Hard to believe, but I’m finally home in Saint Louis. But before I get going in the new year, I’m putting the travel log, and Colombia, to a close. For now.
My last two weeks in Colombia were like another round of the Amazing Race. First, a trip to the upper Caribbean coast, not too far from our adventure to La Guajira. Two co-workers, Melissa and Candice, and I began with a few days in La Jagua, a small town overrun in recent years by large coal mining projects. Picture the movie October Sky, except Jake Gyllenhaal and all his friends are black/hispanic and live in the tropics. Days were filled with meetings about the mines’ contaminating the environment and monopolizing the job market, discussions on the richness of Afro-Colombian culture, listening to A LOT of Vallenato, and eating every meal possible at our favorite roast chicken restaurant/fruit juice stand/bakery (Jugo de nispero = wow).
We moved then from La Jagua to Santa Marta, this time feeling more like tourists. Of course, the dead body (read: shooting victim) on the sidewalk in broad daylight a block from our hotel didn’t make the best first impression, but since we aren’t drug addicts or thieves, we were told, we needn’t worry about such things. By the afternoon, everyone was pretending the guy hadn’t even existed. Eerie. But we knew they were right about us. On the coast, tourists aren’t the ones getting shot.
We took advantage of our open schedule to catch some sun on the beach. Relaxed under a palm tree, took a dip in the warm Caribbean waters, and one by one got conned into buying ice cream and potato chips for this little six-year-old who was clearly an expert in the art of acting cute for money. She also turned my legs into her own personal sandcastle masterpiece and “taught” me to count in Spanish. Her grandma and brother were soda vendors somewhere nearby, she said. What a life. Anyway she got her ice cream feast, and later we got our own feast in the form of some amazing seafood. For once, a pretty legit vacation.
We pampered ourselves in Santa Marta because we knew the roughest part was yet to come. After a few days, we left for Urabá, essentially the opposite of a tourist attraction. Although probably the most beautiful of anywhere we’d been, the region is extremely rural (primarily banana growers), extremely difficult to travel in (muddy, uneven dirt/gravel roads, traversable only by motorcycle or Jeep Wrangler-esque Russian WAS), and above all, still a hotspot of heavy internal conflict. Not a place to wander haphazardly around taking photos and speaking broken Spanish. But we came not as tourists, but to visit the communities that we accompany there.
The history here, very basically, is that the people we work with in Urabá (most of them Afro-Colombian and indigenous) previously lived on this land for generations and generations, as simple farmers. Until, in more or less the 80’s and 90’s, they were forcibly displaced by the conflict (paramilitary and guerrilla violence). They left for several years, wandering the country and finding work where they could. While they were gone, large companies, most with close ties to paramilitary groups, took over the land and replaced the former collective farmland and vibrant forests with agricultural megaprojects (lots of cattle ranches and palm and banana plantations). In recent years, however, the land’s original inhabitants and rightful owners under Colombian law, a.k.a. our partners, have returned to live on their land again, as they had done for centuries before the conflict. But confronting the big businesses that moved in in their absence, as well as collaborating paramilitaries, puts them at high risk of violent backlash. To protect themselves and their land, they have established what are called humanitarian zones – civilian-only communities recognized under international law – and biodiversity zones – established to preserve and cultivate the area’s traditional plant and animal life. So, we came to accompany these zones, to learn of the people’s situation, and to raise their profile, to show that they continue to receive international attention.
We first visited two zones in the more jungle-y Jiguamiandó region of Urabá, both accessible only by skinny wooden canoe. We spent our days traipsing around in big rubber boots, checking in on families and community leaders, and fending off a constant barrage of relentless biting insects. Most eventful experience was a run-in with a few Colombian military, who appeared out of the woods one day (NOT a normal occurrence) and called out to our boat from the riverbank. I did not appreciate the proximity of the guy’s assault rifle to my face, and no one appreciated the unprecedentedly strange questions he was asking, or the soldiers’ oddly shabby uniforms, but eventually they sent us on our way. Have a nice day…
The most important part of the trip, for me, came last, when we finally made it to the Llano Rico humanitarian zone, in the Curvaradó region. This was the community we helped establish during my trip to Colombia in March, but I couldn’t believe how much it’d changed. Their yucca fields, mere dirt before, had grown up taller than me, what was once a ditch was now a small man-made pond, they’d begun raising chickens and pigs, and they had even wired in electricity. Not to mention how much all the kids had grown, too. We sat and talked with Guillermo, who founded the zone, about the death threats recently made against him and the rising numbers of armed groups in the area. His wife welled up in tears describing her fear for his life, meanwhile her 2- and 4-year-old are in the background, running barefoot through the banana trees, laughing these adorable, carefree little laughs. It was the most bittersweet picture you could imagine, a perfect manifestation of the crazy reality they live every day. I will never forget it.
In a way, what I saw in Urabá was just what I saw in Santa Marta, in the Candelaria and all over the country. It’s simultaneously beauty and horror, devastation in paradise. It’s fascinating, sometimes depressing, and above all, quickly changing. I can only pray that in years to come, Colombia will change for the better.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Keep on the Sunny Side, Always on the Sunny Side
I have never seen so much rain in my life. President Santos declared a “state of calamity” for nearly the entire country for how much it’s been raining here. It never stops. Even just when you think maybe, maaaybe it will stay clear today, you feel that first drop. Shoot me.
Yesterday I ran into Raz, my Israeli neighbor who I hadn’t seen since he got kicked out of the house across the street because his dog “bothered” other tenants. He told me he’s leaving Bogotá. Me too, I said. And he’s like, yeah this place will pull on you like that. And I said, yeah, it really does.
The thing is, the Candelaria is a mixture of beautiful and disgusting. Every day I open my door and I’m surrounded by these gorgeous old buildings, so colorful, with the mountains towering over them, clouds here and there (or sometimes everywhere). But well, then I keep walking, and the whole place is scattered with dog crap and homeless people and addicts with glue still dripping from their noses who rip open every trash bag they can find looking for food. Sometimes you can track them by the trail of trash they leave. And my neighbors, they are wonderful, warm, friendly people who have always taken care of me. But they are almost all coke addicts. The foreign ones, mostly, not many of the Colombians. The Colombia=cocaine stereotype can be really offensive because it’s usually the foreigners who are using the drugs. But regardless, the drugs change everything; they change relationships, and it’s hard to watch.
Two of my favorite neighbors, who have also left now, were this old Iranian couple, Mo and Rita, who said they saw the same problems in Iran with opium and they do here with cocaine. They would make me and Andres coffee every day and we’d listen to their stories. They had traveled literally all over the world and had fascinating stories, like one about getting stuck in a tempest-sized storm for three days in like, slave ship conditions on this boat in the Philippines. They also said Iran has one of the most generous cultures in the world, and I should visit.
Mo also once lived in Kansas City, and loved it. He was always telling me what a great time he had there, and how pretty Missouri was. And he’s right, of course! Never hurts to have an extremely seasoned world traveler give your homeland so much praise.
I have definitely been homesick here. Especially on Thanksgiving last week. Of course we got together, all the gringas and some unknowing Colombians, and we cooked A LOT and ate A LOT and rounded off the night with Christmas music. It was lovely, but it was not the same. I’m so looking forward to being home for Christmas.
Until then, though, I’m soaking up as much of Colombia as I still can. I’ve been working hard at my internship and dancing hard on weekends. Slowly discovering I’m not such a terrible salsa dancer. And still unable to shake the light-haired, blue-eyed, bright-neon-light-that-says-hit-on-me-i’m-a-foreigner curse. But at least it’s entertaining.
Finally, today I’m leaving on a two-week adventure with my co-workers to visit a bunch of communities that we work with. First, a week on the upper Caribbean coast, near Santa Marta. The region has a long history of violence + the rape of its natural resources and native populations, often involving the banana industry and now coal and gold mining. But it’s really beautiful. After that, it’s off to Uraba, southwest of Santa Marta but northwest of Medellin, to visit some more rural communities in a more river/jungle landscape. Also a long history of violence and exploitation. Also extremely beautiful. Because that’s what this country is – extreme beauty mixed with extreme wretchedness. You just always have to look on the bright side.
For example, with all this rain, I’ve seen a ton of rainbows. =)
Yesterday I ran into Raz, my Israeli neighbor who I hadn’t seen since he got kicked out of the house across the street because his dog “bothered” other tenants. He told me he’s leaving Bogotá. Me too, I said. And he’s like, yeah this place will pull on you like that. And I said, yeah, it really does.
The thing is, the Candelaria is a mixture of beautiful and disgusting. Every day I open my door and I’m surrounded by these gorgeous old buildings, so colorful, with the mountains towering over them, clouds here and there (or sometimes everywhere). But well, then I keep walking, and the whole place is scattered with dog crap and homeless people and addicts with glue still dripping from their noses who rip open every trash bag they can find looking for food. Sometimes you can track them by the trail of trash they leave. And my neighbors, they are wonderful, warm, friendly people who have always taken care of me. But they are almost all coke addicts. The foreign ones, mostly, not many of the Colombians. The Colombia=cocaine stereotype can be really offensive because it’s usually the foreigners who are using the drugs. But regardless, the drugs change everything; they change relationships, and it’s hard to watch.
Two of my favorite neighbors, who have also left now, were this old Iranian couple, Mo and Rita, who said they saw the same problems in Iran with opium and they do here with cocaine. They would make me and Andres coffee every day and we’d listen to their stories. They had traveled literally all over the world and had fascinating stories, like one about getting stuck in a tempest-sized storm for three days in like, slave ship conditions on this boat in the Philippines. They also said Iran has one of the most generous cultures in the world, and I should visit.
Mo also once lived in Kansas City, and loved it. He was always telling me what a great time he had there, and how pretty Missouri was. And he’s right, of course! Never hurts to have an extremely seasoned world traveler give your homeland so much praise.
I have definitely been homesick here. Especially on Thanksgiving last week. Of course we got together, all the gringas and some unknowing Colombians, and we cooked A LOT and ate A LOT and rounded off the night with Christmas music. It was lovely, but it was not the same. I’m so looking forward to being home for Christmas.
Until then, though, I’m soaking up as much of Colombia as I still can. I’ve been working hard at my internship and dancing hard on weekends. Slowly discovering I’m not such a terrible salsa dancer. And still unable to shake the light-haired, blue-eyed, bright-neon-light-that-says-hit-on-me-i’m-a-foreigner curse. But at least it’s entertaining.
Finally, today I’m leaving on a two-week adventure with my co-workers to visit a bunch of communities that we work with. First, a week on the upper Caribbean coast, near Santa Marta. The region has a long history of violence + the rape of its natural resources and native populations, often involving the banana industry and now coal and gold mining. But it’s really beautiful. After that, it’s off to Uraba, southwest of Santa Marta but northwest of Medellin, to visit some more rural communities in a more river/jungle landscape. Also a long history of violence and exploitation. Also extremely beautiful. Because that’s what this country is – extreme beauty mixed with extreme wretchedness. You just always have to look on the bright side.
For example, with all this rain, I’ve seen a ton of rainbows. =)
Friday, November 19, 2010
I might as well be on the Amazing Race
Two weekends back now, budget travel landed me on three overnight buses, two muddy pick-up trucks, and one stiff bed in a Colombian whore-tel. But with the money I saved, I got to fly. Worth it.
Andres and I began the adventure with an 18-hour night ride to Santa Marta, a town on the coast, where we hopped buses to Riohacha, the center of transport in La Guajira, Colombia’s northernmost state and “the edge of the world” according to my Lonely Planet guide. After Riohacha, buses weren’t an option. Transportation method of choice instead involved piling into the back of a truck with maybe ten other people, various canisters of water and gasoline, and several other unknown packages. At least we avoided the truck with the goats.
Five hours of bumpy, muddy road later, we arrived in Cabo de la Vela, a remote costal town under the jurisdiction of the indigenous Wayuu people. Pleasantly void of the typical commercialized tacky boardwalk and everything that accompanies a beach vacation spot as we know it. The normal form of accommodation in Cabo is a three-walled hut-and-hammock get-up fifty feet from the waves, but since it rained monsoon-style the ENTIRE time we were there, we splurged for the fourth wall + bed deluxe combo.
Despite the unfathomably unfortunate weather, we did get to talk a little hike through some spectacular scenery. La Guajira is sort of a phenomena – a desert on the Caribbean coast. So picture bright blue seas, giant seashells, peaceful waves, adjacent to crumbly brown earth and sparse, spiky vegetation. Even flooded with so much rain, it was beautiful and unique.
Leaving Cabo wasn’t easy. Not because we didn’t want to, because we almost literally couldn’t. The storm nearly locked us into town, turning the road – there is only ONE road – into a virtually impassible two-foot deep river. But we found one brave driver willing and able to take on the mission. The man was a pro. Miles upon miles of muck, and we only got stuck once.
As if being cramped in the back of a truck for six hours wasn’t enough, we kept going: 1 hour taxi, 3 hour bus, half hour taxi, 15 hour bus, 15 min metro, non-stop all the way to the first cheap hotel we could find in Medellin. We were aiming for a whole new scene, and that is exactly what we got. Only after we accepted a room key and paid that night’s stay did we explore the neighborhood to find that we had comfortably settled amidst a plethora of whores and other sketchballs. We were warned not to wander about after dark. But what else is new.
Outside of that neighborhood, and actually within it if you overlook certain flaws, Medellin was pretty cool. Instead of mountains on one side like Bogotá, Medellin is surrounded by them, making for an amazing view from all angles. We made sure to check out all things paisa (the term for people from Medellin and the region around it): the Pueblito Paisa (tourist trap, but cute), the Plazoleta Botero (really cool sculptures by one of Colombia’s most famous artists), the Parque de la Luz, and another famous work, Monumento a la Raza by a guy named Betancourt. And of course, those were only a fraction of the options.
The best, best, best, part of the whole extended weekend, however, was our introduction to the world of parasailing. Bought a ticket, hiked up on a hill where two tandem pilots were waiting for us. They strapped us each into a chute, strapped themselves to us, and instructed us to run off the side of the cliff. It was the best thrill I’ve ever had – the closest thing to flying I think you could possibly feel. We were alongside the birds, swooping over waterfalls and bright green pastures. Amazing. I’ve found a new hobby.
We could have stayed in Medellin a few more days, but time and money drove us back to rainy Bogotá. It is still raining to this day. Now, Andres has left, and I’m back to work, taking videos, translating, keeping up correspondences, and always meeting someone new with a wonderful and worthy cause. I only have one month left now to finish my projects and see what more I can, and I plan to make the most of it.
Andres and I began the adventure with an 18-hour night ride to Santa Marta, a town on the coast, where we hopped buses to Riohacha, the center of transport in La Guajira, Colombia’s northernmost state and “the edge of the world” according to my Lonely Planet guide. After Riohacha, buses weren’t an option. Transportation method of choice instead involved piling into the back of a truck with maybe ten other people, various canisters of water and gasoline, and several other unknown packages. At least we avoided the truck with the goats.
Five hours of bumpy, muddy road later, we arrived in Cabo de la Vela, a remote costal town under the jurisdiction of the indigenous Wayuu people. Pleasantly void of the typical commercialized tacky boardwalk and everything that accompanies a beach vacation spot as we know it. The normal form of accommodation in Cabo is a three-walled hut-and-hammock get-up fifty feet from the waves, but since it rained monsoon-style the ENTIRE time we were there, we splurged for the fourth wall + bed deluxe combo.
Despite the unfathomably unfortunate weather, we did get to talk a little hike through some spectacular scenery. La Guajira is sort of a phenomena – a desert on the Caribbean coast. So picture bright blue seas, giant seashells, peaceful waves, adjacent to crumbly brown earth and sparse, spiky vegetation. Even flooded with so much rain, it was beautiful and unique.
Leaving Cabo wasn’t easy. Not because we didn’t want to, because we almost literally couldn’t. The storm nearly locked us into town, turning the road – there is only ONE road – into a virtually impassible two-foot deep river. But we found one brave driver willing and able to take on the mission. The man was a pro. Miles upon miles of muck, and we only got stuck once.
As if being cramped in the back of a truck for six hours wasn’t enough, we kept going: 1 hour taxi, 3 hour bus, half hour taxi, 15 hour bus, 15 min metro, non-stop all the way to the first cheap hotel we could find in Medellin. We were aiming for a whole new scene, and that is exactly what we got. Only after we accepted a room key and paid that night’s stay did we explore the neighborhood to find that we had comfortably settled amidst a plethora of whores and other sketchballs. We were warned not to wander about after dark. But what else is new.
Outside of that neighborhood, and actually within it if you overlook certain flaws, Medellin was pretty cool. Instead of mountains on one side like Bogotá, Medellin is surrounded by them, making for an amazing view from all angles. We made sure to check out all things paisa (the term for people from Medellin and the region around it): the Pueblito Paisa (tourist trap, but cute), the Plazoleta Botero (really cool sculptures by one of Colombia’s most famous artists), the Parque de la Luz, and another famous work, Monumento a la Raza by a guy named Betancourt. And of course, those were only a fraction of the options.
The best, best, best, part of the whole extended weekend, however, was our introduction to the world of parasailing. Bought a ticket, hiked up on a hill where two tandem pilots were waiting for us. They strapped us each into a chute, strapped themselves to us, and instructed us to run off the side of the cliff. It was the best thrill I’ve ever had – the closest thing to flying I think you could possibly feel. We were alongside the birds, swooping over waterfalls and bright green pastures. Amazing. I’ve found a new hobby.
We could have stayed in Medellin a few more days, but time and money drove us back to rainy Bogotá. It is still raining to this day. Now, Andres has left, and I’m back to work, taking videos, translating, keeping up correspondences, and always meeting someone new with a wonderful and worthy cause. I only have one month left now to finish my projects and see what more I can, and I plan to make the most of it.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
The Dead, the Living, and the Living Dead
This week was the Day of the Dead, in Mexico. Colombians, however, are more into Halloween. Either way, my experiences of the past couple weeks have allowed me to remember some long-dead Colombian inhabitants, and to experience the country’s ever-fantastic life and spirit.
Took a hint from the Bogotanos two weeks ago and got out of the city, to Villa de Leyva, a small colonial town/popular weekend getaway. Besides its cobblestone streets, wonderfully-preserved 16th century town square, and rows of simple white, clay tile-roofed shops, the town is known, of all things, for fossils. In prehistoric times, the area was covered by ocean, and to this day it’s wrought with fossils, homes are adorned with them, and you can of course see the best ones in museums. The guesthouse we stayed in – I went with Andres – even had one randomly embedded among the stones in the courtyard.
We passed the weekend wandering the streets, embarrassing ourselves trying to fit into a truly talented Saturday night salsa crowd, and falling into tourist traps. We saw what’s know as THE fossil – huge skeleton of some monstrous sea-dwelling dinosaur, a rare find, so we were told. Also checked out a ritual site of the area’s ancient inhabitants the Muisca people. Spanish missionaries named the place “El Infiernito” or “Little Hell,” in an effort to make people afraid of pagan worship. Consists of several stone pillars lined up, which created a sort of calendar for the people to keep track of the growing seasons. It’s advertise as “Colombia’s Stonehenge,” and coming in with that level of expectation, we were disappointed. But take away the comparison and it’s pretty neat. Even more amusing to me were the other ancient remnants surrounding the Infiernito – dozens of 5, 6, 7 feet high, crudely-sculpted, upright-toward-the-sky penises. How could you not giggle at least a little? The Muisca people followed a cult of fertility, hence the statues. For worship, and rituals. But come on. They ought to rent out Colombia’s Stonehenge for bachelorette parties.
Besides a bunch of really old rocks, we got a look at the natural beauty around Villa de Leyva. Saw the Pozos Azules (“Blue Wells”) – amazingly bright blue pools, super out of place in their dry, rocky setting. A thousand times more wonderous though was El Sanctuario de Flora y Fauna de Iguaque, a nature preserve/true fantasy land. Literally a site of mythical beauty. The standard hike – NOT an easy one by any means – takes you up a mountain on a steep, slippery, muddy path, first through thick, wet jungle, until you emerge into the drier, rockier, elevated landscape. But a landscape unlike any I’d ever seen, covered in shallow, pale greenery, with the oddest plantlife, the strangest flowers. And the mountains all around you, farms in the distance below but so far away it seemed they weren’t even connected to this place. If that feeling weren’t enough, the end of the trail brings you to the Lagunas de Iguaque – a series of lakes where Muisca legend says human life originated. It was easy to see why they thought there were gods here. The flowery, plant-covered cliffs dropping to the water’s edge, thick white mist billowing over the tops of them and falling down on us, the peaceful quiet. It really felt magical. One hundred percent worth the hike.
Got back to reality, and then back to Bogotá just in time to throw something together for Halloween. Although head-to-toe costumes were hard to find, street corner wig/animal ear vendors had popped up all over the city, and we went with a Nightmare Before Christmas getup – super fun. Nearly got run over by a parade of zombies Friday night – they terrorized sausages stands and even stormed the transmilenio, stopping it in its tracks. Brilliant. Saturday night was the big party, though, the full costume event. Like in the States, bars and clubs are a nightmare, super crowded, hard to get into, and mad expensive. We went with a party bus option – flat rate, cheap booze, and automatic transport and entry into 4 different places. Madness. Departing from the Candelaria, our bus was mostly a hostel crowd, internationals going nuts on rum/vodka/tequila shots, and the bars of course were what you would expect: lights, loud music, scores of drunks dancing and screaming. We couldn’t have had a better time.
And life couldn’t be more wonderful. =)
Took a hint from the Bogotanos two weeks ago and got out of the city, to Villa de Leyva, a small colonial town/popular weekend getaway. Besides its cobblestone streets, wonderfully-preserved 16th century town square, and rows of simple white, clay tile-roofed shops, the town is known, of all things, for fossils. In prehistoric times, the area was covered by ocean, and to this day it’s wrought with fossils, homes are adorned with them, and you can of course see the best ones in museums. The guesthouse we stayed in – I went with Andres – even had one randomly embedded among the stones in the courtyard.
We passed the weekend wandering the streets, embarrassing ourselves trying to fit into a truly talented Saturday night salsa crowd, and falling into tourist traps. We saw what’s know as THE fossil – huge skeleton of some monstrous sea-dwelling dinosaur, a rare find, so we were told. Also checked out a ritual site of the area’s ancient inhabitants the Muisca people. Spanish missionaries named the place “El Infiernito” or “Little Hell,” in an effort to make people afraid of pagan worship. Consists of several stone pillars lined up, which created a sort of calendar for the people to keep track of the growing seasons. It’s advertise as “Colombia’s Stonehenge,” and coming in with that level of expectation, we were disappointed. But take away the comparison and it’s pretty neat. Even more amusing to me were the other ancient remnants surrounding the Infiernito – dozens of 5, 6, 7 feet high, crudely-sculpted, upright-toward-the-sky penises. How could you not giggle at least a little? The Muisca people followed a cult of fertility, hence the statues. For worship, and rituals. But come on. They ought to rent out Colombia’s Stonehenge for bachelorette parties.
Besides a bunch of really old rocks, we got a look at the natural beauty around Villa de Leyva. Saw the Pozos Azules (“Blue Wells”) – amazingly bright blue pools, super out of place in their dry, rocky setting. A thousand times more wonderous though was El Sanctuario de Flora y Fauna de Iguaque, a nature preserve/true fantasy land. Literally a site of mythical beauty. The standard hike – NOT an easy one by any means – takes you up a mountain on a steep, slippery, muddy path, first through thick, wet jungle, until you emerge into the drier, rockier, elevated landscape. But a landscape unlike any I’d ever seen, covered in shallow, pale greenery, with the oddest plantlife, the strangest flowers. And the mountains all around you, farms in the distance below but so far away it seemed they weren’t even connected to this place. If that feeling weren’t enough, the end of the trail brings you to the Lagunas de Iguaque – a series of lakes where Muisca legend says human life originated. It was easy to see why they thought there were gods here. The flowery, plant-covered cliffs dropping to the water’s edge, thick white mist billowing over the tops of them and falling down on us, the peaceful quiet. It really felt magical. One hundred percent worth the hike.
Got back to reality, and then back to Bogotá just in time to throw something together for Halloween. Although head-to-toe costumes were hard to find, street corner wig/animal ear vendors had popped up all over the city, and we went with a Nightmare Before Christmas getup – super fun. Nearly got run over by a parade of zombies Friday night – they terrorized sausages stands and even stormed the transmilenio, stopping it in its tracks. Brilliant. Saturday night was the big party, though, the full costume event. Like in the States, bars and clubs are a nightmare, super crowded, hard to get into, and mad expensive. We went with a party bus option – flat rate, cheap booze, and automatic transport and entry into 4 different places. Madness. Departing from the Candelaria, our bus was mostly a hostel crowd, internationals going nuts on rum/vodka/tequila shots, and the bars of course were what you would expect: lights, loud music, scores of drunks dancing and screaming. We couldn’t have had a better time.
And life couldn’t be more wonderful. =)
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Small Town Charms and Big City Sights
Have now lived in Colombia for over a month (?!?!?!). No more sign of my secret admirer, but meanwhile more important things have been happening.
First, the event with my internship three weeks ago, the Congreso de los Pueblos – huge gathering of thousands of people from all over the country, five days long, with speeches, forums, cultural events, and a massive march through the city at the end. I went with another guy from Witness, Diego, to accompany the event, meaning we were there to sort of… observe passively. The idea of accompaniment is that, as internationals, we don’t participate in demonstrations, but just by being there, we show that an issue is getting international attention, and that attention is a form of protection and encouragement for people that have chosen to stand up against some really powerful, influential opponents. A lot of the people at the Congreso, for example, were indigenous or Afro-Colombians, farmers, students, etc, who often don’t get a strong voice in national decision-making. And they came with a lot of demands concerning land rights, labor rights, etc., that most politicians and big businessmen don’t really want to hear. Here, confronting such powerful people can be seriously dangerous to one’s life. So that’s why we were there.
The weekend was fascinating. It was like they brought their small towns and rural lifestyle and just transplanted it right into the middle of Bogotá. Everyone camped out on a university campus. People started cooking fires, boiling giant vats of soup for lunch, smoking pigskins, and brewing fresh, homemade chicha. Tents and tarps formed little settlements. A long pipe was constructed to pump out water for simple, open, community showers. Little kids played in the grass. Small informal music circles broke out. I saw a Bogotano student on clarinet join in with an Afro-Colombian drumline, a whole new sound you wouldn’t traditionally hear. That was the point of the whole thing. To join forces. But the most magical part of it all was the weather. Prior to the Congreso, it rained every single day in Bogotá for two weeks, like clockwork. Miserable. That weekend, though, some of the events’ indigenous leaders let us know that their tribes’ elders had been at work in the mountains, performing rituals to ask Mother Nature to bless the event with good weather. And it stayed sunny for seven whole days. Only a few scarce drops, and the rest of the time we saw beautiful, clear skies. The power of being in touch with nature like that is astounding – I absolutely believe it made a difference.
So we saw the whole event, met a lot of people from all across Colombia, as well as some other accompaniers from various countries/organizations. We sampled regional flavors, observed dances, music, and works of art, and we witnessed a lot of passionate people at work. Many in Colombia really do struggle to hold onto some of the most basic of human rights. It was amazing to watch the emotion and the resolve they displayed when talking about their communities’ challenges, and even more, their personal experiences. Once again, you can read the blog post I wrote afterwards, here.
With the Congreso and work surrounding it, my birthday arrived before I could blink. Since it fell on a Monday, and since 23 is not exactly a landmark year, I didn’t really expect much, but I got a good extended weekend out of it. A friend from Mexico, Andres, arrived Friday to help me celebrate, and he was barely off the plane before I rushed him off to party hop. Most interesting was a bicentennial-themed party, since Colombia also celebrated 200 years of independence this year. People in 17th-century costumes everywhere, in a really old house with lots of creaky-floored dark rooms, music on every floor, and a fire. Chevere, as they say. Then, Sunday, met up with a friend from AU, Jorge Andres, and his friend from the States, Ryan, who, small world, is also from Saint Louis. Jorge showed us what Bogotanos do on Sundays – leave Bogotá. We got lunch in Chia, a little town about an hour outside the city that pretty much only exists for upper/middle-class Bogotanos to visit on weekends. Great food though, and a pretty drive.
Finally, then, the big day: I rang in my birthday at midnight with shots of cheap rum in the restaurant next door, surrounded by loud Italian Miguel, his Colombian wife Ingrid, the waitress, Sandra, my neighbors – Italian Walter, Puerto Rican George, Colombian Eduardo, Israeli Raz, and his dog, Chico – and Andres. Ingrid played a video of “Las Mañanitas” on youtube for me – the traditional Latin American birthday song, with a little cartoon mouse in a sombrero serenading you. Sometimes I think about how I used to imagine my life when I reached this age. Like I’m so old, I’m reminiscing on the illusions of my youth. Anyway this is definitely nowhere near what I pictured, and that makes me happy.
Birthday-day, went up Montserrate with Andres, Jorge, and Ryan. Montserrate is pretty much THE tourist attraction in Bogotá – church on top of a mountain that overlooks the city. We took a small train up, but they say if you hike it, you get absolved of all your sins. Amen. Anyway at the top, besides the rather generic little church, there’s an amazing view of the city and tons of vendors selling really typical Colombian food and beverages. We lunched on ajiaco, arepas, mazorca, canelazo, and coca tea. After one last look down the mountain, we descended, took a walk around downtown to check out some other landmarks (Presidential Residence, Casa de Monedas, Plaza Bolivar, etc.), and went for dinner and drinks. Aaaand just to make the good times last, we rounded it all off with dinner again the following night at Andres DC, a restaurant/club that reigns as the favorite celebration spot in the city for twenty-somethings. Since I arrived, there has been some kind of party at Andres at least once every weekend. Never a bad choice.
And so time flies!
First, the event with my internship three weeks ago, the Congreso de los Pueblos – huge gathering of thousands of people from all over the country, five days long, with speeches, forums, cultural events, and a massive march through the city at the end. I went with another guy from Witness, Diego, to accompany the event, meaning we were there to sort of… observe passively. The idea of accompaniment is that, as internationals, we don’t participate in demonstrations, but just by being there, we show that an issue is getting international attention, and that attention is a form of protection and encouragement for people that have chosen to stand up against some really powerful, influential opponents. A lot of the people at the Congreso, for example, were indigenous or Afro-Colombians, farmers, students, etc, who often don’t get a strong voice in national decision-making. And they came with a lot of demands concerning land rights, labor rights, etc., that most politicians and big businessmen don’t really want to hear. Here, confronting such powerful people can be seriously dangerous to one’s life. So that’s why we were there.
The weekend was fascinating. It was like they brought their small towns and rural lifestyle and just transplanted it right into the middle of Bogotá. Everyone camped out on a university campus. People started cooking fires, boiling giant vats of soup for lunch, smoking pigskins, and brewing fresh, homemade chicha. Tents and tarps formed little settlements. A long pipe was constructed to pump out water for simple, open, community showers. Little kids played in the grass. Small informal music circles broke out. I saw a Bogotano student on clarinet join in with an Afro-Colombian drumline, a whole new sound you wouldn’t traditionally hear. That was the point of the whole thing. To join forces. But the most magical part of it all was the weather. Prior to the Congreso, it rained every single day in Bogotá for two weeks, like clockwork. Miserable. That weekend, though, some of the events’ indigenous leaders let us know that their tribes’ elders had been at work in the mountains, performing rituals to ask Mother Nature to bless the event with good weather. And it stayed sunny for seven whole days. Only a few scarce drops, and the rest of the time we saw beautiful, clear skies. The power of being in touch with nature like that is astounding – I absolutely believe it made a difference.
So we saw the whole event, met a lot of people from all across Colombia, as well as some other accompaniers from various countries/organizations. We sampled regional flavors, observed dances, music, and works of art, and we witnessed a lot of passionate people at work. Many in Colombia really do struggle to hold onto some of the most basic of human rights. It was amazing to watch the emotion and the resolve they displayed when talking about their communities’ challenges, and even more, their personal experiences. Once again, you can read the blog post I wrote afterwards, here.
With the Congreso and work surrounding it, my birthday arrived before I could blink. Since it fell on a Monday, and since 23 is not exactly a landmark year, I didn’t really expect much, but I got a good extended weekend out of it. A friend from Mexico, Andres, arrived Friday to help me celebrate, and he was barely off the plane before I rushed him off to party hop. Most interesting was a bicentennial-themed party, since Colombia also celebrated 200 years of independence this year. People in 17th-century costumes everywhere, in a really old house with lots of creaky-floored dark rooms, music on every floor, and a fire. Chevere, as they say. Then, Sunday, met up with a friend from AU, Jorge Andres, and his friend from the States, Ryan, who, small world, is also from Saint Louis. Jorge showed us what Bogotanos do on Sundays – leave Bogotá. We got lunch in Chia, a little town about an hour outside the city that pretty much only exists for upper/middle-class Bogotanos to visit on weekends. Great food though, and a pretty drive.
Finally, then, the big day: I rang in my birthday at midnight with shots of cheap rum in the restaurant next door, surrounded by loud Italian Miguel, his Colombian wife Ingrid, the waitress, Sandra, my neighbors – Italian Walter, Puerto Rican George, Colombian Eduardo, Israeli Raz, and his dog, Chico – and Andres. Ingrid played a video of “Las Mañanitas” on youtube for me – the traditional Latin American birthday song, with a little cartoon mouse in a sombrero serenading you. Sometimes I think about how I used to imagine my life when I reached this age. Like I’m so old, I’m reminiscing on the illusions of my youth. Anyway this is definitely nowhere near what I pictured, and that makes me happy.
Birthday-day, went up Montserrate with Andres, Jorge, and Ryan. Montserrate is pretty much THE tourist attraction in Bogotá – church on top of a mountain that overlooks the city. We took a small train up, but they say if you hike it, you get absolved of all your sins. Amen. Anyway at the top, besides the rather generic little church, there’s an amazing view of the city and tons of vendors selling really typical Colombian food and beverages. We lunched on ajiaco, arepas, mazorca, canelazo, and coca tea. After one last look down the mountain, we descended, took a walk around downtown to check out some other landmarks (Presidential Residence, Casa de Monedas, Plaza Bolivar, etc.), and went for dinner and drinks. Aaaand just to make the good times last, we rounded it all off with dinner again the following night at Andres DC, a restaurant/club that reigns as the favorite celebration spot in the city for twenty-somethings. Since I arrived, there has been some kind of party at Andres at least once every weekend. Never a bad choice.
And so time flies!
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Well, that's new to me.
I have a secret admirer. Twice now I’ve found mysterious little gifts attached to my door – a flower crafted out of wire, and a heart-shaped balloon. Of all the unexpected occurrences that I could potentially encounter in this country, this would happen. Kind of fun though. I suspect the neighbor boy across the hall. We hung out a bit the weekend before last – Saturday night, went to a spot down the street to hear a band play costeña music and spy on the U.S. ambassador, who was there attempting to soak in a little culture incognito. And Sunday morning we went to the Gold Museum, which was surprisingly more interesting than I expected. But I believe now this boy is smitten. Or the real culprit is still out there…
More importantly, that Sunday I also attended an event as part of my internship, a concert supporting a group of men who are going through some complicated, and completely unjust, court procedures. All for organizing a workers’ strike two years ago – something they have every right to do. Even more alarmingly, for their leadership role in the strike, these men and their families have been the target of some serious intimidation tactics, even threats on their lives. This is not uncommon. Labor rights are a huge issue in this country. For example, out of 101 unionists murdered last year worldwide, 48 were Colombian. So almost half. Often because they choose to exercise rights that we in the States take for granted.
After the event Sunday, one of my duties was to write a short blog post about the event for Witness’s website, which you can read HERE, the first entry for October. Other duties lately: making speakers’ tour promotional videos, translating, and accompanying another event this past weekend (I’ll elaborate on this in the next post).
Back home in hostelworld, I pass the evenings with my neighbors and occasionally get to witness happy travelers making memories. The other night, for example, I came across Miguel in the restaurant, having a few beers after hours with some guys from the neighborhood. I joined, and eventually a few backpackers wandered in – a Brazilian and a Canadian who wanted food but settled for the wine that Miguel offered. More time goes by. Miguel is being loud and dancing. My other neighbors egg him on. The Israeli guy from across the street comes in, Hebrew-speaking black lab always in tow. A bum outside passes by the open door with his cart and stops, a huge teeth-baring smile plastered on his face, eyes glazed over. Miguel calls out to him, the guy keeps smiling brainlessly, Miguel praises him as the happiest man he knows, then blasts the music and goes on singing in Portuguese. It wouldn’t have been that noteworthy of a night, except what I really liked was watching how much the backpackers were enjoying the whole scene. They absolutely loved it. “Life is so random,” the girl says, and it’s fun because I know that feeling when you just stumble upon the unexpected. And when a situation so normal to some people, seems so extraordinary to someone else.
Some other ordinary things that are new to me: Using the Transmilenio, the city’s mass transit system, which is highly confusing and obnoxious in my opinion. But a challenge. Also, foods like arepas – corn patties grilled and usually filled with cheese or meat, or just loaded with butter and salt, and chicha – traditional indigenous fermented corn drink, really sweet and somehow delicious, unlike the Mexican counterpart (pulque) which I hated. I also drink a lot of tinto – black coffee, served in tiny, tiny little cups.
I could go on. But long story short, there’s plenty to discover in Bogotá.
More importantly, that Sunday I also attended an event as part of my internship, a concert supporting a group of men who are going through some complicated, and completely unjust, court procedures. All for organizing a workers’ strike two years ago – something they have every right to do. Even more alarmingly, for their leadership role in the strike, these men and their families have been the target of some serious intimidation tactics, even threats on their lives. This is not uncommon. Labor rights are a huge issue in this country. For example, out of 101 unionists murdered last year worldwide, 48 were Colombian. So almost half. Often because they choose to exercise rights that we in the States take for granted.
After the event Sunday, one of my duties was to write a short blog post about the event for Witness’s website, which you can read HERE, the first entry for October. Other duties lately: making speakers’ tour promotional videos, translating, and accompanying another event this past weekend (I’ll elaborate on this in the next post).
Back home in hostelworld, I pass the evenings with my neighbors and occasionally get to witness happy travelers making memories. The other night, for example, I came across Miguel in the restaurant, having a few beers after hours with some guys from the neighborhood. I joined, and eventually a few backpackers wandered in – a Brazilian and a Canadian who wanted food but settled for the wine that Miguel offered. More time goes by. Miguel is being loud and dancing. My other neighbors egg him on. The Israeli guy from across the street comes in, Hebrew-speaking black lab always in tow. A bum outside passes by the open door with his cart and stops, a huge teeth-baring smile plastered on his face, eyes glazed over. Miguel calls out to him, the guy keeps smiling brainlessly, Miguel praises him as the happiest man he knows, then blasts the music and goes on singing in Portuguese. It wouldn’t have been that noteworthy of a night, except what I really liked was watching how much the backpackers were enjoying the whole scene. They absolutely loved it. “Life is so random,” the girl says, and it’s fun because I know that feeling when you just stumble upon the unexpected. And when a situation so normal to some people, seems so extraordinary to someone else.
Some other ordinary things that are new to me: Using the Transmilenio, the city’s mass transit system, which is highly confusing and obnoxious in my opinion. But a challenge. Also, foods like arepas – corn patties grilled and usually filled with cheese or meat, or just loaded with butter and salt, and chicha – traditional indigenous fermented corn drink, really sweet and somehow delicious, unlike the Mexican counterpart (pulque) which I hated. I also drink a lot of tinto – black coffee, served in tiny, tiny little cups.
I could go on. But long story short, there’s plenty to discover in Bogotá.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Colombia: the Final Chapter (this year)
I’ve hit the final destination. Until December, I’m renting a room in Bogotá’s historic, colorful, charming yet dirty downtown center, in a neighborhood called La Candelaria. A long hallway connects my room to five others, occupied by one Italian DJ, two Colombian EMTs, and two other girls I have yet to properly meet. With the bunch of them, plus the owner, Blanca, who lives behind us, and another Italian, Miguel, who runs the adjoining restaurant (complete with secret door that connects to our hallway), there is always activity happening, and always music blasting. When my room starts to feel too small, I sneak into the restaurant to hang out with Miguel – the most stereotypical Italian I’ve ever met with his LOUD voice and over-expressive gestures – and his two waitresses. Hopefully picking up some cooking tricks.
I try to avoid spending too much time in my room, because I’m getting what I pay for, which is not much. Since I’ve been to Bogotá before, I’ve already hit some main attractions during past visits – the Plaza Bolivar, for example, and the Botero Museum (both great). Besides tourist stuff, though, just walking around the city makes for a decently entertaining afternoon, especially in my neighborhood. La Candelaria is backpacker central, overflowing with hostels and all their supplementary perks: restaurants, bars, internet cafes, laundry services, etc. This works to my advantage because I have everything I need at my fingertips, and there’s never a shortage of random foreigners to talk to. Unfortunately there’s also no shortage of pickpockets ready to target careless travelers. But I’m not terribly worried.
So far, the best moment hostelworld has yielded happened last Friday night, my second night in town. After the bars shut down, I ended up in a hostel down the street with two Irish backpackers and a Colombian ex-helicopter-pilot-turned-musician. Picture: Four people in a tiny cell of a room. Colombian guy singing and playing guitar, Irish guy joining in on his little Irish flute, both of them improvising, working out the music together as they went. Irish girl and me swaying, humming, singing along to the songs we knew, trying to learn the ones we didn’t. I don’t expect I’ll ever again hear a traditional Irish flute accompany an acoustic ballad sung in Spanish.
This past week, I also got to reunite with a few Colombian friends who used to study with me in DC. One of them took me with her parents to a park outside the city called Panaca – like a glorified farm, where you can see pig races, horse shows, etc, and pet the animals, or even just sit and enjoy the gorgeous mountain view. This is where I got my first taste of panela, made of dehydrated sugar cane juice and used in teas and other sweet dishes, especially in different corn and/or dairy combos. I’m seeing that food-wise, where most Mexicans would use chili, Colombians often use either sugar or butter. Score one, Colombia.
And finally, to bring some productivity to the scene, last Wednesday I started my internship with Witness for Peace. In brief, Witness works on social justice issues in Latin American countries, specifically with relation to U.S. foreign policy. In Colombia, this includes a wide variety of complicated problems that I could spend days explaining. My first day of work alone included a meeting with RECALCA – a coalition of NGOs working against free trade agreements in Colombia, and a second meeting with a woman named Daira who was forcibly displaced from her home in the southwest of the country, and who is about to travel with Witness on a speaker’s tour in the States. She was outstanding.
All together, a good start to what will hopefully be a great experience. I’m excited to see what unfolds!
I try to avoid spending too much time in my room, because I’m getting what I pay for, which is not much. Since I’ve been to Bogotá before, I’ve already hit some main attractions during past visits – the Plaza Bolivar, for example, and the Botero Museum (both great). Besides tourist stuff, though, just walking around the city makes for a decently entertaining afternoon, especially in my neighborhood. La Candelaria is backpacker central, overflowing with hostels and all their supplementary perks: restaurants, bars, internet cafes, laundry services, etc. This works to my advantage because I have everything I need at my fingertips, and there’s never a shortage of random foreigners to talk to. Unfortunately there’s also no shortage of pickpockets ready to target careless travelers. But I’m not terribly worried.
So far, the best moment hostelworld has yielded happened last Friday night, my second night in town. After the bars shut down, I ended up in a hostel down the street with two Irish backpackers and a Colombian ex-helicopter-pilot-turned-musician. Picture: Four people in a tiny cell of a room. Colombian guy singing and playing guitar, Irish guy joining in on his little Irish flute, both of them improvising, working out the music together as they went. Irish girl and me swaying, humming, singing along to the songs we knew, trying to learn the ones we didn’t. I don’t expect I’ll ever again hear a traditional Irish flute accompany an acoustic ballad sung in Spanish.
This past week, I also got to reunite with a few Colombian friends who used to study with me in DC. One of them took me with her parents to a park outside the city called Panaca – like a glorified farm, where you can see pig races, horse shows, etc, and pet the animals, or even just sit and enjoy the gorgeous mountain view. This is where I got my first taste of panela, made of dehydrated sugar cane juice and used in teas and other sweet dishes, especially in different corn and/or dairy combos. I’m seeing that food-wise, where most Mexicans would use chili, Colombians often use either sugar or butter. Score one, Colombia.
And finally, to bring some productivity to the scene, last Wednesday I started my internship with Witness for Peace. In brief, Witness works on social justice issues in Latin American countries, specifically with relation to U.S. foreign policy. In Colombia, this includes a wide variety of complicated problems that I could spend days explaining. My first day of work alone included a meeting with RECALCA – a coalition of NGOs working against free trade agreements in Colombia, and a second meeting with a woman named Daira who was forcibly displaced from her home in the southwest of the country, and who is about to travel with Witness on a speaker’s tour in the States. She was outstanding.
All together, a good start to what will hopefully be a great experience. I’m excited to see what unfolds!
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