Good The Country of Colombia Buenaventura Chapter 2: Buenaventura by Bill Jones

Category:  Biographical Non-Fiction   Posted:  November 23, 2004      Views: 170 Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6...

ABOUT BILL JONES  Bill was a wild & crazy rouge at one time. He is now a much more mellow and settled down family type. Worked on the ocean all of his life. He is a professional mariner and licensed Ship Captain. Getting about a decade away from retirement, he has planted his feet on solid ground now and is an instructor for young men and women who want to eventually be employed in the Merchant Marine. Bill loves to travel and always saves time for somewhere in Latin America each year. He has saltwater in his blood and would not be happy unless the ocean is somewhere nearby. Married with a wonderful Latina Beauty and has four children and two grandchildren. Wants to eventually have a passenger charterboat & haul tourist around Latin America on fishing, snorkeling and scuba diving trips while fitting in a few sea stories of his adventures from around the world. Portfolio | Become A Fan The Country of Colombia "Let me tell you all about our wonderful paradise," said Gilberto Uribe, "I want to give you a bit of information about our country." Gilberto was the typical, rich, forty-year old Colombia playboy. He was a slick looking, tall, dark and handsome cowboy type. He loved to wear his designer sunglasses and flashy, upscale clothing. He was well spoken, although a huge talking machine that wouldn't shut up. Uribe was very well versed in the aspects of his mother country. As we drove to Buenaventura, he started in. He told us, "Colombia is the only country in South America with both Caribbean and Pacific coastline. Did you know that? It?s got borders with five Latin American countries: Panama, Venezuela, Brazil, Peru and Ecuador." He went on to tell us, "There are no problems between Colombia and our neighbors right now.? He laughed, and said, ?You know the reputation of some of these tin horn dictators. You never can tell when they will get pissed off and want to start a revolution! Colombia and Venezuela do, however, disagree about who is the owner of the seabed in the Golfo de Venezuela. That?s an area that has potential petroleum wealth. But again, It?s only a disagreement.? "Did you know we have some beautiful islands and resorts?" he asked. "In addition to its mainland territory, Colombia has a number of small islands in both the Caribbean Sea and the Pacific Ocean. They are very small though." By the time we reached our half way point in a little town named Dagua, we?d learned a lot about Colombia. ?I?m going to take a leak,? Uribe said. ?Go ahead and take a look around.? I peered around in amazement at this place. It was in a valley with huge mountains in every corner. Off to the side was a little food stand. There was a huge Black lady serving the occasional customer. As I got closer, I could see she only had one eye. She weighed about three hundred pounds and she talked with a loud boisterous voice. I pointed to something in the case she had. ?Uno de estos por favor,? I said reluctantly. She had a puzzled look on her face. ?Que dices?? she questioned. Again I tried, ?Esa cosa, esa,? pointing my finger. ?Ah, mi amor, la empanada!? she exclaimed. ?Muy buena, muuuuy buena.? "Eres gringo, no?" She questioned. Again, somewhat embarrassed I tried my Spanish, ?Si, estoy un Gringo.? She was laughing and shouting for all to hear as I tasted my empanada. It was delicious, so I bought another one for the road. As I looked behind this giant of a woman, I spotted, what appeared to be a huge pigs head sitting in a porcelain pan. It was ugly and blood soaked around the neckline where it had been hacked off from the body. There were flies swarming everywhere around it. Just as I popped the last bite into my mouth Uribe appeared from the bathroom. ?What are you eating there Amigo?? he asked. ?Well, I guess it?s a empanada or something.? He snickered, and said, ?Yeah, she boils the meat off those pigs heads and then puts it in those empanada?s along with some vegetables.? ?Jeez Gilberto, your kidding me. Right? Please tell me your joking.? He laughed and said, ?I wish I was senor.? We got into his car after Dad got through using the facilities also. As we sped along the narrow, winding road, I looked at the remaining empanada. ?Here Dad, try this thing. It?s great. Your gonna love it.? He tasted it first, and then with an approving look, gobbled the rest down. ?Hey that?s some good stuff there. I like that. I hope all the grub in Colombia is that tasty.? Uribe turned around from the drivers seat and smiled at me. Let me tell you about the Colombian Caribbean. He continued talking, "Off the coast of Nicaragua, I think about three hundred twenty miles from the Colombian coast, there is a group of thirteen small cayos around the Isla de San Andr?s and the Isla de Providencia. Those two islands are our version of Hawaii; A very fantastic vacation spot. You should visit there someday." He jokingly informed us, "Those small cayos though, they are only good for hiding contrabandistas, you know, smugglers." I secretly wondered if he knew first hand about that statement. "I heard those Islands all belong to Nicaragua," I teased, although I knew better. "Ha! On the contrary my friend," he said defensively, "Nicaragua falsely claims those small islands. Besides Old Providencia and Isla de San Andres, there is Isla de Santa Catalina, Banco de Roncador, and several other smaller bancos." Then he shouted, "That is Colombian property and we will never give them up." "Are there any islands on the East Coast of Colombia?" I asked. "Yes" he replied, "There's a few around Cartagena. They are big tourist spots too. I think their names are Isla del Rosario, Islas de San Bernardo and Isla Fuerte." He looked at me and said, "You are a single guy. You would love it there. There is lots of young girls in bikinis.? I imagined myself, basking in the sun with two or three Colombiana cuties tugging at me to get up from a lawn chair, beer in hand. There was a white sandy beach that stretched from left to right for miles. Just us alone, with nobody else in sight. ?Oh yeah, I think I?d really like that. I?d like that a lot,? I replied. It seemed he'd go on forever, although it was good information. It gave me an idea of the country and other places besides just the Cali and Buenaventura area. "In the Pacific," he said, "Colombia has some islands too. Isla de Malpelo is out there about 215 miles straight west of Buenaventura. Then, near the southern coast is a prison colony called Isla Gorgona. That is quite a place! Isla Gorgonilla is just off the southern shore of Isla Gorgona." I would find out later, all about Isla Gorgona. The infamous, dreaded prison island. He noted that, "Colombia is the first country south of Panama. Panamanian connects to Colombia in the northern part of the country, giving it an East Coast, Caribbean side and a West Coast, Pacific side. If you come with your ship you will be doing our business on the Pacific side, shrimping from the Panamanian border south to the border of Ecuador." He told us, "Geographically speaking the city of Cali is in the center, to the west of the country, and to the East of the coastal mountain range in the Cauca valley. Buenaventura is to the west of the Cauca Valley." Uribe brought up the diversity of the country, saying, "Colombia has a very diverse population of people. There's three main groups. They are the Hispanic-Europeans or Spaniards from the old country Spain, then what we call the Amerindians and lastly the imported African slaves. Over half of the country's largest ethnic groups are known as Mestizos, are the result of intermingling between Spaniards and Amerindians. Whites are mainly Creoles, descendants of Spanish colonist. They make up the largest minority of about one fifth of the population, followed closely by mulattos who are descended from the unions of Spaniards and African slaves. The remainder of the population of four percent is of unmixed descendants of African slaves and zambos who descend from the mixture of African slaves and Amerindians." It was like an endless speech he was giving us, "Today, hardly anyone can be identified as fully Amerindian on the basis of language and customs. The main religion in Colombia is, how do you say it in English? Catholic right?" I learned a lot about the geography of this country on the very first day I was there. A vast majority of the stuff he told us was interesting. After all, if I were going to live there, it would be nice to know the geo-political situation, both past and present. He told us about the various ports. "There are only two big ports on the Pacific coast, Tumaco and Buenaventura, but there's several natural harbors, which would be of great service, if there was any need for them. The rivers Mira, Patia and San Juan. I think you can get small steamers in them. The Rio Guapi is also a well-known natural river." Later, after I arrived with my ship I would find out all about Rio Guapi. It was the departure point for visiting family members of prisoners on Isla Gorgona. I didn't' know it yet, but I would find out first hand that it was a hotbed of insurgent Guerilla activity. Uribe joked and said, "Bring your raingear. The Choc? area is known for being the wettest region on Earth. It receives an average yearly rainfall of about 150, to over 350 inches. To put this amount in perspective, it's sometimes almost 30 feet of rain in one full year." I got a really good taste of the rainfall he talked about while visiting Buenaventura in the next few days. He added that, "Tumaco is the southern most port town on the West coast. It's really close to the Ecuador border. Hey, did you know that the majority of people who live in Choco are African origin? They migrated from the East Coast during the early days, you know, after they got their freedom from the slavery." "You're gonna need to be on guard for the coastal people." He warned, "There are quite a few small coastal villages on the Pacific coast, and these folks live a very meager life. They have primitive lifestyle. They live hand to mouth, fishing, farming, gardening and stealing their way through life." I tried to imagine in my mind what they would look like. Would they be like that old lady, back in Dagua, at the empanada stand, fat and blind in one eye? No patch at all, with a hole that sunk back into her socket with a fleshy mass for all to see. Yes, they had to be similar to that. Gilberto snapped me back from the vision in my head of those poor people. ?Look here, you would really like this place. It is called La Delpina. It?s a public swimming area where the folks from Buenaventura come to cool off and have some fun.? As we passed by he slowed enough for me to get a look. It was all outdoor. There was a swimming pool, some rope swings and what appeared to be a water slide off to one side. A freshwater stream fed the pool, and the slide. It was just cement, and there was no paint at all. It looked pretty low budget, but with the temperature raising dramatically the closer we got to the coast, I figured it would be a place I?d need to try. It must have been near ninety five or one hundred degrees in the sun by now. Buenaventura had a "registered" population of about one hundred thousand people during the 1980's. I found this hard to believe, because there seemed to be many more than that. Possibly double this amount would be more accurate. He was right about the Afro-origin though. About ninety percent of these people were black or Afro-Hispanic, and the other ten percent, European Hispanic or Indian. We were on the outskirts of Buenaventura now. They were as I had imagined. Just like the empanada lady. Darn, It started to look like a freak show at the circus. I took notice that in the short period of about ten minutes I had seen an afro-albino, a hunchback person, and a guy with no legs. He sat on a type of skateboard, and was pushing himself around by little make shift ski poles. As a mariner, I knew that port cities always seemed to acquire a reputation of being nasty places. The port town of Buenaventura, as I found out, was the only large shipping port on the West Coast. It had an incredibly horrible reputation for its crime, poverty and filth in the streets. Many ports throughout the world have a similar reputation. Buenaventura, I'm certain would stand out as one of the most horrific. Certainly, in Colombian society this city was known as the armpit or crotch of the country. As I'd soon learn after arriving, theft, extortion, fraud, rape, torture and mayhem were so commonplace it was looked upon as just the way of life there. I might add, theft wasn't just a way of life, but an expected industry the population of Colombia took for granted. Some of the folks of Buenaventura are proud of their reputation and sometimes bragged about being a more proficient thief than the next guy is. It was almost a kind of competition for them. Uribe said, "Piracy is also something mariners needed to be aware of." He warned, "In fact a prudent seamen needs to still, in these days keep a vigilant lookout twenty four hours a day for strangers. They arrive in canoes, or larger boats with outboard motors. Some of the folks even pose as being disabled or creating a facade of being in need of help." He said with confidence, "Personally, I don't think they will bother the Gringos that come with their ships. They will know you have your firearms aboard." I eventually would discover that some of the less fortunate people made a whole life out of stealing. They actually supported families by thievery, then fencing that stolen merchandise each day. There was always somebody to buy the stuff too. Thievery goes almost to the top of the food chain in this country. Some robbers actually brag about their artful way of making off with other people's possessions and property. It's common knowledge that there are schools in Colombia, where a person can earn a diploma or degree of sorts when it comes to the art of theft. I was always very adaptable to my present surroundings. I figured I could, and eventually did, adapt very well while I lived there. Well, at least on the street level. I loved living dangerously and on the edge. Buenaventura was the perfect platform for that environment. I remember well, keeping my wallet and other identification in my front pocket, then keeping a hand in that pocket so that I wouldn't become a statistic of a street mugging. We finally pulled into the Hotel Estacion parking lot. The Estacion was built in 1928 (the Station) was an exact architectural copy of another famous hotel. Marble pillars at its entrance and classy ceramic tile on the walls and floor. Just outside of the fancy restaurant was an Olympic size swimming pool. It was the most elegant accommodations in the city. It was very upscale with respect to the surroundings. It was comparable to finding the Trump Plaza in the middle of Harlem. Its location was at the end of a peninsula of sorts, and immediately east of it was smack dab in the middle a place referred to as El Centro, or the commercial part of Buenaventura. El Centro was where almost everything could be found for sale, in every kind of street market imaginable. El Centro was very dirty, very dangerous and exciting. There was garbage everywhere along the side of the streets. Wheeling and dealing with a fast pace of activity. Sadly, it included an ample dose of misery also. In the daytime it was the command center for commerce, but as daylight disappeared, and darkness obscured the town, it became Sin City where murder, rape, extortion, and kidnapping were common. Woman of the evening were everywhere. The Police and Military were present, but as corrupt as any other in this world. They wanted and took a piece of the action at every opportunity. The loud music, dancing in the streets and nightlife seemed to make this place called El Centro an enormous party. The Voodoo culture was rampant and found everywhere in many corners of the city. It wasn't uncommon to see it being practiced openly. Old Black ladies that looked like they were having convulsions. Shaking and grinding about, with their arms in the air, mumbling incoherent chants. They appeared to be in some kind of trance. There were markets where you could buy idols, dolls, candles with special significance, jewelry and other necessities to practice this religion. Colombia is obviously one of the most dangerous countries in the world. According to the US State Department statistics, Colombia had a 1999 per capita murder rate of 77.5 murders per 100,000 inhabitants. That is about thirteen times higher than that of the United States. To give you an idea of just how bad it is, murders in Colombia increased from 24,358 in 1999 to 26,250 in 2000. Insurgent groups routinely have conducted bombings in and around major Colombian cities for decades. Terrorism is the norm in Colombia, and people have become accustomed to it. Although drug-related and insurgent-related violence accounts for a significant portion of the murders in Colombia, common street criminals are responsible for an estimated seventy five percent of the reported murders. In addition, Colombia is the kidnapping capital of the world; with an estimated 2,000 to 3,000 people kidnapped each year. US State Department claims that, from 1980 to 2000, nearly 120 U. S. Citizens were kidnapped, primarily by leftist insurgent groups. Insurgent groups frequently established roadblocks at any given roadway in order to rob or kidnap travelers. Colombian law mandates that individuals must coordinate their efforts to resolve kidnapping cases with the Ministry of Defense (Office of the Anti-Kidnapping Director). There have been numerous instances in Colombia, of criminals drugging and robbing individuals. Another amazing statistic from the US State Department warns that some criminals in Colombia use scopolamine to incapacitate tourists. Then, when they are unable to defend themselves, are robbed, or worse yet, beaten while being robbed. The drug is administered in various methods including drinks, cigarettes and gum. Scopolamine disorients the victim, can cause prolonged unconsciousness and serious medical problems. Now that Uribe gave us a good idea of what kind of place we were heading for, and with all this information in mind, Dad and I were finally left alone for the evening to take it all in. We talked about the risks versus the situation back home. My Dad said "I'm cool with this place if you are. I think we can adapt." I agreed that we could. Dad was worn out and wanted to sleep. I told him, "I need a drink. I?ll see ya later." I found my way downstairs to the lounge. I was anxious to continue to our trip and looked forward to the second day in this country. What would be in store for me in this wild, crazy, and exotic place? The book continues with Buenaventura. 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