the shared mini-van picked me up at the hotel right on time but it felt kind of strange sitting amid businessman types and rich wifes in a small car somewhere in northern colombia. but all went well, it only took about 1.5h longers than planned and i even got some tips for santa marta from two of the passengers. they couldn't really convince me to stay at taganga though of which i've heard enough to make me not wanna stay there: backpackers, backpackers & more backpackers assimilating a tiny little village - no thanks.

so i ventured deep into santa marta to get to my hostel which comes with quite a reputation: el miramar. it was totally shabby but it has its charme i have to say :) quickly called up another courchsurfing host and we met later for a quick tour of santa marta's beacharea but first i had to get food as i was starving, got hinted to a local restaurant where i ate great food which basically cost me nothing. next i had to do my first colombian swim! even though its a beach right in the city, it's really not that bad. a nice little bay, not to full with people and ok water & sand. finally some real beach in my vacation!

the area around the beach is really nice and as i was assured, quite safe even after dark. of course i had to put this to the test and never had a problem: its well lit and even though there are some dodgy characters around, nobody really bothered me. in the evenings tons of students came to the beach to hang around - and chat with that strange gringo enjoying the sunsets.

ohhh the sunsets, they are amazing! one can watch the houses on the rock in the bay lit with blue light slowly contrasting against the stunningly red sun going down while people sit at the beach, chat, playing games or just sit and enjoy the spectacle. really cool!

and last but not least, a gourmet tip as well: the best filet mignon i ever ate: Ben & Josep´s Bar Restaurant

... was not as easy as i thought. i missed the action in bogota (santa marta was rather quiet as well during that time...) and wanted to enjoy at least one or two nights of nightlife there before returning back to switzerland.

i was contemplating either taking the bus (which is a REALLY long bus ride) as of course with my luck, all the flight prices went through the roof again. in the end i couldn't be bothered, took the bitter pill and took a flight down as i preferred seeing the sunset once again to sitting in a bus all night & day. as always, getting accurate flight informations was quite a feat with my challenged spanish skills but as always i've somehow managed.

when i was in bogota, on my last day in the local juice shop i've met this girl and we've started to chat. i promised her to call when i know that im back in bogota and so i did on my last night in santa marta.

she not only offered to meet up she even invited me to couchsurf on her guestbed! the swiss government probably doesnt recommend staying at people's homes in bogota you only know for 30 minutes but i trusted my gut instincts and told her that i would be happy to. noted down the address and enjoyed my last santa marta sunset afterwards.

the next day at breakfast some old colombian guy started chatting to me, obviously he was a taxi driver and offered to take me anywhere (i felt a bit bad as i missed out on all the must sees around santa marta: the national park every colombian is so in love with (tayrona) and the lost city which is a 6(?) day hike through the jungle for which i just didnt have enought time. so i told him just to get me to the airport which he was happy to do as well.

 what i did not know though was that his taxi was at least as old as he was. it was barely moving, did barely have a color and i was just convinced that we will break down somewhere on the hills between us and the airport. but slowly, steadily, overtaken by every car (and bycicle) we managed to arrive at the cute little santa marta airport.

i checked in, nearly froze to death in the aircon waiting room and was on my way back to bogota!

Hello All,
Today I ventured out to see the sights in Santa Marta. My hotel is only three blocks from the waterfront, so that was the first place to go. There is a nice place to walk along the sea, and after the wide sidewalks for strolling there is a narrow beach that all of the locals were frolicking on. It didn’t seem to be all that dirty, but the fact that we were mere meters from the main harbor didn’t instill a lot of confidence.

There was a great view of a rocky island, called El Morro, which was very nice. But there were also five huge container ships waiting in the small bay ready to be loaded or unloaded. In any case this was not a big ‘tourist beach’ to be sure. I heard that there were two beaches of that sort nearby… el Rodadero to the south, and Taganga to the north.

Santa Marta is also the staging point for the trek into Ciudad Perdido (The Lost City). This is said to be a journey right out of Indiana Jones, and is a venture to the lost city of the Tayrona Indians. The Tayronas were the first substantial civilization that the Spaniards ran into upon discovering the new world, and I’m sure that you can guess what happened then.  It was their discovery that first acquainted the conquistadors with Indian gold, and led to the legend of El Dorado, the city of gold. Shortly after, following 75 years of war, the Tayrona were gone without a trace.

Santa Marta is also the best point from which to visit the Parque Nacional Tayrona. The park is a 35km stretch of Caribbean coastline that contains numerous sandy beaches and hidden coves. There are also a few Tayrona Indian ruins that merit exploration, especially if you miss Cuidad Perdido.
Truth be told, at 41 years old, and feeling every bit of the coast’s heat and humidity, I was not up for much of anything. A six day trek was certainly out of the question. And I’ve got plenty of beach time scheduled for later in the trip. So I stayed tethered to my hotel room like a wimp.

I saw a bar/restaurant the advertised free wi-fi along the beachfront’s main route, Carrera 1C. So I grabbed my laptop and headed out. Being Sunday it was, of course, closed. I asked about nearby internet options and was directed to a location about 10 blocks away. I took a hot stroll there and found that my laptop was not welcome. I did stay for an hour and enjoy the cool room and decent speed web service. I headed back to the room and kicked on the A/C once more.

Most hotels in Latin America have a policy about air conditioning that goes like this. If you leave the room, please turn off the A/C. I am usually pretty good about it. And usually I am gone for a whole day, or multiple hours at a time. But here they really took it seriously.
I walked out to use the internet in the hotel for my free 30 minutes, and when I turned around to ask the guy a question, he was gone. He had already gone to my room to turn the thing off. I guess it wouldn’t have been so bad if the A/C unit had some kick to it, but this was a real weak one that took forever to cool back down.

I decided that, with the lack of things to see and do here, I would leave for Venezuela tomorrow. The trip will be a long one, and at the end of it I should be in the Andes with a bit of a cooler climate. That should put me one day ahead of my projected schedule, but I have no problem with that.

Later, Phil

Hello All,

Today is a travel day, but not a very big one.  I am going from Cartagena to Santa Marta, which is further northeast along the Caribbean coast.  I took quite a while to get going this morning, and I am not really sure why.  I dragged my butt out of the door just in time to get the free hotel breakfast before 9am, so that was a good thing.

There was a German traveller having breakfast at the same time, so we chatted for a while.  My spanish seems to be getting a bit better.  I picked it up pretty well at first arrival, and I am doing ok with the few verbs I have figured out.  I am pretty sure I still sound ike an idiot to most native speakers, but at least there is an effort.  :)

I took a taxi to the bus terminal, which happens to be a loooong way out of town.  I had talked the driver down 2000 pesos for the trip, and I ended up giving it to him anyway after I realized the time and distance involved.  I got to the station at about 12:40pm, and found a direct bus to Santa Marta pretty quickly.  I was surprised because I had heard that most of them involved a change in Baranquilla.  Good for me.

The trip started quickly because we were basically out of town in the direction that we had to go.  The one lane highways made things interesting.  The bus was constantly trying to pass trucks, other busses, and anything that he could.  There was one pass on a turn that had passengers screaming.  It seriously flet like the bus was going to flip over.  I guess those dry erase boards at the bus station that list all the bus companys, and how many injuries and fatalaties they have had this month/year are no joke.  I did notice mine had been clean for the past year.

After getting to Baranquilla we were delayed by a woman getting off of the bus for a snack while here husband held things up.  And also because the bus was quite empty, it drove through the outskirts of town with the attendant barking the destination to try to drum up some more passengers.  It worked very well, but must have cost us 20 minutes or so.  Plus now the previously empty seat next to me was full.  :(

We got into Santa Marta just after dark at about 6:45pm, and I grabbed a cab into town.  It was fairly close and cheap, and I was at the hotel in about 10 minutes.  This place is nice...  A/C, Cable TV, but no internet.  Oh well.  I found a place to change some money, and grabbed some street food.  Now that is the good cheap stuff I am used to.  It was about $3.50 for a beef, potato, salad meal with a Pepsi.

I went back to the room and stumbled upon the IndyCar race at Texas.  Excellent!  Although that Spanish is way to fast for me to really catch anything that they are saying, I enjoyed the link to home. My dad and I went to the race in Milwaukee last Sunday.

No pictures today.  I brought the camera, but nothing inspired me to take it out.  Tomorrow I see the town, and figure out when I will leave for Venezuela.

Later, Phil

Today we woke up early, had some good arepa de huevo and headed to the Tayrona National Park. This is a must for Colombians, but I was shocked to see that most people we ran into were European. Actually, I wasn’t that shocked. Europeans are cool. We took sort of an hour hike through the jungle to get to the beach we wanted to get to. I absolutely loved the hike through rocks and trees and monkeys and birds. I felt so… American to be so awed at all of these tropical wonders. But my family was equally awed because Bogota is well, so, untropical. It is extremely beautiful.

We first got to Arrecife, a beautiful beach surrounded by a coral reef. We kept walking, now through the beach, until we arrived to a bay called “the pool” because the water is so clear you can see your feet straight down. I climbed up onto a huge rock and was able to lie there and sun tan.

It surprised me to see some Norwegian guys sitting on this beach just lighting up a joint. If anything bothers me about foreigners is that they think there are no laws in Colombia. I had a strong urge to speak to them in English and tell them I was with the park security, and that I needed to see their passports. But I restrained myself…. Lol

We ate some amazing fish whose name I had never heard before and I ofcourse don’t remember, in a small hut where that is all you can eat. The walk back was fantastic too, and we were able to see some of the monkeys advertised in the signs that tell you what percentage of the trail you have walked already.  

I have made a decision during this break to get to know my country of origin better. Hence I am starting a travel blog; something that I have never done in spite of the fact that I do tend to travel, and I greatly enjoy writing. Why? Well, I have a feeling that this is my last summer in which I will be able to just roam around as I please, since I am soon to graduate college and become a full-time adult.

I started my vacation by meeting up with my family in the coast of the Colombia. I got to the Orlando airport at 4 a.m after staying at a quite sketchy La Quinta the night before.

I got to Miami so I could switch to a plane that flew directly to Barranquilla. I was lucky enough to have no one sitting besides me on the plane so I could lie down and catch up on my sleep. A driver was waiting for me in the airport to take me to Santa Marta, which is around an hour away by car.

When I got there, I found my dad in the fruit section of the super market. I was thrilled to see him! I went, gave him a big hug, bought some pomegranates and headed back to the car. I still had about an hour to go before getting to the house. When we were almost there, my step mom and I stopped and bought all those tropical fruits that I hadn’t had in too long. Like zapotes, guanabana, papaya, small bananas and pineapple. It was so cheap. Imagine… all of this cost like 20.000 pesos. That is an equivalent of about $8! I love fruit too much.

We headed toward our lodging for about another half an hour. This house belongs to a close friend of my father’s who was very insistent that we stay there. And this is by far the most beautiful rustic house I have ever stayed at.

The House

A hotel seems like a splendid yet vain luxury after seeing the house. I thought I didn’t like nature to be honest with you. I am easily devoured by mosquitoes; if in Gainesville I suffer as I stand outside in a porch smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer, I could have never pictured this.

It is made out almost completely out of wood. The only rooms that are closed are the bedrooms, where of course there is no AC but there is electricity. The windows are meant to be left open, to allow the sea breeze to slip right in, but all of them are covered in a thick, green screen, which in the morning wakes up covered in beetles and crickets of gargantuan sizes.

On the first floor hang hand-woven, paste-colored hammocks, next to a table that I can see is usually for at least 20 guests. The kitchen is separated from the house, but its walls are only partial, allowing any type of animal to crawl in and eat the fruit.    

Pall trees surround the otherwise isolated house, all filled with coconuts ready to fall down on your head. The beach is 80 meters away, but the tide is so strong that the owner told us we cannot swim in the water. In any case, it is empty. I had never stood, completely alone, on a beach. There is nothing quite like it.

Very close is the Guayachaca river that “desemboca” in the sea right there. The water comes from the “Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta” a snowed peak that is unusually close to the ocean. It is the only place in the country where you can see snow.

At night the six of us played “sombrero”. It made me really happy to be able to spend time with my family again after months of not seeing them.

Colombia is an awesome place, but definitely not the easiest place to get a "chance", as they call it here! Hitchhiking here is a lot more difficult than we expected. We've been lucky a few times, but for the most part Colombians are not as trusting and less willing to give people a lift. Well, that's what we've been told in any case!! Anyway, another change in our plans . . . we had to stay the night in Santa Marta because catching a ride to the next town was hopeless!

Luckily we met a very sweet guy, Hernan, who kindly opened his humble home to us for the night.  We couldn't have asked for more, Hernan and his family were so kind and so generous to us. We had a very relaxing evening, chatting over coffee, Colombian, of course! And I must say, it was the best I'd ever tasted. Now, I'm not a big coffee drinker, but I gotta admit, it beats Starbucks any day! Not too strong, just sweet enough . . . perfection!

The next day, as we headed out we were expecting the worst, but to our surprise we actually were quite lucky.  We caught a ride pretty quickly, and were on our way towards the border . . . so we thought! We ended up getting a lift from a guy who works in one of Colombia's main tourist attractions, Tayrona National Park.  Funny thing is we hadn't planned on visiting this place, but there we were with this guy who was offering to get us in for free.  So, of course, we couldn't let up on the opportunity to check out the most beautiful beaches in the Caribbean . . . well according to los Colombianos!! Another change in our plans, but oh well!! Good choice!!

The beaches were absolutely breathtaking, a bit dangerous, but wow!!  We were unable to take a dip because the current was way too strong for us, so we had to settle for just admiring the view from a short distance. And what a view! You have these huge rocks all along the beach, which make the landscape quite spectacular.  And better yet, you can see where the Andes end and pretty much plunge into the sea. Quite exhilarating!

At one point, we tried to play stuntmen and climb atop the huge rocks to get a better view of the place, and lucky for us we didn't get killed!! There we were posing for the camera, when suddenly we were hit by a humungous wave! I just screamed and tried to hold my balance as best I could so I wouldn't get thrown off the rock and die! Una locura! Luckily that didn't happen and I just got drenched completely! Check out the photo! After that, we had to hurry up and keep on with the visit of the park because it was getting a little late.  Good time though! Glad we got the chance to visit it and at no charge!!

On nous avez prevenu que le stop en colombie, c etait dur, et bien je vous le confirme!!!!! Les gens ils s arretent jamais. De Cartagena a Santa Marta, on va dire: la chance, et a partir de la, l enfer. Herman, un gars tranquile qui nous fesait la cosette,pendant qu on avait le pouce leve,  nous a propose de dormir chez lui, vu que la nuit commencait a tomber. Apres 1h de marche, nous voila chez lui, une maisonette toute simple avec sa femme et son fils. Encore une fois nous fumes extremement bien traites. 

14 March -24 March 2008

It has been 10 days since I last wrote and I will try to recount some of the events of these last days.  Angry departed for New Zealand.  He consumed a fair level of Aguadiente and Aguila and tried to escape back into the wild from Finca los Girasoles, like a scene from one of those 1950s films like Ape Man. 

Sam and I travelled cattle class by bus for free back from the coffeelands to Bogota, whilst the remainder of the wedding party flew.  This time we had a much more sedate trip and travelled during the day.  We were treated to some stunning Colombian scenery as we crossed the huge mountains back to Bogota. The mountains never seem to stop going up.  The cavernous glacial valleys plummet bottomlessly from the edge of the roadside. 

The small cottages of the rural mountain dwelling Colombian peasants dot along the edge of the road, hanging precariously as if they might fall.  These Colombians eek out an existence by selling crappy corn snacks, cokes, water and other assorted items to the endless stream of heavy truck traffic that crawls itself over the mountainside, taking produce from the coffeelands to Bogota, then on to ports at Santa Marta and Cartegena on the Carribean coast. The numbers of huge heavy trucks on the road is incredible.  I would estimate that there are at least 10 trucks, 8 axels per truck, for every one car.  The railways here went broke a long time ago and the Colombian peasants stole the steel from the tracks to make other things.  The trucks travel in convoys and roar and grind their way up the steep mountain slopes.  There are no passing lanes in Colombia.  In fact, often there are no lanes at all.  The combination of the above makes for some truly reckless driving as the faster traffic attempts to do battle, fighting and squeezing for space between and past these huge behemoths, like a fleet of Second World War fighter planes attacking a squadron of bombers. Often overtaking occurs on completely blind corners.  Our two Colombian pilots screaming, what sounds like ´sucker, sucker, sucker!´ in Spanish which means something like, ´take him, take him, take him´ or élla! ella! ella!, which means something like ´go!go!go!´.  If anything is coming the other way, the only recourse is to the horn or the breaks.  There is no such thing as being bored on a bus in Colombia.

I recall looking out the window on one occasion and seeing three young men in plain attire, about 17 years of age, all squeezed onto a 50cc scooter.  The one on the back was carrying a large machine gun. 

Later Rafael explained the problem of FARC, the guerrillas in Colombia. It is obvious that Colombia is a country with a strong economy and vast resources, especially in the agricultural sector, but the instability created by the guerrillas, estimated by Rafa, to be a force of 40,000, causes enormous damage to the economy and well being of the average Colombian.  It seems with a little stability the economy would thrive and there is potential for significant growth. 

The guerrillas force farmers off what would otherwise be productive land.  They blow up the trucks carrying the produce. As a result there is a lot of land that is not productively farmed as no-one wishes to invest resources to develop the land or hold the stock, as soon as any sign of wealth is shown, the guerrillas seize the land.  They are influenced and motivated by dear old Fidel Castro, who is in all respects, from what I can gather here, a communist dictator of the highest order. 

The rural peasant in the past 10 years or so has been caught in a catch-22.  You produce goods and gain economic wealth and the guerrillas attack you. You don’t produce goods and gain economic wealth, you and your family starve.

But the problem is much worse than economic troubles.  In conjunction with indoctrination of Marxist ideas, the guerrillas also use intimidation tactics which go something like this:  Guerilla group arrives at Colombian family´s house and tells teenage son, Jose, that if he does not join the guerrillas then the guerrillas will execute his family.  Naturally enough, Jose joins the guerrillas and indoctrination begins.  In response to insurgent activity, such as the above, past governments establish a form of ´community watch´.  This involved arming people in the villages for protection and training them to report guerrilla activities in the local area, like a type of community police.  Well that was the idea, but unfortunately the community watch groups took their jobs and new found power a bit too seriously and became a law unto themselves. They began going to Jose´s family and others like him and asking Ma and Pa Jose, whether or not Jose was a guerrilla.  If the answer was yes the community watch shot Ma and Pa Jose. So again, young Jose is caught in a catch-22.  If he doesn’t join the guerrillas, the guerrillas kill his family.  If he does join the guerrillas, the government organised or disorganised community police kill his family.  Fortunately, more recent governments have recognised this problem and have abolished the community watch groups. 

We have spent effectively four days, 10 hours per day, travelling by car which we hired from Bogota to Barichara, to Bucaramanga, to Santa Marta, to Taganga, to Cartegena and to Tyrona National Park.  With 5 people in the car conditions were cramped.  Thankfully we had air conditioning as without it the heat close to sea level would have killed us.

The Colombian government is making a concerted effort to stamp out the guerrillas from import road routes and economic areas between Bogota and Cartegena. There is a heavy police and military presence on the roads here, stationed every 30 or 40 kilometres.  We were treated once to being stopped and the car searched by the Colombian Police.  Although it crossed my mind to question this police officer about his powers of search and his invasion of our civil liberties, the M16A1 style machine gun, with a 50mm grenade launcher attachment, encouraged simple compliance.  Lower Hutt police would love this power. No pissing about.  But besides, the military and the police here go out of there way to be very polite to people they stop to security check.  It helped that Rafa used to be in the Colombian army, but the New Zealand police could learn a thing or two about manners from these young men.  Perhaps it is because these guys have real problems to worry about, rather than petty summary offences or traffic offences.

Barichara is a very pretty Spanish Colombian town situated at 1336m above sea level.  The temperature there was about 25-28 degrees C.  The landscape surrounding this area is very dry and a lot like how I imagine Spain, or northern Italy, with its rustic colours of orange and brown.  It is quite a change from the lush greens of the coffee lands and Bogota. 

Bucaramanga was a sprawling metropolis, as chaotic as other large cities here, with poor roads, lighting and signage.  We arrived at night. We spent an uneventful evening in a dingy hotel. It had a TV and a fan.  Neither worked. We heard on the news that four motorcyclists were killed that night in Bucaramanga.

On the 15th of March 2008 we drove to Santa Marta on the Carribean coast, then on to a small fishing village named Taganga. Another 10 hours in the car.  Taganga was a small dusty, run down, fishing village where we had the displeasure of staying with an extremely irritating French woman from Paris.  She was not doing the Parisian French reputation for being somewhat arrogant any favours.  Although Rafa had booked this accommodation 3 months or more earlier, and had rung to confirm the booking a week or so before we arrived, she announced on our arrival that she had not kept our reservation because she thought we were Colombians, who, in her opinion, are unreliable, and the hostel was full.  Despite obviously blatantly insulting Rafael, he calmly explained to her that we had travelled all the way from New Zealand, that it was his honeymoon, and that we had just been in a car for 10 hours.  She did back down a bit at that point, but didn’t stop to breath through her nose for 10 seconds.  Rafa should have said to her, ´I´m sorry but if I´d known you were from Paris, I wouldn’t have come´.  No one seems to pick up rubbish here or put it in the bin.  At least breakfast and coffee here was good.

The highlight of Taganga was the beautiful and cheap seafood, the marinated raw fish in coconut cream and lime juice, wonderful tropical fruit juices, prawns, and a boat trip to Santa Marta and back with an old Colombian sea dog, ferryman and his daughter in an old fibreglass longboat.  When the sea got rough, and we all got wet, his daughter could not watch the waves, and buried her head in his hands.  She was about 12.  He explained that his son was hopeless and wouldn’t help him on the boat so his daughter had volunteered.  Here I was nicknamed ´Marco del a barco´, in other words, ´Mark of the Boat´.  (Incidentally, Chris Dellabarca, in Italian, means the same, I think) 

On the beach near Taganga, an well muscled black Costenian masseuse offered massage services, rubbing carrot oil into the skins of the men and women on the beach who wanted it.  There seemed to be many more women.  In particular there were two very beautiful young black women from Cali that seemed to get plenty of attention. 

There is a much stronger African influence in the people on the coast that does not appear in the complexions of the people from Bogota.  The ´Costenians´ are quite different in appearance and speech.  Costenians speak Spanish with a particular accent.  I guess it is a bit like calypso English, but in Spanish.  It is also 36 degrees here, which makes for quite a different lifestyle. 

From Taganga we drove to Cartegena, again at night, again 6 hours instead of 2 as we took a wrong turn and got waylaid in the depths of poverty in Barraquilla, another chaotic and enormous metropolis. Cartegena is a beautiful ´pirate´ city.  Unfortunately we did not get a lot of time to explore the city as a result.  Instead we travelled by boat, about 1.5 hours to Isla de Rosario, a small carribean island where we spent the day at a resort type hut setup, with a swimming pool.  We did some tropical snorkelling, I saw my first monkeys and toucans, before we returned to another beach where I was instantly surrounded by 100 beach hawkers, who quickly convinced me to try the local oysters and equally quickly relieved me of twenty thousand pesos ($15 for 5).A quick lesson learned.  I hope that it will help feed this guys family for a week. People never leave you alone here and are always trying to sell all manner of trinkets and junk. 

Following Cartegena we travelled back to Tyrona Park, which is a beautiful national park, where the mountains covered by dense jungle, come down to the gorgeous Caribbean beaches. We had nice accommodation here and spent two days on the beach in the sea and trekking up to Pueblito, an indigenous Inca village that used to support about 2000 people between 400 BC and 1400 AD.  It was a pleasant walk where Sam and I saw many colourful lizards, butterflies, and a troop of small black and white faced monkeys that leaped from tree top to tree top.  I also saw my first red squirrel.  In Pueblito we inspected the visitors book for an idea of tourist numbers here.  We were the only kiwis in the book.  Out of every 200 Colombians there were maybe one or two tourists from the West. 

On our last night in Tyrona we walked around the camp where many Colombians were camping, cooking dinner on open fires, and made our acquaintances, with some Colombians in there 20s on their Easter Holidays.  We played some guitar for them and them for us. The locals are all very interested in us and those that could speak Spanglish did so. We were offered much whiskey and freshly brewed coffee from the fire.  The night ended singing La Bamba, loudly on the beach and collapsing on the beach next to a large friendly and warm Costenian woman, who proved to be an excellent Spanish teacher, and heater.

Yesterday was an uneventful day but pleasant.  We drove the long road back to Puente de Piedra.  I am now comfortably relaxing in the sun listening to Don Rafa´s classical music.  Don Rafa had a stroke a year or so ago and, although he is fine, is enjoying a relaxed life after many years working as a lawyer in Bogota. 

Tomorrow I fly to Ecuador. 

Not much to say about this place apart from the fact that its the first place to make it on the "definitely come back to" list.

Amazing beach, next to a national park with a cloud forest and the oppurtunity to trek to the lost city just like Indiana.... unfortunately we couldnt do it all for time reasons but definitely would like to be back.

I am deep in the Colombian jungle, 10 minutes from where we spent the night with the Colombian military, and this guy is showing us how to make cocaine. But that probably isn't the best place to start the story. The story starts with the jungle, and the reason for going to the jungle was to hike to Ciudad Perdida, a six day journey from the edge of civilization into the heart of the jungle. Our group consisted of 12 people, two Italians, two South Africans, two Germans, four Americans, one Colombian, and a Dutch girl, plus our two guides.

In order to even reach the beginning of the trail we needed to take a 3-4 hour jeep ride from Santa Marta to the trailhead. The chiva or jeep that they had for us was an old Toyota Landcruiser which was colorfully painted and looked more than rugged enough for any purpose. Into this eight of us plus the two guides and a driver piled in with all of our stuff and other supplies being lashed to the top. The other four went in another vehicle as there wasn't enough room in the jeep for everyone. The first part of the ride was slow as the loaded jeep couldn't manage more than 40mph, so it took us over an hour to get to the turn-off from the paved road to the dirt road. Once we reached this point, the road began to slowly deteriorate until we needed every bit of four wheel drive power that the jeep could muster. Unfortunately, this wasn't always enough. I was sitting on the edge of one of the rows with little door comprised of bars and small ledge that went up to my hip, with the whole upper part open until the support beams for the roof so I had quite a good view of the road we were going over and of what lay beyond the road on my side. The first time we got stuck we tried to cross this section of muddy road with tire ruts over a foot deep. As the driver revved the engine and the jeep started to slow and sink into the mud the whole vehicle angled over totally towards my side and when we came to a stop I had a nice view of the tire which was about 18 inches from edge of the road which then dropped of into a ravine about 60 feet straight down. At this point we all had to get out of the jeep so they could back it up and try to make it through again, which they were successful in doing without our added weight. Later on the road we were forced to stop and get out another time, only to discover that the steel on the tire around the lugnuts had a 4 inch long gash in it. After the driver and guides agreed that it looked okay to continue, they tightened the lugnuts and we proceeded. Several minutes later the driver felt that the wheel wasn't holding up so we all had to get out, move the stuff from the roof, pull down the spare tire and change the tire amidst the mud on the road. Soon after this we got stuck again. This time the jeep couldn't even make it through the mud without us so we were forced to push the jeep through this 4-6 inch deep mud. There were several other close calls but we were able to make it to the little village located at the trailhead. The people in the other vehicle later said that they were scared watching us drive because the jeep would shift from side to side at such big angles. Maybe it looked worse than it was, I don't know.

After lunch we started hiking and the trail was nice, we were all talking and getting to know each other, and we crossed a few shallow rivers without getting wet. Our food supplies were loaded up on mules and they traveled ahead of us. Then we got to the first uphill stretch, it was rather steep and quite rocky but not terrible. Then it started to rain. This was probably why they gave us garbage bags before we started hiking. As the rain worsened we all donned plastic bags over our backpacks and continued hiking uphill. Then it started to absolutely pour rain and we continued uphill past a military checkpoint and a little store shack selling drinks and snacks. After leveling out for a while the trail turned sharply downhill and at this point it was not so much a trail as deep muddy chasm carved into the ground with a river of muddy water from the unrelenting rain running down the middle and off to the sides at every angle. The trail and the rain continued like this for another solid hour, at which point we reached our campsite for the night and it continued to rain just as hard as ever. Everyone was glad to reach the campsite as were totally soaked from the rain, but at least our backpacks were dry from the garbage bags. We ate dinner and spent the night hanging out with the Colombian military troops that were there and talking amongst ourselves. We slept in hammocks because of all the giant frogs, spiders, and ants that are everywhere in the jungle (see pictures), I guess that everything is bigger in the jungle.

When we woke up in the morning the military was gone and this meant that we got to take a side trip with this guy that used to run cocaine factories. He told us that the army had blown up two of his factories so he no longer did that. That would be the same army that stayed with us in the camp the previous night. They had moved on looking for and trying to destroy coca plants, as this whole region is prime coca country and used to be a region with heavy guerilla activity as recently as five years ago when several people were kidnapped at the Lost City. A heavy military presence has since moved the threat of any hostile activity much deeper into the jungle. So this guy is walking us through the whole process of how to make cocaine from the coca leaves. It was really like one of those cooking shows where they pull out pots of the dish at various stages like this is the mixture after baking for five hours and this is it after soaking in acid for several minutes, etc. The whole process was actually remarkably simple and anyone with access to basic chemistry lab and a few kilos of coca leaves could make a few grams of cocaine in a day (and no I'm not going to tell you how to do it, it's probably on the internet anyways). He takes it all the way to the coca paste which just has to be dried out to make the powdered cocaine. He offered us to try it out so I rubbed a little on my sunburned lip and it was numb for about 30 minutes. But knowing all the chemicals that go into it, the damaging effects that is has on people aren't surprising. After our little lesson it was off for another day of hiking, this time we were lucky enough to hike in the morning when it is dry and you only have to put up with the sweltering heat and humidity. And of course all of our clothes were still soaking wet from the previous day. Rule number one in the jungle is that anything that gets wet stays wet. Unless it gets direct sunlight, the high humidity keeps everything damp. After a short easy stretch of the trail it was straight uphill for 90 minutes of mud-slogging from all the rain that fell yesterday, and then downhill for about 30 minutes and then uphill for another 60 minutes. At times we were hiking with soldiers in front of us and soldiers behind us, kind of an eery feeling. There was obviously no threat as sometimes we would come to a clearing to find the soldiers hanging out washing their clothes with their guns hung up on trees or placed on rocks somewhat nearby, so they apparently weren't worried about anything. The trail crossed nearby the villages of some of the indigenous people and through some spectacular jungle scenery before ending at the camp where we caught up with the soldiers again. Even though it didn't rain we were all still soaking wet from sweating in the jungle heat during our four hours of hiking. We were able to swim in the river to wash off and cool down. As the afternoon came, it started to rain and then it started to rain harder until it was raining about as hard as it possibly can and it continued like that for about 3 hours before slowly tapering off over several hours.

The third day was supposed to be the longest hiking day and we would actually reach the Lost City. The clear river that we swam in the day before was now a churning mass of muddy brown water from all the rain. The first part of the hike started with us inching our way around the edges of slippery rocks that dropped away about 30 feet to muddy class 3 and 4 rapids in the river below. After that we had to cross the river which flowing quickly with strong currents and was waist deep. The guides used a rope to pull us across the river to make sure that no one slipped and got washed away. More hiking through the jungle past other indigenous villages led us to a river which we hiked along and crossed back and forth about 7 times to avoid the various waterfalls and all of sudden we came into view of these rock steps descending toward the river from the jungle. This was the entrance to the Lost City. Climbing up the steps, all 1200 of them was tiring, some of them were really small and they were steep and slippery. It was amazing that there was a city located up on these mountains. Eventually we reached a clearing which was the first part of the city, through this led more stairs into the heart of the city and soon we reached the main staircase which was much wider and went straight up into the jungle. Coming up from the main staircase to the top of the lost city was spectacular. The Lost City is nestled in the shadow of giant mountain peaks with a terrace overlooking the surrounding valleys and lesser mountains. The whole city was crawling with soldiers, they even had their own command post, towards the top of the Lost City, looking down on it all. After some time wandering around the city we headed to the campsite where we had some food and settled in before the fog came in and the rain started coming down. Naturally the guidebooks are wrong and the dry season doesn't start until January.

The next morning we had a guided tour of the Lost City. It was amazing to learn that over 2000 people lived at the site in about 240 dwellings and it is only 30% excavated because of a lack of funds. It was certainly a hard place to reach and I am sure it had great strategic value. Our guide also told us of another lost city, reachable only by helicopter unless you want to walk for seven days bent over at the waist and face a tribe that lives in caves and is hostile towards outsiders because someone stole their golden armadillo years ago (armadillo recovered and thief murdered). Spending the morning at the Lost City was great, it is such a peaceful place in such a beautiful location, and other than the soldiers we had it all to ourselves. A distinct advantage over something like Macchu Picchu. But we had to head back, so it was down those 1200 steep slippery stairs very cautiously and across the river 7 more times and back to camp, a much easier hike this time because it was mostly downhill. Back at the second camp we had to share it with two other two groups so it was packed with people and we were relegated to our hammocks for a lot of the time because there was nowhere else to sit, and of course it was raining. When it was finally our turn to use the tables we ate our food and started to play cards. So we're playing cards and a dogfight breaks out between two of the dogs that were hanging around. The other group was sitting along a row of benches and the snarling dogfight moved itself under the bench leading everyone to pull their feet up as the dogs bit and clawed at each other. No one could really break it up, some of the guides tried throwing water on the dogs but they continued to go at each other. Then the one guide reached in and grabbed one of the dogs by the hind leg and ripped it out from under the bench and away from the fight. I'm not sure if they would have fought to the death but at least until one of them was injured enough to back down. The fight almost erupted a few other times but they were able to prevent it. Because we were all tired of wearing the same wet clothes and we had an easy hike the next day, we decided to hike the rest of the way out in one day rather than two. We had to start at dawn to get out of the jungle and into the jeep before the afternoon rains came.

Hiking out was much easier than hiking in because it was mostly downhill with only two big uphill stretches. We made great time and made it out to the village by around 12:30 giving us plenty of time to change out of our wet clothes, relax and have a a couple beers and lunch and wait for the jeep to come and pick us up. Because we hiked out faster we had to share the jeep with another group of four and their guide. This forced three people to take motorcycle taxis out to the main road because the jeep couldn't take all of us. When the jeep finally came after a couple of hours it looked as if it was going to rain any minute. The questionable road would obviously be less than driveable if it really started to rain. So we loaded everything onto the roof of the jeep and we piled in, this time there were 15 of us, with 13 inside the jeep and two of the guides riding on the roof. The overloaded jeep had some trouble with some of the sections and pitched from side to side even more and we all had to get out as it navigated some bad stretches. At this point we're all wearing sandals and aren't exactly prepared to hike through the mud and the when we all had to get out the jeep would plow ahead and we would all have to run behind it in the mud with our sandals to catch up because they really wanted to get off the bad section before it got dark. With all the weight we were riding considerably lower to the ground and a few times the gas tank was hit by trees and rocks. One guy got out to check it several times and because he spoke the fastest that I've ever heard anyone speak no one could tell if we were leaking gas or not, but it smelled a bit like we were. So to review, our overloaded jeep that's possibly leaking gas is hurrying through this rough road trying to make it out before dark. And then it started to rain. Fortunately it wasn't the torrential downpour that happened while we were hiking. But we did overhear one of the guys in the front say to the driver, "They should know that this is dangerous." Luckily enough we made it without incident to the better portion of the road where we passed a truck that had pulled over. We weren't sure what the problem was because the guy that spoke really fast was talking to them. Then we heard our driver say to the truck driver, "You really shouldn't go down this hill without brakes." The soldiers guarding the entrance to highway got a good laugh when our driver told them that there was a truck with no brakes behind us, they probably thought it was a joke. Another hour and a half on paved roads and we were back in Santa Marta, back in civilization and out of the jungle.

The journey started with a taxi ride to the bus terminal which took about half an hour and was an experience in its own. The beginning of the journey went on this three lane road that technically had lanes but they seemed to be ignored by everyone. It was a free flowing race of taxis, motorcycles, and buses through this thriving riverside marketplace. People were weaving in and out and cutting each other off, no turn signals used of course. First there was the fish market with everyone carrying fish here and there and people gutting and cleaning the fish by the side of the road and the river, next to piles of rotting trash. There is only one way to describe the condition of the market, total and absolute squalor. Things were being sold from the wreckage of abandoned buildings that had at most three walls with trash, stray dogs, and little kids moving about everywhere. The market place gave way to a a two lane road (in theory) with a lane of traffic each way for taxis, trucks, and buses, and a lane for motorcylces on each shoulder and one down the middle of the road. Throw in the occasional horse or mule drawn cart plodding along and it was really something. Amidst this chaos our taxi driver was passing people and several times he had to duck back into our lane before smashing into a mule or getting hit by a car. But we made it to the terminal and he definitely earned his money, about $6 for the 30 minute ride. Tickets for the bus were expensive at 25,000 pesos and when I asked if there was a cheaper bus the guy at the ticket window dropped the price to 20,000 without hesitation ($10). The bus was actually super nice with comfortable reclining seats, powerful air conditioning and tvs playing El Transportador, not bad for the 4 hour journey. When the bus reached Barranquilla, 2/3 of the way there most of the people got off save for two of us and 4 Colombians. Magically, they said there was a mechanical problem on the bus and they made us switch to another one since they probably didn´t want to drive the bus there with only six people. The other bus took two hours further before arriving in Santa Marta. Santa Marta is kind of a resort town, and apparently is packed with Colombian families on vacation. Nothing special here really, well except for that in the first six hours I was here I had five separate people offer me cocaine, marijuana, and prostitutes. They always start with nice friendly talk about where you are from and about Colombia and they lean in and say something like: so man, what do you want, coca, marijuana, sexo? I´ll be glad to be moving on. Tomorrow I am leaving to hike to the Lost City for several days through the jungle. Will update following the hike.

Build between the 11th and 14th centuries, rediscovered in 1975 by tomb raiders.

To go you join a tour group, usually small, providing food, drinks and hammocks for the night.

What a cracker trip, five days trekking through the slopes of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, hot, humid, and often raining, four hours per day through the country side, jungle, numerous fresh rivers and Indigenous villages....and the factory.

Our group was made up of five fairly loose Israelis, a couple of stressed out Americans and two guides that lead the small group who spent 101 days with the company of Guerrillas in 2001. Apparently two Australians were released early due to their obesity, shame on them.

As each day passed we progress further into the jungle, encountering an increasing number of locals, normally one man, (no more than four feet high) his wife with baby, bun and pig on a tether.  Insects and mosquitoes weren´t a problem until we reached the city, the numerous rivers and streams provided welcome relief.

The third day was a highlight, a trek up the river with around 8 crossings, followed by 2000 odd stares up to the city. It wasn´t necessary to walk in packs, the track was reasonably clear and easy to navigate. Being high in the valley the clouds hung from the City, with the ambiance of the numerous waterfalls and insects, the setting was perfect for kicking back and looking back down the valley from which we came. We stayed in the city that night.

Brilliant trip all round, the guides were excellent and the food was better than I can usually find in cities and towns. It is expensive for walks in these parts but for me it was well worth the cash. If they dont find you first, contact Edward through the only tour company in Santa Marta, Turcol.

Taganga...

Elke toerist blijft hier langer dan gepland (toffe neef Johan kwam voor een week en is hier een jaar blijven plakken). De idyllische ligging van dit dorpje, in een baai met kleine huisjes en omgeven door tropische planten op de berghellingen, is niet het enige wat de toeristen tot hier brengt. Elke dag is het hier meer dan 30 graden, ´s Nachts kan het voorvallen dat je een t-shirt moet aandoen maar veel kouder wordt het niet. Vlakbij Taganga is een nationaal park met de meest authentieke Indianen van het hele Amerikaanse continent. In dat nationaal park kan je vanalles bezoeken zoals een verlaten indianenstad, tropische wouden en voor wie wil een cocainelab. Het enige wat ik hier niet zo tof vond waren de toeristen die constant bezig waren over Cocaine en San Pedro (het sap van ne cactusplant dat 30 uur werkt) . Voor de rest was het het aardsparadijs ... Zeker de moeite waard om terug een paar dagen te vertoeven....

Santa Marta is what I consider to be, after visiting approxamitaley 3 Colombian cities, a more real version of what the country is like.  Yes Cartagena is beautiful, and it has a mud volcano in it`s outskirts, but Santa Marta is a real place where people have jobs and life doesn`t revolve around tourism.  There`s also a pretty darn good night life, and a cheap restaurant where almost every plate you order comes with french fries.  Luckily for the not drunk and fat, it also has something to offer in it`s outskirts, like the beautiful Parque Tayrona, with it`s palm tree beaches, green hills, jagged rock islands and extensive scuba diving in the nearby reef (I saw two lobsters, a huge crab, a green moray, and a stingray.  for the record.)  But now I am tired of all this action and will be placing myself on the slow long bus to Bogota for some last minute museum action with a splash of culture on top.  I`m gonna need all the culture I can get before I head back to Detroit!

ps.  do you see how small the line is on my map between cartagena and santa marta?  that bus ride took 6 1/2 hours!