Ciudad Perdida Part two: Natives and Movies Stars

Everyone had told me that the first day of the Ciudad Perdida trek was the hardest. I also had a fellow traveller tell me, “The first day is the hardest, It’s a lot of walking and don’t expect Machu Picchu.” Right, I wasn’t expecting Machu Picchu, I wasn’t really expecting anything. I had written up information about Ciudad Perdida for our guests in the hostel but other than that I knew nothing. Back in the summer when I was reading about the trek the one thing that drew my attention was the fact that we got to sleep in hammocks in the jungle, which I was very excited for. No one really knows much about the lost city therefore you can’t have too many expectations or let downs, which is alright in my books.

Also as the old saying goes it’s not the destination but the journey. It didn’t really matter what lay at the end of this trail through the jungle, it was getting there that I was going to remember the most.

We did stay in Hammocks a few night but it’s wasn’t in the middle of nowhere jungle like I had expected, it was in a camp with showers, toilets and a kitchen for our guides to cook us dinner. You could even get beer although the closer you got to the site the more expensive beer got. The great thing about the camps was most of them were located on the river that we were following towards the lost city. After a day of hiking in the humid heat of the jungle you could refresh in the crystal clear water of the river and bathe under a waterfall.

In the camp which was halfway to the site I had come back from swimming in the river and was waiting for lunch when I say a super attractive guy come strutting up with two large backpacks, he threw them both down walked over to the cooking area chugged a glass of water and smacked the locals guys and guides on the backs. He was oozing with pure testosterone. He had a very mainly physic, tattoos and light wavy hair. I had to calm myself from the scene that had unfolded in front of me. Soon the rest of his group arrived and later on as I was sunning myself on a rock in the river trying my best to look sexy I noticed his whole group was extremely attractive, especially the one girl with long dark hair.
After our dinner my group moved over to extremely attractive group’s table to play some cards but instead we got in a conversation with them. They were all friends from Bogota and one of the couples had just gotten married up in Ciudad Perdida by an indigenous shaman. It was the coolest thing I had heard. The indigenous population in the area have not really changed much in centuries. There are different tribes one being the Koguis but all of them are very similar and they do not talk to tourist or like their pictures taken. They are very private, shy people. I have heard some people say they are rude and not nice but this is untrue. They just want to be left alone. This does create a problem though, if they do not communicate with the outside world their culture is in danger of getting lost. You cannot find much information on the natives in this area in books or on the web and they do not read or write it is only oral education. This group of people from Bogota was very much into the native’s culture and understood the importance of preserving their traditions and identity. They had one indigenous guy with them who knew a bit of Spanish and they wanted us to teach him a bit of English. With his assistance they taught us a bit about their culture. He pulled out a gourd shaped wooden object from his bag. This was a symbol of manhood. When you became a man you receive one. You need to mush up coca leaves in your mouth and mix your saliva with seashell powder to make a paste which you rub on the outside of this thing to give it a really big rim. It takes a lot of time to make this.

The Bogota group told us lots about the natives and it was very interesting to hear about their close relationship to nature. It was a very rare experience that we got to sit and chat with this guy about his ways and traditions while most travelers just pass on through the indigenous villages trying to take a sneaky photo, we had a native right at our dinner table teaching us about his people.
They told us in the morning a Shaman was going to come and visit. He came while we were eating breakfast with his white pointy hat. He gave a necklace to the sexy guy with wavy hear and let him take their photos. My group just stood off to the side in amazement.

We soon left in the opposite direction of the Bogota group, continuing our ascend to the Ciudad. It wasn’t until a while later that our guides informed us that the couple who got married is actually Zharick Leon and her boyfriend, a famous Colombian actress and singer. None of us had ever heard of her but it was still cool that we got to hang out with a famous Colombian actress.
As well the fact that she did the hike with her closest friends and wedding dress in her pack gave me a whole lot of respect for her. Other famous people have visited the lost city such as Juanes and Political figures but they all flew in by helicopter. It appeared her and her friends have a strong appreciation for the natives, nature and their country.

Ciudad Perdidad Part one: Tejo in Machete

I didn’t have much time left in Santa Marta before heading off to Bogota for Semana Santa. I wanted to go on the Ciudad Perdida trek and return to Santa Marta for the weekend to make a rumba in Rodadero. As it turned out my planning was a bit off I wanted to leave on Election Day when everything was closed. I eventually found one company going. Because of the elections our group was very small we had just 5 of us.

Ciudad Peridad is older than Machu Picchu. When the Spanish came over they killed and forced the natives (The Tayronas) out of their land so the city was left to be forgotten under the thick jungle. It wasn’t until a group of grave robbers years later stumbled upon the location that it was discovered. Archaeologists uncovered it but because of its location it was a hot bed for many years of fighting. Even recently back in 2003 a mass kidnapping of tourist took place at the site. Now there is a huge military presence and has been safe for many years.

To get to the area that the indigenous believe is sacred and powerful you have to take a jeep for two hours into the mountainous jungle on a bumpy trail. You then arrive at a small village known by the locals as Machete. The hike to the site and back can take from 4 to 6 days depending on how much you want to walk in a day. I decided on the 6 day hike, my reasoning; it’s the same price no matter how many days you do it, I am getting my money’s worth of food, drinks and accommodations.

My group arrived too early to Machete as we wanted to avoid the police on Election Day. It was 10:00am and hot, so we did what any sane person would do, start drinking beer. The local men shirtless with machetes hanging from their jeans were playing a traditional Colombian game called Tejo and drinking beer. Always up for anything I decided to join in with the men. The game is somewhat like horse shoes which we play in Canada but instead of a horse shoe you use a tejo, a heavy round disc. Instead of hooping the horse shoes around a post you are throwing the tejo towards a frame of wood filled with clay. Inside the clay is triangles called mecha filled with explosives. Yup that’s right explosives, come on this is Colombia. I have been telling you all along there is fire and passion in this country. To get point you have to set off the explosives. It quite a masculine game but the guys accepted me in the game and were eager to show me how it was done. With a sip of my beer of threw my first tejo which went nowhere close to the clay and a few guys had to duck out of the way. So I needed to warm up a bit. My next one was perfect, I didn’t set off the explosive but I had fantastic aim and was quite proud of my throw.

Eventually we had to say goodbye to our new friends and leave them to their beer and games. We started on our trek toward Ciudad Peridad, 5 of us plus our two guides and mule.

Previously on Lost: Parque Tayrona

Santa Marta isn’t just fantastic beaches, it has a little of everything, the Sierra Nevada Mountains behind with villages, waterfalls, rivers and organic coffee. There is also Rodadero, a little Miami where the wealthy from the interior like to play. On the opposite side of Santa Marta is the backpacker/fishing village of Taganga, which is also a fantastic place to take a diving course. Then there is the jungle trek to Ciudad Perdida. However if beaches are what you want and what you came for, the best in South America lie in Parque Tayrona, Colombia.

I had wanted to go for ages but wanted someone to go with me. What’s the point of sleeping in a hammock on a beautiful beach practically naked (in some places completely naked) by yourself? A really cool group of Argentineans came to the hostel along with two amazing Chilean girls, my perfect opportunity for beach paradise. After convincing my bosses with my best big eyes, I packed my bag, grabbed my hammock and bug net and jump on a bus. The Argentineans left about twenty before me so I had to get there by myself on two buses and then hike through the jungle for an hour to catch up.

At the entrance military searched by bag before entering then I had my trek ahead of me. An hour completely alone in the jungle can do funny things to you. I found myself practicing my double R’s in Spanish, saying out loud “Carretera, Carro, perro.” I sounded completely ridiculous. I moved quite quickly on the trail hoping the find the others on the beach, waiting for me with water and food as I ran out of the hostel too quickly I had nothing but one small bottle of water.
I finally got to where the jungle opens up to the beach but it was deserted. There was no hot Argentineans, no one in sight. I found an Italian couple that had stayed in my hostel but they hadn’t seen them. I looked at the campsites guest book and they were not in there. Strange, they told me Arrecifes the first beach why would they go to another? I walk on further checking in at each campsite and found nothing. I then started to ask random people if they had seen 5 Argentineans. Right, it’s like asking if you have seen a Chinese person in Sydney. I was first directed to La Piscina the next beach with more camping but they weren’t there either. I walked back to the first beach and saw no one again. The next group of people I asked directed me to the furthest beach El Cabo, there were lots of Argentineans and that is where most people stay. I was tired, hot, hungry, thirsty and frustrated. How hard could it be to find some Argentineans on a deserted beach? I trekked through jungle trails to get to the last beach. I was even too exhausted to care about a monkey that was hanging in a tree beside me. Once I got to El Cabo I saw a fantastic campsite with tents, an island hut with hammocks, people playing games, a football pitch and a line of ants carrying bits of leaves across the ground in front of me but no Argies. Again I checked the guest book and they weren’t in there. It didn’t make sense at all. I had seen so many past guests from the hostel and random other people I had met elsewhere but not the Argentineans. I hiked back again to the first beach. People saying hi and asking if I had found them along the way, even vendors selling Arepas and soft drinks in wooden huts asked how I was doing and if I found them.
I didn’t know what to do I was about to give up when I got to Arrecfies I saw a group of people sitting on the beach. It was them and they had just arrived. Apparently they walked 20 min before catching a bus then their bus broke down and they had to wait to get another. They didn’t get the bus from the park entrance to the start point of the trail so I had past them hours ago.

It was late and getting dark so we got our hammocks set in Don Pedro’s camping. The next day I showed them the way to get to the beaches which I knew inside and out. When we came to El Cabo it was like paradise, a clear blue sky, palm trees, coconuts, and warm Caribbean water with lots of brightly coloured fish. We spent the day sunning, swimming and eating coconuts. I could have stayed a week. I didn’t end up making it to the nude beach which was one of my goals but again I wasn’t going alone and the opportunity to go didn’t present itself also I was too tired from my trek the day before. It will have to be another time but hopefully the trek next time will not be done alone and I will trade my hammock for a hammock for two.

Paradise found in Parque Tayrona, Colombia

Beach Villages Of The World And Their Seedy Under Belly

I have lived in quite a few beach villages in the world and for some reason they all seem to remind me of the first one, Perissa on the island of Santorini, Greece. It’s not a real Greek village and when the reason is over the stores, hotels, hostels and restaurants are all boarded up and forgotten about during the rainy, windy winter months. In the summer it seems like a paradise with scorching hot temperatures, fantastic Greek restaurants lining the beach front, cheap cocktails, the Aegean Sea to cool off in and an impressive mountain behind the village. As a tourist you are unaware of what is really going on with the workers, the business owners (who are from the main land) and the island locals. I have found the smaller the village the more drama you will find. I worked seven months in Perissa and in my first months, a 23 year old Canadian girl got into a car accident killing a local Greek man and sending the owner of the vehicle to jail on another island for three days, and that was only the beginning of the season. I stayed for quite a while in other beach villages but it wasn’t until I went to Roatan Honduras where I was one of the workers again. I reminded of Perissa but this time it was on a Caribbean island known for one of the best dive sites in the world. I have found where there is sun sand and tourism there is also drugs, murder and scandal. The unsuspecting tourist has no idea what is really going on behind the scenes in their 5 star resorts or their fancy dive shop.
I lived right on the beach in West End of Roatan where the village consisted of one road with restaurants, stores, bars and dive shops competing for the small amount of divers arriving to the island. The drama between the different dive shops was multiplied by certain seedy characters that thrived on causing trouble. Then you had the island locals who would get into fights over drugs. Prostitutes would linger in bars hoping to be taken back to a hotel to earn a day's wage. All the time while this is going on tourists and cruise passengers are sipping their Margaritas, sunning themselves in the warm Caribbean sun and forgetting all their stresses of home.

There is a beach town like these near Santa Marta called Taganga. It used to be a small fishing village but now has turned into a backpackers beach hang out. It’s not a real Colombian town, the people that live and work there are only there for the tourists. In the night clubs it’s rare to find Colombian locals. You will see drunken tourists dancing to the Black Eyes Peas. The Colombians that you do find are there to supply the gringos with their magic white powder. There used to be a colony of Argentinean hippies that lived in the mountains of Santa Marta but years ago some were murdered and forced out. They now live on the streets of Taganga, penniless. What do you do if you were robbed in Colombia and left with hardly any money or possessions? Apparently the answer for one guy was to sell drugs to tourist in Taganga. Backpackers flock to this beach paradise for the diving, beach and parties but little do they know like most beach villages there is a seedy under belly secretly tucked under a blanket of the scorching Caribbean heat.

The Dreamer Hostel, Santa Marta, Colombia

I normally wouldn’t write about a hostel in a blog. I have learned while traveling to be very careful who I recommend a hostel to. One person’s palace is another person’s nightmare. The Dreamer hostel is different though because it was where I arranged to work.
Back in August I was surfing the net looking for information on Colombia and perhaps opportunities for work when I came across a forum. Some guy put up a post inquiring if he would be able to work in Colombia to stay longer. There were the usual replies from knobs such as, “you are not Colombian you can’t work there, why do you want to take job away from the locals”, or the usual English teaching job suggestions. Then I saw a reply from a hostel owner saying he will be opening up a hostel in Santa Marta Colombia in either December or January and is looking for staff. I replied to the hostel owner hoping he would forget this guy and hire me. We kept in contact since and I arranged to arrive in late February after Carnaval. On my way through Peru and Ecuador I tried promoting the hostel to help him out.
I didn’t know much about the hostel, only that is was somewhere in Santa Marta and the owner was Italian. I was a bit weary though because I had no idea what it was going to be like. I feared it was going to be one of those party hostels that you find all over South America. The bar is raging all night full of drunken Canadians, Aussies, Brits and the rests of the gringos. Girls are coming out in groups from the bathroom after having done lines of coke. People are shagging in one bed while coke is being dealt in another. A guy is so messed up on coke and drunk that he shits on a white pool chair.
I wasn’t sure what my new job was going to be but if it was going to be behind the bar I was afraid I would be the one feeding this mob and creating the disaster.
I left late from Barranquilla on a last minute decision and got on the last bus to Santa Marta. I got dropped off somewhere on the side of the road in the dark and the bus driver grabbed a taxi for me. The taxi driver had no idea where he was going and had to ask directions several times, we eventually got to The Dreamer Hostel. I was tired from the bus ride and from the week of Carnaval so I didn’t take in much of the hostel only that I was greeted by a very friendly attractive Italian who told me they had been waiting for me.



In the morning I was refreshed and able to discover the hostel and Santa Marta. It is beautifully designed with one storey colonial buildings surrounding a swimming pool. To one end is a guest kitchen with a bar yet to be established. Off of reception is a TV room with comfy couches and all the way around hammocks are hanging waiting for the tired traveller. It is a traveller’s paradise. The owners Fulvio and Miguel are young Italian guys who also share the passion for travel. They went on an around the world trip in 2006 for 18 months with the thought in the back of their minds to try and find a location for a hostel. They travelled the United States, Mexico, Central and South America, India, South East Asia and more countries but of all those places they fell in love with Santa Marta, Colombia. At the time as well there weren’t any hostels in Santa Marta. In the last year they have been popping up all over.
They have a lot of enthusiasm towards their hostel and pay a lot of attention to their guests. I haven’t seen hostel owners as helpful as them. I started out trying to organize them and make touristic information for the guests then I worked in reception. When we had a full house we made BBQs and on weekends we took the guests to the city centre to drink Aguardiente in the Parque De Los Novios and dance in the discos.



I was delightfully relieved that is was just the type of hostel I was hoping for. It reminded me of the hostel I worked in, in Mexico. It felt like home and the owners and employees felt like my family. The hostel is located in a neighbourhood outside of Santa Marta called Mamatoco, set amongst beautiful houses with grandmas rocking in their rocking chairs on their front porch trying to cool off from the hot Santa Marta nights where at midnight the temperature hovers at 35C.
The Buena Vista shopping centre is only 3 blocks away with a huge super market and at night you can get the best pizza in Colombia from a street side vendor for 2000pesos a slice ($1).
I would lie in a hammock by the pool of the hostel writing on my laptop in my bikini thinking to myself, Carrie Bradshaw had her location all wrong.



Check out my updated post about the Dreamer hostel; The Dreamer Hostel Santa Marta Six Months later

Carnaval de Barranquilla Part Two: the things you can get away with being a Gringa

The fantastic thing about the Carnaval in Barranquilla is there are not many foreign tourists; it is very much a Colombian festival. Colombia in general, does not have the amount of foreign tourists other South American countries have, such as Argentina, Brazil and Peru. Its reputation of drugs, guns and guerrillas still precedes it. Although Colombia has completely changed in the last ten years and is climbing up the rankings of best places in the world to visit. This is due to a positive progressive government and inventive tourism marketing. There are several commercials and Ads. Showing everything Colombia has to offer with the slogan “The Only Risk Is Wanting To Stay.”
I think this slogan is what my parents fear the most with my track record. On several occasions they have received calls from various countries where I have notified them I am not coming home and that I will be staying. They know how much I have always loved Colombia as well.
More and more people are coming to see the hidden jewel of South America but still for Carnaval most flock to Brazil. Because of this and the fact that Barranquilla is not a touristic destination at all but more of a normal working city, the people are not used to tourists. Colombians are amazing open and friendly people and they proved even more so during Carnaval.
The first day is one of the biggest with the battle of Flowers. As you stand on the sidelines watching the parade go by you find yourself in a spray form and flour war with the crowd. I arrived a bit late with the group I was with so it was a bit hard to find a good viewing spot. Eventually we found one in front of the Military school. Within five minutes I was talking to a Colombian guy and his family, I got to stand on one of their chairs to view the parade and they were feeding me beers. It soon became a running joke with my couch surfing friends that within five minutes of arriving somewhere I had new friends and after seven minutes I had a free drink in my hand.
The one guy worked for the Military school and knew all the Military guys guarding the line. With these connections I was allowed inside the barrier and was dancing along with the elaborately dressed dancers in the line. A kid on the side doused me in spray form from head to toe so I thought the best way to get rid of it would be to wiggle against a military solider guarding the line. I thought he would be a bit mad but he actually seemed to enjoy it....a bit too much.

Later on in the evening my group was deciding where to go, where to eat, where to party. The party was everywhere though, every street in the centre was crowded with people dancing and drinking. On every corner was a make shift bar with people dancing salsa or Vallenato between the tables. I was getting tired of people discussing what to do and not doing it so when I saw a pickup truck on the side of the street with two huge speakers in it bumping out reggeaton and a guy up in the back dancing I hopped up and joined him. Colombians started taking photos of me, the group I was with was wondering what the heck I was doing and one of the English guys who was tired of the bickering over what to do declared, “ We are leaving these twats, but taking her with us.”



I convinced the three English guys to come to the Daddy Yankee concert with me, which I wasn’t going to miss. We bought our tickets on the street off of a beautiful Colombian girl and ended up staying with her and her friends the entire night.
The music started around 8:00pm but Daddy Yankee and the other headlining acts did not start until 1:00am. We were quite far from the stage which was in the centre of the stadium but the party was all around us in the bleachers. I was a bit drunk by this time after several beers and shots of aguardiente. I had the crowd wrapped around my finger. I said watch this to one of the English guys and stood up facing the crowd threw my arms up and the air and starting dancing, the whole section went nuts and cheered me on. It turned into a bit of a game for me turning around every so often to make them scream.
When Daddy Yankee came on the whole stadium went wild I was in a massive group hug with all my new Colombian girlfriends revelling in the excitement. I was the lone Gringa in the sea of screaming Colombians.

Carnaval de Barranquilla Part one:

As I was travelling through South America it seemed everyone else was on a mission to get to Rio for Carnaval. As per usual I like to be different than the crowd; I was on a mission to get to Barranquilla for Colombia’s Carnaval. My original plan was to arrive in Lima have one month in Peru jump into Bolivia for a week or so in that time, spend one month in Ecuador then take one month to get to Barranquilla from the bottom of Colombia. My flight left Canada November 13th and Carnaval was supposed to start February 13th so it should have worked out perfectly. I hate schedules and time limits though, when I like a place I will stay until I get the urge to leave, so my plan did not work out. I did not leave Peru until mid January. I rushed through Ecuador and thought I gave myself a good amount of time in Colombia before the party was to kick off but then I got pleasantly delayed in Bogota. Luckily Colombia has some fantastic offers on cheap flights. I booked a great deal with Avianca to Cartegena where I spent a few days then got on a bus Friday February 12 with a bunch of locals to Barranquilla.
There were massive lines in the bus station with people set to party wearing Carnaval t-shirts. I got on the bus with a Colombian kid around 18 years old and that started the festivities. He had a bottle of aguardiente with him and we did shots the whole way to Barranquilla.

I don’t remember when I first heard of the Carnaval in Barranquilla, perhaps somewhere in my obsessive Colombia research. This Carnaval became the basis around which my trip was planned. I was set to a Barranquilla beacon. Why go to Rio when that is where everyone else is going? Rio just seemed more and more commercial to me the more I heard about it. I wanted to party with the locals and be amongst the crowd. I’m sure one day I will go to Rio but Barranquilla lured me.

I couch surfed with a Colombian guy from Barranquilla in Panama City last year who told me more about the Carnaval. We had planned to meet up and go to it together with his friends. It would have been fantastic but his company sent him to Cuba so at the last minute I had to find somewhere else to stay. There are no hostels in Barranquilla, it isn’t on the backpackers map so the options were a last minute couch surfing request or a hotel. I went with the first option sending out a plea for someone to go to Carnaval with me. A got a response from a really nice Guatemalan guy who lives in Barranquilla with his German girlfriend. He said they have four people staying in his place sleeping on the floor but where there are four people there can be five, so I was welcome to come. Everything seemed to work out in the end and I was beyond excited for Carnaval de Barranquilla.

PRIMERO DE MAYO Bogota, Colombia

In my opinion there are different types of travelling. You have what I like to call surface travelling where you go to a country see the touristic attractions, stay in either hotels or hostels learn a little about the country but you have minimal contact with the local people. You just meet other travellers. You just experience a sight and not a place. The other kind of travel which I prefer is where you get under the skin of the country and really see how it ticks. It’s easier if you know the local language to be able to have this experience but there are other ways you can get behind the scenes for example couch surfing(www.couchsurfing.org).Couch surfing is a site where you can stay with someone in their house from another country. It’s free to join and it’s a great cultural exchange.

I love being in a place and seeing or experiencing something a normal tourist wouldn’t experience. I had one such opportunity when I was in Bogota staying with my friend. I went with him to the birthday party of one of his very good friend’s. The party kicked off during the day where the whole group went house back riding. We met up with them later at a place up on the hillside in Bogota called El Timbor. It was a restaurant and bar that seemed more like a ranch. We sat on logs around a huge bonfire, eating a basket of meat with salsa music warming up the cool Bogota night.

We were having a lot of fun dancing and drinking around the fire when one of the guys, the ring leader of the group, came up with the proposal to go to Primero de Mayo to party. I had no idea what he was talking about and was up for anything as I always am. Apparently it’s quite a rough area of Bogota, where the working class party. It’s a whole district of bars where the clubs are open until 6:00am, there is no cover and the drinks are cheap. Some of the group was very hesitant as they are all from an area of Bogota that is well off and Primero de Mayo was a lot seedier back in the day. We had a rented van for the night so we didn’t need to worry about a shady cab driver and there was a large group of us so it was the best opportunity to check this party out.

There were about 12 of us that piled in the van and braced ourselves for what laid ahead. We got dropped off around the corner from the main drag and when we walked around the scene rushed up and smacked us on the faces. I felt like I was on Khao San Road in Bangkok, it was complete madness and wonderful. People flooded the streets, girls in mini skirts were selling meat on sticks with the condiments strapped to their waists on a belt. People were trying to get you into their club while music blared out of another. The entrance of one had girls with long legs and very small catholic school girl uniforms. I was enjoying the chaoticness of it all. A smile lit up my face, this is it, this is Colombia. My Colombian friends were being a bit cautious, afraid someone would discover they were from the wrong part of town and start something, I on the other hand am used to this kind of scene in other countries and was two seconds away from climbing up on the bar and letting loose my best reggeaton moves.

After a bottle of Aguardiente (Colombia's national anise alcohol) and taking it all in everyone relaxed and the party really began. The best thing about the area is the opportunity to cub hop. There are no cover charges so you can go from club to club until the late hours of the morning. Colombians really know how to party but the working class of the country puts the rest to shame.

I was teased a bit in high school about my dancing. A motivational speaker came to our school to talk about some issues about being a teenager and high school life. They always have some sort of moral message which I have no idea what it was about. What I do remember was him making fun of the way high school girls’ dance and afterwards several people from my class came up to me and said they thought of me when he was speaking. Well I have found where I fit in and that is on a table dancing reggaeton to Daddy Yankee.

For those of you who aren’t in the know this is reggaeton:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reggaeton

It was another night I did not want to end in Colombia and I got that real authentic experience that most other touritcs do not get.

Love in The Time Of Travel

What was the longest time you have waited to go on a date? In the novel, Love in The Time of Cholera by Colombian writer Gabriel García Márquez, Florentino Ariza waited 52 years, 9 months and 4 days for his love Fermina Daza. I waited just 7 years.

When I finished college I took a job in Toronto and commuted into the city on a bus 45 minutes away. I would normally read books and keep to myself. One day I noticed an attractive guy across the aisle reading a Spanish English book, but at the time I was too shy to say anything. As fate would have it though a woman with a small child got on the bus with nowhere to sit, so attractive guy from across the aisle gave up his seat and sat next to me. I was thrilled to find out he was Colombian. We chatted the whole way to downtown. I found out he was studying law and lives in Bogota and at the end we exchanged e-mails. This was seven years ago before facebook so we had minimal contact. I dreamed of going to Colombia one day so every so often, perhaps twice a year I would write an e-mail just to say hello and that I still wanted to go to Colombia. An e-mail so he wouldn’t forget the girl on the bus. Secretly I had a bit of a crush on him the whole time which made Colombia even more enticing to me.

When I moved to Mexico I sent him a message that I was studying Spanish and should be in Colombia soon. He replied in Spanish stating I needed to practice. That was two years ago. I finally made it to Colombia this year and I was set to meet up with my friend in Bogota. I understood he had a girlfriend so I was just going to spend the weekend say hello and get to know the city. I almost stayed in a hostel because he had a wedding to go to so he couldn’t really hang out. I went to his house anyway in a very nice neighborhood in Bogota. I was a mess from an eleven hour bus ride from Armenia. I arrived early in the morning and it turned out the wedding wasn’t until 7:00pm so we had the day together. We immediately got on really well and he was just as attractive as before but I was able to really get to know the boy from the bus. Half way through the day he told me he wanted me to go to the wedding with him. I was thrilled at the idea, what girl doesn’t dream of going to a wedding in a foreign country? I had to suppress my excitement though because it seemed unlikely a bride would let another guest to come on the day of her wedding. Also I had nothing to wear and thirdly, where was this guy’s girlfriend?
At first the bride said no, fair enough I thought and hid my disappointment. Fifteen minutes later she called back saying she rearranged the seating plan so I could come. Suddenly my Colombian friend was on his phone calling all the girls he knows looking for a dress and shoes with no luck we decided to rent. We found a boutique where I was in dress heaven; I had the run of the floor length gowns. I felt like I was in the movie Pretty Woman, with the women catering to me. The first one I tried on in a deep red fit amazing and made me look very elegant. My chest didn’t quite fit into what is expected of a Colombian girl’s who are known to love silicone.
The last dress I tried on was “The one,” a black and white halter, almost too sexy for a wedding, with strappy heals and a handsome date to match.
I also got to go to a salon and get my hair done, which made us late for the ceremony.
The setting was incredibly romantic in a small very old church with candles and flowers everywhere. The bride looked absolutely stunning. I am not normally a sucker for weddings but it was so beautiful, it made me wish I had someone special in my life.

Now the thing about Colombians is that they are born dancing to the rhythm of salsa beats, it’s in their blood. A wedding is the best place to showcase your dance moves. Mine were lacking to say the least. To avoid embarrassment my date and I snuck off to the bar of the country club for some quick impromptu dance lessons. It was hard though I was very close to him and kept on having to avert my eyes as looking into his eyes made me very nervous. I was starting to think maybe he doesn’t have a girlfriend after all. I later found out they had in fact broken up three months before.
We rejoined the wedding party where champagne was flowing. We were entertained by a live Mariachi band then salsa. The dinner was outstanding, a seafood starter, then sorbet followed by duck then dessert. A magical hand kept on appearing out of nowhere to refill my glass of wine. Once the wine was over trays of whiskey and water came out delivered by waiters synchronized like ocean waves flowing through the dining hall.
The salsa band returned and it was time to put my new skills to the test. I wasn’t too bad but was hindered by the torture traps attached to my feet otherwise known as high heels.
While dancing I was faced with another of my nervous moments when my date caught my eyes, I failed to look away and was taken by surprise when he kissed me. Apparently I wasn’t the only one with the crush seven years ago.
The party and dancing continued until 6:00am. It was by far the most incredible wedding I have ever been to, especially during the Hora de loca. Crazy Carnavalesque clowns came out dancing to music and everyone got to put on costumes of over sized glasses, wigs, clown noses and hats.
I didn’t want the night to end but the stage coach was going to turn into a pumpkin, my dress back into my tatty traveler clothes and my Prince Charming back to his real life.

Back to the future in Salento, Colombia

After being uninspired in Cali, I headed off in search of my authentic Colombian experience. I was still waiting for that Oh my god I am actually in Colombia moment. Cali is a great city and world renowned for Salsa. The best dancers in the world come from the sweltering city. Although I arrived in Cali on a Monday and wasn’t able to stay until the weekend to experience some of the best Rumbas (parties) Colombia has to offer. Following advice I received from travellers I met in Pasto I jumped on a bus to Armenia then transferred to Salento. I had left the heat of Cali for the fresh coffee region climate. I arrived at night and was told to go to Casona Lili. It was a bit late at night and the town was shut down. I found Casona Lili on the main street off of the square and wandered up the stairs of the old Colonial house. I was greeted by a super friendly woman who works in the hostel; she immediately offered me coffee and a fantastic private room with a double bed. Soon I was having dinner with an Argentinean guy, an Irish guy, a polish man and the lady that greeted me when I arrived. We sat at a wooden table in the dining room of the hostel which was more like a house. I immediately felt at home.

The strangest thing happened when I woke up in the morning. I went to sleep in 2010 and woke up 100 years in the past. It looked like I was in an old western movie but splashed with bright colours. It was the most bizarre scene as I walked down the street where there were men in ponchos, traditional hats, rubber boats and riding horses. There weren’t really any bars in this town but saloons, where in the evening men played cards and billiards. Where and when was I? If I was asking for an authentic Colombian experience this was it. I explored the small town then decided to check out the coffee finca of Don Elias, which was a 40 minute walk on a dirt road past town. I meandered down the road on my own taking in the views but was a bit weary as I was still new to Colombia and was unsure about the safety. A car slowed down beside me and stopped I was hesitant at first but was surprised to hear a woman ask me if I wanted a lift in a Canadian accent. They were going to the Finca as well and as I chatted with them on the way I discovered they are actually from a city 45 minutes away from my hometown. They were a couple in their 40’s, the woman a retired teacher and the man an account who works from his computer. They have been living in Colombia for 6 months mostly in Bogota. He works two hours in the morning makes a Canadian days wage then they explore this wonderful country the rest of the time. I love meeting other people who have alternative lifestyles and break free outside of society’s norm.

We toured the coffee finca of Don Elias together who could have been Juan Valdez himself, the man was ancient. I smiled to myself as he strapped on his coffee picking basket to his waist and staggered along the path showing of the different types of beans and plants. There were so many different types of fruits and plants in one small area, avocados, oranges, mandarins, limes, mangos, Arabic and Colombian coffee beans. It was a small family run finca, very old school. Don Elias washed, shelled and dried the beans himself. He even roasted them in a pot on an old wood stove as chickens ran passed.

If Salento and the coffee fincas are in some mythical place in the past then the Cocora Valley nearby is a mythical land in a fantasy. It’s reached by jeeps that leave the town square. You arrive in a sea of green, flowing green hills, mountains and forests but the strangest thing of this place is the Cera palms, the national tree of Colombia that towers to the heights of 50 meters, being the tallest palm in the world. I felt like I was on my way to Oz with these out of place palms towering over me. While eating my bread with cafequipa and following the brown dirt road I thought to myself, “Oh my god, I’m in Colombia!”

MY FUTURE IS UNKOWN...BUT SO IS YOURS

I am very behind in this blog at the moment I have so much to write about Colombia but I really have the need to express something else at this moment.
In the last few months I have been living a wonderful life and seeing some fantastic things. I really believe in taking in every moment and really enjoying life, being happy and not stressing. Many people think I should settle down and be more serious. So many people work so hard to build a future for them which is great. It’s nice to know you will be well off and not have to worry when you are older. Although what happens if you don’t get old? You work every day saving up, investing, putting in those extra hours in the office, missing opportunities. All this to earn respect, to move up in the company, to create an empire, to build a future, to be able to enjoy retirement, to make sure your children have a future and opportunities. You wait to travel when you’re older, you say one day when I have built something for myself I will go there, I will do that.

What if you die tomorrow? What if you go to the hospital with the flu and three days later you die of Leukemia? Am I being harsh or dramatic? No because this is what happened today to my cousin’s fiancé. He was 25, and they have a baby of 7 months. They were supposed to get married in June. I had bought a nice purple dress in Bogota for the wedding. It’s shocking and something you think only happens in movies but it’s very real. Tragedy has struck many times already in 2010. Very good friends of my parent’s son died this past January in a snow mobile accident at the age of 22. As well just the other day one of my best friends from home sent me a message saying her Dad passed from a heart attack. There was the tragedy in Haiti and now Chile. After all of this I am very reflective and a bit sad. I worry about my grandparents who are elderly and I love dearly. Its hard when you are so far away and can’t say goodbye.

Currently I have no career, I do not have a boyfriend, I am not married and I do not have kids. I do not have an apartment. My house is my backpack. I travel where I want and for how long I want. My future is unknown, but so is yours.
Please tell the important people in your life you love them every day. Do not hold grudges; say you’re sorry even though it wasn’t your fault. Love with all your heart and love like you have never been hurt. Work like you don’t need money. Sing to the radio as loud as you can even if you can’t sing at all. Dance like you do when no one is watching. Let your inner child out and have fun. Make every moment of your life a sublime experience. Do not wait for tomorrow. No one can assure you that you will see tomorrow's sunrise. Life is now, right now, there is no waiting.

Life is a gift don't wait to open it, savour it now.

I Heart Colombia

This is it, my whole reason for coming to South America. My passion for all things Latin stems from this country. Why do I want to go to Colombia? Easy question, it’s been my dream for years, probably since the first time I stepped foot on a plane when I was 18 years old. I dreamt of being a flight attendant but had never been on a plane. I was prepared to take a course in Toronto but my parents thought it was best to put me on a plane before spending the money on college. We took a family vacation to the Barcelo Bavaro Beach and Garden in Punta Cana Dominican Republic. I was in my last year of high school and while most of my class mates were taking a 26 hour bus ride to Daytona Beach, Florida for spring break, I was jetting to the beautiful Dominican Republic. They needed fake ID’s and I could drink all I wanted at an all inclusive. My first night I met about 30 Colombians, from Bogota all around my age on their graduation trip. I spent the rest of the week with them discovering I lacked the partying skills Colombians have. I couldn’t quite keep up. After passing out on a pool lounge chair, ten of them carried the chair and me in it back to my hotel room and told my mom her daughter is very drunk.
Besides the drinking I learned about salsa, Shakira, Spanish, their home and culture. I was fascinated by them. I will always remember dancing salsa on the beach under a blanket of stars with the one boy I fancied. Although he did ditch me for an American Britney Spears look alike.
Even before then I was very much interested in the Latin culture especially dancing. I tried to take salsa lessons with a boyfriend when I was 16. He had two left feet and absolutely no rhythm.
In the ten years since my trip to the Dominican Republic I had kept saying Colombia is the one country I want to visit, for the music, the dancing, the beautiful men, the coffee, the landscape, the beaches, the mountains, the villages, the cities, the scandals, the conflicts and the corruption. This country isn’t plastic, it isn’t in a prophylactic bubble created by the government, it’s real and alive. I wanted to know this country that I had already fallen in love with, but I kept going to other places, Europe, Thailand, Egypt, and Mexico. If it was my dream why didn’t I just jump on a plane and go? It’s that easy. I would tell everyone I want to go to Colombia and whenever I met a Colombian I was captivated and wanted to know everything about their country. Seven years ago I met a Colombia guy on a bus in Toronto. I thought he was quite cute as well. We chatted a while and exchanged e-mails. I was determined to stay in contact because I knew I would get there one day.
Even on this trip I could have flown direct to Colombia for a lot cheaper than Lima. I think the whole time I knew Colombia was it for me. If I flew right to Colombia in the beginning I wouldn’t have seen Machu Picchu or experienced Bolivia and Ecuador. Once I got to Colombia I thought I wouldn’t have wanted to leave. I saved the best for last. Colombia is my chocolate dessert.

Peligro

It seems when you are travelling people are always telling you how dangerous the next destination is, especially by the locals. The next city has more thieves, more street crime and more problems. Once you get there though you find it isn’t so bad but then you need to heed warnings about the next city.
I arrived in Quito, Ecuador with my head full of warnings; it’s very dangerous, don’t stay in the old town. The guide book tells you the opposite though, the new town is very dangerous don’t stay there. I was told not to sit in a park because I would get robbed and walk on the other side of the street, it’s safer than this side. It’s hard not to be intimated with all that doing summer salts in your head. I thought I would take a taxi to a hostel recommended in the guide book. I would be safe and meet other travellers. I found the hostel full in their overpriced $10 a night dorm beds and refused to pay $20 in Ecuador to sleep. I hiked back down the hill lugging my bags. I didn’t see any backpackers’ hostels only hotels and fast food chains. I stumbled upon a very nice hotel and immediately walked out as it looked a bit too posh for my budget, but the overly friendly owner spotted me and convinced me to come in. He told me he had rooms for $5, $10 and $20. I got him to show me the $5 room which was huge with a double bed, a desk and two arm chairs. I didn’t say anything, didn’t even give him a disapproving look when he said, fine alright $3 then. You couldn’t get any better. I also liked the fact it had a bit of character with posters of classic cars on the walls which reminded me of my Dad.
I spent the evening roaming the bar district with a very odd Israeli who was also staying in the hotel. He had been living in Peru for years working as a security guard, he also told me of all the children he had in various countries with different women. You really meet the strangest people when you are travelling alone.
I was blown away by the beauty of Quito. The old town is preserved in its colonial splendour. A very photogenic city, I immediately fell in love. It seemed everything from breakfast to a beer to a haircut was $1.50. Although I do advise against the $1.50 hair cut.
I wandered the city on my own during the day and even took a bus to La Mitad del Mundo, where you can stand on the Equator. The whole time I didn’t have any problems. The only time I felt unsafe was when people would come up to me and say don’t be here, you will get robbed. I feel like you can get robbed anywhere in the world. You just need to use common sense, be aware of your surroundings, listen to that little voice inside your head saying, “Don’t go there.” Don’t get me wrong I don’t walk around in a rose tinted world thinking that nothing bad will happen to me. I have known many people to get robbed and I have had my fair share of knives and machetes in my face. There were a few instances when I told the little voice to feck off and leave me alone. Despite all that I would never advise someone not to go to a place that is beautiful with amazing people just because of one bad experience or bad press. Also females should not hold themselves back because of potential danger. Sometimes you are helped out more being a girl. I wanted to see a mirador point in Quito but when I was spotted by police officers walking on foot they offered me a ride in their cruiser because they said it was dangerous to walk. A free ride on a hot day, you really can’t complain. There is something to say about girl power.

1 Tracy + 13 Chileans and The Strangest Place I Was Hit On

Being a single female and having travelled a lot in Latin America you get used to being hit on, a lot. The guys on the street will yell out Hermosa, preciosa, princessa, guapa, the list goes on. Its can get rather irritating but at the same time you don’t hear a peep from men in Canada and the names aren’t too bad but the worst is “Ssssst!” or “psssst, psssst!” like they are calling an animal its very degrading. Do they think, “psst pssst!” will actually work on a girl? What are you supposed to reply to that? In my head I’m thinking, “Pssst you!”
I thought I had experienced it all with the ridiculous comments but that was until I got to Banos, Ecuador. Banos is a beautiful town in the middle of Ecuador. It’s a mountainous region with a cool climate. The town is surrounded by massive waterfalls and you can take several types of tours on the Waterfall route to see them. It’s also known for extreme sports such a swing bridge jumping, Quad, motor and mountain biking as well as rafting. There are also numerous spas and places to enjoy the hot springs from the active volcano on the outskirts of the city. At times you can actually hear the volcano erupting.
I ended up getting off the bus and tagging along with six Chilean university students, all 19 year old boys. They were fun to hang out with and bearable but later on they were joined by 7 other friends. Tracy with 13 good looking Chileans all to herself, at first I thought I was in heaven. I was completely wrong. Nineteen year old boys are a lot different than nineteen year old girls, they literally are boys. I went quad biking with them and watch as the boys played with their toys, spinning in the dirt and trying to pull tricks, they were being completely destructive. The last straw was when the 13 of them lined up on the highway and pulled their bare asses out to the oncoming traffic.
I had enough so decided to ditch them and go on a Routa de las Cascadas tour on my own. I rode on the Chiva (a funny looking truck more so a famous Colombian mode of transportation) with a really nice Danish couple and their baby. The tour was nice and picturesque passing the beautiful cascading waterfalls. We arrived at a bridge over the river where you could pay to jump off the 60 meter high bridge to the rock laden valley below attached to a swing rope. I am not a fan of heights at all but I love adrenaline so I was very tempted. No one else was going to do it so I didn’t pipe up that was until an Argentinean in the back of the Chiva decided to go for it. Then the Danish father got the nerve. I had never done this before and would have never in Canada but I was in Ecuador so I thought, “when in Rome!” I decided to jump strapped to the guide. I figured if I die then he will die with me. As well I knew I wouldn’t have been able to make that first step off the bridge. It took forever for me to let go of the bridge I was shaking like crazy. Eventually I let go and he pushed off, I screamed my lungs out. It was scary as hell but amazing.
As the initial jump progressed into gentle swings back and forth, this young Ecuadorian guy looked at me and told me I was beautiful. He then asked where I was from and continued the ridiculous comments and pick up lines. I couldn’t believe it. I was attached to a rope and him swinging off a 60 meter high bridge and I had to listen to this. There was no escape. This can’t be happening, here of all
places! They never do miss an opportunity do they? At least I didn’t have to hear psssst psssst, but I did feel like telling him to psssst off!

The Happy Cookie Border Crossing: Peru – Ecuador

Often when I decide to leave a place is a spur of the moment decision. I woke up in Mancora, Peru and knew I needed to leave for Ecuador. I bought a ticket to Guayaquil then from there I would go to Montanita. My friend I met in Huaraz recommended it to me and I love word of mouth recommendations. I said goodbye to my American boys and as I was leaving one of them offered me some cookies. Now one thing about me is I love cookies. My mom has a photo of me as a child covered head to toe in chocolate from one cookie. So I grabbed a few cookies which weren’t ordinary cookies, if you know what I mean. I had tried them before and nothing had ever happened so I thought there would be no problem. I was on my way alone again and travelling to a new country. New adventures and discoveries lay ahead of me.
It was a bit of a wait for the bus and as I was sitting on the side of the road I was starting to feel really strange. All the hairs on my skin were vibrating. What was going on? Then I got really thirsty and everything around me seemed to slow down. I bought some juice but the sensation got worse. Then it dawned on me, the cookies! I was stoned. This started to worry me because I had to go through two sets of immigration. They weren’t going to let me into the country? This wasn’t good. When the bus finally came someone was sitting in my seat but I saw the Korean guy who went to dinner with us the night before. A familiar face, good, I will be ok. As the bus took off I looked at the Korean and remembered him telling me he was actually a police officer in Korea. Panic set in even more, the Korean is going to give me up!
I was lucky that both his English and Spanish were awful so I didn’t have to talk to him. Also I went through immigration without having to say a word to the officer and got my stamps. I left way too late for my 12 hour journey to Montanita. After changing buses and waiting around in Guayaquil I got dropped off in a random town an hour away from Montanita. I found out that there were no more buses to Montanita either, only taxis. The taxi driver saw a screwed Gringa and dollar signs immediately appeared in his eyes. The asking price was $20. No way! I was going to sit on that curb all night before paying $20 for a one hour ride. Luckily three local girls showed up dressed like they were going to work the streets but they were on their way to a party in Montanita. A Juanes tribute concert was going on (A super famous Colombian pop star). They were able to talk the driver down and we got it for $5 each. This was after he was going to charge them $5 and me $10. The nerve!
By this time the cookies had somewhat worn off so I was doing a bit better, although I had quite the shock when we were dropped off in the beach town of Montanita. I was thrown in the middle of a raging party. People were partying on the streets, you could hear Juanes blearing, competing with reggaton and Latin pop. Cocktail huts lined the streets offering anything you could imagine for $1.50. I discovered later Montanita is the Cancun for Argentineans and Chileans and it was currently their university break. It was Saturday night, there were no rooms available anywhere. My skankly clad friends were very helpful and stay with me while I searched for a room. A guy offered to take me to a place he knew of that was cheap. I followed across a bridge to another part of the village. Great this is where it all goes downhill, I thought to myself. His place had nothing as well but I went to the place next door that didn’t have rooms but you could camp and they had tents to rent but none of the hostel workers were there. It was 1:00am by this point. I was super tired after my long journey and coming down from the cookie high so when a hippy Argentinean offered me his tent I accepted. I wasn’t too sure where he was going to sleep but at that point I couldn’t care less. I crawled in my sleeping bag and past out spooning my backpack while the party raged on outside.