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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Listen to Wrong Way's Colombia Cast podcast here.

Facebook: Wrong Way Corrigan — The Blog & IQuiz "The Bogotá Pub Quiz".

 

Not just food for thought

While born and raised on a farm in the west of Ireland, it would be quite a stretch to say that my upbringing was one where I lived completely off the land in some sort of idyllic, symbiotic relationship with nature.

Running just to stand still. (Image from reddit.com.)

No. For one, we rarely directly consumed any of the produce from the family farm. 

As the first step in beef production, each year we sold the young suckler calves — weanlings as they're called, as they're weaned off their mothers at this stage (an udder-ly sad process) — to other farmers who would then "ready them" for human consumption. So we tended not to kill our own cattle for sustenance.

What's more, it was purely a cattle farm. We didn't grow crops of any kind.

Handed down to my father from his father, it's fair to say he kept it as a going concern more out of a sentimental attachment than anything else really, with much help from us, his children, and, of course, my mother, while he ensured our household had a more reliable source of income working in construction.

Why chop when you can simply shop?

So, although comfortable around cattle and not afraid to get my hands dirty in the countryside, I've never directly used the land to get my "daily bread" so to put it.

It's fair to say that's pretty much how most Irish farmers, part time or full time, operate. 

Whether the farm is a profitable business (by all accounts there aren't many of those in the west of Ireland) or, in our case, an expensive and very often labour-intensive hobby, very few get anything close to the majority of their food requirements from it.

In today's world, this makes a lot of sense. It's less time consuming, more reliable and even cheaper to just go to the local supermarket for one's staples.

Thus, it wasn't until I travelled to this part of the world that I witnessed something that resembled true self-sufficient living off the land.

'The rudimentary nature of it appealed in many ways. Quite literally, you get to taste and enjoy the fruits of your own labour.'

Eleven years on from my first such encounter, the memory has stayed firmly with me.

Down in the deep valley of Peru's impressive Colca Canyon during a three-day trek, I observed with silent admiration the comings and goings of the local host family.

Everything they did appeared to revolve around preparing the next meal and, so it seemed anyway, the majority of the ingredients were sourced from the farm.

For sure, the family was no doubt earning money from the passing tourism trade as well, yet I couldn't help but think that from a food perspective, they looked to be practically self-sufficient.

I'm not saying it was a carefree existence — there's no such thing — in the way some "First Worlders", rather patronisingly, highlight the "joyous" way primitive tribes live. Nonetheless, the more rudimentary nature of it appealed in many ways.

Quite literally, you get to taste and, all going well, enjoy the fruits of your own labour. Beats marketing for faceless third parties in any case, one can only assume.

It's akin to when you cook your own meal, you generally have a greater appreciation for it compared to when it's prepared for you. We can extrapolate, then, that if you grow and harvest your own food, you'll enjoy it even more.

One step back, two steps forward

A back-to-basics, back-to-nature approach is often viewed as regressive. The fast-paced city life is where the action is. Where is that rapidity taking us, though? Many of us appear to be running just to stand still.

What if we took it down a few levels, appreciated the more fundamental elements of life. Give time its due. Not everything must be, nay can be, "now, now, now".

One of the few positives from the various ineffective measures imposed upon us due to the coronavirus crisis is that some people are discovering that we don't need to be on the go 24/7. We can take our foot off the pedal and still go forward.

This isn't a call for a rejection of modernity and the digital world — that would be professionally suicidal for many of us right now. It's about obtaining a better balance.

Some are slowly waking up to the fact that there's a lot of unnecessary "padding" in our lives, non-essentials that have been cleverly sold to us as stuff we can't live without.

One hope is that the movement against our disposable, fast-fashion lifestyle, in all its unsustainable manifestations, grows stronger.

From a food perspective, it would be nice to see those who can do much better to be self-sufficient not only take affirmative action but be given the required assistance and time to do so as well. Teach a man how to fish and all that.

Focusing more so on the bare necessities, reconnecting with the land that feeds us, does not have to come at the cost of progress and modernity. On the contrary, they can go hand in hand.
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Listen to Wrong Way's Colombia Cast here.

Facebook: Wrong Way Corrigan — The Blog & IQuiz "The Bogotá Pub Quiz".

Loving Colombia

In a previous episode of The Colombia Cast, the "Colombianised" British-born historian Malcolm Deas said, in response to a question about his love for Colombia: 'One doesn't love countries. One loves people and dogs and cats and that sort of thing.'

I get where he's coming from to some extent. It's not the country in terms of its institutions and general modus operandi that people come to love.

The railway route: One of Wrong Way's favourites in Bogotá.

Fair enough, those of a certain disposition may indeed become enamoured with the state, especially if they find favourable tax laws, see it as being well organised, affordable and safe with a fantastic health system, things along those lines.

Failed state, fine land

Nonetheless, such pull factors don't tend to set the heart racing, leaving us weak at the knees. They're also not perpetual.

Now, if we take the above in relation to Colombia, it doesn't score well at all. Indeed as a foreigner, if these were make-or-break issues, you'd have to question why you're here when you don't have to be.

'I do like Colombia, in terms of its landscape that is to say.'

For example, personally speaking in any case, I don't love the inequality and the many ways it manifests itself, the public transport (from a Bogotá perspective anyway), the often irrational bureaucracy and the not-being-paid-for-services-rendered (hint, hint Semana, and to a lesser extent this publication, although I am perhaps the bigger fool, especially in relation to the former; I'm currently looking to rectify that).

Moreover, and more tellingly as this brings it into the realm of reasons why one should "love" where they are, I'm not a fan of the interesadas (gold-diggers), the ubiquitous lying, the regular inept service in so many spheres and the excessive national pride — 'Colombia is the best country in the world, with the friendliest people' — that overlooks all the other shortcomings mentioned.

Te amo Colombia

It's here where I depart somewhat from Deas' assertion that 'one doesn't love countries'. You see, I do like — I rarely use the word "love" for anything — the country itself. I like its geographical area and all the many wonders contained within it — I just don't explore them as much as I should really.

I like power-walking on a daily basis at 2,600 metres-above-sea-level because, perhaps misguidedly, I think it's good for my overall health, the frequent air-quality issues notwithstanding.

Of course, there's a bit more to it than just the topography. As I've oft-written about, I do enjoy the barrios populares and some of the characters that frequent them, even if they may be doing me more harm than good.

'With time, the infuriating practices of some Colombians might change.'

I like being what I'll call a light-touch local in Bogotá. The city has been home now for well over eight years, so in many respects I feel as much a part of it as anyone. Yet at the same time, I am an outsider, a northern European outsider, and that is an advantage for the most part.

So, as I yet again contemplate my Colombian future, perhaps "loving" the country, the territory it occupies, the natural landscape, is the most important thing.

The infuriating, irrational practices of a not-insignificant number of its inhabitants, emanating from the top and flowing down to the bottom rungs, maybe these will change for the better in the not-too-distant future.

You see, despite what my "B negative" blood type might insinuate, I am an optimist at heart.
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Listen to The Colombia Cast podcast here.

Facebook: Wrong Way Corrigan — The Blog & IQuiz "The Bogotá Pub Quiz".