ONWARD: APRIL 8
Is my head cold responsible for my dark mood? Or my fear of riding through DC?
I feel vulnerable.
I imagine DC as a city to which wise people travel by train or plane. They take cabs to their hotel or to friends' homes. They venture forth by cab or with a guide.
I have a young friend in DC, Elizabeth Bergner. We met this trip in Cartagena, Colombia. Elizabeth is making a career change. She shares a house with the like-minded, mostly met on her travels. I would enjoy listening to their experiences and to their opinions. Sadly, Elizabeth is away at a wedding.
And the Vietnam War Memorial would be out of place at this point in my journal. Memorials are epilogues...
Showing posts with label Cartagena. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cartagena. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
COPPER ROBBERY
PORTO BELO: JANUARY 19
I am at Marco's house on the hill above Porto Belo (Marcos on whose yacht I sailed from Cartagena).
Marcos returned yesterday from visiting his family in Canada over the holidays. He sails with passengers for Cartagena on Wednesday. He has much to do. A thief has stolen all the copper wiring from his boat. This is the village Marcos professes to love. Good luck to him – and good luck to his monkey and Rotweiler; they must remain a further three weeks at the animal posada.
Two of Marcos' passengers are French, young women on vacation from a year at University in Cali, Columbia – part of a five year degree course at Lille. A third is Sicilian, perhaps in his late thirties, a tailor of men's and women's suits. He was a master diver with the Italian marines and has a disability pension – small reward for an embolism in the brain.
I am at Marco's house on the hill above Porto Belo (Marcos on whose yacht I sailed from Cartagena).
Marcos returned yesterday from visiting his family in Canada over the holidays. He sails with passengers for Cartagena on Wednesday. He has much to do. A thief has stolen all the copper wiring from his boat. This is the village Marcos professes to love. Good luck to him – and good luck to his monkey and Rotweiler; they must remain a further three weeks at the animal posada.
Two of Marcos' passengers are French, young women on vacation from a year at University in Cali, Columbia – part of a five year degree course at Lille. A third is Sicilian, perhaps in his late thirties, a tailor of men's and women's suits. He was a master diver with the Italian marines and has a disability pension – small reward for an embolism in the brain.
Monday, January 14, 2008
ECOLOGICAL DISASTER
TO CARTAGENA: WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 6
The highway divides, left to Bogota, ahead to Cartagena. I followed the Bogota road last year and stopped at Giron and Villa de Leyva and Tunja, a wonderful journey - though, on a bike, viciously cold over the passes at 4000 metres in altitude. Now I follow the coast.
The highway crosses a vast lagoon. The lagoon was tidal prior to the building of the road. Now the water inland of the road is stagnant. Scum glistens on the surface. The stink is sickening. Fishermen's shacks on stilts huddle in the putrid water. Those who commissioned the road are responsible for an ecological disaster.
The highway divides, left to Bogota, ahead to Cartagena. I followed the Bogota road last year and stopped at Giron and Villa de Leyva and Tunja, a wonderful journey - though, on a bike, viciously cold over the passes at 4000 metres in altitude. Now I follow the coast.
The highway crosses a vast lagoon. The lagoon was tidal prior to the building of the road. Now the water inland of the road is stagnant. Scum glistens on the surface. The stink is sickening. Fishermen's shacks on stilts huddle in the putrid water. Those who commissioned the road are responsible for an ecological disaster.
WHEN THE GOING GETS TOUGH, MEN GO TO LUNCH
RIOHACHA: TUESDAY, DECEMBER 5
A State University and a private University are side by side on the left hand side of the highway a few kilometres prior to the coastal town of Riohacha. The Universities compete for students from Colombia's indigenous population. The ESCUELA BRITANICA is across from the Universities on the right hand side of the road. Bougainvillea and hibiscus spill over a once-white wall. The wall encloses a tree-shaded garden, untidy buildings.
The school nags as I ride on into Riohacha. A proper writer of fact would have investigated.
The offices of the Insurance company are closed for a two hour lunch. I sit a while on the steps beside a fruit cart, drink juice, eat a melon and chat with the cart's owner. He is a young man, married with two children. He scraped a living in Cartagena for a couple of years as a freelance tourist guide before returning to Riohacha. The drop in violence brought him back. Guerrillas and paramilitaries are in retreat. Most of the country is safe. The economy has picked up. He can support his family.
And he gives me information: Colombia, the clocks an hour behind Venezuela.
I must wait a further hour for offices to open.
I recall a friend's motto: When the going gets tough, men go for lunch.
A State University and a private University are side by side on the left hand side of the highway a few kilometres prior to the coastal town of Riohacha. The Universities compete for students from Colombia's indigenous population. The ESCUELA BRITANICA is across from the Universities on the right hand side of the road. Bougainvillea and hibiscus spill over a once-white wall. The wall encloses a tree-shaded garden, untidy buildings.
The school nags as I ride on into Riohacha. A proper writer of fact would have investigated.
The offices of the Insurance company are closed for a two hour lunch. I sit a while on the steps beside a fruit cart, drink juice, eat a melon and chat with the cart's owner. He is a young man, married with two children. He scraped a living in Cartagena for a couple of years as a freelance tourist guide before returning to Riohacha. The drop in violence brought him back. Guerrillas and paramilitaries are in retreat. Most of the country is safe. The economy has picked up. He can support his family.
And he gives me information: Colombia, the clocks an hour behind Venezuela.
I must wait a further hour for offices to open.
I recall a friend's motto: When the going gets tough, men go for lunch.
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