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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La Chorrera in Colombia's Amazon: Bloody past, insecure present

@wwaycorrigan

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

There is a view in certain circles that Indigenous peoples in isolated areas live a largely wholesome and simple life, at one with nature, in stark contrast to us folk in more digitally connected, fast-paced societies — a version of the noble savage idea.

Isolated reserve: There are no roads into La Chorrera but the airline Satena flies there. Arriving by river is also an option, but a complicated one.

This is true in some instances and areas. There are still tribes in existence that continue to shun Western civilisation.

Yet, many indigenous, even those who still live on their native lands far away from the original centres of colonisation of the country in which they now find themselves, have adopted high-income-nation habits — be that for better or for worse.

This is the case for most of those who identify as indigenous that I've encountered in South America.

One might think that the situation would be rather different on a secluded indigenous reserve, an area where the original natives — Who is an original native? — are left to live relatively autonomously from the intruding state.

Green gold

Both the settlement and area of La Chorrera, which the locals call the true heart of the Amazon, is one such reserve.

In terms of its autonomy from Colombia, well there is no state police presence. Filling that void, nominally in any case, is the indigenous guard. The Colombian military does have a base nearby but the soldiers rarely get involved in local affairs even if, at times, their intervention might be welcome.

The people have their own executive committee for internal affairs, with a president, vice president, and certain ministerial/secretarial posts.

As for agricultural self-sufficiency, the Igara Paraná River that flows through the region provides fish, as well as a plentiful supply of water. Most homesteads also have their own poultry, the odd few farm pigs while the ever-retreating wild animals in the surrounding jungle are occasionally hunted, with el blanco (whiteman) guns, of course.

'An elder told me that a commander in a nearby guerrilla group is planning a social cleansing of the area and has a list of those who are considered a burden.'

Root vegetables such as cassava (yuca) and yam (ñame) are staples, alongside plantain and a host of tropical fruits.

The tobacco plant, too, plays a big part in the culture, chiefly in the form of a paste called ambil, almost exclusively taken by men.

Ambil is often consumed alongside the region's green gold, or what some in other parts of Colombia convert into white gold, the coca leaf.

In La Chorrera, coca is ground down — together with a palm tree leaf to soften the bitterness — to a fine powder and consumed in the mouth. The idea is to slowly transform the powder — which has a powdered-milk texture — into a paste in the mouth before ingesting it gradually. This pick-me-upper coca powder is called mambe and its consumption is again a male preserve.

Coca leaves that aren't destined for mambe are sold, currently at 100,000 COP per kilo, to outsiders who, one assumes, use them to make cocaine.

From what I observed and what I was told, cocaine isn't at all popular in the area.

Beer necessities

Yet, what I've been told is growing in popularity — but not grown locally — is marijuana use among the community's younger folk. Elders say this has led to an increase in insecurity.

I did occasionally smell it and noticed some young men a little stoned but I can't say that I felt that unsafe in the settlement, despite warnings from some to keep my wits about me when wandering about. (This is in stark contrast to supposedly dangerous, more easily accessible towns such as Puerto Asís and San José del Guaviare, where inhabitants are quick to talk about how safe they are. Yes, people there could have been trying to lure me into a false sense of security but I never sensed anything untoward — and nothing untoward happened.)

Home comforts: One of the over 100 houses the Colombian government is building and gifting to La Chorrera.

One La Chorrera elder even told me that a commander in a nearby guerrilla group is planning a social cleansing of the area and already has a list of those who are considered a burden. How true that is, I guess time will tell.

The main annoyance I encountered was those who like a beer or six — beer being another product very much not of the region. Some boozers weren't shy about asking — in an aggressive tone at times — el blanco to finance their drinking. (At between 5,000 and 8,000 COP for a 330 ml can of Poker, it's around four times more than what I pay for beer in my preferred watering holes in Bogotá.)

The various winged pests of this jungle outpost were less of a nuisance than these opportunist extortionists.

I had thought that being Irish and, with it, the link to Roger Casement and his efforts in alerting Western powers of the terrible rubber-era genocide of the Indigenous that took place in the region in the early twentieth century might have cut me some slack — I'm not just another blanco. But no. In fairness, most did start referring to me somewhat more affectionately as el irlandés once they got to know me. It's the Peruvians and the British establishment these beer-seekers should be pestering, not me. (See my 2016 post, Remembering Casement's Colombian connection for background.)

'The chuck-it-anywhere approach goes against the narrative that care and respect for the natural environment is one of their chief concerns.'

Now, while I wasn't there long enough to draw any solid conclusions, it did appear to me that it was the men from the more square-faced Uitoto (or Huitoto) tribe who were the annoying drinkers while the rounder-faced Boras seemed far more benign. More research is required. (For the record, the greater La Chorrera area is composed, in the main, of four traditional tribes: the aforementioned Bora and Uitoto, together with the Muinane and Okaina.)

Virtual autonomy

Mentioning tribes might bring one back to this idea of scantily clad Amazon natives. The reserve may like to see and even sell itself as autonomous but the clothing — like the beer, many food items, internet plus free WiFi from the national government, smartphones, televisions, motorbikes, and even the timber for new state-gifted houses — very much comes from outside. Football shirts are particularly popular for the men, as is football in general for all. Indeed, football brings the community together more regularly than any traditional event.

Even at a traditional dance that I had the serendipitous pleasure of attending in the Santa Rosa settlement, a four-hour boat ride upriver from La Chorrera, there was nothing native about the attire. For sure, the dance and refreshments were traditional but the look was more Bogotá barrio than Amazon jungle.

Considering the dance came at the end of a two-day football tournament, let's not be too critical of the lack of effort on the dress front. And respect to the attendees from Puerto Sabalo in the Caquetá department. Theirs was a two-day journey, mixing boat travel with long walks. Despite such endeavours, or perhaps because of them, they won the men's tournament.

Less respect is forthcoming for many locals' rubbish disposal. The chuck-it-anywhere approach goes against the narrative that care and respect for the natural environment is one of their chief concerns. The same goes for the practice of bathing and cleaning clothes in the river with modern soaps and detergents.

This isn't me having a go at them. I'm in no way suggesting that they must return to a more primitive life. (Although this is something I often think I'd like to do, I don't think there are many in La Chorrera who want it.)

It's more a case that it bugs me when some people from afar put such indigenous types on a pedestal, as role models for us modern monsters to follow. Also at play is the mildly aggressive this-is-our-land attitude of a small number of La Chorrera natives.

As pointed out, it's not a truly autonomous indigenous reserve. The sane-headed locals are well aware of this and are very welcoming of unobtrusive visitors. And, as it currently operates, it's unlikely La Chorrera will survive as a functioning entity without attracting the right kind of outside assistance.

Those who want all the whiteman goodies but then act as if outsiders aren't welcome or are merely to be taken advantage of, let's see how they'd do living completely autonomously.

Remember guys, you won't be able to beer or Google your way out of it.

*There are various accommodation options in La Chorrera. Hospedaje Fátima, owned by a lovely elder — abuela as they say — of the same name (Fátima, that is!), is one of the better options. It's 25,000 COP per night for a humble en suite room with WiFi as good as you'll get anywhere. Plus, Fátima is niceness personified!

**A special mention, too, to Marina and her mother Irene who operate as a restaurant/snack food joint. Well worth checking out. Also, Jorge who runs the tienda by the main dock is a very helpful gentleman and a member of the executive committee. I mention these because they run businesses in the settlement but there are other friendly locals who are only too willing to help for no ulterior motive.
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