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Published: August 31st 2011
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We were jostling with the crowds, standing on the tips of our toes, our necks craned, Lewi holding a flimsy cardboard sign above his head reading ‘Joshy Balboa’. It was 10pm on a grey Bogota evening and the atmosphere outside the arrivals gate was louder feistier and crazier than a gaggle of teenagers waiting for a TakeThat concert. An hour passed, and as the hyper arrivals hoards around us be...
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