Cali.
This picture of the hectic downtown area, and the one below, somehow define my impression of Cali.
The centre of the city is block after block of small shops selling cheaply mass produced plastic products at inflated prices. It’s like bricks and mortar Ebay. If you want to buy a plastic hat, a plastic phone case, a plastic shirt, a plastic bra, a plastic dildo or a plastic watch, downtown Cali is the place to go.
Seeing a cityscape like this is like seeing consumerism laid bare. The only difference between what you see in Cali, and what you see in an Australian shopping mall is the thin veil of gentrification wealthier consumers expect. People who shop in malls want to be able to pretend that the plastic junk they buy is worth what they pay for it, so a certain amount of glitzy set dressing is required to maintain the illusion.
The high-and-dry bronze turtles and the statue of the boy with an erection?
I’ve never seen a civic sculpture with an erection before, so that makes it notable straight away.
Once it was a fountain. Cali is in El Niño drought, so I guess there isn’t water for frivolous things like fountains.
It’s hard for me to imagine how ordinary people feed themselves here. The price of street food is double what it was in Pasto. Supermarket prices are similar to Australia, where wages are higher by orders of magnitude. Inflation is in a tight spiral.
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Jesus & Reggaeton.
On Wednesday night I met up with some other couch surfers who offered to show me the giant Jesus. It’s called ‘Christo Rey’ actually but basically it’s a giant concrete Jesus.
It’s always good to meet up with other travelers so I was glad to be invited.
Couch surfing is great like that. It has a social aspect to it. As well as being just a hospitality network you can find meet-ups and look for other travelers who are in the area you’re in.
Here’s our little excursion group.
I look stoned in this picture, but actually I was just laughing.
One Australian, two Colombians and two Belgians go up a mountain to see a giant Jesus…
On the way we listen to music and swap travel stories.
The music sounds a bit like a hip-hop boy-band produced by Ricky Martin.
“What’s this music?” I ask. “I keep hearing it everywhere.”
“Do you know reggaeton?”
“Who’s Reggaeton?” I ask, puzzled.
“Reggaeton is not a person, it is a type of Latin American music. It is like hip-hop mixed with reggae mixed with Salsa. Do you like it?”
“I’m getting used to it.”
“Reggaeton is very popular here in Colombia. It is from the poor neighbourhoods, and talks about sex and drugs a lot.”
“OK. Pretty much like hip-hop then?”
“Yes. But the lyrics are very disgusting. There is a lot of slang words with double meanings. Most of the songs are very insulting to women.”
We get to the top of the hill. The sun is setting and the giant Jesus looks very glamorous, bathed in golden light and staring moodily out across the valley.
We take a short walk around the brow of the hill, to see the lights of the city below us.
“It is not a good idea to go down into the valley on this side” my hosts tell me. “There are a lot of muggings down there. If you come up here you should take a car or a taxi.”
We take some more pictures of Jesus, and the city lights.
Jesus looks vaguely menacing.
“A few years ago Christo Rey was struck by lightning and part of his head was destroyed. But the city repaired him, so he is OK now.”
“That’s good. You don’t want a giant zombie Jesus terrorising your city.”
