Bogota, Colombia

A day later then planned, I’m getting on the night bus heading to Bogota. I ended up sitting next to a local guy from Medellin that was going to Bogota for the long weekend to see some friends. Talked to him for a bit, watched Blood Diamond in Spanish and got a decent night’s sleep. I get into the bus station and grab a cab to the centro. It’s cold, cloudy and grey and the city looks pretty industrial. At first glance, I don’t really like it. It feels like I left California and landed somewhere in the Midwest.

I got into the city, found a hotel and headed over to meet Nic. We had been emailing for the past week or so about his motorcycle. He shipped his bike to Chile from Australia and he and two friends spent the last 5 or 6 months riding around S. America. It was time for him to go home and it was time for me to get a bike. We had some coffee and chatted about the bike, then were off to sort out some paperwork. We found a notary that stamped our homemade bill of sale. It’s difficult, possibly illegal depending on who you ask, to buy a vehicle in Colombia with a tourist visa. So we had to creat our own and this is the most official piece of paper work I have for the bike, the first border crossing should be interesting.




We get back to his hostel and went over the bike, he had a problem with the speedometer that we would work on tomorrow. I went back to the hotel, got a shower and am heading back to Nic’s hostel. I ran into a few guys from Colorado that I met in Taganga. The were heading out on the night bus to Cali, so we all went out for a few pre-departure beers.




They took off and I wondered around town a bit. They area where I was staying, The Candaleria, was the old part of town. Beautiful colonial architecture, lots of coffee shops, art galleries and small pubs. Very Bohemian. There were street performers, almost a small circus, in the town square. Jugglers, fire dancers, clowns riding little bikes…pretty surreal. And lots of young people drinking cheap wine and smoking joints. I stopped into a little pub for a beer. It was a rock bar, there wereon the stereo. I met a few Colombian guys that had studied in London, they spoke pretty good English. I hung out with them and a few of their friends for a while.

They were heading out to another bar to see some music and asked if I wanted to come along. I told them I was going to get a bite to eat and meet them there. About 2 blocks away, I’m looking for something to eat. It’s not the busiest street in the Candalariea, but certainly not the darkest and most deserted.




Out of nowhere a guy is next to me, saying something I don’t immediately understand. I see a knife, pretty small knife, and realize he’s saying “cash, cash”. He’s a little guy and I’m about to hit him and take off, when I feel another knife pressed against my back. A quick glance behind me and the first guy now has his knife to my neck. (this happened right about where the group of people are standing in this pic to the right)

A third guy goes through my pockets, he gets a few pesos, I tell them that’s all I have. He feels my id card in a zippered pocket and cuts it open. Now he’s got another 50 pesos and my id, along with a credit card. I grab the id and card, tell him it’s just an id. As their leaving, one of the guys turns back and gives me my hotel keys. They were polite banditos after all.

They whole thing took about 30 seconds, people all around. Every day I met someone or heard about someone getting mugged in this area. It’s where all the hostels are located and the slums of the city are very close. My friends that lived there all carried collapsible battalions, I started carrying a long, heavy socket wrench. As well as taking cabs everywhere when it was late.



The next day Nic and I took off the front wheel and went out looking for a bike mechanic. We ended up in a part of town call Caracas. It was a neighborhood filled with everything you could ever imagine for motorcycles. Hundreds of mechanics and all sorts of shops with tires, parts, gear, you name it. All right next to each other selling, more or less, the same things. I later found similar neighborhoods in Bogota filled with industrial cloth stores, upholstery shops, electronics, etc. I find it strange that there are all right next to each other, selling the same merchandise for essentially the same price.




Anyway, we found a mechanic, explain the problem in our broken Spanish. The guy seems to get it. He gets the tire off and walks us around the corner to the welder. We watch this guy work for an hour or so. He clearly knows what he’s doing and seems to fix the problem. Although I had to later return for a bit more work which he happily did (although I still couldn’t get te speedo working). Another guy bangs a small dent out of the rim. We spent almost three hours there, had ad least 5 guys working on the rim and spent less then $20 us. It would have cost more then that just to have someone look at the rim In the states.

I head back to my hotel to chill for a bit. I go back to Musicology to meet Nic. I’m an hour or so late and the owner tells me her left with a few other guys for Alex Carne de Res. This place is about an hour out of town, I don’t know much about it but a friend told me it was a lot of fun and I had to check it out when I was in Bogota.

I’m still at the hotel, trying to decide what to do when I ran into a British girl I met in Taganga, We actually “met” on face book before getting to Colombia through another friend, Natasha, who is a whole different story. So the owner tells me that three other people from the hostel are heading to the restaurant, so I grab Nina and hop in the cab. The others are two Irish girls and a guy from England. All seem cool enough. It’s the last night in Colombia for the Irish teachers and the Brit is heading south on a similar schedule as mine. .

On the way out of town, Nina tells the cabbie she needs to go to the atm. She needs to go to a particular bank and at a stoplight she sees the ones she’s looking for. She opens the door to run across the street, perfectly timed, a guy on a motorbike is riding up the curb. He smashes right into the open door. Something right out of a Hollywood movie, except that he didn’t rip off the door, just a blinker and some flesh. And the door no longer closed properly. Some negotiations ensued, and it ended up costing Nina about $75 us.

Another hour and we were at the restaurant. The place looked like a county carnival. Nothing in site for miles except for a sleepy little down and then, out of nowhere, lots of neon, windmill, nd all sorts of kitsch. And the place was huge. We get inside and they tell us they don’t have a table for us. We wonder around for a while, the place is packed and not an empty table to be found. Nor could you find an ugly person in the place. A few thousand people, mostly Colombians, and all of them were good looking. Amazing. A group from Bogota asks us to join them. They speak pretty good English, they are clearly well educated and have some money, and ended up being a lot of fun.

I sort of bounce between these guys and nic and his crew. Towards the end of the night, I head over to look for Nic, they are gone but I meet a Colombian girl and a group of her friends. I hang out with them for a while then the lights come on. I head back towards Nina and the others. They are literally about a half a mile away, the place is huge. They are gone when I get there. I hang with the Colombian girl for a bit longer and end up taking a long, expensive cab ride home. Well worth every penny, though, great times at Alex Carne de Res.

The next day, for the first time in S America, despite all the late nights I spent in Tagnaga, I was properly hung over. It was pretty cold and grey outside, so I spent the day watching whatever cheesy movies I could find in English. A slice of pizza and a coke and back to the room for more tv. It was the first day down here that I really didn’t do a single productive thing all day. It actually felt kind of nice to have a lazy Sunday.

The next few days were spent wrenching on the bike and getting some gear together. I spent much more time in motorcycle shops and garages then I did in any of Bogota’s museums or other tourist attractions. I did go to the Botero museum which was very cool. I really dig his style. For the most part he only paints and sculpts very rotund people all in a very trippy manner. There were also lots of Picasso’s and other original works. I also spent a lot of time in the bakeries, cafes and almuerzo spots around the Candaleria.




I got to know a few mechanics pretty well, they had a stall in a large garage where about 40-50 guys worked. Some did nothing but alarms, others exhaust pipe, some only tires. Everyone had their specialty. My guys spoke no English and my mechanics Spanish is nonexistent. They were very helpful nonetheless. The last day there I ended up having lunch with one of the guys. He took me to a tiny little hole in the wall, tucked upstairs in somewhat of a motorcycle mall. One of my favorite meals of the trip.



The few rides I took through Bogota on the motorbike were always interesting. The first time, I ended up riding in circle trying to get back to the Candaleria, even though it was less then 20 or so blocks. However, between the garage and the hotel was the central downtown/ financial district and the main government buildings, including the capital and the president’s home. Lot’s of one way and dead end streets. I ended up on a narrow street filled with vendors and tons of people. I can see lots of people staring and can hear a few gringo comments. Cars weren’t moving and I was feeling a bit vulnerable with all these people around and no way out.





At one point, I’m trying to squeeze through a parked truck and a line of traffic and I hear a loud noise and feel a jolt on the bike. I realize I misjudged the how wide the big aluminum boxes on the bike were and they hit the truck. The guy in the truck looks back to see what happened, I take off as fast as I can and make sure I lose him in traffic.

I finally find my way through downtown and am heading by the president’s house. A cop on a bike pulls up next to me and starts asking me where my vest is. In Colombia, everyone on a motorcycle needs to where a bright vest with the license plate number, as well as the number on their helmet. This is because in the days of la violencia, motorcycles were a common mode of transportation for hit men and drive by shootings. Anyway, I don’t have a vest, nor a registration or valid insurance. So I just start telling him what kind of bike I’m riding, how big it is, whre I'm from, etc... I just act like I think he’s asking me about the bike and just wants to chat. The light turns green and I’m on the throttle.

I end up getting to like Bogota, despite it’s industrial feel and the sketchiness of being mugged. Parts of it, particularly in the north, reminded me of NYC. Beautiful urban parks, lots of distinct neighborhoods. Very cosmopolitan. And I also really like the bohemian vibe of the Candalaeria.