It was a push. Taking a private airplane into South America at a time when drug cartels nearly controlled some countries and kingpins like Pablo Escobar reined supreme. However, our three-month goodwill expedition by private airplane seem to be graced with serendipity, good luck, and great people. In country after country, our “Espiritu de las Americas” (Spirit of the Americas) tour provoked good vibes.
Flat broke but inspired
The trip was inspired by a breathtaking photograph. I saw on the cover of a flying magazine back in 1976. The picture was an aerial photo of Tikal, the lost city of the Maya, deep in the Yucatán jungle of Guatemala. Although my partner and I were just out of college, flat broke, and living in a closet-size apartment, we felt compelled to make this, Indiana Jones like journey to Tikal. All told, the trip eventually morphed into a 13,000-mile trip into the deeper reaches of the Amazon.
At first glance, the whole idea seemed ludicrous. A private airplane expedition could cost tens of thousands of dollars. We barely had money to pay rent, let alone buzz around jungle archives in a rented Cessna. Therefore we went beyond budgeting…it was frugality on steroids.
We guaranteed the owner of the Cessna Cardinal, at least 100 hours of flight, if he’d provide a wholesale rental rate. Aviation fuel in South America averaged 58 cent per gallon. We often slept under the wing, and ate with the locals. Not including the airplane, we budgeted six bucks a day for the entire expedition.
Commandante kindness?
Everywhere we went, we were greeted with open arms and graciousness. Medellin, Colombia was no exception. After we landed, we met the airport comandante and his staff. Even though we were just two young college kids. They served as coffee and treated as like a couple of big shots. It was great. Our Spanish was rough, but it didn’t matter. These guys were cool.
The comandante’s eyes twinkled, “Tiene drogas?”
“Ha-haaa, si, si, of course,” I said, not quite understanding the question.
The room suddenly became icy. No one was smiling anymore. God, what did I say? What changed the mood so quickly? What did the comandante say?
After interminable silence, his assistant spit out the words again, “Tienen drogas en el avion?”
Stupidity sucks
I now understood the situation. I had been asked if we were bringing drugs into Colombia, which I gleefully responded, “Ha-haaa, yes, of course.”
This silly yet informal statement carried some ugly consequences. Under Colombian drug seizure laws, the aircraft could become an expensive gift to the government – or a sneaky comandante. Was it a trap? A gringo setup? I felt sick to my stomach.
More silence. More stares.
The comandante then did something quite unexpected. He laughed.
The comandante knew my Spanish was lacking and wanted to make a memorable impression. He succeeded. Although my language deficiency almost got us thrown into a Colombian cooler, the lesson was clear. Practice your Spanish, senior!