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.
