Is that a Gun in your Pocket, or...? Colombia, Part 1 #20

From June, 2015

First impressions of Colombia include the politeness and willingness of the public, as well as the severe poverty many nationals are going through in the capital of Bogota. Every bus you board there's someone with something to say or sell. Some were preaching with religious literature, some were selling chocolate and snacks, and some did not want anything physical in return, but just wanted to express their views.

Colombia is football crazy, so we had no problem finding amigos (that's Spanish for friends - I've been picking it up pretty quickly) to play with at the impressive El Parque Nacional. And we – along with the hockey, basketball and tennis players – thoroughly enjoyed the soothing voices of a nearby performing children's choir, even despite them repeating the same song for hours. The atmosphere on the city streets prior to Colombia playing Venezuela in South America’s continental football cup competition – Copa America – hosted by Chile, was sensational. Considering the UK invented the sport, I was blown away by the way the country took to the game in comparison. I'd never seen a nation with so much passion; with every man, woman and child showing their support amongst the yellow sunset of supporters. Unfortunately, they unexpectedly lost 1-0, so the mood dampened somewhat.

I was still yet to experience an even more pretentious traveller than myself while on this remarkable and heroic adventure – that was until I arrived at the Musicology Hostel in La Candelaria, downtown Bogota. The majority of guests were English, and they were really quite awful; swearing, shouting, bragging about who or what they've slept with, talking about how sick or mental they were that crazy night back in Rio, or how absolutely f**ked up they would be getting that night. I thought the guys in our room were the same until they told us about the Amazon: ‘What was the best thing?’ Rodney asked. ‘The birds, man.’ Here we go, I thought. About to leave the conversation before I got knee deep, he continued: ‘yeah, the toucans, the macaws, the hummingbirds...’. Rodney and I smiled and continued talking with the delightful chaps.

We climbed the steepest mountain I have ever come across and I have never struggled physically so much. Rodney's competitive side took over as he was adamant nobody else was passing him. I waved him on and I took my time to enjoy the views on the way up the incredible Monserrate. The view of the capital city from the peak was extraordinary and it was easily worth the blood, sweat and tears (well, there was definitely sweat, at least...)

We soon took to the bars and clubs of Bogota and thereabouts and experienced the spirit of salsa – to an extent. We joined Belgians, the Dutch, a Spaniard and a Peruvian on a joint hostel bus journey an hour away and experienced a lively Colombian club. We kept away from the tradition of buying litre bottles of drink at extortionate prices and happily enjoyed others’ spending. Watching Rodney try to loosen up his body to embrace the salsa moves was unforgettable. With some lucky American girls we had met the previous day, we visited another club which unleashed a considerable amount of glow sticks and balloons for people to turn into animals (mainly worms and snakes) and hit each other with. I thoroughly enjoyed it. In our group of five that night, Rodney was the only meat-eater, so the rest of us enjoyed huge and incredibly saucy (a few too many sauces for my liking) vegetarian hotdogs from a street vendor. Delectable, it was.

Having been in the city for a few days, we were feeling quietly confident and safe with our surroundings – until now. There Rodney and I were, minding our own business at 8pm, just a few minute walk away from our hostel, when a young hooligan enters our path. ‘Money! Phone!’ He repeated this for a couple of minutes as he tried to dig his hands into our pockets. With money in one pocket, and a phone in the other, I really didn't want those hands there. He persistently threatened to take out a weapon from his back pocket. As you probably expected, I managed to keep his hands under control and I soon diffused the situation and he backed down, presumably weapon-less. That boy did not know who he was dealing with. What an amateur.

This day also saw a change in our original travelling plans and neither of us boarded our plane to the border of Colombia to enter the Amazon. Instead, Rodney went to the coastal town of Santa Marta, while I stayed in the capital for two more days, meeting up again on the north coast in Cartagena later that week…