The only thing more exciting that a “yovo” (gringa, white person) walking around your town (at one time, in which, there are only ever about 40 white people, possibly more) is seeing a yovo whiz by on a bicycle.
(although seeing a yovo almost get squooshed by an earth moving machine might just be more exciting than both of these [I think that it was probably a one time thing though])
Seriously though, I love my bike. I love it so much.
If somebody is shouting “yovo, yovo, yovo” at me, or singing the ridiculous “yovo, yovo” song, I don’t even have to purposefully ignore them, I can just speed right by and my very speed does the ignoring for me.
Imagine if I had had a bicycle in Colombia! Every time some one cat-called me, or made ridiculous piropos, or hissed at me or made kissing noises directly in my ear, I could have just whizzed right by them. LATER!
And, instead of an hours walk to work (totally walkable distance and probably not worth a bus fare for PCVs in Colombia) I can be there in 15 minutes! What luxury! I can spend the other 45 minutes knitting or something! An hour and a half per day at least extrapolated over the course of nine months here could potentially be a lot of socks. Send yarn!
Okay, okay, I know why we didn’t have bikes in Colombia. It would have been rather unfeasible for the situation but I guess the point is, my situation here is just so much better in a lot of ways.