A full-scale disaster unfolded as we switched our phones back on after nine epoches of Colombian coasts and jungles
You can learn a lot about yourself in times of crisis, but you learn a hell of a lot more about the person or persons you brave said crisis with. Best to strap in and bite your tongue. A period of 3 weeks ago, my clever, rational other half and I went on a holiday to Colombia. He’s a worker who rarely travels without a first assistant package, gaffer strip and a multi-tool thing reportedly essential for “survival”. I rarely travel without what he assumes are decadent indulgences- basic toiletries, to the rest of us- and three more books than I are potentially speak. It’s a happy match.
For eight or so days, we adventured on the country’s Caribbean coastline, trekked the jungle and acre on remote beaches far away from phone signal. It’s fair to say we were late to the memo. Turning our telephones on after a self-imposed period of isolation was like watching a disaster film progress. First, on a six-inch screen squinting at ticker strips of wheeling news. Then in full-blown Technicolor as Cartagena is entered into lockdown, with face cover-ups being dealt out on street corners and a strict curfew enforced by police.
Read more: theguardian.com