Not entirely travel photography related but Magnum In Motion is featuring an audio slideshow of Bruno Barbey's photographs of the construction of Shanghai's World Expo construction site and parts of its old city.
Shanghai saw the opening of the 2010 World Expo today, starting an event to herald the Chinese financial hub's return as a major world city after the spartan industrialism following the 1949 communist revolution.
According to the news reports here in the UK, no expense was spared and like the 2008 Olympics, the World Expo will showcase China's immense economic and geopolitical importance; almost bragging its power and influence.
I haven't been to Shanghai yet, but it's quite obvious the degree by which China has developed, and is continuing to develop its main cities. It's in stark contrast with the crumbling infrastructure of many large cities in the United States.
China is spending over $4.0 billion on the Expo itself, and many billions more on other improvements for this city of 20 million people. While in the United States, we are faced with economic difficulties caused by the mismanagement of the Bush Administration, the spectacle of hypocritical Tea Baggers and a catastrophic oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.
It's rare for me to have an ambivalent view on anything, but I've stumbled across a "tweet" on my Twitter page (presumably from one of my 800+ followers addressed to another photographer) which prompts this post.
I don't want to divulge more details than is necessary, so I'll use this hypothetical example:
A travel photographer with somewhat of a distinctive style travels to a remote location and photographs its indigenous people. A year later, another travel photographer with more or less the same style travels to the same location, and photographs the same people. The latter photographer stays at the same accommodations, uses the same guide/fixer, and the subjects are the same. To my knowledge, there's no contact between the two photographers...and there's no exchange of information. However, the photographs closely resemble each other in terms of subjects and photographic style.
So the question is whether this constitutes plagiarism or inspiration. Taking the example of the Rebari shepherd in the above photograph, would it be plagiarism if another photographer traveled to Poshina in Rajasthan, stumbled on my local fixer who then somehow arranged this particular shepherd to be photographed? I don't think so.
Would it be different if the photographer, having seen the above photograph, asked the Rebari shepherd to adopt the exact same pose? Is that plagiarism or just being inspired?
Perhaps it's the degree of the imitation that resolves the question. If the photographer shot the same Rebari, and purposefully arranged the photo shoot so that he'd wear the same exact turban and tunic, against the same background? Yes, I think that's the answer. If the imitation is purposeful and premeditated, then it is plagiarism...otherwise, it's just flattery.
The troubling events in the streets of Bangkok reminded me of the Damnoen Saduak Floating Market near the capital, which is a must-stop for foreign and local tourists, as well as food lovers. I've visited it almost every time I stop in Thailand, when I'm en route to Bhutan, Cambodia or Bali.
Yes, it's a tourist trap to a large degree but the food served by the women on their floating dugouts-kitchens is spectacular. I'm told that getting there very early in the morning will ensure a tourist-free experience, but I doubt it.
The Marco Vernsachi & The Pulitzer Center "affair" seems to have somewhat calmed down after the considerable airing of divergent views, opinions and debate between photojournalists, photographers and journalists in the blogosphere.
Some of these views were expressed on Lightstalkers, which is a popular no-holds barred forum for photographers. Going through the posts, I saw one that claimed that the story (and its handling) was not only a blow to the credibility of photojournalism (which I agree), but also a blow to the credibility of some blogs (and their authors).
Huh? The Pulitzer Center was forced to formally admit (twice) its mistake in publishing an image of an exhumed corpse of a young Ugandan girl on its site, because of the bloggers' criticisms that it violated the rights of a child to dignity and privacy. If it hadn't been for the bloggers, these offensive photographs would be still on the Center's website, circulated on social networks and possibly worse.
I view this story and its results as vindication for those bloggers who had the courage of their convictions, and demand that these offensive photographs be pulled from the Pulitzer Center's website. It's hoped that the Pulitzer Centre will stand by its promise of redoubling its "efforts to authenticate every claim and to insure the privacy rights of individual victims".
The appropriate way to look at it is that the bloggers stepped in and redressed a wrong that would not have been committed had the parents of these unfortunate African children have recourse to a sophisticated legal system preventing such liberties with privacy rights.
Ian Lloyd is an Australian photographer who has undertaken commissions for magazines such as National Geographic, Time, Fortune, Gourmet and Conde Nast Traveler and multinational companies as diverse as ExxonMobil, Pepsi, Motorola and Singapore Airlines have commissioned Ian for commercial photography assignments. He has photographed 36 books on countries and regions around Asia including large format books on Kathmandu, Bali and Singapore and a four volume series on Australian wine regions.
You'll see from the Spirit of Asia video that it's a retrospective look at 20 years of his photography in Asia. Perhaps somewhat different from most of the travel photography I have featured here on The Travel Photographer blog, but certainly of high quality that we expect from photographers who work with the National Geographic.
As I indicated in an earlier post on The Travel Photographer blog, Diego Vergés is back from his 4 months trip to Indonesia (and PNG) and its various islands, and is currently working feverishly on his inventory of images.
He tells me that he has so far edited and readied only one of his expected 8 or more photo essays on the various indigenous groups of Indonesia, and that's the gallery on the Mentawai. The images are spectacular, and I encourage you to view them as they provide a window into a culture which I suspect will soon vanish.
You'll notice Diego's characteristic lighting techniques from the above photographs, and which he told he learned from The Strobist. Photographing the Mentawai, he used off camera lighting, a reflector and a softbox. For cameras, Diego uses a Canon 5d and a 5d Mark II, with prime lenses (24mm f1.4 and 50mm f1.4).
The Mentawai are the native people of the Mentawai Islands, which is a chain of about seventy islands and islets off the western coast of Sumatra. They live a semi-nomadic hunter-gatherer lifestyle in the coastal and rain forest environments of the islands, and number about 64,000. They are known by their deep spirituality, body art and the tradition of sharpening their teeth for beautifying reasons.
The Mentawai practice traditional animism, and as with other indigenous cultures, are threatened by encroaching modernism.
The May-June issue of American Express' Departures magazine features the work of photographer Hans Silvester, a German photographer, who documents the extraordinary body painting of the Surma and Mursi peoples of the Omo Valley in southern Ethiopia.
The Surma and Mursi tribes are body painters. They paint their bodies with natural pigments made from the earth. They paint themselves and each other in a tradition that has remained unchanged for millenia. They use their bodies as canvases, painting their skin with pigments made from powdered volcanic rock and adorning themselves with materials obtained from flowers, leaves, grasses, shells and animal horns.
Hans Silvester was born in Lorrach, Germany, and is now based in southern France. He is recognized for a wide-ranging body of work and a protracted study of his subjects, most frequently nature, animals and the environment.
As the issue of Departures isn't yet on-line, many of the Omo Valley Fashion photographs can be found on The Daily Mail issue of February 2008.
Michael Rubenstein is a photographer based in Mumbai to cover South Asia for Redux Pictures, having lived in New York City and Portland, Oregon. He has a degree in Environmental Policy and has studied at Ohio University's School of Visual Communications.
His clients include: Time Magazine, Newsweek, The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times Magazine, The Oregonian, The Chicago Tribune, The Financial Times, Complex Magazine, The Paris Match, Bloomberg News Service and W+K.
Some of his work on Andheri, a Mumbai suburb being transformed into a hip neighborhood appeared in the NY Times. And it's interesting to see the stylistic difference between this photo sideshow and his India gallery on his website.
Update evening of 4.25.2010: Both Marco Vernaschi and the Pulitzer Center For Crisis Reporting responded to the critics.
I was pleased to read this final paragraph of the response (my emphasis):
We do not suggest that the decisions involved in this reporting project are anything but difficult, as we hope was apparent in our statement accepting responsibility for what we believe was a mistaken decision to exhume the body of Babirye and to publish the image on our site. It is our hope that these issues can be discussed without malice, distortions and groundless attacks on the personal motivations of others.-- Jon Sawyer, Pulitzer Center Executive Director
My morning's post follows:
Along with many others, I wrote a post a few days ago on a story being discussed in photojournalism circles and blogs, involving Marco Vernaschi, an Italian photographer/photojournalist who worked on a project documenting the phenomenon of child witches, human sacrifice and organ trafficking in Africa, and the Pultizer Center For Crisis Reporting. The story as it evolved during the past week hinged on the veracity of Vernaschi as to the circumstances behind the exhumation of a Ugandan girl, and the Pultizer Center's publication of the photograph(s) and its subsequent apologies for doing so.
I am listing the links to these blogs/websites all through this post.
Asim Rafiqui in his always insightful (and frequently provocative) blog The Spinning Head asks:
"Why did Marco Vernaschi do it?"
An important and pertinent question, but mine is different. I don't really care why Vernaschi did it. Perhaps he rationalized that exhuming a child's corpse and photographing it was the right thing to do...that it would bring this issue to the West's "consciousness" (as if we really would and could do something about it)...that it would win him more photojournalism awards...that it would make him the best photojournalist in the world...that it would justify his grant from the Pulitzer Center...that it would put bread on his table or pay his mortgage or pay his children's school fees...whatever. I believe he was wrong, and that's the end of it.
I ask the same question but of The Pulitzer Center For Crisis Reporting's Executive Director and his staff . It was The Pulitzer Center which published Vernaschi's photographs and his essays. So here's the real nub of the matter: why did they do it and why didn't they check the details' veracity before publishing? Had they done what in banking circles is called "due diligence", they may have realized what the incomparable Benjamin Chesterton of A Developing Story did. Had they investigated the story a little more seriously, they may have realized what the courageous Anne Holmes of The Vigilante Journalist did.
As I expressed in my POV: And The Outrage Continues involving the publication of a photo essay on a young girl in Kurdistan being circumcised, photographers and photojournalists operate under intense competition and pressure to submit cutting-edge work, and frequently lose sight of what is right. Exhuming the body of a young girl for a photograph is beyond the pale, but the decision for its publication wasn't Vernaschi's...it's the Pulitzer Center's. I'm not at all exonerating the photographer for what he did, but I'm more critical of those who agreed to publish these photographs.
Let's get real. If most publishers (especially those of Pulitzer's repute) refused to publish photographic tripe of dubious ethical provenance, photographers would toe the line....but because sensationalism has pervaded our media, they cut corners and lose sight of what is right..especially when it involves poverty-stricken Africans or Arabs, who have no or little legal recourse to protect their privacy rights.
Let's all remember how aghast we were when photographer Adnan Hajj was accused to have digitally manipulated photographs (ie cloning thicker plumes of smoke from IDF missiles already raining on Beirut), and we kept tut-tutting about it until Reuters fired Hajj and a photo editor, and subsequently issued new policy guidelines for its photographers. Adding some smoke plumes or exhuming a body for a photograph...which is worse?
Yes, the Pulitzer Center apologized, and promised to "redouble (its) efforts to authenticate every claim and to insure the privacy rights of individual victims."
Kevin Burbriski arrived in Nepal as a Peace Corps volunteer in 1975, and spent about 4 years working in remote villages. He returned in 1984 as a photographer, and with a 4” x 5” view camera, a Nepalese photographic assistant, and two porters, he traveled the length and breadth of the country for the better part of three years.
I mentioned Kevin Bubriski's work on this blog in connection with his exhibition at the Rubin Musuem in NYC, but I read (via PDN) that he was named the 2010-2011 Robert Gardner Visiting Artist Fellow at Harvard University’s Peabody Museum of Archaeology & Ethnology. The fellowship carries a $50,000 stipend and will allow the photographer-documentarian to continue his work in the northwest of Nepal.
His work is in the permanent collections of the Museum of Modern Art, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the International Center of Photography, all in New York; the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art; the Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven; the Center for Creative Photography, Tucson; and the Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris.
Kevin's website showcases his work from Venice, Pakistan, India, Morocco, Uzbekistan, Egypt and Nepal among other countries...but it's his work of Nepal that resonates the most with me.
The Foundry Photo~Journalism Workshop 2010 is in Istanbul, and if your dream is to be coached by some of the best photographers and photojournalists available, do it now!
The roster of instructors reads like a Who's Who in the world of photojournalism: Tyler Hicks, Lynsey Addario, Jared Moosy, David Bathgate, Jon Vidar, Anastasia Taylor-Lind, Rena Effendi, Ron Haviv, Andrea Bruce, Ami Vitale, Kael Alford, Adriana Zehbrauskas, Henrik Kastenskov, Stephanie Sinclair, Guy Calaf and Tewfic El-Sawy.
The courses currently offered are FROM VISION TO LIFE: Documenting social issues outside the mediaʼs agenda setting; Transitioning to the new world of Photojournalism; Formulating a Photo Essay; Photographing stories; Intimacy and Empathy in Storytelling; Capturing Cultures – Communicating Without Boundaries; The Essential Guide to Backpack Journalism; Introduction to Multimedia Storytelling, and many more.
Here's another thing...photographers like Dhiraj Singh who attended a class at the 2009 Foundry Photojournalism Workshop in India was awarded Honorable Mention (Feature Audio Slideshow) in the National Press Photographers Association's Best of Photojournalism 2010 for an audio slideshow made during that workshop.
Yes, dreams come true when you attend the Foundry...so get on it! There are still a handful of places available.
Ralph is an active member of the Arlington Camera Club, and his photographs of a Balinese dancer and of a Pemangku (Balinese priest) have both won awards at this month's competition.
He has indulged in a passion for photography since the late 1960s when he took a Minolta ALs camera to France, and he has continued his passion since. Ralph has already been on four of my photo~expeditions, and this coming August will earn the fifth notch on his belt.
After a good night’s sleep and knowing you have a nice day of moving from A to B to C ahead of you, it is always nice getting up early. Well, actually, it is never really nice to have to get out of bed before sun-up, but even so we all woke up in a pretty sunny mood, probably helped by the fact that we had already packed the night before and did not, like on so many other occasions, have to hastily jump into the shower, get dressed, pack, jump in the car, leave, and go back again at least four times for forgotten things. All the while rushing a mobile breakfast usually composed of cold (or too hot!) coffee, a banana and some sweets.
Instead, we managed to have a leisurely breakfast of toast, marmalade, eggs, coffee, freshly picked fruit, juices and more coffee. So leisurely indeed that we of course left one hour late and Jairo had to drive like a maniac to get us to Neiva airport just on time to find out our flight was one hour delayed. The ride itself was actually quite relaxed, the kids slept most of the way, as did Karin, and Jairo and I exchanged small talk. Jairo drives a Kia 7-seater van of American proportions, and the ride was smooth as silk up till the final 20 minutes when we tried to make our way through a Neiva in the last phase of the San Juan & San Pedro festivities.With men on horses everywhere, most of them too drunk to even stand up, let alone ride a horse through dense city traffic, buses with tourists from all parts coming in for the final fiesta and clogging all main arteries of the town.
We were lucky Jairo has actually lived here for 20 years before moving to San Agustin and he knows the place like the back of his hand. He skilfully manoeuvred the large van through the hectic chaos of cars, trucks, buses and horses, taking lots of little back roads I would never have taken if my life had depended on it. Jairo actually got us to the airport within the minimum of 45 minutes before take-off, all the time reassuring us we would still have time to have lunch before our flight. He helped us unload our 3 heavy bags, 2 backpacks, 2 laptop bags, one baby-bed, and an explosion of toys, colouring artefacts and all the other paraphernalia one tends to hoist along when traveling with kids. Of course he turned out to be right; our plane was delayed (“as always happens”, he said before smiling and saying his goodbyes) and we actually managed to have a local version of steak, which was amazingly nice and tender considering it was airport grub, before we got on the turboprop back to Bogota.
Here, everything went easy, apart from the fact that Noa and I went for a second round of coffee for Karin and me and we almost missed our connection, again… Luckily the lady behind the counter remembered us from the week before and we jumped on the bus as it was making its way to the plane. I have actually come to like our way of traveling; there is always something completely off in our planning and we usually get into trouble or completely lose our way, in the process running into all kinds of nice and interesting people and places. I can imagine though that anybody traveling with us would go completely bonkers.
We arrived in Pereira about 2 hours behind schedule (not our fault, the second flight was simply delayed) and after Karin had had a nice fight with the car rental people about the fact that we were not prepared to pay a four-day rent for what actually turned out to be a 3-day trip, we were finally on the road around 6pm. Darkness set in and yet another of those things you always tell other people not to do happened; driving after dark in a new country. But I’ve gotten used to that as well; we’ve made our way through the depths of night in Lima, in Peru’s southern Andean regions, straight through Sao Paulo, in the upper north of Brazil, and in various parts of Patagonia, usually without GPS devices, and always getting lost before finding our way back again. Up till now nothing deadly has happened to us.
Same thing in Colombia, and I can add that at least in this part of Colombia the roads are perfect, mostly well-lit and with clear signals showing the way to where one wants to go. Sometimes there are so many signs that it will make you dizzy, but then there is always a nice neighbour (in our case usually a gas station employee) that will happily show you where to make the next turn. We made it from Pereira to our new hotel, a very nice and typical coffee-farm-hotel named Combia, in about one hour, despite the dark and a very limited map to go by. Colombia is good Fly-Drive Territory, if you can manage the Spanish language and are not afraid to ask your way around.
After a long day we hit our beds almost instantly and slept like the little babies some of us still are, waking up 8 hours later to a new day in a new land…
Armenia and surroundings
The Coffee Triangle, as this part of Colombia is called, is a lush and fertile area with a mild, benign climate, good for producing some of the best coffee in the world. Funny thing is that it is quite difficult to actually find a good cappuccino, or even an espresso, as most people are not really used to drinking “fancy” coffee and usually just take a “tinto”; black filter coffee, thinned with hot water and sugared up to hurt your teeth. Some come with milk and both taste like sweet hot coloured water, nothing like Juan Valdes makes you believe people enjoy over here. So, when the owner of the hotel came to us and asked us to please leave any suggestion we could think of, I could hardly keep my mouth shut.
After a simple but hearty breakfast we got into our car and started driving back to Armenia and right behind it found a sign saying “canopy”…
During our last trip in Brazil my daughter Edie had already shown great interest in rappelling, as well as in huge natural water slides, and other such things that make me super-scared something might happen to her. As a matter of fact I lately find myself projecting many of my childhood fears on my daughters, as they begin to discover the fun parts of our numerous trips. As a teenager I decided that I would not let fear hold me back from doing anything, and I spent several years crusading against my fears of things like heights, failing in general and being publicly ridiculed. I went for a 65m bungee jump that almost killed me, set up a travel company in Peru without any prior experience, and even tried speaking in public. The last, to my shame, is really not my forte...
Still I thought I had it nicely worked out and that I had managed to kick myself into being a cool guy, not afraid to take on a challenge or two and free of unnecessary internal blockades. The opposite isn’t true, but I must say I am having a hard time not panicking a little each time Edie climbs a tree or Noa dances around on a plastic chair. My wife Karin and I have discussed this often. She was raised with a no-fear policy and skied black slopes and beyond before she could speak a full sentence, so she understandably has some issues with my ‘all of a sudden’ somewhat conservative nature. She feels, and rightly so, that we should not project our fears onto our children and should let them discover their own boundaries. I agree with her, of course. So, when we saw the sign and Karin looked at me with that inquisitive look of hers, I said: “what the hell”, and made a sharp left.
14 speed-flights between towering trees and hulking bamboo ladders later we were back where mother earth prefers to have us and I was soaked. With adrenaline still screaming through my veins and hair standing out in all directions, the next group of that went up for their first climb looked at me with some puzzlement. I could not care less; I was alive! Karin, Edie and Noa had had the time of their lives and the kids would keep asking us for days in advance when we could go and “fly” again.
On Tuesday night, I watched the harrowing Frontline: The Dancing Boys of Afghanistan which exposed an ancient practice know as as "bacha bazi" which, literally translated, means 'boys' play'.
This illegal practice exploits orphans and street boys, and has been revived by powerful warlords, businessmen and military commanders in Afghanistan. These men dress the boys in women's clothes, who are trained to sing and dance for their enjoyment. The dancing boys are also used sexually by these men.
This is outstanding journalism by Afghan journalist Najibullah Quraishi, and my hat's off to PBS and to the Frontline producers for doing such an admirable job. I was particularly impressed by Quraishi and his producers' attempts to arrange the rescue of one of the dancing boys profiled in the film, an 11-year-old boy bought from an impoverished rural family.
In contrast with other productions (see my post of yesterday, for instance) the 11-year boy's face was blurred throughout the film to preserve his anonymity and self-respect.
Homosexuality is forbidden in Islam, and yet pederasty and boy concubinage has had a long history in the Persian cultural world which includes much of Afghanistan.
After breakfast, and a not so pleasant stay in a hotel in Neiva, we meet our driver Jairo who will take us to San Agustin - Jairo is contracted by Rene, a Swiss guy who settled in San Agustin many years ago, probably one of the first foreigners to settle down in this beautiful area. He runs the agency Chaskatours and we will probably hear more from him in the not too distant future. Here, the Andes Mountain Range, in one final show of grandeur, splits into three majestic mountain ranges, the Cordilleras Occidental, Central and Oriental. We are now driving through a wide green valley that divides the Cordilleras Central and Oriental, which is itself split in two by the Magdalena River, which stretches 1500km from San Agustin to Barranquilla and is the longest and most important river of Colombia.
15 minutes outside of Neiva we stumble upon the hamlet of Rivera, known for its thermal springs, and here we find a great alternative to the place we slept last night. This is the perfect place for our groups when they come driving down from Bogota to make a stop on their way to San Agustin. What better place to spend the night after a long day’s drive than a hotel with 4 swimming pools, next to a set of thermal springs?
A nice detail of local roads here is that, as well as being mostly perfectly asphalted, they are shaded by ‘ecological tunnels’. This part of Colombia gets very hot and most municipalities make a habit of having their main roads lined by trees that meet each other over the middle, thus creating a green roofing that not only creates shadow but also absorbs most of the exhaust gasses of the trucks, cars and motorbikes passing by. On top of this it truly enhances the visual experience of driving here.
Jairo is a good driver and he also turns out to be an excellent storyteller. Thanks to him and his knowledge of local folklore I have a very interesting ride, while the girls mostly sleep in the back. The first thing he asks is if we have already tried the famous ‘Asado Huilense’, a ritual pig roast only prepared during the festivities of San Juan & San Pedro. During these festivities, about which I still need to do some more reading, each province holds folkloric dancing contests where one girl is chosen to be the ‘Reina’ or ‘Queen’. During the ‘Vispera de San Juan’, or ‘the Eve of Saint John’, which I understand falls on midsummer’s eve, the family spends all day on the preparation of the pig; first the slaughter, then the cleaning of the animal and the selection of the best parts of meat. Then follows the preparation of the wood for the fire and finally the entire family, friends and neighbors sit down for a true feast. It is kind of a sacred ritual, but these days the Asado Huilense has found some resonance outside of El Huila and you will find more and more local restaurants offering the dish, also out of the official season.
Next we drive through the small town of Hobo, apparently a tourist stop, but we decide to push on. While we drive out of town on one of the scarce pieces of straight road that we have encountered on our trip, Jairo tells me that this is the highway airport of Hobo. Upon my puzzled look he explains that some nine years ago a local governor managed to get his private plane hijacked and forced to land on this main road. The governor was then kidnapped, and as far as my recently blossoming understanding of Colombian Spanish helps me understand, was released after direct negotiations between the FARC and the then president Pastrani.
Now we drive past ‘Los Altares’ – sand rock formations that line the road, shaped by wind and rain, resembling the medieval gothic churches of Europe. Here, at 700 m.a.s.l, climate and vegetation have already changed completely. Whereas in Neiva the main crops are rice and cotton, here we drive across coffee and cacao plantations. We pass countless food stalls selling ‘Quesillo’, a local cheese variant made from cows’ milk. The kids are asleep so we don’t stop; we’ll have to try this on our way back…
A road sign indicates the distances to the next three villages, one of them called ‘Gigante’. I turn to Jairo and he begins to tell the legend of El Gigante, a giant Indian who according to the story used to steal the crops of the local villagers until they had enough of it and finally managed to ambush and kill him. Apparently he still lays there today, flat on his back. We drive through the town of Gigante, but I see nothing strange or disturbing…
‘Curvas Peligrosas’… we drive through a stunning mountain area, on a recently paved road, but with about as many curves as a beautiful woman, each one more dangerous than the one before.Numerous signs alongside the road warn against drinking and driving, or simply taking the wheel when tired: ‘No more stars on the road’, they say, and before and after practically every curve a star-shaped cross is painted on the asphalt, marking a fatal accident… We take it slow, following a ‘Poker’ Beer truck and then all of sudden he appears, Matambo, the slain giant.A huge face-shaped mountain, looking like those on the statues found on Easter Island, a true indigenous boogieman, carved out of Andean rock.
We drive past a pond where ‘mojarra’ is cultivated, a local fish that is served in restaurants throughout La Huila province, of which Neiva is the capital. Will make sure to try some in San Agustin! Jairo warns us not to eat mojarra from ponds close to ‘lulo’ (a local fruit used to make juices) plantations, as this particular plant needs a lot of chemicals to withstand insects and other threats. With rain, the chemicals are flushed into the soil and then find their way into the ponds which makes this particular fish not always the healthiest option.
Up and up we go, from the 400 or so m.a.s.l where we started out this morning, making our way through the valley and up the hills. Cacao and coffee make way for tobacco as the air gets fresher and temperatures slowly drop. We drive past the town of Garzon (named after the male variant of the ‘garza’ (heron) that frequent this area. Garzon is the second city of El Huila and is the catholic center of the province, and most of the south of the country. The town has a beautiful cathedral and a seminary from which most of the prominent priests and clergymen in the country emerge. If that is a good thing or not I’ll leave to your own judgment. It’s a nice town though, from what we see driving past.
La Jagua, the next spot on the map, is a town of artisans, formerly known for being bewitched… I imagine the 31st of October must be a true party here, but we do not get much time to ponder, as Jairo begins a story about the two towns that we are approaching, Altamira & Timana.
Altamira & Timana are home to the Timanareis people. Their most famous ancestor is probably the Caciqua La Gaetana - a local chieftain whose son was killed by a Spanish invader looking for gold. The story goes that she was so angry and grief-stricken that she gathered all the local caciques in the south and together they conquered the Spaniards and captured their leader, Pedro de Allasco. La Gaetana picked out his eyes, punctured his lower jaw through the mouth, tied a rope through it and pulled him behind her horse before decapitating him. Sadly enough history was not in her favor; the Spanish came back with more men, to avenge the death of their kinsmen. La Gaetana was hunted down, but before they could catch her, she managed to reach El Pericongo, a steep cliff from which she is said to have jumped and disappeared into the Magdalena River.
The Timanareis people are the oldest tribe in Colombia. In the town of Timana there is a statue of La Gaetana, holding Allasco’s head in her hand. In Neiva, around this time every year, there is the ‘Cabalgata de la Gaetana’ where around 3000 women saddle up their horses and parade through town, emptying bottles of ‘aguardiente’, the local liquor, and making a lot of noise in praise of this fierce warrior of the past.
Driving through Altamira, we come past a sign saying ‘Florencia’. Under the Pastrani government, this town was the gateway to the ‘zona del despeje’, a large area of land cleared of military and police forces, where the FARC incumbents were given the right to reassemble, rearm, train and basically reinforce. This was a state within the state, ruled by the guerilla. I still have a lot to learn about Colombia, its history, and its people. There will most probably be a logical explanation for this guerilla state, but at this point I have no clue as to why a government would allow an enemy army to have a place to rest and rearm.I am not Colombian, so I‘m in no place to judge, of course.
Late afternoon and after a great trip we arrive in San Agustin. Not too long ago this little town was a stronghold of the FARC, and to this date the area has still not been officially given the green light by most embassies. However, as locals assure and reality shows, there is nothing to be afraid of here. Two main military bases in the vicinity mean that there are soldiers present in the streets, restaurants and sometimes also at the hotels. Through time people here have come to terms with the fact that either military or guerillas frequent the town and its facilities. The difference now is that the military are treating the villagers with respect, they pay for the services rendered and help out where needed. They are like any other citizen of Colombia, carrying out their assigned job, living and working amongst their fellow citizens. Their job is to keep the area safe and yes, they have to go on patrols into the surrounding areas, but a normal passer-by is taught to see them as peacekeepers and defenders of everybody’s safety. After a while we hardly notice them as different and the kids play around them as we all eat breakfast together.
The Anacaona is a true find and probably the best place in town. An old farm-house, this place was bought by a Frenchman some nine years ago and was slowly converted into the oddly quaint home-stay it is today. A beautiful garden and a wide, panoramic view over the adjacent valley combined with a very friendly (even if somewhat inexperienced) staff, make this a good place to spend at least a few days. The manager, Hector, is on his way to becoming one of the main players in San Agustin tourism development, and is a nice guy to have a chat with if you want to get to know more about the area. He arranged for horses, guides, a jeep and everything else that we needed when planning to explore the area. The equipment was good, the horses healthy and well fed, the guides and drivers correct and on time. English is a challenge still, though we did see some people with English speaking guides, but they had come together from Bogota. No problem for us, but something to keep in mind if you want to visit this beautiful area.
