Los cuerpos son definiciones perdidas en los diccionarios Sin brazos sin piernas sin ojos sin memoria tratan de recobrar su rumbo
Los cuerpos que transitan este paraíso han perdido su significado como una tilde dibujada en el vacío
Somos esas piedras que lavadas por la creciente han perdido su piel
My Translation:
Our bodies are lost definitions in dictionaries No arms no legs no eyes no memory trying to recover their path
Our bodies that move through this paradise have lost their meaning like an accent drawn in the abyss
We are those stones washed by the tide that have lost their skin
This poem speaks to me in a way that transcends words. My own attachment to words and metaphor coalesce with this fascinating image drawn out by Félix. Everything that we are and the language we use over time loses its meaning. There is a sense of inevitable decay, a divorce from the tongues that gave words their meaning. I like how this concept of words losing their meaning, and our own bodies becoming words without meaning, formless anomalies — it is such a powerful visual. I hope I did it some justice.
Translating poetry is unique in that you have to take the music of the words into account, as well as the meaning and metaphor. Translating music takes this to another level. But I like the challenge. Translating a full book would be even harder because you have to live inside those pages and words well enough to capture what the author wanted to convey through a different linguistic lens.
I’ll be continuing with this project and translating the full book of poetry, The Discourse of the Rain, during this week. As always, I’m happy to hear any feedback, especially from my bilingual writers/poets.
The heat has been suffocating in the “City of the Holy Kings.” Since yesterday, we’ve been under a perpetual veil of heavy clouds and humid heat. Last night, I thought for sure that the sky would finally break open and rain would wash the streets clean.
Instead, the heat and dimness continue. The only thing that washed the streets of Valledupar last night was the blood of civilians protesting. The explosion came, but not in the form of rain, thunder, or lightning. The tension caused by the chaos that seized the march and the detention of protestors is palpable and unrelenting.
Social media has given us the gift of reaching people from around the world in a matter of moments. Tears wet my cheeks as I read through and watch video after video of a horror that seems to have happened over night. If only. Imagine, if social media had existed in the 80’s when farms were actively being gassed or during the Segovia massacre of 1988. The past 30 years have been marked by the slaughter of union leaders, farmers, campesinos, indigenous people, sympathizers of certain political parties, and anyone with the gall to demand that their human rights be respected.
As someone that studied Latin American history and politics, I felt stirred by these facts and narratives having only been able to experience them dead on the page. I didn’t imagine that I might actually be in the middle of one of these historical and devastating moments. I didn’t realize just how sadly entrenched they are in the human experience of people living under oppression in communities all over the world.
There have been dozens of videos circulating of people running through the streets, tanks filling the city, teargas shrouding the air, the sound of weapons firing, children screaming as their anguished faces are washed with milk, the cries for justice even as the police deny the right to protest, deny that they themselves are acting with cruel impunity. As they throw teargas bombs into buses full of civilians. As they gather around the people, non-binary, men, women, elderly, children, and grab them, threaten them, punch them, force them into corners, and carry them off on motorcycles.
I’ve always wondered about these ESMAD characters. They’re supposed to be brave defenders of the public. An anti-riot branch of the Colombian police force. They’re supposed to be these pillars of justice that go to protests to dissuade violence and looting. In fact, it’s ironic to see them in their heavy armor carrying their huge weapons as they tower over and surround – unarmed young people that look defenseless by comparison – and incite violence. And we are supposed to believe they are protecting the community from the protestors they mercilessly intimidate?
Everyone I know is against this tax reform and supporting the constitutional rights of Colombians to protest. Except, astonishingly, for the members of the military I’ve met. According to statistics circulating, around 80% of the Colombian population are against the tax overhaul reform that’s supposed to respond to the economic crisis the country is facing. How does it propose to solve the crisis? By taxing and subsidizing. The main issue that people are expressing with this method is that the crisis being faced in Colombia – unemployment, increasing poverty, a poor and slowly executed vaccination process – is not going to be fixed by raising taxes and adding new ones. True, part of the taxing would only apply to the wealthier sectors of society, but it would also include the struggling middle class or middle class-aspiring sector.
And all to be able to provide an 80.000 pesos (that’s only around $22 USD!) monthly subsidy for people living in extreme poverty. What will that do? Oh, so much if you ask the richest sector of Colombian society who perhaps could afford to do just a little bit more. But that would require that money stop being stolen from public works budgets, equally inflated in importance but never producing the promised result.
People are skeptical. People are scared. Who could possibly blame them, when the stakes are this high and everything they’ve experienced from the authorities so far has resulted in lies and more lies.
And now, to top it off, it takes marches for the president to call for a “reworking” of the reform. It takes the documenting of at least 21 murders by the military and the police, 940 cases of police brutality, 672 arbitrary arrests of civilians, and 4 victims of sexual violence (that we know of) for people to take notice of what has been a history soaked in blood. That’s why, in solidarity, as a sign of resistance, Colombians use the flag as their icon, upside down, placing the red blood of the patriots who fought for freedom at the top.
As an expat living in Colombia I’ve learned that even though I may never understand what it’s like to have grown up in extreme poverty, living on $100 or less a month working every day of the year with zero paid vacation time, in a country in civil war where tanks and fully armed soldiers can be seen patrolling the streets for no known reason except to “maintain order” – I stand. I stand with the people that are sick of living in fear.
Just as any US American should. This is just as much our fight. After all, our country funded all of this military equipment. Our country provided the resources to militarize the police force. Our country supported the “paraco hpta” of Uribe as it has countless right-wing military dictators. Our country benefited by keeping so many countries impoverished and suppressed.
And now? We’re finally starting realize that these actions and choices have consequences. Allowing corruption to exist in other places to benefit businesses in “first world” countries is like setting your house on fire to warm your own room during the winter. Now, the countries that have dealt with the brunt of colonization and foreign intervention and neo-liberalism have governments corrupted at every level, and this corruption leads to the same economic crisis happening in Colombia. And with a global pandemic? Full hospitals, under-paid medical workers, non-existent relief packages, non-existent state aid for the nearly 40% of the population living below the poverty line, and a population in which only 1 859 657 out of 51,321,307 people have been vaccinated so far.* And the list goes on and on…
Yet the conversation remains divided along economic lines. Just like in the US, here we have people feebly and some even passionately decrying vandalism and chiding those brave enough to protest. In spite of the fact that the protestors have stopped and even prevented and returned looted goods, there is always a portion of the population which demonizes all protestors as criminals who want the government to “give them everything.”
No, not everything. Just the human right to a life of dignity. Just a transparent government with a clear record on its budgets and military maneuvers. A stand against corruption. The right to demonstrate. The right to a future where children cannot be killed and gassed by the police and face zero consequences.
I know. It’s overwhelming. So much is happening in the world right now. And then there’s this. But these are just the consequences of history. If we don’t learn our history and see how we are all connected by it, we will never escape the domino effect we’ve been locked into. We are all facing one global struggle. If we cannot come together, if we cannot care about our neighbors, then we’re screwing ourselves over just as much.
While all of this is going on, I’m teaching classes online from my apartment in Valledupar. I’m living my dream life, and yet nothing could feel more upsetting and wrong.
To relieve some stress, I order a snack. I walk down the stairs out to meet the delivery man. He’s lost, and for a good reason. My apartment building has gone ghostly silent. All of the corridors are dark. I haven’t been outside today, but if what I’ve been watching online is any indicator, the sense of abandonment and fearfulness is real. Just the other day, Uribe posted on his twitter condoning the use of violence and force to suppress protestors out of “self-defense” against “terrorism.” With leaders like this with all of their shady, violent histories and absent morals, yet somehow untouched by international authorities – it’s easy for me to comprehend this silence. Plus, my apartment is somewhat removed from the heart of the city. But I can imagine that the silence there is just as heavy. Silence like a paperweight, a reminder of what’s happened and what’s to come.
I sense that this is only the calm in the eye of the storm. Many have posted warning against false fliers calling for protestors to meet tonight. They say this is a tactic that is used to round up the protestors and slaughter them all at once. Protesting will resume tomorrow, though, and I plan to be there.
This might not be my fight, but I am here and I will be there in spirit and in body to make sure that I can be some part of the change I have been dreaming about seeing in the world. As so many have said before me, including the current president of the United States: “Our silence is complicity.” And I refuse to choose silence.
Our power is in our voices, our platforms, our identities. Do not underestimate your power and ability to fight injustice.
*Meanwhile, in the US over 105 million people have already been vaccinated; Colombia continues to be in its “2nd phase” in which only medical workers and people between 60-79 years old are eligible to be vaccinated. Global inequality is real.
Finally! Some inspiration to publish travel content, brought to you by my first paseo (short/roadtrip) of 2021 in Colombia!
Let’s start with the facts:
Town: Pueblo Bello, Cesar, Colombia Lodging: Migracampi (just say “donde John” to the driver — they’ll know where to drop you off) Distance: 53 km, about an hour from Valledupar (the capital of Cesar) Transportation: bus or Coomaple Colectivo ($15.000/~$5 USD per person) Style: Camping/Glamping Prices: 35-40.000 pesos (~12-14 dollars)/night Breakfast, coffee, and tea Included Food and drink available to buy on site (including beer! and other more “exotic” local spirits) Host: John Alvarez (@migracampi)
The long and short of it – follow me on Instagram for more!
Now that I’ve gotten the key info out of the way, let me narrate my incredible experience with Migracampi.
This was my second time staying at the backyard campsite. It had been just over a year ago when I first decided to explore. My third time going to Pueblo Bello.
Pueblo Bello, although a small town, is something of a cultural crossroads between the indigenous cultures under the “Arhuaco” cultural umbrella that live in and around the Sierra Nevada and the post-colonial mainstream Colombian culture. And then people like me, foreigners from all over the world that have been drawn to these little-spoken-of gems hidden among a kaleidoscope of more “developed” tourist attractions in the country.
The creator of Migra, John, is acutely aware of the cultural and ecological significance of the space he inhabits. He paves the way as an entrepreneur who has managed to grow his space greatly within the course of a single year. In fact, he never seems to tire of his various projects to expand on the sustainable mission of his lodging and tour ecotourism services.
Let me start from the beginning. To get to Pueblo Bello from Valledupar, my friend and coworker Carin and I only had to take a taxi to downtown Valledupar. Near an outdoor shopping center called La Galeria, in an alley-like street bursting with venders of fruits, vegetables, clothing, and even school supplies, you can find several transportation offices.
The one we were looking for was easy to spot — Coomaple. We walked in, gave our names, and were quickly instructed to load a white truck by the driver. We paid the driver the 15.000 peso fare once we got to Pueblo Bello — after picking up two and a half more passengers (including their adorable white puppy, Aaron).
The ride up through the mountains leading to the Sierra Nevada is twisted and gave me a bit of motion sickness on the way up, but “luckily,” the truck got a flat tire. While the driver used rocks in the place of a car jack, I sat on the curb of the road, trying to remind myself that things like this happen in Colombia all the time. A flat tire on a sloped incline should be the least of my concerns!
The greenery and blooming flowers welcome you into Pueblo Bello. Unlike in Valledupar, it has been raining regularly. The air is crisp and fresh. The sound of birds fills your ears from all sides. For those that appreciate it, like my friend Jose, it is the perfect place for bird-watching and spotting varieties of birds unique to the region.
We were greeted by John upon arrival. I felt like I was being welcomed home by an old friend — secret handshake and all. A native of Pueblo Bello, John has a sort of energy that makes you feel immediately relaxed and open. He’s just a genuine person, on top of being an earnest host, and a fantastic trail/tour guide.
He showed us our lodging, which exceeded our expectations – even mine having stayed at Migra before. When I visited Migra for the first time a year ago, I had opted for the simple tent experience. The tents are set up by John and include a sleeping pad, bedding, and a flashlight. They are comfy and minimalist. However, this time I had opted to try the “Glamping” experience.
My gorgeous, inviting bed for the weekend. ~Glamping~
Products of his ingenious crafting abilities, John offers two mini homes, cabins made from recycled materials. The windows shine green as the light hits repurposed beer bottles which have been set in the place of glass windows to allow for air to constantly circulate within the cabin. The two cabins sit on different sides of the enclosed camping space. One is made for an individual and the other can fit two people in a queen-sized bed. The decorations are impeccable, reflecting the same attention to detail that you can observe and appreciate around the entire space.
Every personal touch makes sense while creating an inviting, familiar atmosphere. In the middle of camp, there is a public sink with a mirror and handsoap, additional to the two bathrooms with sinks, showers, and mirrors of their own. There is a garden with chairs set up perfectly to enjoy the sunset and sounds of nature or even a smoke, if that’s your fancy. John even dabbles in beekeeping and has his own bee house of friendly bees on the grounds. The signature bar to the left of the entrance continues to be the hub where music plays, and food and drink are offered at low prices that belie their quality.
Even a simple sandwich displays John’s individual style and attention to detail.
With so much to offer, I had not imagined how much more I would find this time around, only a year later. As I noted, John had not taken a day off. Now the Migra campgrounds include a treehouse deck (which will eventually be converted into a cabin) with hammocks hanging in a chill space underneath. This area is cleverly furnished with plants and books, just like the other spaces of Migracampi. We rested and ate in the shade, waiting for our other friends to arrive before going on a bike ride around Pueblo Bello.
John helps you get information and reserve any activities you might want to do in Pueblo Bello. After a quick phone call, he found out that the locals that rent out bikes only had 3 available that day. There were 5 of us. John rented out two of his own bikes so that we could all take off together without a problem.
Biking in Pueblo Bello is just 5.000 pesos an hour. We spent three hours — 2 of which were spent at the river drinking and enjoying the water — exploring Pueblo Bello from top to bottom — literally. The majority of the ride through the town is downhill when heading towards the river and hiking towards the waterfall. The way back posed a problem for me since I had opted for two beers and we had stopped at an ice cream shop before going down to the river. I quickly got winded trying to fight my way up the rather steep hills. Then I started to feel dizzy and nauseous.
My friends helped me to get a bottle of water and a automoto taxi back, just as it started to rain really hard. I was more than relieved to unload the bike and leave it in the front so that I could lay down in a hammock and catch my breath. Once again, the host was graceful enough to return the bike for me without any hesitation.
Another thing to keep in mind about Pueblo Bello is that it rains pretty frequently, depending on the time of year, sometimes suddenly and heavily, especially during the rainy season. Rainy season starts around the end of February, so we are finally seeing an end to the months of drought typical of the dry season.
My poor friends had to book it to get back to the house where we rented the bikes in the rain. They returned their bikes, and we all convened for dinner and drinks on the campground. The rain fell hard, harder than I had seen since I left Louisiana, and lightning streaked the sky in a soothing yet intimidating way. There was no danger; this is typical of the rainy season.
I stayed up until the sun had completely disappeared, but once I ate, with the rain still coming down, I slid into my glamping cabin, slipped under the fluffy quilt and went straight to sleep, even as some of my friends stayed up to chat and drink Churro, a distilled ancestral liquor found in this region of Colombia.
I’ll end this with the peaceful memory of that cool night. The bedspread was just thick enough to keep me cozy and comfortable despite the low temperatures. The sound of birds is a constant symphony at Migracampi, one that lulled me to sleep and then woke me up early the next morning.
To be continued…. (leave some applause if you liked this review/check out my instagram!)
Day 2: The hike to La Tranquilidad and the Deluge that came after.
It’s become a highly anticipated event in el Valle, a true festival for locals. Another Festival de la Quinta has come and gone in Valledupar. Something about this time of year generates a feeling of nostalgia surrounding the festival. One must not suffer through the suffocating heat and rain that plagues the Festival Vallenato. Instead, the weather these past years has been refreshingly cool during the weekend-long festival.
So far, I have attended Festival de la Quinta in its 3 installments, but this year was different than the last two years. The first year, I had every interest of going an entire day, Saturday. I’m not sure it was a two day or 3 day event then. However, the person I was supposed to go with never showed up, forcing me to go later with other friends and missing most of the shows. I pretty much showed up, took some pictures in the streets with my friends and left to go eat. No real memorable experiences to be shared.
But as I talked about in a previous post, last year was a different experience entirely, a more immersive, folkloric event, like the beginnings of a ritual I hope to continue every year. I made new friends and completely immersed myself in local culture, the spontaneity of walking down the street and being embraced by new and relatively old friends, dancing and drinking in the streets, and finding out just how much this city is growing.
This year, the narrow streets seemed even more packed. Turn out was huge, however there was an area they did not use this year, and most of the music was focused on the big main stage and a smaller set up on the corner nearby where the La Espinita restaurant is. Some commented that this year it was less organized than last year. While they were partly right, if they knew the struggle that took place behind the scenes for La Quinta to get funding from the city, the conflicts between certain organizers that come together to make the festival happen, then it is all too clear why this organizational lapse was felt.
Palenke itself has also been undergoing a remodeling process to continue promoting itself as a multi-faceted cultural space within the city. Some neighbors focus more on the revenue and bar life, but Palenke’s cerebral mission is part of what makes it such an incredibly enriching place to begin with. It is far from “just a bar” – it is a space made up of heritage, especially the Afro- and indigenous contributions to Colombian culture. That being said, the bar was just reopening and not completely set up in the back, so this year there were no major performances to go to in Palenke after the live music stopped in the streets. That was something I missed greatly, as that music was what kept the atmosphere going. For me, nothing beats live music.
In the festival itself, a lot of local bands got to take to the stage to perform for a stuffed street full of spectators. Because of my personal connection to Monofonico (myboyfriendisinthebandcough*) I focused on their performance and showed up just in time to get a front row view of their performance. What sets Monofonico apart is the blend of talent, charisma, and passion with which they fill their performances. I never get tired of watching them – and no, I swear, zero personal bias on my part. They play lots of champeta classics (El Sayayin’s Paola, La invite, some salsa like Centurion de la Noche by Joe Arroyo) and take some urban and Afrocaribbean songs and put their own spin on them as well.
Other bands that can never be missed was Sr. Gustavo, another champeta group that has been on the scene in Valledupar for a while now, and a new rock band called Veneno. Their style is a classic rock en espanol sort of vibe with clear, heavy vocals and throbbing instrumentation to hold it together. All of the bands that played the main stage came alive with excellent lighting that filled the street with colors contained by the umbrellas suspended above the streets. Seeing the way the youth of Valledupar flock together and become powered by the music and the atmosphere causes a sort of nostalgic feeling of being in a place where there is still hope, where things still feel fresh.
Apart from the music, I did more poking around in the art and vendors area. Because I’m gringa I noticed I got some special attention. They were really trying to sell me their art in the artist hall and travel packages, assuming I was vacationing. All the same, I tried to take in as much information as I could manage in the short time I was there. I learned about some wonderful eco-tours that have began in areas that used to be heavily affected by the civil conflict in the Colombian countryside. Most locals would not go to these areas because of stigma related to the guerrillas, so now they are trying to attract visitors to explore and learn about a different side of Colombia while supporting the communities with the money spent and appreciating the beauty violence could not erase.
The local art scene is an old institution important to people from this region of Colombia. Any house you go into will be adorned with a large still life painting hanging in the living room, usually elaborated by a local artist. I was invited to a local studio to check out the art after admiring both modern and classic styles on display in a university building located within the festival grounds.
Check out some of the pictures I took. Even with the rainy season climate and some organizational and logical problems, the overall vibe of the festival was positive and forward thinking, a new tradition establishing itself in Downtown Valledupar.
((pics to be added – I just had this post in my drafts for waaaay too long – time to continue)
Anybody who follows this blog knows it’s been a long time since I’ve posted. One might question, “What the hell has she been up to? Por que tan perdida?”
In reality, I have been lost, lost in a whirlpool of endless work and exhaustion. When I’m not working, I’m too tired to dedicate my thoughts to anything in particular. You see, for the past month or so, I’ve been working double, and I’ve had my weekends taken from me as well. Now that I finally get a long weekend (and I don’t travel *sigh*), I decided to rectify the situation by posting a blog entry.
So what have I been up to, aside from work?
Back in January, I visited Minca. I had been wanting to wait and post about this when I had all of my pictures uploaded on my computer. It’s 3 months later, and I still haven’t done that, but I might as well stop procrastinating.
Minca was the first solo trip I had taken in while without much planning or premeditation. The last time I did that was when I went to Palomino for the first time during my first two months of living in Colombia. That was an experience to remember, one that I look back on when I think about traveling alone and ask myself who will I talk to? Literally every time I’ve had that concern and chosen to just ignore it I always end up meeting the best people.
That day, I literally woke up at 1 am on Saturday, got ready, went to the bus station, and took the first bus going to Santa Marta (with a good company, that is – Copetran). There are always buses leaving to local destinations in the coast (and I think in most of Colombia), which makes this spur of the moment travel so ideal. Can you imagine doing that in the states? Well, don’t if you have because unless you have your own car, there is no same-day travel planning that won’t cost you an arm and a leg.
Minca was an introspective experience. I road around the area with a mototaxista all day, from 9 till 6, exploring everything on the map of interest they had shown me when I arrived. I didn’t pay for a tour or anything, though I’ve heard there are some great ones. I realize if I had done that I may have interacted with more foreigners, but I was going for a laid back, more introspective getaway, and that’s exactly what I got.
The highlights were the waterfalls and the amazing views. I started the day by going to swim in Pozo Azul. When going up those steep mountain paths and roads, I tried to imagine doing it all on foot instead of paying to 100 mil to get taxied around. Nooo thank you. I was looking to relax, after all, not get home more exhausted than when I left.
If you are looking to push yourself and have a hiking retreat, of course I would definitely say go for it! And if you’re staying for an entire extended weekend, it just makes sense to save money and explore on foot. But I went with a single day and night planned out in my mind – and initially, I wasn’t even sure if I would stay the night.
I took a tour of a coffee farm, La Victoria, which turned out to be extremely fascinating and less fluff than you would expect. The tourguide happened to be a physicist who knew all about the ends and outs of the coffee gathering, preparation, production, and distribution process. I learned everything from why the coffee sold inside Colombia is such crap to how the irrigation and draining system works to shuck (I think that’s the word) the coffee beans. Plus it came with two cups of coffee, one at the beginning and one at the end. I had lunch there (an over-priced vegan friendly doubledecker sandwich because I was too hungry to be asked to wait and look for something cheap and local).
The coolest part was having a taxista willing to wait on me for 2 hours and watch my things when I went swimming. He also tolerated all of my questions about the place during the ride, which meant I got to learn a lot along the way.
The “tour” was followed by more winding up and down the mountain and stopping at Los Pinos (the pines) to peep the amazing (if smoggy) view of Santa Marta, the ocean, and the peaks of the Sierra Nevada. Unfortunately, said smog was veiling the view, so no dice. Still, I enjoyed taking some pictures with my camera.
From there, I got to see the famous Casa Elemento. I didn’t go all the way to their treehouse hammocks, but I did some lounging about on the big ones in the main common area. You buy a wristband to get in for like 15 mil and you can spend as much time as you want. The hostel covers an expanse of property with lots to do and see. The wristband also includes a drink. Obviously if you stay there, you get access to the hammocks, pool, and cabins without paying extra. It’s worth it, but I chose a hostel close to the town of Minca to leave early the next day, and Casa Elemento is still about 40 minutes away from the town.
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I couldn’t lounge for too long because the sun was starting to go down at this point, and I had one last top before going to the hostel. The Marinka waterfalls were amazing – plus you get a good, exhausting hike as well. Be sure to check them out. On the path up, I had an old man compliment me on my tattoo (which I never expect from the elderly for obvious reasons), and the best part was he wasn’t even hitting on me! He even told me to look out for those costeños and their “labia” (a sort of sweet-talking bullshitting). We both had a good laugh.
Most of the tourists I met in Minca were German and French. The hostel I stayed at was run by some Argentinians that were really nice, the usual open-minded traveler types. That night, I went to an open mic and shared some wine and beer with one of the girls and a volunteer at the hostel. He happened to be a Colombian transplanted and living in Canada. We shared our philosophies on how we hated living to work. He explained how he uses his hated 8-5 job to pay the bills and save to travel for months at a time every year.
Lately, I’ve been thinking more and more about purpose – the purpose of me living in Colombia, working as much as I do, the purpose of this blog and the way I organize my time. I’m not working to live; lately I’ve been living to work. And that has to stop. That’s part of why I chose this lifestyle. That’s why I write and do other things. My purpose is trying to produce something meaningful while I’m alive. I think we should all aspire to do as much. Not to live to work, but to try to move beyond the realm of simply existing, tolerating, rinsing, washing, repeating.
Therefore, I’m in transition, trying to slowly find my way again. A year ago, my goals were very clear. I go back to that dauntingly clear and ambitious list and wince. I am still working towards those goals, but I haven’t been taking as many steps to see them through.
That’s why, as much as this post is about Minca, it’s also a recap of why the hell I’ve been lost all these months and where I want to go with this blog and my life. I’ve been having a lot of conversations about maintaining a sense of clarity towards the things that matter in life. About dedicating time to things that matter. About why this matters. It’s time to replant those goals and water them and give them another chance to flourish and blossom. It’s never too late.
I took a book from the hostel I stayed at in Minca which just seemed right: Sobreviver. It’s in Portuguese. I’ve been reading it very casually, but my goal is to finish and post about it and my insights here. The book is basically about the following reflection: life isn’t just surviving, but in order to live well, you must be resilient. In order to be resilient, you must be a survivor. And that means pushing past negativity and working through every obstacle thrown at us.
Sometimes you have just got to get away. Away from your routine, work, socializing, stress, the endless toil and trouble that seems to fill life in the city. Not to say that I live in a particularly booming metropolis, but sometimes being constantly connected to everyone around me, glued to my phone, obsessing over my goals, planning parties – it can all just really weigh me down psychologically.
Luckily, living in Colombia means having lots of inexpensive avenues to explore more and to really soak in and appreciate the natural world around you. There are so many communities, seemingly untouched by the outside world. Not to say that they aren’t perfectly modern – everyone has to have their smartphone, their TVs, their car, etc. You know, technology is ubiquitous.
But these places are low on signal and high on calm. The interactions and pace of life is slower and more relaxed. It’s almost like being in another time, simply because these places are so different to what any American is used to.
For a while now, I’ve been wanting to get out of Valledupar. Parties every weekend can be draining. My friend Linda had mentioned wanting to go to this river called La Mina and stay with her relatives, camping out, so all that was left was to make it happen.
Allow me to help you envision it: a big backward, filled with dogs, ducks, chickens, and plants of all kinds, all set against the most serene of backdrops, the Sierra Nevada mountains.
Basically: this.
A finca, which can translate to property or farm depending on how you look at it, is just that – a large patch of land with some crops, palms, and animals (usually) running around. Sometimes its accompanied by a casa campo (country home) and sometimes it has nothing more than a small, hand-constructed casita. The latter was the case in the finca I went to. In the end, my friend was kind of enough to ask her aunt and uncle, who were then kind enough to accept us into their finca.
First thing’s first: transportation. How did we get to La Mina? Well, in Colombia, it is also really easy to get around with minimal planning beforehand. Linda already knew where to go to get the little car, or carrito, that would take us out of the city. My friends Josh, Ninoska, and I met up with her downtown and immediately hopped into the back of a little van.
The goal of these vehicles is to fill up as much as possible, which is why they are so cheap (we only paid $8.000 each to ride – that’s only about 3 dollars to travel almost an hour away!). So of course the car was full – a lady and her baby and a man in the front, another man, woman, and baby in the back along with the 4 of us. At one point, a man even stood on the back bumper and held on to travel from another town to La Mina! Needless to say, these cheap, easy modes of transportation are a bit clown-car-ish, but they’re hassle-free and cheap, so no complaining is ever done, no matter how sweaty and crowded the conditions.
The ride was short but filled with lovely scenery. There are around 4 rivers (Rio Guatapurí, Seco, Badillo, Mojao, and a couple other smaller ones I can’t recall) along the way. Once we made it to a small town called Patillal, we headed off-carretera and worked our way along a bumpy path leading towards the mountains.
After arriving, we went about looking around, deciding where we would sleep and setting up camp. Linda and I made the back-friendly decision and slept out in hammocks under a couple trees while Josh and Ninoska set up camp in a big tent towards the far end of the finca.
We goofed around and took loads of pictures. Our hosts treated us with the utmost of hospitality. Not long after we arrived, they picked some large plantains and grilled them up for us while we set up camp and then headed off to take a swim in La Mina river. They also picked some giant yuca which would be our breakfast on Sunday.
Josh pretending he dug up this amazing yuca that Linda actually dug up. So very British of him.
After settling in, we all were ready to go dip our toes into La Mina river. The quiet walk through the town was enough to spark conversation between me and Linda as we found ourselves walking much faster than the couple with camera in tow. As we past indigenous Arawak people with their traditional dress – ancient men and young children playing on the side of the road – donkeys and hogs, we discussed how life has become far more complicated for us over simple illusions: time and money. So much of what we do is rushed by this feeling that we aren’t doing enough. This year is for me, I told her, and I want to spend it doing what matters to me, not simply living to work and spend money and then work some more.
Loving the sky I’m under.
As we strolled through the crepuscular dirt paths leading down towards the river, we both agreed that it is important to disconnect from all of that noise in order to discover what it really means to be human. We are not so different from any other animal – yet we over-stimulate ourselves constantly with no regards for our basic needs. So much of what we think we need is based on distractions modern society has filled our heads with. Both of us took this trip for a mutual goal: to get out of the city, away from the things that endlessly leave us Stressed Out. We dared to ask ourselves if any of that was what life was actually about or if it is in fact a simple departure from something our ancestors knew all along.
It’s interesting to note that even though this walk was peaceful, blasts of Vallenato were not far away at any given moment. People in the coastal region of Colombia are bullosa – loud and not ashamed of it. So even as we enjoyed this lazy walk from the finca to the river and back again, we were accompanied by Vallenato blaring somewhere in the distance or at the nearest local. Linda explained that this is a tradition in coastal towns and a strategy to get people to go out and drink at the estancos, or watering hole-bars located along the winding, otherwise abandoned roads.
La Mina river is dangerously beautiful. In some parts, when the water is high, a wrong step on one of the rocks will send you slipping into swift currents that will pull you down into the harsh rockbeds laid out throughout. Some areas have whirlpools and dark waters full of soapy foam. Linda said it was probably due to the water trapped in the same area being splashed against the rocks. A part of me mused if it wasn’t because people often literally bathe in these rivers. Either way, I did very little swimming in the river because though the waters were low, the movement seemed much swifter than what I had seen before and in other places. Not to mention the recent death of a boy in the river came up during conversation. Still, the view at sunset was absolutely breathtaking, and the calm was perfect for an impromptu yoga session.
Once we were back at the finca, Josh continued to gather wood to make a bonfire. We had decided to roast our salchichas (sausages) over the fire old school camping style and enjoy the clear panorama of the night sky. When we got back, the plantains were ready to eat, so first we restored our energy by eating large, grilled plantains with sloppy, sweet suero, a white cream akin to sour cream but a bit more chunky and – of course – homemade. Linda’s aunt and uncle offered us as much as we wanted, which meant pile after pile of delicious suero on the two big plantains I managed to consume. It’s a must if you live or travel in coastal Colombia!
Then, we stuck our salchichas on sticks and began cooking them up on the fire we built. This went better than expected, however, don’t be fooled – it was hot. It hadn’t hit those low 20 degrees- Celsius temperatures, and the blazing fire just about melted the skin off my hand and face as I tried to hold my sausage over the fire. Josh’s clever solution was to stick the skewers in the ground and watch as they roasted. Once mine was ready, I stuck them in bread and added ketchup American hotdog-style. Linda and her aunt and uncle seemed to find it pretty novel – and tasty.
With bellies full, all that was left was to sit out by the fire and share stories and marvel at the night sky. We looked up and tried to find satellites among the constellations which we also tried to identify. The moon seemed so bright that once the fire simmered out, everyone was lit by an eerie blue light.
With limited technology, I realized how quickly the fatigue filled my body after sunset. Once the sun is down, without artificial light, it’s actually very easy to go to bed early. By 9, Linda and I were curled in our hammocks under blankets, being rocked by the wind – but not sleeping, all the while stirred occasionally by the undulating boom of distant Vallenato and the occasional bursts of barks and cries from the dogs and roosters.
At night, Linda and I were freezing in our hammocks. Turns out one blanket was not enough – my back was cold against the hammock and I curled up to form a cocoon against the chill wind trying to cover every inch of myself with the blanket and the hammock to trap some warmth. Still, in spite of the cold and noise, there is nothing as peaceful as sleeping under the stars (even if the distant music did steal from the orchestra of insects surrounding us – until it finally stopped, briefly at around 4 am).
The climate of La Mina is much cooler than Valledupar because of the higher elevation, and we even saw a bit of rain on the way back (sidenote: it hasn’t rained at all – and much less torrentially, which is the norm – in Valle for over a month). Even though the sun can burn during the day, when the sun went down at night, things gradually became cooler and cooler.
Morning shadows and hammocks.
The next day, I struggled to get out of the little womb I had made of the hammock to start the day and make breakfast. By 8 am, everything was ready and eaten. I made a small omelette and some arepas and Linda’s relatives made boiled yuca pulled from the ground the day before along with that delicious suero casero. Of course, all of this went with the traditional tinto, little cups of delicious black coffee. Josh and I couldn’t help by sigh, feeling lucky to be living this amazing Colombian life.
The eggs and arepas I made, my humble contribution.
We didn’t have enough time to go up the mountain path to Atanquez, a small indigenous village with its own river landmark. So instead we took off for the chorros, or rushing waters (like a small waterfall crossed with a natural water slide) of La Mina. We took lots of pictures along the hike and enjoyed ourselves splashing in the clear waters (at least until a few families with kids in tow showed up and kind of muddied the experience). It’s a good thing I put on sunscreen, because that sun was blazing hot. Whenever we made it back to the house, we were happy to find bolis, or little bags of ice and juice, waiting for us. They had chocolate, lulo (one of my favorite juices found in Colombia), and some other berry; all were utterly refreshing.
Three things you cannot do without if you make this trip: marshmellows (obviously), bug spray, and weed (if you’re into that sort of thing). We had no insect repellent, which led to Linda and I using the local method of warding off gnats with bites more elusive than bigger mosquitos – a “magic” soap that actually does a good job of keeping them away (don’t ask me how). Still, if you go, I recommend you go prepared. Also, extra blankets don’t hurt either.
We finished our stay by having lunch and lounging around, napping, reading, and joking around in the hammocks. The weather cooled so much that I really did not want to leave, but a bit past two, our transport arrived to take us back, this time in a tiny car with no AC (just like the first).
I won’t soon forget the hospitality shown to us by Linda’s family, the beautiful sunset and chilly sunrise, the rejuvenating rush of the rivers, and the peaceful Colombian paradise tucked away a mere 45 minutes from Valledupar. It’s mini escapades like this that remind me of just how privileged I am to live in a place still so connected to its land and traditions.
All in all, it was a pretty great way to start my birthday week.
Diario de una Aventurera 