Bogotá's simple pleasures II: "Up the hill", "Nazi" and free beer

We’ve written before about the simple pleasures that we enjoy here in Bogotá.* In the last half year or so there have been two important additions to that list to which we must give due mention. Indeed, considering the time and money we’ve spent (well spent that is, most of the time) in both locations it would be remiss of us not to pay them homage.

They both fall into the tienda bar category – that is cheap-and-cheerful, rough-and-ready places to consume a few beers. Perhaps it’s an Irish trait, but no matter where we are in the world we always like to find a place (or two) we can call our local.

Elusive Lucio – keeping the beer flowing.

Initially, here in Bogotá’s La Candelaría district, we stumbled upon the popular, fairly reasonably priced Doña Ceci’s. It fulfilled its purpose for a while, but after devoting a nice chunk of time to the place, it became a little disappointing that we remained just another number, another ‘foreigner with money’ to the rather cold, tacaña owner. 

We don’t demand a lot, but a little appreciation and recognition from time to time that we’re good customers wouldn’t go astray – what a local should, at the very least, be about. Alas, with Doña Ceci, this was never forthcoming.

However, the tiendas where we now like to relax at the weekends (and the odd weekday) score high on those points and more. Both places are such bog-standard, Colombian drink holes that they don’t even have a name – at least not an obvious one that we’ve noticed. Thus, we’ve had to christen them ourselves (and regularly continue to wet the baby’s head at that).

So there’s Up the hill due to its location which is, predictably enough, at a bit of a higher altitude than where we live, on the borders of the supposedly not-that-safe barrios of Egipto and Belén south of the city centre. 

Then there’s Nazi bar which, perhaps not so predictably, has nothing to do with – in any meaningful sense anyway, as far as we’re aware or concerned – the fascist movement that found its home in Germany in the 1930s and 40s. 

It’s been dubbed that because the very affable twenty-something-year-old owner, Lucio, has for some reason that we’ve yet to ask him, a faint swastika tattoo on his hand. Considering he doesn’t exactly resemble nor have the ethnic background of a typical Nazi, we like to think that the symbol for him represents one of its non-violent meanings – ‘to be good’.

In any case, actions speak louder than words (or symbols) and Lucio has only ever been a complete gentleman to us. Indeed, of late he has adopted the Irish custom of the lock-in after hours. A free grande (that’s a 750ml bottle of beer, Poker being our preferred option) on our birthday was also very much appreciated. Small things, but they make a difference. 

Now, while Nazi’s grandes are a tad more expensive than our other local (3,000 pesos versus 2,500 pesos or €1.20 compared to €1 if you like – every little helps) Lucio’s friendly demeanour and appreciation to have us as patrons (how privileged he is) more than makes up for that. It also must be said he does benefit from a location advantage – he’s just a stone’s throw away from our residence.

Fun & games Up the hill. Is there anybody serving, though?

As for Up the hill, while the cheaper beer may have been the initial strongest pulling point, the treatment we receive, not just from the extremely friendly Paisa-blooded** owners and staff but the other Bogotáno regulars who drink there too, means that we feel bad if we don’t make a visit at least once a week.

Indeed, the chief owner is almost like a mother figure to us – in a good sense, that is. Not only was there free beer for our birthday, but a cake to boot. As for the other revellers who frequent the place, it’s rare we leave without getting at least one free drink landed on our table; all this from one of the city’s "poorer" regions, especially so when compared to the exclusive north.

So much have these places become what you might call our home from home, the constant salsa and vallenato music that’s played in them is almost becoming likeable for us. We’ve even been known to do a spot of salsa-ing once we’re merry enough (for a greater discussion about our Colombian dancing exploits, see http://bit.ly/S7A8eS).

All that’s missing in both places are a few prettier chicas from time to time – perhaps the ones that generally frequent the plush north could visit, just leave the attitude and arrogance at home. We can dream, can’t we?

______________________
*'Bogotá's simple pleasures' http://bit.ly/Uzc3lk.

**Paisa is the name given to a person hailing from north-west Colombia, specifically the departments of Antioquia, Caldas, Quindío and Risaralda. 

All that you can't leave behind

Every now and again it’s a good idea to cut the crap from your life. To undergo a necessary pruning you might call it. This can be done in a number of ways and in different areas. 

For example, you can streamline your friend database – these days that might involve deleting from your mobile phone and/or Facebook the numbers and contact details of old acquaintances who might now be a source of negativity.* 

There are also the material things we build up over time – in some contexts, these could be seen as no more than clutter or rubbish but they can be hard to let go of all the same.

All that we can't leave behind?

It’s in that latter area where we often struggle – our penchant for holding on to various bits and pieces plays against us. 

Now, if you’re a settled person (whatever that means) with your own house or at least long-term accommodation, such a hoarding trait isn’t that big of a deal really. However, if you still have something of a backpacker lifestyle and mentality, as we generally do, then keeping hold of what are, objectively speaking, non-important things, is far from a convenient practice.

What we’re on about here is the ability to extend the travel light approach to living light. After almost two years of being based in Bogotá but with a necessary break (for how long, we’re not sure) from the city on the horizon, the dreaded time of gathering up our things is fast approaching.

At first glance and without really getting down and dirty in it yet, it appears that we haven’t done too bad in terms of a large accumulation of stuff compared to other places we’ve stayed in over the years. 

For one, we don’t own any big electrical equipment or cumbersome furniture – in any case, if we did, they’d have to stay put unless they were of incredible emotional value. As for everything else, the question is: Can we put what we want to bring with us into one bag that weighs no more than 20 kg? That’s the goal.

Many of us are guilty of having more than we need.

In theory, it shouldn’t be a problem. What more does one really need to travel with other than some basic clothes? Added to that, it’s not like we’ve got any expensive outfits in our wardrobe – a nice, not-that-heavy suit apart – that we can’t leave behind.

Indeed price-wise, the ‘Wrong Way’ set of clothes these days is very much in the value-for-money, practical department.

This is, however, where what might be described as emotion comes into play. What we do have is an assortment of football and rugby shirts of sentimental value. An ever-growing collection we like to have recourse to at any given moment. Individually, of course, these tops weigh next to nothing; collectively, though, is a different story, while they also occupy some valuable room in a backpack tight on space.

Alongside the shirts, but perhaps slightly more acceptable in terms of emotional attachment, we’ve the various little mementoes that we’ve built up over the last couple of years. ‘Important’ paper cuttings, various correspondence, thought-provoking books that we like to keep hard copies of for reference, stuff like that.

But if we’re being tough on ourselves, coupled with a potentially bulging bag, a lot of these things can be scrapped. Sometimes it’s best just to live with the memories – no more, no less. What’s going to be required is German-style efficiency and precision when we’re eventually packing things up.

Living light, the extreme way.

It’s also worth bearing in mind that being in a position to have this as a problem shows the privileged place we’re coming from. There are plenty of people on this planet who are not and never will be able to accumulate a stash of material stuff. 

For them, it’s just about finding sufficient food to survive on from one day to the next. We don’t need to look too far for examples of this – here in Colombia, the gap between the haves and the have-nots is as wide and apparent as anywhere.

So while it’s a good idea to cut the crap from your life, when doing so it’s also wise to put things into an appropriate context. However, both can be quite difficult to do.

___________________
*For more on some of the ‘evils’ of Facebook and its ilk, see http://bit.ly/Rbh9lc. Also, for how some Colombian ladies deal with 'friend clearing' see http://bit.ly/NsJyB5.

The 'extranjero-files' — that is, not a xenophobe

Right, we’re admitting defeat. Or, to put it more correctly perhaps, we’re changing our angle of attack. It’s all to do with the word gringo and our sometimes laborious attempts to ‘correct’ numerous Colombians and other Latinos who refer to us as such. 

You see, for us the word has always referred to English speaking North Americans only (which we obviously are not) and, to be honest, most locals in these parts go along with that.

A bunch of foreigners.

However, at first glance some people here automatically think we’re from the US and hence call us gringo. We generally get a little uptight and politely tell them that we’re not gringos but Irish, so the word ‘extranjero’ (foreigner) is a more accurate label. 

Yet, the ‘g-word’ is theirs (Latinos) and some do use it to describe any foreigner. So in fairness, they can apply it as they see fit.

In terms of accuracy, though, and to avoid, heaven forbid, being mistaken as a Yank, if we are called a gringo in the future we will respond by saying that if you’re using it in its broader all-foreigners sense, fine, but if not, then we must clarify.

Then, of course, many of the people here who do call us gringo or extranjero or whatever are not that far removed from the Old Continent; that's Europe if you will, or more specifically Spain. 

So perhaps the only people here who have a real right to call us any of the above are the true indigenous – they could also call many of the Latinos they now share this land with the same.

In any case, they are just words, so should we really give them as much thought as we’re doing right now? 

Heck, Colombia is a country where the inhabitants regularly call their friends ‘gay’ (marica that is; for more on that see http://bit.ly/18eEfhd) and have no problem referring directly to people by their distinctive features: ‘gordo/gorda’ for a fat person; ‘negro’ for blacks; ‘mono’ for fair haired/skinned people and suchlike.

Supporting minorities.

As a Dutch friend mused, because of many other, real life-or-death problems this country has recently faced (and still does), what might be seen as offensive/racist words in some other places cause little fuss here (for more on not getting too worked up about words, read http://bit.ly/NNg2E8).

What is important in the above, though – and is the case the world over – is how those words are delivered and the actions that thus follow. 

That is to say, is there real meaning to what is uttered? Are they just throwaway, jovial remarks or is there more of, in the case of referring to people’s skin colour and the like, a racist element to it?

It will come as no surprise that we’ve witnessed racism here – you’ll find it in every corner of the globe. Very often it’s directed at the Afro-Colombians and/or the indigenous. That is, those on the peripheries, not generally part of the ruling class. They don’t quite fit in. 

Of course, for different reasons, you’ll also find some anti-US sentiment here which could be considered racist too – even though, politically speaking, Colombia is the most pro-US country in South America.

What might be seen as ironic is that many Latinos, when they depart for the Western world, will encounter discrimination, suspicion and racism aimed at them for no real logical reasons other than that they’re different.* Yet, surrounded in the comfort blanket of their own, they do the same to the minorities in their midst.

At the end of it all, this is our lot ...

This, of course, is a global phenomenon, far from restricted to this region. 

Many Irish see no problem hurling, at the very least, generalisations at immigrants who seek refuge on the island – a practice that often influences government policy – while at the same time expect right of passage wherever they go in the world. 

OK, some will argue this isn’t a racist tendency and more to do with protecting a small, bungling economy but that’s not always the case.

You see at certain times and in certain contexts, we can all be part of the minority, the outsider. We found it interesting to read in a newspaper in Malaysia that they referred to the West as the ‘minority world’ – the ‘haves’ versus the ‘have nots’ that is.

It can be a good practice to think outside your group – try to place yourself with the outcasts from time to time. 

We all have prejudices – it’s part of being human. The trick is trying not to let them unduly and irrationally influence us; easier written than done, of course.

As the saying goes, ‘before you criticise someone, walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticise them you’ll be a mile away and you’ll have their shoes.’ And if you’re lucky, they might be the right fit.

____________________
*Things may be changing on this front. Check out Latinos on the rise http://bit.ly/1784NCY for more on that.

You may also want to check out Phantom freedom at http://bit.ly/SOQUl0.

Clashes in the kitchen

Back in our younger, still-living-at-home days, the one thing that we were always encouraged – or forced, if you will – to do was to clean up after ourselves. 

We may not always have been the best at it or terribly enthused to do it on many occasions but over time (a long time, some may say) we came to realise that if we made a mess, it was up to us to clean it afterwards. A good rule of thumb for most things in life that, don’t you think?

Self-cleaning?

There are still certain areas of housecleaning that we don’t get too worked up about – a bit of dust in some non-important corner is not a big deal as far as we’re concerned. 

Something very personal such as your bed doesn’t always have to be made each day either, although we’re getting into the habit of doing that one. Where we have little-to-no patience, though, when it comes to ‘cleanliness-slackness’ is in the kitchen.

Specifically, we’re referring to people who fail to clean up the utensils they’ve used after cooking some food. It is arguably one of the greatest causes of conflict in shared accommodation. 

For us, it’s the height of ignorance for people to leave their dirty dishes – ones that are meant to be for everyone’s use, that is – in the kitchen sink or on the dining table or even hoard them in their room, where no one else can use them, dirty or not.

Obviously, some people were spoilt a little too much by their parents when they were growing up. Of course, do what you like if you’re living on your own, but when you’re lodging with others, common courtesy is that you tidy up after yourself in the areas that are shared. For many, however, that appears to be a difficult thing to understand, let alone undertake.

Mammy's not always around to tidy up.

Now, we’ve come face to face with kitchen pigs all over the world – it’s not something that’s confined to particular regions. But from a Colombian perspective, one potential reason why some people here seem reluctant to clean up their own mess could be to do with the housecleaner.

For many middle- and upper-class Colombians, having a family cleaner or maid (or slave the way we see some treated and, ahem, "paid") is the norm.

In such an environment (in whatever country), any children in these houses, from an early age, get used to somebody cleaning up after them. 

What’s more, the employed cleaner generally doesn’t have the power or right to tell these kids to tidy up their own mess in the same way as a parent or sibling does – it’s her (or his, perhaps) job after all, as well as doing generic cleaning, ironing, cooking and whatever else.

So this can leave a mentality in some that "slaving" in the kitchen is somebody else’s business – and usually a chore for a person who is not that important. 

Again, that’s fine (in a way) if you have a maid following you about for all your life. For many who think like that, though, this, unfortunately (unfortunate for those who have to live with them that is), tends not to be the case.

If a cockroach can find the kitchen sink, anyone can, right?

Yes, it is more or less true that when we were living at home – there’s a risk of sounding sexist here but this is just how it was at the time – and coming from a farming background, very often cleaning up the dishes after eating was not one of our tasks. The boys did the outside work, the inside toil was the preserve of the girls.

Nonetheless, what we’ll put down to good parenting (and aggressive sisterly "persuasion") when we did fly the nest, we knew at least how to use a bit of washing up liquid and a scrubber to keep things in the kitchen clean.

Indeed, nowadays our policy is to clean up all the things we’ve used in cooking – save for the plate and cutlery that are going to be used in eating – before we sit down to feast. The meal often tastes more satisfying that way, we find.

Trying to inculcate such practices in a number of our various housemates over the years has proven quite difficult if not impossible.

Some day, perhaps, we’ll be able to afford our own place, free from such daily annoyances. We live in hope.

Mérida — almost perfect?

It shouldn’t surprise regular Wrong Way readers that we tend to find ourselves more at ease up in the hills as opposed to down by the ocean. 

That’s not to say we’re averse to sandy beaches, clear water and decent sun when we can get it – indeed, every now and again it’s very much called for – but we’re usually more comfortable inland.

Up in the hills.

Another thing we very much like and strive to find no matter where we are is value for money. It is always nice, after all, to get some bang for your hard-earned buck.

On both these important points (and more), the Venezuelan city of Mérida did not disappoint during a recent, unplanned visit.

Tucked away at an altitude of 1,600 metres-above-sea-level in the Andes Mountains, it is the highest city in Venezuela. Its setting is pretty impressive, surrounded by a host of higher peaks. 

As one of the country’s biggest student hubs, it has quite a relaxed vibe where, from what we could gather in the area we stayed, socialising at night is not a cause for much concern – something you can’t say for all parts of the ‘Socialist’ Republic.

Accused of being a CIA spy trying to bring down the current administration by a drunken local – he took all our details and then subsequently tried to sell us DVDs as well as teach us how to speak Spanish without the foreign accent – was as close to disturbing as it got on our nights out. 

In reality, it was amusing. The US intelligence agency would be pretty stuck if it came looking for us to engage in espionage for it in these parts.

Nice, if a little cloudy.

Now, while we really enjoyed our brief stop in the city itself and indeed there was plenty that we didn’t get to do or see, most of the more alluring attractions as far as we’re concerned are located on the outskirts.

Again, as our stay was limited, we only got to explore a fraction of what’s to be found. What we did see, though, did not disappoint.

On our first full day we made the short trip to La Culata. The main entrance into the national park is at an altitude of about 3000 m, with many peaks further in getting as high as 4,800 m plus. Alas, our time in the region coincided with the rainy season so the panoramic views were frequently blighted by all the dense cloud. 

That aside, the rugged, rolling landscape is pretty stunning, dotted with the abundant cactus-style plant, the frailejón (or espeletia) – a shrub that is renowned in the area for its medicinal properties.

Lots of frailejónes.

You could walk for hours there, as long as you don’t get lost. Perhaps it was just the time of year, but we seemed to have the whole place to ourselves – a nice spot to get away from it all.

On the second full day, invited by our newly made Venezuelan friends, we hit for Lake Mucubají, nestled at, what was the day we went anyway, a pretty chilly 3,500 metres into the sky, 60 kilometres east of Mérida in the Sierra Nevada National Park.

Again the views here are quite spectacular (words just can’t do it justice – the pictures help to do that somewhat) and there are numerous treks to wander along. For those wanting to spend more than just one day in the area, to be ‘at one with nature’ for a bit longer, you can camp there once you obtain a permit.

Lake Mucubají.

Before we returned to Colombia, we wanted to avail of the various bargains to be found in Mérida with our ‘converted on the street’ Colombian pesos (you’ll get an exchange rate to bolívares at least four times better this way than by going to the banks – for more on that see our previous post: http://bit.ly/102xdsi). So our final full day was spent shopping in the city, satisfying our value-for-money fetish.

On the activity and sightseeing front, though, we just scratched the surface as regards what this region has to offer. Indeed, the posada/hostel we stayed in, Guamanchi,* also doubles up as a tour operator and from what we could see it has plenty of decently priced excursions available (as well as having cheap, quality rooms).

Alas, partially self-imposed work deadlines saw us return to Bogotá a little earlier than we ideally would have liked to.

However – and as we stressed in the last post – this brighter, lighter side to Venezuela has certainly given us some food for thought.

__________________
*For more information on Guamanchi Posada and Adventure Tours check out www.guamanchi.com or email: info@guamanchi.com

Venezuela: A necessary reappraisal

Back in 2009, on our first visit to the Ecuadorian capital Quito, we heeded the well-intentioned advice of some fellow travellers and opted to stay in the ‘safer’ north of the city – an area home to many backpacker hostels.

"Do you want to go ahead with this?"

What we encountered there, however, was anything but a feeling of security, reinforced by hostel and restaurant owners’ warnings not to venture out alone, if indeed at all, after dark. 

The fact that the majority of people we spoke to in the hostel we stayed in had been mugged on the streets right outside our lodgings obviously did nothing to ease concerns.

As a result, our stay in the city was short-lived; we were quite happy to leave in all honesty.

Two years later, in a less-planned stop in the city and being led by an Argentinean bus companion, we found ourselves camped up in a mediocre ‘hospedaje’ (hostel/hotel) in the historic centre of the city – dodgier territory than the north of the metropolis according to many.

This time, though, we experienced a completely different, far friendlier side to the place. Within hours after arriving (we got there late in the evening, in darkness, at that) we found ourselves drinking beers in a rough-and-ready house of some local. In another context, considering the area we were in, these guys would be seen as people to be avoided. 

This set the tone for what turned out to be a hugely enjoyable, trouble-free few days in Quito.

So while first impressions of a place or a person can at times be a good guide to the whole picture, this isn’t always the case. Very often such things are context and time-dependent.

Bearing that in mind, we made no secret of our negative introduction to Venezuela last year (see: http://bit.ly/OLR2Ev). 

In many ways, our experiences back then sat nicely with the accepted Western narrative that the place is dangerous, politically insecure and best avoided – even though we did enter the country rather excitedly and with an open mind.

Thus, this time it was with a bit of nervousness, tempered by stubbornness and a sense of some adventure, that we hit for Colombia’s eastern neighbour for a visa run. The rough plan on departing Bogotá was to get in and out of the place as quickly as possible.

Our anxiousness increased when, on arrival in the city of Cúcuta on the Colombian side of the border, the guys who exchanged our pesos for Venezuelan bolivares gave us plastic bags and told us to stow our cash in them and put them in our shoes for safety. (The biggest problem in the end was that this practice almost rendered the notes unusable from the damage inflicted by being wrapped up in our sweaty runners.)

Yet practically from the get-go, the coldness of the citizens and feelings of insecurity that prevailed during our first visit were replaced by very helpful, friendly people and a relaxed general atmosphere.

To the left ...

... and to the right

Yes, the physical signs of the recent, highly contentious general election (for a recap, see: http://bit.ly/Yy86zJ) narrowly and controversially won by the late Hugo Chávez’s successor, Nicolás Maduro, are there to be seen. 

But it’s not – at least openly and at ground level amongst the populace (at a political level and below the surface for some citizens we spoke to, deep divisions are apparent*) – a case of a dangerously divided country where opposing sides don’t mix.

What we found in the two places we stayed, firstly San Cristóbal and then Mérida**, were easy-going people (the small bar brawl we witnessed on our first night aside – sure a beer bottle being hurled at somebody is nothing unusual to us) going about their daily business.

Wherever we stay we like to be able to venture out at night feeling relatively safe, sampling a few beers and chatting to the locals in little ‘tienda’ bars. Thankfully, that was no problem this time, unlike Maracaibo last year. 

OK, our hotel in San Cristóbal did have a 10.30 pm curfew, but that was more an individual choice rather than a rule from what we could gather. Plus, considering the times we tend to retire at night nowadays, this lights-out policy wasn’t a big issue.

Of course, we did learn from our first experience in the country as regards the currency. 

So this time we had plenty of cash to convert into bolivares as opposed to going to ATMs where the value is at least four times less than on the street (Colombian pesos are fine to exchange along the border and that’s where you’ll get the best price). Hence, in most aspects, it’s much cheaper to get by compared to Colombia.

On that theme, practically every shop/restaurant displays the prices of its goods – prices that are trustworthy and accepted across the board from our observations. In other words, haggling isn’t really done or needed in the majority of places – the price is the price and it’s usually satisfactory. 

Now, we don’t mind haggling, but in many street stores in Colombia you can’t help but wonder if they are charging you a foreigners’ price no matter what you pay. The aversion here to publicly displaying prices always leaves you in a bit of doubt.

"Sorry, where would we find some chicken?"

You will still find what seems to be official Venezuelan suspicion towards foreigners – again in sharp contrast to the usual Colombian experience. 

On the internal bus journeys where the National Guard did ID checks, as foreign passport holders we were the only ones taken off and given a pretty decent interrogation with our bags thoroughly checked. With nothing to hide it wasn’t something that bothered us really.

That was, of course, taking for granted that the officers were genuine – in this case, they seemed to be. Considering, though, the pronouncements coming from the country’s leader as regards some foreigners’ intentions in Venezuela (mostly aimed at the USA, albeit), you can never rule out a bent military official doing something untoward in the name of patriotism.

If, however, at heart they are in the same mould as the vast majority of civilians we met in San Cristóbal and Mérida, such a scenario is unlikely. 

In any case, going by our adventures this time around, the rewards far outweigh the risks.

___________________
* Some Venezuelan politicians take very seriously the idea of ‘fighting’ for your country, as this video shows: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jKUVdw9mgeY

**Mérida is something of a hidden gem from what we experienced. We plan to bring you more on that next.

Colombia: A banker's paradise

For the second time in a number of months here in Colombia we found ourselves snookered as to what to do with our cash. 

OK, it could be seen as a pleasant headache to have – better looking at it than for it, in a sense. The issue, though, on both occasions was that without a bank account, where do we put the cash we’ve (finally) built up over our time freelance English teaching in the country when we go travelling?

Safe haven: cash under the bed.

You see, it’s not a problem when we stay in Bogotá. We just keep it tucked away in safekeeping, accessing it when we need to. 

But going on the road with a relatively nice bit of "real money" – enough, in any case, that we certainly don’t want to lose – is not the brightest idea around these parts, or anywhere for that matter. It would be bringing ‘dar papaya’ to new levels of stupidity (see http://bit.ly/XLDyLg for an explanation of that).

Due to our visa situation and a lack of the foreigners’ version of the national identity card (a cédula extranjería as it’s known – it took Colombia immigration almost six months to get us one of those issued, getting it just six days before it actually expired) we couldn’t open a bank account back in January.

Our three-pronged cash solution for our travels back then was thus: we brought more than maybe advisable with us; we left some behind and; in an extremely generous gesture, a friend of ours gave us her bank card to use for the duration of the trip (cheers, Melissa) – so we put the remainder of our cash into that account as cover.

Now, all that worked out quite well in the end, but we didn’t feel fully in control of the situation. So for our latest voyage, one where we had to pop into neighbouring Venezuela for visa purposes,* we tried again to open a Colombian bank account. 

The game changer this time was that we had our cédula – the lack of it beforehand was the only obstacle preventing us doing business with Davivienda (the other banks, for the record, needed written proof of income, something Davivienda did not).

So cash and national identity card in hand, we go to open what they call a savings account – after all, all we wanted was somewhere to "securely" store our money while also having the ability to access it at some stage if needs be.

Standing tall('ish') - Davivienda.

‘Right, what kind of benefits do we get?’ ‘Benefits? Well, you can use the debit card to withdraw your cash at any Davivienda ATM in the country (but use another bank’s machine and you’ll be nicely charged) – get this, free of charge!’ 

‘Wow! Tell us more.’ 

‘You can also make point-of-sale and internet transactions with your card without incurring a charge from us.’ 

‘Great. What about the interest rate?’ 

‘Well that’s minimal, less than one per cent.’ 

‘Ah, that’s OK, it’s better than zero – at least our money will make something.’ 

‘Well, you are, of course, charged $9,300 Colombian pesos (COP officially – roughly US$5) per month to have this account.’ 

‘Hold on, what? We leave our money with you, money you use to invest to make more and you charge us for our "generosity"? How can you do that?’ 

‘Bienvenidos to the banking world of Colombia.’

Yep, we get charged for letting the bank play around with our money. Indeed, if the interest rate was one per cent (it’s less) we’d need to leave a minimum of ten million pesos (about US$5,000) just to break even – that's if the interest was calculated monthly, which it’s not. 

This isn’t just Davivienda (a company where we, incidentally, teach many of its high-rolling staff) we must add – it applies to all the banks; Colombian law apparently.

In fact, it seems to be a cosy cartel between the banks and the country’s lawmakers – nobody seems willing or, more importantly, legally allowed to break ranks. From what we’ve been told, even the international banks play the same game. The likes of HSBC and Citi must love things here – easy money and all that.

We don’t make any secret of the fact that we’ve never been big fans of banks, wherever in the world, but the above practices are just plain wrong. 

How the ordinary Colombian can accept it is beyond us. And, of course, it is the working- and lower-middle-class Colombians that are most affected by it. The lower classes tend not to have bank accounts – they’ve enough problems without them – while the upper-middle and upper classes either don’t really care about such charges or, perhaps more likely, have their wealth elsewhere.

A popular protest, just not about the banks, though.

At least in the other two countries we’ve banked in – namely the Republic of Ireland and the UK – we don’t get charged just for leaving our money with them. The balance we’ve left in our UK bank account – the current account that is – hasn’t budged since we departed, only for the small sums of cash we’ve taken out.

What’s more, our instant-access savings account, where we can transfer funds from this to our current account in seconds via the internet, is making money for us – not a lot, but at least it’s moving in a positive direction. It’s more or less the same in the Republic of Ireland.

Yes, "proper" savings accounts do exist in Colombia, but from what we can gather they are highly restrictive and not very practical for the average worker. So with seemingly little or no public or political pressure to change their ways, why would the banks do so?

They are on a nice little winner here. After all, it is a banker's paradise.
___________________________
*We’ll have more on what turned out to be a very positive, highly enjoyable trip to Venezuela in the coming days.