We've been enjoying Argentina and Uruguay so far. This week we both started working from my parent's house, though.
I've also finally developed and uploaded two rolls from Colombia. See them here.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
Banana Republic
Santa Marta is about three hours, by car, from Cartagena, along the coast. The hub of activity, mostly tourism-related, is Rodadero Beach. Because it was low season, the beach was practically ours.
I've never been much of a beach person. In fact, the only time I offer to get behind a wheel is when i go to the beach---only then can i escape when i want to. But my Colombian experience leaves me wondering if i have been fair to the beach. Could it be that my resistance to the sand and salty water is a result of the 6am wake-up calls that my parents imposed on us? (Mom: "We have to be on our way home before the dangerous noon sun.") Could it be the horrid parking lots, cold waters, and communal showers of Robert Moses State Park? Lord knows that it wasn't the homemade bologna sandwiches.
In Colombia, in just under 48 hours, my childhood beach memories were exorcised. The water was perfectly tepid. Food and drink were remarkably fresh and accessible. Cover from the intrepid sun was over head. Melquiades, beach vendor extraordinaire, shared his views on politics (he supports Mockus); went mute when Matias referred to me as his husband; and laughed (genuinely) at every joke---good or bad---that was made. An inflated ego and warm water: these must be necessary components to a good vacation.
Gabriel García Marquez---who may or may not have been on the beach at the time---has done much of his writing from and about the coastal areas of Colombia, primarily Cartagena, but also Santa Marta. In Cien años de soledad (100 Years...), he immortalized the Banana Massacre of 1928, which happened just outside of Santa Marta. But that was in the olden days, when the United States controlled Latin America through its subsidiaries (a.k.a. multinational corporations) and subsidies. Phew! Good thing that that doesn't happen anymore. Now, it's just real investments and international aid.
But why dwell on the past, if it weren't for all the turmoil and distress of yesteryear, what would the Zieglers have named their clothing store for exotic travel? Competitive Neighbor to the South and Equal Partner in a Global Democracy don't have that middle-america-shopping-mall charm.
I've never been much of a beach person. In fact, the only time I offer to get behind a wheel is when i go to the beach---only then can i escape when i want to. But my Colombian experience leaves me wondering if i have been fair to the beach. Could it be that my resistance to the sand and salty water is a result of the 6am wake-up calls that my parents imposed on us? (Mom: "We have to be on our way home before the dangerous noon sun.") Could it be the horrid parking lots, cold waters, and communal showers of Robert Moses State Park? Lord knows that it wasn't the homemade bologna sandwiches.
In Colombia, in just under 48 hours, my childhood beach memories were exorcised. The water was perfectly tepid. Food and drink were remarkably fresh and accessible. Cover from the intrepid sun was over head. Melquiades, beach vendor extraordinaire, shared his views on politics (he supports Mockus); went mute when Matias referred to me as his husband; and laughed (genuinely) at every joke---good or bad---that was made. An inflated ego and warm water: these must be necessary components to a good vacation.
Gabriel García Marquez---who may or may not have been on the beach at the time---has done much of his writing from and about the coastal areas of Colombia, primarily Cartagena, but also Santa Marta. In Cien años de soledad (100 Years...), he immortalized the Banana Massacre of 1928, which happened just outside of Santa Marta. But that was in the olden days, when the United States controlled Latin America through its subsidiaries (a.k.a. multinational corporations) and subsidies. Phew! Good thing that that doesn't happen anymore. Now, it's just real investments and international aid.
But why dwell on the past, if it weren't for all the turmoil and distress of yesteryear, what would the Zieglers have named their clothing store for exotic travel? Competitive Neighbor to the South and Equal Partner in a Global Democracy don't have that middle-america-shopping-mall charm.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Cartagena de las Indias
Cartagena is a costal city on the Caribbean. I didn't know much about it except that it has beautiful beaches; it has an old town and a newer town; its known for its political corruption; and our friends Josh and Paola were married there two years ago. (Hmmm...I guess that we should have asked them for suggestions.)
Shortly after arriving, the humidity and heat forced us into the first hotel we could find (30.000 pesos per person, or roughly $15). After a shower and several mosquito bites, we decided to forgo our investment and move to a plusher spot, which Nathalia found, with stronger A/C and a shower head that wasn't over the toilet.
The large print over the entry read Le Petit Hotel. But what we didn't notice until later was the small print, un lugar de diversidad. The six-room hotel, with a spacious lounge-bar, was meant to be a gay establishment. Apparently, my sister has better gaydar than I do.
The following day, Matias and I went to el Palacio de la Inquisición. Before Le Petit Hotel existed, Cartagena was an outpost for the catholic inquisition. In the 16th century, the Spanish did their best to purge the New World of heretics, because this tack had worked so well in the Old World.
What we learned in the museum, in brief: the Spanish raped, plundered, and killed the Native tribes; they made Cartagena a major port of trade, especially of Africans; the English wanted some of the action and took over for a bit; the Cartageneros declared independence (1811); the Spanish reconquered; and then independence again in 1821.
Shortly after arriving, the humidity and heat forced us into the first hotel we could find (30.000 pesos per person, or roughly $15). After a shower and several mosquito bites, we decided to forgo our investment and move to a plusher spot, which Nathalia found, with stronger A/C and a shower head that wasn't over the toilet.
The large print over the entry read Le Petit Hotel. But what we didn't notice until later was the small print, un lugar de diversidad. The six-room hotel, with a spacious lounge-bar, was meant to be a gay establishment. Apparently, my sister has better gaydar than I do.
The following day, Matias and I went to el Palacio de la Inquisición. Before Le Petit Hotel existed, Cartagena was an outpost for the catholic inquisition. In the 16th century, the Spanish did their best to purge the New World of heretics, because this tack had worked so well in the Old World.
What we learned in the museum, in brief: the Spanish raped, plundered, and killed the Native tribes; they made Cartagena a major port of trade, especially of Africans; the English wanted some of the action and took over for a bit; the Cartageneros declared independence (1811); the Spanish reconquered; and then independence again in 1821.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Last days in Bogotá
Some highlights from our last three days in Bogotá:
On Friday, the four of us (Traci, Nathalia, Ale and I) decided to have our "night out on the town," so we put on our best clothes and took a buseta, or "little bus". They are pretty affordable, at $1300 pesos (about 50 US cents). Our first stop was in the Zona Rosa, the fancy part of town, where luxury shops share the road with restaurants and bars. We had some pretty good local beer, but decided the crowds were a bit too "nice," and headed over by taxi to Chapinero, the nearby "gayborhood." Apart from having lots of gay bars, Chapinero has the reputation of being a pretty pesada (heavy) neighborhood, and several people, including the taxi driver, told us we should be very careful. We're New Yorkers, though!
We started the night at what's probably the biggest gay nightclub in Colombia, Theatrón de Película. It's the kind of place that we'd never go to in the US, but thought it was worth a try here. After a $10 cover (though it included a free drink), we went in. Inside it was already hopping -- almost exclusively men, and on average very young looking (18-25, probably). They had two separate dance floors, and then a third floor that was a really cool open terrace. We stayed there most of the time, danced a bit, then tried more dancing on the second floor, where they even had go-go dancers. We left at about 2:30am, and walked a couple of blocks, but not finding anything else good, we took a taxi home.
Saturday was a pretty slow day, but we eventually made it to the Museo Botero. Fernando Botero is probably the best-known Colombian artist. The Museo Botero is run by the national Banco de la República, and has free admission; all of its art was donated by Botero (who is still alive and well). I expected to see lots of great Botero paintings and sculputures, which were definitely there. But we were both blown away by all of the other modern art that Botero must have somehow collected and then donated to this museum. Work by, among others: Picasso, Pisarro, Roussau, Dalí, Miró, Chagall, Giacometti, Ernst, Léger, Klimt, Matisse, Degàs, De Kooning, Torres García, Bacon, Calder, and Moore. It was pretty amazing.
Eventually we made our way to the airport, to drop off Traci, and then to another night at Chapinero, albeit a much shorter one, with no dancing. Most of the gay bars we found were very much of the umph-umph-umph heavy dancing music variety, and very gay: lots of rainbow-colored lights, etc. I think this is fairly common when the gay culture in a city is still "under development," and people are either closeted or out with a vengeance, so to speak.
~~~
Note on photos: we haven't developed any film yet, but have some digital photos that should be up soon!
On Friday, the four of us (Traci, Nathalia, Ale and I) decided to have our "night out on the town," so we put on our best clothes and took a buseta, or "little bus". They are pretty affordable, at $1300 pesos (about 50 US cents). Our first stop was in the Zona Rosa, the fancy part of town, where luxury shops share the road with restaurants and bars. We had some pretty good local beer, but decided the crowds were a bit too "nice," and headed over by taxi to Chapinero, the nearby "gayborhood." Apart from having lots of gay bars, Chapinero has the reputation of being a pretty pesada (heavy) neighborhood, and several people, including the taxi driver, told us we should be very careful. We're New Yorkers, though!
We started the night at what's probably the biggest gay nightclub in Colombia, Theatrón de Película. It's the kind of place that we'd never go to in the US, but thought it was worth a try here. After a $10 cover (though it included a free drink), we went in. Inside it was already hopping -- almost exclusively men, and on average very young looking (18-25, probably). They had two separate dance floors, and then a third floor that was a really cool open terrace. We stayed there most of the time, danced a bit, then tried more dancing on the second floor, where they even had go-go dancers. We left at about 2:30am, and walked a couple of blocks, but not finding anything else good, we took a taxi home.
Saturday was a pretty slow day, but we eventually made it to the Museo Botero. Fernando Botero is probably the best-known Colombian artist. The Museo Botero is run by the national Banco de la República, and has free admission; all of its art was donated by Botero (who is still alive and well). I expected to see lots of great Botero paintings and sculputures, which were definitely there. But we were both blown away by all of the other modern art that Botero must have somehow collected and then donated to this museum. Work by, among others: Picasso, Pisarro, Roussau, Dalí, Miró, Chagall, Giacometti, Ernst, Léger, Klimt, Matisse, Degàs, De Kooning, Torres García, Bacon, Calder, and Moore. It was pretty amazing.
Eventually we made our way to the airport, to drop off Traci, and then to another night at Chapinero, albeit a much shorter one, with no dancing. Most of the gay bars we found were very much of the umph-umph-umph heavy dancing music variety, and very gay: lots of rainbow-colored lights, etc. I think this is fairly common when the gay culture in a city is still "under development," and people are either closeted or out with a vengeance, so to speak.
~~~
Note on photos: we haven't developed any film yet, but have some digital photos that should be up soon!
Friday, April 23, 2010
Back in the DC
... That's Bogota, Distrito Capital. We got back today from our trip to the Caribbean coast, Cartagena and Santa Marta. At the moment we're hanging out with Alex's aunt Gloria, who picked us up from the airport and took us to get some food (and is now kindly waiting for us to get our Internet fix). We ate at a place called Kokorico, a chain roast/fried chicken place, sort of like a KFC of some parallel universe where the chicken was actually really good and real, and the place had nice table service. They give you these cute little disposable gloves that you can put on and then gnaw on the chicken without getting your hands dirty -- brilliant!
Santa Marta, the other coastal town we visited for two days, was very nice. We stayed at a huge house beloning to Jimmy's family, which was nice and a 15 or minute taxi ride from the beach. The beach was great, super-warm and transparent water, and full service; lots of people selling stuff, which could be a bit annoying, but also allowed us to have plenty of drinks and beer and even a full lunch brought to our little "tent". The sun was pretty strong yesterday and we all got fairly sunburned.
Getting to Santa Marta from Cartagena was much of a hassle than it should have been. We opted to pay twice as much as a normal bus for the 3-3.5 hour trip, and took a door-to-door service that picked us up at the hotel. Problem was, at Barranquilla, a town half-way in the trip, they moved us over to another company. We ended up spending an hour and a half in Barranquilla (exiting the city to the highway is super slow), and by the time we got to Sta Marta, 5.5 hours later, we were fuming. But a great bandeja paisa meal and a nice swim at the beach in the afternoon saved the day.
Tonight we are planning on finally putting on our fancy clothes and going dancing!
Santa Marta, the other coastal town we visited for two days, was very nice. We stayed at a huge house beloning to Jimmy's family, which was nice and a 15 or minute taxi ride from the beach. The beach was great, super-warm and transparent water, and full service; lots of people selling stuff, which could be a bit annoying, but also allowed us to have plenty of drinks and beer and even a full lunch brought to our little "tent". The sun was pretty strong yesterday and we all got fairly sunburned.
Getting to Santa Marta from Cartagena was much of a hassle than it should have been. We opted to pay twice as much as a normal bus for the 3-3.5 hour trip, and took a door-to-door service that picked us up at the hotel. Problem was, at Barranquilla, a town half-way in the trip, they moved us over to another company. We ended up spending an hour and a half in Barranquilla (exiting the city to the highway is super slow), and by the time we got to Sta Marta, 5.5 hours later, we were fuming. But a great bandeja paisa meal and a nice swim at the beach in the afternoon saved the day.
Tonight we are planning on finally putting on our fancy clothes and going dancing!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Family, food and politics
Cartagena is hot and humid. Bogotá wasn't.
Matias and I have been traveling with my sister Nathalia and our friend Traci. Nathalia arrived in Bogotá about 45 minutes before us, and Traci arrived about 16 hours later. Jimmy (not pronounced "Himmy"), who's possibly the craziest driver that i've ever known, has been a great host, tour guide, etc. His wealth of knowledge is only outdone by his penchant for brew.
In Bogotá, we're staying with my grandmother. I should have put that last word in quotes. Abuela Sara (a.k.a Señora Sara or Doña Sara) is practically a stranger to me. But it didn't take long to feel a certain familial warmth for her. It's sort of like being around my dad in 25 years...in drag. There is plenty to love, to pity, and to fear. (fyi: i don't pity or fear drag.)
Bogotá is chaotic, just like any other metropolis, but especially on Saturdays, when its driving restrictions ease up. During the rest of the week, Pico y Placa laws limit auto congestion.
We're eating well, which is to say that we're enjoying our meals. But this is a biased assessment; the food comes with nostalgia for my childhood meals.
Some things are the same everywhere. We were fortunate to watch the debate between the 6-7 presidential candidates. Although we aren't too familiar with the politics of the country, we knew that everytime a candidate leaned on a catchphrase with "security" in it, he/she was the rightwing conservative choice. Pocket translator not necessary.
Matias and I have been traveling with my sister Nathalia and our friend Traci. Nathalia arrived in Bogotá about 45 minutes before us, and Traci arrived about 16 hours later. Jimmy (not pronounced "Himmy"), who's possibly the craziest driver that i've ever known, has been a great host, tour guide, etc. His wealth of knowledge is only outdone by his penchant for brew.
In Bogotá, we're staying with my grandmother. I should have put that last word in quotes. Abuela Sara (a.k.a Señora Sara or Doña Sara) is practically a stranger to me. But it didn't take long to feel a certain familial warmth for her. It's sort of like being around my dad in 25 years...in drag. There is plenty to love, to pity, and to fear. (fyi: i don't pity or fear drag.)
Bogotá is chaotic, just like any other metropolis, but especially on Saturdays, when its driving restrictions ease up. During the rest of the week, Pico y Placa laws limit auto congestion.
We're eating well, which is to say that we're enjoying our meals. But this is a biased assessment; the food comes with nostalgia for my childhood meals.
Some things are the same everywhere. We were fortunate to watch the debate between the 6-7 presidential candidates. Although we aren't too familiar with the politics of the country, we knew that everytime a candidate leaned on a catchphrase with "security" in it, he/she was the rightwing conservative choice. Pocket translator not necessary.
First days in Bogotá and Cartagena
Welcome to the blog, gentle reader!
We're at an internet cafe in Cartagena de Indias, a colonial caribbean town in northern Colombia. Here's a quick set of observations since we arrived on Saturday morning to Bogotá, the capital. My associate, Alejandro, and I, will hopefully expound on it in posts to come, and as time permits.
We're at an internet cafe in Cartagena de Indias, a colonial caribbean town in northern Colombia. Here's a quick set of observations since we arrived on Saturday morning to Bogotá, the capital. My associate, Alejandro, and I, will hopefully expound on it in posts to come, and as time permits.
- Bogotá is a big city! We had as our consumate guide one of Alejandro's second cousins, Jimmy, who picked us, Nathalia, and Traci from the airport, and drove us around town and environs. I have to say that while it's extremely nice and convinient to have a local to take you around, it makes it much harder to get your bearings. I'm looking forward to trying out some of Bogotá's public transportation when we get back. There's a system of dedicated, express bus lines that criss-cross the city and are oblivous to the massive traffic jams that happen at peak times.
- People here are much more relaxed, but at the same time there seems to a very strong tradition of good service. At almost all the restaurants or cafés we've been, the waitstaff is super attentive and does their utmost to make you happy, including watching your car if it's not ideally parked, or finding a cell-phone minute dealer.
- What is a cell-phone minute dealer, you say? Well, in the old days of travel, to make a phone call you'd have to find a locutorio with cabins, or buy a card and use a public phone. In Colombia, or at least Cartagena, every block has a few people sitting or standing with a sign selling minutes, for 100, 200 or 300 pesos (1950 pesos = 1 USD). They dial for you from their cell phone, you talk, and pay them. Muy conveniente!
- Back to Bogotá. Motorcycles there are strictly regulated as a way to curb drive-by robberies or shootings. All motorcyclists wear a vest with their license plate clearly marked, as well as on the helmet. Even passengers need to wear the vest with the license plate letters. It makes it easier to identify people if something happens.
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