Un Llarg Viatge d'Orient a Occident- Laura en América

Caminito, adiós.

2009-12-20T14:38:00.000-08:00

Ode to Carlos Gardél

Caminito que el tiempo ha borrado

Que juntos un día nos viste pasar

He venido por última vez

He venido a contarte mi mal.

Caminito que entonces estabas

Bordeado de trébol y juncos en flor

Una sombra ya pronto serás

Una sombra lo mismo que yo.

Desde que se fue

Triste vivo yo

Caminito amigo

Yo también me voy.

Desde que se fue

Nunca más volvió

Seguiré sus pasos

Caminito, adiós.

Caminito abierto de cardos

La mano del tiempo tu huella borró

Y a tu lado quisiera caer

Y que el tiempo nos mate a los dos.

Desde que se fue

Triste vivo yo

Caminito amigo

Yo también me voy.

Desde que se fue

Nunca más volvió

Seguiré sus pasos

Caminito, adiós.

Arte BA

2009-12-02T07:36:00.001-08:00

L'art pour l'art. Buenos Aires, Argentina

La Revancha del Tango

2009-12-02T07:19:00.000-08:00

Buenos Aires del Alma

2009-12-02T07:12:00.000-08:00

Finally, ladies and gentleman, I present to you, the legacy of 6 months in Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Congreso y Callao

National Congress

View from the top

Saudade do Brasil

2009-10-11T10:43:00.000-07:00

Iguazú falls. Argentinian and Brazilian side.
Rio de Janeiro and Sao Pablo.

(unfortunately it wasn't such a good idea to take my canon 400D to the streets of Rio, specially during carnaval, that explains my lack of photos)

Between Bolivia and bloody Paraguay

2009-07-04T12:04:00.000-07:00

Leaving Bolivia...

...well, as you can see if you scroll down to the photos. When arriving at imigration between Bolivia and Paraguay -yes these 3 wooden desks in the middle of the dessert, that was imigration-, I seemed to have forgotten this paper which has got a stamp that's got the exact day I got into the country. When telling the police officer, who sat in this completely destroyed little house with a shitload of papers, old books and ancient maps, that I didn't have that paper with me, he told me I had to pay a fee. (didn't want to, but hey.. he wanted only 25 bolivianos, which is... 2,5 quid). Finally I did... and when I turned back, just for inertia, i saw the guy putting the 25 boliviano bill into his pocket. Bah.. I couldn't bother any longer, just wanted to rest on a decent bed so I said to myself: "hey, at least I bought the guy a lunch." Bah.. that's the way the cookie crumbles in these countries.

as for Paraguay...

I don't even know how to start talking about Paraguay. I spend less than 24 hours in this country and I felt like leaving from the moment I arrived.

Paraguay is like this South American favela-like neighbourhood but bigger, nastier and filthier. Yet, I did have fun talking to some -not all- Paraguayans. Paraguay is the country of corruption. Things here are managed with money, which gives you power to do whatever you want. There is not such thing as "the law", this is Darwin al over again... survival of the fittest to the fullest. It is completely normal to bride whoever crosses by, specially if they are foreigners, not to mention Bolivians.

Ciudad del este is this "Sanandrecito-like" city. Sanandrecito is a shopping centre with only merchandise which has come through the black market, this makes things way cheaper but with no warranty at all. People from all over south america come to this place to buy from cameras, to laptops, from hair dryers, to car batteries. You can even sell your soul here to the devil... it wouldn't surprise me if you could...Once you arrive, there are people everywhere pushing you to come to the best, cheapiest store in town in the hope you'll fall in the trap and buy some crappy electronic device and never come back to complain about it.

ciudad del este, Paraguay

Photo from the bus. sunrise
Paraguay

Leaving Bolivia

Blame it on my youth

2009-07-04T11:54:00.000-07:00

No need for words.

Santa Crúz de la Sierra, Bolivia

Bolivia's soul

2009-07-04T11:34:00.001-07:00

If this is really happening, then I should keep my eyes open....

From La Paz to Santa Crúz de la Sierra
Bolivia

Adiós La Paz

It all happened at a café...

Enjoy emptiness

Museo de Arte, La Paz

My Love for windows

Untitled

Window

Peace out

2009-06-13T14:58:00.000-07:00

La Paz

Some places on earth tend to stick out a kind of tenderness in me that is quite hard to explain. This is the case of La Paz, this city, as hectic as it is, didn't drop my into an abyss of oblivion but instead pushed me into a reality that keeps on striking me every time I crush into it.

After what I could call a deadly bus ride, I decided to catch a flight from Lima to La Paz, I claimined my luggage and looked for the nearest exit to catch my breath and -oddly enough- light up a fag -as I always tend to do-. Amazingly enough, La Paz welcomed me with an amazing view of what its named the mount Illimani -at 6.439 above sea level-. It seems as if La Paz was a city that dropped out of heaven and ended up falling into a mountain range, right in the middle of it...

There were two options to get into the city, one, take a bus which costs about 2 bolivianos or take a taxi for about 50. I doubted for a while until I realized the difference in currencies and what I was getting for a single boliviano. 12 bolivianos make up about 1quid, so make the math...
Smartly enough I took a taxi and headed for the centre. Apparently La Paz's airport lays between a mountain and the city itself on a valley in between various mounts... on the way to the city, most precisely in the middle of a highway from which you had an astonishing view of the city I felt extremely tempted to make some photos, assured by my friendly taxi driver -called Joaquín- that I wasn't going to get smashed by a truck in the middle of the highway, I was able to enjoy myself using my camera.

When I got into the city I couldn't believe what I was seeing, La Paz is one of the most chaotic city's in the world and to make things worse, there aren't any flat streets at all... (after all, they decided to built it in between mounts which makes it the highest capital in the world)... if I didn't get killed while taking photos next to the most important highway of Bolivia, I felt I was going to die a Shakespeare-like death by traffic..... if there ever was a conception of driving, civilization or civic morals in this place, it is gone by now, completely.

Luckly I survived -can't imagine how romantic it'd have been to be hit by a cholo bus in the middle of La Paz-.... Well, I'm not here to scare you off, I won't show you the chaos of La Paz -to tell you the truth I didn't dare to take out my camera in the middle of any single road-... I'm going to portrait what I believe made me fall in love with this city of hell... -or a step closer to heaven?, you decide-.

Between Peru and Bolivia

2009-05-18T12:36:00.000-07:00

Cuzco

2009-05-18T12:01:00.000-07:00

...well, here we are again, suddenly living in in mid may. Time runs in such a speed that I can't tell what fast is any longer. It's been an eventful weekend and an amazing first 3 months in Buenos Aires even though I ought to apologize for the lack of care and dedication when writing and posting on my blog. I haven't been able to finish my Peru chapter of photos and I reckon that by the time I get to Argentina, I'll be back at home only writing memoirs about this wonderful and magic continent.

So... excuse moi for the delayed photos.

This is the last part of Peru... Cuzco, the metropolis of the Inca empire.

Machu Picchu

2009-04-26T09:29:00.000-07:00

Machu Picchu

Speechless... People knew more about it all than we will ever learn. Architecture-wise, spiritually, geographically, statically... historically. This place blew me away...

Peru, final!

2009-04-10T16:06:00.001-07:00

Okay kids, this is the final round from what is was to be in Perú! (Tomorrow Machu Picchu)

Enjoy!

On the way to Machu Picchu

Leopard

Fabrics III

Inca Ruin
Rock with 7 sides

Colonial building
(built on top of Inca temples)

Hey, that's me!!

From Perú to Bolivia

Lake Titicaca

Taquile Island, Peru

2009-03-26T10:04:00.000-07:00

Taquile Island is an island which sits on the Peruian side of the Lake Titicaca, 45km off shore from the city of Puno. About 1,700 Taquileños live on this island and they live from fish, rice and potatoes and of course... gringos.

They gave us this amazing show, with lovely dancers. These dances are mainly used for weddings and different religious ceremonies. Taquileños, run their society based on community collectivism, since every one must learn from others as soon as they can basically walk.

After the show, they cooked an amazing local fish with different kinds of potatoes, as you know Peru has got about 4000 different kinds of potatoes, so there's enough choice for the one that has hat it with European pomme frites.

I had the most amazing experience with these people. I was keen to get in touch with them and since music is the universal language and they had just given us an amazing dance and music show, I saw myself borrowing a guitar from a local Taquileño, I told them I wanted to play to them since they had just played to us.... well, not being a Eric Clapton nor Paco de Lucia playing guitar.... I started playing some fireplace songs, Bob Dylan, The Beatles, The Stones...
and suddenly I saw myself surrounded by about 30 people, 20 being children. I reckon they had never heard of Dylan in their lives and they thought I was some kind of rock star from far away... at the end I decided to play some gipsy/Spanish music and well, they all started clapping, dancing, going mad. It was the best way to get in touch with them... definitely.

I felt like finishing a bridge between the Locals and the tourist which never closes, since they just play their thing, cook their meals and get some money in return. That's how far is goes, most of the time.. but as I said before, music is a global language and I'm glad I got to share it with them. It was magic yet ephimeral...

I apologize for the delay on posting pictures, but I took about 1000 photos on my trip through South America. Expect Machu Picchu soon!

Puno harbour

Puno's Taxis

Titicaca Lake

Taquile Harbour

Taquileñito

Taquileñita

Lola being a tourist....
(the proof I made it to Taquile)

Taquileñita

Jerusalem...

Fabrics

Taquile's main square

Dancers

Youngest dancer... a bit lost

Puno and the Lake Titicaca

2009-03-26T09:14:00.000-07:00

The highest lake on earth

No need for words, let the pictures speak for themselves.

Peruvians

2009-03-19T20:51:00.000-07:00

Peruvians... I haven't met such genuine, truthful and open human beings, ever... even when they called me señorita every two sentences, which reminds me of the awful Peruvian "Jerry Springer show" with it's host called Laura. I reckon that is the only thing Peruvians dislike about me... besides that, all Peruvians showed me charm, truthfulness and history in each and every action.

Cusco was a dream... a scene from a film we never get to see. Surreal and yet historic. Cusco bursts with history, it smells like history, it tastes like history. You see a re-incarnation of an Inca in every cusqueño walking around, at a plaza or symply carrying their baby, groceries and their memory on their backs.

From Cusco to Puno
La Raya, at 4380m above see level

Ornament used at the south-west of Peru for good luck

Chola in the middle of the road with an alpaca

Road to nowhere

Cholita
-made me want to take that little alpaca home-

La Raya, from Cusco to Puno
-Highest point between these two-

Liz ft. Baby Alpaca
-a couple of weeks old-

Baby alpaca loving the camera

Roof

Inca division of this world:
Eagle for heaven
Cheetah for earth
Snake for the underworld
Coca plant for force

Inca souvenir

Inca ruin

Peruvians

Post-colonial Church

Inca's Port

Peruvians

Peruvian kitchen to produce colours for alpaca clothing

Colori
-for alpaca clothing-

Wallets

Natural way of dyeing clothes

Lovely Peruvians

Lima vol. 3

2009-03-14T06:58:00.000-07:00

Lima.... well, Lima. If Bogotá is chaotic, Lima is the mother of chaos and La Paz its Mekka. Traffic is mental, everywhere you go, you'll see cars brought all the way from Korea and 2nd hand buses from China (you can recognize them by the Chinese pictogram that says God knows what..). The only way to catch and pay a taxi the right way (the Peruvian way), is by bargaining and arranging deals with taxi drivers, even though in Cusco, taxi rates were that cheap that most of the times we just gave the driver that 0,20 more... for the effort. :D Luckily Manuel, my cousin's driver drove me all around Lima, becoming the best tour guide I could find.

Thankfully, the amazing (nearly orgasmic) Peruvian cuisine (specially from the coast= Lima) and lovely people made it up for all the chaos around. First of all, all the sea food -ceviche, palitos, camarones- and all kinds of delicious dishes, of course served with an iced cold Inca Kola, were worth everything! Specially if you end up paying an unbelievable cheap amount of money for something you normally can't even afford.

This was Lima, Perú.

Peruvian Taxi

Chola
(peruvian woman)

Old colonial building next to the president's house

Palacio de Justicia

This is where Fujimori used to live

Post office (museum now)

Hora Local
(my excuses for the lack of brightness)

One of many churches

Peruvians (Centre of Lima)

Main Square

Chola

Church at the main square
Plaza Mayor

Colonial building, centre of Lima

Sunset from my cousin's apartment
Miraflores

View from the top
cousin's apartment, Miraflores, Lima

La vie en Lima,
view of Lima
Miraflores

Sea side, Miraflores

Along the coast
Lima

This was Lima, Perú

Lima II

2009-03-09T19:52:00.000-07:00

Let it be fruit!

Colori

Ceviche shots

Beach

Peruvian in a car

Omweg

Ode to Inca Kola

2009-03-09T19:38:00.000-07:00

Lima

2009-03-09T18:56:00.000-07:00

As water drop by drop wears away the stone so the landscape models it's men, custom by custom. A people is, in the last analysis, a repertory of customs. Momentary bursts of genius that serve to make only it's people.

This was Lima, Perú.

The End of Bogotá

2009-03-09T17:56:00.000-07:00

Final photographs. Absolut Bogotá, Colombia

Green

Usaquén

Nuns

Balloon

Usaquén

Remember when we used to play hide and seek...

Juliette

Fair man's job

Usaquén

2009-02-28T09:22:00.000-08:00

I havent written in a long time, sorry.. I haven´t been able to stay online for more than 30minutes. I´ve reached Rio de Janeiro and luckily I´ve managed to get here right on time for carnaval. ( the craziest city at the craziest time of the year!) La cidade de la perdição!!!

At the copa (co!) copacabana (copacabana)
Music and passion were always in fashion...

I´ve written loads on the road: Peru, Bolivia, Paraguay and now Brasil. Expect some unforgettable stories and amazing photos soon.

Cheers mates!

Photographie

2009-02-09T20:32:00.001-08:00

Were it all started...

Schevenignen, The Hague

Madrid

And then there was light...

Golden Museum, Bogotá

Monserrate, Bogotá

La Candelaria, Down Town Bogotá

Bolívar Square

Nariño Palace

La Candelaria, Down Town Bogotá

For more photos, please follow this link: http://www.flickr.com/photos/todorojo/

More photos to come!

Bogotá-Lima

2009-02-07T19:18:00.000-08:00

Arriving in amazing Lima, home of the Inca Kola (light).

but before talking about Lima, peruvians, ceviche or the Incas I better start by ending my Bogotá chapter. It’s always a bit jarring to be back in Bogotá. After a while, people change, things change, nothing stays the same, eventhough I did get the feeling some of the people I got to see where stuck in the middle of nowhere...

Bogotá was tremendously charming and dangerously loathsome. If you ask me, it has improved dramatically, nevertheless I still got shocked by people's behaviour and mentality to get advantage of everyone else. Bogotá has got this amazing vibe and lovely people (if you look well).

I got to visit places that as a "Bogotano" you never get to see. Bogotá has a wealth of museums and points of interest to visit, but I am guilty of investing my time almost exclusively in meeting friends and exploring the endless supply of super hip restaurants and bars behind Bogota’s energetic city life. Bogota is a city with style, a city that always charms me...

The Candelaria, had character and charm. It is the city's old district. Everywhere I walked, I encountered little boutique shops and restaraunts. A bar or burger joint the size of your living room. Inside is always the friendly owner who most likely lives upstairs. With such small scale, you would expect these businesses to have just the basics, but again and again, you enter a totally unique and interesting spot with a lot of thought and investment. The roads, walks and buildings share the same appeal. An assortment of colors, architectures and murals serve as entertainment enough to spend and afternoon just walking around. Just lovely!

Usaquén was as amazing as always... I got the feeling I was getting out of town and I encountered myself in a Spanish-like pueblo back in the 1600. (give me some time and I'll manage to put some pictures)

I feel like a tourist everywhere I go, even in a city I used to call mine... a city with character, with contrasts, with history on every single place.

I got to know people I can call good friends now and obviously I found out how people I used to call friends are now strangers to me. I am going to miss Juliette and her crazy negro candelo dances on every street, I'll think about Lucia, Jhonny and Turo and how we all love this crazy little thing called photography. I will do all it takes to see Daniela Gaviria somewhere between Palermo en La Recoleta. Sánchez and his double dutch style. Gloris and Nathalia with whom I couldn't resist buying a bottle of wine. Andy G and his salsa lessons whilst drinking Brandy Grand Prix (I'd think twice before drinking it).Shot and more shots of tequila. Dry martinis and long Island Ice Tea at the planetarium. Crepes and Waffles with Annie Martinez. Matiz, Lingo, Taka and her photo-project. My dad coming from the jungle to see me, my grandma who makes the best curuba juice in town... loads, loads of amazing people that are worth it all.

Maizitos whilst gazing at the stars and smoking a cigarette, wondering whether stars actually can tell where you are right now and why you do the things you do. Discretely searching for the constellations we’re always willing to find even if they just exist in a relative way... To lay down and flirt a little with the wind and enjoy every single profane lapse of time as if tomorrow was just another dimension or perhaps an unquestinable accident.

Bogotá still leaves a deep mark somewhere between my memory and that deep nook of my brain where rainy, gray and golden memories are stored.

Currently in Lima peru. Haven't had the chance to explore the city yet, but I'll do that first thing tomorrow. As for now... I've got the most amazing view from a 20 storey appartmanet at the sea side. All this whilst enjoying a ceviche and drinking Inca kola light!

Laura is really in America!

we were constantly being fed delicious things.

Bogotà= Femme Fatale

2009-01-29T22:16:00.000-08:00

So, this is it. I`m a living witness of the chaos, folklore and latin eccentricity.
Chaos has been a friend of this city for all its existence and not only it’s friend but it’s beloved teacher and integral part of it.

Being in Bogotá has been a rush of blood in the head (as Coldplay very well mentions). Every instant fades away, diffusing with lightness my disk space which clutters up my machine and profanes my lighting-fast memories. Every single moment carries and, I would say, makes me aware of the stamp that this places leaves in my unconscious every single time I`m back ¨home¨.

The weather warms up every single human being in this place, even to bring the selfish side of all of us (the one we all have but some hardly use, some use it every day). This physical dimension, which filled with empty and filled souls dazzles in my mind constantly. A second in this profane place, shows how to flirt with danger and forcedly become cold blooded whilst having a warm state of mind. Welcome to Bogotà, la ciudad de la furia…. Where the weather is less predictable than earthquakes in Abuya, where you can find all kinds of fruits and vegetables and living creatures laying on the streets, waiting for some hungry civilian with a bit of sympathy to be devoured instantly.

Sigh. Bogotà has been kinky, harsh, lovely, profane, dirty and seductive.

I would say… Bogotà has become my one and only Femme Fatale.

y olé

2009-01-23T03:56:00.001-08:00

Okay, so I just survived a 2 hour flight from Eindhoven to Madrid with bloody Ryanair. I don´t quite understand why I keep on choosing Ryanair to fly... you fly at inhuman hours, only aloud to carry 15 kilos, otherwise they´ll charge you 15€ per kilo! well... fortunately my Colombian mentality still carries on... I ended up taking 3 bags as hand luggage ahhaha I kept on smiling to everyone who wondered how on earth did I manage to pass those through security. (I learned that from flying with Luisa once.. to England, ask her for details)

Anyhow... I made it. We´re in Madrid... haven´t been in Spain in a long time. I need to get use to the way spaniards approach you... and the fact that EVERYONE understands when you swear in Spanish! Coño!

(sigh) I can´t believe i´d miss Holland that much already. I just unrolled a story with someone, without knowing that it would colour the very texture of my daily life, knowing that it was the right space but just not the right time. Meh... there´s only one thing to say.. I´ll be back!

as for now: South America!

Off to Colombia!!

y olé!

3,2,1 go!

2009-01-20T11:15:00.000-08:00

Welvaart voor iedereen. Een tweede auto, een tweede huis, jaarlijks een wereldreis of sabbatical, beide partners een carrière en gemiddeld 2.2 kinderen. Als we de media mogen geloven kan het allemaal. "Yes, we can!" Als ik vooral vandaag Obama mag geloven. We hoeven alleen maar aan boord te stappen van de hoge snelheidslijn van het moderne leven. Zowel in ‘economy’ als ‘business class’ creëren time managers gecoached door hun personal goeroes een paradigma waarbinnen deadlines en quality time elkaar aanvullen. Vanzelfsprekend stopt deze ‘Just in Time-Thalys’ alleen op de hoofdstations van de grote steden. Het tussenliggende landschap trekt als een grijze streep voorbij aan het oog van de reiziger.

Laura Beltrán Villamizar besloot om niet in te stappen. Zoals Harry Potter op perron 9 3/4, niet zichtbaar voor gewone stervelingen, de trein nam naar Zweinstein zo nam Laura de trein naar ‘Complete Me’. Deze reis is niet zomaar een hoge snelheidslijn van het moderne leven, maar een inspiratie. Voor u, voor jou, voor hem en voor ons allemaal. De prettige traagheid van de rit breekt de grijze streep als een prisma en toont ons een landschap in magische kleuren. Onder de purperen hemel, in de bruine zon worden wij voorgesteld aan de anderen die de Tempo-Thalys misten of, beter gezegd, nooit namen. Lieve mensen, bijzondere mensen, mooie mensen. Paradijselijk samen in de natuur. De hond hun trouwe makker. Men neemt de tijd. Voor Laura’s camera geven ze zich bloot. We zien emoties, fantasieën en kleine wonderen. Bijna een sprookje maar meer nog het echte leven.

Dit is Laura's reis door het verloren paradijs, beter bekent als: Zuid Amerika.

Welcome on board!

2009-01-19T02:26:00.000-08:00

I would say... It’s alright... She’s alright, she’ll come back, to gather around an improvised and unsuccessful bonfire at home. To lay down, flirt a little with the stars, discretely search for the constellations we’re always willing to find even if they just exist in a relative way, and discuss, I would say, every thought that dazzles in a instant of self-consciousness in either head of the witnesses, and slowly fades away, diffusing within the lightness of the green-ink smoke. Just a second, a single and profane instant of her presence, made me aware of the coziness of the second-hand long sweater I was wearing, of its sweet and spoiled smell. It made me conscious of the fact that it was me, my only and unmodifyable physical dimension, which filled the empty spaces, and carried me back to my mother’s womb.

Feelings, disguised as plain impressions, enter again my nervous system, the only qualified witness of my spiritual phase, and hunt me. Ghosts often appear in my dreams and chase me until I forcedly reach the place where I used to play with her as a child. They show me the speculative steps I made, repeat the words I spoke, and hinder my view with the red softness of her hair, heureusement dancing with the wind, shaping the sound of the shaken leaves in that deep nook of my brains where orange-colored experiences are stored.

Fine... boring enough, I know. But still, have I any other way of expressing, (and therefore, recover) the fraction of my soul that left with her? Have I any other alternative rather than this one to feel again the uprising of life she inspired in me, and still keep my feet fixed on this earth? Memories, painful, mysterious and nostalgic as they may appear, relief me.

I can believe there will be a future time when no harsh feelings will come attached to my memories, but I have learnt to stick to the present, and so, my present is the still alive flame of reassurance and joy that inhabited my soul when roller coasters were everywhere, and a well-known ice-cream provided me with bits of reality; the reality I no longer took refuge in, but which still pleased me. Jules.

Red-cherry Taste Bogotá.

2005-02-26T10:05:00.000-08:00

Ubicación Actual: Aeropuerto Internacional El Dorado, Santa Fe de Bogotá.
Más exactamente me encuentro en un avión de aguna aerolínea de medio pelo venezolana. No estoy segura si estas serán crónicas de lo que pasó, o un déjà vu de las últimas 4 semanas vividas en la capital. Se vivió tanto en tan poco tiempo que mis recuerdos son ahora una clase de archivos “X” un poco desordenados, pero que dejaron mucho en mí y ojalá tambien en los que dejé atrás. Esto está sonando medio cliché, pero lo único que se oye son las turbinas del avión y el ronquido del patrón de adelante quien, si me lo preguntan, está hibernando por su forma de roncar.

- ¿Puede dejar la ventana abierta señor?
>...Uhmm, pero sólo porque es usted...
- Jejeje...sólo quiero echarle la última mirada a la ciudad.
(Se coge las manos desesperadamente)
> Yo cerraré los ojos mientras tanto
[Minuto después]

> ¿Ya estamos despegando?
- No, todavía no nos hemos movido
> Oh... Santísimo Sacramento, Divino Rostro, Virgen del Carmen...

(Prenden turbinas, el avión arranca y está que despega pero como que no puede…)

> Ay jueputa, ¡cerremos ya señorita que a mi corazón está que le da algo!
- Bueno, sólo porque es usted. Ya no se ve nada de todas formas...
> Se ve lo suficiente para volverse loco, señorita...
> No creo que esté loco. Mire, estoy leyendo este libro, lea la cita de la tercera página, piense lo que quiera y que tenga buen viaje...
“La verdadera locura quizá no sea otra cosa que la sabiduría misma que, cansada de descubrir las verguenzas del mundo, ha formado la inteligente resolución de volverse loca”
Enrique Heine.

Veamos quién está más corrido de la teja...

Alpes. Milán, Italia.

Desde Bolívar Square hasta la panaderia Popys (que existe)...
Desde el río Magdalena hasta apuesta de Lucky, Malboro, Boston y American Gold...
La capital... 2600 metros sobre el nivel del mar (punto de partida –4 metros). ¿Soroche? ¿Mal de montaña? ¿Galena? Naah... de pronto al subir los 5 pisos del apartamento de la Abuela o el del Gordo, pero tambien pudo haber sido mi mal estado físico después de más o menos 27 horas de vuelo.

4 semanas...
4 semanas en las que mi vida volvió a girar entorno a una ciudad que vive de las fantasías, de los sueños y de las ilusiones, pero mejor aún, vive de tardes de otoño eterno, de una gama de verdes, marrones y castaños. Una ciudad que no descansa, que en las mañanas sirve buen tinto, en las tardes ofrece corrientazos, “acpm” y hasta perros calientes que intoxican con sus ingredientes afrodisíacos, que incluyen desde piña traída quién sabe de dónde, hasta ceja de vaca. Noches de hojaldre inyectado y madrugadas de caldo de costilla en cualquier esquina.
Volví a la ciudad donde se molesta con jota, se joropea el coto y se mantiene a los demás asando mazorcas...
Donde con botas Brama puede uno comenzar una aventura, de cuáles, no sé. Donde el jugo de mandarina viene con ñapa, y no es ninguna clase de ingrediente extra, mágico, malévolo, especial ni afrodisíaco...es la ñapa.
Volví a la ciudad donde la luna siempre es luna, siempre es hermosa y paciente [Il mundo della luna La bella, la luna]
Ciudad donde se hace bulla hasta en la parte de atrás de un bus, donde se come pan delante de los pobres hasta en los buses rojos y los apellidos más cómicos tienen mafia en San Andrecito, donde alguien con cara bohemia ya tiene el fenotipo para la universidad Patricio Lumumba de Moscú y donde el gentilicio de San Kitts y Nevis es Sankittense de ahí...
Ciudad donde el ministerio de relaciones exteriores, una fila de algun restaurante y una banquita al lado de un arbol o en un centro comercial tienen cara de parque de diversiones con montaña rusa y todo.

Cada túnel lleva a una calle distinta.

Giré entorno a una ciudad donde Mr. Roll y Mr. King Pavo se pelean el trono de la esquina de la 119 con 13; donde a una hora sólo están abiertas las tiendas pa’ rentar videos porno porque los prostíbulos tienen el mismo horario que los centros comerciales, desde las 11.
Ciudad donde las comunidades ya tienen nombres propios: Gayhill go to Gayrulla & Body Barbie (63th street). Donde las fusiones son lo más cómico: todo oscila entre papa criolla con cheddar cheese, spaggethi a la boñolesa, palito de queso con Baileys, chunchuyo con vino blanco, lácteos con fríjoles y empanadas con caviar...

De Izq. a Derecha: Jules, Gloria, Yo (Laura), Andrew & Nacho.
Plaza De Bolivar.
Despues de todo Nacho si salió buen fotografo y no hubo la necesidad de pedirle el favor a nadie de tomarnos la foto.

Falacias de verano, tardes de tintos, burlas, cigarrilos.... [Fresas que la vida es crema], cartas, carcajadas, calles, historias, parques. [Un shot de guaro es igual que una bandeja paisa y ave maría pues hombre]... Volverás a las mismas calles y en los mismos suburbios llegará mi vejez, y uno con cara de Anibal ya es más indio que ataúd con calcomanías, o gallina con vena várice.
Montañas, un manto de materia verde... verde, verde piel de lagarto puntiagudo; la alternancia con el rojo, todo es impulso en el equilibrio entre vida y naturaleza virginal. Andes colombianos que lo dejan a uno sin palabras... el Jurasic Park en el occidente, de pelitos, la brontosaurio... Verdes montañas, encapotan el firmamento, lánguido avanza el sol, lánguido y afligido... Las montañas desatan su encono y las entrañas se encrespan como si quisieran apagar la luz de las estrellas. Verdes montañas encapotan el pensamiento de una manera espectacular.
[Uyy... no se me sulfure que me toca echarle Bretaña para limpiarle el motor.]

Andrés, Nacho, Gloria & La niña Juli.
La Candelaria.

"Love lift us up where we belong...", Tula, Andrés, Lo, Jules.
El Altillo, Hacienda Santa Bárbara.

Ay... Qué bonita familia.

Juemadre, ¿en qué tierra viene uno de la mierda pa’ ir a la mierda?
“Ay si si, yo no soy de por aquí...”
DownTown Girardot (Tirardot), el mar de las piscinas. Ahí se consiguió una Premier PC 141, cosa que no esta para nada mal.
En el Espinal le enseñan primero a los niños el cuento de la pata sola que los años de la conquista española...
Hasta burdel de burras en la costa y Banda Del Club De Corazones Solitarios Del Sargento Pepper, mejor conocido como el Sargento Pimienta.
¡Eso que se acabe el agua en Sri Lanka pero no el guaro hijuepuercas...!
- ¿Andonde? ¿Andonde el rayón? ¡Todo perfeto, perfeto! ¡Por ocho!

La lluvia se resbala en la noche, la canción caída de los árboles y tras la niebla daba voces, en una mirada encendí mi cigarrillo y el viento, gimió sin piedad, entre las alas de los pájaros.
El rio Magdalena con estaciones del ferrocarril, de Cundinamarca a Tolima...
“Being eaten by a crocodile is just like going to sleep in a giant blend” H. Simpson.
Los ojos de Anderson y la sonrisa de Livardo.
Check!
Andando, ¡Carrera Mar!
Cotizas de lona, alpargatas de fique, chorotes, chagualos, esteras de chingale, pavitas, ñapa y vendaje...

“Espere ahí tantico...”

Livardo & Anderson.
El Espinal.

26 de Diciembre 2004.
Girardot.

Girardot.

Una iguana muy fotogénica pero un lente despreciable...
Una iguana sin ruana de lana, sin peine para peinarse la melena pues tres pelos no tenía y el Magdalena estaba desviado por 50km... No, no era la misma pero era increíblemente arrogante, impactante y fotogénica.

Iguana I

Iguana II
Girardot.

A city of Glass, a Witch, a story to tell...

Rain storms the city.
Liquor siphons the night crowds from the streets.
The hotel crouches under the rain,
Whispered voice and flashed light,
And water puzzles down the paving,
Washing the roads where the neon sinks.
Red, amber, green.
Bulk beer and local anise drink, in chorus:
At the bar, Tequila, lemon and salt!
At the bar... Hands busy the city for the lawful amusement of voices and traffic terminal tumult...

Notes, books, stores... Smoke from some national cigarettes.
Within,
Muffled words, smell of autumn every afternoon.
Tequila, lemon and salt.
Curry, peppers and ginger ale.
How effin’ lazy are we?
Deep breathe… ohw. El Indio?
Random thoughts, wisdom come…
Mountains, dark green high hills,
Shaped like a brontosaurus, surrounded by souls, a never ending green coral maze.
At the café, knees busy the day, sporadically looking forward,
At the café, games in the middle of an unpleasant end.
And faintly having some dark coffee, bouncing around downtown.

Vegetables, ginger, glasses, music, books, guitar, jokes...
Rain storms the city...
Groceries, sake, rice, kroepoek, basil and coconuts. Lekker!
Rain storms the city...

Escobar Rosas.

Con Julianita & Annie.

Water is to be employed, tequila to be enjoyed!
En jij bent nog steeds een lekkerding!

Nights of good music, great company and terrific cocktails...
Yoga, tai chi, meditation.
Find your chi,
Your own self,
Your lost soul...
Find your own freedom,
Freedom of speech, of endless gezelligheid...
Find yourself in the sight of a deep blue sea.
Sea of blue, blue blue sky.

¿Shampoo de guaraná? Tamal y Ajiaco enlatados...
El retorno del profesor verde, que califica según la altura del dobladillo de uniformes escolares...

Un dado, un dado criollo, un dado maldito y traicionero...
Un dado que logró desatar la indecencia de muchos, el arrepentimiento de algunos, el placer de otros y el asco del resto. El dado endemoniado que junto a una botella nacional y después una marca gato con sabor a espíritus, dejaron que cada uno cruzara su propia barrera, su propia delgada línea roja entre tabú, respeto, placer y juego.
Un juego que dejó mucho en cada uno, desde moretones y guayabo hasta un sentimiento agridulce sobre lo ocurrido, y el despertar de mariposas...

“¡Que se riegue la sopa en Sumatra, pero no el guaro!”

Con Andrés, Tula, Juano & Annie.
El Bajillo.

Con La Jules.
Puente de la 98 con 17.

Atardecer en Girardot.

- Don Jorge, negociemos con euros, ¿le parece?
> ¿Eso de qué me sirve señorita?
- Eso vale mucho hombre, hágame caso.
> Yo no negocio con gringas, más bien las llevo hasta la 100.
- ... Me parece.

Esta ciudad tiene maravillas, hasta en los buses vacíos...

- Perdón Señor, ¿usted trabaja con el conductor??
>... huh? No.
- Ay! Qué pena, tenía cara.

- Hombre, hágame feliz, déme Navidad... Regálemelo y todos felices.
> Ay jue... Saque el que está detrás del asiento, ese y ya...
- Ay jue... ¡Que Dios se lo page Señor!

634

Despensa
Laureles
K7a.
Cll 100
Av.68
Venecia
Adogeo

Lijaca
Hosp. Sm Bolivar
Av.68
Salitre
Éxito
Cll. 100
K7a.

De Izg. a derecha.
Natalia, Juliana, Annie y Yo.

La historia del año viejo, con botella de ron, sólo él ofrece la mejor posición gineco-socio-afectiva y no sobrevive para contarlo; muere quemado a los pocos minutos.
Tan elegante, como el gigante... Y, ¿dónde está el culo mas lindo de Bogotá? Nuestro cuerpo cruje en el silencio, como el esqueleto en el aniversario de su muerte...

Que yo aprendí español en alguna escuela de idiomas holandesa, que la Jules tiene 11 años, que siempre hay un chicamocho, un pirobo y un mimo en la mesa; que barriga llena, cagada fija; que Diomedes es el Puff Daddy colombiano, que más vale ver a dos futbolistas peleándose una piña en una isla desierta que ver un buen documental. Más vale una Miss. Excolombia comiendo lagartijas y peleándose el premio, que ver cine irlandés o ruso... Que Lingo tiene la edad de la Jules y Andy G é um filio du communista.
Que la farándula colombiana tiene cara de burdel de burras costeño, que Piero vive en Bogotá; que algunos ingredientes pueden provocar el embriagamento por alimentos, que el reaggeton tiene diccionario, que a todos nos llevó el putas por no haber viajado nunca con un cura en un vuelo de 11 horas, que las sanaciones brasileras pueden llegar a ser toda una comedia y pueden llegar a sábado gigante, sábado sensacional o sábados felices, y levantar buena plata...
Que todos estamos aquí por algo, y ustear es boyaco.

Feeling arrogant?
Everything is in the right place...
That’ll take care of that swollen ego real quick.

Ahora a Roma volverá un tanto fatigado,
pero tan felizmente fatigado de este viaje,
que ha sido todo días de placer
por teatros, por jardines, por gimnasios...
las noches de las ciudades de Acaya...
Ay, de cuerpos desnudos el placer, ay, sobre todo...

Así Nerón. Y ya en Hispania,
Galba reúne y ejercita sus tropas a escondidas,
el viejo de setenta y tres años.

Juano y La misia Holandesa.

26 con Séptima.

Andrés, tula, El gordo (que es calvo) y Juli M.

Una imágen vale más que mil palabras.

Si no es más, se le agradecen los favores recibidos.
Grande grazie por asegurarse de la locura que llevo dentro y por haber hecho esto algo más que una experiencia religiosa. (Líbrennos de ese mal)
Todos los que de algún modo pudieron interpretar los enigmas acabados de escribir, todos los que saben de dónde llega todo este cuento. Gracias.
Gracias por haber hecho de mi paseo las mejores 4 semanas vividas en mucho tiempo ¡carajo!
Cosa buena.

Todo muy lindo, muy simpatico,muy de la casa, muy gezellig, pero...

La próxima vez:

§ Pido por teléfono más camisetas marca gato.
§ Voy al museo de Botero.
§ Veo el amanecer completico con una buena cámara.
§ Extiendo aún más mi vocabulario...: punketo, gonopercanta, gonopercusio, gonorreita, caldá, calcha, vendaje, mondá, esteras, ñapa y cotizas.
§ Gorreo otro letrero de buseta.
§ ¡No dependeré de absolutamente NADIE!
§ Vuelvo a Cachipay.
§ Como con Natalia.
§ Lleno de gas mi guitarrita negra.
§ Salgo con más gente que todavia me reconoce.
§ Toco más guitarra.
§ Hago una serenata.
§ Toco en un bus.
§ Copio más CD’s.
§ Voy más a San Andrecito por música y DVD’s baratos.
§ ¡Compro más peches y me los traigo!
§ Voy al centro por mas carajadas.
§ Voy a la tienda de tabaco de Hacienda.
§ Me quedo en el Hotel La Fontana y desayuno en Dunkin’ de Unicentro al otro día.
§ Me voy a Villavicencio, a la costa y al Sisga.
§ Cocino más a menudo.
§ Vuelvo más a los cuenteros.
§ ¡Busco a Herbert King pa’ tomarme una foto con él, al lado de un puesto de aguacates y detrás de Mr. Rolls!
§ ¡Me robaré las macadamias como sea!
§ Bailo con un enano y me gano apuestas en toda clase de chucitos.

Girardot.

Mister Helado.

Girardot.

Girardot.

Vuelo del 18/19 de Enero. Caracas-Milano.

Ferrocarril.
Usaquén

Girardot.
(Problemas con la cámara, por eso el color rojo al lado derecho)

Girardot.
Rio Magdalena.

G.W en Bogotá. (?)

Jules & Lo.

119 con 13.

Parque Simón Bolívar.

Atlantis.

Después de cuantas copas?

Transmilenio.

¡Y dejeeee así!
Ubicación Actual: el 7 del Scheepmakersstraat. Del culo del mundo: Lekkerkerk.

Y este trago va por ustedes.

Cheers!
Que gracias.

Uscita- Exit.

Siempre a la orden,

Lo, “la Todo-Rojo”

Legal Disclaimer: todo lo escrito fue sacado de mis 4 semanas en Colombia. Si alguien tiene problemas con el contenido o no se le dieron créditos por algunas citas, frases celebres o chistes que quiera reclamar, hágalo saber a ver como negociamos. (¡Posiblemente en euros!)

Cualquier clase de comentarios, madrazos y saludos son bienvenidos. Hágale que aquí todo se puede.

(Listening to: Shiver- Coldplay)

I would say... It’s alright... She’s alright, she’ll come back, to gather around an improvised and unsuccessful bonfire at home. To lay down, flirt a little with the stars, discretely search for the constellations we’re always willing to find even if they just exist in a relative way, and discuss, I would say, every thought that dazzles in a instant of self-consciousness in either head of the witnesses, and slowly fades away, diffusing within the lightness of the green-ink smoke. Just a second, a single and profane instant of her presence, made me aware of the coziness of the second-hand long sweater I was wearing, of its sweet and spoiled smell. It made me conscious of the fact that it was me, my only and unmodifyable physical dimension, which filled the empty spaces, and carried me back to my mother’s womb.

Feelings, disguised as plain impressions, enter again my nervous system, the only qualified witness of my spiritual phase, and hunt me. Ghosts often appear in my dreams and chase me until I forcedly reach the place where I used to play with her as a child. They show me the speculative steps I made, repeat the words I spoke, and hinder my view with the red softness of her hair, heureusement dancing with the wind, shaping the sound of the shaken leaves in that deep nook of my brains where orange-colored experiences are stored.

Fine... boring enough, I know. But still, have I any other way of expressing, (and therefore, recover) the fraction of my soul that left with her? Have I any other alternative rather than this one to feel again the uprising of life she inspired in me, and still keep my feet fixed on this earth? Memories, painful, mysterious and nostalgic as they may appear, relief me.

I can believe there will be a future time when no harsh feelings will come attached to my memories, but I have learnt to stick to the present, and so, my present is the still alive flame of reassurance and joy that inhabited my soul when roller coasters were everywhere, and a well-known ice-cream provided me with bits of reality; the reality I no longer took refuge in, but which still pleased me.

Podría dedicarme a contar cada experiencia que tuvo importancia y/o algún efecto en mí, pero primero, la niña Lo ya se encargará de divertirlos con sus apuntes, y segundo, no quisiera seguir haciéndolo girar todo alrededor mío. It’s always about me! About me!... Así que prefiero seguírmelo guardando. Sólo quería hacerle saber a la niña que la adoro, que la amo, y que la extraño desde mi hogar en las faldas del brontosaurio con pelitos. Y al resto, gracias por momentos, risas, besos, botellas, tintos, juegos... etc. Por estos lados encontrarán a su alegre servidora, la once-añera Jules.

“If a man could pass through Paradise in a dream, and have a flower
presented to him as a pledge that his soul had really been there, and if he
found that flower in his hand when he awake - Aye, what then?”
S.T Coleridge.

Back In The Netherlands

2005-02-21T08:59:00.000-08:00

Back in The Lowlands.

Laura & Annie A.
Gouda.

Miss Afro de León.
Polder, Upperduit. Lekkerkerk.