On May 2nd, I bought a round trip ticket to Medellin, Colombia to fly to a cousin’s forthcoming wedding at the end of August. On the same day, I bought trip insurance. I didn’t really believe I was going until I was on the Avianca Airlines plane.
Peter was OK with being left on his own. I was not comfortable about it until we got him a “First Alert” button to call for help, if needed, and multiple friends agreed to check up on him. Still, I worried. We hadn’t been apart for six days in our more than fifty-one years of marriage.
Medellin, Colombia is known for its drug wars and poverty. They have a huge influx of Venezuelans fleeing their home country, many of whom are selling candy on the streets holding babies in their arms. But the city sits in a beautiful valley surrounded by the Andes Mountains, and there are some very rich people there too.
The outdoor wedding ceremony took place high above the city, and as the sun went down, lights from the favelas sparkled up and down the opposite mountain. It was breath-taking.
My cousins and I spent non-wedding-event time seeing some of the city’s best sights, led by Seth (my son and date) who got us on and off the Metro, cable car or whatever like a seasoned guide.
It took me sixteen hours to get home on Tuesday. The trip insurance was the best money I’ve ever wasted.