Coffee and Evolution - Colombia and the Galapagos Islands

It’s been just over three weeks since I landed in Bogotá, Colombia where I met Bernard for the beginning of our South American travels. Right now I’m actually in Lima, Peru (but it could well be Glasgow in Scotland - how it can be cold enough for me to have to keep breathing on my hands when we’re at sea level just below the equator on the Pacific coast is something I’ve yet to work out) but I thought it wise to write everything down now as we’re off early tomorrow for a three week tour of the Andes. And my memory cards and brain are already running out of space.

It must have seemed to any locals observing us in that first week that we came from different continents - after travelling across Central America for the last few months Bernard had reached whatever the tanning-scale version is of terminal velocity; I of course had lost whatever strain of off-white I’d managed to go at the beginning of the year and had returned to my usual London hue, a shade I’ve previously frightened people with when submerged in water nearby and they’ve thought a dead person’s limb had drifted past.

I might have stood out less if I spoke the language (although at least Spanish being written in the same alphabet characters is easier to decipher than Hindu or Mandarin which caused me so many headaches last year). After Bernard gave me a basic crash course I was able to recite a few pigeon phrases though; ultimately I found the best way to “blend in” was to wait for Bernard to order something and then, nodding sagely, casually drop “Lo mismo” (“the same”) into the conversation.

Bogotá was cold because of the altitude, being nearly 3km above sea level. This also meant any exertion resulted in breathless panting. I remember wondering how I’d have coped a couple of years ago when I was still smoking and doing less exercise. We stayed there for a couple of days and then travelled by bus to the heart of coffee country, Manizales. And there I went on what has probably been the most fascinating, “real” experience I’ve had in my travels so far: we arrived at what at first had surely been the result of a wrong turn, a winding dusty road which ended in front of a distinctly normal-looking house; no sign of life apart from two mildly concerned-looking chickens lazily scratching around at the side of the road.

After knocking on the door, however, it turned out we had come to the right place and we were warmly welcomed by a family who own the plantation and do their own tours. It was a welcome change from the usual “touristy” place where you come in a group of people to a visitors’ centre. Instead we were shown around by the owner himself - clearly they attract fellow travellers through word of mouth in the various hostels and hotels in the area. I was rather lucky actually in that I was free to snap away with the camera - poor Bernard had to put on his most attentive expression as naturally all the information being disseminated was in Spanish. I’m sure I added to the pressure when I asked for a translation, the owner no doubt able to work out how much of his previous monologue was being passed on.

What I can tell you is that growing coffee is quite a science - before a bush reaches maturity and bears fruit (about 4 years) it has to be meticulously looked after: one worker is specifically responsible for ensuring they get exactly the right amount of water, sunlight as well as the right soil acidity. Once a plant produces berries (the yellow and red ones are ripe, apparently no one knows why they can be either colour) it has to be cut to the root every two years for optimum yield. At the same time they are plagued by insects whose grubs hatch inside the berries as well as fungal attacks which can decimate entire crops much like Dutch Elm Disease devours forests back in Europe. Added to this the fact a plant only lives 25 years and you have a real balancing challenge on your hands.

Once ripe, the harvested berries are poured into a threshing machine; the pulpy fruit and casings are separated and stored for compost (smelling disturbingly like cow manure) and the remaining beans emptied into big vats of water. The ones that float are poor quality, and kept for sale domestically whereas the superior ones are kept for the export market. I had been wondering why the coffee we’d tasted to date could wake the dead.

The beans are then dried which removes a husky shell; the remaining bean, resembling a large barley grain is then roasted in an oven which results in the familiar chocolaty brown appearance. Naturally we were treated to a fresh cup at the end and of course it DID taste that much better after we’d seen all the work that went into it. What was rather disconcerting was the owner’s poodle accompanying us on the tour and stopping more times than you’d think physically possible to mark his territory, especially favouring the prize plants…

After Manizales we took a bus to Medellin, apparently once the murder and kidnap capital of the world but now allegedly the boob-job capital. Inevitably this set up a rather high expectation and I suppose with only a 24-hour stopover we were inevitably going to leave disappointed... no-one even tried to kidnap us.

The overnight bus to Cartagena was an uncomfortable experience - strangely and surely completely unnecessarily, they crank the air conditioning to Freeze-Dry/Mummify. At the same time the driver hurtles around winding mountain roads so you have to be careful not to actually fall asleep in case your grip on the seat should slip and you topple into the aisle. I did eventually nod off but when we got off the bus the next morning it was like stepping through an airlock, my glasses completely steamed up in the sudden burst of humid heat as a result of being back at sea-level.

Catagena on the Carribean coast is steeped in history. Having been plundered several times by pirates (including Francis Drake), the Spanish built several fortified strongholds to keep their gold supplies safe. Later the much feared Spanish Inquisition set up a base here - creepily it’s still intact and you can see some of the torture devices they used. Although Cartagena is a pleasant place with a charming old-town, it was slightly let down by being on the more touristy-circuit. We were hard-pushed to find a corner of town where you weren’t constantly being approached by hawkers to buy all kinds of cheap tat.

So we were relieved and of course excited to fly on to Quito for the onward trip to the Galapagos islands. As most people will remember this is where Charles Darwin came ashore as a young man and observed similar species of animal living on the various islands, yet each one had adapted to its own particular environment (most famously the finches - the ground finch for example has a thick beak like secateers for cracking nuts and seeds whereas the woodpecker finch’s is long and skinny for winkling out grubs living under tree bark). His studies later became the basis for his renowned work The Origin of Species which was published several years later.

I won’t go into too much detail as frankly it would be hard to stop, suffice to say it is an amazing place to see the miracles of nature first hand. Although the islands are on the equator 600 miles west of the South American coast, they are positioned at a crossroads of ocean currents which keeps the climate fairly cool. In fact the water was positively freezing, bringing back memories of stiff-upper-lip-old-chap jumping into the sea off the west coast of Scotland when we were at school. I wished I’d packed my woolly swimming trunks.

Hopefully the photos will give you an idea of what we saw, unfortunately we didn’t have an underwater camera which might have captured what it was like swimming with hordes of excited sea lion pups who were eager to play and fly around you under the waves.

On that note I’d better go so can get this done - hope you’re all well back home and keep in touch!

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