Destinations
Two days in Bogotá
After that first stormy day, two more in La Candelaria, between Botero's round, generous people and a city that greets you every time you walk through a door.
· Bogotá, Colombia
After that first day above the clouds, I gave Bogotá two more, which is nothing. I knew it when I booked it and I knew it even more the next morning, standing at the top of a steep street in La Candelaria with the mountains sitting right there at the end of it, so close they looked painted on.
The light here is strange in the best way. Sharp and cold in the shade, almost hot in the sun, and it changes every ten minutes. I learned to carry a jacket and a pair of sunglasses at the same time.
But the walls do the talking
La Candelaria is old and it doesn't hide it. Houses with peeling paint and green shutters, and over every inch of the lower walls someone has written, drawn or painted something. I stopped trying to read it all and just walked slowly.
At the bottom of a staircase I found her: a giant painted face of an old woman in a red headscarf, looking straight past me. I sat on the steps across from her for a while. It felt rude to take the picture and leave.
Therefore, Botero
I had promised myself a quick look at Museo Botero. I stayed most of the afternoon. The rooms are quiet and wooden and full of his round, heavy, completely unbothered people, and I kept smiling at them like they were relatives.
The building itself is half the reason to go. Upstairs there is a balcony over a white courtyard with orange trees and arches, and the mountains looking in over the roof.
The second day, slower
I let the second day decide itself. It started under a street of open umbrellas, red and yellow and blue, strung from one side to the other like someone had planned a party and forgotten to tell anyone.
Then breakfast, which in Colombia is a serious event. Beans, rice, an egg, plantain, a little arepa, and a cup of hot chocolate I was told to eat with cheese dropped into it. I did. I'm still thinking about it.
By night the temperature fell fast and the old streets went gold under the lamps. I zipped my jacket to the chin and walked home the long way, past windows full of people eating soup. Two days was nothing. I'll be back for a week.
