So exciting to be landing in Bogota and making may way through the airport terminal and thinking about the adventure ahead. The airport is very organised, it puts Manchester to shame. Queues move quickly and I’m welcomed into the country with polite efficiency… “how many days?” … oh “three months!” the maximum allowed visa free for Brits. I walk down to the carousel and scrutinise each generic black wheelie case as it’s spewed onto the turntable. Looking for the tell-tale yellow tag. Then a thought crosses my mind… I’d better check my e-mails. Dear Mr Dinn.. unfortunately… your bag… yadda yadda yadda. Bollocks. My presence is not required at the carousel.

And so out of the gates and into the massed throng. The usual hand written cards from drivers looking for passengers, probably the odd comical one.. “gay porn star casting” you get the idea. But I’ve never seen a three piece band musically welcoming someone home before – guitar, trumpet, drum – I think I’m gonna like this country!

Cheap and easy taxi from the taxi rank, straight to my digs. I’m determined to be dropped in exactly in the right place, lots of warnings heeded that care should be taken at night, even though I’m in the posh tourist bit. Taxi driver doesn’t know the street, keeps asking and zooming in on the crap Air B and B map of the location. I’m already plotting it on Googlemaps so I show him that. He likes that. Like he’s never seen that before. It gets me there.

Streets do look pretty sketchy and there’s drunk people hanging about, loud techno coming from somewhere, a homeless guy looking for food in a bin, some major screaming drama opposite. Welcome Gus. As I nod off, exhausted I hear pop, pop, pop in the distance.. sounds like fireworks.. it couldn’t be gunshots could it?

I’ve spoken before about the difference between high crime and high fear of crime. It’s hard to know where Candelaria fits into this. The next morning is bright, the streets are quiet and look far less sketchy. As I walk the area I still feel a bit on edge, loads of armed police and police with muzzled rottweilers don’t help my mood. But it’s all about me acclimatising. It doesn’t take too long for my uppity English eyes to read less into crumbling building and footpaths. To see the smiles on peoples faces. To have wonderfully friendly interactions with non-English speaking shop staff in the phone shop (Sim Card) and a cheap clothes shop (till my suitcase arrives).

On first impressions, once I’ve chilled a bit, Bogota is definitely rough around the edges and probably needs some caution, but is also pretty in parts, bustling, energetic and with some fantastic street art. So I’m giving it the chance it deserves.

The other acclimatisation to be wary of is the altitude. At 2,640 meters Bogota is the 4th highest capital in the world. It’s not necessarily a problem, but certainly noticeable walking the steep hills. Waking a little in the night feeling short of breath isn’t much fun. But it’s fine, I’ve been higher before and remember how miserable that can be, so this is fine really. Nevertheless I’m keeping a bit of an eye on myself.