Having diced with death in a tiny propeller plane to Medellin, we are here. It wasn’t very comforting being in the front row right behind the pilot seeing out the windscreen, especially when everyone made the sign of the cross at take off, every bump on the way and landing. The pilot had sat nav which made me very nervous, FFS is that how you fly a plane?

Medellin is chockablock with Venezuelan refugees selling Indian jewellery, juggling at traffic lights and rootling in bins for pieces of cardboard and plastic. There is a good system here - we were up on a balcony and twice someone was mugged. The whole square of people starting yelling, every car tooting so all the police had to do was follow the noise. Despite all this we’ve walked round lots of street markets, more Botero museums and the FARC bomb site without being glanced at. I have a sneaky feeling that they either don’t see us as worth it or they can spot my menopausal rage at ten paces.

Ever a sucker for brightly painted things, we spent a day going to a town called Guatapé where every house has been painted with frescoes. It’s so beautiful but enough to give you toothache. A couple of hours outside Medellin it’s surrounded by a lake and a huge rock to climb with 660 steps - feck that. Ween was there like a rat up a drainpipe of course and got up in 10 minutes which seemed to be some sort of record. It also meant we got to Guatapé before anyone, had our dinner at 11.30 and strolled round empty streets. On the way back to Medellin our car was overtaken by slum kids on bicycles going down the 10km hill. We were doing 70 and they overtook us, it made me feel sick watching them weaving in and out.