Bogota: Day One
January 14, 2012

We landed in a very green and mountainous Bogota (8,500ft above sea level) on Saturday morning. The weather is much like Manhattan Beach, with temperatures ranging from the 60’s-70’s.  It is a wonderful change from the hot and humid Cartagena. We had been warned multiple times that certain areas of Bogota can be dangerous. And various Colombians gave us conflicting information.  Some said we would be fine, and others worried for our safety and warned us, “Just don’t look like tourists and you should be fine.”  We decided to be brave and take a chance. Since our residence for the week is in the middle of the “dangerous area” called La Candelaria, or “The Old Town”, I wasn’t certain what to expect.  However, I’d read that most of the interesting sites were within walking distance of the loft we had rented, and that during the day we should be fine. Securing a taxi is easy and inexpensive in Colombia. You go to the taxi counter, tell them where you want to go, and they hand you a printed document that has a set price.

After about a half hour drive through mostly city traffic we arrived in the old city.  Unlike Cartagena, the old part of Bogota is not quite as pristine and well preserved.  We had several e-mail confirmations that our host (Heidi) would meet us in front of the building to hand us the keys.  We found the building but Heidi was nowhere to be found.  The confused cab driver was at a loss as how to help us. He didn’t have a cell phone so we had no way to contact anyone. To add to the tension, the day suddenly became gray and overcast with a light occasional drizzle, and our living quarters appeared to be in a very seedy part of town.  In place of a gray metal door that we were looking for was an old plywood covering decorated with graffiti.  I was afraid to let the cab driver leave us “looking like tourists” standing, with our bags, on a nearly deserted sidewalk in this strange and potentially dangerous city. 

Multiple possibilities of what “could happen” to us began to swirl in my brain. I kept checking my printed instructions to make sure we were in the right place, at the correct address.  Nearby was a booth where, like in our mini-markets, many things are sold.  The owner seemed very concerned that we were possibly lost and confirmed that the address was correct with the paper I had in hand.  But he didn’t have a cell phone either.  At this point, another interesting character entered the scene and began to size up our situation.   His skin had a dark, weathered appearance, that of someone who has seen too many days and nights in the elements out on the street. His clothes were old and dirty, and his uncombed hair was wildly unmanaged by the cap on his head. His smile was marred by several missing front teeth, and the poor fellow appeared to be blind in one eye. He kept one eye on us as he circled around us and began pushing buttons near the door of the apartment.

Next came along a customer from the “mini-market” who carried a briefcase and enjoyed the crunch of his newly purchased apple.  In rapid Spanish, he attempted to assist us.   Much to my dismay, Michael was flustered by the circumstances and was having difficulty understanding anyone.  It would have been funny except for the potential danger this posed.  During this time, I am franticly trying to look up a possible hotel on my Kindle, while keeping one eye on the one- eyed homeless man who took an interest in us.  At one point he stepped into the street and threw tiny stones at the windows in an effort to get someone at the loft to come to our aid. This action melted my fear and made me smile.  Of all the people involved, he was the most concerned and eager to solve the problem.  But it was the very chatty and nice “customer”(a social worker no less) that loaned us his cell phone to call Heidi, and in approximately 20 minutes she appeared with the keys.  Like a scene from a movie the customer went on his way, the homeless man went back to his seat near the market, the taxi driver was long gone, and the shopkeeper went back to helping customers, and the stage was reset for other dramas to begin.

Heidi explained that the woman she had put in charge of meeting us had to leave when we did not arrive at the appointed time.  Sadly, this woman had just gotten word that her ten year old nephew had just died of leukemia.   So far, our apartment seems wonderful and very well located. We are one block from the Botero Museum, a beautifully restored colonial mansion where his intriguing chubby paintings and sculptures are housed.  Just a few more blocks down the hill is Plaza de Bolivar, reminiscent of Venice’s St. Mark’s square but much larger. This is the main square, where government buildings and the presidential residence is located.  And no South American square would be without the requisite Catholic church.  The one located here is a gigantic 19^th century cathedral. Filling the square on Saturday was a large collection of pigeons and hundreds of visitors.  The street was lively and lined with vendors, some selling sweets, others selling salty fried snacks with the most delicious potato chips I have ever tasted.  

Our flat is noisy, with the sounds of the city, but quiets down after a certain hour in the evening when the foot and street traffic diminishes. It is only the occasional beep-beep heard as cars race through the intersection that interrupts our sleep. Out of our window we have a fantastic view of Monserrate sitting atop a nearby ten thousand foot mountain, and at night it is colorfully illuminated.  There, I have read, the whole city can be viewed.  There is so much to do and see in Bogota, and this will be one of our planned excursions.  In spite of everything, we feel safe here, not bothered by the altitude, and eager to have more adventures.