Your plane lands in Colombia, and for about thirty seconds, everything feels normal.

Then the doors open.

Suddenly you’re funneled into passport control, the signs are in Spanish, the line splits into categories you didn’t know existed, and your brain—still running on airplane peanuts and recycled air—starts doing that thing where it asks: “Am I doing this right… or am I about to mess something up internationally?”

Then you clear customs, walk into the terminal, and the soundtrack starts.

“Taxi, taxi, taxi.”
“Uber, Uber.”
“Transport, amigo.”

It’s not actually a hundred people, but in that moment it feels like a hundred. And now you’re forced to make decisions when you’re tired, overloaded, and one questionable choice away from starting your trip on hard mode.

Here’s the good news: none of this is dangerous.
Here’s the part nobody tells you: doing it wrong is how people get stressed, overcharged, or just unnecessarily uncomfortable.

So let’s fix that.

This is your calm, practical, real-world guide to what your first hour in Colombia should look like—from the moment the seatbelt sign turns off to the moment you’re in a car leaving the airport like a person who’s done this before.

If you’re used to the sacred “we exit row by row” ritual, welcome to Latin America where that’s more of a suggestion.

People stand quickly. Sometimes very quickly. Bags appear out of nowhere. Folks ten rows back start inching forward like there’s a prize at baggage claim.

This isn’t rudeness. It isn’t aggression. It’s just a cultural quirk: patience briefly takes a coffee break.

What to do:

There’s no award for being first off the plane. Everybody ends up at the same passport line anyway.

Once you step into the jet bridge or corridor, you’re not navigating “Colombia” yet—you’re navigating an airport.

And Colombian airports (especially international ones) are modern, organized, and very used to foreigners.

You’ll see:

This is not the moment to improvise.
Your job is simple: follow the crowd.

Take a breath. You haven’t done anything wrong. You’re doing fine.

This is where first-timers overthink.

You’ll usually see two main lines:

If you’re not Colombian, you’re Extranjeros. No shortcuts. No exceptions. Just get in line and be boring.

Immigration questions are usually simple:

Best answers:

That’s it. Short. Calm. Human.

This is where people accidentally create problems by oversharing.

Avoid:

It doesn’t land the way you think it does, and it can turn a two-question interaction into a longer conversation you didn’t need.

Your goal at immigration is not to be interesting. Your goal is to be approved.

They may ask where you’re staying. Don’t rely on Wi-Fi at that exact moment.

Have:

In real-world terms: it’s not common for normal tourists.
Could any border agent anywhere do a secondary check if something feels off? Sure. But for travelers who answer clearly, don’t act evasive, and don’t joke around—this is usually a smooth, routine stamp-and-go.

Act normal → get treated normal.

And once you’re stamped in? Congrats. You’re in Colombia. The hardest mental part is over.

This part is usually low stress.

Your wait time depends on how busy passport control was. Sometimes you arrive and bags are still coming out. Sometimes your bags are already off the belt.

Stand back, watch the belt, grab it, move on.

Also normal. Staff often place bags in neat rows near the carousel.

If you don’t see your bag immediately, look around the floor area before you panic.

If you check bags, tracking devices are a stress-killer.

The point isn’t gadgets—it’s certainty. If your bag didn’t make it, you’ll know where it is instead of guessing.

Also: keep eyes on your luggage. Mix-ups happen more than theft. Bags look alike. People grab the wrong one.

This is where people expect chaos and usually get… a normal airport process.

Two common outcomes:

Sometimes you’re waved through. Don’t celebrate. Just keep walking like you’ve done this before.

You place bags on a belt. They scan them. You keep moving.

This is not personal. It’s not a red flag. They’re looking for:

If you have normal traveler stuff, you’re fine.

General rule of thumb:

Customs works best when you treat it like airport furniture: acknowledge it, comply, move on.

This is the moment everyone remembers.

You walk through the final doors into the terminal and suddenly it’s:

“Taxi taxi taxi.”
“Uber Uber.”
“Transport.”

Here’s the key: this is not chaos. It’s a sales environment.
And it’s typical across Latin America.

Drivers don’t wait quietly behind ropes. They come to you loudly, confidently, repeatedly. If you look tired or confused, you become the most popular person alive for 30 seconds.

Because the moment you respond, you’ve entered a conversation. And conversations are where first-timers lose time, comfort, and sometimes money.

Pick a direction and walk with purpose.
Eyes forward. Phone away. Bag secured. Move like you’re late for something important.

It’s not rude here. It’s understood.

Jet lag makes people impulsive. So here’s the clean hierarchy:

Ignore the shouting and go straight to the official taxi kiosk/line outside.

Why it works:

Bogotá tip: the meter should be on. If you don’t see it, ask.
Medellín tip: the airport is far, and rates can be higher.

Pro move: snap a photo of the license plate and text/WhatsApp it to someone you know. Five seconds. Big peace of mind.

Uber is logged, trackable, and generally safe—but pickup can be annoying because:

Great when you’re rested. Less great after a long flight.

Many people don’t realize you can do this.

Benefits:

This is a solid middle ground—especially for rides back to the airport later.

These are typically private drivers using the word “Uber” as marketing.

Why it’s a bad trade:

The risk-to-reward ratio is terrible. Keep walking.

Simple rule:
Tired arrival → official taxi stand.
When you’re settled → Uber or Uber-ordered taxi.
Random terminal offers → no.

English isn’t widely spoken in Colombia outside certain bubbles.

That doesn’t mean people aren’t capable—it just means English isn’t a daily-use skill for most.

Where you’ll most likely find English:

Where you shouldn’t expect it reliably:

Your secret weapon: Google Translate with offline Spanish downloaded before you arrive.
Also use the camera feature for signs and menus.

You don’t need fluent Spanish for a first visit. You need functional humility:

Colombians tend to meet you halfway when you do.

Airport currency exchange counters are almost always the worst rate you’ll get.

Not “slightly worse.”
Offensively bad.

What to do instead:

Credit cards work well in:

But cash is still king for:

Get some cash early—but don’t carry all your cash.

Your first day runs on maps, messages, rides, and translation.

Options:

The goal: reliable data, not perfection.

You’ll hear the phrase: “No dar papaya.”
It means: don’t make yourself an easy target.

In practice:

This isn’t fear. It’s normal city behavior.

Confidence blends in. Confusion stands out.

Your goal isn’t to dress poorly. It’s to not dress expensive.

Good:

Avoid:

In Colombia, looking modest is often safer than looking wealthy.

This is the big one.

Colombia isn’t hostile. It’s relationship-based.

People value:

Sales pressure isn’t personal. Volume doesn’t always mean anger. Directness can feel abrupt.

And here’s the twist: once you stop expecting Colombia to operate like home, it gets easier fast.

Because most “problems” visitors run into aren’t bad luck. They’re information gaps.

Now you don’t have those gaps.