Day 3 began (for me) with Junot Diaz and Alma Guillermoprieto in discussion about their work. Guillermoprieto's beautifully written essays for the New York Review of Books will be well known to many Prospect readers: she spoke about her coverage of the conflicts in Colombia and Central America in the 1980s and 1990s, where she reported for the Guardian (Jon Snow and Gerald Martin admiringly recalled her bravery throughout the period). Among her other commitments, she teaches at Garcia Marquez's school for young Latin American journalists in Cartagena, and spoke of how she has always aspired to write in such a way that her readers feels as though as they are accompanying her to the places she is describing. Diaz spoke about Obama's decisive Latin American vote, expressing his fear nevertheless that "immigration will be sacrificed for political capital" by the Obama administration over the next few years. Then a privileged 40 minutes sitting in an armchair next to Martin Amis, hanging on his every word while he was interviewed by a freelance journalist, Toby Muse. Amis spoke of the novel he is currently writing, The Pregnant Widow, about the sexual revolution in the 1970s, and quoted substantial passages from Updike, Nabokov, Conrad et al, while simultaneously rolling cigarette after cigarette between gently trembling hands. In the afternoon, there was a good debate between Matt Frei, Jon Snow and Alejandro Santos, editor of Colombia's pre-eminent news weekly, Semana (a bastion of independent journalism), on the state of the world's media. Frei reflected wryly about how he and others had failed altogether to see the current economic crisis coming but, then, so had the head of the central reserve; Snow, of his sense of moral responsibility—more vivid than ever before—to question and interrogate every step now taken by bankers and our political leaders. Fittingly, night then fell, and the melancholy, soulful, raging, unique voice of Sarah Jane Morris— accompanied by the epiphanous guitar-playing of Dominic Miller—cast a spell over a full Claustro de Santo Domingo. On Day 4, Jeremy Leggett—ex-Greenpeace, now head of Solar Century—spoke at once gloomily and inspiringly about climate change: such a challenge, so terrifying in its implications, and yet so much that can be done. His message was seconded by Juan Pablo Ruiz, the World Bank's man on the environment in Colombia, who also spoke with enthusiasm and with a love of the world of a man who, it transpired, had climbed Everest twice in the past few years. A packed house in the afternoon for Salman Rushdie, who entertained an affectionate crowd with anecdotes about Midnight's Children, the composition of the Enchantress of Florence), a paean of admiration for Machiavelli, and a few brief words about the fatwa and the effect it had. To end the event, despite the most beautiful weather outside— warm breezes; the waves crashing against the sea wall, a few metres from the theatre; golden sunshine, blue sky, and honey-coloured buildings—we went in to the Teatro Heredia for an hour of Jung Chang and Jon Halliday on Mao ... and found ourselves deep in the depths of human cruelty and deprivation. Perhaps this was a fitting end to four days in Cartagena: so much beauty, truth and reflection in one of the most idyllic settings one could imagine; and yet, one was cheek by jowl with eviscerating poverty (some of the slums of the wider city are among the poorest in Colombia), a sex industry involving young children, and a multitude of other social and environmental ills. A sober note on which to end, perhaps: apologies if so—and sincere thanks to those who have taken the time to follow these hastily-written missives from the Colombian coast. Hasta luego!
