Low-rise living in the high rise.

Our 24-floor building has an incredible view from the top (and the area's only rooftop pool, though we know how many cares I give about that):

We live on the second floor.

It's a nice little apartment, carefully chosen after an exhausting online search from my over-hot living room in Panama: two bedrooms, furnished decently (awesome purple barstools, stupidly uncozy living room chairs). The price is higher than one should be paying in Colombia, but we have to keep in mind, A.) it is the lowest 2-bedroom price in this building; B.) this building is brilliantly located and pretty nice with its amenities and security; and C.) we are living in a furnished vacation rental in the nicest, most expensive part of the city. So.

I actually really like it (would love it if it had a couch you could sprawl on). We've got lots of big windows, so it's always light and airy. The bathroom is big, the closet is okay for one (Brent doesn't like to share closet space with me, so he took the spare bedroom. And bathroom, for that matter.)

I've let myself forget that we're only here for two months. We just wanted something to get us started, at which point we'll find a longer-term arrangement. That means more apartment hunting, which I'm pretending doesn't have to happen....