25 avril 2011, ultima dia en Bogota

I write this with coffee at my hotel in San Gil. After a nine-hour bus trip from Bogota I enjoyed a peaceful sleep in this pretty adobe design, over my budget allowance, but my only costly expense in Columbia. I awoke to the songs of birds and a not too distant rooster and setting similar to home, with a flooded river below, hidden by trees of all sorts. The long ride left me a little tight and also worried as we passed over flooded areas, and raging rivers ripping only a few feet below the bridges. It has rained heavy for over a week. I wonder if my return to Bogota is in jeopardy. In the meantime my current plan is to walk to town, find the bus and head to nearby Socorro.

This was accomplished. Socorro is an old colonial village, the birthplace of the revolt against the Spanish. A massive cathedral, relatively new, and the traditional plaza in front were the primary attractions. Simple, but enjoyable. I watched the activity in the plaza for an hour, then headed to the bus stop, to find that the stop of arrival is not the same as departure. But, I have encountered this before, and not surprised nor angered.

Next day off to Chicamocha, a three-year old National Park, of the second largest canyon in the world. Started off doubtful, as I was the only one requesting this destination. The conductor informed me he could not justify the trip. As I was rethinking the day, ready to leave, two Columbianas arrived with the same request. Buena suerte! For the most part we worked the day together, giving me an informal practice session.

The park is rather different. The natural setting itself is impressive, providing magnificent views of the canyon valley and flooded river. Being in the Andes the depths are extreme. The canyon slopes are relatively gentle in descent, not cliffs as with the Grand or Black at home. Still, the perspective of the distances and depths, with the flooded river below are memorable.

Another focus of the park, besides the restaurants and artisan shops, is the provision of a variety of testing experiences. For my zip lining friends, they have opportunity to zip across parts of the canyon. Apparently by intent, to add to the excitement, the acceleration is stopped by the participant´s impact against a gym-mat. I saw no one carried away after, but the loud thump could easily be heard at the other end. There are also giant swings out over the canyon and paragliders that soar over the canyon like condors. We took the teleferico, condolas designed for eight, from one side, down over the river, then back up the other side.

There is also a monument to the heroes of the revolution from this region of Santander, the home of the revolution. The monument has a huge representation of a tobacco leaf, and upon it are wonderful expressive metal figures, each with an important story behind, both of heroism and traitors. Many stand among a representation of bomb blast, rocks being sent into the air. It is a captive, artful display of emotion and energy.

Oh, and for the culinary interest, the area is known for its hormigas, fried black ants, the size of June bugs. Crunchy, with a bit of salt, not bad tasting at all. I am challenging customs to bring a few back with me for my friends.

Final excursion was to another pueblo, Barichara. It has been used as film set numerous times. It is the only place I have seen in Columbia without a traffic problem. It became my favorite place, with a hint of Cusco and Taos. On the slopes of a mountain, the plaza and obligatory cathedral are positioned in the middle. The walk up the hill takes you to a chapel that fronts a water garden, with several fountains carved with stone from a previous art exhibition. At the back edge, the terrain falls steeply to provide for wonderful views of the valley.

Without traffic, peace was present. The cathedral below was playing Gregorian chants that could be heard clearly, making for a mystic atmosphere. The rooster crowing nearby made me think of Peter´s third denial on this Easter weekend. Walking the slate streets among the white walled architecture aroused my artistic interest. Was a great and fortunate end to my travel. Gracias.

Only the return to Bogota dampened the enthusiasm, literally. I was lucky during my days, but every night brought heavy rains. The rains have flooded many areas in Columbia, and roads including mine were washed out and reduced to single lanes in several areas. I could observe the flooded fields, rivers and pueblo streets from my bus window. And yet Texas burns.

Tomorrow I head home. Again, I return with memories, unrepeatable experiences, sights, thoughts and questions. Made some friends. Had a wonderful family. Some sadness, dissatisfaction, uneasiness. Sights of poverty exist everywhere in South America and eventually you get tired of it, but don´t know what to do. Again I leave a family that has adopted me, sincerely. I know that from their efforts to bring me in. Sunday, after Easter mass, a large family gathering followed to celebrate Easter, a birthday, and a secret. I was going to leave, but two of the sisters intently wanted me to stay, and I did. They wished me to witness the secret, the announcement of engagement. One example. So, as I think about my departure tomorrow, I have feelings of a ungrateful son, a father sneaking away, a thief who has stolen trust, confidence and kindness. And that feeling hurts. They hope for my return, but I wonder how likely that will be.

I´ve mostly watched, but sometimes spoken
Mostly quit, but sometimes tried
To heed the earth and drink the ocean
And share the water from my eyes.

I´ve sometimes fought, but mostly hidden
In between the songs and lights
That saw the seeds of fruits forbidden
To dream of juice when dreams get dry.

I´ve mostly tripped, but sometimes chosen
Stumbled low and stumbled high
And the signposts on the paths have spoken
They´ve all said how, but none said why.

I´ve mostly watched, but sometimes spoken
Mostly quit, but sometimes tried
To heed the earth and drink the ocean
And share the water from my eyes.

D.Schimdt

family affair, 17 de avril, 2011

This weekend completed two family excursions. The first was truly a family affair, with two carloads in our caravan, 3 sisters, 2 boyfriends, 2 daughters, one 5-year old and me. Our departure had to be muy temprano in the morning as Bogota disallows use of their inner city highways two days a week based upon license number. Accordingly, Nikolas, one of the boyfriend/drivers won the lottery for that day. So, we had of get out of town before dawn. Our tour would take us through four pueblos.

The first took us to a town in milk and coal region, the two high profile products. The attraction, besides being the initial meeting point of the two carloads, was a beautiful cathedral slightly different in architectural style, the spines of the exterior, being meticulously duplicated with wood at several points of the interior. Very impressive.

Before departure from the area we visited an active monastery, being prepped for Santa Semana, by the young priests in training on this beautiful isolated peaceful spot. The sisters bought some eggs which supposedly have double-sized yerna (egg yolk) which is promising for the faithful.

Next we headed to Chiquinquira, a cathedral also being the attraction. The deficiency of my early weeks in seeing cathedrals is now being overly compensated. The basilica is supposedly modeled after the Vatican, though I cannot testify to that. 500 plus years old, it is beautiful and massive. Inside a mass was being held and I was reluctant to try photos, though there was plenty of other activity inside. Much of this was preparation of the “floats” (there is a more appropriate word) that will be carried on the shoulders in procession on Easter weekend. Each has a powerful expressive modeled image of Christ, depicting the final 13 stages of the last hours as depicted in Matthew. These were being appropriately adorned with flowers for the glorification. I recall the wonderful processions in Cusco last year, which only had the single carriage, so seeing the thirteen must really heighten the impression and impact, though more is not necessarily better.
The significance of this religious capital of Columbia is a painting of La Virgen which, after years of neglect had faded. But, after discovery and devotion by one faithful, it miraculously restored itself to original inspiration. Other miracles have followed.

The third stop was Ra´quira. This is a colorful artisan colony, famous for its clay creations, pots, toys, ornaments, including piggy banks. Other crafts are displayed in the stores lined along the narrow streets toward the plaza, with colorful displays from the balconies. For no other reason than the bright colors set against the stuccoed walls, this pueblo was my favorite stop of the day.

Our final spot was Villa de Leyva. Trying to drive on the original cobblestone streets was a bumpy experience. Unlike other plazas this one is entirely cobbled with a single simple small fountain in the center. No gardened walks here. The plaza, supposedly one of the largest in South America, is surrounded by white stucco wall structures, tiled roofs, creating an interesting visual line. My camera could not get an expansive focal perspective, despite standing as far back as I could. We visited several shops and headed back.

Saturday night brought a changed experience. Normally my nights have been occupied with family and homework. Plus, my apartment headquarters are far from the nightlife of Bogota, which attracts large numbers of university students, somewhat like 6th street in Austin. But, on this cold rainy night, and altogether miserable evening, five of the family took off up a popular mountain road that lifts above the valley below where the city sprawls in a half-moon shape. The winding road rises slowly to where you get magnificent views of Bogota below. Despite the clouds and rain, the lights of the city gave a brilliant reflection of the 8 – 10 million (depending on your source) diverse lives of the capital city.

We stopped along the way for views and tastes from umbrella sheltered vendors, small cafes and discos. I have admiration and amazement for both vendor and patron who ignored the elements for business, refreshment and views. At one of the spots, a small dance floor was available for response to the excessively loud stereo playing rumba, salsa and merinque. The sister influenced me to the floor for instruction. I got a thumbs up from a nearby table for my efforts. Perhaps that will encourage sufficient votes to keep me from being sent home.

I also got to observe my first “chivas”. These are old wooden buses that were once predominantly used throughout Columbia. My travel book says they carried everything, people, products, animals and when there was no more room, the top was loaded. Now they have been colorfully converted to mobile dance halls. Benches align the inside, leaving the center vacant for dance to music and drink. As we passed several in our journey I could see the movement of dancing bodies, crowded together as if on the Transmilinium buses in after-work rush hour, rubbing against each other to the rumba beats and disco lights inside. Maybe an entertainment opportunity for some entrepreneur at home. Certainly it was an indication of the integral importance of Latin beat to the Columbian soul.

Only one week left.

Bogota, 11 avril 2011

Perhaps my last chance to see parts of Bogotá I have not yet experienced. Weekend next is a take-off for a week of travel, east and north. My mother, who works for an international insurance firm, has been preoccupied with quarterly reporting pressures, so I snuck off before she arose, tow objectives in mind. One, to relieve her a bit from making my breakfast, and two, to have a try at a local panaderia. Had a great cheese and ham omelet, pan, juice and coffee, for $3.00. I left filled with change in hand.

I got off the Trans Milenia, one of the most efficient mass-transit systems I have experienced. It is a bus-system that works like a subway, having its own lanes, and is very rapid, although normally packed like sardines. I was in an area known as the Candelaria, where Bogota began. It is not totally historic now, as much of the commercial activity has constructed modern and high rise structures. Still, there are plenty of sights and numerous museums, including one only about the history of gold in the country and another on the history of law enforcement in the country, with a model of the bullet ridden corpse of the drug lord, Escobar.

Where I live is all apartment buildings and commercial sites. So, visual sights for memory or photo have been lacking. With that objective in hand, I took my walk, branching off from the Plaza de Bolivar. It is relatively easy to navigate here, with the reliance on the traditional Spanish grid pattern, carreras running N-S, calles E-W, numerically sequenced.

Having all day, I pretty much meandered up and down, letting the appearance of anything interesting pull me like the fly to the candle. I had wondered about the lack of catholic presence, but I found it this day. They began to show themselves, like the dandelions in my yard in Colorado. Beautiful, delicate, both inside and out, the spires rising slightly above the tiled roofs of the casas surrounding, balconies flowered or colorful banners flowing. Most of these historic homes have been converted to hotels, restaurants or businesses.

Little by little I was drawn further and further away. And, in the same manner the barrios became a little more obscure and less kept, and sure enough, drawn by the tall spire of one church and the domed tower of another, I stood alone, a stranger in a cracked plaza, looked at intensely by an assortment of characters from a Charles Dickens book. Luckily I suppose, two police approached me. One never really knows what motives the police have here in South America, but these two were gentlemen and friendly. Their intent was to actually to provide me warning of the danger present in the area, which I was slowly realizing myself. We talked some after the discovered I spoke Spanish and was an American tourist. They wished me well, and watched as I took a couple of photos and started back to the plaza.
Back around the plaza the crowd of humanity pressed upon me. Even in New York, Chicago or LA, I have not been surrounded by so many, so closely, so diverse. Every sidewalk had every available space filled by vendors or artists of some sort, food of all kinds, items for sale down to key chains and single cigarettes. There were jugglers, street painters, musicians as well. I swear I saw a dental chair with patient. Not all is pleasant to observe as many do what they can to survive. I don´t find many surprises anymore. Unfortunately my camera does not capture the essence of the scene. Perhaps the day will come when I can create a painting of representation.
Sunday turned up wet, but only a continuous warm drizzle. After another breakfast away from home I stood, trying to decide if the rain should interfere with the intended plan. I watched the umbrellas bounce down the enormous metal labyrinth that allows pedestrians to cross the fourteen lanes of the autopista. Looked like the dancing mushrooms in Disney´s Fantasia. I have learned that opportunities rarely come twice, and even then, they normally do not provide any better conditions the second time. Hence, I took off for the Parque de Simon Bolivar. It is larger than Central Park. And, now having been there it is indeed big. The slow sprinkle likely diminished the normal crowds. So, I walked about in relative peace. It is large, impressive, beautiful and I enjoyed it in the rain. Just did not dance.

Nest week should take me to new locations, smaller, more open, more natural.
Nobody knows, knows, knows

So many things, things, so
So out of range, sometimes so strange
Sometimes so sweet, sometimes so lonely
The further I go, more letters from home never arrive
And I´m alone, all of the way, all of the way, alone and alive.
P.Griffin

Outside Bogota, 4 avril 2011

Experiences finally expanded this week. I escaped from the city twice, with positive change. The citizens of Bogota are exceedingly proud of their city, but I am a country boy.

I played hooky one day, with approval, and my mother took off work one day. So, she, her boyfriend, daughter and her boyfriend and I took off north de la ciudad. Totally green, once we left the brick and concrete of Bogota. The highway was still congested, and houses, apartments, businesses littered the view, but in between were vistas of the mountains and fincas (ranches). Almost a green cover below a cloudy sky, a feeling of openness.

Our immediate destination was the cathedral de sal, cathedral of salt. The site is discussed in my travel book, but walking through a salt mine was not on my original list of sites to see. But, typically, I was surprised. This particular one is reportedly the world´s largest. The working part is not open to the public. The side for viewing has been made for some hundred plus years. The miners, I suppose in their spare time, in various caverns, have carved out crosses in the slat rock. Each, has variations in its structure so as to symbolically represent the stages of Jesus´ last walk from conviction to resurrection (now twice I have seen this display). Placed in the enormity of these carved caverns, the darkness, the silence, it has a very powerful impression. I can imagine the even greater impact on these miners when there was not electric lighting for the benefit of tourists, nor sounds of tourist groups wandering through, and the constant presence of danger in their work, the difficulty and low wage. Easy to understand the desire for supportive relation with a greater caring power. Sorry, the obsuridad was not conducive to my photographic ability.

On the return to Bogotá we downsized to a small pueblo Tabio. Was my first reawakening to the S.America I love. Small pueblo, gardened plaza in the center, the primary cathedral to one side, and colorful stores and restaurants along the other three sides. Always the provison of a place to sit under tree, by flower bed, on sidewalk bench. A place to watch the interaction of family and friends as the walked, sat, ate by a central statue, after they bought helado or fruit or other, from the vendors on the perimeter. We stopped and tortas in one of the restaurants with center patio.

The weekend produced another trip. With the partial family of another friend, mother, daughter, son of eight children, we drove south. Perhaps 80 miles, we were in a constant line of trucks, buses and cars. Jose would have no fear on a NASCAR track. Previous discussion of Columbian driving was too low key. Despite the craziness of it all I have not yet seen a wreck (should not have said that). Once outside of Bogota it only got worse. Multiple lanes and divided highway disappeared around mountain curves. A continuing line of traffic, both ways, mostly trucks or buses struggling with the graded slopes. Jose takes every opportunity, or lottery chance, he can to advance our position. Regardless of oncoming traffic, blind curve, double line and no apparent opening in the line of cars in front, he took the frozen silence of the passengers as implicit agreement for his driving style. I still am alive.

Along the way we stop at a restaurant where I eat my first meal of rabbit. Not really all that distinctive, though as always expression of ¨rico¨ follows the meal. It was not the only food experience of the weekend. There was also pescado and cola de vaca (cow tail). Rico again.

Ultimately we arrived at the town of Girardot, a town on the Rio Magdelena, which is navigable all the way to the Pacific. When the highway was constructed the town grew rapidly as many condo and townhome complexes grew to accommodate the appetites of Bogota citizens wanting a weekend of holiday escape.

Jose who works for worldwide fertilizer company bought this ´´finca´´. Four bedrooms, living area, kitchen, outdoor covered patio, swimming pool, this is the smallest in the complex. As I write this alone on the porch by the poolside I catch the occasional glimpse from Amafre, the family servant as she works in the kitchen. Images of Hemingway in Cuba . . no, never mind.

Anyway, it is peaceful, quiet and though surrounded by tall hedges blocking the view of the larger homes, I can at least imagine views of the not too distant mountains. Five squawking parrots fly overhead. Despite their beautiful color, what an awful sound they make. There are a few yellow-orange canary size birds in the avocado tree, with a much more pleasant song. Columbia is the second most biodiverse country next to Brazil. Even though only 80 miles from Bogota the temperature has climbed an easy 20 degrees. I am in short and borrowed sandals. There are fruit trees, including papaya, mango, palms, with coconuts, and a variety of other plants and flowers, bright colors all. This tropical location and living situation could become an easy adjustment. I am told my pension would provide a very comfortable living style. No desire to step inside as long as the fans blow away the drops of sweat.
School continues to improve. Another new professor, very good and enjoyable. Grammar knowledge increases. Third week approaches.

When I grow up I want to be a tree
Want to make my home with the birds and the bees
And the squirrels they can count on me
When I grow up I want to be a tree.
Although my joints get stiff with my feet in the ground
Take the winters off, settle down
Keep my clothes til they turn brown
When I grow up I´m gonna settle down.

I´m gonna reach, I´m gonna reach,
I´m gonna reach, reach for the sky.
I´m gonna reach, I´m gonna reach,
I´m gonna reach, til I know why.

When the spring comes by I´m gonna get real green
If the dogs come by I´m gonna get real mean
On windy days I´ll bend and lean
When I grow up I´m gonna get real green.
If I should fall in storm or slumber
Please don´t turn me into lumber
I´d rather be a Louisville slugger
Swinging for the seats.
J.Gorka