Bogotá, Colombia!

On January 4, I flew from Medellin to Bogotá, once again on Aero Republica. The plane seemed to be totally brand new -- it even had that tell-tale “new plane” smell. What I was thinking with all those ridiculous bus rides at the beginning of this trip?

In addition to being the capital of Colombia, Bogotá is also the country’s most populous (nearly 8 million people) and the 7th highest city in the world at nearly 9,000 feet above sea level. I think the altitude affected me for the first day or so, as I felt sorta woozy. But after a couple of days I was totally fine.

I did an absolutely horrendous job taking photos in Bogotá. Here are a few shapshots I took of the historic old part of the city, near where I stayed.





Bogotá was also the first city on this trip where I felt rather unsafe walking around at night. The city shut down surprisingly early at night, and because it is spread over such a large area and there isn’t really one particularly busy nightlife district, you wind up with vast desolate stretches punctuated here and there by an open bar. This, combined with widespread poverty, creates a rather sinister environment at night. My first night in Bogotá, I had the taxi driver drop me near a plaza not too far from my hotel around 11:00pm. The plaza had been bustling in mid-afternoon, and I expected at least a few places to still be open. I was hoping to find an internet place and take care of a few things online. I got out of the cab only to find myself in a dark alley. I hustled my way to the plaza, ignoring the hissing and mutterings coming from creepy figures in creepy corners. Coming upon the plaza, I saw that it was boarded up and totally deserted, except for one or two seemingly homeless people lying here and there in storefronts. There wasn’t even an occasional car driving by. I decided to hightail it to my hotel, several blocks away. More dark alleys followed. But now I had attracted the attention of a wiry ragamuffin brandishing a large stick, with wild hair and a feral look in his eye. He started pacing me, then said something to me in Spanish I didn’t understand. First I ignored him, then he got closer and more insistent. I understood the word “diñero” this time. I told him “no diñero,” all the while walking as briskly as possible and trying not to let my panic show. Then he grabbed me by the shoulder and held the stick up with his other hand in a threatening manner. I shook his hand off, backed up a step and raised a fist in as menacing a manner as I could muster while unleashing a torrent of furious profanity. I am not sure what I was thinking. All I know is that my adrenaline was pumping so hard, I wasn’t thinking. I only managed to assess the fact that this character was significantly smaller in stature than I was, and based on his shredded and incomplete attire, I could at least be sure he didn’t have a gun. The most he could have had was a knife. I was also concerned that I was wearing my backpack which contained my passport, and I couldn’t imagine getting into a negotiation with this guy about how much money I was going to have to give him and somehow make sure I was able to keep my bag with my passport, etc. Anyway, in a deserted dark alley 4 blocks from my hotel in the middle of the night in Bogotá I decided to stand my ground and not give up any cash. Miraculously, he backed off. Not waiting to see what would happen next, I grunted angrily at him again, then turned and walked towards my hotel, hands still clenched in fists at my sides and inwardly praying he wasn’t going to follow me. He didn’t.

After this incident, I spent a lot of time thinking about safety issues in the cities where I was traveling. I have found that every single day someone says something to me about how dangerous a particular area is, or how careful I have to be moving through a certain city, or how essential is to never walk around at night and always take a taxi, or how reckless I am for traveling alone. But it seems to me that there’s danger lurking in every city in the world, and telling someone a city is dangerous doesn’t really give them very much information for assessing the relative level of that danger or the tools necessary to minimize risk. One thing that I had heard about Bogotá and some other cities in South America, is that the rate of petty theft is very high, but that muggers and pickpocketers generally aren’t armed. Although the crime rate is much higher in Bogotá than say, New York, I don’t think I would have responded the same way in New York if someone had accosted me on the street and demanded money. I think that in New York, I would have assumed he had a gun and given up whatever money I had. I also would not have been carrying my passport around with me in New York.

Anyway, obviously I couldn’t allow this unfortunate incident to prevent me from enjoying the nightlife of the city. I made a friend in Alejandro, a really great guy born and raised in Bogotá. We hung out for the afternoon, shopping and walking around, and then he gave me a driving tour of the city, including lots of interesting parts of the city I would never have discovered on my own. Then we went a ways out of town to visit El Closet, a gay disco up on a mountainside with one of the best views I’ve ever seen.


View from El Closet, looking out over northern Bogotá.

El Closet Lounge

Alejandro and me in front of El Closet

Bogotá wasn’t my favorite stop thus far, but over the 6 days I was there, I began to like it more and more. But this was mostly a function of going out, meeting local folks and having a good time. It was great fun salsa dancing with countless pocket gays (Colombians are really, really short, so most of the gays are pocket gays), being invited to join groups of local folks for dinner (Colombians are really, really friendly), and rocking out to Shakira and reggaeton in small, festive bars throughout the city (Colombians really, really love Shakira).


Alejandro and me in a small, festive bar (“Fercho’s”).

Some of my favorite things about Colombia were:

1. Great haircut for $1.75 (including tip!)

2. Quite good 4-course lunches for $1.50.
3. Colombians will dance anywhere: in a tiny, crowded bar; on the street; on line at the bank; in an elevator; anywhere!
4. Colombians love Shakira – I saw a planeful of Colombians cheerfully abandon their luggage on the conveyor belt at the airport baggage claim because the video for “Hips Don’t Lie” was playing on the monitor in the corner.

5. No matter what you order to drink, and whether it comes in a bottle, can or glass, it will still arrive in your hands wearing a really cute paper napkin shawl.
6. Colombians call you out when you refer to yourself as an “American,” because they consider themselves Americans, too. (And of course, they have a point – but then again, what exactly are we supposed to call ourselves, “United Statesians”?)
7. “Smirnoff Ice” comes in a can rather than a bottle – makes me feel quite butch.
8. Daily marriage proposals. From men and women. Daily. Seriously. If yoe're a freckly pasty-white guy with a rapidly receding hairline and want an ego boost, visit Colombia. You're exotic. Believe me.
9. Every time I tried to tip a taxi driver, a bartender, anybody, they would insist on giving it back. This in a country where I’m supposed to be in constant fear of being taken advantage of.
10. Did I mention Colombians love Shakira??? Whenever, wherever you are, you are guaranteed to hear Shakira. (Bad joke, sorry!) ;-)

All in all, I really loved Colombia, and I am eager to come back soon – to actually do Ciudad Perdida this time (I dropped it from my itinerary because I had met my insect quota for the month of December), see San Agustin and Tayrona National Park, and spend more time in Medellin.

Next up, Quito, Ecuador!