Every city needs its ghosts. Thus the hard working Jack the Ripper leaves his blood red footprints in the rain as he trudges for all eternity through the streets of London; New York and Paris boast of their shadowy buildings where the spirits of those who have died over the past two thousand years can be felt; Spain has its stories of the whispering spirits of those who died on the gallows or in the prison cells during the civil war; Buenos Aires is famous for the penitents who walk the streets around the obscene cemetery of La Chacarita; the countries of central Europe have their heritage of vampires while Mexicans lay proud claim to the endless agony of La Llorona.

In Colombia, a country rich in ghosts, there is an eccentric and beautiful stone fortress, which has sustained the nightmares and macabre fantasies of six generations and is considered to be one of South America’s most capricious architectural examples, to the extent that it has become a marvel, a piece of history and a gothic tourist attraction. It is the Castle of Marroquín, located on the northern outskirts of Bogotá city, close to an heroic bridge el Puente del Común where there were never any heroes, near a villa where, according to legend, the Liberator Simon Bolivar spent one of his most passionate nights, and close to the classic village of Chía, a popular weekend destination for middle and upper class families famous for its tasty blood sausage, salami and spicy sausage.

By day, and particularly if the weather is bright, the castle looks like a bat that has lost its way and is frightened of the light. In contrast, at night the dark stones seem to come alive, to take on a life of their own, to be ready to give birth at any moment, filled with haunting treachery as if casting a cloud of blasphemy over the lights of the remote city. This flavor of something forbidden is one of the castle’s fascinations and it has become a place for lovers, those who are fascinated by the mysterious and devotees of the religion of fear. Curiously, this “outmoded” building has never been more in vogue.

Faces of gloom

At the beginning of the nineteenth century, many Latin Americans traveled to Europe to get in touch with their cultural roots, to experience the elegance of café society, to taste the licentious night life, enjoying the food, dancing the polka, smoking cigars, tasting the wines and making love to the women; and on their return, seized with a folletinesque nostalgia, yet curiously exiled in their own country, they expressed this in building houses, churches, country estates, small palaces, galleries and all kinds of architectural experiments which imitated the wonders of the old continent. However, perhaps the most deluded of all was Don Lorenzo Marroquín Osorio, an aristocrat of Bogotá and a fanatical admirer of the French monarchy, to such an extent that he forgave them their frivolity and excesses, and whose history he knew in detail from the beginnings to the guillotine. Don Lorenzo’s ancestors represent the seeds of the legend that has become woven around the castle: his grandmother, Trinidad Ricaurte, mother of President José Manuel Marroquín, lived on the Hierbabuena estate, near where the future cemetery would be located; she was inexplicably tortured by cruel personal demons, and disappeared for ever in 1828. Since then local folklore says she can be seen floating above the plains. Then came others to add to the ghost count, such as the Headless Horseman, La Zancona, the Lovesick Imp and the Burning Dog in Chains: these are some of the castle’s fantastic residents.

“This was a beautiful generation, but marked by something terrible” says Mónica Bernat, an anthropologist who is studying the ghosts and spirits of the plains, and who is also an expert in this enigma of a castle. All the members of her generation left a part of themselves in Europe and
when they returned, they could not fit in with the inevitable need to be Latin Americans whose heritage paled in comparison to the rich genealogies of the old continent; they returned with their imaginations on fire, full of princes and dauphins, of countesses, dukes, kings, court dances and the noble life. In response to this they used their considerable fortunes to overcome the sadness they felt at being so far away from all this. That it would all end in ruin was almost inevitable and the autumn of their lives was more like the theatre of decadence that the operetta of fortune.

Monica Bernat tells us that Don Lorenzo Marroquín set out to copy a medieval castle – either in his madness or under the influence of tropical fever. In an unprecedented move, he “imported” the French architect Gastón Legarde, and also included in his scheme the Colombians Julián Lombana and Demetrio Chávez, who shared his anachronistic yearnings. This was a hectic and feverish episode that would not have been out of place in a novel. A prisoner to anxiety, Marroquín Osorio alternately played the roles of brilliant philanthropist and demanding boss. He was always to be seen striding about with the plans of his fanciful castle under his arm and at times appeared to have entered a time machine or, as an old man, to be engaged in playing a children’s game.

And one morning, before the incredulous eyes of the region’s illiterate and shirtless peasants, there appeared this apparition of a castle.

It was Lorenzo Marroquín Osorio’s destiny to build this foolish relic. Once the fever pitch of construction was over, the man seemed to be gloomy, distant, and aimless, like a classical dancer when the music has stopped playing. Very soon afterwards, a ghost started to appear. He very quickly began to look like a ghost and although he engaged in writing and various other activities he never again appeared so full of energy was he had at the beginning of the project. He died in 1918 leaving his stone offspring an orphan. From that time onwards, the fantasies and legends began to appear.

Abandoned by its owner, the Castle of Marroquín was used for different purposes by some very different owners: as a mental hospital, a cultural center, a center for political meetings, a stud farm for thoroughbred horses, a spiritualist convention center and a techno discothèque.