From My Notebook 48 Years Ago This Week: The Road To Medellin

Well, I’ve got my work cut out. Hundreds of you came out of the woodwork to tell me to keep at it, so in deference to my readers here is a bumper edition from my South American notebook of 1975.

Good trips, bad trips – the road to Medellin

After Bruno’s unfortunate meeting with the front of a lorry, which reduced his Renault to a shambling wreck, he packed what possessions he could in a duffel bag and took the bus to Bogotá, the capital of Colombia, where he could catch a plane to Mexico City.

Bogotá was half a day’s ride for me and the logical next stop on my way north. He said he’d leave a message for me at the French Embassy.

Bogotá, Tuesday 18

Arrived at 1pm to find the French embassy closed and empty but for a manager who says come back at 3pm and sends me to a café called “The Parasol”. Woman who owns it warms to me as I wait. Eventually she proposes marriage. Says it’s the only way she can get out of Colombia to work in the USA. Doesn’t seem sure of her facts. Afterwards, I’m told all a Colombian needs is a paid-up tax certificate. But she touched me and let me off a few pesos on my bill.

At 3.30 got Bruno’s message; to find him at Jane’s flat, but there’s no room for me. Her ample cousin Nicole has arrived to wait for her passport (stolen) to be replaced.

Ring British Embassy and shamelessly ask to be put up.

David Lloyd makes an effort (I think) but eventually sends me to Pension Allemana (50 pesos + 10 for garage).

Wednesday 19

Next day I visit him [David Lloyd] – he’s your all-English smooth man, but with a slightly crooked mouth. Has Information & Intelligence function.

Friday eve. Meet Tim & Sorita Ross [Observer newspaper]. Fled from Brazil where Govt. has warrant for his arrest, for denigration and incitement of insurrection. Also meet a stringer for Sunday Times. Eat churrasco at Indiana – very good – open grill on charcoal. Sorita was moved to tell me she was raped in Brazil by carload of police (in Salvador) and I feel like touching her, but don’t. He [Tim] is impelled to pursue risky, violent stories. Much understated bravado about tear gas (CS & CN) and mob violence. Emeralds.

All the usual stories of robbery and violence in Bogotá. I’ve escaped so far.

Tim calls me later to ask if I’d like to have lunch with the Defense Attache next day (Saturday). He fetches me in a car. Chris Jenne, Commander, Royal Navy, tall, shock of white hair. Suburban stye house, wife Elizabeth, sons Charles & Edward, daughter Tina.

Chris Jenne and co very kind, hospitable, informal. Spend best part of two days with them at Sports club. Roped into a game of cricket. Take two catches and score five. Never did so well at school. Very enjoyable.

Visited the Gold Museum. Astonishing.

ONE OF THE WINDOWS AT THE BOGOTA GOLD MUSEUM

Tremendous evolution of form to classic perfection. Continue to wonder why certain variations of anthropomorphism are current in certain societies. Alex Bright (No.2 at the museum) talks about hallucinations being common to all takers of some drugs – only interpretations vary. He is not very convincing – either unwilling or unable to let his mind range over possibilities. A disappointment to Chris and myself.

British Council has [copies of] Sunday Times except for Jan 19, Feb 16, March 9. But nothing of mine anywhere. Suspect that I’ve been squeezed out of the revamped Holiday Section and have no place elsewhere.

[There was a period of many months when certain editors at the paper thought my stories were inappropriate and wanted to cut me loose. Although my expenses were very low I was dependent on the connection.]

Bruno has sent the bulk of his luggage back to France including my stuff from Peru. On Saturday evening, coming back with Chris to Pension Alleman we found him outside hotel door trying to get in. He had left his luggage in my room. So far had I sunk into British Sporting Life that seeing him there was like being reminded of a forgotten episode in one’s life.

Before leaving Bogotá I wanted to arrange some kind of passage around the Darien Gap. The first possibility that presented itself was to go round by ship with the Italian Line which sailed from a Pacific port called Bonaventura to Panama.

I visited their office in Bogotá.

First, they insisted that a carry a plane ticket out of Panama.

I got the Panamanian consulate to call them and say it wasn’t necessary, but they called my hotel to cancel my booking, with gratuitous abuse to one of the guests.

When I called them to protest they said they had sent to Panama for instructions.

The next day they said I had to leave a $200 deposit (that would be $2000 today) against being refused entry to Panama. Traveller’s cheques will do, they said, but when I arrive at the office only dollar bills would satisfy them.

But it’s not at all clear how I would retrieve the money if I miss the boat, and time is already short. I decided to continue North to Cartagena and hope for the best.

It was with a note of triumph that Señor Torrenegra cancelled my booking.

Wednesday 26th

Leave Bogotá at 1.30 after wasting time on Italian Line. Arrived that evening in Fresno – just after Honda – a small town in mountains. Hotel Bella Vista (no view) at 25 peso a night. Dinner in small place on square, where they try to serve me an old beer with a swig taken out if it. Two small children come in at the end of my dinner and point silently at my plate which has a potato and 3 slices of tomato left on it. I nod, and swiftly but politely they gather the remains in their fingers and dart off. It was the most telling incident so far in my encounters with hunger – and quite unexpected.

Easter Thursday 27th

Leave for Medellin.

The church (an exceptionally ugly cement one) broadcasts cracked recordings of bad songs through loudspeakers at 7, and again at 8. Ride off into mountains. Apart from a short, but terrible stretch it’s all paved to Medellin.

A RURAL IDYLL, FROM THE ROAD TO MEDELLIN

Arrive at 4.30 looking for British Consul. but can’t remember her name. And all offices closed. After long search I look in the [telephone] book for any English name and ring a family called Smith.

“Fantastic” says girl, when I explain, and they invite me to visit because they know Ampora Villa [the consul]. When I get there they fetch another motorcyclist round called Antonio, who is a dentist and paints. He is smoking pot all the time we talk, with no apparent effect. He takes me off to Andres, but I don’t realise till later that it’s the same person I rang earlier (as given me by Matt and Andy and Cleo [in Otavalo] who spent several nights there).

Mrs Smith is an interpreter. She will work at the first International Congress of Sorcery, to be held in Bogotá in August. Her electric typewriter was stolen and she is willing it to return. She says she thinks she’s got it – but it’s not quite there yet.

Her daughter, MaryJo, writes tender verses about love, grief and springtime. Has very good grey eyes and a busy life of arts and crafts, all macramé and pottery, flutes and drums and drawings. Very Hampstead, or Gloucester Crescent.

Andres Ceballos is a curious man. Seems very alive and dead at the same time. Advises textile firms on selling lines. Intellectually developed but physically unresolved. Wife, Eleanor, returns from Cartagena with four-year-old daughter, Catalina. He encourages her freedom – to study, to live apart from him. Was 15 when she married him. Now a passion for learning and travel. But all their energies seem focused on external things.

[I remember one day I smoked one joint of the stuff Andres smoked incessantly without effect, and I had a truly terrible trip which I thought was going to fry my brain.]

March 31st

Spent two nights at Andres’ home. Went to see Ampora at hotel, then to the Cuerpa de Bomberos [fire service] for free hospitality – a room, bed, clean sheets – amazing. They have old fire engines from the Twenties, beautifully preserved. Nice, gentle men, very poorly paid, it seems, but dedicated.

MY BIKE AT THE MEDELLIN FIRE STATION

A FIRE ENGINE FROM THE TWENTIES

April 3

Leave for Cartagena.

That’s all I can manage for today. Thanks again for taking an interest. I won’t be back for a few weeks. I have to go to California to take care of a few things, so I’ll see you again in April when you’ll learn how I caught a boat to a pirate island and flew to Panama with the bike in the cabin.