Looking for the Latin Lovell

*stories and photos from a journey of latin american discovery* for full blog archive and contact info click icon top right

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Bogota - the beating heart of Colombia

Mi querido Bogota, the mighty beast that rules Colombia and where I landed on my first visit to this amazing, diverse, crazy country way back in 2002!  The reason I travelled around Colombia back in those precarious days was thanks to falling for Bogota and after chatting to local hostel owner, German (pronounced Her-man in English) who spoke wonders of his native land and convinced me it was worth the risk! After spending a lot of time in La Candelaria back in 2002, I’ve always had an affinity with this part of the city.  It’s the colonial centre and is very pretty with  windy, cobbled streets and old colonial houses, although it is a lot more touristy now.  It's also a very bohemian, studenty area and feels very laid back compared to other parts of the city.  German recently sold his hostel and opened a fancy, new but traditional-style hotel.  I feel very lucky for me because German let me stay in his hotel for free which was a luxury compared to the cheap digs I’ve been staying in, it even has a hot shower, my first in about 8 months.  So I ended up staying for a couple of months, which really wasn't my intention but I found things to keep me busy.  My board wasn't completely free though, I worked in the hotel, translating a detailed book about tropical fruits and local juices and also took some promo photos of the hotel for their new website (see, www.casaplatypusbogota.com).  I also did the TV extra work (see previous blog) and I spent a lot of time studying for my online TEFL course (Teach English as a Foreign Language which turned out to be massive, so this took up a mountain of my time... but not all my time. I made some local amigos and enjoyed some of the Bogota party scene, I even had to buy some new clothes as my well-worn traveller clothes were starting to fall apart.  There were some great nights and days and I built some solid-friendships, including all the staff at Casa Platypus and several locals.   One event that lit up my time in Bogota was the last few games of the South American qualifying for the World Cup; in particular, the day that Colombia qualified.  The city went crazy and there were people dancing all over the streets; you would've thought that they'd won the World Cup compared to the mainly mute celebrations you see back home when England qualify.  The streets were powder white as the fans threw handfuls of flour everywhere and sprayed each other with spray foam.  It was all good times until someone threw flour in my face as they walked past and it went right in my eyes, sticking to my eye balls.  It was meant to be good humoured and I would've got im back if I could actually see the rascal! Other things I loved about Bogota were Septima Sundays when they close the main street that runs through the centre - the Septima (seventh street) - it opens up like a market and is full of cyclists and pedestrians.  The big parks are beautifully peaceful, a rarity to find such large green spaces in Latin America and I enjoyed wandering around for a break from the big city.  Culture-wise, the city is full of art galleries, international events and great museums, especially the Museo de Oro (the Gold Museum) which is stunning and the national museum for lots of pre-colombian ancestry.

As it approached my time to leave, my friends asked me why I wouldn't stay and live in Bogota, and even though I do love the city and I have some great friends there, it's just too cold for me.  Being at high altitude, it has pretty similar weather to the UK.  The weather is very changeable, it gets really cold and rains a lot.  Also, the city is just too big for a village lad like me: the roads are insanely busy, with constant traffic jams which is unpleassant to walk amonst and the public transport system is also hectic.  Plus, it just doesn't have some of the warmer, friendliness that you find in smaller cities. My 2 months in Bogota were also broken up with some trips to other parts of the country as I continued my mission to find a new home and I'll fill in another blog, shaped box with these adventures soon!

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La Candelaria and other parts of Bogota

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Casa Platypus (and friends), La Candelaria, Bogota

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Amigos de Bogota

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When Colombia qualified for their first World Cup Finals in 16 years, the whole nation celebrated, complete with flour bombs and spray foam. Colombia draw 3-3 with Chile after being 3-0 at half time.  I watched the game live in a massive screen at Parque 93 in Bogota.

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Random Bogota moments the Museo de Oro (Gold Museum), a homemade toilet up a hill, a nightclub called KINKY, 2 walls of graffiti,  beer & tequila good times,  playing billares with German, waiting for a bus at the Transmilenio station, a giant christmas rabbit and a masked warrior at the national museum.

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The Wrong Side of the Camera: My Life as a TV Extra During my 2 months living in Bogota (Colombia) I heard that there were crewing companies looking for foreigners to be extras in local TV programmes and that they paid pretty well.  I signed up to a few agencies and ended up working on about 9 different episodes for 4 different dramas or tele-novelas (soap operas).  As you can see I had quite a few different ‘looks’ in my various roles.  I'm a cameraman by trade so it was strange to be in front of the camera but an eye opener as to how the industry works here.  Some years ago I also worked as an assistant director for some UK and Hollywood films shot in Europe and one of my jobs was looking after the extras so to be on the other side was kind of odd.  For my first shoot I had to get up at 3am cos we had to travel from Bogota (which is at altitude and a cold climate) to a jungle town a couple of hours south.  I got back at 1am the following day, a mean shift to start my new career!  I was a bit beardy at the time so I decided to let the make-up depatrment decide on what 'look' to give me.  They went with a moustache and a crap, neat, cropped haircut which along with the cheap looking American Police outfit I was given left me looking anything but my usual self.  I'd told the extra company that I had experience as an actor, so they gave me a speaking role.  It was in Spanish which was fine but I couldn't master an bad-American-gringo-spanish-accent so I just stuck to my own.  When we rehearsed the scene, it turned out that I was right in front of the beastly HD camera for both my scenes and there was quite a big physical performance required as well, this was not background work!  I was given 1 take and then they moved onto the next scene, 1 take!  I have no idea how it came out and I'd love to see the footage but sadly I can't find it online! My subsequent shifts were not as hardcore or hot as that first jungle shoot.  I played a salsa student (which was good fun), a doctor, a british gangster, a hotel guest, a businessman and a background figure.  The days often involved lots of waiting around but it paid well and I met lots of nice Colombians from different backgrounds to chat to, often they would trying to break into an acting career.  The work was pretty sporadic but it did pay very well, though weirdly the 'exotic foreigners' earned about 3 or 4 times as much as the local extras.  I haven't seen any of the TV programmes as I carried on travelling but it was good for a laugh and who knows I might catch the repeats someday or a comedy out-takes programme!

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Soundtrack to the Música del Pacífico blog -

Grupo Socavón - Homenaje a Justino a beautiful track from the Festival de Música del Pacífico Petronio Álvarez

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Soundtrack to the Música del Pacífico blog - music video by Somos Pacificos by Chocquibtown Chocquibtown are a band that performed at the Festival de Música del Pacífico Petronio Álvarez a few years ago and have incorporated modern music influences into their core pacific music sound.  They are now  internationally successful band and leading the way to promote their home region through their sweet, rhythmic, popular music.

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Discovering 'la musica del pacifico' - Pacific Rhythms in Cali

Colombia is a land blessed with a rich variation of musical tradition.  It has produced some of the most popular music in Latin America and is well known for its salsa, cumbia, vallenato and of course, the sensation that is Shakira.  The more I've delved into latin music and Latin America, I've come to realise that there seem to be endless genres of music here, especially in Colombia.  My vinyl record buying cravings are currently frustrated as I try to resist from carrying extra bulk in my baggage, although I did pick up 6 records in Barranquilla and have since left them with a friend in Bogota.

The folkloric music scene of Colombia's pacific coast has until recently kept a pretty low profile. In the past decade however música del pacifico has made huge inroads on the Colombian music scene and a new generation of musicians and producers are carrying this music to a wider audience.  Local artists like Chocquibtown are receiving international attention and DJ's like the UK's Quantic are also incorporating this traditional sound.  As more modern music embraces traditional rhythms, this has generated a greater appreciation from music fans across the continent, an appreciation that has never been lacking from the people of the state of Chocó in the pacific coast.  The music breathes the spirit of Africa and traditional handmade instruments are still used with the marimba the central character accompanied by ancestral chants and harmonies.  I found a picture of some these familiar instruments to give you an idea and save me describing them: 

The Festival de Música del Pacífico Petronio Álvarez is the largest and most revered Afro-Colombian, folkloric festival in Colombia.  Over one hundred music groups take part annually in a competition for the Petronio Álvarez Prize in various modalities. However, the most sought-after prize is an ovation from a demanding public that generously surrenders to music that touches the right fibres of their lives.

I decided to go to the festival after speaking to an old friend and Colombian legend, German Escobar who suggested meeting up at the festival.  German (pronounced Herr-man) opened the first hostel in Colombia in 1993 and we met in 2002 when I first stayed at his Platypus Hostel and always kept in touch.  I wanted to catch up with him on my travels but the festival was down the other side of the country, not really what I had in mind as I thought I'd gently make my way south through Colombia but it sounded great!  I was feeling a bit lost about what to do at this point and the chance to go to a traditional music festival with an old friend was too good to pass up, so I decided to do it!  The journey to Cali was a mission, it took me 36 hours of travelling by taxi, boat, night-bus, and then 2 more buses.  

Cali is famous for its love of salsa but its close proximity to the pacific region and multicultural society make it the ideal venue for the Petronio Festival.  It’s also a pretty big party town but then, most of the big, Colombian cities are.  However during its various festivals, the city explodes with life and fiesta as the Caleños (Cali folks) are busting to shake their hips to the party rhythms that pulsate across the city.

On my first evening I arrived at the Pan Americanan football pitches where the festival which is held with German, some of the staff and a group of backpackers from the Iguana Hostel.  The only booze available are some comically named homemade juices that are traditional from the pacific coast: viche, toma seca and arrechon.  These translate to mean (in order): raw, dry-drink and horny which is the milky, Baileys-type drink.

VICHE, TOMA SECA and CREMA DE VICHE

ARRECHON - Horny Juice

I tried viche which is the clear looking ‘raw’ juice and the only one I saw on the first night; it cost about £3.50 for a small bottle, it smelt and tasted wrong, slightly meths-like but there was nothing else.  I was in the mood for a party and so was everyone else in the crowd so we chugged away and tried to gradually master the dance moves that seemed intrinsically inherent to the majority of the audience.  There was no stopping German though, he was the leader of good times in our posse and busting to mingle with anyone and everyone.  From what I remember, the first night was relatively tame as to what was to come for the rest of the week but then, it also kind of blurred into one week long booze fuelled party.  Yep, it was a full week of grooving, boozing, bouncing up and down and hip wiggling that got busier and livelier with each day’s festivities.  Just the sound of a cow bell or drumbeat could send a whole crowd into rapture as the crowds would compete to perform hilarious dance moves.  I think they were probably all on the horny juice which was actually pretty tasty but I preferred the herby tasting toma seca.  Humour was a huge part of the dancing as well which was what made the festival more fun for me, dancing should never be taken seriously in my opinion.  The morning after the first night and I was proper broken.  The viche had seemingly poisoned my insides, I had what I can only describe as a torrential hangover but it was so hot and sunny outside my dorm room that I couldn’t sleep anymore.  I wandered half brain-dead across the city get to know more of Cali and eventually I started feel better.  I walked through the city centre and checked out a pretty, bohemian barrio called San Antonio.  The buildings are of a classic, European, colonial style and there’s a large park on a hill with plenty of folks hanging out, smoking weed, playing guitars or selling snacks and artesanias crafts. For the rest of the week, I went out every night trying the various juices, listening to the music, meeting lots of friendly folks and dancing with the infectious pacificos who would dance non-stop to any rhythm going.  When the concerts finished at 10pm the crowds were practically dragged from the venue and the parties would erupt in the middle of the street outside until eventually they moved on to the various salsa clubs around the city.  Live salsa bands entertained inside the clubs while impromptu musicians performed more música del pacifico rhythms outside and the parties continued into the early hours.  Each day I dragged myself out of bed around midday to explore more sights or exhibitions around Cali, alone or with different friends I met during the week.  Then I’d convince myself to get back on the boogie juice again in the evening for another class night. It was an awesome festival that I’ll never forget and hopefully I’ll be back again this year.  In the meantime, música del pacifico will be a regular feature on Seany’s personal jukebox.

Check out the accompanying music and video to listen to the sound of música del pacifico and feel the ambience of the festival.

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Filmed on my little digi camera, some footage of the crowds and after parties at the Festival de Música del Pacífico Petronio Álvarez.

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The Petronio Alvarez Festival in Cali, Colombia

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Out and about round Cali, in daylight hours, well mostly.

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the graveyard cats of mompox (colombia)

Santa Cruz de Mompox is a beautiful colonial city and one of those special UNESCO world heritage sites that are officially recognised as being old, epic and prime tourist fodder!  Well, it probably would be touristy if it was easier to get to.  The city is trapped in time, isolated as it is, effectively an island surrounded by the huge, magical Magdalena river, the backbone of northern Colombia.

“As they sailed down to the coast the river had grown more vast and solemn, like a swamp with no beginning or end, and the heat was so dense you could touch it with your hands.”

Gabriel Garcia Marquez – The General in His Labyrinth.

I'd been looking forward to exploring Mompox (pronounced momposh and also spelt Mompos) for some time as I'd been reading a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel about Simon Bolivar.  Bolivar is also known as The Great Liberator, as he liberated half of South America and his statue can be see everywhere round here, still guarding the plazas.  Bolivar passed through Mompox numerous times and spoke highly of its beauty and honourable citizens.  He collected an army of 400 men here who helped contribute to his victory over the evil Spanish in Caracas gaining independence for Venezuela.  Cue quote:

Translation: "If to Caracas I owe my life, to Mompos I owe the glory!"  (Bolivar was from Caracas)

He later made a long, epic journey down the Magdalena river returning to Mompox just before his premature death (aged 47).

My own journey to Mompox on the Magdalena was also pretty epic, well for me anyway as I took a 'chulupa,' a kind of ferry/speedboat from Magangue.  With the wind tickling my ears and the smell of adventure up my nose, we sped past tiny riverside villages while kids swam, ladies washed clothes, fishermen bobbed about in dug out canoes and wild birds flew by with bight feathers and happy smiles .

It's hard to believe that this sleepy town used to be the third most important city in Colombia.  During the 19th Century, Mompox was a wealthy trading port connecting the Andes to the Caribbean coast until the river bed shifted and in 1904 Magangue became the main trading port instead.  Since then it seems Mompox has been forgotten, locked in time and its sleepy streets now trade in fish and tourism.  The architecture is appropriately elegant with many old buildings that appear like they haven't changed in hundreds of years and yet are in amazing condition.  There actually isn't much else to do in Mompox apart form gawp at these fine old structures and daydream about an ancient Hispanic world, but I guess that's part of the charm. 

My 5 days there were unsurprisingly chilled as I tried to decide where to go next on my journey, having no plan at all for the first time in months.  I wandered the quiet streets on my first evening there and I happened across the ornate, old graveyard that was to become a regular haunt during my time there. 

Walking through the graveyard I found a sleeping caretaker and loads of skinny cats sunbathing, well they were probably dehydrated as they looked worryingly thin.  One tiny, little un looked like it was on it's last legs, it was so skinny and weak.  So being a big softy I went to buy some cat biscuits and a big tin of tuna.  When I came back the cats went mental, I gave them some water and tried my best to distribute the food as cats came running from all directions, screeching and meowing as they fought over over whatever they could get.  The caretaker stirred as he must've wondered what the hell was going on but he clearly wasn't interested enough to interrupt his siesta.  I tried my best to referee the cat scramble as the bigger cats tried to push the scrawny, weak and needy out of the way.   It was a real kitty fur frenzy!

Note the sleeping caretaker on the left guarding the chapel

As I left the graveyard, I was accosted by some local drunks who'd been watching my efforts with some amusement.  A couple of them turned out to be local English teachers (although their English was not so great).  They were keen to chat and practise their broken English, I had a feeling they were mainly trying to show off to the other drunks in the crew.  They were friendly guys though, jolly I s'pose and insisted that I joined them downing shots of aguadiente. "Just one," I insisted to be polite but that turned into several, "okay, just one more" as they practically launched the powerful liquor at my lips with merry pleasure.  As the sun went down I made my escape before I got into a similar state to the them and I agreed to see them again the following day when I planned to come back to feed the cats.  They also asked me to meet the teachers' english students. 

I returned to feed the cats every day while I stayed in Mompox but I didn't see my drunken friends again.  Sadly I didn't see the weak, tiny kitty either and I fear it must've perished :(  At least the rest of the cats hopefully got some survival nourishment while I was there.

I enjoyed my tranquil days in Mompox: the architecture, the graveyard cats, the river, drinking coffees in the square, hanging out with a few other travellers and chatting to the locals.  All the while I wondered where to go next but in the end a phone call with an old friend persuaded me to unexpectedly rush to the other side of the country for a lively folkloric, music festival with Colombia's Afro-Colombian, pacific coast community, a completely contrasting experience!

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The graveyard cats of Mompos and some pics on the Rio Magdalena

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The fine, old streets of magical Santa Cruz de Mompox, Colombia

on the River Magdalena

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Burgled and Barranquilla'd (colombia)

Getting robbed is probably my worst fear about travelling.  Kidnapping, injury and death are also up there on the 'bad list', but I'm not that morbid to think about things that I consider unlikely to happen.  However stories of missing/stolen backpacks, armed gunmen robbing buses and thieving knife-wielding street kids are sadly familiar stories in latin america.  Having spent over 2 years of my life on latin soil and never experienced any of these violent acts, I consider myself to be extremely lucky.  Yeah, my camera was stolen from my bag at a beach party years ago and I my ipod was pick-pocketed in Managua on this trip and both were devastating at the time (especially losing photos) but you move on and eventually put things into perspective.  However, being robbed by armed burglars and stripped of all my worldly goods is something I really fear but I also prepare myself for the inevitability that one day, it will probably happen to me. And then it did, kind of! After leaving Paul at the airport in Cartagena, I found myself alone in Colombia and unsure what to do, I had to make a decision on where to go first.  I'd noticed a while back that Colombia had a football match on the same day, in Barranquilla (pronounced ba-ran-key-a), a city just a couple of hours away.  I would've loved to experience the game live, it was a qualifying game for this years world cup and Colombia had a very good chance of qualifying.  If they did, it would be the country's first world cup in 16 years.  The public were on tenterhooks and a footie frenzie was building... Colombia currently has numerous talented players in the european leagues, the team were playing well, people were confident, yellow shirts were everywhere and national pride was bubblin hot!  Sadly, lonesome as I was, I had nobody to goto the game with and I was recommended not to go on my own, so I did what I thought would be the next best thing, I went to the host city to watch the game in a bar. I've been wanting to get in on the couchsurfing game for ages, it sounds ideal, a free place to stay, a free friend with local advice and the chance to practise spanish with the host.  I tried twice in central america but it didn't happen, I probably didn't give them enough notice.  So when I got back from the airport, I was chuffed to see on my emails that I'd been accepted by someone in Barranquilla.  I packed my bag and headed off to the Colombia's 4th biggest city.  A couple of hours later as we drove by the footie stadium on the bus, lots of people started getting off, there was a sea of yellow in the streets and barely anyone left on the bus.  I wondered then about getting to the terminal and decided to check with the driver, and perhaps lucky I did (or so I thought at the time).  The bus wouldn't stop at the terminal, it was going straight onto Santa Marta, the next city along the coast (possibly because of the match).  The driver asked me where I was going but I didn't know, all I had was my hosts mobile, he'd only replied to me late last night, so I rang him from a minutos guy (Colombia's rent-a-mobile payphone system).  And here began my problems... the number didn't work.  So I got off the bus and started walking alongside the motorway in search of an internet cafe to contact my host.  I got some directions and crossed the road.  As I walked across the traffic island, I heard a voice shout, "la camara, la camara!" actually I didn't really understand what he said at first in his thick caribbean accent and I quickened my pace trying to ignore the hassle.  The guy quickly moved to catch me and grabbed the strap of my small rucksack and starting pulling at it.  He kept chanting, "la camara, la camara," I don't know how long I resisted before I realised that he was trying to show me that he had a flick knife.  I felt sick in my stomach and froze, no thoughts entered my mind and I let go of the bag.  The thief took my rucksack and then as we looked at each other I sensed a nervousness about him, maybe surprise, after all he'd only asked for a camera and I'd let him take my whole bag.  My rucksack, with all my valuables: passport, cash, cards, camera and new ipod that had just arrived from england.  "Noooo, I couldn't let this happen!"  Perhaps foolishly I walked after him and shouted with rage, "OIII, THIEF!!" (in spanish) and instantly, a crowd of men appeared as if from nowhere and came running to my rescue from the pavement.  They looked like they were up for a burglar bashing and he shat himself, threw my bag to the floor and took off as fast as his flimsy legs could run.  The local heroes ran after him into the distance and I was left wondering what just happened looking at my rucksack on the floor.  One guy stayed behind and I thanked him, still shaking, I decided it was probably best to get out of there and go find the internet.  

I never got hold of the couchsurfing guy, his number didn't work and he didn't reply to my e-mails but luckily, I remembered that I had the phone number of Rafa, a guy I'd met briefly in Tayrona Park with Mitch.  So I called him and asked if he was watching the footie; of course he was and he invited me to go and join him, his friend Jean and his family at a bar on the other side of the city.  I got a moto taxi with my huge backpack on the back and we bombed it across Barranquilla.  I found my new friends at a packed bar called La Troja.  They welcomed me with big smiles, aguadiente and beer.  Somehow I squeezed into the crowd and got my backpack under a table, salvation!  Then just before kick off, torrential, tropical rain pounded down from the skies, the streets turned into rivers, cars swam past desperately looking for dry land and some guy with a cart and his donkey entertained the crowd as he persisted on wading through the water and it looked like they were going to drown.  

The packed bar in La Troja, Barranquilla

The game was postponed for 2 hours while everyone continued to drink and get wasted, I can't believe they still played after all that rain but they did, and Colombia beat Ecuador 1-0 and the bar went wild.  Everyone, was singing, dancing and playing instruments. As we left, I got dragged into a dance pit wearing my Colombia shirt and my huge backpack, it was a funny moment.  Colombia were now 1 win from qualifying for the World Cup, Barranquilla was in full party mode!

Jean lives on his own and he kindly let me stay at his place for free, I stayed in Barranquilla for 6 days while I got to know the city and hung out with my new friends.  That night we went to a rock bar and met 2 charming sisters, Valerie and Vivian.  Together, the 5 of us hung out all week as we toured the city: we went to a stoney beach cove, a jazz festival, there was dancing, partying and we listened to lots of records with Jean's dad who has one of the biggest vinyl collections I've ever seen.  It was great fun and I'm very grateful for my turnaround in fortunes after my burglary experience! Getting robbed can obviously be avoided if your sensible about where you go, i.e. sticking to safe areas where there are other people around and not carrying/showing off valuables, etc..  I don't know how I could've avoided this situation at the time (take a taxi..?), it was an unfortunate series of events and somewhat bizarre to be attacked in the middle of the day in a busy-ish area.  I'm actually glad it happened though, it's taught me some lessons and made me even more aware about where I walk and knowing where I'm going.  So cheers Mr Burglar, I hope they didn't beat you too badly!