Bogota

Bogotà

Another thirteen hours through mountains, hairpin bends, braking and accelerating, and late in the evening we had reached Bogotà, the immense Colombian capital built at an altitude of 2,600 metres. Once we arrived at the bus station we immediately contacted Juan Carlos, a friend of ours who lived right there. After he gave us his address, we grabbed the first available taxi to reach his house, wash up and go out to dinner. Back home, we chatted with Wanda and el Mancho, two more of our friends who live with Juan Carlos: they would be our guides in Bogotà.

The following day, almost entirely planned by our friends, we were supposed to spend visiting the city, but first of all we went to our airline's offices to change a leg of our trip. Things turned out to be more difficult than expected, and between intercontinental phone calls and various misunderstandings we lost almost half a day. We spent the time we had left visiting a few notable buildings, one of the many parks near the financial district, and not much else.

The following day we headed to the outskirts to get a sense of the continuous development the city is undergoing and the conditions in which the poorest classes of society live. Right in the outskirts, like a cathedral in the desert, stands one of Bogotà's three immense libraries; this one is particularly interesting because it was made out of an old waste recycling plant. After a visit inside the library we returned to the city centre, strictly on board the Transmilenio, a sort of above-ground metro that functionally connects the nerve centres of the city. Our next goal was the sanctuary of Monserrate, from where you could get a full view of the city. The sanctuary is in fact situated at the top of a steep hill, and to reach it you need to board a funicular that in just a few minutes climbs a gradient of more than one hundred and fifty metres.

From up there you can contemplate Bogotà in all its majesty and beauty, nine million people on the move and constantly growing. As darkness fell, the city began to light up and take on a new splendour, highlighted by the main roads that looked like rivers of light. Because of the freezing wind it was time to head back down towards home, and we treated ourselves to a cup of hot chocolate in one of the countless cafés, and so that day too had come to an end.

In the morning, bags packed, we were already on a minivan that would take us near Bogotà; having taken possession again of Juan Carlos's apartment and settled the bags we spent the rest of the day together with the Mancho who took us again to Plaza Bolivar, to see it in daylight and then head to the nearby Museum of Modern Art where we admired an exhibition almost entirely dedicated to Fernando Botero, the very famous Colombian artist originally from Medellin.

The following day was the one destined for leaving Colombia, a country that many had described to us as extremely dangerous and disorganized in which the only activity seemed to be the trade of white powder. On the contrary, starting from its capital Bogotà (almost comparable to a large European city) the country seemed to us extremely safe, presided over by a massive presence of military police watching over its tranquillity. With that, one should not forget the problems that are still present in the country, first of all a latent guerrilla warfare. Having packed our bags and said goodbye to our friends we headed to the airport to board for our last state: Brazil!