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Magangue, Bolivar: Home to La Gata

14 Sunday Apr 2013

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As the second largest economic centre in the department of Bolivar, Magangue is a bustling, chaotic, stifling and confusing city on the banks of the Magdalena River. Economically important for the fluvial connections into the wetlands of the Mojana and the Depresion Momposina, Magangue bears the traditional hallmarks of a port town.

The port of Magangue

The port of Magangue

I have passed through Magangue on many occasions en route to Mompos but have only had to stay the night twice. I did see a blog once where a traveller wishing to come to the Casa Amarilla had to stay the night and ended up here.

My room was cheap, small and functional, far different from the aforementioned. I did not want to be in Magangue but since Satena had unhelpfully changed their timetables for flights from Bogota to Corozal, there was no way I was going to make the connections via, air, collectivo, chalupa and then further collectivo to Mompos.

But, what I really wanted to mention was something that stopped me cold in my tracks as we hurtled towards Magangue in the journey from the airport. On the outskirts, there was a huge billboard claiming the innocence of the region’s most famous and still living capa (feminine of capo), La Gata or Enilse López Romero.

the Billboard proclaiming the innocence of Enilse Lopez

the Billboard proclaiming the innocence of Enilse Lopez

The billboard declares the innocence of Enilse Lopez of all accusations and makes the claim that Magangue, Cartagena and the department of Bolivar support her. The image pictured here is from the same billboard which appeared at the same time in the area of the Mercado de Bazurto in Cartagena. And recently in both Magangue and Cartagena there were marches in support of Lopez.

Born in the town of Naranjal in Sucre in 1953 there is some confusion as to how “La Gata” started out. Wikipedia (always a bastion of reliability) suggests that she read the tarot for some before moving into gambling and informal money lending. From here things become clearer and the magazine La Silla Vacia has her with increased financial interests through the region and indeed with strong links through friendship and business with the infamous  Gonzalo Rodríguez Gacha ‘El Mexicano’.

Her husband and father were kidnapped by the FARC and her three brothers were killed by the guerrilla group. There are significant references to her connections to paramilitary leaders Salvatore Mancuso and Carlos Castaño.

zipping in to Magangue

zipping in to Magangue

Lopez donated 100 million pesos to Alvaro Uribe’s first presidential campaign.

Gustavo Petro, before he became Mayor of Bogota, revealed this fact.

There are claims that the Lopez family possesses some 65 properties and more than 150 bank accounts. In all truth the list of possible offenses purported to have been authorized or overseen by La Gata and her entourage runs incredibly long. There is just so much money, power and influence involved that La Gata just seems to keep on getting away with it all apart from the supposed order for the killing of a toll booth worker Amaury Fabián Ochoa in 2000 near to Carmen de Bolivar for his alleged links to the FARC.

This blog was never meant to turn out this way, perhaps draw some light for those travelers coming through Magangue to Mompos, so that they know a little about the contemporary history of the place and don’t just wistfully or whimsically pass on through on a backpacking jaunt.

Politics is bought here in Colombia, how an earth can someone who has been convicted, is under house arrest for 40 odd years command everything? Who oversees the march and the erection of the billboards in Cartagena and Magangue? Where is the rule of “legitimate” law?

March in support of La Gata in Magangue

March in support of La Gata in Magangue

For now Enilse Lopez is under house arrest in Magangue. Rumour has it she was looking for a safe house in Mompos. Other sources say that the DEA is possibly going to request her extradition to the USA. But, I suggest it to you that whatever order comes through, she’ll find a way to slip around it…most probably due to her widely reported health problems.

Magangue, Bolivar: Home to La Gata

Religion in Colombia, Weighing in and Respecting the Syncretism

18 Monday Feb 2013

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Let me set the record straight from the start, I am not critical of any religion, I can appreciate religious syncretism, I can respect Catholicism, Evangelism, Buddhism, Islam, Paganism – to name just a few – and whatever the beliefs of others and I am determined to be liberal towards any religion…despite not being particularly pious myself. There was the very real fear of spontaneously bursting into flames as I stepped up into the church on the eve of my wedding. Fortunately this did not happen. So, living in Colombia and having spent years in the Americas has opened my eyes to many practices which are of great importance.

Excavating the Plaza de la Concepcion in Mompox

Excavating the Plaza de la Concepcion in Mompox

Now, having been raised in an incredibly protestant fashion, with mandatory visits to church every day and twice on Sundays for six years at one school and then on every other day and on Sundays at another establishment, perhaps by the age of 18 I had had my fill of organized religion and purposefully shirked any responsibility to this that I may have once held before having it forced from me by too much exposure. I am not going to be as petulant as to try and calculate the number of times I have attended church, let’s just say that I’ve been more than a lot.

At first in Mompós I was relatively bemused by the beliefs instilled by my manager and my mother in law, and the way, when things were not going as they wished in life, they would just as quickly go to mass as to ask the local shaman/ wise man for advice. Then there was the almost daily practice of trying to read the coffee grounds in my cup. So much so that I started to drink out of a black mug and preferred filter coffee that was harder to read as it left fewer coffee grounds. For me, these practices always resembled a way of hedging a bet and making sure that both sides such as the Catholic and Pagan were covered.

But, of course, this is the way that religion is out here. I have attended a candomble ceremony in a favela in Bahia, Brazil, I have taken ayahuasca (known as yage in Colombia) in the Peruvian Amazon, have been blessed on multiple occasions in Ecuador, attended traditional rituals in Colombia and Guatemala. In fact, there’s not a great deal I have not experienced when it comes to original aboriginal religious ceremonies. Only recently on my last trip to Cuba my wife and I were able to meet and consult a Santero.

An Elegba

An Elegba

But now, I realize this is normal. It is all a version of syncretism and a way of preserving original beliefs within a Catholic existence. Perhaps being in Mompós has made this clearer to me now, but, I feel comfortable with it. When the Ministry of Culture’s workmen were tearing up the Plaza de la Concepcion to put down adequate drains, restore and ultimately repave the square, they found an indigenous burial ground beneath. This of course makes sense since the Spanish were known to build their important places of worship on top of those that were of significance to the local population, therefore making the adaptation from paganism to Catholicism much easier.

So, when we found that we were being subjected to witchcraft in the Casa Amarilla, presumably down to envy from another business owner, due to the high flow of tourists we were receiving, and I was advised to bring in someone to bless the house and find the source of the mala vibra, I was not in the slightest bit perturbed. We just did it.

Archeological finds of pre columbian remains in Mompox

Archeological finds of pre columbian remains in Mompox

And of course, this is what we had to do. Perhaps these beliefs are not the kind I was brought up with, but, these energies affect my staff and their well-being and so I must be respectful and understand the difference. So, a local wise man came round, felt a heavy presence which led him to one of the potted bougainvillea plants outside the front door. Moving this huge ceramic piece aside, it was clear that the soil had been disturbed.

Buried just a couple of inches below was a toad with its forelegs tied together.

Black magic.

This spell was supposedly meant to destroy my business. What interested and perhaps shocked me the most was the fact that someone would rather ruin my business than place a spell that could improve their own business. It’s a kind of “we’re sinking, so you’re going to sink as well” attitude that is of benefit to no one.

Anyway, the spell was lifted, and business continued as normal.

So now, in my own show of syncretism, I am no longer skeptical when the local priest comes round to bless the house or the local wise man comes to share a word and drink a coffee with us. There’s a balance here and this must be respected. When my coffee grounds are read, I perhaps have a laugh, but am sure to be respectful and when my manager plays the lottery with the numbers she sees in the cup or with those she dreamed of the night before, one has to wonder about the energies at play. Maybe one day she’ll win the lottery and who’ll be scoffing then?

The Arrival of the Obnoxious Mochileras

03 Thursday Jan 2013

Posted by in Journalism, la Casa Amarilla

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Seated in the kiosko, deafened by the endless battle of two speakers blasting two different and equally grating strains of Vallenato music, I could see my manager Carmen gesticulating in exasperation to two recently arrived mochileras.

Drinking in the Mompos kiosko

Drinking in the Mompos kiosko

From my vantage point some 60m from the front door of the Casa Amarilla I could see but remained unseen. A car partly obscured the line of sight and I saw Carmen remain stout before the door. It was clear to me five years into running a guesthouse that these mochileras were taking advantage of a situation where there was no common language and were trying to place the blame for something on Carmen.

This is a frequently used ploy, that of declaring your host or the person who meets and greets you as a technologically inept: i.e. cannot answer emails; that they are being ruthlessly overcharged: in this case the cost for a bed in a dorm is a measly 16,000 pesos or US$9; and that it was so expensive to get to Mompós that we should in part subsidize their daily travel budget by reducing further our prices. You cannot fault the pricing for a dorm bed in this place, it’s cheap, it’s far from luxury, but it’s clean, ordered, includes Wi-Fi (which means that these technologically superior travellers can remain stuck on social media sites updating their whereabouts to show people back home how little they are interacting with the local culture) and the use of a fantastically restored – modesty aside – colonial house in front of the river in Mompós.

Mompos, aren't you dying to come here and to the Casa Amarilla?

Mompos, aren’t you dying to come here and to the Casa Amarilla?

But I guess what I am writing about affects guesthouse owners all over the world. To further and better explain the situation I should mention that these mochileras of an unnamed nationality, so as not to pin a traveller stereotype, had written an email on a whim late the previous evening that they were thinking of coming to Mompós. I replied the following morning as the email had arrived after 10pm when I have made a rule to be less efficient of office duties. I replied in the morning.

They demanded to be given beds, we had but one. They demanded to be given a discount, we don’t do this. If you want to pay the price of a mala muerte residence and share once previously bloodstained sheets with an army of cockroaches, bedbugs and caked bodily fluids…then to a mala muerte you shall go. We have them in Mompós and they cost 8000 pesos per night, I was not stipulated if this was for one person or two.

Finally our lovely mochileras calmed down and took the bed.

Glumly slinking around in the kitchen they remained apart from the rest of the guests over breakfasts, serving themselves coffee and occupying the rocking chairs and hammock nearby all the while speaking in almost the sulky tones of adolescents.

Understanding and speaking their mother tongue I chirped in when I saw their guidebooks. They had the most recent Lonely Planet and the Michelin Green Guide to Colombia. I saw and seized my chance:

“You’ve got the Michelin Guide, how do you like it.”

The blonde spoke first:

“I like it very much; I have learnt from the book, it is very good on history and culture.”

Then the brunette chimed in:

“For me it’s not great, it’s lacking and I don’t like the style.”

“It’s good to get feedback,” I said. “I am the author of the book.”

Blushing to the roots the brunette’s look of shame turned to flashes of anger and then acceptance.

“Me hiciste una maldad,” (you played a mean trick on me) said the brunette.

“Yes.”

“Eres bien malvado.” (You are evil).

“Yes.”

But can I say, their behavior towards my staff and towards me changed significantly. My “maldad” had produced an action that while somewhat mean and possibly aggressive, had created a tranquil state free of animosity and of burgeoning friendship – inasmuch as you can have between guesthouse owner and guest.

Would these mochileros have behaved the same way and would they have demanded that the price of the night included breakfast (“You are the only hostel in the world which does not include breakfast”), and would they have been typically rude and brusque towards me as they were with Carmen?

I think not.

Had I greeted them at the door, a familiar European face would have meant they couldn’t try any of the age old scams on me. Remember, we have been open five years, we have seen it all. Carmen has seen it all. But, upon arriving and not receiving what they wanted they tried to place the element of blame on the “hapless” local.

Unacceptable.

So I played a mean trick.

And it worked.

***

Added on January 17

I am adding an apology to the girls in question for this blog, but I feel it is my right to continue to publish this piece, just as it is their right to reply.

In order to show that despite the poor behaviour to my staff, we were still on hand to help, ensure that there was somewhere for them to stay, we were able to accommodate them. And, despite my manager not even wishing to speak to the girls, I helped them with their transport and onwards travel. And here’s a copy of the email transcripts.

emails

 

 

15 Hours of Danger Driving in Colombia

04 Tuesday Dec 2012

Posted by in Journeys

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How many people can claim to have driven 15 and a half hours straight – on Colombian roads of terror – have killed a chicken and arrived at their destination in one piece and sound of mind? I for one have chalked this experience up as an adventure in survival driving.

The road from Barbosa to Cimitarra

The journey from Bogota to Mompós and vice-versa is something I have penned in detail over the months and years and is something that is getting neither easier nor shorter despite significant improvements in the department of Cesar.

So, a few days ago, I decided it was time to take in a different route to stem my absolute boredom and distress at having to descend the winding narrow path that leads out of Bogota, through Villeta and past Guaduas and Honda. Yes, it’s beautiful once you are out of the cloud that inevitably forms here in the early hours – I leave between 3 and 4am – and once you get within reach of the Magdalena River valley, it is quite breathtaking.

This route has been nothing short of a death trap over the years and is a ridiculous excuse for a highway placed on such fragile and unstable terrain. There has to be a better way than this 3 plus hour danger road. I have cycled the death road on numerous occasions in Bolivia and for those thrill seekers looking to shear their nerves a little more, just try driving here in Colombia.

Otra Obra en Marcha!

So, anyway, this time I would take the road that backpackers traditionally take to get to adrenalin-fuelled destinations such as San Gil and Bucaramanga. This took me out through northern Bogota passing Zipaquira and then on to Velez. If you did not know or were not aware, this is the home of bocadillo. Bocadillo veleño as it is known here in this corner of Santander is an extremely sweet reduction of ripe guava with sugar which is then molded into squares to consume by itself, with various dairy products or really, however you see fit. I digress, should you wind down your window to ask directions, just as I did, you will note that both Velez and Barbosa reek of burnt guava jelly.

But, I am well off point. I am enjoying the drive, I am not stressed, and I am not worried for the next 18-wheeler to come screeching wide around a blind corner such on the other highway. In fact, I can see everything.

Even the chicken.

But it did not stop. And I flattened it.

And kept going.

In fact, I floored my car through the uplands of this region of Santander.

No one was in pursuit.

The road wound down and the scenery while spectacular was shrouded in damp. I headed on to Cimitarra, but it was never going to be as simple as I had imagined. I don’t know why I had this sense of security, after all, this is driving in Colombia and this is still a relatively alive conflict zone. The road narrowed, became one lane, unpaved and then sludge. My weak 4×4 could make it but I doubt anything else less powerful would have been successful.

Roadworks

Signposts alerted me to work on the road. There was plenty, and it is coming along well. At some point in the next couple of years barring natural disasters this stretch linking east and west Santander could be ready.

Small towns were passed and I thought about all I had read regarding guerrilla incursions in the area, and I know for a fact they still take place. It made me think of Mompós and the difficulty we have in reaching our town. All of these towns through which I now passed in Santander are far more within communication with the outside world but are as equally forgotten…does that make their situation worse?

People stare at me. Obviously I am an alien creature in these parts. Perhaps it is because I have chicken entrails or worse a chicken’s head clinging to my front bumper or the motor grill.

A horse ambles down the road

A horse ambles untroubled along the road.

A couple of women sit on the berm and chat.

There is no other traffic and I bump along feeling the shocks in the car creak and bitch at every jolt. Of course it’s going to have to go into the shop soon. Cimitarra proves to be far further than I had imagined. Consulting the map, directly to my right is a stretch of hills and mountains referred to as the Cordillera de los Cobardes. It is from here that the newly formed ELN guerrilla group descended to Simacota and took the town in 1964 to announce their arrival in the armed conflict in the country. Obviously I relate their actions to the name of this eastern ridge of the mountains here, but of course, it has more significance in the struggle for independence that took place in Socorro.

I cannot help thinking of the populations here. At the mercy of earthquakes, incredibly fertile land, not all that far from the emerald mines in Boyacá and supposedly rich in so many highly coveted minerals. For certain illegal mining and the transshipment of drugs come through here at some point or another. So close and yet so distant from civilization.

Desvio

Without a signpost in sight I managed to hit the highway at the right point above Puerto Berrio. While it was an adventure, while I enjoyed this variation in scenery and while I will make the journey again this way, it will not be on the route back to Bogota, that much mud and that much construction taking place will only be an impediment to the smoothness of the voyage. I will have to come through Honda on the return journey.

But for now I am content to have seen more of this country Colombia which I call home.

My faithful driving companion – a great conversationalist!