Colombia's tienda trap

@wwaycorrigan

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

Whenever I'm back in Ireland, I make it my business to get some Marks and Spencer chocolate-chip cookies. They are, as far as I'm concerned, the best of their kind around. But while I find them truly delicious, I also know that I shouldn't over indulge in them. Too much of a good thing and all that.

A beer a day keeps the blues away, doesn't it?

So it's just as well that the nearest Marks and Spencer department store is a good distance away from my Irish base. Were there one nearby, I'd be tempted to make these scrumptious sweet treats a daily delight on visits to the land of my birth. Although the price of them these days does help to make one think twice before temptation tends to take over.

Indeed, the price of most things in Ireland gives me pause for thought. My Colombian pesos lose much weight in euro-land, notwithstanding the currency's strong performance during the last few months.

Not-so-dear beer

Back in Colombia, while the price of many staples continues to rise, this hasn't really been the case with beer, especially when one takes the steady increase in minimum wage into account. Compared with other products and socialising pursuits, beer is fairly competitively priced.

'Santandercito's at-times hedonistic haunts do put one's temperance to the test.'

In working-class barrios, such as my current abode of Santandercito in Bogotá's far north, one can get a 750 ml bottle of ordinary-but-fine Costeña — my tipple of choice these days — for 3,800 pesos, the equivalent of about one euro. In comparison, the price of a cinema ticket is around 20,000 pesos — over five times more expensive; a standard lunch in Bogotá, about three times more costly. In fact, Colombia is placed towards the top of the list for countries in the world with the most affordable beer.

So, when at a loose end of an evening and not wanting to be in one's quite cramped, shared place of residence — pretty much an everyday feeling — a couple of beers at the local tienda bar is an appealing option.

Yet, like the Marks and Spencer cookies, I know that it's not the healthiest consumption choice one can make. I do, though, only sporadically indulge in the cookies — that I'm only in Ireland every now and again is a significant help, of course.

In contrast, consuming Colombia's competitively priced beer is a far more regular occurrence. And while I'm usually disciplined in the art of moderate drinking, at times I go over my self-imposed limits. Santandercito's at-times hedonistic haunts do put one's temperance to the test.

I used to think that if I had my own well-equipped place, this tienda temptation would decrease significantly. But experience over the last couple of years has told me differently. I generally prefer to be in a public setting for most of the day — or at least out and about — and while panaderías serve their purpose during the daylight hours, by nightfall tiendas are more appealing.

Downwardly dining

That I can take to the tienda with such regularity is mostly due to the fact that I am single, childless and not an employee. Were any of these to change, then so would, most likely, my late-evening routine.

Right now, I don't see those conditions changing, not organically anyway. Thus, it leads me to sometimes think that I'll have to force the change.

In my recent mini-series on Dr Samuel Johnson, I noted how he advised that one should endeavour to 'smile with the wise, and feed with the rich.' Now, I'm not saying that there are no wise or relatively rich folk in Santandercito's tiendas. For one, intelligence comes in various forms. And there are a fair few in the barrio who seem financially comfortable.

It may be just the case that my current preferences are doing little to advance my cause. One slight problem is that I'm not sure what cause I should be advancing towards right now. It's like I'm caught in a trap. Colombia's tienda trap.
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The Bogotá curse

@wwaycorrigan

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

Friday the 13th. Considering all that's happened since, some superstitious types — not me, I hasten to add — might deem it quite portentous that this was the date of the initial, tentative encounter that would prove to be so life-changing.

The month was February, the year 2009. One day before my 24th birthday as it just so happened to be.

Where it all began in Bogotá: The city's historic centre. (Photo credit: Oli Pritchard.) 

Bothersome beginning

To what do I refer? The first time I set foot in Bogotá. My Bogotá beginning, so to put it.

I still recall quite vividly those early, uneasy moments in the city. Were they signs of how my complex relationship with the place would develop? Maybe.

After getting a rather pleasant introduction to provincial Colombia in the small city of Popayán in the south, the nation's capital was the next stop.

Emboldened following three-and-half months of solo travelling around South America — somewhat paradoxically, the few unsettling incidents along the way appeared to boost my confidence, not diminish it — arriving in Bogotá I took a public bus rather than a taxi from the main transport terminal to the centre.

Stepping off this bus on Carrera Cuarta (Fourth Street) with Avenida Jiménez I went in search of my accommodation, the-then quite new The Cranky Croc hostel (it's a Bogotá institution now). Using a map on the back of a business card from the hostel as a guide — smartphones and Google maps weren't really a thing then — I figured it would be simple to find.

'After various inaccurate directions from friendly-but-unhelpful locals, I finally found my bearings and located my lodgings.'

In fact, I was just a block and a half away from it but Avenida Jiménez disorientated me a bit. Those damn diagonal streets. They can play havoc with an otherwise easy-to-navigate grid system.

So whilst impressed with Bogotá's physical setting as I wandered for about an hour trying to locate The Cranky Croc, I started to feel like I was having a Nightmare on Elm Street experience.

Mildly intimidating "greetings" from a few "undesirables" didn't help either. Carrying about 20 kg on my back and tired after a long overnight bus journey, I was feeling a little vulnerable.

After following various inaccurate directions from friendly-but-unhelpful locals, I finally found my bearings and located my lodgings.

Pleasant Popayán: The first city Wrong Way stayed in Colombia, all the way back in 2009.

Once settled and having befriended two dormitory companions, we headed out that night — to celebrate my imminent birthday, of course. While I didn't know it at the time, we went to the swanky Zona T. Oh how my social life has changed in the intervening period.

In a club there we met a group of, um, friendly women originally from Bucaramanga. It was largely down to these ladies that saw me enticed back to Bogotá a couple of years later. (Subsequent returns and my final decision to live in the city had much less to do with them.)

Losing the centre

The story behind Elba, Paola and Sandra is one for the memoirs. Or at least for another time. For it's those first, arguably ominous impressions of Bogotá, specifically its historic centre, that I want to focus on here.

Like many foreigners who come to live in Bogotá, the centre was where I initially settled. While it wasn't really ugly when I first visited over 13 years ago, it's certainly more aesthetically pleasing today following a few facelifts and the construction of some architecturally impressive buildings. It's shedding that dreary 1980s industrial look that darkened it back in 2009.

'I disliked the university ambience before these centres of learning became fully dominated by bearded lefties, of both the male and female variety.'

Yet, despite — or perhaps because of — living in the centre for almost four years, I remain at best indifferent to it. At other times, I've more of a hostile feeling towards it. I seldom view it in a positive light.

On the rare occasions I return there — being 20 km away doesn't help to encourage one back — I'm reminded of this mild aversion.

Why this is, I'm not entirely sure. One thing, though, is the fact that compared to other parts of the city it's very difficult to shake off the tourist label in the centre. That's because, obviously enough, it gets lots of tourists passing through. So somebody of my origin tends to be seen as just another passerby.

OK, I always will be a foreigner — a gringo if you will, although be careful calling me that to my face — in Colombia.

Yet in my beloved Barrio Santandercito at least I sense that I'm part of a community. I never really got that feeling in the historic centre. (I did get it to a certain extent in La Perseverancia — a barrio in which I never actually lived, only socialised — but on recent returns there I've noticed that irritating tourist vibe creeping in. The renovated food plaza appears to be the "culprit" for that.)

Another factor for this negativity towards Bogotá's centre is due to its being a university hub. There's just something about the university environment that irks me. And this was the case before they became fully dominated by bearded lefties, of both the male and female variety.

Little wonder, then, that I felt more at ease in the centre around Christmas time, when the universities were on holiday. For the record, shocking as this may be, there's not much of a university ambience in Santandercito.

It could be said that what all this adds up to is that I don't particularly like big cities. Yes, I do live in one, but my base in Bogotá's far north has, in some ways, more of a small-town feel to it.

It's this, Bogotá's barrio beat, that I move to. And as much as it might be good for me to escape from it, at times it feels that I'm wedded to it for life.

So perhaps it's this, and not my inauspicious introduction, that is the true "curse" of that fateful first visit to the city on Friday the 13th of February 2009. I, however, don't do superstition.
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Listen to Wrong Way's Colombia Cast podcast here.

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A matter of motivation

It's pretty much accepted that money is not the chief motivator when it comes to our working lives. It plays a part to a point, but for the majority of us, there has to be more to our job than the pay packet at the end of the week or month or whenever.

Whether you're one of those who truly enjoy what you do or you see your employment as solely a means to an end, the real motivation to keep going generally comes from somewhere other than the 'dirty cash'.

This is missing enjoyment ... (From http://www.securens.in)

It could be that you feel what you do gives you meaning, that quest to find fulfilment, or other life factors — doing it for your children, the ability to travel, a stepping stone to something greater, etc. — give you the push to keep at it.

Pays the bills

From a personal perspective, if it was just about the loot, I'd kick The Colombia Cast podcast to touch, not to mention this blog, and be much less bothered about IQuiz. The podcast is, for now anyway and like this blog always has been, purely a labour of love while IQuiz is more or less in the same boat.

"Keep the head down and drink the free coffees."

The new (can I still call it new after four months?) and time-consuming full-time job more than pays the bills. This is not to say it's really well-paid, it's just my overheads are not that high. Another plus point for the "barrio popular". That and the fact I've now less free time to actually enjoy my salary.

This is where the money plays a role. It's not that it motivates per se, it's more a case that in the absence of other sources of steady income, it fills a hole.

Yet, as mentioned before, the mentality of offering your services to third parties, parties that you don't have any direct dealings with and don't always agree with their message, is something I find hard to fathom.

I've been used to work, be it as an independent or with others, where I've been, or at least felt, intrinsically involved in the output. In this current gig, that's much less the case. That feeling of not really being involved doesn't tend to leave one disposed to give their all.

Underworked, overpaid?

Now, it would be a whole lot worse — a resigning matter really — if my position was very taxing. It's not. This isn’t to say it’s a case of being underworked and overpaid. The downtimes allow me to concentrate on my personal projects.

"It's our show, so play that goddamn tune, piper!"

What's more, when the hardest part of your working day amounts to not much more than making sure you arrive on time, it's not a bad state of affairs. Well, that and biting my lip sometimes when advertising copy I write is changed by non-native English speakers to something I feel is inferior. "The client is always right, even when they're wrong." "Then why bother asking for my input in the first place?" "Just play the goddamn tune, piper!"

A moment's breath usually sees me right. It's not my brand or company I'm doing it for after all. Let it go.

So, you might ask, if that's the height of my grievances, why make an issue out of it? Keep the head down, drink your free coffees, take your monthly pay and repeat.

Satisfaction, that's what's at play. Having that feeling that our talents are being used in the most appropriate way. Doing what we should be doing, or at least what we think we should be doing. It's what we all strive for, isn't it?

People might say, and have said, "Sure you'll never be happy." That's the thing. This pursuit of happiness is what keeps us all going.

It's not that we're fundamentally unhappy, not at all. It's that there's always another level to reach. That's where the motivation lies.
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My true Bogotá love

Considering the, um, pop star-esque lifestyle I lead, I've been reluctant to get into a lasting relationship. You know, I'd lose a certain appeal (don’t laugh) if I was suddenly no longer 'on the market'.

However, it's time to come clean. To be honest, I had been trying to tell myself that this wasn't real love, it was all just a passing phase, but it's been obvious for some time now that this is not the case. In fact, it's well over two years since we started seeing each other and it's been as steady as the best of them.

Love is all around ...

It wasn't quite love at first sight, but things quickly got off the ground nonetheless. We've already got past that initial 'scaffolding building phase' and reached the point where we're now comfortable seeing each other much less than at first; a sign of a mature, real, trusting relationship that, something that's not easy to find, especially in a country where jealousy and insecurity are commonplace.

Now, she wouldn't be seen as the classiest in some people's eyes, but that's not a concern from my point of view. What's more, she's far from high maintenance — indeed, she's usually fairly generous, much more so than the average Colombiana, even with her limited resources (the very odd time she might ask me directly for money, but she's learning not to).

She has been a little improper with some of my expat mates — this is not to say she's unfriendly, it's just best if she only has to deal with no more than a couple of foreigners at any one time. 

She's also largely viewed in a bad light by those who may have never met her but have heard about her. But hey, who doesn't have a dark side? And love making one blind or impairing sound judgement this is not, I hasten to add. I just prefer to accentuate her positives, of which she has many.

It's not my style to make public declarations of love, yet my dearest La Perseverancia, you have been my Bogotá standard-bearer since we first accidentally crossed paths back in 2013. More reliable and understanding than any woman.

Regardless of what the future holds in store for us, you'll always have a special place in my heart.
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