'An alcoholic?! Me?! No way!'

@wwaycorrigan

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

A barrio acquaintance, one who is not only very fond of marijuana and the hip psychedelic tusi but has also been a petty peddler of same, called me an alcoholic the other day.

A case of, an outside observer might say, one addict knowing another.

One man's alcoholic is another's merely mild drinker, right?

However, seeing how this acquaintance, in her early 20s, has barely worked a day in her life — outside of her minor drug dealing — and usually appears more out of it than with it, I initially shrugged off her labelling me an alcoholic.

Yet, as an Irishman who likes the occasional beer that often leads to a questioning of my relationship with alcohol, her remark did end up bugging me a little.

'Am I an alcoholic?'

Habit addict

To answer that, we must define what an alcoholic is.

One dictionary definition describes an alcoholic as 'a person addicted to intoxicating drinks.' Another definition is 'somebody who drinks alcohol to excess habitually.'

Those definitions, however, in using words such as 'addicted', 'excess' and 'habitually', are open to much interpretation.

Some commentators and scholars on the subject dismiss the concept of addiction outright. They see it as a mere cover for one's failure to take responsibility.

According to this school of thought, it's not an innate, incurable addiction that's at play but rather a very fixable fixation. It's a harmful habit that can be replaced with a more beneficial — or at least less-bad — one. What's lacking is willpower, as well as any real desire to change in many instances.

'That four-day booze-free stint coincided with an annoying head cold. Was my body telling me something? A case of a beer a day keeps colds at bay?'

In other words, people know they're doing something that's not good for their overall well-being but they do it anyway. (Of course, few of us live vice-free — even exercise can become a problem if one overdoes it regularly. Some vices, though, are more damaging than others.)

Mild imbiber

Returning to our definitions of alcoholic, it's easier, at least officially, to find consensus for what excess and habitually mean.

In Ireland, a standard drink is defined as one which contains 10 grams of pure alcohol. The advice is that a man should drink no more than 17 such servings a week, a woman no more than 11.

If one drinks alcohol more days in a week than not, few would argue that this is habitual.

On that last one, despite publishing a few months ago a hopeful post, Abandoning the beer standard, I've been quite the habitual drinker of late.

The longest run I've had without a beer in 2023 has been four days, and that was on one occasion only. Frustratingly, that four-day booze-free stint coincided with an annoying head cold. Was my body telling me something? A case of a beer a day keeps colds at bay?

Plenty of downtime this year and not wanting to be in my shared accommodation for too long at any one time are two big reasons for this regular revelling, tame as it normally is.

What's more, as a pastime, sipping on a Barrio Santandercito tienda beer is a fairly economical activity compared to some other pursuits one could get up to in Bogotá.

As alluded to, in terms of excess, my consumption levels each time I drink are nothing like they were in the past.

Where previously when I would go at it, as we Irish say, I'd have at least four litres of Poker beer or the equivalent, these days I'm usually looking for the exit door after two or at most three. (Do note, Poker's alcohol by volume [ABV] is four per cent.)

So my binge-drinking days do appear to be largely behind me. Compared to other regular drinkers, I think it's fair to put me in the mild category. I'm certainly no Brendan Behan — no sniggering — who described himself as 'a drinker with a writing problem.' Some might say writing is my main problem and I should give that up!

Constant craving

Whatever the case, there is another factor to be considered: cravings.

This ties in with addiction, whether one believes addiction to be a genuine disease or not.

I surmise that people who I consider to be alcoholics crave alcohol, it's constantly in their thoughts. When they get up in the morning, if a beer or whatever was put in front of them, they'd have no issue downing it. What usually prevents such types from doing so is a job commitment or suchlike.

I, on the other hand, rarely if ever desire an alcoholic drink first thing. For me, imbibing has a time and a place — the time is normally late in the evening, the place is a tienda/public house, certainly not my own dwelling.

And as I've already pointed out, I'm more than content to retire to my bed after a couple of litres. Where perhaps in my earlier drinking days I suffered from fomo, fear of missing out, these days I'm more in the jomo, joy of missing out, camp.

So, yes, I do like beer and I may regularly drink more units of alcohol per week than most health experts recommend.

Nonetheless, life in my late 30s doesn't revolve around the next alcohol-fuelled session like it did to some extent in my 20s and early 30s.

Of course, how I feel and what I believe is one thing. How others view me is another. Perception is reality in this regard. Yet, it's only the perceptions and opinions of certain people in my life that I should really value. Others are best ignored.
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Colombia's credit contradiction

@wwaycorrigan

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

'We only give credit to those older than 90 and who bring one of their grandparents as a guarantor.'

Bottle-cap accounting: Foolproof?

That's the English translation of one version of the various we-don't-give-credit signs you'll see displayed in many Colombian tiendas, convenience stores that sell products ranging from beer to brushes and much else besides. (Although some tiendas' chief business line is beverages and sweet and savoury snacks.)

What such signs really mean, of course, is that credit is not given whatsoever. (Perhaps, in a few generations, a 90-year-old might expect his/her grandparents to still be alive. Then again, in a few generations, humanity might be extinct.)

The reality is, however, that in many beer-serving tiendas, no-credit signs on display or not, the payment model in operation leaves the establishment at risk of being what effectively amounts to a moneylender.

Drink now, pay later

This is because the tab system dominates in such environments in Colombia; you pay your bill when you've finished imbibing. Rarely will you be asked for payment upfront, as is generally demanded in pubs in Ireland and the UK.

In theory, paying at the end makes more sense than doing so each time you order, particularly when we're talking about the consumption of multiple beverages.

This is even more so the case in places where cash is still king (working-class Colombia is, thankfully, in that category). It can be cumbersome having to deal with change for each order.

Nonetheless, the tab model can be easily abused, by both the customer and the owner/staff.

The former can do this by simply saying, be it true or not, that he/she doesn't have enough money to pay the bill.

In a country where the financial situation for many is far from stable, this I-don't-have-the-cash-right-now defence is commonplace. I've seen it cause plenty of beer-fuelled, heated discussions.

That much of working-class Colombia falls into the low-income bracket makes the popular use of the tab system even more of a head-scratcher.

That it persists suggests that businesses feel it's the best way to operate. They'll get the money at some stage — as long as the debtor doesn't die with the bill still outstanding. Or it could be one of those just-how-it-is scenarios that I wrote about before.

Bottle battles

As for tienda owners or staff, they can game the system by adding more products to your tab than were actually ordered.

This abuse is, unsurprisingly, far easier to carry out when the product in question is alcohol and the customer is drinking on-site, getting merry in the process.

I'm not the only one who has questioned the amount owed at the end of a session. It can lead to a tetchy tienda environment, if not to something more untoward.

Linked to all this is the method some tiendas use to keep, um, tabs of the tab.

Counting the bottles consumed is one way, something I see less often these days.

'If you happen to have a less-than-attentive tienda keeper, bottle-cap counting could work to your advantage.'

This may seem sound — and it explains why bottles are left on a customer's table until the session has finished — yet a couple of other foreigners and I were the victims of its flaws a few years ago in Bogotá. I wrote about that incident at the time in a blog piece titled, 'You've been had, Bogotá style'.

Summarising that episode, a guy who we'd befriended and who we thought had bought us a few beers actually pulled a fast one on us, or so it seemed.

As he left before us, we ended up being charged for all the beers he'd drunk, even those he'd had before joining our company.

Of course, he could have been — indeed, probably was — in cahoots with the tienda owner. Or the tienda owner might have seen an opportunity to charge for the same beers twice.

As we were in an unfamiliar place, after airing our displeasure we took the financial hit and promptly left, never to return.

Top cap

An alternative accounting approach with tiendas is the bottle cap. For each beer opened, the cap is placed on what we'll call the payment counter.

This is open to some of the same abuses as outlined with bottle-counting, minus the problem of another customer adding to your bill.

One particular flaw it has is with bottle size and associated price differences.

For example, to use my tipple of choice, Poker, very often the cap on a litre bottle is decorated the same as the 330 ml presentation.

So, if you're in a round consisting of bigger and smaller bottles of the same brew, you could be deemed to have had more bigger ones than smaller ones when the reality was the reverse.

Now, if you happen to have a less-than-attentive tienda keeper, bottle-cap counting could work to your advantage. 'Oh no, of those five bottle caps, only two belong to litre bottles, the rest were 330 ml.' One can plead ignorance if caught out.

Pen power

Slightly more watertight than the aforementioned methods is the radical pen-and-paper approach to tab-keeping.

Yes, some tienda workers write down your name — or some title that identifies you, such as gringo or mono — in a copybook and note your orders as they come. Revolutionary.

Again, it's not abuse-proof. If you lose track of what you've had, a few additional beers might be added to your tab. (And yes, this isn't exclusive to rudimentary tiendas. It can happen in fancy establishments using a digital system.)

Also, particularly in a lively tienda, a crafty fellow carouser could get his beers added to your account. Those behind the counter don't always check if a beer has been invited or not, as long as it goes on some customer's tab.

So, like many things in these parts, the no-credit policy is something of a contradiction with these tab systems in operation.

Yet, contradiction aside — and again like many things around here — tienda transactions normally pass off without much ado.

For sure, there will always be those who try to abuse it. They would do well not to, though.

A move to more advanced methods in this digital age may see them easily locked out of the market altogether. So scorn not the simplicity of the tienda's status quo.
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Paths to cleaner living

@wwaycorrigan

[Listen to an audio version of this blog entry here.]

One has to admire an individual who realises that he/she has a personal problem and takes corrective action. As a species, we are often quick to see the faults of others yet are blind to our own shortcomings.

There are always hurdles to overcome on the path to cleaner living ...

Beer barrios

When it comes to drug addiction or simply just bad/self-destructive habits with mind-altering substances, be they legal or otherwise, stopping the rot can be particularly tricky.

With alcohol consumption, the widely accepted socialising drug, a heretofore regular drinker may have to change his/her life considerably, at least initially, to say no.

Personally, if I decided to cut beer drinking entirely from my life, I think I'd have to leave Bogotá. Or at least move out of my current barrio. This is because the majority of my socialising revolves around the tienda and with it a few litrazos (a litre bottle, that is) of Poker.

I hasten to add that this isn't a daily occurrence. Two or three times per week, max. And, with age, I'm getting better, for the most part, at knowing when I've had my fill even if, to use an Irish word, the craic is mighty when I decide to head home (do note, craic here means 'enjoyable social activity', lest one think of something else).

It's because I'm more in the jomo (joy of missing out) camp these days rather than with the fomo (fear of missing out) brigade.

'From a marijuana chain smoker and seemingly daily beer drinker — not a good combination for a taxi driver — to a fundamentalist Christian (of sorts) in a few weeks.'

Yet, for those who have trouble knowing when to stop imbibing and the like, a lively-ish city with a beer-drinking culture can be quite a dangerous place to be. There are, quite literally, temptations at every corner.

Thus, in such circumstances, when one reaches a point where it's a case of 'make lifestyle changes now or be left with no life', it requires quite an amount of willpower to overcome the "demons".

Christian convalescence

Some, as I touched on a few years ago in Strength in belief, find the answer to their problems in God.

One barrio friend has recently taken this path. From a marijuana chain smoker and seemingly daily beer drinker — not a good combination for a taxi driver — to a fundamentalist Christian (of sorts) in a few weeks.

While I may not agree with his new-found religious beliefs — or if not exactly new-found, at least renewed enthusiasm for Christianity — I am impressed with the transformation. Considering his previous form, it could be said the end — in this case, being "clean" — justifies the means.

What's more, he has changed his ways without becoming a recluse. Apart from a few weeks back in the land of his birth on Colombia's Caribbean coast, he's still to be found socialising in the barrio, just this time with a gaseosa (fizzy drink) in hand rather than a beer (we'll cut him a little slack for the dangerous sugar indulgence).

As I've mentioned above, I'm not sure if I could do the same; hang out in the barrio and not drink beer. Not indefinitely in any case. I'd simply prefer not to go out.

I like to think that if I decided to go cold turkey, I could do it more easily in the countryside. A rural retreat, removed, as best one can be, from other human beings with fewer potentially harmful temptations.

There is another school of thought suggesting that if one were to "settle down" i.e. enter a relationship, this would also "tame the beast" so to put it. Whatever the dubious truth of that, one may be just too accustomed to singlehood for it to happen any time soon.

So Mother Nature and a modicum of isolation; I see that as my path to cleaner living, should I decide that it's needed. That's the theory anyway.

City life, its many evils notwithstanding, does, however, still have its advantages and appeal. At times.
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Listen to Wrong Way's Colombia Cast podcast here.

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Tibaná time

@wwaycorrigan

[Listen to an audio version of this blog entry here.]

I do sometimes feel a bit torn after getaways to Colombian pueblos — pueblo pick-me-ups as I like to call them — due to my desire or at least perceived need to blog about them.

Tranquil Tibaná (at least when it's not market day!).

It's because, as mentioned before, they're all pretty much the same, superficially at least. This is arguably even more so the case in the Andean region.

Not-so-manic Monday

So for a town a short distance from one just recently visited and written about — that is to say Tibaná, just 10 kilometres south of Jenesano in the Boyacá department — it would seem pretty pointless to post about it.

Yet, the many similarities aside, each pueblo has its own peculiarities, however small and insignificant they may be. Each one has its own distinct characters, too.

What's more, regardless of the place, the time of a visit plays its part in the experience. I could return to all of the previous locations I've written about and come away with a completely different perception, for better or for worse.

So, with that in mind, my two-night stay in Tibaná deserves its own entry, hence these words. (This also helps me to keep track of where I've been!)

For this part of the country, it almost goes without saying that folk are friendly but not overbearingly so. They'll converse when the feeling is right or they'll leave one to one's own devices if such a vibe is given out (silence can indeed be golden).

'While tempted to join some of the hardy souls drinking beer at 8 am, I stuck to the tried-and-trusted plan of getting in some hillwalking, including the now obligatory visit to the Virgin Mary on a high — she tends to occupy some of the best viewpoints in rural Colombia.'

Strangely enough, two of Tibaná's initial offerings were things that in another context would have been deal-breakers.

Arriving close to dusk on a Monday and after, eventually, finding a hotel — the more-than-acceptable, well-kept Provincia at 25,000 COP per night — I went in search, as is generally my wont on such trips, of a nightcap beer.

Friendly locals!

My tipple of choice, a litre of Poker, was available, but only at room temperature — 'al clima' as they say. Yet, I found it more than drinkable; it had a slight chill to it in any case.

Then, seated in the tienda sipping on my beer, a couple of dogs invaded my personal space. I'm normally not a fan of excessively clingy canines but this pair won me over. Perhaps it was the bucolic air that led to this rare amenability on my part.

The aforementioned friendly locals — Tibanenses to give them their demonym — with a special mention for the softly-spoken tienda owner, Jorge, also played their part.

Sweet but savoury

The next morning, Tuesday, Tibaná's market day, while tempted to join some of the hardy souls drinking beer at 8 am, I stuck to the tried-and-trusted plan of getting in some hillwalking, including the now obligatory visit to the Virgin Mary on (a) high — she tends to occupy some of the best viewpoints in rural Colombia.

Tibaná: The town down in the valley-o!

What I hadn't really prepared for was a strong sun. At an average altitude of 2,100 metres, I erroneously thought the weather would be something similar to Bogotá. Relaxing in the rays for a couple of hours in splendid isolation — well, apart from the Virgin Mary next to me — my skin got a bit of a shelling. It felt good at the time, though.

Thankfully, refreshing refrigerated beers were on offer back in Jorge's tienda on my return to the town.

Rolling hills to wander and on which to unwind.

Tibaná may be tops for its tranquillity. However, it's more of a flop when it comes to the coffee on offer in its various establishments. It's not unique in this regard. This is a common complaint in many small towns, ordinary-at-best coffee, of the 'I can't believe it's not coffee' variety one could say.

Worse still, many seem to think that everybody wants his/her hot brew sweetened. 'Oh, but it's with panela. It's good for you.' Eh, no thanks.

Sweet, watery coffee aside — well to the side that is — Tibaná did the trick in terms of a pueblo pick-me-up.

More demanding, high-maintenance types might not be too enthralled with it. This shouldn't bother the Tibanenses too much. They tend to move to their own beat.
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Lest we forget

@wwaycorrigan

[Listen to an audio version of this blog entry here.]

Sitting unhidden in one of my barrio tiendas sipping on a litre of Poker beer, it dawned on me that less than a year ago such behaviour was officially prohibited and had been for the guts of 12 months.

Saving face: Colombians seem particularly keen on facemasks.

I'm not sure about you, but as things gradually return, for the most part anyway, to how they were pre-pandemic, I've nearly forgotten how absurd those "lockdown"/restricted-movement days were (it's good to have my various blog posts during the period as a reference point. See, for example, https://wwcorrigan.blogspot.com/2020/03/coronavirus-collateral-damage.html and https://wwcorrigan.blogspot.com/2020/06/coronavirus-auxiliary-killers.html. Here's hoping the internet's Ministry of Truth doesn't get at them).

Failed estate

This isn't to say that my tried-and-trusted Bogotá tiendas are devoid of signs of those crazy times. Clientele's wearing of facemasks under the chin is one rather inane reminder. There's also the odd sign to wash one's hands (a tad difficult in establishments without adequate facilities in this regard), to wear aforementioned masks and even notices to disinfect your footwear, a practice that was found early on to be rather ineffective in combatting contagion in most settings.

As for the facemasks, Colombians seem quite happy to wear them, anywhere and everywhere. Whatever about their efficacy in terms of reducing the spread of respiratory infections — the jury is still very much out — they may at least offer some protection from Bogotá's contaminated air. Although, when worn around the chin, it's unlikely they'll be of much help.

Nonetheless, it's good to have some reminders of what we've just gone through — as long as they're kept at a safe physical distance that is.

Of course, people still afflicted by coronavirus monomania will not only say that all draconian measures introduced were necessary but they are also likely to argue that they didn't go far enough nor last long enough.

Again, the evidence that strict lockdowns work in combatting a disease such as covid-19 is far from conclusive. And when viewed solely through the lens of Sars-CoV-2, one is guilty of inflicting other causes of pain and death on those who would otherwise be fine. It's a delicate balance, one that many countries appear to have got shockingly wrong.

"Those who have been most faithful to the creed, if they're not quite rewriting recent history their changing tack is explained as 'we weren't to know.' Really?"

As we begin to accept that we must learn to live with covid rather than stop living and as we move our focus onto the next global cause for concern, any proper, unbiased analysis of the last two years must critically examine the role of much of the media in unquestioningly following the official line.

A majority in the Fourth Estate, not for the first time and it certainly won't be for the last, decided to take refuge elsewhere.

A dubious narrative was established and followed with fervour. "The Science" — the one that promoted heavy-handed containment measures and has coerced people into taking covid vaccines even when it is clear that some have robust natural defences against the infection — became the true faith.

Signs of the time. Careful now ...

Those of us who dared ask fair and reasonable questions were blasted as heretics. We were selfish, content to needlessly let people die, so the attacks went. Very early on in this collective, dangerous insanity I called out what was for the most part nauseating, hypocritical virtue signalling (see https://wwcorrigan.blogspot.com/2020/03/coronavirus-fallout-virtue-signalling.html).

We now have some of those who were most faithful to the creed backtracking. If they're not quite rewriting recent history their changing tack is explained as 'we weren't to know.' Really? They seemed utterly convinced of their righteousness at the time, trying to rubbish those of us who went against them.

Centre fight

In any case, it's quite easy for them to shrug all this off now. Vaccine certs proudly in hand, life is pretty much back to normal. (More power to the countries that are doing away with jab passes — little by little, society appears to be taking a more reasonable, rounded approach to this. Let's not mention atrocious Australia, crazy Canada or nefarious New Zealand, though.)

Thus, some people tell me I should get over all this, 'hum a different tune'. For the most part, I am doing that.

However, the agents of coercion and control who were given a new lease of life with the arrival of the novel coronavirus continue to try to make life difficult for us "infidels". 'Just conform, goddamn it!'

Many appear quite happy to have the state overseeing more aspects of their lives, often falsely believing that it's for the greater good of society. It generally means a little less personal responsibility, too, so they'll acquiesce.

Yet, an all-powerful state with much of the media in tow, doing its best to silence — or cancel, if you will — dissenting voices, painting any opposition as conspiracy theorists and so refusing to engage with it, is not something to be endorsed.

It's why I won't simply let this go, not while we still have what is effectively nothing more than official opinion or debatable science being peddled as unquestionable fact.

As we've seen over the last couple of years and as history has repeatedly shown us, giving free rein to such forces rarely leads to positive outcomes.

The centre can hold for a little while longer. We have to be prepared, though, to battle hard to keep it together.
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