I soon found out that he was also a very accomplished guitarist, innovative artist and gifted photographer. I still remember a set of black-and-white portraits he took (and developed himself) of the weather-beaten faces of people in an Andean village where he went to live for a while. Colin was one of those rare people – a polymath.
Venezuela was a very different place in those days compared to the sorry state it is in today, and although life in Caracas was speedy and sometimes stressful, the city had an ace up its sleeve in its proximity to some fabulous Caribbean beaches.
Colin and I and other friends would spend each week deciding which beach to go to at the weekend, then as early as possible on Friday afternoon we would pack our cars (or jeep in Colin’s case) with ice boxes, tents, hammocks, beach games and samples of substances from neighbouring Colombia, then head out for destinations like Choroni, Morrocoy, or La Sabana for a weekend of pure fun, finally heading back to the city on Sunday evening, pouting all the way, usually in a traffic jam.