Notes from the Gap - China Edition

Ever since I first started coming to Latin America, I have noticed a bit of tension between the use of chinese products and attitudes towards China and the Chinese in general. First among these is a tendency to refer to all persons of Asian decent as "Los Chinos" or "Un Chino/ Una China." I believe this is derived more from a general lack of geographical familiarity with the specific countries and cultures of Asia, but to the ears of a somewhat politically correct American, it often sounds like a crude form of racism or at least broad and unnecessary stereotyping.

The first story involves the famous video game frogs of this region of Colombia. These little creatures emit sounds that we had heard about (think gameboy tennis), but up until staying at Cabina Darius in Capurgana, I had not come accross them.

Returning from a perilous walk back from "downtown" Capurgana during one of the region's regular evening electrical blackouts, having guided oursleves along the seasonal, rock sea wall, deposited thusly by the sea in her strange way, only to be taken away weeks after we left by the same mysterious watery hand, we arrived at Las Cabinas to a seemingly electronic serenade, an aryithmic, harmoniousless and erratic soundtrack to the worlds most surreal jungle video game. Recognizing this for what it had to be, could only possibley be, the "Techno" Frogs, as described in our guide book. We had heard of these existing only in the jungles between Tayrona and the majestic peaks of the Sierra Nevada, north of Cartagena, but obviously we were mis-informed. Urging Matty to be quiet, I tried to record a sample of the frogs in the background of this video...

As you can kind of hear, these bastards are trippy. Coming at you from every angle, they bombard the senses in a way only a contemporary human could understand, the anciencts must have had different ways to describe this "music" of nature, this mysterious sound, but for us there was no doubt. They were Gameboy frogs. For those of you who don't remember, or were yet twinkles in your parents eyes, the Gameboy is/was one of the original portable gaming systems available in the US in the late 1980's.
Our host, Enrique (heard at the end of the clip giving us evening salutations), informed us that not only were we correct in our conclusion that these were indeed amphibious froggy friends, but that he could show them to us. Like giddy children we were off after our indeed childish but mature beyond his years guide into the creek seperating the Cabanas and the main house of the family. Here he quickly scooped one up, indicating its bulgin throat as the sounds were muffled by his hands, and indeed we found the whole routine to be an elaborate, after the rain, courtship between the two sexes, conducted, right there, before our very eyes.
At this point Marie, his mother interjected, telling us a story about how they had hosted a group of Chinese who had gone through the same initiatrion ritual of meeting the frogs, but, as she told it, rather than wishing they had their cameras, they instead proceeded to gather up all the specimins they could find, and much to the families suprise, rather than inspecting or studiously caring for them, proceeded to pop them into their mouths and eat them, one by one, until the sounds had ceased for the evening. The very tone of this story belied some undercurrent of judgement, not only for destroying such a unique feature of this precious jungle, but also of a culture that would, without asking, consume an entire population of rare frogs without even asking...
The other story regarded Chinese advancing the idea of building a canal in Colombia to rival the Panama canal. this canal would advance from the headwaters of the Rio Quindo to the Pacific Ocean. This said with a scoff and smirk, along side a more subtle admiration of the vision and investment which would result...

A few examples of the complicated relationship the Latinos have with their Eastern investors.

Paradise Lost

We have arrived here in Capurgana after traveling over land for 12 hours on Thanksgiving and then 4 hours by boat this morning. There are only two way to get here, boat or plane. You can see where we are here, but pics will have to come later as the internet is extrmely slow out here in paradise.

A definition of paradise must be, it seems, utopian as the world's, and by extension, humanity's problems have arrived, or indeed have always been upon even the most distant shores. Behind the picturesque white washed walls and ingenious bamboo frames, lie poverty, pollution and violence. After walking along the colorful beachfront bas and clothing shops, down the unpaved Calle Comercio with its internet cafes and liquor stores, deeper into the interior, down the length of the bumpy and worn jungle airstrip, I find the piles of trash, skin and bone animals and the families squatting in unfinished or dilapidated ruins of houses. The police presence is ubiquitous.

The search for paradise itself brings with it a variety of orientalism, seeing these isolated hamlets, their residents and environs as exotic and desirable, while overlooking the reality of these places that often is lying directly in front of us, or just beneath the surface.

Last Impressions of Cartagena - Writing on the Wall...

A city full of life and modernity encased in aging fortifications and facades: bright painted walls, balconies held up by broad original beams, cathedrals and barricades constructed of ancient coral, cobblestones and climbing bougainvillea. Despite the ubiquitous noticias about several killings on the outskirts of the city last night, the sun fought off the clouds and left me rosy and well worn by the time she kissed the sea goodnight and left only lingering rays glancing off the towering clouds.
With night comes a refreshing tropical breeze, a welcome respite from the day’s constant heat. We have wandered the city for two days and three nights, meandering amongst the tightly wound streets and alleyways with surprising squares and plazas full of young lovers, silent old men and verdant flowers and foliage.
This city is proud of its history, from resiliency to the blades and blasts of the pirate hoards to it central role in the fight for independence exactly 200 years ago.
Writing from the South Western fortifications, overlooking the now darkened of the afternoon sea. These coral walls once holding back buccaneers and foreign invaders, now furnished as the plush Café del Mar, the naval museum and the headquarters for the Cartagena Film Festival. Street vendors peddle their wares of colorful bracelets, broad brimmed hats and traditional bags, occasional creative coral sculptures and intricate paperclip puzzles, directly below us, and Chivas shuttle eager workers home along with snap happy tourists towards the distant glowing high-rises down the peninsula, as behind us, the towers of San Ignacio are lit brightly and the lightly populated terrace with couples enjoying a rejuvenating late afternoon aperitif.

The final night was punctuated by a well scripted final scene as we flash to a second story club with vaulted ceiling with arched, almost Moorish brick patterns and a large square wooden bar and balcony stretching along the outside wall and overlooking the busy street below. Rock band lays a mix of their own creations alongside classic Mana, Jarabe and Los Cafres as the clientele, dances, mingles, bouncing back and forth between the dance floor, bar, balcony and bathroom, with flashes of a host of characters from the trip. The bartender from Café Gourmet twirls two blonds around the dance floor as the cook negotiates deals in the corner, the street musician bounces up with a mischievous grin and pops up again on the dance floor with the Dutch girls from the Hostel in Salento as the German girls and a couple of Israelis from Casa Real smoke cigarettes on the terrace. And then back to the hostel, having a final bear while helping the staff check-in late night arrivals, ranging from exhausted old Germans coming in from Venezuela to young couples of the night, appearing and negotiating passage, and then thoughts of the early wake-up only hours away, and I toss this sweaty human heap upon the bed, feet shooting off into the night.

Writing on the Wall...

Cafe Gourmet

As we are about to arrive at only my second Thanksgiving away from my family in the 30 years of life I have enjoyed, I want to give thanks and blessings to all of those who have been a part of this adventure that I have had the pleasure and joy of living, made better, always, by those with whom I share it.

As I am about to head off to dream, and dream I have been, believe me, of love and suffering, of joy and success, of pain and ecstasy, I am so grateful to know that friends and family will celebrate tomorrow and that I will be able to be with them in spirit if not in person.

I am truly graced by the knowledge, wisdom and joy that I have shared and gleaned from my loved ones. This trip has been an opportunity to reflect, to smile without needing to know why, and to seek something larger than myself. Often times, that which we seek is right in front of us.

As I wrote on the wall of Cafe Gourmet (bottom left hand corner in grey) this evening - where Carlos and his friend, cook and bartend - my favorite lines from one of the OGs, Alfred Lord Tennyson:

Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Bendiciones a todos mis cariños, nos vemos pronto, y mientras tanto que sean bien. Gracias por todo.

Thank you.

Las Islas Rosarios

Here are some pics. They are booting us off the computer at the hostal...

On Board the Bequia Eagle

It was an early morning rise to make our 8am departure time on tour to Las Islas de Rosario

Matty stretching it out on the rooftop patio...
DJ Johnny Wild!

At least that’s what we decided he was saying, as his voice was a constant presence on our ride aboard the Bequia Eagle. I was surprised he wasn't mentioned on the website as he really is the key component of the tour, or shall we say the dominant presence, as he was, I believe the "Official Tour Guide," who was misidentified by yours truly as the actual Capitan as he came running on board with a coffee just as we were about to pull out of port. I think we were lucky he was not, as we would have missed his "show!"

We had premonitions of what it was going to be like on the boat with him for 5 hours when he offered to do a strip show for some of the louder, shall we say, more mature passengers, a group of 7 ladies from Argentina. He rubbed his nipples and did a little twirl as the giggled and he went back below. As I said, "I guess he's not the captain."

Throughout his awkwardly cut DJ set of everything from Reggaeton to Salsatech and classic canciones del amor, his voice was a constant bracing chatterbox that layered uncomfortably with his aggressive early morning routine. So much so that his original fans, the Argentinean matriarchs, pulled the plug on his upstairs speakers, much to everyone's relief.

His true colors came out when, on the return voyage, I ran into him coming out of the head, now dressed in a full white linen suit, talking excitedly about his upcoming show, as he simultaneously attempted to get my hat off my head, I suppose as a kind of anticipatory or perhaps preemptive tip.

Upon returning to the roof with a couple of refreshing but incredibly light beers, I informed Matty and the group of beat red- Aguardiente drunk - Calenos in the emergency raft behind us of our hosts new get-up. At that instant we heard through the peal of raucous laughter, the shrill catcall of Johnny Wild as he called everyone below to watch his striptease. No one moved from the upper deck, and the patter continued, as he lamented he could not do his show because he was worried about his safety as the women had gathered around too close in their anticipation. We had no visual proof of this, but were somewhat relieved if only for the sake of the Argentinean set. So, he sill wanted to give us a present, he said, even if he could not, in good conscience show off his body, he would instead do a dance and then serenade us to his own mix of a famous pop artist. And so that's how we came to sit through a 15 minute routine alongside some of MJs least famous songs, while we were left to imagine, DJ Johnny Wild, cutting it up with the moonwalk and other flashy moves to an eager crowd of women, waiting on his every disharmonious note...

Bella Colombia!

Playa Blanca

Playa Blanca is a beach on the Isla de Baru, about an hour away from Cartagena. When we arrived via a little launch from our larger ferry, we met up with some friends from the hostal and headed as far away from the well intentioned but annoying jewlery and massage peddlers, finally arriving at a solitary spot about a kilometer down from where we were dropped off.

We had arrived at the Carribean beaches at last!

There were all sorts of things to do, from jetskis to hotdogging behind motorboats to casual sails in traditonal lanchas. I chose to simply float in the warm, salty embrace of the sea.
Here´s a closer look... That is what I call relaxation. Nothing to be done but keep your nose above the water as the sea pushes and pulls and the sun slowly slides accross the sky. Bliss.
The cloud formations were varied and constantly changing, from light whisps to towering thunderheads, they provided all the entertainment necessary.
Dos burros en la playa. Maybe one is a long lost cousin of Tingaleo?
Playa Blanca from our boat.
Unfortunately, as we had spent the larger part of the day in transit to the Islas de Rosario, we only had about an hour and a half to spend at the beach, half of this eating lunch and walking o our spot. However, we had bathed in the sun and sea of the carribean outside of the reach of automobiles and construction materials. We had a taste of what we are seeking in the next week as we head up the coast to Capurgana and the isolated north eastern coast of Colombia, just meters from the Panamanian boarder.

The return from Playa Blanca

Despite the detour to the aquarium, it was a great day, made better by a spectacular sunset. While being serenaded by the swan song of DJ Johnny Wild, we all could enjoy the breathtaking vstas provided upon our return into Cartagena harbour.

Skin a definitive rosada, but with smiles on our faces, we said goodbye to the port of the city to head into the Barrio Getsemani, shower off the salt, and refresh ouselves with some much needed food and drink at El Cafe Gourmet.

Lizard Doorknobs

I noticed these two doorknobs in completely different parts of the city, and am eager to find out who makes them to bring one home with me. Classic.

Cartagena by day

From the sea wall towards the old city...

The narrow streets are lined with balconies and the street full of people, cars and horses jockeying for position amidst vendors and a constant police presence. Check out the face of the short, fat man in the blue shirt...

As you can see, it is a spectacular city full of fascinating nooks and crannys, beautiful people and an unparalleled colonial atmosphere.

Cartagena Lodging and Food

Woke up this morning, pleasantly surprised by the ambiance of our hostal, the Hostal Real. There was a parrot, turtle, and several little dogs as well as a helpful staff. Not the Ritz, but perfect for our needs here in Cartagena. Two beds, a shower and internet. No Gideons bible though. Guess they don't have a Colombian franchise.

We found another great menu al dia at Cafe Corncon around the corner and enjoyed a delicious meal of Caldo de Res, roasted chicken, salad, coconut rice and beans, along with a refreshing iced tea all for the whopping total of COP5300.
After walking through our neighborhood, it started to rain a bit, so we stopped for a little hydration: water, coffee, and beer.
Then it was on to explore the rest of Cartagena...

Cartagena!

Ahh, cartagena, it´s hard to describe the magical feeling of ariving at the old walled city at night, but needless to say the colonial facades and colorful balconies, flowering plazas and horse-drawn carriges were spectacular. We are off to explore this morning, but here are some pics from last night.

Leaving Medellin

Sad to leave Medellin, but excited to be getting out of the mountains and down to the coast for some real R&R!
The taxi to the airport is about 45minutes, straight up the steep valley over the mounains to the next valley of Rio Negro. As we headed out of the valley there were some great views of the surrounding mounains, and the flora changed noicably from mostly palms to conifers.




Next stop, Cartagena!