Romancing the Stone

Colombia

In a discussion whilst having a beer or two, Tamara and I had been trying to decide if our travels in South America could be classed as an adventure or not. It turned out that neither of us actually knew the precise definition of what an adventure was and after a little research on the web found the following: An adventure is an activity that comprises risky, dangerous or uncertain experiences. If this was so, our travels had been one big adventure and Colombia was to be no different.

Leaving Quito on the bus on route for the Colombian Border I felt a little sadness. I was leaving the Northern boundary of the once great Inca Empire. Since arriving in Northern Argentina many months previous I'd travelled the length of the Inca Empire through Bolivia, Peru and Ecuador. Now different cultures and lands lay ahead.

The ease of travel never ceased to amaze me in South America. The journey from Quito to Pasto, in Colombia, could not have been easier. A bus to the border town of Tulcan, taxi to the border post, passport formalities, swap some Dollars for Pesos, taxi drivers fighting over me for the fare, taxi to the bus station in Ipiales and a share taxi to Pasto. I could have walked straight over the border without anybody noticing, but being an illegal immigrant in Colombia or anywhere in South America is not advisable. 8 hours after leaving Quito and a stress free journey I was checked into my hotel in Pasto.

Like cities in Ecuador, Pasto had a modern feel but with not many tourists around people did seem to stair at me, maybe I was needing a haircut or something.

The Only Risk is Not Wanting to Leave

In Southern Columbia government troops fight guerrilla troops in what is in fact a low level civil war. 30% of Colombia is controlled by guerrillas of different political persuasions. The politics have long been lost with drugs and kidnapping being the big issues now. Colombia supplies 80% of the worlds cocaine. Non of this was obvious on the streets of Pasto where they were gearing up for Santa Semana, or Holy week, a major religious festival in South America.

With 17,198 murders and 486 kidnappings reported in 2007, I wondered why I was visiting this country. However the kidnapping figure for 2004 was 1440, so the country is surely getting safer and security is improving. Colombia is opening up to travellers but now is the time to visit before the masses arrive and the prices go up.

For a much fuller in site into the current situation in Colombia, including drugs, click on the Reuters link to the right.

The journey from Pasto to Popayan was through some beautiful South American scenery, mountains, forest, canyons and a tiny road that wound it's way through. This road is not advised at night but the danger is the road itself not from bandits or paramilitaries. Sitting back in the luxury air conditioned bus the scenery played like a movie through the window.

Having just recovered from my bad stomach in Ecuador my immune system must have been shot because arriving in Popayan I was full of the cold. This laid me out for a few days but I found the energy to see some of the Santa Semana celebrations. A sombre affair with a 2 hour procession through the town with hundreds of men, women, children, brass bands and strange religious statues. Thousands lined the streets.

Only Happy When It Rains

High on the list of dodgy capital cities is Bogota, I was woken there by the bus driver after everyone else had gotten off, 3 hours before I thought I'd arrive. Luckily my bag was still waiting for me on the pavement. In a taxi speeding though the deserted streets, early morning, the city appeared cold and bleak. Across from the hostel a man was asleep on the pavement, This was the trendy Candelaria district, safer but definitely not safe.

I met up with Tamara here again, and with her now suffering the same cold as me we decided we should head for warmer climes as soon as possible. Bogota was cold and wet. To add to the feel of unease it was the end of Santa Semana and the weekend, the streets were eerily quiet in the evening.

On Monday the streets were full of people again, the sun was shining but our health still poor, we visited the gold museum downtown. A fabulous collection of pre-Hispanic artifacts some from the 'Lost City' where we hoped to visit.

Our escape from Bogota was aided by a friendly policeman at the bus station, an 18 year old doing his national service. He accompanied us to buy our tickets and waited for us to board the bus telling us he was there for our safety. I think Tamara wanted to take him with her.

Our bus drivers for this 22 hour journey to Cartagena were Tweedle dee and Tweedle dum. Two very fat jolly men, laughing and joking, talking and texting on their phones whilst overtaking at night and buying all the food from the hawkers when the bus stopped. We had the front seats unfortunately. On South American buses it's best not to see what's going on on the road.

Here Comes The Sun

The city of Cartagena had become an objective of this trip soon after arriving in South America. The port city on the Caribbean coast with a lovely old town surrounded by impressive defensive walls. In 10 years time mass tourism may have spoilt this city. Go now. Beautiful old colonial buildings and squares, some really good bars including the Whisky Bar run by old black dudes playing cool tunes. I celebrated my birthday in Cartagena, top quality steak and Argentinian red wine.

Four hours from Cartagena was Taganga our next destination on the Caribbean coast, near the city of Santa Marta. A mini bus winds it's way through the shanty town at the edge of Santa Marta and over the hills to Taganga only 5km away. Another travellers' hang out, I'd seen nicer but it had a cool vibe on the street.

A Colombian Tourist brochure had on the cover 'Colombia, the only risk is not wanting to leave'. Seeing military police with machine guns walk in formation down a street near the centre of Santo Marta in the evening suggested there were bigger risks than this. Numerous army checkpoints along the roads.

Kids with Guns

We had sat and watched many people walk along the path that links Taganga with the nearby beach of Playa Grande and double checked with the hotel receptionist it was the right way to go. Setting off just after lunch time we walked along the rocky cliff path. Rounding a corner on the path we greeted a group of young lads. In a scene that I'd played out in my head many times one of them pulls out a gun, the rest had broken bottles. They took our bags which had our cameras and a small quantity of money but left us unharmed. This was a pretty scary experience, probably the scariest situation in my life so far. Abandoning plans for the beach we went to the police station to report the crime. It was a Sunday and the police were fairly unconcerned until we said it was armed robbery. We still had to go to Santa Marta the following day to get a report for insurance claims. The loss of another camera explaining the lack of photos on this blog, luckily for us they never found El Corazon.

More danger back at the hotel, a scorpion scurried across the bathroom floor. At least we could deal with that.

It took up all of the next day finding the right police station to go to, queuing and finally reporting what had happened to a very sympathetic Colombian police woman. She wasn't surprised, blaming it on Colombia's terrible social problems. Robbery at knife or gunpoint is an all to common occurrence for the people of Colombia. The waiting room had been full of people with some badly bruised and scarred women. This was not the way Tamara had planned to spend her birthday.

In indication of the poverty and unfair distribution of wealth could be seen on the main street of Santa Marta, the driver of a donkey and cart vying for space with cars and buses.

In the foot steps of Indy, to the The Lost City

The Lost City (Ciudad Perdida) had been known to the Indigenous people in the area long before it was discovered by grave robbers in 1975. They know it as Teyuna. The trip to the lost city was to be the last big adventure of mine and Tamara´s at the end of our South American travels. A 6 day trip into the jungle considered as moderately difficult. The British Foreign Office does not regard this trip as safe due to guerrilla activity in this area and because 8 foreign tourists were kidnapped at the Lost City in 2003. There were rumours that this was a publicity stunt by the guerrillas to highlight human rights abuses by the Colombian Government and the tourists had agreed to the kidnapping before hand. They were released 3 months later unharmed. The Lost City is located deep in the Jungle in the North of Columbia and was inhabited from 800 A.D. to 1600 A.D. It was never discovered by the Spanish Conquistadors and may have housed between 2000 and 8000 people.

Day 1 we get picked up from our hostel and taken to Santa Marta to meet the other members of our group. A mix of Argentinian, French, German, Basque Spanish, English and as usual, me the sole representative of Scotland.

We set off in the old Toyota Landcruiser converted into a bus with 3 rows of open seats, passing by Tayrona National park, finally to the turn off for the Lost City and an army checkpoint. The group list was passed over to a soldier and our names were called out, a bit like being back at school. All present we were let through and bumped our way along a little jungle track for nearly 2 hours. Now further inland we were missing the sea breeze, it was hot and humid, just like the jungle should be.


Sweating buckets on the small track, swimming in the river, climbing up then down we pass a group of friendly soldiers all too keen to pose with us for photos with their guns. We reached the first camp as darkness was falling, soon to be asleep in our hammocks.

Day 2 we awoke early in a beautiful setting. A small valley surrounded by jungle with a small river leading to a waterfall. We set off early for the next part of the trek, today passing Indigenous villages. We stop to visit one, I´m never really sure about this, it feels a bit like visiting a human zoo. I wonder what benefit the people get.

These people live very simple lives, living entirely off the land they have no need for money. The government had tried to set up a school here but nobody wanted to go so it closed down. In their world they have no need to read or write. They are tiny in physical size compared to us, wear white dresses and had long black hair. We saw them regularly along the trail. They looked at us in a slightly bemused way but we felt that they were somehow looking out for us along the trek. Our second night was in bunk beds in a shed just up from an army camp.

Day 3 we were up early again and set off along the treacherous path above the river. In the distance we could here gun shot. Fighting or target practice we didn´t know. The guide told us there were no guerrillas in the area but also that all the soldiers along the track were for our protection. Protection from what exactly we were not sure.

The track got progressively worse and wound it´s way along a river bed and across the river no less than 7 times until we reached the foot of the stairs to the lost city. Steep small and slippery with moss, there were 2000 of them to climb.



We walked through the city as the rain began to fall and the mist come in. After lunch we retired to our tent on the top floor of the shack to try to get warm. It felt as cold as a November afternoon in Aberdeen.

Day 4 had a more relaxed start with a tour around the city. Only the foundations remain, the buildings having been made out of wood. The area the grave robbers had been interested in was the ceremonial areas where many gold artifacts were buried. The ones missed by the grave robbers were stolen by dishonest archaeologists and anthropologists. Some are now displayed in the Gold Museum in Bogota. The site doesn't have the visual impact of say Machu Pichu or Angkor Wat, but it's definitely worth the effort to get there. An incredibly remote and idyllic setting in the jungle.

Having safely negotiated the slippery stairway down to the river we retraced our steps down the river valley. After the 2nd river crossing Tamara slipped and fell with a thud on the rocks and half in the river. There was a look of pain on her face. We helped her up and she found she could put no weight on her left leg. Her knee had been twisted. We reassured her it would all be okay but stuck in this remote jungle what would we do? There was an indigenous village across the river and a man was sent for the jungle ambulance. Mean while Tamara would have to be carried by the porters until the path was suitable for the mule. The porters were strong, I could hardly keep up when they were carrying her on their backs and the terrain was really demanding. There was a slight look of relief on Tamara´s face as she saw the mule arrive, it would make things a lot easier. We made it back to the camp as light was falling.

Day 5 we walked out of the jungle so Tamara could get to a doctor quicker. She still couldn't put any weight on her leg. Not the ideal way to finish the trek but at least we were both out in one piece. Where I had to continually look at where my feet were going Tamara could look at the scenery on the back of the horse. The trip had been great but the guide was an idiot. He confirmed this by getting drunk very quickly in the bus on the way back to Santa Marta and falling out with the driver and porters and generally annoying everybody.

Back in Taganga

With one week left until we both flew back home we took the opportunity to relax beside the beach. Tamara had no option with her twisted knee.



We checked into the best hotel on the beach ate, drank, sat back, relaxed and contemplated the previous 7 months of our travels in South America. An incredible time, an incredible adventure.

Returning to Bogota for our flights home we were both a little paranoid about being robbed again. Being careful using the banks and not carrying our passports. Yeah Colombia, not for the faint hearted!

The End

So that's end of Brainzworld for just now. Two years of epic travels through twenty countries across five continents. From snowboarding the Southern Alps and modern culture to ancient and lost civilisations, it's been a journey of discovery, learning and freedom. Two very good years of my life. But it's back to the world of working for me now. More adventures in the future.....? Damn right!!!