T A B L E_T A L K It may be a frightening monolithic media giant, but Disney makes a great theme park. Delight in the wonder of Disneyland in Table Talk's Wanderlust area   Find a world of travel books -- new, rare and out-of-print -- at barnesandnoble.com Search by:  Keyword Title Author     R E C E N T L Y Captive in Kosovo By Susan Milligan A journalist finds herself caught in the middle of the Drenica Mountains with a guerrilla pressing a gun against her head (02/17/99) Losing it in Cambodia By Morrie Erickson Getting a haircut in Cambodia is a good deal -- especially if you like getting more than you bargained for (02/16/99) This week in travel Wanderlust's select guide to the top travel-related news stories from around the globe (02/12/99) You are what you eat By Tim Cahill The foreword from the book "Man Eating Bugs: The Art and Science of Eating Insects" by Peter Menzel and Faith D'Aluisio (02/11/99) Backstage on "The Beach" By Rolf Potts A backpacker's quest to storm Leonardo DiCaprio's movie set ends in an epiphany that won't play in Peoria (02/10/99) Browse the Wanderlust Feature archives Wanderlust's Official Travel Book Partner		DON'T GO NEAR THE MOUNTAINS | PAGE 1, 2, 3, 4 - - - - - - - - - - Cali sits deep in a valley, where sugar cane is a major crop, an hour and a half east of the Pacific Ocean, and vendors are scattered along rural roads, selling a sweet juice called guarapo, made by squeezing the cane until the liquid pours out. The Cauca River, the second largest in Colombia, snakes through here, over rocks and through the green pastures and clusters of chewing cows. Coming from the countryside back into the city one day, we pass a dead horse on the side of our asphalt path, frozen on its side like a kid's plastic toy knocked over by accident. It is on this drive that the duality of Colombia's existence really hits me. From almost anywhere within el Valle de Cauca, the name of the region and the state -- above the saccharine fields or high-rises in downtown Cali -- you can see the surrounding mountains. They are both the frame for a perfect picture, with their lush and densely vegetated inclines, and a stark reminder of where not to go. The warnings began as soon I arrived: Don't venture to the waterfall at the base of the Farallones mountain range; don't go to the river for rafting (where, to get to the water, locals take you on thrown-together carts down railroad tracks); don't make the four-hour hike up to Pico Loro, Pirate's Peak. There's always some story of someone's daughter who was kidnapped there, or of the farmer's son who was killed, or of the guerrillas who were spotted there the week before. The stories seem almost like superstitions or myths passed down from one person to another of What Happens in the Mountains. Even the way the locals tell the "bad" guys from the "good" guys here in the kidnapping capital of the world, by looking at the shoes -- guerrillas wear rubber boots, the military lace-up leather -- seems unreal. I have come to Colombia with my boyfriend to meet his family and see where he grew up. Before we left, he had told me that almost everyone in the country has been touched by the ongoing conflict. Now that I'm here, I see how true that is. The extortion/murder/close-call stories pepper everyday conversations -- in fact, they are everyday conversation. They weave in and out of your day, little reminders that despite how normal everything seems, it's not. These topics would horrify me back home, but here, they just take on the natural cadence of daily life. The small talk somehow makes the reality of the violence recede. In the middle of a conversation about salsa queen Celia Cruz's new hit song and whether or not she's sold out, my boyfriend's mom announces that her cousin's two college-age sons will be arriving from Florida to spend the holidays. "They haven't been back for six years. After their father was killed, their mother wanted to take them far away from here." "What happened?" I ask. "He was kidnapped by the guerrillas. My husband was helping negotiate his release. They were almost done, all that was left was the 'proof of life.' And when the guerrillas could not provide that, the family started to fear the worst." "Did they kill him?" "He had a heart condition and they did not get him help fast enough. After he died, the guerrillas tried to get them to pay a -- what is the word, ransom? -- to see the body. They still do not know where he is buried." As the languid, vivid, steamy days pass, from time to time I think about how different things might have been around this family's table. How these cousins, who have become so American, would have grown up in their own country. How my boyfriend's good friend might have been sitting across from me. Several months ago the guerrillas kidnapped him while he was on the way to work. His story is yet unfinished; he is still missing. For almost 40 years, the citizens of Colombia have been trapped in a civil war, one that has killed more than 35,000 people in the last decade alone. Colombians are afraid to go into the countryside, afraid to drive down their own roads, afraid of being caught by accident in the violent politics of "change." They have become prisoners in their own city, locked up inside. Better to stay in Cali, they say. N E X T+P A G E | Ant weathermen and mango-chasing bats - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Become a Salon member. Click here. _________________________________ For more information: _________________________________