Colombia 7

This has to be my most thorough experience ever in my life so far of total cultural immersion.  I see only Colombians here, no tourists, no other visitors.  There is that big fancy mall, called Casa Blanca, if I want to see something that seems to resemble Canada.  And it's all in Spanish.  I don't talk to many people here, outside of Alonso, my host, and just with random strangers that I meet along the way.  So, this is also a bit isolating, but part of a necessary tradeoff.  I've been on a couple of walks today, the second one with Alonso, mostly along the same route that I already described yesterday.

There are no chain stores anywhere, outside of local or Latin American.  This place has a decidedly small town feel, perhaps even a bit frozen in time in some ways.  This could easily be part of a setting from a Gabriel García Márquez novel, except the fashions are sixty years ahead and everyone carries a smartphone.   I tell you, Gentle Reader, that everyone in this country appears to be every bit as addicted to their little tech toys as the are in Canada.

I went out on my own for a couple of hours.  I thought of exploring some unknown streets in Madrid and ended up in yet one more of the ubiquitous bakery cafes that are to be found here.  Here is an image of one of the streets I was walking on:

https://www.google.com/maps/@4.7359123,-74.2554351,3a,75y,163.29h,100.18t/data=!3m6!1e1!3m4!1sjW1AHzryQiDQyQ4r1-c1UA!2e0!7i13312!8i6656!12b1?rapsrc=apiv3

This is a typically Colombian street in all it's unpretentious and hardscrabble glory


I eventually found my way to the central plaza.  The church was open so I went in.  There was a ceremony taking place near the front with people gathered round something with the priest.  As I drew closer I saw that it was a funeral gathering, so I left out of respect, and went to sit on a bench in the plaza.

 (right now, Gentle Reader we will pause for an annoyance break  as one of the many annoying mobile commercial messages drives its way down the road and out of earshot. 
This is a frequent public annoyance that appears to be quite tolerated in Latin American countries)

It's gone now and things are quiet again, or as quiet as they get around here, we are in Colombia, you know.

So, as I was saying, I was seated on a bench just across from the church, and there was another fellow on a bench with a friend, and he was playing a recorder.  He played very well and was dancing around in the square while playing. just as the funeral procession was making its way towards the door of the church.  Just then, two of the pigeons in the square were copulating.  It was a very surreal kind of setting, the funeral procession exiting the church to load the coffin in the hearse waiting outside.  A man playing the recorder while giddily dancing around, and two pigeons mating.  Another (presumably male) pigeon tried his luck, but she had already had her fill and wasn't about to put out again.  The coffin, containing the earthly remains of some random beloved dead Colombian, was loaded like cargo into the hearse which drove away so quickly that no one would have known it had ever been parked there.  The flautist with the recorder paused as a few random strangers applauded his performance and we ended up having a conversation.  His name is Alejandro.  He insisted that I pause so he could play me a couple more of his compositions, one of which is titled "El Policía es la Mierda", or, The Police Are Shit."  But the music was far lovelier than it's sardonic title and one series of notes seemed to be saying "No te preocupes, no te preocupes, no te preocupes..." which means, do not worry, do not worry, do not worry...  He was a very warm, charismatic and kind sort of man, and gave me a big hug before I left, to return to my home in Colombia.