Jean Trinh is not simply the owner of Alquímico. Behind the awards and international recognition stands a deeply thoughtful and genuine individual. This is his personal journey.
By Denny Kallivoka
I deeply admire Jean and his work. For the past four years, I have been following his presentations and seminars closely, always struck by the same realization: what he speaks about is never only about drinks. It is about people, responsibility, culture, and the role hospitality can play in the world around us — a perspective that consistently inspires me.
Jean Trinh is owner of Alquímico in Cartagena — a bar internationally recognised with multiple global awards, including consistent placements in the World’s 50 Best Bars list and the Sustainable Bar Award — And he is also a genuinely wonderful guy. Intelligent, humorous, passionate, very low profile and deeply compassionate.
His Bar, Alquímico functions as a living platform for local communities. Together with his team, Jean actively collaborates with farmers, artisans, and indigenous groups, ensuring that local knowledge, culture, and livelihoods are not only respected, but embedded into everyday practice. Their contribution to surrounding communities is continuous, tangible, and deeply rooted in place.
Last summer, during the Bar in Front of the Bar – Island Tour, we spent three days together. We shared cocktails, wonderful Greek food with our generous hosts Konstantinos and Alex, laughter, conversations, and moments of genuine connection. During that time, I had the chance to hear his personal story more fully — and that is the story I am sharing with you now.
D. K.: Let’s start with a bit about you. Where are you from, and how did life lead you into the bar industry?
J.T. : My name is Jean Trinh. I was born in France to Vietnamese parents.
My parents were originally from Vietnam — from Ho Chi Minh City, actually. They had a business there, but by the late 1970s, they decided to leave the country due to the political situation. Communism made life increasingly difficult, especially when it came to education. My parents realized they wouldn’t be able to give my siblings the chance to study, so they made the tough decision to leave everything behind.
They sold everything they owned, bought a boat, gathered our entire extended family, and left Vietnam. They became what we call “boat people” — refugees. They first went to Malaysia and stayed on an island there for several months. Eventually, in 1978, a relative of ours made a phone call to the authorities in France, confirming our family ties. That’s how they were accepted into France.
They arrived with nothing — just one suitcase for the whole family. At the time, there were three sisters and one brother already born. Once in France, my mother worked as a cleaner in a school, and my father did painting and construction. They saved up money, and after a few years, they bought a food truck. That’s how we started — selling Vietnamese food in French markets.
I was born in 1982, so I grew up around hospitality from a very young age. First, with the food truck, and later, when my parents opened a restaurant, I was always around helping out in the kitchen or with customers.
Ironically, my parents always told me: “Never, ever go into hospitality.” They really wanted us to focus on education. And we did. All of us studied hard.
D. K. : What did you study?
J.T. : Engineering. After I graduated, I worked in construction — remodeling old buildings. I actually really enjoyed it. But at the same time, I always had a passion for hospitality. So in 2011, while I was still working as an engineer, I decided — along with some university friends — to finally pursue a dream we all shared: opening a bar. That dream became reality in Paris, in 2011.
From Engineering to Alquímico: Building a Dream in Cartagena
D. K. : Which bar did you open first?
J.T. : It was something like a mescalería — very small. At that time, I was still working as an engineer from Monday to Thursday night. And from Thursday night through Sunday, I worked in the bar.
By 2013, I was really missing Latin America. I’d spent some time there in the past, and I felt drawn back. So, at the end of 2013, I made a big decision: I bought a one-way ticket and moved to Colombia — a country I’d never actually visited before. I had no plan, but it turned out to be the best decision of my life. I’ve lived there ever since.
D. K. Πώς ξεκίνησες το bar σου και ποιο ήταν το concept;
D. K. : How did you start your bar, and what was the concept behind it?
J.T. : When I arrived in Cartagena — which is one of the most vibrant and beautiful colonial cities in the Caribbean — it was just before the 2014 World Cup in Brazil. After two or three months, I realized: there’s no relaxed place to watch the games, to just hang out and enjoy. So I started looking for a space.
Eventually, I found one and opened a bar with two very basic ideas:
-A screen and projector to show the matches.
-Making it as affordable and relaxed as possible.
What I haven’t mentioned yet is that I moved to Colombia with just €7,000 — that had to cover both living and opening something. That first bar in Cartagena was called El Laboratorio. I started with almost nothing.
At the time, cocktail culture in Colombia was quite limited. Bartenders mostly stuck to international classics using imported ingredients from the U.S. or Europe. The problem? Those cocktails cost the same as a local’s entire daily wage — completely inaccessible for most people.
So I decided to take a different route. Colombia is one of the most biodiverse countries in the world — full of fruits, herbs, and aromatics. I began experimenting with macerations and local ingredients, and I cut cocktail prices by two-thirds. That made El Laboratorio the most affordable bar in town, but also one of the most creative.
From day one, people loved it — watching games, hanging out, drinking great cocktails that didn’t break the bank.
Ten months after opening, I had a team of 12 people. That’s when I decided it was time to evolve. I closed El Laboratorio and began looking for a space in Cartagena’s Old Town.
After six months of searching, I found the perfect venue — a stunning but completely ruined house. That became the home of Alquímico.
I used the savings from my first year in Colombia and leaned on my engineering background — thanks to my parents always saying, “Go to school!” — to rebuild the space from scratch. And that’s how Alquímico was born.
Building Alquímico — and Rebuilding During Crisis
D. K. : So you opened your new venue. How did it grow from there?
J.T. : I saw the opportunity and went for it. I opened the bar, and at first, it was just the ground floor — we were a team of five. After one year, we opened the second floor, adding another bar and a kitchen. Two years in, we launched the rooftop. By then, we were a team of 24.
Today, we’re close to 100 people in the team.
It’s been years of hard work — with zero financial support from banks. But honestly, I think that worked out for the better. It meant that every step of our growth came from reinvesting what the bar itself was generating. Everything has been organic — both the story of the venue and of the team.
And I’m really proud of what we’ve built. It’s been a great school — not just for hospitality, but for life. It has taught us how to face challenges and find solutions, the same way I’ve seen people do in Greece. When something goes wrong, instead of focusing on the problem, you look for what can be done next.
D. K. : So the concept worked, the bar became a success, and then… COVID hit. You decided to do something quite extraordinary for your team. Can you share that story?
J.T. : Yes. When the pandemic hit and panic spread across the world — especially in Latin America — Colombia had no government support for businesses like ours. As entrepreneurs, we were on our own. Most venues let their entire staff go. But I didn’t want to do that.
At the time, we had a team of 55 people. I gathered them together and said:
“Don’t worry. We always say we never have time for education — now we do. So instead of working at the bar, we’ll dedicate 48 hours a week to learning.”
The first month was amazing — very energizing. But I was under extreme pressure because I was still paying 100% of everyone’s salaries. That was the deal: I’d pay them fully, and in return, we’d invest in ourselves through education.
After a month, though, I was struggling. I had a conversation with my family back in France, where things were different — the government was covering 80% of salaries. One of my sisters, knowing how bad things were getting, said:
“Why don’t you take the team to the farm?”
Now, at the time, that idea sounded impossible. The lockdown in Colombia was strict — we could only leave the house once every 10 days to buy food. And the farm? It was 1,000 kilometers away from the bar. I had bought the land, yes, but there was nothing there — no house, no infrastructure.
At first, I was frustrated by her suggestion. But then I took a breath and made a phone call. I reached out to the guy who had built a bamboo roof on the land just before the pandemic. I asked him:
“Can you turn that roof into a livable house — in just one month?”
He said yes.
So I called the team. I told them that, unfortunately, I would have to stop paying salaries starting in one month. It wasn’t just about employees — it was about 55 families. I was heartbroken to say it.
But I gave them an option:
“You can stay. I’ll no longer pay you a salary, but I’ll cover your food, transport, and housing. We’ll move to the farm, start everything from scratch, and build something new — together.”
And after a few days, half the team said yes.
So on May 15, 2020, we moved to the farm. The house wasn’t ready, but we split into two groups — one worked on agriculture, the other on construction. After many challenges, we built a house big enough for all of us. And we lived there — together.
And that’s how the story of the farm began.
Sustainability, Purpose & a New Perspective on Hospitality
You can’t imagine it — every day, every story from that time! So many evenings, so many drinks… we’d need days just to sit down and share it all. But one day, I’ll show you. I’ll show you in Colombia.
After about a month and a half, we completed the house and moved in. That moment is something we’ll never forget. We were living together, working together — and filming the entire journey. We were sharing what was happening, because we knew: this was life-changing.
Months later, when the authorities finally allowed bars to reopen, I got a call as I was heading back to Cartagena. It was from London, from the team at 50 Best. They told me:
“Jean, you and your team are the first ever bar from Colombia to enter the 50 Best list.”
Not only that — we also received the Sustainable Bar Award that same year. They recognized the farm story, the effort, and the way we responded to the crisis — not with fear, but with creativity, care, and resilience.
Since then, the farm has become a central part of what we do. It’s also become my home — when I’m in Colombia, I live there most of the time.
That experience completely shifted how we see our work. Not just the day-to-day, but the purpose behind it. Even before the pandemic, we were leaning toward more conscious practices. But since then, our vision has widened to include everyone around us: indigenous communities, farmers, artisans, and anyone else we can empower through what we do.
D. K. : Tell me about the necklace. The tiger necklace.
J.T. : Yes — but I need to give you a bit of context.
Colombia is incredibly diverse, both in nature and in culture. There are many indigenous tribes across the country. Near the farm, I met one such tribe at the end of the pandemic. I asked them how they survived during lockdown.
Their answer was simple:
“We live from our craft.”
That day, the shaman was wearing a necklace — a handmade piece with a tiger. I asked how we could support them. And he said:
“Buy from us.”
So that’s what we did. We began a collaboration.
Each necklace is unique, and it takes 8 to 10 days to make one. Every year, at Christmas, we gift one to every single member of the Alquímico team. Today, that’s over 100 people.
This collaboration supports 20 indigenous families year-round.
These necklaces aren’t for sale. They’re gifts — either for our staff, or for our close friends from around the world who come to Colombia and give us a week of their time. They spend three or four days at the farm, see what we do, visit the bar, liv the experience. After that, they receive theirs.
D. K. : So at this point, the bar is more than just a bar for you. It’s a means of expression — maybe a way to give back?
J.T. : Exactly. For me, hospitality has become a platform. We’re very sensitive to what’s happening — in Cartagena, in Colombia, and around the world when we travel. But you know what I’ve realized? One of the most powerful tools isn’t the guest shift.
Guest shifts are great, but they’re short. You serve drinks, you connect, but there’s only so much time — and usually, you only talk about cocktails.
So now, whenever I travel, I always try to give a class — even if no one asks. Just one hour, where I sit down with the bar’s team and talk. Not just about drinks, but about the industry, the culture, and the bigger picture behind what we do.
Hospitality as a Platform for Change
I don’t talk about cocktails during these talks — not because I don’t love them, but because the few minutes we have should be used for something deeper. I want to use that time to help people open their eyes to what’s around them — and maybe inspire some decisions that improve life for others.
That could mean your staff, your community, your family, your farmers — it really depends on where you live. But I believe that anywhere in the world, there are people whose quality of life can be improved. And all of us — not just bars and restaurants, but anyone — can be part of that improvement.
By sharing, collaborating, and working together, we can genuinely change lives.
D. K. : If I come to your bar and I know nothing about farms or your story — what experience will I have? What’s the feeling of Alquímico?
J.T. : The idea is simple: to make you feel welcome from the moment you walk through the door. To give you a true experience. What that experience is depends a bit on what time of day you come — but no matter what, the goal is to make people feel good.
Most guests don’t know the full story of what we do. But if they ask, we’re happy to share. Otherwise, they’re just here to have a great time — and that’s enough.
Of course, our cocktails are rooted in Colombia. We use local produce exclusively. The only things we import are the base spirits — everything else is 100% Colombian, and that’s something we’ll never change. Through our drinks, food, service, and music, we aim to showcase the richness of Colombian culture and its people.
If someone comes, has a good time, and wants to come back — that’s the goal.
Also, it’s really important to us that the bar stays accessible. We’re not a luxury spot reserved for the wealthy. In fact, we are the most affordable bar in Cartagena, and I want to keep it that way. We welcome people from all over the world, but it’s just as important to me that local Colombians feel like this bar is for them, too.
D. K. : Thank you so much.
