Market influencers

@wwaycorrigan

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

I've made it clear here before that I'm not a big fan of marketing. Or, to be more exact, marketing agencies.

A few of Wrong Way's favourite things, in a Colombian context.

Having once worked in such an agency, I've seen all the blood, guts and tripe that go into producing the seductive sausage that's finally served to the public. Marketing agencies are slaughterhouses for decency and truth. And in my radio broadcasting days, I saw how the marketing department influenced on-air content, not just for commercial fluff but even hard news and current affairs. The impartial journalist, how do.

Inert influence

Now, granted, there are few, if any, industries that don't indulge in acts of embellishment. Or that aren't in some way economical with the truth.

Take the case of the real estate agent who puts a quaint retiree-ready rural house in the west of Ireland on the market, stating that it's close to a regular bus route to the nearest town. Technically correct. The only snag is that the bus route in question is solely for the school run. Pretty useless for an elderly individual or couple.

Tourism is another major culprit: Elevate the dubious positives to celestial levels; make no mention of, or at the very least downplay, the downsides.

Thus, in such a charlatan-controlled world, best practice is to be sceptical of pretty much all recommendations until you can be proved otherwise. After all, what one person finds acceptable is unacceptable to another.

That I am such a sceptic is one reason — of many — why I could never make it as a social media influencer. I do find it hard to lie. Honestly.

OK, maybe I'm being a bit bitter and disingenuous here. Not all successful influencers have built their empires on lies. Some are more genuine than others. And they've managed to find the keys to success. I most likely could learn much from them.

'I think I have a better understanding of what's nutritious than the jackrabbit and mule. I certainly wouldn't tuck into lead pipes. Not sober, anyway.'

I'm not too certain whom I could influence, all the same. My interests are not to everyone's tastes. Or, now that I'm actually thinking about it, my interests are quite basic, arguably too run-of-the-mill for those seeking amazing, top-rated experiences.

In terms of travelling, for example, when I rock up to a new place, I tend not to seek out its culinary delights, should it have some. Nor do I eagerly endeavour to discover all its recognised tourist attractions, especially if there is one must-see sight that is, as I see it, little more than a money-making racket. I prefer to spend my money on pursuits that I know I'll enjoy. In some cases, that means simply doing what I normally do, but just in a different environment.

In Colombia, this is sipping on an agreeably priced, unsweetened panadería tinto (black coffee), going for unaccompanied wanders, and, come nightfall, finding a sit-in tienda selling beers that are also agreeably priced. Simple pleasures.

Wrong Way recommendations

My standards are not exacting. Once something meets my fairly minimalist needs, I'm likely to give it at least a pass mark. I think I've always been thus, but this trait may have become more pronounced during my years in Colombia.

So, a recommendation from me about most things is best treated with caution. 'It's grand.' That's my default setting. And that's the Irish definition of grand, which means 'fine' or 'OK'.

One could go as far as to say that I'm similar to the jackrabbit and the mule, in the way that Mark Twain described their likeness for sagebrush in his book, Roughing it:

'[T]heir testimony to its nutritiousness is worth nothing, for they will eat pine knots, or anthracite coal, or brass filings, or lead pipe, or old bottles, or anything that comes handy, and then go off looking as grateful as if they had had oysters for dinner.'

In my defence, I think I have a better understanding of what's nutritious than the jackrabbit and mule. I certainly wouldn't tuck into lead pipes. Not sober, anyway. I do have some standards, after all. I would, for one, rate oysters higher than pine knots. I think so anyway; I can't remember ever having eaten either one.

So I do value what I consider to be beautiful or worthy of praise. Whether you agree with me or not on such matters, that's your business. If you've made it this far, it shows a vote of confidence, of sorts, for my musings, if nothing else. And you can rest assured that I believe in what I market here. The same cannot be said of many of those professional marketers and influencers.
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Vichada vacillation

@wwaycorrigan

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

Almost nine years have passed since I achieved the feat, if it can be called such, of visiting all six of Colombia's regions. Those regions are, in the order in which I first set foot in them, the Andean, Caribbean, Pacific, Orinoco, Amazon, and Insular.

These boats offer a way to Vichada, if one is truly willing to go.

It was my semi-sponsored trip to San Andrés in April 2017 that completed the sextet, eight years after I had first entered Colombia as a backpacker. At the time, the accomplishment didn't register with me. Oh, how ignorant I was back then!

Troublesome trio

These regions, as it is, are defined by what makes them distinct as regards their natural features. They are not, however, administrative or political entities. In that context, it's the departments that define Colombia, of which there are 32. An easy one to remember for Irish folk that, considering how the island of Ireland has 32 counties.

Mentioning the land of my birth, three of Colombia's departments are bigger in area than it, while the Meta department is almost equal in size to it. As a whole, Colombia is over 13 times larger than Ireland.

As for these departments, I've been in 29 of the 32. The three I haven't visited are Guainía and Vaupés, which are part of the Amazon region, and Vichada in the Orinoco. They are three of the most difficult to reach, too, well cut off from the far more densely populated Andean powerhouse as they are.

I do, however, often think that I should make a greater effort to tackle this trio.

Vichada? Reach harder

It was with that in mind that saw me take a five-hour bus journey from my base of San Martín in the Meta department to Puerto Gaitán, also in Meta, by the banks of the River Manacacías. From there, the plan was to take a fluvial route north-east to Vichada, thereby making it the thirtieth department to be graced by my presence; such an honour for it.

The original idea was to head for Vichada's capital, Puerto Carreño, right on the Orinoco River, marking the border with Venezuela. It's a journey of over 600 kilometres downriver, which can be done in about 12 hours in a large speedboat powered by three motors that can carry 60 or so passengers. However, due to the dry season, no boats were going that far.

'Was it really worth such an investment merely to say I'd visited my thirtieth department?'

There is a bus route, but that takes at least 36 hours over what is mostly a dirt track. And, currently, there's only one service per week, which passes through Puerto Gaitán every Saturday night. That had and has much less appeal than the thoughts of the boat trip. If Colombia did intercity trains — and I don't know why it doesn't — a railway line along the mostly flat land between Meta's capital, Villavicencio, and Puerto Carreño would be rather useful. One can dream.

Had the bus been a good bit cheaper than the boat ticket, then I may have considered it, but it's around the same price, which is close to 400,000 pesos one-way. So doubling that for the return trip and adding in the price of refreshments and a couple of nights' accommodation, put the cost in the one-million-peso bracket. That's close to 230 euros, which some of you may think isn't that much. But one million pesos would get me two months' rent, with change, in San Martín.

For the record, there are flights to Puerto Carreño from both Bogotá and Villavicencio. My research tells me they cost roughly the same as the river and road options. I, however, like the idea of the slightly less fixed approach offered when travelling by river or road: a case of being able to go at a moment's notice, to a certain extent. And one gets to see more of the country in the process.

Having ruled out Puerto Carreño, I still had the option of making it to western Vichada. Even in the dry season, the speedboat is able to reach the town of La Primavera, a journey of about six hours, 250 kilometres away. The costs involved are roughly half of those to get to Puerto Carreño.

However, even though I'd initially considered, indeed, was mentally preparing myself for the far more expensive trip to Puerto Carreño, something was holding me back from taking the shorter, cheaper spin to La Primavera. 'What's the point?' questions began circulating in my mind. Vichada vacillation, so to put it: Was it really worth such an investment merely to say I'd visited my thirtieth department?

OK, it's a bit unfair on Vichada to say that I see going there as little more than a box-ticking exercise. No doubt it has its own unique charms.

Midges of the Manacacías

Yet, what had seemed almost non-negotiable when leaving San Martín, after less than 24 hours in Puerto Gaitán, my perspective changed: I began to think that visiting Vichada was almost absurd, considering the costs involved and my less-than-stable financial situation. All I really needed, in retrospect, was simply a break from the San Martín monotony, to check out new environs. And Puerto Gaitán provided that, even though I did little of note there.

Well, I did bathe in the seasonally shallow Manacacías. Initially, I wasn't too concerned about its far-from-limpid waters. But having been told that there are swallow holes, I was a little more cautious the next time I went for a dip. None of the many other bathers seemed too perturbed, all the same.

Its gold-coloured sandy shores were an inviting spot to soak up some sun. Alas, this had to be abruptly abandoned due to incessant attacks from bloodsucking flies, something akin to midges. So much for some serene rest and relaxation on the river bank. But, do tell, what pursuits in life aren't completely pest-free?

The Manacacías itself, swallow-hole concerns aside, was refreshing, offering a partial escape from the fairly intense heat. Thirty-eight degrees Celsius can be classed as intense, can't it? There was, mercifully, a strong breeze blowing most of the time, making the heat somewhat more tolerable. I was told, though, that this welcome gale doesn't come a-calling as much as one might like it to.

It is, all the same, more frequent than my visits to Vichada. But I'll huff and I'll puff my way there yet, I'm sure of it. I am, by the way, not completely against taking a sponsored trip, should one be on offer; something similar to my visit to Tame, Arauca in 2017 would be welcome. Just putting it out there.
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