Bogota II- snapshots (in writing)

We´ve had two days of rain and one day of sun. On the day of sun we followed the trail of our tourist peers up to Montserrat. A bright white stonechapel, overlooking the city sprawl from its mountain peak. A metal box on a trainrail strives you up the mountainside. There´s music playing, a man with an overdramatical opera voice sings about “montserraaaat, montseraaaat” and that you should take your girlfriend up there. Which is what I´m doing.

On our way back into town, we take a break in a green slope leading down to the Los Andes university. We´re not alone: afternoon, 20 some degrees (celsius), sunny. It seems to be a place for students to hang out and make out. If the breeze is right you can catch a whiff of that universal green.

Some people in Bogota wears surgical masks. It takes you back to the days of SARS. But it´s for smog-protection. Between the smog and the high altitude and my lack of excercise, I´m constantly short of breath. Panting like one of the stray dogs begging passers-by for some crumbles from their chicken Empenada.

We´ve found a fantastic hole-in-the-wall, called Café Del Sol, were you can get three Cuba Libres and one beer for aproximately ten bucks. They´ve got a spotlight inbedded in the curb outside, so when you step out for a smoke your bound to be blinded.

A man with a rough exterior and a training-suit walks up to me and A outside Café Del Sol, offering us some scented sticks or “the best hascisch”. We decline but he´s still a happy fellow, jabbering in rapid spanish, calling me “sumo” and I look to A because I´m not following. But that´s what he means, that´s how he sees me: Sumo, an obese japanese wrestler. With dipers.

Bogota grows on me day by day. I´m not ironic.

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