Wedding in Bogota

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My friends Jonathan (English) and Maria-Paula (Colombian) got hitched in Bogota on 4th March 2006 and this was the cause for much celebration for all concerned, and a chance for me to meet up with friends and family. A welcome break in the solo travelling, and one of the most impressive weddings I have ever attended (great food, lovely service, lavish reception, free whisky etc).

Colombia was in many ways as I expected, but there was still room to be surprised by the level of sophistication of this city (hell, the bars were better than London, and I had the finest restaurant burger that I have ever had). Colombia has a bad rep internationally, and there was much sucking of teeth and anguished expressions from friends when they learned I was travelling there. I knew, of course, that their concerns would be largely unfounded, but nevertheless it takes an actual visit to one of these ´dangerous´countries to properly dispell any lingering doubts over one´s safty. I remember the bride months ago responding to a swipe at Colombia and the drugs trade by pointing out that the country would have far fewer problems if we in the West didn´t indulge quite so much in shoving marching powder up our collective noses. I couldn´t agree more. After all, if it wasn´t Colombia doing the supplying, it would be somewhere else (demand being what it is). It must be incredibly frustrating to live in a country that has so much to offer (coast, mountains, rainforest, beautiful cites) and yet have the blight of the drug ´war´to contend with.

Nevertheless, my visit to Colombia was not in my role as an unofficial , unappointed, unwelcome and ill-advised political commentator. I was there to party.

The first night was a reception at the bride´s house. A decandent affair that included canapes and large tumblers of whisky. Not for the first time on this trip, I had what I can only describe as a ´caviar binge´. A band arrived to serenade the bride, and there was a palpable sense of warmth and well-being amongst all the guests. After getting back to the hotel, the real drinking started in one of the glorious bars in the neighbourhood. This prompted an incident where the Sicilian Slugger and the Big Bottler came to blows (their names shall remain unwritten). It´s always amusing to watch these modern day duels - nobody gets hurt, but the recriminations and guilty apologies afterwards have the emotion of a Shakespearean tragedy.

Day two was devoted to meat eating in a wonderful restaurant outside Bogota. The inside of the cavernous restaurant was decorated like a cross between a junk shop and a theme park. A collection of weird and wonderful objets d'art hung all around, while large men in leather aprons patrolled the floor, menacingly wielding enormous knives. Starters of black pudding and sausage were followed by pork rinds and steak. Pudding was a pulsating lamb´s heart. (I made that last one up). The evening was a quiet one, with understated platters of beef, pork and chicken in one of the local bars. Our colons stuffed to overflowing, we retired to bed to prepare for the wedding the next day.

Day three was the happy day. A beautiful service in a Bogota church was followed by the reception in a hacienda in the countryside. The great and the good of Bogota turned out for a feast of epic proportions. After the meal, there was dancing, latin-style. I would like to report that there was a kind of hip-hop dance off in which the Colombians lined up on one side of the room and the English on the other. Each side took turns to out-dance each other, with myself finally winning the day for the English with my modern interpretation of the Morris Dance. I would like to report this, but it is patently untrue. I sat at the table drinking copious amounts of wine with the other reticent English guests, while the Colombians stormed the dancefloor, making us all feel rather awkward and asexual. Still, there was some humour to be had by watching my friend Chris being thrown around the floor in a desperate attempt to get laid (unsuccessful).

More drinks back at the hotel, a hangover to be proud of and more red meat heralded the end of this, the briefest of trips to Colombia. I´ll definitely come back.

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