Back in Medellín

I got back to Medellín on Tuesday evening. Everything went like clockwork on the trip, if you don’t count my dad’s car getting a flat tyre on the way to the airport.

Yesterday evening I got a taxi to meet my flatmate as she finished work so we could go out for a belated birthday meal.

It was rush hour.

The driver was one of the very aggressive, lane-changing, foot-on-the brake jamming, horn-tooting breed.

I lived on my nerves the whole way. People stepped out in front of us. Motor-bikes wove in and out of the lanes of traffic. Buses pulled by, perilously close.

It’s amazing what five months in sedate wee Scotland can do to one’s perceptions.

“I get used to this, every time,” I had to remind myself, as I got out of the taxi, knees trembling.

I didn’t quite kiss the ground.

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