I landed in Bogota early this morning. As I stepped off the plane I took a deep breath and inhaled the lush, oxygen rich air which hugged my body from inside my lungs. Yes! No more altitude whinging! From the airport and the taxi ride to my hostel, Bogota seemed like a huge glistening and shiny city. I marvelled as we passed runners and cyclists, who were riding lovely new envy-inducing road bikes. Tower blocks lined the roads and I lost count of the number of Subways we passed. I was tinged with guilt at the glee I felt from seeing these western luxuries again. I have really enjoyed the last month spent in Peru and Bolivia, but maybe I have been missing my home comforts more that I knew.

I hadn’t expected Colombia to be a shiny oasis of luxuries and franchises, which really it isn’t. I had just viewed a snippet of Bogota, and when wandering around the city later in the day I saw things that reminded me of the good old South America I have grown to know and love: a stall selling only a variety of sieves on the main road through town; countless dogs wearing outfits more styled than their often scruffy owners. I also glimpsed the sadder sides of a city: poverty, homelessness and addiction. Bogota seems like a very divided city and I am still making my mind up about it.

On heading back to the hostel the once promising morning weather was now forgotten and the heavens opened, an incredible monsoon-like thunder storm ensued and left everyone outside resembling drowned things. I can’t remember the last time I have seen rain descend so quickly and heavily. And I lived in Manchester for 5 years. I tried to capture the road-cum-river in this pic but I don’t think it quite conveys the biblical proportions of precipitation happening at the time.

Despite the monsoon drama, after settling in at my hostel I decided to head out for a run once the skies were peeking blue again. My hostel lies in one of the more up-market, gentrified areas of Bogota, Zona Rosa. Who knows why I chose it. The city lies parallel to a crest of mountains which rise into the clouds to the east. This is the view from the balcony outside my dorm, looking up to the mountains at the top of my Calle.

Geared up, I headed north, away from my hostel and then turned up towards the mountains. There is a bizarre mix of colonial and luxury properties in the area and I was surprised to spot this weird fake European-style castle which houses a spa and champagne bar downstairs but is for sale upstairs. I passed countless posh apartment blocks on my route, with cute jungle gardens nestled in between, boasting waterfalls and childrens’ play areas. These all seem so juxtaposed to the Iives that the majority of South Americans I have seen and met so far, live.

After about 35 minutes I was back to the hostel and not feeling too pleased about my fitness. Now I don’t have altitude as an excuse I will have to get back on it! I suppose today’s run had been fuelled with a night of only 2 hours sleep on my 4. 25am flight, which had been preceded by a fair few hours in my La Paz hostel bar, doing things that probably don’t help my cardiovascular fitness. Because that really was the only place I could hang until I left for the airport. Obviously.