Colombia's cacophonies: motos, music and wandering salespeople

@wwaycorrigan

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

Motorbikes and speakers. Such plagues on Colombia. They've turned what I imagine were once rather tranquil towns into hubs of headache-inducing noise.

Motorbikes: Wanted for crimes against tranquillity in Colombia.

Let's tackle speakers first — something I often wish to do literally, not just figuratively. It appears almost all bricks-and-mortar businesses, as well as private dwellings, have toddler-sized portable versions of these devilish devices, capable of beastly blasts that travel far and wide.

This intensifies in revelling zones, where each establishment competes to be heard above the other. The result is a racket that drives the sane amongst us mad after a brief exposure. Only with copious amounts of beer and/or aguardiente is this torture made more tolerable.

Unpleasant as it is to be within earshot of this music madness — a distance of a good kilometre is needed to escape the worst of it — it isn't incessant. Although it can be unpredictable. And there's always the risk of a noisy neighbour deciding at any time that those all around deserve to bask in his beats.

Moto madness

Added to this mix are the wandering salespeople who use megaphone marketing — usually in the form of a pre-recorded pitch on an endless loop — to advertise their wares to the masses. As nuisances go, though, these guys are mild.

Much less mild is the motorbike menace. In my current abode of San Martín de los Llanos, these motos, as the natives call them, start revving up from 5 am and continue until late at night. Mercifully, it's not constant; there are less active periods throughout the day. Nonetheless, when the motos make their moves, they are heard well before they are seen.

'It emits a hellish roar as if it's trying to escape Earth's gravitational pull.'

Not all motos are created equally, of course. The din from certain quieter ones is just about bearable. Alas, they are in short supply. The terrible-three worst offenders, the most ear-splitting, are the driller, the splutterer, and the rocketeer. That last type emits a hellish roar as if it's trying to escape Earth's gravitational pull, something that would no doubt send the bravest lion scampering for safety.

It must be why mongrels that otherwise are prone to chase tend to keep their distance from these moto monsters. Or the dogs may have simply got used to them by now. Indeed, it's the rarer sight of a human being walking that vexes the canines more so than the motos. That and the passing of another dog. This is the cue for a bout of barking that sends yet more noise into the Colombian air.

A site for sound

Yet, it appears most Colombians aren't too concerned about these cacophonies. They've become indifferent to this chaos, the commotion.

In fact, in my experience, many are more put out by visual pollution — see my previous post, Colombia's clothes-on-the-window bane, for more on that — than pollution of the eardrum-destroying variety.

OK, visual pollution can be, well, unsightly. It is, though, easier to avoid than noise — avert your gaze. What's more, something unsightly is much less likely to cause humans, as well as other animals, physical or mental harm.

The same cannot be said of excessive sound. It can disturb sleep, cause one to lose concentration, increase stress, bring about acoustic trauma, the list goes on. It's also more difficult to escape, unless one is locked away in a soundproof bunker. And that's not exactly a healthier alternative. Earbuds or noise-cancelling headphones, you say? They might provide occasional respite, but constantly using these things isn't good for one's hearing either.

Now, it must be said that there are towns of a more tranquil nature in Colombia. Not all suffer equally from these sound sores. The hotter, lower-lying lands are generally the worst offenders, particularly when it comes to the motorbike menace. One has a better chance of finding a more relaxed setting in the cooler, loftier Andean towns (special shout-out to Somondoco here!).

That aside, in practically all places where humans reside in Colombia, a sizeable speaker pumping out sounds is regularly within range. Tranquillity is but a brief interlude between the noise.
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In need of some peace and quiet? Sleepy Somondoco is the place to go to

@wwaycorrigan

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

Bucolic bliss. The rural idyll. Like anything that refers to perfection, the reality is different. Nothing in this world is perfect.

What we strive for is to have as many positives as possible in whatever it is we're doing or wherever we're going (both mentally and physically).

Peaceful: Somondoco is as quiet as they come.

What these positives are depend on the individual. When it comes to a break from the routine, a getaway, what works wonders for one may be a bore for another.

Church-hill views

My needs for any escape from Bogotá are minimal. A lot of the time I simply have a desire to leave; the destination is almost of secondary importance.

As long as there's a fairly cheap hotel room and quiet-ish countryside to wander about, I'm usually content. If it's a warm-weather location, having a clean-ish watercourse of some description nearby in which one can bathe in peace whilst taking in some sun is a nice bonus.

To varying degrees, most towns within a 200-kilometre radius of Bogotá meet these rather undemanding requirements.

Of course, no matter how cosy and quiet your setting may be, at some stage loud music will trump the tranquillity. It's practically a rule that where there's a human settlement in Colombia, there are oversized speakers. And there's almost always a crazy canine or two to contend with when out and about, saying nothing of the crazy human folk.

Such drawbacks were, mercifully, in short supply in the town of Somondoco, in the south-east of Colombia's Boyacá department — my default go-to department over the last few years.

OK, it could be said that it has few pull factors, that it hasn't anything particularly appealing to make it stand out from the many other similar Andean towns. That's not fully true.

'Surely the townsfolk will look to bloom big again in the coming years to win back their flower power?'

For one, it has the impressive Santuario del Santo Cristo del Cerro de Somondoco. This ornate, in-renovation chapel sits at an altitude of 2,300 metres, offering views of the neighbouring towns of Guayatá, Guateque, Sutatenza, La Capilla, Macanal and Almeida.

The landscape somewhat obscures the view of Somondoco itself, some 600 metres below. The trek up from the town to the hilltop chapel takes about two hours, a nice way to sweat out any bodily impurities.

Massive mango town

A swift walk down into the Somondao River valley and back up to the town of Guayatá, 10 kilometres west of Somondoco, also gets the body working, as well as allowing one to take in the scenic Andean countryside in relative serenity.

Record town: Guayatá.

While I only stayed a couple of hours in Guayatá, it seemed a little livelier, in a fun way that is, than Somondoco.

More importantly, it has at least one café that makes decent coffee. Somondoco is unfortunately still stuck in the greca era; the brews available there are ordinary at best.

On a quirkier note, Guayatá has been home to two Guinness World Records: It still holds the title for the world's heaviest mango and in 2014 it was registered as having the longest line of flowers ever recorded, a spectacle that can be seen each year in celebration of Corpus Christi. This latter record has since been beaten. Surely the townsfolk will look to bloom big again in the coming years to win back their flower power?

Back in Somondoco, while it won't win any world record for this, the well-kept, modern Hotel Real Simindoco (no, I'm not writing that wrong, it is Simindoco, not Somondoco) is a winner with me with spacious rooms from 25,000 COP per night.

So for a small town within a few hours' drive of Bogotá, Somondoco and its surrounds have many plus points for me.

Quiet, affordable and with a few tranquil treks to traipse. If someone in the town would only ditch those grecas and learn how to make decent coffee. Nothing, though, is perfect after all.
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'Is this the way to Guateque?'

When it comes to quaint colonial towns and villages, Colombia has a plethora to offer. Indeed, you could pretty much spend your whole life going from one to another, exploring the idiosyncrasies of each.

Some say that there's not a big difference between them. Once you've seen the "big" ones — big as regards reputation that is — such as Barichara and Villa de Leyva, that's enough. The rest are just poor imitations.

Impressive setting: The town of Machetá.

For sure, if you're on a short stay and lacking 'algunas palabras' in Spanish, it's probably best to go to the spots that are more renowned and better equipped for tourists and tourism.

Towns less visited

From a personal perspective, while I've nothing against the more popular towns, after over eight years in this country, heading to a place where I'll be seen as just another tourist isn't very appealing.
 

It's why over the last number of years I've opted for destinations that most non-Colombians, and even some Colombians, don't bother visiting or haven't even heard of.

Now, before you say it, yes, in such tourist-light towns and villages I also stand out (although, some have said, before I open my mouth and speak Irish-accented Spanish, that I could pass as a Paisa. Perish the thought!), but it's not in a tourist way. It's more a case of, 'Oh, what brings you here?'

'Machetá, the golden gateway to the Tenza Valley'

So it was with that modus operandi, together with the fact that after five months of not having left Bogotá any place would have sufficed, that I opted for the town of Machetá, an hour bus ride north from the capital.

My experience of rolling into such small towns on a whim is that there's always very reasonably priced accommodation to be found.

This wasn't quite so in Machetá. There were three options, two of them upwards of 50,000 pesos (just over 13 euros, it's all relative) for a room for the night and they weren't for turning on their prices. It was a case of third time lucky with La Playita, a recently opened panadería which also functions as a hotel. I got a nice en suite room there for 30,000 pesos (eight euros).

As for the town itself, the 'Golden gateway to the Tenza Valley' so it goes, it certainly has a very picturesque setting and an agreeable climate for a Northern European, set at an altitude of 2,000 metres — that is to say slightly lower and thus warmer than Bogotá but not overbearingly so, while there's no real need for additional layers at night.

The trademark activity for this mini-escape, as it often is, was walking/hiking the hills around the towns — I say towns as after Machetá I spent a walking-packed 30 hours or so in Guateque, 23 kilometres to the south-east in the Boyacá department.

Basically, if there are hills/mountains around the town, and in this part of Colombia it's a given, I always like to ascend them for a panoramic view of the surrounds.

On this front, while there's an alluring hill overlooking Machetá, the bushy vegetation obscures the view. Hiking further up the mountains for a couple of hours didn't bring better results. It was good exercise all the same.

Three of a kind

Guateque, birthplace of the infamous emerald tsar Víctor Carranza, on the other hand, is, at the risk of overstating it, a hillwalker's dream. The northern point in a triangle of two neighbouring settlements — Guayatá and Somondoco — each delightfully nestled on plateaus overlooking the valley, for a town that appears nondescript on arrival, it pleasantly surprised.

Rewarding: Walking the hills all around Guateque.

Indeed, had I heeded the advice of the receptionist at the well-kept Hotel Tu Refugio (23,000 pesos for an en suite room), I wouldn't have even given Guateque a chance. Having just paid for my room, Monica suggested that I take a bus to Guayatá, 'a much prettier town', and come back in the evening. I decided against it.

On the first day, I stumbled across a mostly unpaved loop road up the hills that gives lovely views of the three aforementioned towns. Motor traffic does use it so it's not quite 'at one with nature', but thankfully it's largely peaceful.

Mount Monsignor

On the second day, taking advice from some locals, I walked to the much smaller, sleepier village of Sutatenza, three kilometres to the north. The idea was to grab a coffee there and then stroll back to Gauteque for the bus back to Bogotá.

Again, though, my penchant for seeking out views saw me head up the only road going towards the hills. Google maps told me it would lead to a dead-end. The road did but there was a path that kept going up, so I followed it. And followed it, until I met a local, a man in his late 60s I'd say, slowly stepping it out to his home, replete with an infected, swollen foot for good measure. Some goer, but a pilgrimage he doesn't think twice about. He has no other choice I guess. 

I asked him if I kept on going up would I eventually get to a point where I'd have a good view of the valley below. He then began to tell me, in a way where he seemed to expect me to know, about the 'famous' Monsignor José Joaquín Salcedo Guarín who, starting in the late 1940s, used to broadcast a 'world-renowned' radio show atop the very hill we were ascending. 'Now there's not even a plaque to honour his memory up there.' Men have been honoured for less, haven't they? 

'From a high, the way back to Guateque looked straightforward'

The old man accompanied me for a bit, even going further than his own house. Considering the state of his foot and slow pace, I tried to tell him I'd figure out the path on my own, but he was having none of it.

We eventually parted ways when the way back to Guateque appeared much clearer. He told me there was no point going back to Sutatenza, which of course made sense.

However, as clear as the route looked from a high, I took a wrong turn and ended back in Sutatenza. Oh well. It wasn't a major detour and it did come with two beers along the way courtesy of a somewhat mysterious emerald dealer, a man reluctant to give me his name even after having given me his mobile number.

He eventually introduced himself as Raul. Maybe he's related to Víctor Carranza and didn't want this random foreigner knowing? A couple of drunken folk in Guateque the night before were less coy about telling me they were cousins of the 'great baron'.

With that little unplanned adventure, my badly needed mini-escape from Bogotá came to an end. It gave another timely reminder that despite their superficial similarities, each Colombian town has its own story to tell. We’ll find out Guayatá's and Somondoco's in due course.
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