What the fuck!?

When I left, that was the premise for my experiment. After spending nearly my entire life in New York City, I decided that it was time for a change. Hence my embarking on this journey, which I dubbed The Bogota Experiment. But that phrase also applies to my being stupefied by the headlines to which I’m returning: Dow Jones Industrial Average hits a 5-year low, Oil is trading below $53 a barrel, the New York Jets are in 1st place of the AFC East and Pirates, yes PIRATES (which spawned a new business idea, more later), are once again roaming the Seven Seas! So, I think I’m justified in my asking, “What the fuck?”

No speaka the Inglish

Tuesday night I met up with Maria Paula, the girl I met at Maroma. Turns out she decided to invite two of her friends, whom I also met at Maroma only I didn’t remember meeting them. No matter, her friends were cool, and they let me focus my attention on Maria Paula. None of them spoke any English, which meant I would need to converse entirely in Spanish and that they would have to endure my butchery of their language. When I asked if they understood what I was talking about they told me that my Spanish was “super” or “super bien.” That was cool.

We had a quick dinner at Anonymous, in Zona T, which is near my apartment. Zona T is a trendy area of Bogota that is overpriced, for Bogota (USD 6-7 for a premium vodka and soda), and is a little too trendy to be hip, at least for extranjeros like myself. However, the young, upper class of Bogota tend to like to go and be seen in areas like Zona T. But Zona T and Zona G, another trendy area of restaurants and bars, are really the only areas to get remotely good cocktails.

Over dinner and drinks, she and her friends peppered me with questions like, “What are you doing here in Bogota? In Colombia?,” “What do you think of the women in Colombia?” and “Do you have a girlfriend here or in the U.S.?” and such. I told them about my business plans, and that I don’t have a girlfriend in Colombia or in the U.S. In reaction to the latter, they asked why and I explained that I just moved into my apartment four days ago so I haven’t had the ability to build a social life. I told them that I was going back to NY tomorrow (Wed) for a week for the Thanksgiving Holiday, but that I’d be back on the 28^th and that we should go out. Maria Paula said definitely. I told her she should have come to Andres on Sat night, but she responded that I should have called her to invite her. I said I sent an SMS, but she said that isn’t sufficient. So I learned an important lesson – unlike in the U.S. where you can set up everything via SMS, here in Colombia the girls expect you to give them a call to get together. Duly noted.

Maria Paula told me that she was also leaving Bogota for “vacation” on December 6^th, for the remainder of the month. I asked what for, and she said it was to spend time with her family and to recover. Recover from what? Why, surgery of course! She told me that she was going to have breast implants during that time. While I said I thought she didn’t need them, she seemed set on having them done. Not that I’m going to complain if I get to reap the benefits. When I get back I’ll hang out with the “before” version, and will need to make sure I get the opportunity to make a good comparison with the “after” when she gets back.

Piramides

The U.S. has its housing crisis, and Colombia has its piramides – basically ponzi schemes. Believe it or not, hundreds of thousands of Colombians “invested” their money into various pyramid schemes that promised returns of 150% in six months! Many of these schemes appear to have been around for five or more years, and did indeed return, at least on paper, the kind of returns they promised. Of course, the initial investors were the poorer people Colombia, investing anywhere between 500.000 COP to 2.000.000 COP (USD 250-1,000) of their hard earned money. And in six months they would indeed see fantastic returns, and rather than withdraw the funds they would “let it ride” so to speak, and hope to double their money again. People spoke to “winning” at the end of six months, which to me sure didn’t sound like an investment at all.

About a month ago I told my friend Jurgen that I needed to buy a refrigerator and washer/dryer for my apartment, he mentioned DMG to me (DMG was the greatest of all the piramides). He said something like, “don’t buy that stuff at a department store. Go to DMG and buy it from them and in six months they give you back your money.” I looked at him skeptically, but he insisted that he knew a bunch of people that used DMG and were paid back. He said that he didn’t, but wished he did. I questioned how it worked, and all he said was that the government has investigated numerous times and he seems to be running a legit operation. No one knows how DMG generated the returns they did. There were speculations about ties to drugtrafficking, FARC and paramilitaries, but no one could ever prove a connection.

Several weeks went by when the subject of DMG came up again. This time it was at my friend Marco’s apartment, as I was finally getting the keys to my apartment. On that Tuesday, my friends’ maid told us about her brother, who invested successfully DMG for a long time. She said he kept “winning” money, and turned a few million COP into something like 36.000.000, at least on paper. This discussion included my friends Juan and Marco. Marco decided he wanted to take a flier, and throw a million or two COP into DMG – why not? Everyone else seemed to be making money, why not us? Juan and I voiced opposition, but said we might toss in 500.000 COP each as well. My key point was “why is it that you guys, the upper class of Colombia, are only hearing about this now? Doesn’t it make you wonder, all the people before were investing small amounts, but now people like you can invest larger sums. What happens when people start withdrawing? Sounds fishy to me.”

On Wednesday, news broke throughout Colombia that the government is shutting down the piramides all across the country. Riots broke out as people tried to storm offices to recoup their money, only to find taunting notes left on the offices’ front doors. But DMG, the largest, remained open on Wednesday with tremendous lines of people waiting to withdraw their money.

Then on Thursday, during lunch with Juan’s mother, we got word that even DMG was being shut down by the government, and that its leader fled the country. Throngs of people lined up outside DMG’s offices in Bogota hoping to withdraw their money, but the government had seized assets of these piramides. Unfortunately, the heads of these schemes had fled the country along with their investors’ money. Luckily, none of my friends had invested despite their enthusiasm to do so. But my apartment still sits refrigerator- and washer/dryer- less. Looks like I’ll actually have to go buy those appliances instead of getting them for free! Can you imagine?

I guess P.T. Barnum was right, a sucker really is born every minute. Some blame the high fees the nation’s banks charge, while others blame the stupidity of the people for believing they could get what amounted to free money.

Here’s some articles about this craziness…

BBC Story

AP Story

Return to Sender

My return to the United States, and New York, was anything but triumphant. My passport wasn’t ready on Monday, so I went to the embassy on Tuesday after learning that my departure flight was on Wednesday, not Thursday like I had originally thought! This came as quite a shock, and the only rational I could think of for my booking the flights the way I did was because there must have been significant cost savings.

It always amazes me how much a 50,000 COP bill is to most Colombians. My taxi driver did not have change, so he and I needed to wait curbside until another taxi driver stopped to change the bill for him. I had little problems at the airport with my new emergency passport, but I would be unable to secure the visa I needed. Looks like I’ll have to take care of that when I return in February for my sister’s baby, or I’ll see if I can do this while in Colombia.

My flight arrived in Miami around 2pm on Wednesday, and was able to get onto an earlier flight into New York (JFK) via connection in Atlanta. Unfortunately, on Tuesday I started feeling a bit sick, and by the time I landed in New York Wednesday night I had a pretty solid sore throat. I decided to spend Thursday and Friday in the country rather than go into the city as originally planned.

But instantly I noticed the difference in air quality. The air quality in New York, at the passenger pick-up beneath terminal 3 at JFK airport, was better than virtually any air in Bogota. The problem with the air in Bogota is that on the main through fares: 15, 11 and Septima, the busettas are constantly belching out thick black smoke. These busettas clog traffic, since they the bus stops are anywhere someone hails them, and there are so damn many of them. They are all diesel, and are all old. These smog machines combined with the plethora (“Would you say I have a plethora?”) of poorly maintained motorcycles that also spew out gasoline fumes, give the Bogota air, even in the north, a distinct scent. That scent is not present in New York whatsoever. So either the type of pollutants are more advanced in the U.S., meaning we cannot detect them by smell, or the air is cleaner. You be the judge.

I was starving, so I asked to stop at McDonald’s or Burger King, or any fast food joint on the way. We came upon a McDonald’s, and I stuffed myself with an Angus burger and a Quarter Pounder with Cheese. Haven’t eaten that crap in over a year, but man it sure does taste good. Anyway, when I got to my parents house in Bridgehampton three flights and 18 hours later, I hit the sack and slept until around 10am the next morning.

My first few days back have been uneventful, trying to get as much rest as possible to combat this bug I’ve got. The last thing I wanted to do was return to Colombia sicker than I left. But while going through the boxes in my parent’s basement, I found a bunch of things I wanted to bring back to Colombia. I saw a book sitting in my room that my father had finished reading just before I left for Colombia, a book that I have not read in about 4 years – Atlas Shrugged. The book is massive, but it is an incredible story, one that I really relate to. I started reading it this weekend, and through two days have completed Volume 1. The story is timely given the world’s current geopolitical and geoeconomic situation. If you have never read it, I highly recommend you do so. It’s a long read, tedious at times due to the author’s verbose style of writing, but it is well worth it.

Pirates of the Caribbean

These days it seems like the only people making money today are the pirates off the Somali coast. Their hijacking of a Saudi Aramco oil tanker carrying over $120 million of oil was daring and shocked the world. I hear they are demanding $25 million for the return of the vessel, its cargo and its crew, and they’ll likely get it.

So this gave me an idea. With all the smart folks losing jobs today, why not pool resources and create a new Pirates of the Caribbean? I’m already in Colombia, and there’s plenty of coastline down there along with extremely active deep water ports. So, I want to start a Pirate gang, and raise some money to buy a boat. But not any boat, a used military submarine! What else would make a better pirate ship?

A submarine is perfect – stealthy, sleek, hard to detect. Now I’m not talking about a nuclear submarine, those are too costly to operate and maintain. No, I’m talking about a pre-nuclear submarine.

This would be a start-up venture, and it could be a great way to promote job creation in the service sector among all the laid off finance people. I figure we could hire some former Wall St analysts to help determine the best shipping lanes to target. Then we could hire former mortgage-based securities guys to plot courses, model ship boarding scenarios and where sovereign navies are likely to be looking for us, and then hire some investment bankers or securities lawyers to be our chief negotiating team. And the best part, other than the sunk cost of investing in the submarine itself, is that the overhead is virtually zero.

We’d steal our fuel, and no one would be paid salaries. Instead, we’d all get a share of the booty we loot! So, who wants in?

Manana... manana...

Lost.

Ok. So I wasn't on a desert island after a plane crash these last two weeks resulting in my not updating the blog. But the past two weeks were, um, colorful. The most fun part was on Friday, 7 Nov, when I lost my passport and cell phone after a workout in Parque Virrey. So, for about a week I was virtually cut off from communications, only accessible via e-mail when I returned to my friend's apartment since I didn't feel like lugging my laptop around everywhere. Getting a phone replaced is no easy task here in Colombia, so I decided to unlock my blackberry and just get a Comcel SIM Card rather than buy another blackberry. And it still took a week to get a SIM Card!

Losing my passport sucks. I had to visit the embassy and report that I lost my passport. From what I understand, a US Passport has tremendous value on the black market here so the odds of some good semeritan returning my passport to the embassy was highly unlikely. The US Embassy here is a fortress in the middle of nowhere. Now, I knew it was in the middle of nowhere, but I didn't realize where nowhere was until I had the bright idea to walk from the Embassy to the Transmilenio rather than take a taxi. Rather than walk nearly an hour, I could have hopped in a cab, paid $5 and been back up north in 10 minutes. Lesson learned.

But it wasn't all bad news these last two weeks.

After nearly four weeks of going back and forth with the brokers on the local and the apartment, we finally had a breakthrough on Friday, 7 Nov, the same day I lost my passport and phone. They notified me that my codeudor was approved, and that they will finally rent me the apartment! Of course, that wasn't as straightforward as it sounds.

And my former roommate, Velaria (baby daughter of my friends Marco and Paula), gorged herself on a breadstick and proceeded to pass out. Immediately after I snapped this photo, her eyes popped open as if asking "who the fuck just took a picture of me sleeping with bread on my face?" Marco and Paula were gracious enough to let me crash for the last week and a half while I was sorting out the final nonsense with the brokers to rent my apartment. Valeria is probably the happiest baby I've ever encountered, and has some of the funniest expressions ever.

Efficiently inefficient.

One thing that continues to prove true time and time again is that Colombia is incredibly inefficient in many things. Whether it is trying to rent an apartment, or simply receiving bread to go with the olive oil placed on your table before a meal, Colombia often leaves you scratching your head asking "Why?"

As an example, the brokers said they approved me to rent the apartment, but the contract wasn't ready until Wednesday. I expected to sign the contract, and pay a prorated fee for the month of November. But of course I got one last surprise. At the last moment they threw a new fee at me - "Derecho de Contracto," which is essentially a fee for the lawyer to draft the agreement. While their nickel and diming me really pissed me off, I was so tired and frustrated by the whole process that I told them this new fee was total bullshit, and reluctantly paid it and signed the lease just to bring everything to a close.

And the apartment, while clean, had some issues like a blown bulb in the master bathroom, installed surround sound speaker wires that had no central origination point and a few other items. During the move in inspection I told the, "this (the blown bulb) needs to be replaced, an apartment is supposed to be turned over in perfect working condition." The broker responded by saying replacing the bulb was my responsibility. Come on!

At one of the nicer Italian restaurants, a friend and I sat down for lunch and were quickly greeted by a pleasant waitress who placed a plate on the table and poured some olive oil into it, and ground a bit of pepper as well.

That plate sat there for 10 minutes all by itself. Alone, collecting to one side because of the slightly off-balance table, waiting patiently for bread that would never come. The waitress, and other staff walked by, looking at the table, but never seemed to notice "hey, where's the bread to go with that olive oil?" Instead, my friend and I watched as other tables received baskets of bread, while we started joking. Finally, another waitress came by and she asked if we would like any bread.

After lunch, while walking down the street, we noticed something that absolutely amazed my friend and I. A garage that had stairs rather than a driveway! I don't even know how to even try to explain this one.

The Embassy is open!

On Thursday I got the keys to the apartment and moved it. The embassy is now open in Bogota. And none too soon as my first visitors - Tony and Mario, arrived on Friday. The apartment currently has two airbeds, towels, sheets and some food, but it lacks a refrigerator, washing machine and any furniture other than a few plastic lawn chairs left in the backyard. I'll begin to furnish the apartment when I return from Thanksgiving. For now I can live another few days sleeping on an airbed.

What I didn't realize was how cold the apartment got at night. Mario pointed out how cold it was, and illustrated it, when he emerged from one of the guest rooms fully clothed saying that is how he slept. So on Saturday he offered a housewarming gift of duvets or space heaters. We couldn't find space heaters hence he bought two duvets, which were well worth the investment.

The apartment has a balcony, fireplace, laundry room, three bedrooms (one used as an office), and a 50 square meter private terrace. The terrace will be the initial home of CrossFit Bogota, as some friends have encouraged me to train people on the terrace and in Parque Virrey (at the end of my block) to build up a client base before starting to spend money on renting a local (storefront).

Host.

I find it pretty amazing that a mere seven weeks after arriving in Bogota, I am already playing the role of host for visitors. My spanish is still suspect, though improving fast, but with the help of a solid group of friends who have helped me get situated very fast I have in fact become a local.

Anyway, Friday night, Tony, Mario and I went for dinner and drinks at Salto del Angel on Parque 93. The night started with decent food, a festive atmosphere and deafening music. We then went over to Alma, which was packed and pretty fun, but the ultimate destination was Maroma. Maroma (right) is the club that has a retractable roof, and is by far the hottest spot in Bogota.

As luck would have it, I lost the number of the "hot chick" which was lost when I lost my phone. But while at Maroma I turned around to see her standing immediately behind me. The first words out her mouth were, "hey! I tried contacting you but I didn't get any responses. I'm so drunk." Sounded good, until I realized she was there with some Colombian Senator. What followed was an awkward session of exchanged glances and dancing as she was clearly not wanting to be with the Senator, but at the same time couldn't just ditch him to hang with me.

No matter, as I met another hottie named Maria Paula. I ran into her in the bathroom when she was checking her hair, and I told her she looked perfect. We then ended up hanging out at the same corner of the bar in Maroma where we danced and talked. At least, I listened and did my best to speak Spanish since it turned out she doesn't speak English.

The next night we headed off to Andres Carne de Res, a place that, as I've said before, has no equal anywhere in the world. And is a place that no words, photos or movies can do justice. We arrived on a rainy Saturday night, and I decided that since it was Mario's birthday next week, we would celebrate it at Andres. He was made Honores de la Casa, crowned and presented a ceramic birthday cake. The night was a classic. Tony made one fatal error - switching from Absolut Mandarin and Jugo de mandarin to Mandarino cocktails. It was a raucous evening...



Thanksgiving.

I'm heading back to the States for the first time since Sept 20th. I'll be in NYC for about a week, returning to Bogota on the 28th. I then get to buy furniture, start generating revenues through CrossFit Bogota's official opening and prepare for the next wave of visitors on December 6th when Alejo (my original host here) and Andy arrive. Should be one for the ages.

T.I.C. (This Is Colombia)

For those who don't yet know, Colombians are notorious for following one rule -- that the rules can change at any time. When you think you've got a process figured out, someone will require something different just because. There is no real ryhme or reason, it just is the way it is. Upon my first visit to Shanghai my friends told me of an expression "T.I.C." which stood for "This Is China." They used it as the answer anytime something peculiar would present itself, and I found that it also aptly applied to Colombia. Maybe it's something with countries starting with the letter "C." That would explain Canada!

Renting 101 - Colombian style

Another week passed with little progress on the leases for the apartment and gym, and in fact things got quite confusing. On Monday morning I was told I'd have to put up a guarantee for each property in excess than originally discussed. Now, bear in mind I already proposed paying 3 months up front for the apartment, and 3 months upfront for the gym. Given the currency exchange rates near multi-year highs, I figured why not lock in a good rate. I'd offer more, but I do have TWO rents rather than one. Anyway, the "guarantee" I was informed about Monday morning was vaguely described as 6 months rent for the apartment and 3 more months rent for the gym, and could be in the form of a "deposit" or "insurance."

I like to think that while I've moved to Bogota, I still have kept my wits about me. My understanding of insurance coincides with that of the rest of the civilized world - that one pays a premium to have an insurance company guarantee a sum of money be paid to the policy holder or beneficiary upon some event. I checked, and confirmed that my understanding was indeed the norm -- http://www.investorwords.com/2510/insurance.html. So, I was a bit surprised when I was told that "insurance" meant making a full payment to the landlord. I countered by saying, "isn't that a deposit? I thought insurance meant I pay premiums to someone but didn't have to put up all the money." However, I was rebuffed. Perhaps Colombia is a bizarro-insurance land. Who the hell knows?

Well, after speaking with friends, I learned that while Colombia has many peculiarities (more shortly), the concept of insurance here is the same as it is the world over. The person telling me about the guarantees was incorrect. But throughout the week it was organized confusion in its finest, a clusterfuck if you will, as details changed and communication breakdowns abound. With Monday's crisis defused by the addition of a second coduedor (think co-signer), things looked back on track. But by Thursday it became clear, at least to me, that details about one of my coduedor's situations was not properly conveyed, which led to the brokers' wanting to pull both properties off the table because the documentation he provided did not show the kind of support they wanted to see. That's because he, like any smart businessperson, has much of his assets in the name of the company or his spouse to reduce his tax burden. This fact was not conveyed, so the brokers were irate when they saw bank statements and formularios that looked less than stellar. But nerves were calmed and new terms were offered by the end of the week, which sounded awfully similar to those of Monday.

So, tomorrow is the showdown with the brokers to come to some sort of a resolution. I am armed with cash waiting in the U.S., two coduedors, my lawyer and my accountant. My business registration should be complete by tomorrow, which means I'll have the documents necessary to establish a corporate bank account even though I, myself, cannot be a signer on the account (strange I know). But this will start to make things easier as I will be able to get my "Business Owner Visa" and Cedula (national ID card). After such I will be somebody! We'll see if I can break this logjam.

Why Ask Why?

Over the past month and a half that I've been here, I've noticed some strange things. Some, I've been lucky enough to photograph (right), while others I have not. Below is a list of some oddities I've witnessed in Colombia. Regardless of how strange you think some may be you've got to take my word for it that they're true.

• Eating hamburgers with plastic gloves on - I suppose this is done in an effort to avoid getting ketchup, mustard or other burgerly scents on the fingers. Kinda makes sense since my fingers always smell of ketchup after eating a burger, but still looks like something out of Silence of the Lambs.
• Women cleaning the men's restroom while men are still in it - this one is just downright strange to me.
  
• Complete disregard for red lights - they might as well not even spend the money on traffic lights since no one cares if they're red or green.
  
• "Cuantos cuartos?" - a question asked anytime you pay with a credit card. Here there is an option to split your bill into multiple payments throughout the year, so in a sense, spreading your bill out on your credit card. Kinda seems redundent, doesn't it? Needless to say, I always say "uno."
  

Shipping not included.

I tried shipping some items from the U.S. for the first time, and the packages actually arrived to my pleasant surprise. However, upon their arrival more than a week ago, they were stuck in customs. Once finally released earlier this week I was contacted to coordinate a delivery time. Of course, they said "por la manana" and by 3pm there was no delivery. So I went out to do a workout before training others, and sure enough the delivery man showed up at my friend's apartment around 4pm with my packages.

However, despite my registering my credit card with the shipping company, I received a call from my friend's wife telling me that the delivery man was demanding payment in cash! Well, that is a surprise. After bombarding the company's website demanding they charge my credit card as instructed for the shipping fees, etc., because in the event something was lost, stolen or damaged I'd want some records. My efforts were in vain, as I was told Colombia didn't have a capability to charge credit cards for these fees. So, I finally gave up, told them to hold my packages at their office and paid in cash so they would release my packages. However, I am so angry at Aeropost about their misleading me that I am demanding a refund of my "registration" fee, and am considering filing a complaint against them with the Better Business Bureau. Sure, my packages got here, but the service is far from what is promised.

Trick or Treat!

Of course, the week ended with Halloween. My favorite of all Holidays. No matter how much you hype it up, it never seems to let you down. This year, my friends and I decided to dress as a 1970s basketball team, topped off with a red, white and blue ABA style basketball. Our destination, Andres of course, for their annual Halloween party. Now on a normal Saturday night Andres is indescribably amazing, but on Halloween it was beyond. Our costumes were quite a hit. I don't have photos yet, but will post some as soon as I do.

[Updated Friday @ Noon]

Okay folks, here are a few of the photos from Halloween...


And George Michael decided to join the team late night...