Forget What You Think You Know

If I say 'Colombia', you think...cocaine? coffee? emeralds? FARC?  Unless you've been here recently or know someone who has, I'll bet your opinion of this country isn't positive.  Perhaps stories of tourist kidnappings come to mind.  Or maybe you remember the days of Pablo Escobar and his seemingly unstoppable regime.  Whatever initial images your mind conjures, odds are they do not include artists like Gabriel Garcia Marquez or Fernando Botero; public places of leisure such as Barefoot Park or the Park of Dreams; or treasures such as a bathing mud volcano or lost stone city predating Machu Picchu by 700 years.  Not many people yet know this Colombia, but I hope after reading my entries, you will want to...and before everyone else does.

I arrived in Bogotá reluctantly, I'll admit.  I was giving up two months of cruisy, sailing lifestyle thru the Caribbean for solo backpacking in a country I knew little about and with a dark past.  Luckily, a great hostel and diverse city quickly reminded me why I like doing this so much.  Having arrived too late to partake in Bogotá's lively weekend night scene, I made full use of the daytime.  Like any metropolis, nightfall invites the mischievous and criminal, and precautions must be taken.  However, if the light is shining, especially on a Sunday afternoon in Barrio Candelaria, the streets bustle with vibrancy.  Plaza Bolívar is alive with protesters outside the Capitolio Nacional as well as with pigeon-feeders on the steps of Catedral Primada.  Avenida Septima and Parque Santander are pleasantly congested with throngs of street performers and kiosks selling books, clothes, and comidas rápidas.  And peeking out from behind the low-lying clouds watching over all this activity is the summit church of Monserrate and the miracle-working statue of the Fallen Christ.

We learned about coffee from nursery to nursing a fresh cup.

While urban street life is always something I seek and enjoy, the two "must-dos" I would recommend to someone are, in fact, inside activities.  One of the major reasons the Spanish where so heavily invested in Colombia was due to the goldsmithing skills of its indigenous people.  They were master craftsmen, and the works which weren't lost or melted down are now protected by the national bank and displayed in Museos de Oro all over the country.  But only one, Bogotá's ranks as world-class in terms of collection quality, quantity, and explanation.

My second major highlight brings us forward several centuries from the numerous unknown pre-Colombian artists to the present day and one very influential painter-sculptor.  Fernando Botero is considered by many to be one of Latin America's most important living artists.  His styles changed throughout his youth but soon settled on the ridiculously rotund.  His paintings and sculptures feature men and women too round to walk, horses too fat to ride, and guitars too thick to hold.  They are bold, broad, beautiful, and hard to get enough of.  Luckily, the Donación Botero contains over 120 of his works, all viewable free of charge.

After five days, I traded the 10-million-person capital for a small, quiet town at the altitude limit of country's Zona Cafetera.  It was here in Salento where I first fell in love with the Colombia.  The village was simple and overlooked by modern pace and progress.  The land rolled with banana palms, mango trees, and, of course, coffee plants.  My hostel was located on a plantation on the outskirts of town and operated by a friendly Brit whose obvious contentment was a testament to happiness being life's great secret.  From here, my travel companions and I walked beneath the nationally revered 60-meter wax palms and into the cloud forest of Valle de Cocora.  We learned about coffee from nursery to nursing a fresh cup.  We picked, shucked, roasted, and sipped.  Salento was a town where a two-course trout lunch was served from an 100-year-old home for less than $3.  Nightly entertainment came in the form of people-watching on the plaza or swinging in a hammock while someone strummed an acoustic guitar.  It was perfection at its purest and finest.

I was completely enamored with Salento, but it could not compete with what awaited me in Bogotá at the end of April.  One of my closest friends, Matt Craven, had fulfilled a promise made 18 months earlier and flown to meet me.  Our travel history runs deep and our goals align - do memorable things with memorable people.  Our 22-hour bus ride from the capital to Cartagena gave us plenty of time to swap pasts and presents our current lives did not contain or could not offer.  For me, it was value of stable friendships, the satisfaction of an honorable profession, and the simple pleasures of "normalcy" that aren't appreciated until gone.  My friend was here for just one week, but the impact of his visit is still with me, for he brought something few could.  He brought my home.

If I summarized the criteria of a great tourist city, it would go something like this: A place where no set activities are needed and no agenda desired; a place where directionless walks reveal new, interesting, and photogenic images; a place of beauty safety, and sensuality.  The old city of Cartagena is such a place.  Like San Juan, Puerto Rico, the colonial atmosphere is very much alive here.  Balconies creep with bougainvillea as horses pull carriages and clip-clop down the streets.  Each blind turn opens on a plaza, building, or monument that causes a head tilt and shutter snap.  There are a handful of notable sights, but they need not be sought out specifically.  It is far more rewarding to come across Las Bóvedas or the Palácio de la Inquisicion on an aimless walk.  The exception to this is the nearly 400-year-old stone fortress of Castillo de San Felipe de Barajas.  Requiring 150 years to complete the intricate system of tunnels, strategic watch and combat posts, and massively thick walls, this fortress exemplifies Spain's dedication to controlling this port to the Americas.

Knowing we'd return to Cartagena for Matt's flight, we did not stay long on our first visit.  We skipped past the commercial port and cumbia city of Barranquilla for the fishing village of Taganga four hours east.  Like Salento, the small town is made for lying in a hammock.  The difference, however, is if you don't, the coastal heat and humidity will quickly make you seek cool Caribbean waters.  Taganga has plenty of character with its beachfront cafés, all-day juice vendors, and nearby Playa Grande, but has recently developed a secondary function.  For backpackers, it is a haven of cheap, safe scuba diving as well as a jumping off point for Parque Nacional Tayrona or the five-day trek to Ciudad Perdida.

A week-long holiday leaves no time for a five-day hike, so Matt and I opted for the self-guided paths of Tayrona.  An hour boat ride from Taganga left us with sore bums and moderately soaked gear but in one of the coast's most picturesque areas.  The headland of Cabo San Juan, in whose breeze we hung our rented hammocks, is bordered on either side by two postcard-perfect beaches.  Fifteen minutes in either direction reveals swimming holes rimmed with boulders too inviting not to climb or strips of sand begging for a frisbee toss.  A beauty exists here far different from the fields of Salento or streets of Cartagena, but one which had the same overall effect - to deepen my obsession with the country.

Stay tuned.  My adventures continue as does my infatuation.  There are more stories to tell and more Colombia you don't yet know which you should.