Trip Report: Stage 6 - Colombia

California to Patagonia: A Cycling Expedition
Trip Report
Stage 6 - Colombia
21 June - 7 August, 2008

* Photographs from this stage of the journey can be found here.
* Route maps of the journey can be found here.

Total distance cycled: 10,908 km (not including around-town, unloaded distances)
Total distance in Colombia: 2,220 km
Days on the road: 255
Days cycling: 126
Days spent in Colombia: 48 (27 days cycling, 21 days off)
Average distance per day in Colombia: 82.2 km
Maximum Speed: 75 km/h (descending to El Pedregal out of Pasto, Colombia!!!)
Maximum altitude: 5,636 meters (Citlatépetl, Mexico)
Flat tires to date: 17

Nights spent...
... invited to a family home - 24
... with the local firemen - 9
... camping outdoors - 8
... in cheap hotels - 5
... at gas stations - 2

Best day: following the headwaters of the Rio Magdalena from Pitalito to San Agustín
Worst day: intense diarrhoea, loss of appetite, and diminished energy due to intestinal parasites 2 days out of Medellín with the next closest town 80 km and 6000 feet of climbing away!

Total money spent in Colombia - $498
Average expenditures per day - $10.32
Price for soldering my broken YAK trailer: $3

........

Violently Pleasant Experiences

I arrived in Colombia with little expectations. Yes, yes. I know - the intense guerilla activity, the kidnappings, the infamous drug cartels of Pablo Escobar and the internationally feared drug cartels - these were all images that flashed in my mind when I searched for imaginations of my days to come in Colombia.

In many ways, these dramatic Hollywood-esque images were easy to draw as I reunited with my beloved bicycle, Bucephalus and cycled into the beachside paseo that lined Caribbean jewel of Cartagena de Indias. What was more fuzzy, and difficult to imagine was what was *good* about Colombia. What kind of friends would I make? Would I be welcomed openly? Robbed again? And how would my body hold up to cycling across the Northern reaches of the longest mountain range on Earth, the Andes?

I had just arrived from a tiny twin-otter plane that skipped across the infamous Darien Gap from Panama like a child hopping across a wet and dirty puddle to avoid getting wet. As I assembled my bicycle and rode away out of the airport in the morning sun, everything felt good. A group of men hanging out drinking beers outside a corner mini-mart shot remarks about my attention-seizing bike and invited me to a beer. I gladly downed the Aguila Cerveza handed to me, and asked for directions to the beachside paseo.

"Hey - good luck and have fun in Colombia," the moustached shopkeeper at the mini-mart shouted as I handed the empty bottle back. "And welcome to my country!" he proudly declared and sent me off with a warm pat on the back.

So far so good. Two blocks away was the ocean and I cycled gently along the coast with the warm ocean breeze tossing the flags at the back of my bicycle. It was a sunny Saturday, and the sandy beaches were lined with happy families playing in the water, classically divine Colombian women in bikinis tossing frisbees and couples strolling slowly hand in hand.



Four hundred years ago, this same coastline was the site of glorious battles between crafty English pirates and greedy Spanish elites who guarded the hordes of gold and silver they seized from the mighty pre-Columbian civilizations along the length of the Andes. Cartagena de Indias - the most important port in the Americas during colonial times - was therefore sheltered with heavily fortified walls and massive cannons lining the waterfront. After Francis Drake sacked the town in 1586 and ransomed it back to the Spaniards for 10 million pesos, the Spanish made very sure that their precious port and all its wealth would be protected from further attacks and walled in the entire town from the outside.

Today, this historic Inner City is a living museum, with many beautifully restored 16th and 17th century mansions, palaces, and shady plazas along its twisting narrow streets. I was stunned at its beauty and realized why the oversized yellow stripe along the top of the Colombian flag signified its abundant gold and resources.

As the evening caught up with me, I pulled myself away from a pleasant scene at Plaza Bolivar and went about my evening duties of finding a free place to camp. The beach = too busy; hotels = too expensive and impersonal. I stopped at a local panaderia to buy some bread for the next morning and the owner invited me to set up my tent inside his bakery in exchange for travel stories. A great deal! The atmosphere in the town was so pleasant and my new friend and host, Andy, was so friendly that I spent the next few days doing much the same as the first: wandering along the city paths, looking up at the beautiful architecture, and chatting it up with folks resting at the plazas.

There was something about Colombians that was different than the rest of Latin America so far. It wasn´t just their hospitality, although so far, just in my first few days, I had already experienced so much of it. Everyone I spoke to were fiercely proud to be Colombian and wanted to make sure that I had a positive experience in their country. This outpouring of good energy turned to be a constant theme throughout the coming 7 weeks I spent crossing the country.

Riding out of Cartagena took me across the northern agricultural plains: hot, humid, and stretching out across large tracts of green farmlands. Taking the advice of my friend Andy from Cartagena, each night, I seeked shelter not in hidden campsites, but with the local firemen, policemen, and the very frequent invitation to a family home - for reasons of safety. One evening, in the small, predominantly Afro-Caribbean town of Maria La Baja, I was invited by Amaury, the director of a local dance group to his home. I had hardly changed my sweat-drenched clothes when he pulled me out the door.

"Tonight, my friends are all hanging out at the edge of town - drums, music, dancing. You´ll love it - lets go!"

I was a bit tired and very smelly, but the prospect of a lively musical scene made both of these concerns disappear quickly! Amaury introduced me to everyone. The men greeted me with a firm handshake and the girls added a typical kiss on the cheek. What ensued was one of the most unforgettable nights in my life -- jamming loudly on all manner of drums, dancing wildly to the seductive moves and rhythms of salsa, cumbia, bullerengue, and ballenato. Everyone but me and maybe two others were of African descent. A few older women at the back of a nearby house cooked up a hearty meal of sancocho - a delicious stew with chicken, potatos, yucca, and plantains in a giant three-foot pot over an open fire and poured large portions for everyone in bowls.

I don´t recall what time it was, but sometime very late into the night, Amaury pulled me away again, just like the first time, and in a happily drunken laughter told me that it was time to return home. By that time, I had already been dancing most of the night with Vivian Yulieth, a beautiful 21 year old daughter of a policeman who would insist and pull me closer towards her every time Amaury made motion to leave. At one point, she left to make a phone call and my host won the battle, and I had to leave very reluctantly to return to his home and my bicycle. Still sweaty and tired, I went to sleep that night in his backyard with very high spirits.

I did something foolish the next morning - I left. Perhaps I was a little intimidated by how welcome I felt, or maybe I was afraid that I would end up staying in that small village for a lot longer, but whatever it was, the magnetic pull of the road attracted in much the same way, and I decided to follow the more familiar siren song of the road.



During the next few days, I slowly shed all the vivid images of that evening and prepared my mind for my first climb into the Andes. After Puerto Valdivia, the road rose over 1800 meters in less than 40 kilometers into the Cordillera Central. I was making my way towards Medellín, the second largest city in Colombia and the heart of the most intense drug activity during the heated 1980´s era of Pablo Escobar and his goons. The road leading to Medellín took me up through the towns of Yarumal, Santa Rosa de Osos, and Don Matías, and thanks to my good fortune, each of the towns were holding their yearly fiestas when I arrived.

It was refreshing to be in the highlands where the temperature was much cooler and one could ride throughout the day without having to worry about the intense heat. In its place, fierce and violent thunderstorms and downpours were common each day. Mostly, I just waited out the rains, but I got soaked many a time and getting wet in the mountains made me feel intensely cold for the first time in a very very long time. Fortunately, there was always a cup of "tinto" - the Colombian expression for dark mountain grown coffee, truly the best in the world.

In sharp contrast to the rest of Central and South America, this country of 45 million people harbors a very distinct 'coffee culture.' Cups of the brew usually run for less than 25 cents on the streets. As a nation geographically divided within itself by three mighty chains of the Andes, Colombia houses a diverse range of ecosystems: the hot, fertile, and swampy coasts; the Andean mountain spines; and the Amazonian jungle. There are no seasons in Colombia beyond a wet season and a rainy season, but the gradients of altitude make for perpetual summers in the lowlands and perpetual winters in the highlands.



The city of Medellín, like many pleasant mountains dwellings in Colombia, fortunately, enjoys a perpetual spring due to its moderate altitude in a rich river valley. When I arrived in Medellín, a friend of a fellow cyclist I had met in Baja California received me in his home. Alejo Puerta, or "Machacho" as he preferred to be called, made me feel more like a brother than an invited guest. The accommodations were supremely comfortable and the city´s tranquil atmosphere inspired me to stay a lot longer than I had expected. An avid sportsman and adventurer himself, Alejo had a wealth of stories and advice to share. Throughout my time in Colombia, I was warned to keep my mouth shut about politics, about the internal conflict between the government and the guerrillas in the country, and to refrain from voicing my personal convictions about these issues too much, since one could never know who they were talking to. Fortunately, my new friend and host was incredibly helpful and generous enough to fill me in and answer all the curious questions I had in my mind.

While the stories of violence, assassinations, drugs, and guerrillas do hold some credibility to them, they are largely exaggerated by the international media and Hollywood. The average person in Colombia is just like you and I - they don´t all have connections to the mafia or deal in illicit substances. Just like all of the Colombians I met convinced me of this, I found myself writing emails and postcards home with the same message. The current government under President Álvaro Uribe since 2000 has run an extremely effective campaign to secure principle highways and roadways throughout the country, which were once the site of vicious guerrilla attacks and kidnappings.

"Just a few years ago," my friend Alejo explained, "the highway you cycled to get here would have been prime territory for the guerrillas." I had read reports from other expedition cyclists in the past having to wait fearfully in small towns because the nearby bridge was the site of a violent skirmish between guerrillas and the military. Under Uribe´s presidency, however, military presence on the roadways were about as frequent as gas stations. Every 10-20 kilometers, a military post made its presence felt, with proud signs along the side of the road convincing travelers that the roads were safe, thanks to the power of big guns. And no kidding - these men, who were mostly around my age - were always armed with large high profile rifles and on occasion, even grenade launchers! Big news hit when Ingrid Betancourt, the celebrated ex-Presidential candidate of Colombia was liberated from over 5 years of captivity in the jungles with the guerrillas. Uribe´s campaign of reducing the guerrilla presence was creating very visible change in the country´s image.

My time in Medellín pleasantly rolled along with long, stimulating conversations such as this, and with frequent visits to the beautiful plazas lined with stunning architecture and the distinctive art of the artist and scupltor, Fernando Botero, a native of Medellín. When it was time to leave, I had to peel myself away from the comfortable amenities of city living: hot water, a real bed, a well-stocked kitchen, and most importantly, a good friend.

The first night out of the city took me up another mountain pass to a small town called Guarne, where I camped under permission at a building under construction looking over the valley. Strange sounds rose from within my bowels that night, but I just shrugged it off, thinking it was something that would pass away in the morning.



What followed perhaps the worst 4 days of my life! Little did I know, my excitement for cycling in the high mountains and drinking from (seemingly) pure creeks dribbling from the mountain tops as I had done on the road to Medellín, had now inflicted me with Giardia lamblia, an intestinal parasite that is well known among outdoor folks. Bloating, intense diarrhoea, and a lack of appetite are just a few of the more pronounced symptoms. For me, now caught in the middle of nowhere again crossing the Cordillera Central on my way to Bogotá, I felt incredibly weak; I couldn´t eat food that I would normally inhale in a few seconds. And worst of all was that I was cycling through amazing terrain through sweepingly green and lush vistas of the rich mountains, but didn´t have the presence-of-mind, or the energy to appreciate it. The uphills looked like giant monsters to be defeated and for the first time since the giant hills of Guatemala, I was forced to walk - at times, crawling - to reach the top of the hill.

I sought refuge at the first small village, and a kind lady who owned a restaurant allowed me to rent a room in the back, since the nearest hotel was still a long distance away. As with many things in life, the infliction diminished over the coming days and I continued along at a snails pace, making small progress each day towards the Colombian capital.

When I finally made it into Bogotá, a miserable downpour had cast down on the city, and I blindly navigated the complex web of city streets with the usual confusion in big cities. A truly cosmopolitan and modern city, the nerve center of Colombia, compared to other Latin American capitals, is a dream in urban planning. Laced with over 300 kilometers of ciclorutas, or bicycle lanes, it is a very bike-friendly city, and the Trans-Milenio metro system does an arguably good job in reducing the chaos and clutter so typical of capital cities. The giant meseta, or high plateau that shelters the city sits at a high 2,650 meters, which made the pouring rain very very cold.



I was welcomed by my hosts, Luis and Jaime, who wasted absolutely no time in making my stay memorable. From browsing the world-class art and history museums, the local music scene, the pleasant walks along the numerous plazas, Bogotá turned out to be one of the most pleasant capital cities I had ever visited! Sometime during the 1980´s, a word which originated from the Caribbean arrived in Bogota to describe the frantic activities of Bogotá´s nightlife: the "rumba." The people here live and breathe the rumba - a word that reminds us that the night was made to go out, eat, dance, amuse oneself, watch the dawn, and just celebrate life in a metropolis. Along with Luis and the wonderful community of friends I got to know, this is exactly what we captured in our almost daily sojourns into the city.

Another friend, Anita, introduced me to a nearby mountain crag called "Suesca," the center of rock-climbing in all of Colombia. While by no means comparable to Yosemite Valley or Joshua Tree in the US, this place attracted many aspiring climbers and I got to know a few of the more colorful characters through Anita. A spirited young Colombian girl from the highland town of Manizales, one would never guess that her petite frame and beautiful smile had successfully climbed the highest mountains in the Himalayan, Andean, and Alaskan ranges. As the first of three Colombian women to climb Mt. Everest, she was something of an inspiration to me. Not just for her humility and kindness, but more for her unfailing drive and tenacity to achieve her goals. In Suesca, as we scaled up and down the craggy sandstone, we swapped many stories about Nepal, mountains, and life. Other company included world-class Colombian climbers either just returning from expeditions in the Himalayas, planning such an expedition, or as was the case of several hardy fellows, both! I left with much needed excitement to be in high places and with lots of information and contacts for the days to come.

After almost two weeks off the bicycle in Bogotá, it was time to bid farewell to the people I had grown so close to. The most difficult part of a journey such as this is leaving the people who end up influencing one´s experiences so profoundly.

The road out of Bogotá plunged in a wild downhill into the Rio Magdalena, where the intense heat and humidity embraced me once again. I followed the deep river valley to its headwaters over the next week through wide expanses of farmlands, bordered on both sides by the Central and the Eastern Cordillera. Somewhere near the town of Aipe, a strange climactic phenomenon gave birth to the Tatacoa Desert. It felt entirely out of place and had a strange energy that was captivating. I had first heard of it through my friend Alejo in Medellín, and was curious enough to explore.



In order to reach the desert, I first had to find the winding trail that exited the town of Aipe. Then, I had to navigate a short stretch of what could only be described as a swamp or a wetland system to get to the edge of the mighty river, which I crossed on a dugout canoe. On the other side, a 18 mile stretch of unmaintained roads led first through open pasturelands and ranches. A short climb up a knoll, and then, BAM - cactuses appeared out of nowhere, the terrain took up a dry reddish and grayish tone, and the landscape seemed to turn around 180º. The fun never stopped, and apparently in the middle of the desert was a spring the indigenous people once used to use as a bathing spot and recharge point. Now, a local family had converted it into a pool, but the strange energy of the place was still as vibrant as could be. The day I went, there was absolutely no one in the desert and I had a wonderful time soaking in the pool, yelling into the wide open spaces, and running around the furrowed canyons.

Life was good, and what was even better, was that I crossed the 10,000 km line on my odometer as I returned to catch the main highway. What an emotional experience! I cried, sang, laughed, and then let the silence of the desert envelop me.

The next goal was the famous archaeological site of San Agustín, 300 km away. Since Bogotá, I had abandoned the busy Panamerican Highway in order to cross the length of the country via an alternate route passing through San Agustín, and the lack of traffic and the stunning scenery made for some of the best cycling on the whole trip. I had no trouble connecting with local families along the route, who welcomed me with open arms to their home. Mornings and evenings were pleasant moments when I always had a cycling companion and conversation partner: campesinos and farmers making their way to and from work.



In San Agustin, I stayed at Finca La Campesina, a farm which was also secretly known as the "Casa de Ciclistas," a safe-haven for long-haul cyclists to call home. Igel and Paola, a German couple had fallen in love with the town when they arrived two years ago on their multi-year around-the-world cycling journey and purchased some prime property overlooking a vast vista of mountains. They built a home in record time, got a caretaker to maintain operations on the farm, and continued along their cycling journey. A world map was taped up on the door of the basic kitchen which traced their route across the globe, and a logbook of cyclists detailed wild adventures, world-tours, and ambitious dreams fulfilled. I was moved.

Dala, the caretaker and a devout rastafarian handed me the keys to the place and smiled, "welcome home!" Just like all the cyclists who had lived at the finca before me, I felt renewed, recharged, and more inspired than ever for the journey ahead. The nearby archaeological ruins, stunning mountain trails, and lush coffee fields were all just a meander and a stroll away. Paradise!

The road leading out of San Agustín is an un-maintained dirt track that climbs steeply across the crest of the Cordillera Central. Although the safety situation with roadways had vastly improved in recent years, I was warned by a few people that the road out of San Agustin to Popayán would take me straight into the heartlands of the guerrillas. The forested reaches of the Department of Huila (of which S. Agustin is a part of), is reputed to be one of the birthplaces of the resistance movement and I didn’t want to take any chances. Therefore, for the first time on my whole journey, I skipped a section of navigable road and loaded my bicycle on a rickety bus next to a stock of squealing chickens. It took more than 7 hours to cover the short 130km stretch because of the horrible road conditions across the steep precipices of the range.



When I arrived at the town of Popayán, I was welcomed by my Couchsurfing host, Emma Franco. A bright young University student, Emma and her friends engaged me for a few days in wonderful academic conversations on social thought, critique, and philosophy, something that had been distinctly lacking in my life for a long time. Known as "Ciudad Blanca," or "White City," for the color of its distinctive colonial architecture, Popayán is also known as the University Capital of Colombia for its selection of excellent programs and intellectual traditions. We spent some time in her family farm, at the local plazas, and of course - exploring the rumba! Leaving Popayán, I added another person to that precious list of close friendships and intense connections.

I will be honest - my last few days in Colombia were a painted by a slight tinge of melancholy and sadness. I wasn´t ready to leave the country. The mountains grew steeper, the canyons deeper, and the cycling ever more challenging. The days leading up to the border post to Ecuador, I often contemplated just returning to a place like Popayán, or San Agustín, or even Bogotá, and stay there for a while. Memories, emotions, and fleeting moments swirled around my mind like water in a lazy swimming hole, not yet ready to flow further down the river.



Throughout the 48 days I had spent in the country, never once did I feel unsafe or threatened. For a country waging an internal civil war, Colombia is a remarkably peaceful place. If my writings sound like I want to you, dear reader, to travel through Colombia and see for yourself, you have read properly. It hurts me to see how the rest of the world thinks of places such as Colombia and Nicaragua and a host of other Latin American countries to be filled with violence and chaos. What about the people? Their rich cultural traditions? Their sense of community and family? And the happiness they find in their everyday lives just like you and me.

I think of the words printed on a travel brochure I received on my first day in Cartagena: "the only risk is that you will want to stay." In the end, I survived Colombia despite this grave risk..., and despite all the violently pleasant encounters along the way.


Japhy Dhungana
Quito, Ecuador


............


Acknowledgments

* Luis Acosta - for warmly inviting me to my first beer in Colombia and pointing me towards the beach.
* Andy Barraza - for inviting me to camp in the bakery and showing me around Cartagena.
* Hader, Jorge, y Fabian - for the amazing jam session in Cartagena!
* Amaury Pereira Osorio - thanks for taking me to one of the most memorable parties in my life! Lots of good vibes!
* Vivian Yulieth Pérez - for teaching me all those salsa moves and giving me my first primer on Colombian music. Gracias!
* Carlos - for fixing my YAK trailer when it needed it the most.
* Elizabeth Villegas Boto - for gifting me the beautiful pulsera in Planeta Rica.
* Eduardo Gonzalez & Ostiló Ayala - thanks for the warm accommodations with the Bomberos in Caucasia.
* Carlos - for the laughs and the free lunch at Tarazá.
* Enrique Gerardo Areiza - thanks for the good vibes and the hospitality in Yarumal.
* Ubaldo Martinez - for welcoming me to Medellín and cycling the last few kilometers into town during ciclovia day!
* German Correa - for your stories and inspiration at Parque Poblado in Medellín. Keep up the good work!
* Cata Posada - for helping me get in touch with Alejo!
* Alejo "Machacho" Puerta - for the irreplaceable friendship and brotherhood we shared in Medellín! You will always be like family to me!
* Jorge and Sonya Puerta - for the delicious lunch and for your warmth and inspiration for the road ahead.
* Ximena and Damían Lopez - for the wonderful dinner and stories we shared in Medellín.
* Luis "Pepe" Pérez - for the great conversations at Alejo´s place and connecting me with Juan Carlos in Quito.
* Ana Maria Giraldo Gómez - thank you for the inspiration and strength you have given me, and for sharing this wonderful friendship!
* Ricky Gómez - for the laughs, the stories, and the pulsera! Hasta la proxima, hermano!
* Andrea Pulgarin - for helping a very sick cyclist find accommodations late in the day in Puerto Libre.
* Cesar Santana Escobar - thanks to the whole team at Bomberos Honda for your hospitality.
* Luis, Dario, and Yohan at Bomberos Villeta - for the music, the company, and lifting my spirits in Villeta!
* Luis Betancourt - for your limitless good vibes, and for introducing me to Bogotá and helping me get settled comfortably during my first few days.
* César Alberto León - for your amazing craftmanship with the new Nepali flag.
el Desgar - for taking care of me in Bogotá and helping keep my bicycle in top shape.
* Jaime Plaza - for your unforgettable hospitality and friendship in Bogotá! It was essential in helping me prepare for the road ahead.
* Stephany Howard - for raising my spirits in Bogotá and rekindling that gift of friendship when I needed it the most.
* Alex Torres, Lucho, Katty Guzman, and Hernan Wilkes - for all the good times and stories climbing in Suesca.
* Jorge Jaramillo - for the wonderful outing to Suesca and for your good energy!
* Helver Betran - for helping me get across the Rio Magdalena to the Desierto de Tatacoa.
* Luz Angela Santiago, Yenny, Yuciera, and Jhoara - for treating me like family and for your wonderful gifts in Garzón.
* Maria de Jesus and Lynda Facundo - for treating me to a huge delicious lunch in Timana.
* Alcides Puentes - a million thanks for your warm hospitality in Pitalito.
* Carlos Piamba and Libaniel Oni - for cycling up the hill together to San Agustin.
* Dala - for the searching conversations and adventures we shared together at Finca La Campesina!
* Igel and Paola - you are visionaries and saints for opening up the Casa de Ciclistas in S. Agustin!
* Emma Franco - for your friendship, affection, and love in Popayán. Thank you for positively inspiring me to reach higher and fulfill my goals!
* David - for crossing paths at the right time in Popayán and for the advice on the road ahead.
* Mabel Velasco - for the salsa lessons and good times in Popayán.
* Vincente Bustamante - for the free meal at El Tablón. I really needed it!
* Franco Salazar Cabrera - for inviting me to your wonderful family home and your heartfelt friendship.
* Ivonne Ximena Cerón - thank you for all of your good vibes in Chachagui.
* Com. Alejandro Vargas Suarez - for your hard work in keeping the highways safe and the meal at El Pedregal.
* Francisco Alejandro Calderón Cortés - thank you for the great article in Pasto and for the lively conversations. Jorge Andres Lara - for making my last night in Colombia a very comfortable one. Thank you!!!
* Oscar Cañon - for making Colombia my favorite country on the whole trip and for connecting me with a host of amazing friends. I feel proud to know you and wish you the best on your adventures, my brother in arms!