¡Bogotá!

Getting churchy at the cathedral

After four days of snowy delays I hit Bogotá early on a Sunday - without my backpack. The bag man tried everything he could to avoid dealing with it, but finally fished an old, yellow-stained form out a wooden drawer and scrawled down the claim numbers and a description. I had my doubts but he gave me a number to call, and I told him I really hoped to get my bag later that day. He laughed politely and gave a big grin. "No señor, mañana. . . si posible." If possible?
As soon as I got my copy of the claim check I was on the hunt for my first cup of tinto, what the Colombians call the world's most popular drink and the basis of their economy. On the way I strolled past the airport chapel, packed of course in this land of Catholics, and almost crossed myself involuntarily. I couldn't help it - all of the security guards and soldiers did. The coffee was great in a little restaurant on the second floor, and it was fantastic to eat real food, in a real hole in the wall, in an airport, that wasn't a chain! I almost went back to the chapel and asked God to keep this land safe from the boring, smothering cancer of a Chili's, McDonald's, Starbucks or Wendy's on every corner.

Local candidate Bruno Díaz campaigns Colombian style

The next few days in Bogotá included a trip in a cable car up Moserrate for a visit to the mountaintop church, arepas (corn pancakes) and a view of the smog and sprawl. I met up with S and we celebrated our reunion with an evening of strolling the old center, stopping to watch a religious revival in the Plaza de Bolívar and listen to a politician jam out some salsa with his band. We also had to hunt up some camping equipment for the mountains and of course I drank a dozen cups of coffee (at about 50 cents each.) I got my bag in the end, and we made plans to move on. . .