Over the past two days, I traveled to Bogotá—a round trip totaling four and a half days. The journey was nothing short of an emotional rollercoaster, with one moment leaving me convinced my heart might stop.
Compared to Toronto, prices here are astonishingly affordable. For transportation, we didn’t even entertain other options—we simply hailed a taxi! My friend, my boyfriend, and I, after enjoying a delightful meal and summoning a ride, cheerfully climbed into the cab. As the car began to move, it gave a slight jolt, followed by some unsettling clattering noises.
I hesitantly glanced at my friend seated in front of me. She remained completely motionless, as if she hadn’t heard a thing, her eyes glued to her phone. Doubt crept into my mind for a moment, but then the car jolted again, accompanied by more ominous sounds. This time, I turned to look at my boyfriend sitting beside me.
He muttered uncertainly, “Um…” but his word escaped me—it was some technical term related to cars. I asked, “Can we stick to plain English?” With a tone that carried both concern and resignation, he replied, “The wheel is about to fall off.” Me: “??!!!”
In all my years, I’ve never been so grateful for traffic jams. Bogotá’s traffic? Let’s just say it leaves much to be desired. The road conditions are atrocious, and the drivers are fiercely aggressive, nearly making me lose my lunch. But on the bright side, during rush hour, the congestion is so severe that the cars can barely pick up speed.
If the wheel were to detach, at least we wouldn’t be thrown too far. In sheer terror, I reached behind me for the seatbelt. Thankfully, I managed to grab it and pull it over my lap, only to realize there was no buckle to fasten it! This car doesn’t have a place to secure the seatbelt—oh, the irony! I looked to my boyfriend with hope, expecting him to at least secure his own safety harness.
Unfortunately, his seatbelt was wedged in the door, and opening the door while the car was moving wasn’t an option. Even if it were, I doubted it would help because I suspect there’s no buckle for his seatbelt either.
So here we were: I had half a seatbelt, my boyfriend had none, and yet somehow, we needed to stay calm! I could do this! The driver must know what he’s doing, right? After all, it’s his car—he should have confidence in its condition. Glancing at the driver out of the corner of my eye, I was struck by fear so intense that I not only gripped the seatbelt tightly but also clenched my legs.
To top it off, the driver himself wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. In the entire vehicle, the only person securely strapped in was my friend in the front seat. She remained as composed as ever, her attention steadfastly fixed on her phone, oblivious to the chaos unfolding around her.
The driver remained calm, smoothly navigating each turn, but I could feel the car swaying dangerously, as if we were gliding on ice while the steering wheel jerked back and forth. I glanced at my boyfriend, noticing that he had already braced himself, pressing his knees against the front seat and gripping my arm tightly with his hand, which was clutching the half-buckled seatbelt.
The two of us, secured by only a partial seatbelt, were trembling uncontrollably in the back seat. Meanwhile, no one—not a single person on this earth—could have been more at ease than my friend sitting carefree in the front. She seemed completely oblivious to the chaos unfolding behind her.
