The minibus driver pulled out without looking, just as my twelve-year-old passed on her bike. Two taxis, caught behind her, began call-and-response honking. She sped up, but so did the minibus driver, drag-racing my little girl on the traffic-choked streets of this dusty Colombian town.
My husband and I had assumed the English-speaking bike tour would be a leisurely pedal through the calm calles of the historic district. We were mistaken…
Read the rest on Brown Alumni Magazine where it was originally published.
(Sorry for the extra click but this gives me credit for the people clicking through to the article and someone told me that matters in the blogosphere…).
Leave a Reply