Rounding Out

A bit of lightheartedness before the hard work begins.
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Being a quintessential Libra, I seek balance in my travels.  The tablecloth dinner complements the greasy food stall.  The novel in the hammock enhances the crowded dance floor.  And the tiny adventure tourism town of San Gil is an accompaniment to Medellín's modern bustle.

For over a month now, I've had a steady travel companion in Jamie Rubeck.  He was one of the 18 other people on my Ciudad Perdida trek, but it was here in San Gil where we teamed up permanently.  The town itself is like other small mountain communities: scenic, friendly, and affordable.  The hilly streets provide plenty of vistas (not to mention exercise), and the local university keeps the town young and hip.  The unique draws, however, come from the surrounding beauties of rivers, waterfalls, caves, and windy hills, giving this place a New Zealand-esque reputation.

Isolated or protected?

The six-man rookie (mostly) team with our guide, Nestor.
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I tried paragliding first, but it became the final activity of my stay as heavy rains and weak winds respectively eliminated attempts one and two.  Lucky number three quickly made up for the lost time and pent-up frustration.  With an abundance of breeze, it required three men to ground me and the pilot while straps were fastened and safety checks conducted.  Then, as easily as opening one's hands, we were off.  We'd glide with the raptors and then plummet in tight spirals only to catch a last minute thermal and pleasantly coast the rim of Cañon Chicamocha.  After twenty minutes of cycling through adrenaline highs and lows, I reluctantly lifted my legs as the pilot landed us just a few feet from where we began.  We may not be designed to fly, but when we do, I bet we share the same enjoyment as the creatures who are.

Crashing through the rapids.
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Before San Gil, I'd never been white-water rafting.  My friends who had, have nothing but wide eyes and large grins when they speak of it, so I was confident I'd not be disappointed.  Being the thrill-seeking, foolhardy person I can be, I turned up my nose at the class 2/3 trip and went right to the punch with the 4/5.  Even though our raft of six had two one-timers, one being Jamie, and four rookies, the guide told us we listened well and operated as a team - two criteria for a fun and safe journey through the rapids.  In the midst of a class five, we lost a man overboard, which gave us the opportunity to practice our rescue techniques.  After a successful recovery (of both man and paddle), we celebrated by, ironically, throwing ourselves into the river.  Aside from that and the bloody nose I received after leaning too close to Jamie's backward-moving shoulder, we suffered nothing but the anticipated joys of rafting - thorough drenching, fatigued upper bodies, and the rush of [temporarily] conquering Mother Nature.

The celebratory paddle high-five after successfully completing a tough section.
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I hadn't considered abseiling before arriving in San Gil, so I must credit my hostelier and fellow hostel-goers for convincing me.  In its own right, abseiling can be thrilling, but when combined with a waterfall, it becomes torrentismo (doesn't that just sound cool?)!  Requiring a particular combination of cliff face, water volume, and pedestrian access, I am no longer curious as to why I have not encountered this fine activity before Colombia.  After a brief tutelage conducted completely in Spanish, I was given an helmet, harness, and handshake of confidence before being sent over the edge.  Halfway down the cascade I paused.  I wasn't fatigued or frightened, I just needed to stop.  I ignored the queue behind me and guides at my feet urging me down for all of 30 seconds, but that was enough to revel in the atmosphere.  I mean, how often is one suspended from a rope off a 60-meter cliff with water curtaining every possible point of view?

Our awesome lunch break of cheese, guava paste, mango, chicharrones, maravilla fruit, and canteloupe.
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Not far from San Gil is one of Colombia's finest colonial treasures.  Villa de Leyva has managed to survive blanket modernization while its neighbors have remodeled, rebuilt, and expanded beyond the 16th century.  From the white-washed walls to the uncomfortably cobbled streets, Leyva fiercely preserves its 400-year-old sense of self.  Like their old village, the people too have escaped modernity and remain relatively unchanged.  In a 21st century world, mobile phones and satellite dishes penetrate even the smallest of towns, but they do not necessarily possess the power to compromise strong values.  Such is the case with this Boyacán town.  The place is one of simplicity - rice and beans, sweaty brows, and calloused hands.  It is a place of camaraderie that conjoins foreigner with farmer.

Prime buganvilla.
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However unlikely, should Leyva grow tiresome, there are several points of interest on its outskirts.  El Fósil is a relatively-intact skeleton of a 120-million-year old, 10-meter long crocodile.  It is the crown jewel in a treasure chest of prehistoric archaeological finds that have been uncovered here since the 60s.  Like Stonehenge, "El Infiernito" is an ancient observatory used to record the passing seasons.  Unlike the great British monument, the indigenous Muiscas believed these very large, very noticeable stone phalluses (just look at the chiseled tip) would improve soil fertility.  Not far from 'Little Hell' is an ostrich farm that exists in the strange duality of petting zoo and meat market.  And at its feet in the lowest point of the valley are the Pozos Azules, pools of milky blue water offering ancient natural therapy.

Leading the way up the Camino de Sal to Zipaquirá's salt cathedral.
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Although I'd been twice before, Bogotá was a natural stop before traveling south.  In addition to one last weekend of big city nights, this final visit to the capital allowed me to take a day trip which had eluded me on each of the previous two times.  Fifty kilometers to the north is the town of Zipaquirá and one of the country's most unique attractions.  Like many long-term travelers, I've seen scores, if not hundreds, of cathedrals.  However, I can safely say that none were buried underground.  Born from the rich salt mines in 1995, the Catedral de Sal lies up to 100 meters beneath the town's namesake mountain.  The altars, Stations of the Cross, and images of the Apostles, Virgin Mary, and Christ himself are all carved from the abundant source of the world's most popular spice.  Whether a devout churchgoer or caving enthusiast, the only requirements to visit this subterranean sanctuary are keen eyesight and a tightly sealed water bottle.  The guides have this odd hang-up about the religious treasures being dissolved...:)

Beautiful? Or dangerous?
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To travel from Colombia to Brazil means flying or boating since no roads exist in the dense Amazon basin bordering the two countries.  Saving both money and carbon emissions, Jamie and I elected to fly to Leticia, where we'd find a boat to ride downriver.  Leticia is a border town, and, like many border towns, its existence is pragmatic and functional rather than alluring and seductive.  Its lack of charm and unrelenting humidity pushed us to leave as soon as possible.  However, our "in and out" plan was fouled up by the time required to obtain a Brazilian visa and find an available, affordable boat.  Nevertheless, this blessing in disguise granted us the opportunity to visit Puerto Nariño.  This isolated 2000-person jungle village is the epitome of clean.  Each morning finds a citizen brigade patroling the town for misplaced garbage.  They generate little waste, but what they do create is meticulously sorted at the town's recycling plant.  Being surrounded by nothing but Amazon, Puerto Nariño is a popular jumping off point for jungle tours.  A walking tour will likely reveal any combination of large rodents, medicinal fungi, or fresh pineapple, while a canoe tour may include piranha fishing or searching for the rare pink dolphin.

Sal-searching.
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Is 'isolated' or 'protected' a better word for Puerto Nariño?  The unstable jungle topsoil prevents roads from connecting this village to the rest of the country or even to nearby Leticia, but it may also be the cage that keeps the outside world from tainting it.  So, too, does Colombia have a protective cage.  Its bars and boundaries are created from media coverage of evil men in shadowed times.  Its past has veiled its present.  Veiled and kept it secure for you to now discover, but please do so responsibly and discreetly.  I should hate to see any of its brilliance tarnish due to this endorsement.