sticky nights and salsa knees: surviving cali
damn, this city smells like wet asphalt and sugar cane. just rolled into cali last night & my hair’s already rebelling against 83% humidity. i just checked and it’s 18 degrees but feels like someone draped a warm washcloth over my face - hope you like that kind of thing.
whatever, the mountains make up for it. those farallones de cali things? they’re like moody bodyguards looming at 4,000 meters. the whole city’s squished in this valley where the air doesn’t move unless you’re dancing. speaking of - salsa isn’t a hobby here, it’s compulsory cardio. someone told me that if you don’t know how to shimmy by midnight, they politely exile you to buenaventura. (which, ps, if you get bored, that port’s just a short drive away over the mountains. don’t ask me about the roads.)
did i mention the rain? it doesn’t fall - it waits until you forget an umbrella to waterfall out of nowhere. locals laugh & say “you came in march? that’s your fault.” trying to hike up to christ the king monument tomorrow but my weather app’s giving me trust issues. it’s december, should be dry, but all the umbrellas in my hostel lobby are suspiciously broken.
food? i ate something wrapped in a leaf near the mercado. tasted like fried nostalgia & plantains. they don’t do recipes here, just vibes & whatever fruit fell off a truck nearby.
the altitude’s playing tricks on me - 3,300 feet up but i saw a dude in full denim today like it’s nothing. this city runs on 24°C of eternal summer & cheap aguardiente. they say 7pm is when the streets start sweating music. truth.
warning: don’t trust calm evenings. someone told me a five-minute walk can take you from swamp-air riverbanks to crisp hills where rich people complain about pollen. my bones ache. my clothes stick. but the mountains glow pink at 6am. whatever.
accidentally joined a dance circle yesterday. knees failed. dignity? gone. why are colombians so effortlessly agile? currently writing this on a bench while old men judge my posture. send electrolytes.
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