Cocaine on Colombia's Caribbean Coast (Cartagena)

Member Name: travelnotes

Product:	Cartagena
Date:	16/09/00 (180 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Cartagena is a wonderful place to hold a drug summit; The palm trees on the beach and the coconut cocktails put many of colonial Cartagena's rivals in the shade.

Disadvantages: Only the boys from Bogota had the time to enjoy it; The bi-centennial celebrations are not until 2011.

While the cocaine barons attempted to move into right-wing politics with dirty money, left-wing guerillas started to produce and smuggle the drug to finance their war with the government.

The police with machine guns, and constant army checkpoints along the Caribbean coast and roads to the capital, were supposed to restrict the effectiveness of guerilla movements. But backhands were given for certain things not to be seen.

The checkpoints also forced the faster air-conditioned coaches to stop at the food-stalls of the poor. Understandably there is a nervousness in the young lad with a gun and army fatigues; the week I arrived in Colombia, a checkpoint near Cucuta was ambushed and bombing incidents in Medellin and Bogotá were reported in El Tiempo as frequently as The Princess of Wales appeared on the front page of The Sun.

The Colombian media were building up to the Cartagena 90 summit, where George Bush would meet the presidents of Colombia, Peru and Bolivia; Senhors Barco, Garcia, and Paz Zamora.

They talked about American paranoia, aircraft carriers and Air Force One having to land at Barranquilla, 130km away from the capital of Bolivar. Getting George Bush in was a military strategy; like the drug run north, in reverse.

A diagram showed the flight path from Washington DC to Miami and across the Caribbean in two graphically wide and curving arrows. Then a slightly narrower arrow illustrated the short hop, by helicopter, to Cartagena. A file picture of the American President, peering through field glasses and wearing a combat jacket, seemed to suggest that he was the leader of a war-hungry nation.

No-one was supposed to be able to tell who the tourists were, and who were the secret agents. But compared to my visit to the colonial Caribbean town the previous November, the place was quiet. I guessed that those getting burned on the beach with walkmans on were the holiday-makers, and those with suits in the swelte
ring heat and only one earplug were the others. Or maybe I was wrong, maybe there were no tourists; then who did they thing I was?

The American media were said to be scared and would arrive shortly before George Bush. Perhaps they were busy people and didn't have the chance to laze around on the beach, thinking-up wild stories for at least a week before the event.

But then Cartagena is Colombia's favourite city, so why shouldn't the boys from Bogotá make something of a holiday out of it? And once they were there, the editors would demand copy for their readers. If I had such an understanding editor, I would have hired a yacht and sailed out into the Caribbean: "To check how many cruisers accompanied the aircraft carrier."

An officer told me that the reported five thousand marines would not even total three thousand soldiers and police, including the young cadets normally stationed at the naval base. The large press corps covering the historical event would almost match them one for one.

The local fishing-boats and tour-companies had been moved from the harbour area, near the convention centre where the journalists would watch the proceedings on a large screen. No more cars were being stopped and searched than in November, but at least a naval vessel guarding the entrance to the bay, gave some of the young cadets a chance to feel operational at sea.

The Colombian television reporter didn't have it so good, he was wearing a thick coat and held a microphone up to passers-by on the cold streets of New York. The Colombian television crew managed to tickle their compatriots back home: Seventy three per cent of Americans asked had no idea where their President was going, the ones that said "South America somewhere" were grouped with those who said Colombia. Of course the two Spanish speakers that the viewers saw being questioned said, "Carta-hena," in a flowing tongue.

I wat
ched the news with a group of Colombians:

"There's nothing wrong with cocaine," cried the pregnant woman; holding her three year-old son in her arms. "It doesn't do any harm, it's the hallucinating drugs they should worry about!"

Senor Trujillo wondered if she would say the same thing if it were her expected child that became an addict. She evaded the question, claimed that the whole thing was a propaganda, and asked the others how many people they knew who used cocaine; or any other drug for that matter. A youth in dreadlocks left the room laughing.

The debate became very voluble, but they agreed that if cocaine were legalised and taxed, then more people in Colombia would benefit from the drug as an export commodity, and if the Yanquis wanted to destroy themselves, that was their problem. The Swiss were brought in as the bankers who didn't care where the money came from, and again, if the drug were legalised then Colombians could keep their money at home.

The Presidents would come to a formulated conclusion that would mean spending more money to destroy a little of the product, for a little while, and in the end solve nothing. This was the cynical opinion of some of the people being represented by one of the countries' Presidents, while the people of the other had no idea where he was going.

If you do get offered cocaine in Cartagena, or anywhere else in Colombia, don't be tempted. It is an illegal drug, and you may be getting set-up by a police informer.

Presidents' Night Out in Cartagena:

The President of America was in town but Bolivia's Jaime Paz Zamora need not have felt so uncomfortable with his handkerchief poised almost permanently to his forehead; perhaps only he was big enough to realise the farce of the whole event. The others believed their own press, but the media remained cynical among themselves.

Peru's Alan Garcia refused t
o join Bolivia's Jaime Paz Zamora and the host Virgilio Barco, in Cartagena, the night before the arrival of George Bush; saying that they were all presidents of equal standing. They were all presidents, true, but the eyes of the world still focus differently; everyone with their own myopia. Only the Bolivians appreciated, somewhat embarrassingly, that their president was the minnow.

The large screen in the convention centre had its blank moments, and the audio-reception was not always clear. But nobody wanted to leave in case everything worked efficiently and they missed something. In the end, all they missed were the half-empty beaches, and another gloriously sunny day.

The Colombian Secret Service had to follow the rules of machismo and let everyone know who they were, by wearing white armbands with DAS printed boldly in black; as if you couldn't tell by the jeans and open shirt. Only Latinos could display their machine-guns so nonchalantly; cruise around the bay in one of two brightly coloured speedboats, with a gun-ship escort; roar through the streets on trials bikes; or ogle at the half-naked women from their trendy four-wheel drive road cruisers, with radios loudly transmitting -- like designer cops on a film-set.

If the presidents returned to their respective countries unharmed, then some of the respectability might be returned to an organization whose headquarters in Bogotá were bombed in an attempt to remove their boss.

The Colombian media enjoyed the idea of a possible ground to air attack on the American President. If the desperadoes wanted to make world headlines and launch a land-to-air missile, they could have easily succeeded from the San Felipe fortress, built on a hill by the Spaniards to defend the city.

Half an hour before the President was due to fly into Cartagena, the fortress overlooking the flight path was not even being guarded. By the military operations in Cartagena, it seemed that the
Press Centre would have been the more realistic target.

Old Cartagena, by Night:

The Americans might have been relieved to see the return of their president, those who knew where he went that is, but Peru's Alan Garcia and Bolivia's Jaime Paz Zamora used the opportunity to see behind the Spanish-built walls of Old Cartagena, by night.

At the Mayor of Cartagena's invitation, their entourage filled Paco's Restaurant. Nicolas Beeson, a bearded Englishman, proved the perfect host for such an occasion. Even the cartel didn't make him jump when they demanded drinks on the house in the days when they moved more freely in society; a local owner might have been more intimidated.

Married to a Colombian women, Nicolai was popular and respected in Cartagena and Bogotá; in better days, well-know film-stars sought out his company during Cartagena's annual music festival.

This was the night of the presidents, and with them the DAS men enjoyed double whiskeys; until Britain's self-appointed Honorary Consul suggested that they might be able to better protect the presidents from an attack, if they were out in the street and could see it coming. They refilled their glasses, drowned the strong measures, and spilled out into Plaza Santo Domingo.

Journalists were also present, but Alan Garcia had consumed enough not to worry about them when he joined the band in song; Jaime the Bolivian took to the dance-floor, and others at their table encouraged the world leaders with rhythmic hand-clapping.

A top-dog in the Colombian media world was seated upstairs, and the lady he was with persuaded the Peruvian President to join them at their table. Something must have been suggested to upset Garcia, so much so that the restaurant almost emptied when he came back down. He wanted to let loose after work, and had no intention of being grilled for an exclusive, even if it was off the record.

Independenc
e Day -- Cartagena in November:

Cartagena became the first city to proclaim absolute independence from the Spanish Crown, on 11th November, 1811 -- the day is now a public holiday in Colombia.

For the week leading up to Independence Day, 1989, the Plaza de la Aduana held nightly festivals; culminating in the coronation of Miss Colombia (a girl from nearby Barranquilla). The four routes into the square were heavily guarded and everyone was painstakingly searched by armed soldiers, younger than many of the revelers.

Guns pointed up from young shoulders on all the balconies overlooking the square, and foot patrols among the crowd remained in radio contact with their superiors. Even during the day, on the beach at Bocagrande, camouflage mingled with bikinis and dark natives carrying a selection of fruit for sale on their heads. Occasionally, an olive-green helicopter cast its shadow across the sand; several gun-totting soldiers clearly visible by the open doors.

It was so sad to see such a delightful town geared up to please the foreign tourist, waiting patiently for them. From November to March it hardly rains, and at night the Caribbean rhythm could not fail to move the wallflowers. A friendly local is always at hand to give encouragement, another Coco Loco (rum in fresh coconut) gets to work on those stiffer parts, then the salsa starts to swing the hips.

The palm trees on the beach and the coconut cocktails put many of it's rivals in the shade; Cartagena is cheaper than most Caribbean islands and it's safer than Bahia (in Brazil). The Presidents of Peru and Bolivia certainly knew how to enjoy colonial Cartagena, and are probably trying to arrange another veteran's conference; so strong is the desire to return to Colombia's Caribbean Coast.

As For Me:

I hope to be in Cartagena again on 11th November, 2011 -- to see the bi-centennial celebrations.

Don't Say: It's sure to go
off like a bomba.

(For a more touristic perspective, read Dantes' opinion on Cartagena).

TRAVELNOTES.ORG

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