Lost in Bogota

On my previous day's trawling, I had stopped at the local tourist information kiosk to pick up additional maps and get more information on what was not to be missed in the city. One of the suggestions was a walk down one of the main streets, Avenida Jimenez. Apparently there were heaps of interesting things to see along this road, starting with the Museo de Oro (the gold museum). Now Bogota is set up like New York in that it has a grid system of Streets and Avenues that are numbered - easy to navigate, right?

There's lots of great graffiti in Bogota

I looked at the map at breakfast; go down 9th street to 7th avenue, then follow 7th to Jimenez. So straight forward! Tucked the map into my purse (nothing says TOURIST more than a map in the hand - pul-eeze!) and off I went down 9th...past 7th to what I now believe was 10th ave. Ah, I arrived at a large main artery-type road so I thought it was Jimenez. I started to walk down that street. Hmmm, I thought, it is curious that the tourist guide thought this was an interesting street...there are hardware stores here. I kept walking anyway. People were looking at me curiously - what? Did I not blend in with the rest of the city's citizens with my hiking boots and rolled up pants? The hardware stores gave way to motorcycle parts stores and mechanics...even more curious. Where was the park they mentioned? The museums and cathedrals? I kept walking. I was a little afraid of taking out my map because the neighbourhood looked a little bit rough. Surely, eventually it would give way to something better. Is that a guy? What is he wearing?! I had inadvertently wandered into the transsexual red light district. DON'T stare. Just keep walking. Now people were really looking at me strangely - not threateningly, just..."this chick must be lost" looks. I thought that perhaps I should, not go back the way I came - I already saw that - but eastwards which is the direction I had come from to get to this street. Only 2 blocks up and things began to improve markedly.

A courtyard at the National Museum

I had been wandering for 3 hours already and I was getting a bit peckish. I stopped in a cafe for a nutritious cupcake and tea. As I sat at the window to enjoy my tasty treat, I saw that I was right across the street from the National Museum! Cool! The National Museum, built in 1823, is an impressive building that used to be a prison - it looks like a fortress. Inside they have everything from artifacts dating from 10 000 BC to modern art. The displays were only in Spanish so I didn't understand a lot, but it was all very interesting to look at.



I continued eastward, enjoying the variety in the architecture, the colourful graffiti, and I did eventually find that park they mentioned in the tourist guide. By 3:30 I found the Museo de Oro - the museum has 3 stories and it is filled with room after room of gold.  I had been walking since 9:00 and my legs were killing me - I wasn't used to the altitude anymore. This museum is all about the gold work that the pre-Spaniard people of the area are famous for. They were master metallurgists and the fine craftsmanship that they managed is truly remarkable! It never ceases to amaze me how all these "primitive" civilisations managed to figure out how to make alloys, build impossible buildings in impossible places, and domesticate plants and animals.

Where it all happened

When I finally made it back to my hostal, I was pooped...and starving.  I rested my legs a little and asked one of the other girls in the dormitorio if she was keen to go out an get a bite a little later. She was, so at 7:30 we asked one of the hostal workers to let us out - the gate is always locked. As we stepped out she told us to be very careful as it was already dark. Yeah, yeah...I'd been places that day I shouldn't have been and I was fine...but I guess it's always good to be cautious. The sky was threatening rain so I had brought my trusty rain poncho with me, I draped it over my arm in an effort to hide my purse. We heard the gate close and lock behind us and we proceeded down the street. There were two guys loitering on the corner. Hmmm. They were looking in our direction. Hmmm. We drifted towards the other side of the street, we were headed that way anyway. That's when the first fellow came after me. The other fellow stayed back a little keeping watch down the cross street; my "friend" from the hostal started running back up the street. The first fellow lunged and tried to grab my bag, but I raised up my arm to protect it and yelled, "FUCK YOU!" at the top of my lungs. As I raised my poncho arm I tried to deck him with my other hand...and missed him by a mile. In hind sight that was probably a good thing. As my poncho arm came down he tried again to grab my bag, and by now his friend had come to help. I kept yelling my defence mantra of "FUCK YOU!" and noticed that as my ponch arm came down the hood flopped. I grabbed hold of the poncho with my hand and started flailing it about like a floppy sword. "FUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOU". Fellow two had a knife. I didn't see it until it was coming towards me...well, coming towards my purse strap. The poncho came round again and he had to duck out of the way. By now there were people running up the street yelling and the lady who's house we were struggling in front of came out with a large stick. The two guys turned tail and ran off.

I can't say that I was thinking rationally when all this happened. The only thing that went through my head when I saw that guy going for my things - my camera was in there, with all my pictures - was, "I don't fucking think so." I never feared for my personal safety, it may seem odd but it was like I wasn't even there as far as they were concerned - they didn't pay any attention to me; only my purse mattered, it was the only thing they looked at.

My friend and I then proceeded to grab our bite to eat. My heart was racing for the next hour.