Jeff Vader on tour

Hard to dislike, impossible to like

2009-09-21T17:17:00.004-05:00

(Friday-Saturday, 21-22 August 2009 – in retrospective…)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=cuzco,+peru&sll=-13.516836,-72.05246&sspn=2.627549,5.603027&ie=UTF8&ll=-13.523179,-72.191162&spn=2.62749,5.603027&z=8&iwloc=A

The Inca legacy is everywhere in the Andean trail, from north Argentina and Chile to Ecuador, but visiting Cuzco and the surrounding Sacred Valley is like being in the epicentre of the virtual earthquake that their rapid ascent and collapse was for the human and natural landscape of the region.

And being in that epicentre brings great and awful things…

Cuzco was the Inca state capital, but virtually nothing of their city survived to our days, with the historical centre now being of pure colonial character. I guess you should consider the centre of Cuzco beautiful. OK, I grant you that: it’s beautiful. But all the modern construction that surrounds it is just to forget. You can blame the consecutive earthquakes that hit the city over and over again (as so many other cities in Peru, what helps explaining the urban architectural disasters that you constantly see by travelling in this country), but the truth is that it’s hard to ignore so much ugliness. At night the artificial light helps dissimulate the chaotic urban design, and you almost forget the slum-like look of the houses growing uphill. You almost forget it, but you don’t completely, as the next day the sun will always rise…

But worse than it all is the touristy feel of the city. So many foreigners come to Peru only to visit Cuzco, the Sacred Valley and the nearby Machu Picchu that in the middle of August the town looks more like a Disney theme park than anything else. There are tourists everywhere, in big tours. Tourist shops. Kids selling souvenirs to tourists in the streets. Tourist restaurants. Employees with menus in their hands at the entry of those restaurants, trying to get you through the door, sometimes more insistently than others. Indigenous women and children, dressed in traditional costumes and with lamas by their hand, posing for “picturesque” photos by important monuments, in exchange for a dollar or two.

The entire city is inundated by tourists at this time of the year (and probably during other periods too?), and it just doesn’t know how to deal with it. Or better said, it deals with the crowds in the most uninteresting, unappealing way. There is no visible attempt to provide a well-informed stay: the museums are ridiculously content-less, every store and tourist agency (there are so, so, so many of them!) is offering the very same, and everyone – locals and tourists alike – seem not to bother with such superficiality and such mass-market, undifferentiated experience.

Yes, we got nice pictures from Cuzco. And, as I said, the centre of town is beautiful. But if it’s hard to dislike this city, for me it was impossible to like it either.

Beautiful images from an awful trip

2009-09-21T16:11:00.007-05:00

(Friday, 21 August 2009 – in retrospective…)

A 14-hour bus ride from Nazca to Cusco. Very long, and very uncomfortable. With stupid movies voiced-over in Spanish being played the all time, including during the night sleeping hours, and always very, very loudly. A bus attendant ignoring your requests to lower the sound bits just a little, or worse, stating that no-one else onboard seems to be complaining, and deciding to increase the volume even further.

But then a random stop somewhere in the Andes. A lovely family selling tasty food. And really curious about your sunglasses.

A surrealist experience is...

2009-09-21T16:03:00.002-05:00

(Wednesday, 19 August 2009 – in retrospective…)

A surrealist experience is being in an awful Peruvian city in the middle of the desert, famous for nothing but some geoglyphs created more than a millennium ago, hitchhike a ride back to centre of town from an archaeological site in the outskirts of town, getting in a very old car while a tourist couple stares at you with an half-scared half-admired look as inside there is a group of youngsters looking like proto-delinquents, some with an irreverent afro hair style oddly combined with a spotless white shirt and a red tie, and then have with them a nice conversation about Portuguese culture, what “saudade” is, and how unique of a concept it is. All that in a suffered but understandable Portuguese, with Brazilian accent.

What the f*ck?

So, who did this?

2009-09-21T13:35:00.016-05:00

(Tuesday-Thursday, 18-20 August 2009 – in retrospective…)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=nazca,+peru&sll=-14.789489,-74.940491&sspn=0.62406,0.88028&ie=UTF8&ll=-14.125922,-75.327759&spn=2.503532,5.603027&z=8

What leads one to come and visit a place like the famous Nazca lines? Or other world-famous places, like the Egyptian pyramids, the Taj Mahal or, as we are in Peru, Machu Picchu? Is it a willingness to tick boxes, to say you were there?

No way, man: it’s all about the context…

In addition to the very bumpy and motion-sickness inducing flight over the lines, what really surprises you in the air visit to Nazca is how different the sand & rock lines seem when you see them in their natural context, in contrast with what you may know before, from TV documentaries or textbooks.

First, they are HUGE (some are more than 150 meters wide!) and quite subtle in the way they come out the rocky desert soil – you need to pay close attention to spot them…

Second, they make TOTAL SENSE in their surroundings. I mean, the Nazca lines were made by clearing the more superficial (and darker) desert sand, and then marking the contour of the resulting lighter-coloured lines with small stones, creating an effect that in much resembles the natural lines made by the rain, when it flows down from the mountains into the desert plain. Seeing it all from the bird’s (or the airplane’s) perspective makes you think that the decision of the Nazca people to draw these lines was somehow a natural consequence of climbing up the mountains, looking at the surrounding basin and… just replicate – or should I say celebrate? – what nature had done before them. And really well, I've to say.

Another very interesting aspect of the Nazca lines is how they evolved overtime: from the earlier figurative drawings, of humans and animals, they progressed towards more abstract polygons and lines. The beautiful ceramics this people created followed a parallel evolution over time. There are some crazy theories that try to explain those more recent and abstract lines, ranging from landing airstrips for alien spaceships, to codified communication with the gods. But, if you ask me, what we witness here is just the fine artistic evolution of a very talented civilisation, from a more figurative towards a totally abstract period – just like it would happen with the western art, many centuries later. Just brilliant!!

Funny enough, it won’t be nothing of this art theory bullshit that I’ll remember the most from Nazca, but rather a priceless comment by an American tourist, who was sharing the flight with us in the small 7-seater. As the pilot prepared to take-off, and everyone was excitedly anticipating the experience, this lady, with clearly above-the-average culture, asks: “So, please tell me: who did this? Were it the Inca?”.

Jesus, lady…

P.S.: Thank you to AeroCondor for the free flights over Nazca (no more details on that here, as I haven’t left Peru yet and don’t want any disturbing questions asked at the airport passport checkpoint…)

The most recent Nazca lines: landing airstrips...

... or macro-scale abstract painting?

Figurative lines: the man...

... the spider...

... and the humming bird, or colibri (extra points if you can find it)

The "natural" Nazca lines... If you would see this scenery from the top of the mountains, wouldn't you feel like doing some lines yourself?

English grade for the Nazca airstrip management: fail

Other perspectives on Nazca: publicity wallpaper (surprisingly) looking like fashionable street art...

... retro cars...

... really odd-looking mannequins (what to say of this?!?)...

... and the Plaza de Armas, seen from the balcony of the best BBQ restaurant in town, and also the best spot from where to watch the noisy and ridiculously chaotic (as it is also far from being too intense) city traffic. Pity this is a photo and not a movie clip: you're missing unique sound & movement!

Living with your back facing Eden

2009-09-11T15:02:00.030-05:00

(Thursday-Tuesday, 13-18 August 2009 – in retrospective…)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=huaraz,+peru&sll=53.800651,-4.042969&sspn=12.791842,28.168945&ie=UTF8&ll=-9.332542,-77.34787&spn=0.666712,1.400757&t=h&z=10

The 8-hour long trip from Lima to Huaraz offers you fantastic views of the coastal desert, then the transition to the rocky Andes, through a green valley, to finally get you to the uniquely snow-capped Cordillera Blanca. Not that we could see much of this the first time around, as we did the second half of the journey already after sunset. We’d have to wait for the return trip to fully appreciate it.

The Cordillera Blanca, along with its southerner “sister” Cordillera Huayhuash, is a premium spot for trekking and mountaineering, second only to the Himalaya range. It offers plenty of peaks above 6,000 meters and an incredibly vast, inhospitable and beautiful show of white mountains coming out of the yellow-dry rocky plateau, creating an effect that in my mind resembles a dinosaur’s dorsal emerging from the water (not that I've ever seen one, of course!). Its contrast with its easterner neighbour, the Cordillera Negra, equally high and rough but just not snow-capped as it "absorbs" most of the heat and humidity coming from the Pacific, makes it even more beautiful.

I think we could only comprehend its full size and splendour once leaving Huaraz by day, when the road went up a few hundred meters further up, and you could see it from the birds’ perspective. If I already had my mind on the idea of returning here later on, in September, to finish my Latin America travels with a long hike across this beautiful range, the sight of the Cordillera Blanca shining at far, in daylight, completely convinced me of that decision.

I came here wanting to share one of the most impressive experiences of my travels through Latin America up to then: high altitude hiking and mountaineering. The unique view of glaciers all around you; the noise and sight of ice breaking and falling; having nothing but gigantic mountains surrounding you – for days in a row. Having nothing but two landscapes a day to appreciate - given the scale of the mountains and valleys, and the speed at which you walk, that’s all you manage to achieve. Having nothing but two landscapes a day to appreciate, but still be amazed at every inch of variation in the perspective you have of the ice and rock colossus in front of you.

We had a glimpse of that. But, first, we had to survive the urban disaster of Huaraz...

The city – which, making things worse, is not that small – is surrounded by a truly spectacular landscape, but manages to make you feel like you are in Beirut, after the worse bombings of the Lebanon war. There’s zero urban planning and the streets grow chaotically. The buildings look only half-built, with bricks & mortar still on show, cast-iron frames step out from the flat roofs, aiming high at the sky like TV antennas, and waiting for the house owners to have enough money to build its next level. The traffic is, as usual, crazy, and you cross the occasional river bed that looks more like an open-air dump than a natural geographic formation.

And, worse of all, the city lives with its back facing the marvellous peaks right next door, just like they don’t exist. The buildings’ few and small windows face everywhere but the mountain range. You cross the all town in search of a pleasant café where to drink a nice hot drink, while facing the glaciers at sunset, but there is no way to find a damn place with a decent terrace (apparently there’s such an oasis around, we found out later; will need to look for it even more carefully next time!).

WHAT A WASTE!! People of Huaraz: I know this piece of Eden is no news to you, it has always been there and you may not look at it the same way I do, but…

In addition to the urban disaster of Huaraz, we had to survive my quasi-intransigent demand for independent travel and trekking, which means hiring no travel agencies, cooks, mountain guides or mules to carry stuff for you. (Please don’t ask me why: it’d take me long and strong words to express myself - perhaps at a later post). But well, we managed to meet my childish demands while keeping the physical effort of the hikes manageable for all… :-D

We decided to escape depression in Huaraz and went for a few nights’ stay at a very cosy lodge at the entry door of Cordillera Blanca, 45 minutes away from town. Electricity was supplied only a few hours a day, by generator, what ensured dark-clean skies at night. The place was pretty much empty – at times we only had the local dogs and the owner as company – and the location was perfect for both the views and as an entry point for short walks in the surrounding mountains.

With this nice stay and a couple of day-long or two-day long treks in the area I think we had a taste of the glaciers and I managed to share a bit of my recent passion for high-altitude hiking and mountaineering. But I couldn’t but leave wishing we would have done much, much more… I felt we only experienced the tip of the iceberg of what this region has to offer, and of what my previous experiences in the Andes had provided me.

But well, we had to make a trade-off with other things we wanted to see and do in Peru, and I guess I was still getting used to a new paced of travel - a shared one, but also clearly time-limited.

That's something I had to learn bit by bit during the upcoming weeks: travelling for 7 months in Latin America as a "job" is not the same as enjoying your only month of vacations in Peru, is it? Your mindset is necessarily different, what you look for is also different, and you just have to live with the constraints and limitations that reality brings.

Was I being a bit self-centred when I didn't fully realise that back then?

. Huaraz: an ungly urban landscape, facing its back to the mountains...

The mountain lodge: beautiful setting, candlelight and perfect sky at night... and dogs as company, treks included

=== 1-day trek to laguna Churup ===

Common sight around here: blue-green lagoons facing glaciars

Yep, dogs as company, from the lodge all the way to the lake, and then down again. Pity we had to carry her on the steepest parts of the trail. Not too much of a guide dog, is she?

=== 2-day trek to laguna Pulcacocha ===

All geared up for a chilly night in the mountains

The cow & the mountaineer: encounter #1

The glaciers of the Pucaranra peak at sight; it looks like just next door, but as usual in this kind of landscape your eyes trick you and the bloody lagoon was still a good 3 hours or so from here

The cow & the mountaineer: encounter #341

The peaks and the glaciers are a tad closer here; but still a good 1 hour walk away...

Finally the lagoon - for the gnome and everyone else

Camp-fire at the mountain refuge where we stayed for the night: very handy given how cold it was. It was only us, the snow-capped peaks and the stars. Ah! And not as poetic: a lot of cow shit around too...

Second visit to the lagoon and the surrounding glaciers, this time in the morning of the second day. Great idea to go there and see the sunrise behind the peaks... but it took so long for it to happen that we were close to freezing and gave up after 20 minutes of waiting. By the way, do you see that small dark dot? That's me by the lagoon. Now you can get a feel for the scale of the glaciers... It tricks you, doesn't it?

Now a bit closer, but I still look ridiculously small against the mountain... From there we were lucky enough to see and hear ice cracking and falling. Nice!

Looking cold, very cold... There was a reason to it: look at the ice on the knife, below. By now we had gotten back to the refuge (20 minutes away from the lake) and waited for the sunrise there...

Heading back... Once the sun hits directly, the weather warms up incredibly and it's ok (actually, it's advisable) to walk on shorts and t-shirt. That's how the weather is like here: hot with the sun, bloody cold without it

Saying farewell to the amazing view

Back to the lodge, back to canine company...

Contrasts

2009-09-11T13:43:00.004-05:00

(Monday-Thursday, 10-13 August 2009 – in retrospective...)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=lima,+peru&sll=53.800651,-4.064941&sspn=12.791842,28.168945&ie=UTF8&ll=-12.023203,-77.56897&spn=5.284805,11.206055&z=7

Lima is not pretty. No, it’s not. It’s a huge metropolis of 8 million people, located in the middle of the coastal desert of Peru, with not too much architectural charm to share, a chaotic traffic and a climate that at this time of the year seems more London-like than tropical: always cloudy, and even a bit chilly.

The outskirts can be scary, the old town not that colonial – OK, bits of character here and there... – and most of the rest as uncharacteristic as in so many other big cities in my trip through Latin America.

But then there are the upscale neighbourhoods, by the sea. With grass-covered cliffs in sharp contrast with the sand and sea, with an oddly European feel. With nice apartment buildings (very nice actually!) with surely impressive sea views. Upscale restaurants and hotels - not everywhere, but with enough frequency to make you feel you’re in a different city. People walking their dogs until late night, through parks and quiet streets filled with small villas, all with their own garden. This while being safe-kept by private guards, watching everything and everyone from the entry of the buildings.

A typical Latin American contrast: rich and poor, so close yet so far apart. Miraflores, the district I’m talking about and where we stayed, is probably the most pleasant piece of modern urban real estate I’ve been to in this trip. But the rest of the city is just not something write home about...

Yep, contrasts… The Latin American social gaps, but also the way I’ve experienced them in Lima: I was not walking around the streets alone, I was a couple again.

And as a couple you don’t look at things in the same way. You don’t get lost in thoughts while looking at random places. Or if you do, you don’t let them grow inside – instead, you talk. Of different topics than those you’d reflect upon if you were alone, that's true. You talk of the recent past. Of the – so many! – experiences that come to your mind due to the triggers and stimuli that surround both of you.

You also listen. You see how much you’ve lived in the last half year. How different you seem. And how exciting that is. At times awkward perhaps, but exciting still.

Yes, since that waiting time at the airport my experience of Lima was different. I see it now as a memory of talks in different sidewalks, restaurants, cafes and buses. I think I can even remember what was said where.

I didn’t take photos of Lima – thus this dull sequence of lines from beginning to end. I just didn’t feel like it. OK, the city may not be that pretty, but there are always interesting details, things worth seeing again, right?

But those days were not so much about the setting, more the talks and the walks. Through the most interesting streets and spots, an itinerary I had kind of pre-walked (and rehearsed?) the previous days, I guess to try to make the experience the best possible, smooth and pleasant.

It were days of shared meals – slower and more talkative therefore. Of letting someone else choose, for a change. Of sharing all the nice flavours I had been trying on my own before (god bless the Peruvian cuisine and its “empanadas”!). Of talking of all those so Latin American things that look so new when you arrive, but that I had been experiencing alone for so long. The look of the people and the buildings. The noise. The smells.

Looking at it now, my attitude towards the trip had changed in the previous couple of months. First, it came a "blue” period when I experienced a mixture of nostalgia for great times passed and an unsatisfying search for a repetition of brilliant experiences doomed to be unique. Then, I started almost killing time for the moment I’d no longer be travelling alone, only to finally get my mindset in-sink with what I now think travelling is all about (I'll perhaps build on that one on a later post…). By then, I was just taking it easy.

My attitude towards the trip had changed in the previous couple of months, only to change again in Lima: I was not alone anymore, I was a couple again. And Lima, a not that charming city, looks beautiful in my memories because of that.

Life in full circle

2009-09-11T13:08:00.005-05:00

(Thursday, 10 September 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=lima,+peru&sll=53.800651,-4.064941&sspn=12.791842,28.168945&ie=UTF8&ll=-12.023203,-77.56897&spn=5.284805,11.206055&z=7

One month later, the same city (actually, the very same area of the city, the very same streets, the very same laundry where I had dumped my dirty socks of two weeks of travel), even the same clothing. Yep, by coincidence, I’m wearing the same jeans, the same t-shirt, the same jacket. Perhaps even the same underwear – not too sure about that one, but could be…

I’m having a coffee, killing time for another night bus. From Lima to somewhere. As before. But now alone. Again.

Doing the exact same turns at the exact same corners, to get to the exact same bus terminal where once a cab driver made you think he’d smash the car against the elevated sidewalk so harshly he stepped on the accelerator, just before a 90º turn. Catching again a bus for €0.25, which drives you for almost an hour through 8km or so of chaotic traffic, covering just a tiny bit of huge Lima, from the centre to the seaside of town.

As it was with suddenly sharing my life with someone after having been 6 months apart, it seems like no time at all has passed since I was travelling alone. The same need to write in order to share, with whoever it may be. The same feeling, the same expansion of time in your mind as you pass by random places and are left alone with your thoughts, which carry you far away. Now a mix of solo and shared experiences, memories. “Saudade”.

Thinking of what’s next. What’s there to come. But now, more than in Peru or elsewhere in Latin America like before, in Lisbon, back home.

What’s next? What’s there to come?

Stupid smile: it's from the coffee

Miraflores' seaside by night, in Lima. Covering the footsteps of one month ago, to kill time...

¿Y que tal le parece Perú?

2009-08-11T22:36:00.006-05:00

(Monday, 10 August 2009)

Every taxi driver. The hostel receptionist. The police in the street you ask directions to. The young couple from Lima in beach vacations by the northern coast. The old couple who owns the random store you get into for a grocery purchase. All ask you how you’ve been finding your experience in their country so far. Eager that you’ve been liking it. Willing to recommend places to go, things to do, see, eat.

I was missing that friendliness – since Colombia, I guess. That easy smile on the face. That easiness to initiate a conversation, proactively. That curiosity in knowing where you’re from, how’s life like in your home country.

Yes, I had missed that…

Don’t take me wrong: I met very nice people in Ecuador too… The guy who worked at a mountaineering shop who provided me all the information and help he could possibly give me in order to guide me through my exploration of a volcano, spending precious hours offering me explanations, tips and hints in exchange for nothing, while other store owners closed their doors on my face once they found out I would not contract them any tour and thus pay them any money. He, who lent me his own high-tech, brand new alpine mountaineering tent just because the store had none available – to me, who he had just met, and could easily come back with the equipment damaged or not return at all. Or the old man who saw me come back from the volcano, half-dead and with a big backpack, and kindly and proactively offered me a ride on his truck.

Yes, I met very nice people in Ecuador. There are nice and unpleasant people everywhere – a country’s people doesn’t adhere rigidly to an average archetype; it follows more of a bell-shaped curve, right? I just found, on average, Ecuadorians a bit more reserved, less talkative, less curious and proactively welcoming of visitors, that’s all.

Yes, I missed it: “¿Y como la ten pasado en Colombia?”, “¿Y que tal le parece Perú?”

Naming and advertising, made in Peru

2009-08-09T18:59:00.008-05:00

(Friday, 7 August 2009)

In Trujillo...

Really?! Wouldn't most men say the same?

It's the way shops advertise the need for new (female) employees. It's also the naming of some of the very numerous casinos around: "Tragamonedas". "Tragamonedas"?! Why not add the tagline "We suck your wealth to the bone"?! What kind of starting confidence do you want to give to your prospective gambling clients?
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There is one I like though: "locutorios". That's how they call the telecom shops where you can make phone calls from a booth. "Locutorio". I like it...

The winners take the spoils

2009-08-09T18:40:00.009-05:00

(Thursday-Saturday, 6-8 August 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=trujillo+peru&sll=53.800651,-4.064941&sspn=12.739664,28.168945&ie=UTF8&ll=-5.922045,-79.233398&spn=5.352645,11.206055&z=7

Interesting to know what the Inca managed to do in not much more than a century…

First, it was news to me how short-lived their conquer of the Andes, in Peru and beyond, was – not much longer than 100 years since the beginning of their expansionism to their defeat at the hands of the Spanish. Second, it was also news to me how similar their attitude towards the civilisations their conquered was to the one the Roman Empire had in its time: crush the opponents militarily, then crush them again with a heavy tax burden, but at the same time let them continue with their local government, traditions and culture. To minimise the risk of revolts, I guess… Third, it was again news to me (but also a bit inconsistent with the previous point?) how condescending they were towards those same civilisations when time came to narrate to the Spanish what other cultures had predeceased them – “no-one, just savages who did nothing but wonder around naked”.

Not quite... I guess the winners take the spoils and are entitled to write history as they wish to. And it's even easier to "write" it in the way you want when none of the civilisations before you (not even yours as matter of fact!) had a written language. You just need to open your mouth and say whatever comes to mind - what historical papers will be found to prove you wrong?

It’s actually incredible the variety and richness of pre-Inca cultures that lived in Peru. I've just been having a taste of it in the northern coast. I visited Chan-Chan, the mega capital of the Chimú (who ruled between 850-1470 d.C.) and apparently the biggest adobe city in the world, and the Huacas del Sol y de la Luna, the big temples of the Moche, who predeceased the Chimú in more or less the same region, around 200 a.C.-850d.C.

These are very deteriorated sites, because of the materials used for their construction, their old age, and the harshness of the conditions that the El Niño imposes every once in a while on this coast. But they are still very impressive. Imagining these cultures built all this without even the advent of the wheel... How on earth did they manage that?

By the way, I can recommend Trujillo, the big city just by the ruins. It has very nice colonial architecture, even if only strictly limited to the city centre – the old quarter. Everything else about the city is just vast (very vast, actually) and uncharacteristic construction surrounded by the rocky desert. Not much to write home about there, with the exception of a couple of interesting bars and restaurants, and a very trendy sushi lounge. Not that I tried the sushi…

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Trujillo's old quarter (all of the above)

Chan-Chan: a mega adobe city, of which only a very small portion is visible today. By the way, they have taken "reconstruction" a bit too literally here...

The Huaca del Sol y de la Luna is perfectly located vis-à-vis its natural surroundings. The temples, which were constructed one on top of the other, generation after generation, until they reached a pyramid-like shape, resemble closely this majestic mountain. Perfectly shaped, surrounded by the lowlands of the desert. Just perfect, just beautiful

Rich carvings and the surrounding ruins of the old urban area seen from Huaca de la Luna. Huaca del Sol is seen at far - it's not being visited currently as it's pretty much all covered in desert sand; the archaeologists are waiting for funding to continue with the research. Why is there never money for this kind of stuff?!

The first of the last stops

2009-08-09T18:16:00.005-05:00

(Monday-Wednesday, 3-5 August 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=los+organos+peru&sll=38.831513,-96.338612&sspn=33.371539,56.337891&ie=UTF8&ll=-3.658705,-80.406189&spn=1.343052,2.801514&z=9

Here I am, in Peru. Which will be the last destination in my 7-month wondering around LatAm. So, I guess this is the first of the last stops…

This is the beach of Los Organos, in the (truly!) desert coast of northern Peru. It’s just half hour, but a million miles, away form Máncora, probably the most popular beach hangout in Peru.

After running away from Máncora, scared by an overdeveloped and uninteresting offer of restaurants, bars and internet cafes mostly targeted at foreign tourists, I found a quiet settlement, which feels local and where the fishermen come to you just for a nice talk.

Once again on this trip I realise you often don’t need to walk that far to run away from the tourist traps of this world…

The road from Máncora to Los Organos. True rock & sand desert around here...

Chili con carne

2009-08-04T10:49:00.009-05:00

(Saturday-Monday, 1-3 August 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=cuenca+ecuador&sll=-2.918868,-79.098644&sspn=0.16801,0.350189&ie=UTF8&ll=-2.893667,-79.021397&spn=2.687972,5.603027&z=8

There are strange “urban myths” that become associated with countries, places. Take “chili con carne”, for instance. Typical Mexican food, right? Well, did you know it’s virtually impossible to find it in Mexico (so have fellow travellers told me!) because… Mexicans don’t actually eat it, traditionally?!

I guess it’s a bit like the association of barbequed chicken with Portugal… How often have I heard something along the lines of “Oh, you’re from Portugal? I’m so into your traditional food – I just love your BBQ chicken!”. Since when did BBQ chicken become a traditional Portuguese dish?! OK, we may order it on Sundays when no-one in the house has patience to cook… But, that’s it!

Thanks to fast-food like Nando’s – a very popular BBQ restaurant chain in the UK, owned by a Portuguese emigrant in South Africa, that advertises it as “traditional Portuguese food” side-by-side with a “galo de Barcelos” – our country has been associated in the British mind with the damn food. Apparently there is another so-called traditional Portuguese BBQ restaurant chain in Australia. Now, who will convince the British and the Australians otherwise?

I think a similar myth has been created around Cuenca, a “magical city rich in colonial architectural heritage”. One that rivals the beauty of Quito’s old quarter, they say.

Bollocks! Quito's old quarter is magical; Cuenca is... just not special! Just a few churches and less than a hand-full of genuinely interesting villas, surrounded by the normally dull and uncharacteristic constructions of the 20th century. The colonial-to-modern buildings ratio in the “historical centre” so low that I had to check several times in the map (and ask around) if I was actually visiting the right areas of Cuenca.

But now go convince people about it... I think it’d be easier to tell them BBQ chicken is not so Portuguese after all!

Cuenca's main plaza

Some of Cuenca's most interesting buildings. I looked around for them and tried hard, OK?

Knock, knock, knocking on the Amazon’s door

2009-08-04T10:46:00.012-05:00

(Wednesday-Friday, 29-31 July 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=puyo+ecuador&sll=-2.893667,-79.021397&sspn=2.687972,5.603027&ie=UTF8&ll=-1.454159,-78.126526&spn=0.672692,1.400757&t=h&z=10

Baños (check on the left of the Google map) is a small village surrounded by stunning Andes scenery. Probably one the locations with the most impressive natural setting I’ve ever seen. Imagine the cliffs that surround Andorra becoming even steeper, surrounding the city 360º, and getting lush green. It’s something like that…

It must have been an idyllic place years, perhaps decades ago. But now it has been taken over by tourism. The bad type of tourism. It’s a Mecca of cheap forms of adrenaline-rush activities, ranging from rafting to mountain biking. The proximity of the still very active volcano Tungurahua adds to the mix. Dozens and dozens of low quality tourist agencies all offering the same type of standardised and uninteresting tours. Oh!, how I looooooove those bloody agencies!! Zero differentiation in their offering, all targeting the same type of traveller, with the same type of pre-packaged experiences. To hell with you!!!

I arrived to Baños still half-dead from my climbing experience to Chimborazo, got quickly amazed by the beautiful scenery and even quicker depressed by the touristy feel of the town. Decided to leave early the following day. And so I did.

But then decided to go back… Only because I did the Baños-Puyo road on a bus, and was deeply impressed by the stunning beauty of the ride. I had to do it on my own, by bike, I though! And so I did. Got the bus from Puyo back to Baños, time for another night in the tourist getto, a good football match with the locals in the late afternoon, and a 44km bike ride the following day, repeating the Baños-Puyo road that I had done the day before. With all the back & forwards counted, I did that journey 5 times!! Every time was worth it…

I don’t think the pictures capture the beauty of the place properly. The road navigates a valley that goes from deep Andean mountains all the way to the beginning of the Amazon plateau. The valley opens up gently, and the gorge surrounded by lush green cliffs gives way bit by bit to more tropical landscape, of gentler shapes.

There is something magical about seeing this transition from the Andes mountain range to the world’s biggest tropical forest just in front of your eyes, just below your feet. I don't know... I was just blown away by it...

I did that journey 5 times, right? I would have done it 10 times, if needed be…

Please forget the stupid helmet - focus on the surroundings! :-D

Steep cliffs, narrow valley, beautiful scenery

Waterfalls everywhere, including on the road...

Lush, lush, lush green...

And here it is, the valley opening up gently, welcoming the Amazon, just in from of me...

The Amazon's door

Don't aim too high

2009-08-04T10:36:00.005-05:00

(Tuesday-Wednesday, 28-29 July 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=volcan+chimborazo+ecuador&sll=-2.089342,-78.570442&sspn=0.168116,0.350189&ie=UTF8&ll=-1.445922,-78.777466&spn=0.336349,0.700378&t=h&z=11

After my solo hike around volcano Cotopaxi – see 3 posts below – I saved my first experience with crampons and ice axe for volcano Chimborazo’s summit. At 6,268 meters, is the highest mountain in Ecuador, and due to the Earth’s bulge at the equator, it's also the closest you can get to the stars while with your feet on the ground. I couldn’t resist the temptation of climbing up to the Earth’s closest point to the sun, could I?

Well… I shouldn’t have aimed so high, I guess: I only managed to do half the climb, giving up at 5,700 meters, at 2h45 in the morning, after more than 3 hours going up, up, up. Always up.

I thought I was in pretty good shape. I thought I was more or less acclimatized to the high altitude, after my walks in Quilotoa and Cotopaxi. Actually I was. Just not enough!

The climb up is very, very tiring. You start around 23h30 (yes, at night, when the snow is harder and thus easier to navigate) from the last mountain refuge, at 5,000 meters, and you are expected to climb up for the next 7 hours all the way to the summit, and then around 3 other hours down, back to the base.

The lack of oxygen is punishing. For instance, it was hard to fall asleep at the mountain refuge the night before. Whenever, almost with my eyes closed and an inch away from the arms of Morpheus, I’d forget to take slow and deep breaths, I’d be suddenly awaken by the need to inhale deeper, with my heart beating faster than normal. Then, I would inhale profoundly, only for the scene to repeat itself a few scarce minutes later. Now imagine what the lack of oxygen does to you when you’re climbing up the mountain, hitting the snow hard with your crampons for hours, and using the axe to help you navigate a 45º ice slope…

The best views of the mountain I managed to get were actually from… the day before and the day after the climb! Going up during the night with only a flashlight in your forehead iluminating a few scarce meters around you means you don’t see much beyond rock, ice, snow and stars. Plenty of stars!

So yes, the recollections I have from the experience are most of the hard physical effort I had to pull. Oh yes – and of the unforgettable sound that sometimes the ice platforms make when you step on them with your crampons, cracking loudly, making you think someone must be firing a weapon right on your back.

From the refuge, the summit seems just there. At your arms’ reach. It’s hard to believe you need 7 long hours to get there. But you do. First, your eyes trick you and things are of a much larger scale than what they seem: when, in the next morning I was back down at the refuge and saw a couple of climbers in the mountain, I couldn’t believe how small and insignificant they were against the massive landscape around them. Second, some of the slopes are quite steep, and making the same repetitive effort of kicking the snow the all time to fix well your crampons, in an environment poor in oxygen, just tires up your lunges and muscles completely.

I thought of giving up 3 or 4 times before I eventually did. I tried to push my resistance further and further, but the thought of having yet another 3 good hours to reach the summit just felt overwhelming. And my mountain guide was starting to feel worried I would be no longer in good conditions to walk my way down on my own if I continued to push any further. If climbing up is a huge effort for your thighs and lungs, walking down really pushes for your knees, as you need to keep fixing your crampons tight on the ice in order not to slip…

When I finally arrived back at the refuge, well after 4h30 in the morning, I was happy I had made the decision to go back when I did: I was more tired than I had ever been in my life. And if half of me was thinking I might had made it to the summit if I had pushed a bit further, the other half was thinking how beyond overwhelming the way down would have been if I had decided that way…

I made a few mistakes. I was thinking the all time how much more I would have to walk to reach the top, instead of cooling down and thinking of a step at a time, for instance. Also, we were walking too fast the first hour, when I was feeling great and should have saved some energy for later. Last but surely not least, I should have climbed a few lower summits to learn better how to use the ice gear and get better acclimatized. Even very experienced mountaineers spend a good week doing so around other mountains in Ecuador before attempting Chimborazo, but I didn’t. Who the hell did I think I was?!

I have to say I came back from this experience with a sour taste in my mouth. From only seeing darkness during my climbing attempt, instead of an unforgettable sunrise from high up, at the summit. From having tried and failed.

But stupid me, I made the biggest of the mistakes well earlier I even set my feet on the mountain: I aimed too high.

Well, that’s a learning which should prove useful not only in future mountaineering attempts but also in general. I know so damn well how often I incurred in that very same mistake in my professional and personal life…

I should think about it for my round 2 with alpine mountaineering. I know there will be one soon enough – I’ve just developed too strong of a taste for high altitude mountains not to do it again.

Yep, I’m starting to dream of my next vacations in the Alps…

View of Chimborazo from the road that gives access to the lower mountain refuge, at 4,800 meters

Getting started on the use of crampons and ice axe, in the afternoon before the climb

Taking it easy at the last mountain refuge, at 5,000 meters

Yep, that's the best view I had of the bloody mountain! By the way, the very top is hidden behind this first summit. It takes around 45 minutes from there to reach it

5,700 metes at 2h45 in the morning. Time to throw the towel. My face looks like this because of the camera's flash, but that's exactly how I was feeling - too damn tired!

Tasting sour in my mouth. Early morning of the following day, back at the mountain refuge at 5,000 meters. Next time, dude. Next time! Better prepared...

I'm a local

2009-08-04T09:41:00.007-05:00

(Sunday, 26 July 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=riobamba+ecuador&sll=53.800651,-4.042969&sspn=12.739664,28.168945&ie=UTF8&ll=-1.524173,-78.700562&spn=2.690448,5.603027&z=8

Not sure if the graffiti author is also the store owner, but seems like my name is popular around here. In Riobamba, Ecuador.

A taste of the Andes

2009-07-25T21:58:00.008-05:00

(Thursday-Saturday, 23-25 July 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=quilotoa+ecuador&sll=53.800651,-4.064941&sspn=12.739664,28.168945&ie=UTF8&ll=-0.830812,-78.767166&spn=0.33642,0.700378&t=h&z=11

This is known as the Quilotoa loop – a several-days hike through the small rural villages around the volcanic lake of Quilotoa.

I spoke to a fellow traveller who had been in Ecuador before, 10 years ago. Back then, he told me, tourism was a all different story, and the Quilotoa lake, for instance, was pretty much unknown and unexploited. Today the lake has a few souvenir stalls around (not enough to ruin the atmosphere, though), and the hike is recommended by pretty much every travel guidebook.

I was afraid of getting into an overdeveloped route, but the truth is that I haven’t. For instance, I didn’t cross any other tourist in the treks during my 3-day hike, and happen to be all alone in one of the hostels I stayed in. I was able to see stunning scenery, get to know a bit of the life in remote rural villages in Ecuador, and engage with some of the locals, either when they crossed my way and I had to ask indications on the path to follow, or playing volleyball in the main plaza of the village, at the end of day.

It felt to me the right level of tourism development – enough so that you can easily find relatively good trail maps and indications on how to get to the different places; enough so that you have 1 or 2 decent hostel options in each village; but not too much so that the hike looses authenticity.

To be honest, it was a 5 stars experience…

=== Day 1 - Zumbahua, Laguna Quilotoa and Chugchilán ===

The view while departing Zumbahua on a truck - classic Andes landscape, no?

Laguna Quilotoa - why go so far, to Ecuador, to see this? I could go to Açores instead, right? ;-)

Frequent crossings with locals, navigating the trails on their daily lives, from one village to the other, from one field to the other. Despite speaking Quichua (and not much Spanish), they're were instrumental in keeping me on the right track these three days...

=== Day 2 - From Chugchilán to Isinliví ===

The Quilotoa's crater, seen from afar

As I said in a previous post, volleyball courts everywhere...

Alone in the hostel in Isinliví. And I really mean alone: even the lady who takes care of the place went away for the night; all I had for company were these kittens (and their mother)
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=== Day 3 - From Isinliví to Sigchos ===

(Half) Way around volcano Cotopaxi

2009-07-25T16:42:00.024-05:00

(Sunday-Tuesday, 19-21 July 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=volcano+cotopaxi+ecuador&sll=-0.831499,-78.449936&sspn=0.33642,0.700378&ie=UTF8&ll=-0.791677,-78.409424&spn=0.336424,0.700378&t=h&z=11

At 5897m, Cotopaxi is the second highest volcano (and mountain) in Ecuador. Given its proximity to Quito, and the relatively straightforward – even if very tiring! – climb through ice to the top, it’s also a (very) popular tourist destination.

For a bit more than hundred dollars you can hire, through a tour agency, a guy who tells you the basics of walking on ice and guides you to the top of the mountain – 6 hours up, from midnight to 6am, and then around 3 hours more to get down. You’re transported on a 4WD to a mountain refuge at 4800m, in the north face of the volcano, so that most of your energies are spent climbing the summit, and not getting close to it.

The prospect of having to pay that amount of money and, at least as important I’ve to say, getting boxed in a packaged tour and having to share the experience with up to 12 or 14 other people, made me seek alternative ways of enjoying Cotopaxi. (OK, and to be completely honest, if I have to go on one of those tours, let it be to Chimborazo, Ecuador’s highest mountain and the Earth’s closest point to the sun!! :-D)

So, after some investigation, I decided to go for a solo circumvallation of Cotopaxi, starting in its southwest side and going around the crater anticlockwise. I had read of people doing it in around 4 days or so.

I had a few unsuccessful talks with tour operators who, in the prospect of getting no tour fee from me, either declined to rent me any equipment or provided me (ridiculously) erroneous information along the lines of “you can’t set a tent on the easter side of the volcano as the soil is to hard there”. Yeah...

Finally I found a generous soul who, as excited with my enterprise as myself, not only rented me the equipment I needed but also provided me plenty of information. Apparently “hiking around the volcano is not something that is done everyday because of lack of tourist appeal but is very doable, including if you're alone”. Moreover, “you won't get completely lost, as you always know more or less where the volcano is, and in case you loose track of where you are - it happens - you can always go back on your footsteps”. Great: I was convinced and there I went, for a 4-day adventure.

It was a great experience, one that considerably expanded my comfort zone, pushed me from a physical point of view, and provided spectacular views.

OK, I wasn’t successful on my attempt of walking 360º around Cotopaxi – I did more like 180º or something... But I put in practice everything I learnt during my 6-days hike in El Cocuy (Colombia), and learnt something new: the importance of having a reliable map with you. Quite obvious lesson, isn’t it?! And, more importantly, I tried. It may sound ridiculous, or at least hard to understand, but that means a lot me…

By the way, the guy who rented me the equipment was right. Perhaps not about the “you won't get completely lost” part, but on the “in case you loose track of where you are, you can always go back on your footsteps” bit. God bless! :-D

=== Day 1 - from Latacunga (2800m) to Cotopaxi's south face (4000m) ===

Waiting for a bus in Latacunga (the largest city closet to Cotopaxi) that would take me to Mulaló, a small village closer to the edge of the volcano (check the Google map). Bolívar shows the way to Cotopaxi? No, actually the volcano is in the opposite direction...

Weather, and thus visibility, sucked in the first day!

View from Cotopaxi's south face, at 4000m. You're supposed to see Ecuador's "avenue of volcanoes" from here, but only clouds that day...
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=== Day 2 - from Cotopaxi's south face to somewhere in the northeast face! ===

View of Cotopaxi from the south face. The day started with mixed weather prospects - relatively clear at the top, but quite cloudy at lower altitude, meaning those clouds would sooner or later move up... I decided to continue with the hike, nonetheless
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It's quite easy to keep sense of direction while climbing a volcano - after all, there is one obvious reference, right? The tricky thing is that the mountain is rich in deep canyons like this one, where lava used to flow when the volcano was still active. Unless you cross them close to the crater, where they start and thus are much less deep, these canyons are often just... impassable!

Still in the south face, facing... one of those canyons!

The deep canyon of a few pictures above becomes surmountable closer to the snow-capped peak. This is where you can cross it from left to right, climb further up and finally negotiate the high-mountain passage just by the glacier, to move on from the south to the east face of Cotopaxi (the high-mountain passage is further up, to the right, behind the black rocks - not visible in the photo)
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Already in the east face of the vulcano, but with lousy weather that didn't allow me to see much beyond lunar-like landscape. The terrain close to the snow-capped peak (at around 5,000m) is relatively flat, making it more or less easy to navigate. The problem is when you try to go a little bit further up or down...

Yep, as expected from the morning outlook, the weather got completely closed and rain came in

Very optimistic after coming downhill in the east face of the volcano. The weather was a bit better, and, from the map, it was supposed to be just a few hours walk until I could find a decent trek again

Damn canyon! You cannot see it here all the way to its bottom, but it was a few hundred meters deep. I could not find a way of crossing it, or understand exactly where in the map (or sort of map I had - see below) I was. The alternative was to climb up the mountain again (around 2h, for sure!) and try to cross the canyon further up. That sounded a bit risky, as in addition to not knowing exactly where I was, from the look of the 2 other canyons ahead the same could happen again (i.e., having to move up and down in search for a crossing), what would mean up to half-day of precious hiking time...

You cannot find a proper, detailed and navigation-oriented map of Cotopaxi anywhere near Cotopaxi, only in Quito - this was the best I could get. I thought having the volcano's crater as a reference would be enough to compensate for the shortcomings of this map, but ended up getting stuck somewhere between "Cerro Chiguilasin Chico" and the deer antlers sign in the map. From there, it was completely impossible to anticipate steep cliffs through level-curves, or even identify exactly in the map where I was due to the lack of detail. Very helpful indeed...

After 3 hours going up and down the cliff, trying (and not being able) to find a way to cross the canyon, it started raining again. I had been walking for 7 hours non-stop, was bloody exhausted, and decided to call it for the day. Setting up the tent and trying to have some rest at... 3.30 pm!

The weather cleared up a bit at the end of the day (and the night was spotless, with a clear sky full of stars, without any artificial light around to ruin the view). After considering my options, and being already half-way through the planned time for the hike (and the food I had with me), I decided to go back on the following day

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=== Day 3 - from somewhere in the northeast face back to Latacunga ===

Back to higher up in the mountain, reversing my steps of the previous two days. This time, with much better weather... and views!

Back in the south face of the volcano. After talking, on my return to Latacunga, with the mountain guide who had rented me the camping equipment, I understood where my mistake was: after crossing the high-mountain passage that allows you to move from the south to the east face of the volcano (behind the rocky peak, to the right of the photo), I had two small trails to choose from, one further up and another further down; I took the wrong one... in the morning of day 2! It would have been useful to know that back then, right?

The weather got worse again, later in the day. View of Cotopaxi from much further down - at around 3,000m - when I was already far on my way back to Latacunga

End of the walk. Wasn't too bad to catch a ride to run the last couple of km to Mulaló - I had been walking non-stop for 7 hours. For the second consecutive day...

Political marketers: one idea

2009-07-22T13:32:00.002-05:00

(Friday, 17 July 2009)

Forget political flyers handed in to distracted citizens in a hurry. Stop throwing money away in electoral posters or billboards. Disregard even the most dramatic campaign efforts of offering a refrigerator for every vote. Do like in Ecuador: paint every single house in every insignificant and little town to advertise the newest candidate to the local elections.

First I thought that the selected houses were either property of the candidate, his/her family, or a hand full of very enthusiastic supporters or volunteers. But then there were just too many houses painted like this, so it couldn’t be the case. You must be paid to get your house screwed up like this, or something!

Humm… do I get paid too if I get it tattooed in my ass?!

P.S.: in addition to the candidate’s name and colours, the number of his/her list is also advertised; I’ve seen numbers as high as thirty-something – how many candidates do they have around here?
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Ecuador vs. Colombia

2009-07-22T12:43:00.005-05:00

(Friday, 17 July 2009)

I haven’t been for too long in Ecuador yet, but there are things that strike me as in deep contrast with Colombia. Here are a few…

Ethnicity. While walking on the streets or riding in the buses you quickly realise you’re in a country where indigenous people if still a minority aren’t exactly a rarity. You can see from the way people look and dress that the mix of bloods skewed less towards the European side here than in Colombia. It reminds me of Guatemala, on that aspect.

Telephony. In Colombia you’d see people everywhere (and I really mean everywhere) advertising minutes of air time – that meant you could use their mobile phone(s) to make calls to any network for a fee. Here, in Ecuador, that role is taken by bricks & mortar stores, where you can make your calls in old-fashioned booths. Lower contribution to the employment rate, but better for the real estate business, I guess.

Dirt. With the honourable exception of some areas of Quito, there is a lot of garbage wondering around. Streets are often dirty and smelly. The sides of the roads are coloured here and there (actually with more frequency than what this expression conveys!) by plastic bags and bottles. No wonder - here goes an example... On my 12 hour long (!) bus ride from Puerto Lopez to Quito I saw with contentment the auxiliary taking the time to collect litter from the bus floor (good call – it was needing it!). My surprise when the man, with his hands full of garbage, struggles to open a window, with some effort and skill finally manages to do it, and there he goes – throws everything overboard, with the bus still in movement. Shocked faces aboard? Only mine…

Sports. If football is #1 in both countries in terms of media attention, people’s time is more often spent playing something else. In Colombia, it’s billiard. Even in the most remote village, in the least accessible Andean valley, you can be sure to find 2 or 3 large billiard & pool places, with a few tables each, likely with electrically heated cloths. In Ecuador, it’s volleyball. For every football pitch, there are 3 or 4 volleyball courts. Everyone plays, men and women, the young and the elder. But while in Colombia billiard & pool playing skills reach very impressive levels, the same cannot be said about how Ecuadorians play volleyball… Have you ever heard of the catching & throwing fault, people? And, by the way, what about trying to spike for a change?

Volleyball action in a market. Now judge the skill level for yourself, namely regarding the catching & throwing fault and the need for a spike here and there! (photos & video taken on 22 July, in Latacunga, Ecuador's central highlands)

What if Che Guevara was a monkey?

2009-07-22T09:28:00.003-05:00

(Wednesday-Friday, 15-17 July 2009)

Well, he would have a proper picture, or portrait, already!

Che’s immortal profile (or something vaguely resembling it) on a mototaxi, in Puerto Lopez, Ecuador

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=%22puerto+lopez%22+ecuador&sll=53.800651,-4.064941&sspn=12.739664,28.168945&ie=UTF8&ll=-1.323735,-79.068604&spn=2.690685,5.603027&z=8

I hadn’t heard great things of Ecuador’s coast – it’s often described as shabby, a bit dodgy even perhaps, and not that pretty. It’s the people that makes it worthwhile visiting, they say.

Well, perhaps. But after visiting Puerto Lopez, I don’t feel like investigating much more of it. That region, the “ruta del sol”, is described as one of the prettiest – or less ugly… - of the all coast, a place not yet destroyed by beach resorts for the Ecuadorian middle class, and with enough natural interesting sights to justify a visit.

I found a very (very, very) dirty town, with nothing to write home about, but with a mysteriously overdeveloped tourist industry for foreigners. I guess the possibility of whale-watching just a few miles from the shore explains that…

I said no to all that, spend a day walking in the natural park by the coast – not that impressive, I’ve to admit! – and decided to move on, further inland.

I know I might be loosing the opportunity to meet great people and get to know the local culture of the coast, but mixing the worst of two worlds – dirty uninteresting towns, and overdeveloped tourist industry crowded with tour operators (oh! how I love them!) – is just too much.

I’ll take my chances on missing this one.

Views of the Parque Nacional Machalilla. Nice, but not too much to write home about, especially if bearing in mind the "beauty" of Puerto Lopez... By the way, my mobile phone "died" right here, when it fell from the cliff - I'm only reachable by email now! Next time I'll remember not to keep it right next to the bottle of water on my backpack...

You know you’ve turned 30 when…

2009-07-22T08:57:00.002-05:00

(Wednesday, 15 July 2009)

… you fall down the stairs like only old men do.

It’s early in the morning and I’m leaving the hostel in Puerto Ayora, in the Galapagos, to catch the flight back to the mainland. It’s dark inside but, stupidly, I’ve my sunglasses on, anticipating the bright light outside. I’m walking towards the exit door, getting into the final corridor. I don’t see there is one final step (bloody sun glasses!), my right foot misses the ground and I fall on the floor, face down, too quickly to even try to stop the fall with my arms. Yes, falling literally face down, with my nose, mouth and bally the first things to get in contact with the ground. Difficult to breath for a few seconds, pain in pretty much every inch of my body and sun glasses half broken – well done for them!

So no, it wasn’t consequence of alcoholic birthday celebrations the night before. It was just result of being half blind due to an urgent sense of fashion, and responding a bit quicker than usual to the law of gravity due to carrying a 15kg backpack on me.

Actually, the celebrations of my 30th birthday were quite smooth. The night of the 13th, yes, was a bit wild. I think more celebrating to be on dry land again after 4 days on a boat than my upcoming 30s, I got pretty shit-faced and apparently ended up dancing salsa half naked, with the gnome in my mouth at times, in a small dance-floor joint in Puerto Ayora, Galapagos. Apparently too, there are some photos of that around - I can't wait to see them. But on the night of the 14th all I had for myself was a great dinner (the most expensive of the trip!) a few beers, and a nice book.

Yes, turning 30, ageing fast here…

But well, back to the stupid and humiliating fall, no harm was done, besides some temporary damage to my pride. No one saw it – I triple checked it.

Well, it was good to remind me: I’m 30, I need to be careful with those knees and falls from stairs!

Happy birthday, Gusti…

I want to bring a sea lion home

2009-07-18T11:50:00.027-05:00

(Friday-Wednesday, 10-15 July 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=galapagos,+ecuador&sll=-0.2108,-78.654556&sspn=2.691385,5.603027&ie=UTF8&ll=-0.626208,-82.814941&spn=10.750135,22.412109&z=6

I thought about it and debated with myself quite extensively whether or not to go to the Galapagos islands. I mean, on the one hand the islands are “just next door” from Ecuador’s mainland, and are definitely considered to be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity not to be missed when it’s so close to you. On the other hand, you are afraid of regretting.

Why regretting?

Well, first it’s a considerable investment. Of money, as going to the islands multiplies your thin backpacker’s weekly budget a few times. But also of time, as you need to commit a significant period – of, say, at least a week – which you could spend elsewhere doing other things.

Second, it’s the type of trip you're required to do. You cannot really go around the islands and just visit the natural park on your own, the way you want. You need to be in the company of an authorised naturalist guide (who explains you the things, and checks how you behave!), which in practice means you need to be on a tour. On a boat tour – when you sleep and eat on a boat that takes you from island to island – or a land tour – when you’re based inland and take day-trips to the islands around. But always a tour... So, the worst fears took shape in my mind: a Disney-like experience, where you don’t feel you’re in a natural place but rather in a zoo, with so many old American tourists around you, dressed like they’re about to start a month-long adventure in the deep jungle, and taking pictures while seating on a turtle…

Well, despite the nightmarish fears, I decided to give it a try - the argument of “once-in-a-life-time opportunity” just next door was just too strong. I’m glad I did.

My fears of encountering a Disney fair were unfound. Yes, there was the huge boat of National Geographic, with more than 100 old American tourists dressed exactly as I imagined them, paying 3 or 4 times more than I did only to live in a cruise-like luxury, have a glass-bottom small boat to be able to see the sea life, and a cinema projection room to watch movies about the wildlife in the Galapagos, as some of them aren’t even in physical conditions to step out of the boat and visit the islands!! Go figure why they went there in the first place…

Yes, there are large boats like that one of National Geographic. And there are quite a few boats overall, big and small. But the natural park regulates “who’s where when”, which means that each boat has the opportunity to be on a particular spot at a certain time of the day without being troubled by anyone else. And my boat was as small as you can get, with only 10 passengers, all of them quite young and likeminded – I guess the fact you’re sleeping in tiny places with no luxury at all, and you pay a fraction of the upper class fees, helps “filter” the type of traveller you meet onboard. This meant I could always visit the places in quite a small group, with interesting and fun people around who can behave and make of the short walks fairly natural experiences.

And there was, of course, the natural life. It’s mind-blowing how pretty much all the animals are ABSOLUTELY FEARLESS of men. Such fearlessness doesn’t feel artificial, like the animals got used to people – or were trained to get used to them – only to enrich your tourist experience. No, you actually feel like Charles Darwin felt in 19th century: that these animals live in a completely different environment, are so used not to have many predators around – and men in particular! – that they seem almost too stupid not to move away from you…

But what does that mean – that you can get closer to the animals and take great pictures? Well, actually more than that…

By travelling around the islands you happen to see species that exist only in the Galapagos, and you can witness extraordinary examples of evolutionism, of how animals and plants populated a deserted archipelago millions of years ago and slowly got adjusted to its unique environment, often showing nuances of adaptation from island to island. The fact you have a naturalist guide explaining all those stories to you when you’re eye-to-eye contact with the animal in question makes you understand things differently. I mean, if I had seen all this in a movie or read about it in a magazine I would have probably forgotten most of it by now; instead, I think I’ll keep some of the nature stories I heard in the Galapagos for years to come.

And then you have the possibility of just seating somewhere for a long time, looking at the animals going about their daily lives, without interfering with them. And by just staring for long you’re suddenly allowed to “enter” in their world, and notice things you’d never notice otherwise. For instance, that a booby bird has to dive 7 or 8 times before it catches a fish. Or how sea lions sleep quietly in the golden sand up to the moment when the tide gets too high and a first wave gets them wet – at that point, barely awake, they move a few centimetres further up, only to be awaken again by another wave a few minutes later and repeat the short, slow and sleepy movement. And they do that over and over again, for as long as the tide rises or there is dry sand to move to.

Those moments are what made of this a once-in-a-lifetime experience. One to remember.

=== DAY 1 - Isla Seymour ===

Pelicans - a constant company by the boat; I guess they liked the crowds of fish that gathered to feed from the animals and algae attached to the bottom of the boat

A marine iguana. Dark as the volcanic rocks, it feeds in the sea where it can stay underwater for up 1h and go deeper than 10m. This is for the males, as females and cubs feed closer to shore. They're much smaller than their land "cousins", but there is something "dark" about this animal that seeds respect in you. I don't know, they make me think of... Darth Vader. Or Jeff Vader, better said!

A blue-footed booby. You can't imagine the number of different t-shirts with stupid jokes around this animal ("I love boobies, regardless of their colour" kind of thing...) that are sold in the Galapagos. Anyway, if you see a bird launching itself from really high to dive deep in the water in order to fish, it's likely to be one of these...

A baby blue-footed booby. No, its curiosity doesn't come from its young age. That's how animals are in Galapagos - birds, iguanas, sea lions, you name it! - completely relaxed about human presence, continuing with their lives (hunting, feeding, mating, sleeping) as you wouldn't be there (OK, some of them might divert their attention to the camera!). It's really how you see it on TV...

Mum and baby, reunited

Male magnificent frigatebird. What's the big red "thing"? It means he's looking for a partner and is showing off...

Land iguana. As I said, these are much bigger than their marine cousins! They feed from cactuses' fruit, so you have the males fighting hard for a place under the shade... of a cactus. They don't see that well, but have quite good hearing. They can identify a fruit dropping from a cactus from very far. But if you drop a rock, trying to emulate the fruit dropping, the animal won't even move. Call it stupid!

Gnome vs. sea lion. First encounter, round 1

Like I said before - a sea lion behaving like you aren't there. OK, it helps it's not an alpha-male...

Frigatebirds, always flying close to the boat. By the way, these ones don't have their red "things" inflated, meaning they're not flirting while looking for a mate

Great day, wasn't it gnome? Don't think more about it...
_

=== DAY 2 - Islas Plazas & Isla Santa Fe ===
_
The one on the right: I want to bring him home! I'm kidding here, but people find these animals so lovely that ofen want to pet them. It's stupid to do that with an adult - you shouldn't interfere with any animal! - but even more so with a club. When they're a few months old only, their mothers will reject them if they sense a new smell. That's why you often see the bodies of small dead clubs close to the trails where visitors can walk. Stupid, stupid people!

Yes, they're "doing it". As I said, like on TV...

A few seconds after this photo, the iguana was trying to climb up my leg. For no clear reason, they seemed to like my shoestrings. I didn't move at all, steady as a stone - you're told not to interfere with the wild life, right? The iguana gave up on its intentions and moved on shortly after

Many, many iguanas. They all heard a cactus fruit falling...

... but only the winner gets the spoils!

Just snorkelling in the Galapagos is better than any diving I have done anywhere else. In this paradisiacal bay in Isla Santa Fe I swam with sea lions and two huge turtles. Perfect visibility, incredible diversity of animals (fish, mammals, reptiles) - all of them as fearless and curious of you as their land counterparts

Sea lion colony, in the same bay in Isla Santa Fe. We didn't swim wirh these sea lions in particular earlier in the day - we were told not to get close to the beach, as the alpha males that rule the colony can get quite defensive of their privileged spot. A sandy beach provides the perfect place to rest (and reproduce!), with easy entry & exit to the sea... The sea lions sleeping on the rocks (who are either small clubs, females or loser males), are far friendlier and the ones who come to you in the water to play

I was absolutely amazed here. After returning from the sea lion colony, the captain of the boat pointed to a large group of spotted-eagle rays (http://carlaperson.files.wordpress.com/2008/02/spotted-eagle-ray-xx.jpg) swimming around the boat. Apparently they come to this beautiful bay at dusk, to seek protection from sharks during the night. I didn't think twice: got the snorkelling gear back on (you need a wet suit - the water is not that warm!) and swam for 20 minutes with dozens and dozens of eagle rays around me. They're so gracious, elegant and peaceful! What an experience! When I took this photo I had just gotten out of the water a few minutes ago and, as I said, was still absolutely amazed...

_
=== DAY 3 - Isla Española ===

Marine iguanas. Many, many of them! They get so close together to try and warm up with the sun. These ones, native from Isla Española, are recognisable by their red colour. It's one of those evolutionism tricks of the Galapagos - one species, spread out on a few islands, is led to develop into different shapes and forms in each of the islands, as each environment is somehow different from the next, and the new "breeds" are no longer in contact with eachother. And thinking there are people trying to teach their kids that evolutionism is a lie. God bless the bible!

Nazca booby. Yes, there are many different types of boobies in the Galapagos... This is the biggest type, and nests often close to the cliffs, and is particularly abundant in this island as there are no natural predators around

This is what I mean about the fearlessness of the animals in the Galapagos. Try to do this to a wild bird back home...

Albatrosses - did you know that they keep their partners for life? And that if one dies, the other will soon look for a new mate? Not much widowing going on there! Isla Española is a great nesting place for the albatrosses, with the males migrating in January, but the females staying behind a bit longer to ensure the safety of their babies. Once the cubs' heads turn yellow, it means they're mature and can mate. Interesting fact: if when the young males become mature they are surrounded only by other males, they rape each other!

The landscape in the Galapagos is not particularly attractive - a part from a few nice bays and beaches, the islands look more like the moon than anything else: rocky, arid, unappealing. This bit of shore in Isla Española, from where the albatrosses take flight, is an exception to the rule. It reminded me the shoreline around Peniche, Portugal: wild and beautiful. Interesting facts on the albatrosses' flight: they're very large birds, so need a lot of thrust to take off and land - they often take as long as 4h to land, as they need the wind to help them break on their way down; as to taking off, it's easier - they just jump off these windy cliffs...

_
_

=== DAY 4 - Isla Floreana ===

This lake is flamingo land. Can you see any?

Staring at paradise, in flamingo land. Although inviting, the sea water is not recommendable here - sting rays tend to lie on the shallow water, to protect themselves from predators by hiding in the sand. If you step on them, it will hurt. I could see many, many, many of them

I told you - flamingo land! I finally saw them on our way back from the beach. Did you know they get this colour from the shrimp they eat? And that if you feed them in captivity, even if with the same diet, they will never turn pink, and remain white all their lives? I didn't...

The best kept to the end: "the devil's crown". This is what is left of a volcano's crater (it's submerging bit by bit) and it's now a paradise of sea life. Despite the strong currents, snorkelling here is like visiting a giant aquarium. Huge variety of fish, rays, turtles... and sharks! Yes, a fantastic sighting of a white-tip reef shark (http://farm1.static.flickr.com/99/303368824_a2e99a0dc4.jpg). Harmless sighting, but still impressive!

=== DAY 5 - Diving around Isla Santa Fe ===

This is what I mean by sea lions playing with you in the water. And that's why I want to bring one home!_

Spotted-eagle rays' "group dance". Like I said before: gracious, elegant and peaceful!

Latin America – not the same, but one

2009-07-18T10:24:00.011-05:00

(Monday-Friday, 6-10 July 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=quito,+ecuador&sll=2.032045,-77.332764&sspn=2.689711,5.603027&ie=UTF8&ll=-0.2108,-78.654556&spn=2.691385,5.603027&z=8

Quito is not a beautiful city at first sight. Neither at second, or perhaps even last sight. But it somehow gets under your skin. And that’s why, once again on this trip, I ended up staying longer than initially planned.

First, there is the historical centre, Unesco’s World Heritage Site and subject to a major restoration project in 2006. It’s probably the most beautiful piece of colonial architecture I’ve seen. It may not rival the splendour of, say, Colombia’s Cartagena, but I think the difference here is how well integrated the old town seems to be with the rest of the city. I mean, it doesn’t feel like a museum piece – it feels like people actually live here, and walk through, in and out of it, in the context of their daily lives and activities…

Then, there is a certain cosmopolitan feel to the city. It’s true that the architectural beauty seems to be limited to the old town – apart from a few wide and pleasant modern avenues here and there, and the large park “La Carolina” which is a great spot for late afternoon jogging, most of the buildings that “climb up” the hills remind you of the architectural disasters of the Central American capitals. But all that is somehow put behind by the cultural vibe of the city – street theatre happening every day, a large Latin American cinema festival starting on my arrival, interesting museums that offer free (!) one-to-one tours by art history students who tell you all about the “Escuela Quiteña” of painting of the post-Spanish conquest period, or the work of the indigenous movement (check out Camilo Egas’s work – great stuff!!).

So, I have kept myself busy the last few days… The day before yesterday I attended an improvisation show by a Colombian theatre group. Yesterday I went to the opening of Cero Latitud, Quito’s Latin American cinema festival I refered to already. There, I saw the performance of a famous Argentinean singer (sorry, forgot his name!) and watched “Sleep dealer”, an interesting movie (more for the story than anything else…) by a Mexican director.

Colombian theatre. Argentinean music. Mexican cinema. In Quito, Ecuador. That’s the thing about Latin America, which I had already witnessed in Colombia, where people so easily listen to Colombian music as to Cuban or Nicaraguan tunes: there is one language across a whole continent (OK, forget Brazil for a minute), which makes it so easy to share and cross-fertilise cultural activities. Would it be the same if they’d speak Spanish in Ecuador, French in Colombia, German in Chile and English in Argentina? Definitely not…

"Says the popular U2 song that “we’re one but not the same”; I think a subtly different truth applies to the Latin American countries: "they are not the same but are somehow one too". I mean, there is so much diversity around here, but at the same time there is definitely some unity amidst such cultural diversity. And that’s great – as European, I feel envy of that!

Quito's old town - all of the above...

View of Quito, from the East to the West: end of day coffee-break at the Itchimbia park

Another coffee-break (no, coffee is not that good around here!), now at the Guayasamín Museum. Do you know anything about Guayasamín's work? He's a great 20th century Ecuadorian artist - if you don't know much about him, I STRONGLY RECOMMEND you research about his work!!

Hasta la vista, Colombia

2009-07-18T10:09:00.006-05:00

(Monday, 6 July 2009)

I'm heading today to the southern hemisphere, but I'm going with Colombia in my heart.

I've written here time and time again about how much this country has positively surprised me, about how well impressed I am with its natural and cultural diversity and beauty, with the genuinely welcoming way of being of its people.

So my last thoughts go to what I didn’t get to know…

The Amazon basin for instance, as unfortunately much of it (not all, but most of it) is still not accessible to travellers as it’s still cocaine and guerrilla territory.

Or coastal towns by the Pacific, where poverty and desperation lead to drug smuggling, violence and crime at levels not seen in many other places in the world. For instance, Tumaco is a relatively small town of around 85,000 people which lies in territory half-forgotten by the government, and is in the middle of a war between rival gangs, who fight for the control of drug shipping up north, to the US, via Mexico and other Central American countries. That’s a town where desperation leads people to embark on several weeks-long journeys through the Pacific Ocean, on hand-made submersibles of wood and fibre glass, that try the dangerous trip to the northern waters of Mexico, loaded with cocaine and below the eyesight of the authorities. Needless to say, many die in that attempt. That’s a town where, on average, 4.4 people are murdered every day. Given Tumaco's size, that represents a homicide-rate 15 times (!) higher than that of Caracas, currently considered the most dangerous city in the world not-at-war. Needless to say, Tumaco is not accessible to travellers either.

These are consequences of the “dark side” of Colombian politics, power struggles and war. The “dark side” of a country where there is a very unclear border line between governmental forces and the paramilitary. The “dark side” of a country where it’s actually not only the government being accused of promiscuous relationships with the paramilitary, but the all parliament, as politicians from all parties and movements have been found to have accepted money from the drug trade to finance their campaigns – only so that they can pay it back with political and economic favours later on (what is called around here as the “para-politica”).

Before I travelled here, the image I had of Colombia was really dark. Now, it’s much brighter, much more colourful and warm in my heart. And I now understand a bit better the darker aspects of the Colombian reality (because I know they exist!), what makes them dark, and why it’s only that darkness that comes across to the foreign public.

So, my wishes are that when someday I come back – right now I feel like how couldn’t I? – I find a country that managed to solve its problems, that I can get to know freely and peacefully places like the Amazon basin or Tumaco. But also a country that managed to make that happen without incurring in the power abuses that seem to become common place nowadays.

Bye-bye, Colombia. All the best, and see you soon!

(P.S.: “Semana” seems to be a very good weekly magazine to keep up to speed with what is happening in Colombia – a lot of chronicles, opinionated texts and research-based journalism that seem to be fairly independently minded)

Stoned people, literally

2009-07-18T07:52:00.010-05:00

(Thursday-Saturday, 2-4 July 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=%22san+agust%C3%ADn%22+colombia&sll=4.713303,-76.099548&sspn=10.714568,14.084473&ie=UTF8&ll=2.383346,-76.497803&spn=1.34463,2.801514&z=9

While in Tierradientro (see two posts below) the underground tombs are the highlight, in San Agustín are the stone statues that call your attention. Here, the tombs are of a much simpler nature, and the focus was put on the “stone guardians” of the dead. At the end, statues were put on top of the tomb, and it was all covered with dirt, until the all structure resembled a belly-like shape. To symbolise a new birth, now in sync with mother nature.

It’s thought that it was the same civilisation that lived in Tierradentro and San Agustín. Or at least they were communities very well linked with each other, as most elements are common between the two sites.

As you can see in the photos, most statues are anthropomorphic, as they represent the community’s spiritual leaders – the shamans – merged with the most respected and feared animals from the forest – like monkeys, jaguars and alike – from whom they’d expect to gain special powers. These images of man and animal combined into one came from the shamans themselves, in night time spiritual sessions when they’d intake hallucinogenic substances, and would dream of special communication with the animals and the ability to share their powers. I guess you can say that San Agustin’s statues are of stoned people made by… stoned people.

It’s interesting how the Spanish, their catholic church – and pretty much all of the official institutions of the Western society – converted so many of these cultural manifestations into abominations and heresy. Be it the spiritual consumption of psychotropic substances naturally available in the jungle that I just mentioned, or the representation of sexuality and birth, without any complexes or stigmas, found in some of the statues (I mean, the satues that survived the impetuous of destruction by the European conquerors of all the “barbarian and non-Christian” representations).

One final word to Carlos, the guide that walked me through the archaeological park. I do most of my travels without a guide – I don’t need someone to tell me “that a mountain is a mountain, and that’s the way to the mountain”. A good exception to the rule is when visiting historical places like these, especially when you find someone so knowledgeable of what he’s talking about, but also so interested in other cultures, and with interesting thoughts on Colombia’s history and current state of affairs (the war, the politics), and also how all that relates to what happened and is happening in other countries. Thanks for the interesting walk and talk!

Jaguar teeth, monkey-like traits. Oh yes, I'm feeling high...

This how the structure of statues, to be placed on top of the tomb and then covered with dirt, would have looked like. The two front statues on the sides represent two penises, and the marks on them the time schedule to the birth of a new child (shown in the middle). Not much of an heresy, is it?

An eagle hunting a snake, representation of power, speed and agility. The ability to represent so much with so simple lines and shapes was interpreted by the conquerors as lack of artistic ability and signal of a mediocre culture. The truth is that our civilisation would have to wait a few centuries to get to this! Go figure...

This one gives a good view of how the all structure, once covered with dirt, acquired a belly-like shape

The "thing" tied up to the shaman's belly? It's his penis. Not many of such representations survived the catholic fever of the conquerors, as they weren't "proper". Barbarians...

Even more impressive than the statue itself - sculpted on the bare rock by the cliff - it's its setting (see video below). This is the canyon of Rio Magdalena, which starts flowing not far away from this spot, and goes all the way to the Caribbean coast

Tic-tac

2009-07-04T18:37:00.001-05:00

(Thursday, 2 July 2009)

After 5 months travelling without a return ticket, I now have a set date for my flight back home: 23rd September, from Lima, Peru.

Tic-tac, tic-tac, tic-tac. I’ll have to get used to the sound of the clock behind my ear…

Tomb rider

2009-07-04T17:45:00.012-05:00

(Wednesday-Thursday, 1-2 July 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=%22Parque+Arqueol%C3%B3gico+Nacional+de+Tierradentro%E2%80%8E%22+colombia&ie=UTF8&ll=2.287295,-75.989685&spn=1.344722,2.801514&z=9

Not much is know about the civilisation that between the 7th and 14th centuries AD left remarkable tombs and funerary statuary in the area of Tierradentro. The news is that they weren’t exterminated by Europeans – when Colombus and his men first arrived at the Americas these people had already gone. Mysteriously.

The fact they didn’t have a written language didn’t help in leaving records behind… But it must have been a pretty advanced culture, for the time and resources they had available to dedicate to the cult of the dead. And if not that, the beauty of the tombs – many of which with paintings surviving till today – makes you reach a similar conclusion.

The tombs were used for both primary and secondary buries. This means they would bury the dead a first time around, only to come back a few years later, recover the bones, and bury them again in ceramic pots, incinerating them first or not. Other times, depending on the person being buried, they would go straight to the secondary phase, incinerating the body and leaving to rest the ashes once and for all. It’s not clear who would receive such “privilege”, or why.

As in most cultures of celebration of the dead, the bodies were buried with several artefacts that would be of use in the afterlife – personal belongings, weapons, food, gold artefacts, etc. Sometimes they would even bury women alive along with their late husbands, so that they could keep them company. Isn’t that sweet?

Of course, after years and years of theft not much is left from such artefacts. Most of them rest now in private collections around the western world.

If not much is known about this civilisation, the same cannot be said about the indigenous people that occupied these lands shortly after, and that barely survived the Spanish invasion and the centuries of discrimination that followed – the Paeces.

They’re a very small minority – like all indigenous communities in Colombia – and live scattered around the mountains in small villages. When this region was devastated by a strong earthquake in 1994, many people died and many more were left without a home or any possessions. Help came from Colombia and abroad, injecting funds for reconstruction and providing materials for the new homes, clothes, etc.

The irony? Much of their culture has been lost since then, with the traditional ways of building homes and dressing being substituted by more modern alternatives, like bricks & mortar and the “beautiful” zinc for the houses, or jeans and “Iron Maiden” t-shirts for the body.

To me this raised a few interesting issues... It’s hard to predict the full-fledge impact of external intervention – even the best of intentions can screw things up. And is it a bad thing for such a community to want to modernise itself? Is one really concerned with the preservation of their culture, or is it more of a paternalistic wish to keep things nice and picturesque, like in a museum?

Either way, one thing seems to hold true: when you’re in the marginalised fringes of society, everything seems to pull you further down – even those who are trying to help…

The white colonial architecture of Popayán, the largest city close to Tierradentro (check the Google map)

It's a pity: the photos don't fully capture the beauty of the carvings and paintings of these tombs

In addition to the tombs, another good reason to visit Tierradentro is the amazing Andean landscape that surrounds it. Although I had been in the Colombian Andes a few times before, spending a few days in the small villages scattered around this incredibly difficult terrain, and witnessing the nightmare that it is to travel around here, made me experience the beauty and the colossal nature of this landscape in a different way

Rough rides. Travelling around here is incredibly difficult - I've experienced the worse roads thus far on this trip. It took me 5 long hours to get from Popayán to Tierradentro, a distance which is not much more than 100km (check in the Google map). Here, I'm in the first leg of the journey that would take from Tierradentro to San Agustín. I'd have to take 4 different buses (actually, not buses - 4WDs, as normal buses don't survive long here!) and endure close to 12 hours of very very bumpy roads to finally get there. Again, if you see it in the map, San Agustín seems to be "just there"...

One (decent) cup of coffee, please!

2009-07-04T16:01:00.006-05:00

(Sunday-Tuesday, 28-30 June 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=salento+colombia&ie=UTF8&ll=4.713303,-76.099548&spn=5.363193,11.206055&z=7

Colombia is known world-wide by the quality of its coffee exports. But, curiously enough, it’s hard to find a good cup of the black stuff around here. First, expresso is a rarity – you have quite a few coffee shops that sell it in the big cities, but beyond that it’s considered a (rare) luxury. Second, most of the good grains are sent away as exports. It was worse years ago, when all of the higher quality coffee was sold abroad and only the cheap one was left for Colombians to drink. But that reality still holds mostly true. In result, most of the “tintos” (black coffee, “americano” style) I have been drinking in Colombia haven’t given me much to write home about…

But well, if the coffee hasn’t impressed me, I’ve been taken by the beauty of the region where it comes from – the “eje cafetero”, a vast mountainous area south of Medellín.

Even if the towns and villages in this area aren’t particularly beautiful (the recent, consecutive and destructive earthquakes haven’t helped either!), nature, with its steep and lush hills that uniquely combine typical high altitude vegetation with tropical flora, provides plenty of charm.

It’s even better when you can spend the nights in a “finca” in the middle of nowhere (better said, in the middle of the beautiful hills), owned by a couple of very friendly Colombian hippies and populated by their numerous dogs. A very cosy environment, and an opportunity for me to showcase the new card magic tricks I’ve been learning along the way. I impressed… :-D

P.S.: Talking of coffee, I’ve to pay tribute to a great Colombian invention – the “carajillo”. It’s basically a “tinto”, with a bunch of spices on it, and some brandy. I haven’t tried it yet, but find its naming brilliant nonetheless! (probably only to be understood by Portuguese speakers…)

From far...

...and from a bit closer. Colombian milk is abundant and really good - only if you could find it partially skimmed! They drink it with so much fat around here- what a waste!

Tropical flora where less expected - at more than 2,000m altitude. This is the "palma de cera", the Colombian national tree. It's close to extinction - not very good for the national identity, is it?

Hiking in "vale de Cocora" - it had been a while since I last walked a bit in a mountain

Another encounter with Colombians, another good experience. This time I got a ride back to the village centre (Salento) and an invitation to get to know the best Salsa places in Cali. Maybe next time...

Sons of those who stayed behind

2009-07-04T15:46:00.002-05:00

(Tuesday, 30 June 2009)

In 5 months of wondering around Latin America I haven’t met a single fellow Portuguese traveller. Actually, I can say more: I haven’t met any foreigner who has met a Portuguese backpacker during their Latin American travels either (besides me, that is!). I’m constantly being seen as a “rarity”.

While talking about that fact, with both locals and other tourists, it’s not the first time I’m asked something along the lines of: “But aren’t you a country of travellers? Haven’t you discovered the world centuries ago? What happened?”.

After discussing the matter a few times, I came with a few hypotheses for the answer.

First, we’re a small country – especially when compared with other “heavyweights” like the US or the UK that so much contribute to the tourism numbers. This, of course, doesn’t explain everything: we were a small country six centuries ago too, and the Dutch, for instance, with a population the same size of ours, are seen now, as back then, in every corner of the world. But hey, it’s a fact: less people, less travellers.

Second, we’re a relatively poor country when compared with most European nations, or the US, Canada and Australia, whose travellers you constantly bump with in this part of the world. Moreover, I think the Portuguese youth is disproportionably affected by our lower purchase power. I mean, my impression is that Portuguese youngsters struggle much more to find a first job, to move out from their parents’ homes, and to become financially independent than what our GDP per capita would predict. And who travels the most as backpackers? The youth. So…

I actually find this second factor, the economic, the most powerful one. But I don’t think it explains everything either. I mean, many young people in Portugal are in a financial situation that would allow them to pack their things and wonder around the world for a few months. But they don’t (they might decide to spend a month in a resort in Brazil or in the Caribbean, but that's a different story!). Why is that?

Apart from personal reasons – that should wash out when we talk of the average behaviour of millions of people – it’s here that I think the third and final factor kicks in: the cultural one.

On a first dimension, there is the effect of the society culture’s on the individual. What do I mean by this? Well, what about this example: what would be the reaction of the typical Portuguese “boss” to the request by a young employee of a “half-a-year leave of absence to go around and get to know the world”? Not a very nice one, would it? Now compare it with the answer from a, say, typical British employer. Believe me, on average, they would be quite different!

On a second dimension, there is also the effect of the culture of the individual him/herself – the one we learn to grow up with in Portugal, which, in what travelling is concerned, is so different from many other European countries. For instance, take Britain as an example, once again. There, the “gap year” is an institution (that’s the year just before college, when often teenagers are given a period off to travel and try out new things, before embarking on the career ladder). So, in result, you see thousands and thousands of British youngsters travelling to the other side of the world, volunteering in NGOs, partying like there is no tomorrow, or just getting to know new places – and themselves. Yes, not always such an opportunity is put at good use, but the travelling “seed” is planted in their young minds, and in many cases it will be harvested throughout their lives. Compared with that, what do we have in Portugal? Close to nothing…

The other day I read online a statement that amused me, but also made me think: “We, the Portuguese, aren’t sons of the sea travellers who discovered the world in the XV and XVI centuries – we are sons of those who stayed behind”.

Would that be true?

Old habits

2009-06-29T10:31:00.004-05:00

After the turmoil in Guatemala after the killing of a lawyer investigating a corruption and murder case supposedly involving government officials (http://jeffvader.blogspot.com/2009/05/guatemala-business-as-usual.html), it's now the time for Honduras to undergo the first coup in Central America in decades.

In English: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/8123126.stm
In Portuguese: http://ultimahora.publico.clix.pt/noticia.aspx?id=1389190&idCanal=11

It looks like I'm loosing the excitment in some of the countries I've been visiting for just a few months.

Hum... better that way, definitely!

Parabéns Laurinha!

2009-06-28T12:29:00.003-05:00

(Amanhã, 29 Junho 2009)

Praticamente há um ano foi assim que te conheci…

Temos muito que contar um ao outro! Provavelmente num português mais bem falado por ti do que por mim, já que embora não me consiga livrar desta pronúncia foleira ao falar espanhol, a fluência na língua materna já começa a falhar…

Amanhã a tua primeira primavera vai estar o tempo todo no meu pensamento, se bem que tens estado no meu coração desde que de Portugal saí.

Até já, Laura linda.

A festival of diversity

2009-06-28T12:08:00.002-05:00

(Friday-Saturday, 26-27 June 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=ibagu%C3%A9+colombia&sll=53.800651,-4.064941&sspn=12.739664,28.168945&ie=UTF8&ll=4.510714,-75.71228&spn=2.68307,5.603027&z=8

A random stop in the city of Ibagué, just in time for the celebrations of San Juan, and Colombia’s biggest folklore festival. After a concert the night before by Sergio Luis Rodriguez, Colombian’s king of Vallenato, a few good hours spent at a gastronomic fair.

This short stay was yet another opportunity to witness the strength and diversity of Colombian culture: each of the numerous departments in the country has an incredible heritage of colours, sounds and flavours. And after the gastronomic desert of Central America it’s mind blowing what your mouth can taste around here.

Thinking I had no idea about this before I came here…

Folklore group from Santa Marta, in the Caribbean coast...

...And another group from the San Andrés island (OK, their hands!)

Dancer from the San Andrés island: when people talk of the beauty of Colombian women they're not exagerating...

Sancocho de gallina - something close to chicken moamba. Good stuff

I couldn't resist, and will be carrying it in my backpack all the way home. You're invited: a Colombian dinner party on my arrival. This if you have the courage...

I’ll never be vegetarian

2009-06-28T11:46:00.004-05:00

(Thursday-Friday, 25-26 June 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=deserto+tatacoa&sll=4.614411,-74.114628&sspn=1.341432,2.801514&ie=UTF8&ll=6.025848,-74.558716&spn=2.676537,5.603027&z=8

The Tatacoa desert is a small piece of flat land set in the middle of the central and eastern Andes. Its location in the middle of two large mountain ranges creates the perfect hot and dry conditions for a spectacular landscape.

It’s actually small enough for you to walk around freely, without running the risk of loosing yourself amidst the canyons.

Often, what seems to be a fairly flat and straightforward route quickly becomes sinuous, as you need to move around canyon walls too steep for you to climb up or down, or to avoid sections of the dry rivers where cactuses and bushes grow too closely together for you to cross through. But then you hike up to a small sand terrace a bit higher up, you see where both mountain ranges are, you recognise the astronomy observatory at far, and you know where you are and where to go. Piece of cake, really.

The place is even almost too small to give you the impression of a “real” desert – many of the most interesting geological formations are walking distance from the road that divide the area.

But then you walk for a couple of hours away from the road, you leave the small farms behind, and all that surrounds you is arid landscape and the occasional noise of a small bird or a desert sheep. Yes: small, but still beautiful.

But, what on earth has the title of this post to do with what I’m writing?

Well, I stayed overnight in one of the few desert farms that offer (very) rustic accommodation to travellers along the road. Less than an hour after I arrived there the family who runs the place was hanging a sheep on a tree, bleeding it to death and cutting it in pieces for food to eat and sell. I had it for lunch – tasty! The following morning I woke up at 5am, not from the heat, but from the loud and disturbing screams of a pig also being bled to death, hanging from the same tree the poor sheep the day before. Again, it was cut into pieces and I had it for breakfast. Yet again, it was tasty.

If these two consecutive bloody experiences didn’t stop me from eating the poor animals just few hours after I saw them being cut to pieces, nothing will keep me away from being a meat-lover. It’s just too good.

The grey area of the desert. More beautiful than the previous one, I thought

Stop during end-of-day walk. Nice mountain range at the back!

The heat stops you from walking around most of the day. The alternative? Reading and sleeping…

Missing the point

2009-06-28T10:16:00.003-05:00

(Tuesday, 23 June 2009)

I saw most of the tourists in my hostel in Bogotá come and go in just a few days. When not playing poker between them, they were watching western channels on TV or just sleeping in a couch, recovering from the party the night before, organised in the hostel by foreigners, for foreigners. Plenty of drugs around, on what is known amongst Colombians as “narcotourism”.

I had seen this before in other popular spots of the gringo-trail – the very well defined (and so limited!) path followed by most foreign tourists, in search of only one of the so many things Colombia has to offer – illicit substances. I saw it in Cartagena, I saw it Taganga… No effort to get to know much of the city that surrounds them. No effort to speak the language. No effort to get to know how Colombians are like, what they write, read or watch. No effort to get to know Colombia, really.

What on earth are you taking home with you?! Did you really come to Colombia?

We are all free to travel the way we like, but, quite bluntly, I think you’re missing the point here…

With the exception of the casual encounters in the hostel in Bogotá, when I went for a shower or must-needed sleep, I don’t think I have seen a foreign tourist for at least 3 weeks. That tells me I’m doing something right here…

Ich bin ein ‘cachaco’

2009-06-27T23:43:00.015-05:00

(Thursday-Tuesday, 18-23 June 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=bogot%C3%A1&ie=UTF8&ll=4.614411,-74.114628&spn=1.341432,2.801514&z=9

People say in Colombia that while Costeños (Colombians from the Caribbean) are party-animals and Paisas (Colombians from Antioquia, the Medellín department) are serious entrepreneurs, Cachacos (naturals of Bogotá) are dull. Cachacos dull? Bollocks!

For the first time in LatAm I’ve really liked a big city. And, for the first time since UPAVIM, I was genuinely sad for leaving a place. That says it all...

Bogotá is a huge metropolis – around 8 million souls live there! - and the stories I had heard from Colombians seeking “refuge” in the countryside to move away from the hurly-burly of the capital had made me fear the worse. No way: not only I encountered no problems whatsoever, but I actually truly enjoyed the cosmopolitan vibe of the city, its pleasant wide streets, the urban culture, the nightlife. And, of course, having a group of local friends I had met in El Cocuy showing me the “real Bogotá” made it definitely a special experience.

The streets are fairly clean – cleaner than in Lisbon, I have to say. There are still colonial architecture traits here and there, which remind you the all time this is a city full of history. If not colonial-like, the more modern streets and avenues have a pleasant feel, far away from the tasteless brick-and-mortar chaos of the Central American capitals. There are neighbourhoods full of culture – one where all the theatre happens, another one where it’s all about skateboarding and street art, another one where all the fashion designers showcase their work. Very London-like…

And then, of course, there is the night life. And having local friends showing you around, taking you to places you’d never hear about as a tourist, gives a unique insight into the “cachaca” way of partying.

Having a “botellón” of wine and bread, in the historical plaza where the city of Bogotá was born centuries ago, just before a theatre performance. Dancing salsa, merengue, vallenato and reggaeton in a small club in the middle of nowhere, which is supposed to stay (illegally) open until dawn – “amañecer” as they call it here. “Amañecer” in a house-party instead, as the club would stay open until that late only on the following day. (It was funnier at home any way...)

Having “lechona” (“leitão” in Portuguese – how do you say that in English?) for breakfast. Being invited to dance salsa in a neighbourhood well beyond the city outskirts that ends up being like the “Damaia of Bogotá”, in a club that surprisingly transforms a 2am samba show into a strip-tease gig. (Time to show some tiredness and suggest going home there, as the atmosphere became… hum… a bit heavy…).

Having another “botellón” in “zona rosa”, the posh nightlife area of Bogotá. Dancing for free there, thanks to the sound coming out of the bars around. Buying liquor under-the-counter from street vendors, who try to hide their trade from the police (do they?). Calling the “correo de la noche” in the middle of the night, a home-delivery service that sells drinks when both bottles and throats are dry, but the house-party is still going.

Bogotá by night, or by day – I loved it. Thank you, my friends!

Candelaria, the old colonial quarter of Bogotá. It's actually a beautiful neighbourhood - pity this is all I managed to photograph...

Dissident voices have a bit more room to express themselves in the capital...

Transmilenio, the metro-like bus system of Bogotá and, in the background, the green hills that surround the city to the east. Sometimes they made me think of pictures I know of Rio de Janeiro. Ok, perhaps not from this angle...

The view from Monserrate, on the top of the hills. Nice, very nice

An excellent macchiato in Parque de la 93, one of the trendiest spots in Bogotá

Sunny, on a weekend, Parque de la 93 had some of the atmosphere of the small parks in London - crowded, welcoming and family-friendly

Last night in Bogotá and a really tasty home-made dinner by my "hosts" in Bogotá: "patacones" (fried "plátanos") with tomato-based sauce, and "arepas" with a fantastic chicken and beef filling. Need to try this at home - well, if it won't go well, you can get the idea from the photo

In Bogotá, be a "cachaco": no small beer talk here - dinner is followed by "aguardiente de anis". ¡Salud!

Even if not as strong as the Portuguese "aguardiente", this thing is still quite "potente". Hang in there, Juan!

Yes, definitely “potente”. And not that tasty, when you mix it with wine. “Red Sea submarine”, we named it. Hang in there, Sabrina!

The good thing is that we finished the leftovers of wine from the dinner quickly. Once taken as it should, the “aguardiente” is actually not that bad… Hang in there, Sandra!

What was I saying – not that bad? Giving bad reputation to Portugal here – because of the terrible accent and the poor tolerance to… hum… anis…

Last day in Bogotá, with the old "tejo gang" from Guican (a few posts below) partially reunited. From left to right, Sabrina, Micha (hiking partner in El Cocuy), Juan, Sandra and... me. After postponing my departure for 2 or 3 times, it was time for yet another delay due to the surprise arrival of Micha that morning, who would take a flight to Canada at night. Still time for a chicha (beer-like drink made out of corn) and half a bottle of "aguardiente". "Para o caminho", as we say in Portugal. I slept really well in the bus that night...

Layers of Colombia

2009-06-27T21:41:00.003-05:00

(Monday, 22 June 2009)

I really like the marketing of the most recent campaign by the Colombian tourism office. Its signature is something like: “Forget the country you have in your mind, and discover a new one in your heart. Colombia, the only risk is wanting to stay”.

Why do I like it so much? Well, what did I know about Colombia before I came here? Ok, before I talked with a few Colombian friends and people who had travelled here for long, better said, I knew Faustino Asprilla, the lethal striker who used to play for Parma, in Italy. I knew Shakira. And probably the first words that would come to my mind would be cocaine production and trafficking, FARC and kidnappings. Oh! How did the palms of my hands sweat as my flight from Panama City was landing in Medellín: "what terrible dangers are waiting me?", was I thinking.

But, instead, what I’ve been discovering is a big and richly diverse country, full of natural beauty and tasty food, an incredibly strong and fascinating culture, and the friendliest and most welcoming people on earth (not exaggerating here – I wrote about it before…).

It’s very easy to fall in love with Colombia. I have.

However, it’s also easy to fall in love without noticing its dark spots. It’s like the picture of Colombia in your head can rotate 180 degrees – from a deeply negative image shaped by ignorance, to an idyllic representation, romanticised by naïve enchantment.

But, as we say in Portugal, “not everything is like a sea of roses” (I love these forced translations!). It’s easy for you to just read your guide book, talk to a few poorly informed tourists and be amazed at how much the security situation has improved in the country in the last 6 years or so. “Long live the government, whatever it’s doing!”. After all, places like El Cocuy (again, I wrote about it before...), which now start to fill the heart of travellers like myself, were prohibited areas of armed conflict and/or drug trafficking just a few years ago…

But then you have a second look at the chronics in the columns of the more liberal newspapers. You ask a few questions to better informed and well thought-through people (not anyone mentioned or shown in this blog, by the way!). And you start hearing how the paramilitary problem might have been “solved” by just absorbing those elements into the armed forces. You start hearing how there might be unbalanced measures against the guerrillas and the paramilitary. You start hearing about “falsos positivos”, the cases when (supposedly) government-backed illegal armed forces exterminate suspects of rebel activity who are later on proved innocent. You start hearing of anti-constitutional secret investigations on individuals and suppression of freedom. You start hearing international NGOs using the news coming from Iran to bring their case about Colombia to light (quite farfetched comparison, if you ask me!).

But hey, you don’t love someone just for her/his qualities, but also for her/his imperfections. That's the way I feel about Colombia.,.

Having said that, and knowing both sides of the coin, I can’t stop but having a sweet-and-sour taste from my visits to places like El Cocuy…

Holidays, holidays, holidays

2009-06-27T21:40:00.002-05:00

(Monday, 22 June 2009)

Today is a national holiday in Colombia. As it was last Monday. And as it will be next Monday. All religious festivities – god bless.

It’s not only in some aspects of food and architecture that Colombia reminds me of Portugal!

Who knows about quality of life? We do…

A STRONGLY recommended movie

2009-06-27T21:32:00.003-05:00

(Monday, 22 June 2009)

“Los viajes del viento” (http://www.losviajesdelviento.net/) – a great Colombian movie, recently prized in Cannes.

But it’s not because of the award that I recommend it: it’s just a great piece of art! It gives a glimpse of some of the breathtaking landscapes that have been amazing me in this country – the ones in the movie are in and around the Caribbean coast. It's also an interesting insight into Colombian Caribbean culture.

It has a brilliant music. And at least as good cinematography.

Strongly recommended. Really.

Intransigent about happiness

2009-06-27T20:00:00.003-05:00

(Sunday, 21 June 2009)

I came to the realisation of an important takeaway from this trip: I’m becoming intransigent about happiness.

Why? I’m now used to doing what I feel like, when I feel like, the way I feel like, with whom I feel like. The all time.

This may come across as an undesirable trait. After all, we all know one of those children – or adults! – who are used to doing what they feel like, when they feel like, the way they feel like, with whom they feel like. And often they aren’t that pleasant, are they? Or happy, for that matter…

But I actually think I’ve been acquiring such intransigence in a value-added way. I mean, I’ve been offering myself the opportunity to try out things I had always wanted to do but never had the chance to. And some other things that I had never thought about, but the pleasure of experiencing them has resulted as fresh and enriching surprises. I’ve been seeing new things, walking new walks, talking new talks, realising the world is a much bigger, more beautiful and interesting place than I had comprehended before.

Do you remember the flying plastic bag scene from the movie American Beauty, and the famous quote: "sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it”? Yes, I think it’s a bit about that…

So, one thing I feel the need to is, going forward, to keep looking at things this way. Be it here, in Colombia, elsewhere in Latin America, or back home. To look around me and see too many interesting things to do, and at the same time to feel the days too short to accomplish them. To interiorise that reality, and therefore be intransigent about pursuing what really passions me, instead of loosing time with unsatisfactory compromises and tradeoffs.

I like the word “intransigent”: I think it captures well the inflexibility of the feeling I’m trying to describe. And if such intransigence is put at good use, I think it can loose the negative connotation it’s so often attached to it…

Well, if this is the takeaway, I now need to find out what it means to live it in a sustainable and productive way once back home. But I still have time to figure that one out, don’t I?

The reason(s) why it takes so long

2009-06-18T06:24:00.006-05:00

(Tuesday, 16 June 2009)

Why do bus rides take so long around here? How does a 45km journey (and I’m probably overestimating rather than underestimating here…) ends up lasting 1h45?

Well, start with the road, which sucks, forcing the bus to ride incredibly slow.

Then, continue with the road, and some clumsiness of the driver, who gets the bus stuck in a curve, requiring long 30 minutes of moving dirt back and forward to finally clear it.

Then, think of a small village – no more than 100 or 200 people, I’m sure – where the bus stops 3 times, and not more than 50 meters apart, to get 3 different people. Just because there is no official bus stop, and people step in and out exactly where they want around here.

Then imagine that one of the ladies who just stepped in forgot a bottle of milk at home, and asks the bus driver to wait for her to get it. But she doesn’t walk home – instead she screams her lungs out for her granddaughter, who is at home and isn’t more than 5 years old, to get it from a place the little girl has no idea about.

Then, finally, the icing on top of the cake, the military who has asked for a free ride requests the driver to wait “just a minute”, so that he can talk on his cell phone from a section of the road where there is good reception. It wasn’t only one minute, and from the look on the soldier’s face it didn’t seem a matter of national security either. But I didn’t listen the conversation – you’re taught to keep a respectful distance from the military around here…

So, 1h45? It was actually short!

Bus ride back from Lake Tota - ups...

Team work: one sweats, three stare, and another one takes pictures...

Cada tiro cada melro

2009-06-18T05:48:00.007-05:00

(Monday-Wednesday, 15-17 June 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=mongui+colombia&sll=53.800651,-4.064941&sspn=12.739664,28.125&ie=UTF8&ll=5.878332,-73.899536&spn=2.677256,5.603027&z=8&iwloc=A

For the non-Portuguese speakers, the expression “Cada tiro cada melro” means something like “Hitting a bird with every single gunshot”.

That’s the way I feel about small rural villages in Colombia with any sort of colonial architecture heritage: you’re certain to find a peaceful environment, spotlessly clean and beautiful streets, and friendly people. It’s the lady from the small food shop that insists on offering one of the “empanadas”, after spicing up your dinner with stories about the most interesting characters of the village... Or the owner of the “hospedaje” where you’re staying in that insists on offering you a ride to the nearest town the next morning...

I think that’s a significant difference between Colombia and the other Central American countries I’ve been to – there, if you visit a random small rural village you’re likely to find the dustiest of the streets and the most uninteresting and unappealing bricks & mortar architecture; here, you could bet your money you’ll find a colonial gem.

Of course, it helps that the town is somehow know for its history, and what I’m saying probably applies more to the Boyacá department, where I’ve spent the last couple of weeks.

Still…

The streets of Mongui - another gunshot, another bird...

Visiting Lago Tota, close to Mongui. Waiting for a bus in the middle of nowhere, that will take me to the middle of nowhere. Like it...

Playa Blanca, in Lago Tota. Great fresh trout for lunch, and a nap

You see it, you change it

2009-06-18T05:20:00.003-05:00

(Monday, 15 June 2009)

The Heisenberg Principle from Physics, also known as the Uncertainty Principle, states that you cannot have absolute certainty about a particle’s situation: the more you know about its position, the less you’ll be certain about its momentum, or speed. And vice-versa.

One implication of this, and more to the point of this post, is that the simple fact you’re observing a certain phenomenon – a particle, for instance – affects its situation. This is called the Observer's Effect, and it means there is no such thing as perfect, zero-interference observation.

I think the same applies to tourism and places like El Cocuy (see a couple of posts below). That town is genuinely friendly, touched by travellers only enough to make it hospitable and welcoming, without turning itself into a theme park or tourists into walking wallets packed with money.

But the truth is, even if only 2 or 3 tourists at the time, our presence there changes the reality of the locals.

You have “the time of your life” there. You’ve tasty meals for €1. You buy beer at a night club – the only one, for that matter – for €0.33. You spend the all day moving from one place to the other, buying this here, buying that there, and at the end you’re absolutely surprised how cheap it all was.

You’re sensitive, so you don’t splash your money around – you keep it low profile. If people ask how much a plane ticket to your home country costs, you don't tell the truth and say something 25% of the real price (you'd say less if you could, but then they wouldn't believe it either). If people ask about your travels, you omit most of the places and what you’ve been up to.

But still… Just the fact you’re spending a few days in an “hospedaje”, paying the national park’s fee to go up the mountain, renting camping gear, and eating and drinking without any concerns, it means you’re probably spending in a couple of weeks what most of the locals have for a few months of living…

So, if after a night out you’re suspicious someone might have overcharged you a bit on your consumption, whose fault is it – theirs or yours?

Probably no-one’s, probably everyone’s. But I’d just like to go back to the Heisenberg’s Principle for a minute here…

I could travel forever - part 2

2009-06-18T02:29:00.015-05:00

(Sunday-Friday, 6-12 June 2009)

Google map:
http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=el+cocuy+colombia&sll=6.948239,-75.311279&sspn=5.341858,11.206055&ie=UTF8&ll=6.399919,-72.274933&spn=0.334359,0.700378&t=h&z=11

Cocuy National Park. A 6-day hard hike in high mountain, between 4,000 and 5,000 meters, the all time. My first one.

It was an opportunity to learn from experience. Aspirins are handy, for instance. As are flip-flops, despite the cold, so that you can wear something dry to walk at the end of day. You should wear neither jeans nor cotton fabrics, as those suck your heat out when wet – synthetics are much better for that purpose. A proper rafting-like dry-bag is worth gold, instead of less reliable sealable plastic bags. Just to mention a few…

It was also an opportunity to stretch my comfort zone...

At the beginning it was the fear of getting lost at some point in the trek. But then you start getting confident about it – even if on occasions there are no rock signs to follow, the map, your instinct and your more experienced hiking companion (Micha, my partner on the trek, had a few previous high-altitude mountaineering experiences under his belt) do the job.

But then you get terrible weather – light but steady rain for hours, followed by more intense horizontal rain and snow, brought by freezing wind close to a high-mountain passage – that sucks the heat out of your body through your wet clothes, leaves you shaking, and forces you to camp sooner than planned.

Then the weather gets clearer, you no longer think of going back to the starting point and start enjoying the walk again. But then the effects of altitude start kicking in, you feel tired, you feel you’re not getting as much oxygen in your muscles as you’d like to, the high-mountain passages seem to become steeper and steeper, and you cannot believe you’ve only made less than one third of them.

Then you get back to your old self, as your body gradually gets used to the altitude, and your blood runs thinner, much with the help of the aspirins. But then the weather gets worse again and you’re afraid of freezing again too. You’re afraid of not getting the direction right amidst the fog. You’re afraid that the knee you hurt the day before starts slowing you down.

But then the rain just comes and goes, and you’re not as wet as you feared. Your knee hangs in there, you’re walking faster than ever before and you get yourself out of the mountain range after 5 long days of hard walking, and see the first sign of human presence – a small farm in the valley at far.

You feel deep tiredness, relief and happiness that you conquered your fears and overcame everything with no incidents, but also some sadness that all that beauty is behind you.

After all, it was also an opportunity for some of the landscapes of my life…

Here it is the map of the itinerary - if you can zoom in you may actually see something! Try to open the image in a new window by right-clicking on it, it will help... The spot where we spent each night is marked with an "N"

=== DAY 1 ===

Micha in a "milk truck". That's the only means of transportation that gets you to the beginning of the high-altitude mountain range. Several milk trucks navigate the hills and valleys between 2,500 and 3,500 meters to collect the milk from several widespread farms. We left Cocuy at 6.30am and arrived at the drop off point (Hacienda Rita Cuba) only around 10.30am. A long, bumpy and smelly ride. Have you ever smelled 1 cubic meter of fresh-from-the-cow milk?

We must have stopped over 50 times, often to get as little as 5 litres at a time. A lot of potential for optimisation here, consultant!

A nice and easy walk uphill to start with...

Photo taken an hour or so before we were too cold to keep walking and were forced to camp before planned (we had liked to have slept in Laguna Grande de los Verdes - you can check it in the map)

=== DAY 2 ===

The following day woke up cloudy but fairly dry, so we decided to give it a try and keep walking ahead, instead of back to the starting point...

The high-mountain passages were starting to get punishing here...

Excitement at the first proper sight of a glacier. OK, I don't seem that excited, but, believe me, I was

Well deserved hot drink at dusk, when we finally arrived at the camping site for the second night. The weather was getting completely clear and we were amazed at the landscape around us - it got even better the next morning...

=== DAY 3 ===

Waking up early in the morning at Laguna El Avellanal. The Valle de los Cojines is behind it, and before the high-mountain passage you see at far. The landscape of my life...

The same high-mountain passage of the previous photo, now seen from a bit closer

Waterfall at the Valle de los Cojines: impressive height and an amazing valley at far

Beautiful steep cliffs, just to the left of the valley

The same waterfall, seen from the water level. Feels like jumping, doesn't it?

Valle de los Cojines is a pretty swamped place. You need to jump from dry spot to dry spot for over an hour. And it’s good to pick the green formations, as the darker ones are already dead and don’t sustain your weight anymore. From the look of my boots, you can tell it’s not an easy task…

=== DAY 4 ===

Back to cloudy weather... This large vegetation (cactuses?) was the only tree-like formation we could find at that altitude...

One of the rare glimpses of (almost) clear sky in Laguna de la Plaza, the camping spot for the fourth night. We kept most of the glacier to our right during the journey...

Now with me in the picture!

Laguna de la Plaza - hum... Scotland?

My sleeping gear - here, just missing two pairs of socks, a scarf and a bonnet... Very sexy, isn't it?

=== Day 5 ===

The one before last high-mountain passage (passage "A" in the map). Too windy, rainy, cloudy and cold to appreciate it, really...

Lunch already outside the high-mountain range and below the level of the clouds, in the valley of the river Laguinillas and of its five lagoons

Sunset in the last high-mountain passage (passage "J" in the map, close to "Vivero del PNN")

Here you can see "El Púlpito del Diablo", "El Diamante" and "Pan de Azúcar" at far. Funny enough, we had better views of the peaks around Laguna de la Plaza from the last camping spot than when we crossed it... Another "cherry on top of the cake" this last night was the appearance of a fox at the entrance of our tent - not more than one meter away. The fox stole my spoon (it still had some pasta from dinner) and came back twice. A special moment that definitely helped remind you that you were no longer at high altitude...

=== Day 6 ===

Back in the milk truck, and another long ride, from 8am to 11.30am, when we finally got to Guican, a small village still 45 minutes away from Cocuy. A heavenly lunch, a beer and a final bus ride were separating us from "home"

Waiting in Guican. Tired and tanned from the equatorial sun at 5,000m . Man, what a relief and deep feeling of happiness I was experiencing here...

I could travel forever – part 1

2009-06-17T19:14:00.015-05:00

(Saturday, 6 June 2009; Friday-Monday, 12-15 June 2009)

Google map:
http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=el+cocuy+colombia&sll=6.948239,-75.311279&sspn=5.341858,11.206055&ie=UTF8&ll=6.719165,-74.542236&spn=5.344414,11.206055&z=7&iwloc=A

You often hear that interacting with the locals is one of the best aspects of travelling. You also have the guidebook for any country claiming that’s the place you’ll find the friendliest and most welcoming people on earth. Also often all that sounds as bullshit, or commonplace at least.

But not for Colombia, I’ve to say. And definitely not for El Cocuy.

El Cocuy is a very small village of around 5,000 inhabitants, and is the starting point for any hike up the beautiful mountains and glaciers of the El Cocuy National Park. And that’s it – at first sight, it has little else to offer.

But then you meet the people. And you don’t have to do much, just speak the language: they come, proactively, and welcome you. They ask where you’re from, and suddenly one of them starts talking of Mario Soares and the 1974 revolution (!). As any beer talk, it goes in circles and repeats itself over and over again. You talk about football, tell jokes about women and are asked to exhaustion what do you find of Colombia, and of Cocuy in particular. They’re all eager that you find it “chévere”, “bacano”, “una ‘A’”. In one word: “excellent”. And it is.

Cocuy is a bit remote, and climbing the snow-peaked mountains a bit tough, so tourists are still something sort of a rarity around here: less than 100 foreigners a year. In result, locals feel happy and honoured by your presence, going out of their way to make you feel at home. And they do.

======

You arrive on a Saturday morning not expecting much, with the only objective of quickly renting some camping gear (no easy task!) and buying food to leave the next morning to the mountain. That’s it.

But then at lunch time you enter a small “tienda”, just to make a quick phone call, and are suddenly surrounded by locals and beer bottles. They want to buy you a round – not expecting one in return – and get to know you. You can’t refuse. You stay for a few hours. You get out a bit tipsy and have to run next door to buy food for the mountain hike, before the store closes. Grocery shopping takes more than an hour, as it’s not easy to choose between chocolates and candies with more than a few beers under your belt…

You feel your head a bit clearer after such demanding mental effort and go around the village after the last grocery item missing: bread. It’s late in the afternoon and most doors are already closed. After some time looking you finally find a place that sells bread. Result: another group of… what should I say?... excited locals grab you in, buy you a few rounds and you stay for another few hours.

After lengthy excuses and thank you’s you manage to get out and go for dinner, hoping the food absorbs some of the beer. It does, and you go for just a short game of pool, so that you can go to bed early before what promises to be a several-day hard mountain hike. Wrong move: the people in the billiard place are at least as welcoming as the ones before. A random guy comes in, offers rounds of “aguardiente” and gets out. A few militaries come in, laugh with us, watch a few card tricks and go back to their lives. Those inside keep drinking and partying.

After the place closes, yet another group of locals come buy and chat with you for long, outside, in the cold night. Amongst the already heard-off jokes about women and homosexuality (seems to be an obsession in Cocuy!), you are told some advice: “As you’re going to the high mountain tomorrow don’t forget to sleep and hydrate well – drink a lot of water!”.

You know what? Too late!!

======

A week later you come back from the mountain. You’re exhausted, but a couple of local girls invite you for a salsa dance in the only night club in town. You can’t refuse…

The locals you didn’t find during the day, you meet them at the salsa place at night. The entire village seems to gather there – men and women, the young and the old. People are extremely happy you still remember them after a week – they embrace you, they dance with you, they sing with you.

You’re dancing with local girls, so you’d expect some antagonism – or at least antipathy – from the local men. At least you could expect that if you’d be in Portugal… But no: it happens exactly the opposite! What is wrong (or right?) with this place?

It starts raining. The dance floor is on an open terrace, but no one seems to care. Everyone parties like crazy, even after the joint gets closed. The night goes long and you miss the 4am bus you had bought tickets for. When I pass by the ticket booth the next day, to try and exchange the ticket for the following day, the old lady looks at me with a smile, says nothing, does the drinking signal with the hand, smiles again, and shakes her head. Small town, so I guess she must have heard something…

At night you go for one last pool play at the favourite place and the couple who runs it invites you to their house, and offers you food and drinks until late. They are taking the next day out – it’s a national holiday – and invite you for a swim in some hot springs close by, and then a pic-nic. You happily accept the invitation, and the departure date changes yet again. It ends up being another long day (and night) of eating, drinking, and partying.

The last day, when I finally get to the bus stop at 3.30am and need to change my ticket (yet again!) the same old woman smiles at me with the same maternal face of before. “Ah! You’re leaving! I was starting to think you’d stay here forever…”

======

I just hope this place stays the way it is now – welcoming, genuine and out of the tourist radar screen. El Cocuy – a small town with a very big place in my heart.

Cocuy on my Saturday arrival - it was still morning. This little village takes partying seriously...

All white buildings, consistently with an horizontal green stripe in the bottom. They look so... Portuguese?

I used to spend summer holidays in a small Portuguese village where this was the type of retail store you'd buy your food from. They aren't around these days anymore - but they still are all that you have in Cocuy...

We came in this place just to buy some bread, and ended up staying for a few hours. That day we drunk with Cocuy's police inspector and primary school teacher, apparently. Ah! And the man by my side works in the Town Hall - didn't get it if he was the mayor or not. Whenever another of the locals would start talking a bit louder, in the "heat" of the conversation, he would always tell us: "It's all right, they'll behave - I have a gun!". He did - we showed it to us later...

Later in the day, in the billiard place that would took as "hostages" most of the time. We nicknamed the old man reclining against the blue wall "Master Yoda" (only amongst ourselves - need to show some respect!). He came across as long-lived and wise - even if we couldn't understand much of what he said...

Pic-nic in Guican (another small village close by) with the couple who owns our favourite billiard joint, days after coming back from the mountain

Playing "tejo" later in the day, also in Guican. It's a more sophisticated version of the Portuguese "jogo da malha": you throw a metal disk at gunpowder packets to try and blow them up. The women were the best at it...

Here's a metal disk, right in the middle of the circle of gunpowder packets - that's worth 5 points. Hitting the gunpowder is worth 3 points. If nothing of that happens, the metal disk closer to the centre gets 1 point. But, who cares? - you can see in this picture what the main goal of the game is...

The "tejo" gang. Farther to the left, Micha (my German companion during the mountain hike) and Guy (an Australian staying for a few weeks in this enchanted place). To my right, Aura and Hugo, who own the billiard place. And three other folks from Bogotá who we met that day - as friendly as everyone else...

Back to Cocuy later that day. We just came in the store to buy a quick snack and ended up finding "good old friends" from the nights before. Another hour lost (or gained?), free beer, and genuinely happy faces from realising we remembered their names and who they were: "These are the Portuguese, German and Australian I told you about - nice folks!" Everyone partying like teenagers - who can understand this?

Dinner time. We had eaten - and loved - pork "rellenas" (something close to the Portuguese "morcelas") a couple of days before and were eager to try the chicken ones. We hadn't realised the food gets stuffed in the chicken's neck... Ah, and you are supposed to eat the chicken's head too! The most we managed to do was to have a go at the eyes and comb...

We didn't eat much of it - just couldn't - and I felt a bit sick most of the dinner, to be honest. We were lucky we had bought plenty of "pasteles" (tasty potatoes filled in with rice and meat)

Again, this could well be in Alentejo, Portugal

2009-06-17T18:58:00.008-05:00

(Friday, 5 June 2009)

Google map: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=barichara+colombia&sll=53.826597,-4.042969&sspn=12.731845,28.125&ie=UTF8&ll=6.948239,-75.311279&spn=5.341858,11.206055&z=7&iwloc=A

Barichara: perhaps a couple of decades ago, but still like Alentejo…

Grade 5: 5 stars

2009-06-04T21:07:00.008-05:00

Still in San Gil: as mentioned in the previous post, today was day of rafting…

Rio Suarez runs in a gorgeous canyon, but the landscape is still no rival to the stunning beauty of the lush steep cliffs and waterfalls of Rio Pacuaré in Costa Rica, where I rafted before in this trip. And Pacuaré also beats Suarez in terms of length of the trip and the incredible number of consecutive - almost non-stop - rapids, one after the other, all the way down.

But sometimes experiences leave a mark not because of the “average thrill” they provide, but because of the peak of excitement you achieve. That’s the case of rafting in Rio Suarez.

Most of the rapids range here from grade 2 to 4+, the same as in Rio Pacuare (by the way, for a quick guide on rapids’ classification, check http://www.proriverrunners.com/index.php?page=78). But then it came the last rapid, of grade 5. It distinguished itself from the remaining due to the above average size of the waves and holes, and its length. You’re just thrown up and down, right and left, over and over again, for quite some time. You’re called the “Down!” command (that's when you need to get down and seat on the bottom of the raft and hold yourself to the security rope, to avoid being thrown overboard) 3 or 4 times, one right after the other, with just enough time for a couple of paddle thrusts in-between. You can’t see much of what’s happening outside the raft – just water, blue sky and water again. And great, great fun.

Result: two folks in the raft ahead of us were thrown overboard – no injuries, just half-scared half-excited faces and something to laugh about. Our raft had nothing to report.

But no reason to brag about it – we had gone before through the humiliation of, in a smaller rapid, getting the raft stuck in a huge rock, an inch away from rolling over, with water filling it in its entirety, and the six of us hanging on the same side of the raft (the only part still above water level), trying to keep it balanced. We stayed like that for what it seemed a long time, until we managed to release ourselves and descend the rest of the rapid with the raft backwards, and without much control of the direction. During that operation the instructor on our boat kept his cool while speaking in English ("It's OK guys, no problem. It's under control!") but let go a bit more in Spanish (“¡Ah! ¡La gran puta!”).

I can’t wait to do this again…

Whitewater, Rio Suarez

Jumping back to the raft, after a short relaxing swim in shallow water

_ Gorgeous canyon...

Where have I seen this before? I'm the first guy to your right on the video. By the way, this is not the class 5 rapid - this one is class 3, if I'm not mistaken

I did it

2009-06-03T22:31:00.010-05:00

Google map:
http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=san+gil+colombia&sll=53.800651,-4.064941&sspn=12.739664,28.125&ie=UTF8&ll=6.568776,-73.200531&spn=1.336959,2.801514&z=9

San Gil is a quite small town, but anyone who likes extreme sports will feel here like a kid who enters Toys "R" Us for the first time – overwhelmed and having a hard time choosing…

The steep and windy canyons make perfect conditions for paragliding and mountaineering. Fast rivers and waterfalls are calling for kayaking, rafting, and rappelling. Name one, and you got it.

In the morning I decided to conquer my worst fear of all – bungee jumping (I think it comes from seeing people doing it over the beach of Ribeira de Ilhas, in Ericeira - Portugal, while not in total control of my mental abilities...). In the afternoon I tried something new – paragliding. Tomorrow, rafting – a recently discovered thrill. :-)

A few thoughts…

First, doing two of these things in the same day may be a bit too much. It’s great fun and rushes your adrenaline to unseen levels, but you may be somehow under anaesthesia from the first thrill when you get to the second… On the other hand, nothing like another beer to kill a hangover, right?

Second, A-M-A-Z-I-N-G! I don’t know what’s best – if the incredible sensations you go through during these activities or the stupid smile and feeling of absolute peace and happiness that walk with you during the rest of the day. I haven’t felt this level of relaxation and inner satisfaction since… I left London!

Third, a special word for a special fear: bungee jumping. It was as exciting to do as terrifying to anticipate and imagine beforehand. And that’s what makes this type of experience so special…

Adrenaline – what a drug.

"The bridge". OK, not the highest bungee jumping spot in the world (only something like 25m, I think), but you need to learn how to walk before you learn how to run, right?

We arrived much earlier than the bungee jumping instructors, so had time to... gain some courage

Smile of overconfidence, not nerves at this point. Here I thought I'd be laughing at the camera and telling jokes when about to jump

Well, not very talkative before jumping, am I? I refused to jump at the first count of 3-2-1, so what you see here is the second attempt. Curiously, what gave me the most fear was having to step up on the bridge's breast-rail - stupid, right? It's only one meter more after all... Well, finally I cleared my mind of any thoughts, and just did it - it's easier that way. The screams and the arm waving furiously - I had to let it out somehow, right? Better that way than... you know...

Getting ready to paraglide, still under the effect of anaesthesia

Flying, where only the birds do :-)

Previous sky-diving experiences helped me cool down and enjoy the experience. However this thing is far more manoeuvrable and is able to quickly change altitude - up and down - in a way a parachute can't. If feels a bit more... hum... fragile!

Impressive when the guy steers the paraglide a bit more harshly, and you start spinning and moving up and down. Cool...
_

That's not me, but the guy who followed. But it goes high, doesn't it? Up to 800 meters today :-)

Great naming, made in Colombia

2009-06-03T22:22:00.002-05:00

(Monday, 1 June 2009)

OK, the name “drugstore” can also be used for similar jokes in English, but I just love how, very often, Colombians choose to name their drugstores “drogas x” instead of “drogaría x”.

Well, for me it results as more eye catching, that’s for sure.

Drugstores in Mompós – it could be anywhere else in Colombia

Mompós, Alentejo - Portugal

2009-06-03T19:06:00.006-05:00

(Monday, 1 June 2009)

Google map:
http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=mompos+colombia&sll=53.904338,-4.042969&sspn=12.7084,28.125&ie=UTF8&ll=10.049994,-73.806152&spn=2.65012,5.603027&z=8

From its atmosphere, it could be a little village in Alentejo, south of Portugal: hot (damn hot!), peaceful, genuine, friendly and beautiful.

I was positively impressed by the colonial architecture, which not being as majestic as that of Cartagena (not even close) is impressive nonetheless. But what left me most satisfied with the all experience was the cosiness of the place. Absolute tranquillity in walking the streets at any hour of the day or night, no harassment from anyone trying to sell sex, drugs or sun glasses, friendly locals proactive in advising me on what not to miss in their home town and… no other tourist in sight. Not a single one for the all time I was there.

I felt like visiting a little piece of real Colombia. As I walked through the streets I felt people didn’t look at me as stranger and foreigner, but with the same friendliness they addressed to each other, greeting me “buenos dias” and “buenas noches” as if I were their neighbour. This includes the family that owns Casa Amarilla, the hostel where I stayed – being the only tourist around, they asked me to be the official photographer of their newly refurbished rooms, for a promotion to be soon launched, targeted at Colombian tourists from Bogotá. Of course, I accepted, but I'm not too sure about the photos - only time will tell...

All very nice, very nice indeed.

Additionally, being able to read Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s “Crónica de una muerte anunciada” in the small Colombian village where the story takes place added some more charm to the all thing. Proudly, I was able to read the book in Spanish without any major problems. ¡Si!
_

Break-dancing?

Cycling my way around - due to the heat, only possible after 5pm really...

Just like that

2009-06-03T09:56:00.009-05:00

(Sunday, 31 May 2009)

Google map:
http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=pt-PT&geocode=&q=mompos+colombia&sll=53.904338,-4.042969&sspn=12.7084,28.125&ie=UTF8&ll=10.049994,-73.806152&spn=2.65012,5.603027&z=8

Bus ride from Barranquilla (in the north, by the coast, in the Google map) to Mompos. It was a forced stop in Barranquilla as I arrived too late from Santa Marta to get a bus the day before. Ugly town – nothing to write home about, really. Well, it’s the home town of Shakira, so perhaps I can say it’s an ugly city with beautiful sons…

The ticket, bought the day before and printed in an impressive computer system says 7.45am. I arrive with plenty of time to spare, just in case. I ask the woman at the ticket booth for the departure time, just in case. 8.00am, she says. I go for a walk, find the bus and ask the driver for the departure time, just in case. 8.30am, he says. The bus leaves at 8.20am. Departure time given as +/- half an hour. No surprises, right?

The road from Barranquilla ends in Mangangué, where a 45-minute ferry takes passengers and cars upstream the Magdalena river, to a small little town from where the road journey continues.

It was supposed to be a long 8-hour ride in total, but ended up being even longer, more like 11 or 12 hours, for sad and unexpected reasons: half way the Magdalena river journey a small fast boat with locals coming in the opposite direction hits the ferry by the side, rolls over, people and cargo are thrown out to the river, and an old man, who couldn’t swim, drowns do death.

Of course, the ferry didn’t even tremble, and unless you were watching the events from the deck you could not tell anything had happened. I didn’t see the accident as I was sleeping in the bus, but was awaken by the excited screams of the other people inside, who got up quickly and went out to see what had just happened. When I got outside the only thing I could distinguish were people’s heads above the water, small from the distance, trying to stay afloat and swimming towards the shore. The bad news came later. The casualty, of course, but also the sad story of the captain of the small boat who apparently had more alcohol than blood in his veins. As everyone else in the boat with him. I don’t want to know what will happen to him – nothing, perhaps?

It really makes you think: how quickly and easily these things can happen, and how irrevocably people’s lives can be changed forever. Or terminated. Just like that...

The ferry had to stop and wait for 3 long hours, so that the police, first, the military, second, and the port’s authority, third, could arrive, collect testimonials and take care (?) of things.

Amidst the tragedy it was curious to observe how human group behaviour in these circumstances is so much the same pretty much anywhere in the world. The speed at which gossip travels from mouth to mouth and the most incredible theories are created. The ease with which you form a bond amongst those who are on the same side of the event, and how quickly you see the other group as the “enemy”: “No, don’t go there – let them come here instead! There are more of us here in the ferry and we can easily kick their ass, as I’m sure they’ll want to do something stupid!” [someone yelled this, as the ferry’s crew was preparing to jump off to shore, and meet the several shipwrecked who were now gathering, along with a few passers by, in a small house by the river].

There was also the attitude of the “people of authority”, looking at everyone with a sense of superiority, with a face of who just had - unfortunately - their sleep interrupted, and was doing a favour helping the “little people” solve the problem they had created themselves, out of their stupidity and insignificant existence.

It eventually became a small festival, with people almost forgetting what had just happened, protesting the all time for having to wait so long against their will, and entertaining each other with jokes and stories – some of better taste than others.

Poor old man. I’m sure he was far from imagining this when he woke up that day.

The shipwrecked, at far

It was a small speed boat, just like this one...

Gossip, hear-say, gossip, hear-say

Interesting, the effect "authority" can have on people. Once they knew a port's representative was coming, the ferry's crew got really busy arranging a table and chairs so that "His Majesty" could write his report in peace. As if he was the Pope or something...

Killing time, watching a group of men chatting about the accident, just below me (previous photo). As the only tourist on board, I felt I could easily stay away from it all - I did

Beauty, despite the tragegy

Road safety, made in Colombia

2009-06-03T08:03:00.004-05:00

(Sunday, 31 May 2009)

Nice big truck loaded with bananas, right?

Now check the rear tires…

… And compare with those in the front. I don’t want to be around when this guy needs to break!

LatAm’s common denominator

2009-06-01T20:18:00.002-05:00

(Sunday, 31 May 2009)

From Guatemala in the north, to Colombia in the south – after 4 months travelling, what do I think brings Latin America together?

I could say the language, for instance. But no, I choose a set of different (and somehow random?) facts:

1) The most annoying car alarm in the world. I can hear in Medellín the same sound that kept me awake at night at UPAVIM, as the alarm of a taxi parked just by us would go off whenever fireworks would take lace – or a different type of fire… And those were quite frequent – and I mean both of them… I’m sure the guy who trademarked the bloody alarm is a rich man by now.*

(*note to myself: I really need to record the sound the next time I hear it!)

2) The most successful Latin song of 2009. It’s “Llamado de emergencia" by Daddy Yankee, a Reggaeton master from Puerto Rico - cheesy, cheesy. I’d sing it while asleep if you’d play it by my ear. The construction workers at UPAVIM listened to it over and over again – all day long. It was on my jeep’s radio when the most unforgettable road event of the trip so far happened in Costa Rica (I’ll tell more about it when I get home…). It’s often playing in the Colombian buses too. Remember the hit of “Lambada” two decades ago? Multiply it by 10, and you’re still far from imagining this one.

daddy yankee - llamado de emergencia songs
Free mp3 download | free music download

3) Men hanging outside buses’ doors screaming their destinations out loud. These people work in the bus along with the driver and their job is to scream their lungs out so they can collect more and more passengers at every (unmarked and non-official) stop, as well as to collect money from passengers (a not very safe job, at least in Guatemala City). I’ll never fail to smile and being transported back to this trip at the scream of “Guaaateeé-Guaaateeé!!” (announcement of any bus heading to Guatemala City).

4) Salesmen stepping in and out of buses all the time. They’ve very well memorised speeches, always spoken in the most elaborated and educated terms – “Estimados pasajeros, señoras y señores, niñas y niños: pido vuestra muy amable atención para algo qué creo será de vuestro interés…” They sell everything: from tiger balm in Guatemala (I bought that one), to DVDs for children in Costa Rica, or chocolate bars in Colombia (note: these items and countries could have been paired up in any other order). A bus ride back home will no doubt seem colourless without these entrepreneurial pitches.

When will it sink in?

2009-06-01T20:17:00.001-05:00

(Saturday, 30 May 2009)

When will it sink in, and what will it mean?

Places pass by. People too. As do the feelings and thoughts that came with them.

I’m at the point when one has gotten used to being travelling. You don’t count how many days have passed anymore, or how many may eventually be left.

You’ve gotten used to just be on the move to the next thing. The ripples of the last experience are still trembling in your mind, but you already are setting your gear and going to the next stop. Chosen the day before, or even that same day, at the bus station. That last indecision around two or three possibilities solved like you would be tossing a coin.

This means you can move on without fully interiorising what you’ve just gone through. Of course you think about it, you analyse it, but often these things take some time to be fully digested. But you’re travelling – and thus on the move – and when you notice it you already are thinking of the following experience, not the one before. And then comes the next. And the next. And that very first experience is already too low on the pile of events for you to really get back to it.

And then you remember a certain moment of the trip that happened quite a while ago – two or three months might have passed. You happen to revisit a picture, or be at a place that triggers your memory. And you notice you haven’t thought about it since then. Or of so special it was.

It makes me wonder: when will all these experiences truly sink in? When will I be able to revisit them all, perhaps like you do in the photogram of a movie?

And how will it feel? What will it mean?