San Gil

It's a 9 hour bus ride from Santa Marta to Bucaramunga, and then a further 2-3 to San Gil, which lies on the road to Bogota. They have a habit in Colombia of setting the air con to "very cold" while not giving you blankets. I'd been warned about this so had jeans, boots and a jumper on, but it was no match for the arctic blast of the AC. The other notable thing about any road travel in Colombia is that overtaking is almost compulsory, and encouraged on blind corners. Also, the double yellow lines seem to be considered as more for illustration than instruction. Still I managed to sleep most of the time and woke up just before Bucaramanga, and it was just a short wait for the connection to San Gil.



It's hard to know what to make of San Gil after being on the coast for 3 weeks. It doesn't immediately strike you as a pretty town, but then it depends on what you're comparing it to. It's not exactly Paris, but it's nice enough. There are tourist boards up all over the town which suggests they're trying hard to build this place into a destination for visitors. One side of town covers a steep hill and the streets gave me flashbacks of the uphills and downhills on the trek. As my Swiss friends from the trek, who I'm here with, said - "if they built streets on hills like this in Switzerland, we'd be fucked".



San Gil is the self styled "adventure capital of Colombia" so, aside from being an ideal location to break up a journey between Bogota and Santa Marta, there's a lot to do here to get the adrenaline going. You can do whitewater rafting, kayaking, canyoning, caving, paragliding and more. I thought the rafting was a little expensve so I opted for paragliding.

The take off was sweet...



and I'd say no part of it got the pulse going, but there was this...



...so there was a little adrenaline, although for the most part it was tranquilo.

There´s a beautiful gardens a short walk towardsthe edge of town, too, so I went for a relaxed day. There are old trees that stand majestically, with fir sweeping down. They had a kind of shabby elegance, like old women dressed up for a ball.



I was on my way to Bogota to meet up with the crew from the trek, so the nights were quiet for me ahead of a big weekend....

Ciudad Perdida, Parque Tayrona & Simon Bolivar

One of the biggest things on my agenda this trip was a trek through the forest and back for 5 days to see Ciudad Perdida - literally, the "Lost City". This remote outpost is said to have been founded around 800AD and was inhabited by the indigenous Tairona until 400 years ago. They were spread throughout this region of Colombia, all around the mountainsides of Sierra Nevada, with Ciudad Perdida (called Teyuna by the locals back in the day) as the capital of the region.



The tribes living in the lower areas around the mountains were massacred when they refused to adopt the religion and way of life favoured by the Spaniards. Although the Spaniards couldn't find or reach Teyuna and directly impose the joys of cultural and religious empire on the Tairona people there, the indigenous died out from starvation and malnutrition, as they were no longer able to leave their city to trade vital goods and services they needed to sustain life up there. The Spaniards were waiting for them lower down in the other villages, so it was too dangerous. The remoteness of the city, once a defensive bonus, turned their home into a prison.



After its abandonment, the city was lost for years until tomb raiders discovered it once more in 1973. When artefacts started appearing in the local black markets, the authorities revealed the city to the world. There are still indigenous tribes living in the area, and we passed a couple of small villages on the way.



In 2003 a group of tourists walking this trail was kidnapped by guerrillas but all were released after 3 months. The Colombian army now patrols the region and there have been no incidents since.



The trek was harder than I thought it would be. I knew it would be tough for me and I can't remember a more physically difficult 5 days, but it was absolutely worth it. Our group consisted of a Swiss couple, an Aussie with his Canadian girlfriend, 2 Dutch, an Aussie girl, an English guy and a kiwi (me). We were lucky - it was a good group and we got on well enough that we all spent several more days together after the trek.



The first day we were taken by jeep into a town from where we would start the walk. Our guide was the least likely looking guide you could imagine. A short, stocky fella who told me he'd knocked back 15 beers the night before was to lead us through the jungle and back. He was a great and knowledgeable guy, and was happy to answer any questions along the way. Once you got him started, he was off. I sometimes wondered if he would simply stop functioning if he stopped speaking.



The going was pretty easy for the first couple of hours, and we had our first couple of river crossings, which we would become very familiar with in the coming days. After the 2nd crossing we had a huge uphill which seemed to go on forever, and the heat made life no easier, with no assistance from any breeze either. When we finally leveled out it was just a short walk along a ridge to our first camp for the night. We slept in hammocks and got to bed early in order to get up early for the 2nd day. There isn't much to do at night on this trek, but that's ok - after the exertion of the day, sleep is much higher on the priority list than entertainment.



The 2nd day we were out on the trail in the early morning light and soon hit our first big downhill, which when you've got knees like a 90 year old is actually harder going than the uphills. So I now found myself in the unusual position of craving uphills and grimacing at the prospect of the downhills. And because you go back the same way you came, you know that each big uphill you do today will be a big downhill in a couple of days....



There isn't any wildlife to speak of on this trail, and some say that, like life, the trek is more about the journey than the destination. The surroundings are spectacular. There may be no birds or monkeys but the forest is an explosion of greens and magnificent trees, mixed with some amazing panoramic views over the occasionally open hillsides. Even though we left early on the 2nd day, it didn't take long to get a good sweat up, and we were relieved to reach our first swimming spot. I was especially relieved as it was after an enormous downhill which had my knees questioning the wisdom of coming on the trek.



After a refreshing dip we carried on towards camp 2 and passed a couple of small indigenous villages on the way. Some kids were more than happy to sit for photos. I guess they still enjoy the innocence of not knowing what outsiders have meant to their way of life for as long as Europeans have been traveling. I can't say I blame the elders that we passed for the mistrust and resentment in their eyes. Like everyone I guess, they just want to be left alone to live their lives in peace, but the reach of empire and exploitation is long, and doesn't have much room for exceptions.



It was only another couple of hours before we reached the camp, and it had started raining which brought some relief from the heat. I liked sitting on the rocks in the light rain taking in the forest. It reminded me of some parts of the South Island of NZ.



The 2nd day we only walked about 4 hours so it was an early finish and we had a lot of time to kill. I was enjoying just looking at the forest and the shapes of trees poking out from time to time through the increasingly heavy rain. After some big uphills and downhills I was happy to get to bed and give my aching body a break.



After another early night, it was another early start to make our way to the final camp. The terrain on the 2nd day had been difficult, but the 3rd day was much easier. There were more of those river crossings but no big hills. We passed a unit of soldiers monitoring the surrounding mountains and shared a joke and a smoke with them. I guess they must enjoy the novelty of tourists coming through to give them a break from the tedium.



We'd hoped to be able to reach the 3rd camp and go straight to see the city in the afternoon, but the weather had closed in so we were stuck at camp for another long afternoon. We occupied ourselves with cards and banter and (randomly) popcorn which the camp had prepared, until it was time to get another early night.



Day 4 and we were up at sunrise to get up to the city in good time. It was a short walk to the start of the steps leading up to the city, and from there it got tough. The steps - 1,200 of them - are all different sizes and mostly slippery, and it was like a mega session on the stairmaster. Not that I have ever been on a stairmaster but I guess that's what it's like.



Some people say there's not much to see there but I thought it was spectacular. There weren't standing temples like Maccu Picchu has. In fact there are no original standing buildings, so it's very much the remains of a site, but I loved it. It's unlike anything I've seen before and you could still see how much of an endeavour it must have been to put this city together all those years ago, on a steep hillside, without the tools we have today.



As we arrived at the most photographed part of the city, ideal for a par 3, a helicopter landed and from it stepped the local shaman (the dude in the white in the picture below), with a film and sound crew in tow to do some sort of interview.



I understand he's supposed to spend most of his time in the highlands with the indigenous people, but rumour had it that he'd been in nearby Santa Marta for the previous couple of weeks getting pissed and shagging women. It was amusing and also a little sad that someone who's traditionally supposed to communicate with the spirit world, whether or not through the use of hallucinogenics, had turned into an out and out party animal. I had to admire his style rocking up in a chopper and doing a doco before probably heading back to Santa Marta to get back on it.



It was good that the helicopter was there. We could relax for a while in the sunshine waiting for them to do their thing before negotiating our way back down the slippery steps. The girls from our group went down and had a massive photoshoot with a bunch of soldiers who were stationed above the city and who guard it, so they weren't complaining either.



With the greatest of care - this is the last place you want to pick up an injury - we made our way down the steps and back to camp 3 for a quick lunch before powering on back to camp 2. As we approached the camp, a storm hit and the final river crossing was impossible, so our guide took us another way and across another swollen crossing. It was a good way to get the adrenaline going again at the end of a hard day and, combined with the satisfaction of having reached the city, had us all in high spirits. As did the rum the Dutch had brought with them.



There was also some sort of party the guides and locals were having in camp as well so it was a good atmosphere all round and a nice way to spend our final night. I've said that there isn't much in the way of wildlife on the trail, but the major exception to this are the insects. They're enormous and not very friendly looking. Some people kept finding huge bizarre looking things and consulting the guide on how dangerous they were. The diagnosis was usually that the insect in question was harmless enough, but the treatment was always a swift flip flop from the guide to the insect putting an end to the issue. We'd found a scorpion on the 3rd morning at the camp so we weren't assuming anything was safe.



The final day was to be the hard one. On the 5 day trek, which we did, you spend the final day walking from camp 2 all the way back to the start of the trail, so it's 7 hours up those downhills and down those uphills from before. You could easily do this trip in 4 days, by making it to what was our 3rd camp on day 2, and that way you wouldn't have as much time to kill on the 2nd and 3rd afternoon. There's also the option of a 6 day trek, which must drive you insane.



One of the girls had caught a virus so needed to ride a donkey back. I was lucky enough to be able to stick my bag on there, so it made the final day less painful for me. Still it was a great relief to get back to the start of the trail and trade our boots for flip flops again.



Would I recommend this trip? You bet. But make sure you have decent insect repellant, zip lock plastic bags, good footwear, good socks and enough of them. For once I was organised and had the right kit, and that might have made the difference between it being too tough for me and not. One of the guys walked the whole thing in a pair of Converse trainers - a great effort. There was one bit on the 3rd morning where we had to scramble around some riverside rocks, with nothing to break the fall and nothing to hold on to. It's probably too dangerous in fairness (they were fixing it shortly after we went through), and someone has apparently died on the trail before, so we thought it must be here. But the Converse shoes did the job for this guy. So, you can do it without all the kit but it's probably not the best idea, especially if you go in the rainy season.



This was one of the hardest things I've done, and I guess maybe that helped to make it one of the best as well.



PARQUE NACIONAL TAYRONA



After the exertions of the trek, a bunch of us headed over to the national park just outside of Taganga.



We trekked a couple of hours to get there (because we hadn't had enough) slept in hammocks (again) and enjoyed a relaxed couple of days. Like with Playa Blanca when I was in Cartagena, the beach was empty after the boat left in mid afternoon. It was just what the doctor ordered and I probably should have stayed there a little longer but it was getting time to leave the coast and head south.



SIMON BOLIVAR

I should mention in passing Latin America's most revered hero. Simon Bolivar was instrumental in fighting for the independence from Spain of Venezuela, Bolivia (which is named after him), Ecuador, Colombia and Peru. Statues of him appear in towns and cities throughout these countries and it's hard to imagine what life would have been like here now without his influence. He came to a hacienda in Santa Marta to die, of tuberculosis, aged only 47. To have achieved what he did at such a young age (he was younger than me when he took on the Spanish) is something to admire, and I liked going to the place he rested his head for the last time. I'm reading a book about him at the moment so may add a little more as I go...

Cartagena, Playa Blanca, Witches and Kidnapping

From Medellin to Cartagena, the difference in price between a 17 hour bus ride and a 3 hour flight was only around 15 US dollars, so it was a fairly easy decision. Stepping off the plane, I immediately noticed the tropical heat - especially having not felt it for so long.



Cartagena de Indias, to give it its full name, is split between the old historical centre and the new city. The old town is full of beautiful colonial buildings and is now a UNESCO World Heritage site. This was the view from the balcony in my first hostel.



I'd met a guy on the plane - he was very patient to tolerate an hour of my rusty Spanish - who said there was a German bar/restaurant that had live music on Thursdays (the day I arrived) so I took some people from the hostel. It was an interesting and fun mix of Colombian music with AC/DC and other rock. Sorry Bob, they didn't have any Sabbath in their locker.



The old city was founded in 1533 and is named after a place from where many of the sailors for the founding commander Pedro de Heredia came in Spain. Almost from the start, its wealth and fame (owing to its importance as a centre for sailing precious metals from South America to Europe) attracted unwanted attention from invading armies and pirates, including an invasion by Sir Francis Drake. Spain poured money in to bolster its defences and constructed a system of walls around the city.



In the 17th century Spain continued strengthening the city's defences and constructed fortresses to repel land attacks, the most impressive being the Castillo San Felipe de Barajas, which still sits in a commanding position overlooking the city today.



Being on the Caribbean coast, there's more Afro influence here and you see women walking around with baskets of fruit on their head. The music is more Afro-Caribbean and there was a Cuban joint which was fun.



It's too hot and the sun is too strong to be walking around too much around midday, but it´s small enough that you can easily walk around in a couple of days, even allowing for a siesta.



The area most hostels are in is Getsemani, the poor area of the old town. It's chaotic and interesting, with men of all ages pushing enormous carts laden with all manner of produce and shouting out in competing monotone voices what they've got to offer. The downside is that at night there are a lot of prostitutes hanging around in the street with their pimps, and you get hassled constantly by drug dealers. A typical exchange, translated, runs like this:

"Hey amigo, what do you need?"
"Nothing, thank you"....keep walking.....
"But I'm the boss, I can get you the best cocaine, marijuana, girls, whatever" (with this many bosses it must be the flattest management hierarchy in the world)
"Really I'm fine, thank you. Good luck"..... keep walking.....
"I give you a good price and it's the best"
"Listen. I don't want anything, I don't need anything. Thank you. Good luck"....

At which point they finally leave you alone. So it's not aggressive, they don't push you up against a wall and make you buy anything or try to rob you, but it still gets on your tits after a while.



Taxis hurtle down the streets, beeping frantically as they go. This is necessary beeping, seeing as many locals amble out onto the street with almost total disregard for the odds of coming off better than a car if a collision should happen. Coming from a man who was hit by a car in London a couple of years ago, I admit this is strange for me to say.

In the evenings, the nicer part of the old city is full of people out enjoying an evening drink and listening to the cacophony of Caribbean music bursting forth from the city´s bars.



Inquest

I always got confused between the Spanish Conquest and the Spanish Inquisition, but have a better idea now. I will save a post on the Conquest until I'm in Peru. In terms of Inquisition, the Spanish set up tribunals or Inquisitions to question those suspected of witchcraft or other activities that might be offensive or a threat to catholicism. Two tribunals were set up in South America, one here in Cartagena. Anyone could throw a piece of paper with someone´s name written on it, anonymously, into the window of the building housing the tribunal. Anyone could cast allegations about others, so you´d imagine plenty of allegations were made to hurt business rivals or settle old scores. The list of questions they asked suspected witches is comical and worth reproducing here:

1. Since when have you been a witch?
2. Why did you become a witch?
3. How did you become a witch and what happened on that occasion?
4. Whom did you choose as your partner?
5. What is his/her name?
6. What is the name of your master amongst the evil spirits?
7. What is the oath that you have had to render to him?
8. How and under what terms have you done it?
9. What fingers did you have to rise?
10. Where did you celebrate your wedding?
11. What demons and people attended your wedding?
12. What foods did you eat?
13. How was it served on the table?
14. Where you also sitting down at the table?
15. What kind of music was played? What were the dances? Did you not dance?
16. Who was assigned as your partner at the ceremony?
17. What mark did your partner make you on your body?
18. What evils have you caused? To whom and how?
19. Why did you cause this evil?
20. How can it be remedied?
21. What kind of herbs, potions, and other means can be used to cure that curse?
22. To which children have you cast the spell of the "evil eye" and why have you done it?
23. What animals have you killed or put under a curse? And why have you done it?
24. Who are your associates for/in evil?
25. Why does the devil strike you blows at night?
26. How do you compose/prepare your ointment or witches' brews?
27. How can you fly through the air?
28. What words do you pronounce when you fly?
29. Are you flying so fast?
30. Who has taught you to fly?
31. What worms and caterpillars/slugs have you created?
32. What do you use to make these harmful/noxious animals (worms and caterpillars/slugs) and how are they created?
33. Has put the devil a bow/ribboon on to your curses/oaths?

The museum in Cartagena dedicated to the Inquest was interesting and kind of mind blowing as well. Some of the instruments of torture and death don't leave much to the imagination. It was interesting to see they used a form of what the CIA now cheerfully refer to as "waterboarding", and the fact that someone could be locked up by these Inquisitions on the basis of no evidence also reminds me of Guantanamo. So maybe in some ways we're still stuck in the dark ages.



Kidnapping & Terrorism

The bad reputation Colombia is trying so hard to shake off comes largely from its historical problem with guerilla warfare and kidnapping. In 1948 a populist Liberal politician was murdered, triggering consequences of staggering proportions. In the following decade, more than 200,000 people were killed in brutal civil conflict - La Violencia. In 1958 the Liberals and the Conservatives agreed to form a unity government to put an end to the conflict. However, many rural and peasant Colombians felt that the new setup was a continuation of what had gone before - a preservation of the status quo for wealthy Colombians, the influence of the United States and the loss of natural resources to multinationals - and following the end of La Violencia, government forces were attacking rural communities and carrying out state-backed murder on a horrific scale. The birth of guerilla movements to resist this ongoing violence was perhaps inevitable.

The FARC is the most infamous group and is still active, though there were more groups in the past. Initially concentrated only in rural areas in the east and southeast of Colombia, it grew steadily but slowly until the 80's. Having initially rejected participation in the narco trade, it recognised the funding potential to be had in processing and trafficking cocaine for consumption in the West. By the 1990s its numbers grew and it was fighting the government's forces in more areas, not just rural ones.



Since 2002, when President Uribe first took office, the FARC has been on the wane. Uribe ran on an anti-FARC platform, his own father having been killed in a kidnapping attempt. A combination of government actions and loss of popular support seem to have succeeded in marginalising the group, whose numbers are said to have fallen to around 11,000 members. There are, however, many prisoners still being detained by the FARC and other guerilla groups, and the number of minors fighting in these groups is estimated at around 30-40 per cent. It's impossible to tell whether they will continue to be marginalised and disintegrate, or whether this is just a period of calm. There are Presidential elections coming up so it will be interesting to see which direction things go.

Playa Blanca

Onto brighter things, a group of us caught a boat to a beautiful beach nearby - Playa Blanca ("White Beach"). We caught a cargo boat out there which was the customary shambles - all manner of people crammed in, while the boat's owner waited for yet more to be crammed in, along with bags, boxes and cartons of eggs, meat and other essentials. Playa Blanca relies on these boats to stock up from day to day. We finally set off for the 40 minute blast across the bay and to Barù where the beach is located. But the coastguard had other ideas and pulled us over to an area in the naval base, where everyone had to get out so that dogs could sniff the boat for drugs. They also sniffed a few of the passengers. It was amusing to see some people edging nervously away from the dogs. Given the all clear, we were back in the boat and finally got away to the beach.



It was worth the wait. Beautiful water and, like the name suggests, white sand. After the tourist boats left at around 4pm we had the place to ourselves. We slept in hammocks and ate fresh fish and chicken which was caught and prepared for us by the guy who ran the hammock place. It was as relaxed a place as it can get.



The weather wasn't so good the next day, so we came back to Cartagena to sort out some admin before heading further up the coast. I've been hanging out with a group of folks from Argentina and Chile, so it's helpful to practice my Spanish. When they talk slowly that is......