Welt·schmerz
[ˈveltˌSHmerts]
noun
a feeling of melancholy and world-weariness.
Oxford English Dictionary
Colombia is an antidote to weltschmerz, and my long hiatus from Substack, apparently. I recommend you go.
Double-fisting café and té coca on the side of Kumanday, 5321 meters in stature, our guide Angelica asks us for a ‘sacrificio’ before we ascended the mountain: ten seconds with one hand in freezing cold water. Angelica submerges two hands.
Umberto bathing in the muddy Río Magdalena, white shirt covered in silt, fishes for each word, gifts for his new American family: “I—am—so—happy.”
The one-armed man juggling the classic, three-ball ‘tennis’ trick (challenging!) who says, “it’s simple, if you can do it with two, I can do it with one.”
The paramedic giving me 2,000 Colombian pesos for the bus fare with a smile because my dumb, gringa, ass ran out of money, thinking there would be an ATM in this small barrio.
The woman on the bus, undeterred by her two rambunctious children, inviting me to lunch. We share a jarra of lemonade and devour grilled trout. Heaven!
Using my Tom Robbins novel to level out the foosball table at the hostel to play with girls from Barranquilla, an act which would please nobody more than Robbins himself.
The sexy dressage of la Feria de Manizales, breasts of low-cut V necks bouncing with the rhythm of horses’ hooves beneath cowgirl hats.
The singer in pants moving her arms with a grace that suggests the invisible floor-length skirt she would normally don, percussive Tambor Hembra cheering her on.
Ending up on the bus with half the band on the way back to town, drums in custom fishnet bags, slung over shoulders.
Guaco and Guaca, the green and yellow macaws preening each other lovingly, then screaming tourists from their hammocks.
The Wayú women, clad in white, balancing babies on backs in bags slung around foreheads, tots in tow.
Heading to float Río Palomino, expecting a jeep, but no! A fleet of teenage boys arrive on motor bikes. One arm around a tube, one arm around a skinny waist—no helmet! We rocket along the dirt road, dodging potholes, rocks, dogs, and cars.
Wading that same river with the German to see the sun set, brackish water lapping at my waist. Distracted by the heron’s beauty, the tide rising. Almost washed away…take me, Colombia!
Seeking hydration and finding accidental coconut slushy inebriation.
A country without guardrails, so use your goddess-given senses. Where you may get food poisoning in a small beach town, but your gut is still your most essential brain—regardless, a kind old woman will likely gift you a mango and call you “amor.”
Only a fool would mistake the lefthand path for the safe path.
-Tom Robbins
Rest in Peace, Tom Robbins, February 9th, 2025
Loved to read this Jess… wish we were back in Honda lol