Buffet sushi in Bogota. Raise your hand if you think that’s a good idea. What? No one?

I’m always so careful with what I eat on trips. Cheese and french fries and scrambled eggs. Oh, and pasta with cheese. You can find that stuff almost anywhere, right? But while I was reading up on my upcoming trip, in some random article with a throwaway sentence, it said that Bogota water wasn’t so bad. You know how you can latch on to some fact and it becomes your override for common sense?

It started some time before lunch on Tuesday, the day after my return, and oh boy. By Wednesday after I showered for work, I was sweating and cramping and a real mess and I crawled back into bed fully dressed. It was the first sick day I’ve had since I began this job. The fever went away by Thursday, but the primary symptom stayed like gum on my shoe.

I went to urgent care yesterday. First time. It was great. Got right in, saw the doc, got a script for Cipro, and bam, it’s gone. I had my first meal last night, then lunch today.

Now all wasn’t too bad. There was a very good silver lining, I dropped fourteen pounds in three days. I know! I’m almost back to LA weight.

Back to Bogota, though. It’s a great city, one with a loud salsa soundtrack, colorful buildings, friendly people, places sketchy enough to make them, exciting, and the least English speaking place I’ve ever been to anywhere on the globe. It is all my shame, however, that I’ve lived in LA for so many years and have not bothered to pick up a working knowledge, but even the staff at the hotel struggled with simple English phrases beyond hotel staff script.

I loved the city and I’m happy that my nasty souvenir stayed in my pocket until I came back home. It would’ve been awful to have been there in my pitiful condition. Nothing worse than a cramped up American to bum out everyone’s musical day.

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