“No Reservations” season 4, episode 12: Colombia

Location: This week Anthony is in Colombia, a country that finds itself the setting of one of South America’s most remarkable transformations. In the 25 years since the death of Pablo Escobar, one of the world’s most notorious drug lords, this once war-torn country has emerged like a phoenix from the scars of the past. Colombia offers Tony a tantalizing mix of cultures, delicious food and beautiful mountain scenery.

Episode Rating: Four bloody meat cleavers (out of five) in keeping with last week’s rating system.

Summary: Cocaine. Violence. Political instability. These are the unfortunate but typical words that are associated with Colombia, South America’s northern-most state. For many years the country suffered under the weight of rival drug cartels, fueled by an insatiable demand for their chief “pulse-raising” product in the United States and beyond. It is these very depictions that Tony comes armed to confront upon arriving in Colombia. Within the episode’s first five minutes Bourdain has already pronounced his visit to Colombia as an unexpected delight. Colombia is literally a country-transformed and with killer food to boot.
Tony wastes little time diving into the country’s cuisine. He meets up with restaurant owner Jorge in Cartagena, a city on the country’s Caribbean coast. After sampling some delicious ceviche at Jorge’s restaurant, the pair take a trip to Cartagena’s central market to shop for some fish. Mr. Bourdain looks like a kid in a candy store as he conducts taste tests on all manner of exotic produce – five types of mangoes, strange orange-lime hybrids, pretty much anything fruity and delicious is available and there for the tasting.

To top it off, Tony enjoys a hearty local dish consisting of seafood rice, chicken, fish and turtle eggs, the local delicacy. Ashamed that you’re eating an endangered species Tony? Although our host gives the ethics of turtle egg-eating momentary pause, the egg is already well on its way down his digestive tract before the issue comes up. All of you just promise you won’t try any turtle eggs if you decide to visit Colombia, cool?

Soon we are transported to Bocagrande, one of Cartagena’s flashiest neighborhoods, where Tony boards a small water taxi for a trip to a small fishing island just across the bay. The rustic island stands in stark contrast to the flashy mainland high rises, and Bourdain takes the opportunity to enjoy a laid-back lunch with a local free-diver, who catches him a Caribbean lobster for lunch. Throw the words fresh, lobster and rustic island together and you don’t need to add much else – the story basically tells itself. It was almost tortuous to watch him eat it all and not get a taste.

The next and final stop on Tony’s Colombian odyssey is Medellín, the second-largest city in Colombia and one of its most notorious. The crew visits Queareparaenamorarte (try pronouncing that one), a restaurant that serves traditional Colombian cooking from across the country. Tony gorges himself on a mouth-watering array of foods – a plate of chorizo, rice soup with meat, avocado and plantains, flank steak and tamales de tilapia prepared with coconut, plantains and passion fruit sauce. All the while he’s downing shots of aguardiente, the local Colombian rum, with his hosts. C’mon did you really think we could have an episode of No Reservations without Tony getting drunk?

And we’re just getting started. In a show renowned for its gluttony, Tony’s Medellín visit turns into one of the most gluttonous we’ve probably ever witnessed. Bourdain has breakfast at the “How Yummy” restaurant at the Plaza Minorista market in Medellín. After an appetizer of empanadas, he dines on Calentao, a typical breakfast plate of leftover rice, beans, fried eggs, fried plantains, an arepa covered in cheese AND meat. In what has to be the line of the episode, Tony decides that Calentao “makes the Grand Slam at Denny’s look like a carrot stick.” Heart attack anyone?

Clearly not yet full from his gigantic breakfast, Tony has an even bigger lunch, consisting of a plate with beans, salad, rice, fried eggs, pulled pork, an arepa, chorizo and chicharron. Good god man, please make it stop. It’s almost painful to watch a human being eat this much food. But then again, it is a cooking and eating show – who am I to judge?

Tony wraps up the episode with a visit to the some of Medellín’s rougher barrios for a traditional Sancocho lunch and a little local culture. His hosts are the neighborhood’s residents – people who have experienced a dramatic rise in their standard of living in recent years. What was once the training ground for the Colombian drug cartels and their armies of mercenaries is now home to young adults who have started their own hip-hop crew, a filmmaker and a talented young chef. Thankfully Tony spares us the “kumbaya” moment at the campfire and gets back to what he does best – eating some tasty food and hanging out with his guests.

Bourdain’s examination of Colombia offers the country high marks and an optimistic road to the nation’s future success. It’s the type of country that only Anthony Bourdain does best – a place cluttered with misconceptions waiting to be corrected. And although a “human interest” angle was definitely woven into the episode, No Reservations: Colombia was really all about the food. Tony’s focus on the country’s diverse and delicious cuisine definitely made this a surprising and very enjoyable episode to watch. But more than that, I found myself wanting to go visit Colombia – for any travel show, this is the pinnacle of a successful episode.

Another day, another drunken airline passenger

I wonder if the reason that everyone seems to be getting drunk on airlines lately is because the stress level is so high. Perhaps it’s a means to deal with the stress of having no leg room or no meal during an excruciatingly long flight. Jeff posted an article about an unruly passenger getting drunk, throwing ice and feeling up flight attendants last week, while the week prior another woman lit a cigarette, punched one of the crew and forced the aircraft to divert to Dallas.

This week, a Drexel student named Taylor Kircher flying transatlantic on British Airways drank an entire bottle of his duty free vodka before going on a drunken tirade through the aircraft. In the process of his debauch, the student spat on two flight attendants, broke a jump seat and was caught masturbating through his clothing before he had to be physically restrained with handcuffs.

Kircher even went so far as to threaten to “blow the plane up” if they didn’t free him of his restraints, which, I believe is quite illegal.

Authorities detained the student on arrival in New York‘s JFK where they will hopefully press charges and never let him fly again.

More people misbehaving on planes:

When in Europe do as the Europeans do: Get drunk and have sex

Fitting in with the local culture is often the most difficult of tasks when traveling. But if you’re a young adult headed to Europe this summer, acting like a European might only entail living up to frat party standards. According to a study published in BMC Public Health, young adults in Europe deliberately booze it up to increase their chances of scoring.

According to the BBC, the study was done with 1,341 people from 9 different cities across Europe. A third of the men, and 23 % of the women — who were all between the ages of 16 and 35 — said they drank to improve their chances of having sex. The researchers concluded that the fun-loving youngsters were “strategically” binge drinking or taking drugs to improve their sex lives.

All jokes aside, drinking and sexing is a health concern; especially since the rate of unprotected sex goes up. However, now that we know what the European strategy is, it looks like we no longer need a “How to Score a European Fling” post.

My night with the Balkans’s beloved Rakia

Aaron’s post on the Czech alcohol Becherovka had me thinking about the Balkans’s beloved drink, Rakia, which I had the displeasure of tasting on my recent travels in Slovenia. Rakia (?ganje), you see, must be the complete opposite of Becherovka (of which I’ve never tried), at least in terms of Aaron’s “gingerbread and Christmas” description.

Long ago I stopped taking shots of hard alcohol because I couldn’t handle it. Beer is my friend, but one too many Jagers or Rumplemintz has turned me off the bottle entirely. But one evening while knocking back a few Union beers in Bled, Slovenia’s only Irish pub and hostel combination, George Best’s, I was confronted by an old man carrying a tray of shot glasses filled with clear liquid. “Rakia,” he mumbled. “For you!”

I suppose I should back up a bit. A few minutes before this, I had set my beer down on a table to grab something out of my back pocket. When I looked back down at the table a few seconds later, my beer was gone. I knew it couldn’t have gone far, and sure enough, the older Slovenian gentleman with whom I had just been sharing a drunken conversation, was holding it in his hand. “Hey,” I said, getting his attention. “You’ve got my beer!”
I expected a confrontation. I spoke absolutely no Slovenian, the man barely any English, and our prior communication didn’t amount to much in the way of actual conversation. It took 15 minutes, for instance, for him to explain to me what he did for a living which, as far as I could tell, involved replacing o-rings on toilets. Instead of confrontation, I got the most heartfelt apology I’d ever received. It was obvious that the man had no intentions of swiping my beer, he was just too drunk to know that it wasn’t his. He apologized profusely, handed my beer back, and disappeared into the crowd.

This is when, only a few moments later, I saw him heading back in my general direction with a tray full of shots. “No, no — really, it’s OK!” I pleaded. I really didn’t want the shot, but in line with typical Slovenian hospitality, he insisted. And in the interest of maintaining diplomatic relations, I obliged.

The taste of Rakia could be described as a mix between brandy and rubbing alcohol, or “lighter fluid and Halloween,” if forced to link it with a holiday as Aaron did. The subtle hints of fruit promised by the labels on popular brands were nowhere to be found, probably because what I was drinking was distilled in a dirty bathtub somewhere. “Gee thanks!” I said, downing the first one. I put my hand up in protest for the second. The way I saw it, there was absolutely no chance I’d be drinking another shot of Rakia without ultimately ending up face down in the bathroom. Luckily, a friend with a higher tolerance and more hair on his chest stepped in and took the last one for the team — a selfless act I will never forget.

And that was my one and only night with the Balkans’s beloved Rakia.

OzBus: Too Drunk to Remember

From the prospective of one of the OzBus bloggers, the first London-Sydney overland bus journey is nothing more than a mobile drunkfest, bouncing through country after country, sampling the local drinks until vomiting, and pissing off the local wait staff.

Surely not everyone aboard OzBus #1 is going out for early-morning bar times, visiting strip clubs, campsite streaking, and nightclub line-hopping. I wonder how that other half — you know, the people traveling on the bus to actually travel, not to test their alcohol tolerance in various parts of the world — feel about their heady-bro counterparts? I’d be mad.

The bus is currently in Romania, where the intrepid travelers drinkers discovered a local Scottish bar serving “54% alcohol shots.”

Twelve weeks on a bus with this crew? No thanks.

Previously: