As the virus hits Latin America, Bogotá, normally an 8 million-person roar, searches for the sounds of silence. With beautiful photos by @federicorioshttps://nyti.ms/3dOHWEi
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Instead of the thunder of motors climbing into the hills, we have the scrape of plates in the neighbor’s kitchen.
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The clink of wind chimes. The gush of a sink. The occasional ominous scream of an ambulance.
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Two people making love. Tina Turner on someone’s speakers, with amateur vocal accompaniment.
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The hush is unnerving some of my more noise-hardened neighbors, the strange emptiness a suggestion that something sinister is on its way.
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Others are finding comfort in the quiet, a welcome stillness ahead of a coming attack.
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“Silence in itself does not exist,” Enmanuel Rivero, a violinist, told me one night. He pointed out the rustle of the trees, “the soft whisper of the breeze.” “You hear the call of nature,” he said. "It calms me."
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