Macarena: Tradition in 3 Old Shops

La Macarena is not what it used to be (and that's fine, but not entirely)

If you've lived in Bogotá for more than twenty years, you probably remember La Macarena as that quiet, slightly bohemian neighborhood, smelling of freshly brewed coffee and old paper. Today, among art galleries, designer restaurants, and trendy bars, there are still three establishments that refuse to die. Three shops that have watched gentrification pass by without flinching, with the same wooden counter, the same yellow light, and the same owners (or their children) serving behind the same apron. In August 2026, as the neighborhood fills with tourists seeking the perfect photo at the Chorro de Quevedo, these three shops remain the real heart of La Macarena.

This is a tour of three businesses with over forty years of history: a record store, a fabric store, and a grocery store. Three parallel worlds that coexist with the modern offering and tell the visitor another story, one that doesn't appear in travel guides.

A bit of context: from residential neighborhood to cultural zone

To understand why these shops are so special, you need to know that La Macarena wasn't always the cultural epicenter it is today. In the 1950s and 60s, it was a lower-middle-class neighborhood with one- and two-story houses, where entire families lived in shared housing. The steep streets that now climb toward the eastern hills were full of kids playing soccer and women going out to buy bread at the corner shops.

The change began in the 1970s, when the Universidad Nacional and the Universidad Distrital attracted students and professors. Then, in the 90s, the first art galleries and design workshops arrived. The turning point was the creation of the Eje Ambiental and the pedestrianization of Calle 26, which connected the neighborhood to the historic center. Suddenly, La Macarena became "cool." But while design stores were opening their doors, these three shops had already been operating for decades, and they're still there, as silent witnesses to a transformation that hasn't taken an inch of their floor space.

The curious thing is that they're not relics frozen in time. They're living businesses that have managed to adapt to new times without losing their essence. And that's exactly what makes them fascinating.

Shop 1: The vinyl paradise on Calle 9

If you're one of those who think vinyl is a millennial hipster invention, let me tell you that in La Macarena there's a store that's been selling vinyl records since before your parents were born. It's called Discos El Óxido (real name, not invented), and it's on Calle 9 with Carrera 5, in a house that seems frozen in 1975.

Don Álvaro Rojas, 78, is the owner. He inherited the business from his father, who founded it in 1968, when rock and roll was just arriving in Colombia and people bought 45 RPM records to dance at neighborhood parties. "My dad sold boleros and rancheras, then the Beatles came and everything changed," he tells me as he cleans a vinyl by Los Apson Boys with a cloth. "Now young people come looking for things I didn't even know existed, but the deal is the same: you listen before you buy."

The store is organized chaos. There are cardboard boxes full of records everywhere, classified by genre (though Don Álvaro is the only one who understands his system). On the walls hang covers of Colombian artists like Joe Arroyo, Diomedes Díaz, and Los Fabulosos Cadillacs. The reference price in August 2026 ranges from $15,000 to $80,000 COP per record, depending on rarity and condition. The most expensive are the hard salsa records from the 70s, which according to Don Álvaro "sell themselves."

The anecdote that changed everything

Don Álvaro fondly remembers a customer who came in 1985 looking for a record by an Argentine band called Virus. "The guy cried when I found it," he says laughing. "Turns out he was the brother of a musician who had died, and that record was the only memory he had left." That kind of story is what keeps the business alive. It's not just selling records; it's selling memories.

For nostalgic tourists, Discos El Óxido is a must-stop. Not only for the collection, which includes rarities you won't find in any digital store, but for the experience of talking with Don Álvaro, who can tell you the story of every record on his shelf. It's open Monday to Saturday, from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m., but it's recommended to call ahead because sometimes he closes "because I went to have lunch with my granddaughter."

Shop 2: Fabrics and memories on Carrera 4

Two blocks from Discos El Óxido, on Carrera 4 with Calle 10, is Almacén de Telas La Esperanza. A name that says a lot: hope is what's left for Doña Bertha Gómez, 72, when she sees that new generations no longer sew. But she's still there, with her wooden meter stick and tailor's scissors, serving the few customers who still look for fabric to make curtains, tablecloths, or costumes.

The store has existed since 1972. Doña Bertha opened it with her husband, who was a tailor by trade and taught her the craft. "Half the neighborhood got dressed here," she says proudly. "The kids from the block came to buy fabric for their school uniforms, the women to make dresses for the novenas, and the neighborhood artists to make their carnival costumes."

The place is a trip to the past. Rolls of fabric are stacked on wooden shelves that reach the ceiling, organized by color and texture. There's cotton, linen, silk, velvet, and even 80s polyester still in its original roll. The smell is unmistakable: new fabric mixed with the dust of decades of history.

The craft that refuses to die

In August 2026, Doña Bertha is one of the last weavers and sellers of artisanal fabric in the center of Bogotá. "Nobody wants to learn to sew anymore," she laments. "Everything is about buying clothes made in China. But I tell the young women: if you know how to sew, you'll never lack a plate of food."

The store has become a meeting point for artisans and independent designers looking for unique fabrics for their collections. "There's a girl who makes rag dolls, another who makes bags, and even a man who makes costumes for the Teatro Colón," says Doña Bertha. "They're the ones who keep me alive."

Prices are surprisingly affordable: from $8,000 COP per meter for basic fabrics to $35,000 for the finest ones. The service is personal: Doña Bertha will ask you what you're going to sew, recommend the type of fabric, and even give you sewing tips. It's open Tuesday to Sunday, from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., and doesn't close even in January, because "in January people start making new curtains for the year."

Shop 3: The grocery store that fed generations

The third shop is the humblest, but perhaps the most important for neighborhood life. It's called Tienda y Granero La Macarena, on Calle 11 with Carrera 3, and it's one of those neighborhood stores that almost no longer exist in Bogotá: they sell everything, from a pound of rice to a pack of candles, and the owner will give you credit if he trusts you.

Don Pedro Martínez, 65, is the second generation running the business. His mother founded it in 1965, when the neighborhood was pure countryside and neighbors all knew each other by name. "My mom sold panela, cheese, and eggs she brought from her farm in Boyacá," recalls Don Pedro. "Over time we added more things, but the spirit is the same: here, whoever needs something, finds it."

The store is a maze of shelves full of products that seem from another era: Festival cookies in tins, Colombiana sodas in glass bottles, earth soap, tallow candles, and a display case with traditional sweets like coconut kisses, brevas with arequipe, and manjar blanco. All at neighborhood prices, which in August 2026 remain the lowest in the area: a personal soda costs $3,500 COP, a pound of panela $4,000, and a dulce de leche $2,000.

The social heart of the neighborhood

What makes this store special is not just what it sells, but what it represents. "Here the neighborhood gossip has happened, fights have been resolved, parties have been held, and couples have even gotten married," says Don Pedro, laughing. "In the 80s, during the Bogotá blackout, the store was the only place with light because my mom had a generator. The whole neighborhood gathered here to listen to the radio."

For longtime customers, the store is a refuge. "I've been coming here every day for 30 years," says Doña Rosa, 80, waiting her turn to buy a dozen eggs. "Don Pedro knows me, he knows I don't have money for the bus, and he sends my errands home with his son." That kind of commercial relationship no longer exists in big supermarkets, and it's exactly what visitors seek when they want to connect with the neighborhood's past.

The store is open every day from 7 a.m. to 9 p.m., because "a neighborhood never sleeps," says Don Pedro. And it doesn't close even at Christmas, because "at Christmas is when panela is most needed to make the sweet."

The contrast with the modern offering

It's impossible to talk about these three shops without mentioning the gentrification that has transformed La Macarena. A few blocks from these establishments, there are specialty coffee shops selling a cappuccino for $15,000 COP, galleries exhibiting works by international artists, and restaurants offering tasting menus for $200,000 COP. The difference is abysmal, but not necessarily negative.

In fact, the owners of the three shops agree that the arrival of new businesses has brought them customers they didn't have before. "Before, only the neighbors came," says Don Álvaro. "Now tourists from Europe come to buy salsa records, and they ask me about the neighborhood's history. I tell them, and they leave happy."

Coexistence isn't always easy. Rents have gone up, and several historic establishments have closed in recent years because they can't afford the lease. But these three shops have survived because their owners own the properties, not rent them. "My dad bought this place in 1968 with his life savings," says Don Álvaro. "I don't have to pay rent, so I can sell cheaper and weather the lean times."

That's the key to their resistance: ownership. And also a lesson for the new

Generational Change and the Challenges of the Digital Age

If the three stores have anything in common, besides their longevity, it is that they all face a similar challenge: succession. In a neighborhood where more and more businesses are closing due to their owners' retirement or real estate pressure, the inevitable question is what will happen when don Álvaro, doña Bertha, or don Pedro can no longer tend the counter. The answer, though uncertain, has hopeful nuances.

At Discos El Óxido, don Álvaro's 45-year-old son already manages the digital inventory and posts new arrivals on Instagram. "I'm not as nostalgic as my dad, but I understand the business," says Andrés Rojas, who combines his work as an accountant with tending the store on weekends. "We've started selling through WhatsApp and shipping to other cities. The challenge is that the store doesn't lose the soul my grandfather instilled in it."

At Almacén de Telas La Esperanza, the situation is more complex. Doña Bertha has no children who want to continue the trade, and although she has tried to train a niece, the young woman prefers the world of digital design. "I told her: 'honey, the sewing machine doesn't bite,' but she wants to do virtual things," says doña Bertha with a mix of resignation and pride. "At least I'm teaching two girls from SENA who come on Saturdays to learn the trade. They are the future."

The case of Tienda y Granero La Macarena is the most encouraging. Her youngest son, Carlos, 28, decided to take over the business after studying business administration. "My dad thought I was going to go work for a multinational, but I grew up here, I know every customer by name," says Carlos. "I'm modernizing the place: we now accept cards, we have delivery through an app, and even a small specialty coffee shop with local products. But my grandmother's wooden counter is still there, and it's going to stay."

Technology as an Ally, Not an Enemy

Far from seeing digitalization as a threat, the three businesses have found it to be an ally for survival. Don Pedro, the grocery store owner, was the first to realize its potential: "When the pandemic started, my son set up a WhatsApp group for neighborhood orders. Now we have more than 200 customers who order through there, and that saved us."

Doña Bertha, though more reluctant, has agreed to let her niece take photos of the fabrics and post them on social media. "The girls from SENA taught me how to use a cellphone to show my products," she says. "Now I have customers in Cali and Medellín who order fabrics online. I never thought my store would reach that far."

But they all agree that technology does not replace human interaction. "The customer comes for the fabric, but stays for the conversation," sums up doña Bertha. "No app is going to provide that."

The Immediate Future: What Visitors Can Expect in 2027

Looking ahead to the coming months, the three establishments have concrete plans that blend tradition and innovation. Discos El Óxido is preparing a series of acoustic concerts in its small inner courtyard, with local artists performing versions of the records they sell. Almacén de Telas La Esperanza is organizing basic sewing workshops for beginners, limited to eight people per session. And Tienda y Granero La Macarena plans to launch a line of pantry products with retro packaging inspired by 1960s designs.

For the visitor arriving in La Macarena seeking authenticity, these three stores will continue to be, at least for the next few years, a window into a past that refuses to disappear. They are not museums; they are living businesses that prove tradition and modernity can coexist, as long as there is someone willing to keep the flame burning.