That Alexisonfire song with that ‘anxiety chokes me like razor wire’ lyric that’s so overused by attention-seeking kids with questionable anxiety problems on Facebook. I’m going to use it to describe how every building in Bogota that isn’t falling apart is surrounded by razor wire. Bogota is an absolutely beautiful city, but the undertones of its extreme poverty issues are in your face everywhere. The middle class here basically does not exist. If you are middle class, it’s rare, and I feel like there’s definitely a story behind how you got there. Otherwise, you’re either filthy rich, poor or homeless. And if you’re homeless, you’re likely on glue and you likely live under a bridge. Think of glue as Colombia’s meth. There is no support system for the homeless…and that system is seriously needed in Bogota. If you’re homeless here, you’re basically fucked. Forever. Bogota is where all of Colombia’s refugees come as their last resort. You don’t run away from home and live on the streets with your dog and be a crust punk just to rebel here.
Here’s a perfectly good profile picture, wasted on this dumb website
This is day two in the metropolis that Shakira calls home. First thing this morning (so, noon-ish) we went down town for the first time. The older part of down town Bogota is similar to old port in Montreal…at least that’s the closest thing my narrow mind and experiences can compare it to. To get there, we had to drive through several neighbourhoods where our Translator advised us that ‘It would be best to roll up the windows and lock the doors’ but also several other neighbourhoods where he informed us that ‘This is where the rich kids go to school…see? look at all those bullet proof SUV’s waiting to pick them up’ I really don’t know what to make of this…It’s like black white, man.
Total assholes…the both of us
See also: I’m the tallest man in this country
See also: Hi, we’re the newsboy cap and Ray Ban© Wayfarer club
The power was out when we were down town, which seemed like it happens pretty often, as everyone was just going about their day as if nothing was amiss. We met an emerald dealer. Did not purchase any emeralds. I chased some pigeons out of Bolivar Square (Just doing my civic duty…you’re welcome el Presidente)
On an unrelated, but related side note, you should check out my pigeon impression, It’s pretty tight.
We continued on with our tourist vibes, and drove the Twingo up the mountain (right toward the smoke from the previous day) to Monserrate.
Monserrate is your typical South American monument to Jesus. Even with my limited knowledge of South America, I know that these things are everywhere. But this one happens to come with shops, and liquor. The view was real (and it was spectacular) even/especially in the rain (even if you’re an optimist and especially if you’re a miserable fuck, as I tend to be)
I’m describing the minutiae of this inane tourist activity for two reasons….
First, my Translator was incredibly scared of the cable car ride to the top.
You can’t tell, but he’s quietly re-assuring himself that he’s going to live, while simultaneously peeing his pants…
Since I’ve known him, his fear of heights has been one of his character traits that I find hilarious, and I’m always looking for opportunities to exploit this for my own entertainment. This instance was no different, and was just as entertaining as I remembered. The second reason, is because this was where I had my first taste of Aguardiente. I wouldn’t shut up about Aguardiente in the months leading up to this trip, to the annoyance of anyone within earshot. Aguardiente is the traditional adult souvenir you come back from Colombia with (For a more kid friendly souvenir, consider one of those little buses with the little people on the back and all the wacky shit on top. They’re adorable, they make a great gift, and they look great on a mantle with all your crap.) Aguardiente loosely translates to ‘firewater’ (Like!) in English, and is said to ‘make you punch your best friends in the face’ (Like! depending on how they’re acting that particular Monday ) I was ordered a Canelazo, which tasted like licorice, cinnamon and spit. I was assured the Aguardiente was in there somewhere. Maybe it was elevation talking, but holy shit, it worked…
About halfway through said drink, my Translator spilled said Aguardiente all over my Canadian tuxedo, and I felt the urge to punch him, so the description mentioned above is fairly accurate. I was drunk, but wasn’t letting on…
I needed to sober up, so we then proceeded to eat several 50 cent empanadas, which were followed by several 87 cent cervezas, which completely defeated the purpose of eating the empanadas in the first place. Story of my life.
There was a point during this Aguardiente haze, where we hit a Mexican joint that I barely remember.
Mexican food in Colombia is par at best.
That should be about it for tourist time.
We went back to the apartment and watched some Telemundo, as it was the only station with shows that were even remotely in English. I had planned on buying a copy of Spanish for Dummies before coming and trying to learn something, but it just didn’t happen. Plus, I like a challenge that I can easily weasel my way out of.
Why yes, we are still in college, thanks for asking…
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Our Accountant is killing it on Tinder, apparently…via our Translator of course.
He’s trying to line up dates for Friday (Friday is Andres…apparently, it’s the thing to do in Bogota) He’s trying to line up these dates, despite that fact that, apparently “Colombian girls do not just ‘hook up’ with dudes” Will he succeed? Will he be disappointed? Stay tuned.
Bury Me In Vans 
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