New Year's Nuns

This entry is less of a long narrative but more of a collection of small chunks of the time between New Years to mid January...

 

Arrived in Cali, sweating buckets left right and centre in the company of Debs and Chris. Alas this would be the last time for a while as Debs and Chris were off to "help kids who can't read good and want to learn to do other stuff good too" in Quito straight after NYE. Before that however, we made friends with the strangest bunch of backpackers yet, in our new hostel and with whom we elected to spend New Years with. Sometimes when you look at those as yet to be certified as insane you can't tell that they're the ticking time bomb they turn out to be, which is understandable (with the exceptions of George Bush, Richard Nixon and Katie Price, who all looked like nut jobs and we have only ourselves to blame for not spotting them sooner). However, when said locos have drunk too much, aggravated everybody and even tried to push someone down the nearest flight of stairs, I have to draw the line and insist on all Americans being given mandatory sanity checks before being allowed to get on a plane. Apologies to all my American friends who are the nicest of people, even when merry, this does not apply to you... but I am watching you, just in case. Suffice to say that the group we were with had their highlights, some should be committed and some simply sent back to the states. Despite the nut jobs, NYE was great, we got to see in the new year atop of a fancy tower block and all in all it was a good night. Special mention needs to go to Debbie who clearly showed she has the skills necessary to be a shrink for depressives as she consoled all those affected and was the general negotiator to the wackos of said NYE, well done Debs.

 

Into 2011, it was time to arrange buses towards Ecuador, however, doing such a task on the day after New Years, is not an easy task, especially for Chris who we dragged to the bus stop only for him to find the nearest bench and fall asleep on it. Naturally, all tramps must be awoken with water to the face, and needless to say Chris was not best pleased. I should try special brew next time... Finally bus bound for Ecuador, Debs, Chris and I said our farewells near the border, they were headed directly to their volunteering work near Quito, whilst I was headed to the Santuario de las Lajas on the Colombian side of the border to see what all the fuss was about somebodies mum's image appearing on a rock. Turns out it was the Maria's image that appeared on a rock there, so they built a massive church around it over the last 400 years...

 

I got bored of looking at Cathedrals and Churches about 3 countries ago, however the Santuario de las Lajas was quite stunning. Set in a plunging valley, the church looks almost to defy physics it looks so precarious, but so far it is one of the most impressive sights I've seen in Colombia. Hundreds of years before, the image of the Maria appeared to a local women and ever since the image has attracted thousands of people from Colombia and Ecuador to pray miracles. Similarly to Lourdes in France, they even sell holy water, although here it seems to be litre tubs that look suspiciously like Evian bottles. The walls are scattered with plaques of prayer and even though the Maria's image is absolutely spot on for a typical 16th Century artist, the visitor numbers are unrelenting, as what ever gives people faith I suppose it was is important.

 

Given the nature of the following here, its not that surprising that I make my home that evening inside a nunnery. Upon arriving I had excited images in my mind of what lay in store in the convent, either like the lonely nuns from Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail (short vid or long vid) or the slightly manly ones from Nuns on the Run (trailer). Sadly, as ever, expectations can be a dangerous thing, and most of the nuns whilst rather giggly did in fact look more like a short but tanned version of Robby Coltrane than anything I was hoping for. I won't mention which person sent me a text telling me they'd pay me 100 quid for seducing a nun, but lets just say their money is safe.

 

After taking my fair share of 16th century artwork in the church and annoying the apparent Mother Superior with my ipod stereo, it was time to head for Quito. A place where everyone warns you about the muggers, who'll spray you with mustard and ketchup given half a chance. Clearly, I shall have to make sure that I don't dress up as a hot dog. Quito was fairly uninspiring to write about but I've included the photos here.

 

photos in the usual place

NYE and Sanctuario de las Lajas

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157625844785466/

Quito

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157625844808248/

Coffee, Kids & Explosions

It was December 27th and Christmas was officially over. I tried to explain this notion to Debs, who is as obsessed with all things Christmas as Dobby the house-elf's is (was) with Harry Potter. She didn't look pleased, and I knew another roast dinner was not going to be far away. Upon arriving in Solento, we bump into the infamous Frank Rippy. He's an eccentric gent from the states who used to be a pro tennis player back in the 70s and now trains the coaches that train the pros. He's a real character, telling us many tales, some taller than others, over Deb's birthday dinner at a fancy trout place in town. Trout is the local delicacy and is typically served on a plate-sized kettle crisp!

Having left the festive fincas of Medellin behind, we bused ourselves down to a small town called Solento in the Zona Cafeteria, in pursuit of the other well known ( but legal) export of Colombia; coffee. The region is non-stop rolling hills and plunging valleys and packed wall to wall with coffee farms. We visit a small plantation next to our hostel and see the process in practise, and a labour intensive practise at that. Colombian coffee is not only quite delicious but we learn why it's not so cheap, as they harvest the beans by hand given the fields are so steep. Hopefully if they can continue to produce coffee in this unique fashion, it keeps the local people employed and is a method that is a breath of fresh air in today's modern landscape.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5301410640/in/set-72157625718507833/

A few bags of coffee maybe making their way home, but you'll have to offer me one or more of the following (money/a place to live/a job/a lift to the beach/bacon sarnie) to stand a chance of getting to try some. Looking at that list, I think its my parents that stand the best chance so far!

Aside from drinking too much coffee, we also made our way to the infamous national park down the road called the Valle de Cocora. Its a valley, unsurprisingly, but is stunningly lush and beautiful and great for a days hike. We get into the forest to be confronted by raging rivers, only cross-able by bridges sometimes made of only 3 thin palm tree boughs. Chris and I are gun-ho and even attempt to bounce on them, if to the dismay and concern of Debs. We shepherd her across the mortal peril (life and death guys... and not a hint of sarcasm I should add) on several occasions and alas, no body gets wet. Shame. After impersonating Indiana Jones in The Temple of Doom we manage to get to the top look out point in the park and get our first taste of climbing at a bit of altitude, which in short leaves us a little breathless.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5331334730/in/set-72157625844202540/

Heading back to the town, we march down hill, scoffing the last of the left overs from the last nights roast dinner, and generally descending both literally in height but also in mental capacity as we regress into small children, particularly when Christ squatted for the camera above a giant cow-pat. I was of course the very essence of maturity; and if you believe that...

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5330783329/in/set-72157625844202540/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5330748433/in/set-72157625844202540/
sweaty bum!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5331357164/in/set-72157625844202540/

Back at base and we're off to the pub. Ever since I could get into pubs (aged 17 and with a shocking fake ID), I've seen many forms of in bar entertainment, from pool tables to quiz machines, but Solento has the best...and its called Tejo. In the back of a Solento bar there's a small strip (bit smaller than the strips in cricket). At each end is a trough of clay, with a metal ring embedded on the surface. Upon the ring are small packets of gun-powder. You're stood at the other end of the strip armed with a fist sized lump of metal... you might be able to see where this is headed. After more near-misses than explosions we wrap up the game with our ears ringing from the loud bangs and an important lesson learnt: It's not the winning that counts but its the look on Deb's face when she loses. I've just been told that it is possible be to be a bad winner. Oh well!

With New Years fast approaching, we're keen to get moving so we pack up shop and leave the cool & fresh highlands behind us for hot and humid Cali...

photos in the usual place

Coffee plantation
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157625718507833/
Valle de Cocora
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157625844202540/

Christmas in Colombia

After 13 hours on a bus, I was fit for not a lot, but managed to find a hostel in down town Medellin. It´s Colombia's second city set in an enormous valley and was until 1993 under the thumb of the infamous Pablo Escobar, but now that he's long gone, the place is a lot safer. As a place to visit it had its quirks, but my main objective in the few days before Christmas, was on behalf of my festive friends Chris and Debbie, to secure an oven. It´s not Christmas dinner unless something gets roasted!

After a day of recognisance, the picture was unsurprisingly not looking good as lets be honest most hostel kitchens would be shut in a heartbeat because they're so dirty, let alone having decent facilities to cook a roast dinner. Thankfully, as happened to Tiny Tim, Black Adder, The Simpsons, and countless other festive characters, miracles do happen at Christmas. Ours came in the form of the Colombia chica called Manuela. Her cousin was married to Chris's uni mate in England, so a few nights before Crimbo we met up for drinks.

Unlike previous nights, where we'd be shoulder to shoulder with every other backpacker, Manuela whisked us away to a new locals only area called La Strada. It was a setup of swanky looking bars underneath a business tower block without a tourist in sight. We were soon introduced to Manuela's cousins and friends, who were very keen to introduce us to Colombia's notorious drink; Aguadiente. Think ouzo but stronger. After being fed a few shots of that, we were introduced to the shot bar next door for a few el Demonios, a tequila based shot that I´m guessing leaves a visa stamp on your liver to say, "yes, I was here". On the second of such indulgences, the look on Chris's face was a sight to behold as clearly his visa request was almost rejected, thankfully though it crossed the border.

Now in a slightly merry state, Manuela was adamant that we could not spend Christmas in a hostel and that we had to go to their finca (home) in the countryside. After negotiations, we agreed, but on the condition that we cooked for her and her family. We now realised we had a shot at a pretty unique Christmas, upon which more celebrations were had and more aguadiente was consumed. Taxis followed and only slightly sore heads emerged the following morning.

Prior to getting to the finca, we had to buy all the necessary booze and food. After a fairly huge chunk of the local supermarkets stock was removed we made our way north on Christmas morning (yours truly donning his new Xmas pressie of a cowboy hat), only to leave half the food on the bus before arriving at Manuelas finca, which was in the most stunning of settings. A quick jaunt to grab some more food and we were in business, Debbie led the cooking charge (Chris and I mainly played cards and prepared the odd pig-in-a-blanket) until come evening and a feast was unleashed. We (Debbie) managed a fantastic spread of roast potatoes, peas, carrots, broccoli, cauliflower, chicken, pigs in blankets and roast chicken that we were still eating parts of it the next day. After the food had gone down, Manuela's friends came to play and after a few silly games (with and without booze) it was time to learn how to merengue. I feel it important to add in a disclaimer that at no point in the evening did I dance with a mop to the Chemical Brothers' "Hey Boy Hey Girl" in a cowboy hat. It simply did not happen. Fact.

Slightly hungover the next day, we consumed left overs wrapped in burritos before heading to a neighbours finca for some swimming pool action. Whilst the UK was still buried under a significant amount of snow, I felt quite glad to be in my boardies, supping a few beers and playing Frisbee in a swimming pool. A Christmas with a difference, without a doubt.

With promises made between all Colombians and Brits that they all had homes to stay in if they ever visited (that's a heads up Mum and Dad) we departed back for Medellin and then onwards to the Zona Cafeteria (not a dodgy canteen but the heartland of the Colombian coffee farms).

There was other stuff that happened in Medellin such as; a cable car, a cool national park, zip lining, butterfly massacres (American girl Michelle, not me!), weird fat statues (or voluminous if you're arty farty), jesting with the armed national guard, crazy markets complete with alleyways devoted entirely to market stalls of porn (not just the straight stuff either), amazing Christmas lights and an old American in our hostel who seemed only to pleased to tell us that he'd had a brilliant white Christmas. I just can't be bothered to write about them... the photos can do the honours.

Christmas photos
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157625694115104/

Medellin photos (worth a look!)
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157625764624166/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157625764656390/

Muddy pirate babylons in Cartagena

As I write this, Christmas has been and gone and I've missed out many festive things but as with any family get together, I've missed out on the retelling of those (often cringing) family stories. My auntie Janet was would always make a point of embarrassing me (usually in female company) about how when I was just 6 years old how, I was fixated with my Dad's 40th birthday cake. To be fare it was a very well endowed birthday cake and being 6 years old I was understandably taken back at seeing such a booby-licious cake, but in my defense it was my aunts cat that destroyed the left breast resulting in a last minute boob-job.

You maybe thinking, "where is he going with this?", but upon arriving in Colombia the mouth hanging open fixation had returned. Colombian women are reputed to be the most beautiful in the world. Well there's some truth in that I suppose, but they're definitely the most enhanced women in the world for sure. With my lower jaw returned to its rightful place I soon learned that Colombian girls when reaching 16 don´t ask for that dream trip to Europe or a car anymore, its all about getting down to the plastic surgeon to get the works. I think I'll return to the UK, get my chiropractor's license and return to Colombia in 20 years as there are going to be a lot of back problems in Colombia´s future.

Aside from being easily distracted, I arrived in the Caribbean city of Cartagena, a place with a lot of history, from the trialing of supposed witches to the incessant invasions of English pirates, the city has experienced a lot. Most of whats interesting is kept within the old city walls, from museums showcasing just how to torture a potential witch to examples of the gold that used to be found there before the Spanish half-inched it. There's a lot to see and do, but the thing that keeps me coming back to the old town every day is the restaurant La Mulata. It´s Caribbean food but on a par with a lot of top London places (and I know I´m on a connoisseur of the Chicken Cottáge as my old boss Lonsdale used to remind me), but this place served up Caribbean delicacies for about 4 pounds.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5280105967/in/set-72157625522989611/

The old town is fantastic for a stroll around, and the colonial architecture is stunning but I´m pretty certain there is still a significant amount of pirate blood in the local people here. Aside from some cheeky bugger trying to unzip my bag (he failed), the place has the feel about it that everyone's out for a fast buck and keen as mustard to party themselves to pieces come night time. This could be a lifestyle I could get used to and to make things feel like home the local clubs charge even more for a Cuba Libre than most places in London ($18,000 COP = almost 7 quid).

One of the tourist tours that get myself on, is to the local mud volcano; Volcan de lodo El Totumo. Well I say volcano, it looks more like a 15 metre high termite mound, the top of which is a mud bath. The blog won´t do this justice, but it was great fun trying and failing to sink below our necks, evading the locals terrible attempts at massaging and getting the apparently healthy mud into every single orifice. A few days later and I'm still managing to find mud, which is a surprise given after you'd had your fill of the mud, you wander down to the lagoon resembling a slightly less-hairy chewbacca to be rigorously hand cleaned by one of the local women. I'm hastily reminded of being a child and being scrubbed to bits by my mum in the bath tub, my ears never feel the same!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5280184863/in/set-72157625648662090/

Back in Cartagena after a lengthy breakdown, its time to get a wriggle on for Medellin in central Colombia, in search of an oven to roast some kind of bird for Christmas... well that was the plan at any rate.

photos in the usual place...
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157625522989611/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157625648662090/

Panama Vs Basingstoke

Day 79 in the Big Brother House and Ricardo is in the Diary Room...

Big Brother: "Ricardo, this is Big Brother, if you continue to tease people at home about the weather being so hot, we will subject you and the other house mates to heavy rain. Is that understood?"

Ricardo: "You what? Bugger that, could you russell me up some more suncream? I'm really starting to bake here and I need to show everyone back home my awesome tan."

It seems the endless taunting of friends and family back home has caught up with me in Panama City and upon arrival the heavens open and stay open for the next week. Not an encouraging sign when I and the majority of the other travellers in my hostel are planning on taking yachts for 5 days from Northern Panama to Colombia. The incessant rain seems to be the first of many hints that our intended sailing plans are simply not going to happen and in a hostel full of housebound backpackers, the grapevine is gossiping at max speed.

First off there's the rumour that they've had to evacuate a few of the San Blas Islands. These are little islands off the Panamanian coast that the yachts stop off at and are supposed to be stunning. Secondly there's the rumour that they've closed the Panama Canal. This turns out to be true, and was the first time it's been closed in 21 years, when the US invaded. On top of this boats are being cancelled or redirected, rather stormy seas are forecast, tales of sea-sick ridden travellers and coked-up alcoholic captains are abound and unsurprisingly I'm starting to get slightly cold feet. 

Thankfully not all of my time in Panama is spent fretting over weather forecasts and discussing flights and I do get out and about. Previously the only city I'd been to that was famous for having a canal was Basingstoke, so Panama City is faced with some stiff competition. It's by far the most developed city in Central America but the hostel is in the more deprived part of town (that is safe!). The influence of the canal is everywhere you look, from the wealth that has brought dozens of sky-scrappers, to the Chinese/Thai restaurants on every corner. Panama is a quite a mixing pot and I wonder what it would be like had the canal been built in Nicaragua which was apparently on the cards at one point (those crafty yanks!).

There are parks nearby and I'm keen to test out my David Attenborough skills and capture some wild life. It seems the only things I can get near to without running away are leaf cutter ants, I sussed out that they're the bailiffs of the forest, when you can't pay your mortgage, or you the rent on your tree, they systematically take your leaves apart and move it somewhere else. Apparently they do post up eviction notices, usually telling you, to leave immediately. 

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5280071387/in/set-72157625648614840/

With a flight lined up (and cheaper than everyone else thanks to STA), I meet up with some Irishmen and an Auzzie and head out to the nightclubs of Calle Uruguay, which is apparently where it's at. After persuading the bouncer that he didn't actually need to charge us $20 a head entry (jedi mind tricks clearly still working) we got the rum out and showed the Panamanians how to dance. Despite getting out my revolutionary dance moves (the lasso, the meerkat and the dice all featured) the locals are not that impressed, clearly they're a bit behind the times!

With my name on the wanted-for-crimes-against-tasteful-dancing list I'm on the next flight out of Panama City, bound for the pirate ridden Caribbean city of Cartagena. Argggggh!

Photos in the usual place... http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157625648614840