Monthly Archives: March 2011

Barranquilla officials better get a clue quick about their taxis or risk becoming known worldwide as a city where taxis take tourists for a ride. And I don’t mean for a ride the good sense.

Truth is, it may already be too late, as across Colombia, including Barranquilla itself, you hear stories about the wayward ways of taxis in Barranquilla. Since I arrived in this city on Friday, I have spent way too much time haggling and arguing with taxi drivers over what they want to charge. And here all this time I thought concern over petty street crime and not becoming a statistic would be my Number One preoccupation. Nope, it’s been the taxistas . The taxi drivers – not all, but too many of them – will try to get as much money out of you one way or another. They either jack up the price because you are foreigner or will literally rob you.  This is the first city in the world I’ve visited in which you have to be seriously worried about whether your taxi driver is driving you to where you wish to go or to some secluded or sketchy part of town where either working alone or with others he will rob and dump you on the side of the street. From locals, from police, from hotel operators, I’ve heard  a half-dozen stories of taxis engaging in criminal behavior, not necessarily violent, just using enough force to have you hand over all your cash, camera and whatever else you have in your possession.

When I left the carnival parade on Saturday, I tried for almost an hour to get a taxi with no luck. They were either busy or did not want to go to the center of town, the location of my hotel. By the way, taxi drivers in Colombia routinely refuse service. If they don’t like where you are going – and it doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad neighborhood – they don’t go. For any reason – too much traffic, too far on the other side of town, they don’t like the way you wear your hair, your polka dot jacket offends them – they will say “yo no alcanzo ese lugar” – translation:  get out of my cab!

As I walked with the throngs of carnival revelers leaving the parade site, I came across a couple of cops standing on a street corner. I jokingly asked what does it take to get a taxi to agree to drive to the center of town – and one that doesn’t come up with dozens of reasons to force you to pay an outrageous sum. The cops asked where was I headed and I produced the hotel card with the address. They asked where was I from and immediately began to caution me about taxis. They said an American tourists just the day before had been driven to an area where two other men working with the taxi driver forced him out of the cab, took his money, cell phone, camera and other items, and took off. They said some taxis are not who they say they are, driving around preying on visitors.

The cops stepped in to get me a taxi home. They started stopping cabs to ask if they could drive me to my hotel and how much they would charge. But taxi after taxi said they were already en route to pick someone up or were just not willing to brave carnival traffic across town. So the cops asked a guy with a motorcycle if he could drive me to a taxi stand out of the carnival zone where I could then more easily get a taxi. The cops asked how much would he charge for this. He said $20. I laughed, because he might as well have said $100. He drove off and the cops said Motorcycle Dude had no clue how much $20 is worth. So we continued trying to get a cab until Motorcycle Dude came back, probably after checking with someone more informed as to how much he should charge me. He now said 5 pesos. The cops said that was a reasonable sum, so he handed me a helmet, I got on the back off the bike with two bottles of soda I had bought, and off we went, weaving madly through traffic and dodging pedestrians, some of them giddy on overproof  aguardiente.

The whole time during the ride, Motorcycle Dude asked about me – where in the United States was I from? What did I do for a living? What brought me to Barranquilla? Then he started to offer to drive me all the way to my hotel for more money, of course. I was barely hanging on to the back of that motorcycle, with one hand holding my sodas, and I couldn’t see myself driving any further in this rather perilous mode of transport. But he insisted. As we reached a street corner, he stopped and said there was no way I was going to be able to get a taxi given they were all tied up. He again suggested he drive me all the way to my hotel for more money. As it so happened, he had stopped in front of two private security guards who heard him suggesting he take me to my hotel. At this point I had taken off the helmet. Motorcycle Dude explained to the guards that he was trying to take “este gringo” – this gringo to a taxi but no taxis were readily available. He told the guards he could take me to my hotel. The guards said I could get a taxi right at the very intersection if I waited. During this conversation, as I still sat on the back of the bike, one of the guards seemed concerned for my safety and signaled that I should get off the bike. Then he said firmly that I should wait with them. I got off the bike, Motorcycle Dude took off. The guard then said he had a bad vibe about Motorcycle Dude and it was safer for me to be off that bike and to get a reputable taxi. It was at this point one of them went in the middle of the street and started to stop taxis. On the third try, he called over and said this was a good taxi and he would take me for 10 pesos, a good price. Cool. I thanked them and took off.

It was a circuitous way to get home, but I got home safe and sound. Not so lucky for the American guy I had heard about from the cops earlier. Not so lucky for a French guy that day, who was somehow drugged, stripped of everything, including his clothes, by a taxi driver and team of bandits, according to my hotel manager.

In Bogota, the taxis are metered and the photo IDs of the driver are prominently displayed. In Barranquilla, they are not. You have to negotiate the price before you get in the taxi. And sometimes, that doesn’t work.

My hotel negotiated a price with the taxi driver – 10 pesos – to take me to a potluck being held by friends. But first, I needed to stop at a store to buy beer or wine for the party.  The driver agreed. I noticed as he drove by store after store where the beer would be presumably cheap. During the ride he tried to convince me that I should buy Smirnoff cocktail drinks instead of beer or wine. Smirnoff is more expensive. I said that’s cool, but I would stick to Aguila or Club Colombia beer. All the while, he peppered me with questions, assessing my net worth, I suppose, because he said I should be able to afford Smirnoff. Here we go again with the Smirnoff. What’s it to him whether I buy Smirnoff or rubbing alcohol for the party. Not like he was invited. Then he pulled up to a liquor store and told me to stay in the cab, that he would go talk to the store clerk and ask the price of the beer. From the cab, I noticed some whispering between the two. The driver returned and said that they only sold individual beers – they had no six packs at this store – and that each beer would cost me 5 pesos. Five pesos? That’s more than double I’ve been paying at local bars. I smelled a rat, as the taxi driver was also insisting that I stay in the cab and I give him the 50,000 pesos he noticed I was holding to buy the beer. That’s okay, I said, and got out the cab to walk up to the liquor store, which had iron bars and all transactions were made by not entering the store but from the sidewalk and essentially the parking lot. I asked about the beer myself. The clerk it was 5,000 pesos. Okay, any cheaper alternatives? How about wine? What about aguardiente? I had a funny feeling and from the corner of my eye I saw the taxi driver communicating through hand signals with the store clerk. Aha! They are trying to run a game on me. Here comes the gringo, let’s make some money! Okay, I tell you what, just give me a  cheap box of aguardiente and a red Chilean wine and that’s it. Out of here. Back in the taxi, I knew this guy was no good. So I started closely watching the route, the streets, every turn he took, thinking of what I should do in case he’s driving me to a robbery – mine! As he drove, he started bellyaching about how he should be charging me more because where I was headed was actually farther than he thought. And that the address I had was the wrong address. When I reached my destination and I handed over the agreed upon 10 pesos, he grabbed my arm and said “faltan” – meaning you are short. How’s that? 10 pesos is what we agreed on. How much more you want? 20 pesos, he said. I got out the cab in a bit of rage and told him it would be a cold day in you know where before he got 20 pesos out of me. How did he arrive at this? The host of the party was waiting outside for me and came over. He told the taxista there was no way that trip was worth 20 pesos and that was outrageous. Seeing that party host was a local, the driver then dropped to 15 pesos, telling my host that he waited for me to buy liquor and that the address I had presented was actually incorrect. After a quick discussion, I gave the driver 5 pesos more and he took off.

How about a metered system, Barranquilla? How about prominently displayed ID cards for all taxi drivers? How about you get a clue that this hurts your image?

With the elder leader of the band

What a fantastic time I had last night with lots of locals and fellow travelers, first at Troja, one of the local clubs. The whole area, in fact, is a wild party zone during carnival. Then we left, about 50 of us, gathering in a neighborhood where there was a block party with live musical performances, including this delightful band made up of descendants of runway slaves who live and thrive in a village their ancestors founded just outside of Cartagena. They speak a unique dialect, a blend of West African languages and Spanish that has survived for centuries. Everything about their modern lives is African! I will be visiting this village soon, known as San Basilio de San Palenque.

After their performance, I went back stage to meet the band members, including the lead singer and village elder. They were very happy that I took the time to come back stage and were even more excited that I was coming to their village. I hope to meet them there again. Enjoy.

By the way, I have met some truly fantastic people during carnival. They are from near and far, but the locals are the ones who have truly made my visit fun. As carnival wanes, I present you with some images.

Double vision of loveliness: Vanessa and Ileana of Barranquilla, Colombia

The Queen of Carnival 2011 joins the band on stage

The crowd at Carnavalada - it's one heck of a block party!

BOGOTA TO BARRANQUILLA, 18 HOURS

I ran as fast as I could with my backpack firmly strapped to my back. My sleeping bag and assortment of toiletries and other items wrapped in it was cradled in my arms. It doubled as my “carry on” and the sleeping bag would come in handy as a blanket.  On these large buses that cover long distances they keep the AC system cranked to the max. I prepared for this, dressing in five layers – with a sixth handy – for the 18-hour journey.

I was late for the 7 p.m. bus that would take me from Bogota to Barranquilla. Mauricio Mellan, my couchsurfing host who I now consider a friend, drove through rush hour traffic like a true Bogota local, dodging taxis and buses and motorcyclists. We made it to the bus terminal in just enough time to hug goodbye and quickly agree to meet perhaps in Medellin.  I was supposed to make that Medellin trip with Mauricio on Monday, but I woke up Thursday with the sudden urge to experience carnival in Barranquilla. Weeks before, several Colombians I met along the way had asked and even gently suggested that I should go to Barranquilla for carnival. Somehow I was not moved by that. I was thinking about other things, such as visiting colonial Villa de Leyva, and the Salt Mine Cathedral, not getting carnival bacchanal.

Well, in the shower – where I do my best thinking – I asked myself what in the world was I still doing in Bogota. The city was cold, wet, and dreary and I had had my fill of the place. The only reason I was still in Bogota, I thought, was to hitch a ride to Medellin with Mauricio. Not reason enough. Move on!

In the lap of luxury from the mountains to the shore

So the obvious destination was carnival. Barranquilla is where everybody would be this weekend, partying it up and having a good time.

Colombians love their country. They talk it up. They love to describe its beauty and all that it has to offer. They describe cities and villages like they are national jewels. Most of them, however, describe Barranquilla as dirty, chaotic, and dangerous in some areas, and only worth a day’s visit, if that. The only thing worthwhile about Barranquilla, they would add, is carnival. People from Barranquilla, such as my first host Mar Ortega, take offense to this less than flattering description of their city, of course. People from the coast and from Bogota take friendly jabs at each other. Bogota folks like to say people from the Caribbean coast are loud, talk too fast, drink and party far too much. I would not go as far as to say there’s a regional conflict – they are all proudly Colombian – just friendly ribbing.

Well, soon I would see for myself what Barranquilla, where singer Shakira and other notable Colombian artists are from, is all about. In the meantime, I am just outside of Bogota on a mountain pass, rain and fog forcing the bus to slow to a crawl. I don’t mind. These are serious mountains we are climbing and descending and I for one like the fact the bus driver is moving at a snail’s pace. As assistant world editor at the Miami Herald, I read more than my share of stories about buses in South America going off some cliff side, and I don’t wish to be tomorrow’s headline. Go slow, bus driver. Take your time compadre.

As I made the decision to go to Barranquilla, I had to hustle to get to the bus terminal to buy a ticket, book a hotel, eat lunch and pack. I decided not to even request a couch in Barranquilla, useless during carnival, and find a hotel instead. Of course all the prices were jacked up for carnival. And there definitely wasn’t a couch to be had as I noticed in the Couchsurfing Barranquilla group. In that forum I posted an SOS. Could anybody advise about hotel, with wireless internet, near the carnival action, safe, clean. Almost immediately the responses came, one from David, a 22 year old guy from Barranquilla who made a hotel suggestion then offered to help me find a reasonably priced hotel. I found a hotel online and called David from Bogota to ask if it was in a good location and safe. He said yes on all fronts then offered to pick me up at the bus station and take me to my hotel, then again pick me up from my hotel to take me to his home to celebrate carnival with his family and other couchsurfers he was already hosting or helping to enjoy Barranquilla. I was blown away by David offering to do this and had to ask if he was doing this out of pure friendship or he was seeking to be paid. David said absolutely not. No money. His gesture was being offered out of friendship, nothing more. Cool, I thought.

Ready to shake it for 8 kilometers

When I made it to the bus terminal in Soledad – the bus and airport that serves Barranquilla are actually in a neighboring town named Soledad – I called David. He sounded like he had just awaked or maybe just tired. David said he’d be right over to the terminal. I waited. And waited. And waited, turning down offers from taxi drivers. After more than an hour, here comes David, who looked like a high school linebacker with braces. We greeted and David said they were others waiting inside the terminal. There, a group of six people from Israel and one guy from Austria, all couchsurfers. The obvious question came to mind: was David driving a bus? How was he going to get all of us to our respective homes for the weekend? He had found hotels or apartment to rent for some in the group. They were going in a different direction, I to my hotel on the other side of town. After trying to get an answer as to exactly what was the plan, David revealed that he did not have a car – or a bus – and that instead he would get us all taxis. So let me get this straight: I waited an hour and a half for David to get me a taxi when I could have gotten a taxi on my own? As I got in the taxi, a bit befuddled by David, he said he’d come to my hotel at 6 p.m. to pick me up to join the official kickoff carnival festivities. He went off with the others to get them into taxis, all – as me – with their large backpacks.

So here’s what I think was going on in David’s mind: Here’s a kid from Barranquilla who only recently signed up to couchsurfing and he was just excited about meeting visitors from other countries. So he volunteered to facilitate their visit, as a sort of self-appointed one-man greeting committee. David had really good intentions and a really good heart, but in this instance doing more harm than good. It would have been better for him to say upfront he had no means to transport any of us from the terminal and perhaps would be better to allow us – me! – to proceed to my hotel. After an 18-hour trip and you are standing outside in the intense sun waiting, you’d rather get to where you need to be and soon.

I hold nothing against David. His heart was in the right place. By the way, I think he took on too much. He never showed up to meet me at my hotel and I went to the event on my own, where he turned up, happy and dancing through the crowd to cumbia. No explanation, no response when I said I called him but he didn’t pick up. Moral of the story: sometimes you have to depend on the kindness of strangers. But be ready to do for yourself.