Duuude!!!!

Waking up the next day, a funny smell wafted up into my nose as I rose out of bed. I took a piss, kissed Cata good morning and made my way to the kitchen where Jairo was busy at the stove.

“Buenas Dias, Zack. Changua!”

Oh, fuck, not this shit again….

“Si, si…..chorizo, chincharon….” I replied with a roll of the eyes an a half smile.

“No, Zack, Changua. Mire.”

Here I am thinking these two nutters are getting there kicks out of amking me say curse words (besides chorizo, of course, i’m not that fucking ignorant. Actaully, hang on, yeah I am..) and they were just getting me (for some reason totally unbeknownst to me) to repeat the names of Colombian foods. WHAT. THE. FUCK. I dont get it…..

Anyway, turns out Changua is a breakfast soup made with milk, egg, garlic, bread and coriander. It’s not really somehting I think you could gorge on or  would be really appealing after a huge nigh on the turps (says me…) but it was really fucking good. I noshed this down with the obligatory arepas, hot chocolate and cheese then Consuelo, Cata, Jairo and me jumped in the car for Fusagasuga to check the markets for the gear for lunch.

The drive to Fusa took us down through the valley then back up again and around through the hills, so needless to say the scenery was amazing. Little back roads that crossed streams full of boulders cut through a thick scrub of forest and were dotted with little arepa joints and bars with old men chillin out the front sippin’ on brews. The whole way Jairo chatted, pointed out things of interest and cracked filthy jokes, much to Consuelos amusement. Jairo is a cool guy. He’s the type of dude that doesnt take things too seriously, which works perfectly for me, so we got on just fine.

Driving along I noticed that Jairon had a faded tattoo of a sword on the web between the index finger and thumb of his right hand, like Tony Montana in Scarface. Gnarly. Knowing Cata’s family and judging by Jairo’s demeanor, i dont reckon he would’ve ever got up to too much mischef but, as I said before, Jairo is a big dude, and i don’t reckon he would have been one with whom to fuck with.

He may have been a bad ass back in the day, but he rode the hand brake on a stretch of dirtroad about 10 minutes out of Fusa which caused the pads to smoke up, so we had to chill in the sun for a bit and hose ’em down. Back on the road we stopped at a nursery to pick up some flowers for the house before making our way into Fusa.

Fusa is a pretty big town of about 100,000 people and is famous for being the hometown of some dude who won the Tour de France, but I cant remember his name and cycling is shit boring anyway. Being sunday, town was hectic with people all over the joint, not that this is any different to anyother day of the week in any town in Colombia from what i have seen, but it was still fucken busy. We parked the car, and headed to the market which were nuts. Rainbow stacks of fruit and vegies were stacked up to my chin all over the place, whole walls were covered in cooking utensils and fishmongers and buthchers hacked away in plain sight and flogged away whatever they could. Cool.

“Hola, senor, buenas. Quieres….”

Being as white as a hanky gets you special attention in a place like this, so i had to bust out a lot of “no, gracias”‘s, but it’s all good, the place was fuckin’ crazy and I was lovin it. We left the place with a heap of fruit, including one of the biggest watermelons I’ve ever seen and a fuckload of chicken for Jairo to cook up when we got back to the house. On the way back we took a different route which was just as cool as the first, and getting into Silvania we were stopped in our tracks by a full scale beauty pagent going on. Apparently it was Silvanias 25th birthday, and part of the celebration involved getting all the hottest girls in town, dressing them in skimpy, sequined outfits, chucking ’em in the back of a decorated ute and parading them around town.

I wasn’t complaining….

Cata and Me jumped out of the car and shot photos of the girls and the chaos around them as they shimmied about, threw sweets out to small childrenand blew kisses at the old men sipping beers out the front of the bars, until Jairo caught up and we jumped back in the car. We tried to follow the parade around hoping it would lead us to the road out but instead it just stopped. So for 20 minutes I was forced to sit in the car and stare at the rear ends of some of the hottest women I had ever seen (none of them as hot as my lovely missus of course!) until Jairo was able to manouver out of the madness.

After getting home the rest of the day carried out much as the previous one had. We ate, drank and then most of us fell asleep. Cata and I went for a short walk in the arvo and fantasised about where we’re gonna build our dreamhouse one day and then argued about wether we’re gonna have a cat or dog. I vote dog. A german shepard named Himmler. Joking. It’ll be cuntrag.

We also checked out the palce where my friends who are coming over for the wedding are gonna be crashing. Did someone say pad??!! It was just as cool as cata’s folks place but with a pool. Bring the muthafuckin ruckas.

We got back just as it was beginning to get dark, packed up the car and headed off for Bogota. As we drove through Silvania the party was still cranking and salsa blasted from bars and houses, chunks of meat roasted over flames, kids played on the streets and more than a few people stumbled around drunkenly. Lucky Bastards.

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