It wasn't until the second I was actually packing my bag that I realized how small it was. The airline allowed me no more than 6 kilos worth of stuff in my bag. Obviously, I needed to choose wisely, which 6 kilos of my belongings were most crucial in lasting me the next 12 days. I did the best I could, but made some crucial errors - forgot my razor, my sunglasses, my sandals, and my cold-weather clothes. But hey, that's fine. The point of this trip, as I explained to my host mom on the way to school Thursday afternoon, was to be one of those people who is comfortable when everything around me is uncomfortable. To say the least, that is what's happening here.
We had a plan for getting to the airport on time that allowed a ton of room for error. However, we executed flawlessly, and as expected, showed up for the flight on American time. The airport process took about 5% of the time it usually takes, so that, combined with Colombian time, is probably the cause of the empty waiting area we sat in for 3 hours alone.
We had a plan for getting to the airport on time that allowed a ton of room for error. However, we executed flawlessly, and as expected, showed up for the flight on American time. The airport process took about 5% of the time it usually takes, so that, combined with Colombian time, is probably the cause of the empty waiting area we sat in for 3 hours alone.
This flight, I did something I've never done before; load the plane from the outside. I felt like I was on the scene of an action film, with a bunch of sketchy dudes in stripped shirts with nothing but backpacks and over-dramatically gelled hair, crowding the stairs ahead of me. Overpriced snacks, medium-level Sudoku puzzles and having a row all to ourselves helped us to get past the poor airline service that doesn't even offer you a complimentary 5 oz drink on the plane. I felt very blessed to hit the ground smoothly and safely, based on the car ride to the airport in which we spoke of nothing but plane crashes and survival strategies.
We entered the airport, made a pit stop for some food, and headed outside to catch a cab. We had a roundabout expectation of what the price should be, somewhere around 25 mil. We approached the first taxi, and upon seeing the wide assortment of gringos that our group consisted of, we got the average "40mil" offer. We asked the next taxi in line, who had a lower offer, until he really looked at us, and then raised the price. We decided to strategize and send only 2 people to go searching for a taxi, a German dude who has been living her for 8 months now, and our Haitian friend who happened to be wearing a Colombian National soccer team jersey, easily mistaken for a Colombian.
It worked! And we paid only 25 mil to our hostel. On the way, our taxi driver practiced the few random words that he'd learned in English, one of which was "easy". He used it, shockingly well in context, to describe some of the foreign girls here. As we made our way to our hostel, we passed a not-so-foreseen shantytown that had us all concerned about the neighborhood we were staying in. After about a half hour of driving, we knew we were close, but couldn't quite find the place. Considering our status as less-native than our taxi driver, we were a bit confused when he shut off the engine, pulled out the key, got out of the car and locked all the doors. Turns out, he was only asking for directions, all while making sure a group of four young gringos don't run off with his car. We checked into our hostel, took in the bunk-bed living style, ice cold sink water, and weird hybrid of outdoor rocky flooring and neon indoor seating that was used to decorate. We unpacked our 6 kilos worth of things and then headed out to explore the neighborhood. To our surprise, our neighborhood, La Candelaria, ended up being a dynamic, colorful, and incredibly artistic area to stay. Really safe by day, but a bit dangerous at night, it's a really cool, youthful place to hang out, get yelled at for drinking beer on the street, and find groups of strangers who want to show you a good time. |
Our first night in Bogotá was one to remember. The front desk of the hostel was advertising a 60mil party bus that night, which of course, attracted the attention of my fellow travelers. They were determined to go, but I was disgustingly distraught, half unwilling to pay that much money when I don't even drink, half unwilling to miss out on the adventure they were certainly going to find. Luckily, the party bus was canceled, and we were left exploring the city. Within 10 minutes of hitting the streets, we ran into a total Colombian babe in a neon jacket and tall, black high heels. She led us to a store where we could buy food and drinks. We figured we would hang there and chill for a while to get the night started. We quickly learned an important lesson about Bogotá - if you buy at the counter, you're considered a "to-go" customer; don't you dare try to take up space at a table. As if she was waiting for us to get knocked of our feet, that same Colombian hottie was still standing outside when we got kicked out. She kindly led us to another place in the street where we could move forward with the night's festivities. Surely enough, the cops were quick to pull up on their dorky little 2-person motorcycles and bust our Plan B. Plan C was to move 30 feet away to an "apparently public" part of the street. There, we met two guys - Carlos and Yohan. We made friends, bonding over the famous Barranquilla vs. Bogota "which accent is worse" argument, but it was a friendship short-lived. The same two cops pulled up again, delivering the same message. Luckily it only took until Plan C to find a place to stay; an authentic Colombian arepa shop with no rules.
We kicked off the night without a hunch, and spent the rest of the evening bar hopping between Cafe Rosas, and some Salsa bar that was as equally lively as it was sweaty. We convinced the salsa bar to convert to bachata for 15 minutes, enjoyed the sight of Weston dancing with a woman who was at least 65, and actually knew some of the songs they were playing! Cafe Rosas was no less interesting. A random man named Andres just kind of tagged along with us, paid our entrance bill, and believed my "I have a Colombian boyfriend. Don't touch me." pitch. Inside, my friends were finding some cute girls, one of which was so cute that she pick-pocketed one of my friends mid-dance. He realized that she'd stolen his camera, was smart enough to spit out the sketchy shot they tried to force feed him, and quickly ended up at the entrance of the building, talking to the owner of the club. In return for the trouble, we were promised free entrance to the next night's event and a copy of the security camera footage of him being robbed. Second best way to remember the night - if not by the camera, at least by the security footage.
We woke up bright and early after a long night out, and followed the directions of the world's best tour guide and the red-headed king of travel, my friend Weston. We exhausted ourselves walking uphill in this insane altitude, but it was all worth it for the view. Unfortunately, the clouds were out and the skies were gray, but we still managed to take some great pictures. We made our way up the mountain by cable car (teleférico) and enjoyed the breathtaking (3180 feet above sea level type breathtaking) views. We had mountains behind us, the city in front, a gorgeous restaurant to our left, and an old church-looking building to our right.
We woke up bright and early after a long night out, and followed the directions of the world's best tour guide and the red-headed king of travel, my friend Weston. We exhausted ourselves walking uphill in this insane altitude, but it was all worth it for the view. Unfortunately, the clouds were out and the skies were gray, but we still managed to take some great pictures. We made our way up the mountain by cable car (teleférico) and enjoyed the breathtaking (3180 feet above sea level type breathtaking) views. We had mountains behind us, the city in front, a gorgeous restaurant to our left, and an old church-looking building to our right.
I escaped the rain, ate the leftovers of Chris' lunch, burnt my forearm on some Coco tea, and then deescalated back down the mountain. Catching our breathe, guarding our bags, and dodging the dog crap on the streets, we walked a good ways to the famous gold museum, or in spanish "El Museo del Oro". We witnessed some insanely detailed creations, learned lots about the history of metals, and managed to spend a solid two hours without even a bathroom break or a food break. We're breaking all the typical "spring breaker" stereotypes - doing real learning and things.
After a nice long shower and extensive nap time, we walked to the bus station to begin the next round of adventures. The Bogotá bus system is really fascinating as it is basically a bus-subway hybrid. They have these subway-like holding stations above ground, where you have to purchase a ticket to get in, and then wait for the bus to pull up. The glass doors of the holding station open, people get on and off, then you make your way to the next place. Though you are always on street level, you stay in either the bus or the transfer stations at all times until truly exiting to a street.
We, personally, were going to "Calle 85", known to be the biggest party strip around. We knew we'd be paying for 80 blocks worth of cab rides home, but said "Hey, why not?" We met a nice, young couple who helped us get to where we were going. After arriving, we crossed the bridge with the masses of other 20-somethings headed to the same place, and then landed in a grocery store to buy a killer combo: alcohol and ice cream. Alcohol for the boys, ice cream for me. We went to the upstairs dining area, and ironically enough, got kicked out for daring to make mixed drinks while the girl 3 tables down was barfing her brains out from alcohol poisoning. We left, and did as the locals do. We found a sidewalk on the street that was empty, and relocated there. Across from us were two cute girls, around our age. We made friends with them, learned a little about Bogotá from a local's perspective, and then got invited to "gringo Tuesdays" at one of their favorite restaurants. Thanking them for the invite, we left towards the place where all the real action was taking place. Arriving there, it was like nothing I'd ever seen before. Endless bars and clubs with bright lights, trilingual party promoters, and mobs upon mobs of people. We ran into just about every person staying at our hostel, as well an American dude who was being drunk and overprotective of us, alternating every other sentence stating "Watch your pockets!" and "If we don't take care of each other, who will?" By the end of the night, we'd gotten into a few clubs for free, kicked out of a club for a reason our level of Spanish didn't permit us to understand, and landed ourselves in an awesome, four-story club with a bunch of rowdy 19 year old boys and great music. It was the most interesting, stressful, ridiculous night I've had in a long time.
We decided to take it down a notch and head to a nice museum instead.
It was the world famous Botero museum.
It was the world famous Botero museum.
Just a few weeks before this trip in my Art & Architecture class, we discussed this artist. He's known for his work that always revolves around people that he's made out to be very fat. It doesn't stop at people, though. In his work, you'll see everything from fat fruits to fat houses, fat guitars to fat exotic animals. Whether paintings or statues, they are always a sight to see. Going into the museum with the previous knowledge, the only question we truly had was "Is Botero, himself, fat?" |
Through the clouds and the frigid cold breeze, we managed to see, next, the famous Plaza de Bolívar. There was lots of construction and even more pigeons, and the first mass of business people in professional suits that we had seen the whole time we were here in Colombia.
On our way back to the hostel, we got caught in one of Bogotá's torrential downpours. Having forgotten my sandals in Barranquilla, I was walking cautiously through the rain in slippery, black flip flops, quite aways behind the others who were smart, wearing sneakers and running home for protection. It felt as if all the cab drivers in Bogotá had sent out a universal message informing them all to purposely swerve towards me, plow through the puddles of water, and get me soaking wet. The craziest part was that less than an hour after getting back to the hostel, I had an online interview for a job that I've been pursuing. It seemed like mission impossible to find a place that was quiet, a decent temperature, and well-lit. I ended up in a hostel bathroom with the door locked, my laptop on the back of the toilet seat, and me attempting to look professional, sitting cross legged on a for-decoration-only wooden chair. The wifi cut the call off about 4 times, but hopefully it won't be held against me!
Later that night, to get away from all the things we're used to - job interviews, insane amounts of rain, and an overwhelming amount of tourists, we escaped to this hole-in-the-wall place to play a very traditional game of Colombian tejo. You stand about 20 feet away from a square target filled with wet cement-type stuff. You underhand toss a weight towards the target, hoping to get it stuck in the goo. You can either get a bullseye, worth six points, or a basic shot that is worth one point, but the real magic happens when your weight hits one of the little triangle packets filled with gun powder. Causing a momentary fire, it explodes, as does that excitement of the team that just scored those points. The catch is that at the beginning of the game, you get 20 beers. You have to finish them before you finish playing, or you have to pay significantly more. For the second time since our trip started, I "took one for the team" and actually drank a beer. It's getting crazy out here.
Later that night, to get away from all the things we're used to - job interviews, insane amounts of rain, and an overwhelming amount of tourists, we escaped to this hole-in-the-wall place to play a very traditional game of Colombian tejo. You stand about 20 feet away from a square target filled with wet cement-type stuff. You underhand toss a weight towards the target, hoping to get it stuck in the goo. You can either get a bullseye, worth six points, or a basic shot that is worth one point, but the real magic happens when your weight hits one of the little triangle packets filled with gun powder. Causing a momentary fire, it explodes, as does that excitement of the team that just scored those points. The catch is that at the beginning of the game, you get 20 beers. You have to finish them before you finish playing, or you have to pay significantly more. For the second time since our trip started, I "took one for the team" and actually drank a beer. It's getting crazy out here.
All in all, Bogotá was interesting.. a little too interesting. We've landed here in Medellín and are entirely captivated ALREADY. Excited to see what this quaint, yet massive city has in store for me. Paragliding, white water rafting, my very first pub crawl (I definitely won't be crawling), and more. Stay tuned!