Guatapé and Visions of Sugarplums

Enjoying a glass of vino in Plaza Mayor

22 February 2014 - Colombia is currently battling it out for the world’s most-quaint mountain town.  Barichara and Villa de Leyva are neck and neck, while Guatapé is making a late pull from behind. 

Imbibing on the steps

Villa de Leyva earns high marks for its almost laughably large plaza – but really, I admire their vision and foresight, because when can a plaza ever be too large?  That’s right – never.  It also benefits from the raucous revelry of drinking and socializing on the steps of the plaza.  Try not to fall in love with drinking wine or liters of beer on the steps of Plaza Mayor while watching the sun set behind the sleepy, green, Andean mountains.  Children run and play, old people walk arm-in-arm and weekenders from Bogota pump tunes from their portable radios, take shots of Aguardiente (the local fire water) and snap photos on their phones.  All in all, it is delightful.

The colorful buildings in Guatapé

Guatapé on the other hand, is a shockingly vibrant little town.  Each building is painted in a splash of bright colors.  Colorful trims of greens, blues, and purples, make the entire façade pop and cutesy little pictures of alpacas, Tonka trucks, mountains and boats decorate the bottoms of the buildings.  It feels as though you are walking through a play land – like a tiny, toy town has somehow come to life and you are wandering the streets. 

View from atop La Piedra

In Lance and my quest to explore every mountain town to the fullest extent – I took far too many photos, we walked the boardwalk on the lake and gorged ourselves on massive brownie sundaes.  After that we took a tuk-tuk up to La Pierdra.  This is a large monolith just outside of Guatapé that the locals somehow managed to build a set of stairs up its side.  649 steps later, you are left overlooking the sprawling Guatapé Reservoir.  Lady fingers of water dance around green forested islands that dot the lake and little inlets create smooth as glass canals.  Misty fog rolled into the distance and mighty condors soared through the air.  It was a sight to behold and so much more than I had suspected – and to think we almost bypassed this “gimmicky” tourist attraction!

The cherry on top (obligatory, cheesy pun included) was being greeted by four cheery Colombians atop the viewing tower on La Piedra.  After happily taking photos for us, they handed us cold beers and instantly befriended us.  We gladly joined in their merrymaking, guzzled Heinekens, helped them practice their English (and our Spanish) and continued the party back in Guatapé until they had to return to Medellin for the night.

Top scores for Guatapé in this round of judging.

  

 

 

Stairway up La Piedra (The Rock)

Our new Colombian friends!

 

Bus Rides

20 February 2010 – Let’s talk about bus rides.  If you have done any amount of backpacking, you know that bus rides pretty much go hand-in-hand with being a backpacker.  Bus rides are to backpacking like cheese to one’s quesadilla, the rice to my beans and the rump shaking to merengue.  It is unavoidable.

The bus crew

Now, I’ve had my fair share of bus rides.  I’ve rumbled and tumbled down crater-sized, pothole strewn dirt roads in Cambodia for hours on end, sat next to live chickens being held down on their owner’s lap in Nicaragua, shivered for hours on end on a night bus in Peru that was bitter cold with nothing more than shorts and a t-shirt on, while all the locals wisely boarded with thick blankets in hand…. I know the joy of chasing after buses high in the mountains of Ecuador that have pulled away, while my pants are down around my ankles and I’m hiding behind a bush trying to go pee.  I am still jealous of the fact that men could hop off the bus, pee right next to it and hop back on.  While the women?  I never saw a single woman get off during numerous ten hour bus rides and I remain befuddled as to how these women have such ironclad bladders of steel.

I’ve been on bus rides so packed to the gills that not another soul could fit, when they pull over to pick up a few more passengers.  The bus driver makes a silent nodding motion with his head for everyone to move over.  People silently scootch, squeeze and pile onto one another.  They teeter on bags of rice, sit on people’s laps and somehow manage to make enough room.

Gazing out the window for hours on end

I say this because, as a backpacker, you need to have a supreme sense of patience – an almost Zen-like ability to endure long bus rides.  I’ve never been able to read on buses without instantly becoming carsick, so I’ve taken to staring out the window - watching the endless landscape pass and pondering (and solving!) all of life’s greatest quandaries.

 

Every now and then though, there comes a bus ride that is so unbearable and torturous that it makes you stop and question what you are doing with your life.  Why would any sane individual willingly board a flaming-shit stick (as I’ve so gingerly named it) to cruise to the far corners of a country?  Why, the hope of seeing something wonderful and amazing of course.

Posh digs

A recent bus ride that left me second guessing my life choices was a 15 hour fiasco from Bogota to Medellin.  First off, it was supposed to take nine hours, but you always factor in at least an hour for delays, so I figured we would arrive in Medellin by 7:30pm.  We didn’t arrive until 12:35am.  Traffic was so bad that it took an entire two hours just to leave the city of Bogota.  Our decked out chariot that promised air-conditioning and wi-fi (we were so foolish to believe such things) was in reality a tired, tired bus that had seen better days.  Both televisions had large cracks in them, the seats only slightly reclined and it reeked of the pleasant aroma of urine.  While dozing off, I felt something crawling on my arm, looked down, saw a cockroach and swatted it off.  I’m a bit dismayed to report that I was not even slightly shocked or alarmed by this disgusting little visitor.  C'est la vie.

While taking the most roundabout way possible to Medellin (first south, then east, then north, then east again), our driver drove as though he was in the autobahn – racing up the windy mountain roads and drifting around corners with the real panache of someone that has a true future in racing.  Never mind the fact that I felt as though I was aboard a horrible rollercoaster that would not end.  That and the air-conditioning did not work.  The bus had only small cracks of windows that opened on one side of the bus and the stale air was so mind-numbingly hot that it made your head spin.  Now, I’ve been on countless buses without air conditioning before, but the complete lack of airflow was unbearable.  I was sweaty and nauseous from the jerking back and forth up the windy roads, slamming on breaks and suffocating heat.  To say it was a long ride is an understatement. 

 

Our "flaming shit-stick" chariot...looks deceptively swanky

After sitting at our “lunch break” for two hours, backing out, pulling across the street and sitting for another 20 minutes, all while roasting in our sauna, we were needless to say, getting a bit fed up.  I went and asked the bus drivers, who were all standing around outside smoking if something was wrong with the bus.  “No.” “Nothing is wrong?” “No.” “When are we leaving?”  “Now.”  “Like right now?”  “Yeah, now.”  They continued to stand there for another 15 minutes, so when another bus heading towards Medellin pulled up my brother, some fellow travelers and I jumped at the chance to switch buses.  It still took another four and a half hours to get to Medellin, but we had glorious, glorious air conditioning - making the extra $15 a head worth every extra penny.  I am pretty sure our first bus is still inching its way towards Medellin as we speak.

A Fairytale Bike Ride

14 February 2014 - Once upon a time, the tres amigos came up with a wonderful idea to go on a quaint little bike ride around the countryside of Villa de Leyva.  We would leisurely admire the fincas perched on rolling hills, cruise up to a few waterfalls and take a dip, visit a few sites with fossils – really it would be a nice, splendid day.  Something for the storybooks.

Okay really, the bike ride was my idea.  I’ll take the blame.  Our cruise around the outskirts of Villa de Leyva was never just a cruise.  To start off, we rented some pretty sweet rides.  They had two sets of shocks and mountain tires that meant business – we were ready to take on the trails.

We hopped on our bikes and headed out of town.  From the get go, it was a bumpy ride – quite literally.  The streets of Villa de Leyva are cobblestoned, for lack of a better word… in reality, they are paved with quite large river rocks, that don’t exactly give you the smoothest ride. 

On top of that, we began to check each other out on our bikes and each of us was comically large for our stellar bicycles.  Looking like a bunch of clowns wheeling around on tiny bikes, we headed out of town.

The cobblestone road ended finally, but that was met with a gravel road that consisted of climbing up and down windy mountain roads for 3 hours.  On our tiny bikes that we quickly discovered only had three working gears, we huffed and puffed up and up seemingly never-ending climbs.  There would be a bend in the road, after which you would be certain that there could not be any way to go any higher, when you would round the curve and see that, in fact, there was even more mountain to climb.  This, “Ha! You’re a fool!” mountain mirage effect (as I’ve so generously coined it) continued for a good hour.  We were having a blast!

The sun beating down on our backs, sweaty sunblock dripping into our eyes, our legs aching from using bikes that would be better suited as a coat rack or hipster lawn art, we pondered how much further the waterfall could be.  We had been biking for about 2 and a half hours and figured based on the very rudimentary tourist map (those things get you every time!), the tres amigos decided that we had to be close.

The illustrious waterfall

An hour later, we arrived at the waterfall.  It was lovely.  There was water, it ran over a cliff.  We looked at it.  We ate our lunch of empanadas, looked at the time and realized we had no time to dilly-dally if we wanted to make it back to town in time to return our rental bikes.  Tires to the pavement people!

The way back was leisurely if you are inclined to use the word liberally.  We only had a third as many uphills this time and enjoyed some white-knuckle downhills that would have been a blast on a proper mountain bike.  The brakes were questionable and somehow the handgrips managed to give me bruises on my hands…but at least we weren’t pedaling uphill. That’s all that mattered.

And if you are wondering - yes, we did indeed spend the remainder of the evening lying on the beds in our hotel room in a coma.  We were full of leisure, finally.

Cobblestone Streets and Terra Cotta Rooftops

9 February 2014 – After an 11 hour bus ride from Santa Marta to Bucaramanga, we hopped in a tiny yellow cab that looked more like a go-cart than a vehicle.  Our cab driver was equally as tiny - he looked about 14 years old and still had prepubescent acne on his face.  As we were zipping down the mountain around a curve, our kid cabbie drove full speed ahead into a curb.  Unsurprisingly, our tiny car lurched and banged around as it jumped over the cement.  Instead of doing what most normal, rational drivers would do, our taxi driver quickly recovered and kept on driving as though nothing had happened.  I think it was his first day on the job and he wanted to play it cool.  We just sat in the back staring at each other, thinking what the hell?  You could hear a faint whining coming from the front tire and after a few minutes I finally asked, is everything ok?  He responded with, “Oh, you speak Spanish?  I think I might have blew out my tire.”  Yeah, I think so buddy.  He then proceeded to drive a bit further, while sticking his head out the window every now and then checking to see if everything looked okay.  Finally, I looked out the window and saw a completely blown out tire driving on its rims.  Time for a tire and cab change.

The picturesque streets of Barichara

After a quick and rather uneventful layover in Bucaramanga for the night, we caught a quick four and a half hour bus ride to the quaint mountain town Barichara.  We stumbled upon a little slice of heaven with this one.  Picturesque rolling hills with bright red clay open up to an immaculate mountain village that looks like a snapshot of another time.  Old colonial white-washed buildings with charming green trim, potted ceramic flower pots and terra cotta tiled roofs make you feel as though you are wandering around in a foregone era. 

As we meandered up and down the cobblestone streets, I bothered Lance and Jared by stopping to take picture after picture of massive old wooden doors, terraces with colorful potted plants and street after street of charming buildings.  Old men in cowboy hats and sweater vests sat in the park chatting, while a charming little old lady rolled her tiny cart of coffee and juice in thermoses back and forth, offering coffee, tea and juice to anyone that would listen.

Other than just sitting back and enjoying the sleepy vibe of Barichara, we also made quite a ritual of visiting one of the many panaderias (bakeries) in town each morning.  Their delirious scent of fresh baked bread wafts through the streets making you defenseless in saying no to a warm queso roll and a cup of café con leche. 

Catedral de la Immaculada Concepcion, and 18th Century
Church with 4 ft. thick sandstone walls

 

Massive, ancient wooden doors

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Can't get enough of my café con leche

Vamos Por La Ciudad Perdida

Day 1, ready to roll

3 February 2014 – Sweat dripping down my face and a soaking wet t-shirt is quickly becoming the norm for me here in Colombia.  That and hiking.

On Monday, we three amigos departed on a five day trek to the Ciudad Pirdida, or the Lost City.  This is an ancient city that was founded in 800 AD, roughly 650 years earlier than Machu Picchu.  Deep in the jungle of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, the indigenous Tayhrona people lived in a bustling metropolis with a population of over 2,000.  Stories are conflicting, but many say the Tayhrona people retreated even higher into the mountains when the Spanish began encroaching on their way of life.  The mixture of disease and not knowing how to grow and hunt at higher altitudes is said to have killed them off.

Only just rediscovered in 1972 by local treasure hunters, (who also proceeded to ransack the site of its gold, precious stones, and ceramic pieces), this city is marvelously removed from the hustle and bustle of modern life.

Quick dip in the river

What is incredible about these ruins is that the only way to reach the lost city is by foot – and after 44 km (27.3 miles), boy did we earn it.  We began day one with a deceptively leisure 30 minute walk to a watering hole.  After enjoying a quick dip, it was directly followed by a hellish hour and a half hike straight up a steep mountain and another solid two hours of walking.  Lance and Jared decided to share a pack and I think Lance instantly began regretting it when he was stuck lugging the heavy thing up the mountain for nearly an hour. 

We made it to camp for night one, munched on fried chicken and rice, enjoyed a watery beer and quickly retired to our hammocks for the night.

Day 2 began all too soon.  Fellow hikers began stirring at an outrageous 4 in the morning and we were on the trail by 6am.  Hooray for early starts.  Day two consisted of hiking even deeper into the jungle, frequent dips in the river, sunbathing like lizards on river rocks and enjoying a few hard earned rum and juice cocktails that we lugged with us for the trek.

Day 3 consisted of surprise, surprise….more hiking.  Luckily, the stunning views of the jungle mountainside made up for the solid uphill hiking that left your legs feeling like jello.  That and my beating everyone up a mountain, including a seasoned French mountaineer.  Not that I’m competitive, but the guides called me Rambo – just saying.

These steps don't look like much, but they're
small and steep

Day 4 was the day!  We awoke at 530 am, enjoyed a breakfast of arepas and cheese, fruit and hot chocolate and departed for Ciudad Perdida.  We were just 1km away from the lost city, but entering the ruins required a fierce climb up 1,200 stone steps that were built by the Tayhrona people. These are tiny steps, most not more than 10 inches wide and incredibly steep.  It made teetering up and down the steps quite a challenge.  After climbing the steps, I decided to change their name to the Stairmaster People.

We entered the city through the marketplace and to be honest, it was a bit underwhelming.  There were raised cirucular platforms that were clearly old pueblos and stone paths…but after a 3 day hike, I was hoping for a bit more.

In the Lost City finally!

Luckily, we were in luck.  There are stone stairways all over the city that just keep climbing up and up and each level gets better than the last.  After climbing several staircases, you finally approach a clearing in the jungle perched high upon a mountaintop.  The magnitude of it all is awe-inspiring.  To your right, you can see for miles upon miles vibrant green mountains full of trees so dense that it looks like a living tapestry.  To the left, the city is nestled by two towering mountain peaks, one of which features an astounding 100 foot waterfall (by my estimation).  All I can say, is the native populations of Latin America sure as hell knew how to pick their real estate.

Looking out at the Sierra Nevadas

Whenever I visit ruins, I am instantly transported to another era.  My brain runs wild imagining life in another time.  I can picture the now empty city bustling with life – mothers cooking in their pueblos, children running and playing on the stone pathways, village chiefs perched atop the city, women panning for gold, mighty hunters stalking their prey in the jungle…one day I’ll be able to time travel (without them killing me the second I arrive), but until then these rendezvous to cities of the past will suffice. 

I could go on and on about the Tayhrona peoples’ way of life and the city, but I’ll stop with this.  If you feel like reading more, the Wikipedia page gives a decent overview.

Housing for the top dogs

After visiting the city, we had a long day of hiking back to our camp for night four.  We celebrated our hard work by indulging in dulce de leche and crackers, fresh pineapple, dangerously sweet watermelon, freshly popped popcorn and kettle corn and chocolate wafer candy bars – and that was just a snack!  We had a feast of carne asada, potatoes, fried plantains and lentils for dinner.

Local children like to hang around the camps and eat the tourists’ leftovers and boy did the kids make out that night.  They were snatching pieces of meat and patacones like no tomorrow.  One little boy, after getting Lance’s approval, quickly palmed a pile of mashed potatoes and began shoving it in his face.  It was hilarious.  Each and every one of them had to have wandered home up the hill with a stomachache and for that I’m sure their mothers were none too happy.

Day 5 – homeward bound!  I was writing in my journal the night before, turned off my headlamp and in the pitch black dark of the night I realized at 8:34pm, I was the very last person in camp awake.  What a bunch of party animals.  The early night was much needed though, because we had a long day of hiking ahead of us and we left camp by 6am. 

The Ciudad Pierdida trek follows a there and back route and normally I prefer taking loops, but in this case it was nice coming back the same way.  The mist of the jungle in the morning and the sweeping views of the mountainside was a positively pleasant way to end the trek (as long as you ignored the aching legs as they screamed at you as you climbed up and down the ascent and descents). 

Local Indigenous Peoples' Huts

 

Enjoying a hard earned rum and juice

Celebrating the summit on day 3

 

Ancient steps up to a another "neighborhood"

Grand Ruins

Mashing up leaves and adding water creates a vibrant natural dye

Snack time