Hey there, long time no see!

It’s been a while since writing in this blog. I’m so sorry for the delay since the last post.

Lately, I’ve been more focused on my travel newsletter but haven’t forgotten my writing roots (aka this blog).

Like everyone, a lot of life events have happened in the months since I last shared an update.

Here’s a very brief summary: Yesi and I are still happily married and I’m getting more settled here in Neiva, Colombia.

Rather than just share one looooooong post, I want to share a series of short stories about random things that have happened in Colombia since last time.

I hope you enjoy..

It’s just different 

“Holy cow, this guy really doesn’t give a ****”….

I uttered these words to myself in admiration sprinkled with fear. 

I’d just plopped onto a seat of this moving colectivo bus headed to my driving class. 

Within instants, I knew I’d either arrive very early or not at all. 

The driver swerved past another bus, honked in casual fashion at a motorbike, and cut off a truck full of police officers. 

He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t irritated. He looked cool as the other side of the pillow. 

This was his normal. 

No one on the bus seemed to worry or even notice. 

This was their normal. 

After living in Neiva for a while now, I now understand that what people call “wild” “reckless” and “crazy” back in the U.S. is just normal here. 

This is one of a countless things in Neiva that make me feel like I’ve entered a new planet. 

When people ask me, “How’s life in Colombia?” I could go into a big explanation, or for the sake of time, I just have a simple answer. 

“It’s good….but, it’s just different.”

Lake Neiva: Population 3

I felt a slight chill as I dipped my toes into the cold body of water. 

Normally, my feet get used to water after just a couple seconds. 

This time the sensation of liquid sent my mind into a shock. 

I wasn’t at the beach. 

I’d just stepped into my kitchen. 

It was still pitch-black. The sun hadn’t risen yet. Outside, the sound of a massive rain storm hammered our tin roof. 

My feet were covered in water as the rain sounded like machine gun fire. 

What the heck is going on here?!

I didn’t need coffee. My senses were in full alert. I was in survival mode. 

Turning on the lights, there was a massive puddle in our kitchen. 

Yesi and Piedad were still asleep as I scanned the room. There weren’t any leaks. There wasn’t a broken tube anywhere. No windows were open. 

I moved to our back patio door. We wash and hang our laundry there. Our back patio is outdoors and not protected from rain. 

As I pushed the door open, a small wave of water gushed into the house. It was a lake of water building up in the patio. 

How, what, why is all I could think as I crazily looked around.

There was a black blob in the center of the floor. I splashed my way to it, then quickly freed a pair of my soaking underwear that was clogging the drain. 

Somehow, the rain forced a pair of my undies to fall and block the drain. 

The lake building up in our house was because none of the rain water was draining. 

I tossed my underwear, grabbed a broom, and guided the water to the drain so it could cycle. The lake was gone, now time for inside the house.

I shuffled the water out the front door. Since we have tile floors, everything dried in minutes. 

Thankfully, the water never reached the living room. All affected furniture were on risers, so none were damaged.

Plaintains, a love story

Very briefly, I want to pay tribute to my favorite Colombian snack: Plantains.

These are starchy fruits that are very similar to bananas except you can’t eat them raw.

They’re extremely versatile.  

First, you’ve got fried plantains. These are plantains mashed into pancake-like form and deep-fried into what people call “pataconas.” Sprinkle some salt and you’re hooked for life. 

The plantains need to be green or “verde” because they’re harder and fry better. 

People even substitute bread for fried plaintains when ordering a hamburger. They’re delicious.

You can grate green plantains into small pieces, flatten them with a pataconera, and make tortillas or fill them like with empanadas. 

If you choose a tortilla-like form, then you’ve got a Mexican-Colombian taco!  

A Colombian baptism 

As I write this, Yesi and I have been married for almost a year.

Neither one of us can still believe it. 

We had our notary wedding in August 2024 and our religious wedding in October 2024. 

One of the vows we each made in the religious ceremony was to promise to raise our future kids in the Catholic faith. 

This detail was non-negotiable.

At the time, I wasn’t Catholic, nor had I been baptized. Yet, I still agreed because I wanted to marry Yesi. 

Catholicism is extremely complex. I’ve learned that it takes a lifetime to even truly “figure it out.”

Since meeting Yesi for the first time in 2021, I knew she had a deep connection with God.

When we started out as friends, I became curious about her faith. I think at that time I knew there was something missing inside of me. 

So, without forcing any ideology on me, she shared her experiences with God. 

As we grew closer, I decided to work on trusting God more. 

Colombia is a very Catholic country. When I visited for the first time I was bombarded with references to faith. Most people here grow up believing in God. Bible verses are painted on business walls. People wear cross necklaces and regularly say “Thank, God.” In short, God and Jesus are almost everywhere.

This led to a lot of culture shock for me (and still does).

But Yesi reassured me that the most important thing was create my own personal relationship with the Big Guy. 

That meant I didn’t need to be like anyone else. I just needed to open my heart. 

It’s been hard because I grew up not taking God very seriously. 

But I felt it was time to start believing in something bigger than myself. 

One day after our religious wedding, a very unique opportunity presented itself:

Personalized catechism classes online with a deacon who’s fluent in English. 

Freddy, a university professor and highly educated individual, offered me an express catechism course.

The Bishop would then let me do all the sacraments at once. 

Normally, this process takes years. 

But since I was a gringo who wanted to know God as an adult in Neiva (very very rare) it was a unique case for the diocese. 

Two months later, I officially became a Catholic. 

It’s definitely not something I ever expected would happen. 

Yet, I never expected to meet Yesi, move to Colombia, get married, and prevent lakes from flooding my kitchen.

The perfect driver

Last February, I took another plunge into becoming a permanent Colombian resident:

I took a course to get my Colombian driver’s license known as a “pase.”

In Colombia, most vehicles are manual. Yesi’s car is no different. So, I had to learn how to drive stick shift and Colombia traffic laws at the same time.

Seated in a Hyundai next to the school, my driving instructor Jair was overly positive.

Despite driving as low as a turtle and getting honked at by taxis, Jair thought each practice was perfect.

“So Jair, my hands need to be this far above the steering wheel?” I stretched my arms according to his guidance.

“Si, si, perfecto!”

“I need to press on the clutch (embrague) when changing gears?”

“Perfecto!”

“And then first gear is zero to twenty km-per-hour?”

“Eso, peeerrrfectoooo!”

“What about XYZ?”

“PERFECTO!”

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Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed these perfect short stories. I have another post coming in the nearish future.

From Neiva with love and pataconas,

Daniel