Colombia From Sea To Sky
Thus Far...
What defines a worthwhile journey?
A worthy goal? Blissful moments? Hardship? All of these? Whatever the secret ingredient is, some journeys seem more worthwhile than others. As I boarded my next bus from Medellin, I was itching to have one last worthwhile journey to end my travels in South America. In mainstream media, one hears about urban Colombia all the time, whether it be from the news or the movies, but the country is large, and I suspected there was much more to Colombia aside form its largest cities. Only one way to find out!
A worthy goal? Blissful moments? Hardship? All of these? Whatever the secret ingredient is, some journeys seem more worthwhile than others. As I boarded my next bus from Medellin, I was itching to have one last worthwhile journey to end my travels in South America. In mainstream media, one hears about urban Colombia all the time, whether it be from the news or the movies, but the country is large, and I suspected there was much more to Colombia aside form its largest cities. Only one way to find out!
Cartagena Pirates, Rosario Islands Beaches
My first trip was north to the Caribbean coast, to experience the seas and beaches of Cartagena.
After a lengthy and forgettable bus ride, I arrived in the heat and humidity of Cartagena. The climate was considerably different from anywhere else I had been in Colombia - the humidity was drenching, and I never seemed to stop sweating. I checked in to a hostel and had a couple of days to see one of the most famous pirate cities in the world. Cartagena was founded in 1533 as a result of the proximity of the Bay of Cartagena, which forms a natural harbour. As the city grew during the colonial period, it formed one of the main terminals used by Spain to bring plunder back to Europe and, consequently, became a target of multiple wars and attacks by buccaneers, a term reserved specifically for pirates attacking Spanish shipping in the Caribbean Sea during the 17th century. The word ¨buccaneer¨ is now almost synonymous with the word pirate, but originally, buccaneer crews were larger, more likely to attack coastal cities, and more localized to the Caribbean Sea than other pirates. Metropolitan Cartagena, with a population of well over one million people, is not small. It is divided into two cities - new and old - and I stayed in the old city, which is compact. The new city, or Bocogrande, contains most of the hotels, shops, restaurants, and nightclubs. It has many modern-looking buildings, but little else that is unique. In contrast, the old city, or Downtown, is known for its variable and colourful colonial architecture styles. The old city is surrounded by a thick and distinctive wall that was historically used to fend off attacks by other nations and, of course, pirates, and it is adorned with large cannons in some sections. My first day, I ambled along the streets of the old city, retreating indoors to a cafe or museum frequently in a vain effort to escape the dogged heat. The streets of Cartagena´s old town are a visual spectacle in themselves, with many vibrant colours displayed on the buildings. Although museums are not my thing, I did attend the Cartagena Naval Museum to get out of the sun. It was not bad and provided a nice summary of the city´s history. The next day, I took a boat ride to the Rosario Islands, located an hour or two off the Cartagena coast. The boat was full of tourists, but at least I got to sit up front with my legs angling off the bow most of the time. We toured a few little islands - nothing special - and ended up on a nice beach called Playa Blanca, or White Beach, for two hours. The water was perfect, but the beach was too crowded, with tourists and beach vendors everywhere. The main downside to Cartagena, in my opinion, was that it was touristy. As such, it had that ¨feel¨ of aimless foreigners looking lost, excessive numbers of party-goers, and aggressive locals pawning off their wares. I saw a few schemes being tried on various foreigners. In one personal encounter, a fellow approached me and produced a massive wad of bills from his pocket. The wad was at least four centimeters thick, with large denomination bills. He put it in my hand, and when I expressed mild surprise, he kept saying ¨I trust you¨. Nice to gain trust so easily from a guy in the street. He then asked me (1) if I had any US bills to convert, (2) how many, and (3) to show him. I told him that I had no US bills, yet he insisted that I show him the money I did have. I was not about to show my money to a guy on the street, so eventually he re-accepted the wad of paper money and I continued on my way. Who knows what he really wanted. My impression of Cartagena is that if you don´t mind a few tourists and want to experience the old town with its rich and colourful history, it is not bad, but if you want something more adventurous, forget it. After two days, I headed east to the Caribbean coastal city of Santa Marta. |
Cartagena consists of new and old cities. The new city contains most of the hotels, shops, restaurants, and nightclubs.
These mighty cannons watch over the walls of the old city of Cartagena.
Me posing with the cannons, for a sense of scale.
The old city boasts numerous small lanes full of colourful colonial architecture.
One of many street vendors on the streets of the old city.
Cartagena is the city most often associated with the pirates of the Caribbean, whose stories resonate throughout its history.
The warm waters of White Beach draw many tourists, although I did manage to get this shot with only one other person in it.
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Santa Marta Sunsets, Minca Coffee
My next excursion was to laid-back Santa Marta. I also wanted to find a good coffee farm in the hills outside of the city so as to learn about the production process for this vital substance.
Santa Marta was refreshing, with a less humid climate compared to Cartagena. It has a population of just under half a million people. While there were a few foreigners in town, the numbers were not excessive. Upon arriving, I checked into one of the most brilliant hostels of my entire trip, the Drop Bear Hostel, owned - unsurprisingly to anyone from the Land Down Under - by an Australian. This hostel was that it was located in a renovated ex-cartel house. It is enormous, with a beautiful pool, wide halls, high ceilings, massive rooms, and a myriad of hidden passageways. My first day, I did my usual walking city tour and ended up having dinner on the waterfront at sunset. I just relaxed in the hostel afterwards, having a refreshing swim in the pool at night. The next day was a bit more action-packed. On my way out in the morning I serendipitously bumped into an English fellow named Danny who was just about to head out the door to Minca, a little settlement half an hour up in the hills around Santa Marta. It sounded fun. We took a bus up to Minca, were joined by Dirk and Sarah from Germany, and went on a tour of an organic coffee farm. I had wanted to do this since arriving in Colombia. Our tour guide, Sandra, helped me to understand the coffee process more clearly. The coffee farm we attended, La Victoria, is unique in several ways. First, it is owned by an amusing German fellow named Micky, whose family started the business in the late 19th century. Micky told us stories about the history of the farm, including when it was occupied by paramilitary troops and he had to negotiate with them to keep the farm running. Second, most of La Victoria´s equipment was over one hundred years old. Talk about robust. Micky was proud of his machines, which he claimed were better than the newer ones that he could have bought. Producing coffee involves converting the raw fruit into the finished product, coffee. The two most common species of coffee plant are Coffea arabica, native to Ethiopia, and hardier Coffea canephora, originally from sub-Saharan Africa. Colombia produces the former, which is more highly regarded of the two. Interestingly, despite its reputation for coffee production, Colombia is only the fourth-highest coffee producer in the world, with Brazil in first place, Vietnam in second place, and Indonesia in third place. After the trees are planted, the first useful harvest occurs five years later when the beans have turned from green to red. In the wet process used by La Victoria, the beans are then immersed in water, with the better fruit sinking and the bad fruit floating. Any remaining pulp is then removed from the bean using a machine. Following this, the beans are dried in the sun to remove the final two layers of the bean, the skin and the parchment, which become dry and crumbly and easy to remove. Roasting occurs at the end. Most of the higher quality coffee beans in Colombia are shipped abroad. The poor quality beans stay and are used in Colombia; hence, it is difficult to find a good cup of coffee in Colombian. There are good cafes in the towns and cities, but they are few and far between. After a thoroughly enjoyable time at La Victoria, our group went to Pozo Azul (Blue Well), an isolated pool with a decent waterfall. I had a nice swim. If you want to see the Caribbean coast of Colombia minus the tourism, Santa Marta is a good place. Being able to escape into the hills and visit a place like Minca is an added bonus, where it is possible to experience a completely different environment, not to mention some great coffee. Satisfied, I headed south to San Gil. |
Santa Marta is less touristy and more relaxed than Cartagena.
I had a nice walk during sunset along the beaches of Santa Marta.
A typical coffee plant at La Victoria coffee farm, just outside of Minca. You can see the coffee beans towards the bottom of the photo. The red ones are ready to be harvested.
This 120 year old machine is used to strip the pulp from the coffee beans.
Here is where the coffee beans are dried, for about a week.
The final product, and it is all mine. Yeah, I wish.
A great meal to finish the day, from left to right, me, Sarah and Dirk from Germany, Sandra from Colombia, Danny from the UK, and Juan from Colombia.
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San Gil Markets, Curiti Caves
I was now ready to journey south for a stop-over in San Gil, the adventure sports capital of Colombia. A subterranean experience awaited me there.
With a population of 43,000, San Gil is small. It punches above its weight, however, for the variety of adventure sports on offer. Rafting, caving, paragliding, and trekking are all available. During my travels, I had experienced all of these activities save one: caving. I arrived in San Gil late at night and checked into a hostel. The next morning, I woke up early to arrange a caving excursion. The girl at the hostel told me to go to a bus station at 9 am and catch a bus to take me...somewhere. Good enough for me. I had a couple of hours to kill, so I went down to the San Gil markets and had a delicious meal of tamale, a corn-base dough mixed with meat and steamed in a leaf wrapper, followed by one of my favourites, jugo de guanabana, or soursop juice. Soursop is an evergreen tree native to Central and Latin America. The taste of its fruit has been likened to a combination of strawberry, pineapple, coconut, and banana. Whatever the blend, it is my favourite juice flavour, ever. After the market, I went to the bus station and asked where to get a bus to the caves. I was directed to a certain bus and, after twenty minutes, the bus driver dropped me off at a little adventure outlet where I met my caving guide, Luis. Having a guide for this particular cave was compulsory. I explored Curiti, the small town beside the adventure outlet, while we waited to see if more people would show up. Upon returning to the outlet from Curiti, nobody else had arrived, so Luis and I grabbed some gear and walked a few minutes over to Cow Cave, a large cave name after a bunch of cows that had kept mysteriously disappearing in the area - apparently, exploring Cow Cave is defined as ¨extreme caving¨. The sunlight was obliterated as Luis and I entered Cow Cave. The passage gradually narrowed such that after twenty meters or so, we had to squeeze sideways through several spots. Some bats were perched along the ceiling, which then began to lower until we were crouching knee-deep in water. I was careful not to hit my back against the low ceiling, and as it continued to lower, we were forced to crawl on our stomachs in the water, with only our heads above water level, until we finally entered the first chamber. We entered six chambers during our ensuing exploration of Cow Cave, each containing different morphological structures compared to the others. One chamber would show off a chandelier-like display of small stalactites, the next would display larger stalagmite-stalactite columnar structures, and so on. The only constants were the water and the darkness. In one instance, between two of the chambers, Luis looked back at me and said, ¨Hold your breath here, and swim under the water - use the rope¨. He then disappeared under the water. I went to where I had last seen him, felt under the water, and indeed found a piece of rope there. Submerging myself and following the rope for ten seconds underwater, I popped my head up and found myself in a new passageway, with only just enough room to put my nose above the waterline and take a few breaths. Finally, after a kilometer of wading through water on our stomachs and swimming in underwater passageways, we arrived at a small tranquil waterfall in the final chamber. Although we were one kilometer into the cave, Luis told me that it was over twelve kilometers in length, with an exit yet to be found. We took a few photos and retraced our steps back to the entrance. As we emerged into daylight, I was surprised to discover that we had been underground for two hours - it felt like ten minutes. I must have been in some kind of mental flow state down there, using my brain to its utmost to ensure that I made no serious mistakes in what was certainly a unique environment. Heavily satisfied, I returned to San Gil and caught a series of buses east to my next destination - Sierra Nevada del Cocuy. |
San Gil, the adventure sports capital of Colombia.
San Gil has large markets for such a small town.
Upon entering Cow Cave, we were greeted by a progressively lowering ceiling, as well as some bats hanging from above (seen in the middle of the photo).
This beautiful chamber was full of stalactites.
The morphology of the strange cave formations changed from chamber to chamber.
Even more fascinating cave formations appeared the further we advanced.
The end of the line, one kilometer deep into Cow Cave. This small waterfall marks a tranquil endpoint. However, the cave continues for at least twelve kilometers more, and an exit has yet to be found...
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The Magnificent Sierra Nevada Del Cocuy
I had long desired to embark upon a multi-day trek in Colombia, and after researching the options available, decided upon the fusion of sky and mountains that is Sierra Nevada del Cocuy.
Sierra Nevada del Cocuy is in the east of Colombia, at the northern tip of the Andes Mountains near then border Venezuela. Until ten years ago the area was infested with soldiers of the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia (FARC), a Colombian Marxist-Leninist guerrilla organization for agrarianism and anti-imperialism, funding itself with kidnapping and ransom, illegal drug distribution, and gold mining. The Colombian government considered, and still considers, the FARC to be a terrorist organization, and over the years reclaimed much territory; the FARC are now relegated to a bit of jungle in the south-east of Colombia. With the FARC exiled, the Sierra Nevada del Cocuy is ranked as the best trek in Colombia by the few websites that address the subject, yet information is sketchy as none of the people making these websites actually hiked the magnum opus of the Sierra Nevada del Cocuy, a six-day circuit taking in a number of magnificent peaks. They had just done the day hikes, and all of them warned against the hazards of doing the six-day trek without ¨extensive experience¨ and a local guide. I am not sure how these people felt qualified to warn others about the dangers associated with the circuit when none of them had trekked it, but I have found in life that, generally, those who warn against travelling to places perceived as dangerous or risky have never been there. I do not use guides on treks. My philosophy with multi-day treks is that they are like a journey through life, full of ups and downs, distant goals achieved, and many unexpected problems. The uncertainties are essential; they require contingency planning and problem-solving, things that instill a sense of accomplishment once they are surmounted. For me, having a guide removes most of the uncertainties, and thus much of the accomplishment. As for companions, I knew a couple of other international students living in Medellin who were keen to join me. Miah, a young aspiring entrepreneur from the US eager to push his limits, and Ben, a young physiotherapist from Australia willing to try anything. Neither Miah nor Ben had been on a trek of this duration, but they had enthusiasm and I was glad for the company. Despite the fact that I would be going into unknown mountains for a week with two guys I barely knew, I felt confident. The day before the trek, my bus arrived in the tiny town of Guican in the morning and I gathered our supplies and gear. Miah and Ben would be arriving in the evening. The day was long, and there were problems: (1) The circuit was officially closed. Talk about a bad start! When I asked more questions, I was told that the indigenous people of the area, the Uwa, had written a letter to the Colombian government stating that they wanted most of the park closed as they claimed the land as theirs. The government had acquiesced and closed the circuit to the public, leaving only a few day hikes open. It was still not illegal to hike the circuit, but it was against the wishes of the Uwa, or some of them at least. (2) Since the park was closed, there was nowhere in Guican to rent camping gear. I scoured the town but was consistently told that nobody in Guican was renting out gear. Since I had no tent, no sleeping bags, no foamies, and no stove, this was a problem. (3) When Miah and Ben arrived in the evening, Miah mentioned to me that he had celiac disease, an autoimmune condition of the small intestine resulting in a symptomatic reaction to gluten, a protein found in wheat. I had already bought all of the food, but if Miah ate any of the pasta, bread, or porridge I had bought, he would experience intense gastrointestinal problems. I addressed each of these problems in turn. The first, that of whether to trek in the presence of land claims, was to me the most difficult to address. I was not afraid to break the park rules, but the ethical issue bothered me, not to mention that if we met indigenous people on the trail there might be some problems. Despite the complicated ethical argument, I ultimately decided that claiming a set of mountains not essential to a way of life was not really ethical in itself, and if we ran into anyone really upset that we were trekking in the mountains, we would just politely apologize and go back. The second problem, that of a lack of camping gear rental outlets, took some time to solve. I asked around Guican for a couple of hours before finally being referred to a cheerful guide named Rodrigo who had some camping gear to spare. I think I visited nearly every shop in Guican trying to find this guy. The final problem, Miah´s medical condition, was solved by the three of us going out at night and acquiring some last-minute lentils, rice, carrots, and chocolate (at the time, none of us appreciated how difficult it was to cook lentils - I never eat them - and so Miah had to endure a couple of uninspiring lentil dinners the first two nights). By the end of the evening, all of these problems had been addressed, and we were prepared to undertake our journey. Our trek though the Sierra Nevada del Cocuy circuit lasted seven days over about 150 kilometers. We walked a lot more distance than most people who do the trek, as we started and ended in Guican, adding an additional 50 kilometers to the total. The majority of trekkers hitch a ride on a vehicle from Guican to the park entrance and back, but I wanted to walk and see as much as I could, and I liked the idea of going ¨full circle¨. The weather patterns each day turned out to be predictable, with sunny mornings and rainy afternoons being the norm. We averaged seven full hours of hiking per day, and walked just over twenty kilometers per day, rising with the sun at 5:30 am and retiring at 5:30 pm as darkness approached. The first day started in the town of Guican. We left the town along a dirt road and climbed into the hills above the city, ascended about one thousand meters over the course of the day. We ambled along the hills peppered with farms full of sheep, cows, chickens, and every other manner of domesticated livestock. I was encouraged by our first encounter with another person, a fellow at the park entrance who motioned us towards the circuit trail when we asked how to get there; apparently he had no issues with us doing the circuit. By late afternoon, it was starting to rain and we looked for a place to set up camp. As we were hunting around for an acceptable site, a couple of dozen camouflaged fellows heavily armed with automatic weapons emerged from the hills around us. They were really well hidden. I suspected they were members of the Colombian military, but one never knows. In any case, I was interested to find out the reason that a large group of armed soldiers were guarding a road that connected to a simple park trail. We approached an older man that appeared to be in charge and he explained that they were indeed military, stationed there to protect the road against bandits in the hills. Bandits?? Great. I asked him, ¨Where are the bandits?¨ He laughed and replied, ¨They could be anywhere in these hills.¨ I mentally chalked up one more thing to our list of potential problems. Still, it was not a sufficient reason to turn around. We set up our tent nearby and in the rain, and had a peaceful night, watched over by a sky teeming with countless stars. We left our military companions on the morning of the second day and made our way further into the surrounding hills. The sun was bright and distant peaks mocked us in the distance. The road finally turned into trail, which then started to disappear altogether for large portions of the trek. We ascended and crossed our first pass, Cardenillo Pass (altitude 4,360 meters, or 14,300 feet) in the afternoon, and were greeted by Laguna Grande (Grand Lake), a picturesque little blue lake in the bottom of a valley. As we were making lunch under an overhang to escape the ritual afternoon rain, an indigenous fellow on a horse heading in the opposite direction trotted up to us to say hello. I was worried that he might ask us to turn around, but all he did was give us a friendly greeting. I offered him some bread, which he accepted, and, after wishing us a good day, rode off. I took this amiable encounter as a good sign. We marched on to Grand Lake and made camp on its shores in the rain, ecstatic to escape the wetness and cold. I was also glad at the end of the day that nobody had developed significant symptoms of acute mountain sickness, a condition that I had experienced personally in Bolivia, and which would have delayed us by a couple of days. The third day was glorious. We rose on a clear morning and ascended towards Frailes Pass (altitude 4,200 meters, or 13,776 feet). As we mounted the pass, we were confronted by several magnificent mountain views. We could not admire them for long, however, as a large valley stretched out before us and we needed to ascend the mighty Sierra Pass (altitude 4,455 meters, or 14,612 feet) at the other end before dusk. We were struck by heavy rain and fog in Sierra Pass, an inconvenience to say the least as there was no trail over the boulder fields of the pass. We were thus forced to have a late, wet, and cold lunch under some rocks until the fog lifted a bit so that we could continue to navigate our way through the boulder field. As we resumed our crossing of Sierra Pass, we ran into an indigenous fellow named Pastor who rode up to us on his horse as the fellow the previous day had done. Pastor was a bit different, however. He told us that he worked for the park, and that it was closed - what were we doing there? I told him that we knew about the closure, but since it was not illegal and we had not bumped into anybody too bothered about us being there, we had decided to continue. I asked Pastor what he would like us to do. I did not want to turn back, but I had no desire to upset anyone. Pastor thought about the situation for a while, smiled, and motioned for us to continue. I was thankful for this gesture, as returning at this point would have been extremely disappointing. Continuing our course, we finally breached Sierra Pass and descended into a valley containing the lovely Laguna El Avellanal (Lake El Avellanal). We found a small cave where we laid out our sleeping bags on the rocks and slept in the open air, minus the tent. It was a brisk but relaxing night. I woke up to a view of a sun-capped mountain peak in the distance on the fourth day. We walked through a forest of cold-adapted Frailejon (Espeletia) plants in the morning and took a break beside a high waterfall. The going got a little tricky after this as we had to find a way across the Valle de los Cojines (Valley of the Cushions), a huge marsh several kilometers in length. There was no way to avoid getting wet feet during the crossing. Fortunately, we were accompanied by a chain of multi-layered contoured mountains rising from either side of the marsh, which distracted me from my drenched shoes. At the end of the marsh, another ascent awaited us in the form of El Castillo Pass (altitude 4,530 meters, or 14,858 feet). To cross this lengthy pass full of gigantic boulders, technical footwork was required. We eventually made it of course, and descended towards the pristine waters of Laguna Del Panuelo (Lake Del Panuelo) before darkness set in. As we set our tent up in a small clearing of flat rock, it started to snow heavily. Snow in Colombia? It had to happen obviously, as the white-capped peaks around us attested to, but I was still taken aback. It appeared that this trek was going to offer us every type of weather imaginable! After getting over our surprise, we fell asleep in the fog and snow, and I dreamed of clear days full of endless sunshine. My dreams had foreshadowed the morning, as golden sunlight filtered into our tent and reflected off of the mountains beside Lake Del Panuelo on the fifth day. Feeling inspired, we packed up our gear, eager to confront the next challenge. We needed the enthusiasm, for the next ascent was to be over the daunting Balcones Pass, a steep wall of rock with the most technical sections on the circuit up to this point. We had to be careful as we traversed along the side of this pass, as there was only a little bit of room between the wall of the pass and a long, long drop. One slip would result in a fall that could not be survived. When we finally crossed El Balcones Pass, another large valley opened up before our eyes, with layered blue-gray mountains appearing before us and distant peaks and clouds hovering in the distance. The view was both serene and powerful. We ambled along the valley, reaching the end and another small ascent which finally took us to the shores of Laguna de la Plaza (Plaza Lake), the largest and arguably most beautiful lake of the Sierra Nevada del Cocuy. We slipped and scraped our way along the wet rocks surrounding the lake until ultimately finding the best camping site of our trip, perched on the top of a cliff overlooking a blanket of clouds and softly contoured mountains. There were spectacular views in every direction: opposite the clifftop, a view of Plaza Lake with the conical peaks towering over the lake reflecting off of the water; to another side, a collection of sombre blue-gray mountain blocks; and towards the final direction, a snow-capped mountain standing watch over our tiny tent. Cascading waterfalls draining Plaza Lake reverberated in the distance. Ben was absorbed by these waterfalls. Miah attempted some rock-climbing, with mixed results. We fell asleep accompanied by the sounds of wind and water, and the distant dreams of a journey slowly approaching its inevitable end. On day six, we rose with the sun and set out. By this point in time, Miah´s knees were both becoming quite painful after several days of trekking with a heavy pack. I suspected he had bilateral bursitis, but aside from ibuprofen, which he - perhaps wisely - refused, there was little we could do until the hike was over. Moreover, Ben was developing nasty blisters on his feet which were interfering with his walking. I was impressed by the way both of them marched through the pain. That day, we crossed over a couple of valleys and two passes, including the spacious Patio Bolas Pass (altitude 4.410 meters, or 14,464 feet). Enchanting mountain scenery accompanied us all the way to the official end of the Sierra Nevada del Cocuy circuit trail. Upon finding the road, we once again wandered through fields and hills for the rest of the afternoon. At the end of the day we found a few vacant hospedajes (rustic hotels, essentially), but they were all devoid of people, even staff; apparently, the closure of the circuit trail had nearly completely wiped out visits by other would-be trekkers. We had to stay somewhere, so we set our tent up in a vacant hospedaje and stayed the night, leaving some money for the owners to claim upon their return. The final day was peaceful and bright. As we broke camp, I took one last look (and photo) of Sierra Nevada del Cocuy; a silent peak shone in the distance, bidding us farewell. We trudged the final 25 kilometers back to Guican on easy dirt road. Arriving back in town, we had gone full circle, using nothing but our willpower and tired feet. We immediately convened at a local restaurant and ordered two meals each. Although physically demanding, the real challenge of Sierra Nevada del Cocuy lies in the fact that it is more of a mental challenge than other treks. A number of things required considerable forethought and focus: the park closure, resulting in almost no other people on the trail, a problem if someone had been seriously injured; the variable weather, which included freezing rain, hail, and snow, making things unpredictable and uncomfortable at times; the numerous technical mountain passes, with disastrous consequences in the event of a mistake; the lack of a clear trail in several large sections, requiring us to enhance our navigational skills so as to not get lost; and the unknown elements, including the presence of military troops and the possibility of an encounter with bandits, an encounter which thankfully never occurred. Like I said earlier, for me this trek was an analogy to life. There were quite a few problems and challenges along the way. Many of these would have been sufficient to turn others away from the trek entirely, such as the park closure or the possibility of bandits. Were we wrong to take the riskier choices? I do not think so. When I mentally calculated the risk assessments associated with these, I felt that the chances of a negative outcome were low, and had mentally planned ahead about what to do to make the best of a bad situation, should it occur. If we had stayed with the safe choices, taking no risks, we would not have been able to complete the circuit, and would have missed out on all of the special beauty that is Sierra Nevada del Cocuy. There were many uncertainties before we set out, but, like life, these often end up being the highlights of the accomplished deed. As the great unifier of Japan, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, stated in Eiji Yoshikawa´s book, Taiko: ¨Life is worth living only when we have difficulties in front of us. Otherwise there´s no incentive.¨ I cannot recommend the Sierra Nevade del Cocuy circuit highly enough. It is pristine and glorious. If you go to Colombia and desire a bit of adventure, do it. Most people in the country are not even aware that Colombia boasts such amazing scenery. |
Starting out in Guican, from left to right, me, Miah, and Ben (day one of the trek).
Ritacuba, a small farm on the way to the Sierra Nevada del Cocuy (day one).
The cold-adapted Frailejon (or Espeletia) plant grows in many of the valleys of the Sierra Nevada del Cocuy (day one).
Breaking camp shortly after dawn (day two).
Rugged views abound as we ascend towards Cardenillo Pass (day two).
Ben poses as we climb up to Frailes Pass, with Grand Lake in the background (day three).
We finally made it up to Frailes Pass, and were not disappointed (day three).
Me atop Frailes Pass, majestic mountains in the background (day three).
Part of the visual allure of Sierra Nevada del Cocuy lies in the fact that the morphology constantly changes. Every day is different (day three).
Snowy peaks confront us en route to Sierra Pass (day three).
We met the friendly Pastor, a local indigenous guide, in Sierra Pass. We only met one other person during our circuit in the mountains (day three).
An enormous glacier-ridden peak stares us down as we traverse Sierra Pass (day three).
We stayed in this cave near Lake El Avellanal on the third night (day three).
We woke up to this snow-capped mountain the next morning (day four).
Ben and Miah attempt to cross a whole field of Frailejon plants (day four).
Miah, Lord of the Waterfalls (day four).
These multi-layered contoured mountains accompanied us as we crossed the vast marsh of the Valley of the Cushions (day four).
Ben contemplates how to cross the Valley of the Cushions (day four).
Dawn at Lake Del Panuelo. Our tent certainly looks small beside these cone-shaped peaks (day five).
After climbing over the daunting Balcones Pass, we were rewarded with a view of these layered blue-gray mountains (day five).
Further along, still more mountains and clouds in the distance (day five).
Miah takes a break near a small cairn. These cairns were helpful, considering that the trail disappeared completely many times throughout the circuit (day five).
More unique mountain blocks beckon as we approach Plaza Lake (day five).
Ben enjoys his waterfalls. This one helps drain Plaza Lake (day five).
View of some peaks over Plaza Lake (day five).
As dusk approaches on the fifth day, we are treated to a blanket of clouds intermixed with softly contoured mountains (day five).
There was no wind at all on dawn of the sixth day, so I managed to get this shot of the mountains overlooking Plaza Lake (day six).
I love the lego-like appearance of the cliffs behind me (day six).
Ready to depart on morning of our final day, I take one last glance towards the distant mountains of Sierra Nevada del Cocuy (day seven).
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A Haven In Jerico
After the trek, I returned to Medellin for a couple of days of rest and to reunite with a few old friends, namely Milena, Rob (a Canadian fellow with heaps of life experiences and great stories), and Doc (a Scottish rebel, not as many life experiences as Rob but great stories). Milena was keen to visit one of the many small towns a few hours outside of the city, and we chose the town of Jerico, a town which turned out to be the best I had ever visited over the last nine months. It figures - I finally find the best little town in South America right at the end of the trip. I guess it´s good to end things on a high note.
Jerico, with a population of 18,000 people, is nestled up in the mountains at an altitude of 2000 meters. Its claim to fame is that one of its former nuns, Mother Laura, was the first Colombian to be elevated to sainthood for her work with indigenous people, a fact that the people of Jerico are exceedingly proud of. My initial impressions of Jerico were highly favourable. It was clean, the houses were colourful, and a large waterfall ran along the mountain overlooking the town. The hills around Jerico were bursting with small coffee farms, and of course, there were several cafes to be found offering fabulous locally grown coffee creations. The people were extremely friendly and, from what I could tell, I was the only non-Colombian around. Milena and I explored Jerico thoroughly. There were more crowded festive areas, and there were virtually empty peaceful areas. In addition, a heavy spirit of Christmas pervaded Jerico - Colombians really get into this holiday. Many of the houses were adorned with colourful lights. In terms of things to do, Jerico is heavy on Catholicism, hiking, and coffee, not a bad combination: (1) We hiked up a hill to a shrine dedicated to Mary Magdalene that overlooks the town, followed by a hike up to a huge statue of Jesus that also stands over Jerico, and paused for a rest in the huge town church. (2) We took a ride on the town gondola up to the top of the main mountain standing over Jerico, there was a well-kept path running along the top of the mountain with many places to rest and take in a nice view. (3) We strolled in the hills surrounding Jerico to look at the numerous small coffee farms, and must have stopped to have coffee half a dozen times in the cafes in town to try the different types available. Of all of the little towns I had visited during my travels, Jerico stands out as the best, a haven from the world if you so desire. |
The central church dominates the town from afar. There is a large picture of Saint Laura draped down the front of the church.
Milena is ready to explore a new place.
Deep thoughts.
A view from the top of the mountain overlooking Jerico and the hills beyond.
The skies of Jerico.
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Looking Beyond...
Like many of the countries I visited in South America, the best parts of Colombia - places like Sierra Nevada del Cocuy and towns like Jerico - are the least known to the outside world. The fact that they escape publicity probably contributes to their uniqueness. The real Colombia is a paradise, and, for me, the best of the countries that I visited in South America. Moreover, by this point, I am in a position to answer my original question. For me, a worthwhile journey is defined by a good story, a story full of goals, great moments, and times of uncertainty and hardship, all tied together into a rousing read. Thanks to that story, I had finally freed my mind from many of its external chains; they had been replaced with a determination to practice medicine for the right reasons. I knew what the next move was now, and how I was going to do it...this is Sojourn.