“My name is Luna,” she shouted, with a huge smile.
“But in English it’s ‘Moon’. You can say ‘Moon’.”
I giggled through the sweat pooling beneath my eyeballs.
“Luna is okay,” I panted.
“Luna is better.”
It was my second time at my new spinning class and I was still a spectacle.
All of the women – there are usually about seven – make a point of saying hello to me and Luna, the instructor, does her best to ensure I can follow the class.
“Cinco segundos,” she shouts occasionally and then, for my benefit alone, she adds: “Feeeeve…er… sec-conds?”
It is just another example of the irresistible cuteness of Colombians.
The other day I was on the wrong bus (again)
But it wasn’t a problem.
My obliging driver simply pulled alongside another bus, had a quick chat with the driver and then organised for me to switch vehicles – in the middle of the rush hour.
My face was crimson for at least 30 minutes.
But a few days later I managed to top even my own stupidness, when I shoved a single bus fare in my pocket before running out of the house without my wallet.
I ended up happily stranded on the other side of the city.
I took a cab home and asked the cabbie to wait outside for his seven pesos.
When I ran back with my 10 peso note, he realised he didn’t have any small change and asked me for a further two pesos so he could give me a fiver.
At that exact moment my mobile phone rang.
I went galloping back into the house and tried to hold an intelligent conversation while scratching together two pesos.
When I returned, the taxi driver was shaking his head at me.
He waved my 10 peso note.
“You should be careful,” he said sternly
“Another driver might have driven away.
“This is your lucky day.”
Before you ask, the change was worth a pound.