Once were Gondwanan

Photos: San Gerardo de Dota

sally-annephillips — Mon, 9 Apr 2012 23:43:00 GMT

San Gerardo de Dota, Costa Rica

San Gerardo de Dota

sally-annephillips — Mon, 9 Apr 2012 23:07:00 GMT

After almost a month at the beach, I am in the cloud forests of San Gerardo de Dota, in the south of Costa Rica, having sought refuge from the very busy Santa Semana (Easter week). San Gerardo de Dota is sometimes called “the Monteverde of 20 years ago” and I think that is a perfect description. As much as I enjoyed Monteverde, it is a tourist mecca; here, at least, although it is still a tourist destination, there are less foreigners and I am staying in a lodge in primary and secondary forest, rather than a town.

The San Gerardo de Dota area is only 80 kilometres from Costa Rica’s capital of San José, a bus ride of about two hours. When I left San José, I first continued one hour past San Gerardo de Dota to experience El Cerro de Los Muertes (The Hill of Death.) I had thought the name referred to the road being dangerous, but in fact it was the lack of the road that was the fatal factor – prior to the road’s construction, people trying to cross the mountains died of starvation and cold.

I stayed one night in the city of San Isidro, and returned the next day to San Gerardo de Dota. The scenery is beautiful, when not obscured by cloud – well, it is a cloud forest!

Being Santa Semana, I had pre-booked my cabin and headed south from San José to the mountains, away from the beaches that are the most popular destinations at this time of year. Getting here was a complicated process – but eventually I made it to the correct bus terminal. The bus ride itself was lovely – great views and although it is only about 130 kilometres from San José to San Isidro, it takes about three hours. San Isidro is a pleasant enough city, but I was happy to relocate to the mountains themselves.

I am staying at the Trogon Lodge, a very comfortable and welcoming place, situated on the Savegre River, nestled within the mountains. It is a self-contained resort, with cabins, a restaurant, a bar, book exchange and excellent staff. They offer horse riding and canopy tours, as well as a tour to spot the elusive quetzal, a lovely vibrantly-coloured bird. There are walking paths around the lodge into the forest, and there are many well-designed spaces to relax and enjoy the bird-life. Hummingbirds are ever-present, enjoying the attractive gardens and feeders around the buildings.

I quickly established a routine for myself, largely based around the meal hours at the restaurant and mainly comprising leisurely and large meals (the home-grown trout here is delicious), coffees on the balcony watching the hummingbirds or reading, walks in the forest, relaxing in the glassed-in porch of my cabin, reconnecting to the electronic world and basically relaxing in preparation for my return to my real life.

Highlights of the week included seeing some Quetzals, which involved getting up at 5.30. After Playa Cabuyal, I was used to early starts, but this time it was a little bit harder because it is cooler here. However, it was well worth the effort; Quetzals are so pretty that they almost seem fake. I have enjoyed the colder weather; I have found it best to do walks in the morning because by the afternoon it is usually cloudy and sometimes raining. I did enjoy being caught in the rain one afternoon – knowing I had a hot shower nearby made all the difference. Another perk of this cold weather was the nightly hot-water-bottle and chocolates. One night I had a brush with drama when some socks I was drying on my gas heater decided to catch on fire. Luckily I was close enough to smell the smoke and douse the offending socks in the basin, but it is a mystery to me how, in a matter of minutes, socks that were literally soaking wet were able to combust. Obviously I am not good at physics. At least there will be slightly less weight in my suitcase, anyway.

Which brings me full circle – this morning I leave here and begin my 64 hour, five country, return to Australia. This week has been a great transition back to my usual life, with many bilingual staff (although I tried to keep it real in Española!) and western style food on offer. I have had the chance to reflect on my travels and get my head into my real life back at home. Well, in theory, at least. As always, I would like to stay longer…………

Photos: Playa Cabuyal - One Of My Favourite Places

sally-annephillips — Tue, 3 Apr 2012 02:31:00 GMT

Playa Cabuyal - One Of My Favourite Places

sally-annephillips — Tue, 3 Apr 2012 02:14:00 GMT

It is 4.30 in the afternoon at Playa Cabuyal, in the Gulf of Papagayo. I am the only person here, but I am far from alone. Myriads of crabs scurry quickly from one hole to the next, sea birds are floating beyond the breakers looking for their dinner, and the trees along the sand also host a variety of other birds. On my way to the beach I stopped to watch a family of Howler Monkeys in the trees. The opportunity to volunteer with the Leatherback Trust, researching Sea Turtles, brought me here -the tranquillity, abundant wild-life and sense of community are unexpected bonuses. The basic living conditions enhance rather than detract from the experience.

Having read the briefing material, I wasn’t expecting five star luxury. (That can be found a short way up the road at the Four Seasons Hotel, for around $1 000 a night.) My accommodation is much more affordable and perfect for the purposes of the project. The Leatherback Trust leases the house, which is a short walk or an extremely bumpy car ride to the beach. There are numerous short cuts; across the estuary, through the mangroves, past the salt pans, or through the dry forest. Crocodiles and sting rays frequent the area, although we still swim. A few days ago we saw a dolphin in the ocean, and whales are sometimes spotted as well.

The project accommodation is a house consisting of an office, a store room, two bedrooms and a bathroom (with flushing toilet). This is linked to the basic outdoor kitchen by a breezeway which is the dining and recreation area. There is also another bathroom with toilet outside. The various hammocks and chairs provide more options for relaxing and escaping the heat. There is a solar panel, which does not generate enough power for a fridge, but is used to recharge the project’s laptop and smaller electrical items. The panel also powers lights for the indoor bathroom, the dining area (albeit a very dim one) and occasionally the kitchen. Generally-harmless wasps are a permanent fixture at the kitchen sink, and truly free-range chickens are more interested in pecking around than laying eggs. Resident iguanas enjoy the opportunity to bask in the sun, and the surrounding trees abound with parrots, magpie jays, humming birds and many other birds that I can’t name without referring to a nature guide. The occasional cane-toad can be seen in the outside bathroom and I have to remind myself that they are a native here and not the pest that they are at home. There is no internet here, but if you climb the hill near the house you can get a phone signal and a stunning view of the hills and ocean. Despite the mosquitos, it is well worth the climb at sundown to see the sun set over the Pacific.

So this is my home for four weeks. For me, this is the perfect balance of productivity and relaxation. Doing the patrols and other tasks is rewarding and exciting. The down-time for reading, writing, wild-life observation, going to the beach and socialising is relaxing and energising. It is surprising how quickly the days go with so much free time.

To my unexpected pleasure the food here is better than any other I have had in Costa Rica. The staff are excellent at preparing delicious meals with only basic ingredients and equipment – their Costa Rican and Venezuelan heritage are reproduced in deliciously varied creations. Before I came I was preparing myself for some very ordinary meals but my fears were happily unfounded. There was a day or two where our supplies were low & meals were basic, but generally the food is delicious.

And of course, the reason I am here; – the turtles. Although the project is managed by The Leatherback Trust, the most common species of turtles found here is the Black Turtle (negra) which is the same species as the Green Turtle, but they are found in different locations. Olive Ridleys (loras) and Leatherbacks (baulas) are also sometimes found here.

The general routine is to do a morning patrol, starting at 6.30 am, then a patrol that night, beginning between 8 or 9 pm, depending on the tide. Night patrol may not finish until between 3.30 or 6.30 am, depending on what is happening. After a night patrol, the next day is generally free, and then the cycle begins again with a morning patrol on the following day. There are also afternoon tasks such as checking nest temperatures and sometimes conducting nest excavations, nest triangulation, maintenance of marks, nest protection, etc.

On a night patrol, the turtles are monitored, scanned for their ID chip, and their nests are marked and the eggs they lay are counted. Sometimes the eggs need to be relocated because there may be people on the beach who have seen the nest, or it may be in an unsuitable position. Night patrol also involves in speaking to people who come onto the beach (it is a public beach) and politely finding out why they are there, and encouraging them not to use white lights as these disturb the turtles. In between turtles we rest on the beach, lying under the stars and moonlight. The purposes of the morning patrols are to verify the data from the previous night and identify nests where the baby turtles (totugitas) have emerged.

For me, there have been so many firsts – up close and personal with a turtle; feeling her flipper; removing her eggs to another hole, being kicked in the face with sand, more times than I can remember; watching the tortugitas waddling to the water- it has all been so interesting and exciting.

The project at Cabuyal is managed by a small team, who are all lovely and very knowledgeable about the turtles. The local people are warm and friendly; the neighbours who gave us food and visited regularly, the municipal guards at the beach and the local coast guards. In the first week I was at Cabuyal, there were bushfires burning all around us. While the other volunteer and I were by ourselves, some neighbours invited us to stay in their cabin if we were scared. We weren’t, but it was that kind of hospitality that helped make Cabuyal such a great experience.

As I left Playa Cabuyal, I was sorry that I couldn't stay longer, but the season is coming to an end, as is my trip. I am off to the mountains to escape the busy Santa Semana (Easter week) before I head back to Australia.

Photos: The Cloud Forests of Monteverde

sally-annephillips — Wed, 7 Mar 2012 08:07:00 GMT

Cloud Forests, Monteverde, Costa Rica, nature, travel, central America

The Cloud Forests of Monteverde

sally-annephillips — Tue, 6 Mar 2012 21:58:00 GMT

I have just come down from the clouds. Literally. I spent a week in the wonderful Cloud Forest area of Monteverde, in the north-west of Costa Rica. I have to admit I had never heard of Monteverde before I came to Costa Rica, and of this I feel a bit ashamed because I have since learnt that it is one of the most biodiverse regions in the world.

It was a five hour bus drive from San José to Santa Elena, the village where most people base themselves. It was a scenic drive with lovely views of the mountains. They are not dramatic like the Andes but very pleasant. As soon as we were out of the city I wondered why I had hung around there so long.

The area of Monteverde was uninhabited until after the Second World War when some Quakers from the USA, some of whom had previously been imprisoned for refusing to join the army, chose to settle there. The villages of Monteverde and Santa Elena are only a few kilometres apart, and nearby each are Nature Reserves of the same names.

Santa Elena is a tourist mecca. I think there were more tourists than locals. Most locals speak English as well as Spanish and although this can be handy in times of confusion, I tried to stick with Spanish for the sake of practise. I was swamped by options of different tours and activities, from a sedate Trainforest ride (a train in the forest) to extreme bungy jumping and zip-lining over the forest canopy. I was really only interested in seeing the wildlife, so I didn’t do those things, but I must admit when I saw other people racing over the treetops on a cable it did look like fun. They wouldn’t have seen any animals but they sounded like they were enjoying themselves.

My first activity was a night walk. It had been raining all afternoon (very unusual for Santa Elena in March) and was very windy. My umbrella was turning itself inside out so I went to the general store to buy a raincoat. I don’t think I have been to many other stores where there is someone playing the piano, but here I was treated to live versions of Fernando and then Ave Maria. It was rather lovely and I would have liked to stay longer but I needed to get back to my hotel in time to be picked up for the tour.

I was collected in a mini-bus while it was still light. We were taken to the starting point and luckily it was nearly dark by then so that my hideous, newly-purchased poncho (no rain-coats available, only a foul coloured poncho, presumably designed for camouflage) was not as visible. Alex, our guide, was enthusiastic and very skilled. There were perhaps six or seven groups on the trails that night, and in our group there were seven people. There were many trails through the primary and secondary forests, so we didn’t cross each others’ paths too often, unless the guide of one group radioed to another group when he spotted an animal.

The rain had stopped as soon as I put on my poncho, but I left it on as it was warm and that was the easiest option. In our torchlight I must have looked like Quasimodo with my backpack underneath. I was a bit freaked out by another member of our group, from behind in her white poncho and pointed hood she looked like a member of the Ku Klux Klan.

So it was far from a fashion parade but we did see several animals. Alex was amazing at locating the animals. He did have a bit of a heads-up because some animals had been there the night before so it was likely they were still in the area, but how he even knew which area we were in is beyond me. Keeping your bearings in the forest is hard enough in the day, but by night for me would be impossible. As Alex said, in the dark everyone looks the same, so we had to make sure to listen for his voice if we came across another group so that we didn’t get mixed up when we were moving on. That caused me to reflect that a lot of the piropos (comments by men to women) I had received were at night. How would they know if I was guapa (pretty) – they can’t even see me!

The walk lasted for two hours and I could happily have stayed for two more. We saw a variety of animals including a Side-Striped Pit-Viper, a lovely Kinkajou, a humming bird in its nest trying to sleep, a tarantula in a hole probably made by an aardvark, a Giant Stick Insect (I learnt that females can reproduce without males by making clones of themselves), a Green Spiny Lizard, fireflies, the ever-present Leaf-Cutter Ants ( I hadn’t known that they are blind and only stop work when it rains and they can’t find their path by using the other ants’ pheromones) and my particular favourite, a Two-Toed Sloth. I had no decent photos to show for myself but it was great to finally see some wildlife – I had seen very little up to now on this trip.

The Santa Elena and Monteverde Reserves are lovely, peaceful places. Although there were obviously other visitors there, most of the time it felt as if I was the only one in the Reserve. The tracks are well-made, with easy to follow maps. The staff at the entrance are helpful and suggest the best tracks to follow for your given available time.

The first time I went to the Santa Elena Reserve, I had barely been there five minutes when I saw a tarantula on the side of the path. It was almost as if he was a member of staff paid to be in the welcoming committee. Also that day I saw a sloth lazing high in a tree and some howler monkeys foraging for food on the forest floor. The one closest to me eventually saw me and ran off, but the others didn’t see me and stayed longer until they wandered away. I also visited the Monteverde Cloud Forest and a private forest called Selvatura. Over the week I saw and heard numerous different types of birds, including the Yigϋirro, (or, more boringly, the clay coloured robin) which is the national bird, the large Black Guan, and in the humming bird garden at Selvatura I of course saw hummingbirds. I also saw them in the Reserves, but in the humming bird garden there were dozens at once, darting around and drinking from the feeders. I wouldn’t say the word “garden” is particularly appropriate, it is a cemented area with tables, chairs, and feeders for the hummingbirds – but if the only aim is to attract these lovely little birds then it achieves it perfectly.

I do get excited about seeing mammals that are unusual to me, so I will also mention I saw a Coati at a park entrance rummaging through the rubbish bins and another day I saw what I think were Common Opossums. I stayed at the Monteverde reserve until closing, even though that meant missing the last bus back to Santa Elena. For $10 I could have got a taxi back, but it was an easy and pleasant eight kilometre walk, so I chose to do that. I saw a squirrel (my only mammal for the day) on the way back, so that was a bonus.

I did do the Selvatura tour of eight suspended bridges over a three kilometre trail, but to be honest, I was a bit disappointed. There were so many people there it was obvious that I wasn’t going to see much in the way of animals. It was more expensive than the parks, where you can stay all day. This was a one route ticket that took about an hour and a half. My experience was not enhanced by one family who shouted across the bridges to each other and didn’t seem interested in the idea of being quiet to experience the wildlife. If I had my time over I would spend an extra day at one of the Reserves rather than Selvatura.

In the Santa Elena Reserve there is an observation tower to climb. I have to admit I only went to the second highest platform – the last was reached by a ladder and my feet were tingling their warning system to me. I felt that I was high enough.

I have focused a lot on animals because that is what is most interesting to me, but there are many epiphytic plants in the cloud forests. Monteverde is home to 2,500 varieties of plants, 420 of which are orchids alone. I saw one tree that was labelled as being home to over 80 types of orchids.

Santa Elena is a small town but it feels like it was specifically designed to cater for the tourist. The Costa Rica flavour is still available, but equally so are international influences. I had lunch one day at a sushi bar –very nice, but a bit expensive and obviously not Costa Rican. At this point I was eager to embrace anything other than the standard beans and rice because I knew I was soon to be facing four weeks of that at the Sea Turtle Project with little dietary variation.

So, despite being overrun with tourists (I am one myself, so how can I complain?) Monteverde is a lovely area with plenty to offer. With peaceful natural forests, beautiful sunsets over the mountains and more biodiversity than you can poke a stick at, who can ask for more?

Photos: Costa Rica, the happiest place in the world

sally-annephillips — Wed, 29 Feb 2012 15:34:00 GMT

San Jose and Heredia

Costa Rica, the Happiest Place in the World

sally-annephillips — Wed, 29 Feb 2012 15:14:00 GMT

Costa Rica is the happiest place in the world. It says so on a big welcome sign at San José’s Santa Maria International Airport, and they didn’t just invent that slogan, it is based on the results of an independent survey conducted a few years ago.

I arrived after a delayed flight and a very early start to the day. More of that exciting story in my previous blog. I hadn’t been able to buy a guide book, so other than what I had read on-line, I was in the dark about Costa Rica.

After a very straight-forward immigration and ATM stop I exited the airport without even having decided on a hotel. A taxi driver approached me immediately and, feeling slightly railroaded, I was ushered into his taxi and driven to a hotel of his recommendation. I know this can be a scam sometimes, but he seemed nice so I took a chance. When we got to the hotel he made sure my room was sorted and by then we were such good friends that on saying goodbye, he gave me a hug and a kiss.

I knew that Costa Rica is more expensive than other Latin American countries but paying $47 USD for my room still stung a bit. Lately I had been paying about $10. Anyway, it was a much nicer room than the ones I had used lately, so I thought it was value for money.

I spent several days relaxing and seeing the sights of the city. I have mixed feelings about San José. It is not the most interesting or beautiful place, but for me its attraction is the potential to spend time people-watching and relaxing in the plazas and parks. It is also close to volcanoes which can be visited – but I haven’t even done that yet. The public areas are not the most attractive plazas and parks, but being new to this country I was happy to watch the people and get a feel for the place.

In Latin America it is not unusual to see amorous couples in public – most people live with their parents until they are married or beyond, so for privacy, they often go public, in a manner of speaking. Well, in San José, there is certainly no shortage of couples in the parks and plazas. There are also plenty of people selling things in the main streets; music and movies, handbags, collapsible laundry baskets, socks, bubbles, stickers, and scratchies and lottery tickets to name a few. I saw three separate people selling Dove soap, I’m not sure why this is such a popular brand – fell off the back of the truck? I sympathise with these people having to repeat the same thing over and over again, all day. For example, the sock seller calls “Socks - white, black, cream, sizes small to large, five pairs for 2,500 colones.” ($5) I am not sure how many vendors are legal. I saw people who were selling DVDs pack up as soon as they knew the police were coming. They were so fast it was impressive to watch. If I hadn’t been looking at that specific moment I wouldn’t had known that seconds ago they had stock neatly spread out on a cloth on the pavement. Compared to South America, there are not many street vendors selling food here, I have only seen one, who was selling ice-creams. Having come straight from Santa Marta, where you could sit and have plenty of food and drink options come your way, this was different.

You don’t have to spend much time around the city to notice piropos, comments by men to women. This does happen often in South America but in Costa Rica it is even more common. Piropos can be complementary, vulgar or sexually offensive; they can be shouted, hissed or said innocently. I don’t know what a lot of the comments directed to me mean, so I generally just ignore them.

Crime rates are apparently high here, but so is the police presence. In San José there are bicycle police (I can’t help that think it would be easy to pull their gun from the holster while they have both hands on the handle-bars) and foot and car patrols. In some of the plazas there are Fuerza Publica stations, raised platforms where the police look out across the public spaces and see what is happening. It is not unusual to see groups of eight or ten police together, but I haven’t worked out what they are doing.

I visited the National Museum which is now housed in an old army fort. Costa Rica does not have a military force; it was disbanded in 1948 after a civil war. Entry to the museum is via a butterfly garden, which is quite pleasant and interesting. The old barracks are displayed, including cells used to discipline the soldiers. There are exhibits of Pre-Columbian history, Indigenous gold, national history and two adjoining houses that were used by the first and second commanders of the army are displayed with furniture of the period. In the temporary exhibit section there was a very interesting retrospective photographic display by Francisco Coto with photographs depicting people and places from Costa Rica from 1945 to 1990. One of the most interesting exhibits for me was some Pre-Columbian spheres that have been discovered in parts of Costa Rica. They are made from granite, and range in size from that of an orange to up to two metres in diameter. It is not known how they were made or exactly why.

After a few days I visited the city of Heredia, which although it is only 11 kilometres away from San José, is in a different province. Heredia is known as “The City of Flowers” but I’m not sure why. From my guide book (which is fairly average to say the least) I imagined a very different place to what I actually encountered.

At first I wasn’t even sure I was in the right place. It seemed that on the bus trip there, we didn’t even leave San José but were just in another suburb. After confirming with my map that I was actually in the right place, I checked into a hotel that I found from my guide book. I don’t want to complain but I will say that was my worst accommodation choice of my trip so far. Well, actually, I do want to complain. The private bathroom was actually a cold water shower in the room, separated from the bed only by a shower curtain, and the toilet was shared (one for females, one for males.) I knew this when I accepted the room which the owner said cost “eight”. I took this to mean $8 USD. (Both Colones and USD are used here.) When, later, I went to pay, it was actually 8,000 colones, about $16 USD. What I didn’t know was how thin the walls were. That night I was treated to the sounds of numerous bodily functions and the couple in the room next to me having sex. Every time their door opened it sounded so close that it was as if it was my door, so I kept my light on just so I could reassure myself that no one was coming into my room. My pillows and mattress were covered in plastic, which although not nice to sleep on, may have been for the best hygienically speaking. I was seriously considering going back to San José but in the end it was easier to wait for the next day.

I had been under the impression that Heredia was a charming old-world university city but actually that wasn’t my experience. There were some interesting buildings, mainly the cathedral and a tower, but the city just felt to me like San José. It didn’t take long to see the sights. I don’t know what I was thinking when I thought I needed to stay overnight, two hours would have been enough.

After the trauma of the hotel of a thousand noises I returned to recover in the comfort of my San José hotel until I headed to my next destination – the cloud forest region of Monteverde.

Colombia to Costa Rica

sally-annephillips — Sun, 26 Feb 2012 16:53:00 GMT

This originally was a blog about San José, Costa Rica, but then I started to think about my journey to there from Santa Marta, Colombia. I usually try not to dwell on the tedium of the familiar airport experience (you know the deal) but this day stood out for me. Disclaimer: It is only about the airports and my minor hiccups, so be warned, you may be bored. Sorry. Maybe I’m not keeping myself busy enough.

My trip so far has been so uncomplicated that I laugh to myself when I want to describe the minor hiccups as problems. I was supposed to leave Santa Marta at 7.30 a.m. (and be at the airport three hours earlier) en route to San José, Costa Rica, via Bogotá. Yes, I know. Bogotá is in the opposite direction. My problem was that when I tried to confirm my booking on line the night before, I had a message saying there was a problem with my flight. I tried to contact the airline, but couldn’t get through. I really didn’t want to get up at 3 a.m. for a flight that wasn’t going to happen, but I also didn’t want to miss my flight if it was going ahead. Big dilemma. In the end I chose my own compromise – I arrived at the Santa Marta airport two hours early rather than the recommended three. Good decision.

There was a cleaner at the airport, but I was the only customer there, nothing was open, and it was still dark. But what a lovely airport! Santa Marta has a population of over 300,000, but this international airport is tiny, with only two gates. It is right on the beach, with views of mountains and the sea. The downstairs waiting area is covered, but without walls. You could fish from there!

I was fairly sure that I wasn’t going to be leaving on time. My first clue was of course that everything was shut, and when the cleaner told me that the airline check-in desk didn’t open until quite a while after my plane was scheduled to leave, that pretty much confirmed that the online message about a problem with my flight was correct.

I felt like I was in a time-lapse photo as eventually the sun rose, lights of service desks were turned on, cafes opened and passengers arrived.

When the check-in desk finally opened, without apology or explanation as to why the flight was leaving two hours late, I had my next issue. When entering a country, you sometimes need to have proof that you have the finances to leave it as well, for example, an ongoing ticket. (Some people say this is just a requirement of airlines, because they don’t want the expense of returning you if you are rejected at migration – possibly true, I have certainly never had to show proof at land borders.) Anyway, I had shown my return ticket to the girl at the checkout. I couldn’t understand why she couldn’t understand what I was saying, that I had a ticket, and she couldn’t understand why I kept saying the same thing. I was eventually persuaded that I had to buy an internal ticket, that my Chilé to Australia ticket wasn’t sufficient. The girl passed me on to someone who spoke English and we had the same conversation. Eventually the penny dropped. It had not been a language barrier; it had been a stupidity barrier. That would be me. Instead of showing my ticket from Santiago, Chilé, to Sydney, Australia, I had accidentally handed over my itinerary from a few months ago from Santiago to Quito (well, they were both printed on white paper.) That was a relief; I hadn’t been keen on buying a ticket that I probably wouldn’t use. Also an embarrassment. So I was finally off. Two hours late. When I think about it, the late departure shouldn’t have been surprising. On the television news I had seen reports about delayed flights in nearby cities due to Carníval, maybe that was connected.

I am whining now so I’ll say the next bit as quickly as possible: Arrived at Bogotá – airline check-in not opened, no information posted, no questions (accurately) answered, second plane late, don’t know why.

I had some fairly anxious moments when I was going through immigration in Bogotá. The officer asked me how long I had been in the country. A standard question, but I don’t know why they always ask, they can see precisely how long by looking on the passport page in front of them. Anyway, I didn’t know exactly, without being able to look at the date in my passport, so I made a guess. The officer just looked at me and went away with my passport. I was anxious to get through immigration quickly, as I had discovered that my flight was boarding earlier than I had been advised, although later than originally scheduled. As I worried at immigration, I wondered if I had overstayed my visa. Australians are permitted to stay 90 days on a tourist visa, but this isn’t automatic. Sometimes you are only given 30, and I hadn’t checked, because I had just been planning to pass through within a week or so, and then I hadn’t thought about it (my mistake of course.) I knew I had been in Colombia for at least five weeks, so I was picturing just how bad Colombian jails really are. Anyway, eventually the officer returned and stamped my passport and without explanation told me to go through. In my lifetime I have been through customs over a hundred times before, so I will put it down to anxiety and tiredness that, instead of going past his desk into the correct area, I turned around back into the waiting line with the usual tape barriers used for forming cues. When I realised my mistake I was so embarrassed I tried to duck back under the tape, but forgot my daypack was very large. It became caught on the tape and unclipped it from the socket. When I finally regained an upright stance (but not much dignity) and fixed the barrier I was relieved that immigration was almost empty but I could feel the red sting of embarrassment on my face until I was well out of sight.

Although high security presence is the norm in Colombia, I was still a bit surprised when prior to our flight, all of the passengers had to vacate the gate waiting room, and then re-enter, where our bags were checked and we were frisked. Sadly for me, the frisking part was not by the good-looking young guy. I had seen passengers all lined up at other gates, and now I knew what they were doing. We had already been through the usual screenings, so I am not sure why this was necessary but I would always rather have increased security than not enough.

Lessons learned or reinforced: pay attention to which documents you submit, generally don’t be stupid. At least nobody knows me.

Photos: Tayrona National Park

sally-annephillips — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 14:59:00 GMT

Tayrona National Park

Tayrona National Park, Colombia

sally-annephillips — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 13:36:00 GMT

The Tayrona National Park is a beautiful area less than 40 kilometres from Santa Marta, Colombia. It is a simple matter to get a group car or a local bus to the entrance of the park, where you purchase the entry ticket. When I arrived there were only 12 people ahead of me in line, but it took half an hour to get my ticket. Then it is a five kilometre walk along the road to the walking tracks, or you can get a bus. I chose to walk, hoping to see some wildlife along the way. I saw a goat (not what I had in mind) and lots of birds and small lizards.

The road goes to Cañaveral, where there is a short walk to see ancient stones that had holes drilled into them by the Tayronians. They foretold the future by facing the holes toward certain stars. There is a lookout with a gap through which a particular star can be seen.

The beauty can be deceptive - beaches here are dangerous because of strong rips, and there are signs warning people not to swim, as hundreds of people have drowned there. There are also signs warning not to go into the nearby lagoons, because of caiman.

The track then leads to Arrecifes (reef), both along the beach and through the forest. It is a lovely walk and not demanding. The park is home to many species of animals, some of which are endangered. I was walking slowly and as quietly as I could, trying to increase my chances of seeing some animals. I was thrilled when I spotted a small mammal in the forest, foraging for food. I had seen one in the zoo at Vilcabamba, but I don’t know what they are called. They look like a tapir, but they are only small, about the size of small dog. After it went on its way, I did too. Not much later I saw more - a mother and her two babies in the undergrowth. They didn’t stay around for long either, but it was lovely to see them. There were lots of birds, small lizards and butterflies. I knew that monkeys live in the park, but I didn’t come across any.

The beach is quite dramatic, with large rocks along the coastline. The cliffs, according to the sign, were formed by the wash of the waves on an enormous piece of magna that hardened in the earth and then raised the crust.

In the afternoon I arrived at Arrecifes and had lunch at a restaurant. There were several camps close together, all offering accommodation in the way of cabins, hammocks or tents, and food and drinks. Not having a map (I had thought I would be able to get one at the park entrance) I was relying on the signs in the park, which were not altogether useful. I had planned to continue on to Pueblito, but as I headed off I met some people and when checking if I was on the right track (literally) they told me that it was too far to get there before dark, so I decided to stay at Arrecifes for the night.

I hired a tent for $15 a night at the El Paraiso (Paradise) resort, right on the beach. Although I had been walking all afternoon, there wasn’t much else to do, so I went for a walk along the beach, and saw a beautifully coloured large lizard. I found another walking track in the forest and walked along there until it started to get dark. It was very pleasant in the forest, but I didn’t see the monkeys that I was hoping to.

When I returned to the camp I did see a monkey. It was sitting on the roof of the restaurant/reception area. I watched as he swung by his tail, and he lowered himself to pull at the plastic flowers in hanging baskets on the veranda. The staff growled at him as though he was regularly a bit of a pest.

The facilities at the camp were more civilised that I had expected. There were flushing toilets and cold showers. The amenities block has no roof, the women’s showers are a row of stalls, without doors, and the shower nozzles are overhead taps, as is the norm in this region.

I had stripped off ready for my shower when I looked up and saw I was not alone. The same monkey from earlier was sitting on the top of the wall next to me. Not accustomed to being naked in front of monkeys, or other wildlife for that matter, I was a bit surprised. I knew that monkeys sometimes like to take things and I was hoping that he wasn’t going to take my towel or clothes and run off with them. Instead, he was more interested in a drink; he grabbed the nozzle of the next shower and licked at it. I turned on my shower and he came over and cupped the water in his hands to have a drink. When he was finished he loped away and I got on with my much needed shower. With thoughts about animal borne diseases, I did change cubicles though.

My encounters with the local inhabitants continued when I went to the restaurant for dinner. I sat down at a table only to hear “hola, hola” (“hi, hi”) and I looked up to see a green parrot perched on top of the chair opposite me. He said a few more phrases and seemed to listen when I answered. I had come to Tayrona to see wildlife, but I hadn’t expected it to actually talk to me. Being used to eating alone, I was quite happy to think I had a dinner companion, but the parrot moved on before my meal arrived.

After a fairly sleepless night due to the proximity of other guests and my embarrassing snoring habit, I got up relatively early for me and headed off towards Pueblo. On the way I was pleased to first hear and then see a red headed woodpecker. That is a description, not its actual name.

A guide had told me that there were many ways to reach Pueblito, but I headed off on the track that I had seen the day before. It was a lovely walk, passing beaches where swimming was safe, and some other camps. I headed along a trail that was signed as a route that was traditionally used by indigenous people, connecting different places in the area. The boulders were a regular feature, with the path sometimes passing through gaps under rocks or over the top of them.

It was a really pleasant walk through the forest and beaches. I passed lots of horses carrying packs or people, which I didn’t enjoy.

The path that I found myself on included climbing a steep path with many rocks or boulders as stepping stones. Much to my disappointment, I came across a boulder that I physically could not climb. I tried alternative routes such as climbing around or under it, but the fact was, I needed to go over it. The other fact was, I couldn’t cross the boulder without a leg or hand up. I didn’t like to admit defeat, but in this case I had to. I could not scale that rock without help.

If time had not been an issue, I could have chosen an easier path and gone through to Pueblito, but I really needed to get back to Santa Marta that night, as I had a flight booked to Costa Rica the next morning. In the end, I retraced my steps and returned to the park entrance and took a local bus back to Santa Marta.

It was a shame I couldn’t stay longer, but for now – off to Costa Rica!

Photos: Minca, in the Sierra Nevada of Colombia

sally-annephillips — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 06:56:00 GMT

beautiful scenery in a tranquil setting

Minca, in the Sierra Nevada of Colombia

sally-annephillips — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 06:47:00 GMT

If you want to hear about high excitement and action, read no further. This is a story of a relaxing holiday in Minca, a small village in the Sierra Nevada of Colombia. Only 14 kilometres away from Santa Marta, it is a tranquil, beautiful area. I enjoyed Taganga, the fishing village near Santa Marta, but this is even more peaceful. While Taganga was relaxed, it was busy with tourists. Here In Minca, there are tourists, but not many. I am staying at Hostel Sans Souci, about ten minutes’ walk up the hill from town. As I sit here between the pool and hammocks, overlooking the valley, the only sounds I hear are birds, the wind, the River Minca and a radio playing unobtrusively in the background. Traffic from the road below, mainly motorbikes, can be heard but is not too annoying. From here I can see the surrounding mountains and looking south I have glimpses of the Caribbean and the town of Santa Marta. At night the lights look quite pretty, and the sunsets are beautiful.

I came to Minca via a taxi bus, which left from the market area of Santa Marta once it was full. When I got to the place where the taxi was leaving from, (thanks to the directions offered by people on the street) there were already two people there. The driver wanted four, to fill the car. I made three, so we were waiting for one more. While we were waiting, a man came along selling iguana eggs. They are quite small and a kind of double shape, as if two are joined together. I didn’t try one then, because after some discussion the other tourist bought some and I didn’t want to look like I was jumping on the bandwagon, but I decided that I would like to try them some time, preferably without an audience. Eventually two people showed up together for the taxi. This posed another dilemma – there wasn’t enough room for everyone. So we waited until another single person came along, and off we went, having waited nearly an hour. The trip was uneventful other than that the fourth person, an older man, sat in the front hawking and spitting out the window. As I was sitting behind him, and the windows were down, I was worried that some of what he was spitting out may come back in the window onto me and I spent a few minutes picturing myself travelling the rest of the way covered in it. Of course I could have wound the window up, but then it would have been hot & I would have to explain why I had put the window up.

We were dropped off in the public transport area at Minca, which is a corner on the main street. I knew which hostel I wanted, but didn’t know where it was. Of course, I didn’t need to ask anyone – as I started to move off to check a sign, some young guys in front of a shop called out and asked me where I was going. When I told them, they said “that’s 15 minutes up the hill, and it’s hot today.” Since my backpack was full, and I couldn’t deny that the walk sounded unappealing, I took the offer of a ride on a motorbike and $1 later I was at the hostel.

After my woeful performance in the Lost City, I wasn’t in a hurry to get back to the mountains, but this is much less challenging. The sights, such as waterfalls and coffee farms are reached by road, rather than steep difficult tracks. Having said that, Minca is indeed in the mountains. Minca itself is about 700 metres above sea level, but one of the coffee farms, an hour’s walk away, for example, is about 1100 metres above sea level.

The Marinca Waterfall is about 40 minutes from town, a pleasant walk through the forest. The road is crossed in several places by small streams; most are passable without getting your shoes wet. Huge stands of bamboo grow along the roadside, and there are plenty of birds to be seen and heard. On the way to the waterfall I passed walkers, a lot of motorbikes, one tractor and a few horses pulling carts. At the waterfall, I was the only visitor there, as it was later in the day. Entry was $1.50 for foreigners. I wanted to buy water but they didn’t have any, so I settled for a light beer. The waterfall is quite nice but no Iguazu Falls. It is a pleasant relaxing place though, and the swimming area is formed like an infinity edge swimming pool. There are thatched huts to sit under, although the plastic table and chairs don’t really do much for the feel of the place.

Although Minca has about 15 places for visitors to stay, it really is not a touristy place. There are no shops purposely targeting tourists, although I think some hotels may sell touristy things. It is quite nice to be somewhere like this, although when I was looking for somewhere to eat and there were no restaurants open, I did think that I might be going hungry that night. I found somewhere with takeaway so I had a piece of chicken (in batter) and a potato ball stuffed with tuna (quite nice). I sat in the park at the small church and ate my dinner. It is a lovely little church; it is a shame that it has rubbish lying around everywhere. Minca does have a garbage pick-up service, I saw the truck collecting rubbish, but maybe no one is employed to actually put the rubbish in the bins in the first place.

On my second day I had planned to walk around a loop track that takes six or seven hours, but when I got up it was so peaceful and the hammocks were so inviting that I decided to have a day of doing nothing. I spent the morning doing some hammock duty and reading a Colombian magazine about people that I didn’t know, although it was as entertaining as it would have been if I did know them(read it and immediately forget what you have read because it is of no real importance).

At lunch time I walked down to town to get something to eat. On the way I passed three school children. The boy said something to me that sounded like gibberish. I asked him what he said and he said something equally nonsensical. One of the girls with him said to me “they’re not real words” and the other girl said “he’s crazy”. I don’t know whether he actually had some kind of problem or if he was just being a smartarse but the girls seemed quite apologetic, as if explaining about him was nothing new.

On the third day I had another sleep-in and a very nice breakfast, which doubled for lunch. In the afternoon I walked up the mountain to the Finca La Victoria, which is a coffee plantation. I had been told that it was 40 to 50 minutes’ walk, but in fact it was over an hour. It was a pleasant walk along the road, a bit warm but not too bad. I was offered one ride along the way, but since I thought I was nearly there I declined.

When I arrived it wasn’t clear that I was in the right place. It looked like a small village and I wondered if the sign I had turned off at that said “La Victoria” referred to a village rather than the Finca. I asked at a house and was told that I was in the right place. I asked further directions inside the workshed and found myself waiting inside for the current tour to finish. The girl leading the tour said something about waiting and a door, but I wasn’t sure if she said “through the door” or “near the door”. I half-heartedly tried the door I thought that she meant, but it was a construction within the shed and seemed insulated or lined, I didn’t want to open it in case it was private, or had sensitive works going on inside. So I stood beside the door in an area where there was no seating or no sign that it was a reception area. After a while, the tour guide led her group through the door. I didn’t know if they had looked at something there and passed further on, or if they were still in there, or if it was the reception area. I eventually took the chance and opened the door to what was in fact the reception area. A sign on the door to that effect would have saved me a lot of wondering.

Finally the tour started, I was the only visitor for the first five minutes but then a group from Romania/US/Bogotá arrived so we started again. It was quite interesting to learn about the process. The machines used are generated by the river, and the coffee, grown on the plantation, is separated by using water (the better quality beans sink.) The best quality beans are reserved for export and the other beans, inferior but still good, are for Colombian use. Coffee for export is not processed there at the Finca, it is exported after it is washed and sorted, still with the shell on. Coffee for use in Colombia is dried for three days, roasted and shelled. It is graded and then sold on. From memory the guide said that coffee is exported to 67 different countries. I didn’t ask her if Australia was one of those countries, I didn’t want to put her on the spot – who could remember a list that long?

The same person who told me it was a 40-50 minute walk also told me that there were good views of Santa Marta and its neighbouring beach El Rodadero, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when the shady balcony I had envisioned, with great panoramic views and coffee and cool drinks, did not exist. Instead, we returned to the internal reception room where we had started from, which was quite pleasant but a missed opportunity considering the lovely setting outside. We had a coffee (quite nice and smooth) and talked to the guide. She looked to be only in her teens but had done a good job. She told me she was learning English by distance studies on the internet, and although the tour was in Spanish, she had added English words when she knew them or sometimes referred to a piece of paper.

I would have bought a bag of the coffee but I was mindful of my suitcase and the mysterious way it seems to be gaining weight. After we paid our $2.50 per person for the tour (and taught the guide how to say that in English) we headed off. The other people in the tour took motorbikes back to town, but since it was only 4.20 I had plenty of time so I walked. The walk was even nicer on the way back because it was cooler, and downhill, although not so steep as to be painful.

I stopped for dinner at the Hotel Colonial, 10 minutes before my hostel. It was a nice building with wide covered verandas. I sat outside near the infinity edge pool, at the only table, and had a hamburger and two beers. The hamburger was very expensive by local standards and wasn’t even particularly nice. But there were lots of pretty birds nearby, including hummingbirds. One of the guys who worked there told me they also have macaws, but I didn’t see them, I think they come mainly in the morning for the food that is put out for them.

Trying to drum up business (they had no visitors that night but were expecting some over the weekend) they offered me a room – 15,000 pesos ($7.50) including breakfast, and access to the river. It was nice, but it was a dormitory and had no private bathroom. I preferred to stay where I am - $25,000 pesos ($12.50) w/o breakfast but with private bathroom, especially since I had changed that day to a better room. My first room was a dormitory but I paid to have it to myself. I was mainly the only one using the bathroom, which was adjacent to but not inside the room. That was ok, but I liked the room that I had now, it even had a working TV and a private bathroom with a toilet seat!

I walked back to Sans Souci just on dark. I bought a few beers from reception and after the sunset went to my room for the evening. As much as I like Minca, there is not much to do at night. But now I had a TV for the first time in almost a week, so I looked at that as a bit of excitement.

By the next day I had come to accept that I actually didn’t walk to do the loop walk. I was planning to go to Tayrona National Park when I got back to Santa Marta and I wanted to have my knees in peak condition. To the best of my knowledge, the loop walk in Minca is nice but not particularly stunning; I thought it best to save myself for the National Park which involves two days of walking. Having let go of the guilt I feel if I choose to not to do something, I was free to relax and do nothing. I went into town for lunch, saw a squirrel (my third since I have been in South America) and came back to the hostel. I returned to town a few hours later, hoping to visit a restaurant that had access to a swimming hole in the river, for dinner and a mojito, but it was shut, so I had takeaway empanadas and returned to the hostel.

Minca has been a lovely break from the noise and pollution of the city, but I will return to Santa Marta tomorrow, en route to Tayrona National Park.

Photos: More about Santa Marta, and the fishing village of Taganga

sally-annephillips — Sun, 5 Feb 2012 13:43:00 GMT

More about Santa Marta, and the fishing village of Taganga

sally-annephillips — Sun, 5 Feb 2012 13:37:00 GMT

I had been travelling for almost two months, nearly my halfway mark, and I was starting to get a bit tired of packing up my stuff and moving on. I think that’s part of why people travel light; it is the mental image of moving your things that can be as inhibitive as the physical reality. All of my things do fit into one suitcase, although it is large and heavy. This is usually only a problem for taxi drivers or hotel staff, lugging me from bus station to hotel or vice versa, with varying degrees of demonstrated strain, possibly in the hope of getting a tip. Nonetheless, I didn’t feel like another bus trip just yet.

After the Ciudad Perdido trip I stayed in Santa Marta for a few days, going to the Ethnological Museum, the esplanade and plaza, reading and generally relaxing. Some of our Ciudad Perdido group members also were still in Santa Marta, so I spent some time with them. With Madeleine I visited the Quinta de San Pedro Alejandro, the place where Simón Bolívar died, a 17^th century villa with beautiful gardens. We saw plenty of iguanas, which I was excited about. I felt like I had recently visited a lot of places that said “you may see this animal or this one” yet had not. So far squirrels were my most exciting view. So when we saw iguanas it was a bonus, although we didn’t spot any of the monkeys or snakes that are also reportedly there. Some of the trees, which I think are laurels, are so old and big that they are quite stunning. This place is an oasis in a city that can be dirty and noisy in places.

I went out to dinner with Maud and Louique (sorry, how do you spell your name?) from the Ciudad Perdido trip, and it was so nice to have a meal with other people, and one that was not based around rice and a bit of meat. It was more expensive than the cheap local restaurants, but certainly worth a splurge.

Santa Marta, like many other cities in South America, is an interesting place to people watch. One of the great things for lazy people in South America is that you seldom have to seek out food, drinks or other things to buy, you can sit and often they will come to you. Sitting in the main plaza in Santa Marta, I didn’t have to wait long before I was offered ice-creams, empanadas, sun-glasses and tinto. I said yes to the tinto, which is sweetened coffee in a small cup.

I suppose in any city there are always the haves and the have-nots, and you don’t even have to drive through the suburbs to see that Santa Marta is no different. In the city one day, I found it upsetting to see a boy perhaps 11 years old, who looked like he lived in the streets, having an argument with an old man who seemed to be demented. I didn’t see exactly what the argument was about but the old man seemed to think the boy had done him some wrong. I had seen the boy the day before, collecting scrap wood, I assume to sell on, and had sympathised with him. Someone so young shouldn’t have to be trying take care of himself like that. The scene with the old man drew many observers, some stepping in and trying to calm the situation, and in the end, a policeman sent the boy on his way while placating the man. Of course it’s a scene that plays out regularly all over the world, displaced people feeling disgruntled, but I was struck by how many people stopped, seemingly out of concern, not just curiosity. People actually acted and helped. But that has been my experience of Colombian people, the examples just keep coming. When Madeleine and I were going to the Quinta de San Pedro Alejandro, a guy who happened to be sitting near us, who Madeleine asked about buses, didn’t just give us directions, he walked the six blocks with us to show us exactly where to get the bus.

I started to feel like I was just filling in time in Santa Marta, but still not ready to make a big move, I left my suitcase in storage at my hotel, and got my backpack out of its three day retirement to set off to Taganga.

Taganga is a lovely little fishing village, about 20 minutes east of Santa Marta. I arrived on the bus (approximately 80 cents) and wasn’t sure where to get off, but it is such a small village that it didn’t matter. I found a hostel (three times the price of my hotel in Santa Marta but probably that much nicer, too). Taganga abounds with hostels, restaurants, bars and diving and tour agencies. It is touristy but also so small that it has a charm. I especially like the outlines of different fish drawn into some of the concrete paving the main streets. The centre of the town faces the bay, with grass huts, shaded tents and tourist shops. Some of the side streets aren’t sealed but it is generally clean. I had the most expensive meal of my time yet in Colombia at a restaurant on the beach, $12 for a seafood soup! Shocking – but it was nice.

Taganga has an excellent book exchange, where you can not only change or buy but also rent books in many languages. It was a minor mission to find it (maybe that’s just me) but it is an amazing store for such a small village. If you are in Santa Marta and want a good book, it is worth the trip to Taganga just for that.

So I spent my first afternoon looking around and visiting the bookshop. Day two required a sleep-in until 10.00 am and then a trip to the beach. That turned out to be an error in judgement, as I stayed too long. I returned to the hostel to take advantage of the shady patio and the Wi-Fi and soothe my very red legs.

Photos: El Ciudad Perdido

sally-annephillips — Mon, 30 Jan 2012 10:08:00 GMT

El Ciudad Perdido(Lost City) Colombia

El Ciudad Perdido (The Lost City)

sally-annephillips — Mon, 30 Jan 2012 09:37:00 GMT

I came to Santa Marta to visit El Ciudad Perdido, The Lost City. Known as Teyuna (Mother Nature) it was built about 700 A. D. but after the Spanish arrival almost all of the inhabitants died from introduced diseases and the city was abandoned. It was only rediscovered 40 years ago. You can read more here. The trek is designed to take five days, even though the distance is only about 20 Km. I knew it was going to be challenging, but when Jairo from the hotel showed me a photo of a German woman with one leg who managed the trek, I thought I should be able to do it too. For me, the trek was the main point of the journey – I thought that El Ciudad Perdido would be quite interesting, but not on the same level as Machu Pichu. I had read that the scenery and wildlife made the trek worthwhile, so that was what I was most looking forward to. I was in a group of only six, which was a good number. Everyone was very nice and easy to get along with, which helps when you are together all day for five days. As it turned out I was actually, during the hike, often by myself because I was slower than the others. We were met at the hotel in Santa Marta by our guide, Gabrielle, and his 14 year-old son Juan Carlos, who was on school holidays. We piled into the back of a 4 x 4, the passenger door secured with a bit of string and the back door with a wad off paper. It was a two and a half hour drive to the village of Mami, where the tour begins. The sealed part of the road was fine but the last hour or so on the rough unsealed road was quite uncomfortable. Bruises appeared on my arm the next day from bumping against the door, but they would be the least of my worries. We had lunch at a restaurant in Mami before we set off. I tried to bring only what I really needed; we only had to carry our own personal things, bedding was provided and donkeys or horses carried the food, but even so, my backpack felt quite heavy. The start of the trek was quite easy, and we stopped for a swim at one of many rivers (or was it the same one that we repeatedly crossed?) Then the honeymoon was over. For what seemed like eight hours but was probably two, the track was nothing other than hard work. It was a very steep climb cut into the mountainside, steeper than these photos reflect, with no view other than the next switch-back. I learnt to stop hoping that the next bend would be the last, because it never was. (Well, obviously it was once.) I questioned the value of a challenge for the sake of challenge – that was to be a recurring theme in my head over the next five days. When we finally got to the top of the mountain, after a watermelon refreshment stop, it was a pleasant walk along the mountain ridge to our first night’s accommodation. We had left Mami with another group of 16 or so, they also stayed at our camp. I was impressed with the facilities at the camps – there were even flushing toilets and showers. I hadn’t expected that, so it was a real bonus. The water was cold but it was lovely to be clean. We slept in hammocks: I think everyone was in bed by 8.30. It was so peaceful, aside from the snorers not a sound was to be heard. Day one had been hard for me: I had kept up, but didn’t really enjoy the walk because I was going faster than I would have liked. Day two was supposed to be easier, but for me it was just as hard, although at least now there was scenery. The climb was longer, but not as steep. The scenery was nicer, although I still didn’t see any wildlife apart from insects and a few birds. In the jungle we frequently came across streams and little waterfalls, it was very green and pretty. It was much cooler amongst the greenery than on the open hill face, and if I had had more energy I would have taken many more photos, but the effort of stopping to take off my backpack and retrieve my camera was too inhibiting. Throughout the trek we passed indigenous villages, and entered one, where we were allowed to photograph the buildings but not the people. Quite often we would pass indigenous people on the path, or they would come from behind us, on foot or donkey, seeming to appear from nowhere. They wore white tunics made of cotton or sacking, and often carried bags, with the strap over their foreheads, the men sometimes had white trousers underneath, and the women or girls often had necklaces. Although they are quite small people, and so the children were apparently older than they appeared, I was impressed by the independence and skill of the children. A young child that looked to be five years old but may have been nine was walking using a machete, thrusting it into the ground directly in front of her feet to keep balance and propel herself along the track. A baby that looked too young to walk was riding on a horse, its mother nearby with the horse’s rope, but the baby was up there by itself, seemingly with very good balance. Whilst some of the indigenous people were shy, some seemed to know the guides and were quite chatty with them. A few children had the hand of the tourist idea and called quite demandingly “dulces” (sweets) to the tourists. Horses were a common sight on the trail, they were invaluable in getting supplies to the camps and people’s homes. Having nearly been knocked over the mountainside by one, I learned to make sure I gave them enough space to get past with their packs. Our second day of trekking ended near a river, again the rocks forming a natural swimming area, but this time we had bunks instead of hammocks. It was nice to cool off in the river, then have a shower (cold of course) and relax for the evening. Throughout the trek, all of our meals were prepared for us in pretty basic facilities, but were always filling and tasty. (Except for one breakfast of heavy corn pancakes, which I could not bring myself to eat) Without electricity we used the candles provided and played cards until it was late enough to go to bed. On the second night we had a different group alongside us. It is interesting how quickly group identity kicks in – although we were sitting right next to each other, each group kept largely to themselves. Day three would bring us to within one kilometre of the lost city. It was an easier trek, possibly because I allowed myself to go at my own pace rather than trying to keep up with everyone else. I had more time to enjoy the scenery and the sheer peace of the illusion of being alone in the mountains. Throughout the trek there were regular stops for fruit – just when I would be thinking I didn’t want to do it any more (a fairly futile thought, because I didn’t have much choice really) I would turn a corner and the group would be sitting there, having fruit and a rest. At the end of day three, we stopped at our camp, 800m above sea level, with tents erected in a raised shed, and waterfall views from the balcony. That in itself was almost worth the effort to get there. By day four, the day that we were to visit El Ciudad Perdido, my legs were starting to get tired, but more concerning; my knees were suffering from their lack of cartilage. Day four was technically more challenging, with the trail passing above the river and rocks below along several narrow cliff ledges (I didn’t need the yellow “Peligroso” police-scene-like tape to tell me that it was dangerous) and requiring a bit of jumping and climbing over rocks in other places. If I wasn’t tired, didn’t have sore knees, wasn’t carrying my pack, then it probably would have been easy. Being fitter might have helped, too. Nearly everyone else seemed to manage without any dramas. I say “nearly” because there were two men in other groups who seemed to struggle more than me – no offense to them, but I was secretly glad that I wasn’t the only one who found it challenging. When we arrived at the entrance to El Ciudad Perdido Park, there were of course the approximately 1 200 steps to contend with. I’m not sure what part of “narrow” and “slippery” I had missed when I was reading about it before hand; maybe I blocked that out of my mind. Actually, 1 200 steps isn’t really that many, it was just that they were narrow and slippery! Once at the city itself, I forgot about the pain and enjoyed the site. It was bigger than I had pictured and the mist added to the mystical feel. The buildings are long gone, but the circular platforms where they stood have been uncovered from the forest, along with the ceremonial platforms and significant features such as a rock resembling a toad (representing fertility) and the King’s thinking chair. We spent quite some time looking around the city, with Gabrielle explaining the significance of what all we saw. It was so misty it was hard to see from one platform across to another. At the very top of the city was a para-military camp. Officers stood on guard with their large weapons, flags flying. They apparently do six-month tours of duty – a long time to live in a tent on top of a mountain. As I had anticipated, going down was worse than coming up. Juan Carlos helped me going down the start of the slippery, narrow 1,200 steps. I felt like I was an invalid, but it was good of him to help me keep my balance. At the bottom, it was retracing our steps back over the rock face and ledges, I was very glad to finish that leg of the trek. I was so slow that I didn’t even have a swim at the river with the others, just rested and then hobbled my way back to camp. That night we stayed in the same place that we had stayed on the second night. Lying awake in my bunk, my right knee was so swollen and sore that I was honestly contemplating how I was going to get through the last day. Like the fourth day, the last would be two days travelling in one, as it was more downhill. Memories of the switch-backs were still vivid in my mind. I thought that unless I had a big improvement over night, I was going to have to suffer the indignity of being carried off the mountain on the back of a horse. By the next morning, my knee was a bit better, so I headed off with the rest of the group, thankful I didn’t need a horse just yet. I was even slower than ever, and by the first break I knew that carrying my backpack any further was just not practical. On other days, if I was last it didn’t really inconvenience anyone else, but today at the end of the trek we were having lunch and then going straight back to town, so I didn’t want to hold everyone up. One of our group members (the only guy amongst us, and dedicated mountaineer) very kindly offered to carry the heavy things from my pack. Gabrielle had offered to take my whole pack the day before and I had declined, but now I could see I needed to swallow my pride. Despite the fact that Gabrielle is 74 years old, and had his own small bag already, he cheerfully took my pack as well and set of at his usual speed. Without my pack I could go at quite a decent speed on the flat parts of the track. It was only on the down-hill parts that I had trouble. I found that going down backwards was the quickest if not the most elegant way of moving along, but by now no one was around so it didn’t matter. When I arrived at the last swimming spot, again, I didn’t go in, preferring to get a head start on the others to avoid holding them up. So, from being the last every other day, I was almost first on the final day. I changed and washed in the bathroom at the restaurant in the village, and sat down ready to relax with a beer and lunch. The trip in the 4 x 4 back to Santa Marta was even bumpier than I remembered it, or maybe I was sore to start with. It had been a challenging and at times painful five day trek, but the beautiful scenery, the interesting destination and the people I met along the way made it worthwhile. For a video of my photos, you can visit here

Photos: Bogotá to Santa Marta

sally-annephillips — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 15:33:00 GMT

photos from Villa de Leiva, Tunja, San Gil, Santa Marta and the road along the way

Bogotá to Santa Marta

sally-annephillips — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 14:17:00 GMT

In the seven days it took to arrive from Bogotá I spent about 22 hours on buses and progressed about 900 kilometres (depending on your source) to Santa Marta. (This doesn’t include my side trip to Villa de Leiva.) Being on holidays, I chose to use my calculator, rather than my brain, to work out that the bus trips are averaging 41 kilometres an hour, which isn’t really surprising. My grandma used to say that it’s better to arrive late than dead on time, and I would like to think that the bus drivers here must have the same motto. I don’t have much confidence in the overtaking techniques (pass when you can’t see around the bend ahead, but expect that an oncoming driver will yield, ignore double lines) but so far I have only seen two accidents so I suppose and hope the system works.

I stopped at Tunja for a while, and stayed in a lovely colonial period hotel. I visited the Casa del Fundador Suárez Rendón, the mansion of a Spanish Conquistador. The garden was quite nice but the house itself was closed because the guide was not there, so I could only look at the balcony, which was a bit disappointing. One thing I liked about Tunja was that it is on a hill, with the main plaza at the top, so it was quite easy to orientate myself. That is not something I can say often.

For me the main attraction of Tunja is its proximity to Ville de Lieva, a beautiful town. It is listed as a national monument, so it has retained its colonial style buildings and cobbled streets. It is a lovely, peaceful place, although busy with Bogotonians on weekends, and the plaza is quite striking. I visited a palaeontology museum which appeared to be the front room of someone’s home. It was quite interesting, well signed, and led to a lovely garden courtyard with a (slightly lame) miniature model dinosaur display, and a real cat and duck (both alive) thrown into the bargain.

I next stopped at the friendly town of San Gil, where there are lots of sports activities such as white water rafting and caving on offer. The most adventurous I got was visiting the Pozo Azul, which is a popular swimming and recreation spot. It is a nice area to swim, relax, read, have a beer and more, as the brochure suggested. From what I could see, “and more” meant bring a pot and cook your lunch over a fire, which some people did. There were the usual stalls if you didn’t want to BYO. The streets in San Gil are so steep that at one point I was worried my taxi would tip backwards as we went up a hill, with my suitcase in the back. On the plus side, on the way down, you don’t need to turn the engine on until you’re halfway there.

When I left San Gil I went as far as San Alberto; it was already dark when I arrived, it had taken almost all day because the road was so poor. So I arrived in a town that was on my map but not listed in my guide book, meaning I had no hotel in mind or even a city map to use. I asked the bus driver if he could recommend a hotel, and in what seems to be a typically helpful Colombian style, he quickly asked a local colleague, who hailed a taxi and before I knew it I was on my way to a hotel, in the back of a motorcycle taxi (a motorcycle with a two-seater bench attached at the back, with a cover over the top). This would have been a tight squeeze for me considering I have a big suitcase and a small daypack, but it was even tighter because there was already another passenger in the taxi. Followeing instructions, I got in, putting my backpack on the ledge behind me where the speakers were, and the taxi driver put my bag on my knees. Luckily we were only going around the corner. (I could easily have walked if the bus station guy had told me where it was) The other passenger, a young woman, was very good natured about this imposition, and the driver made a joke about the weight of my 23 kg suitcase. 50 cents later I was at my hotel, very modern and nice for a city that is not overly familiar with tourists, particularly foreign ones.

Later, as I walked along the street, I could tell I was off the gringo trail; I could see people looking at me even more than usual and some people waited until I had passed to call out to me, or ask me where I was from. San Alberto was friendly and I liked the feel of the town, and again I was appreciative of the helpfulness of the people.

With the state of the road between San Gil and San Alberta that I had seen the day before, I was not surprised that the next day, the bus from the south arrived an hour and a half late. This meant that I also arrived in Santa Marta in the dark. I don’t mean to harp on about the darkness issue; it’s just that it’s easier and safer to arrive in places in the daylight, which is the only reason I had stopped in San Alberto.

In Santa Marta, Colombia’s third largest Caribbean port, I had no problems getting a taxi or hotel, even though it was dark. My hotel was near the port, and although it’s not a nice swimming beach it is a nice area to walk around, with stalls selling handicrafts or snacks on the esplanade and restaurants and bars across the road. Whilst the esplanade is attractive and clean, I can’t say the same for the water or streets nearby. The piles of rubbish lying in the gutters and blowing around in the strong summer winds detracted from the charm. Marshall from a local diving agency told me that the government has tried hard in recent years to restore old buildings and clean up the rubbish. There is still a lot of work to go on the rubbish front, but the plaza and park are very nice spaces to relax in. I look forward to exploring Santa Marta when I return from the Ciudad Perdido (The Lost City) – and by the way – I’m in the Caribbean – where is Johnny Depp?

Photos: Museo Del Oro (The Museum of Gold)

sally-annephillips — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 12:59:00 GMT

The Museum of Gold, Bogata, Columbia