Bogota, Columbia

We have been making time after enjoying Columbia a little too much. Considering we intended to avoid the country, we spent over a month there. This culminated in a week long stay in the capital, Bogotá, at a smashing hostel, dubbed almost accurately, as the best in Latin America. Of course it was something of a gringo social/party haunt. On one heady night, with a pack of foreigners, we descended on the Cha Cha Club on the top floor of the Hilton Hotel (and it’s views of the whole city), fuelled with bellyfuls of Cubre Libre rum cocktails. Not surprisingly we danced to the funky house music until the wee hours and beyond (I heard some people were dancing on tables).
We made a fine exit from Columbia over the breathtaking landscape of the Andes, punctuated with the ubiquitous bus searches and a good frisking for the boys by soldiers clutching machine-guns (something of a shock at first, but you get used to it. The locals are among the friendliest we have come across in Latin America – certainly no reason not to go. We did not see a single fire bombing, murder, guerrilla attack or hijacking that all the books propound with their fearful propaganda, touch wood, although one passenger saw fit to show Louise his gun. He had a licence of course. I suppose that kind of machismo is acceptable in the US, but it was just a little bit weird and slightly unnerving.)

Villa de Leyva, Columbia

Is that Cartman eating ice-cream?

Plaza Principal

Shelling peas at the market

Pulling the crowds

I finally managed to achieve one of the highlights of my trip in, of all places, Cartagena, Columbia. At last, away from the geeky, slighty-asthmatic-NHS-jam-jar-glasses-taped-to-their-rims-with-plaster entourage in blighty. All the old boys in this seeming ill-fated nation sit around the famous Plaza Bolivar in the city´s colonial centre playing chess. Fountains tinkle in the background, while the Latin American gentlemen muse over classic variations of the Ruy Lopez, sipping coffee, dressed to the nines in creased trousers and shoes in the tropical heat. After twenty minutes or so, hopping excitedly from one foot to the other one of the fellows broke from their banter, the young upstarts take a regular whipping from the old masters, and offered me a game. I could barely contain my excitement as we sat down exchanging pleasantries in Español. After failing to consolidate a clearly winning position (I had pulled a crowd at this stage as you can see from the picture) I, as the phrase goes, bottled it and lost. I managed (with the young gringo attacting more and more of an audience) to pull back the second game and then drew the third. I lost further three games to finish 4 1/2 - 1 1/2. Somewhat exhausted and overheating (Cartagena is one of the most beautiful and hottest cities on the continent) we shook hands and I thanked him kindly for the games, which I enjoyed thoroughly. So much more interesting and sophisticated than the geeks back home. The following day, I arrive in the plaza dressed smartly (Come on, I had shorts and a tee shirt on. I am English) and clean shaven. Pleased at least that I had won a game I felt I could at least hold my own with these boys, was not just another gringo chancer and I could return for a second bout with my head held high. This is after all a memory that will stay with me for the rest of my life and will, without doubt find its way into the book. I should probably also mention that etiquette dictates that the loser pays for the hire of the tables. A princely sum of two thousand pesos, around fifty pence. An old chap who had the day before, given me pointers on where I had lost one of the games I should have won motioned for a game, to my delight, nodding at one of the tables. I sat down, grim faced and quickly got the advantange in the first game, this time making sure I pressed my upper hand for a good win. The old fellow, sharply dressed in fitted brown trousers and a fine shirt who must have been fifty or sixty, introduced himself as Frederico and explained he wanted a game after seeing me play the day before. I cannot think of a better compliment. The second game we drew before I lost all the remaining games, including a dramatic final decider in which he played a crushing sacrificial combination that I had seen but was prepared to contest. Chess after all should be played with a bit of passion.
I have included some pictures of this marvellous city, including a shot of the former slave trading square, Plaza de los Coches that now more typically is the jumping on point for romantic horse-drawn (and in the evenings candle-lit) tours of Cartagena´s Old town. The town, full name Cartagena de Indias, was founded in 1533 and was one of the New World´s first Spanish cities, the main port from which much of the continent´s wealth was spirited away to Europe. It was also home to the magical realist, Gabriel Garcia Marquez in the 1940s who most famously wrote One Hundred Years of Solitude.