The day after I went to a huge firework at the Parque Simon Bolivar to celebrate Bogota’s 470th birthday, I happened to walk right into a demonstration in front of the Ministry of Agriculture.  Loud speakers blaring utterances and many Colombianos held up protest flags.  So what was all the fuss?

  The milk farmers want to have the rights to process crude milk themselves in the country rather than having multi-national companies buy cheap crude milk from the farmers, pasteurizing it, and then selling it back to them at twice the price.  As of now, they are not allowed to do so by the government.

  The chants grew louder; I could hardly hear the explanation I was getting from an old Colombiano at the protest.  He was there with his mother, who was, well, ancient.  I think she thought I was a journalist.  All at the same time fifty feet away, a row of riot police in full gear surrounded the entrance to the Ministry of Agriculture building.  Another two blocks down the street, life for everyone else carried on as usual.  I witnessed something beautiful here which is probably only possible in a well functioning Democracy.  Strangely enough this is the first time I have attended a protest, by accident and I am not even in the country where I hold my green card.

  I just got to Cuzco Peru today to meet up with Danielle.  Food here is awesome.  We are going up to Sacred Valley and Machu Pichu in the next few days.  I got a camera now, so should have some pictures soon!

Instead of going to second day of the salsa festival, I met up with another Northern Ireland traveler and we went to a soccer match between Bogota Santa Fe and Atletico Huile from another city.  I have been to NBA, NHL, MLS games, but never to a soccer game.  The fans piled in, dressed in the white and red colors of the team.  We got seats near high up near one end of the field where all the other Bogota Santa Fe fans were.  The atmosphere was pretty incredible as fans stood on handrails holding a long stretch of team-colored cloth that hung from the top of the stadium to the bottom.

I got a full pat down search by the police, including taking off my socks to make sure I wasn’t bringing in anything illegal.  Apparently everyone at the game that Dave the Northern Irishman went to in Medellin just a week ago, everyone were smoking and snorting.  This would be a different game though.
We stood for the entire 90 minutes of the match among crazed fans.  They sang various team songs and chants for the entire game, never missing a beat.  The only lyrics I caught were “Vamos Santa Fe”, but I bounced and chanted along too.  The entire side of the stadium was moving at one point.  The speaker mounted on the roof was shaking; I thought it was going to fall off.  The atmosphere was more moving and energetic than the Miami Heat playoff game I went to and the stadium was only half full.  Dave told me later that in away games back home, the fans stick around for at least half an hour after the game and keep chanting and singing.  They stay even longer for home games.  I can only imagine.

The Bogota game didn’t have long fancy half time shows; after fifteen minutes, the players were back on the field.  Still no scores on the board.  Santa Fe players continued their attack and finally put a header into the back of the net with less than 10 minutes to play.  The fans went totally nuts.  Literally everyone on one end of the stadium rushed to the bottom row.  I don’t know how people didn’t get trampled over – maybe some did.  The 30 riot police in full gear stood their ground just behind the goal.  I have never seen crazier fans.

            Yesterday right in Parque Bolivar, the central plaza in Bogota, Colombianos were celebrating their 11th Salsa festival, featuring many of the top salsa bands in Colombia and dance performances.  As the event is free, the whole plaza was packed.  It was my first time going to a live salsa festival.  Simply moving, the whole salsa loving crowded sang to the music.  The big screen behind the band showed salseros dancing on a separate stage.  There must be close to 50,000 people at the plaza. 

            A few bands played before “Grupo Niche”, from Cali Colombia, came on stage.  I had never heard of them before, but when the first note broke, I knew they were something special.  Later I found out that the band has a 30 years history.  Just like Buena Vista Social Club from Cuba, the original members of the band have passed on, but the next generation of salsa singer have carried on the torch and the tradition of the music.  They were simply amazing.  If you love salsa, you have to check out their music.  At one point, one of the four singers got hold of a violin and started soloing on top of the philoharmonic orchestra!

            The most memorable moment for me, however, was when I saw a salsero dance.  He only has one leg.  He danced with a crutch.  He danced beautifully.  If you ignored the crutch he held in his left armpit and the pantleg that is folded up near his stub, you could not tell the differences between him and the other dancers.  And then, he did his shines.  Shines are stylish footwork and body movements in Salsa.  Holy moly.  How in the world do you do shines with only one leg?  His right foot tapped to the music and he moved in aboslute sync with his partner.  My jaws dropped. 

            I had been traveling pretty fast the last few weeks and was planning on making my way down to San Agustine in southern Colombia to visit the hundreds of giant stone statues. 

            At the hostal, I have just traded in my “Essentials of Tai Chi” for “On The Road” by Jack Kerouac.  Rain is starting to come down on the roof.  On the road and on an afternoon like this, I am happy to slow down, read and stay here for a while.

            Sprawling over a vast flat plain only flanked to the east by the Cordillera range closeby,  Bogota, a city of more than 7 million people, pulses with youthful energy felt on many universities throughout the city.  I bussed in from the airport, bypassing the mixed commercial and apartmental neighborhoods surrounding the historial center.  Businessmen in suits walk with purposes in hurried paces among college kids in yellow and green pants, sporting lion-like spiked hair.  Coffee, juice and pastry shops line the street corners, not unlike those in NYC.  I visited a few musuems and the city library, finding many scheduled art, music, theatre, economic forums and festival on posters.  One word describes Bogota well — vibrant. 

            A city just outside Bogota, Zipaquira has historially been a salt mining town.  Salt mining continues but the primery attraction there is the Salt Cathedral that has been built into the mine.  On the bus ride out to Zipaquira, I saw just how green this part of Colombia is.  Green trees on both sides of the road reminded me of the forrest reservations in Yucatan, Mexico.  There are close to twenty different chambers leading up to to the main room; each chamber has various crosses carved into the walls of the mine, some in stones and some in salt rocks.  I am still surprised by how deeply Catholic the Latin American countries are, thinking that only 500 years ago, people did not even know the story of Jesus.  The main Cathedral room itself at the end of the tunnel, probably about 30 meters tall and 20 meters wide, has a massive cross in the background.  Actual masses are held there on Sundays.  I walked away impressed by the construction, the modernity of the site and the 3-D animated video of history of the salt formation shown deep inside one of the chambers.  I couldn’t imagine such a modern touristy site in the countries I visited in Central America. 

            The next day, I met up with Sebastian, one of my roommates from Florida, at his girlfriend’s house for her birthday.  After traveling with gringos the last month, I had given some of my hard-earned Spanish back to the books.  Most of the family spoke only Spanish, and of course, I complied.  Maybe it’s typical of latin birthdays, we sang her the happy birthday song first in English, followed by the Spanish version.  Later, we went out to Zona Rosa, the nightlife center of Bogota, drank Aguadiente and danced Salsa, Merengue, Pop and Electronica late into the night.  Zona Rosa has everything from salsa clubs, Harley’s restaurants, luxury clothing shops, hamburger and hot dogs stands and hoards of Colombianos.  Nightlife is definitely happening in there.  Even thought I didn’t see any foreigners while out in Zona Rosa, I had read in one of the local publications that mochileros, or backpackers, are starting to make Bogota a destination in Colombia.  Colombia has a reputation of being a dangerous place, but since getting here, I haven’t felt any less safe than in other Central American countries. 

 

  I spent the last few days in the famed colonial city of Cartagena.  Indeed it was beautiful as advertised.  The pastel building colors reminded me of Puerto Rico, but most of the buildings had wooden bars over the windows, not quite sure if that’s left over from the colonial period though.

  Some people come to Colombia for its sights, people and culture.  Others come for its cheap drugs as I would soon find out.  I stayed at a hostal and was hanging out with a few Aussies and a girl from Ireland.  Later in the night, I found myself sitting in a corner bar and before I knew it, they were buying.  On the surface, it seemed like an innocent looking bar in touristy area.  Some people were having drinks and others were dancing.  But really there were two separate person trying to sell to the Aussie.  The bartender was taking half full bottles away so that patrons would need to buy more beers.  Some of the not-so-great-looking girls sitting at one table were looking all too friendly.  A few drunk Colombians were chasing the Irish girl all around the small dance floor.  Everybody wanted something at the bar.  This would make a perfect hectic opening to a “Training Day” type movie.  I didn’t feel like being there any more.  What did I get myself into?  I stuck around.  The night ended uneventfully.  Maybe it was better that way.

  Next day I left for Teganga, a small fish town near Santa Marta, with Lucy, Carrie and David, all from US.  The laid back atmosphere of the town was pretty contagious.  We went to the beach and ate sea food by the bay. 

  Also near Teganga is the Tyrona National Park, which is thought to have Colombia’s best beaches.  For one, it’s one hour hike from the parking lot of the park to the first site.  Yes, that’s right.  To visit the park, you have to walk at least one hour.  That would never fly in the US. 

  Cabo, one of the beaches one hour farther along the beach, had incredible fine black sands.  There are huge boulders on the beach, lined with palm trees.  The boulders are broken into many pieces but still held together.  In the distance, I could see ship that have long wrecked on the boulders about 100 meters out in the sea.  Locals say they are wrecks of drug smuggling ships; I believe them. 

  I picked up a bunch of coconuts on the beach and began trying to open them.  It would be too easy with a machete, so I decided to do it the natural way — throwing coconuts against the huge boulders.  My arms and shoulders haven’t gotten such a good work out in a while.  There are two layers to a coconut.  Once the fiberous outter layer cracks, there is another inner shell which cover the coconut meat.  I must have opened close to 10 coconuts.  Woong-Kyo, a Korean from Chicago whom I met earlier, took a bunch of pictures of me flying through the air throwing coconuts at the boulders.  Well, those pictures will have to come later.

  After many swims in the warm Carrebean water, we trekked back to the entrance and took the bus back to Santa Marta.  Tomorrow I fly to Bogota.  I will have Sebatian, my Colombian ex-roommate, to show me around the city.  There is a salsa festival in the Bogota city park this coming weekend.  I can’t wait!