They´re checking under the car...

Rosana and went to a shopping cetre to see a film and briefly i escaped my life and emersed myself in fantasyland and other people´s troubles. As we entered the carpark, Rosana stops the car, unlocks the doors, and pulls down her window to talk to one of the 4 security guards. They open the back seat doors, look inside the trunck, and slid mirrors under the car. "They´re looking for bombs, but chances are they don´t even know what one looks like."
Bogota is fascinating but it isn't spring time all year round like i've been told. Staying at Rosana's place, her folks doted over me and kept me safe and well. Folks everywhere continue to be ultra curtious.

Down the street we went and there were many lone gitarists in semi-vacant bar-restaurants, battling away. We seem to end up in one with only a handful of people, and 2 middle-aged drunk men, not in that bad a shape, slurring and deforming the musician's song. The very attentive waitress was receiving thanks, when the one of th e duo explained to her that his mate was looking for a woonderful woman just like her, and that what was on offer was a single man, without kids and loaded - that's literally what he said to get his mate laid. Sad old rich professionals.

I got together with the my other colombian mate, Jennifers, and we checked out her old uni, the national university of colombia which was buzzing with youth. Later that night we went to a great ol venue, one that she went to as a uni student. After talking myself in, having no documents and all (all excuses for a tip), i got in and found an awsom vibe, of tiny tables and chairs that squeezed out a little dance space, space to dance to salsa, reggae, african rhythms and coastal colombian carnaval beats... little air despite the tall ceilings, and lots of bodies sweating out alcohol. Indeed i danced the night away all the way till 3 in the morning when the city has to go to sleep. But aparently it kicks arse..