Colombia is country number 54.When I tell people I'm going to Colombia; I can see the look on their face. They are thinking of kidnapping, guerrillas, cocaine, and Pablo Escobar.
Kidnapping: This is just not happening anymore in any of Colombia's major cities. The murder rate in Bogota matches that of Pittsburgh, PA. Crime is no worse than any other city of eight million with a huge discrepancy between rich and poor.
Guerrillas: The jungles and the forest to the south and east of the country are still occupied by the FARC and ELN respectively, and if you wander off there, you may be captured and held for ransom or killed. The guerrillas have been greatly marginalized by the Uribe government, though not without horrific human rights violations. Many Colombians are outraged at the loss of innocent life caused by the heavy handed police state actions of Uribes war on the guerrillas. But, as evidenced by the majority support for Santos, Uribe's heir apperant, the majority of Colombians are happy to see an end to the kidnappings, the carjackings, the bombings and the terror, at whatever the collateral human cost.
Cocaine: Despite the billions of dollars wasted on the US's "War on Drugs"; Colombia continues to process and export 90% of the worlds cocaine. The vast majority of it is processed in jungle labs owned by the FARC or ELN. It is then shipped up either the Caribbean or Pacific coast of Central America via submarine or hidden in fishing boats, then overland through Mexico and into the US. Some of it gets shipped to West Africa into Senegal and Nigeria and then into Europe.
No one offered me any cocaine in Bogota. I didn't see any on the street. I thought nothing of it in fact, until about my third day in town. I met lots of travelers where I was staying, Hostal Sue. It was the usual group of early twenty-somethings from England, Australia, Ireland, and continental Europe who were taking a year or so to backpack around the world on a shoestring budget. I drank beers with these guys, had good conversation, and we'd make plans to go see the Salt Cathedral, or go to a soccer game the next day. But when the next day came, there'd be no sign of them. I wouldn't see them until the evening, when they'd tell me "Oh we were out till 8am, and I was wrecked, so I couldn't make it." And I'd think "8am?! You sat around at the tiny, boring hostel bar drinking till 8am? Why?" Around the third day I noticed the bloodshot eyes, the shaky hands, and it hit me. When a group of three Aussie guys all got up together to disappear into their room, a leaned over and asked one of the guy's Colombian girlfriend,
"Where are they going?"
"To their room."
"To do coke, right?"
"Yes."
"So they didn't invite you?"
"I'm from Cali. I've done enough coke to last a lifetime."
Later I asked a particularly amped Aussie guy about it, and he told me that he can get a gram of pure cocaine for $5 in Bogota. In Los Angeles, he'd have to pay $75 for a gram of weak stuff cut with god knows what. So I learned that even when it comes to drug purchases, the real backpackers always know where to find the best deal.
Pablo Escobar: Still dead. I never saw anything about the legendary drug kingpin in Bogota. He was from Medellin, so maybe there is a big Escobarland Disney-like memorial there.
Bogota has some fantastic grafitti. Someone has edited this to show the police as the constructors of violence.
A cobblestone street in the small historical area of La Candelaria. This is where I stayed.
"I'd rather vote for these madmen." The Presidential election was only a few days away when I arrived.
Some drunk Bogatenos I bumped into on the street.
"Yankees, get out of Colombia and the World."
Bogota is a very modern city, but I did see this guy leading his horse down the main street to pick up trash.
Bogota has very little tourist infrastructure. Though La Candelaria has several quality hostels, no one has opened a tour company there. There are many great day trips from Bogota that could be made, such as Zipaquira Salt Cathedral, Guatavita lake, but no one is offering services to reach them. There is only one good day tour to be found, and it is a must do; Bogota Bike Tours. I was the only person that signed up for the daily 10:30am tour on this particular day, and rain was threatening. Any other tour company would certainly have cancelled on me. Not Mike. I got a personal one-on-one tour of the city for 6 hours! Mike showed me parts of the city I never would have seen on my own. I especially enjoyed riding through the National University and viewing the revolutionary grafitti there, tasting exotic Colombian fruits in the market, seeing the cemetery, entering the bullfighting ring, the emerald marketplace. Throughout the tour Mike told me stories about each area, and gave me a deeper understanding of the reasons and motivations behind the many facets of Colombian society, including the guerrillas, the paramilitaries, the student groups, the poor, the rich, the federal government. All this for $12??!! This is a must-do tour when in Bogota. 
Mike started off our tour in the Plaza Bolivar.
We spent some time at the National University. This place is so left wing it makes Berkeleylook fascist. The Bogota police are banned from even entering the school grounds. I think it's encouraging that a right wing government allows a state-funded university to be covered in anti-government marxist grafitti. 
An apartment building that was blown up by the FARC.
I ate a lot of empanadas in Bogota. They are 50 cents each, and sold everywhere.
The Plaza de Toros. A classy stadium for a despicable sport.
Mike bought me some different fruits found only in Colombia. Good stuff.
We even investigated the Emerald Market, which consists of a bunch of guys standing around a major intersection with little folded pieces of paper holding what may or may not be emeralds. Colombia is the number one exporter of Emeralds.
I spent a morning at the Museo de Oro, or Gold Museum. Nice stuff.
View from the top of the Teleferico at 10,300ft.
My first day in Bogota was sensory overload. I live on a small, sparsely populated island, with no weather to speak of. Every day is quiet, warm, and sunny. On this Sunday morning in Bogota, buckets of rain splashed down on its eight million residents as crackling peals of thunder exploded, seemingly directly overhead. Cascades of water ran off every roof, and rolled in waves down the streets. The thunder was terrifying. It felt like a building would be vaporized at any moment. Every doorway was crowded with pedestrians hiding from the deluge. But on the particular Sunday, not everyone was dry. Thousands of green t-shirt clad citizens were joyously marching down the Carrera Septima in support of Presidential candidate Antanas Mockus. Chanting slogans, beating drums, and tooting horns, the largely student led group formed a mile long green snake ending in the spacious Plaza de Bolivar, the heart of Bogota. The supporters were dripping wet, yet obviously excited and motivated by the potential for their man in the next weekends election. (Mockus finished a distant second with 21% of the vote, necessitating a runoff election against the 46% of center-right candidate Santos three weeks later)
After watching from a dry empanda stand for a long while, the rain eased, and I followed the long green line down to the Plaza de Bolivar. Inside the Plaza, a stage was set up, bands were playing, fireworks being shot off, and motivational speakers were getting the crowd energized. I chose to pass through the massive police cordon of security and join them. I bought a green t-shirt. Bogota has a very white almost Anglo-looking population, so if I didn't open my mouth, I could almost fit in as a real Bogateno.
My second day I ran up into the unpopulated mountains on the edge of town up to about 10,000ft. I saw cows, burros, sheep, herding dogs, two farmers, and twelve heavily armed soldiers. Colombia has a massive police and military presence. By far the largest I've ever seen in any country. On this small road leading into the Andes, these soldiers were stopping and searching every single vehicle driving into Bogota. When a nation is torn apart by civil war and guerrilla terrorism, this is what it takes to retain control.
