot and later on bicycle.

The Bogota incident

When venturing out in foreign countries, I carry as little as possible to avoid looking too much like a tourist and to minimize my target value. I crammed $60 into my camera case and stuffed it and my passport into the pockets of my cargo pants. I picked my way through the old district, taking pictures of the several-hundred-year-old buildings on my way to the gold museum, El Museo de Oro.

I didn’t make it to the museum, though. After exploring a local craft market, I was approached by a police officer who showed me his badge and asked to see my credentials. He took my passport and told me to follow him for “identification verification”. I felt extremely uncomfortable being escorted off the main thoroughfares but was in no position to argue with an armed cop in Columbia, so I complied and followed him.

In a narrow street, the officer peppered me with questions about who I was with, why I was in Bogota, where I was staying, and why I was town for such a short time. The officer told me to empty my pockets and asked even more questions when they saw I was only carrying two items. He continually brought up the notion that the government was cracking down on drug trafficking and that I fit the profile.  In retrospect, I may have been better served by embellishing the truth and telling him I was with a large group, or was staying longer. But, given that I have a healthy respect for law enforcement, I answered all of his questions truthfully.

After several minutes, the officer said he needed to run my “information” in the computer and took my camera, Timex watch and cash. Not wanting to let the items out of my site, I followed him but was quickly advised to stay put until he returned. As I stood in the street relieved of my stuff in a foreign country, I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me. I felt violated and quickly made a beeline back to my lodging. I told the woman at the entrance about the incident, and she just shook her head and apologized, saying, “I am sorry to say this is not uncommon.”

The pity party

Back in my room, I threw a pity party for myself. “How could I let this happen? I thought I was a seasoned traveler. Why didn’t I put up more of a fight? Why didn’t I tell them…?” I was embarrassed and felt alone, so I called my wife, Cynthia, who is an absolute master at compassionately re-framing negative situations. In true Cynthia form, she expressed shock and dismay, told me how sorry she was that this happened and then turned our focus to the fact that the only damage done was financial. “Money is replaceable; you are not,” she told me.

After my call with Cynthia and a few conversations with friends via e-mail and Twitter, I concluded the pity party and turned my attention to work projects. I took them on with a vengeance, vowing that this leg of my trip would not be a complete loss. With a flurry of activity over the next few hours, I finished up and billed two client projects, banged out work for a few other on-going projects and was contacted by the manager of my IT business with news that we had closed a large contract that morning.

Take two

Satisfied with the amount of work completed and unwilling to let a corrupt cop ruin my entire Bogota experience, I prepared for another outing into the city. This time, though, I only brought $20 and my passport with me into the wild. With a great deal more vigilance, I picked my way down to the Museo de Oro and was treated to a tour of the largest collection of Spanish gold in the world and a good meal afterward.

The saga continues

The next morning, I rose early to catch a 6:30 ride to the airport. The same driver, contracted by the hotel, masterfully whisked me through Bogota traffic to the airport. I was again confronted with the inefficiency of the Bogota airport, standing in 10 different lines (many of which were redundant), only to almost make it to the gate before Columbian customs officials pulled me aside for questioning. In a separate room, the officers tore through every single item in my bag and subjected me to a litany of questions about my 36 hour trip visit to Bogota. At the time, I was virtually certain that there was a reservation in a Colombian cell with my name on it. Eventually, though, I was given the decimated remains of my careful packing job and sent on my way. Cramming all of my stuff back into my single carry-on as quickly as I could, I made it to the gate with only a few minutes to spare, and let out a giant sigh of relief as the plane left the ground.

Happy to be back on American soil in Orlando, I gleefully stood in line for the 11th time that morning to clear immigration and customs. But, as my luck (and apparently my drug mule profile) would have it, I popped up on the Department of Homeland Security’s radar. Again, I was pulled aside, my luggage was carefully searched by DHS officials and a drug dog, and I was asked a number of questions about my background and my reason for “flying all the way from Seattle for one day in Bogota.” To their credit, the DHS agents were very polite, but I understood the gravity of their questions. I regaled them with the story of how I decided to take my businesses on the road for a month and write about it, and even offered to show them my blog. Eventually, they released me, and I raced to clear security (the 12th line of the day) and board my next flight to San Juan, Puerto Rico.

A lesson in bouncing back

Traveling, like running a business is a roller coaster ride with the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Despite having a carefully laid-out strategy, our plans WILL go awry at some point. The consequences vary and you could end up hiking through the rain forest, standing somewhere ripped off by a cop or in the custody of any number of government agencies. I suppose that the lesson is that resiliency is a key component to success in traveling, business or life in general.

On this trip I faced a broken-down vehicle in the jungle, wandering the streets of a foreign land after the motel lost my reservation, crooks, language barriers, loneliness and self-doubt.  There have been times where I just stood in place dumbfounded and almost shouted out, “Why is this happening?!?”  But, each of those moments was only temporary, and, in each case, I made an affirmative decision to bounce back and get on with living my life.

We all experience roadblocks, frustrations, and complete meltdowns when following our path.  No amount of planning will prevent the inevitable fact that we WILL fall down and get hurt at some point.  What matters, though, is that we get back up, clean our wounds and get back to living our life’s purpose.

This isn’t the easiest path, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. What about you?