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Published: October 22nd 2008
Don Elias Finca, Salento
Don, is a salt-of-the-earth type, a farmer wearing trademark cowboy heat, weather beaten skin, denim and engaging smile and he greets us warmly and shows us around his finca for a small fee. Colombia has long been reputed as one of the most violent countries on earth. Where great coffee, left-wing guerrilla groups, drug barons, syndicated crime and kidnaps are rife. Where back in 2000,
two crazy English backpackers were kidnapped attempting to cross the Darien Gap from Panama to Colombia and held hostage by FARC guerrillas. Where in 2003,
one Brit and four Israeli backpackers were held hostage for 102 days after they were kidnapped on a trek to the Lost City near Taganga. Where as at 2000, 2/3 of the world’s kidnappings occurred. Yet, the longer I stayed on the gringo trail - the more tantalising a destination it became. I heard stories of the coffee, breathtaking mountains, green fertile countryside and a Caribbean playground with some of the cheapest scuba diving in the world. Somewhere around Costa Rica, I Skyped Mum and Dad to tell them I was headed to Colombia. Sure it was no place for the nervous traveller, but it seemed like a memorable place to celebrate my 30th birthday.
I copped a lot of negativity about my decision to go to Colombia, not from Mum and Dad, who’ve never tried to interfere with my travel plans. It was complete strangers who told me I was crazy for even considering stepping
Salento countryside
We get to Salento early morning and find it’s a sleepy, little village surrounded by green rolling hills and fincas (farms) growing coffee and banana plants. foot in the country! Yet in all cases it was based on hearsay or yesterday’s news, rather than cold, hard facts. Their bad attitude often stemmed from what they’d heard from Colombian nationals. It seems that some locals discourage people from coming to their country because they are scared themselves and particularly worried for the safety of foreigners. I didn’t know anyone personally who’d ever been to Colombia, but I checked the Oz government’s travel advisories which ruled out a few parts of the country - but basically said apart from the risk of terrorist attacks, kidnapping etc - it was fine! Around the same time, Colombia had once again hit the news when troops attacked Marxist rebels just inside the Ecuadorian border killing 23. Wild horses couldn’t keep me away!
It turned out, that Colombia was an unexpected delight. There were moments in my travels when the enormity of my adventure sunk in and I wondered whether life could possibly get any better - Colombia was one of those places. The local people are amazingly friendly- truly interested and welcoming, with a great sense of fun and humour. There’s a few famous Colombians of note - aside from
Shakira, there’s the writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez and artist Botero. It’s a big country - one of the largest in South America, with a population of around 45 million (according to my LP). It’s truly beautiful- with lush irish-green landscape, lots of horses and funky bars, a stunning Caribbean coastline and that famously good coffee, as well as a wealth of natural resources include petroleum, natural gas, coal, iron ore, nickel, gold, copper, emeralds and hydropower.
I flew into the capital, Bogota, gagging for adventure. The LP recommended a whole load of useful safety tips for Colombia. Don’t wear khaki (least I be mistaken for some sort of paramilitary?!), stay away from overnight buses and stick to the more touristed areas. All roads led to ‘the Platypus’ hostel in Bogota - run by the affable Herman, so I taxied there. The first thing I noticed about Bogota was the altitude and the cold. It’s the third highest city in the world (2640m above sea level) and I found myself puffed out just typing on the computer! Surrounded by high mountains, the streets of Bogota are a mix of the old and new - I saw donkeys laden with goods
pass modern buildings and shopping centres. Herman loves the Aussies, and soon I have a complimentary beer in hand and he tells me that I’ve just missed ‘another famous Australian’. Turns out Tony Wheeler, the founder of the LP had just left for the airport. Interestingly enough, scandal hit the news a few days later that a cowboy travel writer had allegedly written the Colombian LP without actually visiting the country! So it appears Tony was in Bogota for a bit of damage control, but I was very impressed he’d chosen to stay at the local hostel, rather than the 5 star hotel down the road.
Bogota is an interesting city to explore - famous for salsa and cheap plastic surgery - I indulged in the former, but not the latter. The travellers staying at the hostel were all pretty cool people - I guess the bad press keeps most of the “first time away from home” travellers away. One night we hit Quiebra Canto - a local club with a playlist heavy on Shakira. Another day, a mate Gordon and I do a bit of a self guided city tour. The Plaza de Bolivar is the heart of
Yefri & I, Bogota Police Museum
Our next stop was the ‘Museo de Policia’ where young Yefri shows us a view of the city from the rooftop, an impressive array of firearms and some local hospitality over a coffee break. (A nice piece of positive PR for the free-loading tourists!). town and we stroll through the streets, sample the hot chocolate and cheese and check out the Donacion Botero museum - full of portraits and sculptures of plump people, fruit and animals. Soon after, we were checking around some local markets, when a woman standing alongside us points at the sky and a big wad of spit lands on the back of Gordan’s neck. He deftly moved hands to pockets at Olympic speed - catching the would-be-pickpocket in the act. She pulled free and managed to escape - running off, not quite the ragamuffin we expected to see, in fact reasonably well dressed in a white jacket and jeans. Our next stop was the ‘Museo de Policia’ - where young Yefri shows us a view of the city from the rooftop, an impressive array of firearms and some local hospitality over a coffee break. (A nice piece of positive PR for the free-loading tourists!). The most interesting part of the display (aside from Yefri’s boss who followed us around with interest - interrogating me on the status of my boyfriend/husband etc.) were the tales of Columbian drug lord Pablo Escobar and the infamous Medellin cartel.
Itching to hit the
road once again, the lovely Trish, an Aussie expat based in the UK and also staying at Platypus, invites me to join her on a journey out to Salento, in the heart of Colombia’s world famous coffee region. However, before we go, we’re treated to dinner with some generous locals. Kelly - a bright, gorgeous Colombian girl (who once studied in Melbourne) and her mother (Clara) met Trish through a mutual friend. I’ve known them for five minutes when they take both of us to a Bogota gourmet burger restaurant where they treat us to a massive meal of beer and burgers. It struck me what intelligent, powerful woman they are by contrast to the local women I have met in many other parts of Latin America. Very good to see! After dinner they’re not finished with the hospitality just yet; next they drop us off at the bus stop and assist us in securing the best seats possibly on our overnight bus to Salento. The bus was luxurious - the best bus I’d seen so far in my travels!
The Zona Cafetera region, home to the town of Salento, is located in the Andean highlands and I’m quickly
asleep as the night bus winds around tight s-bends on well-sealed roads - no sign of ambushes or road blocks! We get to Salento early morning and find it’s a sleepy, little village surrounded by green rolling hills and fincas (farms) growing coffee and banana plants. We make tracks for
Plantation House , a guesthouse run by an Englishman which offers sweeping views over lush countryside, orchids, banana palms and horses. We avail ourselves of the free coffee and spend the afternoon taking in the country air, as we walk out to visit Don Elias’ coffee finca. Don, is a salt-of-the-earth type, a farmer wearing trademark cowboy heat, weather beaten skin, denim and engaging smile and he greets us warmly and shows us around his finca for a small fee. Not for the first time, I find myself frustrated and initially hamstrung by my lack of Spanish. However, it’s these exchanges which force me to tune in and practise the language. Don’s irresistibly precocious grandson joins us for the tour and we learn about the entire coffee making process, from plant to pot. We finish with a steaming mug of coffee brewed by Don himself, in his modest and somewhat antiquated farmhouse.
The Salento Breakfast Lady
Our other Salento culinary find is the local ‘breakfast’ lady, who wears a Florence nightingale cap and does a roaring trade at her little roadside bbq set up. Locating dinner in Salento is an adventure we hadn’t quite banked on. Being the weekend, the town square is lined with tents and stalls, there are arts and crafts and people everywhere. So we were somewhat stumped to learn that nowhere is serving dinner after 8.30ish. A local restaurateur spots us wandering the streets, ravenous and offers to make us dinner. ‘Whatever you like’! He lists of an array of fresh ingredients and proposes to us a pasta/sausage dish which he sets about cooking with great gusto. His father runs off to track us down a bottle of red and wine glasses (!) and we’re absolutely set! Our other Salento culinary find is the local ‘breakfast’ lady, who wears a Florence nightingale cap and does a roaring trade at her little roadside bbq set up. Our regular order involves a type of corn bread called arepa and a rough instant coffee - not quite of the standard you’d expect in Colombia. But we return more than once, because I love to stand watching her prepare food and interact with her customers. They emerge, braving the early morning chill, from local homes and around street corners, as she cranks out
Palma de Cera, Valle del Cocora
The area is famous for its extremely tall palm trees called Palma de Cera which grow to an impressive 60m and we continue to be blown away by the damp, green pastures. orders with military precision.
One day in Salento we set off in a local jeep for the Valle del Cocora. It’s “stacks on” in the jeep with the locals India-style and we arrive out to the National Park before the early morning fog lifts. We’ve been told there’s a 10km walking trail through farmland, rainforest and valley which is safe for tourists and not too strenuous. Horses are available for rent, but Trish and I are geared up for the exercise and set off following Quindío river. The area is famous for its extremely tall palm trees - called Palma de Cera which grow to an impressive 60m and we continue to be blown away by the damp, green pastures. Wellies would have been perhaps more appropriate footwear. We pass just a handful of locals that morning, including a few soldiers and a grinning old man on a horse, who stops to talk when we say hello. We reach a finca at the top of the ridge by late morning and make ourselves vegemite on crackers which we wash down with coffee made by the farmer’s wife. Their little daughter is fascinated by us gringo’s and begs us to
Valle del Cocora
We pass just a handful of locals that morning, including a few soldiers and a grinning old man on a horse, who stops to talk when we say hello. try the vegemite, least we get accused of child abuse, we offer her sweets instead! The most humorous thing we see all day is a pig, the pet of a farmer - barrelling after him in much the way a pet dog would run after its owner!
After the fresh, chilly air of the coffee region, it’s time for another overnight bus, this time up to the Caribbean coast. Yee-haa! It’s just days to my birthday and Trish has agreed to join me on the trip to Cartagena, then along the coastline to Taganga where I’m planning to join the Irish gang for my birthday celebrations. Our last morning standing at the bus-stop in Salento with packs on our back, a random guy comes out from a house across the road. "You're leaving?", he asks (like a long lost friend). "Do you like Colombia?", we nod and smile in agreeance, "Well, thanks so much for visiting", he shakes both our hands and disappears into his house!!
Cartagena is the most famous city in Colombia. A colourful, Caribbean Spanish colonial city. Also the setting of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’ book - “Love in the time of cholera”. The city is
Trish & I, Cartagena
We then think we’ve become quite sophisticated sunning ourselves by the pool and later feast poolside on wine and cheese with some other guests. surrounded by old forts that once protected the city from pirates and buccaneers. It’s extremely beautiful - cobbled streets pass antique doors, grandiose homes with elaborate tiles and large open balconies with brightly coloured bougainvillea. After the refrigerated chill of the bus, we’re overcome by heat and immediately decide that 'Casa Relax', featuring pool is probably the only option. Discovering that the pool option is less economy, more luxury, we are shown the cheap attic room (think maid’s quarters) that we’re offered for a fraction of the cost! Thinking we're quite sophisticated at our hotel with pool, we sun ourselves and later feast on wine and cheese poolside with some other guests. However, before too long, itching to do some diving and shocked by the Cartagena tourist prices (driven upwards by posh cruise boat clientele)we decide to move onto Taganga. This time, we’re all taken off the Taganga bus by soldiers at a military post and made to produce passports - but there’s no trouble and we continue on without further delays.
Taganga, glorious, Taganga. It’s dry, stinking hot and this slightly grubby fishing town certainly has its seedy elements - but I love it. It’s an honest-to-goodness proper
Taganga, glorious, Taganga
It’s dry, stinking hot and this slightly grubby fishing town certainly has its seedy elements but I love it. backpacker bottle-neck. One of those places with just locals and backpackers - no one else has found it yet. A massive Israeli backpacker contingent has a craft market, beside the Israeli restaurant and opposite the Israeli hotel and dive shop. There is not one, not two, but SEVEN dive shops in tiny Taganga and it’s renowned as one of the cheapest places to dive in the world. A place where at the end of the day, all backpackers and locals turn their plastic chairs to face the little bay, sweating cold beers in hand, to watch the sun drop behind the horizon and the sky turn a marvellous fiery pink. Fishing boats are pulled up onto the sand and there’s nothing left to do, but reflect on the day’s diving and contemplate a night out at El Garage - the local nightclub. The most taxing decision one had to make was which of the dive shops to choose. I went with Poseidon Dive Centre - not for their big expensive boat, impressive gear or professional staff, but because they got me hooked on the idea of getting my Advanced PADI!
As had become the tradition in our travels, Irish
Birthday Present
Someone had arranged a muscle bound male Columbian model in tight white shorts to stage a photo shoot on the beach beside the dive boat happy birthday Ellen! Sarah had already scoped out and negotiated a deal at the finest posh-budget accommodation in town - this time the beachfront “La Ballena Azul”. Featuring television and air-conditioning, beds on the beach and a brilliant rooftop patio - who was I to argue? The birthday plan was unbeatable. Diving in the morning, sunshine in the afternoon and an evening of partying with Trish and the Irish gang! Guaranteed fun! I certainly didn’t feel 30 as I rolled out of bed for a breakfast of fresh fruit and eggs. Someone had arranged a muscle bound, male Columbian model in tight white shorts to stage a photo shoot on the beach beside the dive boat - happy birthday Ellen! We took off from the bay, geared up and ready for the day's dives. The first dive, was enjoyable and quite uneventful, the second dive - a 30m deep dive - was somewhat more dramatic. Out of the safety of the harbour, the sea was quite rough (one of the dive masters was vomiting off the boat) and a rapid descent was required to ensure we weren’t swept off course. Visibility was appalling; in fact there was nothing at all to be seen
as we dropped deep into the soupy depths. One minute I was fine, the next in a state of panic - I had no concept of up or down, signalled that something was wrong, and gripped tightly to the arm of my instructor Max. And that was how I got
nitrogen narcosis for my 30th birthday! Back on dry land, it was time for the festivities to begin! I had lunch with Creagh and Sarah and chilled out all afternoon. In the evening, everyone got dressed up and the gang surprised me with a bottle of champers which we enjoyed at sunset on the hotel rooftop. There was wine, followed by dinner, then a mad night of dancing at El Garage. Somehow we ended up at some wacked French couple’s house-party and eventually strolled back to our hotel in daylight. Older, but certainly not wiser!
And that was Colombia! Certainly fabulous beyond my every expectation. I was so glad that I’d been bold enough to look beyond the bad press and find out for myself what the country had to offer. All in all, the Colombia experience was so incredibly positive, the only real evidence of the country’s well publicised
Birthday Celebrations, Taganga
In the evening, everyone got dressed up and the gang surprised me with a bottle of champers which we enjoyed at sunset on the hotel rooftop. troubles were the apologetic locals -who constantly thanked us for coming. I’d have to agree that the Colombian Tourist Board’s Slogan is bang-on. Colombia - the biggest risk, is that you’ll never want to leave.
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Cockholster
non-member comment
Annoying
Are you too full of yourself or is it me being over-sensitive about bragging and boasting? Colombia is a normal country, not an adventure or as you like to put it; a challenging destination. So get off your horse(not your face) and get back to your mum.