Bogota - Armenia - Salento: 12/03

I caught the bus from Bogota with Janet from Sydney - at 63 years young she continues to travel the world and tackle it head on. We journeyed out along the Bogota plain towards the west, passing through fields of Australian weeds like gum trees and Blackwood and an endless string of luxurious holiday resorts and adventure camps that preceded the town of Ibague. Many of these were defunct, with weeds growing high around murky swimming pools and the peeling paint on abandoned hotel rooms. But some were maintained - obviously the economic boom that had created this glut is over and the fittest had survived. Then we began ascending the inevitable range.

With 65 million people in quite a small space Colombia certainly is crowded. A large portion of the terrain remains undeveloped because of the Andes and the Amazon, which have both also made creating rail infrastructure difficult - old trucks are the main form of cargo distribution and rule the roads. With the population grasping at first-world consumerism they run frequently through the limited arteries feeding into Bogota. All of these arteries pass through the Andes on narrow winding roads. One might ask how does this road system hold up to all the trucks, buses, speedbumps, roadworks, police/military checks, hold-ups, accidents and toll points¿ Answer: generally it doesnt. On our trip one of the frequent accidents held us up for two hours all up. The traffic banked the other looked even worse. Just another day in paradise.

We arrived in Armenia (a town recently flattened by an earthquake and rebuilt in a modern fashion) and managed by just 15min to transfer to the last collectivo to Salento. This rattled through in about an hour - en route we were stopped by the army to be patted down as a routine security check. Ordinarily the anti-establishmentarianism would have risen like leavened bread inside me at this, but after hearing the horror stories about night buses and such I was kind of glad for it. A good patting down by a man with a gun in uniform never goes astray either... So after that we arrived in Salento and went to our hostel, meeting Sven from Germany before hitting the hay.

Santa Marta - Bogota: 05/03 - 12/03

Back in Santa Marta I fulfilled my backpacker duty in dispensing information about volunteering, the Cranky Croc and the Amazon to various other backpackers. I was also told about lots of other cool places to go and things to do in Colombia - a shame my money is running out. But still, I`ve yet to get to Ecuador. So I boarded the return bus to Bogota armed with all my water and fresh food. The journey soon turned bad though. A cranky stomach (what`s new?), the conflicting temperatures of about 10 degrees (accurate) in the dead of night combined with hot-air blasting up at me from the engine, being next to a stinky toilet all were uncomfortable enough - but the combination of being at the very back seat on Colombia`s poorly maintained bumpy roads with Lead-foot Larries driving (on the accelerator and brake) and the approximately 1 billion ·$&·&% speed bumps we went over made for a rather peaceful 18hrs to be sure (see beanie photo).

On the bus trip I met an Israeli guy and we journey back to the Cranky Croc together - he hadn`t reserved anything so didn`t get a bed though. The following days I did not much but drink great coffee, eat at The Crazy Mongolian and gorge on lush sundaes for all of $3 at Crepes & Waffles. I got a little altitude effected on the second night and couldn`t sleep. On the Sunday I jogged through Cyclovia a little. I also ventured to a cool French crepe place - see photo, note the AUSSIE pencil case underneath a strategically place cat on the female mannequin. I bought a antique packet of condoms - see photo. I hope they weren`t made in the 70`s too... On Monday night I caught up with my Bogota amigos Lino, Juan Carlos and Diana again at our nice cafe. We shared more laughs, drinks and photos - of course it was a fun night - if you`re reading this thanks again guys¡

On Tuesday and Wednesday I hung out with Angelica, a lovely girl whom I had met in Tayrona. We explored the Museum of Modern Art including a social/political comment cartooning exhibition and works by a Colombian artist using a unique method of painting with strong colours and tactile fabrics. Then we watched a great Argentinian arthouse film from the 80`s - although I didn`t understand the dialogue much of the story was easy enough to follow and the acting great. We also explored the botanic garden complete with butterfly enclosure and sections on all different types of Colombian jungle. Many different Australian plants too. On the buses there and back we observed amongst other things (including a frenzy surrounding the Metallica concert) the usual stream of folk getting on the bus to petition the passengers for money. These people often have things to sell - the first thing they do is hand out the things to sell without asking for money. Amazingly enough the passengers generally take them. After that they will invariably launch into a tirade of morality usually in relacion to drugs, jail, depravity, self-salvation and their impossibly poor personal situation. Amazingly enough they never have to pay a fare for this privilege and amazingly enough the passengers tolerate up to two or three of these folk per trip. I actually think that`s a sign of a compassionate population because as my American friend Cynthia and I discussed we knew a similar thing in the States would attract loud vocal derision and (possibly physical) abuse. But then one man was presenting not nick-nacks to sell but impressive performance poetry including sudden loud ejaculations at pedestrians on the street. Pretty cool :)

At the hostel I shared (yet another) sundae with Steve the Canadian, who travels 4 or 5 months a year during the Canadian winter to support his acting habit. A very fun and funny guy - his outstanding quotes being from a fellow Canadian Forestry industry worker speaking about a forestry scientist - "You`d have to go to university a long time to get that stupid". Heh heh heh - no offense uni-heads. Well, maybe a little bit ;) Someone asked him what type of acting he did usually. "Over-acting." :) I also met many fun and interesting people including Erik and Kim from London being ex-pat Australasians. Thanks to Kim for some great graffiti photos from the public university :) The riot police graffiti refers to recent illegal incursions of police into the university to forcibly suppress demonstrations and translates as `Mum will be so happy when I tell her I´ve gotten into university!`. One day I saw some council workers sharpening their chisels on the bitumen.

I also met a couple who`d been robbed on a night bus at gunpoint in southern Colombia. Then more stories started appearing about dangerous and terrible situations other travellers had been in, including one of two backpackers and 6 more locals being fatally injured and 40 more injured in a bus crash in Ecuador. As they lay dying outside the crash local people did not help them but robbed them of all their possesions including identification. Possibly the most gut-wrechingly disgusting story I`ve heard, particularly having happened last month and myself going to Ecuador soon. That`s not human.

So as such I adjusted my plans for no more night buses and decided to head to Salento, a pretty colonial town where the world`s tallest palms grow, alongside some of the finest coffee in the world.

Tayrona Natural Park: 25/02 - 04/03

Tayrona Natural Park is a smallish but very biodiverse strip of littoral jungle on the Caribbean with a series of difficult to access coves and bays lined with coconut palms - some of these are developed basically enough to facilitate the thousands of tourists that visit each year. The development has been done reasonably well environmentally and the park is clean considering the amounts of plastic crap carted in every day.

My walk started in thick but dry jungle with lots of palms, fig trees and lianas. The 1hr walk to the beach at Arrecifes was hefty with two bags full and food for a week - it made me look back with admiration of Michelle and my journey across the borders of Argentina and Chile.

Being the beginning of the low season the beaches were relatively free of tourists. A beach trail joins Arrecifes (where you aren`t allowed to swim because of supposed dangerous rips) with La Piscina and El Cabo, both gorgeous protected coves for swimming. At Cabo the beautiful backpackers come to camp, swing hammocks and soak up the rays.

The first few days I spent sleeping, relaxing and swimming. It was very nice. On the third day I hiked on a fantastic trail through the jungle rock steppping up to about 300m and Pueblito, the ruins of an ancient Kogi town. Then I continued down, down, down to the amazing Playa Brava - a secluded cove set amongst the littoral forest, inaccessible by beach and rarely accessed due to strong currents by sea.

Playa Brava settlement consists of a 3 ha clearing with hexagonal elevated pole cabins and spaces for hammocks underneath, a office/store/`restaurant` building and a large open area dotted with coconuts. It is runs by 3 Kogi Indian boys who make themselves busy collecting and processing coconuts, cooking for the guests, maintaining their menagerie of farm animals and occasionally maintaining the accomodation. The original owner must have had grand ideas for the place, mounting hippie quotes like `Long live madness inside the wisdom of nature` on the trail leading there. There was also a now-defunct luxury swimming pool.

So arriving there I soon realised it was just what I had been fantasising about - a delicious sea breeze, comfortable hammocks, shade and rough but bathable surf in the fresh Caribbean. I had read it was a nudist beach and half-expected it to be full of crusty old Colombian men but actually there turned out to be more females than males - unfortunately none were naked though, oh well. So, I wasn´t going to spend the rest of my week in `nice-but-not-a-lick-on-Playa-Brava´ Arrecifes. After downing a Coke I smashed my way back to my tent to eat a mountain of food - it had been a hard day: 7hrs trekking and 1200m or so of altitude change.

The next morning I rose early to completely slim down my things, taking only food, one set of clothes and other bare essentials. This was because the hike up to Pueblito was impossible with a heavy large pack. On this morning my legs weren`t so fresh, but I pushed through it and willed myself back to Brava knowing I was walking in the cooler part of the day. On the descent to the beach I met Raquel whom I`d met the day before. Currently living in Venezuela she proceeded to inform me of just how shit the state of play there is. Chavez, corruption, pathetic wages, Chavez, crazy, paranoia, crime, military, Chavez etc. The ironic thing is is that that image could easily be one that many Westerners currently have of life in Colombia with the reality not being as such. Anyway, I arrived again, unloaded, ate and relaxed.... Ahhhh.

My days at Playa Brava were spent jogging and exercising on the beach, soaking up a lot of sun and reading `Angels & Demons` by Dan Brown - a book written for Hollywood film complete with all the romance and action but still full of interesting subject matter. One day I decided to try to explore the coast the the west on foot, climbing around the razor-sharp rocks falling into the sea. I was doing fairly well (I found a cool blowhole) but came to an impassable inlet. So of course this was where my animal subconscious stepped in, deciding I hadn`t had enough adrenaline or adventure recently and instead of turning back I climbed upwards to try to pass over the top of the cove. Bep beurrh. The rocks quickly turned to slippery, crumbly shale, leaving me seemingly stranded at a few points, but I managed to keep on. Soon however I couldn`t have turned back if I`d wanted to and was forced into tackling shrub and vine thickets with unpredictable depths. These were essentially as tough to pass through as thick lantana, however without the scratchy irritation. At about a 45 degree angle this climb was a significant source of frustration. I eventually cleared to some small trees which shaded out some of the shrubs and vines and maintained myself under the trees wherever possible. Luckily this trajectory took me in the general direction of Brava and one super-steep descent later I had returned. It seems I search this kind of punishment out sometimes. :)

On another day we had an influx of guests and subsequently I realised why I loved that place so much - hardly any tourists. That evening with 15 people there I got quite annoyed at the others just for being there. Fair enough though. Bloody people.... selfish, arrogant and rude(me, that is). I also discussed with a few different folk just how much of a rip-off it was there. For me I didn`t mind so much because I only was paying $12 a night for the hammock and cooking my own food but to stay in a cabin was $35 and lunch was a hefty $15. As such some of my friends insisted on talking about the fantastic beaches and value for money in south-east Asia. But we`re not in SE Asia!! Get over it!! Gosh!!

The last night being just myself and Zuriñe from Vasco (not Spain!) I was coerced into smoking some `wacky tobacky`and taking a shot of cheap but infinitely better than Bundaberg rum. The Kogis have a projector setup and screen documentaries for their guests at night about their amazing and strong culture. This particular doco was full of harsh condemnation for Western man`s theft of their land, genocide and general reckless disregard for the Mother(Earth). It also detailed some of their tradicions, including the men voyaging a long way to the ocean to collect sea-shells. These are roasted and crushed into a white powder - the men put the powder and roasted coca-leaf powder into a hollow and phallically shaped and sized gourd. Each man then carries their gourd around religiously, into which they dip a stick to get a small amount to put in their mouth, then scrape off the saliva in the gourd neck, so the powder doesn't get wet. This constant addition of saliva to the gourd causes the neck to get fatter over time, so you can tell how long someone has been using a gourd by how fat the neck is. It seems very much like glorified masturbation to me, and indeed the ritual is central to male fertility and `coming` of age.

So the next morning I awoke to realise I had munchied my breakfast for that morning the night before. Oh well, nothing for it, pack, say goodbye and trek back to Arrecifes on an empty stomach. When I got there I smashed a plate of tropical chicken, salad and fresh chips. Yumm. Then I returned to Cañaveral to connect twice to arrive back in Santa Marta at The Dreamer, my hostel. From there I quickly dropped off my stuff and headed directly to the ice-cream store across the road in the large shopping centre. I had a large scoop of lush ice-cream, chocolate sauce, whipped cream, nuts and a chocolate wedge. Heaven! My no-dairy diet has no held up well here in South America. Again though I have no choice in the matter, people are really twisting my arm on this... You know it. :) It had been a fantastic and re-energising week.

Bogota - Santa Marta - Tayrona: 23/02 - 25/02

I caught a local bus to somewhere near the Bogota bus terminal and walked the rest of the walk to catch an afternoon bus to Santa Marta on the Caribbean coast. When we finally cleared Smogota the landscape changed quickly from shadehouse vegetable farms to undulating dairy country, with a thriving population of eucalypts, probably Blue Gums, in both plantations and as weeds. As such the landscape reminded me a little of the Gippsland hinterland. Native vegetation eventually replaced the eucs and the undulations changed to native vegetation. The descent to sea-level took a full 4hrs... I`ll never complain about the Gillies Range again! Tough going - after that I managed to sleep a little until we stopped at a roadhouse where I ate the worst soup of my life. Describing it would require thinking about it again and I`d prefer not to. I managed to sleep most of the night and awoke to watch the savannah fly by until we arrived in Santa Marta. I transferred to my hostel which was cool enough with some great people; some of whom were sailing to Panama via the San Blas Islands, lucky bastards. However after the Cranky Croc all the other hostels don`t stack up, particularly walking around in low 30`s heat in the shade all day. There I met El Tigre, an enthusiastic kitten with a thirst for human skin - he also added a bit of extra weight to my sit-ups! I purchased food for my camping trip to the beach and off-loaded some gear at my hostel. The next day I pàcked and departed, caught a local bus to the park entrance, paid the hefty foreigners entrance fee, caught a ride to the first town and started to walk.

Bogota 15/01 - 23/02

After collecting our luggage in the airport we were escorted to a local bus by a local girl we`d met at Puerto Nariño who was returning the same day to Bogota. Once on our way two things started to become apparent - 1. We were at altitude (of about 2600m) 2. The city`s air was astoundingly polluted. With a population of close to 9 million and again no train system, Bogota chokes under its omnipresent, poorly maintained and polluting diesel buses. To their credit they have installed the excellent express bus system Transmilenio that links main arteries around the city, but no matter how good buses will never replace a good train system. But Bogota is trying to improve things.

I had scoped a perfectly reviewed hostel in ultra-hip La Candelaria close to the centre called Cranky Croc; sure enough it`s run by an ex-pat Aussie who is obviously also an ex-backpacker. It is defintely the best backpackers Ive stayed at in South America, the highlight being pull-out lockable storage drawers under the bed with powerpoints inside them and wide innerspring mattresses. I was so glad of this haven as I was in a very poorly state the first night. Headaches, upset stomach and a super-dry throat all made for only a little low-quality sleep - it sure was hard to breathe¡ That evening I had found a funky little cafe/restaurant to eat some crepes and was just about to order when some locals spoke to me in English, asking the usual questions before inviting me to join them. Lino, Diana and Juan-Carlos were lovely and friendly locals who plied me with their sweet diluted version of mead while we interchanged between English and Spanish. Lino, an (aspiring?) professional tennis player was very keen to emmigrate to Melbourne, citing the college he wished to study English at - AMES or something - and asking questions about the viablility of tennis coaching in Australia, amongst a thousand other questions. Very nice night. Afterwards we made a date for the next Friday night to meet there and dance some salsa later. Heh, heh, salsa eh, Snicko¿ Those hours of lessons you gave me might just pay off¡¡

Bogota`s road system is numbered and not named eg. Calle 13, 8-56 - that`s the whole address, so if you get the calle (street) and carrera (road) numbers mixed up you`re up the proverbial. So the next day after going in completely the wrong direction for an hour I made it to the `electronic district`, where some very dodgy operators plied their trades and I was attempting to replace my camera charger and obtain a new battery. The place I had contacted from Iquitos said `sure, we`ve got them, that`ll be 170,000 please`. AU$100. I actually probably would have paid that if i`d had the efectivo on me, but I didn`t. On the way to get some cash I noticed a lot of other stores had Nikon products also - some quick questions, hard-nosed bartering (sort of) and two stores later I had my gear for 110,000. Much better. Happy.

The next day I bit the bullet and tried to find a doctor to sort out my ongoing Bali Belly issues. After asking a local shopowner if there was a doctor local, he responded by giving me an address well into the city proper, and then proceeded to put his name on the piece of paper so the doctor could know who had sent me. I smelt a rat - take note backpackers, tread with cautious when the `commission-hunters` give you advice. So I made it to a small local hospital instead and saw the English speaking doctor who eventually prescribed me with two type of antibiotics. Fun. That afternoon I hung out with a couple of Americans from the West Coast including Cynthia the nurse and Alex who regularly participates in Critical Mass San Franscisco, the birthplace of the Mass. We caught a cable-car up one of the small mountains surrounding Bogota to a funny mix of churches, Jesus`porn statues and ritzy restaurants. The view was underwhelming due to the smog, but it was divertingly fun enough. My jungle dreams had included both Thai and Mexican food (and crepes, and a thick steak, and pizza), so that night we all braved the indecipherable street system to find a great Mexican restaurante with fantastic food.

The next day Cynthia and I went to the Botero Museum that contained most of the works of Botero, a Columbian painter with a obsession with fat. It also contained some works of Picasso, Dali and the impressionists. After that we explored the Bank Museum next door with a tonne of religious idolatry and some interesting old machinery and stuff. Yeah, that one was a bit boring. We had decided to go to a movie - not as easy as it sounds as all of the local cinemas were showing films with Spanish dubbing and we had only one hour to arrive from La Candelaria¡ So more bewilderment in Bogota including passing a massive demonstration for a better health system (see photos) to finally get to a bus to the Centro Comercial Gran Estacion - essentially as developed and shiny and capitalist a shopping centre as you would find in any city of the world. We sat down to `The Wolf Man` literally as the opening images screened - awesome mission¡ Also a good film :)

On the Friday night I met my Bogota friends at the same cafe for a few drinks and some Colombian dancing. I was assigned a dance instructor for the evening - Jessica, a beautiful girl who sure did know how to dance sexy Latino-style¡ :) For a sober girl-shy techno raver from English heritage such as myself this up-close and personal mode of dance is a bit of a challenge but hey, I`m not complaining¡¡ I didn´t really learn too many actual steps but I was not the worst dancer on the floor (another gringo was)... I busted some moves too, don`t worry about that. It was a great night and I promised to connect with Lino (and possibly Juan-Carlos) when they come to Melbourne.

The next day I met Diana to go to a library that she frequents which often shows exhibitions and theatre and music for free. We saw the salsa band, Banda Conmocion, not to be confused with its namesake previously mentioned (I think) from Santiago. They were a excellent ten-piece salsa band who stopped to explain the history of salsa (orginally from the US) the origin of different rythyms such as Cuba, Puerto Rico and Colombia. While I wasn´t converted into a salsa-lover it was great to see an authentic salsa band live in action. Then Diana took myself and her friend Mariana on a tour of the library, pointing out all the great things about it with enthusiasm and gusto. It was heaps of fun. Later we walked a long way to find dinner but it was yummy - on the way Diana continued waxing lyrical about more Bogota landmarks, Colombian food and history and much more - a great tour guide¡ Then I caught the bus to back to the city - the onboard sound system was crystal clear playing such hits as The New Kids On The Block`s `I`ll Be Lovin` You Forever`, Roberta Flack`s `Killing Me Softly` and Roxette´s `Listen to Your Heart`. Que bueno :)

Sunday in Bogota is Cyclovia - they close off a whole main artery to all motorised traffic (except for cross-traffic at the lights) and people get out on their bikes, blades, scooters and feet in droves. Alex and I hired shitty bikes and took off to enjoy the sunny day. I was stopped in the city and interviewed for some tourist TV thing or research or something - they asked me about why I came to Bogota and what I enjoyed most about the city. Which reminds me, I must be getting a bit of an underground cult following here in Colombia because I was interviewed for TV or something (in both Spanish and English) in Puerto Nariño about the internet facilities there. After that Alex`s bike failed in some serious ways, I got a flat tyre after riding a long way from the city (Cyclovia was still going), my arms got seriously sunburnt and I managed to find a game of basketball (at last¡) with an Italian anthropologist/outside shooter on the way home. A tiring but fun day on a crappy bike but oh well, I guess riding something is better than nothing¿

I stayed another day at The Cranky Croc - I probably didn`t need to but I was having so much fun there and in La Candelaria in general. I fixed my sleeping mat and visited a great new restaurant just out the front of the hostel called Crazy Mongolian - you create your own meal from a great range of vegetables, fruit, meat, sauces, nuts and noodles and it is stiry-fried on a large hot plate in front of you. Fantastic. How much would you expect to pay for this¿ $15.... $10... No, it was $6. Even for Colombia that`s cheap. I don`t know how often in Melbourne Michelle and I had wished for a restaurant like this where you could choose how much of each ingredient goes in. Nyce - and so to the Caribbean.