saw this and thought of you...

Miss you bex!

Party on wheels

Take a bus, rip out the sides, cram in more people than conceivably possible, add some aguardiente, and live band... It's a chiva!!!
Chiva's are basically parties on wheels, which stop off at the best local clubs and bars. My definition of fun.






Luckas "the party's on the bus!"





Chivas are elaborately painted buses (each one is different), that were originally used for countryside transport. You can just make out ours in the background of this photo.


On a chiva, there are several physical challenges:
- not to fall out of the side
- drink whilst in motion
- get on the roof
- dance on the roof
-get down after dancing on the roof

because they don't do postcards...

(Marvel at Dan's photography skills! thats my sillhouette in the sunset photo!)

Parque de tayrona is an enormous national park, with miles of unspoilt Caribbean beaches. However, between the park entrance and the said beaches, is an almost impenetrable tangled mass of tropical vegetation, otherwise known as Colombian jungle. In true south American style, we embarked on our drive late afternoon, meaning it was pitch black by the time we reached the park entrance. To add insult to injury, there was stormy rain and dramatic lightning, so the ground beneath us was a bog. A tropical bog. So we arduously advanced into the thicket in pitch black darkness, with only the guiding light of 2 mobile phones and a torch the size of a pencil. Yet our path was illuminated by the vision of perfect beaches.

Ian was having particular difficulty edging through the Colombian jungle, as he had made the unwise decision to wear flip-flops. He remedied this slightly by wearing plastic supermarket carrier bags over his feet- he was slipping in every direction. I imagine the scene would be similar if a giraffe was pushed out onto an ice rink.

Every guide described the route to our beach as safe, but this word was always coupled with the disconcerting word “relatively”. Hmm perhaps embarking on this journey at night was not our most wise decision. Eventually, we hit sand. Waking up in a hammock, slowly swaying in the breeze from the Caribbean sea, looking up onto palm trees and clear blue sky made the whole jaunt entirely worth it.

On the trek back, we noticed handy footbridges to avoid the bog we had unwittingly waded through.
Upon my return, I was telling my host mother about the trip (in spanish). My vocabulary didn’t stretch to the word “sunburn”, so I just said “pain” and pointed to my shoulder (the affected area). She then sprung up, in a “I have just the thing” manner, twirled me round and started rubbing cream into my shoulder. She mistook me, thinking I had muscle pain from sleeping in a hammock she had smothered me in “Deep Heat”.

Hello.

Sunburn and deep heat, I thought I had spontaneously combust!

cleansing the soul

One of the more bizarre activities we partook in in Medellin was our moonlight visit to the Japanese-inspired “barefoot park”, located at the foot of a building named "the intelligent building", although I am unsure of how a building can be intelligent.
In the park, a man dressed like Steve Irwin and armed with a megaphone (somewhat disturbing the Zen) instructed us to take off our shoes. The group was then lead barefoot through a series of paths with textures ranging from razor-sharp pebbles and bark to sand, grass and finally water – with occasional stops to rub our faces, lie on the floor, hum and bond with mother earth. The phrase “open your soul” was employed at one point. Not sure about that soul, but the soles of my feet were certainly opened, by walking barefoot over sharp “pieces of nature”.



Rubbing our hands together to create the cosmic energy.
Or something.

buses

The buses themselves are never in good shape to start with. Add this to the formula of roads littered with potholes, a driving technique that I had previously only ever whitnessed in video games, and interior decoration akin to that of a fortune tellers caravan, and the result is just a regular bus ride here.
The bus station in Medellin displays bus-related death and injury statistics per quarter split by bus operator.
To get to Medellin, we took an overnight bus. It hurtled round windy mountain roads at an average pace of 90mph, on tarmac of questionable quality. I found it rather challenging to eat my yoghurt- anyone who has tried to eat liquid food in an earthquake in the middle of the night may sympathise right now. I wont even begin to talk about the challenge posed by the toilet...

signs

"The sticky, still air is frequently refreshed by torrential rains which invariably turn most of the streets into rushing rivers, washing out litter, people and cars alike"

Colombian drinks...

Panella, a drink made from crushed sugar cane.

Aguardiente, the most consumed licquer in Colombia. Well, in the name of cultural intergration...

Rather fitting ...

A) Knock knock
B) Whos there?
A) Amos
B) Amos who?
A) A mosquito bit me

I Love Medellin!

Well, after the over-night journey that all the travel guides advised against went without problem (only one police search but they appear to be routine). I have just returned from a trip to Medellin, the second biggest city in Colombia.
The only thing I knew of Medellin before going is that it was home to the infamous Pablo Escobar, a brutal drug lord. Things have vastly improved since his death, but it was hard to get a notion of just how dangerous things are here. Granted, we moved "en masse", around more priveliged areas, but we were still being passed by uniformed and plain-clothed guys with guns the length of their arm. Surely they can't just be there for public reassurance. After nights out, we would sit in the nearest park, where young people seemed to congregate after the clubs closed. Thinking about it, I was hammered: an easy target, but nothing happened. I never once felt threatened.
The locals had an enormous sense of pride for Medellin, justifiably so: its beautiful. The city has grown in a canyon, surrounded by mountains. Even the slums looked pretty from this vantage point: uncovered red brick shacks climbing the slopes.
The weather was much crisper than on the coast.

We had an awesome weekend, there were perhaps 30 foreigners who worked in Colombia. We visited various places of interest through the day and partied hard at night. My highlight was without doubt the Chiva, so properly wicked that it deserves aseparate entry.

a few interesting observations...

In the rich neighborhoods, education levels are high. The universities are plush. Alot of the young people speak English, and you will find stimulating conversation. However (perhaps its just the cities I've visited) the "haves" and the "have nots" are distinctly separated, and the privelidged seem to have no appreciation of life in any other area. I feel like I'm living in as much of an ignorant bubble here as I was in the UK.

Perhaps this separation is due to the high level of caution (even paranoia). There is an ongoing civil war here. You have to be careful who you talk to. And not to upset anybody: see my previous entry on dystopia. The risk of kidnapping and street crime is real. Further, from what Ive seen you cannot trust the authorities.

There are a lot of motels here (some rented out by the hour apparently!). Young people (even university students) tend to live with their parents until they are married. This makes the girlfriens / boyfriend situation difficult. Like elsewhere in South America, anyone who can afford it will have a maid. So even when the 'rents are out, theres no space to get jiggy. Secondly (possibly due to the fact that the country is strongly catholic) any rumpy pumpy in the house is seen as disrespecting the family. It's very family orientated here, so disrespecting them is a big deal. Teenagers seem almost expected to be in relationships but sex is never discussed. This leads to much public display of affection, my theory is they have nowhere elseto do it! There seems to be a fascination with foreigners, a gringo can always pull.

I can see why foreign men come here for a Colombian wife, he will send the beautiful women here into a fracas over him!

dehumanisation

I've just read nineteen eightyfour by George Orwell and it got me thinking about this country as a dystopia (in the terms that citizens are not free to express individual thought).

Actually, its not possible for Colombia to be a genuine dystopia because: >>1. dystopia is a person's perspective (i.e. not every citizen in a particular society considers their life as dystopia). I am considering dystopia to be the majority of citizens here, who are not affiliated with either extreme political standpoint (these people are the "oppressors"). >>2. the concept is imaginary. The very purpose of a dystopia (and thus the purpose of my writing this) is to discuss, not depict contemporary society.

Dystopia is "An imaginary place where people lead dehumanised and often fearful lives."

The oppressors in dystopias almost always much more powerful than the rebels. Consequently, dystopian tales often become studies in survival. "Big Brother's Oceania is the logical conclusion of totalitarian ideologies, the place where we finally can end up if we stop fighting for our freedom." I believe the reason I can so easily compare Colombia to dystopia is that the oppressors have been very succesful in surpressing individual thought (or at least the expression of that individual thought- I am not suggesting they "love big brother"), through consistent acts and threats of extreme violence against rebels. In colombia, the only way to ensure your survival is to supress confrontational opinion. This is a violation of the freedom of expression, most easily dealt with through supression of individual thought. Citizens here live in fear of upsetting someone. For example, "Colombia is one of the most dangerous places in the world for journalists to work. Media workers face intimidation by drugtraffickers, guerrillas and paramilitary groups. More than 120 Colombian journalistswere killed in the 1990s, many for reporting on drugtrafficking and corruption. The media-freedom organisation Reporters Without Borders has denounced the leadersof the three main armed groups as "predators of press freedom" (BBC).

Other shared characteristics: hierarchical (and unbending) society, lack ofdemocracy exerted by the "government"- which I consider to be the two rebel groups.A penal system that lacks due process laws and often employs psychological orphysical torture.

With my bruv'

He reckons I look 2 foot tall on this picture. I blame slanty camera-work myself.

Happy Birthday Squid

Niel received a stuffed badger for his birthday. This smells of Phil. And eBay.

Apparently the gift was not so popular with Squid's mum, consequently it will be in the lounge next year at uni.

A rather unique coffee table don't you think?

Happy birthday Squidley.

Good luck in the real world!

Congratulations on your graduation Matt & Chris!

Right: their fridge last year. Aaaah, I'll miss you guys!