JJ's Travelogue

So here I am a week later, a couple of hours up the coast from Barranquilla, in the small city of Santa Marta. Santa Marta is one of the oldest cities in the Americas, and is where the famous liberator Simón Bolivar finally met his fate. Gabriel García Márquez is from a small town nearby, fictionalized as Macondo in his novels.  It’s nice here – much cheaper than Cartagena and Barranquilla (many decent hotels for $5-$10/night!), there is a decent beach, good internet, friendly people. I’m not such a beach person, otherwise I would get all excited about taking boats to neighboring coves where there are meant to be spectacular beaches. But I’ve had my fill of that for a while.

Instead I’ve just been taking it easy, trying to kick this stomach bug that’s kept with me for a month now. I haven’t been worried about it because I’m not showing any of the symptoms of serious Traveler’s Diarrhea or worse bugs like Cholera. I simply haven’t had a solid shit in a month! But after finally doing a bunch of research I am now on my fourth antibiotic and taking mom’s advice to eat bland, simple foods. The madre of my hotel offered to heal me, to which I said, “oh, you’re a doctor?” No, she replied, pointing at the statue of Jesus on the desk, she would heal me in other ways. Thanks, I’ll think about it. If this latest drug doesn’t finally work then I probably have a parasitic infection, which antibiotics won’t kill. But maybe Jesus could.

I went for two runs so far this week, which felt really good. One of them led me up into the foothills which afforded fantastic views of the city below, the busy port, and the Sierra Nevada mountains beyond. These mountains rise abruptly from the Caribbean to 5,800m snow peaks in only 45km, an incredibly steep gradient comparable to the south face of the Himalaya, and unequalled along the world’s coasts. It’s also a region of drugs-growing and processing, guerillas and paramilitaries, which unfortunately puts it off-limits for tourism which is too bad, since it’s meant to be spectacular.

Santa Marta’s beach faces directly west (odd, since we’re on the Carribean – i.e., the coast generally faces east), so each night the sun sets right in front of your eyes over the ocean. Although there are no places to hire bikes in town, I did manage to finagle one through the hostel for a day. Had a wonderful ride up and over the foothills to the neighboring towns of Taganga, a sleepy tranquil beach town, and El Rodadero, an upscale enclave of high-rise condos and fancy beach chairs. It felt wonderful to be on a bicycle again after so many months.

Cheap hotels are generally found  in the shall we say, less glamorous parts of towns, and Santa Marta is no exception. One of the primary hang-out spots on this side of town is at the tables in front of a string of cheap bars (including a strip club/brothel) facing the beach. A malecón of sorts. There is a whole scene here that’s compelling in all the human drama unfolding day and night. From the bouncer keeping the peace to the guys selling handicrafts to the foreign sailors in town from all the cargo ships at the port down the road to the ladies of the night waiting for someone to pick them up to the food stalls cooking up dinner for all of the above mentioned. They all play a role in the soap opera. It’s a fascinating anthropological excercise to grab a beer and sit at a table for a few hours observing, listening, chatting with whomever comes by.

As most of you who know me are already aware, I’ve always been interested in the ‘other’ side of cities/society/life, the parts that are never talked about. The fringes, the hidden passageways, the alleys and off-limits areas, the parts that guidebooks never cover. And I’m continually surprised at how genuine, down to earth, friendly, and yes, even safe these areas are, despite all of the fears built up in my subconcious about these ‘bad’ areas and ‘risky’ people. They’re living their lives just like the rest of us, with all the attendant pain and suffering, laughter and good times.  I’ve had an interesting few days getting to know some of these local characters and glimpsing into their lives.

Watching kids play soccer on the beach, I was reminded of all the wonderfully varied soccer games I’ve watched on my trip so far. In Livingston, Guatemala – playing barefoot on a concrete court. Then outside of town, playing in the pouring rain on a dirt field that was now thick with mud and puddles. Every time the ball hits a puddle it stops dead in it’s tracks. Completely changes the nature of the game. In La Ceiba I watched an indoor game played with only 5 players per side on a much smaller pitch, where you use can use the walls instead of it being out of bounds. Tricky.. again, a completely different type of game. I still have yet to see a professional game of soccer, in a stadium with tens of thousands of rabid fans. I keep looking.

It’s nice to be back in the land of Tigo. Tigo is the cell phone company that has blanketed rural Central America with their blue logo. I usually can’t stand any form of advertisement but I really don’t mind this form, since it’s so simple and tranquil. And undoubtedly better than whatever was there before. I’m convinced that they roam the countryside looking for big decrepit walls and propose to the owners, “hey, we’ll repaint your wall for free if you let us put our logo on it.” Done. Anyway, they don’t exist in Costa Rica or Panama, so I haven’t seen them in a while.

Speaking of cell phone companies, the systems down here are really smart. In every country there are at least three, usually four competing companies – all GSM. Most people (including me) buy pre-paid cards. To get your own phone number, you simply buy a SIM card (for almost nothing), stick it in your phone, then add minutes whenever you need them. No contracts to sign, no long-term commitments. Duh. As in the rest of the sane world (i.e., everywhere but the U.S.), it doesn’t cost you anything to receive calls or texts, only to call out. So even if you’re broke and out of minutes, people can still call you. Now here’s the genius part – you can text minutes to each other. Say you’re out of minutes and I have some to spare – I just enter a code, your phone number, and the amount I want to send you, and boom, I’ve refilled your account. In this way, micro-businesses have sprung up on every street corner – people buy huge bulks of minutes, then resell them at a profit. You can walk up, hand them $1, and in 30 seconds receive confirmation on your phone that you’re topped up.

It wasn’t just Carnival that allowed drinking in the streets – it seems to be everywhere. Vendors stroll around with coolers full of beer, there are even lavish displays of hard alcohol on street corners. But you don’t see drunk teens or anyone going crazy, probably for the same reason alcoholism is not high in Europe – if it’s not a forbidden fruit, people won’t binge on it.

Walking around town a couple of nights ago I saw a big gathering of people up ahead on the next block. Motorcycles revving, car headlights shining, music playing, food vendors, people milling about. What could it be – a new club? House party? Nope – a hospital. Funny the scene going on right outside.

This is the third Colombian city I’ve seen with 24-hour pawn shops. The only reason for this that I can figure is for junkies who need a fix at 3am – they go rob somebody, hock the jewelry at the pawn shop, and get the money for drugs. Can you think of another possibility? Maybe I’m missing something, but it seems like limiting the pawn shops to daytime hours would go a long way towards reducing crime. Admittedly, I don’t have all the facts.

Latin Americans love to dub old U.S. TV shows. So far I’ve seen Get Smart, I Dream of Genie (those two are really popular, they’ve been in every country at all hours), The A Team, CHiPs, and Gene Simmons’ reality show.. all dubbed. Gawd. I’m just waiting for The Six Million Dollar Man, Bionic Woman, and Fantasy Island. Then my trip back to childhood will be complete.

Today I got a haircut from a fabulous queen. She spent an hour and a half on me, trimming, buzzing, shaving, waxing, washing, sculpting my entire head, eyebrows included. How much? $3.80.  Life is good.

A couple of nights ago I went trolling around the trendy bars and clubs to check out the scene. Because I was still high on self-confidence from Carnival week, I actually felt comfortable and at peace, not all self-conscious as usual. After not very long, I decided to leave – but there was a difference. I was at choice in the matter, for one of the first times in my life. I knew that I had the ability to flirt and play the game, but I was choosing not to. What a feeling of relief, to not be beholden to my fears and insecurities. I hope I can make this confidence last.