Bogota Journal: Another Visit To Usaquen

I needed a quiet day yesterday so I stayed a bit closer to my pension.  The neighbourhood where I am staying has a lovely network of parks which I explored a bit more yesterday morning.  The houses are quite plain and ordinary, usually white stucco behind iron gates and all joined together.  The gardens are particularly lovely with many tropical flowers, lots of bougainvillea and roses.  I stopped briefly at my pension.  The owner of the establishment has advised me that I carry all my valuables with me while my room is being cleaned as she isn´t sure how well the cleaner, who to me is a lovely, amiable lady, can be trusted. After I put my passport and excess cash back in my room I set out for Usaquen.

I was feeling really tired yesterday from the lack of oxygen and had to trudge the three miles to get there.  In case you´re wondering why I walked instead of take a cab, it`s quite simple.  I need the exercise, and this is likely the best way to get used to the high altitude.  I felt like a little old man of ninety.  I found a pleasant route along a river with landscaped park space and a path.  It is great getting away from traffic for a while, but still relatively easy to get run over if not extra careful.  The right hand turners are extremely reckless.

I stopped again in the snooty cafe and got out my sketchbook.  While working on the new drawing an entire family--an academic looking couple and their two adult kids--approached me to admire my work.  This is the second time this has happened in the two times I have been in this cafe.  It actually seems to happen almost everywhere I go in this city whenever I take out my sketchbook.  Rather a strange feeling this but I don´t want to get too used to it.  Swelled head syndrome you know and to put it frankly, as an artist I´m okay but nothing great.

Usaquen, as I previously mentioned is a quaint colonial village at the base of the mountain, more or less swallwed up by urban sprall and gentrification.  The restaurants are expensive, almost as pricey as what I´m used to in Vancouver.  The buildings and the narrow streets are lovely and there is a huge parking lot in the middle.  Oh, the irony.  Still, it´s tranquil and easy on the eyes and  a healthy break from the extreme traffic that seeems to crisscross this city at random.

When I returned to my room I was extremely exhausted.  Which is okay because it makes rest seem all the more precious.

I will try to write more in detail soon if I can.  This internet cafe is extremely busy and noisy this morning and I have observed that Colombians, like Mexicans, can be very noisy and not very conscious of people around them.   I see this among other things as a symptom too of the kind of collective ptsd that I have already mentioned, and this goes for Mexico and Colombia alike. Everyone out for themselves because survival and simply coping are something desperate and precious.

The fact of the matter is, when I set out from my pension this morning I decided that I am going to try to treat people here with the same consideration and care that I treat my clients.  I don´t think everyone here is necessarily ill, but this city has been through some brutal times.  This also brings to mind what I have come to see also as a collective sense of denial that Latinos have about mental  illness.  Many have claimed that there is practically no mental illness in their countries but if you use the standard of diagnosis that is common in North America then let me be the first to suggest that they are somewhat mistaken.