Colombian Coast Simulation Theory

If you have wasted as much time on the internet as I have, you may have come across simulation theory. It states that we are more likely living in a computer simulation than in base reality. In the movie The Matrix, they could tell when they weren't in base reality when they observed strange events, like deja vus.

If anything in my life made it seem conceivable that I was living in a computer simulation, it was the strange events of a specific week in December 2009 while traveling with friends through the Colombian coast.

This region is known for being the birthplace of my favorite writer and Nobel Laureate, Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It's also the setting for his major work, a forgotten town called Macondo where ghosts roam and traveling gypsies bring such technologies as flying carpets and ice.

Depending on what you believe, the events that transpired that week are the result of total randomness or the creation of a machine learning algorithm that taught itself about human life by repeatedly reading the magical realism of One Hundred Years of Solitude.

It wasn't my first time visiting the area. Throughout high school, I traveled around the Colombian coast with my friend Manuel as we visited his family's cattle farms.

This trip wasn't supposed to be that much different. Manuel, his cousin Jose, Santiago, Sara, and I would spend a few days traveling around the various farms. We planned on riding horses through beautiful nature, working cattle, fishing in the river, or just hanging out while we were on break from college.

Everything started out as expected.

We noticed that the rains of the preceding weeks had made the Magdalena river's level rise, and some spots were flooded. This made our rides through the farms a bit more challenging.

Anyway, the first extraordinary thing happened as we drove through a small village by the river. We heard the fishermen had caught a strange creature. We were intrigued, so we asked if we could see it.

They had pulled the large creature out of the river and placed it in what can only be described as a big puddle as they discussed if its arrival was a good or bad omen.

Upon seeing it, we discovered the creature to be a manatee in not-so-great condition. It was heartbreaking to see it in that puddle with a few visible wounds, probably from the capture.

Before we knew it, Manuel's dad had negotiated the manatee for about 50 bucks (is that a good deal? Who knows the going rate for a manatee?)

We got to work collecting weeds to accommodate the pick-up truck's bed, a big water container, and people to help us lift that gigantic thing. (Not fat shaming here, all manatee bodies are beautiful bodies).

We nursed its wounds and poured water on it as we drove it to a remote lagoon far from the fishing village. It felt exactly like that scene in Free Willy but without the Michael Jackson song.

Ok, maybe I was singing the Michael Jackson song in my head. But the point is, we released the manatee. It didn't jump to freedom over our heads, though.

The next unusual thing happened as we were fishing the following day. Jose said he noticed the outline of a clay pot on the side of the river bank and started digging at it. Jose has a pretty wild imagination, so at first, we ignored him and rolled our eyes as we kept fishing.

Not much later, he said he found a bone inside the clay pot. What? Now he got our attention. The river had recently carved out this part of the river bank, so no one had ever laid eyes on this newly exposed earth.

We dropped the fishing and got to work on the dig. As we kept digging, we started fantasizing about what we could find. What Jose found did look like a bone, maybe a finger. But the water that had carved the river bank and ripped open the clay pot had rotted the bone to a point where it disintegrated by just holding carefully.

We kept brushing off the dirt very carefully for a long time. Something in the pot began to take shape. We couldn't believe it, but then it became undeniable we were looking at a jaw bone and some bottom teeth. Very slowly, we were able to pull out an entire human skull. This felt so surreal. This kind of stuff doesn't happen in real life.

The locals told us other ancestral burial grounds had been found a while back, but they believed the natives from this area must have been very poor because there was never any gold. Just bones and clay pots.

Some of the locals were also scared and superstitious about the situation. We intended to bring back some of these bones to the city where we could maybe get them carbon dated at a university, but one of the farm workers returned most of them to the river that night while we were sleeping. He said it was bad juju to disturb the dead who would undoubtedly come back to haunt us.

The remaining bones were so rotten we couldn't transport them. So we never found out what era or tribe they were from.

The third strange event of the week is so startling it's hard to digest. In One Hundred Years of Solitude, Jose Arcadio Buendia, founder of the town of Macondo, ends his days tied to a tree after his family decides he has become violent and dangerous. The feeling that time had stopped passing made him lose his mind.

In a tiny village by the Magdalena, where most of the houses and buildings were built not with bricks or concrete but with sticks and mud, we found a similar case. Without a police station or mental hospital to turn to, the villagers had grown desperate with Julio, one of their volatile neighbors.

Julio had started fires, repeatedly snuck behind people, and whacked them over the head with glass bottles. So the townspeople, desperate about the situation, resorted to tying him to a tree where they would bring him food and supplies.

When we talked to him, he was calm and clearheaded, but he spoke of places and events of decades past as if they had happened the day before. As if time had stopped passing for him too.

He didn't protest about his situation or plead to be let go. He was chilling and chatting in the shade as if this was just how things should be.

Seeing a man tied to a tree due to the vigilante justice of a desperate, forgotten by the state village is one of the most mind-blowing things I have ever seen.

We planned on informing the authorities when we got back, not knowing if they would do anything about it. But not long after, we heard that the river's water level had continued rising and a flood was imminent, so the villagers let Julio go. We have no idea what happened to him after that.

Three days in a row now, encountering these outlandish situations. Was this our life now?

On the last night before we drove back to Medellin, we decided to check out the annual festivities in a town called Plato. We had been there before, but just passing through and never for the yearly celebration: the party of the Hombre-Caiman. Or the Half-man Half-gator.

The festival is named after the legend of a man who could transform into a gator to spy on the naked women bathing in the river. I guess the #metoo movement hasn't made it to Plato yet. Anyhow, can you even cancel a mythical creature? I'm sure someone on the internet will try.

We were having beers and talking as we saw the rivers of people go by. Everyone was dancing in the streets, drinking, acting silly, and heading to the stage where live music was playing. About an hour later, someone we didn't know came up to our table and said to Manuel: "you're one of the Botero's, right?" Referring to his family.

Manuel just nodded and looked around at us, unsure where this was going. "You guys come with me. We have a better table for you," the guy said.

It sounded strange, but we just went with it for some reason. He quickly led us through the crowds, and there were so many people we could barely see where we were going. At one point, he led us up a set of stairs and opened a door that led us to our table right on the stage, beside the musicians.

Everyone was acting like Manuel was a celebrity. They brought a bottle of scotch, the musicians dedicated vallenatos to him and Sara, and everyone wanted to say hi and talk to him. We were just along for the ride. How bizarre was this? We just stepped into a universe where our friend is suddenly famous? We're on stage, in front of thousands of people for a concert we didn't even know was taking place until a few hours before?

Manuel's extended family has owned land in that area for generations, so people know of them. But none of these people knew Manuel personally. I guess they didn't have a better celebrity, so they turned him into one? Either way, we were more than happy to enjoy the benefits and party like we owned the town. And man, did we.

As we drove back to Medellin, we could barely believe the week we had just had. Were people back in the city going to believe us? We had rescued a manatee, found an Indian burial, ran into a madman tied to a tree, and partied on stage like celebrities in front of thousands.

Did we really live through all this stuff? Was this real life? Was this all the simulation of a computer that decided to extrapolate the world of Macondo? Or am I tied to a tree somewhere, unstuck in time, out of my mind thinking all this happened?

Whatever it was, it was a strange and incredible week.

Notes:

The Colombian coast refers to the area in the North of Colombia located between the Atlantic Ocean and the Andean Mountains in the interior. It encompasses 7 departments and has a distinct culture from the rest of the country. Rich in music, folklore, athletics, and different cuisines, it results from a mix of cultures and historical events. It has also had challenges regarding education, poverty, the presence of the state, and dealing with the Colombian armed conflict.

The pictures in the article are from whatever camera we had in 2009, so the resolution isn't great.