mothers milk

so im flying down the street in this go-cart like taxi, holding on for dear life, yet tempted to tell the colombian taxi driver to step on it. its like were a cannon-ball just shot out of a rocket flying through traffic and small dogs. my adreneline is pumping, im in colombia in a taxi, not sure if this guy is going to drive me 30 kilometers in the wrond direction or promptly drop me off on the doorstep of my destination and charge a cheap fare. the two main names of the streets in bogota are carrera or calle and if the adresses have an A after them then it means on half. slaming the door to the cab, i pay the man, 10,000 pesos, or about 5 (usd) for about a 25 minute ride. i look up with my heavy pack on my shoulders and all of the houses have an architecture i have never seen before. they shoot towards the sky and the entire outside is completely flat; no balconies in the front or overhangs on any kind. the adress im in front of says 27-37 and im thinking are there 10 places behind this door or are these colombians setting out to confuse us ignorant gringos? i knock on this heavy metal door, something straight out of the wizard of oz, when they go to meet the sorcerer in the end. the sound echoes and i wait. where am i? well, my couchsurfer, patricia informed me earlier today that her cousins were coming over for the weekend to enjoy colombia´s independence day (monday), so i needed to get the f**** out, or hit the street you damn bum she exclaims. ha! so i am at ivanosio´s house, a 31 year-old journalist who works for "el tiempo" or "the times", the largest newspaper in colombia. he isnt here presently because as writers know, when you have a deadline, your life must be warped to complete the assignment on time..or else....!! Anyway, two cute, rosy-cheeked children open this giant door, and im thinking is this a prank.. did one of the kids create a profile and keep in contact with me via couchsirfing, just to screw with me? they mumble a bunch of high-pitched sounds which sounds like spanish, but being that i am still a learner of the spanish language i have no clue what the hell they are saying. three minutes pass and there are still these kids standing in the door way and me standing outside with my bag on looking at them. this must not be it i think. then an old lady appears from behind them and this it appears is ivanosio´s mother. she invites me in and the kids continue to giggle, stare and point at me, saying "gringo" and then laugh hysterically. i enter the house and it is incredible, it looks like museum, paintings of ivanosio"s sister decorate the walls, the smell of antiques fill my noes....ivanosio´s entire family live here....his mother, father, sister, and his sisters three children. the grandmother informs me ivanosio wontt be home until later tonight. she sits me down and immediately the 50 questions start. im thinking, hey im not dating your daughter lady, take it easy. the questions are all in spanish, but she is kind and talks very slow for me and immediately a part of my brain i never though existed turns on and flash were locked into conversation in spanish. wow, this is the bliss i have been searching for. she informs me that she owns a coffee farm a bit north of bogota, ivanosio is a journalist, her daughter is a painter and a violinist, and all of the daughters kids play the violin. as she finished dousing me with her faimly history all of the kinds come running into the room giggling and pick up their violins and play..and hot damn, these little bastards can play.. the oldest one is 5 years old and he could be the next colombian motzart or beethoven, simply incredible. the grandmas husband also is a quitarist and writer, basically a family full of creative artistic genuises, my kind of place...

Bogota, Colombia