The blank diaries

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

'The great thing to be recorded is the state of your own mind; and you should write down everything that you remember, for you cannot judge at first what is good or bad; and write immediately while the impression is fresh, for it will not be the same a week afterwards.'

'Nothing will come of nothing.' Get writing that diary.

So advised 18th-century English writer, Dr Samuel Johnson, to the man who would go on to write his biography, James Boswell. The conversation was about the importance of journalling, of keeping a diary, something that Johnson told Boswell 'he had twelve or fourteen times attempted . . . but never could persevere.'

Digital duplicity

One reason, perhaps, why Johnson couldn't persevere with a journal is that he had plenty of other great works to write during his lifetime. Journalling for a full-time writer may be something of a busman's holiday. Although Johnson, writer of almost all of The Idler series of essays, didn't hide the fact that he suffered from bouts of idleness — what he viewed as being idle in any case. He did, after all, get through quite a lot in his life.

Whatever the case, in the 18th century, one didn't have to deal with ubiquitous digital distractions. So, in theory, those who had the wherewithal to write should have been able to find the time to keep a journal going, if they truly wanted to.

Conversely, today's digital devices make it easier for anyone to write or even dictate a diary. So when, just a few months back, I first read those lines quoted at the start, taken from the straightforwardly titled Life of Samuel Johnson, I decided to start a diary that very day.

It hadn't been in my mind at all but I figured that if I couldn't keep a diary at this moment in my life, when I have lots of me time, then I'll never write one.

Travel thoughts

Now, it's not the first time I've had a go at this. I vaguely remember a couple of attempts at writing a diary in my childhood but, like Johnson, I didn't persevere.

Years later and with much more success, I kept a travel journal when I went on what turned into a ten-month trip around South America, New Zealand, Australia and Southeast Asia between 2008 and 2009. The impetus to do so came from my immediately older brother. He had done his own bout of global travelling and he told me that he regretted not jotting down his thoughts.

Considering I was constantly moving around, I figured at the time that the best way to securely write and keep such a diary would be as a draft email on my Gmail account. It has stood the test of time in any case. And it's now backed up in a Word document just in case it were to be accidentally deleted from my draft emails.

It has proved useful in reminding me of what most likely would have been forgotten details from a period that had a huge bearing on the subsequent direction of my life. Only recently I was re-reading segments as research for my work-in-progress memoir on my time in Colombia.

'If one makes the effort to keep a diary, rigorous introspection should be a fundamental part of it, as Dr Johnson suggested.'

I will concede, however, that a handwritten journal is more authentic. Reading it, flicking through its creased pages, one knows that it has served as a tangible paper crutch for the writer. It has been there with him, giving it an anthropomorphic quality. In comparison, a digital version seems rather lifeless.

Yet, again for practical reasons, when I returned to journalling this year, it was to the digital domain I headed. Indeed, the arguments for going digital are stronger today than they were when I wrote the last entry into my travel diary some 16 years ago.

Back then, I had to find an internet café or wait in a queue to use a hostel computer to type in an update. For the latter, use was often time-restricted. So I was writing against the clock — not the best environment when giving a deep disposition of one's coming of age. Or, more accurately and less profoundly, when trying to remember details and write coherently with a delicate head the morning after the sketchy night before.

Now, though, with a smartphone at hand and access to a Word document that automatically updates and saves previous versions across various platforms, maintaining a diary couldn't be simpler. It can be done from pretty much anywhere at any time, as long as one's device doesn't die.

Nothing will come of nothing

Nonetheless, rather than 'write immediately while the impression is fresh', as Johnson counselled, I've struggled to write an update even just once a week.

One major factor for this, reflecting a particular fallow period I'm going through, is a predominant feeling of 'What's the point?' Why take an hour or whatever out of my day to transcribe my thoughts? Couldn't I be doing something more useful and potentially rewarding with my time, like reading? Or socialising? Although, I don't think I'm suffering from a lack of socialising of the beer-fuelled variety in Colombia in any case, conversation-light as it often is albeit.

The idea that there's a cathartic element to keeping a diary is one strong reason to do so. And that's probably more important in these economically inactive times I'm experiencing.

However, many of my blog articles over the last few years have been quite personal, diary-esque entries. So in a sense I've been writing a public diary since late 2011, presenting my heart and mind to the world, infrequent as the updates have been. At the risk of sounding as if I'm putting myself in the same bracket as Johnson, something similar might have been at play with him. Why double work?

Of course, there's a lot more going on in my mind and, to a lesser extent right now, my life than what I blog about. Equally, my social media posts offer little real insight into my state of affairs. This is where a private journal comes in. It allows for deeper introspection, should one wish to probe. And if one makes the effort to keep a diary, rigorous introspection should be a fundamental part of it, as the good Dr Johnson suggested.

It's that making — and sustaining — the effort, however, that is proving to be quite the challenge. The words of another literary legend may provide extra motivation: 'Nothing will come of nothing', said Shakespeare's King Lear. A blank diary is of little use to anyone.
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'I do care but that doesn't make me a great carer'

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

For those of us lucky enough to see our parents live to what's generally considered a decent age, this does come with their inevitable sad decline, both mentally and physically.

Master of his herd. Or maybe not.

From being the guardians and providers of their children, the roles then get reversed in many families. It's the offspring who become the guardians of the parents.

There is, though, one major difference: Most parents who care for their children do so with the expectation that their young ones will grow up to become self-sufficient, to be independent (as independent as one can be, that is).

With elderly parents — and the elderly in general — it's the opposite. The trajectory is towards dependence. It's like they become children again. In some cases, they require as much care as newborns. Of course, not all elderly go the same way before they breathe their last. Some do remain active and with it up to their final months and days.

Care necessities

With my own parents, at the risk of sounding facetious here, if we could merge my mother's physical fitness with my father's mental acuity, we'd have a fairly robust individual — robust considering the ages in question anyway. My mother is a few years shy of her 80th birthday, my father is already an octogenarian.

As it is, a life of toil appears to have taken its toll on the body of my father. That and arthritis. As for my mother, she's afflicted with Alzheimer's, the 'disease that gnaws away at the kernel of who you are, leaving only the dry empty husk of the person you love behind', as I heard it accurately, if depressingly, put recently.

All this makes for visits to my parents that are more melancholic than filled with the making of new, positive, memorable moments. It's hard not to think back to livelier times, even if they weren't always happy. Nostalgia can be rather nefarious.

That I haven't regularly seen my parents over the last decade-plus plays a part in this.

'My mother used to be able to find anything. She was like St Anthony's representative on Earth. Now she's the one who misplaces almost everything.'

There's also the fact that my own situation is far from stable. Over the last few years, I've done more pondering than producing. Indeed, returning to the house I grew up in to help out on the farm and whatnot is, in a way, a welcome departure. And, somewhat shamefully, I'm happy to avail of the rent-free board. However, this positivity is nothing more than temporary. After a few days, it brings little to no satisfaction because of my overall uncertainty. I start to think I'm better off lost in Colombia's llanos than lost in Lisacul.

I wager such thoughts are made worse by the fact that I am childless. Were I a father, I probably wouldn't be in a position to be under the same roof as my parents for weeks on end. Also, I most likely wouldn't have the time nor the luxury to be so reflective. Or to be picky about potential employment. One can be guilty of overthinking.

Omniscient offspring

Yet, even if my own situation were more stable, I don't think I'd make for a great carer, even just occasionally, of my now more dependent parents.

With my mother, as much as I know that there's a disease taking over her brain, I still find it difficult to overlook all the frustrating things she says and does.

From somebody who seemed to be able to find anything — she was like St Anthony's representative on Earth — now she's the one who misplaces almost everything.

One dubious positive with her condition is that any disagreement or argument we may now have is forgotten by her moments later. If only this had been the case when I was a teenager.

In my father's case, while he's clearly physically impaired, he is largely refusing to accept that he can't operate like he did even just ten years ago. While I wish he would scale down what he has to manage to levels that he can personally carry out, he's still scaling up.

OK, I think I understand the mindset. To show weakness is to become weak. So he's manifesting strength and growth.

The problem is, he needs assistance for many of the tasks under his control. Caring for the cattle he currently has is, at times, beyond his capabilities. Yet, right now, he's firing ahead with what I consider to be an unnecessary, fairly substantial farmyard construction project. From what I can see, there's more than enough to keep him busy if he tried to clean up and organise what he already has — fix what's already broken. Or at least what's already terribly untidy.

It's why I find it difficult to enthusiastically offer a helping hand. But hey, if it makes him happy, fine.

We could do with a version of this for the elderly.

Thinking about all this does remind me of a sign that used to hang in our kitchen when I was a child: 'Teenagers, tired of being harassed by your stupid parents? Act now! Move out, get a job, pay your bills while you still know everything.'

A version for those in their twilight years would run something like this: 'Senior citizens, tired of being harassed by your stupid adult children/relatives? Act now! Downsize, hire non-judgemental home help and enjoy what's left of your hard-earned money while you still can.'

'While you still can', indeed. We all must succumb at some stage.
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Libtard Lynch

@wwaycorrigan

I don't personally know the Sunday Independent columnist Declan Lynch but from his newspaper musings he comes across as a holier-than-thou virtue signaller. And most likely quite the hypocrite.

Hence this latest letter to the Sindo editor (see below or find it online at https://m.independent.ie/opinion/letters/letters-trumps-british-visit-was-a-meeting-of-two-dysfunctional-monarchies/a1993281023.html.) It's not the first time lines by Lynch have compelled me to respond — see https://wwcorrigan.blogspot.com/2023/11/calling-out-illiberal-liberals.html.

No doubt he's taking note of my taking umbrage of his words.

Out for a Lynch-ing. 

Fianna Fáil: A party for all seasons

@wwaycorrigan

In my latest letter to the Irish daily newspapers, I suggest that Fianna Fáil's values are very Irish in one way i.e. they're just like the country's weather — changeable but largely dull. Granted, one could say that about most Irish political parties.

The letter can be found here and here.

Fianna Fáil: Whatever you're having yourself.

Lost in los llanos, Colombia

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

It was, like most things in my life have been, more by accident than design: my seven-month stint in 2025 living in los llanos, Colombia's vast plains and renowned cowboy country.

'To the horizon. And beyond!'

For most of that time, San Martín de los Llanos in the Meta department was the base. This was thanks to an invite to do a bout of house-sitting for an American native — that's a USA American, for the sticklers amongst us — a guy who I'd only befriended in December 2024.

Thanks to that, from February to early May I lived in relative comfort. In fact, it was close to my ideal: a furnished place to myself in a town with a nice vibe to it. Not far off my Goldilocks zone.

When that house-sitting stint ended, I still wasn't keen on an indefinite return to Bogotá, the place that has been my default setting in Colombia. So when I found a furnished studio-apartment (of sorts) for an agreeable 450,000 COP (about 95 euros) per month, bills included (and with the option to pay fortnightly), I took it. This led to another two-and-a-half months in San Martín.

Grand Granada

Then came an offer I couldn't refuse: a furnished room with kitchen access for 160,000 COP per month in Granada. This arose thanks to the partner of that American for whom I house sat in San Martín. It was the partner's sister who had the room. So even though I was fairly content, if not tremendously productive, in San Martín, the chance to significantly reduce my overheads appealed.

What's more, having stayed in Granada on previous occasions in 2024, returning wasn't a big deal. I knew what to expect.

Twenty kilometres south of San Martín, it's roughly twice as big as its northerly neighbour. To give Granada a one-word description, it's grand. That's the Irish grand, which means fine; not fantastic but not too terrible either. Middle of the road.

Meal deals

One area, though, where Granada rates highly, if one puts importance on value for money, is in the cheapness of eating out. This is because there are four (that I know of) restaurants that sell breakfasts and lunches for 5,000 pesos, just over one euro. Similar fare would be at least double that in Bogotá and other cities and towns.

For me, these meals are in the popular 3-Bs, bueno, bonito, barato, category. That's bueno for good, bonito for nice/pretty, and barato for cheap. That last b is undisputed, whatever about the other two, which are more subjective.

While I haven't tried the breakfasts — this is due to my version of intermittent fasting — the lunches are filling and wholesome. And, in at least one of the establishments, meals are served late into the afternoon. It's not a case of having little to nothing available after 2 pm, as often happens in other such places.

'If Granada is controlled by guerrillas, it happens on a different level to my humble comings and goings.'

The main dish usually comes with a mixture — if you ask for a mixture, that is — of beans, peas, chickpeas, pumpkin, plantain and a token salad. OK, the chicken/meat/fish portions are puny but the soup starter, often a sancocho, a type of stew with a mix of root vegetables and rough cuts of beef or chicken, is hearty. It's almost a meal in its own right.

So with such a selection for 5,000 pesos, you really couldn't buy the ingredients and cook them at home more cheaply. Trust me. I've done the experiment, not with all the same ingredients albeit. I do, however, still like to cook my own meals. This is chiefly because I enjoy cooking, I have the free time these days to do so and, in doing so, I have greater control over what I consume.

It's why for the month or so I had in the 160,000-pesos-per-month room in Granada, I ate the 5,000-peso meals no more than six times.

The town is also hard to beat for agreeably priced beer. Unhealthily so, it could be said, in that it may encourage one to drink more than desired. My tienda of choice, Doña Rosa's, sells 750 ml bottles of Tecate for 3,000 pesos with the same volume of Costeña for 3,500 pesos. It's as cheap as you'll get in the country.

Water wars

Now, while Granada might be good for keeping the costs down, it's less appealing in other aspects. And no, I'm not referring to the fact that it's said to be controlled by leftist guerrillas. If that is the case, it happens on a different level to my humble comings and goings. (For the record, San Martín and most places north of that town in Meta are in the hands of the right-wing paramilitaries, so it goes. From Granada southwards, down into Guaviare, it's largely guerrilla territory.)

One drawback is that Granada lacks an inviting natural watercourse nearby. Yes, there's the visually impressive River Ariari. But it's 6 km from the town, so a tad far to be a comfortable walking option. OK, it can be refreshing to go for a dip on reaching the river after the walk, but then one is faced with the trek back in heat regularly in excess of 30 degrees Celsius. Cycling would be a better option, if one was going to be based in the town long enough to make investing in a bike pay off, that is.

There is a smaller river that flows through the outskirts of the town, just north of the hospital. Alas, the one acceptable bathing spot it has is, unsurprisingly, very popular. It's regularly filled with screaming children and revellers blaring mindless music from portable speakers, the Colombian standard. Not only that, but its rather murky waters aren't that enticing.

The waters of San Martín's Caño Camoa, in contrast, are clearer. And the river offers a selection of more secluded bathing spots. Although, on Sundays and holidays, that seclusion tends to get smashed.

The San Martín view

Another plus point for San Martín is that it has various tranquil — as in traffic-light and with a feeling of being in nature — loop roads to wander. I didn't find anything quite as tranquil in Granada.

In addition, San Martín has a 130-step mirador, a viewing tower, to ascend, offering views of the seemingly never-ending plains to the south and east, with the alluring Andes introducing themselves to the north and west. The tower also doubles up as decent exercise, especially if one ascends and descends it a few times in a row.

'Thanks to Lejanías' proximity to both the Guape and the Andes, there's a freshness to the air that's lacking in Granada.'

On top of all this, in San Martín I was given WiFi access in La Reina, my panadería office there. I never had this privilege in the various panaderías I frequented in Granada. What's more, the friendly staff at the rustic library in San Martín had no issue in giving me the building's WiFi password. No such service came from the more modern but quite tacky library in Granada. (Only in Doña Rosa's tienda did I have WiFi in Granada, another pull factor, if one were needed, to her cheap beer.)

Whilst based in Granada, I did visit two other llanos towns, spending a few nights in both.

San Juan de Arama, 20 km south-west of Granada, has little going for it. About the best I can say is that it's fairly quiet.

A little of Lejanías does you good

Lejanías, 40 km west of Granada, at the foothills of the Andes, overlooking the broad River Guape as it flows at pace towards the plains, has much more to it. Its setting alone is satisfying. In fact, on that front, I think it's the best of the four towns mentioned here.

That it has another river nearby, a much smaller one than the Guape, where one can relax unperturbed, is a bonus. There's something about listening to the flow of water in a relatively unspoilt natural setting that puts one at ease.

Thanks to its proximity to both the Guape and the Andes, there's a freshness to the air that's lacking in Granada. Granted, Granada is far bigger and is a significant transport hub in these parts. With that, it has more people, more vehicles, more concrete and thus more pollution.

One minor negative for Lejanías is that it's a buchona-free town: the big, 750 ml beer bottles aren't available. This is the case for many small towns in Colombia that are a fair distance from their department capitals. It's a manageable inconvenience all the same. And better for my health as I have a rough beer budget that I like to stick to i.e. I measure my beer-drinking by cost rather than volume. In any case, it's not a lack of beer that's my problem these days.

No, one of my main issues right now is finding income-generating work, something for which los llanos bears little responsibility — even if I do find the hot climate unconducive to doing computer work.

Sort my income issues out and I'd have no problem taking up residence again in San Martín, Lejanías or Granada, more or less in that order of preference.

One could be in worse places than lost, in thought, in los llanos.
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Picking Ireland's president

@wwaycorrigan

Ireland is due to elect a new president towards the end of 2025 (the election has to take place by 11 November). Currently, there doesn't seem to be much interest in what's dubbed the Race for the Áras (Áras an Uachtaráin, Irish for the President's Residency, is, unsurprisingly, where the Irish president resides).

So, in an effort to spice things up a little, I'm suggesting a new approach to elect Ireland's next head of state, a post that is largely ceremonial. 

Details of this novel method can be found in the Letters to the Editor section of the Sunday Independent, 13 July edition. It can also be read online by scrolling down on https://m.independent.ie/opinion/letters/letters-cant-our-politicians-see-the-damage-their-anti-israel-stance-is-doing-to-our-country/a482457731.html. Or, for simplicity, see the screenshot of the letter below. 

I do want to let it be known here that I would consider running for the office should some members of the electorate wish to nominate me. You know where to find me. 

Picking Ireland's president.

'Would you like some coffee with your cow's blood?'

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

It's widely believed — and probably true — that Colombia's best coffee is exported. The high-income nations that receive the bulk of this are willing — and able — to pay bigger bucks for better quality. They're also seen as more adept at transforming the product in its crude form into a quality brew. Defined in Colombia, refined abroad, so to put it.

Some Colombians are convinced that ordinary coffee consumed in the country is mixed with cattle blood.

Of course, gourmet or at least half-decent coffee is available in Colombia. Not all of what's consumed here is substandard compared to what's available in the likes of Europe and the USA. Nonetheless, much of it is pretty ordinary.

This isn't always the fault of the alleged lesser-quality coffee left behind in Colombia. A lot of the time it's down to how it's prepared. An any-old-way-will-do approach, such as the use of grecas. These metallic monsters are responsible for many crimes against drinkable coffee.

'It's a rather nauseating notion if there is a drop of truth to it.'

Also, like many things, one has to pay a good bit more than average to get a better brew. Thus, I'm regularly left with the I-can't-believe-it's-not-coffee variety. (It's similar in the dating game. Hence, I remain single. If one is reluctant to or simply can't spend big, one is usually left with little better than the dregs.)

Bloody brew

Yet, I've recently discovered that many Colombians think there's more at play in all this than just inferior coffee brewed badly.

There's a belief, which I've been quick to dismiss as an urban legend, that most mass-produced, affordable, working-class ground coffee sold here is mixed with cattle blood. This is done to add more volume to it. It's a rather nauseating notion if there is a drop of truth to it. But it must be an absurdity, mustn't it?

Well, it isn't for almost all the locals with whom I've discussed this in San Martín de los Llanos. And this is cowboy country, so cattle blood is far from alien to the place. What's more, Colombians tend to make use of all parts of an animal that's killed for consumption. Little, if anything, goes to waste. 

On top of this, there are some questionable practices in the country. What you get isn't always what you're told it is. On the other hand, some do hold dubious beliefs, such as the idea that throwing water on your face immediately after exercise will leave your facial features in a stressed state permanently (that might explain a few things for me).

Now, I'm no scientist, but I figure a quick lab test of the alleged cattle-blood coffee should tell us if it has the substance or not. (I say cattle blood as I assume that if the practice is real, it matters little if it's from a cow or a bull. Although cow's blood probably sounds slightly better for marketing purposes: 'Well, if you put cow's milk in your coffee, what's wrong with a little cow's blood?)

So, can those with the means to do so stem the flow of this ruddy rumour and test these cheaper and cheerful coffee brands for traces of bovine blood? Time to bust this myth. Or are we really being fed a load of bull? It wouldn't be the first time we've been told something is other than what it actually is.
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Colombia's cacophonies: motos, music and wandering salespeople

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

Motorbikes and speakers. Such plagues on Colombia. They've turned what I imagine were once rather tranquil towns into hubs of headache-inducing noise.

Motorbikes: Wanted for crimes against tranquillity in Colombia.

Let's tackle speakers first — something I often wish to do literally, not just figuratively. It appears almost all bricks-and-mortar businesses, as well as private dwellings, have toddler-sized portable versions of these devilish devices, capable of beastly blasts that travel far and wide.

This intensifies in revelling zones, where each establishment competes to be heard above the other. The result is a racket that drives the sane amongst us mad after a brief exposure. Only with copious amounts of beer and/or aguardiente is this torture made more tolerable.

Unpleasant as it is to be within earshot of this music madness — a distance of a good kilometre is needed to escape the worst of it — it isn't incessant. Although it can be unpredictable. And there's always the risk of a noisy neighbour deciding at any time that those all around deserve to bask in his beats.

Moto madness

Added to this mix are the wandering salespeople who use megaphone marketing — usually in the form of a pre-recorded pitch on an endless loop — to advertise their wares to the masses. As nuisances go, though, these guys are mild.

Much less mild is the motorbike menace. In my current abode of San Martín de los Llanos, these motos, as the natives call them, start revving up from 5 am and continue until late at night. Mercifully, it's not constant; there are less active periods throughout the day. Nonetheless, when the motos make their moves, they are heard well before they are seen.

'It emits a hellish roar as if it's trying to escape Earth's gravitational pull.'

Not all motos are created equally, of course. The din from certain quieter ones is just about bearable. Alas, they are in short supply. The terrible-three worst offenders, the most ear-splitting, are the driller, the splutterer, and the rocketeer. That last type emits a hellish roar as if it's trying to escape Earth's gravitational pull, something that would no doubt send the bravest lion scampering for safety.

It must be why mongrels that otherwise are prone to chase tend to keep their distance from these moto monsters. Or the dogs may have simply got used to them by now. Indeed, it's the rarer sight of a human being walking that vexes the canines more so than the motos. That and the passing of another dog. This is the cue for a bout of barking that sends yet more noise into the Colombian air.

A site for sound

Yet, it appears most Colombians aren't too concerned about these cacophonies. They've become indifferent to this chaos, the commotion.

In fact, in my experience, many are more put out by visual pollution — see my previous post, Colombia's clothes-on-the-window bane, for more on that — than pollution of the eardrum-destroying variety.

OK, visual pollution can be, well, unsightly. It is, though, easier to avoid than noise — avert your gaze. What's more, something unsightly is much less likely to cause humans, as well as other animals, physical or mental harm.

The same cannot be said of excessive sound. It can disturb sleep, cause one to lose concentration, increase stress, bring about acoustic trauma, the list goes on. It's also more difficult to escape, unless one is locked away in a soundproof bunker. And that's not exactly a healthier alternative. Earbuds or noise-cancelling headphones, you say? They might provide occasional respite, but constantly using these things isn't good for one's hearing either.

Now, it must be said that there are towns of a more tranquil nature in Colombia. Not all suffer equally from these sound sores. The hotter, lower-lying lands are generally the worst offenders, particularly when it comes to the motorbike menace. One has a better chance of finding a more relaxed setting in the cooler, loftier Andean towns (special shout-out to Somondoco here!).

That aside, in practically all places where humans reside in Colombia, a sizeable speaker pumping out sounds is regularly within range. Tranquillity is but a brief interlude between the noise.
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'In Car We Thrust'

@wwaycorrigan

The letters-to-the-editor season continues. Below is a screenshot of my latest musings sent to the Irish Independent. It's also available at https://m.independent.ie/opinion/letters/letters-mark-of-a-good-student-is-growth-so-dont-let-exam-stress-stunt-your-progress/a11539009.html.

Walkers of the world, unite!  

The car is King of Transport in Ireland.

The choice is yours

@wwaycorrigan

Below is a copy of a letter I had published in the Irish Independent for Tuesday 06 May 2025.

The topic is addiction and willpower. The letter can also be found at https://m.independent.ie/opinion/letters/letters-we-must-not-forget-the-importance-of-empathy-in-keeping-ireland-healthy/a1826339086.html.

For a related blog story, see https://wwcorrigan.blogspot.com/2023/09/an-alcoholic-me-no-way.html.

We live and die by our choices.

Cardinals' call: Pope Brendan Martin

@wwaycorrigan

As the conclave of cardinals gathers to elect a new leader of the Catholic Church following Pope Francis' death, it might be time for a fresh face to become the latest successor to St Peter.

That's the theme of my latest letter in the Irish Examiner, available at https://www.irishexaminer.com/opinion/yourview/arid-41619562.html (and as a screenshot, below).

Let's Make the Papacy Great Again. I await the cardinals' call. 

Making the Papacy Great Again.

Colombia and a few of my favourite things

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

I was looking back at previous blog articles — a blogger's version of going through old photos — when I found Introducing "our" Colombia, published in July 2017. In that piece, in an attempt to remind readers there's no "u" in Colombia, each letter from the word Colombia was used to refer to something that represented the country for me.

Now, while many things in that original story still hold, I feel it's time for an update.

Ergo, I present, in Sesame Street style, 'My Colombia 2025'. (Do note, other letters of the alphabet are available to list some of my favourite things in the country, but I have to follow the format here.)

Our Colombian smorgasbord. Tasty and wholesome!

C is for Costeña (and cuajada)

In my earliest days living in Colombia, I was a fan of Costeña lager. While its taste was similar to the more popular Bavaria beers i.e. Aguila and Poker, it stood out from the others thanks to the form in which it came: a 350 ml short-neck, stubby bottle. The rest were in 330 ml long-neck bottles. Costeña was always competitively priced, too.

When Bavaria introduced 750 ml bottles in mid-2012, followed a few years later by litre bottles, the beer company shifted away from Costeña (initially, in some parts of Colombia anyway, 750 ml Costeña bottles had been available but were soon phased out).

The beer eventually disappeared from the tienda fridges. It was only available in 330 ml cans in some supermarkets.

But in late 2023, Costeña came back to liven up the market. OK, the standout stubby 350 ml bottle is no longer available — it's in the standard 330 ml long-neck — but its return in 750 ml bottles is very welcome. It's almost always cheaper than Aguila and Poker, sometimes up to 40 per cent less, and I don't think it's in any way inferior.

Many Colombians seem to agree with me. From my observations, Costeña is growing in popularity in cantinas and tiendas across the country. It is the economy of it, stupid. Why pay more for a similar brew that doesn't really offer anything different?

Another "c" I'm compelled to mention here is cuajada, a fresh cheese made from milk curds.

For most of my time in Colombia, I'd effectively given up on cheese because I felt the quality of most of it was poor while I also found it quite costly, relatively speaking (I was guilty, though, of not shopping around on this one — a rarity for me).

However, while in San José del Guaviare last year, I got into eating cuajada — and continue to do so. As it's practically salt-free and very mild, I find it a refreshing snack, particularly in warmer climes. And at an average of 9,000 COP per pound, it's not badly priced.

O is for oficinas

As a mostly independent operator in these parts (more on that to come), the ability to spend a few hours every day in Colombia's ubiquitous panaderías — cafés-cum-bakeries — is essential for me. They are my offices, oficinas, where I go to read and write whilst sipping on a competitively priced (yes, there's a theme here) tinto (black coffee) and the odd piece of fresh-from-the-oven bread.

'Before, when offered a bowl of soup with hens' feet protruding from it, I'd politely decline whilst silently thinking what sort of savages eat such tripe, or rather entrails and unsightly body parts of fowl to be specific.'

Yes, I could do this in my place of residence. But, as I explained in a previous post, the coffee shop effect is at play. I'm better able to focus in an establishment where people are coming and going and where there's light background noise. Light, that is. Such places do exist in Colombia, at least on occasions.

L is for los Llanos

Los Llanos, Colombia's vast plains and traditional cowboy (and girl) country. More by accident than design — as with most things in my life — over the last few months I've become well acquainted with the mild hustle and bustle of these plains. To be more specific, considering the enormity of the region in question, I've got to know how things roll in the towns of Granada and that of my current abode, San Martín de los Llanos, neighbouring municipalities in the Meta department.

With temperature highs around 30 degrees Celsius, the temptation for an evening ice-cold Costeña beer in one of my preferred cantinas/tiendas is difficult to resist. So, residing here may not be the best for my health. Nor is it good for doing computer work. I've little enthusiasm to turn on my laptop. It's the heat's fault.

Nonetheless, as a man born and reared on a cattle farm, I find the vibe of the place comforting, most of the time. Sure it wouldn't be true cowboy country without the odd drive-by shooting. And I'm warming to the ever-so-pretty tarantulas.

O is for on the road

OK, it would be helpful if there was a "u" in Colombia for the purpose of this exercise. Although, I'm not sure if I even have a favourite "u". Oh wait, of course I do. Former president Uribe. The people's president. Or the paisas president, at least.

'In some ways I feel that the Boyacá department is my spiritual home.'

Sticking to the rules, though, my second "o" is for on the road. This is when I usually feel most relaxed in this land, travelling around it. "B" and "i", below, expand a little more on this.

M is for menudencias soup

A sign, perhaps, of how much I've adapted to life in Colombia. Years ago, when offered a bowl of soup with hens' feet protruding from it, I'd politely decline whilst silently thinking what sort of savages eat such tripe, or rather entrails and unsightly body parts of fowl, to be specific.

Nowadays, I find this pick-and-mix delicacy hearty and wholesome, and, wait for it, competitively priced. It's better than ultra-processed rubbish in any case.

B is for Boyacá and Bogotá's barrios populares

While I'm currently based in los Llanos, in some ways I feel that the Boyacá department is more my spiritual home. One reason for this is that towns in its loftier and thus cooler locations have what I consider a more Irish countryside hue about them. And because of its mountainous terrain, there's more variety to it than the relative sameness of the plains.

For example, the low-lying town of San Luis de Gaceno, in the department's south, has a culture and climate similar to San Martín. Further north and high up in the Andes is the quaint colonial settlement of Güicán, close to one of Colombia's few remaining glaciers. There, goats and sheep are almost as numerous as cattle. Ovines are pretty much non-existent in los Llanos.

What I'll call my Boyacá bromance really got going once life started moving again after the pernicious covid-19 lockdowns. From my base in the far north of Bogotá, within walking distance of the city's northern bus terminal, it was easy for me to escape to the myriad towns further north. And this I happily and regularly did between 2021 and 2023.

As for Bogotá's barrios populares, especially Santandercito in the far north, I feel at home there. Yes, Santandercito and surrounds have their rough edges, yet there's a sense of community that I feel is lacking in other, more affluent neighbourhoods in the capital. Many barrios populares are like small, welcoming towns in a big, impersonal city.

I is for independence

Colombia has allowed me to avoid working a full-time job, save for one uninspiring experience as a copywriter/translator at a marketing agency from December 2018 to January 2020. Thus, I have been able to move around the country pretty much when I want to.

An employer would have to pay me quite an amount of money for me to sacrifice this employment independence, largely economically inactive as I currently am, albeit. As I've said before, I prefer to work with people rather than for people. Or work on my own, when and where possible.

A is for Amazon

Few people in the world haven't heard of the Amazon (no, I don't mean the company, which I've never used). And I'm sure many would love to get the chance to visit it. So, having been on its doorstep for years, it had always been in my plans to go there.

Now while San José del Guaviare, a town I first visited in 2017, is technically in Colombia's Amazon region, it's not in the Amazonas department. And I always felt that I couldn't call time on my days in Colombia without visiting Amazonas.

This, I finally did in 2024. Very loosely following in the footsteps of Roger Casement, I travelled to the indigenous reserve of La Chorrera, which you can read about here. As I say in that piece, I'm in no rush to return to La Chorrera itself. However, it was quite an experience and I wouldn't mind exploring other parts of the Amazon in the months and years to come.

So that's it. My latest spelling out of what C-O-L-O-M-B-I-A means to me. Until the next time.
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Listen to The Corrigan Cast podcast here.

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An end to Rip-off Republic of Ireland? One can dream

@wwaycorrigan

Could some good come for Ireland from US president Donald Trump's Liberation Day tariffs?

That's the hope expressed in my latest letter in the Irish Examiner, available at https://www.irishexaminer.com/opinion/yourview/arid-41605645.html.

Letter to the editor: Three-star Ireland charging five-star prices.

Tech it or leave it

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

Back in my Gaelic (Irish) football-playing days, when the extent of strength and conditioning training was often little more than running and sprinting, I was quite the stickler for following the exact course of any run.

Tech-ache: The rules of engagement are constantly changing. 

For example, if we had to do laps of the field, I wouldn't cut corners — I'd stay outside the lines of the pitch, which was what we were meant to do. And it annoyed me when more laid-back teammates didn't follow these rules. Cheating so-and-sos.

If they happened to finish before me, I'd console myself with the belief that their disingenuous actions would work against them in the, um, long run. (And, quite literally, over longer distances this was usually the case. Or at least the short-cutters would generally finish behind me in such pursuits. It was a different story with sprints. I wasn't blessed with blistering speed.)

'Play up, play up and play the game'

My latent Catholic beliefs no doubt played a part in this mindset. The sinners would be punished for their devilish deeds. OK, they could confess and receive absolution but knowing the characters involved, I figured it was unlikely they'd fess up. 'Mine shall be the Kingdom of Heaven.'

It's one thing, though, being obedient and rules-bound in training. It's quite another to bring that attitude to a competitive game, where winning is everything and your opponents will do what they can to defeat you, including bending if not exactly breaking the rules of engagement. To paraphrase the Kenny Rogers classic, Coward of the County, sometimes you've got to play a little dirty to win.

Or, in a less violent sense, at times you've got to play the field as it is, not as it once was or as you'd like it to be. If not, defeat is inevitable. To avoid that outcome you either adapt to the new conditions or find a different game to play — if that latter option is possible and desirable.

This all resonates with me on various fronts. The most pertinent one is continuous technological advancements, particularly AI, artificial intelligence, in all its forms. For if I continue to play the content creation/multimedia game and dream of better results, there are tools I could use that would most likely enhance what I produce and boost the chances of growing my reach. Yep, still chasing those dragons.

'It's like a man going to battle with a bow and arrow even though some of the most advanced weaponry is at his disposal.'

Now, I've no intention of using AI to write blogs for me. Not only do I view that as beyond cheating — it'd be like a footballer replacing himself on the field with a potentially better robot clone — but it would also be counterproductive personally. I do, you might be shocked to learn, enjoy writing and I like to try to better myself at it, challenging and frustrating as it oftentimes is. In any case, no AI can write like Wrong Way, right?

Laptop lassitude

Where the latest creative technology can be of assistance to me, it seems, is in the making of vlog versions of my blogs. The means, I believe, already exist to make such videos slicker and more eye-catching without much extra effort compared to the crude ones I currently create for Spotify and YouTube. I just haven't dabbled in these means yet.

A general lack of enthusiasm to turn on my laptop these days plays its part. And this laptop lassitude is made more acute in Colombia's hot lands, so my current base of San Martín de los Llanos in the Meta department doesn't help in this regard. Plus, I lack a suitable office with a WiFi connection here — I find it hard to do computer work where I cook, eat and sleep. San Martín, though, is good for me in other ways, I must add.

With my smartphone, I can easily write anywhere. But creating videos requires laptop work. One has greater scope and precision working with a mouse and a bigger screen. Or at least it used to be the case that a computer or laptop was needed to make videos that require a degree of editing. Perhaps the latest smartphones and certain applications make video creation a breeze on phones now. I've had my device, a Motorola One, since 2019; practically a relic in 21st-century tech terms. But if it ain't broke . . .

At play, too, is my minimalist approach and general lack of interest in cutting-edge technology. I use only the apps and gadgets that have become next to essential for my modus operandi, no more, no less.

Nonetheless, to come back to the football field, while I'm still running laps to try to get in shape, most others in this game are working with the best strength and conditioning techniques available.

It's akin to a man going to battle with a bow and arrow even though some of the most advanced weaponry is at his disposal.

So, I either change the way I attack or choose to fight a different war. A blend of both might just be the best option right now.
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Listen to The Corrigan Cast podcast here.

Facebook: Wrong Way Corrigan — The Blog & IQuiz "The Bogotá Pub Quiz".

Bawl Éireann: Ireland's toddler TDs

@wwaycorrigan

It had been a while! Below is a photo of my latest letter to the Irish Independent. It's also available at https://www.independent.ie/opinion/letters/letters-toddler-tds-rowing-about-the-right-to-bicker-in-the-dail-while-adult-voters-look-on-exasperated/a641231413.html.

Irish politicians. What a bunch! A little more nap time should see them right. 

Time to ground Ireland's petulant politicians?

After interactive intoxication, comes social media moderation

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

Fellow imbibers, you know the feeling. The morning after the night before. 'OK, it was good fun but did I have to binge so much?'

When the hangover is particularly bad, the hair of the dog feels like the best, nay only cure. Or so we convince ourselves. And sometimes this does indeed do the trick, mentally at least. A few more doses of the poison that had done the initial damage, some rest and we're our regular selves again. Until the next time.

It's all a blur: Just like with alcohol, there really is no safe level of social media use.

Sobering thought

Anecdotally speaking — and from the odd personal experience (I'm usually good at not going over my limit these days) — hangovers tend to be worse the older one gets, from roughly mid-30s onwards. Equally worse is the beer blues, that uncomfortable feeling of self-reproach, when one has drunk to excess.

What often follows is a determination to go sober for a time. Some manage to do this for weeks or even months, especially if their last booze session ended badly. Others kick the habit completely.

I wouldn't mind going months without beer. My problem — or my excuse, if you will — is my unsettled lifestyle together with the country I'm in. Drinking out in standard tiendas in Colombia is one of the cheapest socialising pursuits on offer.

So come 6 or 7 o'clock of an evening the temptation for some tienda-beer time is strong. If only there were decent, more readily available zero-alcohol brews in such tiendas. Would I drink them, though? Is it the alcohol-fuelled sensation I'm after or merely the social setting?

'Early social media use was like downing Jägerbombs in the nightclub following an already heavy evening in the pub. It usually led to sloppy public displays of affection or ill-advised encounters of the brutish kind.'

Whatever the case, I've been more conscious of my Colombian beer consumption of late and have tried to cut back. (Again, I say Colombia because the last time I was back in Ireland I quite easily went weeks without any alcohol. Largely for the price reason already mentioned, I find it harder to not drink in these parts. Also, in Ireland I tend to have more non-beer-related activities with which to occupy my time.)

In fairness, I've always had a love-hate relationship with drinking, yet I feel I'm now more sincere, if not too successful, in my efforts to drink less. That I've just entered my 40s plays a part in this, no doubt. I may be becoming slightly more sensible. That's the hope.

Meta monsters

I get the same vibe shift — to use the phrase of the current zeitgeist — in not only my relationship with social media but also that of many other people. It's like there's a collective middle-aged-style questioning of our online behaviour, particularly with what I consider to be the more bathetic and vain platforms, Facebook and Instagram.

(Those Meta monsters are akin to cheesy daytime TV, dealing in lifestyle affairs, albeit Instagram does have a worrying mild-porn side to it. Elon Musk's X is of the late-night, heated-political-debate variety, swinging from the astute to the absurd. In case you're wondering, I'm not on TikTok and have no intentions of doing so. Ditto with Bluesky.)

In the early days of interactive intoxication, the average Facebook/Instagram user i.e. one whose content-sharing is not done with the aim of generating income either directly or indirectly, went on a post blitz. This appears to have waned of late. Many are now adopting a more considered approach.

In revelling terms, social media use fifteen or so years ago was like downing Jägerbombs in the nightclub following an already heavy evening in the pub. It usually led to sloppy public displays of affection or ill-advised encounters of the brutish kind. Or sometimes both. These days, it's more in the style of a quiet drink or two at the local. A reserved affair.

I can imagine those who follow me on Facebook or Instagram reviewing my recent activity and thinking that I'm still in the blitz phase.

In my defence, the chief reason I continue to use social media is to share the content I create, hoping — in vain — to drive more traffic to my blog, as well as to my Spotify and YouTube channels.

'They get their kicks via different interactive engagements, similar to Ireland's Zoomers cosying up to cocaine as they down less alcohol.'

Even with posts that aren't directly linked to my online material, the idea is that more interaction is better than the opposite in this gig. Or, as I'm wont to say, it's better to be a known loser than an unknown one.

I know, I know, one can reasonably ask what's the point when, after over thirteen years, all my blogs, vlogs and podcasts haven't returned me even a penny in income. I could waste time on worse things, though, couldn't I? The other side to this, of course, is that I could spend my time on more wholesome pursuits.

Poisoned posting

What's more, alongside the changes in netizens' interactions with social media, the platforms themselves have evolved as both they and regulators try to find safer ways to operate. This evolution has further boosted the voice and influence of the haves while simultaneously weakening more so the role of the have-nots.

This is the exact opposite of the fanciful vision that Facebook et al. had at their inception. Aiming to empower the proles has merely resulted in giving greater power to the plutocrats. Plus ça change.

Added to this, the younger generations who grew up with social media are less hung-up about it all. In the same way that Gen Z — or Zoomers, as they're also called — in some high-income nations are drinking less alcohol compared to their predecessors, these younger folk are more inclined to be voyeurs rather than active participants on Facebook and Instagram.

This is not to say that theirs is a healthier way. It's just that they tend to get their kicks via different interactive engagements, similar to Ireland's Zoomers cosying up to cocaine as they down less alcohol. Or, more positively, as has been suggested elsewhere, they use Facebook less as a platform to share personal moments and to socialise virtually than as a source of gathering and sharing information via groups and suchlike.

So as we older generations rethink our relationship with social media, it needn't be a case of complete abstinence. Then again, just as health experts advise about alcohol, the safest amount of online socialising might be zero. And if forced to continue with just one of the two poisons, I'd opt for the liquid kind.
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Listen to The Corrigan Cast podcast here.

Facebook: Wrong Way Corrigan — The Blog & IQuiz "The Bogotá Pub Quiz".

Appreciating Colombia's approach to health and safety

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

Living relatively independently in Colombia, a nation that hasn't completely tried to control almost all aspects of its citizens' lives, means that I've been shielded from much of the health and safety silliness that has infected many high-income countries over the last few decades.

Sure this motorbike is only half full!

Yes, Colombia does have some perplexing rules and regulations. What's more, some of its citizens are anal about rather harmless practices yet blasé when it comes to acts that are highly damaging all round.

Nonetheless, even for things that are officially outlawed here, law enforcement is generally lax. Depending on the situation, this can work to one's advantage or drive one insane. On balance, however, I feel I'm mentally up in the deal living in Colombia. The matters that affect me most hover around my Goldilocks zone.

Shamberger

I did, though, get a taste of how others are forced to operate and strictly follow questionable procedures when I worked on a short recording project at a multinational global technology company 'driving energy innovation for a balanced planet', as it describes itself.

(I don't think I'm breaking any contract agreement by naming the company, so here goes: It's Schlumberger, or SLB as it's called these days. It has a big base in the town of Cota close to Bogotá. I was tempted to run with Shamberger in the title of this piece but considering I haven't got paid yet, that might have been a bit too risqué.)

Before one even goes through SLB's turnstiles, it's clear these guys don't do health and safety by half measures. (This is in contrast to many Colombian companies that are often all show in this regard but then offer little in terms of substance. Again, it's the approach of 'As long as we have it on paper, the practice doesn't matter.')

On seeing some odd-looking contraptions before the turnstiles, I was initially dumbfounded, thinking that we were returning to the covid-19 pandemic-era tests. But tests for covid-19 they were not. They were breathalysers for alcohol and, I assume, other narcotics.

Now, the production company with which I was working didn't tell me in advance that there'd be such a test. Nonetheless, the four 750 ml Costeña beers that I'd drunk the evening before had clearly gone through my system. I got the green light to proceed. (Had such machines existed at places in which I worked full-time previously, I might have struggled to get the green light one out of every five times or so.)

'After successfully and miraculously navigating the stairs, we were then sent to a safety briefing to learn of all the other nearby threats to our existence and how we could competently avoid them.'

Then, just after the turnstiles, before we undertook the herculean task of ascending a standard stairs, we were told how to do so correctly. 'Stay to the right, in single file, and ensure you use the handrail at all times. On ascending, hold on to the top of the handrail, on descending, hold on to the bottom of the handrail.'

Goodness! All those times I've gone up and down stairs, hands swinging by my side. How reckless. In my defence, your Honour, I've heard fitness experts say that using the stairs freestyle can help to build and maintain one's core strength. So SLB could be accused of accelerating the development of health problems in its employees.

Be that as it may, considering some of us in the production crew were novices at this handrail procedure, it was little short of a miracle that we successfully navigated the stairs.

Drive me crazy

After that formidable feat, we were sent to a safety briefing to learn of all the other nearby threats to our existence and how we could competently avoid them.

I shan't go into all the exciting details of that, only to mention that some insects, such as wasps, are potentially dangerous. Come on SLB, you've got to see things from the wasps' perspective. They're the victims here.

We were also given guidance on how to drive carefully and safely. OK, SLB is a US-headquartered company but this is Colombia. One has a better chance of locating the legendary city of El Dorado than finding a local who drives carefully and safely here.

Amusingly enough, an SLB head, a Colombian, rebuked the production company bosses for arriving in a jeep that carried a passenger in the boot. It was pointed out that the boot had a retractable seat and, so the counterargument went, that it was therefore legal to travel with someone seated on it. The SLB guy, not to be seen to back down, said it was unsafe, particularly as the boot was full of equipment.

Now, if this exchange had happened in say, Germany, I wouldn't have questioned its bona fides. But Colombians getting worked up about unsafe driving practices? I'm not having it.

This is a country, after all, where it's common to see four or five people ride on one motorbike, without a helmet in sight. If safety is considered at all, it's in thinking about where's best to place your youngest passenger. Tucked in between you and the handlebars? Or somewhere between your wife at the back of the bike seat and the other two kids in the middle? Trial and error, I guess.

Sterilising health and safety

I'm not, however, criticising this, even though I wouldn't do it. It's the traditional Colombian do-so-at-your-own risk approach. For the most part, I think that's a fair way to live one's life. (Do note that for this to truly work, one must take responsibility for one's actions. And accepting culpability when things go wrong is the harder part.)

The other extreme is what we mentioned at the start, the pullulation of health and safety procedures that we've seen across the Anglosphere and continental Europe.

There is a more agreeable middle way. In my experiences, Colombia is closer to that than most high-income nations. It allows for a little more individual daring as opposed to effectively moulding the masses into a state of inertia: 'Careful now, that's not allowed.' That latter imposition goes against human nature, even if it's done with the best of intentions in mind.

It was this daring, the adventurous spirit of its settlers — particularly those who roamed west — that played an important role in making the United States of America great. It's not overstating it to say that the shackles of over-the-top health and safety rules have played a part in that country's stagnation in certain areas. Basically, too much government interference, just like in Europe.

President Donald Trump has wasted no time in tackling the often pernicious DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion) culture that has taken hold in the US (similar expressions of this are in force elsewhere). Where he has led, others have quickly followed in what is being referred to as an overall vibe shift, not just in the US but outside its borders, too.

In many ways, DEI can be seen as an offspring of the more ludicrous elements of health and safety.

So while the child is now being chided, we also need to take the parent to task. Sterilise health and safety before it sterilises us.
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Listen to The Corrigan Cast podcast here.

Facebook: Wrong Way Corrigan — The Blog & IQuiz "The Bogotá Pub Quiz".