Well, that was awful. Apparently I took way too long to write this entry and as I went to save it, was kicked back out to the homepage, all 2,000 words of my post gone. I'm still working out the kinks of this whole blog thing I guess... but man, that was quite a blow. Here's a shorter rundown of the events:
Friday night: drinks at the local dive, Doña Sucis. The most popular drink is a light beer called Poker, but Sebastian prefers another called Costeña, and I'm with him there. The bar was brightly painted, split leveled and packed with what seemed to me a majority of locals. I stick out like a sore thumb everywhere I go. We drank a few beers, a few shots of tequila and Sebastian blew me away with some passionate stories of his struggles with the bad reputation that Colombia has around the world despite all the love he has for his home his people. I have never seen such pride before.
After wiping the tears from his eyes, he wrangled a couple girls and we all talked for a good while, liquor flowing, me doing my best to be understood, which seemed to become easier with each drink. We hopped next door for a little bit of dancing in a basement club. Sebastian apparently saved me from myself when he realized the girl I was talking to had taken a serious interest in me and was just the type of person to get a naive simpleton like me in heaps of trouble. He told me to wait outside and he would work things out. Shortly after, the girl came out in a huff, hailed a taxi and bounced. He came back out, told me I owed him one (I owe him waaaaay more than that) and we went in search of an all night rager.
We were pointed towards a venue called El Piso Treinta, an all night dance club that occupied the entire top floor of a thirty-story building a bit to the north of us. Sebastian, excited and ready to party, and I, head swimming and a big dopey smile on my face, headed into the lobby of the building, which looked like an upscale hotel, into a shining mirrored elevator, and, when we reached the top, out into a big, beautifully decorated.... empty dance floor. What a disappointment. Other rooms on the floor were a bit livelier, and each played a different style of music, but it certainly wasn't the wild party we had been expecting. I took a few photos of the view, we paid too much for a couple beers and decided enough was enough. We taxied back to the hostel as the sun broke through Bogotá's ever-present but always wandering clouds. I promptly climbed into my rickety bunk and slept like a corpse.
Saturday afternoon: hangovers and second languages do not go hand in hand, dear readers. It was an enormous struggle to make myself understood to anyone, so I decided it was best to shower, eat and try to feel like a normal person again. Sebastian took me to a place where I could sample Colombia's national dish: el ajiaco, a thick stew with shredded chicken, corn, potatoes and capers. It really hit the spot. We walked back out into the brightly lit street (the sun comes and goes as it pleases here) and Sebastian abruptly stopped, turned to me and asked if I wanted to do something touristy today. I answered with a phrase I am trying to adopt as my new slogan: ¿Por qué no?
So we headed up to a spot neither of us had seen except for at a distance: El Monserrate, a large hill on the southeastern edge of the city (coincidentally not at all far from our hostel) on top of which was a small church, shops and restaurants, not to mention a stellar view. Teleféricos, which are gondolas suspended from cables, carry visitors to and from the summit, and it was hilarious to hear Sebastian shriek and swear with every jerking motion as it became clear he had a slight fear of heights. We got off at the top, and I learned quickly how high up we were as my vision began to blur a bit, my breath grew short, and my heart rate soared. I took a moment to collect myself while Sebastian whipped out his quena, a small wooden flute, to play some traditional Andean folk songs. That guy can shred on the quena, and people around us smiled and clapped along with his melodies as he danced and stomped. It was a perfect way for me to catch my breath, and once I did we headed up to see the view, which was stunning. Bogotá is truly enormous, and rays of sunlight broke through the massive swathes of clouds, touching down in various districts all across the grand basin from which it overflows. I snapped some photos and we continued on to check out the strip of vendors that wound alongside the church. Little drums, painted plates, hats, bags, all the typical products you see in tourist spots in this part of the world, but to me it was new and interesting, at least for now. We bought two canelazos, spiced hot drinks, and relaxed, then relaxed some more on the balcony of a cafe to take in the sunset. Sebastian bought a bottle of aguardiente, a popular spirit flavored with anise, and we took a few shots, talked, and kicked back. Having been carrying around a big ball of nerves in my gut since I got here, moments of peace like that are simply wonderful.
A quick stop back at the hostel, a failed attempt to convince a Canadian girl to come out with us, and it was back to Doña Sucis. This time a live band played on the upper level, and I chuckled as they played a few hits from the US with heavily accented vocals. The service that night was pretty poor, we were largely ignored, so we quickly decided it was time for a change of scenery. Sebastian, as always, had the perfect place in mind: La Casa Babylon, a reggae dance club. We taxied back to the northern end of downtown, close to where we had been the night before, and had an absolute blast dancing to some great reggae and sipping on mojitos, which he assured me were not as girly as I thought. But all that happened in the upstairs bar of the club, downstairs was a different beast entirely: salsa bar. And I'll be damned if everyone but me couldn't salsa their butts off. Sebastian told me it´s almost customary to learn all the dances that go along with the many varieties of Latin music one finds across the continent, but even after attempting to show me a few simple steps it was obvious I wasn't going to pick it up any time soon. I was feeling pretty wiped and headed outside to get some air. When I began to nod off in a chair, Sebastian came back out and told me it was time to find another all night party. I reluctanly tagged along, and was again thoroughly disappointed by where we ended up: La Boca del Lobo. A deafening, flashing, glitter ridden cave of a bar, it didn't take long for me to get sick of it and head back upstairs to wait for Sebastian to come to the same conclusion. He soon did, and after we spoke to a few crazy Dutch travelers who were planning to do a full tour of South America in three weeks (absolutely nuts) we both felt it was time to go home.
Outside the bar, Sebastian turned to me and said enough was enough, we had to make a pact with one another: no more all night parties. We were 0 for 2, out more cash than we wanted to be, and both nights the bars that started the night were far better. I immediately and whole-heartedly agreed.
Back at La Quinta we wasted no time jumping into our bunks and passing out. We would definitely be taking things a little slower the next day.
Hasta luego,
Grant
