Henri brought me back to his home. Odil, his 26-year-old wife, Henri Junior, his 16-year-old son, and Andrea, his five year old daughter, were all there to greet him. It was a big, passionate greeting as Henri Junior gave him a big hug and a kiss on the lips. Later, I realized that this is what happened every time he returned, even when he was gone for just a few hours.

Odil stayed at home and cleaned and cooked. When Henry returned, she was his servant, bringing him food and drink. He sat at the table, and she sat watching TV. Henri wanted more drink, so Odil got up to get it. Henri kept the purse – as soon as she would return from buying something at the store, she would give him the change.

Henri Junior was a really genuine, nice guy. It turned out he spoke good English too, and after only 3 months of study. He and I got along really well and it was hard to believe he was only 16. Henri Junior helped me by translating between me and his dad.

They had a chess set at the house, so I invited Henri Junior to play. I was well-practiced at this point from all the chess I’d played with Antonio, the Italian. I crushed the teenager a bunch of times.

Henri would take me out in his truck to show me around, but it seemed there wasn’t much to see in Bucaramanga. He kept bringing me over to his brother’s house where they would sort out some business as they both worked for the same company. I was just waiting around. It kind of sucked.

One day when it was raining, Henri drove recklessly through an intersection at high speed. A car pulled out, and we smashed into the side. Henri got out to talk to the woman, and after a few minutes, he came back with $100. Instead of calling the police, or exchanging insurance information, the woman just paid him cash. Culture.

I stayed for three nights. We brought in a mattress that Henri had in the back of his truck for taking naps, and set it in Henri Junior’s room. They took good care of me. As I was tooling around on the internet during the day, Odil would make me food and set it out on the table. She anticipated my hunger. I’d take a dip in the pool, and come back to find a snack waiting for me.

Henri kept calling me gringo. I told him it was a negative term, and I didn’t like it. He said it wasn’t offensive, and it just meant “American.” He kept saying it.

Henri brought me around to meet different people he knew, presenting me to them, kind of like I was his gringo. “Look at this interesting gringo I found.”

Henri wants to send Junior to the US at some point, so that he can master English. He asked if I would take him in and even write a letter to get Junior a visa. It’s sort of a lot to ask, but I like Henri Junior a lot. He’s such a genuine, well-behaved guy, so I don’t think there’d be a problem. I hope he comes up.

Henri introduced me to his friend, Jose, who spoke some English, and Jose´s son was even better. We went over to Jose’s house. Jose said to me very genuinely, “This is my home. It is also your home.” He invited me back for dinner the following night, as he and his family “want to speak to me more,” but when the time came, Henri didn’t want to go. I think Henri didn’t like it much because we were speaking in English, and he was left out. It’s understandable – it’s how I felt most of the time.

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The following morning Henri would be going to Barbosa, in the direction of Bogota, on his motorcycle to make a delivery. He wanted to try pulling me along up the mountain. I was game to try it although it sounded pretty dangerous. So we did a trial run in Bucaramanga. I got set on my bike, and grabbed the rail on the back seat of his motorcycle. When he took off, I couldn’t hold on. He accelerated too fast, and it would have been too unstable anyhow. Then we tried having me sit on the back of the motorcycle holding the bicycle as it rode along side us. That went well until the bike went over a bump in the road. It jumped up, and I tried to control it, but I couldn’t get it stable again – it was hopping all over. It would have made the motorcycle unstable if I had held on much longer, so I had to let the bicycle drop. I was pissed, and yelled in anguish. Henri laughed. I ran back to see the damage on the bike. Luckily, it was still in good shape. I think the handlebar tape might have gotten a little more destroyed, but that was all.

So Henri figured out a different plan. He had a friend who would be making a delivery by truck to San Gil that night. San Gil was on the way to Barbosa, and it was the first major town after getting up the steepest part of the mountain. Henri would send my bike and bags with his friend, and then Henri and I would leave early in the morning on his motorcycle, and he’d drop me in San Gil to pick up my bike and bags. It was a good plan.