Colombia Revisited

It felt good to be back in Colombia and, after 24hours of travel the final part of which was riding on a motorcycle driven rail car, I arrived in San Cipriano - near the sparsly populated south west coast – a region largely populated by Afro Colombians.  San Cipriano, only accessible by the dubious rail transport,  consists of a few colorful weatherboard shacks lining the road adjacent to one of the rivers cutting through the dense jungle.  It's a bit of a weekender for the Cali crew, but midweek is quiet and a perfect place to kick back after the travel by tubing through the greenery.

One of the biggest challenges I face when travelling is to not develop hardness and cynicism to the genuine warmth of locals.  On the bus back from San Cipriano the friendly kid sharing my seat warned me to watch out for the thieving conductor standing near my bag at the front.  I was grateful for his concern and chatted in broken spanglish.  We were stopped at an army road block and systematically lined against the bus and told to spread them (not an uncommon occurrence in Southern Colombia where FARC operate.  The military are amiable so it’s not threatening - though certainly not "Days of Thunder" friendly).  A stolen phone was found in the vicinity of my seat while we were being patted down and my new pal wasted no time in fingering me before he was dragged away and we could continue our trip.  Therein lies the problem - the 1% of the population that will screw you can make you skeptical about the intentions of the remaining 99% (reverse the numbers for Cairo) - so when I miss the bus and a local in the same situation suggests we chase it in a taxi I am an untrusting tourist prick while staring at him a moment before taking up the offer and later being thankful I did.

From San Cipriano I stopped in Cali - long time rival with Medellin for the title of Colombia's capital for Cartels and beautiful women, and with a lock on the claim as the world capital for Salsa and Silicone.  Why I just spent one night there, I really don’t know, however, I moved north through the superb Coffee plantation region, visiting quaint Salento with its nearby wax palms and cloud forest before yet another overnight bus would take me to Cartagena.

The Xmas/NY period on the Caribbean coast warrants an entry of its own, however, a couple of blurry paragraphs will have to suffice.  Much of the time was spent with Mel and Inigo (up from Quito), Eoghan (an Irish lad), three Argentinean gals and a few others that we would meet intermittently throughout.  Christmas eve was celebrated with a crappy dinner put on by the otherwise great Media Luna hostel in stunning Cartagena - the understandably titled Jewel of the Caribbean.  A proper Christmas feast was ensured the following day with a large crew of travelers combining culinary skills.  Media Luna had also organised 10 days of music and partying in the hostel to bridge Christmas and the New Year.  Fortunately, this was far better than their dinner though a lot more dangerous.  One night was enough so after breakfast with a one legged man and his wild squirrel, Eoghen and I said our goodbyes to the Cartagena Sloth and Iguanas and, with the help of the girls, escaped the Media Luna vortex for Tayrona. 

Tayrona, the beautiful national park of beach fronted jungle provided a perfect scene for a more tranquil New Year celebration.  We enjoyed the sun, the sand and, for the first time in a while, the rollers crashing on the beach.  To ring in the New Year we risked booking a visit to one of Colombia’s fine surgeons by celebrating with a bunch of street sourced, homemade, skyrockets - the fuses of which were somewhere between short and nothing.  In and around this we cruised to Playa Blanca, dropped in on Santa Marta and chilled out in Taganga.  The whole affair floated in ice tea and rum.

I left Santa Marta heading east, just happy to be moving again. Arriving with the night in Palomino I joined a bunch of students from Bogota camping on the beach, eating empanadas and fish cooked over the fire.  The following day it was tubing, Colombian style - that is head out at 3pm as far as possible in the dodgiest pickup available, start walking through the jungle at 4, stop for a spliff at 4:15 and 15 minute intervals thereafter, pass a couple of guys with rifles and gates that should not be entered, stop when you run into the military guarding an indigenous village, give them a few spliffs then jump in the water as the sun sinks to float under the stars for 3 hours and generally strain to see where the next rapid is, and wonder where the other guys are.

A journey of 100miles begins with a step ... but a journey to Cabo de Vela in Colombia Guajira desert begins with negotiating a price for a spot in the back of the pickup among 14 others, 12 cartons of beer and a stack of bags, squeezing in, driving 2 minutes down the road then waiting while the pickup gets the tyre repaired, in which time a few more bags have gone in the back and on the roof, leaving you with no option but to join the two others standing on the rear tray to soak up the dust on the 2hr journey and be thankful you’re not one of the suckers sitting on the top (I’m not sure how many were in the front, but the grand total was probably 23).  On arrival to Cabo I wondered what all the fuss was about - the desert met a gravelly beach which ran into shin deep water.  Aside from the windsurfing and lobsters, why some locals choose this location for a vacation when there are so many beautiful places in Colombia is beyond me.  That night I sat under a crappy disco ball drinking a beer with a fellow backpacker while watching the only others in the outdoor bar - two 60+ yo men dancing with a couple of young girls who were smiling too much to have not been paid. 

Strangely I decided to try to head further into the desert - 4 more dusty hours through no man’s land to Punta Gallinas, short of time to return to the transit centre, I was dropped off at a dry crossroad (the wrong one) then walked up to another and joined a local family and their goats under their shade for 6 slow, unsuccessful, hours (nicely punctuated by some frisbee) while waiting for a vehicle ... it turned out the locals were right when they said it would be difficult to get there without joining a tour group so I grabbed a ute and headed for Venezuela.

I was sad to leave Colombia – What’s not to like about it? It has the kind of half mad lawlessness that seems to be unique to humid jungle regions, locals blast their music down the street out of speakers the size of fridges, while the neighbor vents his disapproval (or perhaps approval) with his own sonic assault (possibly the genisis for Reggaeton), there are stunning beaches, colonial towns, interesting animals, cute gals, stacks of precolonial history, majestic mountains, good food, dense jungle, pumping parties, vibrant culture, and most importantly, throughout the assault on the senses the people are positive and friendly.  No wonder it was Boots and All's No 1 destination for 2009 (lucky I just made it in time) - it was in good company also: Damascus was #2 (they know their stuff) and Tasmania #10 ... gotta get back to that place out sometime.

Ok, granted Colombia may have its fair share of issues - the Presidents father was killed by FARC and he has been linked with both the Medellin drug cartel and paramilitaries, one of the Bogotá boys I met at Palomino casually revealed that his own parents had to get out of the drug game after a problems led to him and his mum being on a hit list, 72 foreign journalists have been killed there since 1992 (which would pale in comparison the number of trade unionists, rural farmers and law enforcement suffering the same fate), 1,300 mass graves have been found since April 2006, FARC recently torched a bus and it's passengers after the driver refused to stop, 2-4 million people have been displaced by the violence with Ecuador still expecting 50,000 refugees a year, and seemingly every second conversation I had in Cartagena was of the form "hola ... where are you from ... how long are you here for ... you want coke, I have the best" - maybe it was just because I was suffering the sniffles.  Anyhow, things are clearing up or going underground - a great benefit to locals and tourists alike (since 2000 the US sponsored Project Colombia has pumped in 7 billion to that effect, well, ok, to make it better for business ... but it pales to the 7 billion a year the Cali cartel earned in its prime).  Furthermore, these things serve to keep the tourists away, so get there before it totally cleans up and becomes overrun.