. . . On Sunday, April 12, I stepped out onto my balcony, which faces East, and is located in the Rosales neighborhood of Bogotá. As is a bad habit, I enjoy a morning coffee with a cigarette. It was a grey, Sunday morning, the streets were empty, and washed with a light drizzle from the night, which had passed. As I looked up and beyond the red walls of my barrio, I saw a black round object rise vertically into the sky, from behind a ridge of the Cerros Orientales. At a possible distance of 5 kms, the shape was rounded and appeared like a spot against the uniformity of grey, which was blanketing this capital of eight million.
As a frustrated commercial airline pilot, I know my planes. Up close and at great distances. I know how to distinguish the sound of an Airbus A 340 to a Boeing 777. I have studied flight maps, flight routes and flightaware.
I understand these machines. I admire them. There was no fuselage, no winglets, no sound. This was no plane.
The black dot began to unravel itself. It stopped under the melancholic canopy of cloud and darted south, where it shifted on its side. I abandoned the cigarette for my connected iPhone. It said 7:55 am. I tried to look for the object in the sky. It was hovering West an moving between altitudes, over the Chapinero neighborhood of Bogotá and which sits at 2,600 meters above sea level.
The spot was not visible on the screen of my iPhone. I tried it look for it again with my eyes, but the black object had shifted in the sky above my building. I though it might head towards the airport, so I grabbed my Nikon 300s and tried to remember where I keep a 500 mm lens, which I use only when there is a full moon. And not even. . . .