All that you CAN leave behind

So I decided on another update seeing as I have one or two stories to tell. Stories and revelations. As the sun shines brightly here in Bogota for the first time since my arrival, I’m reading of floods back home in SA and Mozambique. And what of the power cuts that send the rand tumbling, cripple the economy and enrage all of you unlucky enough to be suffering through it? further a field, the world now seems to be in the grips of what looks like a recession, with the US stock markets tumbling to their worst levels since 9/11. Amy Winehouse and dearest Britters won’t be around for too much longer and Brokeback Heath is gone. RIP.

It all gets me thinking of how removed I am from all of this, especially the stuff going on in SA. It happens slowly I guess, but one day you wake up and realise that many of the things you were evidently and unpreventably immersed in, are now only living in your memories. …and if they only exist there, what is it that now fills your life? what indeed!?

I suppose it was obvious for some to see and I was rationally aware of it too, but my day to day life in SA was overflowing with my own frustration at being stuck. Treading water. Even suffocating. I often lacked motivation and frequently felt like escape was the only way of dealing with the otherwise seemingly insurmountable and mundane (for me) innards of my life.

Hilton today....new, improved and more deadly than ever!

The dreams I had were speculation at best and my own description of them sounded hollow and unachievable to me. Who am I kidding here? Do I really think that this ‘movie script’ is within my reach? I often quietly resigned myself to failure, but tried to console myself by thinking that I will at least have given the kid a good last run. I felt like it was only a matter of time before I would have to fold up the dreams and ideals and pack them away forever, only to be reminisced over and never to be delved into again. I berated my own child-like pursuit of what?... I couldn’t even tell that!


I recall dreams in the last couple of years where I’m desperately trying to run, but my legs won’t move and its as if they are asleep. I am willing them to bear me away, with everything that I can muster, but I remain stuck and in pain.


Things have turned out differently though.


I read about Selebi, Zuma, speeding MPs, corruption, politics / sport and I can almost hear the collective gnashing of teeth as everyone stumbles and fumbles onward. And yet I’m not a part of it now. It almost leaves me with a feeling of guilt. almost.


I’m still close enough to feel the gray sadness and I fleetingly grasp the almost imperceptible weight of it all. Its that gnawing subconscious questioning of your circumstances, which you beat down whenever the whining and whimpering becomes too loud. Almost like an annoying and mangy stray dog that you keep shooing away from your front gate, while cursing under your breath at its undeserved ability to tug at your dirty conscience. Can anyone tell that I just read Disgrace by JM Coetzee?


So, here I am, looking back at it all while flinching, blushing, grinning at how obvious it all was and how easy it is to make another choice. This is not an advert for Trainspotting, by the way.
How exactly is it all different then, and what is it that changes? Small things I guess. Here are some personal manifestations of the change that is more generally within reach for all of us. Firstly, and somewhat amusingly, I’ve started cooking meals. I last did this some years back. I made a demon chicken curry with plantain the other night for Sergio, his sister and some of their friends. We savoured the meal with some Bombay Sapphire gin, which I lugged all the way from SA, and tonic with slices of cucumber. Sergio cranked up some Vusi Mahlasela and I breathed deeply. This was damn good! The essence of my home, my place, coursed through my veins, even as I sadly reflected on all the imperfections.


In a way I’m quite domesticated now. You’ll spot me in the supermarket picking out some weird and exotic fruit for the next day’s breakfast, or slowly reading the labels on a Chilean bottle of Chardonnay, which I’ve decided will go well with the evenings meal, or inspecting all the different kinds of honey for one that best goes with my precious mint and green tea. Yup, there I am, shuffling around the isles with my shopping basket and Wayuu pouch, ready to carry home my prizes. Maybe I’ll be sitting in the old part of town with a book, some music and a cup of that awesome Juan Valdez coffee.


(Incidentally, I am fast running out of books. I’ve read four in the last three weeks! I’m
now ceremoniously jogging my way through 100 years of Solitude. Kind of fitting with my being here and all. I shall have to find an English book store soon. This is not easy)


I walk. lots. and I smile when I’m doing it. I used to walk only when I felt like I was at deaths door.

Going for a walk around Bogota...always armed with Wayuu pouch!

But, I can’t possibly explain all the small things that have changed. More important is what the collective points towards. All I can say is that the bigger picture of my life has flipped on its head. Efforts to escape, frustration, self loathing and even my own attempts to destroy have been replaced with calm, excitement, bucket loads of stimulation and feelings of wonderment, motivation and most importantly belief. Belief in that which you can’t necessarily see, and all that you can leave behind.


My life is by no means a lovely garden filled with yellow tulips and ripe bananas, not at all, but I am free of a number of things that I seriously doubted would ever leave me. Look, shady politicians, for instance, are everywhere. That’s not what I’m driving at here. Its more like a realization that we are all far from nailed to the things that we painfully accept as permanent and diseased parts of our lives. Too strong? Maybe, but it takes a little strength sometimes.
Just this week I struggled with local universities, UNISA, FNB and even my previous employer who, it appears, over paid me to the tune of 60 grand in December. Ouch. It hurt to pay that back and I wished that the payroll department’s incompetence would just have extended a little further than merely making the mistake in the first place.


Everyday I blunder through basic interactions with my broken Spanish. I strain to fill all the gaps in my understanding. I push myself to attempt and conquer things that others hardly give a second thought to. Catching a bus. Asking for help. Getting information. But, through it all there is something that’s now awake, breathing, ticking. I intend to keep nurturing it, feeding it, until it fills me and I know I can forever take comfort in its voice, now my own. I know that all sounds fairly dramatic but I’m making a fist of trying to explain something which takes a lot of digging to unearth.


Next week I will leave for Medellin, where numerous challenges also lie waiting for me. I’m excited, hoping for that perspiration of the soul that comes after its had a good work out.
Many people create markers and physical indicators to measure their own success, whether it be socially, professionally / financially or even in their relationships. How strange then that I now posses very little in the way of tangible trappings or concrete confirmation to satisfy these self-imposed and publicly endorsed appraisals, and yet, I’m more filled with contentment than at any other time in my life. I have no job yet, no comforting circle of friends, no significant other to call when all else fails. No one is telling me how much potential I have. There is no back slapping or mollycoddling here. Instead and unconventionally, I have confidence, motivation and most importantly, inspiration. That is all. Is it enough? Sure feels like it, but I’ll keep you posted for sure.


Right, so that’s it for my philosophical ranting. Tune in for more next time I send a mail!I don’t have that much to share in the way of oddities this time around. Maybe it is because I am now also becoming odd. More odd. What I do have to share is just one mildly amusing story:Sergio meets me in La Candelaria (old part of town in Bogota) last week Friday afternoon. I’m with his sister and some university friends, playing tourist and gaping at the old Spanish style buildings with all their colours. The cobbled streets add to the scenery and it very much resembles Granada or Seville in Spain. Sergio has other, more pressing things on his mind. He’s not had a joint for weeks and its starting to tell. The man is edgy and clearly frustrated at not knowing how to resolve this matter in a city which is fairly new to him too. Personally, I think there is another factor that also adds to the edginess, but the males among you can guess at that one.

Maria Amelia (Sergio's sister, on the right) and university mates

Today, though, Sergio has a plan. One of his shady friends has kindly informed him that there is a shop, right here in La Candelaria, that sells what he is looking for: clean green sweet smelling salvation! I asked him if this was a bit like the Rasta House in Yeoville, Jozi and by all accounts it apparently closely resembles this kind of setup. That means that you walk into this place, ask for the sort and amount you are looking for (ward to), pay and enjoy. Sort of like a take away...for dagga. Did I mention that Sergio was also the one to find the Rasta House in Yeoville? This man has street cred dammit!!So, in the interests of observing new local customs, I decided to accompany my trusty friend on his quest. First though, we had to have a beer… just to take the edge off the week that was. You can’t undertake a mission like this when you’re sober in any event. It requires the cool confidence that comes with imbibing alcohol.


Step one completed, we made our way through the maze of small streets, while Sergio recounted the directions given to him. So, we get to this quiet little road with children playing on the streets, some small cafe’s and bars and a guitar shop. I’m not seeing the neon sign that says ‘Weed sold HERE!’ and Sergio also seems to be quite confused about where to go. He decides to make another phone call to get some clarity on the situation, while I wander up the road inspecting the little shops. In front of me is what appears to be just the front room of an apartment. Its almost as if the whole front wall has been removed to reveal a severely obese old lady, who looks like she has had multiple strokes, sitting in a large armchair, staring impassively out at the street. Each eye is looking in its own direction (impassively of course) and I am somewhat taken aback with the thoughts of Buddha, bull-frogs and chameleons rushing through my head. She has both hands tucked into here apron and on her lap, which adds to the poor man’s Buddhist likeness. The room is separated from the street by a small gate spanning what used to be the front wall I guess. The room is dark. At the one end of the front wall opening there is a cage with 6,7 maybe 8 canaries jumping around inside. They’re all different colours (painted?) and at various stages of terminal illness / suicide. Some of them hardly have feathers left. They are making quite the racket. I’m wondering if the old lady passes the time by watching them fall off their perches one by one when she is not watching the shadows moving across the street outside.

Look like your average neighborhood?.....Marijuana is sold here!

So, I’m watching this with some amusement when Sergio crossed the street, walks past me, neatly opens the gate and enters the room with Buddha frog woman! Surely this must be a mistake!? This sorry spectacle is a weed selling operation?


He approaches the old lady who blinks at him with what I’m assuming is her good eye. Hand in front of his mouth, he murmurs what must be Spanish for ‘Have you got the stuff?’. The sickly canaries are screeching like demented banshees by now. The drama of it all!


I’m half crouching behind him waiting to engage fight or flight mode if some burly ogre man should appear with a machete or worse! This is just too weird!


Well, she merely removes one of her hands from the apron and in it she is clutching two neatly tied plastic pouches crammed full of marijuana! I’m completely stunned at this stage and can’t believe what I’m seeing! Sergio hands over a 20 000 peso note and the old ladies other hand appears with change.


We walk out of the room with not so much as a backward glance, being careful to close the little gate behind us. Kids on the street are looking at us with a knowing glint in their eyes. I’m wondering where the camera’s are hidden because this can’t be real. There is something quite wrong about taking weed from an elderly lady I reckon...like taking candy from a kid?! I don’t know, but the chuckling does not stop for a number of blocks.Needless to say the stuff is horrible and reduces one to a massively gluttonous, retarded and eventually comatose waste of life. I woke up on Saturday, certain that I had a hernia from over eating and vowing to never touch this devil’s lettuce again!

A look of innocence as Sergio and I escape the scene of the crime!

It was a damn funny experience though!

Well that’s it for now. I must run and soak in the warm afterglow of Polly’s scintillating performance against the Windies. Thank goodness for Cricinfo.com!

Back in Colombia and bye-bye Costa Rica

Costa Rica was fun but seemed like another world compared to Colombia. For me the main differences were:

• Costa Rica is very touristy (menu’s in English quoting dollars and soo much hotel development everywhere?!)
  
• Almost everyone here spoke English (as a result my Spanish went backwards)
  There were far fewer police and less military presence than in Colombia
  
• Too many gringos for my liking! Think spring break and frat parties! Obviously this was not the case in all places, but certainly close to the airports
  
• Lots of surfing and way more waves than I saw in Colombia (gimme time!)

As far as similarities go you would have to say that both places are stunningly beautiful and packed full of tropical wonders. Travelling with Aly meant that there obviously had to be strange fruit and food sampled from as many street vendors as possible...just to try! Well I am still suffering from a tummy some five days after leaving Costa Rica! It feels as if some small and angry jungle animal with nasty claws is living inside me. How did it get in there?

Anyway, onto some cleaner and more relevant topics. So the trip started on the Pacific Coast at a pleasant little beach town called Playa Samara. A nice spot and pretty quiet. We were able to do some surfing and basically relaxed for the first couple of days. Aly and I hung out with her parents (Hope and Barry) and the Hotel where we all stayed was a lovely digs. I missed the family on Christmas at the customary beach house piss up, and it seems that it was more of the same as dad apparently went shirtless at one point in the drunkenness. Ah, yes, the Johnson’s know how it should be done. Charlotte had also just returned from Paris and I was sad not to have had the chance to see her before I left.

The beach at Playa Samara and my first view of the Pacific!

A little taste of home in Costa Rica!

The beach in front of the Hotel where we stayed

So, on the 27th we moved to the volcanic and rain forested central part of Costa Rica. We stayed at a place called Monteverde which is close to the town of Santa Elana. On the way there I was co-pilot and Aly was driving with Hope and Barry in the back. Now to say that Hope is a nervous passenger would be somewhat of an understatement. We had heard that the road to Monteverde could get bumpy at stages and hence the hired car was a 4 by 4...a very small Daihatsu 4 by 4. Once we had left the national road the conditions seemed to deteriorate rapidly with us somehow ending up on what can only be described as a rough mountain track / path at best. Suddenly there were no other vehicles to be spotted either and things got mighty quiet. Still Barry and I seemed to think that this must be the right way. We are men after all and renowned for our ability to interpret maps! I must confess to being really impressed with Aly’s driving and this little Daihatsu’s ability to get over this mountain path. It was literally like rock climbing with a car at stages as we all (except and because of the periodically gasping and squealing Hope) tried to remain calm and held onto the belief that we were going the right way. We passed some farmers who seemed to look at us quizzically and motioned for us to continue onwards and merely said ‘4 by 4, si?!’, ‘Monteverde, si!’ , ‘ Veinte minutos, si!’ when I tried to get some more info out of them. sick bastards! 20 minutes my @ss!

Aly looking quite calm as we take a break on the way to Monteverde

Half way up at one of the steeper and scarier points I spotted what looked like a moerse Puff-adder snake (more than a meter long) slowly slithering off the road. As luck would have it the only other person who saw it was Hope and as I mentioned it casually, Aly immediately stopped the car on this major incline. Big mistake! Well this was almost too much for Hope as pandemonium seemed to break out in the car with the fear of the snake and the incline combined reducing her to a white-knuckled, seat grabbing, incoherent, screaming wreck. We didn’t stop for long.

This was the view from the top of the mountain track

About 1.5 hours later we seemed to emerge onto a main dirt road and the first signs of civilizations started to reappear. Not a moment too soon I reckon. Turned out later that we had taken a ‘short cut’ and that it was really only meant for 4 wheelers! no kidding! I swear if I ever find those damn farmers!

Some hummingbirds at a feeder where we stopped for coffee. Amazing little things

So Monteverde reminded me a little of Pilgrim’s Rest in Mpumalanga except with more hotels. It was generally a most charming little place but seemed to have developed just a tad too far with some major hotels looking out of place on the hills around town. Adverts for the activities were pasted all over town and a stay there obviously meant carefully planning each half and full day activity for the duration of the trip. Some of the activities included canopy / zip-line tours, walks in the cloud forest, night walks, ATV 4-wheeler rides (annoying!), horse-riding, coffee tours, butterfly tours, orchid tours, trips to the snake and frog park, suspension bridge walks...and all at a moments notice it seemed. Gringo’s take their holidays seriously! Well we only ended up staying two days in the end as it was super rainy and windy and hanging out at the hotel really wasn’t that fun. Aly and I did however get a chance to go on the zip-lines and that was really amazing. Some of them were over 750 meters long and more than 400 meters high! We seemed to cross entire valleys and at speed! very cool.

Aly preparing for the next zip line

We decided to head back to the beach and our next destination a day earlier and so set off for a spot that was further North but still on the Pacific, called Playa Del Coco. The name should have been a warning. Coco beach?! Well I’m not going to say too much about this place except that it was a horrible nest of Gringo’s and rich Costa Ricans all gathered into one small space that looked like rich people’s vomit pasted onto the hillsides next to the coast. Concrete, building sites, tourist and estate agent offices, casino’s, ATV’s, crowded beaches and sun burnt drunkards. yuck. We actually found a fairly quiet nice place to stay in a complex close to the sea on the mildly calmer next beach called Playa Hermosa (Pretty Beach?!).

Taking a drive in Playa Hermosa

So one of the funny / memorable / dangerous moments happened there on new years eve. We booked to have dinner at a nice Spanish Tapas restaurant called Ginger. A couple of cocktails and a wonderful meal later we decided to take our mellowed out selves to the beach for the countdown and festivities.

New years dinner with Hope and Barry

Barry and Hope came with and apparently the Four Seasons Hotel was going to put on a major fireworks display from across the bay. As we got onto the beach the party was raging at a number of beach bars with fireworks already going off periodically. We sat amidst the crowd and waited for the countdown. As we sat down some fireworks went off quite close to us and I remember glancing over at Barry and Hope nervously as we tried to focus elsewhere. At the stroke of midnight and with the crescendo of cheering just starting I looked behind us just in time to see a firework rocket land right next to us. A massive bang and explosion, white light and my ears were ringing as I tried to register what was going on. Amazingly nothing went into my eyes, but I was more worried about Hope and Barry as it was far closer to them. Hope and Aly were running away from the scene with Hope furiously rubbing at her head as if something was burning. It appeared to be nothing too serious though and Aly seemed fine. It took me a while however, to spot Barry. He was some 50 meters away by this time and running at some pace towards to the water while grabbing at his back. Have any of you seen that scene in in Taladega Nights with Will Ferrell where he is in a car accident and then believes he is on fire? It was sort of like that with Barry also convinced that he was on fire and leaving the rest of us for dead in a desperate attempt to get to the water to douse the flames. Man did he move fast! I couldn’t help laughing but that spelt the end of our new years and we got off the beach pretty quickly, cursing the crazy Tico’s and thankful that none of us got really injured. Hope did have a small patch of her hair burnt off and blister on her scalp where the hair used to be. Fireworks...not cool!

Moments before we are almost blown up and burnt alive!

So Hope and Barry left for the States from there on the 2nd and Aly and I had to then decide where we wanted to go. I searched the Lonely Planet and found a spot diagonally on the other side of the country which sounded really nice. The guide book talked of jungle, long beaches, the biggest waves in Costa Rica and Caribbean vibes. I was sold. Aly and I then decided to rent another car and set off on this journey which took the better part of 9 hours to complete in the end. The roads were also packed with people going back to San Jose after the new years parties / explosions. Soon after going through San Jose (about half way and we got totally lost in the city) we hit rain and one of the national parks known for its rain forests. It seemed to carry on for hours as we descended from the highlands closer to the more tropical low-lying areas. Then suddenly the rain was gone and we were in the province of Limon! It was stunningly beautiful and everything I would have imagined Costa Rica to be with jungle, forest and rivers creating some breathtaking scenery.

The road to Puerto Viejo. Stunning.

Puerto Viejo at sunset

We got to the little town of Puerto Viejo at dusk that evening and stayed in a charming guest house run by some old hippy geezer who looked well stoned when we pulled in there. I was so happy to see black people again, I can’t even explain. The charming caaaraabeeeyan accent could be heard even through the Spanish. yay!

The next couple of days were spent doing some relaxing and fun things like riding bikes along the coast, going for massages, eating sushi (I hadn’t seen a sushi place since I left SA!), drinking fruit smoothies made from every imaginable and as yet undiscovered fruit, going for massages and surfing. I also got to see this legendary reef break monster wave called the Salsa Brava. Its not for beginners as you could get smashed on the shallow reef, but certainly forms part of a larger surfers paradise in the area. I loved this place and it seemed like a really international spot too with over 40 languages apparently spoken by the residents of the little town. What made it different to the previous place we had been was that there seemed to be a real focus on protecting the natural surroundings and customs of the local people. Very balanced and healthy looking.

Taking a bike ride in Puerto Viejo

Aly enjoying the scenery

The massage temple in the forest at Puerto Viejo

Gringos get a lesson in Surfing (Puerto Viejo)

I'm showing everyone how its really done here. Grace, balance, poetry...

On the 6th we had to leave super early as Aly had to be in the north of the country at noon to catch her flight. I was dropped off in San Jose as I flew from there the next day and it was an especially sad goodbye. We had a great holiday and a lovely peak at this friendly country.
I was looking forward to getting stuck into life here in Colombia. After the Customary hiccup with Colombian immigration officials (I was the last to be let through as the bastards casually debated I don’t know what. they wouldn’t speak English!) I was back at Sergio’s pad and planning my next couple of weeks.

So far it seems like I’ll be doing an intensive Spanish course at one of the universities either here in Bogota or in Medellin. I’m kind of leaning towards Medellin cus its so damn cold here in Bogota and I don’t deal with the cold!

I’ve also chatted to one or two connections that Sergio has within the National Commission for Reparation and Reconciliation and it appears like there might be some opportunities for me to work with some of the ex-combatants, victims, displaced people and poorer communities in a change management capacity in the coming months. I’m excited about that and will be attending a luncheon to meet some of the people next week some time.

So, that is where it’s at right now. I’ll end with customary note of oddities and strange things I have noticed in the last couple of weeks:

• Two days ago I ate Capivara (or Chiguiro as its called here). For those of you who don’t know, its like a monster rat / guinea pig and is the largest rodent on earth. Found in Latin America, it is apparently somewhat of a delicacy. I found it quite pleasant in fact. …somewhere in between pork and chicken, these fillets were. Yum! Although I couldn’t tell if it was actually yellow or if that was just the marinade?
  
• Bikers with bibs - All people on a motorcycle must wear a bib (including passengers) with the license plate number of the bike on the back and front. I asked Sergio about this and he said that it was because of the number of assassinations performed by people on bikes. This way, if someone is not wearing a bib that can instantly identify them to the thousands of cops around the city, they are immediately pulled over and fined heavily. Extreme!
  
• Cold Showers - When I was reading the lonely planet for South America they mentioned that one had to become used to cold water more often than not. I dismissed this as something that would only occur in seedy backpackers. I was wrong! It seems like the entire Latin America really does not place a high priority on hot water. WTF?! I’m freezing my balls off! I need hot water! At best they have these contraptions fastened to the shower head which heats the water when it comes through. Problem is that anything more powerful than a trickle and you have a cold shower. The trickle shower is demeaning and no-one should have to suffer through this. Sergio, exceptionally, seems to have a geezer but he never uses it! Its turned off all the time! Well, I think he noticed the panicky look in my eyes after he showed me how the trickle system works seeing as he has it switched on. Its like a special occasion treat?! And its the same everywhere!
  
• North Vs. South - Yesterday I went to the northern part of the city for the first time. It was like stepping into another world. Sergio stays in an area called Champinero and its kind of how Sunnyside in Pta was 15 years ago with an artsy Melville edge to it. Lots of flats, bars, music stores and single people. There are certainly some edgier looking people on the street. Well the north is kind of like Hydepark and Sandton all rolled into one with everyone on the street. Massive malls, Snazzy restaurants, designer stores, rich kids oozing labels and cops with dogs checking all the cars that park in the malls for bombs. every single one! money money money! The difference was stark!
  
• The South American Zuma - So I’ve got the scoop on Hugo Chavez (president of Venezuela). This man is a raging lunatic and seems to represent where Zuma could be in about ten years time. He has this plan to unite all of South America especially the countries that Simon Bolivar originally liberated and which were one country, namely: Colombia, Venezuela, Ecuador, Panama and Bolivia I think. Plans to assume control of Colombia (the only US ally in South America. Mexico is Central) have him in bed with the guerillas (Las FARC) and that is why he is involved in getting them to release hostages as they have just done. They are reputed to be operating on the Venezuelan side of the border regularly with him even funding some of their operations in Colombia. This guy reckons his hero is Simon Bolivar and wants to re-unite the Bolivaran countries first and foremost. At a meeting some years ago he even asked a seat be kept open next to him for the spirit of Simon Bolivar! He also wants to bring conflict to a head with the United States by pursuing control of Colombia. Chavez reckons that his oil money and the guerillas are more than enough to take the Gringos! He has just had a major public spat with Uribe (the right wing president of Colombia). His own parliamentarians are starting to seriously question his sanity. Dangerous man! His involvement with the guerillas could spill this country into a more all-encompassing war in years to come.