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Published: November 15th 2009
Gus and Jaida were comfortable. They had finally arrived at Colombias Northern beaches in reasonably quick fashion and had spent four days or so in a lovely beach town named Santa Marta. It was what they wanted, maybe even needed; after all, everyone knows that the hectic life of a backpacker sometimes needs to go back to experiencing some all-important creature comforts. And that´s how they were living; room with air-conditioning and big television; swimming in the placid ocean bay twice a day; every night choosing dinner from an array of restaurants which lined the beach. Gus was getting colour to his skin, and Jaida loved the simplicity of floating in the sea. After sun and a swim, they both relished washing down the salty taste of the ocean water with a icy natural passionfruit juice in a massive chilled beer stein, which sold for less than a dollar. Things were comfortable. Things were good.
Colombians are friendly. Aside from the obviously dodgy individuals who are selling cocaine, weed, or themselves, Colombians are helpful, mostly well educated, and love a good chat, and the people Gus and Jaida encountered were exactly that. Jaida, being fluent in Spanish, was having no 
Santa Marta
Garth, cargo ship, Harley difficulty continuing conversation, especially those struck up from the hoards of men that eyed her non-stop. Gus wasn´t having as much fun with local contact, as he needed Jaida to translate nearly everything, but, as he would say, it was "no problema".
Every day, they went to the beach with muesli, milk, bowls, and spoons, sit in an on-shore abandoned wooden boat, enjoy a simple breakfast, take in the morning beauty, maybe watch a cargo ship arrive or leave, and watch the people of Santa Marta going about their day on the streets or having a quick dip in the Caribbean. Police regularly patrolled the beaches, and even though Gus and Jaida did have their singlets, thongs, towels and hotel room key stolen from the beach as they swam the day before, it was still somehow reassuringly positive to see the local cops walking around looking official.
On the fifth day, another windless morning with glowing sun and moderate temperature, and after a beach-boat breakfast, Gus and Jaida noticed who young policemen approach a man cruising the beach who wore nothing but long board shorts and had perfect dark brown skin. He raised his hands above his shoulders
and shrugged in retreat, as the police obviously asked him if he had any "contraband". One policeman took a step forward and grabbed at the pockets of the mans shorts, felt something, put his hand inside, pulled out a small box, inspected it, and put it in his own. No more words were spoken. They simply turned toward Gus and Jaida, and left the man standing there with his hands still in the air with nothing but a soft roll of ocean falling toward his feet.
Rays of sun were visible through a cloud. They stood out beautifully against the blue backdrop of the sky which broke into the oceans lines.
The policeman approached Gus and Jaida, looked at Gus, and spoke to Jaida, "Hello, How are you both? Do you speak Spanish?"
Gus knew enough Spanish to understand, but didn´t have time to reply, as Jaida quickly spoke with a smile, "We are well thank you, I can speak."
The policeman kindly continued "Where are you from? Is he your boyfriend or husband?"
"We are Australian and he is my boyfriend," Jaida said seriously but with a smile. The conversing policeman, not a day over nineteen, turned
his back slightly to Gus, while the other young arm of the law stood and watched from a metre away.
"How do you like Colombia?"
"It is beautiful here, we are having a very relaxing time", Jaida replied.
"How have you found the people? Has anyone offered you drugs here on the beach?"
"The people are wonderful. No one here today has offered us drugs though."
"If you see anyone, please point them out to us," the policeman said with authority.
"Yes, will do."
Gus chirped in, speaking in English to Jaida, and with the recently witnessed "bust" in mind, and said, "Ask them what they do with the drugs they find."
So, she asks exactly that. The two policemen look at each other, give a wry smile each, and answer, "The small amounts remain with the individual policemen, the larger amounts are spoken about by the more senior policemen and politicians...and finally destroyed..."
They look at each other again and laugh, "...but it´s never destroyed."
Jaida translates the conversation to Gus, who does nothing but raise his eyebrows and looks with slight disgust at the two law-officials.
"How is the drug problem in Australia? Are the police well-paid?"
Jaida rolls a little on the uncomfortable wooden plank she is sitting on, and says, "Drugs are everywhere through Australia, but it´s a little more "taboo" to speak about. Drug users usually only speak openly about their hobby with other drug users, whereas here, everyone speaks about it, like there is nothing else to talk about. I suppose at home weed is most popular because its cheap and easy to get...but what would I know...I wouldn´t be surprised if twelve year olds are taking ecstasy at weekend birthday parties."
Gus shifts a little in his seat, and asks Jaida to tell him what she said, she rolls her eyes and translates. Gus asks her to ask the cops what they took from the guy on the beach earlier, so she does. The policeman takes the matchbox from his pocket and slides the inside half open toward Gus to reveal the chopped up green weed within.
The sun felt hot, but was actually only noticed by a bead of sweat trickling slowly down the temple.
"Would you like to buy it from me?" the policeman asks. Gus looks shocked after Jaida translates, and replies in his best Spanish "No
Cartegena
A photo i got from the internet...but looks pretty flash!! thank you. I don't like drugs," to which the policeman sends a confused look. The policeman puts the closed matchbox back in his pocket, fires off a few quick questions such as "Do you feel safe in Colombia?" and "Why did you choose Colombia as a holiday destination?", then kindly and politely welcomes Gus and Jaida to Colombia, thanks them, and turns to walk away.
The two boat bound Australians look at each other, then turn to the policemen as his speaking presence is about to be felt again. His head angles back and he says, "Try the marijuana here...it is the best".
Humidity filled the setting, and it wasn´t even 8am yet.
Colombia
It was immediately daunting to cross the border into Colombia from Ecuador, to be greeted by two young men who wanted to help us as much as possible. My guard was up, Jayne just chatted non-stop to them, finding out about their lives and jobs and girlfriends and hobbies , but I thought they were suspicious as a fox near a chook house, after all, they were hanging out at the actual border crossing
waiting for people to show up to practice their English with!!
Anyway, turns out they were just good blokes, who wanted a chat, and to point us in the right direction. They set the bar for Colombian friendliness, and the other Colombians we met in the four weeks spent there were no exception.
We saw the pretty town of Pasto, known for it´s leather and wool products, furniture and also for a cop trying to pick up Jayne. Then off to the confusing town of Popayan, where all the building are painted white. Everything looks the same until you get your bearings back at the plaza. Cali was next, but could´ve been missed as it didn´t really do much for me, but the next town, Armenia, was definitely something different, purely due to the amount of absolutely beautiful woman there. I´m not sure if they trucked all the good sorts here back in the day, but I can confidently say, they have the breeding program here in fine form. The women, as a majority, had elegantly featured faces with large bee stung lips, beautiful dark eyes, and perfect slim hourglass figures. My jaw was getting sore from dropping so
often!!
After Armenia, we went camping for a few nights in the coffee regions of Salento and Cocora. The vegetation in the hills that surrounded these areas are very unique, almost low-lying-rainforest-like, dense green shrubs, then the occasional tall, thin eruption of a coconut tree towering over the thick greenery. It was very pretty. And the coffee was great too.
The capital, Bogota, big city, big deal...then onto relaxing, steep hilled San Jil, known for its ¨adventure sports¨, of which Jayne and I only participated in paintballing, which I won (even though she shot me in the back of the head) (which felt like someone pegging a rock!) ...then up to the northern beaches of the Caribbean...absolutely beautiful places such as Santa Marta, Taganga, and Tyrona National Park, it was fantastic to finally be immersed in the beaches and sun.
Cartagena, a city steeped in history, was interesting to visit, as was the Spanish Inquisition museum, which explained the importance of how during the 17th century, the Spanish Crown hired the services of prominent European military engineers to carry out the construction of the fortresses which is today one of Cartagena's clearest signs of identity (now
Spanish Inquisition Museum
Torture device, or quick stab to the throat?
They would tighten this slowly till it, well you know, did its job... known as ¨Old Town¨). Engineering works took well over 200 years, and ended with some eleven kilometres of walls surrounding the city (of which I climbed up one, easy climb, but good fun). The museum also had many torture devices that made me feel a little sorry for those hooked up to them.
We spent an afternoon at the mud pools in Volcan Del Tolumo...quite an experience...no matter how hard we tried, we couldn't sink. Standing upright in it and levering off the rails which bordered the pool didn't even help...we were unsinkable!! Great for the skin too...opening up pores and clensing and refreshing and all that girly stuff.
From here we went to Palenque, where a drum festival called "Sikito" was happening. My mates Harley and Izzy were having an awesome time, having a dance, and watching the African-influenced performers gyrate to an extent that I didn´t think the human body was able. Later in the evening Jayne and I got dinked by motorbike the whole way back to Cartagena, about 80km. It was a strange but exciting feeling, to be the
passenger on a bike on a highway in the slight rain, with only a helmet
Another sore point
This is what you get for talking too much!! way too big for my head, which nearly flew off when it caught too much wind.
We had decided to travel to Panama, and seeing as rumour had it to be a massive hassle to get there by land, we were looking forward to crossing by boat. After doing a reasonable amount of research, and deciding to not go with the hostel-recommended 13 passenger, 50 foot, moonwalk-flash ship which had a substantial cost and also apparently enough room to carry "100 beers per person", we went to the local pier and found Frederika; a 4 passenger, 34 foot sailboat, manned by Captain German Perez. He had the attitude we wanted, where we all had to pull our own weight when needed, help out cooking, and sail through the night in shifts. The journey would take 6 days, weather prevailing.
Jayne and I, my mate Harley (affectionately known as H-Bomb), and an Irishman named Alan (easily referred to as Irish) were all set to go. Bags stowed, simple food provisions stacked, and one case of beer hidden away in the small carriage areas tightly packed, we "set sail" in the late afternoon (well, we didn't actually "set sail", the
motor had to be used to get out of the harbour).
One hour into leaving the harbour, the motor overheated, blew steam and smoke through the cabin, and turned us around to have to sail back to the pier. A pipe leading to cooling the motor had cracked, and thankfully the automatic cut-off on the motor did its job, so, we had one more night in Cartagena while the quick pipe replacement was carried out.
There was a massive storm in Cartagena that night, one the Captain said was the biggest he has seen, so I suppose it was a good thing we were bought back.
The next morning, loaded up again, we got going. Panamanian waters; here we come!!!
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