“Call me when you arrive, and I’ll come pick you up with the
horses”-
Santiago
What expectations we had for La Fruta! The video of the beautiful, artistic couple
forming their sustainable community in the jungle of Colombia, and somehow we
were welcome to join! We took a bus from
Bogotá to Santa Marta, a 20-hour journey through winding mountain roads on a
bus that alternated from heat rivaling the Sahara to aircon so intense that we
could almost see our breath. We arrived
at the Santa Marta transport depot at about 9 in the morning, exhausted and
disoriented. The Spanish in the north is
faster and less enunciated, and the humidity is stifling at times (especially
when stepping off of an arctic-chilled bus).
We called Santiago, and he gave us instructions to take a taxi to the
market, then get on a bus to Quebrada Valencia.
We lugged our stuff to the taxi, which dropped us at the bus.
The bus ride was squeezed – a typical minibus ride filled
with the scents, sights, sounds and sweat of Colombia. The bus meandered along the Caribbean coast
up and down mountain roads filled with small farming communities and the
occasional tourist traps. We passed
Tayrona national park, and even caught a few glimpses of the pristine,
tranquil, utterly blue Caribbean Ocean.
After about an hour, the bus conductor told us that this was our stop,
and we got out with our things at an intersection containing one small roadside
store (nothing else). We had a cold
drink and waited for Santiago.
He arrived after about 2 hours, his eyes burning with
intensity as he introduced himself. He
stands about 5’9”, with short black hair and a trimmed Colombian mustache. He has the wiry, thin-muscled body of a man
who works the land. He arrived with an
indigenous man, dressed in robes of all white and carrying a satchel of weaved
cloth. His name is Gabriel, and he was
very quiet throughout our exchange.
After some minutes and casual conversation switching between English and
Spanish, we headed off. We loaded our
bags onto the mule, and Santiago mounted the horse. As we walked, we chatted about the community,
and were told by Santiago that about 12 people were living there. We were filled with nervous anticipation with
what we would find, furthered by Santiago’s hesitant attitude towards us.
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| The waterfall -our bath- in Quebrada Valencia |
The walk to La Fruta is incredibly beautiful. The path meanders through coconut groves and
past small stands of wood and thatch, where locals sell food to visitors. The path is well maintained and relatively
cool despite the humidity, as it is protected from the sun by the canopy about
50 feet above, formed by the dense forest on both sides. The path crosses a creek three times (The
creek is called Quebrada Valencia, which is how the place gets its name). After the third crossing, a thirty-minute
ascent up a steep, water-gutted, switchback path awaits.
When we arrived at La Fruta, we were totally exhausted. After more than 24 hours travel we had made
it – sweaty, tired, thirsty, and very hungry.
We found a house situated on a flat piece of earth barely big enough to
hold the foundation. On both sides the
sound of babbling brooks could be heard, and fruit trees (coconuts, papayas,
oranges, pomelos, lemons, limes) abound the steep slopes. We found a fire circle adjacent to the house,
covered with sheet metal roofing and surrounded by three hammocks. Here, we met Yerit – a shy, handsome
Colombian with dark hair and a friendly countenance furthered by the deep
intensity reflected in his black eyes.
We also met Bernie, a friendly, light-hearted Catalonian with a
sarcastic wit and quick tongue. We
socialized here, happy to have made it, and waited for the rest of the
community to return. Claire thought to
herself , “all of the women and the others must be out working in the fields,
or in the main house. Maybe after they
return from working to start cooking dinner we will all head together to the
main house.”
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| The kitchen and common area where we spend most of our down-time. |
After some hours, the sun descended brilliantly, scattering
traces of its light across the forest, as the atmosphere distorted the rays
into hues of pink and orange tracing the sky.
We watched in awe, enjoying the scenery and the conversation, but still
filled with anticipation about the ‘rest of the community’. When darkness came, we (I, more specifically)
began to get really hungry. Claire’s
eagerness to meet the rest and fit in also became stronger. She asked Bernie where the others were, and
he let us know that this was it. There
was no other house. There were no other
people. The 3 of them were the
community…
From here the story took many twists and turns, and we are
still trying to piece it together. Santiago has treated us with the utmost kindness
and respect, offering us his home, and being a tranquil and genuine soul. It was hard
to know what to do at first, and we had to figure out a lot of things
for ourselves.
What we did discover is that Santiago is a musician, who has
traveled the world sharing bits of his soul through his guitar with skilled
fingers and a wonderful voice. He came
back to La Fruta three years prior, and had been living there ever since. His mother – Maria Theresa Hincapie – was a
famous artist in Colombia who had brought performance art to the country. She was a renowned feminist and is world
famous for her performance pieces. She
bought La Fruta as a place to escape and rejuvenate for her art, and she often
spent weeks or months in isolation there.
She passed away a few years prior, but the place is still
hers in many ways. There is a sacred
feel to La Fruta: it is impossible to ignore it. But the sacred energy has a heaviness that
weighs on those within its grasp.
The days passed quickly and slowly, with the dichotomy of
time that comes from the repetitive and somewhat hypnotic rhythm of life in the
countryside. We came to work, but while
Santiago let us know that there was much work to be done, it never seemed that
he had a particular project in mind – just that there was a lot of work to
do. We cleaned the whole house, and
Claire set about offering a woman’s touch to the place – on which the dust of
masculinity had settled thickly. I
scrambled about doing any work I could find – cutting firewood, helping Bernie
with his carpentry projects, mixing cement for the construction of a pool to be
used for hydropower, washing dishes, and carrying rocks from the brook up the
hill to be used for creating terraces.
Claire helped with many of these projects as well, but we made plans to
leave relatively quickly – the heaviness was difficult, and the lack of focus
furthered our eagerness to find something more concrete.
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| Santiago's poporos in the sacred area for his mother |
Santiago is steeped in Kogi culture (one of the three
indigenous tribes of the Sierra Nevada mountains that has been able to retain
their culture through Spanish colonization and imperialism), and he has adopted
their practice of the Poporo (http://tairona.myzen.co.uk/index.php/culture/the_use_of_the_poporo/).
This involves masticating large amounts of coco leaves, which –according
to him- slowly expand and open your mind to the true meaning of the world.
Two other people of great importance arrived at La Fruta.
Felipe arrived first - a short, handsome, well-groomed “Negro” (not offensive
here) Colombian with a likeable countenance and smiling eyes. He had a way of laughing while speaking which
made him instantly likeable, although his rapid Spanish left most of the
meaning behind for Claire and myself.
Next came Christoph, a tall, easy-going Austrian with wise eyes set
behind thick glasses and a patch of curly dark hair atop his head. The seven of us made a community, and slowly
camaraderie began to form among the group.
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| Christoph, Bernie and us in the Sierra Nevada |
The waves of energy at La Fruta are massive. There were times when I felt that I needed to
leave right then, or at least the next day.
Claire felt it too – sometimes she would wake up in tears, ready to
leave. Other times, it felt like we
could stay forever, riding on the highs at the top of the wave, forgetting (as
we often do) the feeling that comes inevitably from crashing into the
trough. Still, we were finally fitting
in, swimming every day at a pristine waterfall, and slowly but surely becoming
attached to the family we were forming at La Fruta.
Later, as the story unfolded, it became clear why Santiago
often had a heavy presence. La Fruta is
at risk of being taken from him.
Paramilitaries threaten force if payment is not made to them, while the
military is pushing in from the roadside to confront the threat. Santiago is
caught in the middle, trying to establish his community in the midst of an
underground war and risking all of his work to the forces of political and
social unrest. Throughout the
challenges, Santiago relies on his Poporo, his interaction with the Mamo (A
Kogi spiritual leader), and the plethora of Coco leaves which fuel the intense
fire in his eyes.
We were finding our own roles at La Fruta, and in our own way we each love Santiago, and we love our friends there. We have been drawn in, despite ourselves.
And all the while, we are learning. Bernie has proven a very patient Spanish
teacher, and Claire and I are speaking mostly in Spanish, and improving
quickly. We are learning about the flora
and fauna of Santa Marta – called the heart of the world – and one of the most
biologically diverse areas on earth. We
have learned of the history of Colombia and Santa Marta more specifically, we
interact with indigenous peoples of the Kogi tribe, and we have had the
opportunity to interact with the many different social classes that passed
through La Fruta (Colombia is intensely stratified socially, and many working
class people, and farming class people, passed through to do jobs for
Santiago). I have learned how to wield a
machete, and quickly took to opening coconuts for experience and fun. I learned from Bernie many construction and
carpentry techniques. Together, Claire and I have remembered and relearned what
it is to live without electricity, cook over fire, and appreciate work for the
process rather than the result. Santiago
is a great teacher in this respect, reminding us to always find happiness in
any job and present in the moment. If
that job is carrying heavy stones from the creek up a mountain to be used for
traditional terrace farming, we feel the cool water from whence we pick the
rock, we feel the cool slate in our hands, we feel the insects biting us, and
we feel our muscles straining under the weight of the stone as we make our way
up the hill. We are not dreaming of the
next cold beer or adventure. We are present. Here. Now.
Claire took to teaching yoga to the ‘community’– trying to
recover a bit of the culture that had once existed at La Fruta. We wake most mornings to sun salutations, and
Claire has really shined through her teaching.
For myself, I wake every morning and meditate with the peaceful backdrop
of chirping birds and howling monkeys.
We’ve settled into the place.
Despite talking about leaving many times, we have now been
at La Fruta more than 4 weeks, and we plan to stay through the New Year. I want to help complete the pool for the
hydropower, as well as help cultivate some vegetables. Claire hopes to continue lifting the place
with her energy, and to further improve her Spanish. We both expect to deepen our friendships with
the wonderful Colombians who have wholeheartedly accepted two clumsy,
culturally unaware Americans into their home.
While things here are politically charged, and violence
occurs daily in the country, the wonderful, welcoming people of Colombia are
trapped in between. And, despite the
fact that much of the violence in this country is driven by the consumption of
elicit substances in ours, we have been welcomed nonetheless – not as
Americans, tourists, or foreigners – but as people with the common goal of
spreading happiness and learning more socially and ecologically cohesive ways
of living.
Here's a song Yerit and Santiago sing for us. They wrote it about the beauty of La Fruta:
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