At Raquira—a Spanish relic that lives off tourism and still looks as if it were 1562—I buy a souvenir; a handcrafted Spanish Caravel. It’s two o’clock on a Saturday and they can’t make change. It’s their first sale of the day.

On the way back to Bogotá that night I’m asked about my research: anti-imperialist movements in Latin America during the 60s. Immediately, the conversation shifts to the current U.S.-Colombian relations and the controversial Plan Colombia.

Resignedly, one traveler comments that no matter the amount of help they receive, “we just don’t see any way for this to end peacefully.”

The bleak prospect for peace in Colombia quiets the car. Then the talk turns to soccer. The Colombians will face the Mexican national team on Sunday afternoon. It always raises spirits to talk about soccer.

• • •

Back in Bogotá, I begin to feel that the city is not so much safe as it is fortified. There’s a police officer stationed at every major intersection. Alongside a highway there’s an army barracks on display: vans, tanks and choppers lined up in a row. The message is clear: you’re safe here.

On Sunday, the Colombian soccer team defeats Mexico 1-0 in the final, champions in the Tournament for Peace.