After a long, but not too traumatic, flight, I finally landed in Bogotá. A new town, a new country, a new continent. No real idea what to expect; it was evening time, already dark, so I just caught glimpses of this alien place on the cab ride from the airport to the old historic centre where I'd pre-booked some accommodation. The hotel was a bit hidden; the taxi driver unsure, but a local policeman pointed me in the right direction. Good place. I just dropped my bags, got my head together and headed out to find some food. A bar appeared first, so I ducked in to calm the nerves and decided I wasn't that hungry, just needed to slake the thirst. Several hours and beers later, the jet-lag was screaming at me. Bed.
My oft-tested strategy of getting a skin-full on the first night after a long flight served me well yet again. The next day, well rested, I headed out to explore Bogotá in the grey, drizzly morning. Wasn't too cold, but windy and a bit miserable. Eventually headed up to Montserrat on the funicular cable car for panoramic views over Bogotá before descending for a wander around the "Historico Centrico". Real nice, especially as the weather was co-operating with the sun out and temperatures rising. Heavily armed police/army on many of the street corners a reminder of "la violencia" of the not too distant past. Modern Bogotá feels very safe though (albeit in my limited exposure so far).
No concrete word on when I can get my bike back from the customs iron fist as yet. Friday seems to be the best case scenario; otherwise it'll be after the weekend. Not ideal. Diverted into the (ubiquitous) Irish bar in the afternoon for a quick pint which turned into 5. I need my bike quickly, if only for the sake of my liver.
More tourist stuff tomorrow (maybe even a dreaded museum), while I await word on the bike's fate. Bogotá is a good place; there are far worse places to be waiting.