The corridors at the airport are remarkably empty just before passing through Colombian customs control. Customs officers sit visibly bored in their small booths. Above them, a banner reads 'Bienvenidos a colombia'.
The pretty customs officer asks us how long we plan to stay in Colombia. That was the last question before we officially stepped foot in Colombia without any hindrance.
The friendly driver in the yellow taxi instructed us to close the doors for our safety. Ummm ok...
He likes Bogotá; he has two sons from one wife and two others from his second wife. It's normal here. Is it the same for us? Well...it's somewhat similar for us too...
The 30-minute drive through skyscrapers, passing by the estimated thousand taxis, finally ended with the question of whether Swiss people are really so rich.
How can one like a city that most people have nothing good to say about?
As we get out in front of the hostel entrance, my eyes dart left and right, up and down the street, always cautious that our luggage doesn't disappear into a dark alley, and once again, I feel that strange pressure in my head.
'But the liveliness of the Colombian capital, it must be said, is of a special kind. It is not a dignified allotment garden joy or southern passion. Rather, it is a rough vitality that arises more from an excess of disparate forces than from inner peace. Hyperactive, always under pressure, short-tempered - Bogotá'