Bogota 1984-The American Bar---now known as The - “Ugly American Bar and Grill”
I am In Bogota, Colombia with a couple of casino buddies, Jesse the Englishmen and Bobby the American. Bobby is a long time casino owner/operator in the Caribbean and general man of the world and bon vivant rounder from Vegas, Jesse a young English former blackjack dealer, now an employee of a company I am a partner in, Madeira Associates, operating a casino on Madeira Island Portugal.
We are in Bogota to discuss opening a casino in a three hundred room, five star (South American stars anyway) Hotel owned by a German businessman, Jesse had made this contact for us and was hence part of the discovery team, at the time there are many underground illegal casinos in town, but none are legally licensed by the Colombian government, we hoped to be the first legal casino, though, semi legal, meaning one tiny step up from underground illegal, would be OK also to tell the truth. Its the gambling business in many ways is how we looked at it. Always have.
We check into the hotel after arriving into Bogota late night, take our separate rooms, and wake up the next morning, and discover to our dismay that two hundred and ninety seven rooms of the three hundred are unoccupied, hmm. First hint of what is to come. Unbeknownst to us Bogota at this time is no man's land, the drug cartels run the city, the streets are empty as soon as the sun goes down.
But were street wise we liked to think, so even when we are told by the Hotel owner to make sure we wear no jewelry -ever-day or night, or even in your room, we or rather I alone laugh it off. Ha Ha?
The first evening after business negotiations with the Hotel owner , we decide to go to one of Bogota's famous nightclubs/showrooms , after all its Saturday night. We arrive just before showtime, we are seated and notice although there are 400 or so seats, we and maybe a dozen other clients are the only clients in them.
Hmm- seemed strange, even stranger than an empty hotel, so we ask the waiter why the club and town are so empty on a Saturday night, and are told it is because the streets at night are patrolled by cartel “death squads”, which street wised us up a notch or two, -----time to get back to the Hotel.
However, once arriving at the front door of the Hotel we notice that adjacent to the hotel is a bar called “The American Bar and Grill” wow , we think, this has got to be a welcoming Americans fun place, considering the name, so in we go.
Once again we are almost the only customers, but the place looks good, so we belly up to the bar and order a few drinks, no problem , the barman is friendly as are two or three women who are sitting at the bar, very friendly they be.
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We have a few drinks , all is cool but I am a bit toasted by this time, and I get into a bit of a beef with the barman over the price of drinks, my fault totally I am almost sure of, but that problem passed, or so I thought, though Bobby and Jesse suggest perhaps we should get back to the hotel, they did not like the vibe coming from Senor barman, and the girls, were a bit too pushy friendly for their taste, my taste was different.
But, But I beg to differ, I love the American Bar and Grill, they try to convince me to leave , but no I defer, so they say goodnight to me and split. I am dressed in a suit jacket and tie, and wearing a Rolex, and gold chain!this time period is during my semi- aka sometimes Ugly American phase,, though warned about wearing anything shiny in Bogota, I insist on doing so, you are your jewelry and car during this phase of my life, Bobby and Jesse had warned me to heed the sagacious advice of many-but-
Anyway I make friends with one of the bar girls and we decide to go upstairs where the girls have and give accommodations, so to speak, a narrow flight of stairs behind the bar our pathway up to rock and roll heaven. Once inside the room I make a point of securing the door with a chair underneath the doorknob, just in case Mr. barman decides our argument was not over, I had seen that chair move in a western movie, always worked.
Everything is cool, time to leave, my gal departs first, so? Walking down the stairs I try to open the door to the bar area which leads to the exit, but it is now locked, hmm, but luckily I see a door to the street down one more flight of stairs, so I head for it, but it is also locked, I turn around and low and behold there is Mr barman at the top of the stairs, with something shiny in his hand, looked exactly like a knife I remember thinking, being street wise I have come to the conclusion that I have a problem, time to do or die, I take my jacket off and wrap it around my left forearm as I assume that knife was soon to be heading my-way, I also let out a Tarzan yell just in case someone might be listening
Luckily someone was, Bobby knowing me, and street sensing that the argument with the barman which he had witnessed was a sign of things to come had called the Tourist Police, a force the Colombian government wisely knew was necessary,and unbeknownst to me they are just outside the door I now have my back to, they recognize my Tarzan yell as being one of fear of life ending and not the fear of heights and coconut trees, and they fire off a few rounds from their rifles, the barman wisely splits, the day/night is saved as is my dumb ass, thanks to my street wise buddy Bobby, who knew a semi-sometimes Ugly American when he saw one.
