Well, it’s been a busy old year. Following a nephew’s wedding in Brazil in the Spring, we are now coming to the end of three weeks in Colombia, triggered by an invitation to the nuptials of the son of some close friends who is marrying an exquisite young lady from this intriguing central American state.  I write from one of its Caribbean islands, Providencia.  Founded in 1629 as an English Puritan colony, inevitably it was taken just 20 years later by the Spanish.  Despite this, the local patois is more an English-based Creole, and they say they look more to England than to Spain.  The island was all but wiped out by hurricane Iota in 2020 but they’re bouncing back.

Back on the mainland, it seemed strange sweltering in 30-plus degrees and near-hundred per cent humidity while Hampshire and the rest of the UK struggled with sub-zero temperatures.  Bogota, the capital, is all you would expect of a modern metropolitan city.  There are no more street sleepers and indigents than in most big cities (including London) and the city appears to thrive.  Uber works well and the taxis are thus safe and cheap.  Of course, mention Colombia and the Western mind immediately thinks drugs.  We certainly saw fewer signs of addiction than in most towns and cities in the UK, although we were chilled by the posters in every hotel announcing the establishment’s opposition to child exploitation.  Apparently, sex tourism is an issue.

On next to Medellin which, like the locals, we learned to pronounce “Med-de-sheen.” Our heads filled with narco images, courtesy of Netflix, we expected worse but what we got was another thriving city full of high-rise buildings with no sign of the old Colombian marching powder.  Then off to the boonies.  Eco-tourism is not as advanced as in neighbouring Costa Rica, where a short drive provides more fauna than an Attenborough documentary, but they are trying.  Accommodation in the middle of first-generation rain and cloud forests is inevitablly basic but the necessities are there, hot water and, as throughout all of Colombia, broadband connectivity, here courtesy of Elon Musk’s Starlink satellite system that puts Openreach to shame.

Next, to Cartagena (say Cart-e-hena), a fortified seaport with most of its walls still intact.  We stayed in a charmingly converted house in the heart of the old town, buzzing with atmosphere.   Sunset drinks on the battlements started the countdown proper to the wedding.

Back to Medellin for the wedding itself; English morning dress for the men and the women resplendent in their finery. The Colombians are charm personified. Hospitable and most appreciative of the efforts made by the 40 or so British connections who made the journey to be there.  The church, Catholic and relatively modern with delightful stained glass, was full.  The bride, just a vision.  The celebrant spoke his ecclesiastical words deliberately and slowly, so that even with rudimentary Spanish, we were able to follow.  It was more of a life lecture to the couple, with philosophy and religion thrown in.  Instead of confetti, the congregation blew bubbles from kit kindly supplied by the ushers.

Half a world away, it’s hard to contemplate just how much is going on outside our own island.  Travel broadens the mind but it’s also humbling.  Even in inflation-racked Britain, we have so much going for us. Why focus so much on the negatives of life?  Yesterday we took a boat trip around Providencia. Pausing at the island’s “capital” we met some fishermen.  They’d caught a grouper and one of them was deftly wielding a machete to prepare the fish for a lunchtime barbecue.  His fellow fishers were tugging on a certain type of cigarette with its oh-so-familiar smell.

“Don’t worry, be happy!”  They certainly were.  Nature had provided them with all their needs, and they didn’t need much.  There are worse mantras to live by.