Greetings from Mykanos,
Happy new February!
Yes it has been a while. You have enjoyed Christmas, New Year and January without having a word from me, but I am afraid your soothing sojourn is over and it’s back to Letters as usual. Sorry about that.
The lead up to Christmas saw numerous dinners with friends, but it seemed well paced. Less stress this year. I can’t dazzle you with our Christmas lights as we had none at Mykanos. That is not to say we ignored the tradition. Adriano’s 86-year-old father, Don Narciso, is now living at Rancho Grande, and Horacio, his son David and the ladies that look after Narciso arranged a big display of lights, which much impressed and delighted him, not that it is hard to do that.
We did however observe several Christmas traditions particular to Colombia.
One was to make ‘natilla’, which is to Colombians what Christmas Pudding is to the Brits.
Maize kernels are boiled then ground to a paste, sieved multiple times, to which is added panela (unrefined cane sugar), cinnamon, grated coconut, raisins and whatever else the chef desires. It is then cooked on a wood-burning stove or open fire for several hours, being stirred constantly. It is definitely a labour of love. Traditionally the women make the natilla and the men stir it as it cooks, drinking copious quantities of beer or rum as they do.
We had no women present on the Friday we did it, so it was made and stirred by a bunch of guys, led by Adriano and Horacio, who consulted recipes and methods on his phone. I looked after the drinks. When cooked it is poured into containers, where it sets into a very pleasing pudding consistency. It only makes sense if you make a lot, which we did, but it never goes to waste as individual natillas are given to friends, family, workers, neighbours, visitors etc.
As it happens, Friday is also the day the accounts have to be sorted out for Saturday, which is payday for the workers, so as well as preparing the natilla, Horacio had son David working on the payroll, and divided his efforts between stirring the pot and stirring David.
Another Christmas observation was to attend Novenas at our neighbour’s house.
Novenas are nine short prayer services that run from the 16th to the 24th of December. They were created by a Franciscan monk from Quito, who preached in Ecuador and Colombia. He published his original version in 1743, and they have been adapted and added to ever since, and now include songs (Joys) and use more modern language. Each evening, families, friends, work colleagues, class mates, get together at someone’s house, office, classroom or club, listen to the texts, recite the rituals, pronounce the responses, sing the songs and then have a quick bite (usually natilla) before escaping and getting on with their lives.
We only attended one, on the evening of the 24th, at the invitation of Frances, who works for us looking after Don Narciso, and whose family look after the farm next to us. It was all done in front of the impressive Nativity scene the family had created. We took Narciso and he was word perfect in prayers and responses, which isn’t bad considering he can’t remember what year it is or how many children he has.
It just goes to show that a lifetime of religious repetition leaves an imprint.
We did things differently this year. Instead of one party for all the workers, we had a Galah (Gala) Dinner for those we rely on the most in the gallery here at Mykanos, and an afternoon tea with cakes for the rest at Rancho Grande.
All got anchettas (goodie boxes wrapped in cellophane filled with the sort of things they like).
Our birds continue to multiply relentlessly. Turkeys, chickens, geese and ducks are constantly laying and hatching eggs, and it is impossible to avoid a passing flock as they roam all over the gardens, and wander into the outside kitchen. They have even been known to come into the kitchen and eat Pispirispis’s Whiskas which does not impress her one bit.
There are two other things that are multiplying relentlessly at the moment.
One is Venezuelans, who are fleeing the disaster that Nicholas Maduro has made of the country and crossing the border into Colombia at the rate of around 34,000 per day. Apart from starving, queuing to buy anything only to find nothing to buy, and risking unnecessary death because of a complete lack of medicinal drugs, they are seeking a better life and better opportunities here.
According to Maduro it is all fake news, courtesy of Colombia and the US, and it is actually Colombians who are flocking to Venezuela to avail themselves of cheap drugs and food, which they then take back home to sell at a profit. That’s why the shelves are empty!
The other is an endless procession of heavy road transport passing our gate here at Mykanos. The main road between Medellin and the Pacific port of Buenaventura is closed for roadwork so all the freight for export or import is being carted via the narrow, sinuous, steeply ascending/descending road on which we live. Big semitrailers, which they call tractor-mulas here, crawl past laden with shipping containers from the far corners of the globe, punctuated with petroleum tankers, scrap metal movers, car transporters, huge haulers full of timber and trucks of every size that grind, groan and growl past day and night.
It’s been three weeks of it so far, and nobody knows when life will go back to normal … whatever normal means.
That’s part of the delight of living here. It’s never very normal.
However, right now, I could do with a bit less drama.
Love from him and me,
Barry
