Bogota Graffiti Tour

In the club last night there was a girl that reminded me of someone I know, and WOW WOW WOW she was the sexiest thing I have ever laid my eyes on and all night I watched her dance and once she looked at me and I looked at her and everywhere we went she was THERE too.
Anyway, we were all milling about the meeting place listlessly waiting for the tour to start. When we’d arrived there was nobody else, but soon enough there were quite a few of us. Then we were just waiting for the guide. A beggar had started working his way from person to person and I watched everybody pretend he wasn’t there, but he was there. He moved from person to person asking for coins to get a bus, it’s getting old. I watched one man take out his wallet filled with all his credit cards and give him some money. There was a French girl stood next me playing on her smartphone.
“Hey, lady, don’t take your phone out on the tour, yeah?” She looked up at the beggar and smiled a sweet plastic smile, then he raised his fist so that she could bump it with hers.
He looked at me and I nodded at him and thought, “And?” The guide arrived, apologising for his lateness, blaming his taxi driver. He introduced himself.
“Hey guys, my name is Ray and I will be your guide today. The tour lasts two to two and one half hours. If you need to go to the bathroom or get something to drink I suggest you go now. We ask for a minimum donation of 25,000 pesos, which given the volume of information you’ll receive today and the quality of it, we think is fair. Shall we get started?”
We walked around and Ray told us about the paintings, the style and the artist. The paintings impressed me. I thought of it as a good opportunity to get some pictures of Bogota’s streets.










We walked along and I hated how OBVIOUS we were, stamping the pavements, everyone pointing their cameras angrily at everything, people, buildings, very colourful, a gringo carnival. I remember watching everybody step in dog crap determined to get a picture of a wall. I always imagine we are different. I mean, less obvious. But then I’d managed to get sunburned the day before and was walking around with a pink face reeking of sun cream.

We returned to the hostel and I went back to sleep for a bit. When I woke up we were asked if we’d like to go and watch Andres in his band on the other side of town. We were looking forward to a quiet night but figured we should go. The band was all right. The two Argentinian girls staying in our room had also come out. We got to talking just as we were all leaving.
“You’re from Argentina?”
“Yes, and you?”
“Never mind”
They spoke no English at all.
“You didn’t study English in school?”
Then T suggested we go someplace else for a drink. T was very good company. He had a lot of interesting stories. Boxhead and I got into a taxi with the two girls and we drove back to the hostel where T was waiting for us. We found a bar with no atmosphere. It might have been a good thing. It meant I could clearly listen to what the girls were saying. We ordered a drink and tried to talk. It was hard work. I didn’t know what they were talking about and I didn’t have much of a vocabulary. They were listening and I was laughing, laughing because what the hell could I do but laugh?
“Ha ha ha ha, I’M DYING ON MY ARSE!”
I desperately wanted some music, atmosphere, SOMETHING. I couldn’t think anymore. I was spinning and swaying. I got very tired. T and Boxhead remained silent. The uselessness of going on finally became too much and we finished our drinks and walked out of there toward the hostel. I got into bed with the feeling that I had an awful lot of work to do…
“Jon, are you asleep?”
“Please, please! No more españyol! I can’t take anymore, I’m tired!”
They laughed at me some more then went to sleep. I don’t know how long I slept but the snoring woke me up. It was loud and disgusting and I thought it was Boxhead but when I looked over he was awake…
Uhh I think I need to study now.

Hasta luego.

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