Monumento de Pascua: An artfully created installation in a church featuring Christ during Easter week.
Easter week becomes rainy and we hole up as the city becomes silent. Unlike most middle class people we do not go out of town. Instead we try to do the few cultural activities available during the holy week. We go to MAMBO, Museum of Modern Art of Bogotá, to see a couple of films. We see Babel and The Queen back to back. I catch up on my Oscar nominated films three months later than usual, both films for the easy on the wallet price of three dollars each. On holy Friday after seeing The Queen, Doris, her daughter Cata and I walk down the carrera septima that has been closed for pedestrian traffic as families walk from one church to another.
On holy Friday the streets reflect the somber tone of the holiday. We enter Iglesia Las Nieves that has always been closed when I have passed by. It has four policemen outside controlling the crowds. The rain soaked carpet at the entrance shows the signs of the wear and tear people have put on it. The inside is divided forcing people to stand in a line to go by El Monumento. The barriers are so well put together that those that attempt to jump the line fail. Doris asks me to say three Our Fathers and ask for a wish. “You’ll be surprised how quickly it will come to you.”
I zone out watching the crowd. The crowd ebbs and flows towards the altar, each person concentrating on their own prayer. Ignoring their neighbors in line they take out their rosary beads, bibles or prayer books. Teenage boys seem to be the most overwhelmed by the intensity of the crowd and yet they perform the same rituals as their mother’s and father’s. I forgot to say the prayer as I try to take in the religious intensity. Doris asks me if I am finished with my prayer. Then she tells me not to say what I wish for, I guess it is like blowing out the candles on your birthday cake, your wish won’t come true if you say it out loud.
We walk out of the church and down further passing by the Celia Cruz impersonator who has a crowd around her. She belts out “La negra tiene tumbao”, Celia’s last big hit, as her cheap blond wig keeps her warm in the drizzle. We bump into families who hold hands five or six at time. They take up half the street walking like this, and we play avoid-stepping-on-people’s feet. Street vendors are few during this holy time, but all the panaderias, cafeterias, and heladerias along seventh avenue are full. We go into Palermo, an old-school teahouse. In the front of this cafeteria their fresh pasta’s and bread’s are the first thing to great you. The dark wood panels make you feel miles away from the hustle and bustle of the street. The uniformed waitresses show us to the dessert case where we each choose a pastry. It feels like we are suddenly back in time to the 1960’s. We talk in hushed tones reflecting the quiet of the place.
Later that night Doris convinces me to go to the procession at the El Senor de los Milagros, which is our local church. Famous for it miraculous Christ it is a popular church in Bogotá. We arrive a bit late and the church is completely full. Doris in her stubbornness manages to find us a spot right in front of the altar. As time passes, people quickly surround us. Thinking we were going to be outside for the seven o’clock procession I am overdressed and start to sweat. The humidity in the air, the incense, the prayers overwhelm me. As the service begins of la siete palabras, I start to feel woozy. The priest intones them as he reminds us all that this sermon is being transmitted live over the Minuto de Dios, the catholic radio station. In between the psalms he reminds listeners that they are a part of a worldwide broadcast, also available on the Internet through the Real Network. This makes me giggle and I fail to keep my giggles to a minimum as I look over and see Cata falling asleep.
The time comes to bring the Christ on the cross that was the centerpiece of El Monumento down. As the priest intones the gospels about Christ’s experience on that first holy Friday, a puff of smoke and the sound of thunder punctuate his words. Slowly and carefully the lifelike plastic Christ is brought down. It requires three priests, two ladders, and a purple chiffon cloth. The purple cloth is used to make the removal of the Christ dignified and avoid any unintentional slapstick. Another priest at the base of the arrangement takes pictures with his digital camera. Some parishioners follow suit and take out their cell phones to capture the moment. Considering the difficulty of the situation it is all perfectly choreographed and quite beautiful. As the Christ is finally lowered in to the sleeping beauty glass coffin awaiting him, the head priest asks us all to let it pass through on its way out to the street. All those who had been sitting in the pews rise as the six priests carry him out. Their robes crushed underneath the heavy glass coffin the smell of the incense waft behind them.
When the parishioners gather outside the head priest on his megaphone asks us all to pray a Hail Mary. The crowd’s voices take over the avenue as we walk behind the coffin. When he reminds us that this prayer is for all the mothers who like Mary have lost their sons and daughters to La Violencia (the ongoing Colombian civil war), the drug business, and kidnappings, it is the first time this particular prayer made sense to me. He reminds us that the pain these women are suffering today due to all of Colombia’s problems is not unlike Mary’s suffering upon seeing her son being taken down off the cross. As we walk the streets the Hail Mary is replaced by Our Father’s, an this image of the suffering of Colombia is stuck with me. How many people tonight won’t go home to find their love one missing to either La Violencia, or the Drug War? Specially, since in the last ten years these two separate conflicts have become intertwined. It makes that two thousand year old story of one man’s violent and unjust death more real to me than ever. If I have ever had a Catholic moment this is it. As it starts to drizzle we leave the procession. In a somber mood the three of us walk quietly to return home. The rain starts in earnest just as we reach the building, and I think about the procession as it continues in the rain.
The next day, it is suddenly sunny and bright. The sky is a deep blue and the white clouds shine against it. Gone is the drizzly and grey weather. We decide to go to the ExpoArtesanias, located in one of the many large parks that make up el parque Simon Bolivar. Now as I mentioned before I am a big fan of Colombian crafts, and ExpoArtesanias is the governmental arm that tries to promote and continue the crafts business. It does an excellent job of innovating and rescuing techniques. They just opened a complex that will serve as a permanent space for their conferences and tradeshows. It is large with seven buildings for booths, a cafeteria, a conference building with office space and a large parking lot. It is located near the children’s museum and the botanical gardens. Making it a spot that is easy to reach, in an area designed for affordable recreation.
Every year they have a large conference and tradeshow in December. It is my favorite tradeshow in the world. You see people from all over Colombia, shivering in the December chill. Colombian music in all its forms are performed live and you see the true diversity of the country. Not the bleach blond, plastic surgery Colombia you see in soap operas.
Not thinking, I arrive sans cash. Not smart, since I quickly become enamored of some of the crafts. Wood work, jewelry, handmade textiles, and of course foods. We quickly realize that this is a fair for handcrafts from the coffee-growing region. Below is a list of some of my favorite artisans who duly impressed me. Their quality, innovation and design sense was extraordinary.
www.salamandracreativa.com- Accesories
plateataller@yahoo.com-Silver hand made jelwery
azuatelar@hotmail.com- Hand loomed scarfs and belts
It was in the food pavilion where we all went a bit wild. With samples galore, and enough cash to splurge we tried a bit of everything. Coffee wine, sweets, chutney’s, hand made ice creams, chips made from different tubers, chocolate covered coffee beans and huge ping-pong sized grapes. My favor stands are the chicharron dietetico with 50% less fat, right next door to the chicharron vegetariano made with soy. The vegetarian pork rind is super delicious and stands head to head with its’ non-vegetarian neighbor.
Across the aisle is the coca products guy. He carries the full gamut of products: coca wine, tea, cola, coca cookies, cream and last but not least marijuana lotion. The lotion is for the aches and pains of arthritis. Now for the uninitiated I am talking coca as in coca leaf. Allowed by law 30 of 1986 and Law 67 of 1993, indigenous tribes are allowed to cultivate and promote the safe use of what they consider to be a sacred plant. The difference between a coca leaf and cocaine is like difference between Paris Hilton and me. We are both women and any semblance ends there. Coca tea is no more “stimulating” than green tea. The sales guy proceeds to tell us the benefit of each of his products, heck it seems that coca leaf will cure anything. By rote memory he starts to go over the benefits of his products. He says it without stopping as if he will forget something if he does not spit it out. So obviously coca does not help if you have memory issues. His voice carries as he repeats: stress, over exertion, depression, menstrual issues, prostate issues, inflammation, pain, incontinency, and a host of intestinal track problems. He seems to want us to have that list of symptoms, so to avoid it all we wisely buy his coca mint tea. Which is not only delicious but slightly relaxing, just the opposite of what you’d expect.
The arepa de choclo stand beckons. They grill up nice and golden as the cheese oozes out making a lovely sizzle sound. After finding out that each arepa will be $3,000 pesos we decide against it. That is officially the most expensive arepa I have ever salivated over. Thanks to bio fuel we can expect these sorts of prices for all of our corn products. I know that a cleaner planet requires sacrifice but this one really hurts.
The next booth has empanadas with reasonable prices and yummy salsa. We each eat three each. After leaving the food pavilion my father decides it is lunchtime. To quote my grandfather it is not a meal unless there is rice and you are sitting down. My father has taken his father’s axiom to heart. He still eats a hamburger with a knife and fork and prefers a formal meal to a sandwich any day.
The food court has all the different regions and their respective cuisines represented: Carne a la llanera, comida costeña, comida valluna, and ajiaco galore. I opt for a fruit salad considering I just ate half of all the samples available and three empanadas. My father orders in the costeño food stand. No surprise since he still misses the food he grew up eating. Twenty-five years out of the country and ten in Bogotá is not going to change his appetite for a good mote de queso. The food court is packed and finding seats is practically impossible. People jockey for the tables and we end up sitting in different tables, as it starts to drizzle.
After consuming all the fried and salty goodness the food court offers we all fall in to a food coma. So we return home to practice the most clichéd of all Latin traditions, la siesta. With that afternoon nap we end our Easter week.
