Beginning in Bogotá

10 things I’ve learnt in my first week

1. Maybe I’m not going to the right places. Perhaps my hopes were too high. But the coffee I’ve drunk so far hasn’t been earth-shatteringly good. Maybe they sent all the good stuff to Europe. I miss Costa (just kidding).

2. It’s smoggy. Bogotá is second only to Lima as South America’s most polluted city. Vans, coaches, cars, motorbikes and buses belch out thick black exhaust fumes all day long. Filthy business.

3. Don’t use your mobile in public. Avoid taking the bus after dark. Never flag down a taxi in the street. The Bogotános I’ve met are very sweetly concerned for my welfare. The city is undoubtedly safer than it once was. But it’s apparently still worth keeping your head down now and again.

4. The dudes who deliver the cash to the ATMs don’t mess about. They spurn the helmets worn by the scaredy-cats in London. Instead, they work in squads of six and carry a mixture of shotguns and revolvers. No messing about.

5. Don’t buy Corn Flakes. I spent an hour perambulating around the aisles in a semi-comatose, jet-legged state, flinging all my old favourites in to the trolley-basket with youthful abandon. When I got to the checkout I wished I hadn’t. Imported food is expensive in Colombia. Who would’ve thought? Lesson learned.

6. The TransMilenio, the city’s bus network, tends to get busy. At peak times 42,000 people stuff themselves on to these bendy bandwagons every hour. Even in the middle of the day, chances are you’ll have your nose pressed against the armpit of a fellow commuter.

7. Watch out for the uncovered manholes. If you know what I mean. I peered in to one yesterday which had a builder’s hard hat floating in it. I hope someone fished him out.

8. I’m pretty high. Bogotá is 2,625m above sea-level, making it the fourth-highest capital in the world. The altitude takes a while to get used to: when I stepped off the plane I was wheezing and spluttering like an old drain. I’m fine now, thanks for asking.

9. I’m clearly kind of a big deal in the Colombian snack market. I asked my Airbnb host whether she’d like to see my nuts. I don’t think she got the joke.

10. I may stick out like a sore thumb, but it turns out I’m not the only ginger in the pueblo. I’ve spotted two others, both of whom appeared to be Colombian. I kid you not. It feels good to be among my people.