Birthday party and madness

Time to venture into Bogotá again, the mighty capital of Colombia. I arrived early in the morning with the night bus and managed to transport myself into the historic centre and find a hostel, all before the morning rush hour.

I already know most of the sights in Bogotá (as I visited Carolina's wedding three years ago) and did not have much business there apart from checking out the Botero museum again (my second favourite artist) and to meet up with Carolina, who was spending her Christmas and New Year in Bogotá with her parents and husband. This was very convenient as I was carrying unnecessary weight and wanted to get some stuff transported back to the UK.

Bogotá was much the same city as last time I was there apart from some changes in the Transmilenio (the city's bus rapid transport system) that had converted it from a stright-forward easy-to-understand-approach to something more complicated that even caused the civil engineer himself to have serious issues with finding the right bus. Other noticeable improvements were a face-lift in the historic centre and improved policing/safety in a city that three years ago suffered from all sorts of crimes. Colombia's president Uribe has taken the hard way and improved the situation considerably, fearlessly clashing down on the whole range from guerilla activity and organised crimes to petty theft.

So one night I was told to bring the stuff and come over to their house. I vaguely remembered the way to get there from the Transmilenio station but finally managed to find the right street in the dark. The day, it was Carolina's mother's birtyday so apart from me, all sorts of random relatives turned up in nice clothes to greet her. There was the whole shebang with presents and cake and grandmothers and God knows what. I may have been slightly off the formal dresscode with my rebel T-shirt and half-dirty jeans (and no present) but nevermind, the cake was good.

I was kind of glad to see the same people I met at the wedding and they all seemed to remember me. My favourite character turned up again; Roy, an old German pensioneer living in Los Angeles married to a Colombian woman and still beginner in the Spanish language. Now he visited Colombia again for the first time since three years.

Another surprise was waiting for me there. When packing up my stuff before I left the place of Carolina's sister in Barranquilla three years ago, I managed to forget a plastic bag with washing. These clothes had been saved (!) and unfortunately, given to me in this visit. This was very ironic, as I just wanted to get there to get rid of things, not get more stuff. First when I saw the bag I was however very excitied because one of the items I forgot (a Sweden football replica jersey that I paid over £45.00 for) I had missed very much. The replacement-shirt (a cheap e-Bay copy made in China of poor quality) didn't quite make up for the loss. However, to my big disappointment, the bag only contained some lousy t-shirts, a thick towel and underwear. Bastards!