Blog post 2 - Day 1
Firstly, I’d like to take the opportunity to thank my amazing sister. Bryony, thank you so very much for putting up with me and providing me a place where I can leave my belongings while I am away. I truly am very grateful for all that you helped me with and your hospitality. Love from your little bro, grateful, scruffy, and now somewhere far away.
Flight
I walked through Heathrow Terminal 2 brimming with excitement. After panic-buying the last travel adaptors known to man and inhaling an ill-advised pre-flight meal, I headed for the gate. I scanned the crowd for fellow backpackers—visions of elephant-print trousers, oversized rucksacks, and rogue flip-flops danced in my head—but no such clichés appeared. Turns out, not all travellers look like they’re on their way to a Thai yoga retreat. Who knew?
On the plane, a guy about my age sat next to me. I gave him the classic “fellow adventurer?” look, but he clearly hadn’t received the memo on in-flight camaraderie. Fair enough—maybe I’ll make friends on the ground.
Touchdown at El Dorado Airport, 3 a.m. sharp. Armed with my preloaded eSIM (modern wizardry at its finest), I quickly confirmed that my ride was still coming. I’d wisely booked a hotel near the airport—because wandering Bogotá’s streets at 4 a.m. with a backpack screams “bad life choices.” In true rookie fashion, I’d originally booked the room for the wrong night (landing in the night of the 21st, booked for the 22nd—classic). Luckily, it all worked out in the end.
Exploring
After an impressive one hour of sleep, I rallied. Bags packed, caffeine cravings roaring, I made my way to Granada Hostel. Dropped my gear, then set off to explore. A short walk later, I stumbled into Plaza de Bolívar—home to the presidential palace and more pigeons than politics. The sounds, smells, and chaos of Bogotá hit me all at once. That’s when it sank in: I’m really here.
I found a tiny shop serving empanadas and other mysterious but delicious things. I recognised one from my pre-trip Googling—arepas—and proceeded to inhale one, the verdict: wow that's salty - but I want more. I washed them down with a cup of tinto, which is essentially a black coffee but the best way I know how to describe what tinto is would be this: in smaller, more locally ran stands or stalls they call it tinto or to us English speakers, we would associate this with a cup of joe. It’s not barista made, doesn’t earn the title of espresso or americano, its just a coffee, and delicious it was too.
Feeling pretty tired, I looked for something easy to do on my own. I visited the Museo del Oro or museum of gold. Which contained some interesting pieces and information about early gold working and the cultural significance. I’ll be honest here, I yarned my way round this museum, maybe going to a dark, quiet place with lots of reading wasn’t the best idea having not really slept for the best part of 34 hours.
Later, the heavens opened (apparently, British weather travels light too). I sought refuge the best way possible—with another empanada and more tinto.
Back to the hostel
Back at the hostel, I curled up with a book until a fellow traveller, Lauren from London, plopped down beside me. We swapped the usual backpacker banter—where we’d been, where we were headed, what questionable foods we’d eaten. (If you’ve ever stayed in a hostel, you know you have this exact conversation roughly 400 times a week.)
Soon after, we were joined by Anther from Belgium, and the three of us went out for dinner—my first real taste of the backpacker life: spontaneous, slightly awkward, but full of laughs.
First night out
Earlier, I’d impulsively signed up for a hostel-organised night out via Hostelworld, hoping to meet people. By 9 p.m., though, my enthusiasm was hanging by a thread and a pool cue. Still, I forced myself out the door, politely declining the ten or so men who offered me cocaine en route (ah, Bogotá nightlife). At the bar, I met a Scottish guy named Matt, and before long, we’d declared friendly Anglo-Celtic rivalry over a few beers. Soon, we were on an open-top party bus, fireworks included—because apparently that’s a thing here. Nothing like a touch of gunpowder to bring strangers together.
Four clubs, several questionable dance moves, and one “how am I still awake?” moment later, I stumbled home (from the Uber to the door of the hostel) at a respectable 3 a.m.
A lot of people had been saying how bad their jetlag had been, well my thinking is, you cant wake up at 4am if you go to bed at 4am.
It didn't work... 6am wake up with a pounding headache.
That brings an end to my first day in Bogota. It has felt non-stop since the moment I left the house in England. Stay tuned for the next post where I'll talk about everything else I did in this massive city
Credits:
Created with an image by TeTe Song - "Passenger airplane. Landscape with Front of white airplane is flying in the orange sky with clouds over mountains, sea at colorful sunset. Passenger aircraft is landing. Commercial plane. Private jet"