Monday, June 3, 2013
My Mom celebrates her 56th birthday in Columbia! My travel journal continues.
Another of my travel diaries involved a family trip in October 1973 to Columbia. My Father was
President of the Kellogg Foundation and we were visiting some of the programs the foundation was
supporting at the time. My diary focused on two specific events. The first one I will describe
by first posting a letter to the Policeman's horse who I met at the Santana concert in Bogata.
Dear Policeman's horse,
I know that it must have been a very stressful day for you. The Bogata students had been rioting in the
streets for the past 6 days. The police department was using you to control the crowds in the streets.
We had arrived in Bogata the night before and I was still taking in all the smells and noises of the city.
It was arranged that I would attend the Santana concert with a chaperone for the evening. The limo
arrived at the Hilton to pick me up with the chaperone already in the car along with a body guard.
As we arrived at the auditorium venue, there was a long line of people waiting to go into the concert.
We moved to the line noticing the police lined up with guns next to the parking lot.
When we moved into the line, I noticed you for the first time. You were in a line with 10 other
horses and riders. To my left I viewed a group of college students yelling at you. You were
trained to control crowds. You were ready.
As you moved through the crowd, the students moved closer to our concert line. That is when you
went into your work mode. Trying to keep the students from the concert line, you backed up towards
the line. To my surprise, I was right at the spot where you backed up. Further and Further you backed
up, I was pressed against the wall with my body guard standing between your back end and me. With
a slight buck, you moved forward and all was fine.
I am sorry that we met in October of 1973 this way. You were just doing your job and I forgive you.
In 1977 Carlos Santana wore a all white suit to all his concerts!
In addition to my concert experience (first time smelling pot at a concert and running to the limo amid
gun fire and rioting after the concert), we celebrated my mother's 56th birthday at a fancy restaurant the
next night. I wrote in my diary about an obnoxious American women who was attending the birthday
party. My evening was spent in the little bathroom avoiding this obnoxious drunk woman at our table
My diary talked about this event though my Father remembers it differently. He says that I went out to
the car and waited. Since this was an time of kidnappings in Columbia, I believe that my diaries tell
the truth and I hid in the bathroom.