Popayan Walkabout

I did not awaken to the throes of food poisoning, for which I was greatful.  The dodgy chicken in yeterday evenings street food had apparently passed me by.  To the Travel Gods I am grateful, as always.  I decided to do a small penance and have a hearty veggie brekkie at a place recommended in the Lonely Planet guide.  I found the place easily enough, Popayan being an absolute grid of a colonial town.  

The day was getting even better as I managed a few complete sentences of Spanish and it appears that they were actually understood.  Progress!  The tiny cafe was a bee hive of activity as the three senoras behing the counter were cooking up a storm.  And it was a storm of hippie food.  The cafe was also awash in Spanish Christian Pop music.  Even though my Spanish isn't good, I can pick out the overly sachrine sound of Christian Pop anywhere.  The "Jesus Christo Saves" t-shirt on my senoras back was another dead giveaway.  Regardless of what crazy sect of dogmatics these women were, they could cook.  Here is the daysunos del dia:

Ensalada de fruita, Chocolate, and quinoa something of other with amazingly good chip things.

Mana Cafe.  That might have been a clue, huh?

Today was supposed to be a walk-about day that focused on museums.  Great idea except.... today was also a Monday.  One does lose track after extended travel.  First stop was the cathedral where LP said there is a tour up to the bell tower and some other cool stuff.  Mondayy, no tour, so I made up my own.  Spanish Colonial catedral, your usual stuff, images of lots of people suffering immense pain while casting their eyes heavenward.  

Following up om a theme, I went to the Museo Arquidiocesano de Arte Religioso.  Situated in a well preserved colonial mansion, this museum houses nothing but religious art from the region, including paintings, altar pieces, garments and sacramental items.  There waas some discussion with the gate keeper, but when he was convinced that I really was willing to spend the 5,000 peso admission fee, even if it was a monday, things sprang into action.  i was guided through the museum by the curator.  It quickly became apparent that my host, a very dignified Colombian woman, was almost enraptured by the items we were viewing.  This was not an act.  I got into the spirit of the thing and waxed enthusiastic about some of the pieces, displayed a modicum of knowledge and interest, and from there we got along swimmingly.  In fact, I had a great time gleaning what I could from her erudite Spanish, getting a lot more of the gist of things than one would suppose.  The llimited context helps, of course, but I am certainly hearing more Spanish than I can reply to.   

A painting of St. Jeronimo, famous for his leaps of faith.

(Seriously, i enjoyed this museo immensely)

This piece was my favorite.  The silver work on the globe, el mundo, was spectacular.

My host and I viewed each gallery.  I believe it would have been an affront to miss anything.  There were examples of the sublime and depictions of the truly macabre.  Particulary disturbing was a gallery of all of the apostles.  Each painting showed a martyred apostle, eyes heavenward, while in the corner of each painting was a graphic depiction of the method of martyrdom.  There was Bartholomew being flayed alive, Peter being cruxified upside-down, saints beheaded, saints sawed in half, truly nasty stuff.  

I bade my goodbyes and my thanks and left the icons in the care of my host.

Back in the bright sunshine, it was time to take in some outdoor sights.  I headed down to the river and the two old colonial bridges, litterally the Big Bridge and the Little Bridge, built to connect the colonial city to the poor community to the North.  

Standing on the little bridge looking at the big bridge.  I noted that this might be a good hang out spot for later, but now it was time for some lunch. 

Lonely Planet describes La Fresa as "A grimy corner store.."   Well, count me in.  I ordered a plate of empanadas de pipian, which equates to six little empanadas, home made by the senoras, and served with a fiery peanut sauce.  Thailand meets Colombia!!  This was great!  I washed lunch down with a malta, a wheat based soda.  i have never had anything like it.  Not like beer, not like soda, and its supposed to be good for you.  It certainly tastes good and washed down the fire quite well.

After a siesta spent watching the birds down by the river, I headed back to the ancient colonial hostel for some agua and a break.  My timing proved providential, for the afternoon rains announced themselves with huge rolls of thunder and then flashes of lightening.  For the first time on this trip, I was home and under cover when the rain started.  I very much enjoyed watching the deluge from the perch of my huge old window.

Like clockwork, the skies cleared and the rain abated.  There as some more dining at yet another fine little cafe, and then I headed off to my appointed bench in the parque to while away the evening with a book and a cigar.  I was even treated to a crazy little concert of street performers doing some retro street cabaret.

My parque by night.

Where there is a square, there must be a church. It's the rules.

And on the evening's bill of entertainment.....

Now I am safe in my hostel with the three old dogs, the musty smell of the years past, and another small rain storm adding a soundtrack in the background.  Tomorrow I will be heading over the mountains to the valley that holds San Agustin, one of the most important archeological sites in Colombia.