CYCLE TOURING COLOMBIA

COLOMBIA
1079 Kilometres – 39 Days
10 March – 17 April 2012

MAP

PHOTOS

E-BOOK
 

   

10 March - San Rafael del Mojan, Venezuela - Maicao, Colombia - 90 km

The ride to the Venezuela-Colombia border was surprisingly pleasant. The landscape was scenic along a salt lake and, albeit windy, sported plenty of birdlife. Soon afterwards, the road reached the immigration office, where an uncomplicated crossing took us into our next country, Colombia.

Few things are more exciting than cycling across a border and into a new, chaotic border town. A place where one instinctively knows you are in a new country with a new set of rules. Hardly across the border, a fruit vendor offered us watermelon, which instantly endeared me to Colombia.

Maicao was the first town we encountered and it took weaving through horrendous traffic to find accommodation. Pavement restaurants were aplenty, and thus there was no need to cook.

 

11-12 March - Maicao - Riohacha - 82 km

Powered by the wind, we flew across the windswept Peninsula de Guajira. With its thorn trees and goats, the area was a unique and seldom visited part of Colombia. At a tiny community, Ernest ate grilled goat meat in the company of the Wayuu tribe - an unforgettable experience.

Riohacha was surprisingly pleasant, resulting in us spending two days. Blessed by a five-kilometre-long beach strewn with palm trees, the beach was crowded by Colombians and considerably less touristy than expected. Moreover, the old pier, constructed in 1937, offered a cool breeze in the evening. I sorted out my new internet connection, did much-needed shopping at Carrefour, and giggled at the novelty of walking around such a fancy store.

 

13-14 March - Riohacha – Palomino - 96 km

The day became one of those beautiful, happy cycle touring days. The weather was pleasant (mid-30s) with a slight tailwind, and sublime scenery accompanied us.

Midway, the thorn trees abruptly vanished and were replaced by tropical vegetation consisting of lush green foliage and trees. Teeny Palomino, surprisingly, had a hostel due to the nearby Serra Nevada National Park and idyllic Caribbean beaches. The park was unusual as it had the highest coastal mountains in the world. These mountains rose 5,775 metres above sea level, and were a mere 42 kilometres from the coast.

Both the hostel and the travellers were interesting. The majority looked the hippie type, dreadlocks and all. Speaking to them and listening to their beliefs and ideas were fascinating. It was easy to identify with their ideologies.

A short walk through the forest brought me to an indigenous settlement where people still wore traditional clothes and went about their daily life in their traditional way. They were extremely camera-shy and quickly disappeared upon seeing strangers. But then, it must be mentioned that these tribes have resisted contact with outsiders for centuries. I subsequently learned that some 30,000 indigenous people, mainly Arhuaco, Kogui and Wiwa, lived there.

 

15 March - Palomino – Casa Grande - 40 km

Stores sold beautiful, colourful sheaths. It was a popular item as practically all the men carried one. The stores also sold plastic chairs as well as Coca-Cola. Even the wall art was exciting, but then I found everything strangely captivating.

Our path led along a beautiful coast reportedly with a yearly average rainfall of approximately 4,000mm at elevations of 500m to 1,500m asl. Encountering exotic trees growing 30 to 40 metres high didn’t come as a surprise.

Spotting a suitable beach, pitching the tents came easily. Being early, a walk along the ocean brought us to a nearby store where we purchased provisions. The afternoon was whiled away by swinging in hammocks, watching the surf roll in and sipping cold beer.

 

16-17 March - Casa Grande – Taronga - 47 km

A slightly hilly route took us to Santa Marta and then up and over a steep hill to the tiny fishing settlement of Taronga. Maybe I should say “used to be a tiny fishing village”. Backpackers had discovered Taronga and there appeared to be more hostels than houses. At the beach, though, fishermen still brought in their daily catch as they’ve done for generations. Though a famous traveller’s destination, the village retained its rural feel where goats wandered the main road, and pavement eateries sold inexpensive snacks.

 

18-20 March - Taganga – Santa Marta - 19 km

The following day we backtracked up and cycled over the hill to Santa Marta where Ernest discovered a bike shop to do the necessary maintenance. Once all was done, the time was past midday and we opted for a hostel.

At the hostel, I was surprised to meet a South African lady looking to find a teaching job in town. I seldom met fellow South Africans as they aren’t the greatest adventure travellers, preferring to stick to the well-worn tourist path or organised tours.

Santa Marta was more interesting than we had foreseen. A walk into town revealed a giant statue of Simón Bolívar. Simón Bolívar, a Venezuelan military leader, was instrumental, along with José de San Martín, in freeing Latin America from the Spanish Empire. Today he’s revered as South America’s greatest hero and known as The Liberator. He’s still considered one of the most influential politicians in Latin American history. No self-respecting town is thus without a Simón Bolívar Plaza.

Being the oldest (remaining) city in South America, Santa Marta has an outstanding architectural heritage revealing beautifully renovated colonial buildings, lively squares and a charming waterfront.

The region was home to the Tairona people until the Spanish arrived. Unfortunately, history has it that the Spanish attempted to enslave their women and children. As a result, the Tairona population fled into the forest and moved higher up the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta. This allowed them to escape the worst of the Spanish colonial system. There were, therefore, quite a few monuments in town depicting the Taironas.

An additional day was spent in Santa Marta, and Ernest explored the market, where he replaced his tent zip. I meandered around town, exploring the narrow lanes and alleys of the old part.

We stumbled across a comfortable hostel, making kicking back a pleasure. In the process, I learned about a six-day trek to Ciudad Perdida. The walk sounded exciting, and I spent the best part of the day preparing for the hike.

Ciudad Perdida was an ancient city in the Sierra Nevada. It’s believed to have been founded approximately 800 AD, some 650 years earlier than Machu Picchu. The town housed 2,000 to 8,000 people and was abandoned during the Spanish conquest. During my visit, the trek wasn’t popular due to the 2003 hostage drama, where hikers were kept hostage by uniformed gunmen for more than three months. Imagine that! Despite internet warnings, I didn’t think it would happen again.

 

The Ciudad Perdida Trek

 

21 March - Day 1

Following a two-to-three-hour drive, we arrived at the start of the trek. After a light lunch, our small party headed up the misty mountains. The intriguing part was it happened in the company of tribal people and their mules carting shopping, including a flat-screen TV and a satellite dish! I kid you not! No sooner had we started, than we got to the first swim spot. The water was crystal clear, and no one wasted any time diving in. From there, the trail continued up a muddy and slippery path, past indigenous villages and to the top of our first climb. After that, the way down became a slip-sliding affair along a muddy track until we reached our first camp.

Accommodation was in comfortable mosquito-netted hammocks. Once we settled in, we drank cold beers while watching our guides cook on an open fire.

 

22 March - Day 2

I woke early due to forest sounds and thought it surprising how noisy the forest was. Following breakfast, our guide let us further up the mountain. The muddy route continued through a dense and picturesque forest. River crossings were effortless as we were still in the dry season (even though it rained virtually every evening). These places further made good swimming spots that were welcomed in the heat and humidity of the forest.

Four hours of trekking later, our second camp came into view and consisted of mosquito-netted beds. Still early, practically all sat playing cards while our guides prepared supper. Once the sun had set, the mosquitoes were out in full force, and I was happy I had brought two bottles of mosquito repellent. Not only bugs were out but also fireflies, which seemed larger and brighter than elsewhere.

 

23 March - Day 3

In anticipation of a long day’s trek, the walk started early. En route, indigenous villages popped out of the dense forest at random. The area was home to the Kogi (a Native American ethnic group) whose civilisation dates back thousands of years.

Once more, we encountered plenty of swimming holes and got to camp around midday. Following lunch, we followed the track to the ruins of Ciudad Perdida. Ciudad Perdida consisted of a series of 169 terraces carved into the mountainside. The entrance was only reached after a sweaty climb up 1,200 slippery stone steps through a dense, humid jungle. Nevertheless, I was impressed by the ruins as they were more substantial and impressive than expected.

 

24 March - Day 4

The following morning the trail started its descent. While hot and humid, we again come across several river crossings and numerous swimming places.

 

25 March - Day 5

Our last day came, and we tackled the final stretch after breakfast. En route, a short detour led us to a waterfall for one last swim. The trail was often muddy, uphill and slippery but thoroughly enjoyable.

 

26-27 March - Santa Marta

In Santa Marta, I desperately needed to do laundry and reorganise my panniers. Being precisely five years since leaving Cape Town, I celebrated with a bottle of wine and a bag of crisps.

 

28 March - Santa Marta – Barranquilla - 110 km

Our day went much as anticipated, apart from a sharp five-kilometre uphill out of Santa Marta – I didn’t see that one coming!

The road between Santa Marta and Barranquilla ran along a narrow strip of land wedged between the Caribbean Ocean and Lake Santa Marta and, not surprisingly, a rather ‘fishy’ area. The lake was chock-a-block with wooden boats, all casting nets. As expected, the route was lined with traders selling cooked shrimp and fresh fish. Wooden shacks lined the lake and the ocean’s shores, utterly different from the mountains I had just returned from.

Barranquilla was a hectic city with crazy traffic, and what looked like dilapidated buildings. One can’t expect a great deal from an 18,000 pesos room, and I felt it best to ignore the broken windows and settle in.

 

29 March - Barranquilla – Porte Veronica - 46 km

The next morning, we got underway at around 10 o’clock when the weather was already scorching. The sky was cloudless, and the relentless sun made it an exhausting day of biking. However, upon spotting a tiny coastal community, I discovered accommodation on the beach. Lunch was in the shade of a gazebo; the best spot on a hot day.

 

30 March - Porte Veronica – Cartagena - 87 km

Approximately 50 kilometres before Cartagena was Volcán del Totumo, a 15-metre-high mud volcano. Not wanting to miss anything, I turned off and found an active mud volcano. However, instead of spewing lava, it spat out mud. Ascending the crater required scaling a wooden staircase to the rim in order to lower oneself into a bottomless pit of smooth lukewarm mud. I wallowed in (what was believed) mineral-rich mud, like a contented hippo. The nearby lake was a handy place to wash off the mud. Then, I jumped back on the bicycle and onto Cartagena.

 

31 March - Cartagena

Cartagena conjured up romantic images of colonial wealth, and the city didn’t disappoint. It was indeed a lovely and fascinating city with a long history. I understood that various cultures and indigenous people occupied Cartagena as far back as 4,000 B.C. and that Spanish Cartagena was founded in 1533. Cartagena’s colonial walled city is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The old town was inside the elaborate city walls, complete with cobbled pedestrian lanes, leafy plazas and old buildings featuring beautiful bougainvillaea-covered balconies.

 

1 April – Cartagena

From Cartagena, we had to start thinking of crossing the Darién Gap. The Darién Gap is a break in the Pan American Highway between Colombia and Panama. The area consisted of a dense jungle that stretched roughly 100 kilometres without any roads or facilities and was considered home to the lawless, anti-government guerrillas and drug-smuggling cartels. The gap made overland travel across Central America pretty much impossible, and the only way around was by sea or air.

We pondered which route to take: whether to try and get a ride on a yacht or fly to Panama. Nearly all travellers arranged a lift with a yacht or flew from Cartagena. So, I took to the streets searching for a vessel heading to Panama. Unfortunately, I found none leaving within the next day or two. Instead, I wandered the streets of the old city and ate snacks from street traders.

The day was another stinking hot one, and I could barely wait until sunset, which brought some relief from the relentless heat. Unable to find a yacht, I considered it best to cycle as far as possible and then check the available options. Unfortunately, if Ernest had any ideas, he never shared them, mentioned the problem, or had any suggestions. But then he seldom did.

 

2 April - Cartagena – Cruz de Viso - 51 km

Upon departing busy Cartagena, the traffic was bumper to bumper, and it was past 11 a.m. before we cleared the city limits. The weather was sweltering and sweat ran down my body like a tap left open.

Even after clearing the city limits, the traffic was backed up for kilometres. An overturned truck blocked the entire oncoming lane. The outgoing lane was blocked due to an oversized vehicle that jumped the queue – what a mess!

Biking we, mercifully, had a free run but 50 kilometres further the heavens opened and heavy rain, thunder and lightning forced us to take shelter. The traffic jam had freed up by the time the storm was over, and the blocked-up traffic came thundering past.

Taking a room in the next village and continuing in the morning when the traffic had returned to normal made sense. The abode was excellent and sported cable TV and air-con; a good thing, as by then, I had a severe heat rash.

 

3 April - Cruz de Viso – Toluviejo - 81 km

The oppressing heat and terrible road conditions made cycling a slow process. The ride was, nonetheless, scenic past vast cattle ranches. Reaching Toluviejo, I was happy to find this tiny village sported accommodation and we stayed the night.

 

4 April - Toluviejo - Tolu - 20 km

A mere 20-kilometre cycle took us to Tolu – another idyllic coastal village. Little did we know our arrival coincided with the beginning of the Easter weekend. Easter weekend in Colombia ran from Thursday to Sunday.

The tiny fishing community of Tolu was chock-a-block with holidaymakers. The beachfront was a busy, festive place, crammed with traders, food vendors and music, and an excellent choice to join in and enjoy the festive mood.

 

5 April - Tolu – Cerete - 94 km

From Tolu, the road headed along the coast, dotted by idyllic-looking beachfront accommodation. Still, we continued past and soon headed inland along the river. The road, once more, was in poor condition and the going slow and when we met fellow cyclists on their way south, I was happy to take a break.

At Cerete, a budget hotel lured us in, and pavement traders provided an inexpensive but tasty supper.

 

6-7 April - Cerete – Arboletes - 86 km

The route was considerably hillier than envisaged. Not only was the weather hot, but it also came with a headwind, and I was more than happy to slink into Arboletes. Once again, Arboletes came as a pleasant surprise and turned out to be a tiny seaside village sporting a lovely beach, offshore islands, plenty of food and fruit, and a friendly atmosphere. Arboletes means “Land of Trees”, but the name was purely historical as virtually all forests were cleared to make way for the thriving cattle industry.

So pleasant was Arboletes, we stayed an additional day. This section of the coast was way off the beaten track and, consequently, devoid of foreign tourists. My early morning stroll along the beach made me the sole one there.

 

8 April - Arboletes – Mellito - 61 km

The paved road gradually vanished and turned into a dusty, potholed road. As the day wore on, our path deteriorated further, becoming a muddy, stony, bumpy track. We moved along at a snail’s pace, creeping up steep hills through tiny communities where people stared slack-jawed. Busses and trucks moved no faster than us to avoid the worst of the potholes.

It was still early when Ernest and I crawled into the small settlement of Mellito but, by then, I had enough of the bad roads and called it quits. I would tackle the remainder of the way the next day as I wasn’t in a race around the world.

 

9 April - Mellito – Turbo - 69 km

With no other option, we got on the muddy, potholed road. Luckily, the poor road conditions merely lasted a further 20 kilometres. At Necocli, I inquired regarding a boat to Panama without success.

Fifty kilometres of biking later, our path reached hectic, dusty, and crazy Turbo. A room across the street from the port provided a balcony to watch life go by. The horse and cart were still in use and seemed the preferred means of transport to and from the harbour.

 

10 April - Turbo

Turbo, considered the start of the Darién Gap, marked the end of our ride in Colombia. From Turbo, we had to make an alternative plan. Not being able to speak the language made organising things even more challenging.

At the harbour, we enquired about a cargo boat to Panama. Still, we understood it was illegal for cargo boats to ferry passengers. With a checkpoint close by, no one was prepared to take us to Panama. Instead, daily boats ran to and from Capurgana, a tiny hamlet near the Colombia-Panama border. I was sure that once there, one would encounter boats running to Panama.

 

11 April - Turbo

Early morning, we took off to the port. The ticket office was a hive of activity as many boats departed from Turbo to various destinations along the coast. Thank goodness, we met Simon (an Austrian gentleman who lived in Colombia), who spoke to the ticket lady on our behalf. The problem seemed to be the bikes as the boat was already full. Various people came to look at the bicycles, shook their heads and discussed the circumstances in Spanish. They were worried port authorities would deem the bikes as cargo and wouldn’t allow the boat to continue.

To make a long story short, tickets were purchased for the coming day. The “ticket” turned out simply a handwritten piece of paper; how official that was, was anyone’s guess. Practically anything was possible - all one needed was money, time, and patience.

 

12-13 April - Turbo – Capurgana (by boat)

The next morning was “take 2” as we moseyed to the port. The boat was cramped, both by people and luggage. To such an extent, Ernest had to sit right in front on top of the bags. This wouldn’t have been such a bad thing if it had been a smooth ride. Unfortunately, the ride was extremely rough (to put it mildly). The boat pounded the waves at high speed, and passengers bounced right out of their seats while hanging on for dear life. In fact, it wasn’t unusual for people to suffer neck injuries during those trips.

After two hours of being jerked around, we reached Capurgana with stiff necks and sore backsides. Arriving at this tiny, remote village, the ride from hell was soon forgotten. The sea was a true Caribbean blue, and with no road to Capurgana, this was as remote as it gets.

We discovered a room right along the water’s edge, swam and snorkelled in the clear, lukewarm water and enjoyed the evening breeze from our tiny balcony. I bought a bottle of papaya wine which we sipped, enjoying the sunset.

From Capurgana, boats ran the short distance to Puerto Obaldia in Panama. As with Capurgana, no road ran to and from Puerto Obaldia. Still, we received our exit stamp from the small immigration office and were all set to move on to Panama the following morning. Ernest, as usual, dragged his heels and we decided to take the boat to Puerto Obaldia, Panama, the next morning - a decision later regretted.

 

14 April - Capurgana, Columbia - Puerto Obaldia, Panama – Capurgana, Colombia

The next day, we were up early not to miss the boat to Puerto Obaldia again. The boat was barely able to take four people and their luggage, let alone two bicycles. The whole shebang was packed in the pouring rain, and the boat set off over the swells along a rugged coastline toward Panama. The procedure was enough to make anyone feel like an illegal refugee. Due to the rain, sea spray and wind, I was frozen nearly all the way. The single outboard motor coughed and spluttered, and halfway we had to pull in at tiny Sapzurro to top up with fuel.

Our first sighting of Panama through driving rain was the miserable tiny military outpost of Puerto Obaldia. We offloaded the bikes and panniers and after being checked by the army, headed toward the immigration office.

With immigration officers paging through our passports repeatedly and glancing at us suspiciously, we felt justifiably uneasy. So, we weren’t all surprised when the officer declared we needed a visa (contrary to the embassy’s information). There is, however, no arguing with border officials.

While figuring out what to do next, we pitched our tents in a derelict house where other travellers (including two other cyclists) were sheltering from the rain. The immigration officer soon reappeared and ordered us onto the next boat to Columbia. It took two hours at the dock for a boat to return us to Colombia. By then, the rain had abated, and we were scorched by the sun. Indeed, from one extreme to the other.

Still, this wasn’t the end of the saga. In Capurgana, Colombian officials informed us two days had passed since we were stamped out of Colombia, and they couldn’t reverse the exit stamps. Instead, we were advised to repeat the process in one of the larger Colombian cities (almost a week away by bike). We were hence, neither in Panama nor in Colombia.

 

15 April - Capurgana

Seeing Capurgana housed a small Panamanian Consulate, I decided to wait out the weekend and see if staff could help. I doubted whether it would help, but it was worth a try as I knew South Africans didn’t need a Panamanian visa.

My money was running dangerously low. We, therefore, booked an inexpensive room in Capurgana and discovered more people were having problems getting into Panama. One, an Argentinian, was refused entry into Panama due to him having a guitar and as a result deemed a working musician and couldn’t enter as a tourist. The reason might’ve been that immigration officers wanted a bribe, but most of us were oblivious to such things.

In the meantime, I emailed the South African Embassy for details regarding our visa status in Panama.

Our abode was an intriguing setup featuring bare and basic wooden rooms. The communal kitchen was outside under a gazebo. Due to the lack of gas and electricity, one had to make a fire. I’m sure the fire-making exercise was why guests gathered around, making the kitchen a popular spot. Unfortunately, the rooms were sweltering, and though fitted with a fan, the electricity was only on for a few hours per day. As a result, the breezy outside kitchen area was where everyone hung out.

 

16 April - Capurgana

The embassy replied promptly, confirming South Africans didn’t need a visa to enter Panama and attached a letter from the Panamanian Embassy stating the necessary. Even though in English, I printed the letter and set out to the Panamanian Consulate.

As we waited patiently, the two unhelpful ladies continued playing their computer games (they could’ve at least switched the sound off!). They weren’t going to get rid of us that easily. Eventually, one picked up a cell phone, left the room, and returned, informing us no visa was needed. She advised us to proceed to Puerto Obaldia and present the embassy’s letter. One couldn’t be sure whether she really phoned– she might merely have wanted to get rid of us. Upon asking the name and phone number of the person she spoke to, the reply was “general enquiries” and she couldn’t give us any name or number.

Armed with this info, we returned to the Colombian Immigration. This time, the staff could miraculously cancel our previous exit stamps and give us new ones.

 

17 April - Capurgana, Colombia – Puerto Obaldia, Panama

The rain came down hard at night, making the day fresh and damp. Unfortunately, the boat which operated between Capurgana, Colombia and Puerto Obaldia, Panama was quite pricey and it was best to wait at the dock to get a better offer. Finally, a deal was made, but the “regular boat” had a problem with the “good offer”. After fighting it out amongst themselves, we were taken to Puerto Obaldia at no extra charge.

The sea was rough, but the boat safely arrived in Puerto Obaldia. We proceeded to the immigration office a second time. Still, it took explaining in our broken Spanish (proudly presenting the embassy’s letter) that South Africans didn’t need a visa to Panama beforehand. Nonetheless, we were told to return in the morning when the boss was in the office. At least we weren’t sent back to Columbia like three days earlier.

The annual rainfall in the area was more than 10m/a. Luckily, a covered area on the veranda of a derelict community hall provided space to pitch the tents. By then, I had $85 left to get Ernest and myself to Colon, rumoured the first place with an ATM. Ten dollars were spent buying food and a few beers and with rain pouring down, we settled in. The roof we camped under at least allowed sitting outside the tents, cooking and chatting.

Even though in Panama, we weren’t out of the woods as there were no roads to and from Puerto Obaldia. However, the small landing strip could accommodate small planes. Still, I had no money left, and even if I did, the six-seaters which flew to and from Puerto Obaldia couldn’t accommodate bicycles.

 

18 April - Puerto Obaldia

Following a long rigmarole, Ernest and I were eventually stamped into Panama. Hallelujah! Puerto Obaldia was a military post with very little happening.

Meeting Simon, who hailed from Italy, didn’t take long. Simon planned to travel by 50cc motorbike from Ushuaia to Alaska. He had already set a record for distance travelled by a 50cc. We soon learned Simon had been stuck in Puerto Obaldia searching for a boat around the impenetrable Darién Gap for several days.

Spotting a small wooden cargo boat (the Rey Emmanuel) anchored in the bay, we searched for the captain, who, like any good captain, was found drinking in the cantina. I didn’t know if this was a good time to negotiate. I didn’t have enough money to pay for the trip and Ernest had no money, or so he said.

Captain Marseille was, nevertheless, in a good mood and offered Ernest and I a fair price ($80 each) and agreed I could pay at the end of the trip. I understood an ATM could be located approximately 50 kilometres from where the boat was to anchor. However, the trip was to take between three and six days, cooking wasn’t allowed on the boat, and no food was included in the price. Armed with this information, we took off to the single shop to buy tinned food, bread and ingredients we assumed one might be able to cook whenever the boat docked.

The only tinned food at the little shop was spam and pork & beans, which we purchased, hoping we could stock up at some of the islands. The captain further informed us he could take us to Miramar, a village along the Panama coast from where a road ran to Panama City. The Rey Emmanuel delivered supplies to the San Blas Islands. Outstanding monies, empty bottles, and gas cylinders were collected on the return journey. I suspected the trip to be a slow one.

According to the captain, he was sailing at 9 a.m. sharp. With the Rey Emmanuel anchored in the bay, a “lancha” was arranged to row us out to the boat the following day.