No somos Colombianos, pero ... (We're not Colombian, but ...)

An old Colombian flame of ours used to suggest that we’re just not compatible with her country; with a large proportion of the people that is, not the actual land. 

In fairness, it didn’t take her to get us thinking that way, whether it’s completely true or not.

Unlike some 'exclusive' spots, locals actually talk to you in tiendas such as this one.

We’ve tinkered around this topic before.* Plus, we tend to be very honest and forthright; no, you’re right, let’s not go down that road just now.

In terms of finding love (uh-oh, here we go again), where we do a large part of our socialising – see http://bit.ly/17yN8HH for what we’re on about – are not the type of places you’re likely to find the most ‘sought after’ girls in Colombia. 

We won’t go into the whole argument that such a search is fanciful in this country; or any for that matter. We’re not complete romantic cynics, just yet.

The fact is that for much of our socialising we gravitate towards modest, value-for-money, friendly, venues. You see, we do like to regularly get out and meet people but this also has to be balanced with living within our means. 

Thus, when you’re in a city/country with such a disparity in prices between different neighbourhoods, from the relatively cheap to the ridiculously expensive, and your own income is pretty average, visits to the swankier ends have to be frequently curtailed.

In contrast, most Colombian women around our age, ones with comparable backgrounds/education to ourselves, in any case, tend not to like the satisfying simplicity of the tienda bars we regularly frequent. No, they enjoy more the lavish locations – it helps, of course, when they don’t expect to put their hands in their oversized handbags for much, if not all, of the night. 

We, however, are such fans of equal rights where possible that the idea of paying far more than our fair share is anathema to us (for more see The wages of love).

Yet the question remains, are we incompatible with Colombia? Our Costeña ‘friend’ answered this one in the affirmative.** 

However, putting aside her Colombian nationality, we may be more ‘acceptable’ to, and compatible with, the masses of her country than she is. 

Her hangouts of choice align with the ‘elite’ minority of the country. Tienda drinkers are the norm, the majority. All understandable, really, considering the wage difference and accompanying social scene discrepancy between the top earners and the rest.

Our new home, La Perseverancia: no one even tried to rob our camera.

Change may be brewing on this front. With a rising middle class, places that are now seen as upper class will in time, perhaps, become more accessible to a greater number of citizens and expats alike. Such a change, though, is unlikely to happen at any discernible rate, not in these parts.

We may be a long way from the day when a Colombian parliamentarian and the local unemployed alcoholic drink in the same bar and share a conversation, something that you’ll often witness in Ireland. Although, that may not be the best example; they’re both similar types in many ways. You get the point, though.

One other feature that draws us back time and again to our watering holes, outside of the price, is that we tend to find that the locals there get that almost indescribable thing, the ‘craic’ (or ‘crack’, depending on your spelling preference). A word (not a substance) used in Ireland and elsewhere to describe many scenarios.

In this context, the craic is understanding and being able to engage in various bouts of slagging/pub banter. Lest there be still any confusion about the word and its meaning, the only drug that is usually consumed in the presence of craic is alcohol, although it’s not a prerequisite. 

Not only do they get the craic, but we find that they're usually very good at handing out free beers. Oh, they know how to 'play' us!

So while you can point to many areas where we don’t ‘fit in’ with Colombia and her people, we’ve found enough comforting similarities to keep us coming back.

You could say, like the country itself, we’re still a work in progress here, without a fixed completion date.
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*For a run through some of the things we've found 'uncomfortable' here, see Lord of the Dance and Colombia’s false friends. The Irish and Colombians do, however, have that strong Catholic background, manifested in different ways albeit.

**'Costeña' ('Costeño' for a man; literally 'coastal' in English) is the term used for women from Colombia's — and Venezuela's — Caribbean coast. It's also the name of a beer in Colombia. (We won't go into the whole 'a beer is better than woman because ...' spiel; we could, but we won't.)

Fighting for 'Free Bogotá'

We value and like to be able to demonstrate our freedom, as relative and limited as it sometimes feels*. 

On a daily basis, this manifests itself by walking to and through public places when we want to do so; that is, not being concerned an individual or individuals may potentially violently interrupt us.

Leafy suburbs -- eh, not quite.

In many places across the world this tends not to be a concern anyway. 

However, in some parts, minding one's own business does not automatically mean one will be left to one's own devices. 

And as much as we have wandered Bogotá’s streets at times when, and places where, most others wouldn’t dare, the fact can’t be hidden that each time we do arrive home safely, specifically at night-time, there is a sense of relief. A victory for the common, law-abiding man you might say.

Considering our mentality in this regard, thankfully, luckily even, we can count on one hand the number of times when dodgy incidents happened to us on the streets here (for details of earlier occurrences, see http://bit.ly/XLDyLg). 

Yet, it would be remiss of us to use the expression that ‘we have nothing to fear but fear itself’. For in a number of neighbourhoods (barrios) in this city, and the exact locations can be quite fluid, there exist people who will attack you for the simple reasons that they can. You are different and/or they feel you have something they want – money, a mobile phone or whatever.

It must be said at this point that in certain parts of the last city we lived in for any considerable length of time, namely (north) Belfast, such perils were also in existence. Again, though, we often flagrantly tossed those aside whilst making our way home on foot at night.

To make light of these real threats is clearly not a wise thing to do. We don’t. But there is a conflict between watching out for threats and our belief in being able to walk the streets without compromise.

The standard defence mechanism we apply whenever we feel threatened is to to play ‘crazy’; in other words just try to blend in or at least look as equally as deranged and/or intimidating as the person/persons who we secretly wish we didn’t have to pass by. 

However, our most recent Bogotá late night/early morning incident has given us some more food for thought – we’re pretty much at the banquet stage in this regard now.

This time around there was less an element of opportunism and more a statement of intent in the deeds of the three assailants, at least one of whom was armed with a knife. Although our ill-advised decision to cross the street, parting company momentarily with our two companions, was surely a help in pushing our wannabe muggers into action.

'Wrong Way' Country.

That they left empty handed (we think we just lost our mobile phone in the commotion rather than by theft) was down to our fellow Irish friend’s handy work with his extendible metal baton. This is something he rarely leaves home without and considering he is another man who likes to feel free enough to walk home, a smart move. 

The idea is to give the holder peace of mind and most people hope they never have to use it. On this occasion, it certainly was needed and it got a good run out, more than making up for its relatively small cost. We’ve taken note.

Nonetheless, we also realise that had we been on our own that night, or at least certainly minus our friend plus baton, the outcome could have been a whole lot different and much nastier. 

Throw in the fact that all this happened pretty close to our new abode in Bogotá (La Perseverancia, next to La Macarena) and we would be quite stupid not to take evasive action in the future. OK, the attackers may have become the attacked that night, but there’s a fair chance they’ll remember our foreign faces before we recognise theirs.

Continuing to mix, socialise and do business in the less affluent part of our new barrio – that being the infamous La Perseverancia – as is our wont, might help somewhat. 

We’re beginning to be known and recognised in what we feel is a positive way. Yet the phrase ‘trust no-one’ could have been coined for these parts in dealing with the locals; and we do our best to abide by it.

Perhaps that’s another reason we continue to rely on ourselves to get home safely. 

Something of a victory for freedom each time we do. Or is that just plain old foolhardiness?

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*For a related article on 'freedom', see http://bit.ly/SOQUl0.

Love fool

The default mode for most Irishmen has traditionally been to show a cold, hard exterior, especially in matters of the heart. Or more specifically, issues surrounding romance.

Things are a little hazy right now.

It’s generally something we’ve subscribed to over the years. 

Now this is not to say that we suppress emotions – not a healthy thing to do that, obviously. No, we just tend to deal with them internally. A '‘tis our business and ours only' kind of approach; and the majority of time we feel this is not a bad way to go. Heck, we’ve made it this far, just about.

However, considering we’re in a place that’s a bit more, let’s say, "emotionally liberal", we’re going to deal with some personal romantic issues here.

You could perhaps blame this softened approach on the Colombian air we’re once again breathing – well, that and the local chicas, or ladies if you will. 

That withstanding, this could be seen as an advisory tale and we always like to help where we can; we’re just not sure what the advice actually is.

As regular readers will be aware (cue long, awkward silence), we were back in the homeland between August and early November this year. A family wedding drew us back while visa issues coupled with doubts as to our next move kept us there a bit longer than we had initially expected; well, that and Mammy’s cooking, of course.

Before we left, we had met a girl here in Bogotá who seemed to tick a lot of the right boxes for us. Indeed, we thought she was so cool that we were happy not to let her Santander background bias our thoughts; we like to live dangerously from time to time.*

While we seemed to be getting on well, we were never anything other than casual partners; the fact that our departure date for Ireland was looming together with uncertainty as to whether we would be returning to Colombia or not played a big part in this.

So when we did leave, it was a case of let’s see what happens. We did keep in regular, practically daily contact via Facebook and the occasional Skype call. Thus, we stayed on each other’s radar in a sense.

A quite significant spanner was thrown into the works at the end of September when our friend (we’ll call her Colombiana from here on) told us she had met someone else. On further examination, Colombiana told us that it wasn’t that serious, and we continued to stay in friendly contact.

Once we finally sorted out our next move, that being the default option of a return to Bogotá, we were quick to let Colombiana know our news. 

This was greeted with the extremely generous offer of picking us up from the airport (we’d never had anyone specifically come to a South American airport to collect us) along with the suggestion that we stay at her apartment for the first few days. Nice.

This left us under the impression that perhaps we could pick things up from where we had left them in August, maybe bring them a bit further.

However, we were left in the dark, until we arrived, about one rather important piece of information. Namely that the relationship with the guy Colombiana had met in September, who for the record is Spanish and not Colombian, had now advanced into a more serious stage. 

Well, put it this way, when a man decides he’s going to divorce his wife on the strength of meeting another woman, it does take on an element of seriousness, right?

Cheryl — worth fighting for? Probably.

Now, contrast that bold statement of intent with our heretofore laissez-faire attitude and you can, perhaps, understand why Colombiana went for the, what might be seen as, "steadier" option (we’ll put the divorce issue to one side for now – sure marriage these days isn’t what it used to be).

Needless to say our presence in her apartment for those first few days on our return – as generous as the offer was – wasn’t the most comfortable. Although, it must be pointed out that we’re still very much on friendly terms and we have met up since finding alternative accommodation.

So where does this leave us? Any serious analysis can’t ignore the fact that we were quite relaxed about our relationship before leaving. Or at least we thought we were; a first hearing of Passenger’s Let her go song on the flight back to Europe did resonate and left us pondering things somewhat.**

There is, though, the argument that we’re just lusting more for Colombiana now for the simple fact that she’s currently out of reach, in a romantic sense anyway. Verifying that, given the current circumstances, is not easy however.

There are generally two schools of thought as to what to do. Follow the Cheryl Cole (or should that be Tweedy once again?) lead and ‘fight for this love, for if it’s worth having it’s worth fighting for’.** Or we go with our tried, but not altogether trusted, laissez-faire attitude – whatever will be, will be.

The phrase ‘time will tell’ lets you know, perhaps, which one we’re leaning towards. 

Right, we’ve said enough. We’re reverting to type now and putting those emotions firmly back on the inside.
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*For a, um, light-hearted look at Colombian women's personality traits broken down by regions, see Colombia's locas http://bit.ly/XzHltA.

**You can check out Let Her Go by Passenger here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBumgq5yVrA; and for Cheryl Cole's Fight For This Love see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4umc87T5UMs.

A Globish affair

Many native English speakers, ourselves included, can be accused of laziness and/or indifference when it comes to learning other languages. It's a fair enough comment, especially when compared to the linguistic exploits of the likes of the Dutch and Germans, to name just two nationalities.

The fact that our language (yes, we’re Irish but we won’t pretend to be anything close to fluent Gaelic speakers) is the world’s chief business tongue means we generally more than survive and mingle in foreign countries without having to master – or even come close to mastering – others.

'Is there a refund if we don't make it across the bridge?'

Language laziness

Basically, if English isn't your first language, there’s a high chance it’s your second, or at least you desire it to be. In contrast, for native English speakers, there isn't a common second language we gravitate towards. 

Looking at our situation here, we have what we’ll describe as an OK grasp of Spanish simply because we've spent the last two years-plus surrounded by it in Colombia and elsewhere. Had things worked out differently, it could be French, German, Dutch or what have you that we’d have as our second language (using that phrase lightly). 

In other words, things happened by chance rather than design. For those with English as their number two tongue, the chances they gained it in such a similar ad-hoc manner are pretty slim.

At the risk of making an excuse for many native English speakers’ language laziness, the words of a good Israeli friend are a nice synopsis of the current state of play. 

As he opined, in a professional context in any case, knowing Spanish is great if you’re in a country where it’s widely spoken (as we have been) or if you need it for work, but, outside of that, it’s not going to win you much favour. The same can be said for most other languages. (Obviously, being able to speak and understand every language on the planet would be great, but let’s stay in the realms of reality for now).

In fact, it can be a bit frustrating when we make efforts to speak to somebody in their first language – we’re specifically referring to Spanish here – and they automatically switch to speaking English. Our Spanish isn't that bad, come on! 

Moreover, in all our travels across the world, we only need one hand to count the number of times English was not the default language when we found ourselves with groups of people from a range of diverse countries.

Taking all this on board, it leads us on to the rapidly growing, evolving and contested area of ‘Globish’ – that is of course ‘Global English’, or as some might see it, dumbed-down English. 

To put it simply, it’s the "English" you’re likely to hear if, for example – to give it a truly international or global feel considering the point we’re making – a Colombian man strikes up a conversation with a Chinese counterpart at Frankfurt airport. 

What’s spoken is unlikely to meet the approval of guardians of the English language in Oxford or Cambridge (we'll put aside Irish English for the moment), but the people in question will fully understand each other (more or less) in their common tongue.

For us, anything that helps different cultures communicate and comprehend each other is generally a good thing. 

Thus, we do our best not to frown upon what, at times, seems like the bastardisation of English. (It must be pointed out, though, that some non-native English speakers have a better understanding of the language than many native ones.)

Even, ahem, quality Colombian TV productions make some mistakes.

Now, due to its position as the global business language, it’s fair to say that there is a greater tolerance for English not being spoken entirely correctly. 

We find, and given where we’re coming from there’s perhaps no surprise in this, native English speakers are more inclined to let slide errors made by others compared to when an English speaker tries to speak in another language.

Maybe we’re just being a bit paranoid about this; but if we wanted to we could, for example, correct every second word uttered by some of our Colombian acquaintances. 

In a teaching environment, that’s obviously what we’re paid to do; but outside of that, if we get the sentiment, we’re happy to let things go. We believe it's not as smooth vice-versa. Then again, we would, wouldn't we?

With more time, this might not be an issue. Yes, we haven’t really needed excellent Spanish in a professional context here in Colombia. 

However, for matters closer to the heart, it may be prudent to be much sharper than we currently are. Then again, maybe not.

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For more on English in Colombia, check out The 'money' tongue.

Pimp my isle

We Irish have been, and are, called many things but ostentatious can never really be one of them. In comparison to our brethren across the pond (the bigger pond that is), we tend to be quite a reserved bunch; then again, who isn’t when viewed in such a light?

Halloween — less substance, more shabby style?

Even at the height of the Celtic Tiger when many people had more (borrowed) money than sense, we never really became too brash or cocky. 

Sure we may have built to excess but we tended to stick to the ‘less talk, more action’ mantra. Things were ‘grand’ (in Ireland that means an ordinary 'fine'); you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone use that flamboyant, quintessentially North American word ‘awesome’.

Perhaps much of this was due to the fact that deep down, even if we didn’t outwardly acknowledge it, we knew our newfound (borrowed) wealth wouldn’t last.

So now that the arse has well and truly fallen out of our ‘mighty little’ economic miracle, you would think being showy is the last thing on our minds – considering, that is, that we traditionally don’t do it, it just doesn’t sit well with us at all. Rather than things being awesome, they’re just awkward.

Yet, as the dust settles on our gluttonous years, one obvious legacy, very much in evidence over the Halloween period, is the desire for young families to pimp up their homes for various events and festivities. 

OK, one might have expected a scaling up in this regard when the country was awash with (borrowed – get it?) money, but there appears to be no sign of scaling back now that we’ve returned to our ‘normal’ financial state (hard-pressed that is).

Christmas decorating predates the boom years and it’s not something we’ve too many misgivings about, although its arrival seems to get earlier and earlier each year with an accompanying increase in the lavishness of these Yuletide manifestations.

It’s the relatively recent uptake of Halloween folderol that has us scratching our heads. 

We’ve always recognised the day, of course – in fact, it’s an Irish festival, its roots going back to pagan times on the island. But the odd costume and trick-or-treater aside, we were never too bothered about jazzing up our houses and streets with a host of Halloween paraphernalia – we left that to the Yanks, in much the same way we ‘let’ them outdo us with the St Patrick’s Day celebrations.

That all seems to have changed now. Decorations are a prerequisite these days – fake spiders’ webs are hung up (while at the same time frantically sweeping away real ones), figures of witches and skeletons put on display and pumpkins are ‘planted’ in every corner of the house.

Decommissioned. 

Now, there’s nothing inherently wrong with such practices – you could argue that they bring some lesser-spotted cheer to surroundings in these hard-pressed, almost gloomy times (the current state of play being far spookier than any contrived Halloween scare). 

However, when you’re preaching poverty to strait-laced neighbours who happen to be paying your way, being a bit flashy doesn’t send out the right signals, does it? 

It’s a bit like the struggling parents, who apparently never have money for anything, hiring a private photographer when it comes to their little Johnny’s or Mary’s Communion Day. Well come on, they couldn’t be expected to share the one laid on for the group or, whisper it, take their own amateur photos on such a momentous day.

Back to Halloween, how about returning to some of our more, um, traditional, simpler customs? 

The innocent days of kicking some old man’s hard-saved cabbage, launching fireworks and mild explosives at legitimate targets and subsequently getting chased by An Garda Síochána (the Irish police) appear lost in the past. Solid substance has been replaced by shallow style.

Come on guys, you know this showiness doesn’t suit us. It’s not always best practice to slavishly follow Mr and Mrs Jones.

Any which way but lose . . .

We've had a lot of time to think over these last couple of months. Too much time, you might say. Indeed, as a good friend tells us, that’s generally the start of our problems – when we begin to think that is.

That "advice" aside, our return to the home soil was always shrouded in doubts and questions as to what we would do once the chief reason we came back for was over. 

A big factor in this was that we were leaving a place, Colombia, where despite the many virtues it had – and has – for us (see http://bit.ly/1bJI3eg), from a work point of view it hadn't really got us too excited (that’s not to mention the very modest financial returns that accompanied said employment – we’ll say no more on that for a number of reasons).

Back to basics, back to the bog. Or should that be Bogotá?

However, from early on in our sojourn home, we pretty much convinced ourselves that we wouldn't be staying for any considerable length of time. We feel we’re just not ready to relocate to Ireland right now. 

Much of that may be due to the fact of where we are. Back under the parents’ roof for what is now the longest period of time in over five years, extremely grateful as we are not to be paying rent, in a rural Ireland suffering from a pretty dramatic youth drain whilst having no gainful employment*. 

These points conspire to ensure our social life doesn't come close to what it has been like over the last number of years.

The bounce we got from coming home and catching up with family and remaining friends has waned considerably. Rather than feeling re-energised, we’re fast becoming drained. 

Of course, there may be an element of a self-fulfilling prophecy in all of this. We expected Ireland not to deliver for us, so we've done little to counteract that. We envisaged ourselves leaving again, so in one sense not doing so would be a comedown. Basically, we've enjoyed not being in Ireland. We've become comfortable being the emigrant, the ‘outsider’.

There’s even a hint of embarrassment for us now when we meet people, 'Oh, you’re still here. We thought you’d be gone by now.' So did we, so did we.

Being in a house where RTÉ Radio One (the Irish state broadcaster) is the station of choice doesn't help things either – if you’re feeling a bit too happy in yourself, an hour’s listening to this will see you right. Perhaps it's just reflecting the general mood of the nation? 

In any case, with our political, critical and at times cynical nature, we’re just the type of listener Radio One sucks in. We ignore the health warnings and indulge in it to dangerous levels. Changing that dial, both physically and mentally, is proving to be quite a difficult task.

In a more benign way, our attitude towards Ireland could be compared to a mother who wants her little Johnny to be the best he can be and is at times overly critical and demanding of him. Sometimes, though, it’s best to leave Johnny to his own devices.

Belfast's 'exotic' side.

We've been here before, of course. In 2009, when we returned home after a year of travelling, it wasn't too long before we started looking for the exit doors again. As it turned out, a speculative job application came good and we found ourselves Belfast-bound. 

Considering we’d never been to that city before, it did offer freshness and its own exoticness (don’t laugh) for a Free-Stater**. The small bit of the Queen’s pound that came our way was well received, too. In any case, it staved off the wanderlust for a while.

So, you ask, why are we still here? Well, trying to get a work visa for Colombia, the default go-to right now, has proved to be a convoluted process; although an end does appear to be in sight. Alongside this, an unsolicited, potential job offer has come our way. 

Given the employment plight of many Irish people these days, we feel at the very least that whatever may be on the table merits some serious thought.

Here we go again, though – back to thinking. Was that not our problem in the first place? The tried and trusted coin toss is beginning to look like the best solution to our predicament.
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*For more on that 'youth drain', see previous post No country for young men at http://bit.ly/1aV6tn4.

**A 'Free-Stater' is a term of, um, endearment used by Northern Ireland residents in reference to people from the Republic of Ireland, which was previously known as the Irish Free State.

Colombia, te extrañamos (Colombia, we miss you – in some ways)

To coincide with St Patrick’s Day earlier this year, we came up with a list highlighting the things we missed from Ireland (see http://bit.ly/Xgz0J6). 

Now that we’re back on home soil and plotting what’s turning out to be a less-than-straightforward return to Colombia, in weaker moments we have found ourselves thinking about certain things we long for from our previous home. 

OK, it’s not a case where we can’t sleep at night because of this but the following still resonate with us all the same.

Chilled-out times in Colombia.

Amigos

Obviously, this is not to say we’ve a lack of friends here at home (despite a mass exodus of people in their twenties from the west of Ireland), it’s more a point that some fine additions to our buddies list were made in Colombia over the last two years or so. 

Most of these, but not all, were fellow expats and some of them have also bid adieu to the country in the last while. There are, though, still a few old dogs remaining – perhaps we’ll be rejoining them shortly.

Good, old friends in the big city.

Big-city living

This may directly contradict with one from our Ireland’s calling list, but a lively metropolis, which Bogotá can be at times, is generally a good base for young(ish), single people. Plus, as mentioned above, the lack of younger people where we currently are is a drawback on occasions. Which brings us on to ...

... las chicas

OK, we haven’t always written in a positive light about Colombian women.* However, this still doesn’t take away from the fact that they are amongst some of the best-looking in the world. And before anyone accuses us of being sexist or a male chauvinist, Colombian women know they are beautiful and like to be told it, too. We’re thus doing our duty.

Not bad ... (courtesy of revistadonjuan.com)

A different tongue

No, this has nothing to do with the above point, we’re on about the language here. 

While we’re not masters of Spanish by any stretch of the imagination, we were slowly (very slowly, you might say) getting better through enforced daily usage** – as an old teacher used to say, ‘If you throw enough muck at the wall, some of it’s bound to stick.’ However, with the lack of regular practice over the last couple of months, bits of that muck are beginning to fall away.

Ah, cheap beer, cheap fun.

Reasonably priced beer (and other things)

One of the main reasons the Irish pub appears to be in terminal decline is down to price (for more on this, read http://bit.ly/MmS5bm). A pint in the pub is at least three times more than the price you can get it for at an off-license. 

In Colombia, however, beers in the ubiquitous tienda bars (for our favourites see http://bit.ly/17yN8HH) are very often cheaper than in takeaway locations – encouraging a bit of, ahem, healthy socialising. And we like to socialise.

It’s not all about beer, of course. An affordable, refreshing coffee and biscuit in the company of good friends also hits the spot. Again, something we’ve mentioned previously in Bogotá's simple pleasures http://bit.ly/Uzc3lk.

Keeping the peace.

Street food

Coupled with the above are the cheap snacks to be found on the streets – not in the rubbish bins, but for sale from vendors. 

Our personal favourite is the arepa packed with meat while a stuffed empanada is also agreeable from time to time. Outside of these evening time meals, we’re big fans of buying our fruit from street sellers, especially considering it generally retails at a fraction of the price compared to the supermarkets. One must be prudent with the pesos.

‘Extra’ demand

Now, while we did quickly become bored and frustrated working as an extra for various TV programmes – see http://bit.ly/NrbPc3 for the reasons why – we do miss the odd call from agencies requesting our services. Perhaps it’s an ego thing? 

Well, being egotistical is a prerequisite for those who want to make it in the acting world, right? Plus, the extras work gives us the opportunity to be on the right side of the law for a change.

High and mighty.

Altitude

As oft-detailed here, we’re fans of the high life; that is living a bit closer to the celestial stars as opposed to living it up with the so-called human versions (yes, we question their humanness). 

So while it’s not the highest perched capital city in the world, at 2,600 metres above sea level, Bogotá is lofty nonetheless. A close-to-perfect big city in which to be naturally high we feel. 

Or maybe that’s just all this sea-level air messing with our thoughts? A return journey might see us right. Time to get moving so.

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*One place to start in relation to our experiences with Colombian women is The Republic of Jealousy at http://bit.ly/ZrSQaN.

**Our Spanish got so good that we were even asked to do some promotional work for the Venezuelan government http://bit.ly/1a1I1er.