- it is in the mountains!
- it has a large Fernando Botero museum!!
- their local chicken stew ajiaco is delectable!!!
BUT... that was it. I wish I was kidding. Preparation is not #mythang, child.
Being so very in-the-dark about what I was supposed to do in a city that is - fun fact - gargantuan (the size of all of NYC's 5 boroughs combined!), I did what all uninspired tourists do: I decided to try out a local bike tour.
The name of the tour company I chose was straight-forward, Bogota Bike Tours. I thus assumed I would be lead past the major Hits of Bogota, maybe learn a fact or two, and finally, 90 mins. later, be on my way to consuming a delicious empanada.
Alas: the Bogota Bike Tour was not to be anything like a leisurely pedal down a paved, Euro-centric Colombian version of the Ringstraße.
I walked into the BBT "office" - really, an open-air garage with bike parts strewn about everywhere - and a tiny Colombian man named Emilio immediately forced a mountain bike, helmet, and (most disturbingly) various ankle/elbow/wrist guards at me. I hadn't even registered or paid for the tour. Heck, I hadn't even fully stepped foot into their garage. This was the first of many signs that I was in for something a bit more intense than I anticipated. A heh heh heh.
Our guide was a grizzled, late 50s, ex-pat journalist named Mike. (Note: Since journalists in Colombia have been notorious targets of assasinations for at least the past century, this is not a profession for the weak of heart.)
Mike had what looked to be a large, chemical burn on half of his face. Also, he carried a half-destroyed macrame camera bag so tattered that he had stuffed a large black garbage bag inside as a "waterproof lining."
Mike had what looked to be a large, chemical burn on half of his face. Also, he carried a half-destroyed macrame camera bag so tattered that he had stuffed a large black garbage bag inside as a "waterproof lining."
But really, a picture is worth a thousands words, right? All you need to know about Señor Mike:
Crazy-eyed does not even begin to describe...
His first words to us: "Hey guys, my name is Mike. I've been living in Bogota for 6 years, in Latin America for 15. I'm from California but I haven't been back to that godawful place in over a decade. ALRIGHT ENOUGH SMALLTALK LET'S GO." And then he sped away at warp-speed. At this point, I had barely strapped on my helmet.
And still, off we went.
A small selection of amazing non-guide-book-approved sites we visited in Bogota, after the jump.
1) The Bogota bull-fighting ring, notably shut down by the government for 2+ years.
Despite being legitimately closed to the public, the arena was available for our visit because Mike bribed the security guards. And also had us tip them. Freedom isn't free, y'all.
2) An abandoned law museum that has recently turned into a large cock-fighting ring. No fotos allowed, of course, but I did manage to snap this one before we entered. Juuuust to give you an idea of what we we were working with.
3) A rastafarian anarcho-communist student protest at the National University.
The Nat'l University in general proved to offer a next-level reality check to our 90% German/Canadian first-world bike tour dwellers. There are armed federal guards at both of its large, black gated entry points. Evidently the university has not-so-distantly been the nesting ground of any/all anti-establishment movements in Bogota
Burning shit in the middle of campus. You know how it is.
4) The only red light district in the city where sex workers can walk around mostly-naked on the streets so as to upsell their services.
Notably, sex workers of many gender expressions hollered at our mountain bikes very very aggressively, since photos were not appreciated. (I did not take this one, in my defense!)
I guess we also may have splashed a few of them thanks to the incessant downpour around us. This life.
5) The highway overpass where Justin Bieber (accompanied by a large, Bogota police escort) painted his first, supremely sophomoric tag, a pot leaf. $$**aaaaRtttt**&&.
(Afterwards, he headed over to the aforementioned red light district. Again, with police escort.)
Signs that there is some justice left in this world: Within 24 hours, Bogota's local street artistshad completely painted over J.Biebz's tag with a number of eff-the-policia messages. Holla back!
Side note: did y'all know Bogota has some of the most impressive street art in the world??? Neither did I. Until 3 days ago! The more you knooooow.
6) The only coffee roasting company in Bogota that actually keeps the good beans in the country.
Interestingly: Most of the good Colombian coffee beans are exported, leaving only the shitty ones behind for actual Colombians to consume. WAT.
I might also mention that said-coffee-roaster was in the middle of the largest slum in Bogota. A heh.
7) In this same 'hood: a visit to a lost-city-sex-obelisk cemetery somehow turned into us watching a local crew of raperos perform.
These kids were ages 12-14 but already had the chutzpah to pen their own multi-part rhymes about the very immense struggles of growing up in the toughest barrio in Bog. It warmed my heart.
8) (My personal favorite) The largest fruit market in Bogota!
Mike's super professional-tour-guide strategy was to straight up grab any fruit he saw and - without paying the fruit seller - cut it up into pieces and share them with our crew.
Of course: After many hours of attempting to physically, mentally and spiritually keep up with Mike / his lack of fear of death, we were very very starving. Thus we did not oppose. &&& THAT SHIT WAS HEAVEN ON EARTH>>>>>
During this time, a lovably-crazy old lady came up to me and began asking me about Nueva York. We bonded quickly, and in the end I gladly shared my granadilla (note: delicious!!!) with her.
Amistad.
In any case, this tour was not 90 minutes. It was not 180 or 270 minutes, either.
It was six hours+, of active, borderline-treacherous, mostly-off-road biking through some rainy and real-ass streets of Bogota.
It was six hours+, of active, borderline-treacherous, mostly-off-road biking through some rainy and real-ass streets of Bogota.
In the end, I was literally covered in dirt, soot, shit (animal & otherwise), rain, and sweat.
Aaaand smiling ear to ear!!! Ukrainian Warrior Princesses love that shit.
Turisteando with picturesque, water-logged helmet-hair = the only way to be.
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