Vive Colombia -- Part 2

After hearing mixed reviewed of Tayrona National Park, we decided to see it for ourselves and took the hour-long bus ride from Santa Marta to the park, where we paid the steep admission fee then embarked on a sweaty 1.5-hour long hike through the jungle then along a wide coastline to the main backpacker spot, Cabo San Juan de la Guia. We were disappointed to see the place, operated by the national park, looked like a big summer camp, with lots of people, tents of various hues speckling the big emerald lawn and several covered huts with rows of strung-up hammocks. We opted for hammocks, and one of the workers helped us attach the mosquito nets we purchased in the Santa Marta market -- excellent foresight on our parts, as people were complaining all night about getting bit. While the area was picturesque -- a sandy arm complete with a hut housing hammocks atop a hill stretched out into the sea dividing two bays -- the water was too choppy for serious swimming. After quick swims and laying out in the dwindling light until the mozzies started snacking on us, we hung out with an American guy who had traveled from motorbike from L.A. through Central America and two Aussie girls, drinking many beers. Combined with the magic little blue pill I slept great in my hammock, although everyone else I talked to had a rough night.

One night was enough for us at Tayrona, so we hiked back out the next day and made our way back to Aluna for the night. The next day we moved over to Taganga, the fishing village turned backpacker party spot, where we stayed for a couple days. That was about all we could handle, although we did have fun and met some interesting people, including Rafael, a chivalrous Frenchman who had been living in Colombia for the last 4 years supporting himself quite well off of real estate (although, I think there might have been more to that story…). During our days there we hiked around the point to beaches (that were prettier than Taganga’s main bay) with decent snorkeling and drank plenty mojitos and Águila beer, the Colombian version of the ubiquitous light ale all over the developing world (nothing remarkable, but very thirst quenching). We ended up staying at a hostel that had a pool and was the “official” afterparty spot for a reggae party happening at the village’s most popular bar so we got pretty much sucked into the festivities our first night there. Fortuitous or bad luck? You decide because it’s a toss up in my book. ;-)

After melting and burning ourselves out in other ways in Taganga we got on the overnight bus to Colombia’s capital, Bogotá. Before we left two policeman boarded the bus to review documents. As the Colombians passed their I.D. cards forward we handed over our passports, which the two young men carefully inspected -- especially mine. The one closest to me claimed he couldn’t find a certain entry stamp, but I told him that I came in on the same flight as my friend Niki, and the sough-after stamp was eventually found, likely much to their dismay (no mordita - bribe - for them). With our supplies of chips, arepas (fried corn patties), and Águila, we were ready for the 16-hour trip.

It took some scouting around La Candelaria, the 450-year-old section of Bogotá, before we found an available double room at Hostal Fátima, a hidden gem in the traveler’s neighborhood that had a great atmosphere and fun, party-ready people (the place had its own bar). We collapsed the first night, but after some shopping around the mural-and-graffiti-laden neighborhood the second day, Niki wasn’t ready to leave and changed her fight back to Lima for the following morning instead of that afternoon. We witnessed Día de las Velitas on Dec. 7, when la gente come into the streets to light candles (and watch an impressive fireworks show over Bogotá) of all sorts to honor the Virgin Mary and mark the unofficial start of Christmas celebration. After having a few drinks out in our 'hood we headed back to the hostel to find a party in full swing, which we joined until Niki had to head out to the airport at 3:30 a.m. for her flight. Well, I lasted a little longer, I must admit, since we had randomly run into a friend of ours, Alexandra from L.A., who we had met in Cusco months earlier.

Although I felt ready to leave Bogotá -- and South America in general -- after Niki left, I went to Villa de Leyva, a small town in the Colombian highlands that has been getting major press in the travel pages lately. While quaint, I didn’t see the big deal with the place (OK, I admit, jaded traveler mindset is taking its toll at this point), but I did arrive after Día de las Velitas, which is one of the town’s biggest holidays, so maybe that had something to do with the lacklusterness I felt. I went for a good hike in light showers, reaching a point above the village with a spectacular view the camera just couldn’t do justice -- although it did capture the clouds nicely. After two restful days there I returned to Bogotá and Fátima, still antsy to move on.

I couldn’t get a flight out to Lima (where I needed to go before leaving the continent) until after the weekend, which turned out to be a good thing. The next morning I went to the park up the road and did yoga in the grass amid drug baggies and plenty of dog crap next to a power substation. Gritty, yes, but at least I was safe, near 4 cops who were more interested in comparing cell phone ring tones that anything else. But I was beneath a beautiful blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds; a gorgeous day that saw me tour churches and other sites in the center of town, taking me through military checkpoints where soldiers inspected by bag in order for me to go down certain blocks near government offices. While Colombia is pretty safe now, the police presence was higher than in any other country I went to -- a testament to the civil war that still plagues the country. I took the tram up to Cerro de Monserrate for sunset, which was photo frame after photo frame of gorgeous views with spectacular clouds, a golden sun, and the twinkling lights of Bogotá emerging as dusk turned to night. When I arrived at the top of the hill, a wedding in the church atop the hill was just ending, the triumphant bride & groom exiting with the wedding party as the Christmas lights were just turning on as if they, too, were celebrating the union between the happy couple.

That night I ended up partying with the people in my hostel, which included a few Colombians, including José, a budding restaurateur, who I hung out with until Monday afternoon when I got on a plane for Lima. There I had an awesome day hanging out with my Peruvian friend Alex from Cusco and finally saw Lima with beautiful sunshine (it’s notoriously gray for 9 months out of the year); went to the beach; walked around the parks of the downtown district, Miraflores; went to the markets of Barranco; cooked grubbin’ food at the apartment of his friend, Tito; then went out on the town until the wee hours to celebrate our friend Alberto’s birthday. The next day I got my stuff together at my hostel then went to Miraflores to meet my friend Diego for coffee and get the 9 bottles of wine and random clothing items I had left with him for the past 2 months. After hurriedly arranging my stuff into my ginormous backpack and various other bags, I got in a cab and was off to the airport where I did some very hurried duty-free shopping before getting on the plane that took me (via El Salvador and a sweet-talk session to get the pisco I bought in the Lima airport through the connection security) back home. Le extraño muchísimo suramérica -- voy a volver pronto, por supuesto, por seguro.