We met up somewhere over the southern end of the Gulf of Mexico, while I was drifting in between myself and my thoughts. This isn't as easy as I thought - leaving school behind for a brief moment to confront one of my deepest fears.
Oh, did I mention I feared Colombia, specifically Bogota? Misinformation does that to you. But if you don't chellenge yourself and that which you know, then why bother being alive.

Anyways, the stamp was well inked and I have one thing to say - it's good to be back. Even though I've never been here.
What I mean by that is that it's good to be back into this pattern of discovery, of answering my own questions by my own doing. No one forced my to come here. The bill, which may end up being rather small, is still fitted by no one but me.

We arrived at the convenient time of 10:30pm, just the perfect time to visit one of the world's most dangerous cities for the first time. A taxi from the airport took me downtown for US$6.

Far more affluence, and much quieter streets greeted me. The streets from the airport are newly paved and free of debris. The usual Latin American barrage of advertising lined the roadside in billboards. Well, what did you expect? Something closer to Haiti: a ramshackle airport with a torn up road going through a slum to get to the nonexistent downtown. Bogota has dollars to spare - not everyone is in on it, of course, but affluence isn't hard to find here.

Also - nice climate. High in the mountains, it's cool at night. The centro proper, though, is torn up and very silent for 11pm.
I opted for Platypus, the gringo capital of Bogota. It's full - although inconvenient for me, I think this is a good sign.
On the other hand, I had to snicker to myself as I left the place and started heading to another recommended hotel. Here I am, in Bogota, eleven in the evening, with all of my essentials on me - walking the torn up downtown streets. Luckily they are as quiet as they are.
Although a beggar got some dough for me as I wandered over to the next hotel. "Quanto?" I asked the hotel manager about the dingy little room. "Mille," he said. 1000 pesos? Thats about fifty cents US. The place is a dive, but I didn't think it would be this inexpensive.
Also - no english whatsoever. Dumb Gringo Sean bumbles and minces his Spanish to try to answer the clerk's questions. Not like I expected anything else, though - besides, in South America, you can spot a gringo a mile away and there's little point in even trying to fit in. The room is noisy, and there's someone watching soccer on television.

So here I am - Colombia. Bogota. Please treat me well, and tell me a little about yourself.
Bogota - Daylight

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