Midspring Break's Verse

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By Kurbi Mehta & Eshaan Puri, Class of 2020

To Colombia, or not to Colombia: that is the question:

Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer

A travel company’s unmet promises of paradise,

Or to take arms against the spring-break stereotype

And willingly pay $2,000 to walk in the woods?

In those Patagonian tents we negate

The Colombian sun-kissed skin and ripped torsos

That our bleeding hearts otherwise must endure,

’tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d.

To sleep under the stars: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;

For Orion’s Belt and dreams of Patagons may come

Commingled with the risk of death,

Death by crevasses, tumbling backpacks and sawmill snores

Must give us pause: for camping, like an MBA party, is not all it is claimed to be.

Japan, Philippines and Morocco at first given all but fleeting consideration,

And is ne’er [Booth]Right to offend an entire religion,

That makes calamity of spring-break, but we necessarily choose between

Taking over a country and leaving no trace in one,

Navigating to bars and trekking to campsites, though both lead nowhere

Desire on the beaches and desire in the woods,

Between Dutch love and the company of Bachelors, though both are hopeless

New summer friends from 375 or 20, though daily in winter’s garden we came up empty.

Perhaps Colombia is like Patagonia, perhaps not

What tidings brings thou from Colombia?

Oh come ye, listen, to this song of ice and FYRE

We seek to recount the story of #TheTrek you so salaciously do desire

First night in Bogota, we recall, there were lost passports and phones

But when frosty beverages are cheaper than water, nobody really mourns

There were missed flight connections, and people stuck in Toronto

But 360-X got there fed, rested and pronto!

Next day, City tour, graffiti tour, getting to the top of Monserrate

And maybe someone took your wallet, as you nonchalantly sipped your latte

But how can grief tarry long, when cometh the glorious chiva

And you were ferried to Andre Carne, all the while imbibing like a diva

Once there, of course, you had your pick of sin

Tell me kind sir, did gluttony or pride or avarice win?

And thence, to Medellin, were you on the fateful coffee tour

The glorious chariot that famously led you on a 4 hour detour

Or did an equine creature throw you off its back?

Did you finally get your phone stolen, as you ate a fried plantain snack?

Colombia was hot and cold, like your high school crush

From the temperate highlands, to Cartagena's warm rush

Did you then, dear ladies, catch the flu

Self-medicating, while exclaiming, "You Too?"

Or did you soak up the old-city vibe

And do the Marquez tour, posing as erudite scribe?

It went pretty well, not a major disaster in sight

Just the odd lost personal effect or convoluted flight

Dear travelers to Patagonia, Japan, Morocco, sadly, we offer not much gossip or talk,

Take a bow, Colombians and Modo, you successfully walked the walk!