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.
Showing posts with label Colombia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Colombia. Show all posts
Monday, January 14, 2008
GUILT FOR GLUTTONY
RIOHACHA, COLOMBIA: TUESDAY, DECEMBER 5
Guilt for gluttony drives me back to Escuela Britanica. An indigenous gatekeeper, eight years old, directs me to park in the shade of a mango tree. He shows me to the Principal's office. The principal is the owner, a Mrs Cohen. She is Colombian from Cartagena. Her mother is Catholic and she was raised a Catholic.
English is an essential of executive employment. English is a low priority of State schools. Private lessons are way beyond the financial reach of indigenous students. The Escuela Britanica is Mrs Cohen's attempt to fill the gap. It is a one-woman charity. It is admirable. Mrs Cohen is a warm intelligent woman. Her funds are limited. She needs a volunteer teacher. She can house and feed a teacher. A volunteer can obtain paying work at the two Universities where Mrs Cohen has good relationships.
The job offers an opportunity to interact with the indigenous population.
Riohacha is a safe town.
Beaches are good.
It is a great base from which to explore the Secret City to the west and the Guajira peninsular.
Readers, please pass the word...
Guilt for gluttony drives me back to Escuela Britanica. An indigenous gatekeeper, eight years old, directs me to park in the shade of a mango tree. He shows me to the Principal's office. The principal is the owner, a Mrs Cohen. She is Colombian from Cartagena. Her mother is Catholic and she was raised a Catholic.
English is an essential of executive employment. English is a low priority of State schools. Private lessons are way beyond the financial reach of indigenous students. The Escuela Britanica is Mrs Cohen's attempt to fill the gap. It is a one-woman charity. It is admirable. Mrs Cohen is a warm intelligent woman. Her funds are limited. She needs a volunteer teacher. She can house and feed a teacher. A volunteer can obtain paying work at the two Universities where Mrs Cohen has good relationships.
The job offers an opportunity to interact with the indigenous population.
Riohacha is a safe town.
Beaches are good.
It is a great base from which to explore the Secret City to the west and the Guajira peninsular.
Readers, please pass the word...
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.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
GUAJIRA PENINSULAR
WEST FROM GUARERO: TUESDAY, DECEMBER 5The highway cuts across the Guajira peninsular. This is indigenous territory, a dry land of sand dunes and scrub. Sun shines. A creeper spills pale blue flowers over thorn bush. The Honda runs perfectly. We are freed from Venezuela. I am immensely happy.
PATIENCE AND COURTESY
GUARERO/MAICAO: TUESDAY, DECEMBER 5
Midday and the Captain appears with the Customs clerk. The clerk spots me, speaks with the Captain. The Captain beckons me in to the office, signs and stamps my papers.
Frontiers demand patience and courtesy.
I am first in the queue at Customs. A clerk issues a temporary import certificate for the bike. I require a signature from the Military and insurance. The Military commander hasn't arrived. I am directed to the Army post the far end of Maicao town. I stop beside a biker at traffic lights. He points me to an insurance office on the next block. They issue certificates for a minimum of three months. A different company in the next town, Riohacha, issues monthly certificates. Fine.
I find the army post. The Captain has left for the frontier. I ride back to the frontier. Ten drivers now queue outside Customs. 11.30 AM and Customs closes for lunch at mid day.Midday and the Captain appears with the Customs clerk. The clerk spots me, speaks with the Captain. The Captain beckons me in to the office, signs and stamps my papers.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
HOW DANGEROUS IS DANGEROUS?
USHUAIA: SUNDAY, JULY 29
I’ve been writing much of the day, answering mail, Blogging, posting a column. In between times I study the guidebooks. I had a route planned through Brazil. Today a Brazilian messaged me warning that the further north the more dangerous Brazil becomes. How dangerous is dangerous? And is danger more apparent and threatening to a Brazilian. Brazilians read the newspapers, watch news on TV: every violent incident registers.
I set out on my journey south from Veracruz, Mexico, last year. Mexicans in Veracruz warned of dangers in riding across Mexico. I met only with hospitality.
Friends home in England and in the US warned that I was crazy to ride across Colombia. Of all the countries through which I rode, in Colombia I felt most secure.
However, I am a realist. I know that, in travelling, I touch only the surface. On message boards, I read questions on safety from tourists intending to travel through Guatemala. Other travellers answer that Guatemala is safe, a veritable Paradise. Guatemala is the Hispanic American country with which I am most familiar. Guatemala is extremely dangerous for Guatemalans. Police reported 2200 armed assaults on urban busses in the capital during in the first five months of 2006. I have friends who have been kidnapped, who have been held up in their own houses by gunmen, who have been robbed by armed men at midday in the city centre. As for the gentle Maya, be suspected of thieving and beware your fellow villagers. The Maya douse thieves with gasoline and strike a light.
I’ve been writing much of the day, answering mail, Blogging, posting a column. In between times I study the guidebooks. I had a route planned through Brazil. Today a Brazilian messaged me warning that the further north the more dangerous Brazil becomes. How dangerous is dangerous? And is danger more apparent and threatening to a Brazilian. Brazilians read the newspapers, watch news on TV: every violent incident registers.
I set out on my journey south from Veracruz, Mexico, last year. Mexicans in Veracruz warned of dangers in riding across Mexico. I met only with hospitality.
Friends home in England and in the US warned that I was crazy to ride across Colombia. Of all the countries through which I rode, in Colombia I felt most secure.
However, I am a realist. I know that, in travelling, I touch only the surface. On message boards, I read questions on safety from tourists intending to travel through Guatemala. Other travellers answer that Guatemala is safe, a veritable Paradise. Guatemala is the Hispanic American country with which I am most familiar. Guatemala is extremely dangerous for Guatemalans. Police reported 2200 armed assaults on urban busses in the capital during in the first five months of 2006. I have friends who have been kidnapped, who have been held up in their own houses by gunmen, who have been robbed by armed men at midday in the city centre. As for the gentle Maya, be suspected of thieving and beware your fellow villagers. The Maya douse thieves with gasoline and strike a light.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)