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.
