tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19528972183727742632024-03-20T11:36:26.630-07:00Sky Over The Limitstories from the roadTrozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-59514573801294868102010-07-17T09:29:00.000-07:002010-07-17T09:29:22.688-07:00A New AdventureThe sound of ladies chattering. In Spanish. The sound of waves lapping the shore. I open my eyes and yes, I am on the beach. And now surrounded by holidaymakers catching the early morning sun before it gets unbearably hot. Slowly I piece together events leading to this moment. My new friend Adrian said he would meet me here in an hour or two. That was just after sunrise, when I arrived and the beach was empty. Judging by the height of the sun, it's been about 2 hours. I sit up and look around. Is he coming back? Paranoia seeps through my body. ALL of my shit is at his apartment except the clothes I wear and my tobacco. I think I could find it. It's bang in the middle of the Born area of Barcelona. He seemed like a nice guy...<br />
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Not much later I'm cruising down the Avenidas on the back of Adrian's moped for the 5 minute journey back to his place. I met him last night in The Born Bar. I'd just had a cuttlefish & cockle spaghetti and a bottle of wine to myself, and went out to find a bed/sofa for the night. I met him and his friends, we chatted for a while, I bought a round of tequilas and hit them with the crunch. It was an ambiguous response, but it was out there anyway. The rest is a bit hazy, but involved several more bars. Turns out he has this pimp almost top floor apartment right in the heart of a beautiful old bustling neighbourhood 5 minutes from the beach. Score.<br />
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The next day, after a killer burger, I stop to watch a guy playing a hang drum in the street. The magical harmonies filling the square pour into my ears and softly massage my body from the inside. Now back to the beach to catch the late afternoon sun. I think I'll find a hostel for tonight first.Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-24799691164867486292009-08-17T14:34:00.000-07:002009-08-21T15:02:59.475-07:00El PetronioIt was a tough call. Last time I was in Cali, 2 weeks ago, I was sketching out my plans. The Mompox Film Festival was, like Parque Tayrona, one of the only clear things I really wanted to do while in Colombia - other than the last few weeks' commission - and look what happened there. So, no great surprise then, the Law of Plan B prevailed. It was described as unmissable - thousands of people dancing and stomping to marimba bands for 4 nights in a row.<br /><br />I've just about caught up on my live music drought. Hermanos Lebron, the Cuban salsa band, in Santander de Quilichao last month was a start - but these last 4 days have been utterly amazing, reminiscent of Carnival in Panama. Last night had me actually welling up with tears, for the second time in as many years. Maybe it was the 'viche'... Around 9pm, this group appeared on the revolving stage, as the last were revolved away behind them, a troupe of about 60 kids, aged between 4 and 16. Playing marimbas, drumming, stamping, and singing, they made an emotional impact on me that I won't forget.<br /><br />Petronio Alvarez is the name of the 13th Pacific Music festival of Cali. Busloads of Afro-Colombians from Choco, Buenaventura and communities all along the coast converge on Cali to witness this spectacular event. For 2 days, back to back bands from 6pm to midnight compete in various categories to see who gets to play on the final day. Saturday is the special invitations days, where famous bands & old winners play and Sunday is the final. The revolving stage ensures there is little more than a couple of minutes between acts.<br /><br />We were lucky enough to have colour photocopied some press passes, and had access to the central arena. This free festival takes place in the Plaza de Toros - a huge bullring. The stage is set up at one edge of the ring, and about 40,000 people fill up the tiered stands. In the bullring we packed in about a thousand people on Sunday. The atmosphere is crackling with excitement, and the dance moves are incredible. I remember turning around at several points to see literally the whole panorama from top to bottom moving and arm-waving in step.<br /><br />To me it seems like there are two types of bands - the marimba bands that generally have a lot of drums and those with violins. It's my theory that because this is only the second year with violin bands, that they need another few years practice and audience appreciation until they get better and faster - the rhythm is just a bit too slow on the whole and doesn't really get the crowd going as much as the drums - when <span style="font-style: italic;">they</span> get going something magical happens and I just can't put words to it.<br /><br />And then at midnight every night the whole place decants to Calle Pecao in the centre, and the Parquedero (the car park) around the corner. Last night there must have been 2000 people in the car park all shaking and moving to miramba sounds from a fat, very loud sound system.<br /><br />The pacific drink of choice is viche - it's my informed guess that this is made from fermented sugar cane juice - it has that grassy earthy sweetness that French Agricole style rhums do - with a punchy rough kick. It's known as a Pacific aphrodisiac (on Saturday a beautiful latina testified to that) and they sell it in reused plastic bottles - proper homebrew.<br /><br />Last night nearly didn't happen. We turned up at 6pm on the dot, along with 25,000 other people. The VIP (performers and press) queue was a mess, the cops just standing around and the security shouting at a raging mob of 250 people baying at the gates telling people to get organised and into queues without any success. Pisspoor organisation. After being in this writhing mob for an hour, finally made it into the outer enclosure, and were greeted by a 100 person queue to get into the inner arena. Finally at the front, the security guy took my pass out of the holder, said to me "es una copia" and put it into his hand with a wadge of at least another 50. My mate had just made it inside ahead of me, he passed his copy out (mine was a copy of a copy) and after another 20 minutes queueing made it in for the final night. I could only last until 2am this morning, I think some of the last viche I had was a little more potent than normal and dragged myself to bed.Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-19439741520247352622009-08-10T14:29:00.000-07:002009-08-21T14:36:38.695-07:00How To Blow A Week's Budget in 24 Hours1. Have a real pint of real ale - at Bogota Beer Factory - the first in over a year, while catching up with a mate you haven't seen in 4 years. 9,000 pesos (£3)<br />2. Have a cocktail in a bar on your first blind date. 12,000 pesos.<br />3. Taxi home. 8,000 pesos.<br />4. Buy nearly brand new Lumix camera, probably stolen, to replace the Digi-SLR that got stolen which you were borrowing because yours got stolen in the post. A bargain second hand at 115,000 pesos (£40)<br />5. Buy flowers for your friend's parents to apologize for waking them up and scaring the crap out of them at 2am because your key snapped in the lock of your own door, after walking around for an hour unsuccessfully trying to find mobile phone credit, but at least avoiding sleeping in the street. 5,000 pesos.<br />6. Buy a piece of acrylic to cover the hole in the door that you broke in the hope that the door wasn't double locked. 2,000 pesos.<br />7. Buy a ticket for the nightbus to Cali to go to a Pacific music festival. 55,000 pesos.<br /><br />No dinner for a month then.Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-86113411083613843732009-08-07T14:36:00.000-07:002009-10-16T08:22:06.696-07:00Colombia Solidarity Campaign - Comission 2009Here is a clickable summary of the six parts of my report in order - as brief as I could make it.<br /><br />1. <a href="http://grassfedcows.blogspot.com/2009/08/watch-this-space.html">In At The Deep End</a> - 16th-17th July, Bogota<br />2. <a href="http://grassfedcows.blogspot.com/2009/08/details-to-follow.html">Organise & Resist: The Minga</a> - 18th-21st July, Bogota, Cali & Cauca<br />3. <a href="http://grassfedcows.blogspot.com/2009/08/117-families-facing-eviction.html">117 Families Facing Eviction</a> - 22nd July, La Toma, Suarez, Cauca<br />4. <a href="http://grassfedcows.blogspot.com/2009/08/caminando-la-palabra-walking-word.html">Caminando La Palabra (Walking The Word)</a> - 23rd-26th July, Cauca<br />5. <a href="http://grassfedcows.blogspot.com/2009/07/4-days-4-places.html">4 Days & 4 Places</a> - 27th-30th July, Cauca<br />6. <a href="http://grassfedcows.blogspot.com/2009/08/19-days-and-still-standing.html">19 Days And Still Standing</a> - 31st July-4th August, Cauca, Caldes, TolimaTrozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-10992099798912003802009-08-04T14:01:00.000-07:002009-08-21T14:27:53.417-07:0019 Days And Still Standing<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYJLTEeFkD4aDymU8D5t2R0pevaoT_cx2bAlqMjsdpFN2Ec2T1pYIxXSARcP7doFx-23fQNCy6TtMlxaN2D7jqdCv_ywXkCbYr7tausuqP7PbXCUfzFDvd2XACu9wLvlGl7_LPs_Kehyx/s1600-h/IMG_1695.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYJLTEeFkD4aDymU8D5t2R0pevaoT_cx2bAlqMjsdpFN2Ec2T1pYIxXSARcP7doFx-23fQNCy6TtMlxaN2D7jqdCv_ywXkCbYr7tausuqP7PbXCUfzFDvd2XACu9wLvlGl7_LPs_Kehyx/s400/IMG_1695.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372528445249764114" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">mining community at La Marmota<br /><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6Des5B1NyPItx-UFRJ4VfTd-WW3KunaqKQwDzI3nH8DBHwHGVy96NK86P5BW0UfcGGekIjqPK6hZoPC-K-OnAk4Fs7R0DTmZsQJr1u-IoqVyOrV1Pc-pNgTKk7JErTZ605r-fTRs42T6/s1600-h/IMG_1659.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6Des5B1NyPItx-UFRJ4VfTd-WW3KunaqKQwDzI3nH8DBHwHGVy96NK86P5BW0UfcGGekIjqPK6hZoPC-K-OnAk4Fs7R0DTmZsQJr1u-IoqVyOrV1Pc-pNgTKk7JErTZ605r-fTRs42T6/s400/IMG_1659.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372528435652918290" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">weighing up 2 days work<br /><br /></span></span></div>Well, a day off after 19 days of meetings on the trot. Nothing like it after a year long break from it all. And I spend it writing about meetings. Sucker! Back in Cali, in the tropical heat...<br /><br />So last Thursday after leaving Cais Maloka, we came back to Cali, where we had a couple of meetings with some local trade unionists. Then that evening, we took the 5 hour bus to Manizales, in Caldas, ready for our meetings with communities around Riosucio, where AngloGold Ashanti are active.<br /><br />Friday was a packed day, with 2 days worth of stuff squashed into one, as the next day we were invited to Cajamarca for a symbolic action of resistance against AngloGold. We were whisked to the first Indigenous Reserve of Escopetera Pircie, for breakfast with the local human rights groups. The general format for meetings is that we have a go-around, everyone introduces themselves and gives a summary of what their interests in the meeting are. I've got my patter pretty down by now, and it's funny how the 4 of us change our intro depending on what order we are sat in.<br /><br />This area, the department of Caldas, is a particular hot-spot thanks to its geostrategic location in the middle of the gold triangle of Bogota-Medellin-Cali. Nonetheless, the usual topics came up, AngloGold Ashanti active in the area, Smurfitt-Carbon also active with their massive mono-culture pine forests, and water issues. 3,500 people have been displaced from the Reserve in the last 20 years and there have been 450 assassinations recorded. Since the 2003 Inter-American Court of Human Rights case about the area, there have been 167 assassinations. 80% of these have been declared "crimes of passion" by the state. All this, and the area is now declared a "post-conflict zone". So AngloGold can come and sweep away the remaining people and tear up the stunningly beautiful countryside to create open-cast gold mines for their shareholders to line their pockets. Post-conflict...<br /><br />After breakfast, we were taken to the town centre, and into a building with stunning views of the surrounding hills through the large windows. The visit was very ceremonious, with generous helpings of a panela-clove drink that reminded Andy of cough syrup. A lady in long white robes stood at the back of the room blowing cigar smoke over the heads of the audience with a cleansing wave. The meeting was opened by the governor, contextualising present day defense of territory and biodiversity within 500 years of resistance to imperialism. Now, the community's position on mining is a clear no to multinationals. However, a more complex explanation of how they are resisting was lacking.<br /><br />After lunch of rice, plantain, potato, yucca and chicken wrapped in banana leaf, we got back in the 4x4 (paid for by a recent EU project) and were taken to the San Lorenzo Reserve. Here we met 25 local community representatives, 90% men, in a school classroom. The conversation here was a little more pointed, looking at strategies of resistance. First, the local tradition of mobilization means that they seem to be ready if things kick off. The trouble is that the plunder is usually given a veneer of legality, so that by the time evictions come they are backed by the long arm of the law. Really, mobilization needs to be pro-active and national, rather than local and reactive. Second, the role of the guardia has the potential, at this stage seems more like symbolic resistance rather than arming the barricades. And thirdly, the role of indigenous medicine, which I would like to know more about, but didn't get the opportunity to explore further.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOoovtoskQd7QIr3l3Aechh0R_OyP_Vie-9lvX3vSE8HFfTKdr6xmJncP9cX5heDuGwoWDpJEvYiieV_JFZqhbNPQOfYt8hEXuXDkgVS8VK1771v4nZ-554stqe8VTH6mMF_GLG3KOAlDm/s1600-h/IMG_1649.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOoovtoskQd7QIr3l3Aechh0R_OyP_Vie-9lvX3vSE8HFfTKdr6xmJncP9cX5heDuGwoWDpJEvYiieV_JFZqhbNPQOfYt8hEXuXDkgVS8VK1771v4nZ-554stqe8VTH6mMF_GLG3KOAlDm/s400/IMG_1649.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372528199793560210" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">reason number 8 against large-scale gold mining: water pollution<br /><br /></span></span></div>Back to Manizales, we then had meeting 4 on day 16 in a row. Initial impressions were cagy - in a fairly grand hotel meeting room, with folk that seemed generally more middle-class than we are used to working with. One reason I enjoy working with the Colombia Solidarity Campaign is that the focus is really on grass-roots movements - indigenous, campesino, afro communities, generally rurally based folk. Nonetheless, having meet with the communities, it was interesting to see the more NGO-type groups organising around local issues. Genuine social change can happen when the middle class unite with the base, so interesting to see the angles here, and good to see the themes of territory, displacement, multinationals and human rights violations on the agenda.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQOLClv3pvIxICkocu6ePthCl2xDFG3bttSIiYg3rhABwPOcNf6CFnJpwPso1KAqaAEuXErsSPQ6N_QeZTU4BOJwmQCBApGmnkbedzRYyhubNckSPds_ic-H7axqfONOKV9MXhrP5YmfP/s1600-h/minga+tolima+054.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQOLClv3pvIxICkocu6ePthCl2xDFG3bttSIiYg3rhABwPOcNf6CFnJpwPso1KAqaAEuXErsSPQ6N_QeZTU4BOJwmQCBApGmnkbedzRYyhubNckSPds_ic-H7axqfONOKV9MXhrP5YmfP/s400/minga+tolima+054.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372528565255063106" border="0" /></a><br />Saturday morning, up at 5am, and the day exactly one year ago I left the UK. We said goodbye to Rogelio and Lucia, leaving 2 of us, as they headed onwards and we caught the bus to Cajamarca. Cajamarca is in the region of Tolima, also within the Bogota-Cali-Medellin triangle, and where AngloGold Ashanti have been most active in trying to win over the community. Specifically, we were going to a local school, where AGA delivered a load of paint to brighten up the school. The community decided to return the paint, did a whip-round in the village, bought their own paint and today were painting the school. A huge symbol of grass-roots defiance and resistance to corporate attempts to buy off the community.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBjAGd4Z1zm7qLqS4OJzytWSnTcafvCqGRW-kgToVh_MrZkhvnipo_B64hOVtMLyuQCk3UiEqX8BX3zL5qFXwVl43WUtptaIkbUqeRwl7PtbelV1wAyC7HC4rKQ0lAcz3Dpy8XN3WQJ__0/s1600-h/minga+tolima+041.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBjAGd4Z1zm7qLqS4OJzytWSnTcafvCqGRW-kgToVh_MrZkhvnipo_B64hOVtMLyuQCk3UiEqX8BX3zL5qFXwVl43WUtptaIkbUqeRwl7PtbelV1wAyC7HC4rKQ0lAcz3Dpy8XN3WQJ__0/s400/minga+tolima+041.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372528468645036946" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBLGT41r9M4FZ5a3rY4FFPAPbfIyIEBxBY4E9c2IJADikUNdf3Oo2jzxtiOePLtlaicFgDsQkIgLbU7CyDUftixwV-5CmS1lhLr9ArK0Bl4fj9YeaxzZ8S6Ps7RDfJx7wswrAt6Dd1V4sY/s1600-h/minga+tolima+024.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBLGT41r9M4FZ5a3rY4FFPAPbfIyIEBxBY4E9c2IJADikUNdf3Oo2jzxtiOePLtlaicFgDsQkIgLbU7CyDUftixwV-5CmS1lhLr9ArK0Bl4fj9YeaxzZ8S6Ps7RDfJx7wswrAt6Dd1V4sY/s400/minga+tolima+024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372528461677125346" border="0" /></a><br />Later in the afternoon, after interviewing a few of the locals involved, we headed back into the town to meet with local activists in the community. The angle into mobilization against AGA here is socio-environmental. What AGA have up their sleeves is plans for one of the world's largest open-cast gold mines - right in the middle of some of Latin America's most stunning countryside and fragile war-battered communties. They have had numerous schmooze-the-community events, and recently a helicopter dangling a strange probe was seen flying at low level around the valleys.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxV6zjlUMlSzmfU4PCI0qeGAzAZ5T4mVhiAGSF30MqHPTixiHKMSkSK2jRwMNxR6RxClHyr1ppNFSuBd23l7TxWcQP36sT1M5SHNxFMXd8Jun_fe2_HkL85phk2prFKjd-M5xafGx3ecEX/s1600-h/HELICOPTERO+ANGLOGOLD+ASHANTI.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxV6zjlUMlSzmfU4PCI0qeGAzAZ5T4mVhiAGSF30MqHPTixiHKMSkSK2jRwMNxR6RxClHyr1ppNFSuBd23l7TxWcQP36sT1M5SHNxFMXd8Jun_fe2_HkL85phk2prFKjd-M5xafGx3ecEX/s400/HELICOPTERO+ANGLOGOLD+ASHANTI.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372529677951786834" border="0" /></a><br />The key demand of the community is a full independent socio-environmental investigation into the impact of the mine. Part of this would include the potential effects on the El Machín volcano - open cast mining involves use of vast quantities of dynamite - whilst within 15km lies Number 2 on the world list of volcanoes in most danger of erupting, which would cover the town of Cajamarca in at least 20cm of lava. The other demand is what the law demands - a public consultation - amounting to a regional referendum of all areas involved. Another legal element is the mining concessions that include protected forest areas - how would these forests be protected if turned into an open-cast mine?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjvBG73D8X6T1BmpntxrsvgvTeU8_qhe711PfrnY-5SP_k7yWdqfIpBGQzIaJhqf7xpxoORJ0lAoIksgOBAbCsdcFVO6d8oxHOCMW0z-8gKUYiWKrF_rrVt_YH-vRjWmturCm0ERo7K9mu/s1600-h/IMG_1637.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjvBG73D8X6T1BmpntxrsvgvTeU8_qhe711PfrnY-5SP_k7yWdqfIpBGQzIaJhqf7xpxoORJ0lAoIksgOBAbCsdcFVO6d8oxHOCMW0z-8gKUYiWKrF_rrVt_YH-vRjWmturCm0ERo7K9mu/s400/IMG_1637.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372528176846683410" border="0" /></a><br />Sunday we spent the morning in the town square interviewing locals on their views on the mine. Their opinions ranged from the environmental to the social - all opposed - a key concern noted was the impact on town society. Workers would be brought in from all around the country, undermining local trust networks, and bringing social ills such as prostitution, robbery and burglary. One wisely noted that not a single open cast gold mine in the world had brought any benefits whatsoever to the local community. Later we met with the local mayor. Basically he didn't want his neck on the line, and played a very middle of the road line. Unsuprising, but disappointing.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYJLTEeFkD4aDymU8D5t2R0pevaoT_cx2bAlqMjsdpFN2Ec2T1pYIxXSARcP7doFx-23fQNCy6TtMlxaN2D7jqdCv_ywXkCbYr7tausuqP7PbXCUfzFDvd2XACu9wLvlGl7_LPs_Kehyx/s1600-h/IMG_1695.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYJLTEeFkD4aDymU8D5t2R0pevaoT_cx2bAlqMjsdpFN2Ec2T1pYIxXSARcP7doFx-23fQNCy6TtMlxaN2D7jqdCv_ywXkCbYr7tausuqP7PbXCUfzFDvd2XACu9wLvlGl7_LPs_Kehyx/s400/IMG_1695.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372528445249764114" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHSd1TxeDxHRTrHZPko45cMMa5ryGzXj1jA-rzcx4mAdYeFA1-HueS2wIbYxYSoSICZYPs61c8mkbRbysri2czdZcozK6s9A5j7t2zsSy93FlHa5L3BK9p83_-Vya2saV6Ir_vmyW0Mk9/s1600-h/IMG_1646.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHSd1TxeDxHRTrHZPko45cMMa5ryGzXj1jA-rzcx4mAdYeFA1-HueS2wIbYxYSoSICZYPs61c8mkbRbysri2czdZcozK6s9A5j7t2zsSy93FlHa5L3BK9p83_-Vya2saV6Ir_vmyW0Mk9/s400/IMG_1646.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372528191508189026" border="0" /></a><br />Monday we hit the road for Marmota, backtracking through Manizales to Caldas, as this was mentioned when we were there as being a very interesting and sad case study of multinational exploitation in gold in the area. Rather than restate the facts - <a href="http://www.dominionpaper.ca/articles/1777">this</a> article gives an excellent history, published in Canada, where Colombia Goldfields, the company involved, is based. No UK involvement here, but an excellent example of why mining multinationals are bad news.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1n-NV6Y6vG6gnY1MjjxQFlHMtH6kijwzs0wJit1qlI8AGDI56wiYCEGDP0f-MOEHzJSvLoSgPCOjx0B1DmMWh8fqlSw7W6j9Okap9IgUwUYIJDjpkPD0qVisUwHXeyw8j276VlxDdDdxi/s1600-h/IMG_1653.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1n-NV6Y6vG6gnY1MjjxQFlHMtH6kijwzs0wJit1qlI8AGDI56wiYCEGDP0f-MOEHzJSvLoSgPCOjx0B1DmMWh8fqlSw7W6j9Okap9IgUwUYIJDjpkPD0qVisUwHXeyw8j276VlxDdDdxi/s400/IMG_1653.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372528203760680674" border="0" /></a><br />And now, I'm alone in Cali, ready to head to La Toma for the planned eviction on the 6th. It's been a marathon, but absolutely enchanting to get to know rural Colombia with an insider's perspective, not on the tourist trail and have an emotional connection. It's a magical place, replete with a turbulent history of 500 years of oppression and imperialism, still strongly redolent of Spanish colonialism despite celebrating 200 years of "independence" next year. But resistance is strongly rooted in the blood of Colombians, Afro-Colombians, campesinos and Indigenous alike. The seeds of hope of a brighter future are spreading, slowly, and cannot be extinguished, no matter how many U.S. military bases they build.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwoz566Xi1oDk6jpYNsCNTfqEhNFvKBmm94IC_-sgQdDHPLXVUZDSgzA6KP9L6Uob1FAm-wNbF8XqYJY1ohsVyxW_IJ-U3u8-M3JXsf09yZfX-3MftW7HttTJht6GNG5PXn_n7EFzGvK2I/s1600-h/minga+tolima+019.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwoz566Xi1oDk6jpYNsCNTfqEhNFvKBmm94IC_-sgQdDHPLXVUZDSgzA6KP9L6Uob1FAm-wNbF8XqYJY1ohsVyxW_IJ-U3u8-M3JXsf09yZfX-3MftW7HttTJht6GNG5PXn_n7EFzGvK2I/s400/minga+tolima+019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372528450145331138" border="0" /></a>Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-14721173155639427342009-07-30T13:56:00.000-07:002009-08-21T14:01:11.329-07:004 Days & 4 PlacesCali, Colombia<br />[photos to come... patience]<br /><br />4 days, 4 very different places. From observing a human rights community meeting with the UN, to going back to La Toma for their community assembly to discuss their mass eviction on the 6th August, to the other side of the valley where last week death threats were last week painted onto the walls of the village, to a rural project linked to New Generation in London where last night army troops had decided to occupy a farmhouse. Just another week in the Cauca.<br /><br />After a heavy night, it was with relief that we weren't the centre of attention at this meeting, with the UN, in La Maria. We watched as local groups submitted reports about local situations to the delegation present on their high table, and spoke about their local issues.<br /><br />On Monday we headed back to La Toma, the place with the forthcoming mass eviction, for a community meeting to which we were invited when we were there before. We arrived to find a packed covered area, with around 300 people. However our inviter was nowhere to be seen, making it slightly awkward to make our presence. The meeting itself was heavily front-centric, with very little opportunity for community input. There was a call-out for a march to Bogota, which was met with rapturous applause. An interesting idea, but takes the mobilization out of the local area. There was little room for suggestion of anything resembling local action in the community. And nothing suggesting mobilization on the eviction date of the 6th August. Nonetheless, the importance of unity of this black afro-colombian community with indigenous and campesino communties was noted in the struggle against mining multinationals.<br /><br />Later in the afternoon we walked 45 minutes down a steep narrow mountain path to the community of Gelim, site of proposed evictions. Here there were workshops going on, when we arrived the local residents had split into groups to work on building a picture of local work and resources, and histories thereof. We caught up with them later after a delicious dinner, meeting in the school yard in a large circle. Here we heard how the community are ready to defend their territory by force if needed, if the eviction happens.<br /><br />Since 2004, mining has been a main form of earning a living in the area. In 2005, Kedadha began their interests in the area, coming to a local meeting painting the wonders of the company. Since then, they have had a strategy to penetrate the community, including the mining rights through intermediaries Jesus Ario and Fernando Ruis. Law 70 of 1993, article 44, grants the legal right to public consultation before mining takes place... of which none has taken place. The community feel backed into a corner - both metaphorically and literally, into harder to reach pockets of territory that has been theirs for 409 years.<br /><br />On Tuesday morning we received warnings from 2 sources not to visit Cerro Tijeras, our next stop on the other side of the river. In the end we decided it safe to visit the lower part of the village. The area is the site of recent fighting between the FARC and the military. We wanted to see the graffiti that had recently been painted in the town, signed by the Black Eagles paramilitary group. It read "We are coming for you sons-of-bitches leaders. Thieves 8 days to give yourselves up sons-of-bitches thieves. Black Eagles. Death Melba, Enrique, Leandro, Leonardo, Meraldino". Another read "Manipulative snitch leaders. Dead. Black Eagles". It is highly unusual that the Black Eagles do this without also leaving written threats, usually a letter posted under a door. This, additional to the fact that the army are right here in the village leads to the suspicion that it was the army that painted the threats rather than the Black Eagles. We then visited the village of Olivares, where the ex-governor Enrique has now received so many threats (including being mentioned in the above threat) he has left the village for fear of his life.<br /><br />Wednesday we headed to Dagua, an hour from Cali, back in Valle del Cauca, to visit <a href="http://www.caismaloka.com/"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cais Maloka</span></a>, a project up in the hills towards the coast. They are linked to <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.nuevageneracion-uk.org">Nueva Generacion</a> in London, a Latin American collective working cross-culturally to raise awareness of local issues, stimulate change and promote their culture. In Colombia, they are working on building a collective farm, working with children and young people to become change-makers, and through principles of Participatory Action Research. We paid this beautiful finca a visit, and having heard that the army had stationed themselves illegally in the upper farmhouse, to see what was going on, with a local human rights defender. We found that they'd left, but left behind a "Colombian Army" towel as evidence, along with various bits of litter.<br /><br />Sitting around an open fire, I watched the cloud-line sink below us. It's so hard to marry the totally tranquil serenity up here with the knowledge of what's going on in this an countless other areas in Colombia. People are afraid to talk to each other about politics, to come to meetings. Meanwhile, the water supply has been privatised and bills push higher and higher. You might understand that when you live in a city of a million, having to pay for water, but when you live surrounded by natural sources of water it really boggles belief. Not only that, but the natural water that there is, is being drained to feed the pine mono-cultures that belong to the shareholders of Smurfitt-Kappa Carton, that Irish company I mentioned. It's here that I see the real effects of capital, punishing a population for daring to try and continue existing.Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-12349225621875301782009-07-26T12:36:00.000-07:002009-08-21T13:49:57.364-07:00Caminando La Palabra (Walking The Word)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSCLmBxdPEar4fcG3P26HATD45TJMmOqefwixQmB018ln-b99aVE0vIJXTklyJtoyzzAsm4eTXy4ULUlxl29rquU1OSOHltzlcl9Kujvx2ZKQSnnPXt6w6lgAXpXl5QTEOkxzY-64kf4Om/s1600-h/CRW_4870.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSCLmBxdPEar4fcG3P26HATD45TJMmOqefwixQmB018ln-b99aVE0vIJXTklyJtoyzzAsm4eTXy4ULUlxl29rquU1OSOHltzlcl9Kujvx2ZKQSnnPXt6w6lgAXpXl5QTEOkxzY-64kf4Om/s400/CRW_4870.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372518550874126402" border="0" /></a><br />On The Bus From Santander de Quilichao, Cauca, Colombia<br /><br />For the purposes of continuity, I'm writing this on the bus, after Hermanos Lebron, on the way to a UN caucus. Actually I'm in Cali much later on, being far too tired after 4 hours sleep and dancing all night to have written this then. Plus my battery wouldn't last, the damn thing only gives about 40 minutes of charge these days. So since the last post at La Toma we've done a 2-day 40km march with 10,000 people for a Minga, and travelled to Popayan to meet groups there. And danced all night at a Hermanos Lebron gig. A heady mix of party and politics in appropriate proportions.<br /><br />Walking boots donned, I finally felt glad that I've lugged them 25,000 miles around the hemisphere without having used them for more than a 2-hour hike half-way up the volcano on Ometepe. Packing the essentials - tent, sleeping mat, sleeping bag, mozzie net, spare clothes - I thought I had a light pack... it started to bite after an hour. Probably a bit unfit too...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjltMLjK3pH_ZHZR2rr3r0hbYv_nviNLDssaNZSijr2tLCQI5hb_uBuj0H5Oi8j7bAkWb-6UKNnrczqKj_koZeP0PbFhonnvNpFolPtX5d2sEmDCeJlTSM2VlZZzPjzIwYTICFOON9ciKs/s1600-h/CRW_4892.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjltMLjK3pH_ZHZR2rr3r0hbYv_nviNLDssaNZSijr2tLCQI5hb_uBuj0H5Oi8j7bAkWb-6UKNnrczqKj_koZeP0PbFhonnvNpFolPtX5d2sEmDCeJlTSM2VlZZzPjzIwYTICFOON9ciKs/s400/CRW_4892.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372518640190376386" border="0" /></a><br />So being a little late for the start of the march from Santander de Quilichao, we jumped on the roof of a Chiva (eye-spy's book of modes of transport was filling up with ticks). We waited for the bus to fill up - I have never yet in 10 months in Latin America seen a bus leave before its full. After what couldn't have been more than 5 minutes on the road through town, the driver pulled into a layby in front of a restaurant. And got out, and sat down, and ordered his dinner. No-one complained, or said anything to the driver, just patiently waited. This seems to be a distinctly Latin trait - tolerance. It's interesting how this translates into a history of dictatorships. You can also see the effect on kids, who seem far more well behaved despite a more lax disciplinary attitude.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0BrU_MTL0ZeAI4_B4ztsDunkBK_h8EQ1cUBIYEnSCRNuGP3Neyso6U7fjxbTbJRvabl8AupmV0Psu1AZkgYk4DxFUAgpji522ORjbqfbWX5kDn8ibTmmKCwKg1em6YvK_9e9YHNGJ5LTf/s1600-h/CRW_4882.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0BrU_MTL0ZeAI4_B4ztsDunkBK_h8EQ1cUBIYEnSCRNuGP3Neyso6U7fjxbTbJRvabl8AupmV0Psu1AZkgYk4DxFUAgpji522ORjbqfbWX5kDn8ibTmmKCwKg1em6YvK_9e9YHNGJ5LTf/s400/CRW_4882.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372518634936516306" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">colombia solidarity campaign secretary andy higginbottom interviewed by caracol tv<br /><br /></span></span></div>Having waited 25 minutes for the driver to finish his lunch, we hit the road again and caught up with the march soon enough. We joined at the front of the march, but quickly fell back with the pace being pretty fierce. National TV news crew Caracol interviewed Andy and Rogelio, with a 5 second soundbite of Rogelio's appearing in a 30-second slot about the march on the peak-time national news that evening. The march's route deliberately passed through several towns and indigenous reserves and presently experiencing conflicting armed interests. One house was riddled with bulletholes from a confrontation several days earlier between the army and the FARC. The town we stopped the night in had FARC stencils, and while the thousands of marchers were resting and enjoying the evening in the streets, several dodgy looking folk around were pointed out to us by local friends as known "demobilised" paramilitaries - now just in civilian clothes - but everyone knows them as paras.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMKs2R9PQUmcWlY7nbjU9FejiLE7ndT8iG_URHkiIWsZ36TFeFUF78aLgt0hOMPbUs4IVJ6tN7HGYf64xjy4dq6h3BFZ6N2znU47HC2yW7FXmb1d66dRbDEPEpvnEV7XWanoQ5hUhO63g/s1600-h/CRW_4893.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMKs2R9PQUmcWlY7nbjU9FejiLE7ndT8iG_URHkiIWsZ36TFeFUF78aLgt0hOMPbUs4IVJ6tN7HGYf64xjy4dq6h3BFZ6N2znU47HC2yW7FXmb1d66dRbDEPEpvnEV7XWanoQ5hUhO63g/s400/CRW_4893.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372519254067810066" border="0" /></a><br />Along the way I met Aida Quilcue who until recently was leader of the Cauca Regional Indigenous Council (CRIC). Last December, her husband was murdered in an attack seemingly meant for her. On 11th May this year, her 12 year old daughter was leaving her house when she saw men pointing handguns at her from a car parked outside. She fled back into the house, while they drove around the house until they realised she was there protected by Indigenous guards. Aida was due to come to the UK to speak in June, but had to cancel. She is due to come in September - watch this space.<br /><br />We also met with Feliciano, a spokesperson for the Minga, indigenous to the Cauca. He spoke something that touched me very deeply, through a concept I admire and respect. He spoke of the liberation of mother earth, with it concepts of the importance of living in harmony with nature rather than tearing it up. He spoke of the evolution of the politics of the indigneous, as seeing a marked turning point with the 1991 Colombian Constitution, from a politics of protest to proposals through protest, from reaction to proaction. And in 2005 the campaign for the liberation of mother earth began - taking, protecting and liberating "tierra" - the earth, the ground, the soil. Francisco, from a human rights NGO Asociacion Minga, spoke about how in this area there is a permanent war between public forces and the people that has been totally invisibilised.<br /><br />After staying the night, we were up and ready to smack pavement with our boots by 6am. Another 20-odd km, and we made it to Corintho, making 40km in total. Phew. Here, everyone gathered in the town square, and listened to brief speeches of all the indigenous governors from the local area. Together at the end they made a joint statement, supporting the Minga and its continuance, denouncing local acts of violence against the communities, and refusing to enter into new agreements with the government until previous agreements to protect the population are fulfilled.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNrONLIhhQ_bZa8udRIrV-u1dhxcWeFl9oN5fDU-R_beqWDeQ0XPd57U63RY81-ky-m1lMDu_F-Y60EjHbDqG3_Zi4Zon5wWTTaI1_xNVFX7tclnrpHHTrmenDruASqP3czu4KOhmpIVUa/s1600-h/CRW_4878.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNrONLIhhQ_bZa8udRIrV-u1dhxcWeFl9oN5fDU-R_beqWDeQ0XPd57U63RY81-ky-m1lMDu_F-Y60EjHbDqG3_Zi4Zon5wWTTaI1_xNVFX7tclnrpHHTrmenDruASqP3czu4KOhmpIVUa/s400/CRW_4878.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372518623172777522" border="0" /></a><br />On Saturday we made for Popayan, a historical colonial centre about 3 hours south of Cali. Here we met with two groups, one with the Minga, and another that exists parallel but outside of the Minga. The first was CIMA, a local group in the National Agrarian Association (CNA). Here we heard a round of presentations of local represenatives about their local issues. He heard about 4 people killed in a massacre in Peregosa in 2000, and 10 campesinos killed in January 2001, both as revenge attacks for mobilisations in 1999. Paramilitaries give out pamphlets with threats in the area. In August 2007, Smurfit-Kappa Carton de Colombia (who on their own website claim to be advancing their most "aggresive and important expansion in their history"), an Irish-based multinational, bought up huge areas of land, in some cases forcing the sale, for monoculture exotic pine forest plantations.<br /><br />The local soft drinks group Postobon, in negotiations with the government, recently acquired the rights "to protect" two local lakes, the Lagunas de Magdalena and Cauca. Funny that, a soft-drinks company with a line in environmental protection of water sources. Doesn't quite seem to add up to me.<br /><br />We also talked about the changes of land use over the last 15-20 years. Back then, the area produced 7,000 tonnes of food, and was almost self-sufficient. Now, that has reduced to 1,500 tonnes, and today the area imports 7,000 tonnes of food from abroad. Seems totally crazy, doesn't it, that an area so rich and fertile has to truck, ship or fly food from other parts of the world to feed it. But that's the story of Colombia, a country that imports thousands tonnes of rice from the United States!<br /><br />Later we met with the Process of Popular Unity of South West Cauca (PUPSOC). They describe their work as parallel to the Minga, and in concert to it. However, they are critical of the Minga's involvement with the Peace Laboratories of Europe, formed in the Cartagena-London agreement of 2002. Effectively, state funding to construct peace, which involves a certain doublethink given the amount of European capital being pumped into Colombia, which must be seen as intrinsically linked. Especially when the third component to the Peace Laboratories is to strengthen productive industry. <a href="http://www.socialistdemocracy.org/RecentArticles/RecentForeignAidInColombia.html">This</a> article by Gearoid O'Loingsigh looks into this in detail.<br /><br />We talked about local issues. In the 3 communities of Mariel, San Sebastian and La Vega, described as the crown of the Colombian Massif, Kedahda (a subsidiary of AngloGold Ashanti) have mining concessions for 3,600 hectares. This follows exploration in the 1980s by Japan International. This is described as Phase 2 of Plan Colombia: the social phase. In Valencia, a community of 800 inhabitants, there are 1600 soldiers stationed. Other local issues revolve around water - "the eyes of the future" - and the importance of defending local supplies against privatisation.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcROzIp9Jkzy7ISiTEwLtlzzoWppmYOA8XwlEo5dol4O25jj37uSDCXTJ6sPIgXWM5-MTEABxE6-woEL3HJP1KsiQU0gjC4h8_JL1Ax85uLMmD0siHC6melZUD8VTXRWdd3WN5TK_TnURY/s1600-h/CRW_4909.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcROzIp9Jkzy7ISiTEwLtlzzoWppmYOA8XwlEo5dol4O25jj37uSDCXTJ6sPIgXWM5-MTEABxE6-woEL3HJP1KsiQU0gjC4h8_JL1Ax85uLMmD0siHC6melZUD8VTXRWdd3WN5TK_TnURY/s400/CRW_4909.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372519265126123938" border="0" /></a><br />Phew. After all that, catching my eye on a poster advertising Cuban salsa band Hermanos Lebron made me very excited, having listened to them heavily on the road trip through Mexico. They were playing that night in Santander. Phil, a English guy working with groups here, and I bought ourselves a bottle of rum and hotfooted it on the 2-hour bus trip. £2 to enter, we met up with our dance partners and salsad the night away - no way to learn like in the field! The only dark spot came later on, danced out, moving to get some food, when suddenly I realised that the lush Digital SLR camera that I'd borrowed was suddenly not in the case anymore. Ouch.Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-25756704284106055392009-07-22T10:01:00.000-07:002009-08-21T12:46:37.678-07:00117 Families Facing EvictionLa Toma, Suarez, Cauca, Colombia<br /><br />So after an hour's sleep on Wednesday morning, we arose at 5.30am to head to La Toma, near Suarez, to meet the afro-descendant community there. We left El Mesón by chiva bus, accompanied by a Guardia 50 strong. They accompanied us down to the river Cauca, where we took a boat downstream to Suarez. This part of the Cauca river was dammed in 1984-6, in the midst of a ream of incompleted impact assessments by the government. This raised the level of the river by 350m, flooding huge swathes of the most fertile land in the Cauca valley, causing displacements of thousands of campesinos.<br /><br />Arriving at Suarez, I think the best way to explain what's happening there is by reproducing this Urgent Action. If you have time, please help by sending an email with the demands to the emails below.<br /><br />From the human rights team of the Process of Black Communities and other organisations:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">6th August</span> is the date fixed for the eviction of the black community in La Toma, in the Suárez municipality in north Cauca, Colombia. La Toma´s Afro-descendant inhabitants have been declared ´squatters in bad faith´ in a legal possession order taken out by Raúl Fernando Ruiz Ordoñez and Jesús Sarria. Yet the presence of black communities on these lands dates from 1636, since when they have worked small gold mines which is today the only means of subsistence for hundreds of families.<br /><br />The black community´s territory in La Toma district consists of 7,000 hectares, some 6,500 hectares of which, including the cementary, are sought by Anglo Gold Ashanti for exploration purposes. The company has found a fast-track to an immediate start to operations, via two mining concessions together making up 403 hectares. They are concession EKE-151 (314 hectares) held by Raúl Fernando Ruiz Ordoñez, and concession BFC 021 (99 hectares) held by Héctor Jesús Sarria. Neither of these concession holders are linked with the community, nor have they carried out any mine exploration or exploitation activities. Rather, in the light of the known interest of Anglo Gold Ashanti, these two gentlemen have initiated a legal process of expropriation that will stop the afro-colombian miners from developing the work that they have carried out for generations in this district.<br /><br />Anglo Gold Ashanti and the Canadian owned company Cosigo Resort have been pressurising to take over other territorios in Suárez, and the neighbouring municipalities of Buenos Aires and Santander. None of the moves by these mining corporations respect the the right of the black communities to consulta previa (previous and informed consent) the guarantee set out in ILO Convention 169, as recognised by Colombia´s constitution, and elaborated in Law 70 passed in 1993.<br /><br />This is not the first wave of evictions from this region. Back in the 1980s the construction of the nearby La Salvajina dam and reservoir system displaced hundreds of families to the urban slums of Agua Blanca in Cali and other cities. The environmental, economic, social and cultural impacts of this hydroelectric project have still not been addressed by the operating company CVC (Corporación Autónoma Regional del Valle del Cauca) or the Colombian state. In 1994 the Salvajina project was taken over by Energía Eléctrica del Pacifico-EPSA (in turn owned by Spanish multinacional). EPSA tried to divert the Ovejas river that runs by La Toma in order to augment Salvajina´s gnerating capacity.<br /><br />Before Salvajina, the Afro-Colombians native to this region sustained themselves through fishing, agriculture, la balsería and mining; after the dam´s construction much of the best farming land was flooded under the reservoir, there were also drastic climate changes both of which led to a crisis in traditional farming. For most of the black community the only remaining means of making a living was through artesanal gold mining. Besides the predicted environmental impacts from the opne cast mining that Anglo Gold Ashanti and similiar multinationals want to undertake, this artisanal mining would disappear and the black communities would be displaced entirely from their territories.<br /><br />In Judgement No 005 of 2009, Colombia´s Constitutional Court stated a number of transversal factors tending to cause the displacement of afro-colombians including structural exclusion, the pressures generated by big mining and agriculture, and the deficient legal protection for the collexctive territories of the black communities. The Constitutional Court drew special attention to the situation of the black communities who are the ancestral inhabitants Buenos Aires and Suárez as an emblematic case; these communities are a clear and living example of the risks pointed out by the Court of the vulnerability of territorial rights, the loss of social and cultural control by the communities, the violation of their right to previous consent, and the absence of registration of ancestral territories that even now have not been recognised as collective property titles.<br /><br />The Constitutional Court ordered that there be effective participation of the communities, and set in motion a plan of monitoring that would take into account the general factors and the specific risks identified in its judgement 005. The Court ordered that the territorial rights of the afro-colombian communities be protected through the design of a plan to be implemented by 30 October 2009, characteising the lands as ancestral territory, of ethnic signficance and part of the patrimony of these communities. The artisanal gold mines constitute one of the last common goods still conserved by the black communities of northern Cauca. Their eviction from La Toma would be one more link in the historic chain of unjust expropiations that should be blocked by determined action by all the communities. We call on all Afro-Colombian organisations, leaders and other social sectors nationally and internationally to take action to demand:<br /><br />1. That the Colombian Ministry of Mines and Energy revokes the mining concessions EKE-151 held by Raúl Fernando Ruiz Ordoñez and BFC 021 held by Héctor Jesús Sarria, on the grounds that has not been previous and informed consultation with the black communities living on these territories..<br /><br />2. That the Ministry of Mines and Energy definitively stops the order to evict the black communities of the Corregimiento (district) La Toma, located in Suárez municipality in the north of Cauca department.<br /><br />3. That the Ministry of the Interior, Justice and Social Action immediately fulfils the the Constitional Court Judgement No 005, by formulating an action plan of attention and protection of these communities, putting in place the measures organised by the Court to protect the territory and the patrimony of the communities.<br /><br />4. In the case of any process concerning the exploration and exploitation of mining resources, and other projects and political or<br />administrative measures that might affect the black communities, the application of Consultation with Previous, Free and Informed Consent in accord with ILO Convention 169 and the national Constitution.<br /><br />5. That the Ministry of the Interior adopts measures for the protection of the life and security of community leaders in the region.<br /><br />RECOMMENDED ACTION / ACCION SOLICITADA<br />Please send to the following emails a personal message with the above demands:<br /><ul><li>Minister of the Interior and Justice, Fabio Valencia, fabiovalencia@mij.gov.co</li><li>Minister of Mines and Energy, Hernán Martínez, menergia@minminas.gov.co</li><li>Address for matters relating to Black, Afro-Colombian, Palenquera and Raizal communities, Rosa Carlina García, drnegrasafroraizalypalem@mij.gov.co</li><li>Human Rights Director of the Ministry of the Interior and Justice, Rafael Emiro Bustamante, dhdirector@mij.gov.co</li><li>Vice-Minister of Justice, Miguel Antonio Ceballos Arévalo, vicejusticia@mij.gov.co</li><li>Vice-Minister of the Interior, Viviana Manrique Zuluega, viceinterior@mij.gov.co</li><li>Secretary General of the Ministry of the Interior and Justice, María del Pilar Serrano Buendía, sgeneral@mij.gov.co</li></ul>Send copies and for any other information, pcnkol_bogota@renacientes.net<br /><br />Translated by Colombia Solidarity Campaign. Campaign adds please also send a brief message with the above demands to the Colombian Embassy in the UK.Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-86475932329808498032009-07-21T10:00:00.000-07:002009-08-21T12:46:05.375-07:00Organise & Resist: the Minga<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEUeJwVv0FcIfiuON8fBP5u79F6Ehpc2H_rSuyU_Rn1A4u4VN28doGVyMfhexIQsLnaO4WFJKWoANu9SwaD4cvQ8ilNIyZ3RjFzb70dxdH5tN4rL6sVKGuTrcyFshAz_vdPGP5Mj2SyOjK/s1600-h/IMG_4802.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEUeJwVv0FcIfiuON8fBP5u79F6Ehpc2H_rSuyU_Rn1A4u4VN28doGVyMfhexIQsLnaO4WFJKWoANu9SwaD4cvQ8ilNIyZ3RjFzb70dxdH5tN4rL6sVKGuTrcyFshAz_vdPGP5Mj2SyOjK/s400/IMG_4802.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367345829232333282" border="0" /></a><br />El Meson, Cauca, Colombia<br /><br />So I experienced my first taste of the Minga. It's pronounced Ming-ga. It's funny, in colloquial British a minga is what you call someone unattractive, and in Spanish from Spain means cock. In Colombia, the Minga de Resistencia Social y Comunitaria is the Minga of Social and Communal Resistance, currently Colombia's most bristling social movement. Originating in the Cauca region of the South-West of Colombia, it started as the collective name for the indigenous groups and their physical collective presence. So a Minga is the gathering itself, rather than just an abstract collective noun. A good intro is <a href="http://www.colombiasolidarity.org.uk/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=54&Itemid=55">here</a>, the cover story of the last Frontline Latin America. Which, if you're interested in Latin American politics of resistance, is a superb publication and well worth the £6 subscription.<br /><br />Last weekend was the Minga de Pensamiento in Bógota, Colombia's capital city, perched up at 2640m, making it the 3rd highest capital in the world after La Paz and Quito. That also makes it pretty chilly, having to wear my hoodie in the daytime for the first time since the Mexican hills in November. The Minga de Pensamiento is the ideological forum of the Minga. Since the Minga marched to Bogota last October, they have expanded their remit to include Indigenous, Afro-descendants and campesinos (farmers), and are nationalising their presence.<br /><br />The Minga have 5 key points of agreement as springboards for action and mobilisation.<br />1. The right to life and human rights<br />2. Sovereignty, earth and territory<br />3. Plunder, displacement and economic models<br />4. Incompleted agreements<br />5. The agenda of the peoples<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Ooo1z6X-jwxG3XBTaZW3jS4xnAXEYHeJoS5ptZuKTYVeexH9lp-BJ5Hzr3VDux6e4L_zvmXleYiDM3xSuaOa0lPPSveSEbj8ijrG6CNQRJ6iAyccUfHGNv6slmzLgtJmEDvvEh8CXPHt/s1600-h/IMG_4781.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Ooo1z6X-jwxG3XBTaZW3jS4xnAXEYHeJoS5ptZuKTYVeexH9lp-BJ5Hzr3VDux6e4L_zvmXleYiDM3xSuaOa0lPPSveSEbj8ijrG6CNQRJ6iAyccUfHGNv6slmzLgtJmEDvvEh8CXPHt/s400/IMG_4781.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367347463650201250" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">cuidad de bolivar, bógota<br /></span></span></div><br />So on Saturday, we split the plenary forum from the morning into these 5 groups, to travel to different parts of Bógota for 'fireside' discussions. I went on the human rights tulpa to the Cuidad de Bolivar, in the South-West outskirts into the foothills that surround Bogota. The meeting room soon filled with over 100 participants, with an impressive amount of young people present, as well as gender-balanced. Discussion ensued around what we are struggling against (in terms of violations against human rights) and who is responsible for these violations.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"In spite of all the riches in the country, the open mine right here in our community is benefitting only the rich"</span>.<br /><br />We spoke about visibilising and denouncing human rights violations - e.g. assassinations, disappearances, death threats, arbitrary detention - which are still happening at an increasing rate. We spoke about collective suicide by removing the blood from Mother Earth. We spoke about the struggle against impunity - the legal system totally failing to cope with the violence and this effect on memory. Part of the role of justice is recognition of crimes, and this has a role in constructing collective memory. This is what the campaign "forbidden to forget" (Prohibido Olvidar) work to do.<br /><br />We then spoke about proposals, with a few clear ones emerging. The first was for the Minga to develop their own set of human rights norms, recognising the Universal Declaration of Human Rights as a largely white-Western-liberal created set of norms. We spoke about the creation of a national Minga Guardia. Currently in Cauca, the Minga organise a Guardia - local people volunteering to take responsibility for protecting their territory - armed only with sticks but with moral supremacy. The proposal would widen this nationally, and also encompass the new expanded remit not exclusive to indigenous groups. We also spoke about modes of communication, opening new spaces to operate, communicate and organise.<br /><br />Sunday we regrouped, shared summaries together, then were treated to a punk band that almost felt New Labour with the bright lights school hall feel. And then some beautiful folk guitarist afterwards. Later we took the nightbus to Cali for the next stage, around the Cuaca and Valle region.<br /><br />Arriving Monday morning into Cali, we headed straight for the Resguardo de Honduras, an Indigenous Reserve where leaders have been killed and threatened by paramilitaries and the military over the last few years. 17 days ago, 3 locals were killed, claimed by the military as 'in combat'. This is a case in point in the midst of a <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/8038399.stm">national "false positives" scandal</a>, where victims of assassinations are dressed up in combats and claimed as FARC deaths in combat in order to fulfil kill targets. Meanwhile, AngloGold Ashanti, a South-Africa-based mining multinational, and Repsol, a Spanish oil company, are both active in the area.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIe90yQ43SfJvxiqUztW1AaQrgvaySP7WCygJ-uo97HjeQ9nxVfIRrfQExLjOOL61IQbj9EwA_b3URikovd7kBRrhsVwIhU9vCLYPsaEhuBaoREXq4RlB8pAuhHWsqLnFAtgoH1fANrO_A/s1600-h/IMG_4820.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIe90yQ43SfJvxiqUztW1AaQrgvaySP7WCygJ-uo97HjeQ9nxVfIRrfQExLjOOL61IQbj9EwA_b3URikovd7kBRrhsVwIhU9vCLYPsaEhuBaoREXq4RlB8pAuhHWsqLnFAtgoH1fANrO_A/s400/IMG_4820.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367347465960237602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">community assembly<br /></span></span></div><br />Arriving from the bus from Cali to the nearest town to the Resguardo (Reserve), we changed buses onto a Chiva. This is a monster bus with open sides and no aisle, crammed to busting point, including the roof. Meeting us was a local Guardia Indigena escort about 50 strong. At the endpoint of the bus, we were met by another 50, who joined us for the 45 minute walk to Chorrera Blanca. We arrived at 4pm, in time for a round of introductions, in front of a community assembly of over 200 locals, again well represented in terms of age and gender.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi03DxpapTFmvAhII-Tp5wCDji9hrxYzvFqHoJQOX2Jbx6RqtR1p7AswR87XNr6Ya_xrzmSGoLBN7I6eIn4n_XWf2LC662Fu2eozSVOcoWgaBziypZuCe6xI6BXDL8OWpTmMcGwAlL_SwpI/s1600-h/IMG_4796.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi03DxpapTFmvAhII-Tp5wCDji9hrxYzvFqHoJQOX2Jbx6RqtR1p7AswR87XNr6Ya_xrzmSGoLBN7I6eIn4n_XWf2LC662Fu2eozSVOcoWgaBziypZuCe6xI6BXDL8OWpTmMcGwAlL_SwpI/s400/IMG_4796.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367345822934863010" border="0" /></a><br />On Tuesday the assembly began proper. Repression started in the Indigenous areas here in the 1980s, with the presence of the armed forces in indigenous territories. Then the massacres began in 3 reserves. Then they began building military bases. Disappearances followed, along with the forced displacement of a few families. More recently, the paramilitary group AUC (United Self-Defence Forces of Colombia) entered the area in late 2000. In 2007/8 threats to local leaders began - presidents of action groups, teachers, governors - threats sent by text message, spoken by phone, and written. Local human rights organisations such as Nomadesc, accompanying us, document these threats.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7zyDCCma_ljC-hX1TZEzipaGl7tumZuuQYuie2NJSWz4e0Yidp1lfMoyt7-OrfHMAUEwymx4OneGHMA7tL49bLXVu9i2yHz5gGDUCI-KD1SYsEhTIxJJotUQr-xa957NJcAGBGC6EcfoO/s1600-h/IMG_4800.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7zyDCCma_ljC-hX1TZEzipaGl7tumZuuQYuie2NJSWz4e0Yidp1lfMoyt7-OrfHMAUEwymx4OneGHMA7tL49bLXVu9i2yHz5gGDUCI-KD1SYsEhTIxJJotUQr-xa957NJcAGBGC6EcfoO/s400/IMG_4800.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367345828208123922" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">this man cooks for 500 people at a go! and the rice is amazing! i struggle making rice for 6.<br /></span></span></div><br />Meanwhile, AngloGold Ashanti have 1600 hectares of mining rights in the area. Clearly, to get under the ground, they need to clear what on the ground out of the way. We have seen internal documents of AngloGold that outline figures on the amount of people that will have to be displaced in the area. AngloGold Ashanti (AGA) is actually based in South Africa, with AngloAmerican (based in London) selling their majority stake last year. South African mining capital comes straight off the back of Apartheid, with AGA set up in 1895. With the end of apartheid, AGA's interests shifted abroad to see where it could exploit, and its interests would be most easily facilitated through pliant governments and legislation. Enter Colombia into the picture.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj266LwTHhZMccibLHwtoFz_keG8A7U9rTH1n7I1Vzo0drnw-lnKxdm3IdFPKdo_ThwokerZ4AwmB9q0SPwivFMjNHKv7F1PBCVBZ9DCBXfPTP_pJEA0erPF49MjvGPXs36i-_s3P5i94jH/s1600-h/CRW_4835.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj266LwTHhZMccibLHwtoFz_keG8A7U9rTH1n7I1Vzo0drnw-lnKxdm3IdFPKdo_ThwokerZ4AwmB9q0SPwivFMjNHKv7F1PBCVBZ9DCBXfPTP_pJEA0erPF49MjvGPXs36i-_s3P5i94jH/s400/CRW_4835.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367345816380697346" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">queueing for grub<br /><br /></span></span></div>By 4pm we were ready to leave, but the governor was refusing to allow the Guardia to accompany us to the next area, 2 hours walk away. Despite this, 200 people accompanied the 5 guardia that ignored orders, walking with us to El Mesón. The late afternoon breeze cooling the fading scarlet sun against a stunning backdrop of collosal thousand metre valleys juxtaposed the relentless torture these communities have experienced for the last 30 years.<br /><br />We went straight into someone's house for the classic Colombian meal - served at breakfast, lunch and dinner - of soup (variations - this time was bean soup) with rice, beans & grilled beef and a glass of panela - unrefined sugar water. At least in Colombia, unlike a lot of Central America, they don't use sachets of Maggi monosodium glutemate flavourings. Then after, as we were checking out or lodgings, the sky opened up and we were surrounded by thunder, lightening, and a trillion gallons of rain came down with what seemed like a double dose of gravity. Sitting on the veranda, watching this unfold next to a roofed hamlet square - the size of a football pitch - under which a local band were setting up, while others toiled with the fact that the place's electricity had just gone out, made for a spectacle firmly etched into my brain with fond memory.<br /><br />After the rain subsided, we were treated to some live folk music, before a circle meeting with the locals, going around introducing ourselves and hearing about local issues. Key issues here were about water and power - community fundamentals - with ESPA, the Spanish water company recently privatising the water supply. Funny, in a tiny village surrounded by natural water sources, the locals struggle to get access to it. And despite privatisation, the local energy supplier gives an average of 6 days supply a month - but bill for the full month.<br /><br />And afterwards, the band resumed for a jolly good knees-up. After plenty of aguardiente - local moonshine - and dancing and talking all night, I crawled into bed at 4.30am with renewed vitality after a pretty emotionally grueling few days.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmD81vzFss_QSWfKdg2_1S1ZvgR3ecorkzScQJoUZe_KahhjM6KgWFLZ5JXhtMLek-ZwvrS5wwiTpSatkNmY_DjiEhBw3VNciK6w04NftIcEaKXmp5fyu-pOkElLJpJI1WMYbin0jnmp4/s1600-h/IMG_4806.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmD81vzFss_QSWfKdg2_1S1ZvgR3ecorkzScQJoUZe_KahhjM6KgWFLZ5JXhtMLek-ZwvrS5wwiTpSatkNmY_DjiEhBw3VNciK6w04NftIcEaKXmp5fyu-pOkElLJpJI1WMYbin0jnmp4/s400/IMG_4806.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367345833047097378" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">local cheeky chappie</span></span><br /></div>Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-73378366547990319432009-07-17T09:58:00.000-07:002009-08-21T12:45:17.853-07:00In At The Deep EndBogota, Colombia<br /><br />At last. It's finally time to get stuck into what actually motivated the whole trip in the first place for me, and began planning in 2006: spending some time on the ground in Colombia. After 4 years of solidarity work UK-side with only a 2-week whistlestop delegation to Colombian universities in 2005, I wanted to spend some time here and really feel what I was working for and with. And to question what I was doing the solidarity work for, when there's a million useful things in the world to get involved with, and particularly when local activism seems far more important and necessary. After that time in Panama, I had actually almost given up on Colombia. It seemed like things just weren't moving that way for me, as I'd intended to spend a few months here.<br /><br />Well, my timing in the end was synchronous with a 3-week human rights commission from the Colombia Solidarity Campaign in the UK, that started today. Plus, something to keep me busy and my mind off other complicated and painful personal matters. It all added up to be a go-er: having been in Venezuela reminded me of the urgent need for real information from the bottom up in a world saturated by reactionary corporate news that protects vested interests and the status quo, and got me fired up again.<br /><br />I heard an analogy a while ago of the role of international solidarity work that I'm particularly fond of. It's easy to dismiss any kind of political work as a drop in the ocean and thus futile - but to me this sounds like the voice of aging armchair cynics. There's 3 angles - the first 2 involve the same metaphor of building a window. First, solidarity work builds a window for the outside world, the international community as individuals, organisations and movements, to see the reality of what is happening mediated through an independent perspective without corporate funded media interests that frame the perspective their own way.<br /><br />Second, the window thus constructed allows those inside to see the outside watching - the reflex to the above point. This point is fundamental - to provide solidarity is to say we are here with you in your struggle against violence and dispossession of your ancestral lands, both literally for a short period of time in person, but also in contact permanently and able to denounce acts of violence and intimidation internationally. It is this brotherly/sisterly demonstration of solidarity and human unity with people on the ground living in and organising & defending against the various instruments of the state, parastate and global oligarchy that is immensely powerful at countering the various mechanisms of divide and rule.<br /><br />Third is putting pressure on the state to live up to its obligations under international human rights conventions and treaties it has signed up to. Under international law, it is the state that is responsible for "granting" these rights to its citizens - or at least defending them. Irony notwithstanding, human rights are nonetheless an instrument and point of reference to try to hold the state to account for its actions, or inactions. So, whilst the window metaphor is a little de-personalised and sealed-off, I think it's a good starting point to try and understand the role of international solidarity in supporting struggles against the common and diverse enemy - capital and its hoarders. I suppose my own fourth point is to build lasting friendships through interaction and cultural exchange.<br /><br />Today was the first day of action, with meetings from 9-7. Nothing like being in at the deep end after a year of no meetings... The main order of the day was the first of a 3-day workshop entitled "The political conception of the struggle for the earth and territory, and scenarios, and tools for action". The day brought together a range of social movements from across the country, including the Process of Black Communities (PCN), the National Agrarian Association (CNA), and the Cauca Indigenous Commitee (CRIC), given as examples of how this workshop included Afro, campesino and indigenous movements, as well as academic involvement.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ5gH-Y1rHsf5molzlHvDzMz_HYSMxoxxQX4SdYiRYK2gdowbz4drD1szamIwxjd16oV-Vt8GlTSbyPanPAIxqxwFUfYBWJPwQBMFsyjYXuV1pUPANA-BJX6UusPqHS7X1294k-XGOBEI/s1600-h/IMG_4765.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ5gH-Y1rHsf5molzlHvDzMz_HYSMxoxxQX4SdYiRYK2gdowbz4drD1szamIwxjd16oV-Vt8GlTSbyPanPAIxqxwFUfYBWJPwQBMFsyjYXuV1pUPANA-BJX6UusPqHS7X1294k-XGOBEI/s400/IMG_4765.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372503522083289362" border="0" /></a><br />The ideological landscape was laid in a talk entitled "Dispossesion, Violence and Economy", coming from the idea of accumulation by dispossession, using a theory of "plunder" / ejection where resources are liberated at zero cost through the economic model / system. 2428 people in Colombia own 44 million hectares - that's 53.5% of the land in a country of 40 million people - which is an average of 18,000 Hectares per person. The next talk explained how the Spanish colonial mentality of administrate, control and dominate has never really ended, through a detailed analysis of the concept of territory.<br /><br />And I've started coming down with manflu. Excellent, when listening to hours of Spanish - and taking notes - isn't hard enough to concentrate on, my body throws this into the mix as well. Nothing like a challenge though, eh? In at the deep end, adelante.Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-10294616413899576172009-07-14T13:39:00.000-07:002009-07-14T13:53:25.743-07:00Breaking pointThis is the hardest post I've had to write. The thing with a blog is that you can put your life on a pedestal for all to see. That's what I want this to be, like a diary that other people can snoop into. One perception of this is that I'm bearing all for all to see. Well, I think it's more accurate to say I'm providing a selection of insights, rather than even trying to provide a comprehensive overview of everything. This would be far, far too long and really rather boring. And there are also some things I'd prefer not to share. So this is another selection of highlights - and lowlights.<br /><br />So since getting back to Colombia from seeing my uncle in Venezuela and arriving in Santa Marta, it's been a busy week. The plan was to head to Parque Tayrona, which I had to pass through rapidly on my way from Cartagena to Caracas. This National Park, on the Carribean coast, would be a highlight of the trip, many people had told me how lush it was and I had high expectations. I also had in mind my rule of expectations - the higher they are, the harder they are to fulfil. This was a golden case in point, but by antiserendipitous circumstances alone.<br /><br />I met a great guy in Hotel Miramar, the cheapest hostel in central Santa Marta, the only other person in the dorm. He was also up for missioning to Tayrona - not a huge coincidence as Santa Marta is a well-heeled stop-off for folks going there. I got on great with him - I instantly liked him when I heard him talk. The way he spoke with the volume turned down slightly below average gave him a humble quality that juxtaposed his other characteristics of being a school teacher and from the U.S.<br /><br />The next day we packed up and headed towards Tayrona. I received an email from my then girlfriend 3 days earlier very briefly saying she was still in Tayrona, but failed to mention where exactly, oblivious to the fact that I would also be coming at this time. So, I knew the chances of finding her to be slim, she could have left, and the park is huge, but I thought that if we were in the same park I should at least go through the motions of checking if she was there. I assumed she would go to a campsite mentioned in Lonely Planet, of which there were 4 along one route.<br /><br />So we missioned on foot, quickly stopping off at each campsite to have a quick check. I found her at the fourth site, totally suprised to see me. A couple of hours later she broke up with me. Unfortunately, sunset having passed, I had to spend the night there. Early, the next morning, I left again, and started the long journey to Bogota. The next day an old friend from uni would be arriving there on a 2 week holiday, who I was planning to hook up with anyway.<br /><br />So travelling alone. This was always the plan anyway. I can't decide if it was naive of me to think that this wouldn't happen. In the last year, my what-would-today-be-7-years-relationship with my girlfriend was tested to breaking point. Onwards.Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-31511607735425409172009-07-13T17:21:00.000-07:002009-08-06T18:22:03.370-07:00ChavizmoAfter a fairly gruelling 19 hour journey, I'm back in the promised land. I've occupied the cheap but elegant large mock-antique sofa in the centre of the courtyard of Hotel Miramar in Santa Marta, listening to my rocking new mix on my headphones. I don't have a portable music player, so I can only listen to tunes when I have power to plug into. I'm glad I have decent headphones. They want 5000 pesos - about £2 - to use the wifi here - jokers! - so I'm trying out my new wifi cracking software. No luck yet.<br /><br />I left Caracas on Monday night by bus, aiming for Merida. I chose to stop off here on the way back to Colombia, having heard that there are rocks to climb. I've used my harness and boots only once in San Francisco, and they take up a fairly sizeable part of my bag, so might as well give em some use. Arriving 5 hours after schedule at 1pm, I trekked down Calle 24 towards the cable car - the highest (4700m) and longest (7km) in the world - but also closed for repairs. I'm quite happy with safety-zealousness when it comes to cable cars. Right at the end, Hotel Paty was just what I was looking for, small, cute, family run and cheap - 30 Bolivars (£3).<br /><br />Tuesday afternoon went on a mission to Jaji, a village a few km away in the hills. Merida is set in the middle of two ridges of the start of the Andes, 1700m up and 19˚ as I'm accurately informed by the welcome sign. Quite spectacular and very lush. Wednesday afternoon, I took a bus on my own to the outskirts of town to find a rock. The workmen working nearby to Roque de San Pedro were highly bemused at the idea of bouldering. Without ropes, I don't really want to climb more than 5ft off the ground, so the idea of bouldering is to traverse horizontally. First one guy sent me up to the top of this hillock clambering through undergrowth, only to return, quite happy with the rock at ground level. It was great to stretch all those muscles I haven't used for about 9 months since last doing it, and I'm still feeling it.<br /><br />Leaving Venezuela, I can't leave out my thoughts on Chavez. Before coming here, I was fairly supportive of Chavizmo for 4 reasons. First, reforming democracy, he has empowered decision-making at the local level. Second and third, education and health have seen almost 100% literacy rates return to Venezuela and provided (basic) universal free health care. Fourth, his middle finger to the U.S. hegemonic system and development of ALBA (Alternative American trading bloc) is something I like to see.<br /><br />The other story is the one generally presented in the international media, especially in America (North and South): Chavez is a crackpot despot who is enforcing his tyrannical will on the Venezuelan people. He has only managed to spend on social goods because of the unprecented high oil price in the last 5 years, and it will all come crashing down so he must be got rid of at all costs before it's too late.<br /><br />Well, I think it's fair to say that my uncle and I were on different sides of Chavez's fence, but after all, I think we're both much closer to the fence than I thought at first. Although I certainly wouldn't want to make too much of it, vague parallels can be drawn to Castro's highjacking of the Cuban Revolution in the 50s (and beyond). Chavez's model of socialism is certainly heavily imposed, and the opposition don't like it, crying election fraud, which I don't know whether or not to believe. Nonetheless, I'm still (just) on the Chavez side. But it's a golden example of how one the most progressive leaders in the world is still a far, far from perfect solution for a political system, particularly one contextually mired chest-deep in neo-liberal hegemony.<br /><br />It seems the wifi cracking software needs to see someone else's packets being sent in order to snoop in on it. Hmmmm.Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-91682090047225641432009-07-03T12:15:00.000-07:002009-08-21T12:47:31.319-07:00A Tale of Two CitiesCaracas, Venezuela<br /><br />Sitting at my uncle's dining table overlooking Caracas, it's quite hard to imagine what life in Caracas is really like. Last week I heard he would be going on holiday very soon, so my window of opportunity to spend some time with him and his Venezuelan family was closing by the day. After a 2-day bus journey I made it into the mad world that is Caracas.<br /><br />After a couple of nice days is Cartagena, it was time to say goodbye to my girlfriend for a while. After 10 months on the road together pretty much 24 hours a day, this was the moment she had been waiting for perhaps a little more than me. Our last night together was certainly not from a Hollywood script. As we set off for an evening stroll, the big screen showing back to back Jacko hits was actually quite a nice bar where we stopped for a drink.<br /><br />Smoking a cigarette outside, our host from the hostel we were staying - but moved to try and have a more romantic last night - bumped into us. She took it well, and invited us to join her for a spot of aguardiente on a bench on the main promenade leading up to the big clock tower of the old - beautiful - part of the city.<br /><br />As an amusing anecdote, while we were talking, her dogs went crazy at this fairly dodgy looking street fella, which was unusual for them, which made him even more dodgy. 10 minutes later, another guy walked up to us, fumbled underneath the edge of the bench casually, explaining that he was just picking up something he left there earlier (all of these conversations were in Spanish, naturally). He walked away casually, and delivered his Coke to the dodgy guy.<br /><br />Anyway, anecdote aside, the conversation with the lady was deep. Having been in Colombia 2 days, I was trying to put it all together for myself. I have read, studied, listened and talked about Colombian realities for the last 4 years in the UK. Actually being here seemed to juxtapose everything that I'd read. It's fine to walk on the streets in the evening. It all seemed rather cosy and a world away from civil war.<br /><br />The lady's story brought it all crashing back into place again. She explained how her family were indigenous folk living near Medellin in the 1970s. Because her mother worked for and was quite friendly with some of the posh folk, one night they told her that that the shit was going to hit the fan that night. She put her children, aged 3 and 4, underneath the house (which was raised slightly on stilts) in the evening and went to bed as normal. The lady then explained how before dawn, she heard how gunmen murdered practically the whole village, including hearing her parents being shot dead directly above her, at the age of 4. Somehow she managed to find her grandparents and escaped, I don't remember the story very clearly after this point. This kind of put the romance for the evening on the back burner and we didn't really recover it.<br /><br />The next morning at 7am I took a local bus to the bus station which was over an hour away, and bought a ticket (bargained down to $17.50) for a "direct" bus to Maicao, on the Venezuelan border, supposedly 10 hours away. One change and 14 hours later, I arrived in Maicao. On the way, the bus passed through Barranquilla, then Santa Marta, and the Tayrona National Park, the latter of which I'm heading back to in a few weeks because it is apparently stunning - jungle backing onto white sandy Caribbean sea.<br /><br />As the bus pulled into Maicao, a local dude had jumped on board and organised the next leg, to Maracaibo, where I was planning on staying the night. Which was actually great timing, because it was already pushing 9pm, with a good "couple" of hours left. He took my bags and slung them in the back of a very large Chevy estate car. Luckily I was expecting this, as this is the only form of transport from here to Maracaibo, the nearest city on the Venezuelan side of the border.<br /><br />This was a pretty cool journey, cruisin through the South American evening listening to tinny Argentinian pop music. Well, cruising in between the 10 times we were stopped on the road and asked for ID by various layers of Venezuelan authority.<br /><br />I arrived into Maracaibo bus station at around midnight. Luckily I knew there were some cheap hotels near the back of the bus station, and headed over. Trouble was, I didn't have any Bolivars on me. The official exchange rate is about 2.5 to the dollar. But the black market exchange rate is around 6. So, the hotel owner of the cheapest place said he'd change my money at 3. When I only had a $50 note, that's quite annoying. Luckily after a little while, a guy from the next door hotel popped out to see what the commotion was about. He was a solo traveller from the US, a young teacher with lots of interesting stories. He helped me out bigtime, and saved me a lot in the process.<br /><br />The next morning I started the next 12 hour journey after breakfast and a quick money change. The other confusing thing is that last year they took 3 zeros off the currency to make it a bit easier, but everyone still talks in thousands. The bus I took was the most luxurious bus I've ever got - huge amounts of room, almost fully reclinable chair - and of course like a fridge.<br /><br />The only notable part of the journey was crossing Lake Maracaibo. It's a huge inlet from the sea, sitting right on top of an equally huge oilfield. The weird and beautiful thing was the patchwork quilt of green algae over the surface, it looked real trippy, like you could walk on it.<br /><br />Arriving into Caracas, I hit a really lucky break. As we were getting our bags of the coach, a friendly looking fellow passenger asked where I was going, and offered me a lift. I gave him a once-over, and he was travelling with 3 children. Looked harmless enough. We piled 7 of us into his son's car and raced away from what turns out to be on of the most dangerous places in Caracas.<br /><br />Caracas is built into a valley. As it's population grew to over 10 million, so it sprawled out it fingers into the surrounding valleys and up the hillsides. Consequently, it afford stunning views almost everywhere you turn.<br /><br />2 quick observations about Caracas / Venezuela. One is that you can fill a 20 gallon tank of petrol for less than a dollar. The other is that food costs almost the same as the UK. Pretty weird.<br /><br />Yesterday I managed to convince my uncle to let me out into the city on my own. I was accompanied by his wife most of the way, but then convinced her too that I really didn't need to be shadowed around and really wanted to amble around on my own. I checked out Bolivar's birthplace (he sure wasn't from a poor background) and hung out in the Plaza Bolivar soaking up the atmosphere and watching folk, like most people in Plaza. Not many tourists around, in fact didn't really notice any white folk at all. But nor did I get any sense of insecurity, danger, or a bad vibe at all. But I like it without the tourists, so best to keep up the charade. Tell everyone it's really, really dangerous!<br /><br />In between being allowed into the city - actually it's more practical, as there isn't any public transport from my uncle's house - I'm learning html and php web languages. Might as well make myself useful... gotta go, gotta stir the famous Heston Blumenthal bolognese - the all day cooking meat in milk one. Mmmm mmmm. Dammit, didn't write about Venezuelan politics.... ha, the elephant in the room. Next post, I promise.<br /><br />Sorry for the lack of photos, my camera got eaten by the postman sending it from Nicaragua to Panama. Will get another soon...Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-73927337967131996022009-06-28T19:34:00.000-07:002009-06-28T19:39:54.884-07:00The Promised LandThursday 25th June<br />Cartagena, Colombia<br /><br />All right! After 4 months and 14 days in Panama, we have escaped! This Spanish pilot, Pepe, saw the car on Saturday, gave us the deposit on Sunday, the rest of the dough on Monday and Tuesday we flew out of Panama (not with Pepe though!). It sure felt weird flying for the first time this trip, but I didn't fancy paying $380 for a 5-day luxury yacht trip, nor hanging out in Colón (where gringos last no more than a few minutes without being robbed) trying to skank a ride on a cargo boat, nor trekking through the Darian. Another day... but I will try the boat thing on the way back up (towards Burning Man).<br /><br />I will miss as a treat going to the fish market first thing in the morning to get a big red snapper to bake for $3, as well as a pound of seabass for $1.75 to make into ceviche for lunch.<br /><br />I will miss the good european style lager from the hole-in-the-wall shop directly outside the apartment front door, chilled, for 25 pence a 330ml bottle, in returnable bottles.<br /><br />I will miss going to listen to Reggaeton on big systems outdoors with a coolbox full of ice, a bottle each of rum and ginger ale, and Marco, our big friendly black Panamanian ever-smiling new friend.<br /><br />I will miss slinging our shit into the back of the car and driving from one place to the next without waiting for buses.<br /><br />I will miss the parties on the rooftop terrace of our apartment, with daiquiri/mojito in hand and looking out over Panama Bay, especially the one that turned into the panama couchsurfing birthday party.<br /><br />I will miss Baños Publicos! They used to be public toilets, and in proper squat style had been turned into a sick bar right in the heart of the oldest part of Panama City. Then they did a remodel last week, and 4 hours before opening a very large section of façade from the adjoining building fell onto the roof of Baños, collapsing the entire roof. Thankfully it didn't happen 4 hours later, or I might very well be dead. No-one was hurt. Mad shit.<br /><br />I won't miss finding a safe place to park.<br /><br />I won't miss the lack of street food (or any cheap food) at night (i.e. after 7pm).<br /><br />I won't miss hanging out on the swimming pool terrace of the Hotel Veneto watching guys take turns to take a prostitute up to their room.<br /><br />I won't miss answering the telephone to people vaguely (or not even) interested in buying the car, asking us our lowest price before even seeing the car, then arranging to meet them and them maybe showing up, maybe on time, before telling us they will definately call us tomorrow either way.<br /><br />I won't miss actually wondering what it would be like to retire in Panama....Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-30539340049276687692009-06-08T13:34:00.000-07:002009-06-08T13:41:35.572-07:00Panamanian Plates!It's been a while. Things have been less adventurous the last few weeks, we're making plans for retirement in Panama, as we're resigned to the fate of never leaving here. Before leaving, Panama would not have been in my top 20 list of places to spend 4 months (it's still not). But, in between running around jumping through car import hoops, it's actually been nice to have some time and space to think and develop my ideas about what I want to do now and on return to the UK. I've started a film script (which is back on the back burner), and I've made a mix.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi77oanaWNYvv-zxcFRZ9Z9MeKOaFNPAjStKFmzSu5QNKyM7X6HOoeKgxzvWEv_EGgE54vej0pJ8_RYjHYhT8Zj9PIWLct0WZUIi8zbIDAoMLoEeVJ31w-53g2VRDtY3-MGF9gynQizoj5/s1600-h/IMG_0572.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi77oanaWNYvv-zxcFRZ9Z9MeKOaFNPAjStKFmzSu5QNKyM7X6HOoeKgxzvWEv_EGgE54vej0pJ8_RYjHYhT8Zj9PIWLct0WZUIi8zbIDAoMLoEeVJ31w-53g2VRDtY3-MGF9gynQizoj5/s400/IMG_0572.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345058954430307666" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">beans with holes in like this make you sick</span></span><br /></div><br />In fact, I've made a <a href="http://trozminster.wordpress.com/">new blog</a>. You can download the mix there, for those that did download the first one, this is a much better version, the levels are MUCH better, it sounds much more punchy. If you're not sure which one you've got, the latest version ends has mastered in brackets. In terms of genre it's electronic dance music, and style it's all over the place but on a breakbeat/jungle tip. It sounds good on big speakers.<br /><br />So right now we're housesitting Rose's apartment in Casco Viejo, the top floor end apartment with a balcony, stunning view over the sea and a breeze (pretty important here). She's been away in the States for 3 weeks and is back tonight, when we'll decamp into Room 2 - the bottom floor place with no balcony and a crappy single camp bed and no kitchen - but 'only' $7.50 a night.<br /><br />We met an English couple a couple of weeks ago - who bought a car in California, went to Burning Man and then drove down here! It's funny, we're soooo similar, it's quite scary. They sold their car within a week, as it is, no import or nothing. Bastards. It's a Japanese car, which they lap up here, as everyone drives them making parts and repairs much easier. We couldn't find a decent Japanese car at the only dealer in NY state that would get our car registered on the sly...<br /><br />On which note, we now have Panamanian plates! That took 2 months! It involved going to the customs broker with documents, waiting 6 weeks going to the Customs office ourselves to get the pre-declaration where they stung us for a $2300 bill in import taxes - by which stage it was too late to get it done cheaper by paying a bit under the table. Then back to the brokers, withdraw $2300 in $300 batches a day, pay it into a bank account, then back to the brokers twice. Then to the DIJ - the Police Investigators Office - to get a police check. We got there on Thursday, at 6am, which wasn't early enough. Friday we got there at 4.30am to discover they don't do checks on a Friday. Then Monday at 4.30am we got checked & told to come back Wednesday. Came back Wednesday, not ready yet. Thursday we picked it up & the friendly cop gave us his phone number (weird). Friday we went to the Council office outside the city, and got pulled over by a jumped-up little shit of a cop for trying to change lane in the wrong place (!).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_lzuK67P8X1vtLTB3dk0XhEogdEPQtfJ1MHaMNtuP_FNdUpUFZbyd6vc9YxspfkT-n8YpI_HqvnHXakcZoMqsTarxOy6LemK_t2NDZpOxM0oY3EMxjniiAHDAFKd-QdPQQcJVEt-i9ZkK/s1600-h/IMG_0580.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_lzuK67P8X1vtLTB3dk0XhEogdEPQtfJ1MHaMNtuP_FNdUpUFZbyd6vc9YxspfkT-n8YpI_HqvnHXakcZoMqsTarxOy6LemK_t2NDZpOxM0oY3EMxjniiAHDAFKd-QdPQQcJVEt-i9ZkK/s400/IMG_0580.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345058955771208914" border="0" /></a><br />He asked us for our passports. We are 4 months into a 3 month tourist visa, because of this bullshit taking so long. He didn't care, and we drove over the police hut on the junction. The 'tourist police' got called over. The little jumped-up shit then asked us for the car keys, saying he was taking the car and going to arrest us. I called our man in the Investigators Office, briefly explained that this jumped-up little shit wants to take our car, and passed the phone to the jumped-up little shit. He listened for 15 seconds and passed the phone back. I had a quick chat with him, he asked how much of a gift I might want to give him. I said 40, he said no problem, pass him over. 30 seconds later, the cop is letting us go and passes us over to the Tourist Police. They give us a jolly good telling off for not having the correct paperwork and show us the way to the Council Office!<br /><br />So we get to the Council Office, queue for 20 minutes, to be told that we're missing a stamp and to go back to Customs to get it. Outside, the Investigator Cop call back, and explains that he told the jumped-up little shit that we were good friends of his and to make everything as easy as possible for us. He was relaxed about getting his 'gift', said he was glad to be of help. I then explained about the missing stamp, he said to pass him over to so-and-so, who told me to see so-and-so, the boss in the office at the back. Here I passed the phone again, and suddenly the boss brightened immensely to be talking to an old friend, they joked about a 'gift' of a dollar, and he told us not to worry about the stamp.<br /><br />So, without this cop's number, we would be possibly in prison, but definately have the car impounded. I'm trying to figure out my moral position on this one. I think that the root is the facist cop demanding to see our papers for no legal reason. This is the system in place - they can demand to see your passport at any time - you have to carry it (or a copy). Sounds like Nazi-Occupied Europe - "you're pepperz plees". The friendly cop is just an aberration to disguise a shit system - kind of like George Monbiot disguising the Guardian that is otherwise a mainstream corporate funded rag.<br /><br />But we're not done yet! So we 'inscribe' the car at the Council and pay $5. Then we drive back into the city, go into Banco Nacional and pay $10 into some account. Then we go to get a 'pre-revisado' - kind of like an MOT, but without the testing/checking part. They take some photos and write down some basic details about the car, and take $16 to give you a piece of paper telling you how many doors the car has. Then we need insurance. We trek to an office, and sit around for an hour while our policy is written up. Because the car is over 9 years old (10), we can't have a $30 monthly policy, we have to buy a $130 yearly policy. Great. At least they only take $43 now, then the other 2 payments in installments on my credit card - which at first they refuse to accept but after repeated assurances that this is a Visa card like any other, and 3 phone calls, we're sorted.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIzYYPHT_MHXJXeaQDI80BvFBBhroX-WGKJP4uxpG83hCILWch2LKXN-s8YXE9jIHW3aaUfdlDewe2wiB9fqLAIvgEb2XNTzPfD_BkW2cP1aEESVTo4_Tjgt3_B0EjhKyUKr7kksX99DkS/s1600-h/IMG_0573.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIzYYPHT_MHXJXeaQDI80BvFBBhroX-WGKJP4uxpG83hCILWch2LKXN-s8YXE9jIHW3aaUfdlDewe2wiB9fqLAIvgEb2XNTzPfD_BkW2cP1aEESVTo4_Tjgt3_B0EjhKyUKr7kksX99DkS/s400/IMG_0573.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345058952181632402" border="0" /></a><br />So, out of time on Friday, this morning (Monday) we went back to San Miguelito for 6.30am - by taxi this time - to swap our NY title (and our mountain of photocopied paperwork), for a Panamanian one (only having to wait for 1 hour). Then we take this to another office (thankfully 5 minutes walk away), past the cops that seem to be growling at us (a few skipped heartbeats - we are still techinically "illegals" in their eyes). And, hey presto, we swap some more copies of forms with $12 (50% discount today!) for a number plate!!!<br /><br />I can't imagine anyone is still reading this, but there it is, the Panamanian Car Import Process. Now, all we need is a buyer...Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-42674150492473971012009-04-21T14:10:00.000-07:002009-05-01T19:50:22.076-07:00End of our tetherSunday 22nd March 2009<br /><br />6 weeks on, and we are still in Panama City, having planned to be here for 2-4 weeks. I guess selling a car isn't that straightforward. Well, this will be the last car I ever own. My girlfriend and I are nearing the end of our tether, not much hair left to tear out. We are couchsurfing, and have stayed for free with Christian and Kadir for the last 6 weeks.<br /><br />These 2 are jokers, one is a straight air steward, the other works on boats (what else in Panama City?). We are sleeping on the sofa in their living room. Which is the first time I've slept on someone's sofa. What I hadn't prepared myself for is that this means slinking off to bed is not an option – either last to bed or going to sleep in the thick of things. Which is fine... for a while. Nonetheless, they have been wonderfully accomodating, and with the other Canadian girls staying it's a bit like a hostel, which is exactly the vibe they're trying to create.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Kj37vdPGVvaTT6bwEf2wufLLkcf5pkuFlzN8_zCJ6Lxy_LYdW1MrL3V8lNWly8rJfzNyU-UmAGIDGQf1g-1uJ_PdJhCVJk9HnSZ9_bikx8zpIlxcGMHTbzKx8AeC0GY7jh0VTRwlaqrZ/s1600-h/037.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Kj37vdPGVvaTT6bwEf2wufLLkcf5pkuFlzN8_zCJ6Lxy_LYdW1MrL3V8lNWly8rJfzNyU-UmAGIDGQf1g-1uJ_PdJhCVJk9HnSZ9_bikx8zpIlxcGMHTbzKx8AeC0GY7jh0VTRwlaqrZ/s400/037.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327255844884385506" border="0" /></a><br />It's been great having a kitchen. We have been busy making delicious wholemeal bread, rye bread, ceviche, iced coffee, yum yum... check out recipes and more pics at <a href="http://foodwineloveandrevolution.wordpress.com/">this blog</a><a href="http://foodwineloveandrevolution.wordpress.com/">.</a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNNQtfKds1EvSZIiiyaGgbAqrElCrFTt_x66-MrkSs7oOlQwSVRh3otYurZ-HtaZP1WhHuCmrozM3pjbWc3NiHP_-yqFAmj-LAJKDPf-Hv4qd374QZkr3CWUfX2_Ng9Y_wkalR7CT7rWtd/s1600-h/CRW_9693.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNNQtfKds1EvSZIiiyaGgbAqrElCrFTt_x66-MrkSs7oOlQwSVRh3otYurZ-HtaZP1WhHuCmrozM3pjbWc3NiHP_-yqFAmj-LAJKDPf-Hv4qd374QZkr3CWUfX2_Ng9Y_wkalR7CT7rWtd/s400/CRW_9693.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327255851860234402" border="0" /></a><br />The highlight of the last few weeks has to be Carnivale! We were invited to go with Marco to Las Tablas – apparently the place to go. And it was out of this world. A 4 day affair, what makes this one special is that there is a 50 year tradition of rivalry between carnival queens. One is from Calle Arriba (upper street) and the other from Calle Abajo (lower street). Each has their own float, and entourage. And we were with Calle Arriba – the posh lot – by virtue of our hosts. We had a place to stay nearby, with the family of Lourdes, one of the kru.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYgYsGVVdIFl7VaSvzMrujYkiCQr6FRR6qSblpbaKzo0yvW-TnD9yI3lkJNuq_4PR66HwQDqiOStZi7d99A-cEF_renaHGa93kERly23B_Tp2Lu-qF6JuoQIVFEs0CGsbTFRpxhRe3EtMf/s1600-h/CRW_9680.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYgYsGVVdIFl7VaSvzMrujYkiCQr6FRR6qSblpbaKzo0yvW-TnD9yI3lkJNuq_4PR66HwQDqiOStZi7d99A-cEF_renaHGa93kERly23B_Tp2Lu-qF6JuoQIVFEs0CGsbTFRpxhRe3EtMf/s400/CRW_9680.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327255845286706562" border="0" /></a><br />Before arriving in Panama, a Colombian friend back home suggested I look up a friend of his in Panama. What has developed is an extremely interesting social phenomenon. She is a trusted friend of my good and trusted friend. So, I have discovered for myself the law of triangular friendship/trust relationships – it seems like we have known each other for years. And her brother with whom she lives has bent over backwards to help us with the car selling. And Marco is her ex-boyfriend, and her brother's business partner, and now also a friend of ours. Visiting another city where you have friends has been wonderful at helping feel connected to the place.<br /><br />So one morning at Las Tablas I woke up with an intense hangover, and came into the living room. On the TV was coverage of the Carnival. Looking closer at the TV presenter, I realised it was none other than Lourdes. How peculiar. After a quick breakfast, we proceeded for what turned out to be the daily routine – hit the carnival for the daytime session, check out the floats and get drunk. Every session (day/night) each Queen had a new float, as well as their princesses. So that's 32 different themed floats for the Carnival! Then back home, a quick bite and a nap, then back out on the streets for the night-time. We had been warned about looking after ourselves – but being with a local, Marco, and Ariel (a 6ft4 American football player) made it the safest place to be.<br /><br />Back in Panama City, with my laptop charger bust in a flood, I have devoured books. Having spent 6 years at uni, reading was not something I enjoyed doing in my spare time. But now, a thirst is being quenched. Days of War, Nights of Love is a book by the CrimethInc Collective written in the 90s, a highly inspiration collection of anarcho-inspired readings. Then The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood, a disturbing dystopian story parodying contemporary patriarchy and government control. And Cuban Anarchism, translated by Frank Fernandez, a concise history chronicling the hard work put in by Cuban anarchists prior to the Revolution, and the bitter disagreements amongst anarchists over supporting Castro's version it during his reign. Then Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck, who fictionalises the 1930s wave of forced migration by US peasants to California in search of the American Dream. Finally Adelle Davis' 1950 Let's Eat Right To Keep Fit, a handy summary of the importance of vitamins, fats and protein in the diet and plenty of scientific anecdotes (unfortunately all involving animal testing). The library in Panama City has some crackers (not all the above though – 2 were from the Anarchist Bookstore in San Francisco).<br /><br />Furthering our bourgeious dalliance at the Carnival, we were invited to a cheese and wine evening at a penthouse apartment in a skyrise last week – quite a view. A bit more down to earth, two bars are my joint favourite.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9JfeEKSkimvG16LtMVILQupE56jxujB-ITImabkRO7_poOqgrfJ3SbXFnXppbkRyBPUf_llgWerFTbGvB8H9ut7T7LRHkYSRKwaXWGCvaFdDZveaac2_fIgPOYIAaTvkme9rWthXgZOQ8/s1600-h/CRW_9667.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9JfeEKSkimvG16LtMVILQupE56jxujB-ITImabkRO7_poOqgrfJ3SbXFnXppbkRyBPUf_llgWerFTbGvB8H9ut7T7LRHkYSRKwaXWGCvaFdDZveaac2_fIgPOYIAaTvkme9rWthXgZOQ8/s400/CRW_9667.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327255845251993938" border="0" /></a><br />The first is Baños Publicos – yep, that translates as public toilets – a squatted place in the heart of Casco Antiquo, the original city that got ransacked by the infamous Welsh pirate Henry Morgan in 1671 and left in photogenic decay ever since. And it has a real squat vibe, with live salsa and reggae, a BYO alcohol policy and replete with porcelain toilet pan. The other is Bar de Cuba, which is a great place given the classy San Francisco neighbourhood, with arcade games, a pool table and $1 beers. On that note, from the Chino (local shop run by Chinese folk – as is every local shop) beer is cheaper than well-known soft drinks here (hurray!) - 40 US cents – 25 pence a bottle!<br /><br />It has been nice to escape the city regularly at weekends. Last weekend we took a 3 hour trip back down the Panamerican Highway to El Valle, a town in the crater of a massive volcano, surrounded by a ring a hills. Inside is a special place, with a magical feel. We stayed at Shwami's campsite [link], a hippy campsite run by a sound Panamanian rasta, the black sheep of his family. We had time to check out the cool waterfall, but not the hot springs, as we were invited to lunch at Rico's parents' place. They designed and built it themselves and filled it full of their own stunning artwork. And a little bit of magic happened when we saw a hummingbird fly to its nest on a windchime actually on the patio area, to feed its 2 hungry mouthed children, right in front of our faces.<br /><br />And the best bit of news – we both got our scholarship tickets to Burning Man for this year! To finish the trip in style! So $110 instead of $260, for a week of delectable hedonist debauchery – underlined by the principle of mutual aid - in the middle of the Nevada desert.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFDmVMY77WJqqJk_uwRSif0WccIFhyCtAKwm8uTxy1xewM9JAZIVGjLB0-Wg7BWPsgy00T2nMHeJrqOq6ZxsAsilSvDYA9Tj0g_XGzsra9Zl9JZoDMhuwHmbdRmDuBy5EhF9gYGAg-KEsu/s1600-h/013.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFDmVMY77WJqqJk_uwRSif0WccIFhyCtAKwm8uTxy1xewM9JAZIVGjLB0-Wg7BWPsgy00T2nMHeJrqOq6ZxsAsilSvDYA9Tj0g_XGzsra9Zl9JZoDMhuwHmbdRmDuBy5EhF9gYGAg-KEsu/s400/013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327255841433980706" border="0" /></a>Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-46616893277735428212009-04-21T14:03:00.000-07:002009-04-21T14:06:43.566-07:00ChameleonFriday 13th February 2009<br /><br />Sipping gin and tonic on a balcony overlooking a park, hearing that Bonjovi track in the background behind. This is the life of a couchsurfer. My feet hurt, I could say I'm tired but the gin won't let me. Today has been spent hanging around at the mechanic's, who was fitting a replacement Oxygen Sensor on the car (these measure the mixture of fuel and air before and after the catalytic converter, returning a voltage between 0 and 1 Volt to the car's computer). The thing being broken means the "Check Engine" light is on on the dash, which needs to not be on to sell it.<br /><br />That's the ostensible aim here in Panama City, to sell the damn car. It seems actually quite a good place to do that: there appears to be quite a lot of money around here. It's quite out of place in Central America after these months on the road. From Mexico southward, things got slowly more, different, relaxed, poor, rural, dusty. Then from leaving Nicaragua into Costa Rica, things took a turn for the worse. More expensive, more mimicry of Western capitalism. The large U.S. expat and holidaying "community" make travelling in a US vehicle less of a thing I want to be a part of.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoYVlAV9Hf9g5-UBrXKza4YjnyYPhxcyofJYocltfZeUxilqJZNrLyKBNBQNkfH-WBxD9ScbEopdkAc8oFpwAyluRv39CdHcOMG4A_pqVi1bBcCdkpWM-JqumrwmYPc5hWQkpTlf-MJNVv/s1600-h/CRW_9653.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoYVlAV9Hf9g5-UBrXKza4YjnyYPhxcyofJYocltfZeUxilqJZNrLyKBNBQNkfH-WBxD9ScbEopdkAc8oFpwAyluRv39CdHcOMG4A_pqVi1bBcCdkpWM-JqumrwmYPc5hWQkpTlf-MJNVv/s400/CRW_9653.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327253566591973842" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">our couchsurfing host, Christian<br /></span></span></div><br />I'm glad I brought my chameleon suit (does that make me a metachameleon?). We got to Panama City quite lost, and ended up driving for 3 hours in Friday afternoon rush hour traffic trying to find Casco Antiguo. This is the old part of town that the infamous Welsh pirate Henry Morgan sacked in 17something when he decided he didn't like the Spanish but did want their gold. So we found our hotel, which looks like it hasn't changed much since Henry Morgan was here. Which of course made it a wonderful place to be, crumbling wallpaper, high ceilings, an amazing tiled lobby complete with an art deco garden table and 4 chairs, a splendid rooftop patio (no breakfasts here though), and finally nothing better than the cheapest digs in town at 11 bucks a night for us both.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1E0w_uTkSNYE62wcffhSGZxVwtWtL5tPB3Scs4KS_SAECWUMqC87yeADIApuvCyFpDYQ62DyT_GMnngbGgWl-DRGl53AmlPIoLz-Ue3AJbXiVESnTHRmenY8y6qGwQf8YoWeD0R-pdg8/s1600-h/CRW_9602.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1E0w_uTkSNYE62wcffhSGZxVwtWtL5tPB3Scs4KS_SAECWUMqC87yeADIApuvCyFpDYQ62DyT_GMnngbGgWl-DRGl53AmlPIoLz-Ue3AJbXiVESnTHRmenY8y6qGwQf8YoWeD0R-pdg8/s400/CRW_9602.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327253559336804466" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Hotel Colón</span></span><br /></div><br />So, the chameleon... get on with it. A friend from home gave me a contact of a friend of his from Bogota, who now lives in Panama. So on Saturday night, we met up and hit the town. First stop was Bennigans, the now-defunct-in-the-US chain restaurant. It's really bizzare - in Central American big cities, U.S. chain restaurants (McDonalds et al) are actually the preserve of the middle/upper class, by a considerable price margin. Well, we had a couple of beers in this place, jammed to the rafters with posh Panamanians. Then, through our friend's friends, hung out in what appeared to be the most exclusive club in town.<br /><br />I think the best way to describe the theme was arctic. Air conditioning down to the max (or min...) and white everywhere. The way to drink is to buy a bottle of vodka and some flaggons of cranberry, and serve yerself DIY style. Luckily I didn't see the bill. Then after a while of shaking rhymically to stay warm and alive, we headed next door for more vodka and reggaeton.<br /><br />The next day, we were invited to a barbeque at our friend's best friend's house, and had a classic Sunday sojourn. Supping and munching pretty much all day and well into the evening, it was a much needed day off before the missions with the car. I had my chameleon suit on (with tact tie in a windsor knot) when I got in a long conversation with a chap who in the end offered me a job with his "lead generation" company, in perfect American English. Lead generation (as in business leads, pronounced leeds, not lead, as in piping) involves facilitating the expansion of businesses - I highly suspect that this involves fuelling the greed of our not-so-favourite multinational corporations - and thought I was very tactful in my polite declination. I have to confess I did say that if my tax refund cheque doesn't arrive soon I would (be forced) take his kind offer.Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-22547532087225717322009-04-21T13:41:00.000-07:002009-04-21T13:54:01.895-07:00Ometepe and Costa RicaMaybe one day I'll write more about staying with Damian in Ometepe, a volcanic island in Nicaragua, Finca Bonafide - the permaculture farm, getting stuck on the island for 3 days because there weren't any boats cos of bad weather, forgetting my camera at Damian's campsite, cycling 30 miles to go back to get it, him not being there and me returning empty-handed, reading Rising Up, Rising Down - a history of violence by William Vollman, then driving through Costa Rica, and the trip to Panama City. Maybe not.Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-6723703751039768252009-04-21T13:13:00.000-07:002009-04-21T13:14:38.197-07:00Puerto 3As I fluff up the blanket that separates my body from my wickered bed, a cockroach jumps out, surprised. I quickly reach for a cup and trap it, unsure whether I want to try and kill it or spare its life. I throw it out of the front of the house. Mercy.<br /><br />Later on, I wait for the power to return to the town after an absence now several hours long. I go for a walk to smoke a cigarette, needing to use the internet at the Alcadia to download a Linux distribution for the computer workshop I'm doing tomorrow.<br /><br />Earlier, I bump into the headteacher, and I explain how I'm was getting on with the computers, and my plan to get a bunch of kids involved. Virginia, my adoptive mother here, is a teacher at the school, and she said she'd find some kids for me that would be interested. So the headteacher gets all controlfreaked, and tells me she wants a written plan for what I want to do. Balking at this meaningless exercise in bureaucracy, I tell her if it's going to be complicated, I'd rather not actually bother involving the kids at all, for that would actually be easier for me. She backs off, and in the end wants me to explain to her afterwards what we got up to.<br /><br />As I take a drag on my cigarette, I notice the sheep sat at the Western edge of the shade provided by the shelter of the baseball pitch. Clever, the coolest spot. A horse trots past, seeking pasture. Behind me pigs snuffle through the piles of smouldering leaves and rubbish in the street.<br /><br />I walk back home, and past a tired looking dog. This is summer, although the coolest months of the year. It's 1pm, and 35ºC. Winter is hotter, but it rains. Dogs roam the streets, lean, wary of people. People walk slowly, in the shade, minimising beads of sweat which are soaking my clothing.<br /><br />As I sit in the front patio reading, a grubby girl of no more than 5 clutching a coin comes up to the front gate. I know already what she's going to say. Posicle [poh-sikh-lay]. The sisters inside play an imaginary game of spoof that the youngest always loses, who emerges, with a small plastic bag, steaming and hard filled with something white and frozen. I have yet to decipher it's contents, but kids bite a corner of the bag and suck it. I think it's some kind of rice and milk and cinnamon concoction.<br /><br />I scratch my leg, having resisted for at least 90 seconds now. The sancudos are a bitch, worst around dusk but fight around the clock. It's a war of attrition, and the combat gear is long trousers and a shirt. Not ideal in these conditions, but it's a case of survival.<br /><br />The trackpad on my laptop is playing up. I guess it works by relative heat sensitivity, and so I suppose the ambient temperature must be approaching 37ºC now.<br /><br />This morning I experience my second worst ever feeling, next to discovering I had worms for the first time in my life while tripping. I awoke to the sound of what seemed like water bubbling out of my ear, you know the feeling after emerging from being underwater. The strange thing was that I didn't sleep underwater. Focussing on the sensation, I remembered that seconds earlier in that pre-awake state I'd scratched an itch, inside my ear. It now turned into a sound, repeating regularly, matched by a ticklish feeling inside my ear, like one that prompts the instinctive "bug swat" reaction. So I swotted the side of my head, trying to get whatever was burrowing into my ear out, to no avail as it just burrowed further. I spent the next half an hour listening to this creature either dying, or laying its eggs, inside my ear.<br /><br />Hmmm, maybe it's worse than tripping with worms. The jury's out.Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-35929265868533527692009-04-21T12:51:00.000-07:002009-04-21T13:09:31.496-07:00Puerto Morazan - Part 2Monday 26th January 2009<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjINk1H-1w_ZhjtSEB6IDy2r-cIWshn7zDLgxv7ZHtMNwxXdOQ9CYUdg0MvqPCTPOOY-ck6nBt7y_6C4e7f9Mg4x7UsiY2AZPkuL3KIeZXz5laGg_N7G7GdMZRKo33huGTgkOq-FfmqveZd/s1600-h/CRW_0371.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjINk1H-1w_ZhjtSEB6IDy2r-cIWshn7zDLgxv7ZHtMNwxXdOQ9CYUdg0MvqPCTPOOY-ck6nBt7y_6C4e7f9Mg4x7UsiY2AZPkuL3KIeZXz5laGg_N7G7GdMZRKo33huGTgkOq-FfmqveZd/s400/CRW_0371.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327238524545424626" border="0" /></a><br />"Gingo! Ey Gingo!" is the sound I awoke to this morning. That was 4 year old Esteben Benito Frambir (his name is one or all of the above, at least he gets called that by his family). He is of course calling to me, the cultural nuances of British folk not technically being gringos seemingly lost on him. I've explained about 6 times now. I guess 4 year olds don't really get it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE5tPWCyQseDl8Is3fU-OxoDKX42nVn6Zug_ApG-bO5RQDIvK68h0aZUzlU-cST-tL-sPdVM9BM27_39nk8XhY2WdXEw1XHZfA5h0Y7yQ21L7fOsV0v2ZwjVvZ2LCAVAufj-020I3WN_PP/s1600-h/CRW_0336.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE5tPWCyQseDl8Is3fU-OxoDKX42nVn6Zug_ApG-bO5RQDIvK68h0aZUzlU-cST-tL-sPdVM9BM27_39nk8XhY2WdXEw1XHZfA5h0Y7yQ21L7fOsV0v2ZwjVvZ2LCAVAufj-020I3WN_PP/s400/CRW_0336.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327238509801623970" border="0" /></a><br />It was funny on Sunday though, at the baseball game, when I overheard some guy saying something possibly derogatory, probably not, involving the word gringo, which I assumed to be about me and not meant to be heard or at least understood by me, given that I'm the only gringo around (I've actually accepted the title gracefully). The funny part was that I then smiled at the chap, and asked him very politely how sir was doing this morning, in Spanish. He spent the next few minutes uncomfortably explaining that he didn't realise that I spoke Spanish as most gringos that come to the village don't. From that reaction I assume his initial comment to be derogatory and I told him I wasn't actually a gringo anyway. Well, I felt good about myself. Maybe it was that I was mildly hungover and had a bit of a grouch on. I wonder if the word gringo bears any sort of significance of cultural laden value, of "political incorrectness" to 'paki' in English.<br /><br />I had a hangover (not really, I only had a couple of beers) from the night before, going out on the town with my sista - Leyris - who is 17, her cousin, her boyfriend (don't tell her parents), and a couple of others who formed their cru. I say sista meaning adoptive relative, being retroactively sad about being one of 3 brothers. We hit the second fiesta, after the first one (which is next to the Mayor's house) was empty, despite the arrayed stack of speakers that most Bristol clubs would be proud of. I felt kinda bad for them, there was a massive truck outside that had obviously been hired to bring the system. I hope no-one (nor the local council) was out of pocket for that. Having a window from the street inside the club is a recipe for disaster though - who's going to pay to be the first people in? So we hit the second party, which was considerably more populated.<br /><br />I felt a bit of a granddad, going out with a group of 15-17 year olds. I bought them a couple of beers to share, not being made of money. They concealed them proudly, if such a thing is possible. Yes, I'm a bad person.<br /><br />The night was fun, then a fight ended in the 3-man police squad for the town / municipality being stationed right in the middle of the club for the rest of the night, which made it less fun. It seems that you have to have a partner to dance, even if it's to house music, which the occasional song is. That mixed (well, played overlappingly, mixing is too gracious) with a bunch of reggaeton, and then 6 really slow tunes all in a row. Weird.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbaP5kZst7bqHOyYzeSt8SUj7Gn74rFR4u7SUbGR_KcvYKiCpP6pmzLSGU1lV-QPpMHuA5i_9iT_gdur03E7LyUwiUVdxy7srdH269JtxyslQOa8q7TDA3l6OTE2X-x0jhDh-A_zP9aDbN/s1600-h/CRW_0355.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbaP5kZst7bqHOyYzeSt8SUj7Gn74rFR4u7SUbGR_KcvYKiCpP6pmzLSGU1lV-QPpMHuA5i_9iT_gdur03E7LyUwiUVdxy7srdH269JtxyslQOa8q7TDA3l6OTE2X-x0jhDh-A_zP9aDbN/s400/CRW_0355.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327238514260883730" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">francisco and his grannie<br /><br /></span></span></div>So earlier on on Saturday we went to visit Francisco's grannie, about an hour away. They hadn't seen her in years, and she's about to escape life. I had said a few days earlier that as they didn't have a car, while I was there if they wanted to make use of it they just needed to say. So we packed em in, Francisco, his dad, Virginia, her mum, and the 3 kids, Leyris, Francis and Frambi all in the Jeep and hit the road. The visit was fairly procedural, nice to meet the old lady, took a bunch of nice photos, and Virginia and Francisco were very happy to have made it and spent some time with her. She's in her nineties, a right fighter, and made a sharp wisecrack about my now fairly long hair.<br /><br />After returning home, we headed to the outskirts of town, where in a large field lay a profuse network of well-staked plots of land. We went to one of them, for some slash and burn action. Well, the slashing was done, more raking and burning. It doesn't sound as good though, rake and burn. Meanwhile, Francisco and his dad stuck a few more poles in. Clearly these were plots of land for someone, and I thought I heard Virginia explain that they were for homeless people. My thoughts of altriusm were put to rest when Francisco explained later that the land was owned by some teachers, and that all these plots were for teachers. Nice job, nonetheless. It would be interesting to find out if Sandinistan politics had anything to do with it.<br /><br />The next day, Sunday, I got some great footage for the film at the baseball game, the conveniently timed Municipal Final. I gave a chap a lift on the way up, which only turned out to be 5 minutes away, and later on he brought me a sack full of plantain and oranges. An extraordinary act of kindness that I can't get my head around. Maybe it's the capitalist money-exchange culture I grew up in.<br /><br />Speaking of which, the film is trundling along nicely. Plenty of footage (in 30 second clips) to work from. I've got the script finalised and a shoot lined up tomorrow with the photogenic and beautiful 12 year old Francis. I'm having to fake the school section a bit, as the schools are all on holiday. The mayor did offer to get them all in for me though, kind chap that he is.<br /><br />While I was talking to the school principal, an experience as unpleasant at the age of 26 as any other time, I found my niche here though. As soon as the conversation began to sour towards the different things the school wants money for I felt awkward in that position I described before. Par for the course, I suppose, with the now stock response that the best way would be to formulate a proposal through Gioconda, that I'm here to offer practical help but am not the person to talk to about wanting money.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr4zWQwt4qgok2SHArSqdGgV4M8vW2Hrugy-V9NO1-NYfuqT_GHbXEWuYP9_K_wI6VpXEQ1_QxHBcHvoAglhS6AyQqS8ETe3UUFmn3CJayDkCXOXAxn6DBRuuUAo8tn6MD_pnO-cO3QgQw/s1600-h/CRW_0332.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr4zWQwt4qgok2SHArSqdGgV4M8vW2Hrugy-V9NO1-NYfuqT_GHbXEWuYP9_K_wI6VpXEQ1_QxHBcHvoAglhS6AyQqS8ETe3UUFmn3CJayDkCXOXAxn6DBRuuUAo8tn6MD_pnO-cO3QgQw/s400/CRW_0332.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327238512517077522" border="0" /></a><br />The niche though, is that what seems like at least a year ago, a whole bunch of computers were donated to the school. They've been sat neatly but without use, providing shelter for rodent families, since their arrival. So I spent the day starting an inventory, to build some systems that work, and put Linux on them.<br /><br />After spending the day getting through half of 'em, I needed something inspirational to get the rest done. That came in the form of the plan to do a one day workshop with a small group of kids, teaching them about hardware and software, and basically how to build computers. It's not rocket science, more like lego, and with some interested kids it'll be fun and also be a team to look after the computers and give the project some sustainability. Well that's the plan anyway. In Latin America, plans tend to change more often than not.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhHvA-3Q6DvBQQ1zdFuX3otefC12_YHdlJ_W4ZgQKCaq0ZiGW-mVk4YO-nWGTq15EDx-LI3V9Uz_I88SvmVyrDNfhXjQiM2xn1YjmmJsdJOjEGx120TTsUNjTMQl7h0acF2_bUJnnIAPrb/s1600-h/CRW_0349.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhHvA-3Q6DvBQQ1zdFuX3otefC12_YHdlJ_W4ZgQKCaq0ZiGW-mVk4YO-nWGTq15EDx-LI3V9Uz_I88SvmVyrDNfhXjQiM2xn1YjmmJsdJOjEGx120TTsUNjTMQl7h0acF2_bUJnnIAPrb/s400/CRW_0349.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327238515727156786" border="0" /></a>Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-89131493045652411542009-01-27T14:23:00.000-08:002009-01-27T14:54:23.867-08:00Puerto Morazan, Nicaragua<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8S0GcYXJqeARpg2DB8Ovd-AG3ue-CNQf8kuFpas_t3v9HrJg-7eulK6sBpXuhfVX_HoGB_HJBP30H9-CCHLUh0k6ihhKvL1e3L3sOnrSHSlkYgVC2sIfyY6sCDhWloaTOKKk8Cc3SH7M5/s1600-h/CRW_0252.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296105824069801794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8S0GcYXJqeARpg2DB8Ovd-AG3ue-CNQf8kuFpas_t3v9HrJg-7eulK6sBpXuhfVX_HoGB_HJBP30H9-CCHLUh0k6ihhKvL1e3L3sOnrSHSlkYgVC2sIfyY6sCDhWloaTOKKk8Cc3SH7M5/s400/CRW_0252.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><div><div><div>It's Wednesday morning, and I'm sitting in the front room of my host family. I've just noticed that the time on my computer says 8:30am. Strange. The clock on the wall says 10:15, and I'm pretty sure that my computer clock is right. My pocket watch has been intermittently functional over the last few days, a quality not especially useful in a watch. That does however mean that I went to bed at 8pm last night, not the 9.45pm I thought previously. Lightweight.<br /><br />Francisco, my host, is a teacher at the local school. He is charmingly adorable. He just left to go to school, on his motorbike. Actually, no he didn't, I can see it outside. Last night he did pick up his papa from "the fields" and afterwards his wife, Virginia, on it. There aren't really any cars around here, in Tonalá. I reckon there certainly aren't more than 100 in the whole municipality, of 15,000 people. Those that there are are pick-up trucks. A fair few motorbikes, and lots of bikes though. And buses between the towns.<br /><br />So the place I'm staying is Tonalá, not Puerto Morazán. I'm here because my home city, Bristol, is twinned with Puerto Morazán. Through the <a href="http://www.blinc.org.uk/">Bristol Link with Nicaragua (BLINC)</a>, I'm spending a couple of weeks here. Although it would be nice to spend a month here, the car has 30 days in the country and I've been in León for a week already. And afterwards I want to visit Damian on Ometepe, a twin-volcano island in the Lago de Atitlan, the world's largest freshwater lake.<br /><br />So it appears that the municipality of Bristol (denoted by the local council, Bristol City Council) is twinned with the municipality of Puerto Morazán. Confusingly, that includes the town of Puerto Morazán, as well as the surrounding villages. Further, the administrative offices are in Tonalá. It's taken me a couple of days to get my head around all of this.<br /><br />It's quite a shift to be figuring stuff out for myself. For one, a shift from the daily routine of getting up and going to the beach. But also from the 'development' gap year work I did in Nepal 9 years ago (wow, it was that long ago), as well as the Education solidarity delegation in did in Colombia 3 years ago. Both of the latter were more guided and led, with a lot of presentations, talks and explanatory workshops. That is mainly due to the fact that then I was part of organised groups.<br /><br />I feel like coming here wasn't quite so big a shock, or shift, as flying from the UK to Colombia, out of one culture and into another, quite different, in 24 hours. I've had 6 months to feel my way along and into this life. That's has been the truly wonderful thing about this trip so far, and by avoiding flying, is noticing the gradual, subtle differences (cultural and socio-economic) as I creep along. Nonetheless, getting off the tourist trail has, like I said, been a shift of gears, and is a culture switch of different sorts.<br /><br />I can see the difficulties that have been faced in the past by representation of solidarity campaigns. There have been issues when people from the UK have represented the <a href="http://www.colombiasolidarity.org.uk/">Colombia Solidarity Campaign</a> while in Colombia, and then said and done reprehensibly stupid, or at least naive, things. This had consequences for representing the Campaign in a negative light in Colombia, and also facilitated internal factional rifts at home. So, to be in this position myself, as representing BLINC, is a step I take with a heavy weight of responsibility.<br /><br />So I can see how these difficulties have arisen. It feels like a minefield, what should I say, what shouldn't I say, who should I talk to, who shouldn't I talk to, and what the hell am I doing here in the first place? I feel like really I should have looked more closely at the BLINC website, on their stance and angle on the solidarity and development work the do. I know that they try and facilitate exchanges, and have helped equip and fund local schools.<br /><br />Well, I'm here for my own reasons, that I'm pretty sure are more than compatible with BLINC's. After discussion with Alix, the Chair of the Bristol Twinnings Association and a comrade in the Bristol Latin America Forum (whose <a href="http://bristollaf.blogspot.com/">blog</a> is incidentally getting <a href="http://http://www4.clustrmaps.com/es/counter/maps.php?user=ee74a44a">a fantastic spread and volume of hits from around the world</a>), I decided to try and make a short film about Puerto Morazán. Additionally, wanting to get my hands dirty, I was to try and help the Lucrecia Lindo shrimp farming co-operative, who have suffered storm damage from Hurricane Mitch, and also to have a chat with the new incoming Executive Mayor about their development priorities for the next 5 years, to present an informal report to Bristol City Council.</div><div> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296105825859836850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizQLRXQlRW_-C1N5xk3Fdz8T-LzF1FUeBmWxLL0cUvvJdsB3I1o73xNvrLPc4pGNJGHXilqFVO3ww17yCf9nxHLUrA0jH3IBGpRbOLp4CTDlIxe3TYDiVCTSY-5MW7BX1lDX_NpfRyu5DW/s400/CRW_0277.jpg" border="0" /><br />So last week, I emailed BLINC's local contact in León, to discuss my arrangements while I'd be here. Having waited 5 days, on Monday I found the address of the office and popped in. It turns out I had an incorrect email address. So, from there, after a phone call, it was arranged that someone would pick me up from Chinandega, the nearest large town to both León and Puerto Morazán, roughly half way between the two. So I met Norma, who would turn out to also be on the new Council Board.<br /><br />I drove us to Tonalá, where she said it would be better that I stayed, and she arranged to put me up here, with Francisco and his lovely family. All this took a little while, with nonchalant efficiency, given that this was all being done without any of their prior knowledge. I felt bad about this, all happening on the spot. WIth hindsight, I wonder if had I announced my arrival 3 months previous whether this would have made any difference.<br /><br />Explaining to Norma that I would like to help the women's shrimp farming co-operative, we drove to Puerto Morazán from Tonalá, a 20 minute drive down an occasionally bumpy, straight dirt road. I could see the lagoons on either side, some of which were decidedly dry. We arrived, and parked the car in the shade - at 2pm, it was around 34ºC. I'll spare the details of who and how, but we arranged that I'd meet the co-operative for Tuesday at noon, after meeting the new Alcadia (local Council).<br /><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296104773027786514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3athJwgSlt8iJcVhYJWkgqlxc2yKZV3VmimHqDtaOdyt2gg9dFOu9nDNEHdPy0kpR1MBC-nvHv9yBi1psiPxzl0lL939xAz-heTyfgs8fALItVDIsoFVBK8eGqs-e4qMR8lD4R_6Ou_RN/s400/CRW_0249.jpg" border="0" /><br />So yesterday being Tuesday, I awoke and made my way to the Council building for 10am. A single storey concrete block, the Alcadia is not quite on the same scale as its equivalent in Bristol. That's a heritage of slavery and capitalist exploitation to thank for that. As I arrived, my contact from Leon was there to take a photo of the new administration. It turns out I was here for their inaugural cabinet meeting, the new administration for 2009-2012. They were a friendly bunch, and I tried hard to avoid comparing them to Bristol's Board. Somehow I felt closer and more alike to these people, from a rural municipality in Nicaragua, than to Bristol's elected representatives. Maybe it's my quasi-diplomatic status here, or something else, I'm not quite sure.<br /><br />I observed the meeting, the details of which I'll spare you. Meetings are the same the world over - being at them is one thing, usually a fairly necessary evil, but reading about them is quite unnecessarily pestilent. I want to keep what little readers I have at this stage. Suffice to say that this is the steep learning curve that I need to improve my Spanish further at the moment. It's come on leaps and bounds since being in Central America, and pushing it further is pretty hard work. Maybe that's why I'm sleeping 10 hours a night.<br /><br />Afterwards, I went back over to Puerto Morazán, to meet with the shrimp farmer co-operative. In the back of my mind, I wondered on the way over why Alix had suggested this lot in particular to work with. I said I was up for getting my hands dirty, and this was a suggestion. While driving over the day previous with Norma I questioned the appropriateness of a bloke helping out a women's group, but she quickly put my mind to rest. She said that women here were emancipated and liberated, that it really wasn't an issue. </div><div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296104786411281042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYwDWg3BfMnJUWGyXHXuX7fXar17ukS_EwKMd1O03jZO-7aqXejY9gSq2UoPWRI9uE713mPJKd09YJGCp2XoNeSnOIM13XAIN7gYcJTQfWv9ZQPRLi0XXB0jk2u5pv_yRCK5HzUKH7q58a/s400/CRW_0268.jpg" border="0" /><br />So I got to Gloria's house, and the lady we met the day previous was there, along with Gloria. Not quite the 16-strong co-operative I had been led to expect. So we had a chat, getting some plastic chairs out in the shade in front of Gloria's house. I found out more about the co-operative, and the history of the relationship between BLINC and them. Without literally pushing the issue, I suppose my presence did. It seemed like the explanation I got was a explanation for the absence of action going on. From what I understood, BLINC had given a bunch of money to help legalise ownership of their land, and buy a boat. It seems like now, they need a bunch more money in order to actually get started, for machinery and suchlike. It appears that it all cost more than previously thought.<br /><br />So this was the crunch. I felt my representation of BLINC and my level of involvement with them at home under irreconcilable tension. I explained that my role here was to offer practical help, for a week or so, to help repair storm damage that I suppose had been offered as an explanation for inaction in the past. Hurricane Mitch was in 1999, 10 years ago. I wondered how long had they been off-line? This is precisely why funding overseas 'development' work is so fraught with complicated ethical issues.<br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296104776538769794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGvphF0b6mdyA1uuV8fUxKRpOd5vzrQabc8g4QqC-KE66wiqGW_T8B4ZEb1pvvkOSrYS1kqqSFsojMydb4SNcUgF3aB9kF5yXxPiFByrYmLeD_ioAA1C1bPXJhAKIcSyMASQyCQihwqNuP/s400/CRW_0245.jpg" border="0" /><br />In return for my gentle prodding that elicited a diplomatically defensive response, it was my turn to take the back foot. I explained my level of involvement with BLINC as truthfully as I could, through the Bristol Latin America Forum as cross-solidarity work. I also felt a bit guilty in explaining the last 5 months of my time as constructively as possible. So sensing that doing anything practical with this group was not forthcoming, we agreed to meet tomorrow at 6am to go for a tour of the lagoons. This would be a great time to get some footage and photos for the film.<br /><br />The film... is going to be a tricky one. I have a Canon Powershot S70 camera. It takes 10 frames per second of 640x352 video, approximate to a cameraphone. I think that it can work though. It'll have to be short, and snappy, and be led by a strong narrative. As long as it's viewed on computer screens, it'll be fine. Which if the target audience is for kids in posh Bristol schools and the Council, it will be. The hard part will be the editing, which takes time. But time is something I'm not short of really.</div></div></div></div></div></div>Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-64983568666263002052009-01-17T10:23:00.000-08:002009-01-17T15:18:17.811-08:00Getting More Productive...<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb6DurBkze7f3j-M766MrkVuP04XhStSQwnFdisAK7VSIgla5ZDjUXUCog8shLA97vPIXx_5fo_u0Dr6PRy47Bk4W8RthR_Y1rsTR0M0ff6iyRGFfpg-pFS60yEtIRD3h4wJbkWvWasbS1/s1600-h/_IMG_0134.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb6DurBkze7f3j-M766MrkVuP04XhStSQwnFdisAK7VSIgla5ZDjUXUCog8shLA97vPIXx_5fo_u0Dr6PRy47Bk4W8RthR_Y1rsTR0M0ff6iyRGFfpg-pFS60yEtIRD3h4wJbkWvWasbS1/s400/_IMG_0134.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292399195549992306" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">if you look really hard you can see me jumping on the horizon<br /><br /></span></span></div>Saturday 3rd January - Friday 9th January 2009<br /><br />It's my last night in El Salvador, after a really rather relaxing, and moderately productive week. I'm extremely glad I came. It's a jolly beautiful place, despite the recently ended civil war. And there's not many tourists (other than surfers), which is also jolly nice. And the best part is that it cost absolutely nothing for either our persons or the car to enter the country. Just the way it should be, No Borders [link]and all that.<br /><br />After leaving Finca de Eden, on the Honduran North coast, we backtracked a bit down a lush, well paved road. We decided we would make the border that night, so stayed in Santa Rosa de Copán, a colonial town described in Boring Planet as exuding a gentlemanly cool. Artistic license gone a little crazy there...<br /><br />The next day, the border crossing took a little longer than hoped. Although free, the issue was that the 'aduana' (customs - the ones that deal with vehicles) for both El Salvador and Honduras were located together. It appears from my experience that Honduran border officials are amongst the worst I've met. In order for an El Salvadorian vehicle permit to be issued, the Honduran one had to be cancelled. Now, a brief look at a map shows that for those travelling South / East, one must pass back through Honduras (unless you have an amphibious vehicle). So I was being told that my Honduran permit "To Enter And Leave The Country" had to be cancelled, and I would need to pay $40 for a new one when re-entering Honduras. Again, Saturday crossings meant there was one tired and fed-up looking staff member, with no management around. All this just to get the (free) El Salvador vehicle permit.<br /><br />This all sounded a bit odd, and after an hour of back-and-forthing, the lady agreed to phone the boss (a second time) to check this was correct. Turns out that because the vehicle is mine (with title to prove it) I don't actually have to cancel the Honduran permit in order to issue the El Salvador one. I wonder how many folks before me have forked out another $40.<br /><br />So, another hour to do the paperwork with a jolly friendly El Salvadorian chap who came out to the vehicle to check it over, then another in the office to type it up, and by the time we were on the road it was 2pm. Note that no immigration paperwork was done here, nor taxed for this, as per the CA-4 agreement. Good job El Salvador.<br /><br />The rest of Saturday I was in a rather foul mood. Our decision-making process broke down somewhat, and we ended up doing something I wasn't pleased with doing. Given that I'm the driver, that's rather frustrating, as I had to take us exactly where I didn't want to go. Consensus failed - majority vote ruled, and I was in a minority of 1 against 2.<br /><br />My proposal a couple of days earlier was to go to a National Park in the Northern tip of El Salvador, as a park-up one-night stopover. The idea was to arrive with plenty of time to go for a nice long walk, although this was an afterthought.<br /><br />So, it was decided that they (my girlfriend and Damian) didn't fancy the lush, only accessible by vehicle, National Park, and instead we chanced getting to the South coast by nightfall, as if we hadn't seen enough beaches in the last few weeks. Am I losing my persuasive abilities? I didn't think it needed persuading. They were all up for it until 5 minutes down the dirt road, whereupon we turned around.<br /><br />Arriving at Playa El Sunzal, going for a Lonely Planet tip at Surfers Inn, we camped for $2.50 a night. The currency here is US$, quite bizarre. Good for getting dollars out of the hole in the wall to replenish the emergency supply though.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpz1_0m36knnvPK3Go8PEF_LnyzTckl8-LPyK5fvc7CO2n_1VJWeSarBlzYbiv-2tvC7Bflp-hzjlFGZelGM5uVQckiEt9gJE20kzrXSWhNJkPumLvXMXVy1nUq0Q4Vm0Y9slr9tjJsG_y/s1600-h/_CRW_0093.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 397px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpz1_0m36knnvPK3Go8PEF_LnyzTckl8-LPyK5fvc7CO2n_1VJWeSarBlzYbiv-2tvC7Bflp-hzjlFGZelGM5uVQckiEt9gJE20kzrXSWhNJkPumLvXMXVy1nUq0Q4Vm0Y9slr9tjJsG_y/s400/_CRW_0093.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292394003871038882" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">i haven't yet tried the aguardiente (local moonshine) i got from this shop... should I?</span></span><br /></div><br />On Monday I took a daytrip by bus to San Salvador, an hour and a half (and $0.95) away. I couldn't face the prospect of driving to a capital city, and worried for the safety of the car and myself in it. Bussing was a good choice in the end, cheap and easy, and a good break from driving too. I wanted to go to try a seek out some film contacts for the Cinema Klandestino LatAm film festival in the autumn.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTMFC3a0WJSI4sjrrL1HLfQHQ2c-dtRZLxyJT-_5B0FE8xT8GlC76HwIDKxam46szpyzD16R85G_Aio7FYnxBoT_T6cWFkzGk7qDosTJsHpTIvlvijnRGSuGCmTElm1b9YXMs5gGKZOUQ-/s1600-h/_CRW_0088.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTMFC3a0WJSI4sjrrL1HLfQHQ2c-dtRZLxyJT-_5B0FE8xT8GlC76HwIDKxam46szpyzD16R85G_Aio7FYnxBoT_T6cWFkzGk7qDosTJsHpTIvlvijnRGSuGCmTElm1b9YXMs5gGKZOUQ-/s400/_CRW_0088.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292394001333797634" border="0" /></a><br />I went to the Museum of the Word and the Image, to check out their exhibition and film library. They have a great catalogue of documentaries, recently put onto DVDs, although few with English subtitles. I also didn't bring my laptop to San Salvador, so couldn't copy any. Nonetheless, I got a couple of good contacts, one with a local film club.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxkEkMAjXWi9rGzYs7VepGV-8tRKnJBbG9gZlFz6-wWHZxOiglV85AnThpIN2mxf27VwA5L_Z1diVQIoS9TE1fpSxa7yvsEB9ODULWn7hlz8tyqgqgvi4raqd-PRdy6erXI0wEIHZc-k-_/s1600-h/_CRW_0091.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 290px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxkEkMAjXWi9rGzYs7VepGV-8tRKnJBbG9gZlFz6-wWHZxOiglV85AnThpIN2mxf27VwA5L_Z1diVQIoS9TE1fpSxa7yvsEB9ODULWn7hlz8tyqgqgvi4raqd-PRdy6erXI0wEIHZc-k-_/s400/_CRW_0091.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292394001936922850" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">lots of people chilling in front of the National Palace prompts the old classic, what are they waiting for, justice?</span><br /></span></div><br />The whole day in San Salvador I didn't see a single white tourist - except on the bus on the way back home, this German guy stood up and made an announcement. He'd had all of his stuff robbed, including passport and all, and there was no German Embassy. I didn't really listen to all of it, but it reminded me of how shit i felt when I got stuck for 2 weeks in Delhi aged 18 with no money having lost my onward ticket on my way home back from Kathmandu, having to beg in a city of poverty. I gave him a dime.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9eA0u4Lp_gJD_RBf7-6XW0RsnOz1uHGnW6e5fWc24nte78z-y7Rsqyy6DxD_rJp1gaf3Th-YVADkcONKvjcP9G1wxyz0tIEM3jSauCoB4KGshkWs-zk3r3EivaPNDXa1MYRKue36leJ6S/s1600-h/_CRW_0096.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9eA0u4Lp_gJD_RBf7-6XW0RsnOz1uHGnW6e5fWc24nte78z-y7Rsqyy6DxD_rJp1gaf3Th-YVADkcONKvjcP9G1wxyz0tIEM3jSauCoB4KGshkWs-zk3r3EivaPNDXa1MYRKue36leJ6S/s400/_CRW_0096.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292394009512867154" border="0" /></a><br />Wednesday we moved off to the next beach location, Playa El Espino, where there would hopefully be less tourists. The never-trust-the-guidebook maxim won loud and proud, the dirt road now paved, and the isolated beach a bustling fishing village. By Damian's "if there's cold beer, it's civilised" rule, it's civilised. We gave a ride to a couple of ladies hitching from the main road, and in return one of them hooked us up with her abuela's place, a champa on the beach. A champa is a basic shelter structure, made from coconut leaves. A great spot for our hammocks, a fire, and our pirate flag. See the video below for a 360 view.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJU86jVMgPz7Bb1SUFrzRomJS6FbZ3_lQhOj6dnPGunz-k-xwcBJS0KcX7YXiIa0-bAZS-dvrX0yD2P7-BbnbfDCYQIQTcsqn39xZ9E0gNAFrlkmebopjhEQ5c_4sKHpJJYivJFOMRNAMf/s1600-h/_CRW_0115.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJU86jVMgPz7Bb1SUFrzRomJS6FbZ3_lQhOj6dnPGunz-k-xwcBJS0KcX7YXiIa0-bAZS-dvrX0yD2P7-BbnbfDCYQIQTcsqn39xZ9E0gNAFrlkmebopjhEQ5c_4sKHpJJYivJFOMRNAMf/s400/_CRW_0115.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292405160112751714" border="0" /></a><br />We've got used to being stared at and laughed at. Maybe it's my silly haircut. Any interaction with the locals results in hard laughing... but usually success. We've been living off flatfish - I think they're plaice - for $1.50 for 3 big ones. I've got pretty good at filleting them, the first attempt to barbeque them whole didn't really work without the barbeque.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKhMj-W5_O1wD1JCYgmLGONsA96XpJwNkNSooJUA20ibWGAdc56Nma1Nbb1U3-RHPf6JxgPw6Vc3mtjTY9xZ-cSeWbIy-v0aFJggSIE9SdJi1vL5ZyWQZXNf6Kwkb0QAdsEAdkjrX9yqmS/s1600-h/_CRW_0107.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 221px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKhMj-W5_O1wD1JCYgmLGONsA96XpJwNkNSooJUA20ibWGAdc56Nma1Nbb1U3-RHPf6JxgPw6Vc3mtjTY9xZ-cSeWbIy-v0aFJggSIE9SdJi1vL5ZyWQZXNf6Kwkb0QAdsEAdkjrX9yqmS/s400/_CRW_0107.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292394007644957122" border="0" /></a><br />The moderately productive part has come through learning to use Traktor, this other DJing program that appears much more intuitive and useful at mixing songs than Ableton. I've worked my way through the manual, which I very well laid out.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1TW4wuyJc48Zg2B1KEPryFXx-QMmRAzsG0Ir1yHJW8IdYZIxi8gsywmy0qGnSRth9XrEv0usnoVEFKAnj3B67WsuzDAG68H_IfNyzazrz-3KRIPtAIDKMPNZUXvLNTtQCIve42TPKwKqz/s1600-h/_IMG_0135.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1TW4wuyJc48Zg2B1KEPryFXx-QMmRAzsG0Ir1yHJW8IdYZIxi8gsywmy0qGnSRth9XrEv0usnoVEFKAnj3B67WsuzDAG68H_IfNyzazrz-3KRIPtAIDKMPNZUXvLNTtQCIve42TPKwKqz/s400/_IMG_0135.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292399202735930786" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The car in the top right corner, the sun top left. Ahhhh. Almost like a Jeep ad or summat.<br /><br /></span></span></div>Tonight, my girlfriend got her first driving lesson on the beach. The sand was pretty hardpacked, so was pretty good. And it's an automatic too, which is pretty easy to learn to drive on. I'm not sure whether it's good to learn to drive an automatic, but we'll see. Afterwards, Damian and I drove further up the beach to hunt down a beer, and ended up hooking up to the soundsystem in the bar and blasting a few tunes. We ended up having a soundclash with the locals, who put on the jukebox after each tune, and had a right laugh. On return, the abuela and my girlfriend were worried about us, going off on our own, which snowballed into an argument. Funny how the old gender stereotype stories often turn out true despite not believing them, and wanting to resist them.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyBL4nvLz2KmjvyOeXK0sDMlp3TlhhWVx2IXbWeA17G53-lFiQnR842no3sQgJP0ibsI7r6DkXijsuqzR5Wug' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-55863576534350714462009-01-12T17:57:00.000-08:002009-01-12T17:58:18.252-08:00New Years Day Swim - my best moment of 2009 so far....Saturday 27th December 2008 - Saturday 2rd January 2009<br /><br />This post really is going to be short. Very little to talk about between Utilan New Year and getting here, Finca de Eden, back on Honduran mainland. And still no photos either.<br /><br />The day after Boxing Day we left Paradise for Water Key, a small uninhabited island about 500m long by 50m wide. Sunday I perfected my hammock, mosquito net and tarpaulin setup, by using the diagonal of the tarp across the line of the hammock, and tying the other 2 corners down to not obscure the view too much. The net then attaches to the eyes of the tarp by 4 corners, being a hybrid 4-poster hammock net, perfectly suited for such use as this.<br /><br />Monday night rained hard, the rainy season on Utila being completely out of sync with mainland Honduras and the rest of Central America. The horizontal sheet rain got me wet from both ends, so I crawled into the tent with Damian and my girlfriend. Damian's net and hammock all-in-one's zip's broken, but he is travelling with a hammock AND a tent, so is well equipped. Tuesday we blagged a bottle of vodka off some Guatemalan rich tourists, and had Bloody Mary shooters. Later Zorro picked us up and took us back to Utila and Paradise.<br /><br />New Year's Eve was probably my second best ever (after the multirig free party 2 years ago), again staying up all night. It started fairly unpromisingly with having the runs during the day of the 31st. So I slept from 8pm-11pm, and felt a lot better. And my favourite moment of 2009 so far (ahem) was swimming from the dock of the bar to our dock, and then back again, at 9am on New Year's Day. It's not often you can swim from your hotel to the bar.<br /><br />Today, Friday, we left Utila on the boat, picked up the car that I left the passenger side window open of as I left in such a hurry, paid the lady an extra 100L on top of the 150L for being 5 days longer than we said we'd be, dropped Jordan off in La Ceiba, and headed for El Salvador. Our stopover tonight is a place run by a German guy, pretty chilled given it's the 3rd January, with good cold beer as one would expect from a German bar owner. Tonight, in the absence of a good hammock spot, I think I'll sleep in the car, a factor I haven't really taken advantage of since the U.S.Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-30697696533808604902009-01-12T17:39:00.000-08:002009-01-12T17:45:41.722-08:00Krimbo in the CaribbeanSaturday 20th - Friday 26th December 2008<br /><br />This is going to be a short one, I don't think anyone wants to waste too much time reading about Christmas in Caribbean paradise. Also, all of us left our cameras in La Ceiba, on mainland Honduras, whilst we are on Utila, the middle sized of the 3 Bay Islands, about 30km off the North coast of Honduras. So no pics :-(( until Jordan gets his disposable camera developed and sends me the jpgs, which I fear will take a good while, if at all.<br /><br />So where I left off last we were in Antigua Guatemala. We crossed the border into Honduras on Saturday near Copán on the CA-10. This was a rather painful crossing, it being hot, and 3pm on a Saturday. The girl at the Customs desk (immigration for people, customs "aduana" for the car) was resting her eyes and head in her arms when I arrived, and not too pleased to be awoken. We needed US$29.80 - L580 - for the car. However, there was no explanation of a breakdown of this, and the Form 9A, the permit/certificate said "Value: 135L" at the top. The accompanying receipt said "Form 9A: 430L". So to be asked for the total of these seemed strange, particularly when there was no sign nor documentation to explain this. The large roadsign indicated a much lower amount, along with the instruction to refuse to pay more than this. Anyways, I put up a good fight but my girlfriend told me to shut up and paid.<br /><br />The next thing was the $3 immigration tax. This was odd, as <a href="http://www.fco.gov.uk/en/travelling-and-living-overseas/travel-advice-by-country/north-central-america/honduras?ta=entryRequirements&pg=4">here</a> the Foreign and Commonwealth Office advise me that the CA-4 agreement of 2003, to which Honduras is party, states that UK residents need not even register with immigration to travel inside the CA4. I again argued until blue in the face, the chap behind the desk not too keen that I knew the law. The problem was that he had my passport, and some of the above details I didn't find out until afterwards.<br /><br />Well, the result is that I've made the point. The problem is that I imagine all travellers just pay it, given that it's only 3 bucks. If only everyone just refused to pay...<br /><br />So we arrived at La Lima, the town closest to the airport near San Pedro Sula in Northwest Honduras, where Tori was flying out from the next morning. Damian took her to the airport in the morning, after swapping photos. I must add that she deserves credit for a few of the last bunch of photos too. Far from the boring nightmare I tagged her with earlier, she was fun to travel with, we had a good gas about plenty of meaningful and meaningless things.<br /><br />Sunday, after stopping off at the airport for a coffee and a crap and narrowly missing the 15 minute free parking, we drove through lush Honduran countryside northeast to La Ceiba, the access port for the Bay Islands. Not fancying the hotelhunt very much, we stayed at Hotel Amsterdam 2001, camping for 30L (£1) for the night. La Ceiba was a strange town, a tourist platform to the Bay Islands with prices to match. We did nosh this amazing seafood stew, a Sunday Special, for dinner.<br /><br />Monday morning we got food supplies for the week, being well equipped between the four of us in terms of actual equipment and outdoor cooking skills. Jordan says he cooks most of his meals on a fire. Meanwhile, Jordan and I set out to find a secure cheap place to leave the car on the mainland. We settled on this lady's house 20 minutes walk from the port, who had a driveway with a lockable gate and no car, agreeing to give her 200L then and another 150L on our return.<br /><br />While waiting for the others to return from their last minute missions, I talked my way out of a parking fine largely due to my ability to speak Spanish. All 3 of the others took their goddamn time while I sat sweating about how we were missing the boat. We hightailed it to the port out of the East end of town, and dropped the others and our stuff off while I drove back to the lady's place, gave her the 200L, and sprinted the 2km to the boat. That was the furthest I'd run in a very long time.<br /><br />Luckily the boat wasn't leaving at 4 on the dot, and after getting there at 4.05 the boat didn't leave for another 25 minutes anyway. The crossing took about an hour, for 425L, heading for a speck in the Caribbean distance to an averagely spectacular sunset.<br /><br />On arrival at the dock, we got mobbed in classic fashion with offers for staying at dive schools for $2 for the first night. We went to the one with girl who liked Damian... Altons Dive Centre, down the East road, on the back of the Altons pickup truck. The place was pretty nice, but as soon as we said we were not interested in diving (yet) the English management couple lost all their nicety and interest in us. Added, we got told off for fishing off the end of their dock ("this is a dive centre you know"). Anyhow, we made up for it by topping up our cooking oil supply and some maple syrup out of the kitchen.<br /><br />The next day we moved to Paradise Dive Centre, a locally owned place just off the main dock. The landlady, Rosa, was chilled and welcoming with a rather unusual Irish accent, being a 4th or 5th generation settler. We got a room for 4 for 50L each, but slept in hammocks anyway. This time, we thought better than presenting ourselves as uninterested in diving, and ended up actually convincing ourselves that it would be a good thing to ask our relatives for as Christmas presents. Now, on Boxing Day having heard nothing back from them, I think it's probably quite cheeky really, to ask for a bit of money to have yet more adventures.<br /><br />There was a nice dock, used by a lot of locals. The best part was Zorro, the local fisherman who came daily with his catch of fresh tuna. Outwardly mad as a hatter, hands like an ogre's, and sunbleached body hair, his disregard for 'environmentally sustainable' fishing practices (like not fishing sharks) was interesting. He had clearly been doing this all his life, since when fish were plentiful. So because big-scale commercial fisheries have drained the oceans, why should he change his practices - if not for the commercial fisheries a local and sustainable way?<br /><br />Wednesday was Christmas Eve, a night usually spent in my local pub at home getting drunk with my old friends. This was probably my best Christmas Eve (sorry guys)... dinner was a painstakingly sourced 14lb ham on the bone (not all for dinner!), then we got drunk in Treetanic aka the Tree House, the most beautifully decorated bar I have ever seen.<br /><br />Until now, I've realised more and more that overplaying the beauty of something leads others that see it to be disappointed. With this, there's nothing I can say that would leave a future visitor disappointed. The painstakingly designed and constructed garden of multiple level areas and walkways, all inlayed by ceramic and glass collaged sculptures must have taken years to collect the materials and build. I really hope Jordan sends me those pictures... Afterwards, we stayed up all night, the first time I'd seen the morning through since... back home I guess, not even Burning Man. The other 2 dockside bars, the next 2 docks over from Paradise (our dock), saw us into the morning. Obviously our own clandestine supplies of rum made the whole night a little more affordable.<br /><br />So yesterday saw in Christmas Day, at 32 degrees, with a dive into the Caribbean of our dock a pleasant interruption. And no presents for or from anyone. A nice change from the norm. Well, not such a short post after all...Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1952897218372774263.post-50498099433355126162009-01-11T14:56:00.000-08:002009-01-12T11:57:58.378-08:00Public and Private Spaces<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjliRRo8qmKFqgBkOEkYKjzlSTsxUKQXZHyCsKzSCip8ErVmN3auc3vS7MM4XjGjfTFmOM0fPAi2A2yxjOOrfK05ErgB34TOKK6AflH7PdXKR22CvFrNKplALuzjKC77DjZ2w_hfJQ9Anr4/s1600-h/_CRW_0061.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjliRRo8qmKFqgBkOEkYKjzlSTsxUKQXZHyCsKzSCip8ErVmN3auc3vS7MM4XjGjfTFmOM0fPAi2A2yxjOOrfK05ErgB34TOKK6AflH7PdXKR22CvFrNKplALuzjKC77DjZ2w_hfJQ9Anr4/s400/_CRW_0061.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290174178529304114" border="0" /></a><br />Friday 12th December - Friday 19th December<br /><br />Another tumultuous week, this time more testing emotionally. Not that anything's really been that stressful until now actually. I'm beginning to wonder when I'm going to get down to doing something useful beyond my own horizon expansion and experience gathering. As I sit in a cafe in Antigua Guatemala writing this, it's a good time to reflect on the last week or so.<br /><br />I feel a bit strange too airing my innermost emotional feelings in the most public way, about stuff that intimately affects my girlfriend and our relationship. I guess that's the more revolutionary aspect to blogging: transcending the boundaries between public and private issues and spaces.<br /><br />I never was a disciple of the clarity of distinction between public and private spaces, be they discursive or physical. I think at home, in Britain, there is a real distinction between physical public and private spaces, evidenced in a number of ways. First, by the culture of "Public Houses" (pubs) and entertainment licensing that is derived from this. Related to this is public liability, and the [legal, suing] culture, perhaps more acute in the U.S. but certainly prevalent in the UK. Being in Central America, with critical distance from home, I can see how spaces in the UK are hypermanaged and defined as public or private. Going into an eatery here, you walk through someone's home to get to the toilet, shared by the family whose home it is. Or someone invites you to stay with them in their house. Without going into too much more detail right now, I won't overplay the distinction, but I think there is a difference in the way spaces are managed and controlled. Perhaps wealth has something to do with it too, being unable to afford another 'customer' toilet.<br /><br />Wow, I don't know where that came from. But the point I was about to make was that my girlfriend wanted to break up, on Saturday, soon after arriving in Xela to meet her after 3 weeks going our own ways. I guess independent travel suited her pretty good. Love never being straightforward, the complicated part was what happened after. As I came to terms with these revelations, she did say she wanted to spend Christmas with me. I couldn't answer whether I wanted to as well, but left to think things through. We agreed to meet for dinner. The long and short of it is that we're gonna spend Christmas together. Things are now good, but a bit more complicated. We'll see what goes down.<br /><br />Between here (Antigua) and there (Xela), we made a couple of stops. The first, shorter stop at the hot springs of Fuentes Georginas, the next at the Lago de Atitlan, a big ol lake in the middle of Guatemala. Tori didn't reckon she could make it to the Bay Islands anymore, her flight being from San Pedro Sula, just inside Northern Honduras, in 2 days time. So the last few days have been more relaxed, spending 3 nights in San Pedro (de la Laguna - on the lake).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBgbVjKjnnqbZneN7C4VMi7ykKaM1HhOJQhGYg71bCi4k8fcaGCV8wJUHGISgpTQ-YF-fl0T_87-UApZrz57f0MKAyU-4nP6uCOcQyxwCz_o1QYNaIrDw5-cZ0pqBEChnxfwXAk5r1uV4P/s1600-h/_IMG_8102_3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBgbVjKjnnqbZneN7C4VMi7ykKaM1HhOJQhGYg71bCi4k8fcaGCV8wJUHGISgpTQ-YF-fl0T_87-UApZrz57f0MKAyU-4nP6uCOcQyxwCz_o1QYNaIrDw5-cZ0pqBEChnxfwXAk5r1uV4P/s400/_IMG_8102_3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290174213564895746" border="0" /></a><br />The hot springs on Sunday were as lush as they get. Xela had been pretty chilly, one of the coolest places in Central America. So going up a windy mountain road to find a 20ftx50ft hottub, with 3 smaller, less bakingly hot pools below, was blissful. The cabins up there were pretty steep - 90Q (£9) a person. So 2 of got the cabin, and 2 paid for camping, next to the cabin (for 15Q each)! That brought the costs down nicely, we even put the tent up for full blag effect. There was a log fire inside the stone cabin, and a barbeque outside. And a jolly nice evening was had.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge9iB-PYAixg6MRNoPnsxIstqaIrtueZ_4l3nESk_R33BTdYgG1wjXYn6ugbH5dmR2yFNQEva19uVoGnrsolPp0FXZpcR3zOlXOynk4VGulzfNLj_V3-OQ6Vrt4eA-_dngTQ90uDnTvZ6X/s1600-h/_IMG_8099.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge9iB-PYAixg6MRNoPnsxIstqaIrtueZ_4l3nESk_R33BTdYgG1wjXYn6ugbH5dmR2yFNQEva19uVoGnrsolPp0FXZpcR3zOlXOynk4VGulzfNLj_V3-OQ6Vrt4eA-_dngTQ90uDnTvZ6X/s400/_IMG_8099.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290174188590470642" border="0" /></a><br />On Monday we left by noon and drove the couple of hours to the lake. 10km long and 3 km wide, the lake is surrounded by steep hills dotted with villages and a couple of towns. We avoided Panachel (the busiest), going for San Pedro, a little smaller with less, but still a fair few, tourists. Arriving just before dark, we stayed at Hotel San Francisco, Damian and I paying 5Q (50 pence!) for use of the roof to string our hammocks, with a glorious view of the lake interrupted only by the steel re-inforcement bars (reebars) poking out of the concrete pillars and the chicken wire fence that I don't think would have broken a fall. Damian won at spoof so got the lakeside spot. We ended up contributing 5Q a night to the girls' room's cost for use of their bathroom too.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLZbdsvzmRsE0owsUirL8X18Tvu-8TczUyK6cX2bcKGbYCADJ0PKVqA9Jhl_4GMxRhUXtHvSru6COCGUNr52zXsIATU-tSF7OFJ4mTW3sv0KFSmG_14mXXxHqVSr9zmRTa3pIlubgaUWqh/s1600-h/_IMG_8181.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 208px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLZbdsvzmRsE0owsUirL8X18Tvu-8TczUyK6cX2bcKGbYCADJ0PKVqA9Jhl_4GMxRhUXtHvSru6COCGUNr52zXsIATU-tSF7OFJ4mTW3sv0KFSmG_14mXXxHqVSr9zmRTa3pIlubgaUWqh/s400/_IMG_8181.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290174220095492002" border="0" /></a><br />One the 2 items on my checklist of things I wanted to do on the road (the other being breakfast on a rooftop terrace) was spend a day on a lake in a canoe. That day was Tuesday, hiring canoes and sailing over to the 'beach', 45 minutes away, and generally larking about on the water. The only thing lacking was ganj, I guess you can't win 'em all.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyCxREmqfayvKn_3ierleddGxp3vvEcfQE1yU_zB2YKZ-jSt9rvUACUuhTVvYrqjF0ocKvLdsSwD-DzFApGVVLr67qZ5QGs4pBQaQJoIeGNm0eeEHArF_rP7wCD6vrBsK8eNpXWFs7kN7G/s1600-h/_CRW_0075.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyCxREmqfayvKn_3ierleddGxp3vvEcfQE1yU_zB2YKZ-jSt9rvUACUuhTVvYrqjF0ocKvLdsSwD-DzFApGVVLr67qZ5QGs4pBQaQJoIeGNm0eeEHArF_rP7wCD6vrBsK8eNpXWFs7kN7G/s400/_CRW_0075.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290174179776536098" border="0" /></a><br />So yesterday we left San Pedro, and drove to Antigua Guatemala, a colonial town a little removed from the capital of Guate, and found the cheapest digs in town. 38Q each, for a fairly uncomfortable bed in a basic hostel in the middle of town. With a rollmat it was very bearable. Last night as I walked to the super to get ice for mojitos, I passed through a street that was cordened at one end and screened off at the other. Inside, things were setting up for a kids Christmas show. Sadly, the melting ice beckoned me away, but I heard lots of firecrackers from inside our hostel courtyard suggesting fun was had. Then Jordan turned up, having bumped into Damian in the street. He'd made his own way from Xela, and is down from our Krimbo plan...<br /><br />So, next week, Christmas in the Bay Islands. We need to find somewhere in La Ceiba, the Honduran mainland port to access Utila, to park the car for a week. And stock up, as I hear it's expensive out there. I wonder if Amanda and Mega, who we met at Lanquin, or Julia (in Antigua), or Jay will make it. I hope so.Trozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668622337723510903noreply@blogger.com0