Before we arrived in Colombia, I would wake in my bed in Missoula at 2am with a gasp, wondering if it was crazy to bring our kids to a country infamous for kidnappings, guerillas and pickpockets. In those dark sleepless hours, I vowed that I would hold both of my kids’ hands at all times and that I would never (ever) go out after dark.
But like most things that feel catastrophic at 2am, Bogotá proved infinitely less scary in reality. And, as with many of the things I promise myself, I caved pretty quickly. For instance, we arrived at our AirBnb at 6pm, just as the sun set. Since Rob was laid out with pneumonia and we had nothing but airplane peanuts in our possession, that meant I was going out in the dark to feed the family.
With my heart beating rapid-fire and my country-mouse-senses on full alert, I stepped out into Colombia’s largest city with my kids’ hands clenched in a death grip. Then I looked around. Other moms and kids meandered calmly down the street. Musicians played on the corner. Colorful murals decorated every wall in sight. A Peppa Pig fruteria beckoned us with tropical smoothies.
I loosened my grip on the kids’ hands — and on my fear — and drank a pineapple frappe.
Our week in Bogotá included a LOT of fruit. Other highlights included our tram ride up to the village at Montserrate where we walked amidst impressive Christmas light displays, as well as a day spent playing in the enormous Parque Simon Bolivar and the nearby Parque Ciudad de los Niños. (That’s where we learned the hard way — sorry, pale winter skin! — that you need to always wear hats and apply copious sunscreen when near the equator during summer.)
We tested the “menu del dia” at many local eateries and had (more than) our fill of pollo and carne. We huffed and puffed while trying to walk uphill in a city that sits at 8,660 feet above sea level. We rode the Trans-Milleno buses and the kids gawked at skyscrapers. We practiced Spanish with dozens of Uber drivers and the kids learned how to roll down car windows manually (it made me feel seriously old that they’d never seen a non-push-button window before!).
Part of our success in Bogotá was due to the fact that we decided NOT to stay in the popular La Candelaria district, a historic, beautiful and very touristy part of the city. Those tourists attract plenty of petty crime. After asking a few Colombian friends which neighborhood they would stay in with kids, we opted for the artsy Chapinero district in the northern part of the city. It was safe and awesome. And we were the only tourists in sight.
It wasn’t all murals and parks, though. One afternoon after visiting La Candelaria we wandered through a busy street market. You know the type: vendors selling everything from tennis shoes and balloons to rhinestone purses and roasted corn. In our fascinated perusal, we walked too far south until we crossed some invisible line.
We both felt the vibe shift immediately. People stared in a less friendly way. A few sketchy guys hassled us. Rob got ready to use his jiujitsu moves. I tucked the kids under my arms and hustled safely away.
But I don’t blame Colombia for that bad vibe. I’ve had the same thing happen in Portland, Los Angeles and other big cities. When you cram 8 million people in a small space, many of them very poor, and then dangle wealthier, hip-pack-toting, market-gawkers in front of them…well, not everyone is going to be on their best behavior.
Besides keeping our Spidey-senses on alert, we made sure to always leave our valuables stowed at home when we went out. Any cash we needed for the day was kept in a hidden pocket that Rob cleverly sewed into each of our pants, rather than in those nerdy “I am a Gringo” hip-packs.
I’m glad we braved Bogotá as our first stop. It was certainly a trial by fire for the rest of our South America trip. And I’m also glad we’re sticking to smaller towns for the next few months. This country mouse can only take so much city, no matter what country I’m in.
We’re in Bolivia now, making our way slowly from Santa Cruz to Sucre. Stay tuned for updates!