The Foreign Service Journal, October 2021

THE FOREIGN SERVICE JOURNAL | OCTOBER 2021 63 from his rigors of the past month. His agenda was the subject of media speculation, and his American hosts in the Panama Canal Zone went to great lengths to shield him from the spotlight, say- ing that he “is very nervous and ‘may crack under the strain’ of social activity.” When asked about Lindbergh’s hunting exploits, a compan- ion cheekily responded, “He shot at a couple of wild pigeons on the wing, but missed them. So far he has not killed anything but time.” Spirit also received some much-needed attention, getting a complete overhaul by mechanics. Rested and refreshed, Lindbergh lifted off from the isthmus on Jan. 26, 1928, and headed 400miles east-northeast across the Carib- bean Sea to Cartagena, his first destination in South America. Pilots Will Come Modern-day Colombia would not be possible without the airplane, for its mountains and jungles make transportation exquisitely difficult for the uninitiated. In April 1536, Spanish conquistador Gonzalo Jiménez de Quesada left coastal Santa Marta for the interior with 800 soldiers. When he arrived at the future site of Bogotá a year later, only 162 were left. For the next four centuries, travel from the coast to the highlands required days of exhausting travel by riverboat and rutted tracks. Many places were completely isolated. Even today, terrestrial travel between large cities is often impractical, if not impossible. The first few efforts at fixed-wing flight were a failure, but Colombians pressed on. As one hopeful enthusiast wrote, “Pilots will come. The devices will be among the best known today. We predict true triumphs and magnificent results for the one who comes to bring us that little bit of civilization.” American pilot George Schmitt is credited with bringing avia- tion to Colombia in 1912, making it as far as Medellín. The Andes proved a formidable barrier, however, and it would be another six years before the first plane came to Bogotá. Airplanes of that era were not equipped for high-altitude conditions, leaving pilots exposed to the elements. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s 1939 memoir, Wind, Sand and Stars, recounts the experience of pilots flying early mail planes through similar mountain passes in Argentina and Chile, where “blustering gusts sweep through the narrow walls of their rocky corridors and force the pilot to a sort of hand-to-hand combat.” Despite the risks, Colombians were quick to embrace the new technology. Colombia’s first airline, Sociedad Colombo-Alemana de Transportes Aéreos (SCADTA), was founded in 1919, and within a few years it was already traveling to Venezuela and the United States. SCADTA eventually merged with another com- pany to become Avianca, which is considered the second-oldest continually operating airline in the world (after KLM). By the middle of the century, domestic routes stretched from the Atlantic and Pacific coasts into the mountainous interior and south to the Amazon. Air travel had accomplished what nothing else could: It made Colombia whole. My Motor Does Not Fail Lindbergh was supposed to fly straight to Venezuela, but at the last minute he decided to include Colombia in his itinerary. Working on short notice, a contingent of officials, including the American consul, gathered in Cartagena to await his arrival. The crowd grew steadily over the course of the day, and by the time the plane came into view, it had broken through the police cordon and swamped the landing grounds. Lindbergh had to circle the field four times to clear enough space to land. When he touched down, Lindbergh was mobbed by well- wishers, “necessitating his rescue by numbers of his compatriots, who bore him to the reception stand.” On the way into town, “the procession passed through the principal streets en route, gaining in volume at each block until it developed into the largest assem- bly ever witnessed in Cartagena. Upon arrival at the Cartagena Club champagne was partaken of,” though presumably not by Lindbergh, who was known for his temperance. Lindbergh spent one night there hosted by an American official of the Andean National Corporation, a subsidiary of the Standard Oil Company.The inevitable banquet and ball included renditions of “Lucky Lindy” and “Lindy”—two of the hundreds of songs about Lindbergh that were copyrighted between 1927 and 1929. As was his custom, Lindbergh had nothing but praise for the city and its people, saying, “Cartagena, seen from the air, is the most beautiful city of all those … so far visited.” As he readied for departure, the reporter asked if Lindbergh was concerned about the surrounding mountains and fog. “My motor does not fail,” was Lindbergh’s retort. With that, Lindbergh climbed back into Spirit and set off for Bogotá. Lindbergh’s trip had all the hallmarks of a modern-day cultural exchange, with his airplane providing both the ends and the means to foster people-to-people relations.