The Chiva

We had quite an initiation into our Christmas in Bogota with Angela and her family.  Having arrived to a lovely welcome of wine and a house full of merry people, we were invited to join another 50 family members or so in the evening on a tour of the city's Christmas lights on a 'chiva'. 

A chiva is an open-sided colourful bus that looks a bit like a tram, with some seats and an area in the middle for dancing, with poles and roof bars to cling on to.  Angela's family had hired it out for the evening. We had been warned in advance that the family is quite lively and that a couple of the uncles like to make sure the drink is flowing. As soon as we were pulled up onto the crammed bus we were offered shots of either aguardiente (aniseed spirit), whisky or rum and this went on all night.  With music blaring out and an increasingly raucaous atmosphere within, we made our way around Bogota, stopping at different squares to see the lights and nativity scenes (which are a must in every house, village and town). The weather was a bit too English for our liking - raining and chilly - but it didn't stop hundreds of families turning out to walk around the lights. It was a lovely, alternative Christmas atmosphere.  

Back on the chiva, our heads were increasingly spinning as the aguardiente kicked in and we were encouraged to learn some ambitious Colombian dance moves as the bus charged around the streets. Simon fared better than me as he seems to have mastered a shoulder and hip wiggle that impressed the aunties. I hadn't and so became the centre of the bus' attention until I could wiggle my shoulders leaning backwards whilst clinging to a pole.  The rowdier the better is definitely the approach to the chiva, any time we went past squares filled with people we were encouraged to hang out of the bus and cheer. It had also been the final of the Colombian football league that night, and so mutual cheering to football fans was also a must.

After several hours of this, the chiva tour came to an end and about 30 of us piled into Angela's brother's apartment for a hot version of the aguardiente.  It was a fantastic and hilarious way to start our Christmas here.  We fell into a lovely, comfy bed exhausted at about 2.30.

Christmas treats

We decided to treat ourselves to a night on a beautiful Caribbean island for Christmas this year – no need for more thermal pyjamas like last year. The island was really relaxed and we had the little resort where we were staying to ourselves. Our room opened out onto the beach and the cook served us fresh seafood and rice with grated coconut. It was all very lovely.

Back in Cartagena we booked into a hotel near to the centre. Nothing quite so picturesque but it served a purpose. We decided to always take the lift from our third floor room after the first evening when Simon spotted a rat in the stairwell. That aside, we’ve had a lovely couple of days doing touristy things in Cartagena – walking along the lit-up colonial walls in the evening, visiting the 16^th century castle and venturing down lots of tunnels built into its structure, and exploring a few museums.

 Yesterday we had a hilarious couple of hours caked in gloopy, custard-like mud in a volcano a few hours (on several sweaty local buses and the back of a motorbike) from Cartagena. It was a bizarre sensation to be virtually weightless and able to float in any position. The volcano is hundreds of metres, and so we approached the mud bath at the top, about the size of a plunge pool, with trepidation. As soon as we got in it was obvious we weren’t going to sink, quite the opposite in fact. Once we were in a lying position it was quite hard to move upright again. In true naughty boy at the swimming pool fashion, Simon attempted to do a forward roll and was told off by a local girl overseeing matters who got slightly splattered in mud from when his feet came crashing down.  After the mud, we staggered down to the nearby lake like a pair of bog monsters and spent at least half an hour trying to wash it all off. Later that evening, we were still finding bits of mud in our ears.

 

Last night, we had a romantic engagement dinner which we had been promising ourselves ever since Venezuela. While it was definitely budget busting, it was really lovely; we had a table in a beautiful square and enjoyed delicious fish and our first bottle of wine since leaving England.

Wedding Party

A lovely lady called Ilisandra who works in the office at the children´s project invited us to her wedding to Rafael. We were very pleased to accept and had a lovely time at the ceremony which was at the Padre´s church. From there we went to their brand new house that they are due to move in to. It was great meeting the family and friends and celebrating with them. We felt very lucky to be able to join in with something like this which as a tourist you would never get the chance to do. The party started with fizzy wine, photos and dancing a wedding dance with the bride and groom. There were tables on the street and everyone sat chatting and enjoying the rum and coke laid on. We danced to local music and had a tasty meal too, eventually getting a lift home after one o´clock. All in all, a fantastic evening.

Farewell El Olivar

After more than two weeks for me and a week for Rachel it was time to leave the Olivar family in peace. We had a lovely last few days which included me cooking a curry for everyone, a traditional meal eaten outside off banana leaves, photos at the children´s project, a local wedding and Rachel finishing all her Dominican Republic work. Our last night was the first night of the Catholic Novenas where we were the guests of honour and Eduardo sang with his guitar. Rachel and I then had to embarrassingly sing Silent Night which everyone said they liked but not as much as my solo of away in a manger (cringe). Hopefully we will meet up with the family again either in Colombia or England.

Simon on the Farm

El Olivar is a small farm near to the village of Turbaco, about 10km from the big colonial tourist city of Cartagena. Rachel’s friend Andrea’s father, Eduardo, a retired vet, lives here with his mother and two sisters. The house is a lovely single story building with lots of windows looking out onto the surrounding countryside.

There is a small swimming pool here which is great for cooling down- I’ve made good use of it after my late afternoon runs to Turbaco and back. Despite the heat there are lots of lovely trees, palms and flowering shrubs around. There is also a family who live in a smaller house on the farm and work here preparing meals, cleaning and doing farm work.

The farm has hens, ducks, about ten cows, a couple of pigs and horses. Lots of the food I’m enjoying here is produced of the farm- fruit, eggs, chicken, milk, yucca and other vegetables. Luckily for me everyone is very keen for me to try local speciality foods. It has all been delicious but of special note was the tomale- potato, pork, vegetables all cooked wrapped in banana leaves which give a fantastic flavour.

Granny (Abuelita) is lovely and is very patient with me as I struggle to understand and be understood. She’s very excited that Rachel and I are going to be married, wants to come if she can or at least get lots of photos and also for us to honeymoon in Colombia. The latter would be great except that we’ll only just be back from South America and were thinking England would be nice. Eduardo is friendly, kind and generous and is being very helpful with my slow learning of the Spanish language. He loves the countryside and is also passionate about politics. Colombia has many problems following fifty years of mismanagement and American meddling. There is a huge disparity between the wealthy few and the very poor minority with virtually no state provision for health, education or welfare. In the area around the preschool welfare project I was visiting there is no running water, sewers or access to healthcare and the electricity is cut on certain days. The cost of living here is maybe a quarter of that in the UK so an average wage of around one hundred and fifty pounds a month doesn’t go far for a family of five. The very poor levels of education in deprived areas combined with the state controlled media help to maintain the situation. Eduardo is one of a growing number trying to achieve change despite the considerable obstacles. Lots of the people he knows are involved in projects to help relieve poverty. Like the Padre at the preschool project who is an amazing character making a real difference in the community in which he lives.

The village of Turbaco (a big sprawling village of anything from 50 to 90 thousand people) is a great place for me to be. At first I was a little worried about walking around because the streets are so chaotic. The traffic, of which there are more motorbikes than anything else, is totally random with vehicles beeping, swerving and stop-starting all over the road. Along the busy streets stalls and shacks with booming music sell anything from live animals and entrails on hooks to old bikes and curious fried food. But having spent time walking, jogging and travelling on the back of motorbikes the village feels a lot safer than London. People are friendly, they know each other; nobody has tried to rip me off. It’s an exciting place with so much life to see. People don’t stay in their houses behind gates; it’s all doors and windows open to the street, sitting out front, chatting to neighbours.

I have also been able to start getting stuck into the Spanish language. There is a big difference between learning in a classroom or from a book and actually speaking to people. What I learnt in England was of no use until I got here and into a position where I have no choice to get by. So little by little I’m tuning in to what people are saying whilst managing to say more and more myself. I’m still rubbish at Spanish but I’m up and running and that’s the biggest hurdle crossed. I was impressed with myself having managed to get local buses and taxis to Cartagena, bought drinks, ordered a lovely cheap lunch (pictured) in a busy restaurant frequented by locals and arranged to be picked up by the family telling them where I was over the phone (all in broken sentences and a poor accent obviously but successfully and without incident).

So here I am, lucky to be relaxing and learning in a beautiful place with a lovely family.

l-r: Betty, Me, Abuelita, Eduardo, El Padre, Mauro.

Santo Domingo

The island was the first place in the Americas to be 'discovered' by Colombus in 1492 (I think!)



The colonial centre of Santo Domingo, the capital of the Dominican Republic, is so beautiful,I  thought I should definitely take a few photos before I head off this afternoon. I'm back in Colombia with Simon tonight. Yippee. 

The quest for football

The aim to watch live football in South America is not going well thus far. In Venezuela we never stopped anywhere for long enough until we went to Merida and Maricaibo by which time the elections had called a stop to everything including live sport. Here in Colombia the twice yearly top division is in its final stages where the top eight teams play in two leagues of four and the top of each mini-league plays in a two-leg final. This will all be over by the time we get to Bogota. Cartagena has recently won the second division which is now over for the year. We did see some local women´s and men´s football in Santa Marta along with about eighty other people but it was definitely very amateur.

Luckily I can still follow the premier league by the magic of cable TV. In fact I´ve watched about eight live games this week including Burnley beating Arsenal in the cup. The commentary however, is fabulously different. My favourite commentator follows every goal by saying gol loudly then shouting gol for about ten seconds then taking breath and shouting gol for another ten seconds or much longer for a good goal and he then makes up a different song for each goal. Some are too complicated for me to follow but all involve the player and or team name to a well-known tune. One about Gerrard to the tune of Que Sera Sera for example or, to the tune of Volare and following straight on from the gol shouts: de Xavi oaoh, Alonso o-o-oaoh. His favourite player appears to be Benny McCarthey because Benny sounds very good when repeated quickly about ten times. Try this with a Spanish accent and you´ll see what I mean. I think of Clive Tyldsley trying this singing concept and it makes me shudder. Nor would I like to hear Lawro or Pleaty dropping in how masculine Nivea For Men makes you feel or how they are Lovin´ It at McDonalds as the co-commentators here do.

www.useful.org.uk

This is the Hunger Project in Turbaco, Colombia that Simon has been visiting this week. It used to be able to feed 500 children but at the moment it is down to 117 since it had its funding cut.  Our friends Andrea (whose family we are staying with) and Charlie have set up a charity to support the project - visit www.useful.org.uk. I'm hoping to visit later this week when I'm back in Colombia and see the children open their Christmas presents.

Photo from the Useful website

Rural communities and fair trade in Dom Rep

I'm nearing the end of a pretty long day in Santo Domingo, the capital of the Dominican Republic. I'm writing up interviews from my trip last week to see banana farmers in the northwest of the country. I'm sure I'll receive little sympathy as it's about time I did some work!

The last few days have been really inspiring and moving - a group of fair trade banana farmers with small plots of land in the north west of the country are able to keep farming and are investing in their communities.  They're keeping schools going that otherwise would have been closed or fallen down. 

The little girl on the right in this photo, Nana, is 11 years old. She was found in the road by people who work at Banelino. She wasn't given any milk as a baby so her bones didn't develop and she couldn't walk. She now goes to school every day and is fed and is improving slowly. 

They're also providing mobile health clinics to people who otherwise wouldn't have any access to medicine - preventative or treatment. They're giving talks and tests for HIV, vaccinating, training local facilitators to work in the communities and providing free prescriptions.

The communities are called 'bateys' - they were built by the United Fruit Company/Chiquita when they operated in the region before heading off in the '50s. All the houses are crumbling now, there are no sewerage works or services of any kind (the electricity is no longer connected). The water is dirty so people are ill. 

 

This a man called Manuel heading to the mobile clinic. What a character!

This toddlers are queuing up to go in for lunch at a day centre where they're looked after and fed three meals a day, without it most of them wouldn't be fed properly. This photo makes me want to cry. They live in a really poor rural area with lots of social problems and many are neglected by their parents. On a lighter note, lots of women spend the day with their hair in rollers here!

Worms in the organic compost they're producing for the farms

The colonial part of Santo Domingo is beautiful - squares with gorgeous old stone churches and streets filled with colourful art for sale. The photo below is the view from my hotel room window! Don't like to risk heading out with my camera as I need it for work tomorrow and I attract so much attention here. 'Hey, lady, you want taxi' or hissing at me like a cat - not a lot of fun. It seems to be better when I wear sunglasses though I've discovered today! 

Off to visit more banana farmers in another part of the island tomorrow. 

A couple of jungle moments

Could he get any grubbier?

Dominican Republic – fruit, raison and rum heaven

I’ve arrived in Santiago, in the northwest of the Dominican Republic. So far, it seems much more developed than I expected – I was met by Blanco, who works for the banana cooperative, and we travelled across the country on motorways and dual carriageways – something we haven’t yet done in Venezuela or Colombia. By our recent standards, the hotel is great – I’ve just had a complimentary rum punch and I’m eating pineapple, watermelon and melon with freshly squeezed lime and raisons on top. Yummy.

Cartagena and El Olivar farm

Back from our trek, we spent a couple of days in a beach resort, Taganga, near to Santa Marta completely surrounded by other travellers excited by spending their evenings watching films in the hostel TV room – we were not in our element. By contrast, after a 4 hour bus journey we arrived in the beautiful walled, colonial city of Cartagena, overlooking the Caribbean. We feel so lucky to be staying with Andrea’s family (my Colombian friend from work) on their gorgeous farm in the countryside near to Cartagena. Andrea’s dad has had to go to Bogotá until Friday, we were met instead by his lovely friend Jairo, who I think is determined that we should leave Cartagena with a much greater awareness of the social and economic problems of the majority, and not exist in a bubble of privilege. We’re thrilled to be learning more. Instead of taking the main roads, he has been driving us through the poor suburbs and talking about the problems facing the communities. He has plans to take us to a community in a sugar-cane growing area.

Simon is spending the next 10 days with Andrea’s family and I’m in the Dominican Republic visiting banana cooperatives.

The Olivar family are lovely, Andrea’s granny, ‘Abuelita’, the most glamorous and youthful 81 year old lady imaginable, made us so welcome.  I think Simon’s going to have a fantastic time – volunteering at a project near to the farm run by a local priest to provide meals and activities for local children each day. Andrea and her husband Charlie are setting up a charity in the UK to help support it and have raised money this year and bought Christmas presents so that they can all receive something from Santa. I’ll ask Andrea for details of the charity and post them on the blog.

Andrea’s Abuelita is also keen that Simon milks cows and rides a horse – I can’t wait to hear how he gets on. It should be great for him learning Spanish too. He has no mobile phone signal or internet access I don’t think over the next couple of weeks, so that’s why you won’t be hearing from him. I could write anything! 

 I’m so glad mum and dad have always been so hospitable to absolutely everybody over the years, it makes me feel a bit more comfortable about accepting it from other people now.  It definitely makes us determined to do the same when we eventually have our own home. Staying with a friend’s family compared with a backpacker hostel is a world apart and the former is so much more interesting and lovely.

Trekking in the jungle

We’re just back from an incredible 5 days in the Colombian jungle, in the Tayrona National Park, in the Sierra Nevada mountains. For our first couple of days, the dramatic storms of the last couple of weeks continued. We left the town of Santa Marta in nearly a foot of water. Heading up on the main coastal road, we stopped several times to negotiate rock falls and mud slides.  

It got even more interesting as we turned off onto a dirt track which wound its way up into a remote village on the edge of the jungle. Within the first 20 minutes, the van cut out in a big hole, next to a mighty drop – at this stage the driver admitted that he didn’t usually drive this van but had borrowed it because of the weather conditions and hadn’t got the hang of the clutch. 

He also wasn’t keen on the four wheel drive, preferring for most of the next 1½ hours to slide all over the place.

We were relieved to arrive in the village – which seemed very isolated when we arrived, but after 5 days walking and encountering communities all over the jungle, on the way back, it seemed pretty connected.  The trek was beautiful, exhilarating, fascinating and at times terrifying.  We climbed up through mountains, surrounded by jungle which opened out into terrific panoramic views.  It rained every day, but in the first couple, it absolutely poured it down from late morning. We waded across countless rivers – on our first river crossing we removed our shoes and socks and got the towel out on the other side (Simon didn’t go as far as talc). By day 2, dry feet or dry anything else was a distant memory. 

When it rained, the tracks turned to streams and the streams turned to gushing torrents of mud. 

I came close to being swept away in one, which was dramatic and not fun.  

Other times were wonderful, slipping down winding tracks of glowing red mud up to our shins, encountering the odd buried, small dead snake, all the time surrounded by amazing plants and enormous trees and trellises.

We had a lovely guide who had grown up in the mountains. We slept in hammocks around his family home on our first and last nights. 

The nearest village to his home was a good 3 hour trek which he used to make there and back every day and then work in the fields in the afternoon. Coca farming had been widespread in the region but is now less so due to several US backed ‘initiatives’ to eradicate it in the ‘80s and ‘90s – aerial drops of chemicals devastated the jungle and poisoned many of the people living in the area. As a result, apparently they still can’t grow avocadoes.  This area, in the lower Sierra Nevada is now under government/military control and there is an initiative to plant coffee instead of coca. 

Just a bit further into the mountains the guerrillas rule, it is a no-go area for most locals and definitely tourists and most of the cocaine in the region is produced here.  A cocaine tourist attraction in the area is tolerated by the military. We declined to pay and go but others in our group did. In a small factory set up, tourists are shown how coca leaves are converted into a cocaine base (they stop before turning it into powder) using chemicals – petrol, sulphuric acid and all sorts. Most farmers grow maize, yuca, bananas, pineapples, potatoes, coffee and cocoa. They rarely sell their products to market because they are so far away and the prices they receive don’t make it worth it. A lot of the farming is subsistence. Now there is more peace in the region since the guerrillas and coca production decreased, it seems like quite an amazing place to live in many ways. Generations of families live together or nearby, and they can drink clean water from the streams and rivers and bathe by waterfalls.

 La Ciudad Perdida is a tourist attraction on such a smaller scale to others, like the Inca Trail. It was such a privilege spending days here. Local people are so genuinely proud of the region and were willing to share it and a bit of their family lives with us.  As we walked around the mountains our guide sang local Ranchera songs to me about love and philandering men.

 

We returned filthy but happy in a dilapidated 4x4, with windows held in by string, sat sideways bumping down the mountain with a live rooster under Simon’s legs – a present for the driver’s friend’s birthday – in torrential rain which poured in through the gaps in the vehicle’s bodywork and down our backs.  Our guide just laughed and asked if we wanted soap passing back. A sense of humour for the ridiculous seems to be a must here and if you have it, it’s a lot of fun.