Back in Bogota.

My roommate, Peter from Holland, got robbed right around the corner from the hostel yesterday on a street full of people making their way home. It`s practically a daily occurence here among us backpackers, getting mugged -- I`ve been lucky but staying on Gringo Row isn`t really encouraging. Peter was walking back to the hostel around 8 p.m. when a couple of guys pinned him to the wall and put a knife to his throat. Suddenly more guys rushed toward him to partake in gringo gold and they emptied his pockets, which luckily only held his glasses and $5 worth of dinero. The whole time they kept telling him to remain calm, relax. How thoughtful, huh? He`s pissed off about the glasses, because he doesn`t have an extra pair, but the experience has really confirmed his ideas about Bogota. True, there is a sinister feeling here, everywhere you go in Colombia actually, but in Bogota, you have a population trying to live normal life amongst it. It breeds a strange atmosphere, a fascinating one that`s keeping me here. Last week, an American girl got cut when she wouldn`t give up her backpack to a belligerent, precocious group of Colombian teen thugs. But I have to ask, why the hell was she caring her backpack around the city? Things like that invite trouble and it`s something you learn quickly when traveling. I have also found walking down the middle of the street is always a much safer option than using the sidewalks, despite the cars...
I`ve decided to skip Peru for now and stay here another two weeks. There are just so many restaurants and hole-in-the-wall bars to try out. Forget the thin, boyish figure I`ve been maintaining. I`m working on building a pouch underneath my stomach worthy of shelter for any newborn marsupial. I didn`t have a decent meal in the north. When I got back to Bogota a few days ago, I felt at home. It was great to see Chris again, even though he later disappointed me with a mediocre cookie experience. Yesterday we went out with a group of people from our hostel to an ´80s metal bar down the street and worked on a list of possible projects I could keep busy with (I`m easily bored) during the day while I`m here, one of which is to work on my alcoholism... or rather, as it is now, changing my lack of. Drunks always have more fun, right?
Speaking of the `80s, they`re alive and hardly gasping for air down here in S.A. In Bogota, you`d be hard pressed to hear anything beyond AC/DC or Depeche Mode. Metal bars abound, which makes me excited because I don`t feel so out of place in my Axl Rose shirt I picked up in Brazil, but I miss hearing all the new albums out in the states and rambling to anyone who will listen about how there are no good bands out there anymore. One of my other priorities here is to get burned copies of all the music I lost when my casette tapes melted/disappeared/were eaten by my car`s tape deck. Requests, anyone?
You`ll never believe this, because I didn`t myself when I first found out: There`s a Vietnamese Australian guy staying in my hostel. I am not alone!
I forgot to write in my last entry about the chickens in the zoo. They were bona fide exhibits, with their own sign and everything, just like the other animals. I hear that there`s a cage of squirrels in the Bogota zoo, and it`s a weird and wacky enough idea that I am going to check it out.