Life from Canada to Latin America, one word at a time.
The Septima is one of my favourite places in Bogota. Every Sunday, the street down to the centre comes alive with performers, vendors, llamas and even guinea pigs. The excitement is quadrupled when seen through the eyes of Costeños, however. A group of youth leaders from the Alta Moñtana came to the city for the
I went home to the Yukon for my brother´s wedding last week. Throughout the entire 30 hour trip there and back, I was fist-bumped, the centre of heated conversations over multiple rows of seats in airplanes, given high fives in the Dominican Republic airport, was flirted with by flight attendants like never before, and hundreds
In the peacebuilding Olympics, I am a medal contender for the storytelling event. There is nothing I enjoy more than a dramatic (complete with arm flailing and sound effects) recital of something that I have experienced. My favourite is my motorcycle accident. Each time the pus explosion is a little larger and the audience is
I am a fantastically bad dancer. The combination of growing up Mennonite (why don’t Mennonites have sex standing up? It could lead to dancing!), being shy when I was younger, and a natural lack of rhythm have all played a role in ensuring that I am excellent at flailing and toe stepping. Not to say,
Liberation comes in the smallest of ways. Somehow, the normal moments of adulthood have never shown up: the deed to a house, a ringed finger, an enjoyment of driving, a bun in the oven, an understanding of RRSPs, the final of revelation of what I really want to be when I grow up. Yet in
Español Last night a bomb exploded on the veranda But sounds of birds sweeten the earth this morning. I hear the fragrant trees, look in the garden, Find two silent clusters of ripe guavas. -Lam Thi My Da (translated from the Vietnamese by Martha Collins and Tay Dinh) In days of protests and surveillance, of
The Caribbean coast is my first Colombian love. Beaches, sun, costeños, tropical air, coconuts fresh from the tree. Yet if the coast is vibrant and loud, Boyaca, the department to the east of Bogotá, is soft rolling farmland and ten thousands shades of green. I am learning to love Boyaca and you should too! All
I spent eight hours last week hiking through a páramo. It was amazing. Situated between the tree line and the snow line, páramos are a sub-tropical tundra region in Colombia´s Andes. Frailejones, which grow an average of two centimeter a year, dotted the landscape as far as we could see. We waded through bogs and
I miss my family’s Easter traditions. I miss hunting for bags full of jellybeans and chocolate rabbits. I miss eating sweet yeast bread, covered in icing for breakfast. I miss turkey dinner around the dining room table with people I love. I miss hymns and traditional greetings. When I am honest, I admit that I
I never felt like I fit in on the coast. My very DNA lacked the rhythm flowing through everyone´s blood, be it champeta, vallenato or the Holy Spirit. When I gazed into the mirror held up by my community I saw and became a pale, quiet Canadian, a sweaty, imination version of something I was
Anna L. Vogt 