by Austin Galt
Also, a new justice system, ‘Justicia sin rostro’ or ‘Justice without face’, was being tested at the time of the trial, whereby judges hid their faces perhaps leading to a more merciless form of justice. The band members pleaded their cases and, while it was unlikely that all 15 members of the group were in on it, they all went jail.
Grupo Bananas was not the only famous Colombian band to be caught up in a drug scandal in 1995. That same year Jairo Varela, the leader of Cali’s famous salsa group, Grupo Niche, was arrested and charged for illicit enrichment and money laundering after police investigated his ties to the Cali Cartel. He was released a year later after he was able to prove the allegations had no merit.
The evidence against Varela was flimsy. His daughter’s boyfriend was one of Pacho Herrera’s closest confidantes. Varela also owned a nightclub, Disco Show Room, and included on the guest list of its opening night were several members of the Rodríguez Orejuela family. Also, Varela had received a cheque from Miguel Rodríguez Orejuela which was for a show put on at a house owned by the Cali Cartel leader. He lost a year of his life over these connections.
Despite any shortcomings of its musicians, the music itself – vallenato, cumbia or champeta – remained quintessentially Colombian. The folk music playing over the loudspeakers was part of the magic that created a unique atmosphere as I kicked back and enjoyed a beer, watching the sun set on the Caribbean coast.
*
Next to Taganga is Parque Tayrona, known officially as Tayrona National Natural Park. It is possible to catch a boat from Taganga or get a bus from the Santa Marta market. I chose the latter and it takes about half an hour to arrive at the entrance. After paying the fee to enter the park, a minibus takes visitors as far as the road goes. From there it is a long walk via a dirt track or it is possible to ride a horse for a fee. I walked.
After nearly an hour of traipsing through the jungle, I arrived at the beach of Arrecifes. The sight that lay before me was awe-inspiring – beautifully clean water lapped the white sand which was bordered by palm trees and set against a backdrop of savage and mountainous jungle. This was nature at its best. I had finally found a true paradise and I savoured the moment for as long as possible.
There were hammocks available to rent for the night but that, and the mosquitoes that come out at night, didn’t appeal. No, it was back to Taganga. I always slept well in Taganga. It was very peaceful at night with the silence only occasionally broken by the braying of a donkey – ‘Hee-haw’.
I spent a few more days in this little paradise soaking it all up but it was now time to begin my journey home to Australia. While my time in Colombia was nearly over, there was plenty of action still to come.
9
THE BIG BLUFF
My Colombian visa expired in two weeks which was enough time to get myself to the border with a few stops along the way. I was flying back to Bogotá as part of the round trip, and as I waited at the airport in Santa Marta I began to reminisce on the whole journey. Colombia had been the highlight of my travels. I hadn’t expected that. Actually, I hadn’t known what to expect. This last little trip to the coast had really topped things off nicely.
I returned to Bogotá for one night where I had a good night’s sleep in preparation for a long bus trip to Cali the next day. I arose early and refreshed and made my way to the bus terminal. I wasn’t looking forward to the trip. The return journey is never as exciting. However, this journey was about to become the bus trip from hell.
I had the very back seat next to the aisle. The window seat had yet to be taken and I watched as other passengers boarded wondering who would sit next to me. I had my fingers crossed that no one would. Then a dishevelled man entered the bus carrying a full bottle of whiskey. Horror swept over me. No! I prayed he was not destined for the window seat but my heart began to sink as he continued making his way towards the back, duly plonking himself down beside me. The bus left the station and I resigned myself to the fact that it was likely to be a very long trip. I just had to sit tight and get it over and done with.
Just outside the terminal, the bus stopped to let on some vendors of various products. I had noticed this was commonplace throughout South America. One vendor was selling belts with a secret compartment which looked to be for smuggling cocaine. The man beside me asked to take a look and, pleased with what he saw, he purchased one. He smiled at me showing off his new belt.
Feeling happy with himself, the man then proceeded to open his bottle of whiskey and pour some into a plastic cup. He offered me some but I politely declined. It was, after all, only 8.00 in the morning. As he began to drink more, he began to talk to me more. I wasn’t interested in engaging in a conversation with him and would only offer short responses. We still hadn’t arrived at the first stop of Ibagué. It really was going to be a long trip.
The bus was flying along when it hit something in the middle of the road. I have no idea what it was but the bus lurched on to its two left wheels. Passengers screamed. My heart skipped a beat. I thought we were going over. The bus driver managed to regain control and set down on all four wheels again before continuing to speed on. In the process, the man beside me had tipped the contents of his drink into my lap. My jeans were now soaked with whiskey. Just marvellous. Just fucking marvellous! We arrived in Ibagué shortly afterwards and I used the opportunity to clean myself up a bit. And, not to mention, enjoy some peace away from my travel companion.
During the next leg of the trip, he really started to get liquored up and talk even more. He began to tell me his life story, revealing how he had spent the last three years in jail in Amsterdam after being caught smuggling cocaine. He was now on his way to Cali – ‘el centro de operaciones’ as he termed it – to try again.
A few hours into the trip he got a little bag of marijuana out and stuffed it in my pocket.
‘No, gracias. No quiero.’ No, thanks. I don’t want it. I returned the bag to him.
If that wasn’t enough, about an hour further on he got out a little bag of cocaine and stuffed that in my pocket.
‘Para ti,’ he said. For you.
‘Gracias pero no quiero.’ Thanks but I don’t want it. I once again returned his gift.
He was really starting to bother me and I could tell others in the seats around were tiring of his continual chatter. They probably felt for me. I was stuck next to him.
We had finally traversed La Linea and were in the final stretch to Cali and this man had been talking virtually nonstop while his bottle of whiskey was nearing completion. Meanwhile, I was losing my mind. I was hoping I could make it another hour or so to Cali. But when I hit my limit, well, I hit my limit. That’s it.
During another of his boring tales, I had finally had enough and I turned to him and said, ‘Cállate. No me hablas más.’ Shut up. Don’t talk to me anymore.
It was done. Now I awaited his reaction.
He turned to me and said, ‘Tu puedes morir en cinco minutos en esta ciudad.’ You can die in five minutes in this city.
Boom! It hit me like a freight train. I knew what he said was true. I could die in five minutes in Cali. I was scared. I took a moment to compose myself. How should I respond to this? To do nothing would appear weak and I couldn’t let him dominate me.
The rest of the bus, or at least the back half, was also waiting to see how I responded. There was complete silence. Colombia has a macho culture and it is often about who has the biggest cojones. I planned out my response in my head first so that I got the Spanish correct. Then came the big bluff. I turned to him and with a voice just loud enough to give some other passengers close by some entertainment, I let it rip.
‘Por qué tu creas que estoy viajando a Cali en bus y no por avión? Para mantener un bajo perfil.’ Why do you think I’m travelling to Cali in a bus and not by plane? To keep a low profile.
I answered my own question.
‘Yo tengo contactos en todo el mundo incluyendo en Cali.’ I have contacts all over the world including in
Cali.
I could just about see the ears of the other passengers in front of me pricking up.
‘Si tu quieres estar exitoso en esta negocio, tu no puedes hablar tanto. Tienes que estar más discreto.’ If you want to be successful in this business, then you can’t talk so much. You have to be more discreet.
I was on a roll.
‘Entonces, no me amenanzas de nuevo.’ So, don’t threaten me again.
I was firm but friendly in that I was offering him advice. I had also reasoned that he was just a low-level punter as no serious narco would blurt out some of the stuff he was saying to a stranger. He seemed to take it in and for the next 10 minutes he remained silent. He had never gone so long without speaking the entire trip. He stopped drinking too.
I reckoned he was thinking about what I’d said as it made sense. And just what was a foreigner doing in Cali? It was totally plausible that I could be a narco. And a foreign narco could know some pretty big hitters – certainly bigger than this drunkard.
He eventually turned back to me and said, ‘Muchas disculpas, señor. Yo hablo demasiado cuando estoy tomando.’ Many apologies, sir. I talk too much when I am drinking. He then offered to shake my hand and questioned, ‘No hay problemas?’
‘No problemas,’ I replied, shaking his hand.
He was scared.
The bus arrived at the next stop a short time later and he rapidly disembarked without saying another word. Game over.
The mood in the bus improved immediately and passengers once again conversed among themselves. I had done everyone a favour. A girl sitting across the aisle smiled at me and we began a conversation. She had certainly heard me suggest that I was a narco. Perhaps that is why she smiled at me.
I asked my much more amenable travel companion if I could borrow her cell phone, to which she happily obliged. I had told Pedro I was returning to Cali and I called him to let him know I would be arriving shortly.
‘Pedro, it’s Austin.’
‘Hey, mate! What’s up?’ He seemed enthused about my call. He had also studied up on some Aussie lingo during my first stay in Cali and often called me mate. It sounded a bit funny without the proper Australian accent but I appreciated his effort. Sometimes he just used the Spanish word for mate, compae.
‘I’m on approach and should be at the bus terminal in about half an hour.’ That’s all that needed to be said.
‘Okay, no problem. I’ll pick you up.’
The good times were set to get rolling again!
The city skyline soon came into view. We were finally there. Yet another bus trip to Cali and another adrenalin rush to go with it.
Meeting up with Pedro this time was the next step in our friendship. He may have thought that when I first left Cali that would be the last time he saw me. By making the effort to get in contact with him again on my return trip, he gained more confidence in me. It was then that he suggested setting up a cocaine supply line to Australia.
‘We could start small if you want,’ he offered, without getting into the details of how it would all work.
This was serious stuff and, admittedly, it made me a little nervous. Perhaps even a little excited too, at the thought of joining the ranks of the big shots. My life was at a fork in the road in that very instant and I had to think quickly on which direction it would take. I decided to shut the conversation down then and there.
‘Nah, it’s too risky. Australian Customs is really strict.’ I made it look like it was more a case of the conditions not being right as opposed to me not being interested. And there was probably some truth in that.
I think Pedro sensed my apprehension, and he replied, ‘Okay, no problem.’
That was it. There was never any pressure and he never mentioned it again. Personally, I believe Pedro missed the thrill and excitement of the narco life. And in me, he now had a foreign connection he trusted – a prized asset in Colombia’s underworld.
I passed the next few days spending time with Sofia. This was also the next step with her and opened the door to our relationship becoming much more serious. Do I bring her to Australia with me? Do I return to Colombia for her? Is this just a holiday romance? It all stirred in my mind.
While dining out together one evening, the police entered the restaurant and announced everyone had to leave as a car bomb had been discovered in the next street. Everyone got up and calmly left. This was just part of ordinary life for Colombians who had become accustomed to these things. It was a first for me.
The movie Blow, about the Medellín Cartel’s American partner George Jung, was playing at the cinema so we attended a screening together. I thought that was an appropriate film to see while I was in Colombia. The movie tells the story of Jung, a convicted marijuana smuggler played by Johnny Depp, who was cell mates with Carlos Lehder. With Jung’s knowledge of smuggling and Lehder’s Colombian cocaine connections, they joined together once both were free from jail. They were instrumental in starting the cocaine boom in the United States.
The two partners went their own way after Lehder discovered Jung’s American connection and cut him out, however Jung continued to smuggle cocaine directly through Pablo Escobar. George Jung was arrested in 1994 and sentenced to 60 years prison, although he received a sentence reduction for testifying against his old partner and was subsequently released in 2014.
I had told Pedro about my big bluff on the bus. I think he was impressed with my chutzpah – I certainly was! We let the good times roll one last time down at a bar just across the road from the Intercontinental Hotel. Not long after arriving, a balding man with short, cropped hair at the back and sides and sporting a moustache walked in. I saw that he noticed us. I went to the bathroom and returned to find he had moved to our table and was chatting with Pedro.
‘Howdy, I’m Bob,’ he offered in a thick American accent.
His casual greeting contrasted with his deep and penetrating look into my eyes. I sensed he was sizing me up and thinking, Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing here in Cali?!
‘Austin,’ I replied simply, kind of wishing I had used another name as I didn’t feel comfortable about him, whoever he was, knowing my real name.
Bob seemed very interested in us, but not in an obvious way. There was a slyness to his friendly demeanour. He made me uncomfortable. He asked where we were going later and seemed eager to tag along with us – a bit too eager, in fact. When he went to the bathroom, Pedro turned to me and said, ‘I think this motherfucker is CIA. I want to play with him.’
It was a game to Pedro and he suggested we bring him along to the next establishment. I wasn’t up for playing games with a real CIA agent and nipped the idea in the bud.
We bid farewell to spooky Bob and headed across the road to the casino located inside the Intercontinental Hotel. There was no shortage of punters inside and I wondered how many of them were there laundering their narco-dollars. Pedro saw someone he knew and stopped for a brief chat while I continued on, looking at the table action. I stopped at a roulette table to watch a couple of spins. On the other side of the table I caught the eye of a gambler whom I had recognised from the Calidad hostel. He used to visit occasionally and I had spoken to him a few times.
He was a Venezuelan named Ruben who would come to the hostel and offer five backpackers US$25 each for less than an hour of their time to help him cash in travellers cheques. That wasn’t bad for backpackers on a budget and there were plenty of takers. They would go to the bank and each change $5000 worth of American Express Travelers Cheques into Colombian pesos. The cheques have two places to sign your name. You are required to sign your name the first time when you purchase them and a second time when you cash them in. The cheques in Ruben’s possession were not signed at all.
He would get each backpacker to sign the cheques once before heading into the bank and then again when retrieving the cash. It was only possible to change $5000 a month. The passport numbers would go into the system and if someone attempted to cash in more tha
n $5000 in one month, questions would be asked. And questions were the last thing Ruben wanted. This was a money laundering operation, albeit a small-time one. I wondered where he was getting the cheques from and then one day while I was out and about, I spotted him with his possible connection. It was a foreigner, I assumed American, with his wife or girlfriend pushing a pram. Nice. There is no better disguise than a happy family!
Ruben acknowledged my presence at the casino with a smile and a nod of the head before collecting all of his gambling chips and leaving abruptly. Hmm. I was beginning to understand Pedro’s paranoia. You never really knew who was who here. It was a city full of intrigue.
After having a little play on the tables, we cashed in our chips and left the casino. Pedro told me to check my cash bills for counterfeits. He had previously mentioned that Cali was not only the cocaine capital, it was also the counterfeit capital, known for its top-quality counterfeit cash in both US and Colombian currency. I checked my notes and all was in order, however, it taught me to always check the cash I received in future.
I had already learnt a lot from Pedro. I was certainly wiser now than when I first arrived in Cali. But it was time to say goodbye, at least for now. We would meet again in the near future.
The next day I bid farewell to Sofia. I didn’t know if we would see each other again. I wanted to. However, while we have spoken and she is not forgotten, I have never seen her since.
Popayán was a couple of hours to the south of Cali. I had bypassed this town on my first day in Colombia but had read more about it since and wanted to check it out for myself. As we arrived in town I saw a big military barricade which had been sandbagged for protection. Parked beside it was an armoured vehicle with a man up top. It brought it home for me. The war was real.
Popayán is nicknamed ‘Ciudad Blanca’ or ‘White City’ due to all the buildings being painted white. It is one of the most traditional cities in Colombia and known for its processions during Easter. During the Spanish Colonial period, it was a very important city due to its location between Peru and the Caribbean coast, serving as a transfer point of precious minerals as they made their way to Cartagena and onto Spain. The city was devastated by an earthquake in 1983 which killed over 250 people and destroyed much of the city.
