A reinvigorated fun police

@wwaycorrigan

[Listen to an audio version of this blog entry here.]

And just like that, it's all over — kind of. Within a couple of days of each other, both England (just England initially that was, not the other UK nations) and, more shockingly, a heretofore extremely cautious — officially, anyway — Republic of Ireland announced that they were ending most of the coronavirus pandemic restrictions.

Thou shalt not pass without a covid-19 vaccine pass: The social credit system in action — comply or be ostracised.

Learning to live again

Of course, I don't (currently) reside in either jurisdiction but I was somewhat optimistic on hearing the news. I'm not, however, expecting a domino effect around the globe in the coming weeks.

It does, nonetheless, give one hope that other nations will start to accept that we have to learn to live with covid-19 rather than stubbornly and damagingly maintain a suppression strategy.

As has been said oft-times before on this blog, we're not talking about an indiscriminate killer here, despite the efforts of many governments and media groups to portray Sars-Cov-2 as such. This covid monomania comes at a price — not just economically but in lives lost as well — and that price is something we're set to live with for some time to come.

I wrote previously (see https://wwcorrigan.blogspot.com/2021/09/rocking-in-fear-world.html) about the irrational fear that has been instilled in the masses over the last two years. 

Thus, for people to return to their pre-pandemic lives — as much as they want to, that is — it was always going to take more than just an address from our esteemed leaders simply telling us that it's all pretty much back to normal and "away with you".

What's more, all the various rules and recommendations aimed at saving lives have empowered what one could call a citizen's army of do-gooders and virtue-signallers. Well-intentioned they may be but, as is often the case in such affairs, they are potentially doing more harm than good — and most likely to themselves than to anyone else.

'"Recklessly" going against the doctrine puts us all in jeopardy. So, à la Novak Djokovic in authoritarian Australia, an example must be made of these apostates.'

You see, many of us at the receiving end of such unsolicited help to save ourselves and humanity at large can, to a certain extent, shrug it off. The preachers, on the other hand, are so worked up about it that it appears to consume them.  

In effect, they almost stop living because they become so concerned about avoiding death.

Pernicious pretenders

Raised as an Irish Catholic, I see something quite familiar here. The top brass who issue the orders largely ignore them in their private (and not-so-private) lives — vide the No. 10 Downing Street parties and Golfgate in Ireland — but the foot soldiers follow the commands with zeal.

In other words, the plebs are the ones who do the donkey work, pay the biggest price, yet they'll never see the green pastures, the promised land.

For these covid crusaders, the non-believers, the heathens, must equally — or, preferably, to a greater extent — suffer. In fact, it's those who question the gospel who are the problem. They must be brought into line.

"Recklessly" going against the doctrine puts us all in jeopardy. So, à la Novak Djokovic in authoritarian Australia, an example must be made of these apostates.

The Catholic Church — together with other such institutions — has done a great job at convincing folk through the ages that having fun in the here and now only leads one to the depths of hell. Not only is living fundamentally a struggle but you must also suffer whilst going through it. (I must say, these days I do move to a more ascetic beat — I'm certainly no party animal anyway — but I don't expect everyone to follow my lead. I'm happy for people to mix, mingle and live as they see fit as long as they don't inconvenience me too much.)

Where religion has lost its (often malignant) influence we have plenty of pernicious pretenders to step into the vacuum.

This coronavirus pandemic has given such fanatical forces a shot in the arm, literally and metaphorically. The fun police have been reinvigorated. The officers won't go away quietly.
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Gachetá if you can

@wwaycorrigan

[Listen to an audio version of this blog entry here.]

I've generally been reluctant to leave Bogotá during Colombia's tourism high season or at long weekends. So the first holiday Monday of the year is a negative on both fronts.

In case you forget where you are, most Colombian towns now have their name spelt out in big letters to remind you.

However, feeling somewhat annoyed and frustrated with my rather bland routine in the capital, I took a gamble and escaped during the January holiday weekend.

Pueblo peace

My default option these days is to travel north of Bogotá as I live a convenient five-minute walk from the northern bus terminal. 

Any destination to the south requires a trek across Bogotá to either the main terminal in Salitre or the satellite station in the far south. Avoiding Bogotá's public transport and traffic is good for the body and mind at any time.

In terms of the destination, as readers of previous posts detailing small-town (pueblo) visits will know, the location itself isn't the most important aspect.

Almost any town within a 200-kilometre radius of Bogotá will have a reasonably priced hotel, a picturesque main square, a panadería with drinkable coffee, a tienda with affordable beers and a few hills to wander around to work up a sweat and enjoy a little bit of nature. 

It's a bonus if there's a relatively clean river or lake to chill out by and even bathe in. On the minus side, one usually has to be prepared to encounter some mad dogs — nothing's perfect.

This time around, I wanted somewhere warmer than Bogotá but not ridiculously hot. Looking at the map, for some unknown reason I was drawn to the town of Gachetá.

A scenic resting place ...

Capital of the Guavio Province in the department of Cundinamarca and situated about 100 km (depending on the route taken) east of Bogotá, a Google search told me it's at an altitude of just under 1,800 metres with average daytime temperatures of over 20 degrees Celsius and no colder than eight degrees at night. The jacket can stay in the bag.  

A mistake, however, was to assume that buses from Bogotá to Gachetá leave from the northern terminal. They don't. Thankfully, though, I didn't have to go to the other terminals. Gachetá-bound buses leave from Calle 72 with Avenida Caracas, a 40-minute Transmilenio journey from Terminal Norte.

'No Colombian town is complete without a hilltop statue of Mary or Jesus to "discover".'

That minor miscalculation aside, another anxiety I have about leaving the city on the Friday of a long weekend, heavy traffic, mercifully didn't come to pass on this particular route. In fact, it was largely congestion-free.

The only slight inconvenience — down to my terminal mix-up — was that I arrived in Gachetá after dusk. Normally, I like to get to a new place before nightfall. However, for a small and very safe country town where the bus terminal is a short walk from the centre, this is less of a concern. Rocking up in an unfamiliar big city at night is another matter entirely.

The first item on the agenda, then, was to find a reasonably priced hotel. That came in the form of Hotel El Portal de la Cuarta. 

At 25,000 COP per night for a spacious ensuite room with a hot-water shower (not that the hot water was needed), a comfortable double bed, cable TV and, of course, the essential steady WiFi, one can't go too wrong. Wilmer, the mild-mannered owner, is also on hand to give some sightseeing tips.

Scenery to die for

One of those tips, perfect for the hillwalker that I am, was the Ruta del Agua (Water Route). This incorporates a four-kilometre trek (taking the most direct route) up to a statue of — go on, give a guess  — yes, that's right, the Virgin Mary (no Colombian town is complete without such an attraction. If it's not Mary, it's Jesus). The spot offers a nice view of the town and surrounds.

Looking down on Gachetá en route to the loftier Junín.

It's not a cul-de-sac trail, but whether you go the shorter way or take the slightly longer route via Carrera 5 and a townland called La Chamba, you'll cross the Río Salinero. This predominantly shallow, fast-flowing river does have some deeper spots where you can have a refreshing dip — in rainy season it might be a different animal altogether.

Mentioning Carrera 5, exiting the town taking this street is where you'll pass what is arguably one of the most scenic cemeteries in the country. It is, um, to die for. Sorry!

Río Salinero: It does have some deeper spots in which to submerge oneself.

The hill on which the Virgin Mary stands is perhaps about 100 metres higher than Gachetá. So for those looking for something a little more taxing in terms of a trek, a walk to the nearby village of Junín offers just that.

At an altitude of 2,300 metres, it's a good 500 metres closer to the stars than Gachetá. The shortest, largely traffic-free, rustic approach is just six kilometres away. It does, though, involve a few decent inclines. It certainly puts the legs to work. The reward is getting to take in the quaint Junín, sipping on a coffee and arepa or, whisper it, a cold beer.

Win-win in Junín!

It would be remiss of me not to go into a little more detail on the arepa, Colombia's traditional cornflour snack, available in these parts.

Each region of the country has its own take on them but I have to say the cheese-filled, unsweetened ones in the Guavio Province are about as good as they get. (I mean this in terms of plain arepas, not the delicious Venezuelan ones that are stuffed with all sorts of fillings or the egg/meat-filled arepas originating from Colombia's Caribbean coast.)

Back to Gachetá, some might say that it is the least impressive of Guavio's towns. From what I've been told, the similar-sounding Gachalá, for one, on the banks of the Guavio Reservoir, a very scenic man-made lake, is more idyllic.

That may be so, but in terms of a quiet rural retreat, Gachetá grades well. It beats being bored in Bogotá anyway.
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Addicted to a prescribed life

@wwaycorrigan

[Listen to an audio version of this blog entry here.]

Thanks to a means-tested health system and with my parents — seven children in tow — deemed too well off to receive government assistance, the idea of going to the doctor for the slightest — and not-so-slight — complaint was generally discouraged in the household of my youth.

Once you pop, you just can't stop. This is what most pharmaceutical companies want to be the case anyway.

Popping pills

Fair enough, by the time I, the youngest, started going to secondary school, our lot had improved quite a bit and would continue to do so through the Celtic Tiger years (until it all went belly up).

Nonetheless, due to the austerity that had prevailed before then, I'd learned that a trip to the general practitioner (GP) was considered an "exclusive" event. And one would have to show very good cause to gain entry. 

In any case, by about the age of 15, I'd started to match — to an extent — my father's trait where showing any momentary physical or mental infirmity was reprehensible.  

I do, though, recall those childhood days when being deemed sick enough to receive the sweet Calpol over-the-counter pain reliever was a joyous occasion.

Looking back on it now, it's as if the pharmaceutical company that produced that syrup did so with the idea of making it addictive in mind. Ludicrous thought, I know.

There were times, too, when I liked being on prescribed medication. I'm not sure why this was, but popping pills stored in a little plastic container with my name printed on it seemed kind of cool.

That's all changed now. For better or for worse, I do my best to avoid visiting the doctor or seeking pharmaceutical help.

OK, at almost 37 years of age, leading what I believe to be a largely healthy lifestyle and with no underlying conditions that I know of, there's nothing startling in the fact that I haven't felt the need for regular medical check-ups or medication.

'A vaccine's modus operandi is to induce or increase an organism's natural immunity mechanisms. Without them for certain potentially deadly diseases, the human body would simply be overwhelmed.'

Yes, it may not be the wisest move to be so reluctant to seek medical assistance should the need arise, but I'd like to think that my body would give me signs if there was something malignant at play that required outside help.

Also — and many of us have plenty of anecdotes to back this up — just because a medical practitioner gives one the all-clear doesn't mean that everything is fine.

What's more, when there is something untoward, some doctors have a tendency to automatically reach for their old reliable, the prescription: 'Pelt them with pills.'

A late aunt of mine used to uncontrollably, albeit mildly, shake. It was put down as just one symptom of various complications she had following a brain haemorrhage. 

It was subsequently discovered it was due to a chemical imbalance from the myriad of medications she was taking. Little wonder. I recall her handbag being like a portable pharmacy.

Body and mind over matter

This is not to say that I'm against all modern medicine and medical procedures. One risks severely reducing one's life expectancy in taking such a stance.

On that point, the argument could be made that my late sister would still be with us had she opted for chemotherapy to deal with her breast cancer rather than go an alternative route. We'll never know.

If you're not fully in agreement with whatever treatment you receive, there is a possibility it won't work. The mind is a powerful force after all. And we all do have to face death at some stage.

Then, of course, there are vaccines, perhaps the greatest medical discovery humankind has ever made.

A vaccine's modus operandi — important to mention in these times — is to induce or increase an organism's natural immunity mechanisms. Without vaccines for certain potentially deadly diseases, the human body would simply be overwhelmed.

One's organism could, in theory, fend off the likes of polio or yellow fever without the aid of a vaccine. Based on case fatality rates for those diseases, however, one would be taking a huge gamble adopting such an approach.  

With Sars-Cov-2, on the other hand, we've known from an early stage that many people have solid defences against the infection, an infection that kills quite discriminately i.e. the elderly and the obese have a far greater risk of severe illness and death.  

Thus, the need for covid-19 vaccines for all has always been questionable, particularly when there are some not-insignificant, genuine doubts hanging over these jabs. This push for compulsory vaccines appears to have more to do with exerting control than being for the greater good of public health.

While the great advancements in medical science have significantly increased our life expectancy, we must be aware of our limitations. We must also remain cognisant of the fact that sometimes the natural process is better left alone.

One doesn't need to be a scholar of history to know that human interference — even when done in good faith — doesn't always produce positive outcomes.
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Covid-19, anti-vaxxers & immunity: My chat with Noel D. Walsh on Shannonside Northern Sound

@wwaycorrigan

Noel D. Walsh is in the Joe Finnegan Show hot seat on Shannonside Northern Sound and he chats to me about covid-19, vaccines and plans to return to Ireland for a long-overdue pint!

Listen to the interview via the YouTube video below or click on this link https://youtu.be/4_VaHniwBpw or visit https://anchor.fm/brendan-corrigan/episodes/Covid-19--anti-vaxxers--immunity-My-chat-with-Noel-D--Walsh-on-Shannonside-Northern-Sound-e1ckrjo. (The piece was recorded on Wednesday 05 January and broadcast on Friday 07 January 2022.)

Visit the Shannonside Northern Sound websites at https://www.shannonside.ie/ and https://www.northernsound.ie/.

 

One of Ireland's favourite regional radio stations!

As Bog(otá)-standard as it gets

@wwaycorrigan

[Listen to an audio version of this blog entry here.]

While I don't think I'm at the same obsessive-compulsive level as Melvin Udall, Jack Nicholson's misanthropic character in the 1997 film As Good as It Gets, I can get rather annoyed if certain aspects of my daily routine change without my advanced knowledge.

Pandemic life would have been a whole lot duller without this corona to rely on.

Corona café

In fact, akin to Melvin, I'm known to become quite cranky when there are changes at my panadería (bakery/café) office. (As an aside, in my childhood days, it was Nicholson's Jack Napier/Joker character in the 1989 Batman film that I thought my adult life would most closely mimic. I guess there's still time for that.)

After a few, um, difficult weeks in the aftermath of the tumultuous temporary closure to facilitate a new administration at my old panadería office, Vicky's, I managed to find a replacement establishment that satisfied my modest needs — La Corona Real (no, not that corona) in the barrio in which I currently reside, Verbenal.

To be honest, even when Vicky's was number one, I had been using La Corona Real as a secondary option — I'm not completely averse to spicing things up every now and again, you know.

'It would most likely be a positive development if my daily frequenting of the panadería office was curtailed somewhat.'

However, the latter's tendency for a high turnover of table-service staff — meseras as they say here (and they are almost exclusively women) — put it at a disadvantage.

While my dark coffee with a drop of milk in an actual ceramic cup ('un tinto con una gota de leche en pocillo' in Spanish) may not seem like the most absurd request, for many panadería employees here it does actually appear to be something unheard of. It's either a 50-50 coffee-milk mix or 100 per cent coffee with a disposable cup the default option, no deviations.

Stagflation

Nonetheless, with a little patience and gentle instruction, there is a way. Also, and crucially, for the last few months, there had been continuity in terms of those at the coalface, nay the coffee machine — the aforementioned table servers. 

Thus, I hadn't had to explain from scratch every second week how I like my brew. I hadn't had to, that is.

Change, though, does come, whether we like it or not. And very often it can be dramatic.

Where the creative juices flow (at times).

OK, the comings and goings of panadería staff aren't quite on the Vladimir Ilyich Lenin level of change —  'There are decades where nothing happens; and there are weeks where decades happen.' — but it's all relative, isn't it?

One could cope with the departure of one or two of the mesera team of six or so, but when all bar one move on at the same time, well that's a shock to the system.

Cushioning this blow somewhat is that the girl who remains, Wendy, originally from the Venezuelan state of Táchira — a gocha as they call them — is top-notch. She's been a great help in getting the newbies up to speed on my particular, not-terribly-demanding wants. (Another plus point for Wendy is that she, whisper it, gave me the password for the establishment's WiFi on the sly. What the middle-aged brothers who own the place don't know, won't kill them.)

That aside, truth be told — it's something this blog always seeks to do, tell the truth — it would most likely be a positive development if my daily frequenting of the panadería office was curtailed somewhat. It would probably mean that I got a job that required my physical presence elsewhere. What a novelty that would be, eh?

For as much as the Bogotá-standard — be it the panadería or the tienda — has helped keep one sane throughout the pandemic, its continued regular use could be seen as a sign of stagnation. Or, more appropriately considering the general state of affairs, stagflation.

So one likes to think this isn't as good as it gets. It's pretty mediocre if it is.
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