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.
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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.
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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...
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sweaty bum!
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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
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Valle de Cocora
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