I arrived at Caldas University in Manizales, Colombia, at 3:45pm, walking back and forth in nervous little circles in front of the entrance. I had been invited to attend a graduation ceremony on my third day in Colombia.

Wearing the finest clothes I had packed in my backpack (not too luxurious), at 4:30pm I found myself in a rather balmy auditorium seated between the parents of Eliana (the young woman whom I was watching graduate).

I may have set the record for most sweat released in a single sitting. It turns out speaking Spanish in foreign country while meeting a girl’s parents for the first time had me a little out of my element.

However, the graduation proceeded smoothly, her parents turned out to be wonderful people, and I eventually managed to get my perspiration (somewhat) under control.

Following the ceremony (as well as a pit stop for a little cafe y pan dulce), we went to pick up the cake (la torta). This was quite the elaborate dessert. It turns out it was also a very heavy dessert. Eli and I were tasked with sitting in the back seat of her mother’s car and making sure the extravagant pastry didn’t capsize. This proved to be no easy feat. I was in charge of preventing the cake from falling forwards or backwards; Eli was delegated the post of restricting dangerous lateral movement. The streets had no shortages of starts, stops, ups, downs, narrow corners, and rogue vendors selling carts of limes in areas which seemed pretty clearly designated for car traffic. Every time the cake almost launched in an unfavorable direction, in addition to emitting noises of surprise and horror, we inexplicably raised the cake farther into the air. This torta was quite the responsibility.

Much to my relief, we arrived at Eli’s mother’s house with the cake in tact. After setting up for an hour or so, family and friends started to trickle through the door around 8:30. A trio of Boleros (a musical group consisting of singing and acoustic instruments) arrived, and the party began. Speeches honoring Eli were given, and (despite my general aversion to eating desserts) I gladly participated in the destruction of my arch-nemesis torta.

Around midnight a box of rum appeared (I had never seen a box of rum), and the remaining partygoers sat around and listened to music until I was the last to depart at 2:30 (quite the achievement for old man Huseby).

All in all it was a resounding success.