It is going to be sad to leave here. I am now fully in the Bogota state of mind. At night we light the fires in the fireplaces in the rooms and the light flickers and jitters across the walls and exposed log beams below the cielings. In the kitchen we place logs on the coals in the big cast iron flattop stove and blow on them until they light and make the room warm. It is such a calm place. People read and cook and talk. There is free flowing tea all day and a vibration of tranquility all the way through. There is an old and well worn mini nylon string acoustic guitar that hangs on the wall and I have been playing it almost nonstop. I stayed up all night playing my old songs to this girl that works the night shift in the hostel. Her name is Fanny and it is obviously an atypical name down here in Colombia. None of these people would understand what that name would mean to us english speakers...especially what it means to the English english speakers...or that the name was popular in the US in the late 1800's!! It sounds different when they say it and everyone seems more or less intrigued by it. She is studying english and I did my best to make sense of prepositions and adverbs for her. They still are a pain in the ass for me so time will tell if I was of any help at all. They place eucalyptus acorns on the flattop while it burns to give off a nice fragrance. I think that will be engraved in my state dependant brain from now on. The combination of all that this hostel is makes me really like it and not want to leave. There are people that have been here for months...the place has a magnet in it. I understand why they stay.
I have been waking up early despite not going to bed early at all. I have to walk across an outdoor courtyard to get to the bathroom so by the time I get there and back, I am cold and awake. I get back under the soft but bulletproof layer of blankets on my bed and think about the state of things. Sometimes I doze off again, but mostly I just enjoy the contrast of warm and cold. This will be a tough trip to give up. South America is a place full of good things for Mateo del Norte, and the thought of returning to the mothership of America is at once both appealing and full of dread. I could easily pass a couple months in this hostel in this town with a constant stream of tea, travellers, guitar, wine, rain, shine, books, elevation and peace. Coming back seems inevitable, but I am half and half about being ready.
Yesterday I wandered the streets for a while before finding a terrific pizza place and I had a couple slices of Mexican Style. For once Mexican Style was attained! People misunderstand mexican food all over this continent, I am not sure how, because it is fairly simple, but they do. This pizza was money...and didn't cost much money at all. Here you eat well for 2 dollars. Oh snap.
I went to the Museum of Colonial Art after that and again I find that I really like that. I have been interested in the period of time when Simon Bolivar was roaming around trying to establish his Gran Colombia. The art of that colonial period is interesting because it is almost entirely done by mestizo and native people. It looks just like the art from the Italian and Spanish schools of religious art...but it was not generally created by Europeans. It was used to communicate the vices and virtues of humanity under God through the eyes of the church and since there was a major language barrier between the conquerors and the conquered, that art was used to teach for the most part. As a result, messages are exaggerated to achieve an understanding, and they are very bloody and grim. Lots of skulls and suffering and darkness and aloof looking angels. Christ seems to be in much worse shape here in South America than he is on other continents...lots more cuts and blood up on the cross. Lots of portrayals of self flagelation and repentance. It's quite something to behold. It is impresionante to see the things that humans have done in the attempt to get closer to the idea of God. Christianity has a strange and violent history, but I must admit that I am intrigued by its roots and machinations throughout the 'development of modern man'.
When I left the museum it was raining hard. Over the roar of water on the rooftops I could hear a man's voice projecting loudly through a loudspeaker some distance away. I pulled up my hood and slid across the wet flagstones in my search for the voice. I found it in La Plaza Bolivar, and was wowed by the difference from the scene I had witnessed there the day before. The plaza had been transformed with banners and protest signs and even though there was rain falling, hundreds of people were gathered and chanting in the center. There were also hundreds of police and army men with guns and shields and batons out and ready. Evidently it was a protest of the FARC group and their kidnapping of numerous nationals and internationals, namely La Femme Betancourt. There were people of all ages out there carrying signs and looking fierce and yelling about Libertad. I checked it out until I was thoroughly damp and then I moved on.
When I moved on, I went to the house of Manuela Saenz, the woman that supported Simon Bolivar throughout the course of his time as Liberator. Her house is a museum now, but it was cool to see it. It is a very nice little place with a courtyard and a fountain. There was a display of local Colombian traditional clothing that was really pretty and fairly interesting. It would have been better if I liked clothing styles. Oh well. To see the hogar of Manuela was great in and of itself...read The General In His Labyrinth and you will know what I mean.
The next day I spent the morning playing the guitar while the rain fell on the plants in the courtyards of the hostel. Once it stopped, I mobilized and went to the Museum of Francisco Botero. If anyone has heard of him then they know that he is the artist that paints things into 'fat' or 'very plump' caricatures. It is pretty interesting stuff. He has naked people, clothed people, families, still lives, guitars, bathrooms, horses, trees and many other people, places and things; all of which are big. It is interesting. Evidently he is from Colombia. I liked it. Also in that gallery were all sorts of great European works of art by the likes of Monet, Dali, and Degas.
A short distance away was the dual museum dedicated to telling the story of currency in the New World during the time surrounding colonization, and the use of gold over the centuries. Looking at different shapes of gold and the machines that made them is not really my thing, but again I was interested by the relations that the Spanish and natives had with each other.
The last night I was in Colombia, me and some Colombians watched a Colombian movie called Paraiso Travel (Paradise Travel). Most people who remember that they have watched a Colombian movie have seen one called Maria Full Of Grace. That is a powerful tale of the women who swallow coke packets and then travel by air into the USA. The are refered in the industry as mules. It is a dangerous job. That movie is the story of one such woman, and it is pretty intense. In the same spirit, Paraiso Travel really captured me and made me think about the struggle of others. It is the story of a young couple trying to get to the US and the things that happen once they arrive. It is an often brutal tale, but one that is really enlightening. It is not in the least bit Hollywood-ized and so you feel things that seem out of the ordinary to our usual fare of neatly packaged cinema. I really recommend this movie to people...you would recognize John Leguizamo...and that is probably it. He is Colombian and the only one of the cast that has fame in the US.
The final part of this blog will be quick...but again it underscores the international community of chefs and cooks. When I was chillin' with Fanny, this guy arrived from Medellin who used to be a chef. Now he is a food writer. We hit it off right away and talked about all sorts of food and restaurant stuff. It was really fun and funny and I liked that many of the usual conversation barriers were breached by our mutual passion for food and wine. It was like having an instant brother of cuisine...and what a cool thing that is. Everyone should like to talk about food and then maybe the world would be a less freaky place. Just a thought.
I was indeed sad to leave the tranquility, the climate, the conversation, the guitar, the Fanny, the zen ladies who ran the hostel, the pancho I wore, the firelighting, the pile of blankets etc...but I guess those will serve as reminders and reasons to return to the unexpected love I found with the city of Bogotá.
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