my epic journey back in time.

we all miss the journey into the unknown. get on a plane and land in a completely different culture and landscape.

“my epic journey back in time”: it’s about my journey back to my roots.
travel and see what my grandparents and parents saw and visit the happy places I was when I was a little kid.

Colombia magically attracts me. Kind of an instinct. In the ’00s and ’90s, Colombia wasn’t the safest place on the planet. That’s why the last time I went there was when I was about 10 years old. I was still lanky and tall.

The last day in Colombia was also partly traumatic, we had to leave the country as soon as possible because of a near-kidnapping. But that was never my big memory.

All the trips I have made have been beautiful. Yes, these places also had crystal clear sea and beautiful beaches. But it never felt like home.
As a child, I missed the food, the smell, and the way of life. I saw my Abuelo’s house and the two big and cute Dobermans. I miss the Islas Rosarios and my family in Bogota.

My plan as a kid was to go to Colombia and I was lucky enough to be able to do it.
The plan: “Only pack the essentials in your backpack and only sleep in hostels. No luxury, just real travel”

The reality looked a little different.
My Abuela gave each of her grandchildren a present. My siblings all wanted something materialistic, which isn’t bad. But I wanted a ticket to Colombia and got it.

In 2016 the time had finally come and after years I traveled back to the country of my mother and grandparents.

After 15 hours on the road, the time had come and the adventure can begin. I was overjoyed. I’ve traveled across the country with jetlag and altitude issues.
But my plan didn’t work out.

The large South American family had other plans for me.
I was seething, but I pulled myself together and did what any good South American daughter would do, shut up and get involved.
Yes, it’s one of my good but also bad qualities that I’m open to adventures.

Sogamoso is a cute little town and reflects the true reality of how people live in Colombia. no real luxury just the normal life.

My Abuela’s apartment was full of plants. Which didn’t surprise me.
But I saw that the apartment wasn’t really clean. It was dusty and a bit dirty. Then reality kicked in. We live so far away and we haven’t forgotten or seen my Abuela getting old. She turned 87 and it is not to be taken for granted that she is still doing everything and has no help from her family. So we cleaned the apartment, it took two days and then, we did everything that helped her.

On the way there she told how she grew up and about the green fields and dense forests.
Yes, the little house was there, but one side was green and the other bare and black. yes black. next to the house is a coal mine. the workers were covered to head to toe with dirt and coal. another reality kicked in.

I visited the cemetery where my grandfather lay. When he died I couldn’t be there for him. and at that time had no money for a plane ticket and therefore could not attend the funeral. Which still hurts me a lot. because I never really got to say goodbye. and he was one of the most inspiring personalities I have ever met. a personality that shaped me. He has repeatedly made it clear to me how important it is to live with nature and to care for and appreciate it. He also made it clear to me that being different is not a bad thing, but something special.
Watching the tomb brought me some relief, but there will always be a feeling.

I visited the family who could not see. and had the picture a decade ago and was amazed that they had all aged. It was nice but also strange to see everyone again.
The feeling of strangeness accompanied me throughout the journey. I’m Colombian, but to everyone else, I’m a stranger.

Which doesn’t make it any easier, I don’t look like a typical South American. tall thin hardly curves and white. I hoped to finally belong, but I also felt alien. how I feel in Europe. What didn’t make it easier was everyone asking me if I was from Miami, I tried not to let it bother me but it hurt.

Cartagena, the place with my last memory. Palm trees, beaches, and music. The house of My Abuelo with its small plantation. I wanted to visit the house one last time, but I didn’t get around to it. That the house no longer exists. the plants and trees my grandfather planted, all bare gray bricks, and a metal roof is gone.

The city, on the one hand, is colorful and full of tradition, on the other modern and with high-rise buildings, a kind of Miami. no palm-fringed palm beaches. A piece of my heart is broken.

I spent a few days there and wandered around the old town with other pack backers. I couldn’t go to the Islas Rosario. Because time just rinse.

After Cartagena, I went back to Switzerland.
I was glad I was able to travel part of Colombia and will do it again as soon as possible. but the feeling of not belonging will always accompany me.