This is the story of my 2001 trip to Bogotá Colombia, for the Men's Épée World Cup. I fly in Wednesday, March 28th, and leave Monday, April 2nd. Fencing is Friday and Saturday, and although that's the central reason for going, it's only part of what makes the trip interesting. This is Bogotá!
I was in Montreal a week ago, for that world cup, where I earned my first world ranking points by placing 60th. I fenced that morning in a team scrimmage between USA and Canada, and drove from noon to midnight, with some stops to eat and sleep in the car. Monday I fence at Olde Town, Tuesday at DCFC.
Wednesday I fly from National airport at 1pm, connecting through Miami and reaching Bogotá at 8:45pm.
Coming through Customs in a country where you don't speak the language, especially a country with a reputation like Colombia has, is always a little unsettling. Fortunately things go well, and I get out to the cab stand and have somehow survived the ride to the hotel by 9:45pm.
Dinner in Bogotá is always late, never before 8pm. I'm sharing a room with Eric Hansen, the only other American at this event, and he hasn't eaten yet. We go across the street to a restaurant called Lomos that serves your choice of meat, meat, or meat. We both get the meat combination platter, and it's really good, especially for under US $10. There is chicken, sausage, pork, steak, and really good steak. It comes with a brown liquid sauce, a tomato based, and a green herb based sauce on the side. All the sauces are delicious, and I spend most of the meal just trying to enjoy each one as much as possible. The local beer, Club Colombia, is incredibly good.
Thursday we eat breakfast in the hotel, which is included in the price of US $55/night for a double. It's definitely in contention for best hotel value ever, with spacious rooms, helpful English speaking staff, and free internet access in the business center. (The internet access is the slowest I've ever used, and I've spent a lot of time on a 2400 baud modem, so I guess in some respect you get what you pay for.) Breakfast is a selection of fresh fruit, breads and juices, and omelettes prepared to order. Breakfast drink is normally cafe con leche or hot chocolate in Colombia, and this morning I drink some delicious hot chocolate. The selection of fruit is a great idea, considering how much meat I ate last night and will eat almost every night in Colombia.
During the day we go to the nearest supermarket, to buy jugs of water and a little food. On the way, there is an ATM guarded by a man with a shotgun! That's a bit frightening.
While in Bogotá, we watch a lot of movies. A lot of movies, all subtitled in Spanish. Depending who you ask, it may or may not be safe for Americans to tourist around the city. So we spend a lot of time in the hotel room, taking our fill of the Latin American HBO and Cinemax lineups.
Dinner that night is in the hotel restaurant. No exotic local cuisine for me tonight, I have farfale with bolognese sauce and a glass of Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon. After another movie or two, we get to sleep.
Friday morning we get up at a leisurely pace, sometime after 8am, shower, eat breakfast, and get our stuff together for the 10am bus ride to the venue.
At 10am, the bus hasn't arrived yet. At 10:20am, the bus hasn't arrived yet, but the Venezuelan team has meandered in and is waiting with us. Around 10:30am the bus shows up, it's actually a van, and we get packed in for the 25 minute trip.
Traffic in Bogotá is unbelievable. I've often read travel guides for other cities which advise against renting a car or trying to drive alongside the locals, and the other cities have never entirely lived up to the hype. Bogotá exceeds it. Our van must have been in a near accident every other minute it was on the road. There are people riding mopeds, small cars, big cars, and hordes of busses on the road all the time. I'm unable to describe how packed the streets are, how many times cars or busses lean on their horns because someone forced them to brake with everything they have, and the general ruleless mayhem that Bogotános call traffic.
The van ride seems to consist of struggling along a large road crammed with traffic for 10 minutes, just to make a U-turn and struggle back down it. I never really get my bearings while in town.
Once at the venue, the driver pulls up in front and waves at a guard in an army uniform inside the fenced compound. The guard opens the gate and comes to take down a rope blocking the driveway entrance. We go into the compound, and the gate is shut with a hefty chain and padlock behind us. I'm not sure if that reassures or frightens me.
We go inside, and it's a large concrete stadium, with 6 pistes set up in the middle. It's not entirely clear to me what the procedure is supposed to be, there's no sign reading "register here", and Eric talks to someone he knows for a while. I take my weapons, mask and body cords out to where I saw some guys checking equipment. They test my weapons and put a sticker inside the bell, and sign the back of my mask. I never have figured out why they do this weapons check, because I could go back to my toolbox and do anything I like to them afterwards.
Then one of the organizers asks me how many Americans there are, and I can't really say because we don't know if Justin Tausig is supposed to show up. But I write down Eric's name and mine, and tell them maybe one more will show up. Eric assumes the role of Head of Delegation, and Justin never shows up.
The venue has a long skylight from one end to the other letting direct sunlight come in. I notice the sun falls right down the middle of the floor, and it stays there all day. The building is aligned directly east to west, and since we're so close to the equator and to the equinox it falls right down the middle no matter where the sun is in the sky. It seems amazingly far sighted compared to how windows have been arranged in most US venues.
I meet the FIE observer, who's from Holland but lives in Denver. He's quite a talker, and a very nice guy. He tells me Eric is the top seed, and there are only 12 guys with World points. I'm one of those guys, and I'm 12th seed! This means I have a bye into the 64, and won't have to fence until tomorrow. It's too much for me to believe, and I get ready and fence some warmup bouts just like I was to be in a pool today. He's right of course, and when the pools start Eric and I fence some practice bouts.
I don't understand why, but we're kicked off the pistes in the venue and sent into the Colombians' training room. The floor in there is extremely dusty and slippery, and it's just like fencing on ice. After one bout we do some drills with the fencing dummies, and push together some leftover metal segments from the pistes they have in the venue so we don't have to fence on ice. After a second bout we pack up and go to see how long the pools will run, and to get the tableau for tomorrow so we can think about our opponents. We get a van ride with the Chileans back by their hotel and then to ours. They seem to be staying in someone's home, which is weird, but maybe a good idea.
After showers and some TV, we go eat at Lomos again. One glass of wine, a salad and a small filet, for precious little $$. Then back to the hotel and sleep.
It's now Saturday.
Start time is 2pm, and the buses to the venue should leave at 10am and noon today. Eric says he'd rather get there early, so we plan on taking the 10am bus.
We get up just past 8am, shower and eat breakfast in the hotel as usual. After getting our stuff together and going downstairs at just past 10am, the bus isn't there. No surprise, really, but today it takes much longer to show up. In fact, it's nearly 11am by the time we get on and head out to the venue. Looks like waiting for the noon bus would have been a bad mistake.
Today we have a full size bus instead of the van, with storage underneath like a Greyhound. It's completely full with fencing bags, so mine gets a seat to itself inside. The bus takes the normal incomprehensible route, and stops at the place the Chileans are staying. Apparently they've made other arrangements, because they don't get on the bus.
We reach the venue after 11:30am, and we're the first ones there. We take the spots we had yesterday in the concrete bleachers and begin waiting. The bathrooms are all locked, and I find my way around in a labyrinth under the stadium to an administrative office where they unlock a bathroom for me. Like some other bathrooms I've seen here, there is no seat on the toilet, and no paper. Fortunately the hotel room isn't like that!
Eventually people start showing up, other fencers and some of the organizers. The people running the event must find the most important thing to be having music blasting. They really like the 70s, playing Led Zeppelin, Ozzy Osborne, the Eagles, and other songs I never expected to hear here. Does Stairway to Heaven predict a good day?
36 people are fencing today, so the first round has 4 bouts, scheduled to begin at 2pm. They actually get going a bit earlier, bumping me and Eric off the strip we're warming up on. The tableau is posted with pistes and times for each bout all the way to the 8. The final 4 will be fenced at 5pm.
My first bout is with Marcos Peña from Puerto Rico. He doesn't have any World points, so he had to fence the pools yesterday. He had three wins and two losses, with +7 indicators, so he's seeded 21st today. I've never seen him fence before, and neither has Eric, so I go into the bout somewhat blind.
The bout before mine is between Luciano Inostroza from Chile, and Ivan Diaz from Puerto Rico, and the winner of that bout will fence the winner of my bout. So I watch it closely, trying to remember I have to win the first bout before what I'm watching will mean anything. Inostroza wins 15-10, without making it look too difficult.
My bout turns out to be straightforward, he is stressed and not hitting on his attacks, and I win the bout 15-9. Just stay relaxed, and it happens on its own. That must be why you pay all the money for lessons.
So I'm scheduled to face Inostroza in about 40 minutes. He's ranked 145th in the world, seeded 5th at this event. Obviously I can't expect to run him over, so I go in with a "hang on" approach to the bout. I get up a few touches early, and struggle to do just that. He appears to be flagging from the altitude, and I feel only somewhat less tired than he looks. Eric is watching the bout, and he recommends shooting for the hand more than I have been. The score closes to even around 10-10. Somehow I get up 1 touch, and hang on to double out at 15-14. It was a double hand touch, so there's a certain amount of luck on my part, and I owe Eric for the good advice.
Unbelievably, I'm now in the 8. My next opponent is the top Colombian, Juan Miguel Paz, ranked 112th in the world, seeded 4th today. There are a lot of delays on one strip, and it's well past the scheduled start when we get going, after 4pm. Because Paz is a local hero of sorts, there are a lot of TV cameras around, and the crowd definitely cheers for him on each touch. I had watched him a little earlier, so I kind of knew what to expect. Unfortunately I wasn't fully prepared, and was late a couple times on the counterattack, missed a couple times to the body, and generally let the score slip away. I was down 5-14 when I got my "feel" back for the bout, and made 3 singles in a row before he doubled out. 9 touches is more than anyone else gets on him all tournament, so I feel pretty good about the bout. Finishing 6th is still unbelievable.
As soon as the bout ends, I hear the organizers over the PA system announce my name and the word "doping". Obviously I'm to take a piss test. The Dutch FIE observer comes over and apologizes, because he pointed out they hadn't selected anyone in the 5-8 bracket for the doping test, which they are required to do. My bout was the only one left going at that point, and since they have to announce it just as the bout ends, I was the lucky guy. So I ask where to go, and they say to wait a few minutes, they're not set up yet. I put on a dry tshirt and pack my stuff. And I drink some more water, just to be sure...
Then a kid comes up with a poster, and asks me to autograph it! Eric blows it off as normal and not unusual, but I'm flabbergasted.
After 10 minutes the drug test guy shows up, and fortunately he speaks pretty good English. We wend through the underground labyrinth to the office across from the bathroom I found in the morning. He proceeds to explain the whole process in excruciating detail. There are two sealable boxes with identical serial numbers, each containing a sealable jar with the same serial number, which are shipped to two labs for independent testing. He asks me to select the set of two boxes I like best of 4 sets, and to select the "specimen cup" I like best. We go into the bathroom, and he gives me some guidance on how full the cup is, so it doesn't overflow. Then we go back into the office, where I have to pour from the plastic specimen cup into the two bottles, which have necks about 1cm across. That's a hard enough test in itself! The bottles are sealed and put into the boxes, which are sealed and put into a shipping bag. Then I sign to say I think the process was good, whatever that's supposed to mean, and I'm free to go get a beer. Sadly, there's no place to buy beer in the sports compound.
When I get back into the venue, the second of the semi-final bouts is going on. It's between the brother of Luciano Inostroza, Paris Inostroza who is ranked 151st in the world, and Arturo Simont from Mexico, ranked 168th. Paris wins 15-13. The first semi-final was between Paz and the Venezuelan who beat Eric, Gilberto Quintera, ranked 214th. Paz won that one 15-4.
There are repeated problems with the power throughout the finals, I figure they were blowing fuses. Their are a lot of camera lights, and these glowing blow-up Bogotá symbols at each end of the strip. It only causes a few minutes' delay total, but it must be embarrassing for the organizers.
So the final is between Inostroza and Paz. It's unfortunately not a terribly close bout, Paris getting only 8 touches. I think at this point I'm eager to get home and have lost interest in watching bouts. A few minutes after it's over, they start a medals ceremony, but they don't have anything for 5th-8th, so Eric and I go home with only trinkets from the organizing committee.
We go to get a copy of the entire results, which is what has to be faxed to the USFA to get credit for being here. It takes what seems like a long time, with the music blaring from the venue and the lights out from a blown fuse.
We listen to the FIE observer for a while, until the bus driver comes and says they are leaving. Another kid asks me for an autograph, and we hoof it out to the van.
After getting back and showering, we go to the bar to use our free drink coupons the hotel gave us. Cuba Libre! Then we go across the street to the Japanese restaurant, and eat sushi. Sushi in Bogotá? Actually, they're proud of their seafood here, being "1 hour by plane from the Pacific, and 1 hour by plane from the Caribbean." It actually is good sushi, though the saki isn't so much. After a Cuba Libre, a small bottle of saki, and a beer, I'm ready for bed.
Eric left at 4:30am today, so I have had the day alone. I'm awfully tired, whether from the altitude or not enough sleep I'm not sure, so I don't do much. I get out of bed around 8:30, have breakfast in the hotel, shower, and start writing my travelogue. I spend some time checking my email on the very very slow hotel computer. I eat lunch in the hotel, which includes a free cocktail, putting me to sleep right afterwards. My stuff is mostly packed to leave tomorrow. I go to the grocery store to buy some Havana Club to take home, and to find postcards. No postcards anywhere, but I do run into the Venezuelan team in the liquor section. At least one thing is true about most epee fencers!
In the hotel room, I watched the sun set. It's practically vertical on its way down, and it goes from daylight at 5:45pm to darkness at 6:15pm. What life on the equator must be like, with 12 hours of daylight and 12 hours of darkness all year long!
Now I'm thoroughly bored, and writing the travelogue again. Dinner won't be until after 8pm, so I've got a couple hours to kill. Maybe I could sit in the bar for a while, but not many English speakers are here.
So I work on the travelogue until almost 9pm, and go down for dinner. The FIE observer, whose name I guess to be something like Bert van der Flirt, has just started his dinner alone, and invites me to eat with him. The meal is filled with stories of fencers and officials I've never heard of. It's nice talking with him, but I don't have much chance to get a word in. The onion soup is excellent, supposedly a Bogotá speciality. During the meal the Colombian organizer, whose name is something like Miriam, comes to wish us both a safe trip home, and she hopes we return next year. She's a very nice lady, and I even got the traditional Bogotáno one cheek kiss from her. I should have asked about getting a copy of the TV broadcast. Bert's flight is at 6am, so he's off to bed, and I think I am too.
I get up at 7am for the 10:27am flight home. Shower, breakfast, taxi to airport. The driver lived in the US for 28 years, and speaks decent English. He works here now and receives a pension from his old US employer, which should be plenty of money for him here. It's a good way to live one's life.
At the airport, there are 6 lines to stand in before getting on the airplane. The tax window, the ticket stand, the bag check counter, export customs, security, and another security check at the gate. I'm glad I arrived a full two hours early, because there wasn't any time to spare.
My connection in Miami is horrendous, with a gate change, a delayed flight, and what seems like miles of walking through the concourses.
That's the story of my trip to Bogotá. I wasn't kidnaped, and I had a far better result than I would have hoped for.