The eyes of the world briefly turned towards Bogota last week as President Uribe was sworn in for his second term. As all the news reports I saw emphasised, security was very tight. Througout the city centre soldiers outnumbered cilivilians by at least two to one. There's good reason for this; the first time Uribe was installed as president in 2002 Farc guerillas fired rockets at the inauguration ceremony. They missed and the rockets fell on a poor area nearby, destroying a homeless shelter and killing thirty tramps. Take that you fascists!
Just about everybody got searched at some point or other in the days leading up to the ceremony. Jon was particularly worried when he was patted down in the centre of town. The soldier looked as though he was going to make a fuss that he didn't have his passport with him. He came very close to carting him off - which, as he has outstayed his visa, could have meant deportation back to the Israeli army. "Why are you shaking?" asked the soldier.
The news seems better from the Middle East, particularly as Sam's mum and dad managed to escape from Lebanon. They had arrived from the States just before the hostilities and then found themselves trapped in their ancestral village. Eventually they managed to find a car, which they drove to the relative safety of Syria, from where they caught a flight to Paris and then home to Virginia. Quite an adventure for a quietly retired couple.
The day before the inauguration was another Ley Seca - a total ban on the sale or public consumption of alcohol. As is now traditional this was the cue for the expats of Bogota to get together for a boozy party in Platypus Two. I left early and, as I walked home ,had one of the most disconcerting experiences of my time in Bogota. Although it was late the streets are usually fairly busy throughout the night. But as I walked through the city centre this night I was the only living soul to be seen. I was aware of homeless people eyeing me from the shadows, but to all intents and purposes I was walking through an abandoned city. Perhaps all the Bogotanos stay in and get drunk during Ley Seca as well.
Time continues to fly by here. Yesterday I went to the DAS office to renew my visa for my sixth month - which means I've been in Bogota for five months. Five months! Blimey.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Thursday, August 03, 2006
War
The weather in Bogota has been unusually nice for the last week - whole days of sushine without any rain.
Today I sat outside the National Museum (which has the exhibition of Chinese terracotta soldiers that I still haven´t seen) and watched an anti-war demonstration go past on the way to the Israeli embassy. It was quite an odd assortment of people led by a man in a smart business suit riding pillion on a motorbike waving a huge Lebanese flag. Most of the marchers were your usual studenty types who, really, are most angry at being born to parents rich enough to send them to university to study international political science or whatnot. Capitalist pigs.
It´s strange just how close this war is to my life in Bogota at the moment. Sam is Lebanese Druze and very worried about his Mum and Dad, who arrived at their ancestral village in the Lebanese highlands the day before everything kicked off. Apparently they´re fine, but they can´t get back to the States and are watching nervously as thousands of displaced people arrive in their area every day. John also has concerns - he was late renewing his visa, so he´s technically an illegal alien here. If he´s found out it could mean being deported - straight back into the care of the Israeli army, which he had enough of the first time round.
Happily, there´s no bad feeling in the house, despite a disaster that could have tipped Sam over the edge and seen him strangling John to death.
To cut a long (and possibly sordid) story short, John brought a girl back to the flat and lazily asked her to let herself out in the morning. This she did, taking with her Sam´s laptop computer, his camera, my camera and John´s jacket - with his credit card, cash and copy of the house keys in the pocket.
Obviously, I´m devastated at losing my camera, particularly as the memory card was full and saving the pictures was top of my to-do list for the day. But Sam was hardest hit, as he had only recently bought his computer and finished downloading years and year´s worth of information onto it.
But, fortunately, everyone has remained sensible and we´re still getting along fine. Perhaps this is in large part thanks to Bruno - Sam´s Jack Russell terrier who seems delighted with his move from Virginia to Bogota. It´s hard to be annoyed by anything in particular when faced by such a creature.
I´m becoming increasingly concerned by how quickly runs the passage of time here in Bogota. I can´t believe that I have been in the apartment for a month and a half now. It seems like two weeks. Another strange thing is that every day I seem to be busy, with a list of tasks that need doing. But somehow at the end of each week it´s hard to think of anything that has been achieved. Bogota has a way of knocking you back two steps every time you take one forward. If you think of Salsa dancing you´ll get the idea.
Today I sat outside the National Museum (which has the exhibition of Chinese terracotta soldiers that I still haven´t seen) and watched an anti-war demonstration go past on the way to the Israeli embassy. It was quite an odd assortment of people led by a man in a smart business suit riding pillion on a motorbike waving a huge Lebanese flag. Most of the marchers were your usual studenty types who, really, are most angry at being born to parents rich enough to send them to university to study international political science or whatnot. Capitalist pigs.
It´s strange just how close this war is to my life in Bogota at the moment. Sam is Lebanese Druze and very worried about his Mum and Dad, who arrived at their ancestral village in the Lebanese highlands the day before everything kicked off. Apparently they´re fine, but they can´t get back to the States and are watching nervously as thousands of displaced people arrive in their area every day. John also has concerns - he was late renewing his visa, so he´s technically an illegal alien here. If he´s found out it could mean being deported - straight back into the care of the Israeli army, which he had enough of the first time round.
Happily, there´s no bad feeling in the house, despite a disaster that could have tipped Sam over the edge and seen him strangling John to death.
To cut a long (and possibly sordid) story short, John brought a girl back to the flat and lazily asked her to let herself out in the morning. This she did, taking with her Sam´s laptop computer, his camera, my camera and John´s jacket - with his credit card, cash and copy of the house keys in the pocket.
Obviously, I´m devastated at losing my camera, particularly as the memory card was full and saving the pictures was top of my to-do list for the day. But Sam was hardest hit, as he had only recently bought his computer and finished downloading years and year´s worth of information onto it.
But, fortunately, everyone has remained sensible and we´re still getting along fine. Perhaps this is in large part thanks to Bruno - Sam´s Jack Russell terrier who seems delighted with his move from Virginia to Bogota. It´s hard to be annoyed by anything in particular when faced by such a creature.
I´m becoming increasingly concerned by how quickly runs the passage of time here in Bogota. I can´t believe that I have been in the apartment for a month and a half now. It seems like two weeks. Another strange thing is that every day I seem to be busy, with a list of tasks that need doing. But somehow at the end of each week it´s hard to think of anything that has been achieved. Bogota has a way of knocking you back two steps every time you take one forward. If you think of Salsa dancing you´ll get the idea.
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