[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]
Of all the ways I could describe — and have described — my preferred Bogotá barrio, Santandercito, quiet is not the first word that comes to mind.
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| Silent Santandercito: Well, not quite. But it does have a quieter side. |
Boisterous and bustling. Yes. Tame and tranquil. No. It is, after all, a small and rather densely populated sector of a massive metropolis in a country where the locals' overall attitude to excessive noise levels appears indifferent at best, welcoming at worst.
When an individual or group in a private dwelling decides to listen to an arrangement of noises that, amongst some cohorts, is considered music and therefore enjoyable, this tends to come with a belief that the whole barrio wants to hear it. Thus, it is played to eardrum-damaging levels. One might see it as deadbeats banging out ludicrously loud beats, but I wouldn't go that far.
Now, as a somewhat sheltered cul-de-sac barrio, Santandercito is spared the regular roars from passing vehicular traffic. Yet, the motor vehicles that do enter its environs frequently do their best to make up for this absence. Exhaust sounds that range from booming to screeching are heard more frequently than one would like — which, admittedly, is never. Indeed, I can't understand how anyone tolerates such a racket.
A tad more tolerable are the occasional wandering salespeople and scrap-metal collectors who ensure they are heard well before they are seen, thanks to the pumping out of a recording describing their services, usually supplemented with some cheesy tunes. At least these guys are working.
With such cacophonies, finding a quiet corner in the barrio is next to impossible. The single-course, hollow-brick walls in these parts are, after all, thin. Sounds tend to run through them with impunity. The same goes for the single-glazed, generously permeable windows.
As it transpired, it was practically a rout. Well, it wasn't quite as swift as the Brits in Zanzibar; it was about three times as long, but I simply couldn't complete my objective any sooner.
Advanced planning told me that Operation Record Quotes and Notes on James Boswell's Life of Samuel Johnson would need to be tackled from three fronts, a trio of attacks that would last, in the best-case scenario, roughly 30 minutes each. Quite amazingly, it went more or less to plan. The audio-blog-recording battlefield provided very little resistance in terms of a dreaded, damaging noise assault.
Yes, to my pleasant surprise, the room I occupy in my current abode proved to be a dependable recording studio for a project with close to two hours of script. I had been expecting constant interruptions from all the aforementioned noises. In San Martín, for example, just to record a mere five-minute audio blog, I regularly needed double that time.
It certainly helps that it's a room on the second floor (first floor for the Brits and Irish) of an apartment that is isolated from the main street.
However, it's not completely closed off from the outside. It has windows, my room included, looking out onto the open square space that is a common feature in Colombian apartment buildings.
This space, about two square metres in size, is for service pipes and suchlike, apparently. It often doubles up as a rubbish-collection spot, too. Various items that escape from the windows of the apartments above find a resting place on the plastic roof covering the first floor — or ground floor, if you prefer.
Despite that, I'm glad of the space because it lets natural light into my room. I couldn't stay for any length of time in a room that gets no natural light. I find such rooms utterly depressing. Incredulously, some Colombians seem to prefer them.
Anyway, these welcome light-giving windows provide no real barrier to sound.
So that I managed to record in relative silence — a small bit of background noise doesn't tend to be picked up by my microphone — is rather surprising.
To repeat, the apartment's setting is a help. The barrio noises clearly don't travel as easily as I had thought or expected them to. I was also lucky with my timing.
On the three occasions that I recorded these lengthy scripts, the neighbours on the floor above were silent. This isn't a rarity, but it's not that usual either. Oftentimes, they're listening to Christian music at levels that are a little too high for my liking. Perhaps they're trying to send me a message? The good Lord is, literally, speaking to me from above.
Excessive dog barking, from both within the building and outside, was also absent during my recording sessions. Again, quite unusual that.
When an individual or group in a private dwelling decides to listen to an arrangement of noises that, amongst some cohorts, is considered music and therefore enjoyable, this tends to come with a belief that the whole barrio wants to hear it. Thus, it is played to eardrum-damaging levels. One might see it as deadbeats banging out ludicrously loud beats, but I wouldn't go that far.
Now, as a somewhat sheltered cul-de-sac barrio, Santandercito is spared the regular roars from passing vehicular traffic. Yet, the motor vehicles that do enter its environs frequently do their best to make up for this absence. Exhaust sounds that range from booming to screeching are heard more frequently than one would like — which, admittedly, is never. Indeed, I can't understand how anyone tolerates such a racket.
'Experience of similar terrain and raucous raiders told me to prepare myself for something akin to Russia's current war against Ukraine. A stalemate.'
A tad more tolerable are the occasional wandering salespeople and scrap-metal collectors who ensure they are heard well before they are seen, thanks to the pumping out of a recording describing their services, usually supplemented with some cheesy tunes. At least these guys are working.
With such cacophonies, finding a quiet corner in the barrio is next to impossible. The single-course, hollow-brick walls in these parts are, after all, thin. Sounds tend to run through them with impunity. The same goes for the single-glazed, generously permeable windows.
Cacophony conflict
So it was with some trepidation that I willingly put myself into direct conflict with all this barrio noise. Before combat, my fanciful hopes were that it might be like the Anglo-Zanzibar War of 1896 — a 38-minute affair — with me victorious, of course. After all, I had been reconnoitring the battle zone weeks in advance and figured I could sweep to success. Yet, previous experience of similar terrain and raucous raiders told me to prepare myself for something akin to Russia's current war against Ukraine. A protracted stalemate.As it transpired, it was practically a rout. Well, it wasn't quite as swift as the Brits in Zanzibar; it was about three times as long, but I simply couldn't complete my objective any sooner.
Advanced planning told me that Operation Record Quotes and Notes on James Boswell's Life of Samuel Johnson would need to be tackled from three fronts, a trio of attacks that would last, in the best-case scenario, roughly 30 minutes each. Quite amazingly, it went more or less to plan. The audio-blog-recording battlefield provided very little resistance in terms of a dreaded, damaging noise assault.
Yes, to my pleasant surprise, the room I occupy in my current abode proved to be a dependable recording studio for a project with close to two hours of script. I had been expecting constant interruptions from all the aforementioned noises. In San Martín, for example, just to record a mere five-minute audio blog, I regularly needed double that time.
Silent surprise
So how is it that this spot in a regularly boisterous barrio is something of a serene sanctuary?It certainly helps that it's a room on the second floor (first floor for the Brits and Irish) of an apartment that is isolated from the main street.
However, it's not completely closed off from the outside. It has windows, my room included, looking out onto the open square space that is a common feature in Colombian apartment buildings.
This space, about two square metres in size, is for service pipes and suchlike, apparently. It often doubles up as a rubbish-collection spot, too. Various items that escape from the windows of the apartments above find a resting place on the plastic roof covering the first floor — or ground floor, if you prefer.
'It is a lively and regularly noisy spot, but this noise doesn't seem to be as pervasive as I had previously thought.'
Despite that, I'm glad of the space because it lets natural light into my room. I couldn't stay for any length of time in a room that gets no natural light. I find such rooms utterly depressing. Incredulously, some Colombians seem to prefer them.
Anyway, these welcome light-giving windows provide no real barrier to sound.
So that I managed to record in relative silence — a small bit of background noise doesn't tend to be picked up by my microphone — is rather surprising.
To repeat, the apartment's setting is a help. The barrio noises clearly don't travel as easily as I had thought or expected them to. I was also lucky with my timing.
On the three occasions that I recorded these lengthy scripts, the neighbours on the floor above were silent. This isn't a rarity, but it's not that usual either. Oftentimes, they're listening to Christian music at levels that are a little too high for my liking. Perhaps they're trying to send me a message? The good Lord is, literally, speaking to me from above.
Excessive dog barking, from both within the building and outside, was also absent during my recording sessions. Again, quite unusual that.
That there weren't downpours also worked to my advantage. Although the sound of heavy rain falling on the plastic roof next to my bedroom might have proved an attractive background track to my voice. Most likely, though, it would have drowned me out. How terrible that would be!
This whole lack-of-excessive-noise experience has led me to reappraise my perception of Barrio Santandercito. For sure, it is a lively and regularly noisy spot, but this noise doesn't seem to be as pervasive as I had previously thought. Equally as important, however, is the somewhat isolated, insulated nature of my lodgings: a serene sanctuary, of sorts, from Santandercito's unsolicited sounds.
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