by Jane | Dec 2, 2014 | Ecuador |
I was dithering around and thinking about what to do when I left Cuenca because I had a few days before I was due to go into the jungle. Should I continue south to Vilcabamba or go up to Riobamba and ride the Devil’s Nose Railway? My mind was made up when Daniel told me that he was off to Baños to cycle the Rutas de las Cascadas and he invited me to join him. You can remind yourself of my previous visit to Baños by clicking here and find out how I did NOT enjoy that little outing along the cliff top the last time and how I had regretted not cycling it, so that decided things – I would go east with Daniel and give it a go.
Banos looking peaceful. Who would guess that one of those mountains is a very active volcano
Together we caught the night bus which deposited us in Baños at 3am. Waking the night receptionist at our hostel we were very generously allowed to sleep on the floor with him – or at least on the giant bean bags in a corner of the bar until the morning rather than paying for a bed for what was left of the night. The three of us and a cute little American Pit Bull puppy soon dozed off – waking just a few hours later to the wonderful sight of the mountains which encircle Baños and the waterfall thundering down the cliff outside.
peeping out from behind the waterfall
Despite very little sleep we were very soon up and out and off to hire a couple of bikes. And then it began to drizzle. But undaunted, we swooped off down the main road which I have to admit was a bit scary with some monster trucks whirling past rather too close for comfort. We went past the hydro-electric dam which disappointingly wasn’t operating this time around and then we were peddalling like mad through the first tunnel. On our bikes we then swung off the main road and onto the tiny track which clung to the side of the mountain and which had so terrified me the last time.
It was worst in the chiva bus
It was a thousand times better travelling under my own steam. I could relax and appreciate the view. We stopped at the rickety bridge to watch some crazy soul leap over the edge with what looked like just a velcro strap tied to his ankles and we oohed and aahed at the waterfalls which splashed down the cliff opposite.
down at the bottom of the ravine
There is something about the majesty and the only-just-contained power about a waterfall. There is no mystery about them – lots of water makes a river, river meets a cliff, water tumbles over the edge – but people flock from all over the world to wonder at them and stand, faces upturned into the light spray.
it stopped drizziling and made rainbows in the spray
Parking our bikes at the top, Daniel and I trekked down to the bottom of a couple of the falls. The sun had now come out and miniature rainbows were sparkling and dancing in the droplets of water which were suspended in the air. Everything was accompanied by the thunderous roar as the cascades crashed onto the rocks in the river beds below. I don’t know if it was because the morning had started off damp but we also met very few people along the route.
another fear conquered
The spectacular finale to the morning was the trek down to the Pailon del Diablo. Translated as something to do with the devil we clambered down steep steps and at one point reached out and we could touch the water as it roared past. We crossed a couple of rolling rickety rope and wood bridges to get deeper into the chasm as the noise richocheted around inside our chests and we could physically feel the beating of nature’s drum in our bodies.
The impressive Pailon del Diablo
I had not visited this cascada previously when travelling with M and I had sat at the top eating my cheesy puffs but I am so glad that I finally got down there. By now, after nearly a year of travelling in Latin America I was no longer quite so terrified of trip trapping across ricketty wooden bridges or charging down the long track which precariously clung to the side of the ravine on my bike. I had been striding outside of my comfort zone and pushing those boundaries way back into touch.
don’t be fooled by the force of that water
Our initial plan had been to cycle the sixty one kilometres all the way to the jungle town of Puyo but the road had begun to creep uphill and we were told by a local that it was uphill for the rest of the way. Lack of sleep and the exhertion of the climbs up and down to the river had taken their toll so we flopped at a bus stop and we waited for a ride to take us and our bikes back up to the town again.
Later that evening, a crowd of us decided that we should visit the thermal baths. I had been to these on my previous visit but I do enjoy a hot bath. I was missing my luxury of a bubble bath and while these didn’t do candles and music and a glass of red wine, they did do floodlights, a waterfall splashing down alongside and some very funny local people. Our little band of happy travellers was expanding and Daniel and I were joined by Laura from the UK, Ashley from the US and Inigo from Spain among others.
the picture doesn’t do this place justice with the waterfall crashing down in the background
The next day was another repeat adventure for me when we hired a cab to take us to the Casa del Arbol and the Swing at the End of the World. This time the cloud was a little higher and the sun was out although disappointingly we were still unable to see the smoking glowing crater of the active Tungurahua volcano. But swing we did and I went ever higher this time over the edge of the mountain. In a fit of fitness and much to Laura;s disgust we decided to let the cab go and walk back down to the town. It was a long way but at least it was all downhill and we took a short cut which accidentally but luckily brought us out at the mirador and the cross high above the town where we paused to catch our breath and wonder at the view below.
The swing over the End of the World
We hung about in the large bar of our hostel that night which did free dinners a few times a week and was an excellent marketing ploy as it ensured that the bar was busy. Early the next day I said goodbye to Daniel and Laura and I yomped with my rucksack through the town to the bus station for my bus to Quito and my usual hostel when in that city. Here, without checking in, I swapped my stuff around between my bags so that I could leave the big one behind because I had a night bus back out late that night to the jungle town of Lago Agrio and a really exciting four days ahead.
by Jane | Nov 18, 2014 | Colombia, My travels |
I am going to pause in my story at this point and fast forward you to Ecuador. I met some very special people when I got back to Cartagena and I shall continue my Colombian story in a later post, but for now, mid October found me in the south of Ecuador in Cuenca.
The colonial gem that is Cuenca
Described in every guide book as a ‘colonian gem’ I have to say that I have seen better on my travels but this city in the south of Ecuador oozes calm and tranquility.
old architecture in pristine condition
I stayed at the Mallki Hostel which was only opened six months ago by Andres. Along with his partner Eliana he has converted a derelict building into a home away from home, breathing life into its old bones. It is a hostel like many others with dorms and private rooms, a kitchen and a roof terrace, but what sells this hostel above many others is the ambience that Andres and Eliana have created.
The Mallki Hostel
Breakfast is included and there is a really great seating area with a large TV, an extensive DVD library and a Playstation with many games. A nice touch are the different guitars which are dotted around for guests to play and the beers in the fridge which are paid for with an honesty system when you settle your bill.
My Israeli friend strumming away on the roof terrace
There are optional daily (free) activites available to guests as well as plenty of free bikes to hire. They offer a free dinner to guests once a week, a cocktail evening, bike tours and group walks too. On my first afternoon there were no other takers for the bike tour but Giovani who works at the hostel didn’t hesitate to take me along for a tour of the parks and along the river banks.
Bikes and breakfast in the sun
On my second morning a group of us walked with Andres, Eliana and Vincent (their rescued from Peru Old English Sheepdog) to the large weekly produce market. I love markets but what made this one special was the presence of Andres and Eliana. They pointed out many of the different fruits and vegetables and even purchased different things for us to sample and then we all sat down to a filling set lunch which cost us very little indeed.
local colour and fresh produce
It was here at the Mallki that I met Brian. He is from the US and has been travelling for over four years on his BMW 1200cc motor bike. Beginning in Alaska he is working his way down to Buenas Aires and as I write this he is somewhere in northern Peru. You can check out Brian’s route here – but as a bike owner and rider myself I was very envious of his trip and mode of transport.
Brian preparing to set off for Peru
One evening Andres boiled up a big cauldron of magic which included a bunch of flowers, and then with the generous addition of home-made shnapps we all tested the local drink known as canelazo.
cooking up a storm in the local market
An extemely funny convoluted game of Jenga followed with ten of us from all nationalities playing until late into the night. Despite the large amount of canelzo, or perhaps, because of it, we all took it very seriously although we did end up bending the rules quite wildly.
Vincent surveying the dining area
Another afternoon and evening found a lot of us piled on the sofa and huddled under a blanket from the cold watching DVDs. We watched three in a row and was just like a grey autumnal day at home – I think we all needed this downtime.
yet another pretty church
Cuenca has some cool museums and architecture but much of its attraction lies in the surrounding countryside. I never actually made it to the Ingapurka ruins which are apparently Ecuador’s version of Machu Picchu but I did get to the Parque de Caja.
one of the lagunas at Parque de Caja
Formed from glaciers this region reminded me very much of Dartmoor in Devon – it was just bigger and higher with the muted greys and dusky greens and the Ecuadorian versions of gorse and heather. This park also has one of the highest concentrations of individual bodies of water in any highlands with over 271 lakes, ponds and puddles.
water water everywhere
We – two Spaniards, a French woman and a Chilean woman set off to walk around one of the larger lagoons. We had been warned not to attempt any of the larger hikes due to the inclement weather and the thick fog which was due to come down later. Sylvi, Gonzo and myself followed this advice and finished early, waiting for the others in the on site restaurant over a late trout lunch. We waited, and we waited and eventually we had to run so that we didnt miss the last bus out. Luckily the other two turned up in Cuenca having actually walked out of another entrance earlier.
another angle,another laguna
On another evening Andres led a group of us up to the Mirador. We climbed many steps up to the pretty little illuminated church at the top and stood and watch the city light up as the darkness fell.
marking the top of the mirador
I visited the largest museum in Cuenca – the National Museum of Banco where bizarrely, the ground floor was given over to an exhibition of erotic art whilst upstairs there were tableauxs and displays depicting life through the ages,m including a display of shrunken heads.
one of the little shrunken heads
The best bit about this (free) museum were the extensive ruins behind them. They were quite impressive and had some good information boards and some really nice gardens and water features, as well as a rather nice Belgium waffle place.
Cuenca had a very nice Indian restaurant which I tested with Connor from Australia and a not bad Italian place which I sampled with Daniel. I was really pleased when a young man from Colombia sat next to me in the central park with his seven year old son and began chatting to me. Colombians are so friendly and will chatter away to anybody and as you know I fell in love with Colombia and found it to be mostly safe but this man’s story showed the dark side of the country.
B and his son – I have disguised his face
B was a refugee who had fled from Colombia with his wife and two young children in fear for his life. He had been working as an anti-narcotic police officer in Cali but (and I really hope/wish that my understanding of his Spanish was incorrect) three members of his immediate family were very recently assasinated by members of the drug cartels when they found out he was a cop and he feared that he and his children were next on the list so he left his home and country
He was searching for work in Ecuador but had no papers and basically very little money to live on. I apologised and said that I had no spare money but wished I could help – but B was quick to tell me that he wanted simply to chat and forget his troubles and was not asking for anything from me. I believed him and despite his problems he was smiley and polite and his little boy very sweet yet subdued and quiet.
I gave his son some money for an ice cream and then I had to leave them to go and collect my computer which was being repaired. That didn’t cost as much as I had expected so I searched for B who was still wandering around the park and I gave him the difference that I had set aside for my computer repair. If I ever wondered at the truth in B’s story I didn’t doubt it when I saw the look on his face as I gave him the cash. He was lost for words and gave me a massive hug as did his little boy. I wish that I could have done more but hopefully he and his family at least had a decent meal that evening.
Cuenca is one of my favourite places in Ecuador despite being a bit cooler than others. If you visit and want a place to stay I highly recommend the Mallki hostel. If the efforts put in by Andres and his team so far are anything to go by the place can only go from strength to strength and get better and better. And if you want secure off-road parking for your motor bike he can supply that too.
I have stayed in countless hostels and I firmly believe that the best ones are owned or run by people who have travelled themselves. Andres was born in the jungle and is a qualified jungle guide as well as an adventure guide (leading rafting and survival courses), and as I have already mentioned, he has travelled himself. He can give you information on the local area as well as your further, onward travels and he plays a mean game of Jenga.
Disclaimer: Note:- Whilst I received some complimentary accommodation at the Mallki Hostal this did not influence my opinion or review in any way. I have portrayed an honest picture of my stay
by Jane | Nov 4, 2014 | Colombia, Destinations |
Kite fishing in Colombia
After the inactivity of Taganga, Palomino and Santa Marta the three of us –me, Emy and Lio headed off inland. We got a cab up into the mountains to the little town of Minka. We arrived in the drizzle without accommodation to discover that our options for accommodation were limited as everywhere was full.
As usual, we decided to get our priorities right and we immediately sat down for lunch rather than dashing around to find somewhere to sleep, and then, after chatting to the cafe owner about places to stay, we began to climb the steep steps behind the church to a hostel.
Accommodation was indeed limited but we settled for a hammock and a tent between us. The hostel was a strange place with hammocks slung among the trees in the forest and the main communal area being built of wood and all open to the air. But the views were amazing. From up here we could see the coastal city of Santa Marta (we just could not escape it) and despite Santa Marta and the coast not having had any rain for ten months, we were in lush, damp tropical forest with enough rain to sink a battleship.
We decided that we should go for a hefty hike the next day and beat our lethargic demons into touch. We set off up the mountain. Just one hour in it began to rain. Six hours later it was still raining. To say that we were wet was an understatement. When the rain was at its heaviest and with thunder and lightning echoing off the mountains, we were clambering up a narrow, steep path, miles, or so we thought from anywhere, when we came across a tiny little cottage. We decided that we would see who was home and we went in through the gate or at least Lio went in and Emy and I waited to see if he would come out alive.
Sat at a wooden table and staring out of the glass-less window was an elderly couple. They were sitting in the gloom watching the storm and eating tangerines. They spotted us looking like drowned rats and they didn’t hesitate to open the door and then invited us to sit with them until the worst of the storm passed. It was a mini-adventure like something out of a Brothers’ Grimm fairytale but there were three of us and the elderly couple were so very trusting to take us in, I think that our fears of a Hansel and Gretel moment were a little exaggerated.
With an earth floor and simple rustic furniture which we dripped all over they peeled and handed us segments of tangerine and attempted to communicate. After a while, they un-padlocked a door which bizarrely only led to the kitchen and proceeded to stir a pan which was on an open range. We didn’t want then to feel obligated to share their lunch with us, or to make us a part of it, so we thanked them profusely and set back off into the deluge, although this took a long while as the lady of the home kept on hanging on to me and Emy and was almost crying because we wanted to leave.
Continuing our uphill slog we finally reached the high point and posed for photos in the rain with a couple of guys who had reached the same point from the other direction and then we carried on along our circular route, but thankfully we were mostly going down hill by now. We were singing every song known to man which incorporated any wet and rainy lyrics and we stopped every so often to feast on the sweetest, ripest and discovered too late, worm infested wild mangoes which we collected from the ground under the trees.
The next day after watching a toucan hopping about in the tree canopy above our tent, we set off for the bus back to Santa Marta. We were fed up of the rain and whilst pretty, there wasn’t enough in Minka to keep even us three sloths occupied and certainly not enough rum.
Amazingly we were early enough to keep on moving and we caught an onward bus to Cartagena. Me and Lio hugged a hasty goodbye with Emy as we were deposited next to a supermarket on the road into Barranquilla and Emy disappeared into the afternoon sun all by herself towards Cartagena.
As per our usual pattern, we were not going to decide on anything until we had eaten, but we finally found our way to our hostel – The Meeting Point, Barranquilla. It was probably the only one in Barranquilla but it was run by a lovely family and had long term guests there who were working in the area. Lio and I decided to head off the next day for a very unusual tourist attraction in the port area. A wide river runs out into the sea from the city and in this down-trodden barrio it is flanked by some very rustic looking fish and seafood restaurants. We had lunch first at one of these overhanging the water and then went to find the little train that we had been told about.
Train is probably too grand a word for a platform driven by a lawnmower engine. Running along metal tracks embedded into the side of the road we slowly chugged along, following the riverbank. Soon we came to the sea, but strangely the track continued, along a barrier of piled up rocks between the river and the open ocean.
It felt very weird to have open sea on our left and the wide river mouth on our right as we trundled along the narrow strip of land on the train. We had stopped to pick up passengers at various points along the tracks and we soon had a full load. A couple of times the train broke down but the very fed up driver soon got it going again with a couple of whacks of a huge hammer. At the end of the line the driver indicated that we had an hour or so to walk to the very end of the point to the lighthouse if we so wished. The narrow pile of rocks which was lined with bleached wooden ramshackle huts turned out to the be the final resting place of thousands upon thousands of shoes and flipflops and plastic which had been washed up by the sea.
The shacks were basic resting and sleeping places of the fisherman who worked off the rocks. We spotted a few of them sat on the rocks and flying kites in the wind. Originally I believed them to be lazily idling their time away with the kites, but then we stopped and spoke to one of them. It turned out that they were kite fishing. They would sit on their rocks day and night flying their kites high as dots in the sky, whilst trailing off the kites’ string were long lines with hooks and baits which dangled far below in the water. Skilfully manipulating the kites the men dipped and played the lines and caught their fish which they would take to market the next day. Lio had a go, sitting on the rocks and flying the kite whilst the fisherman proudly showed off his catch so far to us.
Kite fishing in Colombia
When it was time to head back to the land the train broke down more and more frequently, taking more than twice the time that it should have and then it finally deposited us back at the port in the dark. Not too worried, despite our hostel owners warning to be out of this poor barrio before dark, we walked out of the area to the main road with the other passengers from the train. At the main road we all separated but despite waiting for about half an hour we were unable to flag down any cabs.
Lio and I decided to split our efforts and we stood either side of the busy road. And then it happened. A skinny, dirty little man approached me. Taking hold of the strap of my shoulder bag he quietly and politely asked me in Spanish to give him my bag. I obviously refused and told him where to go. He rolled up his filthy t- shirt to show me what looked like a knife stuck in the waistband of his trousers and then grabbed me and shook me while shouting now to give him my bag. And as I angrily screamed back at him and I told him to fuck off my mind was computing the fact that he had a knife. I thought that if he ordered me a third time to give him my bag the sensible thing would be to hand it over but he didn’t get a chance. Lio had been alerted by my yells and came powering over the road, yelling like a mad thing and with arms waving like windmills and basically calling the man every name under the sun in Spanish, French and English. Lio does security work and is an expert at martial arts. You only had to read his body language as he launched himself over the road to know that this was a man who would not be afraid to attack – and the would be robber turned and ran down an alleyway. At that point an empty cab approached and scared that it too would drive past I jumped into the road forcing it to stop. I actually shut me eyes as it skidded and wondered fleetingly if I had escaped a knifing to be squashed flat by a cab.
However it did stop and we jumped in and collapsed onto the backseat laughing with relief at our lucky escape. Well, after all, I had wanted adventure and this one had ended well. But we decided to head south for Cartagena the next day.
by Jane | Oct 28, 2014 | Colombia, My travels |
Lio and I took the bus to Santa Marta. It turned out that the Fiesta de Mar was in full swing with stages set up around the seafront and bands playing. A food market in one of the plazas was selling ceviche and other tasty things and it seemed that the entire town was out and taking part.
Fiesta de Mar in Santa Marta
We joined in with a Zumba session on the beach – much to the amusement of the locals, we watched a proesson go past but we gave up after two hours when it showed no sign of ending – and then as the most magical orange sunset lit up the beachfront we walked back to our hostel. We had some cheeky little cocktails on the way back as we chatted about our respective travels, life and the universe.
Santa Marta looking mystical
Lio is French and he has had his own fantastic journey before finally ending up here on the Carribean coast. It was his final fling on the continent and I was certainly up for a change of tempo. I hoped to visit Parque Tayrona and I also wanted to do the Lost City trek but both plans went by the wayside. I had lost/had my bank card stolen whilst in Playa Blanca so money was a bit tight. The next few weeks were crazy in their own way. We were joined by Emy from England who was also en route north and who had been persuaded by Lio whilst she was in Cartagena to join us. The three of us met up at the Hostal Jackie in Santa Marta where we shared a dorm and soon we were the best of friends and setting off on our adventure – heading first to Taganga for a night or two.
landing the day’s catch
Silly me! I had imagined that three well travelled people would be resourceful and imaginative and that we would be covering the ground effortlessly. We seemed to sink into a stupor, going to bed very late (if at all), mooching around until lunchtime and then more often than not we realised that we had missed the last bus (or simply couldn’t be bothered to go and find it) and we checked back into whatever hostel we were at again!
on the coast it’s too hot to move much
We didn’t seemed to do too much over the next couple of weeks except to ‘make a ploof’ – a Lio-ism for swimming in the sea, eat copious papa rellanas (on this stretch of coast they rivalled those in Trujillo, Peru), and laugh. We wandered slowly from place to place, eating and drinking and sleeping and diligently sharing out the bills to the nearest centimo, or dust as Lio tagged the shrapnel that we all carry around in our wallets. Me and Emy were attacked and stung my an army of wasps and poor old Emy had some ferocious sandflies nibble on her ankles. She will probably carry those scars to the end of her days and will forever be reminded of those couple of weeks when the three of us explored the Caribbean coast of Colombia.
our ‘cell’in Taganga before we trashed it. We drew straws for the double bed. Emy won
Taganga is a funny little place. It seems to be populated by people learning to scuba dive and aging hippies who kept the local drug barons in business. We met a lovely guy called Andres, a gentle giant who has an incredible talent for taking portrait photographs of the people that he meets and we met a couple from Spain who were travelling around. We all spent a VERY weird night sat chatting and chilling on the beach which involved visits from the local cops and being searched for drugs. At about two in the morning the majority of the street dogs joined us and flopped down on the sand amongst us and we also had one of the beggar/homeless men circling us for over an hour, yelling obsecnities at us while fumbling around with a stonking great big knife which was tucked into his waistband. It was at this point that I realised that I had settled into life in South America completely as he was not threatening or scary, just a little annoying as we were all trying to chat. and we ignored him like the pesky mosquitoes and the sandflies which were biting us.
Irony in Taganga. We couldn’t find a burger but we could have smoked and sniffed our body weight in drugs
The three of us were sharing a little cave of a room in a hostel and as we all just spent the next day recovering we quickly turned it into a pigsty. We had an ensuite bathroom but as the place was so small and there was only a curtain for a barhroom door we soon learnt to talk loudly!
leaving Taganga – just before our driver lost control and skidded towards the cliff edge
When we finally managed to stir ourselves from Taganga we went back to Santa Marta and spent another night at the Hostel Jackie. Walking into reception we were pleased to get our old room back. Up on the roof terrace I met Martin from an Argentina who explained that yes, the pool table was supposed to have no pockets and only three balls, and no, it wasn’t a pool table at all but a game called billar which was frustratingly difficult to play and made snooker and pool look like childs play.
playing billar
The next day, or maybe a couple of days later, who knows because by now the days were all merging, the three of us got on another bus and headed up the coast to Palomino. The countryside got wilder and dryer (they are having a serious drought here) and the homes got poorer. Palomino was once a little indigenous community on the coast but now includes some seriously laid back hostels and beach bums.
Lio making a ploof
Our first hostel of choice was probably as far from the beach as you could get – and after staggering back home in the pitch black during a power cut the next day we relocated ourselves a bit closer to where the action was happening. Not that an awful lot happened in Palomino. We did eat some amazing fish in a tiny little local restaurant and we did plan to go tubing on the river, and we did plan to go for a hike …..but you know the drill by now – we didn’t do an awful lot at all.
the estuary at Palomino
We bought ourselves a bottle of rum and whilst we were sat on our patio we were joined by the guy next door who I shall call Scot but who originated from Finland. He had been in the area for a while and had been helping on a project to build a treehouse. There was a little bit of alpha male banter happening and then when the guys decided to go together to the shop, me and Emy both looked at each other and announced that they would either end up fighting or come back as best friends. Luckily they turned up later arm in arm and the best of friends! And armed with more rum.
traditional meets modern – a man from an indigenous community on his mobile
We did manage to get ourselves along the beach to the point where the river joined the sea but we did decline the ayawasca ceremony which we were invited to because we needed to begin to head back down the coast and our respective onward journeys. Rolling into Santa Marta we had of course missed the last bus out again so rocking up at the Hostel de Jackie we treated ourselves to a dip in the little swimming pool and planned our next move.
just add mojitos
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by Jane | Oct 8, 2014 | Colombia, Destinations, My travels |
As the end of my original planned five weeks at the Ecohostel drew nearer I knew that I wasn’t ready to leave the area yet. Amagâ is a small mountain town where not a lot happens but it is one of the places on my trip that has stolen my heart.
the mountains around Amaga
Paola arranged for me to move in with a family and to teach English to the seven year old who I shall call Abra. So one weekend I moved from my shared dorm in the hostel with its cold showers and (very nice) vegetarian food to a place with a pool, my own room and massive grounds.
My routine was flexible but I began every morning with an hours walk back to the hostel so that I could continue with my Spanish lessons. Paola had replaced herself with Lu so that she herself could travel for a month and Lu from Mexico endeavoured to continue my education.
a pool with a view
I may have moved to a lovely home but this was still Colombia. Several events had the family laughing at me over and over again – from my shower which burst into flames above my head and dowsed me in thick smoke and flames, to the giant ants which set up a nest in my shoes. A dangerous spider was marching across my bedroom floor one morning – had it bitten me during the night I would have had to spend three days in hospital and the cockroaches and beetles were the two inch long variety.
these things actually manage to fly
Abra had an adorable four week old kitten which clambered everywhere and Abra just loved to kick a football around. I played handball with the sports team on one of their days out when as a group we all went for a hike into the countryside and I helped out with the basketball trainingat the town sports hall. I also taught English to a great seven year old girl (Juli) at her home and often Abra was joined by Jac – the thirteen year old daughter of the lovely Vivi who helped out at the big house.
I went out a couple of times with Mauri into the campa. Maura speaks fluent English and German as well as teaching Spanish and told me many stories and tales about the area. On one occasion we trekked slowly in the searing heat, stopping to swim in the crystal clear pool of a river which tumbled refreshingly cold down from the mountains and then we poked our head into the dark entrance of one of the (probably illegal and unregulated) coal mines. We also had a beer at a football pitch on top of the world. Up here there was a three hundred and sixty degrees panoramic view where the mountains just marched on and on in their green folds for ever and ever.
fresh cold water from the mountains
I popped in and out of Medellin and I also stayed for a while at the Ecohostel whilst Paola was away. That was challenging – not least because one of the big humpback cows got onto the land through a hole in the hedge. Me and the amazing dog Guia managed to herd it back out of the gate (four times) and stopped it doing too much damage. It was a massive animal and not very sweet tempered but I was very proud of myself that we accomplished that between us before it could eat or trample too many of the vegetables.
Before I set off on this Latin American adventure I was always nervous out by myself and I would avoid walking out in the dark or the countryside alone. But now I was walking miles and for hours down country lanes. I wouldn’t freak out when a truck or motorbike slowed to talk – in fact I was actively hitching rides from them and as for living in the middle of nowhere all by myself – some of my friends would never believe it possible.
hitching on the back when the truck is full
I met up with Diego a couple of times for English/Spanish intercambio. One night I was unable to return home to the big house because the guard dogs were roaming free during the night and the odds were high that I would get eaten if I attempted to open the gate, D’s mum insisted that I stay and she gave me dinner and then made up a bed for me in the spare room. I cannot get over the kindness and the generosity of people here in this small town. They never see anything as an unsurmountable problem and they are full of trust and sunshine.
I was invited to dinner with families when before eating I would be introduced to the neighbours and local kids would hang through the bars on the living room windows watching me eat. I will be a lot more sympathetic when I next visit a zoo and stare and watch the penguins because it is very weird to be watched and listened to while you are trying to get on with other things. Everything happens in the open here – even the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings take place with the double doors open to the street because it is so hot – and whilst everybody can see the semi-circle of people gathered I guess that it is such a small community there is no way very much can be anonymous.
these kids watched us eating for ages
Yo and his partner Joha always have an open house in the town – for people and animals. They are both involved with a local community group called Corporacion Cultural Poncherazo and Yo also organises an intercambio language group with the volunteers from the EcoHostel. People just drop in and out of their home and they seem to know EVERYBODY in the town. They are both mad keen on animals and they have adopted some of the street dogs and cats, taking them into their home at night and leaving bowls of food and water outside their door for the others. I lived with Yo and Joha for nearly two weeks at the end of my stay in Amaga and I cannot thank them enough for showing me such kindness. I was living with them close to the centre of town and I was a part of the community.
my favourite street dog, Orejas (Ears) I would adopt him if I lived in Amaga
the view from my kitchen window for a few weeks
Night life in Amagâ is low key but fun with a couple of bars and nightclubs. One rather odd place even has the mens urinal at the side of the dance floor!! There are a couple of hotels (love hotels) where people check in for the night or part night so that they can get some privacy and countless bars with some very colourful locals who are often rolling drunk but funny and harmless and spend their days in the parque or in the market.
Amaga on a sunny Sunday afternoon, complete with childrens car ride
Colombia is one of the richer countries that I have visited so far in Latin America but there are massive differences between here and my old home in the UK. For the majority of people here, their social interaction with others is of the highest priority – both for the simple act of connecting and sharing with others and also because good manners have been instilled into them from an early age. The children will just as quickly approach and ask very politely how you are, or ask where you are from, engaging in a conversation, just because they can.
just an ordinary mountain town
Shopping takes on a whole new meaning as shopkeepers serve several people at once and all contribute to a five or six way conversation about what is being bought, the price, why you want the product and the news of the day. I have finally got used to being in the middle of being served and then abandoned for another customer – but that just means that the customer to my left can start a conversation with me. I am also now used to interrupting the customer who is being served and asking the price of something and I no longer feel embarrased when the shopkeeper abandons them for me. Its just the way that it is here.
I am sure that I will return to Amaga and the region of Antioquia one day. In the meantime I take a little piece of it and its inhabitants away with me in my heart.
public transport mountain style
On my final bus ride out of the town I sat on the left hand side so that I could drink up the views for one last time. I had my dark sunglasses jammed on tightly and I wept a few tears at leaving. I really hope that I will be back one day.
by Jane | Sep 24, 2014 | Colombia, My travels |
I finally dragged myself away from Medellin and I hit the night bus for Cartagena. After yet another twelve hour journey through twisty turny mountain roads I was deposited on the outskirts of Cartagena. Stepping from the ice cold bus I immediately broke out into a sweat due to the intense searing heat and the humidity and I was to remain a hot, damp sweaty mess for the following five weeks. I was so damp that the metal clips on my bra got rusty!
Old town, Cartagena
If you remember the film Romancing the Stone you will know that it is about a writer called Joan Wilder who ends up having all sorts of adventures in Cartagena with Michael Douglas. It became a bit of a family joke that I (Jane Wilder) may eventually end up in the dangerous Colombian countryside so I was keen to check out the area.
Parque Trinidad buzzes at night
I was intially disappointed to discover that no filming was acutally done in Colombia and that no snappers (alligators) are roaming around in catacombs under the old city walls.
gathering on the walls to watch the sunset
However, Cartagena did not disappoint. I had the best of times here and as is becoming a bit of a pattern, I ended up spending a lot more time around here than I originally intended.
To begin with I checked into the Mamallena hostel on Calle Media Luna. This street is a hive of activity and in my mind is THE best place to be located if you stay in Cartagena. These little streets throb. Yes, they are noisy and dirty and very overwhelming but it is nitty gritty life acted out in front of you everywhere you look. Just along the road by the park the prostitutes sit and watch the world go by, the beggars roam around in their rags searching through the rubbish and you will probably be offered all sorts of drugs, but don’t let any of this put you off. Everybody is very friendly and just getting on with their own lives in their own way.
Media Luna Street
There is the famous Club Havana salsa club on the corner of the street although the night that I got in there it was standing room only and no dancing was physically possible. There are countless bars, restaurants and clubs here and the walled city is just a couple of blocks away, so as I said, it is the perfect location
just hanging around
After spending almost a week here during which I visited the castle and I spent a night in a hammock on the idylic beach at Playa Blanca, a face from the past (a Frenchman that I had previously met in Medellin) turned up at my hostel. After a brief chat and discovering that we were both heading up to Santa Marta a few days later, me and Lio decided to team up and travel together.
the idyllic Playa Blanca beach
My time on the Carribean coast all began quite normally but it soon escalated into a time of craziness which spun me way outside of my comfort zone and ended up with me having half of my hair cut off!
You can read about that crazy time in a future post but I did survive and after nearly two weeks on the coast in which I was the victim of a failed robbery, I got invited to an ayahuasca ceremony and I almost got arrested on a beach I ended up back in Cartagena again.
I only intended to stay for four days this time because I had seen most of the city, but as usual I ‘got stuck’. I don’t know what it is about Colombia but I keep sticking.
Oh, I do know what it is about Colombia. It is the people that I have been meeting – Colombians and travellers alike – who have been marching into my life and forcing me to re-evaluate myself – and dare I say this – to actually begin to like myself!
these guys were wild in the old town
