Special Feature

Travelers' Tales - Colombian Escapades

Chuck Sandy
October 2002

(This is the first in a series on the adventures and mishaps that befall writers and educators on their travels. We would love to hear your story, too. We will publish the best in this column. Send your story to: Travelers' tales)

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What's always true is that the unexpected occurs most often when travelling, and what's almost always true is that such situations build and fall on the classic narrative elements of crisis and resolution of one kind or another. What's usually true is that these situations arise in the first place because of ones own stupidity and absent-mindedness, and that's exactly how I wound up in the immigration detention center at the Nagoya airport for having overstayed my visa, and precisely how I got in so much trouble in Bogota, Colombia some years ago.

Here in Nagoya it was a matter of not having bothered to look at the expiration date on my Japanese visa that prevented me from leaving the country to be in Seoul for the Korea TESOL Conference recently. In Bogota it was a matter of not remembering to bring along the fax on which all of the details of my trip had been spelled out. I'd left it in the pocket of the jacket I'd decided not to wear at the last minute, and as I sped off in a taxi to the airport that day, I thought, "Oh, well, MV, my editor, has all that information."

I was to meet her in Miami and then fly together to Bogota. Unfortunately, MV missed her flight out of New York, and as my flight from Tokyo had been delayed I ended up having to run through the Miami airport to catch and board my flight to Colombia at the very last moment. Out of breath and decidedly frazzled, I made my way to my seat, then looked over all of the passengers -- which was easy because they were all looking at me. I carefully scanned the faces. No MV. "Oh well," I thought. "I'm sure some publishing person will meet me at the airport in Bogota." I was wrong.

I therefore arrived clueless in Colombia, with no information to give the immigration people about my hotel or the name of a contact person to contact. In fact, I didn't even have any proof that I was in fact an ELT author. Why carry copies of your own books when there will no doubt be copies there wherever you arrive? That was my misguided thinking, and what I tried to explain to the frontier guards at immigration.

I must have looked as panicked and confused as I was, however, because it was soon decided that I must have been either high on something or simply up to something no good. I wound up being taken to a small room and thoroughly strip-searched by burly Colombians, then questioned at length before getting sent out alone into the Bogota night three hours later.

This was a nightmare in itself, but given the sense of freedom one has when stepping out into the air after such an experience, I felt incredibly happy with the possibilities of a night in Colombia ahead of me. That's when I saw the guy holding this sign that had the words "Mr. Charles" written in bold black letters across it. "Well, that's me," I thought.

This sign even seemed to be adorned with the promotional sticker of some university, increasing the chances that I had found salvation. I walked up and said:

"Hi! I'm Charles Sandy!"

This guy -- who spoke as much English as I did Spanish ­ raised his eyebrows and said, "Mr Charles?"

I said, "Yes!"

He said, "Universidade de something or other?"

I said, "That's right!"

He asked, "Hotel de Bogota Executive?"

Thinking that sounded entirely plausible, I said "Yes, yes, yes!"

So, he took my bag and led me to his car, put my bag into the trunk, and motioned for me to get in the back. Away we went.

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