“¿Qué quiere para su desayuno?” she asked, inches from my face.
I thought as quickly as I could, and managed to haltingly request a piece of toast. “Pan tostado, por favor.” It was the only breakfast food that I could remember from Spanish class. It ended up being all I ate for breakfast for the next week.
Clearly, I hadn’t yet found my learner’s mind.
Each of the first few nights I spent in Bogotá I curled beneath the covers with a pounding...
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