After 2
weeks of civvy life away from Afghanistan it would have been an absolute joy to
have been woken up at 3AM yesterday, by my alarm clock, to get the cab to
Heathrow. Fortunately, my mate who I’m
staying with saved me from that particular unpleasant wake-up by crashing back
into the flat p*ssed out of his head at about 10 minutes to 3, so all was good…
The initial
flight to Paris was pretty uneventful, apart from wondering if Air France were
up to transferring my bag from one plane to the other at Charles de
Gaulle. Once on the next plane, which
was about a 10 or 11 hour flight to Bogota, I found myself sitting next to a
Colombian chap who was studying for a PhD in Holland, and he was helping me in
my crash course in Colombian history via the Lonely Planet- and ‘The Candy
Machine’. His reason for travelling was
somewhat different to my own, and definitely worth a mention- he was having
girlfriend trouble so was going back to Colombia to surprise her, and try and
save the relationship. I felt it was
probably not the right time to give my default ‘agony aunt’ advice to anybody
having bird issues: “Tell her to go and
f*ck herself!”
The first
impression of looking down at Colombia as we made our descent was just how
green, and North European it looked.
There were areas that were clearly cultivated, while the high ground was
covered in either grass or woodland, and reminded me of my spiritual home-
Brecon. There were a large number of
fields covered with plastic sheeting/ green-housing and it did occur to me that
there is only one product everybody knows is cultivated and exported from
Colombia! However, he told me it was the
wrong area for that, which is concentrated around Medellin, and this area was apparently
well known for producing potatoes.
Once at
Bogota airport, it was fairly painless to pick up my bag and clear
immigration, but the first remarkable thing was that obviously nobody is
allowed to wait for passengers inside the terminal. Once you get outside, though, there is a
massive scrum involving people ‘meeting and greeting’ mixed in with the cab
rank. Some American business types came
up to me and asked if I was ‘Ross’, and were mortified when I told them I
wasn’t- I wonder what would have happened if I’d said I was!
I’d booked a
room in a Holiday Inn as I was pretty much flying ‘blind’, and I spotted a
senorita holding up a Holiday Inn board in the crowd, so I went over and
chatted to her. Unsurprisingly, she and
her colleague, who had just moved back to Bogota after 3 years living in
Stockwell, working on the South Bank, had nothing to do with me or my Holiday
Inn. Surprisingly, they went out of
their way to sort me out with a cab that wasn’t going to rob me or rip me off,
which was actually a promising start.
The airport
is located to the West of the actual city, and we headed to the Northern part
where my (current) hotel is located. I
did notice there were a couple of soldiers at the end of my street when we
arrived, though I hadn’t noticed any on the way through the city. The city is encircled on 3 sides, from the
North around the East to the South, by a mountain range which can be a
significant aid to navigation- if you think you’re going South, but the
mountains are on your right, then turn around!
Once I got
to the hotel and had unpacked it was 6 o’clock and being pretty close to the
equator, the lights went out pretty quickly and it was night time. However, I felt I needed to do a quick ‘clearance
patrol’ leg stretch to see where I was, so I just walked up and down the
street, Calle 94, a couple of blocks in each direction, which seems to be part
of the Diplomatic Quarter. As I got
close to where I’d seen the soldiers I noticed 1 of those 7 candle,
candle-stick holders you associate with Synagogues etc, in the street and I
imagined it was a clue that the Israeli Embassy was in the vicinity, hence the
soldiers. Good news and bad news: the most heavily defended place- because it’s
the place with the biggest threat. As I
approached the junction I’d decided I would turn around at, I made eye-contact
with one of the Colombian soldiers who was holding 1 of those Galil/ R4 rifles
originally made by the Israelis, then the South Africans. Nothing arouses suspicion in an alert or
jobsworth soldier/ policeman quite like making eye contact and immediately
turning around and walking away, so I thought it best to walk past him, do a
left, and then double back on myself.
This morning
I treated myself to the complimentary fat-boy’s breakfast, which is rather more
robust than hostel food, before heading out into Bogota, to try and get my
bearings, and get a feel for the place.
Tonight I’m due to meet a friend of a friend at an Irish bar around
Calle 83, so my first priority was to do a quick recce around there, and
discovered this area is the obvious playground of the better off Colombians and
Ex-Pats as all the shopping malls, bars, designer labels were in this area.
The roads in
Bogota are called Calles and Carreras as Streets and Avenues, so addresses are
kind of like 8 figure grid-references. The Calles run East-West and the numbers go up
as you go North- and I was told any Calle between 80 and 100 is ‘safe’. So once I was happy with where I’m heading
later (f*cking Paddy pubs, Grr), I headed South, to see what it was like, and
my impression of Bogota as a whole is that it is much like Johannesburg was
when I lived there 12 years ago. Normal
life goes on, but you can see the clues as to what might happen. Every building seems to have a secure
underground car park- with some pretty steep ramps cutting through the
pavements. There are also policemen and
armed to the teeth security guards at various locations. Pump-action shotguns are clearly a local
favourite, but outside one bank I also saw a particularly unpleasant looking
muzzled Rotweiller! Even in my own hotel,
I noticed the security guard had not only a ‘6-shooter’ revolver, but some very
quaint loops sewn into the blue fabric of his uniform to put more rounds into,
in pure Mexican bandit fashion. Totally
impractical and if he was really worried that he needed the ammo, he should
have bought himself a Sig or a Glock, with a couple of 15 or 17 round mags, but hey ho it’s probably the
height of local bling!
At about
midday I needed my caffeine and internet fix, so I found a coffee shop. However the waitress not only apologised (I’m
guessing) for their lack of internet, but she directed me over the road to the
local version of Starbucks, called Juan Valdez. Again, like the Holiday Inn staff at the
airport, a very kind and unexpected gesture, possibly a national
characteristic?
Anyway, once
at the other coffee shop there was enough of a language connection for me to
order a Latte, but we hit a bit of a barrier when he tried to tell me how much
to pay. Fortunately, on cue, a blonde, blue
eyed girl came in and as I suspected she wasn’t a local and could act as a
‘terp’, and everyone was happy. She was
a German PhD student (2 in 24 hours- maybe such intellectuals regard me as one
of their own…) and I sat down with her for a bit. She
was the first ‘Gringo’ I’d seen since I’d been here, and I got the impression
she was quite pleased to speak to a Gringo as well. She was telling me that she’s here doing a
study from a sociological perspective on the native tribes, which I didn’t
fully understand. However, I got the
gist that in the next few weeks she was planning to go to visit one of their
villages near Popayan further South- but there’s a bit of a problem as it is an
area controlled by FARC. These are the left-wing guerrillas who have been
fighting a civil war since the 60’s, but militarily have been routed in the
past few years apart from a few small pockets around the country. Parallel to their workers’ rights, Guardian
friendly ideology etc, FARC also make a tidy living from the cocaine trade and
kidnapping people- especially Gringos.
Needless to say her face lit up when I said I’d
just come back from Afghanistan, and I had an amazing feeling of Déjà vu from
my trip to Nablus (http://charliecharlieone.blogspot.com/2011/11/one-reason-to-visit-west-bank.html). However I certainly
did not commit myself to anything as, unlike in the Middle East where I know
the situation better than most of the locals, here I feel extremely ignorant of
the whole place and need to learn an awful lot.
My next move
tonight is to go and meet afore mentioned British friend of friend, before
tomorrow taking a downward step in accommodation to the backpacker hostel area
in the ‘Old Town’. After that, I want to
fly up to Cartagena on the North Coast, and I’m trying to get myself on an
intensive, week-long Spanish language course.
Right,
that’s it for now- bring on the Paddy Pub…
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