I was in the USA this past May and June visiting friends and family and doing a bit of sight-seeing in New York, Washington DC, Los Angeles and San Francisco. I hadn’t been in the United States in 8 years and had never been to New York or San Francisco, two of my bucket list destinations.
So I flew over the Caribbean and after a few delays, I was in my new suburban home in Potomac, Maryland where I watched the trees change from pink to green; in New York, I walked past a crime scene; in California, I saw the red-suited ligefuards on the beaches of Malibu and gawked at the Redwoods of Muir Woods outside San Francisco.
I rode buses, trains, cars, cable cars and ferries in and around these four cities. I walked over two of the country’s most iconic bridges and flew over some of its most impressive landscapes.
I ate delicious food (mostly cheese, let’s be honest) and took every chance I could to indulge in my curious observations of daily life in the US, from commuters and tourists struggling for space on the Brooklyn Bridge, to the lives of the rich and famous in Beverly Hills.
I was there long enough to get used to daily life, to gain a bit of weight from all the
cheese food I ate, and by the end I even managed to wrap my head around the sun setting at 8.30pm. I thought about staying–just for the summer–to earn some dollars, crash some festivals, have a summer fling, maybe? I thought I could have my own American summer, just like the movies.
But I was too busy living to make plans and so, sooner than I’d have liked, I was on a flight back to Ft Lauderdale and then to Cartagena, followed by a bus home to Santa Marta, a colonial city on Colombia’s Caribbean coast. And despite returning to the warmth I’d been craving, the smell of the ocean, the cold tropical fruit juices on the streets, I wasn’t all that excited about being home; I couldn’t stop thinking about going back.
The day after I got home, my head still in the gringo clouds, I went to the beach with my friends, swam in the warm ocean, had some wine, and kinda got over it. Why chase after the American dream when I’m living the Colombian dream?
Even though I didn’t explore it further, I lived my American Dream for 6 amazing weeks. The USA completely exceeded my expectations, impressed me in so many ways, and left me hungry for more. I couldn’t have imagined a better journey.
Check back soon for more photos of both Colombia and the United States!