Just finished a crazy tasting of top Canadian microbrews. Top ones, http://t.co/WNT2JZjO, http://t.co/mgSu7ADf, http://t.co/yiK7BC2H
| 03 June 2010
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| Heart of Hormiga |
| General Observations... |
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(with apologies to Joseph Conrad)
Ah, the dolce vita of the gastro-journo. Far-flung ports of call. Exotic delicacies. Rare and copious libations. But it’s not all cake and ice cream. Sometimes these “tours of duty” can be downright harrowing.Case in point: a while back we sent our intrepid Contributing Editor south to check out the Colombia Provoca food expo. Though we aren’t sadists per se at Tidings, we thought it would be fun to send a diabetic (who’d be toting vials and syringes) to a country that’s just a titch uppity when it comes to “medication” and surround him with food that would probably be way far off his diet plan. Upon his return he went AWOL, refusing to discuss the junket. Pointed questions only resulted in him crumbling to the ground, twitching and whimpering, “la hormiga, la hormiga!”
Recently we found his travel notes going for a song on eBay. His (at times incoherent) dispatches reveal a twisted journey into a personal and professional heart of darkness. Though thoroughly edited for content (and modified from the original to fit this screen), sensitive readers are forewarned …Editor
August 23, InterContinental Medellin, 10:25 pm
Medellin, [expletive], I’m still only in Medellin. But I’ve finally stopped moving.
The landing in Colombia through a ferocious electrical storm was unnerving. The drive to the hotel perhaps even more so. I was picked up at the airport by “Susi” and “Vero.” Not entirely sure who they are. Was supposed to be greeted by Colombia Provoca people wearing purple shirts, but instead got more or less kidnapped by this slightly crazy duo who took me on a terrifying, white-knuckle race along narrow, rain-soaked mountainous roads to the hotel; a trip that made a ride on Space Mountain seem positively soporific.
August 24, 12:30 pm, Mezeler restaurant, downtown Medellin
The family that owns the classy Mezeler hails from Oakville, Ontario, about a 15-minute drive from my Toronto nest. A small world indeed — but as comedian Steven Wright would say, “I wouldn’t want to paint it.” After an excellent lunch and great espresso (no surprise), I was introduced to aguardiente. Not to be confused with the Portuguese brandy of the same name, Colombia’s national drink is a sort of anise-flavoured turpentine similar to ouzo but a tad less sweet and viscous. Colombians drink it liberally, which could explain the driving thing.
3:00 pm, with S and V in the S-you-V
Driving in Colombia is insane. It comes in two flavours, “stop” and “careen.” “Stop” is the typical speed in downtown traffic when you pray to go much faster. “Careen” occurs on narrow, wet, twisty mountain roads where you just [expletive] pray. How people are not killed every minute in some vehicular maelstrom escapes me. Driving, riding, walking, standing still — all potentially suicidal activities in the downtown core.
Getting to where you are going can apparently also be a challenge, even to seasoned “tour guides” like Susi and Vero. We’ve been driving in a circle for about an hour and a half — and have gone the total of (give or take) two kilometres at the speed of a snail on Quaaludes. “Don’t you guys, like, live here?” I ask as we circle the same block a third time. “Yeah, but they change the roads everyday,” Susi complains. Vero is leaning out the passenger window trying to get directions from a city bus driver. Without much luck. After a minute of arm waving and rapid-fire Spanish she hauls it back inside. “He’s so stoned,” she reports dejectedly, “we get nothing out of him.” Sweet.
5:25 pm, Botanical Gardens, Medellin
Finally at the Provoca grounds. Beautiful location with exotic flora, dark, sexy people and plenty of foodie things. And pisco. Pisco, along with aguardiente and cachaça, demarcates the South American spirits triumvirate. I used up many of my “food tickets” on pisco. And cigars. Some food I think. Some spicy sauces and interesting vinegars and other stuff like … [remainder hard to decipher].
Late, Inter-hotel whatever
Mangled to batch a hus [unintelligible] back to the bed place … key somewhere … never drink aguardiente again, I swear … and I’ll never, ever even think about trying … [remainder of paragraph unintelligible].