Since arriving in Colombia I have been waiting for a certain invitation. As you have read before, a typical weekend past-time for middle/upper-class Colombians is to spend time at their or a friend's finca. Luckily I know many such friends, who invite me for a relaxing weekend get-a-way out in the countryside. But until last Sunday, there was one finca I had never visited but had heard a lot about: that of my Rotarian counselor Waldemar and his wife, Lyda. Waldemar was always telling me about his love for his ganado (cattle), riding horses through the open pastures, and spending holidays with his family at his modest finca. But because of the prolonged rainy season, bad road conditions, and some health problems, they he and Lyda were not going to their finca as often as other parts during their lives.
Sunday was different. The GSE group is now in Medellin and my host club, Club Rotario Medellin, was in charge of their activities for the day. Being the director of the entire program for the district, Waldemar was also responsible for entertaining the four of them and so decided that a trip out to the finca was the perfect option of typical Colombian hospitality. And he invited me!
We met at 8:30 in the morning at Waldemar and Lyda's apartment, and then piled into rented luxurious SUVs with hired drivers to comfortably transport us the 2 hours past Fredonia into Colombian paradise. Despite being a successful orthodontist and community figure, Waldemar is one of the most humble people I have ever met. Thus I was not surprised when we pulled up to
a modest house situated on perhaps the most beautiful 100 acres of land in Antioquia. He has over 100 heads of cattle, and planned a "cultural experience" for us to watch three young calves be branded and their horns cauterized. Despite the bad smell and guttural sounds the calves made, it was actually quite a fascinating experience, much less traumatizing than I expected. The ranch-hands had horses ready for us to ride, so before lunch we took an exciting (to put the horses' lack of guidability nicely) romp through streams and high grass out to a gorgeous lookout point where one can see beyond 30 km of the Cauca Valley, Cauca river, and parcelled land below. We returned somewhat muddy but in high spirits to spend the rest of the afternoon lounging in the pool, eating the beautiful spread Lyda had prepared (she is a published chef) involving over 10 different dishes, and sitting in rocking chairs on the porch discussing politics and human evolution. I was even able to paint for an hour! By the time we lazily made the return journey back to Medellin everyone was slightly sunburnt, full, and successfully relaxed.(The most interesting lunchtime conversation topics involved how one of my good friends in the club is so wealthy that she asked her husband for a helicopter to transport an elephant to one of their 13 fincas, how her multi-million dollar jewelry collection was stolen by a mafioso who threatened her husband's life after he sent out a private detective to find them, and then how her husband was kidnapped by the guerrilla and played mind tricks on them to get whatever he wanted--like making them hunt down and eat an anaconda. Speaking of kidnappings, I learned that at least two Rotarians from my club had been kidnapped by the guerrillas and lived to tell about it...I always wondered if their riches and public positions ever endangered them.)
But as wonderful as these luxurious country events were, I came home that night with an insurmountable respect for my Rotarian hosts. After spending over four hours in the car with Lyda and another Rotarian, Carlos, (a jolly old man who is never once been quiet for more than three seconds when in anyone's presence), I felt like I had just read an entire Encyclopedia Britannica set. They discussed the history of British monarchy personalities, the Pope's recent visit to the Middle East (did he end up taking his shoes off when visiting the mosque in Jordan?), traveling to every continent, the technological advances of Brazilian telecommunications, the perks of being a Rotarian when in other countries (special treatment in airports, accidentally walking in on a meeting in Switzerland, sightseeing with Canadian Rotarians throughout Spain), the theory of Relativity, egg and dairy processing plants in Germany, and, of course, the usual catch-up on old acquaintances and family gossip.
Now these Colombians have access to many more privileges and opportunities than most of their fellow country(wo)men, but to me represent the definitive Colombian trait that differs them from other Latin Americans I have known: the thirst for knowledge of the world that transcends their existence beyond their national bubble. My admiration of their conversational skill, storytelling wit, and the ease with which they moved from one intellectual subject to another makes me want to dedicate my life to studying. And like many other times since arriving in Colombia, actually makes me look forward to being old. After living for so many years my hosts have accumulated a wealth of knowledge and experience, which combined with nimble memories, makes them some of the most interesting people I have ever encountered. Anyone who considers Colombians to be uncultured, uneducated, and living in the jungle like monkeys should think again; I honestly consider them to be perfect examples for the future of humanity.
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