Tales of the city

The first thing that strikes you about Bogota is the air. Fresh and as thin as a veil, it literally takes your breath away. Bogota sits on a lush green plain, 2600 metres above sea level, which, to quote the city mayor, "makes the people 2600 metres nearer to the stars". There is something very other-worldly about the city. Surrounded by the impressive Andes mountain range, at the centre of a country known as the garden of South America, it's surprising that it has remained so untouched by the tourist trail.

This might have something to do with this Colombian city's reputation as one of the most dangerous in the world. Stories of guerrilla violence, drug wars and around 3000 kidnappings a year might put off even the most seasoned of travellers. But to arrive in Bogota with only this view does the place an injustice.

When the British Council in Bogota asked us to perform at their 60th anniversary it seemed too good an opportunity to miss. We'd also been asked to play at the Expomusica Festival alongside performers from all around the world, including Compay Segundo, one of the Buena Vista Social Club musicians.

Bogota is a hectic mishmash of a place. The traffic system would make your hair stand on end. There is confusion everywhere. At a party we meet a man who tells us he was once kidnapped by guerrilla rebels and upon his release he decamped to Edinburgh. Scotland, he says, is his spiritual home. I meet his sons a few days later and find out that he was never kidnapped. In Colombia, you never quite get the whole story.

It's obviously not a good idea to visit Bogota without some sort of street-wisdom. But wandering around the essentially friendly city you get the impression that despite all their suffering and volatile politics, the people try to live happily in the hope that the situation will improve. We come close to danger only once. After the party a couple of the guys head off into the night drinking on the tour bus with some of the organisers from the Expomusica. Soon they are lost in the mountains, only yards away from a guerrilla blockade. When they realise, the driver tries to reverse and lands in a ditch. Up steps our accordion player in full Highland regalia who saves the day by grabbing the bumper and lifting the bus back on to the road.

After the excitement of the night before, we opt for the Museo del Oro, the Gold Museum. The Indians of ancient Colombia considered gold a sacred metal, symbolising the life-bearing energy of the sun. Hence the mysterious and magical legend of El Dorado, a ceremony never actually witnessed by the Spanish conquistadors. On the outskirts of Bogota there is a lake called Guatavita, around which the Muisca Indians lived between 500 BC and 1000 AD. During the El Dorado ceremony the Indian chief would cast emeralds and gold into the lake. The Spanish invaders only ever found a tiny proportion.

Not far from the Gold Museum is La Candelaria, the old town of Bogota. It's also situated right behind the Plaza de Bolivar, the strategic centre of the whole country and the scene of several bloody uprisings. La Candelaria is full of beautiful Spanish colonial houses in glorious colours with ornate iron balconies, great lavish wooden doors and rather unsettlingly life-like copper statues. We spend the afternoon wandering around the area in the blistering heat, popping into the various cafes to drink the best coffee in the world. It's also a great place to stop for lunch to try out some authentic Colombian cuisine. We find a crowded restaurant with superb service, full of locals having la comida, soup with chicken and herbs followed by huge slabs of steak served on wooden platters with rice, avocado, piccante and fried banana - delicious. All washed down with plenty of cerveza. La Candelaria is certainly a poorer part of town with beggars on most street corners and disturbing signs that the health care system is well out of reach for many.

One old lady in her 70s sits singing and strumming her guitar with a maraca, cataracts on both eyes, a few coins at her feet. I don't know what she was singing but the longing in her music stays with me for the rest of the tour. The music is one of the things I love about Bogota. It is everywhere. The Colombians are passionate about their own music and it made me think that if we were half as enthusiastic about our own home-grown talent, we'd have a far richer music scene in Scotland. They love to party, so the gigs are tremendous fun. A Colombian working at the British Council tells me, "Colombia is a strange country where you sing and you cry at the same time, and then you dance and play the whole day despite the bullets flying around."

That night we find ourselves in the Zona Rosa area to hear more live music, have a boogie, and quaff more of the local firewater, Aguardiente. We'd been warned not to mix it with beer, a "bombe" they call it, but it tastes better that way ... the rest of the night is somewhat hazy, but I know we enjoy ourselves heartily until the 1am curfew.

The next morning we clear our heads with a trip to Monserratte mountain, part of the Andes range. One way to travel up Monserratte is by the funicular railway, another is on your knees or your bare feet as part of the weekly Sunday pilgrimage to the Church of the Fallen Christ at the top of the mountain. Not surprisingly we opt for the former.

After brunch in one of the many small cafes selling sweet potato snacks, dried donut cakes and biscuits, we make our way over the bridge, past the llama rides and into the throng of people waiting for the next funicular. Sunday is a big day out in Bogota and we pile into the carriages alongside grannies, mums, dads, kids and a confused bunch of German tourists as we climb high above the city. The smell from the eucalyptus and pine trees that grow on the side of the mountain is overwhelming and I feel a real sense of calm as we leave the hustle and bustle of the city far below.

The air is even thinner another 600 metres up into the atmosphere and it is tough going, climbing up past the Stations of the Cross to the Church at the top. But so well worth it. The view is amazing, with the whole of the city stretching out in all it's ramshackle glory.

Inside the Church, the congregation perform their devotions to the statue of the Fallen Christ. I take a closer look at El Signor De Monserratte, lying alongside the crucifix in a glass cage above the altar. The statue has real hair, make-up and clothes - rather sinister and gaudy. But people visit this church in their thousands. It is said that there are many miracles attributed to this Christ image and at the back of the Church is a wall covered in thank-you plaques from people who have been cured here.

Little yellow candles, carved in the shape of babies and children, burn on the window sills beside flowers and messages from pilgrims hoping for an answer to their problems. It's a very poignant and thought-provoking place. In a place where so many atrocities have occurred, the people must need some sense of justice, divine or otherwise, to make sense of it all. On the way back to the hotel we see women and children protesting against the random kidnapping of children by guerrilla armies. People at the hotel are tight-lipped, they don't want tourists to see this side of Colombia.

But to be put off visiting Bogota is to miss out on a special culture, unspoiled by world-thirsty travellers. My poncho is packed for the next tripu

HOW TO GET THERE British Airways from Edinburgh to Gatwick (from (pounds) 65 - (pounds) 280) and then on to Bogota with a stop over in Caracus ((pounds) 606.60, subject to availablity).

WHERE TO STAY Suites Jones Hotel (Calle 61 N5-39 Bogota, Colombia).

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