Where men are men and women charge by the hour
Trip Start
Dec 26, 2006
1
30
90
Trip End
Dec 25, 2007
Bogota,
Colombia
Monday, April 30, 2007
And so it was that as the rain continued to fall in Medellin, and my head had stopped pounding from Mangoīs that a nine hour bus journey to Bogota, Colombiaīs capital, beckoned. Sorry that is what the told us at the bus station, make that about 12 hours including numerous police and military stops, movies with guns and spectacular scenery as we wound our way down the Andean mountains in Colombia. This country has more shades of green than I ever thought existed and the sheer drops on the winding mountain roads make you hope like hell the wheels of the bus stay away from the edge.
In Bogota at 11pm and as has been our luck of late our choice of accommodation did not have beds to spare, or should that be the two spare beds were in a room occupied by an Aussie guy (who receives the prize for tool of the month) who was "entertaining" a couple of the local ladies, ladies he had paid good money for as we later found out
01 - Its Bogota, its gold, its Museo del Oro
. Besides, the hostel dwellers (you know the travellers who never leave the hostel, day or night) had started butchering "The Drugs Donīt Work" on both vocals and guitar (approprite song really) and the other looks given to us were "what the hell are you doing here". So we headed across the road to the Aragon Hotel, where men are men and women charge by the hour...our home in Bogota for now. Perched at 2600m, Bogota grabbed me and would not let go for the next 7 days. To quote the LP, "Bogota is the quintessence of all things Colombian, a huge Latin American city of 7 million people, which offers every modern western convenience and suffers from every third world problem. Its a city of brilliant museums, splendid colonial churches, universities, futuristic architecture offering a vibrant and diverse cultural life. Yet it is also a city of vast shantytowns, street urchins, beggars, theives, itinerent vendors, wild traffic and graffiti. You may love it or hate it, but it will not leave you indifferent." Well count me in the former, I loved it. It had a feel that reminded me a lot of Melbourne back home helped by the cool temperature, and a great transport sytem to boot, the Transmilenio. What to do when an underground is too expensive to build, create buses with dedicated lanes free of traffic above ground...cheap and fast, just the way public transport should be!
Bogota was a great city to walk around with the day usually cranking up at Cafe Florida with eggs and a Bogotan speciality, chocolate santafereņo, hot chocolate with cheese cut up and put in the bottom of the cup
02 - Fertility god goes along for the ride
. Who would have thought but the cheese and chocolate combo works. The Museo del Oro (Gold Museum) was a belter, but you expect that from the most important gold museum in the world. The look given to Dave as he left by the security guard was worth the admission alone as his 20 plus attempts to successfully photograph the fertility penis finally took their toll. A trip to the Police Museum was a great lesson in Colombian propoganda. From Pablo Escobarīs gold and silver encrusted motorbike, to pictures of Pabloīs bullet encrusted lifeless body along with similar shots of other members of his family. A room containing really bad minature dolls of police from around the world (the Irish cop resembled Yassar Arafat, complete with headscarf, and the poor cop from Cameroon had a touch of the Micahel Jacksons, peeling black paint revealing a shiny white interior. And what trip to a museum is complete without a coffee with the director, his assistant (looking very Linda Carter from Wonderwoman in her military uniform and pulled back dark hair...grrrrrrrrrr) and our teenage guide. And to continue the theme of political incorrectness his joke of the day made reference to the main difference between men and women (you knew it was not going to be pretty)...that is men cannot have children (true...where is this going?), and (wait for it), women cannot keep quiet for more than a minute.
03 - The strain on the face says it all
Not quite Colombiaīs answer to Benny Hill but with a bit of work on his delivery, and improved joke choice given the 50:50 split of the audience he may yet have a career in stand-up. While in Bogota I managed to take in my first football game having been warned about possibilities of violence, riots, theft and the big one that bothered me most, the complete lack of toilet paper. Having met Gary and Kate at the Bogota Stand-up Comedy Festival that arvo, we headed to see the local team Millonares take on Bucamaranga, figuring the whole safety in numbers thing. Opting not for the real cheap seats we took our position amongst the local fans in the stands, even if my jacket resembled the colours of the opposition, and admired the hundred or so police ringing the ground, some clad in full riot gear, think Robocop. At half full the ground had about 25,000 locals and what an awesome sight and sound they made for the 90 minutes. Singing in full voice and due to the lack of seats jumping continually in what resembled a blue human wave. And when it comes to food at the game, the aussie meat pie gets left behind, replaced by lechona, pig carcass stuffed with its own meat, rice and dried peas, baked in the oven and presented head and all at the game. With a side serve of crackling this was one tasty pre-game snack. Although the stadium being competely dry, the chance of a beer had to wait until after. The game saw the home side get up 2-1, the fans head home happy with not a riot in sight. Which kind of bites because none of us had a camera due to the reports we would not be leaving the ground with it, which in reality could not have been further from the truth. And given this was Anzac Day back home the four of us headed to a bar post-game for a drink or four to everyone back home.
And a word of advice, when its dark and you canīt find your deserted street at night grab a cab, even if it turns out you were staying around the very corner you caught the cab, and the driver takes you around the block a few times and charges you $2 for the pleasure
04 - Use you imagination
. Otherwise you may find yourself a target of a sting, two locals behind you and one their buddy across the road, thinking a few minutes ago they were nowehere to be seen. This will always be your cue to run your legs off, which we did rather than wait around to confirm our suspicions. Besides running downhill at altitude is a piece of cake, had it been uphill then goodnight nurse! As Dave took off to woo the ladies in the US of A, still cursing the stomach cramps that saw Mangoīs rendered a non-event, it was me solo in Bogota. Thanks to a street festival on the weekend the main road was closed to all traffic, except pushies which created a great atmosphere, from Friday night buskers and karaoke, to a police and childrens parade on Saturday (and yeah, the police still had their guns) including locals dressed in kangaroo suits, to Sunday where buskers were replaced by tango dancers along with free tango lessons for all. And do the Colombians love to dance or what...it helps that they are born with both a left an right foot, and not two left feet! You come to realise just how big the family is over here in Colombia as everything revolves around the children and making sure they are having the best time. And judging by the smiles and laughter coming from the kids, they are doing something right. To hear a Colombian child cry is about as likely as a spotting a policeman minus his gun.
Sunday I decided to head up Cerro de Monserrate accompanied by thousands of locals on foot, for me the spectacular views, for the locals, the church on the summit to which many miracles have been attributed. Given the assurance I would be robbed on weekdays, Sunday seemed as good a day as any. The miracle should have been that I made it to the top at all as walking up a ridiculously steep hill at altitude, early Sunday morning took some doing
05 - Bogota...ripe for the picking
. My challenge was not to be beaten by the man I kept passing before I would stop to catch my breath as gump style he kept on walking by me, failing to stop for anything. Sure he would have been the best part of 75 years old but that just made the challenge greater in my eyes. And can I say that even though I am not Catholic and had no idea what was going on during the service (apart from a random Amen and a few hallelugiahs) the music and passion from the locals was something else. On the way back down I came to realise how every inch of the path on both sides was taken by vendors selling everything from little baby cheesus, candles, bracelets, food, icecreams to pope-on-a-rope. And donīt forget the local catholic radio station, riding around in pope-mobiles handing out icy cold cans of Coke to the masses, along with loaves and fishes. So I made the last one up! And before I knew it I was eating my last meal at Crepes and Waffles (only employ single mums who make a mean chicken and spinach crepe), packing my bag and heading out of town for Cali. But before I head there, I have to say Bogota is where Colombia well and truly won me over. The people in the city be they at the next table in Cafe Florida, the skateboarders near the gold museum, the school kids in Plaza de Bolivar...everyone makes you feel welcome to their part of the world, a part of the world that is made out to be a hell of a lot worse than the reality. It would be naive of me to think that everything in Bogota is roses, having seen the poverty as two men and two dogs vied for the same bones in a bin on the main drag in the middle of the day as the locals walked past without batting an eyelid. But as they say, this is Colombia, a land of extremes, from oppressive poverty to sparkling prosperity...and always in your face.
Footnote for Lisa: I taught another traveller the art of dominoes in Bogota and in true style got covered in his can of Israeli whoop-ass, the bad luck continues!
