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logo

  • HOME
  • ABOUT
  • THE FAMILY ALBUM
  • ONCE UPON A TIME IN ROMANIA
    • ▸Bucharest, 1989: The days of Revolution
    • ▸I’ve also lived under communism
    • ▸Portraits of transition
    • ▸”Cabernet cu pepsi”
    • ▸Romania, 1990: Beyond the headlines
    • ▸“Mineriada” – My story
    • ▸Memorial of pain
  • WORK IN PROGRESS
    • ▸Barbershop
    • ▸Melancholic Identities
    • ▸Alone, together
    • ▸Faces
    • ▸Fragmentary world
    • ▸Two
    • ▸Buddhist monks
    • ▸About windows and walls
  • STORIES
    • ▸Life and death in Varanasi
    • ▸Trans-Siberian – An experience of becoming
    • ▸Boxing in Havana
    • ▸Medellin – Moving out of Escobar shadow
    • ▸One night at Htee Thein monastery
    • ▸Easter in Sicily – I misteri
    • ▸Easter in Sicily – La pasquetta
    • ▸Stalin’s Museum in Gori
    • ▸Havana – magic and decay
    • ▸Muay-thai family, for a day
    • ▸Cuban billboards
    • ▸Seeking a geisha
    • ▸Bazar – Barakholka – Vernisazh
    • ▸Belfast’s murals: Behind and beyond
    • ▸Riding the Yangon’s ring train
    • ▸An unexpected trip to Dhobi Ghat
    • ▸A different way to look at death
    • ▸Cannes under siege
    • ▸Inside the Guru’s kitchen
    • ▸Tibetan refugees
    • ▸The Golden Triangle – A mecca of tribal diversity
    • ▸Bullfighting – barbaric or art ?
    • ▸Crafts and traditions in Morroco
    • ▸Mediterraneo
    • ▸“Glastonbury with God”
  • TRAVEL
    • Cuba
      • ▸The show must go on (part 1)
      • ▸The show must go on (part 2)
      • ▸The show must go on (part 3)
      • ▸The show must go on (part 4)
    • France
      • ▸Paris
      • ▸Paris. Again
    • Greece
      • ▸Mount Athos
      • ▸Postcards from Santorini
      • ▸Athens
      • ▸Mykonos – The picture-perfect Island
    • Germany
      • ▸Berlin
    • Vietnam
      • ▸Four days in Hanoi
      • ▸Cruising through the misty Halong Bay
    • India
      • ▸Portraits of Kashmir
      • ▸Rishikesh – Spiritual marketplace
      • ▸Life on the Sidewalk
    • Ireland
      • ▸The capital of pubs
      • ▸Ireland in ten days
    • Israel
      • ▸Israel in black & white
    • Colombia
      • ▸Colombia
      • ▸Paisas, coffee and much more
      • ▸Streets of Bogota – From Dystopia to Hope
      • ▸Life along the magical Magdalena River
      • ▸A non-touristy guide to Cartagena’s Caribbean paradise
    • Myanmar
      • ▸Min-ga-la-ba Myanmar
      • ▸Up and down on the hills of Shan State
    • Japan
      • ▸Tokyo
      • ▸Springtime in Kyoto
    • Portugal
      • ▸Life at the edge of Europe
    • Russian Federation
      • ▸The unexpected Moscow
      • ▸White Nights in St. Petersburg
    • Italy
      • ▸Rome
      • ▸Random Sicily
      • ▸“Vedi Napoli e poi mori”
      • ▸Venice
      • ▸Vanishing Venice
    • Morocco
      • ▸Tea in the Sahara
      • ▸Medinas – The hearth Moroccan cities
      • ▸Morocco outskirts
      • ▸Djemaa El Fna encounters
      • ▸ Surf and hippies
      • ▸The road to One thousand kasbahs
      • ▸Amazigh – Berber – Free men
    • Georgia
      • ▸Postcards from Georgia
      • ▸The Many Faces of Tbilisi
    • Nepal
      • ▸Kathmandu Valley
    • Romania
      • ▸Romania to go
      • ▸Maramures
      • ▸”Tara Motilor”
    • Jordan
      • ▸Bedouin Trails
    • Turkey
      • ▸From Turkey with love
      • ▸Ballooning Cappadocia
      • ▸Where East meets West
      • ▸Street life, Istanbul-style
    • Mexico
      • ▸Finding Mexico City
    • Malaysia
      • ▸Transit KL
    • UK
      • ▸London
      • ▸Grab your kilt and bring your pipes
    • Sweden
      • ▸Stockholm
    • Spain
      • ▸Off-season Andalusia
    • Thailand
      • ▸Bangkok, Year 2555
      • ▸Life in Pai
      • ▸Thailand
    • Laos
      • ▸Luang Prabang – The City of ultimate Zen
    • Poland
      • ▸Why I love Poland
    • Estonia, Latvia & Lithuania
      • ▸The Baltic States – Neighbors, but not relatives
      • ▸Patarei – A little slice of Hell
    • Findland
      • ▸A sunny day in Helsinki
    • Denmark
      • ▸Copenhagen
  • SINGLES
  • CONTACT
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Life along the magical Magdalena River

 

Baked under the hot sun, a timeless languor hangs over Mompox.

“Mompox does not exist, sometimes we dream about it, but it does not exist,” told Simón Bolívar when he arrived there on his last trip, according to Gabriel García Márquez in his book: El general en su laberinto. That made me becomes obsessed by the idea of visiting this magic half-forgotten town, in the middle of the former great waterway of the Rio Magdalena.

Founded by Spanish settlers in 1540, Mompox was once among the richest places in colonial Colombia, a hub for merchants moving tobacco, slaves and emeralds from the Andes to the Caribbean coast. Unfortunately, the river which was its connection to the rest of Colombia silted up making it harder for ships to get here. The town’s glory gradually declined and people forgot about Mompox.

The brown and greenish river moves slowly beyond the past of the town and its white painted colonial buildings. But this is not the only thing that moves slowly. Life itself seems to be moving with a same slow pace.

Mompox is tiny. Everybody knows everybody. People love their drink and their music. In the middle of the day, the streets are virtually deserted in the old town. It’s too hot and the locals take refuge in their colonial homes or on a rocking chair to enjoy nap time. In the evenings, the streets are crowded again and the children and families fill the little squares coming to enjoy the sunset and the freshness of the evening.

If mystery is part to beauty, this certainly holds true for Mompox. I hope that no matter how many planes and cars will come and will make this place more and more famous, the air of mystery will not be lost and people will continue to see Mompox as a place to search for the past. And that the river will still flow for me.

 

 

 

 

 

Life along the magical Magdalena River

 

Baked under the hot sun, a timeless languor hangs over Mompox.

“Mompox does not exist, sometimes we dream about it, but it does not exist,” told Simón Bolívar when he arrived there on his last trip, according to Gabriel García Márquez in his book: El general en su laberinto. That made me becomes obsessed by the idea of visiting this magic half-forgotten town, in the middle of the former great waterway of the Rio Magdalena.

Founded by Spanish settlers in 1540, Mompox was once among the richest places in colonial Colombia, a hub for merchants moving tobacco, slaves and emeralds from the Andes to the Caribbean coast. Unfortunately, the river which was its connection to the rest of Colombia silted up making it harder for ships to get here. The town’s glory gradually declined and people forgot about Mompox.

The brown and greenish river moves slowly beyond the past of the town and its white painted colonial buildings. But this is not the only thing that moves slowly. Life itself seems to be moving with a same slow pace.

Mompox is tiny. Everybody knows everybody. People love their drink and their music. In the middle of the day, the streets are virtually deserted in the old town. It’s too hot and the locals take refuge in their colonial homes or on a rocking chair to enjoy nap time. In the evenings, the streets are crowded again and the children and families fill the little squares coming to enjoy the sunset and the freshness of the evening.

If mystery is part to beauty, this certainly holds true for Mompox. I hope that no matter how many planes and cars will come and will make this place more and more famous, the air of mystery will not be lost and people will continue to see Mompox as a place to search for the past. And that the river will still flow for me.

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