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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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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Listen to The Corrigan Cast podcast here.

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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.

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Our tops and flops of 2024

@wwaycorrigan

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

It's that time of year again when content creators and publishers can be a little lazy and rehash, under the guise of a review, some of the work from the previous twelve months.

Things can only get better. Actually, they could get much worse all the same!

The Wrong Way Corrigan approach to this is to pick out the hits, or tops if you will— I use those words lightly — and flops — most are just that when one desires viral-esque material — of the content I've published across various platforms.

Good for nothing

Let's start with uploads that, to put it kindly, haven't quite taken off. (In truth, they haven't even started taxiing to the runway.) I'm using the present perfect tense for the simple fact that these pieces still, of course, exist online and thus could, in theory, fly to great heights in time to come. Ever the optimist, here.

Here on Google Blogger, 2024's poorest performing post at the time of writing is Google/Gulag Blogger's faceless, unaccountable, cowardly censors. What are they afraid of?, published in September. It's somewhat surprising that Google Blogger hasn't been keen to vigorously promote a blog with such a heading. You know, to show how fair and balanced the platform is.

I must put on record here that Google Blogger has since lifted the ban on the content it unceremoniously blocked, the subject of that story. Why it was taken down in the first instance still baffles me. Google Blogger and me, a relationship of mystery.

On El Tiempo, the slow burner (it's bound to come good after this) is Round by round we go. Oh no! If only some of my Colombian friends would read a translated version so that they'd know that I prefer to be excluded from cumbersome and expensive rounds of beers. Buy me lunch instead.

'Next to nobody seems interested in my dental musings as Boosting dental health has proven about as popular as a dentist drilling away at your unanaesthetised mouth.'

Cop on Colombia, for biodiversity's sake is the least listened to/viewed on The Corrigan Cast via Spotify and associated platforms. Come on folks, you're missing out on humanity-saving advice.
(*LINK https://spotifycreators-web.app.link/e/e3gm0JGVvPb )

On my YouTube channel, we've got a two-way tie in the Top of the Vlog Flops category. An act of good clearly wasn't seen as such for YouTube viewers while next to nobody seems interested in my dental musings as Boosting dental health has proven about as popular as a dentist drilling away at your unanaesthetised mouth.

For YouTube Shorts, the video titled Ariarí River near Granada in Colombia's Meta department hasn't caught the imagination for some reason. The mind boggles, considering its sexy title.

So, they are our flops, with the caveat that they could become tops in time to come. Really, they could!

The letter writer's raining champion

Now for the hits.

Back to Google Blogger, the October-published Kamala control: Letter to the editor leads the way. Yes, that's right, details of a letter to the Irish Independent has been my most viewed post on Blogger in 2024. Why doesn't the Irish Independent just hire me to be a columnist? Come on, it could be the start of something great!

Now, as already noted, the Spotify version of Cop on Colombia, for biodiversity's sake has largely been ignored. However, the text of this story on El Tiempo found a niche. It's the one with the most engagement of all my 2024 articles on that page. So I won't give up all hope of a cleaner, greener Colombia in the near future.

In top spot on Spotify is Life imitating art of Los 39, minus the bloodshed. A bitchy, telling-tales-from-school yarn does have its fans.

The highest ranking of my YouTube vlogs is Shunning la Selección Colombia. Cheers to those of you who checked it out. Rather than support overpaid, petulant footballers, support an underpaid, underworked curmudgeon — me! Just don't forget to donate generously to the Corrigan cause.

And just in case you think all my pieces on Colombia are somewhat negative — what would give you that impression? — From Guaviare with love: Sending this to rain-deprived Bogotá! is 2024's most-viewed amongst my YouTube Shorts. I could be on to a winner posting about eye-catching weather events. Let's have more magical meteorological moments occur around me, please.

So that's Wrong Way Corrigan and The Corrigan Cast (catchy band name, that) wrapped for 2024. We're now all set to ride the 2025 Trump Tide!
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Listen to The Corrigan Cast podcast here.

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San José del Guaviare: Colombia's best department capital?

@wwaycorrigan

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

Medellín, Bogotá, Cartagena, Santa Marta, Cali, Bucaramanga. In roughly that descending order, these are the top cities for immigrants to Colombia.

San José del Guaviare: It's far from a dull backwater.

As populous, fairly well-connected, and relatively cosmopolitan urban centres, it's not surprising that they attract foreigners from near and far.

When it comes to smaller towns, the likes of tourist-heavy Salento, San Gil, and Villa de Leyva are to the fore.

Outside of the aforementioned, plus perhaps about another dozen places, if immigrants settle elsewhere, it would most likely be by accident rather than design. Or employment or a relationship brought them there against their better judgment.

The Guaviare grind

Now, while San José del Guaviare, like Colombia in general, has seen the number of foreign tourists grow in recent years, few seem to stick around. (I'm not including Venezuelans — they're not really foreigners in Colombia, being from a país hermano/brother country as they are.)

That tourism in the Guaviare department is on the up is understandable. There are some stunning sites to be seen around San José, some of which I wrote about after my first, brief visit in 2018, and the town is not difficult to get to from Bogotá.

Yet, it's also understandable that few visitors stay longer than needs be. The town itself isn't quite in the quaint cohort.

Revved-up motorbikes and the coming and going of cargo trucks in the river port area mix with loud music from a stream of competing bars to ensure there's plenty of noise around the centre from dawn to early morning. Add in the stifling heat — often in the high 30s degrees Celsius — in the heavy, dusty air and it's easy to see why many may find it a bit too much.

Yes, it's on the banks of a majestic river, the Guaviare, but its murky waters aren't the most inviting for a refreshing dip.

'The barefooted Indigenous kids who enter some establishments looking for free treats can get a little annoying after a while — 'Ah, not again lads!' — but they're not going to pull a knife for non-compliance.'

The pristine waters that run into the impressive natural wells, pozos naturales, do offer aqua relief. But located 10 km from the town, they're not exactly a comfortable walk away. And as they are inside a protected park, there's also a 10,000 COP entrance fee to access them. OK, there are a few swimming pools in the town but it's nice to have natural, cost-free options.

Thus, why would one stay in San José del Guaviare when Colombia has so many other more attractive alternatives?

Outside of my penchant for finding delights in the drab, relishing the rough and ready, the town has what can be described as more pleasant pull factors, as I discovered after over two months there.

Safety first

For starters, as department capitals in Colombia go, it's surely one of the safest. One can wander about the place at any time pretty much assured that nothing untoward will happen. It's virtually free of delinquents. Fair enough, the barefooted Indigenous kids who enter some establishments looking for free treats can get a little annoying after a while — 'Ah, not again lads!' — but they're not going to pull a knife for non-compliance. I don't think they would, anyway.

So while it's not unique in having friendly, helpful residents, this lack of petty crime (petty for those who don't suffer it, that is) gives it an advantage over many other big towns and cities. (The reason for such lack of in-your-face crime may be due to darker forces behind the scenes, as I explained in my Pacific Puerto Asís story.)

Also, as a single guy, I found its women to be refreshingly free of this insidious idea that the white foreigner comes with riches to raid.

What's more, that hustle and bustle of the centre and adjacent river port area is balanced out by far quieter neighbourhoods in most other parts of the town, such as the Bello Horizonte and La Paz barrios.

In terms of accommodation, it's on the cheaper end of the scale compared to the bigger department capitals. I've been told furnished studio apartments can be rented for around 600,000 COP per month (that's roughly 120 euros).

Speaking of value for money, more-than-satisfactory, standard two-course lunches cost between 6,000 and 9,000 COP. The equivalent in most of Bogotá these days is about 12,000 COP. (I must note here, in similar-sized, similar-vibe Granada in the Meta department, from where I write these lines, such lunches are available for 5,000 COP and monthly accommodation is equally if not more cheaply priced. But Granada is not a department capital — that may play a part in pricing.)

Tax and vax haven

Guaviare is, however, one of the five Vat-free departments of Colombia — the others are Amazonas, Guainía, Vichada, and Vaupés.

So with a range of everyday products tax-exempt, one might expect the cost of living to be notably cheaper. Yes, some things are less expensive than Bogotá but others, such as beer, are not. One explanation, given to me by a tienda owner, is that the Vat-free status is cancelled out by having to pay protection money — a vacuna/vaccine, as they call it — to the real power-brokers in the region, the guerillas, the darker forces I referred to earlier.

It's generally just property owners and business people who are forced to pay this vacuna. So the likes of tenants and employees should see some benefit from the tax-free status.

I noticed that motorbikes, the preferred transport option in San José, are in the Vat-free category. I assume it's the same for bicycles. For if I were to return for another prolonged period, I'd look into buying a bike. I figure cycling would be a great way to visit the likes of the natural wells and the town of El Retorno, 30 km to the south. There are many other places to pedal to as well. The topography is fairly flat, after all. Although the heat makes up for the absence of crippling climbs.

I suspect this is the mental trade-off for me in San José del Guaviare. Because, as I've proclaimed before, I am a fan of altitude. Yet, I do also like climates where one can dress light 24/7 — it complements my minimalist outlook.

Now, if you're of a more cosmopolitan composition, San José is unlikely to excite you. But a dull, insular backwater it is not. And since my first visit over six years ago, its population and urban area have grown, making it a livelier spot, for better and for worse (it's more the former, for now at least, I feel).

In fact, if for some reason I had to base myself in one of Colombia's department capitals, from all those I know, San José del Guaviare would top my list.
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A pleasant Villanueva vibe

@wwaycorrigan

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One trend I've noticed in Colombia's low-lying lands — lower than Bogotá that is — is that even rather small towns have a more sinister side to them compared to their loftier equivalents.

Villanueva on the fringes: Looking south towards the vast plains. 

I refer to locations in what is called tierra caliente, literally 'hot land'. It seems to be a case of 'hot by name, hot — in various ways — by nature.'

Bovines and barrels

As a very rough guide, it applies to places with an altitude below 1,500 metres. That is to say, an urban centre closer to sea level is, in my experience, more prone to insecurity issues than a similar-sized settlement at a higher altitude and thus cooler climate.

I've found this "nastier nature" in the likes of Chaparral, Girardot, La Dorada and Tocaima.

Thus, it was to my pleasant surprise that I encountered no such dangers in the largely nondescript town of Villanueva on a recent, somewhat unplanned visit there. (The nearby Monterrey had been the original choice but bus schedules/routes meant it was easier and cheaper to get to Villanueva. For this particular trip, the destination was of secondary importance to the need to escape Bogotá.)

'If the town has a more sinister side, I didn't find it on this visit.'

At 420 metres above sea level and sitting at the entrance to the Casanare department's vast low-lying plains, Los Llanos, which lead all the way to Venezuela, Villanueva's economy is chiefly driven by bovines and barrels. It is, after all, Colombia's cowboy country and also an important petroleum-producing region.

Cowboy country (no animals were hurt in the making of this monument). 

Indeed, the principal peeve is the regular noise from the big oil trucks constantly passing through. As my first night taught me, it's best not to take a hotel close to the main street. Thankfully, owing to the fact — one assumes — that it is a trucker stop, the town has many accommodation options dotted all over.

That aside, while the heat may give it a coastal vibe — minus the sea, of course — there appears to be none of those overbearing Costeño types about (Costeños being Colombians from the coast, particularly the Caribbean region). One is generally left to one's own devices. (Do note, I visited midweek, maybe it's different at the weekends, but I doubt it.)

Plain sailing

While my referring above to Villanueva as nondescript may seem negative, it's just a case that, architecturally wise, it hasn't much going for it. Those vast plains that stretch out to the east and south are, nonetheless, quite captivating, a significant contrast to the undulating landscape of the Andean region.

The layout of the town itself very much reminded me of Casanare's capital, Yopal, a small city I visited a few years ago. I do recall being rather indifferent about Yopal. In fact, I remember thinking that it was relatively expensive, most likely due to the oil economy, so I left with more of a negative than positive impression.

Villanueva, on the other hand, seems affordable across the board. It must also be said that as a result of my current mindset even hell would entice me because of my general boredom with Bogotá.

Impressive: Río Upía. 

What Villanueva lacks — a stream aside — is a natural cooling-off spot within a comfortable walking distance. Yopal, for its part, does have the expanses of the River Cravo Sur close by.

There is, though, the impressive Río Upía eight kilometres south. It marks the border with the Meta department, with the small town of Barranca de Upía on the other side, on the river's southern banks. The broad, fast-flowing waters don't look like the best place to go for a refreshing dip all the same. Conditions might be a little tamer in the dry season.

Back in Villanueva, the barrios to the north-east of the lively main road offer a chilled-out vibe, nice for a casual wander as the town thins out and runs into sparse woodlands.

If the town has a more sinister side, I didn't find it on this visit. And going by the overall friendly demeanour of the locals, I'd be surprised if it does have one.
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Lomalinda: Colombia's lost community

Most visitors to Colombia have at least heard of, if not visited, Ciudad Perdida, the Lost City. Tucked away high up in the Caribbean coast's Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, you could call it the Colombian version of Machu Picchu, one that outdates its more famed Peruvian counterpart albeit.

Lomalinda's old school, now left to the forces of nature.

While much is unknown about its history and those who inhabited it, it's pretty safe to assume that the cause for the city's abandonment was down to the arrival of those civilised types from across the Atlantic Ocean, namely the Spanish.

That exodus from the Lost City, however it transpired, could be seen as a harbinger for events much later in the land of the country we now call Colombia. 

For flights of fear from ruthless enemies didn't stop with the Spanish conquest nor the coming of the Colombian Republic. In fact, we don't have to go that far back in history to find examples of people uprooted from what they had once called home.

One of those Colombian lost communities is to be found, or not to be found as it is, in the picturesque and now tranquil setting of Lomalinda in the department of Meta, home to Colombia's plains. Now, as mentioned, forced displacements aren't novel here, but the Lomalinda case does stand out from others for a number of reasons.

For starters, Lomalinda wasn't your typical Colombian community or settlement. In fact, it wasn't Colombian at all. Founded in the 1960s, its origins began as a remote outpost for a Christian missionary/indigenous research project originating from the United States. 

The Summer Institute of Linguistics (Instituto Lingüístico de Verano in Spanish), as it was known, came to Colombia to study and put into writing the languages of the many indigenous tribes to be found here. 

As the work was going to take considerable time — we're talking decades here — the Colombian government gave the organisation unoccupied land close to the town of Puerto Lleras.

How it used to be: Lomalinda's airfield back in the day.

It was here, in what the new inhabitants named Lomalinda, which means 'pretty hill', the community grew and indeed flourished. 

Some people came specifically to work on the project, while others came to aide Lomalinda life itself. There was a need for primary and secondary school teachers for the expat children, for example. So you had a mixture of permanent- to semi-permanent residents and those on more of a temporary stay.

While the language in the community was English, some Colombians did come to settle nearby and it wasn't completely cut off from what was going on around it.

However, considering the deteriorating security situation that was to come, Lomalinda's residents might have wished they could have lived in a bubble. 

As the Farc guerrillas gained control around the area in the 1980s, it signalled the beginning of the end for what many residents had seen as an idyllic, lake-shore life. 

How could a small, defenceless Western community, however vibrant it had been, survive with self-proclaimed communists menacingly nearby in what was to became a war zone?

After threats, kidnappings and a number of deaths, the last of the expat Lomalinda residents left in the mid-1990s. 

Following their departure, the Colombian army moved in to secure the area. Thus began a process of degeneration; military personnel stationed in Lomalinda helped themselves, unsurprisingly, to some of the 'goodies' left behind.

The army, for reasons unknown, departed in the late '90s and that left the way open for the Farc, who had control of nearby Puerto Lleras, to continue the destruction of the village. Over a number of weeks the guerillas cleared out everything they could. Houses basically disappeared, bar any brick walls they had and their foundations.

Lomalinda certainly has tourism potential.

As the country's conflict rumbled on, the Farc lost control of the area. Yet, as it has been for many places in rural Colombia, until recently it was still seen as a no-go location. It's not exactly guerrilla nor paramilitary free today, but it's far, far safer than it was.

Something resembling normal life seems to be returning to Lomalinda, minus the English-speaking Westerners as residents that is. In their place, on many of the foundations they built, have come those of a more common hue for these parts. 

Some of these new arrivals were displaced from elsewhere themselves due to Colombia's conflict. That such rather desperate folk with few opportunities have taken ownership of what was left behind might be of some comfort to the departed expats.

Nonetheless, as the locals are quick to point out, this is still an area where guerrillas and paramilitaries (or paracos as they're also called) linger. Things may not be as dangerous as before, however it's hard to find anyone in favour of the peace deal that the government of President Juan Manuel Santos is pursuing in Havana, Cuba. 

For many locals here, they envisage no change to the Farc — or whatever those using that name now might call themselves post any peace deal — collecting taxes on the one hand, and paramilitaries controlling their ground on the other.

Whatever the future may hold, what Lomalinda's current residents want now is to carry on with their lives without fear of forced eviction or death hanging over them. 

Is that too much to ask? Considering what's gone before, they could be forgiven for thinking yes.
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Bogotá up in Smoak

Big city life, somewhat paradoxically, can be quite solitary. There are people all around us, yet as we go about our business they may as well not exist. Indeed, at times we might wish that to be the case.

In this regard, Bogotá is no different to any other metropolis (a few barrios excepted). Anonymous, insignificant faces abound.

This Smoak is on fire ...

However, one man is attempting to change this. Going by the belief that everybody has a story to tell — and in Colombia those stories can be quite something — coupled with his skills for photographing people, Jonathan Smoak has set about giving us a greater perspective to the faces we see in Bogotá on a daily basis.

Via his Facebook page Personajes de Bogotá (literally 'Characters of Bogotá'), he has been introducing us to the everyday characters around the city. 

The format is quite simple: a photo or two of the people in focus followed by a brief background blurb of their life story, in both English and Spanish. With more than 7,000 likes on his page so far, Smoak's virtual photo biography certainly seems to have found a niche.

The idea to create it partly came from the hugely popular Humans of New York, a Facebook page that has almost 18 million likes.

Another spark came from Smoak — whose previous humanitarian work has taken him to a host of developing countries — just being here in Bogotá itself. 

"I walk everywhere in the city. There are millions of people and I get a sense there's not much camaraderie, especially between classes and neighbourhoods", he explains. 

"I thought this (personajes) is a good way to humanise and connect races, classes, jobs, artistic communities, businesses — anything — and to say we all have a story."

While he tries to accommodate all sections of society on his page, he does reveal that some Bogotanos are more difficult to feature than others. "The higher up the socio-economic ladder I get, the more people say no." 

He acknowledges that security concerns in a city obsessed with such things, in many instances for sound reasons, probably play a factor in that. 

The fact that he’s a well-built man with a foreign face might also mitigate against him. Yet a few seconds in his company for anyone who might initially be intimidated and you'll find he's very much of the gentle variety.

Smoak's own life story has been quite the adventure. At three months of age his parents left their Virginia home to come to Colombia to work with a charity organisation that helped indigenous communities (it wasn't from nowhere he gained his charitable qualities). The country's secluded plains, in the department of Meta, were to be the family home for the next 17 years.

So while he isn't 'officially' Colombian, the country is another home to him in many ways. 

Yet, as he puts it, with such a background, one almost falls between two stools as to where home is: "Here, when I was growing up I was the 'gringo' and then when I went to the United States I was the strange kid from Colombia. In some sense when you're multicultural you don't have a true home; or they're both home."

Until this latest return to Colombia three years ago, the majority of his adult life was spent in the US, where he married and fathered four children. 

Images of a 'settled' life that might portray, but it was far from that. 

As a university student in Chicago he took a group of his peers to Honduras to install a potable water system in an isolated mountain village. "I did that because I was frustrated returning to the United States with so many people who were not socially and culturally aware of the world."

Out of that frustration emerged a future career where he continued to take university students to help out less well-off communities all over the globe. Countries that have benefitted from his humanitarian work include China, Honduras, India, Pakistan, the Philippines as well as the aforementioned Honduras.

Coming back to Colombia hadn't really been on the cards but a job offer that he just couldn't refuse saw him return. 

Unfortunately, that employment fell through. Not only that, but after setting up a photo studio he had the misfortune of having his top-of-the-range camera stolen last year. 

Despite these blows, he has set about making the country home again, be that temporary or otherwise. In fact, he has tinkered with the idea of doing here in Colombia the same non-profit, humanitarian work that he did elsewhere.

As for Personajes de Bogotá, the future goal is to publish a book with a collection of the best characters and their stories he has featured on the Facebook page. 

In the meantime, keep your eyes peeled for the affable Smoak traversing Bogotá's streets, camera in hand. 

Don't be shy guys, he's just trying to make the world a friendlier, more inclusive place.
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