Journey to the Bottom of the World

Colombia: First Impressions

It turned out that taking a boat from Panama to Colombia wasn't meant to be.  After spending a week in Panama City waiting for updates on the sailboats, I eventually found that it was going to take at least 10 more days for any boat to return from Cartagena.  Even then there was no guarantee that the first boats to return could take a motorcycle.  Disappointed that I wouldn´t be doing one of the things I had looked forward to most, I woke up early on a Saturday morning and rode to the airport to check out the less exotic and less interesting alternative for getting to Colombia.  There were two airlines that could take the bike.  The first, Girag, had a cargo flight leaving the next day and could do it for $910.  The other, Copa Carga, didn't have a flight leaving until the following Friday, but they were charging $625, and I could leave my bike with them on Monday.  Since it wasn't important to have my bike with me in Bogota, I went with the latter, and said goodbye to my bike at the cargo terminal that Monday: Not really sure if I would ever see it again.  Being strapped to the pallet with the bike was not an option, so I flew out of Panama city on Tuesday, and arrived in Bogota that evening.

Bogota was so much more than I had expected.  Aside from finding a great hostel with a good group of people, the city was really pleasant to walk around.  I'm not much of a city person, but Bogota didn't feel nearly as congested as the others I've been to.  I felt perfectly safe walking around the city.  Of course I took cabs at night, but that's standard protocol for locals as well.  Check out the phone booth in the pic below.

 

The most striking thing about Colombia has been the people.  They are by far the friendliest I have met on this trip, and they want nothing more than to share their country with you.  I´ve used more Spanish here than anywhere else simply because everyone is so friendly.  For example, while at Monseratte in Bogota, a point overlooking the city, I met a group of 20 college students from Bucaramanga on a class trip.  They invited me to join them on their afternoon excursion to a farm outside of the city.  So an hour later I was riding to the farm on their chartered bus and my head was spinning from the immediate and intense Spanish immersion.  The farm itself wasn't anything to get excited about, but it was a nice way to spend the afternoon out of the city, and the grill we stopped at on the way back was awesome.  Dinner included a huge plate of beef, chicken, sausage, potatoes, and my favorite, fried plantains, all for five bucks.  To cap off the evening, our bus broke down in the middle of the city, about 30 blocks from where we needed to go, but the walk back was a good way to see a lot of the city and the Halloween celebrations that were happening throughout. 

 

My bike arrived that Friday, but customs was closed because of the holiday and I wasn't able to pick it up until Tuesday.  After feeling naked without my bike for a whole week, it was a huge relief to see that the bike had finally arrived safely.  The process of running around the cargo terminal to import the bike was a 5 hour ordeal:  One of those situations where everyone seems to know what they're doing, but no one actually does.  Around 4:30pm I rolled the bike down the stairs and into the parking lot where I packed up all my stuff.  The bike started up right away, but I noticed that my headlight was out.  I had planned to leave the city that afternoon, but by the time I left the airport it was already dark, and riding between cities at night is a worse idea in Colombia than anywhere else I´ve been.  I decided to make my way back to the hostel on the other side of the city.  Riding from one side of Bogota to the other, through rush hour traffic, and in the dark with no headlight, is definitely one of those, "I'd rather be anywhere but here" moments. 

The next morning I road north to Tunja, a pretty colonial city in the mountains.  I met a guy named Rodrigo who was staying at my hotel, and he took time off from work the following day to show me around the town.  He owns an insurance office in Tunja, where he lives during the week, and on the weekends he returns home to his wife and kids in Bucaramanga.  

The following two days took me north through the mountains and through several colonial towns along the way.  In Chiquinquira, I found the cheapest hotel of my trip.  It cost $3.50 for the night, and that price included a TV.  Needless to say, it was far from the nicest place I've stayed, with a bed that was shaped like a hammock and a common bathroom without a toilet seat.  The lack of toilet seat wasn't a problem though, because the eye-watering and gag-inducing "funk" in the bathroom air kept visits short.  The room itself was clean though, and I dosed off to the TV doing its best to show the one distant channel it could pick up.  You get what you pay for...

 

The next day took me through some beautiful canyons with postcard-perfect winding roads to the city of Bucaramanga.  As I made my way through the outskirts of the city, I ran into a local guy at a stoplight (not literally), who had the same bike as me.  He invited me follow him to the center, and then directed me to a hotel in my price range.  (I decided to splurge after the previous nights bargain!)  He came with me into the hotel lobby and bargained the owners down, so I have really nice place at a really good price.

 

It's almost hard not to meet people in Colombia. Last night I went to dinner and started talking with two guys at the restaurant bar.  Their parents belong to a country club of sorts and they invited me to go with them to a huge semi-annual party there.  After introducing me to their parents and other family members, I was dragged out onto the dance floor by one of their elderly aunts, where I proceeded to look like the only person in the ballroom who couldn't hear music.  I was definitely way out of my element; although when it comes to dancing, I don't really have an element to begin with.

I met up with Rodrigo today, and he showed me around Bucaramanga and its small colonial neighbor to the south, Giron.  I have to thank him for his overwhelming hospitality and friendship both here and in Tunja.  I´ve learned a lot about both places that I would have never known otherwise. 

Tomorrow I'm going to make the 9 hour drive to the coast.  It's supposed to be one of the most beautiful parts of Colombia, so hopefully I´ll have some good pics for the site!  Hasta Luego!

More From Colombia

Life's still great in Colombia.  From Bucaramanga, I made the long and boring ride to Santa Marta on the Caribbean Coast.  While the road south of Bucaramanga had picturesque canyons and windy roads, the terrain to the north is an arid flatland, and the road has a Kansas-interstate feel to it.  Police and military checkpoints were in abundance, with one appearing every 5 miles or so, but I'm yet be stopped at one.

The roads are certainly dangerous in Colombia.  Not because of Guerillas (knock on wood), but because double-lines (if you're lucky enough to have lines), mean nothing, and you can expect someone coming at you head on at any time, especially when cresting hills and in blind turns.  Likewise, if you're going into a blind turn, you can expect someone to try and pass, and then merge into you in order to avoid a head-on collision.  Right-of-way is determined by who has the bigger vehicle; putting me and all motorcycles at the bottom of the food chain.  I think we still have power over scooters though!  I've been pushed off the road several times, and I even had to jump up onto a sidewalk to avoid being hit by an oncoming bus in Baranquilla.  Another example of all out craziness, is on a section of road between Santa Marta and Cartagena.  I'm pretty sure it was supposed to be a four lane road; albeit a narrow one, but there aren't any lines to designate anything.  The outer lanes are the are the only sure place to drive, with the entire middle area filled with congestion moving in both directions.  Motorcycles fill any open pocket across all four lanes.   Right of way is decided by the same criteria as above.  The ride has been crazy in every country, but Colombia takes it to a whole new level.  In the end, it's really not that big of a deal.  But if you plan on riding in Colombia, be ready for anything and everything and you'll be fine.  With all that being said, I genuinely feel safer riding here than in the States.  Even with all the madness, people actually see you here, and everyone's driving with a heightened state of alertness just to survive.

The city/town of Santa Marta is nothing to get excited about, but it's a good place to spend the night before heading to Tayrona National Park, which lies just east of the city.  Tayrona is certainly one of the nicest National Parks I have been to outside of the States.  From the gate, it's a 45 minute walk on a forested trail to the beach.  It's inaccessibility gives it a tranquil and secluded feel, especially during the week.  The beaches were deserted and gorgeous, and it's certainly a place to get away from it all.  Since I'm on vacation, I'm not sure what there is to get away from, but I found it relaxing none the less.  After seeing dozens of leaf-cutter-ant highways throughout this trip, I finally stumbled across the end of one of those highways.  The huge pile of leaves you see in the pic is the staging point outside of the nest...yup, I'm easily entertained. 

From Santa Marta and Tayrona, I road west to Cartagena.  Cartagena is where I would have arrived in Colombia if I had taken a boat from Panama.  Aside from the four lanes of mayhem described above, there's another section of road on that ride that was equally shocking.  Part of the journey crosses a narrow isthmus that is no more than a 1000yds wide.  The road, on a berm about 10ft above sea level, is the high-point and it cuts right down the center.  On either side of the road, the terrain resembles a salt flat that goes to the ocean on the right and a lagoon on the left.  Sprawled throughout this area are vast shantytowns.  I've seen plenty of poverty on this trip and at other times overseas, but this was unlike anything I'd seen before.  The homes in the shantytowns were made of scrap metal, wood, tarps, and trash.  But what made this particular place different, were the huge areas of the town sitting in six inches to a foot of water.  The homes weren't on stilts, and judging from the terrain, I imagine that any sizable rainfall floods the town, and the people simply wait for it to evaporate.  In hindsight, I really wish I took a photo.  The photo could explain it much better than I, but at the time I didn't feel right pulling over and taking a photo.  I even considered riding back a couple days later, but thought that the five hour round trip wasn't worth it.

Cartagena was a really nice city, and I couldn't have arrived at a better time.  I arrived a Wednesday afternoon, and set off on foot to explore the city.  Two blocks from the hotel, I had shirtless kids and teens, covered in motor oil, mud, or grease, approaching  me with sticks and standing in my way.  They would run up to me, get right in my face, and ask for "monedas" or "coins".  If you tried to walk by, they would stand right in your way and not allow you to pass.  They also had the, "we are going to use these sticks" look on their faces.  So I did what I do in all similar situations, and acted like I didn't understand anything, including universal hand signals, then apologize, and keep walking.  I was never beaten with sticks, and the kids eventually gave up and accosted the next passerby.  Literally, every minute or two, I'd be approached by another roving band of stick-wielding children, and at times they would sprint from a 100yds away to block my path.  I stuck with my strategy and was fine.  I really couldn't believe this.  How could this be tolerated in a tourist hot spot like Cartagena?  I started to notice that these groups were not only approaching foreigners, but locals alike.  Even more shocking was that the some of the locals were actually forking over the money.  After walking around the town for an hour or two, I made my way back to the hotel.  Aside from the kids, there were now people in the street with cups of paint.  Same deal:  "Pay me or I will sling paint on you."  This is unbelievable!  With my limited wardrobe, I decided to pay the women with paint, rather than test how serious they actually were.

When I got back to the hotel, I asked the receptionist what the deal was, and he said that it was part of the Miss Colombia celebration that was happening that week.  Simply put, the kids with sticks and people with paint, were participating in a trick-or-treat of sorts.  Most of the kids were street kids and this was there couple days of fun for the year.  And yes, the more serious one's will hit you (not viciously) and smear paint on you (washable).  Didn't I feel like an idiot!  I actually felt bad for not giving the kids coins.  The next day I went back out armed with my pockets full of coins and it was definitely a lot more fun being "in" on the whole thing.  The "accosting" had much more of a game feel to it, rather than that of a serious ultimatum.  On the second day I asked a group of kids if I could take their picture and they were thrilled.  Definitely just a group of friends out trick or treating.

That afternoon, the whole city shut down for the Miss Colombia parade.  Aside from the extremely talented contestants passing by on floats, the parade itself was not unlike any other parade.  The crowd is what made it unlike anything I had seen before.  Rather than stand there mindlessly waving at the bands, dancers, and floats going by, the crowd battled it out with corn starch, water, foam, and paint; all in good fun of course.  You could do whatever you wanted to whomever you wanted, with no hard feelings.  I can only imagine what would happen at a similar event at home.  Yet here, things never escalated, and it was just fun.  I definitely received my fair share of paint, cornstarch, and foam, and had a great time.  Most of the gringos seemed to lock themselves down for the day, but those that went out were well received and customarily welcomed to the events.  That afternoon, the narrow streets of the city turned into an all out war, and you didn't go outside if you wanted to stay clean.  Buckets of water were being slung off balconies.  Careless drivers scurried to roll up their windows as seemingly harmless pedestrians would whip out cans of foam and unload on the car.  There were parties in every plaza that began at sunset and went well past my bedtime.  The whole day and night was "insane" to say the least, and I really can't imagine visiting at any other time of the year.  Obviously, under the circumstances, I don't have any photos from the festivities.

There were three more days of the Miss Colombia festival remaining when I left Cartagena, with Miss Colombia being decided on Monday.  On the day I left, I was able to walk several blocks to the bank and to breakfast without seeing any kids with sticks, so I guess the trick-or-treat portion of the festival was over.

Upon leaving Cartagena, I've finally started to head south and my journey should continue in that direction from this point on.  Colombia continues to be so much more than I expected and I really can't wait to see what else I encounter along the way.  I'll post again soon from Medellin...

Crossing the Equator

As I left Medellin and started the three day journey to the border of Ecuador, I was thinking back on my experiences in Colombia.  The country had just about everything:  Beautiful beaches, comfortable cities, mouthwatering empanadas, and the friendliest people I've met on the trip.  The only thing lacking was a memorable ride.  Sure there were some picturesque hills around Medellin and some switchbacks south of Bucaramanga, but nothing that was jaw-dropping.  The majority of the roads were either straight and boring, or curvy but with not much to look at.

On my last day in the country, I road from Popayan to Ipiales, and any feeling of disappointment I had in Colombia quickly disappeared.  The ride was not only the best I had in Colombia, but was easily one of the most impressive of the trip.  Each curve provided a more stunning view than the last.  As I've said 100 times before on this website, photos cannot do the views justice.  The sheer magnitude of the mountains made it difficult to take pictures: I simply couldn't fit enough into the frame to capture the feeling of being there.  The road itself was in great shape, and I was never on my center tread for more than 20 seconds at a time.  I can't think of a better way to wrap up my stay in Colombia!

I was hoping to cross the border that same day, but after checking out of Colombia, and checking myself into Ecuador, I found out that the person working at the aduana had left for an undetermined amount of time.  The aduana is the office that imports the bike into the country.  I waited for over an hour and eventually gave up.  Even if the person came back, I would have less than an hour of solid sunlight in Ecuador.  Disappointed that I couldn't cross, I road back into Colombia.  I´m not sure if this was an entirely legal move on my part, but it all worked ot OK.  I spent the night in Ipiales, and got up at 5:30am so that I could beat the Monday morning madness that´s found at any border.  I road directly to the aduana office and was surprised to see that I was the only person there.  The official took a look at my passport to check out the Ecuadorian entrance stamp I had received the day before, only to find out that I didn't receive an entrance stamp:  I received an exit stamp.  Even though I explicitly told immigration I was entering Ecuador, their wires got crossed and they checked me out before I had even entered.  He told me to go back to immigration, where I found at least 75 other people waiting.  "You've got to be kidding me!"  So much for my plans of covering some ground in Ecuador today!  I stood in line for a few minutes and then went back to the aduana.  "The line is really big and I already went through this yesterday.  Is it possible for you to talk to immigration about the problem?"  He said, "No problem" and he went over and had it resolved in 2 minutes.  Looks like the day wouldn't be a complete wash after all!  Once the passport situation was resolved, the bike paperwork took 10 minutes, and I was on my way!

The big question most people have about Colombia is, "Is it safe?"  While I was only there for a month, I can honestly say that I felt just as safe, if not safer than anywhere else I've been.  Now for the catch.  Unlike the other countries I've been through, where I basically went to whatever region I wanted, and road on whatever roads I wanted to ride (there are some exceptions), I was limited to the major routes in Colombia.  I wanted to take a couple other roads not far from the major routes, but each time I asked the police or military about the roads, they´d thoroughly convince me that it was a bad idea.  I probably could have ridden those roads without incident, but they weren't going to add enough to my trip to make it worth the risk or running into guerrillas.  The Colombian government takes security very seriously, and even the smallest towns have at least a couple soldiers stationed there.  Checkpoints are everywhere, and in the most extreme case I saw, there was an officer posted every 300 meters along the roadside, for a 5 mile stretch of road.  As for locals, they voiced very little concern for my safety as well, but most agreed with the police in terms of staying on major roads.  By far, the greatest concern voiced to me was that I would be spending the holidays alone.  The majority of people I met asked where I would be for Navidad, and they thought it was a travesty that I didn't have plans.  I know for a fact that if I was in Colombia on Christmas, I would be adopted and spend it with a Colombian family.  My final thoughts:  Visit Colombia!

As a side note, I don't have any other specific stories to tell from my last week in Colombia, but I posted some more pics and added captions to most of them.

The northern part of Ecuador was a continuation of the awesome ride in Colombia.  It's been a long time since I've had rides like these.  Most of Central America didn't have much to offer in the way of truly awesome vistas, so it's refreshing to be here and it has re-motivated me!  It´s always amazing to see the extreme plots of land that locals cultivate.  The pictures below are from Ecuador, but you can see the same thing in Colombia and in parts of Central America, namely Mexico and Guatemala.  I think I'd be apprehensive to even walk on some of the steep grades, never mind haul around equipment and harvest crops.  On top of that, a lot of these plots are around 10,000ft above sea-level. 

I crossed the Equator today as well.  It's hard to believe that I have been riding for this long and have only just hit the equator.  I can assure you that crossing the equator is almost as exciting as driving across state lines, but at least I can look forward to toilets flushing in the opposite direction.  There's an Equator monument in the form of a sundial along the roadside, and it's the only Equator monument in Ecuador that is exactly on the Equator.  There's a guide who gives a surprisingly interesting presentation on the sundial, which includes a summary of what makes Ecuador so unique and important to astronomers.  He also talks about and show´s satellite photos of ancient ruins throughout the region that coincide with the sundial perfectly.  How they figured that thousands of years ago is simply amazing.  I'm not going to get into the gritty details, but I can assure you the monument is worth the $1 entrance fee if you happen to be driving by.  

 

I decided to bypass Quito.  I've had my fix of big cities with Bogota and Medellin this last month, and was content to stick to the mountains.  The road South of Quito is supposed to be incredible, but the imposing 16,000ft volcano on the left side of the road, was covered in dark, tornado-like storm clouds blocking my view.  In addition, I was too busy thinking about the pea and corn-kernal-sized hail hitting my fingers at 65mph, to take in any of the lesser views. (I knew I shouldn´t have cut the liners out of my gloves!)  The volcano is a short ride from the town I'm in now, so if the weather is better in the morning, I´m going to take a short ride north to catch a glimpse.  Hasta Luego! 

Happy Thanksgiving

Today was one of those days that couldn't have been any better.  After not seeing any of the things I set out to see yesterday, due to fog and park rangers, the weather cooperated today and I saw more than I ever thought I would.  I was told at Volcan Cotopaxi National Park that foreigners were not allowed into the park on motorcycles, so I went with plan B and road out to Laguna Quilotoa yesterday afternoon.  According to the rangers, years ago, some guys on motorcycles didn't stick to the roads and decided to make their own trails, hence ruining it for all of us.  By the time I arrived at the Laguna a couple hours later, fog had already filled the crater and there wasn't anything to see.  I pushed another 45 minutes north through freezing rain to a town with a couple hostels, and hoped for a clearer and drier sky in the morning.

Determined to beat the daily influx of low clouds and rain, I woke up at 6am, had breakfast, and then headed back South to the crater.  The fog had already set in by the time I reached the gate, but I figured I had nothing to lose, so I may as well enter and check it out.  Thankfully I did!  The clouds formed a lid over the dormant volcano, but the crater lake was visible, beautiful, and huge!  I had almost summoned enough ambition to hike down to the lake when the clouds began to fill the crater.  Thinking that I had a valid excuse to be lazy, I hopped back on the bike, thrilled that I was able to see at least one of the two things I had set out to, and carried on with the rest of the day's plan.

I returned to Latacunga taking the same route I had ridden out on yesterday.The weather was much better today, and I was able to see a lot more.  The area around the laguna is inhabited by indigenous communities, but in stark contrast to the rural areas of Guatemala, the people are really friendly, and always smile and wave.  While passing clusters of houses along the road, kids would run out to the street to give me a high-five as I rode by.  When I would pull over to take a picture, or check out my map, passerbys would always start conversation with me. 

I returned to the Pan-American highway, followed it south for an hour or so, and then took a road heading southwest that took me past Volcan Chimborazo.  I knew Chimborazo was over 20,000ft tall, but I never expected the road itself to reach over 14,000ft.  The cooler temps at that elevation, along with high winds and intermittent rains, made for a surprisingly cold ride considering that I'm less than 200 miles from the equator.  After passing the volcano, I hopped on a dirt road to the small town of Salinas, on the advice that some of the world's best chocolate comes from there.  While in-route to Salinas, I misread a sign and took a very slow-going mud road for 15km or so, before finding out that I wasn't heading where I wanted to.  Not sure what time the sun would set in the mountains, panic momentarily set in as I thought of riding the same road back in the dark, or the alternative, sleeping on the side of the road.  When I reached the fork where I made my mistake, I was thrilled to see that the road I should have taken was perfectly groomed and I could make up for some lost time.  I arrived in Salinas with enough daylight to buy some chocolate, and then rode 25 more minutes to Guaranda, where I'm spending the night.

I'm heading to a town called Baños tomorrow.  Several people have told me it's their favorite place in Ecuador, so I'm really looking forward to it!

Happy Thanksgiving!