Depleted from the Lost City Trek, we arrive at El Quetzal Eco-lodge sweaty, stinky and mucky. A helping hand carries our bags up the steps to reception. We pass a swimming pool, sun loungers, a games room with a pool table, foosball and darts and find ourselves in a restaurant and bar over-looking the mountains and jungle. We check-in and are escorted to our pristine white lodges with thatched roofs 30 seconds from the bar. Hmm, we could get used to this luxury for four nights!
We freshen up, cleaning off all of the mud, sweat and grit in our ensuite waterfall showers and put on some fresh and most importantly dry(!) clothes. Over happy hour cocktails, we all agree this place is perfect, it’s just what we need after covering so much ground over the last week or so. We are very grateful to Mama and Papa Collins for their generous offer to cover the cost of our Xmas stay and meals.
For Christmas Eve and Christmas Day we’re more than happy to not leave the property and enjoy the facilities, especially the bar and kitchen! In-between refreshments we relax by the pool, invent new rules for games of water volleyball, befriend the local parrot, catch up on our blogging, play cards and relax some more. Of course, being Collins’, there are a couple of quizzes and ‘The Xmas Olympics’ to keep us busy.
As is tradition in parts of the world including Colombia, the big meal is on Xmas Eve. We start with a welcome platter of Buñuelos (the doughnut-esque cheese balls we had in Medellin) and Natilla (?), a kind of cinammon-flavoured flan with fruit. After filling up too much on these, it’s on to the actual meal.
For the proper starter, we enjoy prawn and smashed avocado served on fried plantain for starter. Main course has to be turkey but this time served with rice and either Waldorf salad or Russian salad. Dessert is help yourself to a variety of sweet treats including fruit cake, cookies and marshmallows. A free drink is included plus a few extra top-ups “it’s included” say the friendly staff dressed up in various Christmas props.
On Christmas Day, after our new favourite breakfast of pancakes, eggs, bacon and syrup, we open our cards and presents, most of which have travelled halfway across the world. Thanks Santa.
Alex kindly replaced the tiny microfibre towel I have with me for one exactly the same size, doh. She did also buy me a very exciting new Fitbit so I’ll let her off.
The cunning cat that always turned up when our food was served. Here she is not satisfied with a bit of pancake, demanding bacon.
Oddly, it seems like today is just another day for the staff who are no longer wearing their Xmas props and are not in the partying mood they were last night. We, however, get to continue to enjoy another day by the pool.
Lottie kindly treats Alex and I to a massage treatment on-site for Christmas, where we both go for the relaxing massage with chocolate and coffee scrub. Lottie enjoys a post-breakfast massage herself (the scrub part getting somewhat lost in translation). Having an open-air massage with the cool breeze on our skin and the beautiful bird song to sooth our minds is just perfect, even before the amazing synchronous massage we get as a couple. We can’t help but chuckle to ourselves when we get wrapped up like chocolate sweets to let the scrub do its work on our skin, whilst the therapists do their work on the rinse. A rather surreal experience follows as they wash us down with buckets full of soothing, herbal water as we sit on a plastic stool in our pants. It’s a wonderful treat and we feel fully revitalised.
That evening Lottie and I close off the celebrations with a tuna tartare followed by rib-eye steaks and a bottle of bubbly, whilst Alex looks on longingly from her plate of plain chicken and rice, suffering from her latest tummy bug.
Boxing Day Walk
Finally feeling a bit more human and energetic, we decide we want to spend Boxing Day in the nearby Tayrona National Park. The Xmas funds we received from Auntie Diane and Auntie Janet will go towards the cost of entry and our day in the park, thank you family.
A ridiculously short bus ride takes us to the entrance to the park where we need to buy travel insurance just for this park(!?), that reassuringly covers accidental illness, injury, dismemberment or death (!!!), and hoping to pay for entry on card we’re told ‘there is no internet’, cash it is then. If we had a pound for each time this happened in South America… After splurging most of the day’s cash on the bus, insurance and entrance fee, we opt to walk the first hour instead of taking the shuttle bus. As usual, we’re the only ones frugal (or stupid?) enough to do this but we do hear howler monkeys on the road so that’s something unique you wouldn’t hear on the bus. Eventually we start the proper trail and after around 10 minutes we get to actually see some monkeys! These are the capuchin species and don’t sound half as terrifying as the howler monkeys. They come close to the tour groups but more out of curiosity than need. They don’t hiss for food or go near anyone’s bags.
A bit further up, a different tour group has found another pack of monkeys. An older guy in the group starts shaking the branch one of the younger monkeys is on. The alpha does not like it and bares his teeth menacingly. “Abuelo no, no” pleads the guy’s granddaughter, ‘stop aggravating the monkey grandpa‘ 🙄
On our way to the beautiful beaches where it’s safe to swim, we pass over huge boulders, through dense jungle and across a dirt path surrounded by lush green palms the kind of which I only thought you saw on postcards. Having missed the opportunity to buy ice-cream, we instead buy a large coconut with a hole cut out from an indigenous tribesman. The water inside is not anywhere near as sweet or tasty as we’d hoped but it does the job of keeping us hydrated in the 40 degree heat and some much needed sugar to a still-poorly Alex.
Our first stop is Playa Arenilla, where we cool off in the big ocean waves. In many areas of this park, swimming is forbidden due to strong currents and large dangerous rocks, for safety reasons these areas are blocked off from ocean access.
Carrying on, we walk along La Piscina (The Pool), a beautiful long stretch of beach… until we realise you need to walk a bit inland to the next beach, and so enjoy the beach twice as we find the actual path to make it to Cabo San Juan!
Needing to cool off again we have another swim. Climbing out of the waves once more, we spot Polly and Simon from our Lost City group! They’ve spent the past couple of nights camping in this park. It sounds fun but I bet they didn’t have some ladies scrub them down with coffee beans and wrap them up like sweets!
Lottie and I have some lunch while Alex chills out on the beach, under the shade of a palm tree. Idyllic.
After lunch, we enjoy a bit of sunbathing, swimming and chatting on the beach. We make our way up to a viewpoint that looks out over the two neighbouring beaches to create a mirror-image illusion. By this point it’s clouded over which is perfect for our long hike back.
Back at the park entrance, I finally buy us an ice-cream and trusty Gatorade after all the vendors we saw on the way in had gone home for the day. Thinking that the two minute bus ride we took to get here from Quetzal this morning must mean a short walk back, we opt to find out. Of course it’s more like a twenty five minute walk back along a busy litter-filled road, once again we’re the only ones walking it, we never learn.
We spend our final night at the eco-lodge playing more water volleyball (after dark version) and enjoying a delicious dinner. We pack our bags, ready to go first thing in the morning. We want to squeeze out every last hour as a trio together and hope catching an early bus back to Cartagena will work in our favour. Tune in next time to see how that went…
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Lottie’s Thoughts
Arriving at the Christmas lodge feels like paradise! Although I’m highly aware that I am caked in mud, sweat and mosquito bites so first thing on the agenda is the best shower of my life. Feeling human again I take in our new beautiful surroundings. On Christmas Day I enjoy a massage at the top of our lodge overlooking the jungle view and finish the day with a steak and sangria, I’m afraid the bar has been set high for future Christmases. Visiting Tayrona national park, I ticked another item off my bucket list which was seeing wild monkeys for the first time.
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Adventure – Surviving the walk back to the hotel, passed the longest truck we’ve ever seen. Expecting a bathtub to rinse off in and turning the corner to find a stool and bucket. Being looked after by Santiago and the rest of the Quetzal staff, service with a genuine smile.
Excitement – (Alex) feeling like I could just float in the sea. Seeing a blue, tube-nosed fish, maybe a barracuda, swimming right next to me (after much gesticulating and shouting by a Colombian woman). Crossing paths with people we actually know for the first time on this trip! Making it to paradise despite feeling incredibly weak when we started. The sand glistening in the sea like glitter.
Trauma – (Alex) missing out on eating and drinking all the wonderful hotel offerings thanks to my Lost City tummy bug. All of us joining the BBC (Bad Belly Club) at some point, likely some bug from the Lost City. Doing lots of research on Tayrona payments/how much cash we need to be told “The internet isn’t working”. Machete man.
After a quick slog through town at 6:30am, we meet our ride with the Expotur agency we’ve booked the trek with. Back down the windy road we go to Santa Marta, this time in a chunky 4×4 jeep. We make it to the agency office in good time, where we find a tiny room filled with desks and tens of people and big back-packs filling the too small space, all chatting away in what seems to be German. I start to wonder how much of the Duolingo German I learnt last year I still remember.
After much Colombian chaos, we are divided into two groups, and we’re relieved to find we’ve been put together with a Canadian/British couple on holiday, a Danish guy making the most of the Christmas break at uni, a British couple travelling, Danish twin sisters also travelling, and a guy from the USA. We are relieved once more that our first language of English is going to be the common language of the group, and I won’t just be yelling “Hallo!” at our groupmates for four days! We also meet our guide, Sixto, his translator, Carlos, a uni student, and our assistant guide Bryan.
After being bundled into the back of two jeeps, we’re thrown about as the road turns from tarmac to solidified mud lumps as we all cling on to the sides hoping to not concussed ourselves or be sick from all the winding up from the coast into the cloud forest and our starting point.
We are given a hearty lunch by our cook Postaza (I think) who we also now meet, and get a brief round-up of the next few days, for our out-and-back trek. As the email has warned us, the route is “mostly uphills with some downhills”. I still don’t understand how this is possible with an out-and-back, but so it is, and we set off up the road and into the sun.
The first leg is hot, sunny, humid, and uphill, and it doesn’t take long at all before we’re all literally dripping with sweat.
We have a few snack stops on the way up where we’re given gloriously fresh watermelon, try a really tasty coffee bean and honey mixture, and also see the most terrifying spider we’ve ever witnessed just hanging out in an orange juice spot (Google Joro spider if you want some nightmare fuel).
This first day is our only short day of the four, but it’s definitely challenging us to get into the groove of hiking with heavy packs again, especially in heat. We stop off at a viewpoint where Yas, the guy from the USA, mocks our use of the disposable camera. “Sure, if you want to do it the old fashioned way” he smirks as he unleashes his buzzing high-tech drone. “9 metres” he instructs to it by voice, as it whirrs backwards straight into a tree and drops to the ground like a stone. We don’t need to say anything as we watch him fish for his device in the bushes. We’ll stick with the disposable and phone cameras for now!
Thankfully the path moves into some overgrowth as we enjoy the shade and respite from the intensely hot sun. The terrain now changes from pure white sand, to bright orange clay, and another guide shows us how we can ‘tattoo’ our skin the ferns on the side of the road (don’t worry parents, it sweated off in seconds).
Our first day ends with us at the Blue Roof Campsite, where we all head down to enjoy the refreshing river water below. This one is deep enough to enjoy a jump in from the high rocks above it, or delicately climb in via a ladder. James opts for the jump!
James’s first attempt at river washing some of his clothes results in him falling back in, maybe next time!
These river stops end up being a lifeline as each leg rapidly increases our temperature and stickiness levels to uncomfortable degrees, with the river cooling and cleaning us off each time.
We head back for a lovely meal of fried Mojarra fish, prepared for us by Postaza. We’re allocated our beds, which are bunk beds stacked next to one another each with its own individual mosquito net. Despite our early start, early lunch and early dinner, we’re not ready to head to bed just yet, so we teach some of our group how to play Shithead, and Carlos teaches us 4-4-3, a Colombian card game. After a few rounds, we all call it a night and hope for a good night’s sleep before our first full hiking day.
Clambering into my top bunk, as the lights are turned off at 9pm, my torch illuminates the white netting a foot above my head, giving the impression of being in a coffin. Best close my eyes and not think about that one too much eh!
10km, 613m elevation gain
Day 2 – “happy hour”
We ‘awake’ at 5am after a not hugely successful night’s sleep. The platform the beds are on bounces at anyone moving along it, including the dog who is enjoying the late-night zoomies. There’s also a gate that bangs shut with each human/dog entry/exit. My bedding smells so damp I find it rather difficult to breath. The mattress creaks every-time you move a muscle. And there’s an orchestra of snoring around us. The joys of dorm sleeping! But there’s no time to mourn the sleep we’ve lost, as it’s time for a hearty breakfast and groans of disappointment as everyone realises their wet clothes they hung up the night before are still soaking. A quick pack-up and we’re ready to go again at 6am.
We retrace our steps towards the river we swam in yesterday. This time we cross a bridge over the water and keep going through streams and forest, much cooler than the day before, but still hot and humid.
Our next stop is to join a talk by two men from the Wiwa indigenous community, who still live here, having survived the conquistadors and other challenges to their way of life. We learn about the goard and wheel he is constantly rubbing with a stick, as he explains this is a process of transference of thoughts, as he thinks and ponders and rubs the stick around the outside, ‘writing’ his thoughts like a journal, except not with words, but spiritually. They also play us some music, teach us about what the different colour fabrics mean, explain that they always have two bags (to represent the two peaks), they always wear white to represent their purity with their culture, they don’t shake hands to say hello but exchange coca leaves, their goard with wheel ‘diary’ is their equivalent to a passport, and they make their fabric from the threads of the Ficay plant (that looks like aloe vera but isn’t). This last bit is the same as what we were also shown down in Arequipa, it’s interesting to see how disparate tribes and communities had commonalities. What I’d really like to know is how they keep their clothes so white!!!
We continue on to the next challenging terrain of a clay quagmire. The rich, red soil here is basically clay, and the combination of water, feet and hooves has churned up the ground so much it’s now a game of “find a route that won’t suck in your shoes”. Thankfully we all make it out alive with both shoes still attached to our feet and we next stop at a settlement of the Wiwa community, Mutanyi, where Sixto gives us more information about their lives.
The buildings are built in a circular shape to reflect the sun god. Meeting rooms are rectangular. They don’t use concrete or modern materials, just the trees and plants around them. Girls wear necklaces and slant their tunics to show one specific shoulder exposed. Boys wear shorts. Sex is only to procreate, and they only do it outdoors away from their homes. The homes we see are not a permanent village they constantly live in as they are a semi-nomadic people. Charity organisations donate solar panels and education to the community. After all, some of the community have mobile phones which need charging.
One of our group asks about whether or not it’s possible to convert to their way of life and ‘marry’ in. If you’re a man wanting to join a woman of the community, you must relinquish all possessions and clothes, and not wash or brush your teeth for seven years, nor cut your hair. Women don’t have as many rules to follow, although I forget which ones they were/weren’t. I ask if they are having any problem with the younger members being enticed away from their lives to western civilisation and we’re told not. I find out later that they consider their purpose on this planet is to protect pachamama, and seeing a bunch of westerners trample through their terrain probably just reinforces the need for them to stay and protect the land rather than entice them to a life of shallow consumerism. If one of the community were to leave, they would not be allowed back to live, they could only visit.
We continue on walking until our lunch spot where we have a swim in the river again. This time it’s a fast flowing shallow patch where, if you lie flat, you can let the current pull you downstream. A natural waterslide if you will. It’s a fun game and we are much refreshed for another hearty lunch.
We’re then off again for a brief stint before coming to what is sarcastically called “happy hour”, which is definitely not happy, but is instead an hour of pure uphill torture. Thankfully, there is a tray of pineapple and orange awaiting us at the top once more to help us replenish all the water we’ve once again sweated out of our eyeballs.
Once more we’re off for the final leg to our campsite for the night, before we go and ‘find’ the Lost City tomorrow.
We continue our tradition of cooling down and washing off the days activities in the river. We’re higher up here and there’s a hint of rain in the air. The water is colder than it was downstream but is a welcomed change.
Following another filling meal we play a couple of rounds of cards with the group, though we are fighting to stay awake. We all brush our teeth and head to our netted bunks for some much needed rest.
The dorms get smellier and filthier as the amount of dank clothing everyone lugs increases, creating a stench that can’t be described. At least we’re on concrete ground here so the beds don’t shake and there’s only a snoring soloist. Small mercies!
18km, 286m up, 320m down, 340m up, then various ups and downs
Day 3 – The Lost City
Today we make it to the Lost City. Despite some of our group keen to see the sunrise, Sixto advises against doing the walk in the dark, and most of the group just want to sleep. It’s still an early start though at 5am again, although one after a much better night’s sleep. Arguably one of the best things about today is we don’t have to carry our bags with us because we’re coming back to camp on our way back. Rejoice! You don’t know how much of a huge difference this makes. With pockets stuffed with repellent and sunblock, we start the path as the sun comes up before making it to the dreaded final 1200 steps up to the city.
On the Inca Trail we were warned about the ‘gringo killer’, that was a short stint up some incredibly steep stairs. By comparison to these 1200 steps, that gringo killer was a mere mugging. These steps are winding and seem never ending (no-one is counting of course!). In many parts they are narrow and slippy, so we all take our time to not slip and wipe out our entire group.
The steps finally stop and we emerge next to a shallow wall where we see others stopped. I guess we made it…? The entrance is underwhelming when compared to the other sites we’ve walked to, but just as you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, the Lost City has a lot more to reveal.
Sixto now gives us a bit of an intro to the site and the route for the day.
We stop off in various spots to take photos and get more lessons. As we wander the site, it opens up and up and up, into the vast city for which it is named. It really is huge. A sprawling city of circular, stone platforms in, around and through the jungle. These platforms are where the Tayrona people would have built their homes and other buildings, just as we’ve seen them built by the Wiwa culture of today.
We’re shown a big rock that is set to resemble the snowy peaks in the distance, the horizontal lines are the paths leading through the Sierra Nevada, the vertical lines are the rivers from the mountains, and there’s even a little pool of water for the lagoons. Of course in the photo it just looks like a rock:
We continue to meander through the city, admiring the incredible views of the cloud forest around us. People believe it was constructed here for the vantage-point it gave them to see anyone coming. They would mostly keep to themselves, but they would need to go to the coast for food and shells to fill the goards.
Whilst they managed to live in relative isolation, once the Spaniards came, of course that all changed. With them came diseases like Yellow Fever and Tuberculosis, which starting wiping people out. Due to the spread of illness, the people abandoned the city believing it to be damned, and so it was left to crumble and collapse and the people hid from others and the diseases they carried. I guess this is where they started becoming semi-nomadic and the different tribes of the area split off.
We mosey on down to the second-to-last part of the city, where some of the buildings have been recreated, and a small girl sells us some bracelets. Yas, the guy from the USA, generously pays for us all to get one. Sixto also shows us how they dyed their fabrics, by using it as warpaint on us. “Those who don’t have it don’t get lunch”, Jim runs to the front.
The last section is a restored part of the city. We’ve been really lucky with the weather, clouding over for the walks to keep us slightly less hot, but for this section the sun has graced us with its presence and we have been able to enjoy it in all its glorious green and blue beauty.
It’s a three hour tour, and having hit our mid-point of the entire trek, it’s time to start the long road back, beginning with the same 1200 steps we just clambered up a few hours earlier. It’s a lot harder going down than up, so we’re all taking it easy, and holding our breaths at each sound of a slip hoping we don’t all get bowled down by a rogue slip.
Thankfully we all make it back in one piece and we have lunch at camp again. Our clothes are still completely soaked through. Nothing dries here!
So, time for the last leg of this long day back to where we had lunch the day before, just another 10km! Unfortunately when I get there, I realise I’ve lost my bikini (or someone took it) at the previous camp. Nevertheless my clothes are soaked through so it’s no difference to swimming in them again. The river feels a lot colder this time, but we celebrate our last night out in the forest with some beers whilst we paddle in the river. We enjoy our last dinner together as a group, but not as much as the tables around us. They’re doing dances, drinking, playing games and music, the food hall is now a cacophony of noise, of which I’m too tired to shout over so call it an early night. After all, we have another 18km to walk tomorrow! The rest stay up a bit longer, but most are in bed by 8:30pm, hoping for a good sleep…
Except one of the Wiwa staff at camp has been enjoying himself too much, and our block that happens to face the hanging hammocks of staff opposite gets a lovely rendition of him violently retching and spitting on repeat. Just when you think it might be over, and your mind drifts off, the loud retching cuts through the peace and quiet of the jungle campsite like a knife as you get another unwanted encore. Needless to say, it’s not a good night sleep for most of us.
Day 4 – Long road home
Another early start of course. We’re all smelly, damp and tired. But this is the last day, we can do it! I’m feeling so tired I don’t have much for breakfast thinking I’m feeling a bit sick from exhaustion, but my belly then tells me otherwise. Was about time for another spot of tummy trouble!
Thankfully it’s nothing like the cramps I’ve had in Bolivia, and all it does is spur me on to smash through to our next campground where there is a free toilet. Headphones in, podcasts distracting me from the waving grumbles, I’m passing groups like my life depends on it, but there’s no beating Bryan, our group’s mountain goat guide who keeps overtaking me no matter what lead I seem to get over him! The sun is still blazing, but thankfully we’re sheltered in the canopy. Every so often it opens up and the views are glorious.
The weather has not only blessed us during the day, but also at night, by reserving all of her rain for when we’ve been tucked up inside. This has now had a vast impact on that muddy quagmire we plodded down on day two, as this is now a steep incline with the added challenge of no solid route to follow. The mostly solid paths we managed to navigate on the way down are now also just sludge, and many a step is placed into an unexpectedly soft lump that sinks, swallowing your foot down. Our sticks are a lifeline to keep us upright, and our boots to keep our feet dry and clean. Not everyone is so lucky as various mud-caked shoes arrive to our next snack-stop.
After a drink and a cake, it’s time for the final push. My belly has calmed down with nothing in it, so I decide to walk with James and Lottie now, and we try and pass the time with 20 questions. It’s a long, hard, slog for the final section. Our bags are digging into our shoulders, and our bodies are so tired that the steep decline that we struggled up on day one feels neverending, and our feet and toes are all struggling to the constant pressure against out shoes. Add in the midday sun roasting our skin to the mix too! It’s long and arduous, but of course we do it. If we’ve learnt anything from our running crew Chasing Lights, it’s how to keep going when you think you can’t go anymore.
We regroup with everyone at our first lunch spot, and collapse into the chairs. Yas the drone-obsessed American is fast asleep, catching flies at the lunch table, after hiring a mule to bring him back due to knee trouble. A few looks of approval and satisfaction amongst the exhausted group while we all silently catch our breath and comprehend what we’ve just done. Lottie is also now feeling rather unwell along with a few others in the group, so James gets to eat three lunches. Everyone is just looking forward to a shower and a bed, so the farewells are fairly subdued as we hurry off to our jeep that’ll drop us elsewhere to the rest of our group.
Back into the jeep and the windiest, bumpiest journey to rival any dune buggy ride at Huacachina, Lottie does an amazing job holding out on the journey as nausea set in before we even left, as the rest of us also hold our breath and our bellies to make it without incident. It’s with huge relief then when we see the sign for our hotel, quickly check-in, down a welcome drink, rinse off all the layers of mud and dirt and sweat, and collapse for some much needed sleep and aircon.
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Lottie’s Thoughts
I was certainly in at the deep end for my first multi-day hike, however where the trek was challenging it was equally rewarding. I’ve never experienced sweat falling off me so much before, but never have I enjoyed plunging into a cool jungle river as much either! I think the part I enjoyed most was not looking at a screen for four days and instead being surrounded by unbelievable jungle scenery, bird song and just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. It’s definitely given me an appetite for more multi day hiking adventures!
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Adventure – Witnessing an indigenous community going about their day to day in real time, not lost to history and textbooks. Not knowing what was ahead, compared to other treks we went into this one fairly blind.
Excitement – Taking on the challenge of the Lost City Trek, we read it is one of the most difficult hikes in South America. River swims to cool off. Learning a new card game.
Trauma – Constant sweating. Nothing drying out and everything stinking of damp, even our clean stuff!
After our gruelling journey from Cartagena, we know we’ve made the right call pushing to get here as the morning sun beams through the netting to our room and illuminates all the nature around us.
We start the day fresh with a tasty fruit salad, eggs, coffee and toast in the glamping site’s communal area. It’s very quiet here, deep in the jungle away from the already quaint village of Minca. The friendly hostel worker explains there are only three guest cabins on the site and we have two of them! We make a plan to head back into Santa Marta and find Lottie some new hiking boots, that is top priority. We agree taking a taxi will be easier than taking a collectivo so we can still make the most of our time in Minca even if it’s the more expensive option.
We retrace our steps back to Minca, the jungle isn’t half as scary during the day and the bamboo bridge crosses a fast flowing stream, not a gushing river as it sounded like the night before. A small yellow taxi picks us up and we’re thrilled to be dropped off at Goyo’s house, our taxi driver from last night. He even introduces us to his pet parrot sat on his driveway!
Alex and I work out the maths in the back of the car and agree a fee for Goyo to drive us around Santa Marta, take us back up into Minca and continue onwards to the La Victoria coffee farm. He’s just as jolly as the night before and tells us more about his family and life in Santa Marta as he drives us to the mall. Hilariously, he even comes shopping with us and helps us find a good shoe store in the mall. Lottie finds the perfect pair of boots and we’re back in the cab heading up the mountain again towards Minca. Arriving at La Victoria, we say our goodbyes to Goyo and wish we could have someone like him to rely on for the rest of our trip!
We relax in the small cafe at the coffee farm and enjoy an organic coffee and some cake made on site while waiting for the next tour to start.
It’s a much quicker tour than the one Tim gave us, but it gives Lottie an introduction to how coffee is grown and processed without going into too much detail. We get given an overview of this 130 year old coffee farm. Our guide explains how the location of being built on the hill means they can benefit from gravity in two ways. One is for coffee pickers to be able to decant their pickings into tubes that feed all the way down to the processing plant. The other is utilising the natural water flow to wash, process, and power the hydro-electric generator that hasn’t stopped for 130 years (except for maintenance). We circle back to the cafe and enjoy a second cup of coffee alongside some beers from their new microbrewery, Nevada Cervecería. Alex goes for a coffee stout whilst I’m talked into the Oktoberfest IPA. Alex’s actually tastes like coffee, and with much caffeine consumed we’re all buzzing slightly.
Despite her best efforts to avoid it in the build up to this trip, Lottie has picked up a bit of a cold. We figure it’s best to prioritize getting her some rest with the Lost City Trek looming. It’s a two and a half hour walk back to town… Or a motorbike taxi… Sorry Mum! Time is of the essence so Lottie and I jump on the back of two bikes and begin a new experience for both of us. I only made it onto a moped in Asia so this is new for me too. These local drivers ferry people from Minca to this coffee farm and elsewhere multiple times a day. Needless to say, they know the dirt road like the back of their hand and ensure we’re safe and comfortable on the way down.
It’s a smooth journey and in 15 minutes we’re back at the gates to camp. I take Lottie back to her lodge and suggest she rests up and we’ll see how she is later. While all of this is going on, Alex has started walking from the coffee farm back to town. We agreed earlier that I will try and meet her at the Pozo Azul (Blue Lagoon). I hike back to town and quite tired from all of this back and fourth I spot the same motorbike driver standing by the side of the road with his buddies. “Cuánto es para Pozo Azul?” I ask in my caveman Spanish, “Cinco mil pesos” comes the reply. For one pound I save myself an hour of walking uphill to meet Alex at the entrance to the lagoon. In one of those bizarre coincidences, I arrive at the entrance at the exact same time that Alex does. Perfect.
We don’t have to pay an entrance fee as it’s so late in the day that the lifeguards are off duty. We’re more just in the mood for a wander and a look at the lagoon rather than jumping off waterfalls so we say we’ll be careful and head on down. The lagoon is a nice spot and local families play with their children in the refreshingly cool water. We make time for some lunch as by this point it’s getting on for 4pm. We have a bit of a paddle but reason it’s best to save ourselves for the big trek.
On the way back, we discuss all of the possible outcomes of what we do if Lottie is too ill to manage the trek. Renowned for being a very difficult task even for hikers at full health. We arrive back at camp and I nervously make my way up to Lottie’s lodge. I’m relieved to see her sitting out on her terrace in the swing chair, enjoying the view. “Hey Lottie, how are you feeling?” I ask, “I’m alright” she says, sounding bunged up but chirpy, “I’ve packed my bag ready for the trek”. I wonder if she is being a typical Northern (especially a Collins) and putting on a brave face but she reassures me she is up for the challenge to find the Lost City, “Yeh I’m sure it’ll be fine” she says. Greenlight. No matter what, we’ll all find a way through this 60+km trek through the jungle!
On our way back earlier on, Alex and I picked up some medication to treat a cold as well an electrolyte drink to get Lottie back on track. I pass these over and I’m thrilled to hear her say she is hungry, always a good sign when a Collins is hungry, the illness can’t be too serious! I find some Oreo cookies to keep the girls going while I head back into town, now once again in the pitch black to bring back a takeaway meal for us as the glamping site only offers breakfast. I’m pouring with sweat in my raincoat I’ve worn to keep the bugs off. Processing all of the days thoughts and worries in my head as I make my way down to the river crossing using my phone torchlight I realise something… SHIT, I’ve forgotten to bring a set of keys with me to get out the locked gates. No signal to ask Alex to meet me halfway with them. Back up I go.
Having already walked around 20,000 steps today I once more head off for town in the sticky evening air. I arrive drenched in sweat at The Lazy Cat and ask if they do takeaway as Alex really wanted their stir fry. Luckily they do. I grab a bottle of coke from a local Tienda and start my final journey for the day back up to camp. Today has not been ideal prep for the Lost City Trek but nothing ever goes to plan, does it.
I meet the girls back at camp and Lottie already sounds much better than she did earlier. The medicine out here is usually stronger than in the UK and even after just one tablet I can tell they are doing the job. We eat our food and arrange with the camp owner to let us out of the gate at 6.30 in the morning. The glamping site staff have been very generous to us considering we arrived in the dead of night and now want to check-out first thing in the morning. Colombia has a bit of a bad reputation for hostility and aggression yet considering how kind and helpful most people we’ve met out here have been, that is unfounded.
We’ve not had a huge amount of time here in Mince but it still leaves a lasting memory. The beautiful sights and sounds of waking up in the peaceful jungle will stay with us all.
The next morning, the alarm goes off at 6am, all three of us are packed up and ready to go and find the Lost City. Check back soon for our mission report 😉
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Lottie’s thoughts
The glamping site in Minca was an incredible place to stay if not slightly tricky to get to in the dark! The beautiful jungle scene in the morning more than makes up for the night before. Goyo our taxi driver really makes our time here special and unforgettable. I very much enjoyed coming down the mountain on a motorbike, the closest I’ll ever get to in real life DK mountain from Mario Karts and something off the bucket list I didn’t know was on it.
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Adventure – Driving around with Goyo. Alternative views on coffee farm specifics. Trying to find bits of gold in the lagoon water (unsuccessful).
Excitement – First ride on a motorbike (two in one day!). Staying in a remote jungle lodge. Testing out the cold water of the lagoon.
Trauma – Forgetting the keys to get out. Pre-trek nerves.
You know that feeling, you step out of the cold belly of an aeroplane and a wave of heat washes over you, now you feel like you’re on holiday. The sun is shining bright in the cloudless sky and the palm trees are gently swaying in the breeze, a fine welcome to the Caribbean coast of Northern Colombia. Christmas tunes play out while we wait for our bags and the airport is adorned with wreaths and other Christmas decorations. Despite the warm temperatures it still feels festive.
We make our way to our Airbnb in the heart of the walled city. To enter it, our taxi must pass through a tiny archway in the huge stone wall. On the other side we’re surprised to see horse and carts trotting through the narrow streets.
Our accommodation is really warm but we’re blessed with ceiling fans and tower fans in the lounge and air-con in the bedrooms that easily turn the rooms to an ice-cold temperature within minutes. Alex and I run a few errands around town while Lottie has a relax. In need of supplies, we find an Éxito supermercado on the edge of the walled city. It’s gigantic and would put any ‘Big Tesco’ to shame, like most shops here, the air-con is on full blast and it’s like walking through a freezer, we’re almost too cold! We head home and have a couple of beers while playing ‘Ok Go’, similar to connect 4 but with horizontal tiles rather than vertical coins. One on one, Alex usually beats me but with an extra player the game is quite different and I manage to win a couple!
For dinner, I’ve picked out a highly recommended seafood restaurant, La Mulata. On the way there, we admire the streets of Cartagena. Grand colonial buildings coated in pastel paints and wooden balconies varnished in an variety of colours. Some are decorated for Christmas and look even more picturesque than usual!
At La Mulata, we enjoy a round of mojitos and ceviche to start, not the first time Lottie has had it but she agrees it’s certainly the best she’s had. For main I surgically remove all the meat from a giant Mojarra fish while the girls have white fish, Lottie with the lemon sauce and Alex has the coconut sauce.
On our way home we stop at a Heladería for ice creams. I go for Banana Split (to Alex’s dismay), Lottie has pineapple and Alex has a mystery flavour. Tired from another busy day (remember we started in Bogotá this morning) we head home for a good night of sleep. A couple of dogs next door are set off barking every time a horse clip-clops down the road. This doesn’t disturb us too much though and we get to sleep just after 10. What does disturb me is the bastard brass band that decide to serenade someone a Happy Birthday in the street at 1:30am. I’m not sure what brass instrument he was playing so loudly but he’s lucky I was too tired to get out of bed and happily shove it down his throat.
Sun day, fun day
Our first full day in a long time without any public transport, wahoo! We start our proper explore of Cartagena with a trip to the Castillo de San Felipe.
A huge fortification built to protect the city from relentless attacks from a variety of corsairs (basically licensed pirates) including Francis Drake. The fort features intricate tunnels built to allow the occupants to easily detect enemy footsteps and communicate with each other throughout the tunnel system. There is certainly no air-con here as you can tell from how much we are glistening in these photos.
From the ramparts of the fort we can see all over Cartagena, way beyond the walled city which only makes up a small portion of the area. In the distance, across the bay, dozens of white skyscrapers tower above yachts and palm trees, looking very reminiscent of Miami.
After exploring every last inch of the fort, we make our way to Getsemani and it really feels like we’re in the Caribbean. The colourful streets, the vendors selling brightly coloured fruits and coconuts with straws poking out. There are ladies dressed in traditional clothing posing with fruit baskets on their heads. Hawkers selling hats, sunglasses, dominoes, cigars and many other items calmly try and get our attention, most take a simple ‘no gracias’ to get the hint. There are outdoor “art galleries” with beautiful paintings of the area, typical Colombian scenes, Botero imitations and of course… Lionel Messi.
Also like the Caribbean, it’s fiery hot and humid, in the sun it easily feels like 40 degrees. Having been on the go all morning, we stop for some fruit sodas at a nice brunch cafe in the middle of a quiet street. We take some photo’s on a disposable camera Lottie has brought out with her and head back towards the Airbnb.
We stop for lunch at a fancy restaurant called La Piedra. Alex and Lottie share a pineapple pizza (to my dismay) while I go for a chicken and mushroom pizza. It’s a decadent setting inside, exposed brickwork and nautical ornaments, vintage wines line the wall coupled with fine service and lovely food. Again I assure Lottie this is not always how we’ve been travelling for the previous 16 weeks but we do like the occasional treat!
We head back home, the girls have a siesta while I head out to get some more supplies for the evening meal, fajitas. I seem to have picked the only supermarket that doesn’t sell the local giant avocados, three times bigger than the ones back home. As a treat I pick up a bottle of the Gato Negra (black cat) a Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon that Alex and I enjoyed way back in San Pedro de Atacama.
It’s highly recommended to head to the stone ramparts on the edge of town to catch the sun setting over the ocean. So, we make the five minute walk from our flat and ascend the 15ft high wall. There are a few hawkers trying to sell us beer and water but we’re already prepared and they leave us be. This section of the wall overlooks the Miami-like peninsula in the distance, a few tropical islands on the ocean’s horizon and of course the historic wall we’re stood on. It makes a brilliant clash of history, nature and 21st century money in one shot. We enjoy a couple of beers and watch the sun slowly melt into the water, painting the sky a beautiful orange as it sinks below the horizon.
We’re about to head home for fajitas but Alex suggests we explore a bit further along the wall. As we venture around, we’re lured in by music and Christmas lights and we keep following this trail around town. We pass Plaza de Bolívar (the liberator who started in Venezuela and made his way through South America) where a variety of Carribbean performances are taking place. Most involve dancing, music, traditional costumes and even a bit of fire! It’s a vibrant and energetic atmosphere which really brings the place to life. Of course on the edge of this historic square is a bloody Starbucks coffee shop, a growing bug bear of mine.
Next, we stumble upon a huge display of Christmas lights, it’s a nice festive surprise we had no idea was in town. We see giant illuminated versions of the three wise men, angels, Christmas trees, wrapped presents and a french horn?
Finally we decide it’s time to go back for some grub. The girls watch the new Chicken Run while I cook dinner in the sweltering kitchen! There’s no fan or ventilation in there so it’s definitely a challenge to chop and cook in the heat. It’s worth it though as we enjoy a delicious home cooked meal with a bottle of red. For evening entertainment we watch Arthur Christmas, also an Ardman production, afterwards we head to bed after a fun-filled busy day.
Slow coach to Minca
It’s been a bit of a whirlwind trip to Cartagena as today we need to check-out and head East to the jungle of Minca. With a bit of spare time in the morning we have a final explore around the bits of the walled city we haven’t yet seen. There are many stunning and grand churches in this small enclave, including one where an open wedding is taking place. We stand and watch part of the ceremony with a handful of other gringos at the back of the church, while a fully decorated Christmas tree dangles upside down above our heads looking rather satanic.
In need of saving a bit of money after the splurge yesterday we head to a restaurant for locals, selling the ‘menu’ (aka cheap dish of the day). On the whiteboard outside is a handful of main options, plus soup and a drink for 12k pesos (£2.40) each, bargain. Alex and Lottie opt for the Mojarra fish I had on our first night while I go for chicken breast. We’re not the only gringos in there but we’re definitely the minority. The food is decent enough and the top ups of fruit juice keep us hydrated. Annoyingly however, when we come to pay, we’re quoted 57k (£11.50) Alex explains to the server in Spanish that we ordered from the ‘menú’ but apparently what we ordered was a special on the menu. Alex tries to explain and even shows them a picture of the ‘menu’ board but they’re having non of it, those were the ‘specials’ they say. Thinking it’s not worth causing a scene we give in and pay the extra gringo/lost-in-translation tax. A bit disappointing but these things happen and a lot worse I’m sure.
To make our way to our next stay, we need to get to the bus station 1h outside of Cartagena and then take a 4h bus across to Santa Marta where we’ll finally take a taxi up to our glamping accommodation in Minca. We take a cab, the driver has a polite demeanour but drives chaotically, like a lot of drivers in Colombia their number one priority seems to be to get ahead of the vehicle infront, no matter what. He isn’t a dangerous driver and seems to recognize any risk but certainly upsets a few people with his constant edging forwards at every opportunity.
We drive through the sprawling Cartagena outskirts of an unending encampment of people who have come and made homes out of whatever they can find. Some are lucky enough to have brick walls, most homes are made of planks of wood or metal haphazardly nailed into a square shape, waste is strewn everywhere. We’ve seen poverty on this trip, but not so nextdoor to each other, and not so much from the huge wealth inside the walled city of foreign (mostly N.American) tourists splashing the cash. It’s jarring and makes us all the more appreciative for all we have.
At the bus station we’re told our bus is running about an hour late and will be here by 4pm. Of course it doesn’t turn up until nearly 5pm… Already two hours behind schedule, the bus ends up taking over five hours to get near Santa Marta.
During the ride, after a couple of hours, a local man gets on selling arepas stuffed with eggs. After our lunch experience, Alex smartly asks him how much they are first, 4k (80p) he says, ok we’ll take three. He works his way up the bus and comes back to me for his payment. I say “doce” which is twelve in Spanish, “treinta” he says… thirty in English (£6). Having already been ripped off once today I’m not having it again, I remind him he told Alex the price earlier and Alex helps me in Spanish. “Ah yeh I got mixed up” he suddenly remembers, and agrees to the original price.
Throughout the journey, I’m in touch with both the taxi driver that is waiting for us in Santa Marta and the glamping site where we’ll be staying for the next two nights. Devastatingly, it is getting so late that the glampsite suggests we stay in Santa Marta for the night and make our way to Minca tomorrow. Long story short, I convince them that for safety reasons (amongst other things) we really would prefer to stay there tonight. Kindly they agree to my plea.
We finally reach Santa Marta near 11pm, it’s so late that the bus station has closed for the night and we’re dropped off by the side of the road. There’s loads of gringos and friendly locals around so we feel relatively safe while we wait for our taxi driver to come and find us. At one point, a collectivo bus pulls in, and all the mototaxi drivers run and jump onto their bikes to swarm to their next potential fare like moths to a flame. Except we’re standing right in front of one of the bikes, so we quickly try and shuffle our many bags out the way. The locals clearly think we’ve been startled and that we’re in danger, and come over to reassure us that we’re safe and fine here. For standing on the side of a motorway in the middle of the night, everyone is incredibly friendly!
Goyo, our taxi driver, finally arrives, and after the journey we’ve had he’s a real treat and I feel like my genuine prayers on the bus have been answered. This trip will make a believer of me yet!
Goyo is super friendly, he talks with us in Spanish but all of us can get the gist of what he’s saying with our various levels of the language. He drives very safely but not too slowly, he points out his family house on the way up to Minca and tells us about the area, his personal life and best of all does an impression of his favourite cartoon, Pinky and the Brain. For the first time since we got scammed at lunch I can relax and know we’re in safe hands. Our saviour drives us all the way up to the external entrance to the glamp site where the owner meets us at the gate. We have to follow him through the pitch black jungle for around 10 minutes to the site. So close now…
There is time for one more disaster though. As we cross a rickety bridge of jump three bamboo poles strapped together with a low rope to cling onto to ‘stability’, with all our bags, over fast-rushing water, Lottie stumbles but keeps her balance. We later discover her hiking shoes have completely disintegrated, they’ve fallen apart way beyond repair. I tell her not to worry, we’re resilient and resourceful people, we will easily fix that problem tomorrow before starting the Lost City trek the day after.
Oh no, sorry, just one last problem… The cabin Alex and I have been taken to and finally started to relax in after midnight is in fact the wrong one. We’ve been given the keys to the luxury version that is booked from tomorrow. We need to repack tonight and move into a different cabin on the other side of camp. Back into the jungle night we go.
Travel certainly has it’s mix of good days and challenging days to say the least, this leg being a perfect example! I’m grateful we all made it to Minca in one piece.
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Lottie’s thoughts
Cartagena is a beautiful city. The various colours on the houses are vibrant and all look freshly painted. Some streets are decorated with parasols or bunting. I’m still adjusting to Colombian time so it feels a bit bizarre and dreamlike seeing horses and carts flying down the streets. The heat is welcomed after escaping London winter for a bit although I am sweating like never before. Even on a Sunday/Monday evening the streets are bustling and there is a lot going on wherever we go. Jim takes us for a meal at La Mulata where we have ceviche and I immediately ask when can we have it again.
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Adventure – The hottest place we’ve been since the jungles of Peru. The colourful and Caribbean flavours of Cartagena. Seeing beaches and the ocean for the first time in a while. Treating ourselves to ceviche and mojitos.
Excitement – Lottie enjoying the winter sun. Horses trotting through the streets. Wandering the streets of Cartagena and finding street upon street of Christmas lights and music and happiness.
Trauma – The entire bus journey. A lot of transit days. Feeling like we’re rushing around quite a lot.
Our air transit from Medellin to Bogota is fairly smooth, even on the budget airline ‘Wingo’. On the flight, Alex and I are sat separately (due to budget) and a young Spanish-speaking lad on my row tries to make conversation with me. I just about manage to communicate where we’ve been on our trip so far, where we are going after Colombia and what we’ll be doing in Bogotá!
Landing in Bogotá and exhausted with public transport, we take a Cabify taxi across town to our Airbnb. The traffic in Bogotá is so congested and slow that our taxi driver changes gear and steers with one hand while watching a film in the other! We arrive at our spacious Airbnb for the next two nights after dark and in an unknown neighborhood. We scramble to get some shopping done before it gets too late and are delighted to find a large supermarket mainly stocking fresh fruit and veg. A nice change from our struggle to find anything fresh in parts of Argentina and Chile. We enjoy a tasty chicken and veg stir fry and head to bed.
Mountains are There to be Climbed
One of the most popular tourist activities in Bogotá, and indeed recommended by the young lad on the plane, is to climb Montserrate. A 3200m tall hill that overlooks the truly massive capital of Colombia. After another uneasy public bus journey, we arrive at the start of the footpath and begin our ascent. There is also a funicular providing a much easier journey to the top, but we’re too stubborn and tight for that sort of thing.
The climb is challenging but we’ve done this kind of thing plenty of times on this trip. It’s popular with locals here too and people twice our age hop, skip and jump up the steep path for some exercise. Around halfway up is a small village of shacks selling refreshments to tired gringos.
Along the pathway there’s locals selling fresh fruit juices and snacks, endless shouts of ‘Mango/Pina/Maracuyá/Jugo’ seems to be as natural as breathing is to them. Reaching the top we see a massive white church indicating we’ve made it to the summit. Christmas lights and decorations galore, a giant FELIZ NAVIDAD ensures everyone knows it’s Xmas time. We take a couple of minutes to catch our breath in the calm oasis of the church pews. It seems the only place you might find some silence in Latin America is in a church and even then it isn’t guaranteed!
We have a bit of a wander around outside the church where there are a few food sellers, despite our best efforts we can’t find any selling empanadas for a little pick-me-up. There’s a bustling souvenir market too, all the way up here! Conscious of the dark clouds rolling in we take a couple of shots of the cityscape and head back down.
Once again wanting a break from the stress of public transport we Cabify home for pretty much the same cost as the two buses it took to get here. We get back home just in time as the heavens open and a large storm sets in for the next couple of hours.
A Night on the Downtown
We’ve decided to be cultural tonight and have booked tickets for The Nutcracker (On Ice) at the Teatro Colon. Arriving in downtown in time to get a couple of drinks beforehand we make our way to the BBC bar (Colombian brewery, nothing to do with the TV corporation). On the way there, we notice the streets are even more chaotic than usual with bumper-to-bumper cars, dozens of mopeds and an equal amount of bicycles trying to make any progress down a one way street. The pavements are packed too and at some point we end up following a tour group through a barricade, past a huge snaking queue of elderly folks. We soon realise we’re in the wrong place and have somehow joined the queue for a local concert for the elderly citizens of Bogotá who are known affectionately in Spanish as ‘The Ancients’. We retrace our steps and fight through the dense traffic, eventually arriving at the cervecería. We enjoy some craft beer and some tense games of shithead, cultured.
Well oiled, we head to the theatre, it’s an impressive building, especially in this rundown area of town. There are some beautiful remnants of colonial architecture around and the street is lined with pretty Xmas lights.
We’re sharing a box (the cheapest seats together we could get) with three older Latinas, who are really sweet and considerate to try and give us the best chance of an unrestricted view for our restricted view tickets. The performance is impressive, pirouettes and gymnastics (on ice!) never ceases to amaze. It’s flawless and the snowy scenes make us feel festive for the first time in a while. The costumes are a little bit pantomime and the choice to represent the nutcracker toy as a floppy knitted felt figure amuses us no end.
Cutting it Fine
The next morning I decide I’ve built up enough courage to try and get a haircut in Latin America again. The high school student who cut my hair in Bariloche didn’t take enough off the top but I was too traumatised to try and communicate any more technicalities in Spanish. I tell Alex I won’t be long and head out. I’ve picked out a place just down the road, according to Google it’s open, it’s good value, it has good reviews and … It no longer exists as I discovered in the pouring rain. Plan B. I find another barbería a few minutes away. I communicate I don’t have a booking and the guy says that’s fine, take a seat. I’m waiting 45 minutes and the only two people in there are still having their haircut. I’m beckoned upstairs and immediately explain to the barber I don’t speak much Spanish ‘No hablo mucho español’. He nods and I show him the Google translate for ‘two on the sides and back, short on top’ again he nods, I show him a picture of myself with a hairstyle I’d like, a final nod of approval. Of course as soon as I sit in the chair he bombards me with questions, unfortunately I’ve not yet reached the barber section of Duolingo so there is a lot of ‘No se’ (I don’t know) and shrugging from me. To be fair, the chap is really nice and is trying his best to communicate with a clueless gringo. I make it through and even refusing a beard trim (despite his best efforts to give me one) I’m in the chair for 45 minutes. The haircut even finishes with a short massage from some bizarre handheld machine. It’s a good service and it seems like locals would spend at least half a day in here! After paying 25,000 pesos (£5) and tipping my guy, I scamper back to the Airbnb. Poor Alex is white as a sheet when I get home, I’ve been gone almost two hours while she’s been locked in the flat by herself watching the clock tick closer towards check-out time, the cleaner knocking on the door to get in, replaying all the horror stories of Bogotá in her mind, and no way to communicate with me to find out I’m fine and dandy enjoying a shoulder massage. There’s barely time to eat the rest of our food, pack and get out of the door before our midday check-out!
As Good as Gold
For the afternoon, we head back down town to the Museo del Oro (museum of gold). There are free secure lockers for us to stash our huge bags and the entrance fee is a measley 5,000 (£1) each, win win. The museum is pretty fascinating, displaying the history of gold and other metals, metallurgy, smithing and the importance of metal ornaments, sculptures etc across time. We spend a couple of hours in here and agreeing our brains can’t absorb any more information we head to our hotel next to the El Dorado airport.
After the usual travel chaos, not being able to find our way out of the bus station for 15 minutes and queuing 30 minutes to check-in at our hotel, we’re quite hungry! We find a local fast-food joint just around the corner called ‘Gru station’ it is indeed themed around the Minions villain… For reasons unbeknownst to us.
We head back to our hotel to wait for Lottie’s arrival at 11.25pm. Time drags a little but eventually we’re getting on the shuttle bus to the airport and nervously join the crowd of people awaiting the arrival of their loved ones. Despite trying to spot her from afar, Lottie appears out of nowhere looking happy and well and we have a big hug! Over 4 months since we last saw each other in person but she’s here now and an exciting new chapter of the adventure begins.
Blitz of Bogotá
Never ones to take it easy, we’ve decided to show Lottie a bit of Bogotá with the bit of time we have before our afternoon flight. We enjoy a huge continental breakfast at the hotel, including mini-pancakes, banana toast, blackberry juice, hams, cheeses, cereals, fruits and even steak!!
We take a cab into town and explore the plaza Bolívar, walk past a beautiful church that looks like it could be made of gingerbread and grab a coconut lemonade in a local cafe.
Next we head to the museo Botero featuring work of the famous Colombian artist we learned about in Medellin as well as his donated collection of art from across the world.
Alex has picked out a spot for an early lunch, a 200 year old cafe that Antony Bourdain put on the map for Westerners. We queue for a while as there is only seating room for about 30 people, during this time a vagabond dressed as Einstein harmlessly bonks us on the head with a paper bag, smiles and asks for money. Welcome to South America Lottie! The girls enjoy a tamale while I have another local speciality of ajiaco (a traditional soup, also featured on another Netflix series Street Food Latin America).
After that’s done we hop in another taxi and make it back to our hotel with a whole one minute to spare until the shuttle bus leaves!
At the airport we finally give in to the endless amount of Dunkin’ Donuts we’ve seen throughout South America. Lottie tries the dulche de leche (similar to caramel) filling while Alex and I share an Oreo topped flavour.
Next stop … Cartagena!
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Adventure – climbing mountains, figuring out yet another public transport system, almost joining a concert for the ancients, actually enjoying wandering around downtown Bogota and feeling a lot safer than in Medellin.
Excitement – the incredible graffiti all around the city we see on our rides around town, witnessing the equivalent of Ride London in Bogota with the roads shut to allow people to cycle freely… at 6pm til midnight on a weekday evening!, seeing the locals playing Sapo in the local shop-come-bar, our first all-you-can-eat buffet breakfast, proper hotel pillows.
Trauma – waiting for a bus in sketch-ville, worrying James would never return (Alex), rushing to make it back to the hotel for the shuttle to check-in for our flight.
We arrive to Medellin after a (now considered quick) 6 hour micro-bus ride from Pereira. We’re staying with a couple I used to live with in Lima, Carol and Sebastian (Sebas), their now 2-year old son Maxi, and their cats Solomon and Catalina. They’ve literally just moved into a new apartment in the last week so we’re very grateful to them for putting us up! We’re with them for the weekend, and they kindly show us around some cool and tasty places to eat and drink. A favourite spot is a 20 minute drive into the winding outskirts of Medellin, where mansions instead of tower-blocks start populating the hillsides, and a sprawling biker-style cafe/bar/restaurant emerges surrounded by the lush green of Medellin. This place used to be a bike mechanics spot, with a cafe on the side for its clientele. But the cafe part of the business grew and grew until what it is now, still maintaining its biker image. We discuss how lush and green and gorgeous Medellin and Colombia is compared to the arid plains of Lima and Santiago (where Sebas is from).
It’s been great to catch up with them after so many years and hear about their lives in Medellin. They’ve joined an apparently growing community of digital nomads, coming to live and work remotely from across the world. They have a wonderful life and Maxi is at a very cute age and obsessed with Totoro (they’re raising him right hehe). Sebastian even tempts James out for a late-night outdoor gym workout after we’ve filled up on pizzas and beer. Definitely an experience, and one I was happy to duck out of, for once!
Downtown
So far we’ve enjoyed the luxury of being driven about by Sebas and enjoying the amazing food and drink in and around the gentrifying El Poblado region. However, we reject Sebas’ offer to borrow his car (!) and opt for public transport, our second favourite nemesis, but preferable to trying to drive in Latin America!
Here, you can actually pay for public transport with cash, you don’t have to use their card system. However, for many reasons that made sense at the time, we opt for our new city ritual of “get the local transport card”. As is also now more often the case than not, my research isn’t up-to-date. The hour walk we do to the specific one-of-only-four ticket offices in the city is shut. The normal ticket office is open though, and so we still manage to get a transport card, just not the one we wanted (and it’s one we could have bought at the ticket office 20 minutes away, doh!). Considering our past escapades, we take this as a win.
It’s also given us a chance to experience the less pristine areas of Medellin that Carol and Sebas had warned us about. Sadly, we see many, ‘painfully’ homeless people. I say painfully, because many are clearly suffering with mental health or drug addiction. Painfully thin, filthy, often shoeless, some passed out face-down on the concrete, or aggressively talking to themselves or the hallucinations they are confronting. The impression we get is these homeless will take what they want from us, rather than beg for the money they desperately need, resulting in us feeling rather unsafe, picking up speed and slowing down to avoid being seen. It’s really sad to see at this level, and we are told that the pandemic has been the main cause of this now rather large population of lost souls. We are also incredibly aware that we’re the only gringos walking about, and all the horror stories we’ve read of crime in Colombia haunt us as we walk through very different parts of the city.
After a long day on our feet and feeling on edge, we return near the ‘safe’ zone and make a stop at another favourite city stop… a microbrewery. The place has tables out front on a quiet back road where we can relax and enjoy the peace, calm, and fresh air. The server is super friendly and helpful (and even helps with some English), and does us a special favour of letting us have a tasting palette to try some of the beers on offer, before we go large on a tropical number for James and a stout for me.
The downtown area is one we actually end up going back to the next day for our Real City Tour with Camilo (Milo). He starts us off with a history of the country, explaining the different chunks. The first part being when the city was founded and barely of any interest for a hundred years (no gold = no spanish interest). Due to this, there’s not a lot of old architecture around. The second period is of huge growth as the legal stimulant coffee becomes a huge industry. The third being another period of huge growth as the new illegal stimulant and guerilla groups in the outskirts displace many people coming to the relative ‘safety’ of the city. During this last period, Medellin was the second most dangerous place in the world after Somalia! Milo explains he will avoid saying the name of probably the most famous Colombian in the world, and this man will from now on in this blog be called Voldemort.
Of course, Colombia is most known for this third period and the Colombian Voldemort, but Milo is at pains to teach us about a (hopefully) fourth period of hope and change. But first, we go back in time to how the third period even came about. It wasn’t that Voldemort came from nowhere, a rogue violent terrorist with grand dreams who should be blamed for everything. No, Voldemort grew up and rose the ranks of already worsening criminal gangs, taking advantage of the illegal trade of now highly taxed cigarettes and alcohol. Things were already getting bad, but unfortunately for the Colombian people, he was definitely the wrong person to be rising the ranks at the wrong time. Learning how to corrupt, manipulate and intimidate, alongside the growing illegal drug boom from the USA and Europe. At the same time, the FARC guerillas are also increasing in power and terror, and they even start warring with the Medellin cartel. Realising the enemy of my enemy is my friend, they join forces, and the reign of real terror really takes hold.
Milo explains to us that there is not one, single, perspective of Voldemort or this third period. There’s no official line, story, or account. The people who are old enough to remember these times are glad for the peace they experience, and wish to forget him and the terror he fostered. The young, see him as a Robin Hood character, stealing from the rich (the USA I guess), to give to the poor (the Colombian people). When asked about how the government kept supporting the Colombian people without the drug money Voldemort had after he was gone, Milo counters the urban legend of what people think he did. Stories of him investing in schools, universities or hospitals are unproven, the only thing that can be verified is he built 300 homes, and contributed floodlights to a football pitch. Now whether this is some exceptional branding to keep the people on side through the hell they lived through, or places don’t want to admit they took his money, we’ll never know. What he certainly did do, is inject a lot of cash into the economy through bribes or payments of criminal activity. But I will side with the people who lived through that period, rather than a glamourised version without the fear and terror that came alongside.
Whilst this third period is considered to have largely ended with the death of Voldemort, the drug trade hasn’t. Accounting for approximately 2% of Colombian GDP back in Voldemort’s day, it now accounts for 4-5%. The violence and terror of this period wasn’t because of the drugs trade, but the person who was running it. What everyone in Colombia wants, is to be known as somewhere other than this third period.
And so, moving on to now. The Medellin government has invested a lot into improving the lives of its people, by investing in the worst off (one such example we visit in another tour that James will go into later). It’s termed social urbanisation and I’d highly recommend further reading. A (comparatively to our current government’s) novel approach of focusing on the poorest districts, establishing what is each district’s greatest need, and from their direction investing in infrastructure and projects of the greatest need, such as providing transport to remove social exclusion, and parks and libraries to provide education and culture. This isn’t a cookie-cutter plonk a green space into a rough neighbourhood approach and expect people to stop drug running, this is taking the time to understand the differing needs of differing communities to make sure the investments are in the right areas to make lasting change. Amazing. When you see a city go from one of the most dangerous places on Earth to what it is now, it really should give us hope that this can be done anywhere, if only we choose to.
For now, we’re downtown, being shown the result of some of these investments in this area, new government buildings, a square that used to be full of crime now full of bamboo trees, a forest of light poles and a public library, a transit system (including a cable-car) to connect “forgotten about” districts, a bike borrowing scheme that is free for locals, a beautiful square full of Botero sculptures with a curiously styled church, a grand shopping mall with art galleries on the top floors, and a protected historical mural showing the lives of the antioquian people.
Life goes on, and the lives of the people here do so too, as they enjoy their Sundays in the many, many malls downtown. Milo tells us that part of the reason Colombians are so jovial and happy and friendly and love to dance and sing and smile is exactly because of all they have lived through. They don’t want to dwell on the past and wallow and cry, they want to celebrate and make the most of the lives they now get to enjoy. They want people to hear Colombia and think of dance, and coffee, and beauty, and happiness.
Unfortunately for Milo, our gringo experience of downtown is somewhat marred by a few sad encounters. We are clearly being watched, and are not very welcome here. I would say the looks are more of disdain than curiosity. Funnily enough, it’s similar to how I used to feel in La Paz, which I didn’t get this time around! As Milo shows us the mural and tells us about the investment into the metro, a homeless and high individual smashes a bottle behind our group, nicking the back of a girl’s bare leg. As we learn about Botero and his donations to the city, I see a man’s hand protrude out of an underground bin, like someone arising from a grave, as he pulls himself and some bags of rubbish out with him (in fairness to him, he is separating out plastic, I assume to make money from). As Milo tells us about how joyous life is now without violence, as the locals sing and dance in the square behind us, an intoxicated man joins our circle and decides to give his own welcome to Colombia (and then asks for money). And as we walk to our final spot, another homeless man demands what change we have. Thankfully Milo, being the front of the pack, shows us to ignore him, but if we had been alone, I am not sure what we would have done.
Back out of the crowds, we ask Milo how people feel about tourism here, and he’s honest enough to say that it’s gone into a bit of a dip. At first, the curiosity and intrigue meant we were welcomed and people were happy to see tourists. But now, class-wars, gentrification and wealth disparities (which we are a part of if not a huge contribution to), mean there’s a resentment we can certainly feel. Of course, this resentment isn’t why we’ve had these unfortunate experiences, that’s the bigger problem with glue addiction and homelessness. The hope is the newly elected mayor, who was a previously elected one and very successful at that, will help turn things back round again.
Milo ends the tour with two Botero statues. One that was blown apart by a bomb (left), and a replacement Botero provided after insisting the previous one remain (right), not to dwell on, but as a reminder of where Medellin has come from (a “monument to the country’s imbecility and criminality”) and a symbol of continued hope for the future they continue to build.
So, despite our personal challenges of this tour, it’s been good to help us understand where Medellin has come from, which will help us appreciate where it is now in Comuna 13 on our next tour. It’s also given us an introduction to Social Urbanisation that is clearly positively changing the fabric of Medellin society. Plus we’ve gotten a taste of an amazing lime and sugarcane drink made on the street, and got to see inside a mall we would never have ventured into without Milo’s guidance!
Once more we venture back to the relative safety of El Poblado where we check out a coffee shop Tim from Salento told us to go to for some ‘real, decent coffee’. It’s full of the digital nomads we heard about, and has lovely calm vibes as we sit upstairs on the balcony surrounded by greenery. James tries a coffee with soda combo (“curious”, “unusual”, “would recommend” – James), and I enjoy a frappe with all the trimmings. Refreshed once more, it’s time for us to say farewell to Carol, Sebas and Maxi and move to a hostel in a different part of town.
Comuna 13 (over to James)
We arrive by Metro to the San Javier station where our tour will begin. With a bit of time to kill, we find a nearby panadería and try a buñuelo, a couple of empanadas and a traditional Colombian churro. The buñuelo is a strange delicacy, a big ball of deep fried dough that tastes like a plain unsweetened donut, the inside filled with tasteless melted cheese. With full stomachs we hunt down our tour guide for the afternoon, a young dude called Andreas.
Taking a short, packed, sweaty metro bus we begin the tour with a lengthy history lesson. The jist is Comuna Trece (District Thirteen) was founded by the displaced people coming from the countryside, built on the Western edge of Medellin. Over time it was favoured by criminal gangs due to it’s easy access to the coast (for drug smuggling), height advantage to spot incoming police/raids and the many hideouts in the higgildy piggildy architecture. At the peak of the cartel violence it was a melting pot of seven conflicting factions, five fighting over the territory and the other two being the police and the paramilitary. It was so dangerous that only residents were allowed into the area. Any interlopers would likely be kidnapped and later killed, regardless of whether their ransom had be paid or not. Make no mistake, Comuna 13 was the most violent district in a very violent city. Now however, it has turned a corner and then some.
Our tour takes us through bustling markets selling trendy clothes, hats and souvenirs. The locals are friendly and most seem happy to see us spending time in their area. The roads are lined with some of the most beautiful street art I’ve ever seen, some is simple graffiti for basic expression (including one by our guide) but others have a deeper meaning. A particular open-air gallery features art depicting our connection to nature, inner peace, protecting pachamama and choosing love over violence.
Another huge influence on the area is the art of hip hop. As we make our way up we stop to watch locals freestyle rap along to words we shout at them.
We pass multiple dance groups body popping and genuinely looking like they are enjoying expressing themselves and making a few pesos doing something they love. We continue to ascend up using escalators provided by the government as a sign that the area is evolving and becoming a tourism hotspot. At the top of one of these is a famous piece of street art referencing Operation Orion.
In the years before this military intervention, the violence was getting out of control, with several deaths per week in this small part of the city. The government decided to fight fire with fire in it’s seventeenth intervention in the district within two years. The true numbers will never be known but dozens of civilians were killed, innocent or otherwise, hundreds arrested and hundreds more ‘disappeared’.
As far as I understand, after these numerous aggressive interventions, the paramilitary group maintained control of the area. From around the this time in 2002, the area slowly moved away from the gangs, the guns, the drugs, the brutality towards art, music, dance, expression, freedom and hope. The reason behind the change was simply the local people innovating and inspiring each other to choose a different path for the future. The area is now at a delicate spot in time between a dark history and bountiful opportunities for the future. Alex rightly remarks the area is similar to how Camden used to be before it lost it’s underbelly of punk rock and rebellion. Gentrification here is already kicking in but the soul of the area remains, how much longer it can last until it is sold is uncertain.
The tour finishes at a craft beer bar overlooking the entire city as the sun sets. We enjoy a beer with Andreas and the rest of the group, the buzz and energy of the comuna still humming away in the background.
After dark, we make our way to the Xmas lights on the river in central Medellin. The theme this year is ‘100 years of Disney’. The first area is not as busy as we’d feared and we enjoy space to walk around and admire the lights, water and laser show, all celebrating famous Disney characters.
The second half is much more compact and we essentially queue along the river in a two person wide lane going both ways. Along this section are dozens of food, drink and toy vendors. Alex’s eyes light up when she spots a stall selling cups of roast potatoes and she can’t resist. To wash it down we enjoy more of the lime drink we sampled on our walking tour yesterday.
Our evening meal is at a lovely and calm rooftop bar close to our hostel. Though we’re both exhausted from a busy day we enjoy burger and chips and a pork dish before heading home and hitting the hay before an early start tomorrow. Back to Alex…
Guatapé and El Peñol (the rock)
Funnily enough, apparently one of the top things to do in Medellin is leave it, heading two hours out to a place called Guatape. This is more of a fun, pretty excursion than any history lesson, but our guide Marlon puts all his energy and enthusiasm into keeping his sleepy gringo guests entertained throughout the day.
Some info behind this stunning place:
It’s the third largest rock in the world (after Uluru, Australia and Sugar Loaf, Brasil).
The walk is 780 steps, and 280 metres up.
The stunning setting is actually a human-made reservoir to generate electricity.
This reservoir creates 5% of the energy Colombia uses, and they also export some.
Before it was a reservoir, there was a town called Peñol of about 4000 people who were mostly farmers. Their land was flooded and they were relocated, but they had to find other livelihoods as they weren’t relocated with farms.
Peñol is known as the phoenix, not born from the ashes, but from the water.
The rock is owned by one family.
Apparently 20,000 people climb the rock each day. It costs £5 each to climb it. You do the math.
The family started painting Guatapé onto the side of the rock, but the people of Peñol were against it, so submitted a request for the rock to become a national monument so it could not be altered.
Their request was approved mid-painting, with just the G and the left-most part of the U painted.
As much as rock can’t be altered to complete the painting, it also can’t be altered to undo the painting, so it will forever say GI on it. Lol.
The water of the reservoir is incredibly cold, and it is forbidden for anyone to swim in it.
Apparently this is because people kept coming to Guatapé for fun and drinking and would end up in the lethal combo of drunk with cold shock.
90% of the town’s money comes from tourism. Each new building in the Guatape village has to have a unique zocalo (the artistic lower frieze).
Gym Bros and Bus Woes
Our last day is spent checking out a huge outdoor gym down the road from our hostel. It’s immense and this whole block has swimming pools, a race track, courts, pitches and even archery! For free! Another amazing example of the government investing in its people and their health and wellbeing and making these public spaces places to congregate rather than fear. There’s plenty of people making the most of the equipment with us, and we enjoy strengthening our weakening muscles, and marvel at the resourcefulness of the makeshift barbells from whey tubs filled with concrete.
For once, we are flying onwards instead of taking a lengthy bus, but we are determined to save some pennies by getting the local bus to the airport at least. We cram onto the first bus to take us to the mall it apparently starts from, but after an hour of running after a bus to be denied boarding, a subsequent one driving straight passed us, getting differing instructions of where to wait and seeing no more buses none more for 40 minutes, we give in and just do as the gringos do and take a cab (a yellow one! to avoid the Uber turmoils so far). We’re just grateful we’re able to fall back on this option, as we make it to the airport with plenty of time.
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Adventure – midnight gym session, staying with locals, loving the culture and vibe of comuna 13
Excitement – the sparkling sun glistening off the water on the boat trip of Guatapé, taking an organised tour so we can have a day off planning, sharing a beer with Andreas
Trauma – all the lost souls, wasting time and money failing to get a bus to the airport, sneaking into a taxi, an actual dead body being carried out of the elevator
Believe it or not, travelling can take it’s toll. Physically, mentally and emotionally, all the currency conversions, language barriers, public transport, safety concerns, organising trips/accomodation/hikes, dodgy bellies and all the parts unknown. Don’t get me wrong, the first quarter of our year long journey has been incredible and we’re extremely lucky and privileged to have this opportunity. Sometimes however, you need to slow things down, recharge the batteries, reset your levels before you go again, once more into the breach dear friends. That’s exactly what we did in a small, remote finca (farm) a few miles out from Pereira in the coffee axis of Colombia. So, without further ado, here are some pictures to show how we spent our holiday from backpacking…
The views from our balconies:
‘Missy’ who waited outside our window every night for some sofa snuggles:
‘Candelaria’, a rescue dog. One of 14 pets on the farm:
The chicken with her brood of chicks who would do a daily stroll of the grounds tweeting away:
Our tour of the farm grounds, animals all co-existing in perfect harmony:
‘Lucas’ joining us for breakfast:
Exploring the steep hills around the farm:
The daily thunderstorm that usually knocked out the WiFi for a few hours:
Fresh fruit and juicing:
Puzzling 🤔
Maintaining some level of fitness:
Anniversary walk up to a waterfall, this was the ‘welcoming’ entrance:
The waterfall (chilly but worth it):
Candlelit meals:
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Adventure – The pure bliss of the farm. All of the lovely, friendly farm animals. Watching Netflix on a swing sofa. Going to sleep by candle light. Tech detox.
Excitement – Louisa turning up at our door with a huge basket of fruit. Being given exotic fruit on our farm tour straight from the trees, that we of course turned into smoothies straight away. Proper coffee. Toastie machine. Rainfall shower with the greatest view ever. At the waterfall, the damp, dripping moss sparkling in the sun creating glistening walls all around us like a fairytale.
Trauma – Mosquito bites galore, we counted over 30 on Alex by day three (and hence why I’m wearing the same clothes in almost every pic to cover my skin – Alex). Finding out the mosquitos can bite through said clothes. Guard dogs barking at us throughout our hikes outside the farm. Cockroaches! James obliterating me at draughts after just one lesson! – Alex
We’ve made it to Colombia! My first new country of the trip, and coming from Buenos Aires, it’s been a bit of a culture shock getting back in the groove of not drinking the tap water, being very obviously tourists, and no-rules-of-the-road driving.
We finally enter our fifth country, not on a Sunday! However, instead of entering via a major city, we have flown into what’s known as The Coffee Axis, or Eje Cafetero. A spectacular spot for local and foreign tourists to enjoy the stunning scenery of coffee farms and traditional living.
My many, many, hours of research have told me that cash is king, the tiny airport we fly into has no WiFi and no sim card shop to ensure we have data to be able to order and pay for a taxi online, nor a cashpoint to withdraw money to pay for one. Attempts to buy Colombian pesos from Argentina were shot down. Meaning we arrive into a country with no means to pay for anything, again. In a bid to avoid getting stuck being unable to pay for a taxi or bus to anywhere useful, we take a hit buying an international sim card in Panama Airport so we can at least Uber to a cash-point in town once we arrive. We’ve checked, Uber shows us drivers.
Our welcome party:
If you’ve been paying attention to our blogs, you won’t be surprised to hear this plan doesn’t come together at all on arrival. Yes, I have Internet, and yes, I can book an Uber, but as we hulk our bags around the carpark outside the airport looking for our Uber driver, he messages instructions to hide in the bus, then as he comes round, jump in the back seats with all our stuff, like in a getaway vehicle. Uber is illegal here he says, and the police behind us will confiscate his car if caught! Wonderful. At the same time, James has been separated from me by official airport taxi drivers telling him the same thing and selling their services in broken English. Never knowing who to trust in these situations, and having now been awake 36 hours, with two Columbian men both speaking to me at once in rapid Spanish in a new accent I can’t understand, it’s not the smooth start we envisaged!
Realising we are beat, the taxi price offered is cheaper than Uber, and we can pay on card, we get in an official taxi with driver Jamie. Jamie explains to us that whilst the Uber app functions here, it is still illegal to take rides, and so we can get conned like we have in paying for a ride we never took (although I did eventually get a refund), and they can charge over the official rates that the official taxis have to abide by. Our official taxi is actually regulated and he can only charge us a certain amount, which is cheaper than Uber! He’s very sweet in apologising on behalf of his countrymen for our first impressions, and I apologise for not knowing who to trust (and for not knowing any of the Columbian musicians he shows us videos of!).
We eventually make it to Salento, a tiny town in the Coffee Axis, and our next Airbnb. Salento is a tiny, picturesque town, that is of the style that apparently inspired Disney’s Encanto film.
The houses are small and white, with beautiful accent colours on the doors and shutters.
Surrounding the town are rolling green hills of coffee plantations and forest. It’s a stark contrast to Buenos Aires. Also unlike BA, we are able to withdraw cash from ATMs again, and our biggest headache from the last few weeks disappears, hurray!
Christmas has arrived here too, as it is now December, and we listen to Christmas tunes about snow and Santa in mid 20s heat.
An English-Man’s Guide to Coffee Growing
Of course, one of the main things to do here as a tourist is to visit a coffee farm. James has found us one we can walk to, and we join Patrick, an Irish-man here on holiday, on a three hour tour of Don Eduardo’s farm. Don Eduardo is actually an English-man called Tim (but Don Timoteo didn’t sound very authentic!). He has five glorious dogs who join us for the tour, which is really a thorough lesson into all things coffee.
Tim is a great teacher of the coffee growing, harvesting, grading and roasting process.
First, the basics…
There are two different kinds of coffee, Robusta and Arabica. Robusta is literally more robust and can grow at low altitudes, making it cheaper to produce, but more bitter. The country that is the second largest producer of coffee is Vietnam (behind Brasil), because napalm destroyed the soil that meant nothing would grow, except the hardy Robusta. Here in Colombia though, Arabica is grown. Within the Arabica type of coffee, there are more variants, sub-grouped into traditional and modern.
Traditional trees grow about 5 metres tall, and take longer to yield, but yield for longer. The height means the harvester has to lasso and pull the top down to reach the cherries containing the coffee beans (they only grow on new growth, i.e. up). They also need shade, and so not only do you need space for this harvesting method, but you need a row of shady plants like banana trees to provide the shade they need. Modern trees are short and squat and grow outwards instead of up, making them easier to harvest. They also yield faster, but for less time.
The plants produce on a bell-curve, yielding more over a few years as the plant grows, but then dropping off as it reaches size. The farmer will then often cut back the plant to ground to start another round. There’s an n+1 formula that you should only let the plant grow one more stem for each round of production you’re on, otherwise the yield drops off even more than it will in each subsequent round. So the plant’s cumulative bell curve will show smaller and smaller returns for each round.
Tim bought his plantation about 20 years ago after coming here “and gettung stuck”. He has some plants of the traditional variety that are over 100 years old. He keeps these to keep producing seeds rather than beans for drinking. Over 100 years, these trees have evolved to survive here, and so are invaluable to keep producing good new crops for the area. If you buy a plant from a different area, it may bring new disease to your plants that aren’t resistant, or it may be susceptible to disease your plantation has developed resistance to that you don’t know is there, or it isn’t used to the climate or conditions. So, having this pedigree tree is a precious investment.
That being said, climate change is really being felt here, with fewer consecutive dry days, that are needed to dry the coffee. It also means the cherries ripen faster as happens in the rain, and so instead of harvesting just twice a year, they are harvesting more often. This actually isn’t a good thing as this will be impacting the taste, and it may result in farmers needing to use more chemicals (and therefore more pollution and cost) to balance out changes too quick for the plants to adapt to. Climate change is a huge concern here, for many reasons, and one of those that will flow through to us in the Western world is in coffee production.
He has invested in continuing the traditional practices with his plantation, with the idea to give people (rich foreigners) the option to invest in their own plants to have their very own coffee, being able to know the supply chain of their daily cup of java. It’s definitely where the market is going (it’s already happening with wine), but he is also looking to retire, so whether the market catches on before retirement happens, I’m not so sure.
Back to beans. In Colombia, the farms are pretty much all family-sized, tiny producers. This means that the beans are all mixed together by merchants who buy up your beans to make a haul worth selling. This is why you’ll have a ‘blend’ from this area, and there’s no way to actually know what varient you have in a bag as they will all be mixed. Tim’s approach would let you know exactly what you have in your bag. In other countries with huge plantations, you will have this consistency, but that’s impossible here with all the independent and small growers.
The plants will flower and then produce the red cherries that contain the coffee beans.
The cherries are all harvested by hand, because they will ripen at different times, so only a human can nimbly pull off only the ripe cherries and leave the rest to continue ripening. The plantations are also on some seriously steep terrain, that I don’t even know how humans stand and harvest let alone how a machine could, “Colombians are part-mountain goat” Tim tells me.
Inside the cherry there will typically be two beans in the cherry (95%), a pea-body (4%) where there is just one bean, or a triple-bean (1%). You can either leave the cherries to dry on the tree or as they are on the ground, Tim dubs this ‘the lazy-man way‘, I forget the real name. You cannot re-plant these beans. If you remove the cherry casing, you have two further drying options. One is to ‘wash’ the beans (soak them) for less than a day, and then dry them, called ‘washed’. The other is to dry them without washing them. Tim tells us that this used to be called ‘unwashed’ but of course that sounded dirty, so they renamed it ‘honey-drying’. Apparently 80% of the taste comes from the roasting process, so how much any of this really matters to your lay-person is up for debate. Q-graders (the sommeliers of coffee) seemingly can though!
The three different drying techniques shown in the three bowls:
You would then take a sample of your dried beans to a merchant, who puts them through a machine that removes the two outer skins of the bean. One that looks like paper (called parchment, on the bottom left of the photo above), and the other a thinner silvery one that is harder to remove. How easy this is to remove this second skin will tell your merchant how dry your beans are. With skin, your beans can regrow. Without them, they won’t. You want the beans at 12%, otherwise the merchant will give you less money as the less dry the beans are, the more of the bean isn’t coffee, and so there’s less coffee to yield. They’ll also look at imperfections and how much other non-bean junk is in there, extrapolating this to the whole bag to come up with a price. Of your 1kg bag, this shrinks down to something like just 200g (maybe less, I forget) of actual coffee, so you want your bag to be as dry and all bean as possible.
Once your beans are sold, they’ll be roasted. In the western world, we’re used to seeing dark roasted beans, but actually the more roasted the bean, the more bitter it gets, and the less caffeine you’ll get. A medium roast, which is like the colour of chocolate, will allow you to taste all the different flavours of the coffee, like a tea, and will also have a higher caffeine content. So, if you want a proper, flavourful, less bitter hit, look for your medium roast! We have a cup of this medium roast coffee and as a non-coffee drinker myself I am able to enjoy the flavours we can now taste. It doesn’t smell anything like the coffee we’re used to, and I could drink more of this type.
Tim shows us how you can just roast your own green beans at home, using a metal pan, and keeping the beans constantly moving to ensure a consistent roast.
Pre-roast on the right. Post-roast on the left:
We’re given a tour of his hostel (that they’ve now shut down), the old plantation, and new plantation. There’s two bundles of fresh bananas (he’s using banana trees to create the necessary shade) and I also give one of these a try and don’t hate it! Coffee and banana in one day, I really am changing!
Of Tim’s 20 hectares he only has a couple of full-time staff working it. The main costs to a coffee farm are labour and fertiliser, and so there aren’t really many economies of scale. Most farms run by themselves with their families running them. There is no money to be made in these kinds of plantations he tells us.
The place is subsidised by the coffee tours, and we’ve highly enjoyed it and are happy to subsidise Tim keeping his plantation going the way it is.
We end with appreciating the amazing view from the back-garden of his house that looks over the valley, that he invites us back to to watch the sunset, and enjoy the dogs (Stanley, a Newfoundland, Bonnie, a sheepdog, Oli, a stray, Jack, a sheepdog, and Pi, a Newfy-Sheepdog) and chat over beer. He’s a really friendly and eccentric guy, and we enjoy learning about his life out here. Back when he came, there would be a gringo every few months, now there are over 250 hotels, many catering to the now constant influx of tourists. It’s another huge shift in tourism, but at least one that is appreciating the natural and traditional cultural beauty of this place, to keep it as it is.
Valle de Cocoro – Wax Palms, Cloud Forest and ‘Willys’
Firstly, the jeeps here are called Willys. I have no idea why. They are the way to get to the valley where we’re off to do a circular walk through a protected region known for its wax palms. We are given the standing position at the back, and pray the jeep will not be jumping around like the dune buggies of Huacachina!
Thankfully, we stay on paved roads the whole way and enjoy the best views of the jeep.
We head off on the clockwise route, taking in viewpoints, flowers, plants, quiet, the cloud forest, pines (?), wax palms, vultures, birds, butterflies, bridges and rivers. This is an unguided 10km circular walk, so we just take in the glorious scenery and enjoy being back in nature. No filters necessary:
A beautiful spot for lunch:
James practicing his balance and appropriately repping Chasing Lights:
Filling Time
The rest of our time in Salento is largely filled with eating trout and drinking coffee (in various forms with ice cream for me!) with cakes. Never able to sit still, we decide to fill an empty day with going to play some mini-golf that pops up on Google Maps. It’s half an hour walk from town, and because we are who we are, we decide to walk it instead of take a bus or other form of transport along the steep winding road. Unsurprisingly, we are the only ones doing this on foot, with many serious cyclists bombing down or struggling up the hill, as we cross and dodge vehicles speeding and over-taking around blind corners.
Nevertheless, we survive and make it to the mini golf where we are the only ones here. It’s fun to play and battle each other, and we manage to get two rounds in, with the result being a draw, even despite my getting a hole in one!
The rest of our last day here is spent enjoying the town that is now totally buzzing and alive with Colombians, as it is a Sunday. There’s a band playing in the square, the streets are full of shoppers and people eating cheese covered bananas from street vendors, and Christmas lights twinkle. The travel blogs we’ve read complain about the busy-ness of weekends, but I’m loving seeing the town come alive.
We head up to the two viewpoints above town to enjoy the sunset and find a perfect little bar overlooking town, serving cold beer, with a live band playing brilliant Colombian-style ambient music (Estado Zambo). It’s been a stressful few days of planning ahead, so taking time to stop here and remember what it’s all for has been much needed and appreciated.
We’re now off to a farm-stay to have a bit of R&R, before we hit the ground running again scooting through Colombia’s major cities, and meeting up with James’s sister Lottie!
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Adventure – walking down a steep, windy, road with no pavement to the mini-golf, drinking coffee and eating banana (not something I do!), getting to grips with new money, accents, foods, ways of doing things in our latest new country. Watching the sunset at Tim’s house after bribing him with a beer.
Excitement – getting a hole in one without realising it, James managing to putt a hole 10ft away without trying, being escorted to and from our Airbnb by a tiny cat each time, discovering the cute sunset bar with perfect music, absolutely stunning views and vibrant colours, Tim’s dogs!
Trauma – dealing with the mosquito bite after effects from BA airport, trying to leave the airport with excited Colombians blocking the door to get to their loved ones with phone cameras in your face like they’re some kind of paparazzi, the whole “jump in the back with your stuff” Uber ordeal, not being able to pay for lunch after the server telling us she made a mistake and they don’t actually take card
