A city above the clouds

I landed in Bogotá tired and a little dizzy, which I later learned is just what the altitude does to you on the first day. Nobody had told me. I drank a glass of water in the airport like it was medicine and decided not to waste the afternoon.

By the time I got to the top of the mountain, the weather had already got there. Below me Bogotá went on forever, grey and endless, and right over the middle of it a storm was breaking open with a line of gold underneath. I stood there much longer than the cold wanted me to.

But the way up was the best part

I had planned to walk. I took the cable car instead, and I'm glad. The cabin swung a little every time it passed a tower, and underneath there was only forest, so thick you couldn't see the ground. A child next to me held her mother's sleeve the whole way and pointed at every bird. I understood her completely.

At the viewpoint the wind did whatever it wanted with my hair. I took one picture of myself to prove I was there and then put the phone away.

Therefore, I walked

Back down in La Candelaria, the old part of town, every street seemed to end in a mountain. White houses, red doors, flowers falling off balconies, and the sun suddenly so strong I bought a hat from the first person who offered one. I never wore it again, but I still have it.

I stopped for lunch somewhere with a brick wall and a wicker chair and stayed two hours, mostly watching people say hello to each other. Here everyone greets everyone. It took me the whole trip to stop being surprised by it.

When it got dark, the street filled with music. Two women in huge skirts were dancing in front of an old door, turning so fast the fabric looked like fire, and a small crowd had stopped to watch. I don't know the name of the dance. I know I clapped too early, twice.

What I brought home

The next morning I found a tiny coffee bar where the man behind the counter made each cup by hand, slowly, weighing everything like a chemist. He explained the whole process in a mix of two languages and a lot of gestures. I understood maybe half and loved all of it. I bought a paper filter cone on the way out, and now I make my coffee that way every morning, very badly, thinking of him.

I've written before about a city that slowed me down. This one did the opposite. It woke me up. Some places you sink into, and some places you have to keep up with, and I think I need both.

Later that spring I went looking for quiet again, by a lake under a grey sky and on the Pacific at sunset. But that first day above the clouds is still the one I tell people about.