Three Years and One Day

An uneventful bus ride brought me to Cali, a big city that is manageable because a small part of the city has just about everything for which a tourist could ask...although, really, there aren`t many tourists which is the best answer of all. This is part of the beauty of Colombia, that you can feel as if you are doing something that not too many others do. With this comes the opportunity to exclusively speak Spanish, but most importantly a country that has a citizenry untainted by the uglier side of tourism--the idiot, nuisance tourists who the natives tend to just see as a dollar, euro or pound--and so the people of Colombia have therefore been left incredibly open and friendly with the lack of an overwhelming tourist industry (see "Perù" for counter example).

That said, one of the first people that I met in Cali, and the only other person staying in my hostel, was a tourist--but a good one. He joins the ranks of people I`ve met with an interesting story, or who are themselves interesting, funny, or just good people. I`ve had the chance to meet over the past few months quite a few characters, of which includes, but of course is not limited to: the 60-year old from Alaska who is riding home from the southern tip of Argentina on his motorcycle, who has already before this done some other amazing trips and who happens to have a girlfriend that he interviewed (to be his girlfriend) from Russia; the New Zealand couple who while riding their bicycles from the same tip of Argentina to Ecuador, crossed the Andes several extra times just to slow themselves down(!), my Dutch friend Henk who realized that by selling his house in Holland he could live off of investments and enjoy the good life of Argentina, the Ecuadorian girls who stopped me to ask to take a picture, only to then realize that they each wanted a picture with me (a gringo sighting maybe?)...and of course there are loads more.

Gregor, I thought at first, judging by his dress, was a member of some sort of religious denomination such as the Amish. But in fact he is a German Carpenter (whom are quit famous) and one of which who is participating in a very interesting, time-honored tradition. He told me that it used to be a tradition in all of Northern Europe, but however now is confined to Germany--that tradespeople, once done with their apprenticeship are to leave their home for exactly (or at least, I gather) three years and one day to continue their education by learning about the world and living by their skills. There are all sorts of rules that go along with such a tradition, but the main ones being that he is not to return within 50km of his home for that amount of time and he is not to stay in any one place longer than 3 months. As may be expected, his group, who are Anarchists (another interesting and seemingly very often misunderstood subject) have relatively very few rules compared to the others. I interrogated him rather thoroughly on the subject, but I will spare the elaboration--just to say that I found the tradition and the lifestyle pretty amazing. Because he is meant to live only on what he makes while travelling (and building), he arrived to South America as crew on a 40ft (not very big) sailboat and will return the same way. Anyhow, we had a good night of drinking Colombian beer (which included being approached by another German who was obviously gay but insisting that he was "stuck!" in Cali because of all the girls he was meeting!) and will surely meet up down the road.

Cali was nice, but I quickly got out of the city to a place which had been recommended to me several times over, called San Cipriano(say it with me now, SIP-ree-a-no...cool huh?). Between Cali and the Pacific, San Cipriano is a tiny, almost inaccessible village that sits on a stunningly clear river that flows through the same dense jungle of the famed Darien Gap. Although the ride there + that day`s lunch left me not feeling too great, the last leg of the journey was very cool. San Cipriano is only accessible by railroad, so in order to transport things (including people) back and forth, they use this as their route. Many people opt for the Venetian style rowing method to travel the 10km, but what is becoming more often used is a motorcycle (mounted on top of a wooden platform with wheels that fit onto the tracks) that has it`s front wheel on the platform and it`s back providing the force to the rail. It was a cool ride through the jungle, and luckily we didn`t run into any trains...or derail on a bridge, or get struck by lighting in the violent lightning storm (I was thinking about the abundance of metal yet lack of rubber wheels)...etc.

The coasts of Colombia are majoritively populated by the descendants of the African people that were brought over shortly after Spanish Colonization--and San Cipriano is no exception. The town itself is two dirt roads lined with basic wooden homes (shacks for lack of a better word) and looks more like the setting of a Sally Struthers commercial asking to please send food fast! And I was the only white person (and only non-native of the town) there which was a cool reversal of how things normally are. The people were beautiful, both in their looks and their disposition--and the kids were some of the cutest. Maria, with whom I was staying was at least 6´2, had too many kids to count(and at whom she could be heard screaming all over town...screaming seemed to be the main form of long distance, and some times short communication) and a great guest quarters with bunk beds, tin roof and plywood walls. It was camp! And with the rainstorm pounding above it was the perfect place for a nap. Reading on the porch with the sound of the flooded river rushing behind, being bitten by bugs, and stared at by the little kids (and sometimes the big ones) was about the only thing to do that night.

The next day I set out into the jungle to see a bit more of the river. The water had settled down from the muddy heights it had reached the day before and was back to it`s clear, beautiful self. On my walk I had the luck to encounter a two man team of ecologists with two guests, that come out to San Cipriano every two months to measure the evaporation, rainfall, etc, to put it into the international data bank of such information. They were a great group, really friendly and interesting to talk to. We checked on the various levels and made some measurements, after which they insisted that I join them for lunch and a swim. It was a great afternoon, and in a show of true Colombian hospitality I rode back with them to Cali and then even stayed at one of their houses for the night! Really friendly people, it was a bunch of fun to talk about everything from the environment and the natural wonders of Colombia, to the politics of the U.S. and Guerilla fighters. Two of them are avid cyclists (the national sport...along with soccer of course..which I think is pretty cool)--hopefully on my next time through I`ll have some more time to go for a few rides in the mountains surrounding Cali.

An interesting thing was that the road between Cali and the coast (one of the only to the Pacific, which attests to the dense jungles and lack of American-style development) is a notorious Guerilla zone. Because of this, the route is full of military personnel, usually in groups of three that constantly patrol the area. They say that it is actually pretty safe thanks to the patrols. I think that the road to San Agustín would probably be the same but by now it is not worth the time to go back anyways. Really, other than the first bus ride that was preceded by woman who successfully instilled in me the "Fear of the Guerilla," I haven`t felt unsafe at all in Colombia. I know that bad things do happen, like a bus that was recently bombed, and a gunfight at the border that Gregor told me about--but the conflict mostly lies between the Government and Guerillas and it is at least satisfying that they are doing something about it and that the situation is getting better. I did have to put my hands against a bus today and be searched...why, I don`t know...but at least they`re working at it.

Out of Cali now, and on to Armenia, which is the largest city in coffee country. The first thing I noticed when I got into town (other than that my backpack was mysteriously wet and that this place is so not touristy that it isn`t even listed in the Lonely Planet....which is nice) was the disproportionate amount of really good (I sampled a few...the return of Breadboy is full on) bakeries, ice cream shops, and all other things rich in taste. I got onto the scent of this place from a good article in the New York Times and am sure that I will find plenty to do in the surrounding area, from visiting coffee plantations in picturesque little towns to the Coffee National Park. Colombia, between great people and places is giving me no lack of things to do or good times to be had.

Nick Cage!

Other than the beautiful old colonial part of Quito, and the sprawling views rewarded for climbing the valley sides, all I really saw in Quito was rain. I decided to stay in a hostel that I knew would put me back in touch with drunk British, Australian, and Israeli travellers. It did, and the night of my arrival, coincidentally, was also free Rum and Coke night! I was disappointed, however, to find that my unannounced presence was not the cause for celebration but instead R&C night is a tri-weekly event, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Sure it was a good time, as we all drank near poisonous amounts of the stuff, but as Friday came around and the afternoon rain dug in once again, I decided I had had enough of Quito and headed north.

Crossing the equator didn`t make me feel any different, but in fact winter is now becoming spring instead of summer, fall, and I am back in my native hemisphere, not too far from home now. Not that I`ll recognize the change in seasons still for a while as for now the only weather changes depend on your altitude and whether or not it is the rainy season. It is, and as I write this I can hear a big storm rumbling into town.

After a longer trip than expected, we arrived into Tùlcan, on the Ecuadorian side of the border with Colombia. Just as I`ve heard countless "danger" warnings about Ecuador which at this point just annoy me, I`ve heard similarly that the border is pretty nasty. So, I found a hotel which I had read has cable TV in the rooms (which, for $3.50 is not too bad) as I have grown accustomed to searching for Sportscenter in English and The Office to fill the void in some boring places. The next morning, I got on my way...but as I was taking the van to the border I was informed by the fellow border crossers that there is no, hasn`t been any, and will not be any transport in Columbia until Monday because of the elections (today, Sunday). So ten minutes after getting my passport stamped to leave Ecuador I was just about to try to get back in to the country, ironically enough, seeking a safer place to wait out the next two days.

The useless military personnel at the Ecuadorian side, however, were pleased to tell me that I would have to go and get a stamp into, and out of Colombia first before I could get back into Ecuador...and that usually there would have to be a 24-hour period before new stamps could be issued. I knew that I would have similar issues navigating the Colombian entrance and exit within 30 seconds, but after getting my entrance stamp the "stamper" informed me that what I had heard, several times over, was untrue, and that I could still get transport to the North. This didn`t sounds like a great alternative, but neither did going back to Tùlcan to wait, and watch bad movies on cable...so in a decision that would surely anger my mother, I said I`ll give it a try.

The women who had initially told me there was no transport, also were talking about how dangerous Colombia gets around election times (more so, that is). They said they were too scared to vote and don`t know anyone who isn`t. "If I did vote, I would run to vote and run home and lock the door," one woman said. They also confirmed, to my delight that the violence against public transport also heightens around elections which is part of the reason that none is aloud on election day itself.

The Guerillas operate, or maybe it`s better to say "control" Southern Columbia, especially the Southeast. One of the most important archaeological sites on the continent is found in this area--the huge monolithic statues of the pre-Incan San Agustín people. These mysterious statues, some 2000-5000 years old, and of which about 500 have so far been excavated, show incredible signs of contact with other continents because of the subjects of their carvings--animals that were never native to South America. Would be pretty incredible to see, right? Not with my American passport--apparently Europeans can go and pass through the Guerilla check-points unscathed, but an American is different and as I was told yesterday, a "prize." (comforting)

So I did find a bus after all, the last one that would go North to Bogota (only one company was running as opposed to the many that normally take the challenge). It is highly recommended to only go through this area during the day, when a Guerilla attack is less likely, my bus was meant to leave at 1pm, but didn`t actually leave until 2...all the while I`m thinking about the impending night time driving to come. Luckily I was only going to go about 6 hours, to the colonial town of Popayàn and therefore shouldn`t have to be driving for long in the dark.

We took off and the drive through these mountains was one of the most beautiful, yet harrowing I`ve yet to experience. A long ways down, and a long ways up. Everytime the bus stopped (frequently) for whatever reason, I was just hoping Guerillas didn`t come on board. I was the only foreigner on the bus, as far as I could tell (which has become the norm as this isn`t high season in Perù or Ecuador...and there is no "high season" for Colombia as ironic as that may sound if you get what I mean), and found myself thinking about taking shelter in the bathroom or thinking of plans to outsmart or somehow fight the Guerillas. I was a bit anxious (as were my fellow passengers) which was responsible for my over-imaginative defense mechanisms.

Finally, after several stops we stopped once more. After 15 minutes the bus driver informed us that there was a (another, damn it) landslide ahead and we would wait here until news came that it had been cleared. Great! The sun set as we forlornly sat by the bus, all discussing the perils that lie ahead. The woman from whom I bought a coke actually offered for me to stay with her instead of going ahead...but I actually didn`t have enough money converted into the Colombian currency and...it was only 3 more hours! I luckily (or unluckily, depending on how you see it) had only three hours left, while the rest had many more. But once past Popayàn the Guerilla risk was also substantially decreased.

We all got back on board and started off again, a nervous vibe in the air but mixed with Colombian laughter and joking in the face of it.

[Here begins my rant, which although not relevant, kept me entertained for hours on the bus] You know that blue disinfectant stuff that they use in bus bathrooms? I would like to meet the genius who did the cost/benefit analysis on that one. I would prefer to be left with the smell of whatever is left behind in the bathroom, rather than the overly pungent formaldehyde smell that, with a sharp turn or inevitable opening of the door, is let out for everyone else`s enjoyment. Covering up a bad smell with one much more offensive is not a good strategy. And although I think disinfectant is probably unnecessary anyway (who actually touches anything in those bathrooms? worried about the birth of airborne diseases?), why not use alcohol, it`s a disinfectant and doesn`t have a bad smell.

I think everyone was getting a good whiff and the fast corners and quick braking of a seemingly nervous driver also did not help the rising level of nauseousness. The guy sitting next to me however, seemed oblivious to these conditions, and would scare me every time we went around a sharp corner and his head would thud against the glass of the bus. It sounded like it hurt, and I actually wondered if he was alive until he answered with signs of life that came from neither a snoring nose or a wheezing mouth. I think it actually improved the smell of the bus, though.

A guy sitting in front of me and on the other side of the aisle (where, unfortunately there was a little trashcan fastened to his seat that everyone sort of kicked as they walked into the bus) was quite the character. One eye veered towards center, covered by large, scratched square frame glasses, overlooking a permanently gaping mouth and a Puma jacket that had seen better days. He was nice enough, but not the brightest of bulbs...as I realized when he was directing the incoming line of traffic onto the bus (incidentally, a one way bus aisle), from my seat earlier in the day.

He was not doing too well with the aforementioned smell/motion duo, and a burp unfortunately turned into something that spilled down the front of his jacket. The guy sitting next to him cleared out once he realized what was happened, and our friend sailed out of his seat, first stepping in the little trash can, then emptying what was left in his mouth, into it en route to the bathroom. As he came back to his seat (taking off the jacket now revealed a glow-in-the-dark Rosary...take from that what you will), he found that his seat buddy was now in a new seat with his girlfriend (unfortunately, much larger than he) on his lap.

The bus ride continued like this, with our little friend having a few more trips to the bathroom...the first time he again stepped into the same trash can in which he had previously relieved himself...until I safely, and with relief (not because of the Guerillas) got off the bus in Popayàn.

The relief of disembarking also came from escaping the seemingly unending chain of Nicholas Cage movies (a step up from the inevitable Stephen Segal or Jean-Claude Van Damme movie that graced the screens of buses throughout Perú and Ecuador), which up to this point consisted of "Faceoff" and "Windtalkers," probably two of his more violent movies and surely meant to calm the nerves (as the sight of automatic weapons and face transplants amidst Guerrilla Warfare normally does) of the passengers. In an ironic twist I arrived to my hotel and fell asleep to "City of Angels," starring Nicholas Cage, but a much more peaceful version.

This morning was nice, walking around the colonial city that they say is the most beautiful in Colombia. Voting was going on, oblivious to any danger and the people all seemed quite happy to be participating the democratic process. Now, however, is a bit different as the afternoon rains have commenced, I foolishly checked into a new hotel today without TV, and the feeling of travelling alone is pretty strong. My book will have to keep me company tonight, then tomorrow the buses start back up and it`s on to Cali, which is Colombia´s third largest city, and at one time it´s most dangerous and drug infested...but I hear it´s pretty nice now!

Longcut

Shortcuts don`t always prove short...or easy, and this is the experience that I had just a few days ago (now, quite a few).

After biking 60km (mostly downhill) in the morning from Baños to Puyo, along a route that has several stops to see, hike to, or take a cable car to waterfalls, I decided that I would try what was described to me as a good (the word adrenaline was used) descent to Baños. I used the detail lacking map that had been given to me and started to ride up the back side of the mountain in order to get to the trail. After going up quit a ways and by this time sufficiently tired...the road ended. And a look across the valley below revealed another road...the right one. I didn`t have the energy to turn around, so I thought I would just simply cut across the valley. I knew it wouldn`t be that easy, but it looked better than the alternative. So I started down the landslide which created the only semi-passable route down to the stream (another looming problem). A few 10-12 foot drops weren`t too easy to navigate (the bike took more punishment than the normal day rental usually gives it), but were only a precursor to what was to come. After getting down to the stream without any serious falls I was sure of two things, one that I could no way make it back up carrying the bike, and two...that the hardest part was behind me. I was wrong. Crossing the "stream" was an issue and it took a while of walking (in what ended up the opposite direction, but also the only option) to find a place where I could just barely throw the bike across (without it being swept downstream) and where I could just barely jump across without meeting the same fate (incidentally, right above a little, but nasty looking waterfall). I made it, the bike made it, and together (bike on my back), I ventured into what would become one of the most physically challenging things I have ever done.

At first it was OK...the uneven ground was sufficiently covered by plants, so that every step was a surprise, be it rock, hole, or something in between. The bamboo/sugar cane like plants were thin enough at this point so I could make it to the cliff that led up to the road...in order to confirm that I had no chance of climbing it with the bike in one arm. So I walked towards the area where I remember seeing that the cliff gradually subsided...and I should be able to make it up to the road. However, the walking became quite a bit more difficult at this point. The aforementioned obstruction/plant (which were a uniform 10 feet high) became impassably thick and were joined in their efforts by vines and small trees. At one point I had to just push them down and crawl over the recently bushwacked as well as the dead ones which made up a 4ft high, sharp and difficult undergrowth. Crawling through wasn`t easy (occasionally hitting a hole and falling either head or legs first into the mess that was under me) and I knew that it would be more difficult when I went back to get the bike (I had to do several scouting/bushwacking mini-expeditions without the bike...). Finally I did it all over again, with the bike...clearing a path hopefull big enough to get the bike through while I decided that handle bar extensions (which caught every vine, branch, etc, etc) were the worst invention...ever.

It took about an hour to go 50m...with no end in sight the whole time and just hoping that I found a passable route before it got dark. It was bad, and I looked horrible when I came out...clothes changed to a green and brown from all the contact with the plants, dripping in sweat, and cut all over. In my foolish optimism, I actually tried to keep going up towards the top! But after about 100m I realized how tired I was...and road down the road. The driver of the bus that I eventually caught back to Baños actually seemed concerned (although not enough to keep him from over-charging me) from my appearance. It was officially one of the worst shortcuts I have ever taken...I`m just happy no one else had to endure that with me...and nobody was there to be angry at what would have surely been my insistence that we take the "short cut." Anyhow, I made it out and decided that between that and Machu Picchu, I had had enough of a "jungle experience" for my whole trip.

The hot springs, however, that night was the best hot spring experience of all time. This place was good, complete with hot and cold baths, as well as a firehose strength cold-water shower. Very nice.

The next day I settled my debts in Baños and it was onward, through the blinding rain, to Quito.

Three-Legged Horses

It`s been a while and I think part of the lack of communication is the downer that was Perù. So far my least favorite country, although, there were some times worth mentioning--and hanging out with Dan (Kankles) was a good time for sure.

After almost getting robbed on the way to Lima, Kankles (according to the Urban Dictionary, "Calves that become feet without taking an ankle break") and I took it extremely easy in Lima, me getting over the Cholera (yes, I had Cholera) from the cebiche I had eaten and Kankles resting his Machu Picchu`d kankles. We watched two or three movies a day, Kanks talked to his girlfriend and I drank a lot of water. And that was Lima.

On to the Cordillera Blanca which should have been called the Cordillera Nublada...because instead of being white it was just cloudy. Highlights of Huaraz: the girl that fell in love with Dan (Chinito), and getting in a full blown water fight with a middle-aged traditionally dressed Andean woman...only to realize too late that it was an trap/ambush and a bucket of water came down on me from the rooftop above. I got her good, however. Huaraz was amazing for that, as it was the last day of Carnaval the town was transformed into an all-out war zone with rooftop bucket bombs and balloon snipers, gangs of water-wielding teenagers (they came toward us screaming "Gringos!" but luckily weren`t too well stocked up on water), and the aforementioned shop-owners turned traitors. It was quite a scene, and no one escaped the line of fire. As we caught our minivan to the mountain lagoon the driver and co-pilot hustled us into the van as if we were in a scene from Patriot Games and the mortar rounds and rooftop fly-by-wire missile launchers were bound to get us if we stopped for too long. Needless to say we were pelted by buckets of water the whole hour and a half ride and one bucket of water actually caught the driver in the face as we were doing about 60mph...all fun n` games.

The ride back was the real story. For the entire hour and a half we had over 30 people in a minivan (really those Toyota vans with the engine under the seat)! The worst part, however, was that one of our fellow passengers decided to bring her furry friends. Two kittens were suffocating in a plastic grocery produce bag as Dan took them away from her and held them on his lap (while I sneezed). Her dog was loose and running around under the seats...then(!) we hear a cluck...and sure enough two roosters pop out of a canvas bag that she was carrying. It`s funny now...not so much then.

Kanks and I parted ways after two nights in Huaraz, he back to Lima and I onward to Trujillo. I immediately got out to Huanchaco, the beach town, where things were better, a decent hostel, some nice people (one being the 7-time Trujillo surf champ) good food and some great Pacific sunsets. The waves were good, too, shoulder to head high, but I mistakenly thought I couldn`t get access to any money to surf so I packed it in and said I would surf Màncora where the water is warmer and only another 6 hours up the coast. And how wrong I was!!! I got into Màncora, and the Pacific Ocean looked more like Lake Pacific, literally, it was pacified and flat. So you win some and you loose some...and I lost that one. Hopefully I`ll be redeemed in Columbia.

Spent 14 hours on buses yesterday and well worth it to get me out of Peru! Away from the hastle and hustle that had made me weary of travelling, and really of people in general. Dan and I were both a bit disgruntled the whole time we travelled Perù as the people just managed to get under the both of our skins. But he`s flying to Buenos Aires (I`m jealous) today and I`m in Ecuador.

Hello Ecuador, good to meet you. Everyone I`ve met so far has warned me that Ecuador is dangerous, which is fine, but I`m accidentally carrying a little too much cash right now which has left me a bit paranoid. Should be fine, though. I was riding the bus here and I noticed the music the bus driver was jamming up front. As I read the Lonely Planet they described Ecuadorian music to the tee, and so as I don`t give that book credit for much I will credit it with this clever description: the beat of Ecuadorian music is like a galloping three-legged horse. It`s so true...and bad. But other than the music, which I was expecting to be similarly poor as it was in Perù and Bolivia, and the amazingly high concentration of drunks (also similar to the southern neighbors), Ecuador is OK so far and I`m happy to be here. Right now I`m in the touristy town of Baños (translations: Bathrooms...or Baths probably more accurately) from which I plan to explore this part of the Andes.

Some pictures:



"Enjoying" the ruins



Dan, contemplating higher things (Vanessa)



A shamelessly posed photo-op



"This hike is great!"...then the sun set



An unenthusiastic midnight arrival



Kanks testing his mental tenacity--with dissapointing results



River crossing that Dan and I had just completed seconds before...thank God



All smiles(!) as we began what would become the fruit truck ride from hell



Dan and I in sandboarding and dunebuggying heaven...and check out his sweet shades



Yep.