While travelling through Colombia, I took the opportunity to become a little more familiar with the political and social situation by visiting a few social and civil organizations that I had contacts for. I visited four organizations; SINALTRAINAL Sindicato Nacional de Trabajadores de la Industria de Alimentos (SINALTRAINAL) which is a union that supports food industry workers, Federación Nacional Sindical Unitaria Agropecuaria (FENSUAGRO) which is a union that supports farmers, Organizacion Nacional Indigena de Colombia (ONIC), which is a national indigenous organization and Organizacion Indigena Kankuamo, which is an organisation that supports the indigenous group the Kankuamos.
SINALTRAINAL has been representing food and beverage industry workers since 1982 and campaigns against multinational companies in Colombia for whom these workers work for. They believe that there is a severe class struggle in Colombia, which is exacerbated by the presence and actions of multinationals in the country and they fight for a society where there is no exploitation of others, one based on peace and social justice.
FENSUAGRO started in 1976 with the objective of fighting for the rights of farmers in Colombia. They request for the recognition of farmers roles in developing and providing for their country. They also fight for farmer’s rights to their own land and advocate that farmers can do a lot to protect the environment.
Organizacion Nacional Indigena de Colombia (ONIC) and Organizacion Indigena Kankuamo fight for the rights of indigenous people in Colombia. They believe that there has been a complete abandonment of indigenous people by the government and want to expose the truth of the situation in Colombia, to the world.
The current population in Colombia is 44 million (acquired from the latest census) but SINALTRAINAL believe that there is a discrepancy of 5 million (therefore 49 million) which include people on the fringe of society who have been left out so as to manipulate the statistics. 57% of the population (25 million) who are economically active are temporarily employed and 65% of the population of Colombia live in poverty (28 million).
All four organizations reported similar facts and examples concerning the government’s intimidation of social and civil organizations and their members. They all agreed that paramilitaries have links to multinational countries and are supported to assist their needs. Many have committed violations of human rights and have harmed the environment in some way.
Coca-Cola has murdered 7 colleagues, have supported the ‘war’ in Colombia, have contaminated the environment and employ 94% temporal workers. In 1928, 10,000 workers and their families were murdered by military forces in Ciénaga (Colombia) by the Chicita Brands Company (the successor to the United Fruit Company) while protesting against the terrible working conditions in the company plantations. They were taken to court for this massacre but were fitted a bill for a measly $30 million for their involvement in the massacre. The reason given was that they didn’t directly murder the workers but instead supported the paramilitaries with money and arms who committed the act.
Colombia is the 8th most resource rich country in the world. A few years ago it was amongst the first. The fall in rank is due to the amount of resources that are being exploited mainly by multinationals. There are national reserves with lots of oxygen, many important rivers that commence in mountain rangers, situated throughout the country and a lot of diversity due to the broad climatic range. Colombia is rich in many minerals, metals, coal and oil. It also holds enough land to produce sufficient food for the entire country as well as export to neighbours, yet there is a large amount of starvation and malnutrition. The majority of the land in Colombia is controlled and exploited by multinationals making food unaffordable for many. The government has privatised almost everything: the roads, the health system, education, natural resources, etc. Other countries who aren’t half as rich resource wise, are much better off than Colombia as they have sovereignty over their resources. Farmers and indigenous people are being displaced off their land and are forced to move to the cities where there are few opportunities for them.
A few years ago farmers were being killed and buried underneath African Palm seeds which grows huge roots making it impossible to dig up the bodies. The practice was called Palma Africana. The military have also been known to pay people to accuse indigenous leaders of treason so as to have a reason to imprison them. They seduce indigenous girls so as to obtain information from them. But when farmers and indigenous people start to organise themselves, they are often signalled out and harassed for doing so. Justice in Colombia is only for a selected few. The law has been drawn in favour of the powerful, leaving out the majority of the population.
There are 102 indigenous groups in Colombia with a population of 1,300 000 and 66 different language groups (the governments figures are much lower than this as their criteria for who’s indigenous is incomplete); there are currently 38 indigenous communities in danger of physical and cultural extinction – 15 of these have less than 500 habitants and 10 of these have less than 200 habitants. In 2009 there were 1340 indigenous people murdered; in 2010 there have been 116 so far. Paramilitaries are responsible for over 60% of the deaths of indigenous people. Deaths and displacements occur in the name of resources. Gota a’ gota was a government project where they bought indigenous land by offering small amounts of money, yet the largest sum that many indigenous families had seen in their life time, resulting in the displacement of the leaders of the communities, loosing indigenous culture and destroying communities entirely. Indigenous people are displaced to urban centres and end up lost and convert to prostitution and drugs (on a positive note, diffusing information to indigenous communities has had an impact as in the case of the gota a´ gota program, people are now aware of the catch and are more skeptical.)
There are more than 20,000 displaced indigenous people in Bogotá. In total there are 100,000 displaced indigenous people in Colombia. “We can no longer practice our culture in urban centres” says Adolfo Montero, an indigenous Kankuamo man. Indigenous people’s relation with the earth is very powerful; where they are born is where they need to die. Their customs and traditions are based around the land where they are from.
The Kankuamos are some of the most affected indigenous people due to the resources that they hold on their land such as oil and minerals. More than 300 indigenous people have been murdered in Kankuamo since 1986 and more than 400 displaced and 700 orphaned. It has a population of 13,000 with 12 communities, some of which have been destroyed completely.
But it’s not just for resources that displacement occurs. Some people leave the communities to be further away from the conflict between the military and the guerrillas.
Colombia is one of the most militarised countries in the world with military checkpoints every few kilometres and surveillance in many parts of the country. The military presence is felt as you walk through cities, towns and villages, encountering numerous military in the streets, a much higher number than the police that you would find in other countries. Both FENSUAGRO and ONIC report that farmers and Indigenous people are repeatedly intimidated and harassed by the military; they are asked for their identification every time they go and in out of their communities and get given trouble if they are unable to produce any, even though the military know who they are and where they are from.
SINALTRAINAL and FENSUAGRO have had many staff who have been harassed by the government, having their emails and phone calls intercepted and intelligence being collected against them, which has led to some of them being murdered. Last year (2009) FENSUAGRO had all of their bank accounts mysteriously closed making it very difficult for them to continue their activities. Thankfully they have been able to reopen them since.
SINALTRAINAL have recorded 4300 unionists who have been killed in the last 20 years; the national union organization says that there are 2300 that have been killed. This discrepancy of 2000 unionists are the deaths of unionists who haven’t been denounced to the authorities for fear of retribution. 40 members of SINALTRAINAL have been murdered in 2009 and 10 have been murdered so far in 2010. FENSUAGRO have documented a total of 1500 members murdered in 33 years of operation plus 150 imprisoned and 500 displaced. But it’s not only the union movement who are being murdered. People working in the Indigenous movement, in the human rights movement, the student’s movement and any social organization that is opposed to the government is in danger. Liliany Obando, a worker of FENSUAGRO has been imprisoned for the last 20 months (since the 8th August 2008), falsely accused of having links with the FARC. The trial is repeatedly delayed as there is no proof of this false accusation and they want to keep her imprisoned for as long as possible. The war that has been occurring against the FARC has also been occurring against social organizations, farmers and indigenous.
There are 7 military bases operated by the United States in Colombia. In 2009 the U.S. and Colombian government signed an agreement to expand and formalise the U.S. military presence in Colombia, making the presence more visible than what it was before. Surrounding South American countries have spoken out in protest for the increase in foreign military presence and the threat that this causes towards South America. There is no vigilance on the American military in Colombia (no U.S. jurisdiction or court martials), making them largely immune to any responsibility for their actions. The United States has continued to fund the war against the guerrillas (FARC) and have given a total of 5 billion since the year 2000. There are 178,000 military in Colombia maintained by a huge military budget which is largely supported by the U.S.
Plan Colombia is a plan from the United States said to be against drug trafficking (when read in Spanish) but in fact is a plan of support for the war. The U.S. give a lot of money towards funding this war which goes towards ammunition, weaponry, aircrafts, etc. Transnational and multinational companies also send money to support this war. Through Plan Colombia the government have quotas that they have to fill in regards to how many drug traffickers they must arrest. To do this, they set people up, inventing stories and therefore filling their quotas. The ulterior motive of this plan is in fact aimed at social organizations that are against the interests of the transnational and multinational companies.
The government terrorises people to build fear so as to annihilate any popular mobilization, to stop people wanting to fight the system and to impede any resistance. The Uribe government has been in power for 8 years now and there is substantial proof that 35 out of the 102 senators in Colombia have been involved in supporting paramilitaries. The presidential elections are planned for May 30th in which the current President Alvaro Uribe is unable to seek a third term after the Constitutional Court rejected a referendum to allow a third term for President. SINALTRAINAL amongst other unions/organizations, are supporting a political party called Democracia Alternativa who currently have 18 congressmen in power.
SINALTRAINAL would like for the ‘La Gran Bolivar’ to take place, a plan headed by Chavez to unite and integrate South America. SINALTRAINAL want the population of Colombia to be part of the solution, to voice up their opinions of how they want Colombia to be. They want sovereignty in Colombia from any outside forces and want the population of Colombia to help construct a new Colombia. They want representative democracy and would like to work towards installing socialism in Colombia. But most of all, they want peace for Colombia. SINALTRAINAL feels like they have tried everything in their fight against multinationals; mobilisations, boycotts, picket lines, petitions, etc. They are now reaching out internationally to obtain support from the international community. So far they have been to the European Court to present their findings, Atlanta (where one of the headquarters for Coca-cola is based), requesting for Coca-cola to admit their violations against human rights and to construct help centres for the victims.
ONIC and Organizacion Indigena Kankuamo want the government to respect indigenous people’s land and territory. They want power to be within indigenous hands and hope to return people to their communities and reconnect them with their spirituality and culture. Indigenous people’s human rights need to be reinstated and respected and a healing process needs to commence. They are hoping to hold a consultative gathering for all indigenous people of Colombia to analyse 'where to from here'. They want to link communities together so that they can help and support each other as well as organise peace centres to help people towards their journey back to recovery.
All four organizations want the truth to be known about what is happening in Colombia. They want support from the international community and want pressure to build against the current government in place, the multinationals who are taking advantage of their natural resources and the human rights violations that they commit as well as the U.S. intrusion into their own internal affairs.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Colombia at a second glance
To see photos on Colombia, click on this link
Our trip to Bogota was just as adventurous as the previous one to Medellin, meeting lots of people on the road. We got a ride with a big name business man, a capitalist whose big fear was that Venezuela will get its way and invade Colombia to create La Gran Colombia. Everyday he reads the newspaper praying that his nightmare is far from being a reality. Dani and Nani picked us up next with their pet Morpho butterfly revealing large turquoise wings. Dani had given the butterfly to Nani as a birthday present and they were now releasing it back into the wild (very frail and on its last legs by this point). Quite an eccentric couple in certain ways, with a lot of passion for each other, Dani with a devil sense of humour and Nani soft spoken and gentle. They were both concerned about the environment, designing t-shirts with environmental slogans and setting up a foundation around their business. We learnt a lot about butterflies while winding our way down to Rio Claro (a natural reserve that’s renowned for holding a crystal clear river), being a passion of Nani’s. The Morpho butterfly lives for approximately 2 to 3 weeks and is one of the largest butterflies around. Colombia within its very rich ecosystem (it has the most plant and animal species per unit than any other country), holds a very large variety of butterflies (3100, the world’s third highest number of species of butterflies). There are also many migrating butterflies that come through Colombia every year and stop by at Rio Claro. There are many rare species including the hard-to-see transparent butterflies.
Along our drive down to Rio Claro, we were delayed by an hour after coming across an accident between a truck and a bus. Fresh blood marked the windscreen of the bus, the only sign of injury around. Arriving at Rio Claro, Dani and Nani invited us to lunch, along with their friends they were to meet there. Our last slice of the journey to Bogota, we went with a bloke named Omar, who thought we were two Argentinians who he had picked up a few weeks back. We slowly crawled up a windy mountain road that many were following in the stormy dusk, stuck behind slower trucks that we couldn’t overtake but happy to be inside, out of the torrential rain.
My main reason for wanting to go to Bogota was to visit a few social organizations that I had been in contact with through my old job with SEARCH. I visited three in total and if you want to find out more, read the above entry. Ironically, where we stayed in Bogota was right next to a military school for young cadets who chanted in the mornings and all dressed uniformly, in white t-shirts and jeans. There were 100’s of them, all very young and all boys.
We took advantage of being in the Capital to visit the famous gold museum which told the history of gold in Colombia, how it was worked by different ancient, indigenous groups and the cultural significance that gold held for each tribe. It’s by far one of my favourite museums I have visited, concisely explained with great examples of gold work and a very good description of the spiritual and ritual aspect of gold within indigenous cultures. With Carlos, our Bogota CS’s younger brother and his girlfriend (who he’d met over facebook!) we also visited the tallest building in Bogota and saw the city span out extensively on all sides, with modern buildings sticking out noticeably.
Leaving Bogota showed to be a mission. The day we left was when all buses in the city were on strike requesting that the bus fares be raised. The transmilenium (the tram) was chock-a-block full but we managed to squeeze in with our backpacks, taking up double space. To get off was a nightmare. Agustin got off first and I thought that we had lost each other, me not being able to get off. Luckily I shouted out to be let through and people stopped trying to get on for a second and helped me out before the doors closed.
Through a combination of taxis (public and private) we made it to the highway toll with the aim of heading to Cali, another 8 hour drive. From there, we went with a fellow called Fernando who was relatively young (for a trucky) and who was quiet in comparison to previous drivers who we’d ridden with. He did have a stereo though and a good compilation of music that we happily drummed and hummed to for most of the journey. We snaked our way up ‘La linea’, a notorious road that zigzags up and over mountains for many kilometres and which is definitely high stress for any driver, especially one who drives a large truck, with 180 degree sharp turns that don’t leave any room for error.
With these huge rolling mountains, it’s no surprise that bicycles latch onto trucks for free rides up the steep hills.
I had high expectations for Cali, as I was told that it’s the capital of salsa and also where Boogaloo originates from (a dance that is a mixture of jive, funk and swing which I had learnt a little when living in Palenque). We stayed at a CS’s place who lived in a large apartment complex with a pool and a big rooftop terrace – luxury! As she had a lot of work on (being an eco-tour guide), she left us the apartment for a few days while she went travelling. A couch surfer had offered to teach us some Cali salsa and so we had two classes with him which were fun and gave us an idea of a few of the steps involved. He was very proud of the ability of Cali salsa dancers and to be truthful, they have repeatedly won many worldwide championships and have a reason to be proud! They dance much faster than other salsa dancers, with rapid foot work and lots of shines. He was passionate about salsa and talked about dancing in the Cali clubs as if it was a competition, everyone checking each others moves, new steps and style. We went to a salsa club and watched couples glide around the dance floor in a very rhythmic and graceful manner, obviously all experienced salsa dancers making us look awkward and uncoordinated. But it was amusing to watch everyone leave the dance floor in a flash, as soon as the song was finished and sit down for literally 3 seconds until the next song came on, at which point the boys proceeded to ask girls to dance and back to the dance floor they went!
People in Cali were extremely friendly with us to the point where we found it hard to leave after asking for directions. Having asked a man eating an Arepa on the side of the road for the closest market, another man stopped and waited his turn to join into the conversation and give his two cents worth. The other man proceeded to ask us where we had been in Colombia, where we were from, what we liked about the country, etc, etc, etc! People were almost fighting over each other to help us and give us advice on anything! They would argue with each other over the easiest route to a certain street or which bus to catch to go to the city centre. At times we had an entire bus disagreeing with each other over the way to a particular address, everyone getting involved and passionately arguing with each other.
On one of the days that we were in Cali, we went to a nearby village called San Cipriano, a black community, who had improvised quite ingeniously with the train tracks that cut through the middle of their village. They had built wooden carts with wheels to fit the tracks, attached to a motorbike. With this creation they rode on the tracks and carried passengers and goods back and forth. It’s an entertaining ride, wind blowing in your face as you breeze through forest on either side.
The only issue is when you’re faced with an opposing cart and one has to obviously give way to the other. Many arguments occurred sometimes lasting a good few minutes until finally someone ceded and went through the laborious task of moving the cart and motorbike off the tracks. The village is situated close by to a breathtaking tropical rain forest which has copious amounts of crystal clear pools connected to a beautifully clear river. The rocks at the bottom of the river glimmered and sparkled from the suns shine, which made me take numerous photos to try and capture the beauty that I could see. Unfortunately it wasn’t possible (or not with my skills!).
On another day we went to the theatre and saw a great play called ojos bonitos cuadros feos about a teacher and an artist who commits suicide after feeling as if she’s unable to make it. It was captivating and engaging unlike the Alice in Wonderland movie that I nearly fell asleep to (partly due to the glass of wine that I’d had before!), the story being quite bland and typical Hollywood. We also went to see some electronic tango along with an Argentinean photography exhibition by some amateur photographers which introduced me a little to Buenos Aires and its people.
Many people that we have spoken to have a very negative impression of Colombia which we haven’t found to be at all true in our experiences. In the month that we were there, we were very warmly welcomed, helped with extreme enthusiasm (sometimes without us even looking for any assistance), chatted to and told stories as well as being looked out for. Of course there are dangers, just like in any country, and we may have had someone looking over us, making sure we were safe. But Colombia is not the horrendously dangerous place that many people make it sound like. The FARC (the guerrillas who have been around for 50 years) have greatly reduced their struggle (or the government has reduced it for them). Colombia is the biggest producer of Cocaine and is known for its notorious drug cartels but unless you go searching for it, you shouldn’t find yourself face-to-face with drug traffickers.
Our last stop in Colombia was Pasto. The ride there was amusing, meeting Mario who was off to see his family, as he does every Sunday, a total of 56 people who all get together at the families finca. Our travels bought back memories to Mario of his youth, when he had travelled to Ecuador and Peru the same way as we are. He pointed to all the sugarcane fields on either side of us and described how harmful it was to the environment, burning the wildlife within the sugarcane and emitting a lot of greenhouse gases and air pollution into the atmosphere (they burn the sugarcane so as to make it easier to harvest and decrease the volume of material to be processed), polluting waterways and deforesting on a massive scale. We tried Guarapo (sugarcane juice), with lemon juice, which was absolutely amazing!
Our next interesting encounter was with two guys who held a little business together, one who was a serious cyclist (you have to be to cycle up the amazingly hilly roads in Colombia!) and who had ridden to where we were standing. They gave us a lift halfway to Pasto and were intrigued by our travels but more interestingly, Jose related stories of having being kidnapped three times by the guerrilla, Jose’s experiences of black women, Leonardo’s battle with his weight and were invited to a Sancocho (a soup with potato, banana, pumpkin, casaba and fish) as well as a special type of creamy yoghurt that comes from a small village near Mojarra.
They dropped us off in La Mojarra, bordering the road to Pasto. Daylight was diminishing and we had little hope to get out of the village before the next day but with luck on our side, a truck stopped and told us to jump in. He (Orlando) wanted company as he had driven all night and all day, mostly without pause (apart from a couple of hours), and wanted help to stay awake. We managed to squeeze in the front with our backpacks jammed in, one underneath our legs and one over us, squashed as I had never been before and overheating from the snugness of it all. We chatted to him profusely, learning about his family of seven and his daughter who had (in his eyes) run away from home at the age of 22, him feeling a little hopeless with the situation. He asked us many questions including if we thought that young people (especially from our countries) were more liberal and don’t commit to each other as before. I think this had a little to do with his daughter’s situation. Agus was in the middle and acted as intermediary, not being able to hear very much from the noise of the engine. He appeared quite conscious about environmental issues asking what we thought about the global warming crisis. He stated that the temperatures in the mountains had increased dramatically in the last few years and that this was partly caused by the disastrous deforestation which the government had undertaken with the excuse of searching for the guerrilla. He also talked about politics (being a hot issue with the upcoming elections), telling us that the government buys votes and paramilitaries threaten people with death if they don’t vote for the government. He relayed that there have been quite a few left wing senate candidates who have been assassinated. He also said (as the organizations I visited had also stated), that paramilitaries have displaced many in the name of multinationals. He recounted that he had been robbed three times last year, once by guerrillas who had ridden up to the passenger side of the truck with a motorbike and a gun and had taken the entire truck along with ten others. He told us about people setting up pretend accidents at nighttime, stopping drivers and then mugging them. A few minutes after he’d told us this, we were stopped by an accident, but this time it was genuine, where a small truck and a car had collided.
The question of the night was when he asked Agus what he was thinking in a moment of silence. Agus was speechless; shocked that once again he had to share his thoughts, but this time with a stranger! At 11pm he admitted that he couldn’t continue any further for fear of falling asleep at the wheel (his attempts at finding a coffee in the land of coffee had been futile). He felt guilty for promising a ride to Pasto that night and not making it but we reassured him that we much preferred for him to rest than continue and risk an accident (especially after he had told us about the worst accident he’d had where an oncoming minibus driver had fallen asleep and had crashed, his vain attempt to miss the bus had failed – all passengers of the minibus died). He offered us a motel room for the night and to take us to Pasto the next morning, which we gladly accepted, both of us also quite exhausted from the journey-full day.
Pasto, called the surprise town, as you can’t see it coming from afar until you stumble across it in the mountains, is surrounded by agricultural land and is located at the base of the Galeras volcano (which is currently active and where tourists have died when it erupted a few years back). We stayed with a couch surfer who’s in his 60’s (quite rare in Couch Surfer world) and who is planning a big trip around South America in 2012. He lives in a beautiful part of Pasto, 5 minutes out of town by bus and surrounded by nature. His apartment has large windows that let a lot of light in but most importantly, give a picturesque view of nature, making you want to stay there all day and miss out on visiting Pasto. But we didn’t. We visited Laguna de la Cocha, a beautiful lake that has a small island with dense forest situated on it. The views are breathtaking and the tranquility on the water as you sit on the gondola style powerboats, is re-energizing. Our boat driver described how there had been an abundance of trouts back in his father’s day but since locals discovered tourists taste for the fish, they over fished the lake and there are now few left. We also went on a trip to Volcan Azufral, an extinct volcano that has a gorgeous turquoise coloured lake in its crater. As we were leaving Colombia in a day, we didn’t want to exchange more money therefore we had to try and make it with what we had. We arose early and hiked an hour across the city so as to head to the volcano. During the trip there, we met a couple that were heading to Tuquerres, close by to the volcano. They were like kids with new pets, wanting to take us everywhere and show us all the highlights of their part of the country, taking photos with us at every stop and asking for our facebook details. Finally, we made it to Tuquerres and one minibus ride later, we were in the countryside heading up the path to the volcano. We passed a small but charming village, many people greeting us very politely as we passed by. Up and up we rose amongst the extensive valleys, lit up gloriously by the suns rays. With a quick pace we made it up the volcano in two hours, a little strenuous, as we got higher and higher and the altitude and the cold started to sink in at 4070 metres. Clouds and mist covered our view and we were doubtful that we would be able to see anything. Over the edge, we caught a glimpse of the lake and were blown away by its majestic beauty, making the trip all the while worth it.
We sat looking at the vastness of the volcano, the lake and the mountains surrounding us, in awe at the beauty of nature.
Our travel experience in Colombia opened us up to a world to truckies and the lives that they lead while being on the road. It’s a solitary life, many weeks away from their families, a double life, the road and the family being separate, kids growing up without their fathers around and wives lonely. They work many hours with sometimes very little sleep, having to adhere to the transit laws and regulations in place and if they work for themselves they’re on call for the next shipment even while at home. They are much more subjected to danger, accidents from night-time driving along mountainous road, micro-sleep as well as muggings. Many choose the trade out of obligation or because they grew up driving trucks and that’s what they know. One may have a stereotype image of a trucky being rough, tough and uninterested in society but this proved to be very untrue, meeting a lot of truckies who were concerned by the world around them, wanting to travel, were conscious about social issues and worried about where it was all leading to. They picked us up for different reasons I’m sure, but mostly I would say, would be for some company on their long trips, someone to talk to and share stories with.
Our trip to Bogota was just as adventurous as the previous one to Medellin, meeting lots of people on the road. We got a ride with a big name business man, a capitalist whose big fear was that Venezuela will get its way and invade Colombia to create La Gran Colombia. Everyday he reads the newspaper praying that his nightmare is far from being a reality. Dani and Nani picked us up next with their pet Morpho butterfly revealing large turquoise wings. Dani had given the butterfly to Nani as a birthday present and they were now releasing it back into the wild (very frail and on its last legs by this point). Quite an eccentric couple in certain ways, with a lot of passion for each other, Dani with a devil sense of humour and Nani soft spoken and gentle. They were both concerned about the environment, designing t-shirts with environmental slogans and setting up a foundation around their business. We learnt a lot about butterflies while winding our way down to Rio Claro (a natural reserve that’s renowned for holding a crystal clear river), being a passion of Nani’s. The Morpho butterfly lives for approximately 2 to 3 weeks and is one of the largest butterflies around. Colombia within its very rich ecosystem (it has the most plant and animal species per unit than any other country), holds a very large variety of butterflies (3100, the world’s third highest number of species of butterflies). There are also many migrating butterflies that come through Colombia every year and stop by at Rio Claro. There are many rare species including the hard-to-see transparent butterflies.
Along our drive down to Rio Claro, we were delayed by an hour after coming across an accident between a truck and a bus. Fresh blood marked the windscreen of the bus, the only sign of injury around. Arriving at Rio Claro, Dani and Nani invited us to lunch, along with their friends they were to meet there. Our last slice of the journey to Bogota, we went with a bloke named Omar, who thought we were two Argentinians who he had picked up a few weeks back. We slowly crawled up a windy mountain road that many were following in the stormy dusk, stuck behind slower trucks that we couldn’t overtake but happy to be inside, out of the torrential rain. My main reason for wanting to go to Bogota was to visit a few social organizations that I had been in contact with through my old job with SEARCH. I visited three in total and if you want to find out more, read the above entry. Ironically, where we stayed in Bogota was right next to a military school for young cadets who chanted in the mornings and all dressed uniformly, in white t-shirts and jeans. There were 100’s of them, all very young and all boys.
We took advantage of being in the Capital to visit the famous gold museum which told the history of gold in Colombia, how it was worked by different ancient, indigenous groups and the cultural significance that gold held for each tribe. It’s by far one of my favourite museums I have visited, concisely explained with great examples of gold work and a very good description of the spiritual and ritual aspect of gold within indigenous cultures. With Carlos, our Bogota CS’s younger brother and his girlfriend (who he’d met over facebook!) we also visited the tallest building in Bogota and saw the city span out extensively on all sides, with modern buildings sticking out noticeably.
Leaving Bogota showed to be a mission. The day we left was when all buses in the city were on strike requesting that the bus fares be raised. The transmilenium (the tram) was chock-a-block full but we managed to squeeze in with our backpacks, taking up double space. To get off was a nightmare. Agustin got off first and I thought that we had lost each other, me not being able to get off. Luckily I shouted out to be let through and people stopped trying to get on for a second and helped me out before the doors closed.
Through a combination of taxis (public and private) we made it to the highway toll with the aim of heading to Cali, another 8 hour drive. From there, we went with a fellow called Fernando who was relatively young (for a trucky) and who was quiet in comparison to previous drivers who we’d ridden with. He did have a stereo though and a good compilation of music that we happily drummed and hummed to for most of the journey. We snaked our way up ‘La linea’, a notorious road that zigzags up and over mountains for many kilometres and which is definitely high stress for any driver, especially one who drives a large truck, with 180 degree sharp turns that don’t leave any room for error.
With these huge rolling mountains, it’s no surprise that bicycles latch onto trucks for free rides up the steep hills. I had high expectations for Cali, as I was told that it’s the capital of salsa and also where Boogaloo originates from (a dance that is a mixture of jive, funk and swing which I had learnt a little when living in Palenque). We stayed at a CS’s place who lived in a large apartment complex with a pool and a big rooftop terrace – luxury! As she had a lot of work on (being an eco-tour guide), she left us the apartment for a few days while she went travelling. A couch surfer had offered to teach us some Cali salsa and so we had two classes with him which were fun and gave us an idea of a few of the steps involved. He was very proud of the ability of Cali salsa dancers and to be truthful, they have repeatedly won many worldwide championships and have a reason to be proud! They dance much faster than other salsa dancers, with rapid foot work and lots of shines. He was passionate about salsa and talked about dancing in the Cali clubs as if it was a competition, everyone checking each others moves, new steps and style. We went to a salsa club and watched couples glide around the dance floor in a very rhythmic and graceful manner, obviously all experienced salsa dancers making us look awkward and uncoordinated. But it was amusing to watch everyone leave the dance floor in a flash, as soon as the song was finished and sit down for literally 3 seconds until the next song came on, at which point the boys proceeded to ask girls to dance and back to the dance floor they went!
People in Cali were extremely friendly with us to the point where we found it hard to leave after asking for directions. Having asked a man eating an Arepa on the side of the road for the closest market, another man stopped and waited his turn to join into the conversation and give his two cents worth. The other man proceeded to ask us where we had been in Colombia, where we were from, what we liked about the country, etc, etc, etc! People were almost fighting over each other to help us and give us advice on anything! They would argue with each other over the easiest route to a certain street or which bus to catch to go to the city centre. At times we had an entire bus disagreeing with each other over the way to a particular address, everyone getting involved and passionately arguing with each other.
On one of the days that we were in Cali, we went to a nearby village called San Cipriano, a black community, who had improvised quite ingeniously with the train tracks that cut through the middle of their village. They had built wooden carts with wheels to fit the tracks, attached to a motorbike. With this creation they rode on the tracks and carried passengers and goods back and forth. It’s an entertaining ride, wind blowing in your face as you breeze through forest on either side.
The only issue is when you’re faced with an opposing cart and one has to obviously give way to the other. Many arguments occurred sometimes lasting a good few minutes until finally someone ceded and went through the laborious task of moving the cart and motorbike off the tracks. The village is situated close by to a breathtaking tropical rain forest which has copious amounts of crystal clear pools connected to a beautifully clear river. The rocks at the bottom of the river glimmered and sparkled from the suns shine, which made me take numerous photos to try and capture the beauty that I could see. Unfortunately it wasn’t possible (or not with my skills!). On another day we went to the theatre and saw a great play called ojos bonitos cuadros feos about a teacher and an artist who commits suicide after feeling as if she’s unable to make it. It was captivating and engaging unlike the Alice in Wonderland movie that I nearly fell asleep to (partly due to the glass of wine that I’d had before!), the story being quite bland and typical Hollywood. We also went to see some electronic tango along with an Argentinean photography exhibition by some amateur photographers which introduced me a little to Buenos Aires and its people.
Many people that we have spoken to have a very negative impression of Colombia which we haven’t found to be at all true in our experiences. In the month that we were there, we were very warmly welcomed, helped with extreme enthusiasm (sometimes without us even looking for any assistance), chatted to and told stories as well as being looked out for. Of course there are dangers, just like in any country, and we may have had someone looking over us, making sure we were safe. But Colombia is not the horrendously dangerous place that many people make it sound like. The FARC (the guerrillas who have been around for 50 years) have greatly reduced their struggle (or the government has reduced it for them). Colombia is the biggest producer of Cocaine and is known for its notorious drug cartels but unless you go searching for it, you shouldn’t find yourself face-to-face with drug traffickers.
Our last stop in Colombia was Pasto. The ride there was amusing, meeting Mario who was off to see his family, as he does every Sunday, a total of 56 people who all get together at the families finca. Our travels bought back memories to Mario of his youth, when he had travelled to Ecuador and Peru the same way as we are. He pointed to all the sugarcane fields on either side of us and described how harmful it was to the environment, burning the wildlife within the sugarcane and emitting a lot of greenhouse gases and air pollution into the atmosphere (they burn the sugarcane so as to make it easier to harvest and decrease the volume of material to be processed), polluting waterways and deforesting on a massive scale. We tried Guarapo (sugarcane juice), with lemon juice, which was absolutely amazing!
Our next interesting encounter was with two guys who held a little business together, one who was a serious cyclist (you have to be to cycle up the amazingly hilly roads in Colombia!) and who had ridden to where we were standing. They gave us a lift halfway to Pasto and were intrigued by our travels but more interestingly, Jose related stories of having being kidnapped three times by the guerrilla, Jose’s experiences of black women, Leonardo’s battle with his weight and were invited to a Sancocho (a soup with potato, banana, pumpkin, casaba and fish) as well as a special type of creamy yoghurt that comes from a small village near Mojarra.
They dropped us off in La Mojarra, bordering the road to Pasto. Daylight was diminishing and we had little hope to get out of the village before the next day but with luck on our side, a truck stopped and told us to jump in. He (Orlando) wanted company as he had driven all night and all day, mostly without pause (apart from a couple of hours), and wanted help to stay awake. We managed to squeeze in the front with our backpacks jammed in, one underneath our legs and one over us, squashed as I had never been before and overheating from the snugness of it all. We chatted to him profusely, learning about his family of seven and his daughter who had (in his eyes) run away from home at the age of 22, him feeling a little hopeless with the situation. He asked us many questions including if we thought that young people (especially from our countries) were more liberal and don’t commit to each other as before. I think this had a little to do with his daughter’s situation. Agus was in the middle and acted as intermediary, not being able to hear very much from the noise of the engine. He appeared quite conscious about environmental issues asking what we thought about the global warming crisis. He stated that the temperatures in the mountains had increased dramatically in the last few years and that this was partly caused by the disastrous deforestation which the government had undertaken with the excuse of searching for the guerrilla. He also talked about politics (being a hot issue with the upcoming elections), telling us that the government buys votes and paramilitaries threaten people with death if they don’t vote for the government. He relayed that there have been quite a few left wing senate candidates who have been assassinated. He also said (as the organizations I visited had also stated), that paramilitaries have displaced many in the name of multinationals. He recounted that he had been robbed three times last year, once by guerrillas who had ridden up to the passenger side of the truck with a motorbike and a gun and had taken the entire truck along with ten others. He told us about people setting up pretend accidents at nighttime, stopping drivers and then mugging them. A few minutes after he’d told us this, we were stopped by an accident, but this time it was genuine, where a small truck and a car had collided.
The question of the night was when he asked Agus what he was thinking in a moment of silence. Agus was speechless; shocked that once again he had to share his thoughts, but this time with a stranger! At 11pm he admitted that he couldn’t continue any further for fear of falling asleep at the wheel (his attempts at finding a coffee in the land of coffee had been futile). He felt guilty for promising a ride to Pasto that night and not making it but we reassured him that we much preferred for him to rest than continue and risk an accident (especially after he had told us about the worst accident he’d had where an oncoming minibus driver had fallen asleep and had crashed, his vain attempt to miss the bus had failed – all passengers of the minibus died). He offered us a motel room for the night and to take us to Pasto the next morning, which we gladly accepted, both of us also quite exhausted from the journey-full day. Pasto, called the surprise town, as you can’t see it coming from afar until you stumble across it in the mountains, is surrounded by agricultural land and is located at the base of the Galeras volcano (which is currently active and where tourists have died when it erupted a few years back). We stayed with a couch surfer who’s in his 60’s (quite rare in Couch Surfer world) and who is planning a big trip around South America in 2012. He lives in a beautiful part of Pasto, 5 minutes out of town by bus and surrounded by nature. His apartment has large windows that let a lot of light in but most importantly, give a picturesque view of nature, making you want to stay there all day and miss out on visiting Pasto. But we didn’t. We visited Laguna de la Cocha, a beautiful lake that has a small island with dense forest situated on it. The views are breathtaking and the tranquility on the water as you sit on the gondola style powerboats, is re-energizing. Our boat driver described how there had been an abundance of trouts back in his father’s day but since locals discovered tourists taste for the fish, they over fished the lake and there are now few left. We also went on a trip to Volcan Azufral, an extinct volcano that has a gorgeous turquoise coloured lake in its crater. As we were leaving Colombia in a day, we didn’t want to exchange more money therefore we had to try and make it with what we had. We arose early and hiked an hour across the city so as to head to the volcano. During the trip there, we met a couple that were heading to Tuquerres, close by to the volcano. They were like kids with new pets, wanting to take us everywhere and show us all the highlights of their part of the country, taking photos with us at every stop and asking for our facebook details. Finally, we made it to Tuquerres and one minibus ride later, we were in the countryside heading up the path to the volcano. We passed a small but charming village, many people greeting us very politely as we passed by. Up and up we rose amongst the extensive valleys, lit up gloriously by the suns rays. With a quick pace we made it up the volcano in two hours, a little strenuous, as we got higher and higher and the altitude and the cold started to sink in at 4070 metres. Clouds and mist covered our view and we were doubtful that we would be able to see anything. Over the edge, we caught a glimpse of the lake and were blown away by its majestic beauty, making the trip all the while worth it.
We sat looking at the vastness of the volcano, the lake and the mountains surrounding us, in awe at the beauty of nature. Our travel experience in Colombia opened us up to a world to truckies and the lives that they lead while being on the road. It’s a solitary life, many weeks away from their families, a double life, the road and the family being separate, kids growing up without their fathers around and wives lonely. They work many hours with sometimes very little sleep, having to adhere to the transit laws and regulations in place and if they work for themselves they’re on call for the next shipment even while at home. They are much more subjected to danger, accidents from night-time driving along mountainous road, micro-sleep as well as muggings. Many choose the trade out of obligation or because they grew up driving trucks and that’s what they know. One may have a stereotype image of a trucky being rough, tough and uninterested in society but this proved to be very untrue, meeting a lot of truckies who were concerned by the world around them, wanting to travel, were conscious about social issues and worried about where it was all leading to. They picked us up for different reasons I’m sure, but mostly I would say, would be for some company on their long trips, someone to talk to and share stories with.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Setting foot in South America
To see Carnaval photos, click on this link
Arriving in Colombia by a small passenger plane at 11pm at night, I had the notion that Colombia was going to be very similar to Cuba - full of vitality, music, salsa and people living their lives outdoors, sociably. My expectations were somewhat filled but of course each country has its own unique flavour and cannot be compared. Cuba is Cuba. It’s a unique country unlike any other place on earth. And so is Colombia. It has its fair share of liveliness, festivities and dancing but the culture is of course quite different and changes depending in what region you’re in. The coast (being where we first landed coming from Panama) is spirited, festive, with hotter climate and large black communities and food to match the territory.
Cartagena de Indias is one of Colombia’s most famous cities for being an old endearing colonial city, founded in 1533. It served as a gateway (and still does) into Colombia and South America. The Spanish used the city as one of the most important ports, shipping treasures from the indigenous back to the homeland. It was attacked by many pirates, which caused the Spanish to create a fortress around the town with an elaborate and profound wall (Las Murallas) that now serve to attract many tourists.
Inside lies the old town which has winding narrow streets, lane ways, many plazas that people converge at, to spend a few hours of the day and beautiful 16th and 17th century Spanish buildings with lots of colour and light. Food spills out on the street with stalls overflowing with fresh fruit, fruit cocktails, fresh juices, coffee (tinto) and the traditional food of Colombia: Arepas, a thick corn tortilla which can be served in a variety of ways, sometimes deep-fried with an egg inside, grilled with melted cheese, sweet, with meat, etc. Well made, they can be a damn good snack! The old town is just one small part of Cartagena, which can have you believe under false pretences, that it’s a rich town with no poverty. Once you escape the walls and venture outside, you come across the locals living in Cartagena, the working class and the people who make the town function with dwellings and streets that show little luxury.
The main reason why we raced through Panama was to arrive in Baranquilla in time for Carnaval (from Feb 13th to the 16th), apparently the second best Carnaval in the world after Brazil’s, in Rio de Janeiro. The Carnaval is a blend of African, Indigenous and Spanish cultures which originates from the Catholic religious celebrations along with indigenous traditions and music that originates from African slaves. It occurs a few days before Lent and is a celebration of the diverse and rich culture that colours Colombia. We had managed to find a CS who wasn’t already booked (2 months in advance as some CS responded) and on our first night we went out to see Cumbia, traditional music from Colombia, originating as a courtship dance practiced by the slave population. People were undeniably in a festive mood, with some in costumes and many foaming each other or throwing flour in all directions. People were dancing to the beats of the drums, swigging from bottles of alcohol such as Aguardiente, a typical cheap alcohol derived from sugar cane and saved by the flavour of Anise.
The next day was the official start of Carnaval with the famous Batalla de las flores, which is when all the different Carnaval groups parade as well as local and national stars and the Carnaval queen who throws flowers at the spectators. The day was a scorcher, the streets were full of people at 10 am in the morning, either dressed up (e.g. Minnie mouses, gladiators, etc) or girls wearing the ‘Carnaval costume’ consisting of a colourful Carnaval shirt cut up in various ways along with the Sombrero Volteado, named so for the black spirals decorating the hat.
As the night before, people were armed with foam and flour and weren’t shy to use it on whoever was in their way (I complained several times when my camera was sprayed repeatedly with foam). The street where the parade was to occur was packed with people at least 3 hours before the start and hardly any spots could be seen unless you wanted to pay for grandstands or seats, which cost quite a bit of money. We managed to squeeze into a beer tent where you’re meant to consume constantly but no one said anything to us just buying one (it was Aguila, ugh! – like Sol but with more water!). People lined up for front row spots as we waited for what seemed to be many hours, till the parade started. At last, one-by-one, floats started to appear, at first very slowly. We were squashed by the number of people and chairs around us, trying to see over the many heads, poles and security standing in front of us. Every year there’s a theme song for the Carnaval and it’s played by many floats on the opening day. This year it was called ‘El celular’ and was a little over played in my opinion, being one of those annoying songs that get stuck in your head for days after hearing it once. The floats mostly consisted of people in costumes walking and waving, sometimes dancing, sometimes with a famous singer or star or performing a simple routine. There was a large diversity of groups consisting of Minnie mouses, African slaves, Las gigantonas (giant puppets), Marimondas (elephant costumes that originated as a mockery of the upper classes) and many more. It was the opening of the Carnaval, showcasing all of the ‘performers’. There were approximately 300 floats that paraded that day but we left ¾ of the way through after many hours in the sun, squashed, hungry and thirsty and a little disappointed, imagining that there would be a bit more energy and dancing like the Brazilian Carnaval – a night time parade would have helped like Mardi Gras in Sydney!
On Sunday is the La gran parada, which consists of everyone walking instead of parading on floats and with a lot of cumbia dancing. We didn’t attend La gran parada as we were well tired from the previous day and couldn’t imagine battling it out in the crowd and the hot sun again, two days in a row. Instead, with our CS, we went to a small mud volcano near Baranquilla, which holds a natural mud pool in its tiny crater. It was a strange sensation entering the mud bath, similar to an insect trapped in a spider’s web; It was hard to move around, the thick mud trapping you in as you floated on top of its profundity.
As you got use to the feeling and found sections where the sun had heated up the mud to create a warm slush, men helping you into the pool worked away at massaging and exfoliating your body with mud. You left feeling relaxed, your skin soft and clean (after washing the mud off in the river nearby) from the mud mixed in with the minerals from the volcano.
On Monday was Agustin’s birthday. I made him a cheesecake which I unfortunately was unable to hide from him but he seemed to appreciate the touch, especially being his first cheesecake ever! We once again went to the parade, preparing two super big gourmet sandwiches of grilled onion, avocado, egg, cheese, capsicum and tomato to take with us. Monday was the Fantasy parade, which was a little more like what you expect the Brazilian Carnaval to be like. We got there nice and early but this time there was hardly anyone about. The prices for the grand stands had gone down dramatically as well as for the chairs. We decided to fork out a little for front row chairs and sat there waiting peacefully until the paraded started. The people next to us took on the role of photo agents, attracting performers over to pose so that I could get a close up photo. It was great. We saw everything very clearly and enjoyed the parade a lot more this time around. The costumes were a lot more dramatic to fit the theme of fantasy and this time groups did a lot more choreography than on Saturday. There seemed to be more fun in the air along with lots of colour and vibrancy; the way I imagined a Carnaval to be!
That night we had pizza at a restaurante to celebrate Agus's birthday. It was definitely a special day as we don't normally go out to restaurants very much!
Our CS was very curious about our travels, our beliefs and experiences. With a mother that controls her every movement at 21, she’s a young woman wanting to explore and experience the world but restrained by her mother and from farther back, her father (who normally lives in Spain). Couch surfing may be an escape route to freedom for her, allowing her to go out with CS’s without causing any problems with her parents. We were her first CS’s and were obviously the experiment.
The next day we had a tight program of different tasks to accomplish before leaving for Tayrona. The Carnaval was on its last day, the theme being La muerte de Joselito where everyone cries for the death of Joselito, the character who represents the joyfulness and festivity of the Carnaval who after four days of intense Carnaval partying, dies. We decided to give it a miss and concentrate on accomplishing our tasks. But instead we were woken up in the early morning by our CS before she went to work and told that we couldn’t stay for another night as she had been having problems with her parents. So we packed up our backpacks and just before leaving, we invited the parents to eat some of Agus’s cheesecake with us. The father, cheese cake in hand, commenced to give us a sermon. He spoke about our travels and how much better we would enjoy them if we did it with God in our hearts, that we would benefit much more from our time this way and that we wouldn’t feel the need to frequent clubs/bars, drink alcohol, go out to parties and most relevant to that week, go to the Carnaval. He stated proudly that he had never been to the Carnaval and that he had lived there for a number of years without feeling the temptation to go. He continued, saying that with God in his life he is able to have just as much pleasure and that he believed that God had led us to him so that he could ‘communicate his message’. We were both speechless with this oration. The sermon went on for a good half an hour with no apparent route for escape. Unable to come up with words to respond, Agustin managed to be quite diplomatic, saying something along the lines of “everyone has their own path to follow… and speaking of which, we need to go now!”.
So off we went on our way. This time we didn’t get a ride and instead stood in the hot sun for many hours waiting, with no luck. Agus said we had been cursed by the Evangelicals! Finally we took a bus halfway to our destination and that night we slept in some new rooms that a petrol station was building (upon advice by a friendly taxi driver who took us for free to the petrol station saying that he had been helped when he had travelled back in his time). Sleeping amazingly well for the location, we arrived in the morning at Tayrona, a National Park in the North of Colombia which has beautiful jungle bordering the coast line. Being a relatively expensive entrance fee, we debated for half an hour if we should go in considering that we didn’t have that much on us. Finally we decided that we would and at the entrance of the park we met a friendly couple that were visiting for the day. We hung out for most of the day with them, trekked through the jungle to finally come out onto a large beach with waves that crashed several times before hitting the shore. Large warnings stated for swimmers to not go into the water, as the rips are extremely strong and sadly, many people have died in these waters.
A little farther on, we came across other beaches which were enclosed in bays and which were swimmer friendly, with very few waves. Also within the park we visited pre-Hispanic ruins left by the Tayrona people, an invigorating walk situated up a trail full of large rocks. There’s a certain powerful energy that is felt as you climb your way up these wondrous rocks and finally make it up to what feels as if should be heaven for the amount you have climbed.
We slept on the beach during our first night in Tayrona. I kept on worrying that the tide would come to wash us away. Luckily it didn’t but early the next morning one of the guards saw us and told us not to do it again. The next night we slept in a campground that was situated right on the beach with three other tents in the entire site. Luckily they didn’t charge us for our stay. It was a beautiful spot facing the large waves that came crashing down with such fury and which had taken many lives who had dared to brave the waters.
Leaving Tayrona with the aim of making it to Medellin that day we came across a truck driver named Juan Carlos who was willing to take us to Cartagena. Arriving in the afternoon after a 6-hour drive, we met another truckie called Junior who took us to Carmen de Bolivar, another 4-hour drive. He shouted us to a meal and then dropped us off halfway to Medellin. Night was falling and we were about to retire for the day when another truck came past who had seen us eating with Junior and who offered us a lift to Medellin (‘the 3 musketeers’). We had the luxury of being in the sleeper, although very hot, it was perfect to snooze in. At 4:00 in the morning we were woken up and told that they had to stop as they had run out of money for petrol and had to wait till the next day for their boss to transfer cash over. So we slept for a couple of hours and were back on the road again just after 6:00 a.m. Luckily our truck decided to continue on for a little way before staying put in a small village up in the mountains. We met another traveller Elias who was travelling with Enrique and who offered us a lift for the three or four hours remaining to Medellin. Elias was a well versed philosophy graduate who was moving to Medellin to find himself a teaching position. He spoke for most of the way about different philosophers, movies that he liked and explained what philosophy consisted of (in a short few hours!). Finally arriving in Medellin, I was absolutely exhausted from an entire day of travelling and wanted nothing more than a shower and a place to curl up, without any wondering eyes. Unfortunately we were in the middle of the city and we were being observed by all (especially due to our big bags), filthy and probably smelling like it too!
Everyone that we had spoken to had said that Medellin had the nicest people out of all of Colombia, the nicest weather, the men saying that the girls here are the most beautiful. But our few days in Medellin were quiet and we didn’t really experience any of this. I recuperated from the disturbed sleeping that I had been having while either camping or on the road. We stayed at a CS’s called Leni who was in and out for most of the time but generous with his space, hosting another CS from Russia (an eccentric and out-going Steiner teacher) plus an American and two clowns, one from Spain and one from Italy. We went into the city only once and paid a visit to the Fernando Botero museum – an internationally renowned artist who is well-known for painting and sculpting large figures. His paintings amused me, the style being quite tongue in cheek but often making references to serious social and political issues in Colombia (such as the assassination of Pablo Escobar, the leader of the famous Medellin cartel). Some of my favourites are the plump Mona Lisa, the fat Jesus and the chubby Adam and Eve.
Differences here:
Compared to Central America there seems to be more rules here in Colombia. Motorbike drivers have to wear their number plates displayed on their backs; utes aren’t allowed to drive with passengers in the back (damn!); no more than the designated number of passengers are allowed to travel in cars/trucks; smoking is banned in bars/restaurants/cafes; there are restrictions on when cars (according to number plates) can circulate; trucks have restrictions concerning circulation times (e.g. only till 10pm at night); headlights are to be turned on at all times; all public transport stops after 11pm at night and taxis are the only option of which there being an abundance populating the streets at all hours (especially when you don’t need one!). Speaking of abundance, if you want to make a call and you don’t have a mobile, you can find people with mobiles attached to themselves on any street corner, which you can borrow and then pay for the minutes you have used. Of course your call won’t be very private, but people don’t seem to mind. Another big difference between Central America and Colombia is that there are hardly any fresh food markets to be found, all food is expected to be bought from supermarkets, which I try and stay away from whenever I can so as to support small, locacl farmers. In terms of looks, Colombia takes the cake so far. They’re at their most Latino here; the girls are stunning and the boys aren’t bad either, especially with African blood mixed in! Unusually, some bars open very early in the morning; at 8:00am on a Thursday a street with a mixture of houses, offices, shops and small bars was blasting music and people were dancing, not appearing as if they had been up all night. Unfortunately they close early to make up for the early start. There is a very large quantity of motorcycles in Colombia, which are very noticeable when trying to cross the street trying to dodge the constant oncoming traffic; many act as motorcycle taxis (something which I hadn’t seen before in my brief time in America). There are an uncountable number of road tolls throughout all of Colombia, the roads having been privatised, but this doesn’t mean that they’re in better conditions as some people may think. Military, as may be well known about Colombia, are also everywhere. It is one of the most militarised countries in the world. On the roads are frequent military checks where you can be asked to open your vehicle, show your identification, questions about where you’re going, what you’re doing, etc. But not only the roads are militarised.
Throughout cities you see copious amounts of military out and about in the public with their automatic rifles in hand and sometimes as young as 15 (or they seem to be). But overall Colombians are extremely friendly and helpful and very proud to be from where they are from, rightfully so as it's a beautiful country with a very rich culture.
Arriving in Colombia by a small passenger plane at 11pm at night, I had the notion that Colombia was going to be very similar to Cuba - full of vitality, music, salsa and people living their lives outdoors, sociably. My expectations were somewhat filled but of course each country has its own unique flavour and cannot be compared. Cuba is Cuba. It’s a unique country unlike any other place on earth. And so is Colombia. It has its fair share of liveliness, festivities and dancing but the culture is of course quite different and changes depending in what region you’re in. The coast (being where we first landed coming from Panama) is spirited, festive, with hotter climate and large black communities and food to match the territory.
Cartagena de Indias is one of Colombia’s most famous cities for being an old endearing colonial city, founded in 1533. It served as a gateway (and still does) into Colombia and South America. The Spanish used the city as one of the most important ports, shipping treasures from the indigenous back to the homeland. It was attacked by many pirates, which caused the Spanish to create a fortress around the town with an elaborate and profound wall (Las Murallas) that now serve to attract many tourists.
Inside lies the old town which has winding narrow streets, lane ways, many plazas that people converge at, to spend a few hours of the day and beautiful 16th and 17th century Spanish buildings with lots of colour and light. Food spills out on the street with stalls overflowing with fresh fruit, fruit cocktails, fresh juices, coffee (tinto) and the traditional food of Colombia: Arepas, a thick corn tortilla which can be served in a variety of ways, sometimes deep-fried with an egg inside, grilled with melted cheese, sweet, with meat, etc. Well made, they can be a damn good snack! The old town is just one small part of Cartagena, which can have you believe under false pretences, that it’s a rich town with no poverty. Once you escape the walls and venture outside, you come across the locals living in Cartagena, the working class and the people who make the town function with dwellings and streets that show little luxury. The main reason why we raced through Panama was to arrive in Baranquilla in time for Carnaval (from Feb 13th to the 16th), apparently the second best Carnaval in the world after Brazil’s, in Rio de Janeiro. The Carnaval is a blend of African, Indigenous and Spanish cultures which originates from the Catholic religious celebrations along with indigenous traditions and music that originates from African slaves. It occurs a few days before Lent and is a celebration of the diverse and rich culture that colours Colombia. We had managed to find a CS who wasn’t already booked (2 months in advance as some CS responded) and on our first night we went out to see Cumbia, traditional music from Colombia, originating as a courtship dance practiced by the slave population. People were undeniably in a festive mood, with some in costumes and many foaming each other or throwing flour in all directions. People were dancing to the beats of the drums, swigging from bottles of alcohol such as Aguardiente, a typical cheap alcohol derived from sugar cane and saved by the flavour of Anise.
The next day was the official start of Carnaval with the famous Batalla de las flores, which is when all the different Carnaval groups parade as well as local and national stars and the Carnaval queen who throws flowers at the spectators. The day was a scorcher, the streets were full of people at 10 am in the morning, either dressed up (e.g. Minnie mouses, gladiators, etc) or girls wearing the ‘Carnaval costume’ consisting of a colourful Carnaval shirt cut up in various ways along with the Sombrero Volteado, named so for the black spirals decorating the hat.
As the night before, people were armed with foam and flour and weren’t shy to use it on whoever was in their way (I complained several times when my camera was sprayed repeatedly with foam). The street where the parade was to occur was packed with people at least 3 hours before the start and hardly any spots could be seen unless you wanted to pay for grandstands or seats, which cost quite a bit of money. We managed to squeeze into a beer tent where you’re meant to consume constantly but no one said anything to us just buying one (it was Aguila, ugh! – like Sol but with more water!). People lined up for front row spots as we waited for what seemed to be many hours, till the parade started. At last, one-by-one, floats started to appear, at first very slowly. We were squashed by the number of people and chairs around us, trying to see over the many heads, poles and security standing in front of us. Every year there’s a theme song for the Carnaval and it’s played by many floats on the opening day. This year it was called ‘El celular’ and was a little over played in my opinion, being one of those annoying songs that get stuck in your head for days after hearing it once. The floats mostly consisted of people in costumes walking and waving, sometimes dancing, sometimes with a famous singer or star or performing a simple routine. There was a large diversity of groups consisting of Minnie mouses, African slaves, Las gigantonas (giant puppets), Marimondas (elephant costumes that originated as a mockery of the upper classes) and many more. It was the opening of the Carnaval, showcasing all of the ‘performers’. There were approximately 300 floats that paraded that day but we left ¾ of the way through after many hours in the sun, squashed, hungry and thirsty and a little disappointed, imagining that there would be a bit more energy and dancing like the Brazilian Carnaval – a night time parade would have helped like Mardi Gras in Sydney!On Sunday is the La gran parada, which consists of everyone walking instead of parading on floats and with a lot of cumbia dancing. We didn’t attend La gran parada as we were well tired from the previous day and couldn’t imagine battling it out in the crowd and the hot sun again, two days in a row. Instead, with our CS, we went to a small mud volcano near Baranquilla, which holds a natural mud pool in its tiny crater. It was a strange sensation entering the mud bath, similar to an insect trapped in a spider’s web; It was hard to move around, the thick mud trapping you in as you floated on top of its profundity.
As you got use to the feeling and found sections where the sun had heated up the mud to create a warm slush, men helping you into the pool worked away at massaging and exfoliating your body with mud. You left feeling relaxed, your skin soft and clean (after washing the mud off in the river nearby) from the mud mixed in with the minerals from the volcano.On Monday was Agustin’s birthday. I made him a cheesecake which I unfortunately was unable to hide from him but he seemed to appreciate the touch, especially being his first cheesecake ever! We once again went to the parade, preparing two super big gourmet sandwiches of grilled onion, avocado, egg, cheese, capsicum and tomato to take with us. Monday was the Fantasy parade, which was a little more like what you expect the Brazilian Carnaval to be like. We got there nice and early but this time there was hardly anyone about. The prices for the grand stands had gone down dramatically as well as for the chairs. We decided to fork out a little for front row chairs and sat there waiting peacefully until the paraded started. The people next to us took on the role of photo agents, attracting performers over to pose so that I could get a close up photo. It was great. We saw everything very clearly and enjoyed the parade a lot more this time around. The costumes were a lot more dramatic to fit the theme of fantasy and this time groups did a lot more choreography than on Saturday. There seemed to be more fun in the air along with lots of colour and vibrancy; the way I imagined a Carnaval to be!
That night we had pizza at a restaurante to celebrate Agus's birthday. It was definitely a special day as we don't normally go out to restaurants very much! Our CS was very curious about our travels, our beliefs and experiences. With a mother that controls her every movement at 21, she’s a young woman wanting to explore and experience the world but restrained by her mother and from farther back, her father (who normally lives in Spain). Couch surfing may be an escape route to freedom for her, allowing her to go out with CS’s without causing any problems with her parents. We were her first CS’s and were obviously the experiment.
The next day we had a tight program of different tasks to accomplish before leaving for Tayrona. The Carnaval was on its last day, the theme being La muerte de Joselito where everyone cries for the death of Joselito, the character who represents the joyfulness and festivity of the Carnaval who after four days of intense Carnaval partying, dies. We decided to give it a miss and concentrate on accomplishing our tasks. But instead we were woken up in the early morning by our CS before she went to work and told that we couldn’t stay for another night as she had been having problems with her parents. So we packed up our backpacks and just before leaving, we invited the parents to eat some of Agus’s cheesecake with us. The father, cheese cake in hand, commenced to give us a sermon. He spoke about our travels and how much better we would enjoy them if we did it with God in our hearts, that we would benefit much more from our time this way and that we wouldn’t feel the need to frequent clubs/bars, drink alcohol, go out to parties and most relevant to that week, go to the Carnaval. He stated proudly that he had never been to the Carnaval and that he had lived there for a number of years without feeling the temptation to go. He continued, saying that with God in his life he is able to have just as much pleasure and that he believed that God had led us to him so that he could ‘communicate his message’. We were both speechless with this oration. The sermon went on for a good half an hour with no apparent route for escape. Unable to come up with words to respond, Agustin managed to be quite diplomatic, saying something along the lines of “everyone has their own path to follow… and speaking of which, we need to go now!”.
So off we went on our way. This time we didn’t get a ride and instead stood in the hot sun for many hours waiting, with no luck. Agus said we had been cursed by the Evangelicals! Finally we took a bus halfway to our destination and that night we slept in some new rooms that a petrol station was building (upon advice by a friendly taxi driver who took us for free to the petrol station saying that he had been helped when he had travelled back in his time). Sleeping amazingly well for the location, we arrived in the morning at Tayrona, a National Park in the North of Colombia which has beautiful jungle bordering the coast line. Being a relatively expensive entrance fee, we debated for half an hour if we should go in considering that we didn’t have that much on us. Finally we decided that we would and at the entrance of the park we met a friendly couple that were visiting for the day. We hung out for most of the day with them, trekked through the jungle to finally come out onto a large beach with waves that crashed several times before hitting the shore. Large warnings stated for swimmers to not go into the water, as the rips are extremely strong and sadly, many people have died in these waters.
A little farther on, we came across other beaches which were enclosed in bays and which were swimmer friendly, with very few waves. Also within the park we visited pre-Hispanic ruins left by the Tayrona people, an invigorating walk situated up a trail full of large rocks. There’s a certain powerful energy that is felt as you climb your way up these wondrous rocks and finally make it up to what feels as if should be heaven for the amount you have climbed. We slept on the beach during our first night in Tayrona. I kept on worrying that the tide would come to wash us away. Luckily it didn’t but early the next morning one of the guards saw us and told us not to do it again. The next night we slept in a campground that was situated right on the beach with three other tents in the entire site. Luckily they didn’t charge us for our stay. It was a beautiful spot facing the large waves that came crashing down with such fury and which had taken many lives who had dared to brave the waters.
Leaving Tayrona with the aim of making it to Medellin that day we came across a truck driver named Juan Carlos who was willing to take us to Cartagena. Arriving in the afternoon after a 6-hour drive, we met another truckie called Junior who took us to Carmen de Bolivar, another 4-hour drive. He shouted us to a meal and then dropped us off halfway to Medellin. Night was falling and we were about to retire for the day when another truck came past who had seen us eating with Junior and who offered us a lift to Medellin (‘the 3 musketeers’). We had the luxury of being in the sleeper, although very hot, it was perfect to snooze in. At 4:00 in the morning we were woken up and told that they had to stop as they had run out of money for petrol and had to wait till the next day for their boss to transfer cash over. So we slept for a couple of hours and were back on the road again just after 6:00 a.m. Luckily our truck decided to continue on for a little way before staying put in a small village up in the mountains. We met another traveller Elias who was travelling with Enrique and who offered us a lift for the three or four hours remaining to Medellin. Elias was a well versed philosophy graduate who was moving to Medellin to find himself a teaching position. He spoke for most of the way about different philosophers, movies that he liked and explained what philosophy consisted of (in a short few hours!). Finally arriving in Medellin, I was absolutely exhausted from an entire day of travelling and wanted nothing more than a shower and a place to curl up, without any wondering eyes. Unfortunately we were in the middle of the city and we were being observed by all (especially due to our big bags), filthy and probably smelling like it too!
Everyone that we had spoken to had said that Medellin had the nicest people out of all of Colombia, the nicest weather, the men saying that the girls here are the most beautiful. But our few days in Medellin were quiet and we didn’t really experience any of this. I recuperated from the disturbed sleeping that I had been having while either camping or on the road. We stayed at a CS’s called Leni who was in and out for most of the time but generous with his space, hosting another CS from Russia (an eccentric and out-going Steiner teacher) plus an American and two clowns, one from Spain and one from Italy. We went into the city only once and paid a visit to the Fernando Botero museum – an internationally renowned artist who is well-known for painting and sculpting large figures. His paintings amused me, the style being quite tongue in cheek but often making references to serious social and political issues in Colombia (such as the assassination of Pablo Escobar, the leader of the famous Medellin cartel). Some of my favourites are the plump Mona Lisa, the fat Jesus and the chubby Adam and Eve.
Differences here:
Compared to Central America there seems to be more rules here in Colombia. Motorbike drivers have to wear their number plates displayed on their backs; utes aren’t allowed to drive with passengers in the back (damn!); no more than the designated number of passengers are allowed to travel in cars/trucks; smoking is banned in bars/restaurants/cafes; there are restrictions on when cars (according to number plates) can circulate; trucks have restrictions concerning circulation times (e.g. only till 10pm at night); headlights are to be turned on at all times; all public transport stops after 11pm at night and taxis are the only option of which there being an abundance populating the streets at all hours (especially when you don’t need one!). Speaking of abundance, if you want to make a call and you don’t have a mobile, you can find people with mobiles attached to themselves on any street corner, which you can borrow and then pay for the minutes you have used. Of course your call won’t be very private, but people don’t seem to mind. Another big difference between Central America and Colombia is that there are hardly any fresh food markets to be found, all food is expected to be bought from supermarkets, which I try and stay away from whenever I can so as to support small, locacl farmers. In terms of looks, Colombia takes the cake so far. They’re at their most Latino here; the girls are stunning and the boys aren’t bad either, especially with African blood mixed in! Unusually, some bars open very early in the morning; at 8:00am on a Thursday a street with a mixture of houses, offices, shops and small bars was blasting music and people were dancing, not appearing as if they had been up all night. Unfortunately they close early to make up for the early start. There is a very large quantity of motorcycles in Colombia, which are very noticeable when trying to cross the street trying to dodge the constant oncoming traffic; many act as motorcycle taxis (something which I hadn’t seen before in my brief time in America). There are an uncountable number of road tolls throughout all of Colombia, the roads having been privatised, but this doesn’t mean that they’re in better conditions as some people may think. Military, as may be well known about Colombia, are also everywhere. It is one of the most militarised countries in the world. On the roads are frequent military checks where you can be asked to open your vehicle, show your identification, questions about where you’re going, what you’re doing, etc. But not only the roads are militarised.
Throughout cities you see copious amounts of military out and about in the public with their automatic rifles in hand and sometimes as young as 15 (or they seem to be). But overall Colombians are extremely friendly and helpful and very proud to be from where they are from, rightfully so as it's a beautiful country with a very rich culture.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Panama in a flash
Check out photos of Nicaragua/Costa Rica and Panama here
The border crossing between Costa Rica and Panama, on the Caribbean coast, is separated by a wonky old wooden bridge, with certain planks missing and wobbling under one’s weight (especially with 20 kg on your back!). It makes a welcoming entrance to the new country (new to me) and makes me wonder what Panama really is like.
We arrived, after a very long day of travelling, on an island called Bastimentos, which is part of the Boca del Torro conglomeration (famous as a Caribbean tourist destination). They are a set of islands with African communities living on them, descendants of slaves that were bought over by the Spanish. They have intertwined customs and traditions from Africa, Native American and Spanish and speak a mixture of Spanish and Caribbean English Creole. People calmly sat on their porches or out on the lane-ways playing cards (and gambling), chatting and quietly watching the day pass or doing chores around the house as kids play on the footpath. We passed along a house as two old men sat on their balcony singing along to a radio in the background, laughing as they noticed that I had overheard them in their moment of creativity. On one of the two nights that we were there, a large portion of the community gathered together to practice for Carnaval (Feb 13th to the 16th). They formed a parade along the main narrow pathway of the community, with boys with large drums at the back and young girls dancing and singing at the front. Loud but sweet voices were heard singing in perfect harmony as they went about performing their steps to the hypnotic sounds of the drums. The small parade was enough to obtain a sense of what Carnaval is like in these communities; vibrant, traditional and full of energy, music and rhythm. The elders of the community watched on until a few drops of rain appeared from the sky and soon turned into what appeared to be an avalanche of water being dropped over the small island, sending everyone scattering for cover.
On our way into Panama, we met an Argentinean girl who was heading over the border for the night to go to a Rainbow festival. She wasn’t exactly able to tell us what it was about but we asked at a cocoa farm on Bastimentos and they had a bit more information for us. We decided to see what it consisted of after being disappointed with our last festival attempt. We made our way to a nearby town (Almirante) and from there we weren’t quite sure where to go. Luckily as we were getting off the bus we were shouted at from across the road by a gringo and asked if were making our way to the Rainbow. One car ride and beautiful boat ride later, we arrived at the festival grounds by river and were greeted by a few people on the deck of the house, which was also used as a dock. One of the ‘elders’ of the Rainbow was packing up and leaving after being at the Rainbow for a week. He took some time to explain to us exactly what Rainbow is about, which is not so much a festival (as I imagined) as a gathering.
Rainbow is a hippie convergence based around the ideals of creating peace, love, harmony, freedom and community as well as re-energising participants and the land on which the gathering is held.
It is embedded in a philosophy against capitalism and consumerism and instead holds a utopian vision where mainstream society and the systems of government are seen as out of step with the planet and the environment. The first rainbow festival occurred in Colorado in 1972. Since then there has been a gathering every year and the festival has gone international with many occurring every year in different countries. There are no leaders, structure or hierarchy at Rainbows. Money is not accepted apart from donations given by participants to buy food and essential items when the ‘magic hat’ comes around. There are trading areas where people can barter and trade luxuries. The festival has a strong Native American shamanic and neo-paganism influence which is seen throughout some of the ceremonies that are performed (none that we got to experience).
What this boils down to is a gathering where you aren’t forced to do anything at all. Meals are cooked communally by the good will of the participants and meal times are seen as a time to connect with each other. Once again circle time occurs before meals situated around a campfire where chanting and singing take place, giving thanks to mother earth for the food available. No need to say that I tried to arrive late for circle time so as to avoid any unnecessary chanting that I might be forced to do! The cooking gets done on a wood-fire makeshift stove which means that it takes a good few hours to cook for e.g. 20 people.
The rest of the time was used either to swim naked in the river or sea (bloody hippies!) that was on either side of us, learning and making jewellery (macramé), yoga, napping, strumming the guitar (can’t do much more than a few awkward strokes!) and generally chatting and listening to peoples stories about other rainbow gatherings. Sand flies had also come along for the gathering and had bitten most to shreds, some luckier than others. I had about 100 bites on each leg when usually I’m able to stay mostly bite free. Scratching occupied most of my time especially at night while trying to sleep. The itchiness was almost unbearable while lying still, only feeling satisfied when I had scratched through layers of skin and blood finally appeared. The sand flies had made a lot of people leave the festival early (which lasts a month in Panama), meaning that there were a mere 15 or so people rather than the 100’s or 1000’s that have attended previous gatherings.
During the festival Agus became sick with what we think may have been Giardia. The smell of rotten eggs filled the tent as I arrived back from the campfire late one night. I slid into my sleeping bag without saying anything as I normally would have if he hadn’t been sick, but I did limit my breathing wrapping my head in my sleeping bag to get away from the smell (and the damn sand flies!).
The people at the festival were an eclectic bunch from hardcore hippies to people who had never been to such an event before and were quite new to the scene (like us). Some of the hippies seemed to adopt this lifestyle for image sake, talking up their experiences and competing against each other with their stories about drugs, nakedness and other practices of alternative lifestyle.
On our last day at the gathering, we went for a boat ride to the nearby beach situated on Bocas del drajo, on Colon Island.
Traversing the river on our small speedboat we tranquilly watched the flora and fauna slowly passing us and saw many lilies, cocoa trees, coconut trees and herons. Reaching the part where the river and the sea merge together we got out of the boat and pushed it through the shallow water to enter the bountiful sea. Arriving at Bocas del drajo beach we realise that we had entered a paradise. It’s the kind of beach you daydream about while in front of a computer at work on a rainy, cold and dreary day and the type that you see on travel brochures. The water is a rich aqua blue and the sand is a soft white texture and contrasts finely with the coco trees, the many starfish drifting in the shallow water and the clear blue sky radiating above us.
We left the gathering on the same day that most of the others were also parting, leaving behind 5 people. A big group of 7 left together to travel up to Costa Rica. I was happy to continue on our travels even though Agus was still quite sick and had to endure an 11-hour bus trip to Panama City, the capital.
Panama City (from my impressions in the two short days that we spent there) appears to be a vibrant, hot city with a picturesque historical centre, sand stone buildings overlooking an effervescent harbour.
A large diversity of people inhabit the city including many foreigners. A cosmopolitan and rather developed city in some areas with skyscrapers interfering with the skyline and many shopping malls with expensive shops. This contrasts with the relatively poor suburbs where many people live. Panama is relatively inexpensive (especially in contrast with Costa Rica), with a lot of cheap clothes available and other items such as perfume. The local buses are the same as the ones in all other central American countries but in Panama they are particularly famous for their graffiti and illustrations that are elaborately painted all over the old U.S. school buses. They are called Diablo Rojos (red devils), not only for their depictions but also for their style of driving; brusquely and rapidly making your body jolt forward every few seconds as the brakes are hit hard, stopping centimetres away from an obstacle. The famous Panama Canal which was built by the United States (commenced in 1881 and in operation from 1914), has around 15,000 boats passing through its passage every year. It costs approximately US $300 000 to obtain the right to cross the canal. An intense battle was finally won by Panama in 1999 to become the rightful owners of the canal and commence to receive earnings from one of the largest and most difficult engineering projects in the world. Unfortunately its not as exciting as I thought it would be watching ships go through the Canal, being a slow exercise of draining water from one lock to another so as to level out the water to enable to passage of a vessel.
The border crossing between Costa Rica and Panama, on the Caribbean coast, is separated by a wonky old wooden bridge, with certain planks missing and wobbling under one’s weight (especially with 20 kg on your back!). It makes a welcoming entrance to the new country (new to me) and makes me wonder what Panama really is like.
We arrived, after a very long day of travelling, on an island called Bastimentos, which is part of the Boca del Torro conglomeration (famous as a Caribbean tourist destination). They are a set of islands with African communities living on them, descendants of slaves that were bought over by the Spanish. They have intertwined customs and traditions from Africa, Native American and Spanish and speak a mixture of Spanish and Caribbean English Creole. People calmly sat on their porches or out on the lane-ways playing cards (and gambling), chatting and quietly watching the day pass or doing chores around the house as kids play on the footpath. We passed along a house as two old men sat on their balcony singing along to a radio in the background, laughing as they noticed that I had overheard them in their moment of creativity. On one of the two nights that we were there, a large portion of the community gathered together to practice for Carnaval (Feb 13th to the 16th). They formed a parade along the main narrow pathway of the community, with boys with large drums at the back and young girls dancing and singing at the front. Loud but sweet voices were heard singing in perfect harmony as they went about performing their steps to the hypnotic sounds of the drums. The small parade was enough to obtain a sense of what Carnaval is like in these communities; vibrant, traditional and full of energy, music and rhythm. The elders of the community watched on until a few drops of rain appeared from the sky and soon turned into what appeared to be an avalanche of water being dropped over the small island, sending everyone scattering for cover.
On our way into Panama, we met an Argentinean girl who was heading over the border for the night to go to a Rainbow festival. She wasn’t exactly able to tell us what it was about but we asked at a cocoa farm on Bastimentos and they had a bit more information for us. We decided to see what it consisted of after being disappointed with our last festival attempt. We made our way to a nearby town (Almirante) and from there we weren’t quite sure where to go. Luckily as we were getting off the bus we were shouted at from across the road by a gringo and asked if were making our way to the Rainbow. One car ride and beautiful boat ride later, we arrived at the festival grounds by river and were greeted by a few people on the deck of the house, which was also used as a dock. One of the ‘elders’ of the Rainbow was packing up and leaving after being at the Rainbow for a week. He took some time to explain to us exactly what Rainbow is about, which is not so much a festival (as I imagined) as a gathering.
Rainbow is a hippie convergence based around the ideals of creating peace, love, harmony, freedom and community as well as re-energising participants and the land on which the gathering is held.
It is embedded in a philosophy against capitalism and consumerism and instead holds a utopian vision where mainstream society and the systems of government are seen as out of step with the planet and the environment. The first rainbow festival occurred in Colorado in 1972. Since then there has been a gathering every year and the festival has gone international with many occurring every year in different countries. There are no leaders, structure or hierarchy at Rainbows. Money is not accepted apart from donations given by participants to buy food and essential items when the ‘magic hat’ comes around. There are trading areas where people can barter and trade luxuries. The festival has a strong Native American shamanic and neo-paganism influence which is seen throughout some of the ceremonies that are performed (none that we got to experience). What this boils down to is a gathering where you aren’t forced to do anything at all. Meals are cooked communally by the good will of the participants and meal times are seen as a time to connect with each other. Once again circle time occurs before meals situated around a campfire where chanting and singing take place, giving thanks to mother earth for the food available. No need to say that I tried to arrive late for circle time so as to avoid any unnecessary chanting that I might be forced to do! The cooking gets done on a wood-fire makeshift stove which means that it takes a good few hours to cook for e.g. 20 people.
The rest of the time was used either to swim naked in the river or sea (bloody hippies!) that was on either side of us, learning and making jewellery (macramé), yoga, napping, strumming the guitar (can’t do much more than a few awkward strokes!) and generally chatting and listening to peoples stories about other rainbow gatherings. Sand flies had also come along for the gathering and had bitten most to shreds, some luckier than others. I had about 100 bites on each leg when usually I’m able to stay mostly bite free. Scratching occupied most of my time especially at night while trying to sleep. The itchiness was almost unbearable while lying still, only feeling satisfied when I had scratched through layers of skin and blood finally appeared. The sand flies had made a lot of people leave the festival early (which lasts a month in Panama), meaning that there were a mere 15 or so people rather than the 100’s or 1000’s that have attended previous gatherings.During the festival Agus became sick with what we think may have been Giardia. The smell of rotten eggs filled the tent as I arrived back from the campfire late one night. I slid into my sleeping bag without saying anything as I normally would have if he hadn’t been sick, but I did limit my breathing wrapping my head in my sleeping bag to get away from the smell (and the damn sand flies!).
The people at the festival were an eclectic bunch from hardcore hippies to people who had never been to such an event before and were quite new to the scene (like us). Some of the hippies seemed to adopt this lifestyle for image sake, talking up their experiences and competing against each other with their stories about drugs, nakedness and other practices of alternative lifestyle.
On our last day at the gathering, we went for a boat ride to the nearby beach situated on Bocas del drajo, on Colon Island.
Traversing the river on our small speedboat we tranquilly watched the flora and fauna slowly passing us and saw many lilies, cocoa trees, coconut trees and herons. Reaching the part where the river and the sea merge together we got out of the boat and pushed it through the shallow water to enter the bountiful sea. Arriving at Bocas del drajo beach we realise that we had entered a paradise. It’s the kind of beach you daydream about while in front of a computer at work on a rainy, cold and dreary day and the type that you see on travel brochures. The water is a rich aqua blue and the sand is a soft white texture and contrasts finely with the coco trees, the many starfish drifting in the shallow water and the clear blue sky radiating above us. We left the gathering on the same day that most of the others were also parting, leaving behind 5 people. A big group of 7 left together to travel up to Costa Rica. I was happy to continue on our travels even though Agus was still quite sick and had to endure an 11-hour bus trip to Panama City, the capital.
Panama City (from my impressions in the two short days that we spent there) appears to be a vibrant, hot city with a picturesque historical centre, sand stone buildings overlooking an effervescent harbour.
A large diversity of people inhabit the city including many foreigners. A cosmopolitan and rather developed city in some areas with skyscrapers interfering with the skyline and many shopping malls with expensive shops. This contrasts with the relatively poor suburbs where many people live. Panama is relatively inexpensive (especially in contrast with Costa Rica), with a lot of cheap clothes available and other items such as perfume. The local buses are the same as the ones in all other central American countries but in Panama they are particularly famous for their graffiti and illustrations that are elaborately painted all over the old U.S. school buses. They are called Diablo Rojos (red devils), not only for their depictions but also for their style of driving; brusquely and rapidly making your body jolt forward every few seconds as the brakes are hit hard, stopping centimetres away from an obstacle. The famous Panama Canal which was built by the United States (commenced in 1881 and in operation from 1914), has around 15,000 boats passing through its passage every year. It costs approximately US $300 000 to obtain the right to cross the canal. An intense battle was finally won by Panama in 1999 to become the rightful owners of the canal and commence to receive earnings from one of the largest and most difficult engineering projects in the world. Unfortunately its not as exciting as I thought it would be watching ships go through the Canal, being a slow exercise of draining water from one lock to another so as to level out the water to enable to passage of a vessel.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Costa Rica - a different feel to Central America
Stepping over the border from Nicaragua to Costa Rica is remarkably contrasting. Nicaragua around the border is dry and brittle with few trees visible; in comparison, Costa Rica is lined with a thick and diverse jungle which is visible as soon as you exit the border immigration area. This dense vegetation is seen throughout Costa Rica and is one of the reasons why the country has a reputation for being such a beautiful place. 
Costa Rica is a country that obviously has more money than other Central America neighbours. First of all daily life is much more expensive than the surrounding countries. The supermarkets are full to the brim and have anything you desire, including luxuries from home. People dress well here, even in country towns women wear heels to walk upon dusty and uneven dirt roads with makeup and 'dress to impress' outfits. Everyone is very polite and customer service is very prominent, a little like in the U.S. Costa Rican culture seems to be a little less obvious with such a strong international influence, especially because there are numerous foreigners both who have decided to make Costa Rica a base as well as many tourists, more so than in other Central American countries. This is probably one of the reasons why Costa Rica is as expensive as it is. When we were there, the country was getting ready for elections and therefore had billboards, posters and groups of lobbiers regularly out and about campaigning for their respective political parties. Laura seemed to be a very popular candidate with busloads of loyal supporters happily cheering for her as they went around the city, drumming up support for their party (Partido Liberación Nacional, a social democratic party) and candidate. It proved to serve its purpose as a week or so later Laura became president.
As per usual, we stayed with some couch surfers in a town called Liberia, northwest of Costa Rica; a place that many tourists stop at, in between continuing onto the Pacific beaches that are only a short 40 mins away.
The town is pleasant enough and supplied us with a quantity of shops from which we needed to buy a few supplies at, before heading to the farm. The CS’s were an Italian and Tica (what Costa Rican’s are called) couple with a toddler. They had just moved from the UK to start a new life in Costa Rica. With Italian tendencies, no need to say that we ate like royalty with an abundance of condiments and delicacies. On our last day in Liberia, we stayed with another CS couple who were also mixed, this time from the states and Costa Rica. We spent the afternoon chatting about all sorts of topics from the Maya’s beliefs and predictions to shaman ceremonies that they had been to and even got a full tour of the house which they had designed and built, as sustainable as possible. They had a 6-year-old girl (Ana) who was gorgeous, confident and very imaginative. We went into town to buy a few groceries for the pizza that we were to make that night and Agustin and Ana walked around hand-in-hand with witch’s hats on. Ana had decided that a Santa’s helpers costume was the perfect combination to go with the hat and she skipped around with Agus concocting and devising witches plans.
The next day we managed to get a ride in 5 minutes flat almost all the way to the farm in a short and enjoyable three hours, instead of the dreadful 6 or 7 hours that it would have taken us if we had gone with the bus. The man who gave us a ride, Martin, a big talker about all things, related to us about his kids, his job, travelling and his hitching experiences about picking up an exotic dancer who reeked after a full night of work, off to continue to another bar for the morning. “Pero era wapisima!” he said with a hilarious rising inflection! He told Agustin to get into the back squashed on a half seat that you find in a 2 seater ute and me in the front with ample room and wouldn’t accept any protest from me. Along the way he bought us mango ceviche, a cocktail of onion, garlic and vinegar that normally goes with seafood but that also works quite well with fruit I discovered.
In the two weeks that we were based on the farm, we managed to farm hop three times! The first ended up being a dud. They had portrayed themselves as being ecological minded but didn’t seem to do anything towards achieving this. The three areas that
they said that we would be working in (permaculture, ranger in the national park and sustainable construction) were nonexistent. I ended up doing two days of concreting (which I put myself forward for), filling in holes for the base of a back porch to the owners house. We used a wheelbarrow with a large hole in it to mix the concrete meaning that much of the concrete would fall straight through the hole, concreting the grass and slowly making its way to the plants and trees nearby. While at this farm, we went to visit another farm close-by, as I had a couple of friends working there. They weren’t there but we did get a grand tour of the farm and were blown away by its philosophy, structure in place, programs for volunteers and the materials used for sustainable construction. On the spot we asked if there was any space for us. We were told that we could start on Friday, that day being Tuesday. We let the other farm know that we were leaving Friday and told them the reasons. At first they took it well until the wife heard and kicked us out saying that they felt used and betrayed. Luckily we were pointed to another farm, this time being a chocolate farm, which accepted us instantly till Friday.
We were set to work harvesting cocoa picking the yellow pods and leaving the green or red one’s to mature. We opened the pods on site and slid the white seeds off their tails and wrapped them up in a sack to take them back with us. We also harvested black beans, first making our way up a steep hill and then with out sticks, we pushed the dry bean bushes down the hill to the bottom. We laid down mats and battered the bushes repeatedly causing the beans to fall on the ground in an easy manner. Chocolate was handed around as snack food as we sat around catching our breath from the physical work. Heading back to the farm, we left feeling famished, multiple blisters appearing on my hands but feeling content with the work we had achieved that morning. The next day we were given the task of making chocolates by grinding the cocoa into a fine paste, extracting the excess oils, mixing it with raw sugar and then adding flavours to it such as coffee, vanilla, orange, peanuts and peppermint.
No need to say that we had an abundance of chocolate available for us to eat whenever we wanted. Sweet deal! The family on the farm consisted of four brothers and a mum and dad; a very welcoming and friendly bunch. They had taken over the remaining cocoa trees after the trees in the Mastatal area had suffered from a disease and many farms had to abandon their businesses.
On Friday we started our week at Rancho Mastatal. We spent most of the week in classes learning about wood working, compost toilets and bio-digesters (a toilet which transfers the gases that are deposited to a gas stove for cooking with!), how to make soap, how to make fermented vegetables, how to make granola, how to build with earth, solar panels and wind farms and how to cook for 30 people! A big group of interns (15) were starting their three month internship and were being taught all of these things so as to be able to start applying these skills around the farm. The farm functions communally (i.e. taking it in turns to cook for everyone), with many volunteers and interns helping out as well as some long termers who came for the first time many years ago and keep on coming back every year for a few months (mainly from the states). The food is absolutely amazing, all home grown, home made (when possible), tastes incredible and lots of it! The hippiest part of the experience is the group circle which is done every evening before dinner. Everyone goes around and gives thanks for something that’s occurred that day; I always feel a little uncomfortable with these sorts of things and will them to be over as soon as possible, hoping that I don’t break out into giggles during the process. Luckily I didn’t! I met two Brits while there, Flis and Nips who were a nice breath of fresh air filling my time at the ranch with banter and giggles.
One of my new year’s resolutions was to learn new hands on skills. The ranch definitely is a step towards achieving that, therefore both Agus and I are thinking of going back in June to do the internship program for 3 months. Leaving the ranch I felt like I was stepping back into Costa Rica; the farm being a little segregated from the outside world and absorbing all of your time. I was well hyped for some festival goodness having heard about an electronic festival for that weekend in San Jose. I’d been looking forward to this festival for some time as music festivals are rare in these parts and I hadn’t been to any for a good year or so. Upon arriving at the site, there was no one around, no music, nothing apart from Sunday afternoon strollers walking around. We asked a shop attendant close by if she knew anything about the festival, she replied that it had been cancelled at the last minute as the council had not approved it. No need to say that I was a bit more than a little disappointed.
Costa Rica is a country that obviously has more money than other Central America neighbours. First of all daily life is much more expensive than the surrounding countries. The supermarkets are full to the brim and have anything you desire, including luxuries from home. People dress well here, even in country towns women wear heels to walk upon dusty and uneven dirt roads with makeup and 'dress to impress' outfits. Everyone is very polite and customer service is very prominent, a little like in the U.S. Costa Rican culture seems to be a little less obvious with such a strong international influence, especially because there are numerous foreigners both who have decided to make Costa Rica a base as well as many tourists, more so than in other Central American countries. This is probably one of the reasons why Costa Rica is as expensive as it is. When we were there, the country was getting ready for elections and therefore had billboards, posters and groups of lobbiers regularly out and about campaigning for their respective political parties. Laura seemed to be a very popular candidate with busloads of loyal supporters happily cheering for her as they went around the city, drumming up support for their party (Partido Liberación Nacional, a social democratic party) and candidate. It proved to serve its purpose as a week or so later Laura became president.
As per usual, we stayed with some couch surfers in a town called Liberia, northwest of Costa Rica; a place that many tourists stop at, in between continuing onto the Pacific beaches that are only a short 40 mins away.
The town is pleasant enough and supplied us with a quantity of shops from which we needed to buy a few supplies at, before heading to the farm. The CS’s were an Italian and Tica (what Costa Rican’s are called) couple with a toddler. They had just moved from the UK to start a new life in Costa Rica. With Italian tendencies, no need to say that we ate like royalty with an abundance of condiments and delicacies. On our last day in Liberia, we stayed with another CS couple who were also mixed, this time from the states and Costa Rica. We spent the afternoon chatting about all sorts of topics from the Maya’s beliefs and predictions to shaman ceremonies that they had been to and even got a full tour of the house which they had designed and built, as sustainable as possible. They had a 6-year-old girl (Ana) who was gorgeous, confident and very imaginative. We went into town to buy a few groceries for the pizza that we were to make that night and Agustin and Ana walked around hand-in-hand with witch’s hats on. Ana had decided that a Santa’s helpers costume was the perfect combination to go with the hat and she skipped around with Agus concocting and devising witches plans. The next day we managed to get a ride in 5 minutes flat almost all the way to the farm in a short and enjoyable three hours, instead of the dreadful 6 or 7 hours that it would have taken us if we had gone with the bus. The man who gave us a ride, Martin, a big talker about all things, related to us about his kids, his job, travelling and his hitching experiences about picking up an exotic dancer who reeked after a full night of work, off to continue to another bar for the morning. “Pero era wapisima!” he said with a hilarious rising inflection! He told Agustin to get into the back squashed on a half seat that you find in a 2 seater ute and me in the front with ample room and wouldn’t accept any protest from me. Along the way he bought us mango ceviche, a cocktail of onion, garlic and vinegar that normally goes with seafood but that also works quite well with fruit I discovered.
In the two weeks that we were based on the farm, we managed to farm hop three times! The first ended up being a dud. They had portrayed themselves as being ecological minded but didn’t seem to do anything towards achieving this. The three areas that
they said that we would be working in (permaculture, ranger in the national park and sustainable construction) were nonexistent. I ended up doing two days of concreting (which I put myself forward for), filling in holes for the base of a back porch to the owners house. We used a wheelbarrow with a large hole in it to mix the concrete meaning that much of the concrete would fall straight through the hole, concreting the grass and slowly making its way to the plants and trees nearby. While at this farm, we went to visit another farm close-by, as I had a couple of friends working there. They weren’t there but we did get a grand tour of the farm and were blown away by its philosophy, structure in place, programs for volunteers and the materials used for sustainable construction. On the spot we asked if there was any space for us. We were told that we could start on Friday, that day being Tuesday. We let the other farm know that we were leaving Friday and told them the reasons. At first they took it well until the wife heard and kicked us out saying that they felt used and betrayed. Luckily we were pointed to another farm, this time being a chocolate farm, which accepted us instantly till Friday. We were set to work harvesting cocoa picking the yellow pods and leaving the green or red one’s to mature. We opened the pods on site and slid the white seeds off their tails and wrapped them up in a sack to take them back with us. We also harvested black beans, first making our way up a steep hill and then with out sticks, we pushed the dry bean bushes down the hill to the bottom. We laid down mats and battered the bushes repeatedly causing the beans to fall on the ground in an easy manner. Chocolate was handed around as snack food as we sat around catching our breath from the physical work. Heading back to the farm, we left feeling famished, multiple blisters appearing on my hands but feeling content with the work we had achieved that morning. The next day we were given the task of making chocolates by grinding the cocoa into a fine paste, extracting the excess oils, mixing it with raw sugar and then adding flavours to it such as coffee, vanilla, orange, peanuts and peppermint.
No need to say that we had an abundance of chocolate available for us to eat whenever we wanted. Sweet deal! The family on the farm consisted of four brothers and a mum and dad; a very welcoming and friendly bunch. They had taken over the remaining cocoa trees after the trees in the Mastatal area had suffered from a disease and many farms had to abandon their businesses. On Friday we started our week at Rancho Mastatal. We spent most of the week in classes learning about wood working, compost toilets and bio-digesters (a toilet which transfers the gases that are deposited to a gas stove for cooking with!), how to make soap, how to make fermented vegetables, how to make granola, how to build with earth, solar panels and wind farms and how to cook for 30 people! A big group of interns (15) were starting their three month internship and were being taught all of these things so as to be able to start applying these skills around the farm. The farm functions communally (i.e. taking it in turns to cook for everyone), with many volunteers and interns helping out as well as some long termers who came for the first time many years ago and keep on coming back every year for a few months (mainly from the states). The food is absolutely amazing, all home grown, home made (when possible), tastes incredible and lots of it! The hippiest part of the experience is the group circle which is done every evening before dinner. Everyone goes around and gives thanks for something that’s occurred that day; I always feel a little uncomfortable with these sorts of things and will them to be over as soon as possible, hoping that I don’t break out into giggles during the process. Luckily I didn’t! I met two Brits while there, Flis and Nips who were a nice breath of fresh air filling my time at the ranch with banter and giggles.
One of my new year’s resolutions was to learn new hands on skills. The ranch definitely is a step towards achieving that, therefore both Agus and I are thinking of going back in June to do the internship program for 3 months. Leaving the ranch I felt like I was stepping back into Costa Rica; the farm being a little segregated from the outside world and absorbing all of your time. I was well hyped for some festival goodness having heard about an electronic festival for that weekend in San Jose. I’d been looking forward to this festival for some time as music festivals are rare in these parts and I hadn’t been to any for a good year or so. Upon arriving at the site, there was no one around, no music, nothing apart from Sunday afternoon strollers walking around. We asked a shop attendant close by if she knew anything about the festival, she replied that it had been cancelled at the last minute as the council had not approved it. No need to say that I was a bit more than a little disappointed.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
New year’s in Nicaragua
My initial impressions of Nicaragua as I entered the country in a semi-trailer, were of a similar feeling to Cuba: people hanging out on the street, on chairs outside of their houses, houses with doors open giving the opportunity for people to peer in as they walked past, girls showing their skin liberally, large mix of skin colours with an island feel to the place.
We spent New Year’s in Leon, a town near the border of Honduras which attracts many tourists for its colonial heritage and its fame for being one of the oldest towns in Nicaragua. After many hours of comparing hostel prices, we finally settled on one which had a nice vibe to it along with a decent price. We met some Spaniards (the only people who could speak Spanish in the hostel so that Agustin could also chat) and decided to go to a beach party that was located on an island nearby. Instead of going with the organised tour which picked you up from the hostel and took you back from the island at a particular time, we decided to make our own way there thinking that it would be cheaper and would also mean that we could leave whenever we wanted to.
We arrived at the small wharf where the boat was leaving to go to the island and after some intense negotiating, the boys organising the party decided that we were being unreasonable asking for a discount (even though we had made our own way there and would be doing the same going back). They decided to not let us on. We were disappointed and annoyed especially that it was New Year’s and we didn’t have anywhere else to go and little transport available. I had a moment of insanity after a few drinks and decided to blame Agustin for the whole shemozzle we found ourselves in. I walked off into the darkness by myself thinking I could find a taxi. I was quickly chased after and scolded for my actions and attitude and almost immediately after, a taxi appeared. After a bad start to the night, the rest was a lot more enjoyable and involved several different parties and bars back in town with quite a big group from the hostel. Midnight passed without any count down or anticipation until someone turned around and gave me a hug and in the middle of the embrace, I realised what was going on.
The next morning I woke up swearing that the end of 2010 will be celebrated much healthier than this New Year’s just passed. The first day of the year was enjoyed by going to the closest beach possible where everyone else had also decided to go, been a Nicaraguan tradition to go to the beach on festive days. The beach, instead of being a relaxing paradise, was turned into a mayhem of food vendors, people shrieking and running around in and out of the water with wet clothes (no one had a swimming costume on, all were in the water wearing the clothes they had on when coming to the beach), groups of people almost on top of each other and rubbish in all directions.
After eating a fried fish from one of the many vendors leading up the beach, we walked away from the havoc and encountered a strip of beach which hardly anyone was using and where a small bar was playing reggae music. We were kindly accepted as customers even though the place was closed to the public and instead a small private party was taking place. We spent the last few hours before sunset looking out at the beautiful view of water and sand, swinging on a hammock with promises that a new year carries.
The next day we were off to Masaya, a town which doesn’t have much of a big reputation in Nicaragua apart from being a cultural centre with a crafts market and has a nice laid back feel to it with a pretty town square. We stayed with some couch surfers here who were very hospitable and were big talkers, interested in any subject imaginable and very open to sharing about their lives. I spent an afternoon with Nina chatting about the civil war that occurred in Nicaragua and the state of things at the moment.
We spent five days here visiting surrounding towns, volcanoes, lookouts, fortresses and even the local hospital (for Agustin’s possible broken toe after he regularly banged it on objects sticking out of the footpath – we stayed for over an hour and with no sign of seeing a doctor, we left deciding that it probably wasn’t broken after all). The walk up the volcano was an interesting adventure and is worth a mention here. We left nice and early thinking the earlier the better as the sun is super strong as the day carries on. Arriving at 7.15 am at the entrance we are informed that the national park (the entrance to the volcano) doesn’t open till 9.00 am and no matter what we said, the man sternly did not budge. I had an idea. We made our way back onto the main road and I indicated to the several different properties bordering the park. We jumped over a small barbwire fence that encloses a hotel which is all locked up and doesn’t look like there are any guests housed at the moment. We make our way through to the back of the property and came across two workers. We ask them if there’s any way through to the national park from within the hotel grounds and at first they both say no but after a bit of insisting, the man admits that there is a way. We are shown the path leading into the bush. We set foot and make our way through scrubland until we hear a whistle and see that the man from the hotel has followed us in, to tell us that we are heading the wrong way. He shows us how to get back on the right path and shortly after, we find ourselves on the main road leading up to the summit of the volcano. A little adrenalin hit kicks in as we contently start the gentle trek up the road knowing that we are the only ones in the park at this present moment and that we also saved about 10 dollars (a lot in Nicaragua… or when you are travelling!). At the top of the volcano (which we reach in about two hours) we see smoke escaping and smell the stench of sulphur in the air but the view is worth the two hour walk.
On the one hand, Nicaragua is similar in many ways to other Central American countries. People are poorer here, jobs are a little harder to find and the cost of living is high comparatively to what people earn (the minimum salary is around $150 per month). There are many more tourists here than what we saw in Honduras for example (which was pretty much none). The markets aren’t as clean as in other countries with a lot of rubbish dispersed on the floors. But there is a lot of fresh produce, vegetables, fruit, cheese, beans and meat available in most markets that we came across. Bicycles are everywhere and they rule the road without law. The political party in power at the moment (FSLN), is the one who fought in the civil war in 1961. The traditional food which is eaten often for all three meals is gallo pinto = a mixture of rice and beans and quesillo, a tortilla with fresh cheese, pickled onion and cream. Tortillas are common as well as platanos, fried cheese, fermented vegetables and a cabbage and carrot salad mix.
Our next stop after Masaya was an Island which is known as the largest island in the world surrounded by fresh water: Ometepe. Two menacing volcanoes lie on the land, which helped to form the island when they erupted. Our journey over from the mainland was on a small ferry with a severely strong wind, which made the trip very undulated to say the least. Most of the time on the island was spent on buses even though the distances aren’t so large, the roads are very bad; dirt, potholes and many rocks that make the place resemble Ireland. We did get to do some kayaking to a small island with monkeys hanging off it, looking as if they were keen to move to bigger territory as well as watching many beautiful sunsets on the beach.
My wish before heading to the rancho in Costa Rica to start work was to spend some time on a beautiful tropical beach, relaxing and catching up on reading and studying Spanish again. As we got to the beach (near San Juan del Sur), two things happened; the tent that we were going to live in for the next 3 days broke and the wind picked up something terrible. The hostel where we were going to camp let us stay in one of their rooms that they were extending on but which didn’t have a door to it and also wasn’t attached by a walkway meaning that we had to walk over a plank of wood to get to our room, suspended 8 metres in the air. We had two hammocks to sleep in which one wasn't as comfortable as the other. The wind blew throughout every night and throughout most of the days that we were there for. We had sand in every orifice imaginable. There was no point in taking a shower because you were guaranteed to end up the same way, if not worse 2 minutes later. The wind blew so heavily at night that I was unable to sleep and neither was anyone else in the hostel. Having no door to our room made the sound of the wind seem as if a cyclone was approaching. The tin roof didn’t help.
I was glad to leave San Juan and be away from the insane wind that had been taking over the beach while we were there. Of course as we started to leave on route to Costa Rica, the wind died down and beach paradise resumed without me.
We spent New Year’s in Leon, a town near the border of Honduras which attracts many tourists for its colonial heritage and its fame for being one of the oldest towns in Nicaragua. After many hours of comparing hostel prices, we finally settled on one which had a nice vibe to it along with a decent price. We met some Spaniards (the only people who could speak Spanish in the hostel so that Agustin could also chat) and decided to go to a beach party that was located on an island nearby. Instead of going with the organised tour which picked you up from the hostel and took you back from the island at a particular time, we decided to make our own way there thinking that it would be cheaper and would also mean that we could leave whenever we wanted to.
We arrived at the small wharf where the boat was leaving to go to the island and after some intense negotiating, the boys organising the party decided that we were being unreasonable asking for a discount (even though we had made our own way there and would be doing the same going back). They decided to not let us on. We were disappointed and annoyed especially that it was New Year’s and we didn’t have anywhere else to go and little transport available. I had a moment of insanity after a few drinks and decided to blame Agustin for the whole shemozzle we found ourselves in. I walked off into the darkness by myself thinking I could find a taxi. I was quickly chased after and scolded for my actions and attitude and almost immediately after, a taxi appeared. After a bad start to the night, the rest was a lot more enjoyable and involved several different parties and bars back in town with quite a big group from the hostel. Midnight passed without any count down or anticipation until someone turned around and gave me a hug and in the middle of the embrace, I realised what was going on.
The next morning I woke up swearing that the end of 2010 will be celebrated much healthier than this New Year’s just passed. The first day of the year was enjoyed by going to the closest beach possible where everyone else had also decided to go, been a Nicaraguan tradition to go to the beach on festive days. The beach, instead of being a relaxing paradise, was turned into a mayhem of food vendors, people shrieking and running around in and out of the water with wet clothes (no one had a swimming costume on, all were in the water wearing the clothes they had on when coming to the beach), groups of people almost on top of each other and rubbish in all directions.
After eating a fried fish from one of the many vendors leading up the beach, we walked away from the havoc and encountered a strip of beach which hardly anyone was using and where a small bar was playing reggae music. We were kindly accepted as customers even though the place was closed to the public and instead a small private party was taking place. We spent the last few hours before sunset looking out at the beautiful view of water and sand, swinging on a hammock with promises that a new year carries.The next day we were off to Masaya, a town which doesn’t have much of a big reputation in Nicaragua apart from being a cultural centre with a crafts market and has a nice laid back feel to it with a pretty town square. We stayed with some couch surfers here who were very hospitable and were big talkers, interested in any subject imaginable and very open to sharing about their lives. I spent an afternoon with Nina chatting about the civil war that occurred in Nicaragua and the state of things at the moment.
We spent five days here visiting surrounding towns, volcanoes, lookouts, fortresses and even the local hospital (for Agustin’s possible broken toe after he regularly banged it on objects sticking out of the footpath – we stayed for over an hour and with no sign of seeing a doctor, we left deciding that it probably wasn’t broken after all). The walk up the volcano was an interesting adventure and is worth a mention here. We left nice and early thinking the earlier the better as the sun is super strong as the day carries on. Arriving at 7.15 am at the entrance we are informed that the national park (the entrance to the volcano) doesn’t open till 9.00 am and no matter what we said, the man sternly did not budge. I had an idea. We made our way back onto the main road and I indicated to the several different properties bordering the park. We jumped over a small barbwire fence that encloses a hotel which is all locked up and doesn’t look like there are any guests housed at the moment. We make our way through to the back of the property and came across two workers. We ask them if there’s any way through to the national park from within the hotel grounds and at first they both say no but after a bit of insisting, the man admits that there is a way. We are shown the path leading into the bush. We set foot and make our way through scrubland until we hear a whistle and see that the man from the hotel has followed us in, to tell us that we are heading the wrong way. He shows us how to get back on the right path and shortly after, we find ourselves on the main road leading up to the summit of the volcano. A little adrenalin hit kicks in as we contently start the gentle trek up the road knowing that we are the only ones in the park at this present moment and that we also saved about 10 dollars (a lot in Nicaragua… or when you are travelling!). At the top of the volcano (which we reach in about two hours) we see smoke escaping and smell the stench of sulphur in the air but the view is worth the two hour walk.
On the one hand, Nicaragua is similar in many ways to other Central American countries. People are poorer here, jobs are a little harder to find and the cost of living is high comparatively to what people earn (the minimum salary is around $150 per month). There are many more tourists here than what we saw in Honduras for example (which was pretty much none). The markets aren’t as clean as in other countries with a lot of rubbish dispersed on the floors. But there is a lot of fresh produce, vegetables, fruit, cheese, beans and meat available in most markets that we came across. Bicycles are everywhere and they rule the road without law. The political party in power at the moment (FSLN), is the one who fought in the civil war in 1961. The traditional food which is eaten often for all three meals is gallo pinto = a mixture of rice and beans and quesillo, a tortilla with fresh cheese, pickled onion and cream. Tortillas are common as well as platanos, fried cheese, fermented vegetables and a cabbage and carrot salad mix.
Our next stop after Masaya was an Island which is known as the largest island in the world surrounded by fresh water: Ometepe. Two menacing volcanoes lie on the land, which helped to form the island when they erupted. Our journey over from the mainland was on a small ferry with a severely strong wind, which made the trip very undulated to say the least. Most of the time on the island was spent on buses even though the distances aren’t so large, the roads are very bad; dirt, potholes and many rocks that make the place resemble Ireland. We did get to do some kayaking to a small island with monkeys hanging off it, looking as if they were keen to move to bigger territory as well as watching many beautiful sunsets on the beach.
My wish before heading to the rancho in Costa Rica to start work was to spend some time on a beautiful tropical beach, relaxing and catching up on reading and studying Spanish again. As we got to the beach (near San Juan del Sur), two things happened; the tent that we were going to live in for the next 3 days broke and the wind picked up something terrible. The hostel where we were going to camp let us stay in one of their rooms that they were extending on but which didn’t have a door to it and also wasn’t attached by a walkway meaning that we had to walk over a plank of wood to get to our room, suspended 8 metres in the air. We had two hammocks to sleep in which one wasn't as comfortable as the other. The wind blew throughout every night and throughout most of the days that we were there for. We had sand in every orifice imaginable. There was no point in taking a shower because you were guaranteed to end up the same way, if not worse 2 minutes later. The wind blew so heavily at night that I was unable to sleep and neither was anyone else in the hostel. Having no door to our room made the sound of the wind seem as if a cyclone was approaching. The tin roof didn’t help.
I was glad to leave San Juan and be away from the insane wind that had been taking over the beach while we were there. Of course as we started to leave on route to Costa Rica, the wind died down and beach paradise resumed without me.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Honduras, navidad and the coup
We arrived in Honduras Monday night, dropped off by the bus that we had caught from El Salvador, through the mountains crossing one of the smallest border crossings I have ever come across. Having just rained, the bus struggled over the steep climbs and the muddy roads that were chiseled out of the rock below us, sometimes sliding over the surface and sending my stomach to my throat within a gulp.
Landing not exactly where we wanted to be and learning that there was no public transport after 6.00pm, we asked around and managed to get a ride with a drink truck that was heading to the same town as us. Now this drink truck is an open-air truck with individual compartments for crates to be stacked in. We slid into a compartment and held on as we swiftly made our way up another mountain, yet again over another very muddy path, which I was informed, was where the truck had gotten stuck earlier that morning. The wheels skimmed through the slush that lay on the ground and my heart beat faster and faster as I planned my jump if we did happen to turn over. Luckily for all of us, we didn’t and we arrived safely in La Esperanza, the highest town in Honduras. We were greeted by a big gro
up of Peace Corps volunteers who were all in town for a small xmas party. They were all absolutely lovely, preparing us drinks as we walked in and making us feel very welcome.
La Esperanza is a small town with 3 awesome markets! And lots of beautiful mountain light, muddy streets, with a coolness that’s not found anywhere else in Honduras. It’s the most indigenous part of the country and also the poorest. Not many tourists in these parts! It’s fairly small with a population of something like 20,00 people, and has a scattering of shops and a couple of small shopping centres, which are mainly deserted and look a little out of place amongst the rural setting. The recent coup d’etat which occurred 6 months ago has left few marks on La Esperanza. The only sign are the tags that are present on the walls around town which cry out against the coup.
We spent 3 days in La Esperanza and were introduced to Baleadas (the national food of Honduras), a tortilla made out of wheat with beans, cheese, cream and sometimes egg and avocado. One of the best street foods I have tasted! Chris, our CS host took us around town while chatting about his experiences of living in Honduras for the last 2 years doing water and sanitation projects through Peace Corps. It reminded me a lot of the time I spent in Timor, living with Joel, also a Peace Corps volunteer. I reminisced about the complexities of living in a relatively small, new community and learning about the culture and the customs of the place, while juggling a new job and understanding how go about the work (not to mention learning a new language!).
We left La Esperanza on Xmas eve heading to another CS’s house (Rony) to celebrate with him and his family. Once again we were greeted with open arms, this time into a Honduranian family’s home. Rony and family live beside a gym, which is owned by his brother. They live next to their aunty who owns a hairdressing salon and behind them is their uncle. In front of their house lives another uncle and next to him Rony’s brother…and so on it goes like this! The whole family is close, not just in proximity but also emotionally. In Nicaragua (as it is custom in many other countries), the 24th is celebrated more than the 25th. That night, as more and more family members appeared, the mariachis commenced to play their Mexican tunes. Not a very Honduranian tradition, but with this family it is. Couples danced together in a small courtyard in the back of one of the uncle’s house. As the Mariachis finished, the party was moved to the aunties house where punta was being danced in the front room (also known as the hair salon by day), a traditional dance from Honduras which is a mixture of merengue, calipso and afroantillanos, danced by moving your hips sensually along with toe steps. Bodies bounced around rhythmically shaking their bom bons around or just plainly rubbing bodies as if it was reggaeton. At midnight hugs and kisses were exchanged and good wishes for the new year. We moved to the street where firecrackers were let off by the boys of the family, regressing to their childish days. All around the streets the same was being done by other families, filling the air with festivity but also sometimes jolting me a little out of my skin by the bomb sounding noise. Dinner was served at 1.30 in the morning by which time I wasn’t so hungry but on saying that we didn’t get to bed till 5.00 and the party continued without us till sunrise.
The 25th was non-existent. No lunch or dinner, everyone was too hungover and tired to do anything which made me feel as if Xmas had peeked a little too soon. We went to the hotel that Rony works at and hung out at the pool, planning our trip to Tegucigalpa for the next day.
We set off for Tegucigalpa with apprehension. Everyone had told us that it was an ugly city and that it was a dangerous place to wonder around, with many muggings, murders and violence on the streets. We caught a lift with a couple who were heading to the border and who dropped us off quite conveniently, at the entrance of the city. One lift later and with a lot of luck, we were driven all the way to the house where we were going to be staying at, organised quite kindly through a contact from my old work in Australia. We were led to another house that was newly vacated but which still held a lot of the ex-tenants belongings including some food. It was a big house of 3 bedrooms and two storeys high, located on one of the many hills of the city. Having this house for four days all to ourselves was pure heaven after being on the road for so long.
Tegucigalpa is a city located on a chain of mountains with a series of hills surrounding the city. The sunrises and sunsets from these mounts are all breathtaking (well at least I can testify to the sunsets being so!). The city has a river that winds itself through the centre (separating Tegucigalpa and its sister city Comayagüela) with bridges joining the two parts together, offering a big market on the other side. Within the city itself lie streets filled with old crumbling buildings, big pieces of chipping paint dangling off in jigsaw puzzles, large cracks decorating the walls, old signs loosing their brilliant glow that they use to wear and amongst all of this, lie a consortium of newly painted graffiti d
isplaying anti-coup messages in all shades and colours. The cathedral that carries a nice shade of freshly painted peach, was subjected to this same graffiti a little while ago and was therefore repainted to cover up the resistance brewing in the centre.
Our second day in Tegucigalpa encapsulated chasing around town for a resistance concert that was meant to be in the National Autonomous University but the security guards there hadn’t heard of any event being on that day. We were told that the Jesuit University is more supportive of the resistance and might be holding the event. We were quickly bundled into a car with three old blokes that had also appeared at the gate with the intention to attend the concert and who later we learnt, are part of the liberal party who were ousted by the coup government, one of them being a minister.
All gates were closed at the Jesuit University. The three men were trying to decide what to do while we borrowed one of their phones to call a journalist contact that I had obtained through work. She answered straight away and suggested that we meet up at her house that afternoon in a small town in the outskirts of Tegucigalpa.
The journalist’s house was located on top of a valley with amazing views of the mountains in a peaceful but popular tourist village called Santa Lucia. She designed her house herself and has many interesting stories about each item on display, including many paintings. She is an eccentric, passionate woman who likes to tell stories. She cooked us a light but lovely lunch of handmade tortillas, cheese, beans and salsa while she told us a little about her life as a journalist. After lunch we went for a walk in the village which was populated with day trippers, families spending a Sunday outside of the city and locals. A small lake in town attracted a lot of Sunday strollers while rustic cafes framed the main street selling pupusas and baleadas as well as ice cream. We walked through town to the quaint square and up the steps to the lookout while the journalist revealed in small bursts, information about the coup and then quickly hushing herself as she realised that there were ears and eyes all around. Further down lay a church and a café with a nice view of the village which is where we stopped to eat ice cream and listen to the journalist tell us in complete detail and confidence, about the situation in Honduras.
A summary of the main events leading up to the Coup d’etat:
• The President Manuel Zelaya made radical changes during his presidency, January 27th, 2006 to June 28th, 2009 (which is when the coup occurred) :
- Raising the minimum wage from 3400 to 5000 limpiras – many corporations were angry with this change
- Making public schools free – schools angry with this change
- Closing down the US army base and replacing it with an airport – the US and many corporations were angry with this change (they obtain money from the US)
- Referendum to convene a constituent assembly to change parts of the constitution – “Opponents called these plans a veiled attempt to unconstitutionally eliminate presidential term limits and usher in Chavez-style socialism. Zelaya and his supporters claim that he was attempting to modernize the Honduran Constitution to better serve the country, noting that any reforms would be enacted after Zelaya's term”
• June 24th 2009 - the head of the military command refused the order to pass out election materials. Zelaya fired him and later that day the defense minister and the heads of the army, navy and air force resigned
• June 28th 2009 - soldiers illegally entered the presidential palace early in the morning, arrested President Zelaya and put him on a plane to Costa Rica. Zelaya denounced these actions as a coup. Micheletti presented a false letter saying that the president resigned and took power
• Media in Honduras was immediately restricted by the military with some either forced to shut down or halted its transmission
• Protests emerged in support of the President Zelaya with unions announcing a national strike. The military resorted to violence against protesters and resistance leaders
• International opposition to the coup was wide spread with the United Nations General Assembly adopting a resolution calling for the reinstatement of Zelaya as the President of Honduras
• July 2nd 2009 – Honduran Congress passed an emergency decree that limits public gatherings allowing the military to be even more brutal against protesters. Protests continued with large numbers attending
• July 5th 2009 - The president attempted to enter Honduras with the support of several other presidents such as the Presidents of Argentina and Ecuador but was turned away by soldiers and obstacles on the runway. The plane was diverted to San Salvador. Huge protests were held at the airport in support of Zelayas return. Many people were shot at by military, arrested and tortured
• September 21st 2009 – BBC News declares that Zelaya is back in Honduras and has taken refuge in the Brazilian embassy
• September 22nd 2009 – The Micheletti coup government suspends five constitutional rights: personal liberty, freedom of expression, freedom of movement, habeas corpus and freedom of association
• Negotiations are being made by both parties which come to no avail. Zelaya refuses to recognise the November 29th elections
• The elections occur on the 29th of November with an absence of 65% of the population
• Approximately 150 activists have died so far. On the side of the coup supporters, two soldiers have died (who supposedly were killed by other soldiers) and a daughter of a journalist who was killed by a football gang. Many people have been sequestered, beaten, tortured, raped and killed.
• The media is intently biased in favour of the coup and spreads propaganda against the resistance such as that the resistance are the culprits for many killings that have occurred
• The resistance is a non-violent movement and involves protesting through marching on the streets, through graffiti on the walls, through exhibitions and through concerts and talks. There are approximately 2 million supports of the resistance
As the journalist conveyed all of this information, she became agitated and obviously upset about the situation she was explaining. Back at her house, she showed us photos of people having been injured, tortured and killed. She also showed us some of her files that she has been compiling reporting on each incident that has occurred against the population during the coup. She had 100’s and 100’s of these files which have all been sent to the Inter-American Court of Human Rights.
We left the house with a lot of information flowing through our heads, feeling a little overwhelmed and sending our solidarity with these people fighting for their rights.
Artists have united to join force with
the resistance and to use their art work to diffuse anti coup d’etat messages. We went to see a photo exhibition which was put on by the artists of the resistance and which revealed photos of the last six months during the coup. A band played on the opening night and the next night featured a talk with three resistance members from the coup and artists participation in the resistance. At the end of the talk, some of the names of the people who have been murdered since the coup occurred were read out, making us leave the exhibition in a somber and pensive tone.
Landing not exactly where we wanted to be and learning that there was no public transport after 6.00pm, we asked around and managed to get a ride with a drink truck that was heading to the same town as us. Now this drink truck is an open-air truck with individual compartments for crates to be stacked in. We slid into a compartment and held on as we swiftly made our way up another mountain, yet again over another very muddy path, which I was informed, was where the truck had gotten stuck earlier that morning. The wheels skimmed through the slush that lay on the ground and my heart beat faster and faster as I planned my jump if we did happen to turn over. Luckily for all of us, we didn’t and we arrived safely in La Esperanza, the highest town in Honduras. We were greeted by a big gro
up of Peace Corps volunteers who were all in town for a small xmas party. They were all absolutely lovely, preparing us drinks as we walked in and making us feel very welcome.La Esperanza is a small town with 3 awesome markets! And lots of beautiful mountain light, muddy streets, with a coolness that’s not found anywhere else in Honduras. It’s the most indigenous part of the country and also the poorest. Not many tourists in these parts! It’s fairly small with a population of something like 20,00 people, and has a scattering of shops and a couple of small shopping centres, which are mainly deserted and look a little out of place amongst the rural setting. The recent coup d’etat which occurred 6 months ago has left few marks on La Esperanza. The only sign are the tags that are present on the walls around town which cry out against the coup.
We spent 3 days in La Esperanza and were introduced to Baleadas (the national food of Honduras), a tortilla made out of wheat with beans, cheese, cream and sometimes egg and avocado. One of the best street foods I have tasted! Chris, our CS host took us around town while chatting about his experiences of living in Honduras for the last 2 years doing water and sanitation projects through Peace Corps. It reminded me a lot of the time I spent in Timor, living with Joel, also a Peace Corps volunteer. I reminisced about the complexities of living in a relatively small, new community and learning about the culture and the customs of the place, while juggling a new job and understanding how go about the work (not to mention learning a new language!).
We left La Esperanza on Xmas eve heading to another CS’s house (Rony) to celebrate with him and his family. Once again we were greeted with open arms, this time into a Honduranian family’s home. Rony and family live beside a gym, which is owned by his brother. They live next to their aunty who owns a hairdressing salon and behind them is their uncle. In front of their house lives another uncle and next to him Rony’s brother…and so on it goes like this! The whole family is close, not just in proximity but also emotionally. In Nicaragua (as it is custom in many other countries), the 24th is celebrated more than the 25th. That night, as more and more family members appeared, the mariachis commenced to play their Mexican tunes. Not a very Honduranian tradition, but with this family it is. Couples danced together in a small courtyard in the back of one of the uncle’s house. As the Mariachis finished, the party was moved to the aunties house where punta was being danced in the front room (also known as the hair salon by day), a traditional dance from Honduras which is a mixture of merengue, calipso and afroantillanos, danced by moving your hips sensually along with toe steps. Bodies bounced around rhythmically shaking their bom bons around or just plainly rubbing bodies as if it was reggaeton. At midnight hugs and kisses were exchanged and good wishes for the new year. We moved to the street where firecrackers were let off by the boys of the family, regressing to their childish days. All around the streets the same was being done by other families, filling the air with festivity but also sometimes jolting me a little out of my skin by the bomb sounding noise. Dinner was served at 1.30 in the morning by which time I wasn’t so hungry but on saying that we didn’t get to bed till 5.00 and the party continued without us till sunrise.
The 25th was non-existent. No lunch or dinner, everyone was too hungover and tired to do anything which made me feel as if Xmas had peeked a little too soon. We went to the hotel that Rony works at and hung out at the pool, planning our trip to Tegucigalpa for the next day.
We set off for Tegucigalpa with apprehension. Everyone had told us that it was an ugly city and that it was a dangerous place to wonder around, with many muggings, murders and violence on the streets. We caught a lift with a couple who were heading to the border and who dropped us off quite conveniently, at the entrance of the city. One lift later and with a lot of luck, we were driven all the way to the house where we were going to be staying at, organised quite kindly through a contact from my old work in Australia. We were led to another house that was newly vacated but which still held a lot of the ex-tenants belongings including some food. It was a big house of 3 bedrooms and two storeys high, located on one of the many hills of the city. Having this house for four days all to ourselves was pure heaven after being on the road for so long.
Tegucigalpa is a city located on a chain of mountains with a series of hills surrounding the city. The sunrises and sunsets from these mounts are all breathtaking (well at least I can testify to the sunsets being so!). The city has a river that winds itself through the centre (separating Tegucigalpa and its sister city Comayagüela) with bridges joining the two parts together, offering a big market on the other side. Within the city itself lie streets filled with old crumbling buildings, big pieces of chipping paint dangling off in jigsaw puzzles, large cracks decorating the walls, old signs loosing their brilliant glow that they use to wear and amongst all of this, lie a consortium of newly painted graffiti d
isplaying anti-coup messages in all shades and colours. The cathedral that carries a nice shade of freshly painted peach, was subjected to this same graffiti a little while ago and was therefore repainted to cover up the resistance brewing in the centre.Our second day in Tegucigalpa encapsulated chasing around town for a resistance concert that was meant to be in the National Autonomous University but the security guards there hadn’t heard of any event being on that day. We were told that the Jesuit University is more supportive of the resistance and might be holding the event. We were quickly bundled into a car with three old blokes that had also appeared at the gate with the intention to attend the concert and who later we learnt, are part of the liberal party who were ousted by the coup government, one of them being a minister.
All gates were closed at the Jesuit University. The three men were trying to decide what to do while we borrowed one of their phones to call a journalist contact that I had obtained through work. She answered straight away and suggested that we meet up at her house that afternoon in a small town in the outskirts of Tegucigalpa.
The journalist’s house was located on top of a valley with amazing views of the mountains in a peaceful but popular tourist village called Santa Lucia. She designed her house herself and has many interesting stories about each item on display, including many paintings. She is an eccentric, passionate woman who likes to tell stories. She cooked us a light but lovely lunch of handmade tortillas, cheese, beans and salsa while she told us a little about her life as a journalist. After lunch we went for a walk in the village which was populated with day trippers, families spending a Sunday outside of the city and locals. A small lake in town attracted a lot of Sunday strollers while rustic cafes framed the main street selling pupusas and baleadas as well as ice cream. We walked through town to the quaint square and up the steps to the lookout while the journalist revealed in small bursts, information about the coup and then quickly hushing herself as she realised that there were ears and eyes all around. Further down lay a church and a café with a nice view of the village which is where we stopped to eat ice cream and listen to the journalist tell us in complete detail and confidence, about the situation in Honduras.
A summary of the main events leading up to the Coup d’etat:
• The President Manuel Zelaya made radical changes during his presidency, January 27th, 2006 to June 28th, 2009 (which is when the coup occurred) :
- Raising the minimum wage from 3400 to 5000 limpiras – many corporations were angry with this change
- Making public schools free – schools angry with this change
- Closing down the US army base and replacing it with an airport – the US and many corporations were angry with this change (they obtain money from the US)
- Referendum to convene a constituent assembly to change parts of the constitution – “Opponents called these plans a veiled attempt to unconstitutionally eliminate presidential term limits and usher in Chavez-style socialism. Zelaya and his supporters claim that he was attempting to modernize the Honduran Constitution to better serve the country, noting that any reforms would be enacted after Zelaya's term”
• June 24th 2009 - the head of the military command refused the order to pass out election materials. Zelaya fired him and later that day the defense minister and the heads of the army, navy and air force resigned
• June 28th 2009 - soldiers illegally entered the presidential palace early in the morning, arrested President Zelaya and put him on a plane to Costa Rica. Zelaya denounced these actions as a coup. Micheletti presented a false letter saying that the president resigned and took power
• Media in Honduras was immediately restricted by the military with some either forced to shut down or halted its transmission
• Protests emerged in support of the President Zelaya with unions announcing a national strike. The military resorted to violence against protesters and resistance leaders
• International opposition to the coup was wide spread with the United Nations General Assembly adopting a resolution calling for the reinstatement of Zelaya as the President of Honduras
• July 2nd 2009 – Honduran Congress passed an emergency decree that limits public gatherings allowing the military to be even more brutal against protesters. Protests continued with large numbers attending
• July 5th 2009 - The president attempted to enter Honduras with the support of several other presidents such as the Presidents of Argentina and Ecuador but was turned away by soldiers and obstacles on the runway. The plane was diverted to San Salvador. Huge protests were held at the airport in support of Zelayas return. Many people were shot at by military, arrested and tortured
• September 21st 2009 – BBC News declares that Zelaya is back in Honduras and has taken refuge in the Brazilian embassy
• September 22nd 2009 – The Micheletti coup government suspends five constitutional rights: personal liberty, freedom of expression, freedom of movement, habeas corpus and freedom of association
• Negotiations are being made by both parties which come to no avail. Zelaya refuses to recognise the November 29th elections
• The elections occur on the 29th of November with an absence of 65% of the population
• Approximately 150 activists have died so far. On the side of the coup supporters, two soldiers have died (who supposedly were killed by other soldiers) and a daughter of a journalist who was killed by a football gang. Many people have been sequestered, beaten, tortured, raped and killed.
• The media is intently biased in favour of the coup and spreads propaganda against the resistance such as that the resistance are the culprits for many killings that have occurred
• The resistance is a non-violent movement and involves protesting through marching on the streets, through graffiti on the walls, through exhibitions and through concerts and talks. There are approximately 2 million supports of the resistance
As the journalist conveyed all of this information, she became agitated and obviously upset about the situation she was explaining. Back at her house, she showed us photos of people having been injured, tortured and killed. She also showed us some of her files that she has been compiling reporting on each incident that has occurred against the population during the coup. She had 100’s and 100’s of these files which have all been sent to the Inter-American Court of Human Rights.
We left the house with a lot of information flowing through our heads, feeling a little overwhelmed and sending our solidarity with these people fighting for their rights.
Artists have united to join force with
the resistance and to use their art work to diffuse anti coup d’etat messages. We went to see a photo exhibition which was put on by the artists of the resistance and which revealed photos of the last six months during the coup. A band played on the opening night and the next night featured a talk with three resistance members from the coup and artists participation in the resistance. At the end of the talk, some of the names of the people who have been murdered since the coup occurred were read out, making us leave the exhibition in a somber and pensive tone.
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