Cosying up to Cúcuta

@wwaycorrigan

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

Considering Cúcuta is my most-visited Colombian city — with Bogotá being home — it's been a bit of an oversight that I've never written a dedicated piece about the Norte de Santander capital.

Cúcuta's Parque Santander.

Anytime ladies

The thing is, as much as I find the place welcoming and enjoyable, if a tad chaotic (hey, it's a Latin American city after all), Cúcuta has never been the actual destination in all the trips that have seen me spend time there.

Bordering Venezuela on Colombia's eastern frontier, the first time I visited was back in early 2012, using it as a pitstop returning from a less-than-inspiring maiden visa run to the neighbours. (Let's just say I've never been bothered about going back to Maracaibo — first impressions and all that — as much as I now have a far more positive opinion of Venezuela.)

In fact, all of my numerous stopovers in Cúcuta have been the result of visa runs. Why seek Colombian residency when one can go on an adventure every year or so? My annual visa/cédula payment does also double up as my tax contribution. The gift that keeps on giving.

What's more, posting stories about lesser-visited, "crazy" Venezuela has always seemed more appealing, more inclined to get those much sought-after clicks. 

Thus, I've tended to neglect to recount my "tamer" Cúcuta experiences. We'll right that 'Wrong Way' now, especially considering that I wasn't actually allowed to cross into Venezuela this time, despite getting my exit stamp from Colombia — 48 hours in no man's land of sorts, ask for details in the comments!

'Thou shalt not pass.' As close as I got to Venezuela this time.

The average traveller will most likely take the bus to Cúcuta — flights are far cheaper today than they were years ago thanks to the arrival of low-cost carriers to the region but they usually only compete with bus prices if you buy well in advance. 

If one isn't on a tight schedule, road travel allows for much more (affordable) flexibility. (For the record, a one-way bus ticket with Omega cost me 80,000 pesos.)

'There's something about the hustle and bustle from the terminal to Parque Santander — no, I don't mean the sex trade, I'm referring to the commercial and mild revelling activity — that has an enticing energy to it.'

From Bogotá, the winding 16-hour plus spin passes through some impressive páramos — one would miss out on those on a flight. In the next few years, that journey time should decrease somewhat with some major road infrastructure works in progress on the Cúcuta end.

As is often the case in these parts, the least attractive side of the city is what greets you first.

For about half of the 1.2 km walk from the bus terminal to the picturesque, well-kept city centre at Parque Santander, the route is lined with, well, not exactly ladies of the night, but ladies of any time of the day or night.

From memory, this has been so since I first visited but I don't think I'm wrong in saying that it's more intense these days, somewhat similar to what I witnessed in Medellín in late 2019. Indeed, it wouldn't surprise me if Cúcuta was the per capita prostitute capital of Colombia.

One big reason for this is the humanitarian crisis next door in Venezuela. Cúcuta is often the first and only port of call for a number of desperate individuals who cross over illegally.

Jesus is the way, the truth and the light. He's up there, somewhere.

While aesthetically unpleasing and unsettling for those of us of a more reserved nature in sexual matters, there is nothing really threatening about it.

In fact, it's the part of town I've always stayed in. The reason being that — wait for it — it's where you get the cheaper hotels. 

When all you need is a bed, bathroom facilities and WiFi, you can't go too wrong with 15,000 pesos per night. Some might say one is taking a security risk in such places. Perhaps so, but that hasn't been my experience.

A view with Jesus

In terms of what to do there, the short answer is, 'not a lot'. Living in Bogotá, my escapes from the capital usually involve going to quieter retreats. Cúcuta is certainly not that.

However, there's something about the hustle and bustle from the terminal to Parque Santander — no, I don't mean the sex trade, I'm referring to the commerce and mild revelling — that has an enticing energy to it.

Whether it's sipping on a cheap and cheerful borojó fruit smoothie — a highly refreshing beverage in heat of over 30 degrees Celsius — from one of the ubiquitous street vendors or munching on an equally cheap and cheerful papa rellena (a deep-fried, mashed-potato pastry stuffed with egg, chicken or minced meat) from the equally ubiquitous fast-food carts as you watch people go about their business, the lively vibe makes one feel alive.

The pace is far more relaxed around the city's standout attraction, a statue of Christ the King (Cristo Rey) perched on a hill to the south of the centre. Think of it as a miniature version of Rio de Janeiro's Christ the Redeemer. 

While in situ since the late 1940s, the monument and immediate surrounds, like Cúcuta in generally over the last decade, have been refurbished in recent years.

Religious views. The picturesque Iglesia del Perpetuo Socorro.

The viewpoint now has a cleaner, more welcoming feel to it. Just don't expect to watch the sunrise from there. Apparently, it's only open to the public from 10 am. I arrived at 9.40 and had to wait, although the security guy did let me pass at 9.50. What a rebel. 

I'm not sure what time it closes, but one would like to think it's after sunset, which is always around 6 pm in these parts. By the way, there is no entrance fee, it's free thankfully.

In general, the southern part of the city appears more tranquil, mostly residential as it is.

Speaking of slower-paced living, I did get the chance to briefly take in the nearby town of Chinácota, about an hour's bus drive south of Cúcuta. At 1,175 metres above sea level, it's slightly fresher than the at-times stifling heat in Cúcuta, which is about 800 metres lower.  

By all accounts, Chinácota is a popular weekend escape for Cúcuta residents. From my 24-hour stint there, I can see why. Next time I'll make it my business to spend a little more time in the town.

For if there has been one constant throughout my years in Colombia, it's that a trip to Cúcuta is never too far away. And that's perfectly fine with me.
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Medellín's Plaza Putaero

Bienvenidos a Medellín - 'Bangkok light'. So ran the title of one of my earliest Google Blogger entries. 

I wrote it after spending a month in Colombia's second city where I worked in the Greek-owned Arcadia hostel in the gringo-infested Poblado neighbourhood, a somewhat exclusive party zone.

I'd grown frustrated at seeing the many ladies of the night in the area strutting their stuff, subtly as most did albeit. 

In that way, the Bangkok comparison may have been overstating it a bit — I did use 'light' all the same. The prostitution was more discreet but it was prostitution nonetheless. (Indeed, it could have been even subtler.)

Medellín's Plaza Botero: There's a bit more to it these days than just its iconic statues.

Missing Medellín

As a rather innocent country boy from the west of Ireland, it tainted my otherwise largely positive impression of Medellín, a city that has much more than just sex tourism going for it.

It would be wide of the mark to say it was because of this I had no desire to return there. It was more down to the fact that I live in bustling Bogotá, so when it has come to escaping its madness, I've opted for much smaller places to unwind.

Thus, a stronger reason than 'just because' was always needed to bring me back. That reason came in the form of a semi-business-related trip, flights paid for. OK, it was to the airport based in Rionegro, a city about a 40-minute drive from Medellín.

Yet, it is the airport that caters for most Medellín-bound passengers, so when I knew I'd be landing there the idea of a brief re-acquaintance after almost eight years with the Antioquia department capital was always on the cards.

"Unlike the Poblado prostitutes, these ones were not one bit discreet."

Incidentally, I did spend one night in Rionegro as it was there I had my business meeting. It seems a pleasant enough place with a well-kept main square, if a little pricey for the staples (read tienda beers in this instance; at 25,000 pesos for a quite decent hotel room, accommodation was reasonably priced, though).

With just over 24 hours in Medellín, to keep things simple plus a curiosity to see what my old employer's hostel was like after all these years, I decided to spend my one night in the aforementioned Arcadia.

As the bus from Rionegro dropped me close to the city centre, I took the opportunity to have a wander around there first before heading further south to Poblado. Get a feel for Medellín's 'raw' side — well, rawer compared to the leafy middle-class vibe around the hostel.

It was certainly lively in any case. There seemed a lot more going on than you'd normally get in Bogotá's historic centre. A big tourist attraction is the many Botero statues in the eponymous plaza.

Noisy public works aside, Plaza Botero was hiving with foreigners. Great for Medellín tourism.

Prostitution Plaza

The thing is, a good number of those foreigners were young ladies from neighbouring Venezuela. And they weren't there to get photos taken next to the large Botero works. Well, unless those statues were willing to pay them that is, if you get me.

I'm sure the many beautiful women offering their services there would much prefer it if that were the case, rather than having to get down and dirty with what often resemble real-life versions of Botero's oversized male sculptures. Needs must and all that, however.

In contrast to the subtle, nighttime manoeuvres of the Poblado prostitutes, in Plaza Botero they were anything but that. 

A fair-haired (what's left of it, that is) man walking alone, think of a moths-to-light scenario. "There's plenty of money in them there pockets", or whatever the equivalent expression is in Venezuelan Spanish.

That prostitution is happening in Medellín, sad for those who feel forced into doing it all the same, is not the issue here. It's the fact that it's so blatant in a very popular part of a city that prides itself on being one of the most progressive in Latin America.

Perhaps my visit this time coincided with a particularly promiscuous Friday afternoon on the not-so-free-love scene. However, with the hotels nearby readily set up for the trade, it seems it's standard practice these days.

Of course, there's nothing inherently wrong or illegal with it. I'm guessing, though, it's an image the city's tourism board doesn't want to portray. 

It's fair to say many visitors would find those much-maligned Pablo Escobar tours far less uncomfortable.
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A prostitute by any other name

The Oxford English Dictionary defines a prostitute as "A person, in particular a woman, who engages in sexual activity for payment."

The form of that payment is not explained, but it's safe to assume that it doesn't have to be upfront or even actual money. It could be payment in kind, as can happen in many other lines of work. 

Some journalists and writers, for example, start off working for no more than a few non-cash perks in order to get themselves established.

'Love' is stretching it a bit here! (Image from memegenerator.net.)

Of course, quite apart from prostitution, a young or wannabe journalist working in such a way doesn't deny that he/she is a journalist or trying to be one. That, obviously enough, would be self-defeating in terms of career progression.

What's more, most if not all people who work in these more accepted professions do so by choice; it's a safe bet that the majority working in prostitution would rather be in a different, um, position.

Also, considering the stigma attached to the word, some would be horrified to learn — outwardly anyway, that is — that what they are actually doing amounts to being a prostitute.

So what, um, boxes (sorry, we'll stop) does one have to tick to say that she is a prostitute? When you take the payment-in-kind side of it into account, it's a grey area indeed, open to a host of interpretation.

However, one important element has to be sentiment. If there is no sentimental attachment, no feeling of physical attraction (let's not even mention love), then we'd have to say it's sliding closer to prostitution, or at least the uninterested party is looking for some sort of gain.

Ideally it would all be clear cut. That is to say the more traditional prostitute, where it's payment upfront or as soon as the job is done.

Or, failing that, at least have it where both parties are left in no doubt as to the state of play: "I see that you are interested in me but I have no interest in you. However, I'm not in the best financial position right now so in return for having sex with me I will extract as much as I can from you in terms of financial assistance, in whatever form. Agree?"

The problem occurs when the lines are blurred. A charade of a relationship is maintained so that payments are given for services rendered or to be rendered, services that more than likely would not be made available if this financial assistance wasn't forthcoming.

Some will ask, with reason, that if the paying party gets what he wants out of it, a satisfied customer so to put it, then where's the issue? Well, there isn't one really. Just let's call it what it is: Prostitution. It doesn't have to be a big deal.

Yet for the 'charade relationship' there is a potential problem as the thin veneer comes off it, more than likely ending the pretence.

The thing is, most men like to think they don't have to 'pay for it'. However, as has been said here before, we pay for it in some way (not always financially), but most of the time it's not as blatantly obvious as 'traditional' prostitution.

Basically, if desire and sentimental attachment are missing in any relationship, you have to ask what's the point of it?

This brings us back to that earlier suggestion: If both parties feel they're getting something out of it, occasional pleasure for the man, the woman some payment, monetary or otherwise (maybe even some pleasure as well), then on it can go.

It's all about how it's perceived. Accentuate the positives and everything can be fine, within reason. The key, perhaps, to any relationship that.
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Buenaventura's dirty delights

It shouldn’t come as a major surprise to regular readers that we’re not averse to squalid settings every now and again. It’s just as well, of course, for as beautiful as Colombia is in a natural sense, many — but not all it must be said — of its urban dwellings make European rubbish tips seem idyllic. 

Last year we had the pleasure of checking out two such ‘dirty towns’, Turbo (see 'Turbo Living' http://bit.ly/SVtkWW) and Maicao (see 'Dirty Old Town' http://bit.ly/VG94Ho). You could also throw a large portion of Bogotá – our home, on and off, for the last 15 months – onto this list.*

Adding a bit of colour to the natural environment.

It’s not that we enjoy the dirt or take some sort of perverted satisfaction from seeing it strewn about the place, far from it. But scrape back a bit of the material waste and in most of these places — less so, perhaps, in the sprawling metropolis of Bogotá — you’ll find extremely friendly, laid-back people (laid-back to the point that collecting rubbish is seen as a waste of time — ‘Sure won’t Mother Nature break it down after a while?’) with what appears to be a generally healthy attitude to life.

So sticking to type, this is pretty much what we found in Colombia’s Pacific coast city of Buenaventura. 

Now, it was for reasons of transport that we had to pass through the place, our final destination being Bahía Solano, a tranquil little coastal town further north, reachable only — unless, that is, you fancy a wild trek through inhospitable jungle (next time) — by boat or plane (we took the former option, hence the stop in Buenaventura).

In fairness, and as is the case with Turbo and Maicao, the fact that most of the respected travel books on Colombia suggest giving the city a wide berth or if you have to stay for some reason then just make it brief, we were always tempted to check it out on its own merits. Not just using it as a transport hub that is.

Indeed, it does still see a fair number of visitors. And mirroring Colombia as a whole this number is increasing all the time, although many of these are just passing through, visiting some of the beaches that are short speedboat rides away (our destination of Bahía Solano, on the other hand, is a much longer trip – more on that in the coming weeks). 

The fact that it is also the most important port city on the country’s Pacific coast means that it gets plenty of sailors coming and going, too. So foreign faces are not uncommon.

Well, at least there's a positive outlook as regards the rubbish.

It is, though, home to a large number of Afro-Colombians, so the whiter your skin, the more you stand out. This can be both a good and bad thing. Good in so far as people like to talk with you, from a single-male perspective that can be very positive. Bad in the sense that, as happens in many places across the globe, some people here equate white skin with lots of money. If only they knew. 

 

Thankfully, such negative attention wasn’t very prevalent during our short stay there. In fact, our previous view that Afro-Colombians are the least friendly of the ethnic groups that live in the country was pleasantly altered. They can still be, however, a little disobliging when it comes to bus journeys. We all have our flaws.

It has been said that the city is the capital of arguably one of Colombia’s strongest underground exports — prostitutes.** From what we witnessed, it’s hard to disagree (wait a second, is that why the women were so friendly?). There were many of them ‘playing the game’ in any case. Throw in the fact that one of the semi-respectable hotels we stayed in seemed to double up as a brothel and you begin to see the importance of the industry to the place. 

Mentioning hotels, we must give a plug to ‘Hospedaje Bahia Mar’. At the equivalent of about US$8 a night, it’s one of the best value-for-money spots we’ve stayed at in Colombia. And sticking with the sex-tourism theme, it’s the only hotel/hostel we’ve been in that has a porn channel free to watch on your bedroom TV. How thoughtful.

What’s more, the first guy we befriended, a very helpful lad at that, seemed to be some sort of a pimp. Each to their own and all that. 

On a broader scale, this is the place where many of these ladies of the night learn their trade before hitting for the traditionally economically stronger Latin American countries. Chances are if you meet a Colombian prostitute in the likes of Brazil or Chile, she more than likely hails from Buenaventura or its surrounds.

The seaside park is relatively nice.

Outside of all that, in terms of what to do in the city itself, well there’s not an awful lot. Granted, our stay was limited to the centre, the part nearest the sea/port (the city is divided into two parts, joined by a bridge).

But from what we saw in passing of the outer part of the city, much of it resembles a shanty town and didn’t look that appealing. At least in the centre there’s a seaside park and accompanying views of the ocean. 

If you can find a half-clean park bench to sit on it’s a relatively nice place to read a book and watch boats sail in and out in the muggy afternoon heat. 

There’s also Zona Franca, the city’s duty-free zone in a sense, where you can do some bargain hunting for all sorts of goods if that’s your thing. For us, the cheap eats and drinks that can be found in the place were very satisfying, along, of course, with the aforementioned friendly locals.

As for the dirt, sure no place is perfect.

* For more on Bogotá's rubbish, see 'Petrograd - Colombia's new capital?' http://bit.ly/U4ViiJ & 'Small steps to a cleaner, greener Bogotá?' http://bit.ly/WFOPsW

** For related articles on prostitutes in Colombia, see "Bienvenidos a Medellin - 'Bangkok Light'" http://bit.ly/N83NbB & 'What a mother hooker!' http://bit.ly/XEAefP

What a mother hooker!

There seems to be a lot of outcry in the United States over this ‘Secret Service Prostitute Scandal’, as it’s being dubbed. 

On the face of it, you can – kind of – understand why for many this story is so shocking. Undercover agents working to ensure President Barack Obama’s safety during his recent visit to Cartagena, on Colombia’s Caribbean coast, hiring ‘escort girls’ and then not having the decency to pay them the, allegedly, agreed fee. Not the kind of publicity the White House is looking for, is it?

'Looking for something, pretty boy?' 'Eh, no thanks.'

We don’t know yet – and we probably never will – what exactly happened on the night/early morning in question. Yes, the 24-year-old mother at the centre of all this has given her account of things. That’s just one side of the story, though, of course – and a Colombian woman’s one at that. 

Most of the flak in the media and general public is aimed, rightfully so you might say, at the US agents for a number of reasons. 

These are, namely, that they procured the services of prostitutes (albeit in a country where such practices are legal), they were drunk and they showed a complete lack of professional judgement with their actions, thus embarrassing their president and their country. On that last point, don’t worry USA, we think as much as you now as we ever did in the past – perhaps even a bit more.

OK, criticism one, the guys hired hookers. Well, we’re not up on the staffing of the men in question, but if they happened to be on ‘free time’ when all this happened, are they not entitled to do what they want, especially legal activities? 

Here’s another point to consider, though. Maybe they didn’t know the girls were ‘escorts’, as they describe themselves – distinct from prostitutes that now, these girls are much classier operators. 

Colombia is famous – Cartagena and Medellín in particular (see previous posts ‘Bienvenidos a Medellin – Bangkok Light’ http://bit.ly/IhlErq & ‘The Wages of Love’ http://bit.ly/IeUXji for related stories) – for such ‘gringo hunters’. These are women who come across as normal (is there such a thing?), just out for a night out trying to ‘score’ a man or two, as happens in every place in the world. 

However, what these ladies usually won’t tell you is that they want to get directly paid for their services – by whatever means they can get it. They don’t tend to introduce themselves as prostitutes or escorts, giving you their business cards in the process. No, that wouldn’t be the smartest move for picking up now, would it? 

They’re much sneakier than that. They’ve perfected the art of being ‘genuine’ so skillfully that we’ve witnessed people who are fully sober as well as street-wise Colombian natives getting duped by them. 

Yes, you can say secret service personnel should be a bit savvier, but we have to remember that there were at least two bottles of vodka thrown into the equation.

A Caribbean beach rub - far less hassle & cheaper than troublesome 'escorts'.

This brings us nicely to the second major condemnation of the men in question, that they were drunk. This one we find more incriminating than the fact they were, knowingly or unknowingly, sleeping with prostitutes. Why? Well, as the Latin phrase goes, ‘in vino veritas’, ‘in wine there is truth’. 

So regardless of the fact that the guys may have been on a night off, it doesn’t seem very prudent as an undercover agent, whose job it is to look after the President of the USA in what many think is a volatile country (we don’t), to be out knocking down copious amounts of alcohol. 

James Bond might have had the odd vodka and Martini – shaken, not stirred – but we can’t recall him ever getting too inebriated, while Jason Bourne always kept his wits about him. Alas, these real-life professional agents let such standards (and their trousers) slip for a few hours – a faux pas which has already cost a number of them their careers.

In the grand scheme of things, however, do their actions really warrant sacking? It’s safe to say that there are far worse activities being carried out by US secret agents and military personnel across the globe. 

Heck, the ladies involved in this ‘scandal’ still got paid decent loot for their services – US$225 for a few hours' work is more than they would make in a normal week or month even. 

Perhaps we should direct our anger at the greed of the woman who looked for US$800. Bet she didn’t even buy a drink all night. Disgraceful.