Letter from Bogota/Deaglán de Bréadún: Some day I'll make up my mind about Colombia. Is it a living hell, one of the many, or an earthly paradise that happens to have a particularly high incidence of snakes? Take the airport. You arrive in, tired and a little nervous. "Taxi! Taxi!" say the voices. Not me, I'm no fool. As recommended, I go to the taxi bureau and get a little piece of paper. So if I disappear or get kidnapped, at least there will be some kind of record.
A forlorn thought that, as you wend your travel-weary way from airport to hotel in a strange city. But my friends who live permanently in Colombia tell me kidnappings are down and, anyway, you have to go out to the country, nay, the jungle, to be really at risk.
Nevertheless I notice that, in the posh areas of the city, the big houses all have tacky little tin-box cars parked outside. You flaunt your wealth at your peril in this town, amigo.
But back to the airport. On this occasion, I am not arriving but waiting to meet some colleagues off a plane. It's like the opening scene from the film Love Actually. The Colombians greet each other with bear-hugs, tears of joy, embraces of undying love, warmth and affection.
I have often waited at Dublin Airport. It's not the same. Frosty, reticent, it could be Luton on a wet Sunday afternoon. But the Latins, how they open their hearts to each other.
Despite the fact that awful things happen in their country; that there is a low-intensity civil war raging; that large swathes of territory are apparently not under the control of the government; that drugs are being produced on a 24-hour basis; nevertheless Colombians remain, on a personal level, friendly, warm and open.
Instead of a cold, calculating cynicism, you meet what looks for all the world like a smiling innocence.
My hotel is under armed guard. After so many visits there, I hardly notice it anymore and the soldiers seem to know me by now. This is the hotel where the drug baron Pablo Escobar stationed his wife and family while he was on the run from the security forces (they got him and killed him in the end). I'm told this drug lord rented two floors in the building: am I sleeping in Mrs Escobar's bed?
The Tequendama or Intercontinental - it has a dual identity - provides a special service to guests wishing to deposit their valuables. You press a buzzer and a door made of tinted, reinforced glass opens to admit you to the inner sanctum. Here you are presented with a safety deposit box for lodging cash, credit cards, passport, etc. Then you press the buzzer again to get out.
The Escobars must have used this facility and it tickles me, every time, to think of them lodging part of their vast fortune in the same place as me, with my humble few shekels.
Even in town, you are still wary of taxis. One of their tricks, I'm told, is to take you in, then pull up somewhere else and take "another passenger" on board. Except this chap is in league with the driver: he pulls a gun on you and they take you to the nearest ATM bank machine so you can withdraw a large sum of money on your credit card. Hopefully, that's the worst that will happen to you.
So you don't flag down a taxi on the street, my friend. Arrange it through the bellboy in the hotel. Traceability is everything in Colombia. Except that, one day, I broke my own rule.
There was a news event due to start in townand I just had to be there. No taxis at the hotel so, God forgive me, I flagged one down on the street. He looked all right: I sensed that he wouldn't kidnap or rob me. His crime was on a lesser scale, the guy didn't know how to get to my destination. This despite the fact that it was one of the tallest buildings in Bogota. It was like taking a taxi in Dublin and the driver doesn't know how to get to Liberty Hall.
This is where mobile phones come in handy. I called a friend with local knowledge and he spoke to the driver to give him directions. On the way into the building I had to show identification, get my briefcase checked, indicate which floor I was visiting and receive a special pass. Meanwhile, I'm told that Club Nogal, the health and leisure centre which was blown up leaving 37 people dead, during one of my previous visits, is open once again and crowded with customers.
Despite the drawbacks, all the ex-pats I meet in Colombia want to stay there. Life proceeds at a leisurely pace, the cost of living is low and there's a vibrant cultural and social scene. Plus bullfights and football if that's what you want.
Just be careful when you're driving those country roads. Take the runabout instead of the Merc, so they won't know you have money. And say a prayer to Our Lady of Guadeloupe.