Presentation on theme: "SeqUEstEred in San Agustin HOTEL ANACOANA, SAN AGUSTIN, COLOMBIA NEW YEAR, 2005/2006."— Presentation transcript:
seqUEstEred in San Agustin HOTEL ANACOANA, SAN AGUSTIN, COLOMBIA NEW YEAR, 2005/2006
We had braved a grueling ten-hour bus ride from bogota along a highway heavily patrolled by national guardsmen. We had traversed the length of the cordillera to its source and had been generously rewarded with mountain scenery to die for.
Arriving in san agustin, I appear to be the only gringo In the pueblo, and immediately a tourist guide pounces puma-like, stripping us of and shouldering our packs And leading us from finca to finca in pursuit of secluded accommodations.
After an exchange with a local proprietor, our guide, our gear, and our weary bodies are loaded into the back of a jeep heading uphill to a hacienda on the outskirts of town.
A simple barbed wire fence marks the entrance to the hotel anacoana, and I think of her, the captive haitian queen, as I stare out at the naked indians draped with spanish beard.
Tethered by one foot, a female pavo real pecks at some food and clucks contentedly in her edenic garden prison, while her peacock mate struts and marches about the hotel grounds, free and unfettered.
We take a loft above the kitchen and snuggle in a hammock on the balcony as the rain comes down, un ojo siempre abierto. Above, the dark brown rafters form prison bars against the pale white plaster overhang.
Hector, a crazy-eyed parrot with clipped wings, taKes shelter with us, squawking and raucously complaining and trying not to get ensnared in the fabric as he gnaws his way up and down the cotton netting with his beak and talons.
We spend our days riding horses and jostling about in jeeps to waterfalls and sacred sites.
Stone-faced creatures with feline fangs and eyes wide with secret illumination stand steadfast through the centuries guarding the tombs of long-dead kings.
our companions, “las tres mosqueteras”—three school teachers on holiday from medellin—make gallows-humor jokes about kidnappings, and pointing to my hat and glasses hail me as el Presidente, and warn me that I have been sequestered by a guerrilla girl.
But no king’s ransom, no room piled high with looted el dorado gold, could free this happy captive from your clutches. -- xavier de Luca