Fri 28 May
Madrid – London
After a bit of sleep they server breakfast and then we’re back in Europe. The bit of Madrid airport that I’m in is pretty nice, all modern multicoloured architecture. BA are on strike but they have a charter plane on hire to take us back to London.
I walk through the Iris scanner and I’m first at the carousel. I get my bags and leave the airport to meet up with my parents. I couldn’t imagine anything happier.
I’d like to end with a quote from Travis which kept running through my head and has a certain relevance.
“The grass is always greener on the other side
Baby’s got a new car that you wanna ride
Your time is running out you wanna stay alive
We all live under the same sky
We all will live we all will die
There is no wrong
There is no right
The circle only has one side”
Travis – Side
Still to come – my thoughts on the trip as a whole, and some important references.
Thursday 25 November 2010
Leave
Thu 27 May
Bogota – Madrid
Another rainy and cloudy day in Bogotá, there wasn’t much incentive to go out and do things. I spent most of the day killing time, surfing the net. Joe and Craig hang out with me and watch TV. Then the time comes and I say goodbye. It feels like a big moment, saying goodbye to the last of my friends that I made in South America. This was truly it – the start of my journey home. The end of the longest trip abroad I have ever had. I had lived out of a suitcase for four and a half months. Which goes to show how little we really need.
I take a taxi to the airport. The driver tries to talk to me and I have my last broken English / broken Spanish conversation. I tell him where I’ve been and he seems impressed. It’s been a long old distance.
I arrive at the airport and it appears that my flight has been brought forward by an hour and will be boarding shortly. So it’s just as well I arrived in good time.
I’m flying Iberia and unlike the luxury of Alitalia there are no personal TV screens, just one large one at the front of the cabin. It seems to be showing some film of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson as a tooth fairy, with Stephen Merchant as some supporting character. What a combination.
They keep the lights on for ages and I have trouble falling asleep. Luckily it doesn’t matter. I don’t need sleep where I’m going.
Bogota – Madrid
Another rainy and cloudy day in Bogotá, there wasn’t much incentive to go out and do things. I spent most of the day killing time, surfing the net. Joe and Craig hang out with me and watch TV. Then the time comes and I say goodbye. It feels like a big moment, saying goodbye to the last of my friends that I made in South America. This was truly it – the start of my journey home. The end of the longest trip abroad I have ever had. I had lived out of a suitcase for four and a half months. Which goes to show how little we really need.
I take a taxi to the airport. The driver tries to talk to me and I have my last broken English / broken Spanish conversation. I tell him where I’ve been and he seems impressed. It’s been a long old distance.
I arrive at the airport and it appears that my flight has been brought forward by an hour and will be boarding shortly. So it’s just as well I arrived in good time.
I’m flying Iberia and unlike the luxury of Alitalia there are no personal TV screens, just one large one at the front of the cabin. It seems to be showing some film of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson as a tooth fairy, with Stephen Merchant as some supporting character. What a combination.
They keep the lights on for ages and I have trouble falling asleep. Luckily it doesn’t matter. I don’t need sleep where I’m going.
Up in the Clouds
Wed 26 May
Taganga – Bogotá
Another night, another overnight bus journey. This would be my last. We stopped at some time in the morning and had breakfast at a service station. I had a Frosties and yogurt combination. It seemed to be the safest thing on offer.
Shortly after that we started our ascent into Bogotá. Having been at sea level on the Caribbean coast, I was (again, for the last time) winding my way back up through the Andes, two and a half kilometres high. There was some film on that was boring enough to send me back to sleep. When I woke up again I watched Sherlock Holmes on my laptop, which was pretty good fun. I then listened to Stephen Fry read Harry Potter and promptly fell back into a deep sleep which saw me all the way to the capital, where Joe had to forcefully wake me up.
We have a bit of hassle finding a hostel but get one eventually. I took a private room as it’ll be my last night in South America. We go and wonder around the town to look at a few sights. It’s cloudy, rainy and wet and everything looks a little drab. There are people on the streets selling umbrellas, and so I learn probably my last piece of Spanish vocab: paragua (from para agua: against water).
We go to a cable car which goes up the side of a mountain, much like the ones in Quito and Medellin, but the top of the mountain is covered in cloud and it seems it’s closed anyway, so that’s a no go. Instead we head back to the hostel where completely by chance we meet some people that went to the same school as Craig and Joe. So we hang out with them and end up going to some random club/bar type place and spend the night there. It’s pretty good fun and everyone has a good time.
Taganga – Bogotá
Another night, another overnight bus journey. This would be my last. We stopped at some time in the morning and had breakfast at a service station. I had a Frosties and yogurt combination. It seemed to be the safest thing on offer.
Shortly after that we started our ascent into Bogotá. Having been at sea level on the Caribbean coast, I was (again, for the last time) winding my way back up through the Andes, two and a half kilometres high. There was some film on that was boring enough to send me back to sleep. When I woke up again I watched Sherlock Holmes on my laptop, which was pretty good fun. I then listened to Stephen Fry read Harry Potter and promptly fell back into a deep sleep which saw me all the way to the capital, where Joe had to forcefully wake me up.
We have a bit of hassle finding a hostel but get one eventually. I took a private room as it’ll be my last night in South America. We go and wonder around the town to look at a few sights. It’s cloudy, rainy and wet and everything looks a little drab. There are people on the streets selling umbrellas, and so I learn probably my last piece of Spanish vocab: paragua (from para agua: against water).
We go to a cable car which goes up the side of a mountain, much like the ones in Quito and Medellin, but the top of the mountain is covered in cloud and it seems it’s closed anyway, so that’s a no go. Instead we head back to the hostel where completely by chance we meet some people that went to the same school as Craig and Joe. So we hang out with them and end up going to some random club/bar type place and spend the night there. It’s pretty good fun and everyone has a good time.
El Pibe
Tue 25 May
Taganga – Bogotá
We were leaving Taganga today and I wanted to get a picture overlooking the bay, so the first thing I did was to walk up the road to Santa Marta and take a snap. Heading back into town I met the guys and joined them for breakfast. While I was sitting there every now and then there would be a loud noise as something hard hit the ground beside me. They were large, dark brown, peach-stone-sized things. After a while I wondered where they were coming from so stood up to look. Turns out there was a massive lizard – at least a metre long – that was on a branch above the restaurant that was slowly and quietly having a poo from way up there. Luckily none of them hit me!
Anyway Joe, Craig and I were heading to Bogotá but the bus was in the evening and we had a lot of time to kill. So what better way to do that than head into Santa Marta and find the statue of Carlos Valderama, the still-living Colombian international footballer who has a crazy dyed-blonde mop-afro haircut? Nothing is better than that, and that’s a scientific FACT!
We found it and took pictures and then spent ages trying to find somewhere to eat that wasn’t a complete dump. After that we headed back into Taganga to pack and say our goodbyes. We all hugged and said goodbye. Apparently Lambadour was crying – I didn’t notice and it was probably just as well as it would have set me off as well. We took a taxi and set off for Santa Marta bus station. It was an emotional moment.
At the station we bought a bus ticket for about a third of the price that we were expecting, which was nice. Apparently it’s usually cheaper to fly, but not for us. No idea why that happened. Once on our way I fell asleep fairly quickly as usual on these journeys.
Taganga – Bogotá
We were leaving Taganga today and I wanted to get a picture overlooking the bay, so the first thing I did was to walk up the road to Santa Marta and take a snap. Heading back into town I met the guys and joined them for breakfast. While I was sitting there every now and then there would be a loud noise as something hard hit the ground beside me. They were large, dark brown, peach-stone-sized things. After a while I wondered where they were coming from so stood up to look. Turns out there was a massive lizard – at least a metre long – that was on a branch above the restaurant that was slowly and quietly having a poo from way up there. Luckily none of them hit me!
Anyway Joe, Craig and I were heading to Bogotá but the bus was in the evening and we had a lot of time to kill. So what better way to do that than head into Santa Marta and find the statue of Carlos Valderama, the still-living Colombian international footballer who has a crazy dyed-blonde mop-afro haircut? Nothing is better than that, and that’s a scientific FACT!
We found it and took pictures and then spent ages trying to find somewhere to eat that wasn’t a complete dump. After that we headed back into Taganga to pack and say our goodbyes. We all hugged and said goodbye. Apparently Lambadour was crying – I didn’t notice and it was probably just as well as it would have set me off as well. We took a taxi and set off for Santa Marta bus station. It was an emotional moment.
At the station we bought a bus ticket for about a third of the price that we were expecting, which was nice. Apparently it’s usually cheaper to fly, but not for us. No idea why that happened. Once on our way I fell asleep fairly quickly as usual on these journeys.
Monday 22 November 2010
9 out of 10 Dogs Said That They Preferred…
Mon 24 May
Tanganga
So time passes and things come and go, and just like Star Trek: The Next Generation, all good things must come to an end. Today was the last full day of travelling proper, and it was the last evening the whole gang would have together. Etienne a.k.a. Le Lambadour, Craig, Joe (who to me always looked like a “Craig”), Millie and Lucy the Kiwi girls, and my good self all had one final dinner.
We were recommended a place in one of the back streets called Pachamama (Mother Earth). We hadn’t been there before so we went to check it out. The place was kitted out very nicely, though when we arrived the most notable thing was that there was a dog-gang-rape going on outside. It seemed that one of the many free-roaming dogs that exist throughout South America was on heat tonight and unluckily for her, every male dog in the local vicinity thought it would have a go. Well at least someone was having a good time.
Anyway despite the typically atrocious service and oppressive heat due to lack of fans in this open air restaurant we had a good meal and much drink, and talked about the fun that we had, or something like that. It’s two and half months later when I’m writing this and I can’t remember what we talked about. It was good fun though. It would be sad to leave this group. As I write it was only last Saturday that I was out at a bar for another leaving do, and I thought about Colombia briefly, and this group and the fun we had, and then I remembered I was in Hammersmith and with another group of people that I loved, and I thought how lucky I was.
Tanganga
So time passes and things come and go, and just like Star Trek: The Next Generation, all good things must come to an end. Today was the last full day of travelling proper, and it was the last evening the whole gang would have together. Etienne a.k.a. Le Lambadour, Craig, Joe (who to me always looked like a “Craig”), Millie and Lucy the Kiwi girls, and my good self all had one final dinner.
We were recommended a place in one of the back streets called Pachamama (Mother Earth). We hadn’t been there before so we went to check it out. The place was kitted out very nicely, though when we arrived the most notable thing was that there was a dog-gang-rape going on outside. It seemed that one of the many free-roaming dogs that exist throughout South America was on heat tonight and unluckily for her, every male dog in the local vicinity thought it would have a go. Well at least someone was having a good time.
Anyway despite the typically atrocious service and oppressive heat due to lack of fans in this open air restaurant we had a good meal and much drink, and talked about the fun that we had, or something like that. It’s two and half months later when I’m writing this and I can’t remember what we talked about. It was good fun though. It would be sad to leave this group. As I write it was only last Saturday that I was out at a bar for another leaving do, and I thought about Colombia briefly, and this group and the fun we had, and then I remembered I was in Hammersmith and with another group of people that I loved, and I thought how lucky I was.
The Art of Dining Well Is No Slight Art, the Pleasure not a Slight Pleasure
Sun 23 May
Taganga
(Montaigne)
This being Sunday, it meant it was a Doctor Who day. There was no Formula One.
In the evening Le Lambadour cooked for us for the last time. It was a blinder. While we had been treated before to merely excellent pasta, this time around was something different. A full on meal, based on rice, with two sauces. I can’t remember their flavours, but I do remember their awesomeness. It was a true taste sensation and it was an honour to eat it.
Taganga
(Montaigne)
This being Sunday, it meant it was a Doctor Who day. There was no Formula One.
In the evening Le Lambadour cooked for us for the last time. It was a blinder. While we had been treated before to merely excellent pasta, this time around was something different. A full on meal, based on rice, with two sauces. I can’t remember their flavours, but I do remember their awesomeness. It was a true taste sensation and it was an honour to eat it.
I Wake up Just to Go Back to Sleep
Sat 22 May
Taganga
I woke up, surfed the net, ate breakfast, intended to watch a Champions League match, but ended up sleeping for almost the whole day. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to do it.
I wander into town and meet up with Craig and Joe. We have pizza for dinner and then meet up with the rest of the gang. We sit in the hostel and totally fail to go out and do anything.
Taganga
I woke up, surfed the net, ate breakfast, intended to watch a Champions League match, but ended up sleeping for almost the whole day. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to do it.
I wander into town and meet up with Craig and Joe. We have pizza for dinner and then meet up with the rest of the gang. We sit in the hostel and totally fail to go out and do anything.
Cocktail Time, a Summer's Tune, a Whole Night's Holiday
Fri 21 May
Taganga
Didn’t do much in the morning. I went down to the beach in the afternoon for a sunbathe. It was pretty hot at first though it became cooler later on. While we were there some random Aussies came along and invited us to a party they were having at a house they were renting further along the bay. Seemed like a good way to spend the evening. Of course being Aussies they were inviting everyone they could find. And being Aussies they had board shorts with the Australian flag on it. This is essential, standard wear for being Australian.
Dinner was once again cooked by our resident chef Lambadour. I say once again as he cooked for us once before, though I think I forgot to note it. Either way he’s no slouch in the kitchen and he did a great job.
Then we headed off to the house party. The place was jumping with pretty much the entire tourist population of Taganga. Everyone was having fun. Flip flops were lost. There was a swimming pool on the roof. Tunes were played. Apparently the police were searching people as the left, looking for drugs. They obviously didn’t realise that by the time people were going home, they wouldn’t have any drugs on them. I got to bed at about 4.30.
Taganga
Didn’t do much in the morning. I went down to the beach in the afternoon for a sunbathe. It was pretty hot at first though it became cooler later on. While we were there some random Aussies came along and invited us to a party they were having at a house they were renting further along the bay. Seemed like a good way to spend the evening. Of course being Aussies they were inviting everyone they could find. And being Aussies they had board shorts with the Australian flag on it. This is essential, standard wear for being Australian.
Dinner was once again cooked by our resident chef Lambadour. I say once again as he cooked for us once before, though I think I forgot to note it. Either way he’s no slouch in the kitchen and he did a great job.
Then we headed off to the house party. The place was jumping with pretty much the entire tourist population of Taganga. Everyone was having fun. Flip flops were lost. There was a swimming pool on the roof. Tunes were played. Apparently the police were searching people as the left, looking for drugs. They obviously didn’t realise that by the time people were going home, they wouldn’t have any drugs on them. I got to bed at about 4.30.
Thursday 18 November 2010
We’ll Find Our Own Way Home Somehow
Thursday 20 May
Tayrona National Park – Taganga
I had exactly one week left in South America. It would have been bad if I didn’t know I would have Hammersmith to go back to, and all that it means to me.
We woke up fairly early, there are no curtains on hammocks. We had breakfast, a swim, and lunch. I wondered to myself if this was the same Colombian jungle that Papillon travelled through during one of his escapes. I checked later and found that it was close enough – Guajira was just a bit further up the coast. Our paths had actually already crossed: he was held in prisons in Santa Marta and Barranquilla.
The others wanted to go back by land as it was cheaper. The boat was more convenient and expensive so I decided on that option. It was equally bumpy and wet as the trip over here. It was just as well I went by myself – the van that the others found only had enough room for them and even then it was an extreme squash.
Once back home I surfed the web and did stuff like that. In the evening we had a meal at Casa Felipe, the best restaurant in town. We had a few drinks and then headed off to bed early – I didn’t get much sleep in Tayrona.
Tayrona National Park – Taganga
I had exactly one week left in South America. It would have been bad if I didn’t know I would have Hammersmith to go back to, and all that it means to me.
We woke up fairly early, there are no curtains on hammocks. We had breakfast, a swim, and lunch. I wondered to myself if this was the same Colombian jungle that Papillon travelled through during one of his escapes. I checked later and found that it was close enough – Guajira was just a bit further up the coast. Our paths had actually already crossed: he was held in prisons in Santa Marta and Barranquilla.
The others wanted to go back by land as it was cheaper. The boat was more convenient and expensive so I decided on that option. It was equally bumpy and wet as the trip over here. It was just as well I went by myself – the van that the others found only had enough room for them and even then it was an extreme squash.
Once back home I surfed the web and did stuff like that. In the evening we had a meal at Casa Felipe, the best restaurant in town. We had a few drinks and then headed off to bed early – I didn’t get much sleep in Tayrona.
In the Jungle
Wednesday 19 May
Taganga – Tayrona National Park
We had decided to go to Tayrona National Park. It is a jungle further up the Caribbean coast to the west, famed for its beauty and untouched nature. It also contains the Ciudad Perdida – the “Lost City” – which, thankfully, has since been found, otherwise it wouldn’t be much of a tourist attraction. However it takes six days to trek to the lost city and none of us had the time available for that. So we decided to go to the jungle for one night.
We arranged transport with some random local and ate breakfast. We came back to find our man, only to discover that he had decided to take some other people off somewhere to do something else. Presumably there was more money in it for him. We managed to find alternative transport from a man with a boat who took us along the coast. It took a while – a couple of hours I think – and the ride was pretty bumpy with the people at the front getting a good washing.
We arrived at the beach and it looked like paradise. All there was, was sea, sand, palm trees and jungle. There was one hut on a rock that held some hammocks. Immediately this beach was in the running for most awesome beach in the world. My previous two contenders were Paradise beach in Uluwatu, Bali, Indonesia, and Long Beach, Perhentian Islands, Malaysia. Goa gets an honourable mention for Palolem and Arambol beaches. But none of them could beat this place for lack of visible shoreline habitation.
As soon as we landed a woman came and made us pay our national park entry fee. We then set off and found the place where they deal with all the hammocks and reserved ours. It turns out that we should have received a wristband when we paid the entrance fee but that didn’t happen. We explained the situation to the rather over-dressed park warden (think full-on Bavarian military in green with additional gold ropey things from the shoulder) and he seemed to understand, though it probably helped that a group of aggressive chavs that were in the same situation caused a lot of problems for themselves by getting shouty and took the heat away from us.
Back from the shore and in a large clearing in the jungle there was a large area that consisted of a camping ground, a large hut with loads of hammocks, a basic restaurant and a shop selling snacks and booze. That was all there was, so we got busy and jumped in the sea. We spent the afternoon on the beach, swimming in the Caribbean and sunbathing.
After sunset we had drinks and dinner in the restaurant, playing cards and music with each other. La Lambadour dressed up as a Portuguese waiter, which was the first and last time he wore more than underpants for the entire time I knew him.
Eventually we made it back to the hammocks as the last – and probably the drunkest – people to go to bed. We may have annoyed some people.
Taganga – Tayrona National Park
We had decided to go to Tayrona National Park. It is a jungle further up the Caribbean coast to the west, famed for its beauty and untouched nature. It also contains the Ciudad Perdida – the “Lost City” – which, thankfully, has since been found, otherwise it wouldn’t be much of a tourist attraction. However it takes six days to trek to the lost city and none of us had the time available for that. So we decided to go to the jungle for one night.
We arranged transport with some random local and ate breakfast. We came back to find our man, only to discover that he had decided to take some other people off somewhere to do something else. Presumably there was more money in it for him. We managed to find alternative transport from a man with a boat who took us along the coast. It took a while – a couple of hours I think – and the ride was pretty bumpy with the people at the front getting a good washing.
We arrived at the beach and it looked like paradise. All there was, was sea, sand, palm trees and jungle. There was one hut on a rock that held some hammocks. Immediately this beach was in the running for most awesome beach in the world. My previous two contenders were Paradise beach in Uluwatu, Bali, Indonesia, and Long Beach, Perhentian Islands, Malaysia. Goa gets an honourable mention for Palolem and Arambol beaches. But none of them could beat this place for lack of visible shoreline habitation.
As soon as we landed a woman came and made us pay our national park entry fee. We then set off and found the place where they deal with all the hammocks and reserved ours. It turns out that we should have received a wristband when we paid the entrance fee but that didn’t happen. We explained the situation to the rather over-dressed park warden (think full-on Bavarian military in green with additional gold ropey things from the shoulder) and he seemed to understand, though it probably helped that a group of aggressive chavs that were in the same situation caused a lot of problems for themselves by getting shouty and took the heat away from us.
Back from the shore and in a large clearing in the jungle there was a large area that consisted of a camping ground, a large hut with loads of hammocks, a basic restaurant and a shop selling snacks and booze. That was all there was, so we got busy and jumped in the sea. We spent the afternoon on the beach, swimming in the Caribbean and sunbathing.
After sunset we had drinks and dinner in the restaurant, playing cards and music with each other. La Lambadour dressed up as a Portuguese waiter, which was the first and last time he wore more than underpants for the entire time I knew him.
Eventually we made it back to the hammocks as the last – and probably the drunkest – people to go to bed. We may have annoyed some people.
Float on
Tuesday 18 May
Taganga
I was sneezing a lot this morning. How you can get a cold when it’s 35 degrees most of the time is a mystery to me. Thankfully it cleared up by the afternoon. Love me and leave me, why don’t you, random cold virus. I thought we had something.
I watched more grand prix in the morning. This must be very interesting for you to read. I think it’s only my mum that reads this. If you’re reading this and you’re not my mum, please let me know. Particularly if you’ve read every post. That’s top quality commitment. Or, as other people call it, stalking.
In the afternoon I seemed to have lost everyone so I spent it productively lying on a lilo in the practically deserted swimming pool in the hostel. I dozed in and out of sleep as I tried to deal with my constant tiredness. It was probably the closest I could get to being in a womb. That’s an unusual thought.
Later on I met up with the guys and we ended up watching The Shawshank Redemption at the hostel, which was projected on to the wall by the swimming pool. Its soporific nature helped me to sleep through about a third of it. It had been a very taxing day after all. Though most of the other guys fell asleep at some point as well. After it finished I was pretty sure I was going to go straight to bed.
But no! On came the music, out came the drinks and we all had a mini party in the hostel. It was pretty hardcore and lasted until the early hours. We all had a lot of fun. Sometimes the unexpected parties are the best.
Taganga
I was sneezing a lot this morning. How you can get a cold when it’s 35 degrees most of the time is a mystery to me. Thankfully it cleared up by the afternoon. Love me and leave me, why don’t you, random cold virus. I thought we had something.
I watched more grand prix in the morning. This must be very interesting for you to read. I think it’s only my mum that reads this. If you’re reading this and you’re not my mum, please let me know. Particularly if you’ve read every post. That’s top quality commitment. Or, as other people call it, stalking.
In the afternoon I seemed to have lost everyone so I spent it productively lying on a lilo in the practically deserted swimming pool in the hostel. I dozed in and out of sleep as I tried to deal with my constant tiredness. It was probably the closest I could get to being in a womb. That’s an unusual thought.
Later on I met up with the guys and we ended up watching The Shawshank Redemption at the hostel, which was projected on to the wall by the swimming pool. Its soporific nature helped me to sleep through about a third of it. It had been a very taxing day after all. Though most of the other guys fell asleep at some point as well. After it finished I was pretty sure I was going to go straight to bed.
But no! On came the music, out came the drinks and we all had a mini party in the hostel. It was pretty hardcore and lasted until the early hours. We all had a lot of fun. Sometimes the unexpected parties are the best.
Monday 15 November 2010
I Fought the Law
Monday 17 May
Taganga
…and the law didn’t win. But before that…
Not much happened during the daytime today. I watched qualifying. I watched Doctor Who. I went for a sunbathe on the beach. I found the other guys when I was out shopping. We went for dinner and then afterwards went for a drink at the Mirador – a bar slightly up the hillside, overlooking the bay.
It was a pretty cool bar, we started talking to some Kiwi girls and had a few drinks. As we walked back to the hostel we started talking about how a few people we had met had been stopped by the police a lot and had a lot of hassle from them, and how we hadn’t experienced that at all. We had only finished making that point when a moped pulled up beside us and a cop got out and wanted to search us.
Luckily I didn’t have anything on me but we knew that one of the others in our group had a small bit of weed on him. So we knew what was coming. After emptying our pockets and going through the contents they found the weed.
Luckily a few days ago we were talking about this with another traveller. He had told us two important facts. The first is that in Colombia it is actually legal to carry five grams of cocaine and twenty-five grams of weed. Yes, you read that correctly. Twenty-five grams. The second fact was that if the cops stop you, you should always demand to speak to the British Embassy (or whichever country you think you come from). The one thing you don’t do is agree to a bribe.
So the cop took the weed and asked for the guy’s name. He only gave his first name. For some reason the cop thought this was enough. There was some talk in Spanish. He toyed with some handcuffs, presumably to scare us. There was another cop there. Some more talk. Eventually he said “immediate deportation”.
We said that we wanted to speak to the British Embassy. Luckily my Spanish stretched just about far enough. Quiero hablar Embajado Británico. It wasn’t quite right but it was close enough.
There was some more talk in Spanish. The cop pretended to talk into his walkie talkie again. Strangely, there didn’t seem to be anyone on the other end. More waiting. We told him that we wanted to speak to the British Embassy again, just in case he wasn’t sure.
“OK”, he said after a while. “Two thousand dollars.” Obviously an invisible judge had corrected him on his sentencing. What kind of system is it when the judiciary is run by ghosts? I was also wondering where anyone would get two thousand dollars from in the middle of the night in a town with no banks and a country where the cash machines don’t give out dollars. Apparently this wasn’t an issue for the cops. They really need to rethink their bribery tactics.
We still wanted to speak to the British Embassy. Again there was more talking in Spanish, and the people on the other end of the walkie talkie remained curiously silent. More waiting. More talking. More requests to speak to the British Embassy.
Fast forward a few minutes with more of the same. Then apropos of nothing it was “OK, you can go. Es illegal in Colombia,” he said, in case we weren’t sure. “Gracias,” we said, as we walked away.
When we got back to the hostel we rolled up a bit fat Colombian carrot* and spoke of the old country.
*I didn’t inhale, obviously.
Taganga
…and the law didn’t win. But before that…
Not much happened during the daytime today. I watched qualifying. I watched Doctor Who. I went for a sunbathe on the beach. I found the other guys when I was out shopping. We went for dinner and then afterwards went for a drink at the Mirador – a bar slightly up the hillside, overlooking the bay.
It was a pretty cool bar, we started talking to some Kiwi girls and had a few drinks. As we walked back to the hostel we started talking about how a few people we had met had been stopped by the police a lot and had a lot of hassle from them, and how we hadn’t experienced that at all. We had only finished making that point when a moped pulled up beside us and a cop got out and wanted to search us.
Luckily I didn’t have anything on me but we knew that one of the others in our group had a small bit of weed on him. So we knew what was coming. After emptying our pockets and going through the contents they found the weed.
Luckily a few days ago we were talking about this with another traveller. He had told us two important facts. The first is that in Colombia it is actually legal to carry five grams of cocaine and twenty-five grams of weed. Yes, you read that correctly. Twenty-five grams. The second fact was that if the cops stop you, you should always demand to speak to the British Embassy (or whichever country you think you come from). The one thing you don’t do is agree to a bribe.
So the cop took the weed and asked for the guy’s name. He only gave his first name. For some reason the cop thought this was enough. There was some talk in Spanish. He toyed with some handcuffs, presumably to scare us. There was another cop there. Some more talk. Eventually he said “immediate deportation”.
We said that we wanted to speak to the British Embassy. Luckily my Spanish stretched just about far enough. Quiero hablar Embajado Británico. It wasn’t quite right but it was close enough.
There was some more talk in Spanish. The cop pretended to talk into his walkie talkie again. Strangely, there didn’t seem to be anyone on the other end. More waiting. We told him that we wanted to speak to the British Embassy again, just in case he wasn’t sure.
“OK”, he said after a while. “Two thousand dollars.” Obviously an invisible judge had corrected him on his sentencing. What kind of system is it when the judiciary is run by ghosts? I was also wondering where anyone would get two thousand dollars from in the middle of the night in a town with no banks and a country where the cash machines don’t give out dollars. Apparently this wasn’t an issue for the cops. They really need to rethink their bribery tactics.
We still wanted to speak to the British Embassy. Again there was more talking in Spanish, and the people on the other end of the walkie talkie remained curiously silent. More waiting. More talking. More requests to speak to the British Embassy.
Fast forward a few minutes with more of the same. Then apropos of nothing it was “OK, you can go. Es illegal in Colombia,” he said, in case we weren’t sure. “Gracias,” we said, as we walked away.
When we got back to the hostel we rolled up a bit fat Colombian carrot* and spoke of the old country.
*I didn’t inhale, obviously.
I Was Swimming in the Caribbean
Sunday 16 May
Taganga
So someone had organised what was apparently a fishing trip. Seemed like a good idea. We were all a bit hungover but we went for it anyway. The day started at the large drink shop right on the beachfront. There was a lot of confusion and general faffing. In the heat it was a bit much for me so I sat on the beach until everyone had sorted out whatever it was that they had to sort out. And then we boarded a boat.
We travelled for a short while and headed to another bay around a headland. It was a more or less deserted beach with a collapsing wooden hut and a couple of very hungry looking, mangy, stray dogs. We set up base and did whatever we wanted to. I went for a swim (and snorkel) in the Caribbean Sea for the first time in over a decade and looked at the coral and the fishes. Of course it was no Sharm-el-Sheik but then very few places outside of Egypt are. Still, it was one of the better snorkelling sessions that I’ve had in the last few years. We drank some beer, played more songs on the guitar, did a bit of sun bathing. I chatted to some Canadian girls and commentated on the stray dogs who were sniffing each other’s behinds which they found amusing.
We took the boat back to Taganga shortly before the sun set. I went to withdraw some cash and found my card wasn’t working. I only had a few thousand pesos left (which isn’t much) so I took a taxi to Santa Marta to see if I could get money there. I tried about twenty thousand different cash machines but none of them worked, each time getting more and more desparate. I took the taxi back and he basically took all of my remaining money. However once back I phoned the bank on Skype and found they had blocked my card. Once unblocked I could withdraw money again and everything was back to normal which was a huge relief after the stress of the previous hour or so.
I met up with the guys again on the waterfront and had a few beers before it was time to go to bed.
Taganga
So someone had organised what was apparently a fishing trip. Seemed like a good idea. We were all a bit hungover but we went for it anyway. The day started at the large drink shop right on the beachfront. There was a lot of confusion and general faffing. In the heat it was a bit much for me so I sat on the beach until everyone had sorted out whatever it was that they had to sort out. And then we boarded a boat.
We travelled for a short while and headed to another bay around a headland. It was a more or less deserted beach with a collapsing wooden hut and a couple of very hungry looking, mangy, stray dogs. We set up base and did whatever we wanted to. I went for a swim (and snorkel) in the Caribbean Sea for the first time in over a decade and looked at the coral and the fishes. Of course it was no Sharm-el-Sheik but then very few places outside of Egypt are. Still, it was one of the better snorkelling sessions that I’ve had in the last few years. We drank some beer, played more songs on the guitar, did a bit of sun bathing. I chatted to some Canadian girls and commentated on the stray dogs who were sniffing each other’s behinds which they found amusing.
We took the boat back to Taganga shortly before the sun set. I went to withdraw some cash and found my card wasn’t working. I only had a few thousand pesos left (which isn’t much) so I took a taxi to Santa Marta to see if I could get money there. I tried about twenty thousand different cash machines but none of them worked, each time getting more and more desparate. I took the taxi back and he basically took all of my remaining money. However once back I phoned the bank on Skype and found they had blocked my card. Once unblocked I could withdraw money again and everything was back to normal which was a huge relief after the stress of the previous hour or so.
I met up with the guys again on the waterfront and had a few beers before it was time to go to bed.
New Sensation
Saturday 15 May
Taganga
There was more Formula One watching today, although as I was actually watching iPlayer (yes, in Colombia, with a hidden IP) given the distance and connection it was really slow. Still, it was good fun.
In the evening Le Lambadour started playing guitar and some French Canadians joined in. We took turns in playing each other songs and generally having a good time. One French Canadian guy did a very sleazy version of the Chaka Demus and Pliers’ classic Girl I’m Gonna Make You Sweat which was really funny.
And then it all came together. I can’t remember where we met Craig and Joe, but it was probably on the beach front where they were sitting drinking beer. So it was us and them and a few other people we had met along the way. We went to a bar called Sensations where we started quenching our well-earned thirst. Then someone came up to me and said “Hi Charlie!”
It was a little embarrassing as I didn’t know who they were! “You don’t remember us?” they asked. It turned out I had met them in Iguaçu on the Brazilian side. But the only people I remember from there were the Dutch guys I had dinner with. Who were these people? I had literally no idea. But they remembered me. In my defence it was about three and half months ago. But I am very bad at remembering people’s faces.
Then a bit later I did spot someone I recognised. It was the annoying Argentinean woman from Canoa, two months ago. I remembered her, as she was annoying. I spoke to her briefly and she was a bit less annoying this time. Though it was strange to meet so many people from my trip in one place. But anyway I was dancing and having fun.
We all spoke to this Colombian guy in glasses who said he was a lawyer but we couldn’t quite work out if he was telling the truth or not. I guess lawyers in Colombia might not look the same as they do back home. We all had a laugh with other randoms until it was time to go home.
Taganga
There was more Formula One watching today, although as I was actually watching iPlayer (yes, in Colombia, with a hidden IP) given the distance and connection it was really slow. Still, it was good fun.
In the evening Le Lambadour started playing guitar and some French Canadians joined in. We took turns in playing each other songs and generally having a good time. One French Canadian guy did a very sleazy version of the Chaka Demus and Pliers’ classic Girl I’m Gonna Make You Sweat which was really funny.
And then it all came together. I can’t remember where we met Craig and Joe, but it was probably on the beach front where they were sitting drinking beer. So it was us and them and a few other people we had met along the way. We went to a bar called Sensations where we started quenching our well-earned thirst. Then someone came up to me and said “Hi Charlie!”
It was a little embarrassing as I didn’t know who they were! “You don’t remember us?” they asked. It turned out I had met them in Iguaçu on the Brazilian side. But the only people I remember from there were the Dutch guys I had dinner with. Who were these people? I had literally no idea. But they remembered me. In my defence it was about three and half months ago. But I am very bad at remembering people’s faces.
Then a bit later I did spot someone I recognised. It was the annoying Argentinean woman from Canoa, two months ago. I remembered her, as she was annoying. I spoke to her briefly and she was a bit less annoying this time. Though it was strange to meet so many people from my trip in one place. But anyway I was dancing and having fun.
We all spoke to this Colombian guy in glasses who said he was a lawyer but we couldn’t quite work out if he was telling the truth or not. I guess lawyers in Colombia might not look the same as they do back home. We all had a laugh with other randoms until it was time to go home.
Thursday 11 November 2010
Sitting, Waiting, Wishing
Friday 14 May
Cartagena – Santa Marta – Taganga
Today I went back to the nice part of town which I had discovered yesterday evening. It was all nicely preserved colonial architecture painted in bright colours, with exposed wooden timbers and colourful plants falling out of every available surface. Very picturesque, very beautiful. Now I understood what all the fuss is about.
And the hawkers were here in the daytime as well. Of course they’re annoying as hell so it’s best to make fun of them. Most of them ask where you are from and I like to keep them guessing. They always guess English, American or Australian first so of course I pretended I wasn’t one of those. I was actually wearing my Roots t-shirt that had a Canadian flag on it (albeit very tiny) and despite this, one guy just couldn’t guess Canadia. You can also pretend to be Welsh as well, no one had that down as one of their options. Anyway, eventually they leave.
I went for lunch at a place called Oh La La, the restaurant that I couldn’t find yesterday evening. Turns out it was very posh and just a little bit expensive. Thankfully they had awesome air conditioning, which was a relief from the midday heat. I went for one of the cheapest things on the menu. The waitress described it to me in Spanish. I didn’t understand a word she was saying unfortunately, apart from “muy rico” meaning very good, which is better than the opposite at least. It turned out to be a glorified meat pie, and very tasty.
I booked a bus to go to Santa Marta and then spent most of the day waiting for it to turn up. This wouldn’t have happened under the Nazis, goddamit! About four hours later I was on my way. This was proper Colombian time. Around about 10pm I arrived in Santa Marta and caught a cab to Taganga, which was a short, windy mountain road over some hills to the next bay. I arrived at the hostel I had booked, only to find that they didn’t have my registration. Luckily there was another hostel right next door with beds available and it happened to be the one where Etienne, Le Lambadour was staying.
I went out to get some food and have a walk around town to see the lay of the land. I don’t think I went out that evening.
Cartagena – Santa Marta – Taganga
Today I went back to the nice part of town which I had discovered yesterday evening. It was all nicely preserved colonial architecture painted in bright colours, with exposed wooden timbers and colourful plants falling out of every available surface. Very picturesque, very beautiful. Now I understood what all the fuss is about.
And the hawkers were here in the daytime as well. Of course they’re annoying as hell so it’s best to make fun of them. Most of them ask where you are from and I like to keep them guessing. They always guess English, American or Australian first so of course I pretended I wasn’t one of those. I was actually wearing my Roots t-shirt that had a Canadian flag on it (albeit very tiny) and despite this, one guy just couldn’t guess Canadia. You can also pretend to be Welsh as well, no one had that down as one of their options. Anyway, eventually they leave.
I went for lunch at a place called Oh La La, the restaurant that I couldn’t find yesterday evening. Turns out it was very posh and just a little bit expensive. Thankfully they had awesome air conditioning, which was a relief from the midday heat. I went for one of the cheapest things on the menu. The waitress described it to me in Spanish. I didn’t understand a word she was saying unfortunately, apart from “muy rico” meaning very good, which is better than the opposite at least. It turned out to be a glorified meat pie, and very tasty.
I booked a bus to go to Santa Marta and then spent most of the day waiting for it to turn up. This wouldn’t have happened under the Nazis, goddamit! About four hours later I was on my way. This was proper Colombian time. Around about 10pm I arrived in Santa Marta and caught a cab to Taganga, which was a short, windy mountain road over some hills to the next bay. I arrived at the hostel I had booked, only to find that they didn’t have my registration. Luckily there was another hostel right next door with beds available and it happened to be the one where Etienne, Le Lambadour was staying.
I went out to get some food and have a walk around town to see the lay of the land. I don’t think I went out that evening.
Come, Dowsed in Mud
Thursday 13 May
Cartagena
Craig was hungover this morning. This was a common occurrence. Craig was hungover a lot. Anyway despite all that, today was the day we went to the mud volcano. We gathered in the foyer of the hotel across the road from ours and waited for the bus to turn up. In the meantime some aged American hippy appeared out of nowhere and cornered Joe as he forcefully regaled him of times when he was the tour manager for The Doors. Clearly, he’d only come out of the experience slightly better than Jim Morrison. We felt sorry for Joe, stuck there having to listen to his stories with no escape. Thankfully after a tortuous half hour the bus turned up to take us to the volcano.
It is a thankfully dormant volcano, and one which contains a lot of mud. To be honest I wasn't sure it was actually a volcano. I mean, there was a conical mound with a lot of mud in a hole in the top. But theoretically it could have been man made. But then who would actually think to build such a thing? Probably best to take it at face value, hey?
Anyway they had built stairs up the side and a frame around the top so you could get in and out relatively easily. I say relatively as if you've never tried to move through a lot of mud, then you wouldn't know that it's pretty difficult. You can't swim through it like water. The density of the mud serves to hold you around your centre of gravity and any movement from your limbs has very little effect. Your best bet is to pull yourself along the side. The other really bizarre effect the mud has is to be so dense, you can't feel the bottom. Instead you stand there, suspended, with no idea what is keeping you there. I presume the mud is denser than humans as you don't sink lower than the middle of your chest. It is just the pressure of the mud that is holding you there. It is a truly bizarre feeling and one that was great to experience.
You could cover yourself in the mud and you looked like some superhero - you know, the ones that are all the same colour. Doctor Manhattan springs to mind. And if you moved your hand down quickly from above the surface to about a foot below, it made a pleasing "ploop" sound followed by a bubble that appeared a second afterwards and burst on the surface. That amused me for a long time.
There were some locals there to take your picture on your camera and give you a massage –whether you wanted it or not – and then afterwards you climbed, with difficulty, out of the mud and scraped off most of the mud still sticking to you. There was a surprising amount. Then you walked down to the nearby lake and a large Caribbean woman washed the remaining mud off you.
After that Joe, Craig and Etienne headed off to Taganga and I returned to Cartagena, once again left behind as the others moved on. I went out in the evening to find a restaurant that the guidebook recommended, though the first two places seemed to no longer exist. Looking for the third I eventually wandered into the old, historic part of town, which is what all the fuss is about. It was very beautiful, with old colonial buildings and lots of beautiful flowers and everything kept in good condition.
With all the tourism also comes the street hawkers hassling you to come in their restaurants, or if you’re not interested in that they are kind enough to offer prostitution or drugs as alternatives. However I found the third restaurant in the book, only to see that one of the others had moved from their previous location to next door to this one. Lunch tomorrow was sorted then. I went in and on the TV they were playing Leonard Cohen's First We Take Manhattan, one of my favourite songs, which was a good sign. They had a good selection of music playing there, including The PIxies' Gigantic and Pink Floyd's Shine on You Crazy Diamond.
I had a nice meal and started talking to a couple who were sitting next to me. She was Chilean and I think he was American. They were very friendly and good fun to talk to. That was pretty much it for that night.
Cartagena
Craig was hungover this morning. This was a common occurrence. Craig was hungover a lot. Anyway despite all that, today was the day we went to the mud volcano. We gathered in the foyer of the hotel across the road from ours and waited for the bus to turn up. In the meantime some aged American hippy appeared out of nowhere and cornered Joe as he forcefully regaled him of times when he was the tour manager for The Doors. Clearly, he’d only come out of the experience slightly better than Jim Morrison. We felt sorry for Joe, stuck there having to listen to his stories with no escape. Thankfully after a tortuous half hour the bus turned up to take us to the volcano.
It is a thankfully dormant volcano, and one which contains a lot of mud. To be honest I wasn't sure it was actually a volcano. I mean, there was a conical mound with a lot of mud in a hole in the top. But theoretically it could have been man made. But then who would actually think to build such a thing? Probably best to take it at face value, hey?
Anyway they had built stairs up the side and a frame around the top so you could get in and out relatively easily. I say relatively as if you've never tried to move through a lot of mud, then you wouldn't know that it's pretty difficult. You can't swim through it like water. The density of the mud serves to hold you around your centre of gravity and any movement from your limbs has very little effect. Your best bet is to pull yourself along the side. The other really bizarre effect the mud has is to be so dense, you can't feel the bottom. Instead you stand there, suspended, with no idea what is keeping you there. I presume the mud is denser than humans as you don't sink lower than the middle of your chest. It is just the pressure of the mud that is holding you there. It is a truly bizarre feeling and one that was great to experience.
You could cover yourself in the mud and you looked like some superhero - you know, the ones that are all the same colour. Doctor Manhattan springs to mind. And if you moved your hand down quickly from above the surface to about a foot below, it made a pleasing "ploop" sound followed by a bubble that appeared a second afterwards and burst on the surface. That amused me for a long time.
There were some locals there to take your picture on your camera and give you a massage –whether you wanted it or not – and then afterwards you climbed, with difficulty, out of the mud and scraped off most of the mud still sticking to you. There was a surprising amount. Then you walked down to the nearby lake and a large Caribbean woman washed the remaining mud off you.
After that Joe, Craig and Etienne headed off to Taganga and I returned to Cartagena, once again left behind as the others moved on. I went out in the evening to find a restaurant that the guidebook recommended, though the first two places seemed to no longer exist. Looking for the third I eventually wandered into the old, historic part of town, which is what all the fuss is about. It was very beautiful, with old colonial buildings and lots of beautiful flowers and everything kept in good condition.
With all the tourism also comes the street hawkers hassling you to come in their restaurants, or if you’re not interested in that they are kind enough to offer prostitution or drugs as alternatives. However I found the third restaurant in the book, only to see that one of the others had moved from their previous location to next door to this one. Lunch tomorrow was sorted then. I went in and on the TV they were playing Leonard Cohen's First We Take Manhattan, one of my favourite songs, which was a good sign. They had a good selection of music playing there, including The PIxies' Gigantic and Pink Floyd's Shine on You Crazy Diamond.
I had a nice meal and started talking to a couple who were sitting next to me. She was Chilean and I think he was American. They were very friendly and good fun to talk to. That was pretty much it for that night.
Here Comes the Sun
Wednesday 12 May
Medellin – Cartagena
We arrived at the bus station in Cartagena. I get out of the bus and it hits me. It's hot. Damn hot. We're further north of the equator but we're 1500 meters lower, back at sea level, and the proper tropical-equatorial weather is back with us. It's 33 degrees in the shade here. This is more like it. Except of course on the bus I was wearing jeans. And the taxi I took didn't have air con. So I was hot. Too hot. But I was back in the Caribbean after a break of something like 12 years.
From the taxi to the hostel I could see the state of the city. It looked poor and dusty, very similar to how I remembered Port of Spain in Trinidad, when I was here last. The people were also more Afro-Caribbean as well. It really brought the memories back.
I arrived at the hostel and it looked really nice, all centred around a courtyard and mostly painted white with a small pool in the centre. I met Gentleman Steve, an English guy from the hostel at Medellin. He was kind enough to give me some of his left over food for lunch as I adjusted to the new climate and recovered from the bus ride.
I showered, changed and surfed the net as I waited for my room to be ready. The room was empty when I arrived so thankfully I could take a bottom bunk. Though there was no air con in the room, but an arrangement of fans that all seemed to point slightly away from the bed I’d chosen.
I went for a walk around the town. I was relying on my own random directions so didn't find the nice part of town. Instead I only saw all the crappy parts and wasn't impressed. I would find the nice bits later on.
In the evening I met up with Joe, Craig and Etienne as well as a guy called Daniel from my home town of Hammersmith, who despite his origin was actually 100% Italian, genetically at least. His crazy Sideshow Bob hair was awesome to look at, especially when it was wet and tried to reassert its structure against the weight of the water.
So we splashed about in the pool with the rest of the people from the hostel and ate at the barbeque that they had laid on. We played on Etienne's - or should I say Le Lambadour's - tiny guitar. I think we also went out after this - or at least tried to. But there wasn't much open and what was open was pretty "ordinary" as Australians say, meaning crap.
Medellin – Cartagena
We arrived at the bus station in Cartagena. I get out of the bus and it hits me. It's hot. Damn hot. We're further north of the equator but we're 1500 meters lower, back at sea level, and the proper tropical-equatorial weather is back with us. It's 33 degrees in the shade here. This is more like it. Except of course on the bus I was wearing jeans. And the taxi I took didn't have air con. So I was hot. Too hot. But I was back in the Caribbean after a break of something like 12 years.
From the taxi to the hostel I could see the state of the city. It looked poor and dusty, very similar to how I remembered Port of Spain in Trinidad, when I was here last. The people were also more Afro-Caribbean as well. It really brought the memories back.
I arrived at the hostel and it looked really nice, all centred around a courtyard and mostly painted white with a small pool in the centre. I met Gentleman Steve, an English guy from the hostel at Medellin. He was kind enough to give me some of his left over food for lunch as I adjusted to the new climate and recovered from the bus ride.
I showered, changed and surfed the net as I waited for my room to be ready. The room was empty when I arrived so thankfully I could take a bottom bunk. Though there was no air con in the room, but an arrangement of fans that all seemed to point slightly away from the bed I’d chosen.
I went for a walk around the town. I was relying on my own random directions so didn't find the nice part of town. Instead I only saw all the crappy parts and wasn't impressed. I would find the nice bits later on.
In the evening I met up with Joe, Craig and Etienne as well as a guy called Daniel from my home town of Hammersmith, who despite his origin was actually 100% Italian, genetically at least. His crazy Sideshow Bob hair was awesome to look at, especially when it was wet and tried to reassert its structure against the weight of the water.
So we splashed about in the pool with the rest of the people from the hostel and ate at the barbeque that they had laid on. We played on Etienne's - or should I say Le Lambadour's - tiny guitar. I think we also went out after this - or at least tried to. But there wasn't much open and what was open was pretty "ordinary" as Australians say, meaning crap.
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