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I had more like a mini apartment than a hotel room, with my own lounge, separate bedroom and the usual private bathroom. I was on allowances but the customer in this case took care of hotel expenses. That meant I could freely raid the mini bar at my discretion. I felt like royalty and thought this country may not turn out to be too bad after all.

I got up the first morning to go to the factory, jumped in the shower and had a nice hot wash. After rinsing the shampoo off my hair I panicked, I opened my eyes and couldn't see a bloody thing; it was pitch black. That time of year meant dark mornings and on this particular morning a power cut hit the city. I hadn't washed my body yet and I froze, standing there stark naked in the shower, in the dark, biting my nails imagining all sorts of horrors. I quickly got out of the shower and opened the curtain in the lounge. At least with the sun starting to rise I could start to see properly. I thought this power cut was probably a one off but I'd soon learn that it was common practice! Apparently Colombia was selling large quantities of electricity to neighbouring Venezuela. The side affect was the power cuts. That explained the matches and candles in my room. Every other day I'd end up in complete darkness or get three quarters of the way through a good film for the power cut to hit. I'd end up scrambling around trying to find a candle to light so I could see what I was doing.

Can you see the potential fire hazard in this bizarre scenario? I dared not think of the possible disaster should someone knock a candle on the floor or against some curtains. Why couldn't they have the power cuts during the day?

Ramirez picked me up on time as promised the next morning. However it became apparent that I'd have to make my own way to the factory from that point onwards, so Ramirez arranged a taxi to pick me up at five and take me back to the hotel. The taxi driver was a bit weird, kept yapping away asking me something, yet I had no idea what he was saying or what he wanted to know. I simply nodded occasionally and politely smiled before looking out of the side window - as you do!

"Miguel, Miguel", he kept saying. So that's what his name is, or who he thinks I am? The journey cost me 3,000 "potatoes", which was a relatively small amount of money when converting it into the Sterling equivalent.

The next day after breakfast I headed out of the hotel to catch a taxi to take me to the factory. Ramirez had given me a note with obvious instructions and an address so the taxi driver knew where to take me. Low and behold the same bloke from the night before was outside the hotel. It was as if he was waiting for me! He greeted me with open arms as if I was a member of his family. "Miguel, Miguel", he kept saying. 3,000 potatoes later I'm working away doing charades so that those I'm training would understand how to use the computer equipment I've installed. I asked Ramirez to sort a taxi for me when it was "home" time but there was no need, the same taxi driver was there waiting to take me back to the hotel. Convenient? Another 3,000 potatoes in his pocket much to his satisfaction. I had visions of the bloke being some weirdo stalker either that or 3,000 potatoes was more than he earned in a week and while he had the opportunity to rake in 6,000 per day he wasn't going to let me out of his sight.

At the end of the first week, I had to go to Peru. I returned to Colombia with one bastard of a chest cold. I had a terrible sore throat and chesty cough; something you could say is my Achilles heel. Ever since I got a dose of glandular fever when I was in my late teens, my chest has always been my weak spot. Something in the water or some shit I'd eaten in Peru had given me an irritation I didn't want.