It's been some weeks since my last entry and that's because I haven't really done anything bar discover that children hate me, and I am glad I don't have any. As of a few days ago, I have been reassigned in my duties as it became clear that the small one was NOT going to change her mind about loathing my guts. I am now head chef of the household with the occasional foray into the role of educator of children in face of adversity. You know, things like "what does the cat say?" "this is blue" "you have brown eyes" "yes, I'm crying!" and "when did it come to this?". I'm not sure that being a gourmet chef to a family who are largely vegan is really my spiritual calling, but it is really kind of them to adapt to my Mary Poppins failure and provide a role for me. Plus, it's only 50 days till I am reunited with Angela and Matt. So. Yes. Pass the puy lentils and the stimulating Lego bricks and lets vamos.
Apart from alienating 2 year olds, I have done two touristy things of note. The first is travel to the small town of San Fransisco, which is about a two hour drive from Bogota. The family are building an Eco house there- or just outside it- and it's an absolutely gorgeous site for a home; a lush, forested landscape which teems with huge blue butterflies, yellow song birds and little brooks and burns. It feels ye olden day, with wizened little farmers still tending the land using spades and hoes and drivers frequently have to stop the car for horses and carts on the main road. It's a good bit warmer than bogota and has a completely different feeling. The land the family bought has a small farm, with mandarin, avocado and pawpaw trees, and a river running through the bottom of their garden. There is a field of white horses and its paradisiacal in general. The house they are building is wonderfully bonkers; it's igloo shaped with trees carved into the outside walls, and bleached branches 'growing' out the centre of the rooms inside. All the windows are round like a ship and its solar powered with a flat roof to lie on and catch the sun. It's fab, like a mixture between a Mediterranean whitewashed holiday home, and a hobbit hole. I love it.
One of the days we were there we went to a conservation gathering in a nearby forrest. I would love to relay what it was about, but understood precisely 2% of the presentation. It was pretty funny (VISUAL JOKE) as they were all talking about global preservation and Eco woo-woo stuff, but arrived (without exception) in their massive 4x4s. They were all very nice though and seemed very passionate about the project and the conservation work happening in Colombia in general. They certainly talked for a long time and used a lot of hand gestures. That's about all I can say for sure, as having spent the first hour establishing that 'árbol' was probably the word for tree, I gave up attempting to follow anything. I have to say, I can't believe how crap I am at Spanish. Being musical and not a total fool (hem...) I secretly assumed I would be prattling away in a few months. 5 months in and I still struggle with introductions. I get so nervous and it's also boring. I can never understand much so my mind sort of drifts... Sad really. Anyway, this day was particularly depressing as I think it might have been interesting had I been able to grasp even the gist of it. I had a lovely walk though, despite it being slightly marred by the fact I got stuck behind a lady who couldn't walk very well, and she kept bellowing at me in Spanish. I initially pretended to understand, laughing and going "sí! Sí!!" but she kept talking to me as the day progressed, and it went on so long that I didn't really know how to tell her I didn't speak Spanish. I kept pretending to see really interesting leaves and buds every time she asked a question, and dashing off the path. She kept waiting for me though. It was pretty uncomfortable, and eventually I had to tell her I didn't speak Spanish, and she looked at me like I was mad. I shuffled off to the back of the group while she told her pals I was linguistically fraudulent. I sound paranoiac don't I? I think I am. Anyway, the best bit about it was the picnic. They certainly didn't eat like tree huggers; lots of ham and cheese.
The second thing I've done is go with Ines, a cousin of the family, to the famous salt cathedral in Z**** which is about 20 minutes on the bus from Chia, and well worth the trip. Even disregarding the cathedral, the wee town is lovely. It has a gorgeous central plaza and lots of nice wee cafes and cobbled side streets. We got to the salt mine in the morning and it was already pretty busy. As usual I hadn't done any research, or indeed even listened when people were talking to me about it, so didn't realise it was ACTUALLY salt. It is. It's a working salt mine; something like 60% of Colombian salt comes from there and they built the cathedral to represent something about Jesus. I didn't understand. Shocker. Anyway, it's quite beautiful and absolutely colossal, with bizarre and kitsch Christmas lights and popcorn stalls lining the walls, which somewhat dispels the aura of religious sanctity which I'm sure was there somewhere. It's all made of salt, but the salt is a strange dark and sparkly substance which I kept licking to make sure, as it looked weird and like something else. There was a beautiful carving in the wall (I will try to upload a picture but this blog format is crap and hard to work) and its supposed to be an accurate representation of the one that indigenous artists painted way back In the day. Whether this was done in their own salty church I'm not sure. Again, didn't understand/listen.
I did enjoy it, but it smelled like sulphur really badly, and also I can't really have 100% faith in something made of salt being structurally sound (crumbling pillars of Jobs wife for example). What happens if it rains? Parts of it are still a working mine and so there were bangs and noises echoing through the vast caverns in a most unnerving way. I think basically though, I just have a (very xenophobic) suspicion of Non-European tourist attractions, and their comparatively flimsy health and safety quotas. Can't help it. I did once almost fall off a mountain in Ethiopia, whilst trying to get away from the psychopathic tour guide who was trying to snog me. My chivalrous Dad was temporarily absent as they (we) had left him writhing in agony with altitude sickness half way down, much to the hilarity of the 98 year old man carrying our bags. I gave him my hiking boots just to get away from him. That simply wouldn't happen on Ben Nevis.
Anyway after escaping the smelly cathedral, we went to have a nose at the town square. We ended up wandering all day, looking for shoes and presents for Ines' kids, and just had a lovely gentle time. We sat for ages outside the town church just looking at all the families enjoying their weekend. It was sunny, there were lovely wee kids everywhere and it smelled like enchiladas, morcilla sausages and jasmine, with maybe just an undertone of fart cavern wafting in on the breeze every now and again. We sat and had a coffee and talked about how Colombia had changed since she was a kid. It was really nice and interesting to hear her views on it. It doesn't feel like a threatening place at all any more, and it's strange to think there are still so many places you can't (or at least shouldn't) go for safety reasons. I know that drugs are really prevalent here, but there isn't much evidence at face value. Maybe just not in the circles I'm mixing in. Although, we were visiting a family pal recently and there was a borrachero tree in the garden. Ines told me that the dust on the petals gets you so wrecked that you become "suggestible to anything." It all sounded a bit Richard Whitely off Brass Eye to me, and I was going to take some of them to press in my diary, as they are really beautiful flowers. I absently thought that perhaps I would lick it on a rainy Sunday as well, and see if I felt sleepy. Mad, flower pressing, party-animal that I am, I forgot my intention but later looked it up online...the unanimous response (including Vice magazine) was that its effects were beyond horrific and DID make you suggestible- not to mention psychotic. People use it to rob folk here, making them trot happily to a bank machine and take our all their money before vomiting profusely and thinking they are Kermit the Frog- maybe for the next ten years. I don't know much about natural highs, but I'm pretty sure if vice magazine says its dangerous, that is bad. Apparently even lying underneath the tree is dangerous, as the pollen is so strong it can effect you just from landing on your skin! So, a lucky escape for old gabs. I will be less sceptical in future, though I still think its weird that a plant which makes you high as a kite is literally growing everywhere, but nobody takes it. Can you imagine it in Glasgow? Or Shetland?! Gads.
Anyway, we had a lovely day. Very "colonial chic" and it just felt nice to be doing something touristy. I can sometimes forget that I am anywhere exotic in this job. It's all a bit beige at times. Today I made banana bread and a batch of jam. It was wonderful and I loved it, though I was momentarily disappointed with the final result, as there wasn't any gingham for the tops. I think in one way this is terribly sad. I'm 27. Surely it's not the jam twilight yet? Maybe I should go and find that plant again. Except I probably won't, because the Queens Speech is starting soon, and it's orange and cardamom biscuits tomorrow! What larks. Cheerio for noo.
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