CALI, Colombia – Cali took my breath away from the moment of my arrival, and I still haven’t quite gotten it back.
From the San Francisco-like inclines of its streets, to the beauty and intensity of its landscapes and its cialis 10mg people, to the pace of the dancers that whirl around a thousand discos and salsatecas seven nights a week, Cali is a city that moves you.
Yes, this is Cali, whose name is spoken like the name of a lover, once home to one of the world’s most infamous and powerful drug cartels. Not so long ago it was caught in the violent vice between guerilla, military and paramilitary forces and narcotraffickers, and mass kidnappings and shootouts were the order of the day.
Only today, the passionately patriotic caleños can look back and reminisce in amazement that they survived it all, and that their beautiful city is theirs once again.
The only problem is that the rest of the world doesn’t know it yet.
“It’s hard when you get to the airport and everyone thinks you’re a narcotrafficker,” confessed a Colombian friend. Colombia is investing millions in changing that image, launching a new campaign called “Colombia is Passion.” Judging from the scores of backpackers and other travelers I met during my brief stay, it seems to be working.
I was here compliments of that campaign on the invitation of the Colombia tourism bureau for a media familiarization trip, and would be treated to the best this city has to offer. But I came early and found my own way to San Antonio, a choice that both surprised and amused my host. Mauricio Aurellano was his name, a whirlwind of energy and activity with ProExport, a marketing pro who, among other surprises, is a follower of the Course in Miracles.
My visit to Cali began with a nighttime outing, as do most adventures in this most nocturnal of cities, this time in San Antonio, the bohemian barrio built on a hillside surrounding the picturesque colonial San Antonio Church. Here in the stone plaza with a view of the city and the mountains that surround it as a backdrop, artisans sell their handcrafted jewelry and a young man with a whimsical one-horned cap made from palm fibers, regales visitors with tales from the history of this storied barrio.
My hotel is a colorful backpacker hostel called Café Tostaky, owned by a French-Colombian couple who greet their guests with a cup of espresso and conversation. Across the street is a huge mural by the local guerilla art group, Fusil, depicting an ugly capitalist who trades in poison and reaps bloody body parts.
The streets are alive with people visiting on every streetcorner, sharing an empanada at the Rapitienda La Neblina or a trago of aguardiente at the Colima, a 72-year-old corner store where everyone seems to know everyone, and whose colorful clientele include documentary filmmakers, students of biology and philosophy, and disheveled sellers of medicinal herbs.
The next day I prepare for my immersion in salsa. I am well aware of Cali’s status as the home of some of the world’s most beautiful women. My athletic Chaco sandals, while great for wading in rivers and trekking up volcanoes, will not do for this salsa trek, nor will my calloused and neglected feet. Mauricio drops me off at the Unicentro, a thoroughly modern shopping mall in the Ciudad Jardin district, and I make my way from shop to shop, finally settling on a pair that will be presentable on a pista de baile without killing my feet.
Now it’s time for an emergency pedicure, and Angelica does the honors – a beautiful and slender young Afro-Colombian woman with long tiny braids and a sweet smile. I learn from her colleagues that she is a marvel on the dance floor, and it doesn’t surprise me. With surgical tools she treats my feet to a painful but necessary revision. The payoff comes in a sugar scrub and a soak in a hot bath – and brand-new, soft feet with brightly painted toes to slip into my new salsa shoes.
That night Mauricio, upon realizing my interest in the environment, organizes an interview with William Salazar, a well-known environmental activist and shaman who has lived and studied among the indigenous people of Colombia for 17 years. William was a founder of a group called VerdeVerdad, a play on words – “Verde” is green and “Verdad” is truth, but “Ver” also means to see, so the group’s double mission is to see reality in a truer way. William now facilitates spiritual journeys using a plant called yagé to the indigenous people of Colombia, better known in other parts as ayahuasca.
The interview evolves into an invitation to attend an equinox celebration in the mountains on the Rio Pance at a private reserve called Agua Viva, a place where not only the roaring river but the earth itself is vibrantly alive – so much so that we spent the entire night around the bonfire, talking of the cycles of nature and of human potential, of the dream and the reality of the different world that is preparing to be born. The skies began to lighten on the horizon when I finally curled up in the sleeping bag next to the fire, loath to leave the company of these wise spirits, who were still conversing when I awoke to a grey dawn.
Carlos Ruiz was speaking of the Mayan concept of inlakesh, the idea of intersubjectivity – the capability of exchanging and merging identities with others. “I am you and you are me,” is the literal translation of the term, and my sister Trina’s sweet voice came into my mind singing the words as she had recorded them years ago when she discovered the song. Now, for the first time, I noticed that the boundaries between myself and these no-longer-strangers had dissolved, and I understood the words.
Today the channel changes to the glitzy Granada district, where the art and the accommodations and the gastronomy reach the peak of excellence. This is when my “fam trip” began, and I and my backpacks were transferred to the much fancier digs of the many-named Hotel Mercure Casa de Alférez, where an ultra-glamorous sculpture of an aloof negra gazes down from a pedestal in the entryway and uniformed bellstaff guard the premises and try to anticipate the needs of the guests.
It’s important to note that “negra” here is a term of endearment, rather than an insult; in perhaps the most African of Colombia’s cities, the beauty, rhythm and grace of the region’s Afro-descendants is a source of pride.
Indeed, Cali is fed by the Pacific port of Buenaventura and surrounded by the sugarcane industry, where fortunes were built on the backs of African slaves and their impoverished descendants. Despite the celebration of African heritage, however, the only black faces I see in Granada are those of the hotel and restaurant staff and the taxi drivers.
Now installed in my new home, we head out for lunch at Ringlete, whose name means pinwheel, of which there are many in the restaurant’s colorful theme. Here we sample regional delights such as the marranita, tasty pork enveloped in a crispy blanket of plantain, and the aborrajado, a sweet mature plantain roasted with a creamy cheese filling. It is here that I discover the lulada, a delightfully refreshing fruit drink made from the lulo, a fruit the size, color and shape of a large persimmon but covered with tiny, nearly invisible hairs.
I found one later in the market and cut it open to see a fleshy mass of kiwi green and papaya orange, peppered with sesame-like seeds. A delicious discovery, as were the grenadillas, orange fruits filled with juicy, pulp-covered seeds, and the round red, heavenly mangostina, currently popularized in concentrated juice form by the health supplements industry as a miracle fruit. For dessert, we’re treated to the famous manjar blanco, a delectable and creamy caramel-like candy made of sugar and milk.
Now it’s time for our city tour, and we meet Gabriel Borrero, a former farmer and businessman who had lost his job in the recession and said it was the best thing that ever happened to him, because he was able to discover his talent as a tourism guide.
“I love my city so much!” he exclaims. “I can’t even think of living anywhere else!” Caleños, he tells us, are a happy people, a sociable people. “We don’t like to be alone,” he confesses.
Highlights of the tour included the tree-lined Cali River, with a whimsical collection of cat sculptures; the colonial-era Plaza Caycedo and the 330-year-old Iglesia de la Merced; and a trip up the mountain overlooking the city to visit the dramatic statue of Cristo Rey. Along the way we stopped to admire the elaborate sculpture by Cali artist Carlos Andres Gómez, “Lamento de la Pachamama,” a moving tribute to the original inhabitants of these lands that Gomez is carving into the mountainside in the barranquismo style developed in the nearby city of Armenia.
Borrero brought the city to life with fascinating tidbits of history and humor. At the statue of Sebastian de Belalcázar, the conquistador who founded Cali in 1536, he tells us of the time during the height of the armed conflict when the M-19 guerilla movement made off with the bronze icon’s sword. The sword was returned when the peace accords were signed in 1991.
“Sadly we don’t see too many Americans here,” Gabriel told me. This is changing, however, as the U.S. travel media wakes up to the reality of the new Colombia, and as a generation of backpackers bucks the trends. In my two weeks here I’ve met a few adventurous Americans, but so far most of the tourists I’ve met are Europeans.
Gabriel shared a few stories from the years of terror, incidents he can now laugh about through the distance of time: Years when most Caleños virtually abandoned their beloved pastime of dance because of the proclivity of the narcos to show up, close the doors, buy drinks all around and demand to be with whatever woman struck their fancy – regardless of whose wife or girlfriend she might be.
These days are long gone in Cali, but the drug trade continues. Gabriel and others sought to drive the point home that Colombians and now Mexicans have suffered more than anyone from the impacts of the drug trade; most of the demand comes from the United States, he pointed out, and that’s what fuels the industry.
Afterwards we’re treated to a tasting at Kiva, one of two destination restaurants by internationally renowned chef Catalina Velez. Catalina does several cooking shows, including one for the Cooking Channel’s Spanish-language version, and as an advocate for locally grown, organic and regional cuisine, she is a force to be reckoned with. She has spearheaded an effort to rescue and preserve heritage foods and indigenous fruits and vegetables found nowhere else. And she has worked closely with a local nonprofit group called VallenPaz to develop markets for organic produce and a better quality of life for the region’s small-scale farmers.
Our evening ends with a first outing to two of the city’s most famous salsa clubs. By 10 I’m ready to collapse after last night’s campfire conversations, leaving me with perhaps two hours of sleep. I contemplate napping in the car while the others go dance. But I have a story to report, so I drag myself out onto the sidewalk and up the stairs of Tin Tin Deo, where Mauricio Novoa meets us with a cerveza and a smile. I take a sip and breathe in the explosive rhythm of the salsa, and I remember its power. I am suddenly, unbelievably, excitedly awake.
Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.
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