TSA PreCheck is part of the Punxsutawney TPOL Trip Report, where TPOL leaves the basementj. It’s finally happening despite inconsistent policies, interruptions, and human stupidity as explained in these posts:
“I need to do my own research.” Those are the cringe-worthy words of the junior scientists who are skeptical of the vaccine. It should not come as a surprise, but I have no patience for anyone who tries to justify not being vaccinated. For the anti-vaxxers, I ask, “Do you want to wear a mask forever?” For the unsophisticated traveler, I question, “Do you like taking off your shoes and walking on that dirty airport floor?” (TSA PreCheck Free Course)
Both are such simple things to do. Perhaps people believe the government will track them if they do them. Perhaps people don’t want to undergo a background check. I don’t know which talking point is for PreCheck or which is for the vaccine. Neither is logical.
Make your life easier. Sign up for TSA PreCheck. Make the world a better place. Get vaccinated. Then, if you’re feeling lucky, leave the basement. You can come back easily if you sign up for Global Entry (see Global Entry Automatically Approved! No Interview Required).
TPOL PSA: You’ll lose your Global Entry privileges if you smuggle snails.
Amex Airline Credit is part of the Punxsutawney TPOL Trip Report, where TPOL leaves the basement. It’s finally happening despite inconsistent policies, interruptions, and human stupidity as explained in these posts:
Finally, I don’t have to cancel jet with your pet or use a Delta gift card in conjunction with a low fare ticket to trigger my Amex Platinum airline credit. I proudly swiped my card and paid the $30 fee to check my golf clubs en route to the city I love to hate but continue to visit: Miami. I will yet again play at a course owned by a man I love to hate (see Making America Great Again: Golden Palm At Trump National Doral). Why I am playing at that clown’s course is hypocrisy and is explained in another post (see Keep America Great: Blue Monster at Trump National Doral).
The point of this post is two-fold: 1. To show how pathetic it is that I am happy to be charged a bag fee. 2. To declare that it is worth bringing golf clubs when Amex is paying for them, less the $595 annual card fee.
Redacting numbers that may or may not mean anything
El Dorado Lounge Review is part of the Punxsutawney TPOL Trip Report, where TPOL leaves the basement. It’s finally happening despite inconsistent policies, interruptions, and human stupidity as explained in these posts:
The Priority Pass lounge in Bogota had potential, but you know what ruined it from being truly explored. All I could do is take pictures and hope for better days.
Revised Travel Philosophy is part of the Punxsutawney TPOL Trip Report, where TPOL leaves the basement. It’s finally happening despite inconsistent policies, interruptions, and human stupidity as explained in these posts:
Remember the spring break kid who said, “If I get Covid, I get Covid.” He was slammed for his uninformed, seemingly reckless attitude. In fairness to him, no one at that time could understand the hell that was to follow, though I had my initial prediction (see Travel Or Stay Inside? TPOL’s Thoughts on Coronavirus written on 2/26/20/20). While I went completely underground (see The Lost & Found Year(s): COVID Trip Report), some kept living life as if nothing had changed.
Over a year later, fully vaccinated, I now adopt the spring breaker’s words: “If I get Covid, I get Covid.”. Brace yourself, but in Colombia I didn’t wear a mask. I ate indoors at restaurants (see Guns & Butter: Medellin Travel Guide & Bogota Travel Guide). I drank at bars. I went to nightclubs with hundreds of people all of whom were not wearing masks (see Bogota, a Party City? Who Knew?). And guess what? I had a great time.
The fear I had was testing positive and not being able to come home to my country based on Uncle Joe’s moronic policy of requiring a negative Covid test 72 hours before departure (see COVID Test for Return Travel Is Stupid). Since I was only in Colombia for 5 nights, no one would be able to say with certainty if I had contracted Covid from partying in Bogota, eating out in Medellin, or if I was infected before leaving Puerto Rico as there is no testing requirement to enter Colombia. Regardless. I would not be welcome home.
The point of my rambling is that Covid is not going anywhere. It is already everywhere. Travel restrictions need to end for the vaccinated.
Bogota Travel Guide is part of the Punxsutawney TPOL Trip Report, where TPOL leaves the basement. It’s finally happening despite inconsistent policies, interruptions, and human stupidity as explained in these posts:
TPOL’s Guns & Butter Travel Guide is the best way to see as much as you can in as little time as possible. Here’s how it works – A trip is composed of two factors: Labor And Lazy. The opportunity cost (what is given up) for relaxing and being Lazy is gained by being adventurous in the form of Labor and vice versa. The guide includes inefficient activities i.e., tourist traps that should be avoided and aspirational activities that are worth doing but may be impossible to see given the constraints of time and resources.
Covid Test Abroad is part of the Punxsutawney TPOL Trip Report, where TPOL leaves the basement. It’s finally happening despite inconsistent policies, interruptions, and human stupidity as explained in these posts:
The only way to return to the United States, the country of which I am a citizen, the country to which I have pledged allegiance, is by producing a negative covid test within 72 hours of departure.
That was the situation I was facing going from Bogota to Puerto Rico. In order to take the test, I had two choices: 1. Go to a Colombian hospital 2. Order room service. I have been to a Colombian hospital before (see Mystery Solved: TPOL’s Disappearance in Medellin) and had no interest in going back. I went with option 2. For the nice price of $35, the JW Marriott booked an appointment for the testing man to come to my room.
Process
The testing man showed up dressed in full PPE, making me feel like patient zero. He took my passport and asked me about my vaccination status. After more questions, the test was about to begin. I thought I had signed up for the antigen test. When he came towards me with the swab, I recoiled in fear, recalling my first and only PCR test (see Thanks Donald! My COVID Test in Puerto Rico). Either the technology or methodology has improved. This time the sinus massage only lasted a couple of seconds. Lollipop in hand, I gave the testing man my Amex card. He processed my payment and was on his way. Hours later I received the results. They were negative. I could go home.
TPOL’s Tip: Order the test first thing in the morning. Hungover or not (see Bogota, a Party City? Who Knew?), waiting until 2PM for the test man to show up was a waste of time.
Enforcement
At the airport, I was curious where they would check my test result, if at all. With a mobile boarding pass, I headed to the gate. When boarding started, I heard the agent asking some people for their tests. When I presented my passport, I was told, “Welcome, aboard.” That was it.
Overall
Had I tested positive, I would have had to stay in Colombia until I received a negative test. Where I would have stayed, I have no idea. Would I have to quarantine and for how long? I do not know. What I do know is that it is ridiculous that an American citizen cannot come home. The thought that one less infected person would make a difference to the cesspool of infection that plagues the US is absurd. American borders have been open. The virus is here, yet intelligence and pragmatic thought are gone. Ignorance and impulse have taken over. Welcome to the post-covid world.
JW Marriott Bogota Hotel Review is part of the Punxsutawney TPOL Trip Report, where TPOL leaves the basement. It’s finally happening despite inconsistent policies, interruptions, and human stupidity as explained in these posts:
My only other stay at a JW was at the JW Scottsdale, a lovely hotel with a must-lazy river, a beautiful golf course, and lovely scenery. Despite being upscale, it lacked energy. It was nice version of Mr. Peterschmidt’s house.
The JW Bogota was the same, dull and unwelcoming.
Checking In
Blame the useless Covid plexiglass that is more appropriate for a Flint liquor store than an upscale hotel, but I did not feel love when checking in. No mention was made about my titanium super duper platinum elite status. No mention was made of the resort’s great spa or the time and location of breakfast. All I was told was that I could have a total of 2 alcoholic drinks each night in the lounge.
Late Check-Out? Covid Test?
One day I will look back at this post and either find that it was ridiculous that in-room covid testing was an amenity, or it will be so commonplace that the welcome gift will be a complimentary test. Since I was leaving at noon, I declined the late checkout and booked a covid test for the following afternoon (see Room Service: I’m Here with Your Covid Test).
Welcome Amenity
Half a bottle of wine and a huge assortment of cheeses made me half-forget the cold treatment at check-in.
Suite
Back to Mr. Peterschmidt’s house. I used a suite upgrade and always regret doing so. The suite was uninspired. It is intended for a prototypical business traveler, a dinosaur that does not exist. Does anyone make use of the desk? I certainly do not.
Bedroom Curtains
As Peter would say, “You know what grinds my gears?” Let me tell you: blackout curtains that are not long enough. There was either a gap in the middle of the curtains or at the end.
What a view
Room
After the friend’s house in Medellin (see Hostel v. Hotel v. Friend’s Home), a king-size bed with a bunch of pillows, a big blanket, and crisp sheets was in order.
Bathroom
Hostel or a friend’s home may be fine for a few nights, but an infinity shower with the little soaps is required to properly refresh.
Executive Lounge
Positive
Plenty of space
Unlimited Gatorade
Nice food spread
Negative
2 drink max
Well liquor
Food was not as appetizing as the presentation.
Breakfast
I was underwhelmed by the breakfast. I did not go for a second round and barely finished the first. It was basic western fare. Where was the Colombian cuisine?
Spa
After a night out in this crazy town (see Bogota, a Party City? Who Knew?), I went down to the basement of the hotel for a tranquil time at the spa, by far the best feature of the hotel.
Overall
The painting of JW himself on the wall of every JW summarizes the brand. It’s boring and rigid while trying to come off as proper and dignified. Somewhere between the fakeness of the W brand and the pretentiousness of the JW is where I would like to stay. Back to the Aloft Bangkok!
Bogota Party City is part of the Punxsutawney TPOL Trip Report, where TPOL leaves the basement. It’s finally happening despite inconsistent policies, interruptions, and human stupidity as explained in these posts:
Do you recall the last party guide? I had to dig into the annals of TPOL to the Shanghai party guide (see TPOL’s Guide to Libations in Shanghai). Then I had to dust off my dancing shoes in preparation for my trip to Bogota. With only two nights to do damage and with light Covid restrictions in place (3AM last call, capacity controls), I cannot give a full assessment. What I can say is that Bogota is an overlooked party city. From what I saw, it has the potential to make TPOL’s Best Nightclubs in the World list.
Below is where I went. I have ordered it from Old Man Conservative to Clutch Cargos Pontiac, Michigan circa 2000.
Can’t Be Bothered
If you’re staying at the JW Marriott, you can have drinks at the lounge during happy hour. Only the first two are free.
And it was well vodka.
Old Man
Like going to a nightclub, the last time I was in a proper pub was in Shanghai. In Bogota, I went to Cafe Verona and had a Delerium. This is a nice, quiet way to start an evening.
Bad pour, best beer
TPOL’s TIP: The address is Cra. 11 ###70-05, Bogotá, Colombia.
Young Professional: Chapinero Area
Young professional is what I will call myself indefinitely. If you identify as such, go to the Chapinero Area to start your evening. There, I went to La Brasserie and sat at the bar sipping on Colombian rum. Surrounding this restaurant was bar after bar, each with a long line. Clearly, people were ready to go out and drink after this Covid ordeal.
Catching up with my friend from business school.
TPOL’s Tip: The address is Cra. 13 #85-35, Bogotá, Cundinamarca, Colombia.
18+
Feeling adolescent and unprofessional? Go to the Ghetto. That’s the name of the establishment. Was I the oldest person there? Hardly. But it did have the old school feel of the aforementioned Clutch Cargos, the club from my youth. There were four floors. One with hip-hop called Pantera, one with oldies and an arcade called Sector 9, a terrace, and the drug level. I stuck to the first two.
Stairway to my youthThe greatest arcade game of my youthA little too old, even for me #costanzaDef Donkey Kong over Pac-ManAnother young friend from business school, by way of Dublin, IrelandThe drug levelMezzanine to the drug levelGoing really old schoolMaybe we went two nights in a row. It’s all a blur.De acuerdo
Most go to Medellin and Cartagena and skip Bogota. While the city center of Bogota is not aesthetically pleasing, it should not be discounted as a party destination. In fact, I’m more inclined to return to Bogota over the other two.
Almost Robbed is part of the Punxsutawney TPOL Trip Report, where TPOL leaves the basement. It’s finally happening despite inconsistent policies, interruptions, and human stupidity as explained in these posts:
Given the miscues of this trip thus far, it seemed inevitable that I would eventually catch up to me (see TPOL Forgets How to Travel). My friend came to visit me at the JW Marriott. While feasting on the welcome platter of wine and cheese, we had a discussion about stolen phones and what an inconvenience it is when it happens. From there, we went out for more food and drink.
After lunch, I stopped to take a photo of the restaurant sign so I could include it in my Guns & Butter: Bogota Travel Guide. As we were crossing the intersection, I had my phone in my hand when a guy on a motorbike cut made a left turn and cut us off. While idling by, he dropped his left hand and dragged it in the air. I hopped back thinking maybe we had crossed the street at the wrong time. He sped off like nothing happened.
Moments later, my friend stood in disbelief recounting what just happened. In our debrief, we concluded that he must have tracked me with the phone and waited for the opportune time to strike. While I was not carrying my phone like a loaf of bread, I also did not have it tucked away like Thurman Thomas.
When I travel, I am hyper-paranoid of having my phone stolen. I never put it on a table in a restaurant, especially outside. I always hold my phone with two hands when I snap photos in public areas, fearing someone will strip it away like a tenacious cornerback.
I never take photos in a taxi with the window down in a busy street because I envision someone on a motorbike flying by and taking my phone. What I never contemplated was someone slyly attempting this maneuver when I am simply walking with my phone in my hand.
I commend the would-be thief for his ingenuity. I can’t say I blame myself too much because my behavior was not unreasonable. There have been plenty of times when I have had my phone out following Google Maps’ terrible directions not fully engaged with my surroundings. Not once has such a thing happened.
What’s the solution? Go old school and get a chain wallet contraption for my phone? Phones are used so frequently for everything that having it inaccessible is not sustainable.
My plead to thieves is to go ahead and keep trying to steal my phone. It keeps me sharp. But if you are successful, please ask for a bounty and return the phone to me. I will pay. It is too much of a hassle to lose my phone when I travel. Even if I am at home, the inconvenience of downloading all the apps, moving them to the right place on the home screen, and reentering all my passwords is pure torture.
To my bitter readers, go ahead and lie by saying you keep your phone locked away in your hotel safe and that this would never happen to you. To everyone else, the Travel Lesson is summarized best by a popular Colombian saying: “No dar papaya.”
