From sea level to 4000m high, again

So my trek back south begins.
Couldn´t bear the 3 day bus ride to Lima so i splurged on a plane ticket. Lima, the eternally cloudy city. A little weird to be back in Peru but i was just days away from my long awaited visit to Bolivia, and i was happy to see Luciana´s parents again. Next day took a bus to Puno, again, on lake Titicaca which is a few hours away from the Bolivian boarder and from a little place called Copacabana. On the ride there i was awestruck by the change in landscape that i had grown accustomed to in colombia. OK obviously a complete change with Colombia, but still a shock to the system especially since i had been through these parts before. (This time i even got altitude sickness from the sudden change.) Bold tall windswept hills and mountains, glistening water holes, llamas once again, peasant women in the fields heavy with winter clothes and wearing big bright skirts, hot pink being a favourite, standing out in the fields miles away ...compared to the tightly and scantily clad colombianas. Reaching Puno on the shores of the lake was a delight. Caught up with my mate Max and finished some last minute peruvian souvenir shopping.

A short bus ride away lay Copacabana. I had to make sure i got on an early enough bus cos the immigration officers go home after 6, which means you can just pass through without anyone taking note, but i thought i´d play it safe and get my entry stamp. Quaint little place and only a short boat ride away from La Isla del Sol (island of the sun) which is a tiny island in lake Titicaca with few small modest villages on it, no water source and a temple in ode to the sun. It mythologically claims that this is where the first Inca was born and it´s not hard to understand why this was the chosen location.

I took a walk up one of the hills, me and my newly found Brazilian friend, astronomer come student of life and resident of the global village as well as Capuera dancer and musician, and i don´t know what else, financing with the sale of precious stones his determination to enjoy life, travel through Latin America, and his study of the unwritten history of these parts, a hidden history which claims heights of sophisticated civilizations and challenges written accounts to date from the powers that be. Anyway, there we had a spectacular 360 degree view, seeing the far ends of the lake shores, the mountain peaks of the Andes and the calm vast water expanse. I stayed there for hours and felt the edge of my physical body blur into the rest of the atmosphere and those ethereal beings i felt around me. Yes i was high in every way, there was no end of me and no beginning of the rest of the world. When i lay flat on the ground, all my sight, including my peripheral vision, beheld The Clouds, although i was in a pocket of sunshine as well as numerous other places were.

Clouds? you say. But you don´t understand! Clouds high in the sky and others low, clouds tall as mountains that you could see far in the horizon, clouds that floated thinly like fog past snow peaked monstrous mountains, clouds of all shapes, densities and flavours, clouds that swept all over my head but i still had sunshine kissing me and there was no rain... not till the next morning just before sunrise. The village i stayed in was on a hillside, so was the house i stayed in, and my bed was set across from the window were i sat up and watched the dark yellow sun squeeze through between the grey clouds that morning while the rain rattled on the tin roof.

What splendor!! Welcome to Bolivia!

More of the tropics but geez i´m itchy

After a week in Santa Marta, we returned to Cartagena where Eduardo and his other mate had access to a high rise apartment overlooking a beach that i hadn´t managed to get to last time i was there. Then we head off north down the coast to Golfo de Moroquilla and land in a village called Sispatà. The only gringa in town and you´d even have trouble finding it on the map, however the beaches are a summer holiday destination for the Paisas (people from Medellin). There we stayed with Eduardo´s brother who lives there now, and, just like the rest of them, a lifelong traveller, Ruben has been everywhere. Conditions were modest to say the least but welcoming and hospitable. Six in a room where we had to keep the door closed because of the bloodsucking nasties - but to no avail. I´ve never been so badly bitten nor itchy in my life. What remained was to spend more time in the sea being washed up again on the golden beach, mmmm.

Ruben had an old jeep sleeping in the driveway, but within a day the fellas had it coughing up and ready to get on the road, unregistered and all that, which later on got us in a bid of a bind with the police who we had to sweet talk. But with this beauty we, all 7 of us, manage to take some interesting rides and got to travel to some of the rivers and take a boat through the mangroves... geeez it was magical. Drinking whisky or rum on the beach, eating home cooked meals, yummy yuca, platano and hot chocolate drink.

But alas, it was time to start the trek home, Bogotá, seeing that i had spent 3 more weeks there than i had anticipated. Went through Montería, stayed a night in Planeta Rica, where the stars are supposed to be spectacular however it rained when got there, and then to Medellin again where i got to stay in a hotshot hotel - although snazzy hotel have never been my style. Back in Bogotá and with Rosana´s parent welcoming me again. By the time i got there and after the fucking freezing air conditioning of the bus (where the conductor refused to attend to the numerous complaint of passengers - can you imagine coming from the heat that was to rugging up in blankets and woolly hats) i got a horrible cold which forced me to stay and nurse myself a few days longer.

And then i realised that i had spent a good 7 weeks in Colombia, and was depressed to be leaving. How the world has got the wrong impression about Colombia shouldn´t really surprise me. Everything about this country has me bewitched. The abundance of fruit (such a nut with food i am), the incredible hospitality of people of every social group, their courtesy, good will and charm i haven´t really seen on such a scale before, and the beauty and diversity in the landscape, flora and fauna... It is true that the poorer you are and the less you have, the happier you are - and that has nothing to do with being ignorant, it´s a world view, a perspective of living and dieing.

I wonna staaaaaay!!!

Can the back of your palms sweat?

That´s how hot it is in Santa Marta, south up the coast from Cartagena, pass Barranquilla, the birthplace of Shakira. I get myself a tiny stinking hot room and check out the beach, so so. The town is smallish and nice but i had a better time on the beaches which were a hop skip and jump away, where i´d go for the day. There i also immersed myself in Vallenato which was blaring from the shopfront in front of my hostel and where i danced on the pavement with my newly acquired Colombian friends. Vallenato is a kind of traditional Colombian music which is beautiful to listen and dance to, more popular in some parts of the country than others. Lots of other music was available to listen to which had more black coastal beats. Vallenato, like most music i hear here, has always a love story to tell, and being serenaded was a hoot.

Something happens when you reach the sea and the tropical air, you take off most of your clothes and then your watch because you no longer need to know what time it is, except for sundown, sleeping and feeding time, and time to dance and sing.

Here i also met my travelling companions that i would have for the following weeks. Eduardo and Eduardo It seems since we met we´ve been inseperable. Meet Eduardo and Eduardo accompanied by their respective 3 year olds. Colombians living in France and right now holidaying the nasty dangerous colombia. We´re an incredible gang - so funny when they´d get mistaken for foreigners, or when i´d get mistaken as the mother of their children... Together we visited these nearby beaches where we´d have to get a little boat, the only means, and plant our buts for the day in the sun, indulging. I´d dip into the serene crystal waters, lay in the sun, dip in again and again, let myself be washed up by the waves and then indulge in fresh fish, fried banana and rice. I was being so spoilt i had a permanent grin that left tan lines. I saw the 2 kids find 5 hours of fun picking up and throwing sand. I also saw the same two beat each other up, and even when one was told off, she looked up and then lay another kick in. We went to another beach too called Rodadero, tiny and spiffy with high rise hotels. Beach was crowded more with vendors than anything. It was a bit too much in the end, not a minute of peace, but what do you say to someone who´s trying to scrape a living. Every 5 minutes they´d pass, selling ice cream, necklaces, coconut juice, hard unripened mango with salt, sunglasses, beach toys, chewing gum and lollies, massages, braids, more jewelery, ceviche of fish or prawns, beer, coke, and a whole lot more, only to pass by again and again for the rest of the day... But i was grateful for the 5 piece band who came by and sang for us, and little ol me especially, some vallenato tunes as the sun set. Divino!

We returned to Cartagena where Eduardo and his other mate had access to a high rise apartment overlooking a beach that i hadn´t managed to get to last time i was there. Then we head off north down the coast to Golfo de Moroquilla and land in a village called Sispatà. The only gringa in town and you´d have trouble finding it on the map, however the beaches are a summer holiday destination for Paisas (people from Medillin). There we stayed with Eduardo´s brother who lives there now, and, just like the rest of them, a lifelong traveller Ruben has been everywhere. Conditions were modest to say the least but welcoming and hospitable. Six in a room where we had to keep the door closed because of the bloodsucking nasties - but to no avail. I´ve never been so badly bitten nor itchy in my life. What remained was to spend more time in the sea being washed up again on the golden beach, mmmm. Ruben had an old jeep sleeping in the driveway, but with in a day the fellas had it coughing up and ready to get on the road, unregistered and all that, which later on got us in a bid of a bind with the police who we had to sweet talk. But with this beauty, all 7 of us, we manage to take some interesting rides and got to travel to some of the rivers and take a boat through the mangroves... geeez it was magical. Drinking whisky or rum on the beach, eating homecooked meals, yummy yuka, platano and hot chocolate drink.

Playa Blanca

Barely an hour´s bloody bumpy boat ride away lay a lonely beach with tropical blue waters. There i went to stay a day and stayed for 4. One of the few modest lodgings i found to stay had no running water nor electricity, but lots of fish to eat. In fact i ate fish everyday, and slept in my hammock in the cool breeze. My hammock hung in a small open space between the long dinning table and the small kitchen on the other side. I slept incredibly well and the buzzing sound of people in the morning was a lullaby to my ears. Similar to the Greek island i spend time at, i slept, went swimming and ate - and that was a full day.

Sprawled along the beach are only a few places to eat and places to stay. More inland is where the locals actually live. But for the ones who live there and do business there, there are always neighbours visiting and chewing the fat. The talk of the town at this particular moment was the eviction notices on everyone´s door because apparently some hotshot wants to come and build a huge hotel and exploit the serenity which clearly will be obliterated once this happens. The little coral that is there is already dead. But for now, there was no discos, no hideous crowds and not much to do. Perfect to start the tan that hasn´t really been happening since Atlantic City.

Wish you were here.

Back in Cartagena the film festival is on. I saw a short documentary film of carnaval filmed in the sixties, somehow associated with Gabriel Garcia Marquez (or perhaps filmed and narrated by him). The commentary was witty and poignant, if only i could catch everything.

La vida es mas savrosa en carnaval.
El amor es mas savroso en carnaval.

Benvenida al Caribe!!!

After the onslaught in Peru, the thought of going to Cartagena, probably the most visited destination in Colombia, scared me a little - the hustlers, the postcards, the pizza, don´t ask. But no. It helped that it was low season but folks were pretty laid back anyway. Cartagena is an old Spanish fort with a pretty old colonial town (a small section really) with a walls and all that. I stayed just outside the flashy part of the city in the part a little more run down and colorful, a lot more cheap and a lot more people for rent.

I arrived there after an overnight bus, midday, hot and exhausted and fell asleep, only wake up hours later and find no one in the hostel to talk to. Restless i hovered over to another place of lodgings i would´ve stayed and pretended to be looking for a room while i was spying out people. What was i to do? travelling alone and all one needs to fish for company sometimes. So when i saw a fella, Amir, checking out the local map i invited him and his mate, Chuck, out to see the old town, and off we went. Later that night i did find the usual beer guzzling crowd at my hostel and i got started again.

But it was Monday night and everything seemed to be closed, so what do a bunch of drunks and a tipsy lass do? Go to a brothel of course. Not very exciting really, my new found mates were too busy making sure i was ok to notice the working girls and we soon left. Left again in our hood and wondering the streets till we spotted a light and music on a corner and we unanimously decided to stay. Folks were simple, beer was cheap, women were scarce but dancing was on the cards even spilling over into the footpath, where sat an old big woman on a crate, observing and unobtrusively begging. Yes we were obviously foreigner but not the first ones to ever go there. As me and my gringo mates (british in fact but it´s all the same) were dancing salsa really badly, i started to get offers from the young men there for a dance, and there began my 3 hour dance-marathon where sweat glistened and poured down me. The old woman gave love advice to the gringos, warned us who to stay away from and who was likely to stab us and so we watered her with an nonalcoholic malt drink all night and we were in awe that she never needed to get up and pee once(...). The men were not sleazy, the women were not intimidated, and they even tried to teach me the swirly grinding pelvic moves that make salsa so sensual and stunning to look at. In fact, I bonded incredibly well with my new Caribbean friends who were content, with big broad genuine smiles, to enjoy their Colombian life to the max. Well, how was i to know there was a brothel next door and of all the nice putas i made friends with. What can i say, it was one of my best nights out.