The return flight to Bogota is over before it begins. Takes less than an hour. Columbia is once again, beautiful from the air. Had all manner of activities I was going to engage in upon arrival. But we took off an hour late due to equipment difficulties and I missed the prime afternoon tour hours. Tried to see a few things on my own – such as the Museo de Arte Colonial and the Museo de Oro (Gold), which has a sterling reputation as a “must see” visit when in Bogota. At each location, I was the last person to line up for admission, and the first denied entry. Could not talk my way in to beat the band. So took the nearby tramway, to the top of Montserrat Mountain, and the monastery there. Primary reason is the incredible territorial view looking from east to west back over all of Bogota from nearly 8500 feet. The capital city of Colombia is not what you call beautiful, but its population of 8 million ensures a wide spread, and this alone impresses. It is much like looking at the Los Angeles basin from Mt. Wilson, only from a higher trajectory.
My last night on the continent was all about choices. I chose to have a wonderful meal instead of mucking about exploring. Some of this has to do with the lingering cold I am laboring under. Naturally I chose Italian. As nearby as I could find. Tried to make it seafood as well, to complete the daily double, but … well, the veal called to me. It was an incredible meal, worthy of being eaten slowly, and worthy of further description. Started with a glass of Malbec, and a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon (at the same time). Wait staff looked at me oddly and tried to segregate them, arranging the two to be consumed sequentially. I smiled, poured them both anyway, and lined ‘em up. Then for starters, Carcofi Soup. For anybody who has been to an Italian Panini shop and custom ordered their own sandwich (try mozarella, tomato, carcofi, and thin sliced cured jamon with olive oil) this is to die for! At any rate, it is difficult just to find artichoke soup. So when it appeared on the menu I knew there would be something very special at hand. It was served hot with a puree base and chunks of artichoke sliced from the heart. Cream and pepper and a sprinkle of mizithra cheese completed the flavoring. This beauty lingered on the tongue like the taste of accomplishment after participating in a grape harvest and getting to barrel sample the previous season’s maturing crop afterward. For those who are not artichoke fans, this is not comprehendible. But it was heaven. Could have been a complete meal as a solo dish.
The veal itself took up an entire plate. No room for garnish. It was cooked to a golden brown, almost like trout almondine, then rolled in oregano, pounded down to about 1/8” thickness, and simmered in olive oil. A sprinkling of mizithra cheese and lemon pepper completed the seasoning. Was so tender you could cut it with the edge of a piece of paper. It too, was delicious. Chose to eat it very, very slowly. And next, the colorful side plate. No parsley filler here ! It had the greatest variety of vegetables I’d ever seen accompanying an entrée. Consisting of an arugula bed, fried zucchini, steamed asparagus, fried eggplant marinated in olive oil, fried onions, cooked red pepper, and baked mushrooms loosely arranged into “salad” form. I guess you could call it a salad. The whole dish if you will was cooked Mediterranean style and garnished once again with grated cheese – Parmesan this time. Finally, dessert. Italian coffee and crème brulee. Perfecto ! Only thing missing was lemon gelato. And good company …
Took the short hike back to my hostel, encountered the usual computer problems (data dump, somebody was obviously trying to invade the computer, as I was on a Wi-Fi network) and so just kicked it and went to sleep. Probably best. This nasty cold still has a terrible grip on me. Wakeup call set for 3:30 and the return flight to the US: Miami, to San Francisco, to Seattle. Eighty-five days, come to to an anti-climatic and somewhat sauntering end … and this year, for the first time, I missed the Rose Bowl, the Super Bowl, and the Academy Award. As Bob Dylan would sing: “Things They Are A Changin’ … “
Next: A Rebuke to Jon Winokur’s Travel Introduction from “The Traveling Curmudgeon”
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