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Laura Restrepo Ortega

Fine Art & Documentary Photography

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Though I’d been dreaming of going back for years, I didn’t expect to return to New York City in 2021. But ever since I left Colombia (again) in August, things haven’t been exactly going to plan (in a good way) and I’ve been relearning how to embrace the unexpected. That’s how I ended up on an Amtrack train travelling north from Florida to New York.

I’ve been cursing my curse of being Colombian for years, all the while praising its infinite diversity and abundance, because it’s the kind of place that’s much easier to adore from a distance.

Don’t get me wrong— this is, if anything, a love letter to Colombia. I struggled for years to make my place there, determined to be a part of something so promising, keeping one foot firmly grounded on Colombian soil and the other roaming the planet. I know it might not sound like it sometimes, but I love Colombia to death. And so before it killed me, I had to leave it. Again.

Colombia can make you suddenly believe in God just as easily as it can destroy your faith. It’s the kind of place where hope would be stolen if it could be commodified and then sold off in the black market.

It’s hard to reconcile the natural and cultural beauty of this country, its diversity and depth, with its history, its customs, the things that pass for normal.

But Colombia is also a land of violence and scarce opportunity, of death and putrid nightmares, of shattered lives and lost innocence, of wasted resources and stolen dreams; a place where innovation is used for evil, where humanity is sacrificed for profit, where survival is the only accomplishment worthy of praise because most days, it seems nearly impossible to achieve it unscathed.

From the Amazon Rainforest to the Caribbean Sea, from the Andes mountains to the Pacific Ocean, from snow-capped volcanoes to ocean-side deserts, from metropolitan cities to small colonial towns and even the remnants of ancient civilisations, Colombia has it all, including the largest number of bird species and orchids in the world, making most other countries pale in comparison.

Presented with the opportunity to go to New York for a few weeks, I bought a train ticket from Tampa and spent twenty-five hours aboard Amtrack’s Silver Star travelling north, watching Florida, Georgia, South and North Carolina, Virginia, Washington DC, Maryland, Delaware, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey fly past my window before finally arriving in New York City.

My first stop on this new nomadic journey was a place I know well. I figured I’d stay in St Pete for a few weeks, hit the beach, and hang out with family until my flight to Europe. But like I said before, nothing is going according to plan, and that’s okay.

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