We hopped on board bus number 45,000 from Bogota to head to a little town called Maripita which is just three hours shy of Manizallis in the heart of the coffee region. The landscape is absolutely stunning. Southern Colombia is lush and green, the hills a patchwork of crops and coffee plantations. Some of the plantations and crops are on impossibly sheer slopes and it seems every effort is made to utilise all available space. The hills were steep and the roads slick with mist as we climbed and descended through clouds and fog. It was beautiful. I will post some of the photos I took out if the bus window which will give some kind of scope to the above description.
We had decided to stop in Maripita at the suggestion of the Aussie owner of our Bogota hostel (cranky croc) who told us it was on of his favorite places to go when he felt like a quick escape from tourists and Bogota weather. We arrived in Maripita at night, and we soon realised that we weren't in Kansas anymore; we most had definitely wandered off the gringo trail. Not only were we the only tourists in town but I got the feeling we may have been the only gringos the town had seen for a while. Our bus driver very sternly warned us not to wander around town as it is very dangerous; however the idea of steak and a cold beer was too tempting so off we set. Three pasty gringos wandering down the main street in search of food at 10pm was an unusual sight it seems. Whilst it should probably feel a little sketchy when every person who rides past checks you out and or points, it was actually fine and quite refreshing not to be sharing the streets with 150 other tourists. The breeze was warm, the beer was cold and the steak was delicious; all in all a nice relaxing night in what felt like real Colombia.
We caught a bus out the next morning to Manizallis. Before boarding the bus BP decided instead of buying a bottle of water for the 3 hour journey that it was much more economical to buy a 5 litre bag of water. Bag of water on a bus (or more to the point bag of water full stop??)? After copping some serious eye rolling Brendan disappeared off the bus only to return 5 minutes later very proudly displaying a newly filled 2lt bottle of water. When asked about the remaining water Brendan admitting to losing at least a litre to the gutter and then charitably dispersing the remainder to the locals. Hmm small win for BP? I will leave it open to independent interpretation.
I don't even think the locals would be able to describe Manizallis as aesthetically pleasing, but it had a good energy and a lively bar scene thanks to a pumping student population. On the walk home Caz and I stumbled across a massive cinema complex advertising the film eclipse. The prospect of seeing a movie not dubbed in Spanish I am embarrasses to say resulted in a good five minutes of happy dancing in the middle of the mall, and animated discussion about a hair wash and more importantly bringing out a clean t-shirt for the occasion. (For those not familiar with the Brendan inspired happy dancing it largely involves hopping from one foot to the other pointing fingers to the sky. Odd but surprisingly addictive).
BP decided to forgo the movie and had some BP time while Caz and I headed off - clean tops on, bounce in our step, swinging our freshly washed and blow-dried hair. Life was good. Despite the near tear inducing discovery that choc tops do not exist in Colombia and that it is entirely acceptable to have 20 minute mobile conversations, and just chat in general in the theatre (despite Caz's daggers and animated SHHHHHHHH's) it was nice. It’s surprising after 3 months how the simplest of western amenities seem like indulgent luxuries. We headed to a bar for a couple of post movie drinks. Caz and BP headed home and I ended up sharing Sangria with some fellow travellers I met. Nice night.
The next morning we had organised to do a tour of a coffee plantation outside of town. We discovered we were on the same tour with some English guys (and girl) we had bumped into a few times along the way (Mim, Will, Ollie, Tom and Dixie). They are a younger group and bloody good value. It was pouring rain and we were all a little ratty and giggly. At one point during the tour one of the guys was dacked while examining a bag of coffee. Nearly wet my pants. Surprising how a good dacking never gets old.
Due to the rain the tour was fairly short but interesting. It's a fairly intensive process and we were shown the plantations, fairly rudimentary factory and the finished product. We were given some decent coffee for the first time in South America which was a treat. Colombia is the third largest exporter of coffee internationally, and whilst you'd think this would result in good coffee being as ubiquitous as bottled water, it seems they export all the good stuff and keep the rubbish for the tourists and locals.
We waited out the rain and then caught the jeep back into the city. We all jumped on a bus to Medellin the following day and again ran into an accident between two trucks on a blind corner that had us stuck for an hour or two. I would bloody love to see the road fatality statistics in South America, these drivers are insane. It gets to a point where you stop looking out the front window and try and sleep through ride. It’s preferable to be blissfully ignorant than to spend a 20 hour bus ride knuckles white on the arm rests.
When we arrived in Medellin we hopped into what turned out to be a mui dodgy cab. The driver refused to turn the meter on, tried to charge us double the price and then had no bloody idea where he was going. The hostel was full so we headed to where our English mates had gone. Mid way it became evident the driver was absolutely clueless and trying to take us for a ride. We ended up fighting in the streets of Medellin at 12.30am over his incompetence and the fare. Eventually as you unfortunately often do in SA, you suck up the financial loss and move on. We had a couple of quiet wind down drinks and then headed to bed.
I woke up at 4am to some very loud, very inebriated dorm mates who had been hanging out with 'charlie' for far too long and subsequently thought their fabulousness would excuse turning the light on, continuing to drink and talk foul rubbish for an hour in a 14 bed dorm. We’ve actually been really lucky to date in terms of dorm mates. Generally people are really good and there is an unwritten rule if you come in late you don’t turn the light on and rustle through your bag for half an hour and if you’ve got an early departure you pack the night before etc. Unfortunately the most obnoxious and crass of the lot was naturally Australian. Makes it so much easier to bitch and moan about the obnoxiousness of other travellers when they are not fellow country men.
I didn’t know much about Medellina other than it was home to the infamous Pablo Escobar, an obscenely wealthy drug baron who successfully ventured into politics by offering to pay off the 10 billion dollar national debt. He also shot down a plane with 200 people on board to assassinate one man. There was a tour you could do which took you around some of his old haunts, the place of his dramatic roof top death and finally to his house to meet his brother. I was quite keen and had brushed up on my Pablo trivia in anticipation. The next day it was unfortunately pouring rain and the furthest I ventured was to the exito supermarket to buy some supplies.
With little else to do we ventured to the hostel bar and drowned our sorrows. The bar was packed, the Colombian bar tender who was enamoured with my freckles (?) kept the drinks flowing and we settled in. We introduced the guys to Kelly pool (Caz cheated and I subsequently lost) and began to gear up for a night out in Medellin’s renowned Zona Rosa. We went to a couple of clubs, drank cocktails and naturally dominated the dance floor. The others headed home eventually but I stayed out with Will and Ollie and we found a local Colombian bar with good salsa and cheap drinks. After a couple of hours of befriending the locals we finally declined their offer to party on at their house and decided the sunrise may have been a sign to head home. We started walking (what should have been 5 mins home) and 20 minutes we realised we were totally lost so decided to hail a cab. Once all in the cab we realised none of us actually remembered the address of the hostel. In a moment of brilliance I remembered it was 2 blocks from the local Exito supermarket and we could certainly navigate from there. 20 minutes later I began to make noise about the fact be should have been there by now. Will enquired and the taxi driver proudly pointed to a massive exito supermarket – on the complete opposite side of the city from where we needed to be. After some choice words from the now exhausted passengers he U-turned and headed back across town and finally pulled up at the right exito. We walked the 300m home, lids heavy, pockets decidedly lighter. A cracking night out and definitely worth the sore head the following day.
The rain was again teeming down and out Pablo tour was cancelled that afternoon so day 2 in Medellin was another exciting visit to the Exito.
The rain was unrelenting so on day 3 the Aussie contingent of our newly formed band decided to allow the elusive Pablo to remain elusive and head out to Cartagena the following day. It was high time for the long awaited Caribbean and hopefully some bloody sunshine.
So after three days, 3 bars and 3 visits to the exito supermarket I bid farewell to Medellin and hopped on bus number 45001. On the trip out of the city I had some momentary guilt over not doing ANYTHING remotely culturally or mentally stimulating in Medellin, but you know what? I had a bloody good time and will remember it fondly and that sits ok with me.
To be continued...
