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I'M IN BOGOTA! The Capital of Colombia and my last stop in South America…
If my last blog had somewhat of a negative tone and came across a bit ranty; it was because I was tired, a teeny bit stressed and a touch bereft at loosing my Llama crew for good. I was going to apologise for it but I have decided against it. If you're on this crazy rollercoaster with me then you gotta take the rough with the smooth, okay? We've been in this one from the start, and let's finish it together. What I will say is that I still consider myself the luckiest girl in the world, as you're about to find out…
THE LAST BORDER CROSSING
It's going to be "The Last" everything from now on I'm afraid. I left Quito in the morning to find that the bus terminal I was wandering around looking for no longer exists. This was the first of many failures of my Lonely Planet to come, but more on that later. So after several stressful bus rides with all my bags I made it to the NEW bus station and wangled a bus to Tulcán - the town closest to the Colombian border. 5 hours later, after seemingly every Tom, d*** and Harry got on the bus to sell everything under the sun to me, we arrived. Got a very nice taxi man to take me the 3km to the Frontera , who informed me of Bin Laden's demise. That was a real surreal moment. Being shocked in Spanish was a new skill I learnt that day. DIY Ecuador to Colombia was super-easy-peasy; you just get stamped out, walk across the border and stamp into Colombia. Got zero hassle and even a really good exchange rate from the Cambio-Man. After that I shared a taxi to the next town of Ipiales (dire - why are border towns always so grim? Just for once I'd like to go to a quaint and pretty border town. It'd make a mint I tell you.) with two Swiss girls, a Swede and a North American from Colorado. New team formed. Team name; Cali Crew. Because that was where we were headed… The city of Cali.
A FEW WORDS ON GUIDE BOOKS...
In backpacker circles it's referred to as The Bible (please don't take offense, get a life). Yes, I'm talking about the Lonely Planet. Specifically the big hefty 'on a shoestring' versions for entire continents. I have such a one, kindly gifted to me by lovely Scottish Ian in Sydney, many months ago. It's called the Bible for a reason - these things are indispensible when you travel, but more recently The Bible has been letting me down. First there was the bus station fiasco in Quito, which can't be helped - they rearranged things after the latest edition was published (2010 though…), Then there was the address mix up with Pelican Larry, that was irritating but again can't be helped. There will inevitably be the restaurant you can never find, the shop that no longer exists, prices will rise. However, I'm so sick of being told not to do things by the L.P. that we somewhat fell out of late. Of course as a responsible publication it has to warn people about possible dangers but I've been finding disobeying the bible can really pay off. For instance, travelling by night in Colombia - No problema amigo! In fact all the things the L.P. gets all protective and uppity about (sounding a lot like a worrying elderly relative at times) are some of the best things travelers do. So get out your noise out of your guide book and live a little! This said, I love my Lonely Planet deeply and it will be a sad goodbye when I leave it behind here in Colombia. I have made lots of notes in it, so whoever gets it next is in for a right treat…
VIVA COLOMBIA!
Colombia has been my salvation. Right when I thought I was too travel-weary and worn to enjoy any more of Latin America, Colombia arrived with a big warm hug, a smile and a cup of the best coffee I've ever tasted. Before boarding the nightbus we found the only café in Ipiales serving beer and were bowled over by the friendliness of people. Took our pimped-out green-neon bus overnight and arrived early to Cali. (Note to travelers - Colombian buses are freezing, take a sleeping bag.) Had a mission finding this hostel (Pelican Larry) because its address had changed but finally made it after leaving Quito 24 hours previously. It was a good hostel though. Here's the best thing about Colombian hostels… they all have FREE COFFEE. No not that instant s***… real Colombian coffee. More on that later…
So - to be honest - Cali diiiidn't really blow me away. There's really not much to do here unless you adore Salsa clubbing (which I despise) and there on a weekend. But there is a ZOO. According to the receptionist, the best zoo in South America! So that's where we headed of course. It was fun. My new team were definite keepers (no, not zoo-keepers! Ha. Ha. Very funny El). And we had a lot of laughs. Some kid tried to sell us drugs on the way in… I mean really, who gets high in a zoo at 10am?! People in Colombia I guess. Could be amusing, but we politely declined and spent a splendid morning looking at the lovely animals. I especially liked the Tiger, I didn't like the monkeys. Next it was off to some random barrio with nice restaurants, watched footy in a gringo bar and noticed how expensive everything was in Colombia. The Colombian Peso is currently 3000 to the pound, which makes my maths brain hurt. Why don't they just knock off all those zeros eh? I did some nifty budget sums based on the prices and calculated that I could just get by on the money I had left IF I behaved myself. No chance of that then Els, as come nightfall we were off in search of the legendary Cali nightlife… which does not exist on a Tuesday. Not to be defeated by week-night blues we made the best of things and ended up in some mad taxi race across Cali to south of the river (another forbidden area according to L.P. but we were okay). Jumped about 10 red lights in a row as three rude-boy 16 year-old taxi drivers pretended they were in the Italian Job in their tiny yellow hatch-backs whilst our Californian friend improvised a rap to Reggaton in the front seat. It was a surreal and amusing evening out. I left Cali early the next day minus the team, had to push on and cities just weren't doing it for me right then. I chose to take myself off to…
LA ZONA CAFETERA - The coffee farming region of Colombia.
I had had 4 hours sleep in 48 hours, but that didn't stop me bargaining myself a super-cheap, speedy and comfortable bus to Armenia and then a minibus to Salento at 8am. Salento is a tiny town high in the hills of Colombia's countryside. As soon as I arrived I fell deeply in love with the place. The old colonial-style brightly painted buildings, gauchos riding their horses down the quiet sloping streets, the temperature is mild but the air as fresh as it gets. I had booked to stay at Plantation House (and this is one where the Bible got it spot on); a working coffee farm-come-hostel owned by an eccentric English-Colombian couple. I had chosen to stay on the ´Finca´ part - cheaper, more basic and down a long steep, muddy track in the heart of the plantation. Donning my loaned wellies and leaving my big pack at the hostel reception I took the walk down for the first time, not quite sure what I had got myself in for. I needn't have worried; I had found my 7th heaven. Words are going to fall short describing this place, but I will try and give you some idea of why I loved it so much. It's not everyone's cup of tea - I shared my bed (a mattress on the floor) that first night with two gorgeous tabby cats. At 6am the cockerel wandered into the dorm and informed us it was a new day, loudly. This was to be my alarm clock for the next 3 days. Three huge rough collies, another cat and some chickens were my new adopted family. I shared a basic outdoor kitchen and living area with the coffee pickers and the occasional 'coffee tourists' like myself. There was 24/7, freshly ground and brewed organic coffee. Here they drink it thick, black and often with a big scoop of brown sugar. Caffeine addiction anyone? Sitting at the long table made of a single tree trunk you can see out across the entire valley. It's so GREEN. I didn't expect Colombia to be so beautiful, so fertile. It's lush, that's what it is. I wandered (slash hiked) back up to town and watched the footy in a pool bar (I mean billiards, not swimming). This is the kind of town Salento is; I, a lone white female, felt comfortable enough to sit in a bar full of Latino men and watch football. I didn't feel threatened or intimidated in anyway. People were curious and asked polite questions but there was no hissing or whistling or general dickery that I had got so tired of elsewhere. This is exactly what I had been looking for. I'm going to crack-on and summarise the next few days, or I might bore you all to death going into raptures over Salento. Took a jeep to Valle de la Cocora - rode on the back standing up = fun, stunning valley of wax palms, cloud forest and gushing rivers. Good solo day of hiking up and down hills, hummingbirds and hot chocolate, cows grazing at the foot of 60ft palm trees. Good, quality, restful sleep makes a relaxed and happy Ellie. Cali-Crew catch me up, quiet beers on the plaza in my wellies - which I lived in permanently. Volunteered on the farm for the morning - coffee picking is bloody hard work! Clambered up 45degree slopes through the undergrowth to find the mystical red-berries, covered in spiders webs and god-knows-what creepy crawlies, sun-beating down; I now understand why good coffee is so expensive, and will never again buy that cheap stuff. Huge and delicious free lunch for my trouble, and the knowledge that in a week or two my handpicked coffee will be ready for the drinking! Very satisfying. Don Eduardo Finca (the farms full name) does not export any of its coffee. It is fully organic and is sold only locally. The big problem in S.Am is that all the good coffee gets exported to us with our fat wallets and caffeine addictions and you can't for the life of you get a good cup down here where it's from! On our last night we played pool (again in my wellies) and marveled at the mysterious Colombian version that is pocketless, played with only three balls and on a specially heated table. NO idea how it's done. Salento is a town very much stuck in the past, I hope it stays that way forever. I was totally euphoric my entire time there and didn't ever want to leave, but I had to keep moving…
MEDELLÍN (say Med-a-gin)
Once one of the world's most dangerous cities, it's now one of the friendliest. I don't think it was ever unfriendly, just impossible to find that out due to being run by the drug-lord Pablo Escobar. Spent two nights here and really enjoyed it. Now travelling with Dustin (Colorado) and Denni (France) we had a great night where we mingled with the local youth in the plazas and got talking to a group of them who gave us bracelets and wanted us to know all about their city and country. Honestly never met such welcoming and helpful people in my life. I think after what Colombia has been through in the last few decades has made them so keen to make a good impression on travelers. It's not just an act though; the feeling of warmth I've experienced from people here is not something you can fake for appearances sake. Sometimes it reminds me of Cambodia and how the people there have been through so much and come out the other side smiling and getting on with life, it really makes you think about how lucky we are and the strength that people can have. Medellín is really modern with heaps of new infrastructure and money coming in. They cleverly sell water to other countries now, instead of drugs. Colombia has pulled itself together in such an extraordinary way. There is still a huge police presence in most places, which takes some getting used to. Go now, it will be overrun by travelers in a few more years.
After two nights I decided to head north to the coast for some beach time. That backfired a little…
I'M A BACKPACKER… GET ME OUTTA HERE!
Got a very expensive night bus northwards to Santa Marta on the Caribbean coast. Not really sure what I expected but it didn't really live up to whatever that was. Firstly, the heat is close to unbearable. By 10am its 30degrees and 90% humidity. Secondly, the beach at Santa Marta is about as picturesque as Cleethorpes. Less even. For some reason I imagined white sand, blue sea, palms trees… you know Carribean stuff? Just dirty sand, a tepid sea and oil tankers lining up to dock. Hmm. Do I sound spoilt? Because I am. In the last year I have been spoilt rotten with gorgeous beaches, maybe that's why I was disappointed. Also, unlike the gentlemen of Salento, it was back to pervy-old men hissing at me. Sigh. So I didn't really feel that comfortable about spending any time alone on the beach. However, I was staying in a very nice hostel with a pool and a bar… problem solved. Except for the fact that I found I have come to the end of my tether with socialising, making small talk with strangers and the general backpacker mentality. How many times have I had the "where are you going, where have you been, where are you from?" conversation? Too many. Thus I became trapped in a vicious cycle. I rarely left the hostel due to; A) sweating like a drug-smuggler in customs every time I stepped out the door, B) there's not much to Santa Marta, C) lack of enthusiasm/motivation, D) lack of funds, but at the same time I was seething on the inside surrounded by gap-yah kids. So I became once again the hermit who read her book and spoke to few. My most familiar acquaintances were the barmen, as I nursed my sprite zero and chatted half-heartedly about the weather and sport. A Brit through and through. So it's time to call it a day and go home Ellie. Time to go back to my homeland and talk about the weather… and sport.
THE FINAL COUNTDOWN
After attempting and failing miserably to get a tan before coming home (it really was too hot to sunbathe) I took my long and last ever night bus to Bogota. 24 hours. Ain't gonna miss that! We took some idiotic route through the coffee region. Basically completely circled Bogota before arriving. Terrific. Bogota suffers from some very British weather (here I go again…). I arrived on a rainy afternoon and thought of Manchester. Looked up to the sky and saw the planes taking off… squealed with excitement that that would be me in 3 days time. But Bogota has really caught me off guard, I was expecting to continue my grumpy-old backpacker act until the bitter end but I love this city! Sure it has a grimy and unsafe side, so do most places. The old quarter - the Candeleria - where I'm lodged, is spectacular. It's like being in Rome or Venice or something. Just beautiful. Yesterday I made a big effort to be cultural (feel I've neglected this side of things in my travels) and went to the Botero Museum (he painted everything mega FAT, believe me it's quite a self-esteem boost), The Gold Museum (lovely! Golden! Things!) and another random art gallery. After all that culture I was ready to go watch some guinea pig street racing (oh yes!), back with the plebs where I belong. On Sundays most major roads close so everyone can go cycling. It's a really carnival atmosphere with all and sundry out and about selling random tat or taking a stroll. I've tried all manner of exciting street food. Most food in South America is full of sugar and/or fat. So if you don't leave obese you will leave with type II diabetes. Staple is corn - everything is made out of maize; bread, these pancake "arepas" that come with everything, balls of deep fried maize, drinks. It's amazing what they can do with the stuff. I was always just a fan of corn-on-the-cob. There's also lots of fried plantain (banana variety) which I have a big soft-spot for. And of course rice and beans, everything comes with rice and beans.
Today is my last day in South America. What a journey it's been. Seems like a very long time ago that I arrived jet-lagged and confused in Buenos Aires. Now I can speak Spanish, differentiate between Llamas, Alpacas, Guanacos and Vicuñas, and have more confidence in myself than I ever thought possible. It's off to NYC tomorrow for a week, to see my extended American family and even my Dad is flying out to meet me! It's hard to get my head around going home, but I'll do one more round-up blog before I fly back to Manchester. I have to first get into the USA, a scary time to do so. Looking as I do; a single, scruffy female with a huge backpack, coming from Colombia - I might as well have MULE stamped on my forehead. I'll let you know how I get on with Homeland Security. For now I am taking my last days easy in my nice quiet little hostel, with its husky and choc-Labrador puppy (can't get enough of the little guy!). I might go shopping for some presents, realised I've totally neglected this important part of my duties as a home-comer, oops.
SOUTH AMERICA; Amazing, incredible, awesome, can't-think-of-any-more-hyperbole continent… I'm pretty sure I'll be coming back. You have taught me so much and I will miss you. Enough adventures to fill a lifetime…
Ellie
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