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.

Travelling in the North of Colombia and Arriving in Costa Rica

I’ve just arrived in Costa Rica and I’m staying in a small little beach resort town called Samara. Its quite nice to kick back and enjoy some superficial comforts. The last week was full of adventure and exposure to things that I had previously only heard about, at most.

Sergio, Mayra and I set off around the middle of December on an incredible journey into the northern desert of Colombia and to a province called La Guajira. Sergio, being the anthropologist sort, took us on a really unique trip which mostly revolved around a certain indigenous group of people from Colombia called the Wayuu.

Some of the Wayuu youngsters we met in Uribia - La Guajira

We learnt a lot about their customs, challenges facing them on a daily basis and even got to stay with a family for a night on their Rancheria. This is a small type of traditional home built out of mud and wood. They cooked for us and regaled us with stories about a life that was truly foreign to me. The children loved the fact that I’m from Africa and absolute pandemonium broke out when they heard I was wearing a bracelet made from elephant hair! Obviously I added some colourful details to the story of how I got this elephant hair. I just grabbed the pachyderm by the tail of course! Well they loved that and screeched with laughter!

Wayuu mom cooking dinner for us. She is not doubt the matriarch in this home

The hammocks we slept in on our first night at the Rancheria

The Wayuu family that took us in and taught us a little about their lives

Some of the children curiously viewing the strangers on the Rancheria

We slept in Hammocks for a couple of days which definitely takes a little getting used to. Sleeping and showers, never mind hot ones, were not high on the priority list during these couple of days. Lack of sleep was especially tough for me to deal with at times. One thing I’ve learnt about this country is that there is NEVER silence. This is tough for someone who sleeps as lightly as I do, and who could blame me when my home is in Johannesburg and more particularly the Wild Westdene!? At least the noises here were mostly harmless. In the cities its the blaring music 24 hours a day and in the rural areas it was farting (seriously this old Wayuu fellow could be heard from some distance at night and I thought I was bad! I was most grateful that we were sleeping outside), roosters, mosquitoes, goats bleating and more music. At times I just could not believe how noisy it is! I was occasionally frustrated at not being able to communicate, but its all spurring me on to learn more quickly.

Spending time with Sergio and Mayra was always a laugh a minute and I can scarcely imagine two better companions for a trip like this. Its hard to believe that its over already. Sometimes it really gave the trip more of an accidental air than anything that might have been borne out of a plan of sorts. I’d honestly prefer to not know the truth.

There is always time for a roadside empanada with Mayra and Sergio

After our night on the Rancheria we moved to the desolate little beach town of Cabo De La Vela. Here there was still no electricity and it seemed to me like a place completely removed from everything. This was more relaxing for sure with hammocks lining the pristine beach that seemed more like the shores of a really big lake. It was so quiet and looking back from the beach you could see the desert stretching away for what seemed like forever.

Hammocks on the beach at Cabo De La Veda

A view of La Cabo and the desert in the background

Unfortunately our stay was briefly interrupted by Mayra and I getting sick. Mayra had a weird bite of sorts and it started getting a little nasty while we were there. The health care in Colombia seems to be really good though and the local Wayuu clinic sorted it out in no time. That does not mean that the procedure to clean this nearly septic wound was without incident. Mayra came mighty close to screaming (something I have rarely seen her do in the sober light of day) as the otherwise charming doctor literally stuck her finger in the wound to clean it! Weirdly, one can just pick up antibiotics from any pharmacy without a prescription here. Generally the pharmacists really seem to know their stuff too and its all very cheap. I personally had a brief case of the squirts which put me under for a while but I came through unscathed, if a little lighter, within a day or two.

Some friendly Wayuu locals at the Clinic in Cabo De La Veda

Enjoying a laugh with some other travellers on the beach

After our 3 day stay in the Cabo, we were picked up by our sprightly guide Victor and he dropped us back in Uribia, effectively the capital of the Wayuu, where we were to stay the night.
On our way back to Uribia we stopped at the nearby salt pans which also line the coast. I had never been to salt pans and it was quite strange to see these massive mounds of chrystals and the severely rusted trucks which were driving tons of the stuff away. I wondered how it was cleaned enough to finally end up on the dinner table. This trip coincided with a strange cloudburst in the middle of the desert. This added a strange air to the place and the coast line was most striking.

A view of the Salt pans close to Uribia

The heaving coastline at the salt pans

The next morning we were set to move on by bus to Santa Marta, further Wast on the coast, which is a completely different vibe from the desert and the quiet we had experienced up to then. Its back in the tropics, touristy, loud and hot!

The bus trip was a little hairy for sure. We waited roadside early the next morning at some intersection close to the border of Venezuela, for a bus that we were told would come by in a couple of minutes. This little stop was complete with stands cooking goats meat and Arepas (kind of like a braai bread that they fill it here with an egg or cheese). It was also a spot where goats and pigs were traded so it was kind of traumatic to see these tied up and squealing animals getting thrown on and off of various trucks passing by.

One and a half hours later (!) we finally got onto a bus after Sergio fairly threw himself at the conductor and forced our way on after negotiating an ‘ok’ price. Exhaustion added another dimension to our desperation and I think we seemed somewhat demented by then. Incidentally, everything here is negotiable it seems...and there is always a ‘Colombian’ price too. The trip was frightening as the bus clearly had no shocks left on the one rear wheel. This meant that any bumps and a certain speeds would send the bus into a speed wobble which would require the driver to brake super quickly to avoid us falling over or going into a spin. This made overtaking at speed quite interesting and eventually the other passengers got so scared / irate that they convinced the driver to drive more slowly. Mayra was sure that sleeping through all of this was the answer but I was not able to buy into that logic...in time though I’m sure.

As I’ve mentioned before, the military and security presence everywhere is something to behold. It will still take some time to get used to I think. We went through numerous road-blocks and were eventually pulled over by a large army contingent. The men on the bus had to get off and we were searched along with all our belongings. Like I said in the previous post carrying identification at all times is mandatory. They were apparently looking for ‘Contrabandes’ (illegally imported goods from Venezuela) and actually did find some cases of whisky on our bus. Some negotiations / bribes later and we were on our way again. 6 hours later the bus trip was thankfully over and we were trying to find our way around a new city.

Santa Marta has a strange allure to it and seemed completely unapologetic about its hedonistic veneer. We also got a nice clean hotel room (with a shower! although it was still cold) and spent the first half a day just sleeping and washing / scrubbing. We surfaced around midnight to check out the town and were not disappointed. Lots of partying with the damned ‘Felize Navidad’ (Merry Christmas) being screamed out at every opportunity! Christmas and religion are a serious business over here as I am realising more everyday. Decorations and portrayals of the nativity scene are everywhere including all hotels and shops. Neon lights adorn buildings, streets and trees all over and it all just seemed to be another excuse to get hammered. I think it might be a reaction to the war and violent history, but these people really do drink seriously! Its quite normal to see fellows passed out at virtually all hours in many of the bars and public drinking places. Its a strange paradoxical situation where Colombians are the most friendly people I have ever come across, hands down and then there is constantly also a more sinister under-current of danger that seems to be hard to put your finger on. Almost without fail people have assisted me to the nth degree wherever I’ve been and it is the kind of help that is sincere and does not seem to have any ulterior motives behind it. Santa Marta was generally a lot of fun and could’ve been a spot on the Mediterranean during summer for all the merriment and light-heartedness.

Santa Marta and the beach

Another laugh with Sergio and Mayra at the local Juan Valdez

So, after another 2 nights and catching up on some shopping, beach time and sightseeing, we flew back to Bogota.

Bogota was 11 degrees when we landed at El Dorado airport. This city is not warm and the altitude obviously plays a big part. It rarely gets about 20 degrees! I then packed, said my goodbyes to Sergio and Mayra and moved on for Costa Rica the next day. Leaving the airport was a big deal again and I was ‘randomly’ searched three times. All my belongings were rummaged through and I mean everything...even the straps of my backpack! I just smiled but by the third time I was a little frayed for sure. The immigration officials also disappeared with my passport for about 15 minutes while they decided whether I could leave (????) with the tear on my passport photo.

Arriving in Costa Rica could not have been more different. Its more like a ‘welcome to paradise!’ setup and clearly this country knows that tourism is its biggest source of income. I’m now on the beach in a small town called Samara and that is where I’ll stay for the next couple of days before moving off to the volcanoes and rain forests of this beautiful country. They also speak English over here!

Below are a couple more oddities I’ve taken note of in the last week or so:

• As mentioned before there are coffee vendors everywhere! It is really striking and I can almost not imagine Johannesburg’s street vendors including these guys with their rickety carts. These fellows walk around with thermos flasks on their carts and serve coffee anywhere and at anytime and it seems to be the most popular thing sold on the street too… more popular than beer! Its really hard to describe how nice the coffee is here. Its full of flavour and does not make you edgy at all. I think its probably really mild. Tea cannot be found for love or money!
  
• Yesterday I tried Tamales for the first time. Its basically Mealie meal with various meats (chicken, pork, beef) wrapped in banana leaves and boiled. Really nice, full of flavour and one of the best known dishes of Latin America.
  
• Plantains are in everything and you get many varieties from the really salty to the super sweet. A really nice snack is this fried plantain filled with something in between dried guava and guava jam. Really tasty! Sometimes they also put cheese in the fried plantains.
  I constantly have to give my name at different places and seeing as the ‘H’ is quiet in Spanish, this is really tricky. I’ve resorted to saying something like Geeeelttttoooon Juansoon but invariably the painful ‘Paris Hilton’ comparison seems to be the most effective.
  
• It was interesting noting how the Wayuu have their own language called wayuunaiki which the Spanish speakers could also not understand a word of. I was glad that someone else was also frustrated at not being understood too.
  
• Everything is a bloody negotiation in Spanish...even asking for a cup of coffee! I’ve constantly been chuckling to myself at the incessant ‘no...si? no...si?’. Can’t you just bloody say what you want?!?!
  
• Alcohol and lots of it can be bought anywhere...seriously. Vendors sell beers and hard liquor. The shops over here seem to sell everything from medicine to booze all at the same time.
  
• The plastic wrapping of bags at the airport over here is predominantly to stop people putting cocaine in your bag without you noticing it.
  
• In Bogota especially there is a new kind of poor people that I have never seen before...internally displaced by the war. They outnumber the beggars and whole families with all their belongings are seen on the streets all the time. Sergio pointed them out to me before and I must say that its harder to see than your average beggar on the street corner. They, along with the indigenous people, really evoke a strong emotive response in me and I see plenty of opportunities for work with these people once my Spanish gets a little better.

My first Days in colombia

Two days flight to Bogota was harrowing to say the very least and then to be greeted with a huge military and security presence at the Bogota El Dorado airport certainly got me a little jumpy. The Visa thing (to get through immigration) took quite long and the intimidating officials searched one of my bags (luckily not the one with half a dried cow in it!). I think the fact that I was carrying a tea pot sort of got them thinking about what I could possibly be up to. The bemused customs official certainly looked at me as if I was mad as he held it up in the air and quizzically scrutinized me. I realised why as soon as I started to look for tea. The stuff is rarer than hen’s teeth.

A view of Bogota from the cable cars leading up to Mount Montserrate

I quickly realised just how limited the English is here in Colombia and all communication was reduced to basic hand gestures and even more basic Spanish being hurled at me quicker than I could unfortunately make sense of it. Sergio (amigo de Colombia) met me at the airport and we were then off to his house to prepare for a big party seeing as it was Friday and local customs should be observed at all times.

It turned out to be an amazing first evening in Bogota at a local club / bar which can be compared to a place like the Bassline in Newtown, Johannesburg. The first peculiar thing I noticed is that any hard liquor order placed at the bar results in you getting either a half jack or a full litre...no shots! It certainly takes commitment to get through that amount of booze! Well five bands, plenty of dancing and a half jack of vodka later I was ready to be led home.

Mayra (amiga de Mexico) arrived the next day and we went to a surprise birthday party for one of Sergio´s friends. This is where I met Aguardiente: an evil drink that is a cross between tequila and ouzo. It is drunk with ten minutes intervals and in shot form. Thankfully after the first bottle I couldn’t really taste anymore and that was good seeing as this stuff is pretty nasty. The walk home was interesting with Mayra falling (as is now customary) into a puddle. I’m surprised she didn’t knock herself out like she usually does. There was also the familiar ‘Eeeeeeltoooonn.....I´m so draaaaaaaaaank´. Ah, how I’ve missed that!

A look at how Aguardiente is administered with Mayra

The birthday boy, Sergio and I. I only look mildly sober...

Alejandro, Mayra and I (sporting the traditional Colombian sombrero). Advanced stage of drunkenness...

Fast forward to now and the three of us are in a small town called Riohacha on the north coast of Colombia. Sergio knows an anthropologist in Bogota who recommended a Wayuu (local indigenous group) guide that we’ve contacted since arriving. This friendly fellow has given us directions to catch a car / taxi to his place (another town called Uribia maybe 1 hour away) through some connections of his own at one of the petrol stations nearby. We are to then buy some hammocks at the local market after which we will report to him. Apparently there will be some sleeping outside....for a while....and we needn’t worry about the rest because this anthropologist friend really knows his sh&t! Well, that’s good then!

Digging into a spread in Riohacha

Incidentally, Mayra and Sergio have taken to calling me Mariquita (may-ree-keeta!) which means sissy. Apparently my asking security related questions with cops and military representation on every street corner makes me a sissy! …and they’re not joking when they say that these people speak NO English! I’m starting to pick up pieces of Spanish conversation now and I can often place it together quite nicely. I travel around with a little notebook of sorts to record new vocabulary. This helps me to understand and improve more all the time. Its going to take a while, but there is certainly progress. I’m also looking to buy Children’s books to help with the learning.

Here are some other strange things that I have noticed since getting here:

• There are a number of very weird things being consumed by the locals here and I came into contact with this first-hand at the church of Montseratte (See pictures below), which overlooks the city of Bogotá, during my visit with Sergio and Mayra. This included fried cow’s intestines and bull’s dick soup (Caldo de Raiz). I also had a warm alcoholic drink called Canelazo which can be compared with Gluhwein seeing as it contains cinnamon and some other herbs and spices. I quite liked that.

Mayra and I in front of the church of Montserrate

Mayra passing through the church of Montserrate with mist giving it an eery air

• There are police and military personnel everywhere. This includes road-blocks, spot checks and someone with a gun being visible almost at all times. One must always carry ID and I was even fingerprinted when buying a cell-phone! Signing a credit card slip always requires adding your Numero de Cedula (like your ID number) and mobile number to the signature.
  
• There are loads of amazing fruits here that I have never seen before and the size of all veggies and fruit is so much bigger than in South Africa. The avocados are literally gigantic!

• Plantains are eaten with everything! They are mashed, fried, baked, etc and basically replace potatoes (which are way more varied and commonly eaten in soups) in your average meal. The most common form is called patacones and this refers to discs of green plantain (not sweet at all like the yellow variety) which are partially cooked, smashed into flat cakes that are about the same size as an average flapjack and fried. Very yummy!
  

Fried plantain with Guallava (guaj-ava)

• People here eat lots of pork, beef, goat and chicken in a number of forms that we are not used to. Meat seems to be cut somewhat differently and quite often there is no direct translation for a specific piece of meat as it is served here.
  

Some of the food being cooked up at Mt. Montserratte. This includes the intestines and stomache!

• There is a lots of drinking by the locals and once it starts it usually seems to end with serious inebriation.
  
• Riohacha is very similar to a typical Mozambican town like Inhambane. It is right on the water front with lots of palm trees, plenty of cervesa adverts and locals selling a multitude of wares to the tourists relaxing in the bars running along the length of the beach.
  
• The Wayuu people are the indigenous tribe from these parts and they mostly sell their wares on the waterfront. Little children, who mostly have an elder boy looking after them compete for your attention and its hard not to give it as they are remarkably cute and have irrepressible self confidence. When mom calls the eldest for meals or at the end of the day they all scurry home with some urgency. They have incredibly striking Indian features and are absolutely beautiful. The little ones loved my elephant hair bracelet.
  
• There are vendors everywhere with thermos flasks that just sell coffee. Coffee is massive here. As a result I shall have to have tea sent to me from home. It must be said however that this coffee is pretty damn good. You can order it with Arequipa (kind of like condensed milk) too and that is really nice! Sergio pulls his nose up at me drinking milk and sugar with my coffee. Weird.


• Push up bras are massive here too. ‘Chest bums’ is what it effectively boils down to I reckon and yes, I have been busted staring although I don’t feel that bad because I seem to get stared at all the time!
  
• There is just a large dose of la vida Latino everywhere, especially with the coming Felize Navidad (Christmas), which you really need to experience seeing as its hard to do justice through any sort of explanation on my part.