I’ve lived in Colombia long enough to realize two things: 1) the people will make you soup if you sneeze near a window, and 2) the U.S. is… kinda weird. Not “quirky ha-ha” weird—more like “why is this our default setting?” weird.

I still love both countries. But once you’ve had real broth, coffee that’s actually coffee, and a lunch portion that doesn’t require a nap and a cardiology consult, you start asking hard questions about your old normal.

So here’s my gentle roast of my homeland, told with affection and a spoonful of aji. Ten American “normals” that Colombia quietly corrected—plus what each one taught me about living better, slower, and more sanely.

U.S. default: Aluminum-feel-good in a can. Add water, swirl nostalgia, call Mom.
Colombian reality: Market run. Whole chicken. Bones boiled into memory. Herbs from the balcony. The pot simmers while someone asks if you’re sleeping enough.

What Colombia taught me: Food is medicine when someone cooks it for you. Flavor takes time—and so does feeling cared for.

Try the swap: Save your rotisserie carcass, toss it in a pot with onion, garlic, celery, carrot, and a handful of cilantro. Two hours later: actual broth, actual comfort.

U.S. default: Menu price is a teaser. Add tax, service charge, 18–25% tip, and a performance review on the water refill cadence.
Colombian reality: Tip (10%) is optional. Servers earn salaries. You can linger. No one treats the table like a parking meter.

What Colombia taught me: Hospitality is a relationship, not a transaction countdown. “Tranquilo” isn’t bad service—it’s permission to be human.

Try the swap: If you’re hosting: include service in the price and remove the social calculus from your guests’ shoulders.

U.S. default: Bottomless soda until your pancreas files a formal complaint.
Colombian reality: One normal-sized drink. Cold. Tasty. Done.

What Colombia taught me: Satiety tastes better than excess. Not everything needs an infinite setting.

Try the swap: Order agua con gas with lime. You’ll sip slower, feel better, and still taste your food.

U.S. default: Fries staged like a landslide, ranch served by the ladle, sandwiches that require a steak knife and a pep talk.
Colombian reality: A plate you can finish without negotiating with destiny.

What Colombia taught me: “Enough” is a skill. So is leaving the table with energy.

Try the swap: Split mains and make sides the star: salad + rice + plantain. Bonus points for ajiaco day.

U.S. default: High-speed blade monster installed where your hands live.
Colombian reality: Scraps go to the bin or compost. Plumbing remains a friend.

What Colombia taught me: Quiet systems are often better systems. Compost smells like onions and good decisions.

Try the swap: Keep a countertop compost container. Your sink—and future plumbing bill—will thank you.

U.S. default: Three items, five bags, and a black hole under the sink known as “the bag of bags.”
Colombian reality: Forgot your tote? Fine—pay a token fee. Next time, you remember.

What Colombia taught me: A tiny price tag is a helpful nudge. Habits change when waste is visible.

Try the swap: Fold a reusable into your backpack. Treat plastic like the last resort, not default.

U.S. default: A glass of ice featuring a cameo by your beverage.
Colombian reality: Drinks arrive cold because refrigerators exist.

What Colombia taught me: Temperature shouldn’t bully flavor. Also, dilution is not a personality.

Try the swap: Ask for no ice. If you must, two cubes. Taste returns; brain freeze retires.

U.S. default: 32 ounces of caramel-whip-oat-holiday-foam. It’s dessert. Before 9 a.m.
Colombian reality: Small, strong, hot. Maybe a teaspoon of sugar. That’s it. Respect.

What Colombia taught me: Coffee is a conversation with the farmer, not a costume party for syrup.

Try the swap: Order a tinto (black) or perico (coffee with a touch of milk). Add sugar if you want it, not because a menu algorithm decided you do.

U.S. default: Freezer-burned peas/carrots/corn—same beige mood, different shapes.
Colombian reality: Street stands. Dirt on the roots. Produce with a name and a season.

What Colombia taught me: Fresh isn’t fancy—it’s near. Shopping can be daily, not quarterly.

Try the swap: Two farmers-market days a week. Build your meals around what looks alive.

U.S. default: Broth that expires in 2046 and tastes like “yellow.”
Colombian reality: Bones, onion, garlic, herbs. Time turns scraps into soul.

What Colombia taught me: Depth comes from what you would’ve thrown away. That’s true in food—and often in life.

Try the swap: Freeze broth in ice-cube trays. Future you will high-five present you whenever a pan needs a splash of meaning.

No. It’s just optimized for convenience. And convenience is great—until it edits out care, patience, and community.

Colombia didn’t make me anti-America. It made me pro-ritual. It reminded me that slow isn’t the enemy; it’s the flavor. That smaller can feel richer. That hospitality can be a two-way street where the guest isn’t racing a timer and the host isn’t auditioning for a tip.

If the choice is between soup in a can and soup from someone who calls me mi amor while handing me the bowl… I know where I’m eating lunch.