Being in a waiting room, a bus or an elevator in Bogotá is an immersion into other people's algorithms. With their eyes fixed on their cell phones, they play music, audio or videos at full volume without realizing what is around them. They can last like this, lost in thought, for several minutes. Asking them to stop or use headphones can cause discomfort and is frowned upon. The sound must be endured or else of being described as intolerant. In none of these places, nor in so many other public places, are there orders from the authorities that invite noise to be reduced. The abuse of decibels is part of everyday life.
Awareness about the need to respect the tranquility of others and the effects of excess noise, however, has been growing recently. A bill is being processed in Congress to turn cities into quieter areas. EL PAÍS spoke with four people who daily live with excess noise, in its different manifestations.
The house that vibrates
If someone lay down on the bed in the guest room they would feel their body tremble. Talía Osorio, the owner of the place, invited all visitors to do so. She wanted them to experience what her daily life was like two years ago, when a restaurant opened in the next house and housed two industrial extractors in the back. A minute on the bed cover was enough to perceive the movement. It started out faint, similar to the vibration of a cell phone, and progressively increased, accompanied by a high-pitched beep, until it became unbearable. Afterwards it was impossible to stop feeling it. To get back to normal and stop the constant shaking in my head and stomach, there was no alternative but to leave the house.
Talía, a 43-year-old documentary filmmaker, lived there 30 years ago. Then, the El Nogal neighborhood was different. More residential and with few commercial establishments. She changed and grew with the sector. She watched as apartment and office buildings rose above what were once family homes, which also brought the arrival of new businesses. Her two-story house is one of the few that still stands the same for several decades. “When we found out that a restaurant was going to open next door, my husband and I thought that we hope they do well. “We liked the idea of having somewhere to go to eat,” she recalled with a laugh that bordered on despair. The works began in July 2021, when the couple's first child had just turned one year old, and lasted until February of the following year. She said that at first they sought to approach the restaurant owners to express their discomfort about the noise generated by the workers' intervention and that the relationship was cordial, although no change ever materialized.
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Talia recalled that opening the restaurant to the public made the situation worse, among other things because it coincided with the final months of her second pregnancy. She had to leave to be calm during the baby's final weeks and first months. Upon her return, she devoted her efforts to filing complaints with the Police and the Mayor's Office, as well as gathering signatures from the residents of the area. Her eldest son, three years old, began to suffer from insomnia. Doctors said the possible causes were noise and vibration. Talía had to reorganize the spaces, leaving almost two-thirds of the house uninhabited, and enroll him in as many extracurricular activities as possible. “If they thought that no one was going to complain, because of how tedious it can be, they were wrong. I make films and I know how rocky those procedures are,” she asserted.
However, two days before the publication of this report, Talía left home. Through WhatsApp he shares photographs of the move and his new neighborhood: “We are displaced by the noise. “The authorities are not doing what they should, we are unprotected and alone.”
An uncomfortable neighbor
More than once, Luis Serrada, 30, looked out from the balcony and yelled at the construction workers. He was infected by the desperation of his neighbors, who had been doing the same thing for months. He had no more patience. Moving with his girlfriend to an apartment in the El Virrey neighborhood, 800 meters from the exclusive Andino shopping center, became an uncomfortable experience. It's hard to imagine, especially because of the tone and calmness with which he expresses himself, but he says that during that stage of his life he was another, “a bad-tempered, irritated individual.” On the eastern side of the seven-story building in which he lived until last October, another residential building is being built, according to the fences that surround the land. Without that publicity, there would be no way of knowing because from outside, on the street, no progress can be seen. “We arrived in December 2022. The works next door, at that time, had been going on for around three months. It was just like now when we left, without even the first floor,” says Luis.
The complaints presented to the real estate company that rented the apartment and the collective petition that he signed with the neighbors were the last resorts. Earlier, at his expense, he attempted to soundproof the apartment by installing foam in the windows and vents. It didn't work. The cranes and excavators sounded from early to late, saying goodbye to him as he left for his job as a customs agent and welcoming him after the work day. “The stress forced Luis to modify his schedule, spending extra hours in his office and postponing his return as long as possible.” There came a point where we preferred to spend more time outside, avoiding our home, looking for any excuse not to stand the noise,” he acknowledges.
Several notices reading “for lease” adorn the windows of the building. Luis is part of the group of those who preferred to leave. After evaluating different alternatives and consulting lawyers, in October of last year he chose to pay a fine and terminate the lease. What was intended as a temporary home for two years, while he finished the construction of the apartment he bought with his girlfriend on plans, was only for ten months. He had to adjust his finances—inflation increased the price of rents—and look for another place to live, about ten blocks further north. He says that the change is notable, that he lives “much better.” Just then, behind him, in what used to be his building, one of his former neighbors looks out and looks with frustration at the construction site, the machines and the workers.
The bells
The view of the apartment of Juli Salamanca, a 30-year-old communicator and trans activist, looks like a European postcard. From its living room and balcony, on the seventh floor of the traditional Chapinero neighborhood, you can see the towers of the Nuestra Señora de Chiquinquirá parish, a church with a Gothic façade that was inaugurated 75 years ago and belongs to the Dominican friars. Further in the background, the blue and clear sky. Like every business day at six in the morning, she is already dressed, putting on makeup, making coffee and serving the concentrate to her pets, two adopted cats and a dog. Down on the street, a commotion breaks out. Dozens of young people get off at the nearby TransMilenio station, buy cigarettes and talk on the way to class. Around the corner is one of the headquarters of the Santo Tomás University, also owned by the Dominicans. Across the sidewalk, a whole block of bars and clubs closed a few hours ago and find their favorite customers in students. “I am noisy. I have grown up in places with a lot of noise. I had never complained until I got here. This noise keeps me awake,” says Juli, who is not referring to the high volume of the music, nor the drunken singing.
He raises his eyebrows and points to the horizon with a gesture. The clock says six fifty. The church bells cannot be seen, but for the next three minutes it will be impossible to ignore them. When it seems like they are going to stop ringing, only the pattern of the resonance changes. They are deafening, even though the windows are thermoacoustic. And so, with the same force, several times a day. “Due to my job I have to meet with people virtually. It is impossible to speak or listen even if I put on headphones,” reproaches Juli. He adds, with evident resignation, that the matter has a solution, that he will file the pertinent claims and that, if the disturbance does not stop, he will file a guardianship. She is convinced. She decided it six months ago, having just moved into her apartment and with her suitcases still unpacked, on the first morning she was woken up by the ringing of the bell. In her favor, she points out, there is legal support, such as several rulings from the Constitutional Court, which for more than two decades has warned that excessive noise from religious congregations is “an abusive exercise” for their neighbors. “My discontent is with the noise. “I have no problem with people going to mass.”
An unusual alarm clock
“One is going to pass by, I think it's the one going to the coast,” says Claudia Almanza, a 58-year-old psychologist, as soon as she opens the door of her house in the Niza neighborhood, in the northwest of the city. It is half past five in the morning, the temperature is three degrees Celsius and she, with dark circles under her eyes that reveal the few hours of sleep she has had, emphasizes that she would prefer to be between her sheets resting. There are still a couple of hours until she starts her work. She went to bed at midnight and woke up 30 minutes ago. That has been her routine without exception for almost a decade, when the new terminal at El Dorado airport, the largest in the country, began its activity and dozens of planes have been flying over that area of Bogotá at low altitude ever since. “The increase in flights deteriorated the quality of life. It makes me want to leave and be able to rest in peace,” she claims. Civil Aeronautics, the highest state authority on aviation issues, estimates that between March and October of this year the air terminal will maintain a frequency of 74 operations per hour (30 arrivals and 40 departures). The number could grow if the entity is successful in its plan to promote airports “with great tourism potential”, among which is the one in the Colombian capital.
On her cell phone, Claudia has downloaded the Flightradar24 application, which allows her to see the journey of commercial aircraft in real time. However, for some time now she learned the schedules and she can recite them by heart. A Latam airline flight left a few minutes ago bound for Barranquilla and is approaching your location. She tracks him down and points her index finger at him on the screen. Her house, despite being 14 kilometers north of El Dorado, for a moment seems to be adjacent to the take-off runway. As soon as the plane passes, the noise is thunderous. “Do you see that they sound very harsh?” she asks in a complaining tone. Outside the house, the sound is louder although the planes cannot be seen. After the third, Claudia covers her ears. An otolaryngologist diagnosed her with tinnitus, a type of ringing in her ears, and she attributes it to aircraft. “I will have to go”.
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