Colombo, Colombia and a dead pigeon

Meet Colombo. He’s from Colombia and drove me to the airport on July 4th.

It was 7:30 a.m. and I was Colombo’s last fare of the night. He had plans to celebrate the 4th by going home, spending time with his family and then hitting a Colombian restaurant in Queens.

Then we hit a pigeon. Colombo felt bad. He had even slowed as he neared the flock, just hanging out in the street. At some point they generally fly away. This time they didn’t.

Dumb bird.


It was like hitting a little bump in the road. A gentle thump thump.

After lamenting the dead bird, he then told me he expected a crazy night of driving. Everyone, after all, came to the East River to see the fireworks exploding over lower Manhattan.

Then we talked about Colombia. “It’s much safer there now,” he said. “Now you can drive across the country. Before you couldn’t. Before were kidnappings.”

He grew up in central Colombia near farmland, but finds Medellin beautiful. Also, he raved about coastal Colombia, like Cartagena, and the nearby islands. I told him I’ve never been to Colombia, and he said I should go and experience its beauty.