Adventures in the middle of nowhere with Land Cruisers, temporary adoption, kitesurfing and Yellow Fever

This post is from about a week ago. I`ve just been lagging on getting info up.

Seldom has my preconception of a place differed as much from the reality of a place as it did in Cabo de la Vela. I had been told about the place by this girl from LA, who had visions of a near-deserted town perched between the desert and sea planted in my head. The reality was somewhat different.

Before Cabo, I had spent 2 days on the beach in Palomino hanging out at a kinda crappy hostel with some friends I had met in Taganga. The place sounded cool - pretty remote location, right on the beach, sleep in hammocks. The reality was a hammock for the night was $25,000 pesos (about $13), the roof leaked and there was nowhere to stash your bags. The food was really expensive as well and pretty pedestrian. And the beach was really dirty with debris from the big storms that they had been having.

The first day we arrived a massive rainstorm hit, the hammocks got pretty wet, and I spent a sleepless night shivering in my hammock as the place had no extra blankets. The next day was pretty nice and I got to explore this nearby river and got some good beach time in. After another slightly-less-sleepless (but not by much) night, I decided to get out of there.

I caught a bus to Riohacha, the last major town in the Guajira Peninsula. It was a decent town to spend the night and check out the nice oceanfront promenade that had a ton of vendors selling food and drinks.

The next day I got my flip flop fixed as it had blown out in Palomino, and caught a shared taxi to Uriba, where I transferred to the bed of a beat up old Ford for the last leg of the journey to Cabo. Me and 9 other people were taken on a breakneck race through the desert to the village.

I had expected to find the aforementioned quiet little desert beach town. Instead, I found a desert beach town overrun by Land Cruisers blasting salsa and this big kitesurfing championship. It was a bit of a shock. Apparently, the big, calm bay and brisk desert winds create ideal kitesurfing conditions. There was a big pavilion with massive speakers set up in the bay to announce the competition. So other than all that, it was just the traditional Wayu indian village I´d expected.

I found a hostel, checked out the town a bit, and then put in an order for dinner at the restaurant down the street. For some reason you had to order 2 hours in advance. I decided to splurge a bit and go with a whole lobster, al ajillo. The wind wasn´t blowing strongly that day and the competition was postponed, so I killed some time having a couple of beers on the beach, admiring the results of Colombia´s affinity for plastic surgery. After a dinner of overcooked lobster and bad service, I decided to call it a night. Or would have, except for the techno blasting from the 4x4 parked next to my room and the Colombian family partying outside. And the Jack Johnson wafting down the beach from the pavilion on the bay. It was my own little personal hell.

The next day, the Colombian family was up at 6, despite their festivities the night before. I dragged myself out of bed at 8, and decided to hike out of town to get away from everyone. The hike through the desert was great, with some amazing views and a near-deserted beach with perfect turquoise water. After returning to town with the kitesurfing competition in full swing, I took a nap, had some dinner, and got some sleep for the first time in 4 days.

I wanted to get out of town the next day. I had set up a ride with this guy who did tours, and was supposed to be at his stand at 9 to get the transport. Arriving at 8:45, I figured I was in great shape. Wrong. The vehicle had already left and I was stuck for the time being. I had a conversation in Spanish that went like this:
Me (at 9:05): Do you know what time the transport is going to be arriving?
Tour Guy: Oh, you got here too late, it already left.
Me: What do you mean I got here too late? I was here at 8:45. You said to be here at 9.
Tour Guy: Oh, the transport left at 8.
Me: Why did you tell me 9?
Tour Guy: There is another transport coming soon.
Me: What time?
Tour Guy: In about an hour.
As 11:30 rolled around, I started to think that I might be stuck in Cabo for another day, as there was no sign of another transport. Just as I was about to go find another hostel and hit the beach, this Colombian family swung by the tour guy´s stand, looking at some of the trinkets he was selling. I guess he informed them of my predicament, because they offered to give me a ride. It was a three-generation, two car caravan. I rode with Grandma and Grandpa in their little Hyundai sedan, while Mom, Dad and their two college-aged sons rode in a Ford Escape. Initially, they were just going to take me the hour and a half to Uriba, but when they found out I was headed to Tayrona Park, they offered to take all the way there, as it was on their way home to Barranquilla. Sign me up!

After the 5 hour ride to Tayrona, including lunch with the family and a couple of stops for bootleg Venezuelan gas (quote from Dad: The only good thing about Venezuela is their cheap gas), I got dropped off at the park entrance. It was about 5:30 and when I got to the entrance booth, I was informed that the park was closed. Dammit. Then, a slightly sketchy looking guy told me to wait 15 minutes, and he could get me in. Ignoring my better judgement, I stuck around. About 10 minutes later the guy came down the hill and said I could get in. I went up the hill, paid the $15 "park admission fee" to the security guard, and got a fake receipt and wristband. I hopped on a motor taxi that dropped me off at the start of the trail that led to the first beach. I had a mad dash in the failing light on a super-muddy trail to reach Atacames before it was pitch black. I got there minus a flip flop that had ripped, rented a hammock and settled in for the night.

The next day I decided to hike to some ruins called Pueblito. I set out up the rocky slope and was feeling a little weak when I got to the top, presumably from the heat. It was hotter than hell, and really humid. I laid in this little creek for a while trying to cool down, and then returned to the beach at the bottom of the hill. I splashed around in the ocean, but was still feeling sort of weak. It wasn´t until I was hiking out of the park that evening and still feeling weak that I figured out I had a fever, and not heat exhaustion. I started wondering if I had Yellow Fever, but my full recovery since leads me to say no.

Taganga

Finally, some hot weather! I`ve spent the last three days in a little fishing village/beach town called Taganga. It`s hotter than hell here which is a nice change after getting realtively cold, overcast weather on the beach in Ecuador. I stayed in an apartment with my friends Sarah and Will - it was nice to have a place that felt somewhat home-like after months of hostels. We cooked a bunch of fish and just hung out, it was pretty sweet.

Went spear fishing the other day, which was pretty much the best thing ever. I got three fish and we made ceviche with them back at the apratment. It was tasty, if a little heavy on the lime. Today I`m headed to the Guaranji Peninsula that stretches out near the Venezuela border. It sounds like the end of the earth, so it should be an adventure. Untill next time...

Careful what you wish for

After waiting in San Gil for a few days for the Rio Suarez to be low enough to raft, I was finally able to go today. I was told by Ivan, the helpful owner of the hostel I´m staying at that the river was had class 5+ rapids. After being told in both Ecuador and Panama that we were going down rivers that rated 3-4 and being somewhat disappointed, I thought that 5+ would be a really good ride.

We had to wait until noon to set out to let the river get a bit lower. We picked up the 12 people going on the trip from various hostels and grabbed the rafts, kayaks and guides. Arriving at the river, it was a muddy brown torrent and looked like it was going to be intense. We did the standard safety talk and hopped in the two rafts to practice a bit. Along with the two rafts we had three other guides in kayaks to grab anyone that fell in. Little did I know how key they would be. The raft I was in had two people that had rafted before and four who had never rafted. The other raft had people who had all done at least 4´s before.

We set off down the river and the first rapid we hit was a 4. I was in the front and we went in sideways and I got thrown out when this big wave knocked me across the raft. I got trapped under the raft for a few seconds (it seemed like much longer) but was able to push my way out, just to get a massive mouthful of water when another wave hit us as I was getting pulled in. We pulled over to the side of the river to regroup and I saw that the other raft had gotten through with their crew intact.

As I tried to catch my breath and calm down a bit, I realized that I was definitely getting more than my money's worth on this trip. We made it through the next couple of rapids ok, and then pulled over again to get instructions on the class 5 that was coming up. Coming into the first part of this one I´m not sure what exactly happened, but I think we just took too direct a rout through this wave that was about 8 feet tall. The entire raft tipped up on the side and we tried to high-side, but the whole thing flipped. Once again I was under the raft and struggled to get out. I couldn´t get a hold of the raft and ended up having to ride through the entire 400 meter rapid on my back. It was damn scary - every time I could get my head above water I would get sucked back down and swallow more water. This repeated about six times until one of the kayaks got close enough to me so I could grab on. I was on the front of it, but had to move to the back so we could pick up another one of my raft mates. We finally got out of the worst of it and got near enough the other raft so they could pull us aboard. I was so spent that I couldn´t offer any help and it ended up taking two guys from that raft to pull me aboard. I couldn´t get my breath and threw up a little water.

We stopped again so the guides could get the flipped raft on the right side of the river and to allow everyone to recuperate. At this point this Irish couple let the guides know that there was no way they were doing the last class 5. The guides told them they could walk around the last rapid, and asked if anyone else wanted to walk it. I sort of did at that moment, but there was no way I was admitting that. The guides did a bit of re-arranging of people so all the inexperienced people weren´t in the same raft, and we set off again. The next two rapids were class 3, and we got through fine. We stopped one last time for instructions on the final class 5. I was REALLY hoping I would stay in the raft/not have it flip here. Being 0-fer on the class 5´s and swallowing another bunch of water was not something I wanted to have happen on my trip.

We headed down towards the last big rapid minus the Irish couple. I was really nervous going into this one through some hard-earned experience. We hit the rapid, navigated the first little class 1 and plowed into this massive class 5. We were set up right going into this one, and had a roller-coaster ride through the waves which the guides later told us were over 9 feet high. A few times I though we were going over, but the raft stayed upright and almost before I knew what had happened we were through. I felt completely exhilarated as I realized there were just little choppy waves ahead of us and the guide said we were through!

We paddled down the river a bit to a beach where we pulled out. Snacks followed and then we loaded in the van and headed home. I was talking to this German guy sitting next to me who turned out to be a river guide, and he said that there was no way people with no experience should have been going out on that river in it´s current state. I told him that I had gone rafting about seven times on 3´s and 4´s, and he said even that was about the minimum that you should have to do that kind of whitewater.

I think I´ve learned a few valuable lessens. First, don´t go rafting down a hardcore class 5 with a bunch of inexperienced people. Second, don´t take class 5 rapids lightly. Third, stick to class 4´s, because they skew more on the excitement side of excitement/terror. Actually, scratch that third one as now that I´ve had a few hours, I´m ready to try one again.

Minus the fact that I don´t have much hair left on my left shin from the rubbing on the raft while trying to keep myself in and possible dysentery from drinking half the water in the Rio Suarez I´m pretty much no worse for the wear. I was supposed to catch a night bus to San Augustine on the coast tonight, but after getting back to the hostel, there was no way I was hopping on a bus for 12 hours. I´m staying one last night in San Gil and then heading out tomorrow evening after the Cup final. I´m going to sleep well tonight.

Finally, to all my friends who surf bigger waves, I think you are nuts. The whole being held under thing is pretty damn scary.

San Gil

I`ve been in this decent-sized town called San Gill for the last few days. It`s a bit up in the mountains and I really like it. There is apparently some great rafting around here that I`ve been waiting to do, but the river has been too high for the past couple days which pushes it above class 5 or whatever is considered raftable. I`m holding out hope that tomorrow the river will be open, and if not I`m heading on.

In the meantime, I`ve been taking little treks to different villages and seeing the area. If rafting still isn`t an option tomorrow I might go paragliding. Who knows..... My camera battery died today so no pictures.

The story so far

So when I last checked in, I was planning on heading to Tierradentro, a archaeological site near the village of San Andres. I was all set to catch the bus there when I realized I was a bit low on money and that there were no ATM`s in the town. I went to get money out in San Augustine and discovered that both ATM`s in the town were down, and wouldn`t be up till the next afternoon. The local bank could only give cash advances on Visa`s, not the Mastercard or AMEX, which was all I had. Counting my remaining pesos, I realized I did not have enough to both pay my hotel bill and the bus fare back to Popayan. It was time to start scrounging.

I eventually found a place that would exchange my $15 remaining dollars for pesos at a borderline criminal rate (apparently Colombia is flush with dollars, can`t imagine why) which got me enough money to get me back to civilizations, but just barely. It was an interesting bus ride back to Popayan that had the bus driver and conductor jumping out of the bus to fight a truck driver that wouldn`t let us pass for 15 minutes (they won), waiting 30 minutes for a road closed by the army to open, passing an army camp with tanks and APC`s parked on the side of the road and seeing some beautiful scenery. I got my money and my luggage I had left in Popayan and then hopped a bus to Cali.

Rolling into Cali I immediately liked the city. It was warm, had a pretty nice downtown and just gave off a vibe that I liked along with having toilets where you could flush the paper. It reminded me of Panama City a bit, but I really disliked Panama City, while I loved Cali. Go figure. I found a decent hostel, met some new people and cooked a few meals.

On Thursday, me and a few of my new friends set off to find a salsa club, as apparently Cali is the salsa capitol of the world. None of the downtown (aka non-sketchy) ones were open so after a few drinks we caught a cab to this one outside the downtown that we had heard about. It was an interesting ride with 7 people stuffed into a tiny, and I mean tiny, Hyundai cab.

We got to the door and the bouncers were having none of us. Apparently you need a 1-to-1 guy/girl ration, and we were rolling with a 5-2. While trying to talk our way in, we saw several lone Colombian guys walk right in, so I think we got racially profiled. There was a bar next door so we rolled over there, looking for three more girls. Just wanting to get in, let`s just say we aimed low...

We met three middle-aged Colombian ladies, but they wanted to stay at the bar a bit longer and even with our spectacular charm turned on full, we couldn`t talk them out of it. After a drink there, everyone was getting tired, so we decided to call it a night. We had to walk back by the salsa club to rat-pack another cab, and were witnesses to a massive brawl outside the club. So maybe it was for the best we never got in.

Friday, I had planned to take a day trip to this river in the jungle accessible only by motorcycle modified to drive on train tracks, but it was pouring rain and I decided against it, and instead wandered around Cali a bit and put a dent in this book I am reading about recent Colombian history. My original broader plan was to head to coffee country after Cali, go through Medellin to the Caribbean coast and then circle back through the Tierra Paisa before finishing in Bogota and heading home. However, while in Cali I heard that there is this massive, free, three-day music festival Sat-Mon in Bogota called Rock Al Parque (Rock In The Park). It sounded like a good time so I decided to rearrange the itinerary.

Friday, I caught a night bus to Bogota from Cali. It would have been a nice, restful ride except for a few factors. First, the bus (a big, comfy one) had this digital speed display, visible to the passengers. Apparently buses in Columbia are not allowed to go over 80 km/hr. I`m of the opinion that it is not so much the speed that Colombian drivers go that is the problem, but the passing on blind turns on windy mountain roads, but what do I know? This digital readout would make this buzzing noise every time we went faster than 80. The driver was hovering right around 80 on any flat, straight stretch, and the buzzer was constantly going off. Not conducive to a good night`s sleep. Second, the a/c was cranked. I was wearing a jacket and pants, but my flip-flop clad feet went numb and I could never really get warm. Why you need a/c while going through mountain passes at midnight is beyond me, but again, what do I know? Finally, the bus left at 9 p.m. and was supposed to get in around 6 or 7. I left a nice cushion so I could get to a hostel and find a tv before the 9 a.m. Argentina/Germany match up. What I didn`t factor in was the road being closed for 3 hours for reasons I still don`t understand. So I missed most of the game.

I then tried to catch a bus to the hostel I wanted to stay in, but caught the wrong one and ended up in the ghetto. When I finally got a cab out of there, the cabbie told me about 10 times how dangerous the place I was in was.

Bogota is a pretty ugly city that sprawls forever. Hopefully the culture here makes up for it. I haven`t got out to explore it to much yet, but am about to head over to the concert in about an hour. I don`t recognize any of the acts beyond one of Bob Marley`s countless kids but it`s free, live music with hundreds of thousands of other people in attendance. Should be fun.

Tomorrow is still up in the air, and Tuesday I want to check out a couple of museums before heading off to parts yet unknown. All in all, it`s been a nice few days, but with the end of my trip getting closer, I`m starting to miss certain things about home more.

That`s it for now. Hopefully I discover some good bands at this concert!