Manizales

Again, days have been ticking past and clicking into weeks with alarming regularity. My days are often taken up with the sort of small chores that could be achieved in a half-hour lunch break at home. But this is Bogota and nothing is ever as simple as it seems. But I really can't be making any excuses, much of my time has been expended on dithering and prevaricating about what to do next. No sooner do I decide that I'm going to buy a house here and stay for a good while than I change my mind again. But now I'm sure that I'm going to go for it. I think.

Leastways, I've started to sort out a six-month student visa. I've signed up for one of Sam's art courses that start in a couple of weeks. It should be interesting - two afternoons a week painting naked ladies and earthenware jugs.

Much to the surprise of my friends I managed to leave Bogota last week. On the spur of the moment Sam and I decided to get a bus to a town called Manizales, which sits on the edge of snow-capped mountains in the coffee region to the west of the country. It's a very civilised town which sits in lofty isolation at nearly the same altitude as Bogota. Despite its remoteness the people there are very outward-looking and westernised - sometimes it was difficult to remember that I wasn't in a European city, particularly as a lot of the locals were tall and blonde. Judging from the number of agencies on the main street, I would guess that catwalk models are one of the area's major exports. We had plans to do all sorts of wholesome and interesting things involving mountains, snow, hot springs, coffee fincas and jungles, but these plans went out the window shortly after we arrived and the owner of the hostel (a very lovely Paisa from Medellin) took us under her wing. No sooner had we dropped off our bags than she was ushering us into a taxi for a night out with her friends. The club we arrived at cost a couple of quid to get in and then had a free bar all night. I tried to take it easy, but (bizarrely) Colombians kept offering me drinks. "Thanks, but they're free, amigo," I would say, "I'll pick up another when I've finished this one." "No, no, I give, I give, drink!" What could I do? I didn't want to be rude. This pattern continued for a couple of days until we decided that, for the sake of our health, we should hop on a plane and get back to the relative sanity of Bogota as soon as possible.