Colombia: a la orden

When I was planning my travels this time around, I had an itching to see more than just Mexico. Being fluent in Spanish, I had logically decided to explore South America. My original plan had been to fly from Mexico to Peru, go to Machu Picchu, Bolivia, the Amazon, etc. However, as I was doing my research, I found so many gleaming reports about a less-traveled yet equally stunning country. Infamous, feared and often misspelled, people who had actually been to Colombia had only good things to say about their experience.

Shrouded in a 20 year old reputation for drugs, violence and civil unrest, Colombia does not find itself as a steadfast blip on the traveler's radar. South America is absolutely crawling with backpackers. As gigantic as South America is, many, many backpackers come and travel all around. Some start in Peru, others in Brazil or Argentina and start collecting stamps in their passports from there. This was one of the things that turned me off of my original plan of going to Peru. As I talked with more and more travelers, I found that the backpacker routes in South America are so heavily trodden that I realized I could see any of these countries at any age. While I am young and adventurous, I wanted to see a country that is not as easily accessible, not as well marked and possibly dangerous.

Aaaahhh, Colombia, sweet, gentle, misunderstood Colombia. The reality of life here in Colombia could not be further from the image of its reputation. In my two weeks of traveling around, I have never once felt like I was in danger. I have not heard any reports of massive violence, guerrilla attacks or coups. I have only seen cocaine once in a bar and was never offered it. I found Bogotà, the capital to be a clean, refreshing city and the Caribbean coast a warm and friendly place.

The people of Colombia are well aware of their reputation. They will tell you, as well, that ten years ago Colombia was a different place. Ten years ago, there was violence and less safety, but now, one can feel confident traveling around. The people are very friendly, tolerant and welcoming. They appreciate the tourism because it is a sign that there is no fear, that maybe they will one day escape their terrible reputation.

I have quite enjoyed my time here. This country has everything you could want. This place has all the sights one sees in Peru, Bolivia, Brazil, but in one country. There are snow-capped mountains, deserts, Amazon jungle, white sand beaches and ruins. Most people I meet do the four-day trek to Machu Picchu along with the millions of other people who visit it every year by train and even helicopter. Colombia has a breath-taking set of ruins as well called Ciudad Perdida. "The Lost City" is one of the most pristine archaeological ruins in the world. One can only reach Ciudad Perdida by hiking through the jungle. The trip takes five days and from what I hear, once you arrive, you have the entire ruins to yourself.

Through my travels, I have met a lot of people who are searching for the reality of places, "real Mexico", "real Peru", etc. I say if you want a "real" experience, go to Colombia. There are definitely people traveling here and there are touristy places, but Colombia is definitely not as heavily visited as other parts of South America. Colombia, known for its emeralds, is a gem itself. It is a lively place off the beaten track with music, dancing and warm invitations. It is also relatively safe. Robbery and petty theft arer obvious risks anywhere in the world and the same applies here. However, I have not heard any horror stories of muggings or anything happening here in Colombia. That does not mean that they don't happen. I am only saying that I have heard more horror stories about people traveling in Venezuela than here in Colombia.

Hostel Platypus Bogotà, Colombia, http://www.platypusbogota.com/

I stayed at Hostel Platypus my first time around in Bogotà. I followed the Lonely Planet's advice as well as the hostel's claim to be "the best hostel in South America". After staying there for five days, I can safely say it is not the best hostel in South America. Hostel Platypus has all the services a traveler could need: free coffee all day, laundry service, Internet, beer, phone service. German, the owner, also could not be more helpful or friendlier. While I was there, the hostel celebrated its birthday. There was free food, drinks and music.

The problem with Platypus is that the hostel occupies three separate houses on the same street. I was staying down the street from the main house. That was actually pretty cool. It is like living in your own place with a bunch of other people. The problem is that there is no hot water. In a chilly city like Bogotà, hot water is essential. The lower house also has a sitting room with a TV, but it is the most uncomfortable sitting room ever. Instead of couches or comfy chairs, there are wood chairs. One of the great things about hostel life is being able to hang out. Platypus is seriously lacking a good place to hang out, even in the main house.

Hostel Sue Bogotà, Colombia, http://www.hostalsue.com/

A great alternative to Hostel Platypus in Bogotà is right next door. My second time around, I stayed at Hostel Sue. Hostel Sue is also Colombian owned and has two separate houses to stay in. I stayed in the main house that was definitely more social and has hot water. The people who were staying at the hostel when I was there were more long-term travelers. Whereas at Platypus, there were a lot more people passing through, at Sue the people are staying around for longer.

The rooms are nice and it feels more like a home. It also has free coffee all day, FREE Internet, laundry service, etc. Hostel Sue also has a TV room with couches, which on a rainy day, like the day arrived, was a gift. It can be a little loud however.

Casa Viena Cartagena, Colombia, http://www.casaviena.com/

Casa Viena is probably the most popular hostel in Cartagena. It is often full and does not take reservations. If you show up and there are no beds, they will help you find other accommodation. The staff is very friendly and has a lot of information about the area. They can also help you arrange a boat from Cartagena to Panama. The dorm room is air-conditioned at night and they have private rooms.

Those, however are the only redeeming qualities of Casa Viena. There have to be better places to stay in Cartagena. Unfortunately, I did not have the time to go looking around for other places to stay. Casa Viena is cramped and hot. The location also leaves something to be desired. It is located a couple blocks outside of the Old City in sleazy part of town. I did not think the neighborhood was especially dangerous, but it is dirty and not beautiful. Also, while Casa Viena can organize a boat to Panama, this can also be easily done at the dock without their help.

La Casa de Felipe Taganga, Colombia, http://www.lacasadefelipe.com/

Hostel Platypus may claim to be the best hostel in South America, but La Casa de Felipe IS the best hostel in Colombia. This hostel also has all the services a traveler could ask or including breakfast service in the mornings. Breakfast does cost extra, but for a measly $5000 COP you get your choice o eggs, bread and good Colombian coffee. The staff is extremely nice and helpful. The grounds of the hostel are what set it apart from all other hostels. There are dozens of hammocks strung around four patios with plants an shade. There are dorm rooms an private rooms all reasonably priced. Also, although Taganga has been taken over my groups of Israelis, La Casa de Felipe does not attract many of them.

The only downside to La Casa de Felipe is that it is not located right on the beach. It is about a five minute walk uphill from the beach, but this is a small price to pay or the tranquil and splendid atmosphere. It is also fun to walk through town, saying "hi" to locals and getting to know more than just the beach. La Casa de Felipe does take reservations and they are recommended.

Colombia: en Tours

As a solo traveler and without very much time, I left the comfort of being a traveler to become a tourist. With only two weeks in Colombia, I realized I had not given myself enough time to truly get to know and understand this dynamic and multi-dimensional country. I gave myself a week in Bogotà and a week to discover the Caribbean coast. My tour of the Caribbean coast included Cartagena, Taganga and Parque Tayrona. Cartagena was definitely the most touristy of the three because it is frequented by Colombians and foreigners a like. Taganga would be a close second. This small beach town has been overtaken by Israelis in the last four years and at certain times of year, tourists may out-number the locals. Parque Tayrona is a national park and is therefore only frequented by visitors.

In the interest of saving time and keeping myself on schedule, during my week on the coast I did two tours.

Volcan de Lodo el Totumo (Mud Volcano)
This was one of the places that I had read about before coming that I knew I wanted to visit. The Mud Volcano is located about an hour outside of Cartagena and was definitely worth the visit. Bathing in a cool mud pool that bubbles up from the ground is an unrepeatable experience. Supposedly, the mud bubbles up from a spot 2,300 meters deep. Over time, the mud has formed a small hill that you climb to sit in a man-trained "pool". Fortunately, the mud is not hot, it is actually quite cool.

Arriving at the volcano, we were instructed to strip down to our bathing suits and sandals and hand our cameras over to a local who's job is to take pictures of us covered in mud. We started our climb up the 200 ft pile of mud and at the top found about three Colombian men standing in the pool of mud waiting to give us massages. I climbed down the ladder into the mud and was told to lie back. The sensation of floating in thick, cool, grey mud is indescribable. Unlike in water, where you have to tense certain muscles to stay afloat, the mud just cradles you. After lying down, I was pushed over to a masseuse that completely covered me in mud. They start by covering the face to protect it from the sun. The massages are nothing particularly special, but they are relaxing.

After the massages, I just sat in the mud with the other people from the tour. When I first saw the pool and the masseuses, I didn't think that the pool was that deep. The masseuses were up to their shoulders in mud and I assumed that they had been standing. Once I was able to explore the pool on my own, I realized that they were floating, standing up. It was a surreal feeling. I could bounce up and down, but not sink. Later, talking with another traveler, we wondered what would happen if someone were to jump into the mud. Once submerged, would one be able to swim to the surface? Or would the mud just swallow a person?

None of us wanted to get out. It was fun just sitting there, but the feeling of mud weighing down my bikini bottoms was a little too similar to that of having had fecal accident. We all climbed down and headed to the lagoon to be washed off by local ladies. My idea of how this part of the trip was going to be was much more exotic than how it was. I had pictured a beautiful shaded lagoon and a more ceremonial washing. Instead, we were assigned a bathing lady and told to sit in the water as the ladies poured water over our heads. They did have us take our bathing suits off and washed them as well, but it took the lagoon bathing and at least two more showers to get rid of all the mud.

I had fun at the mud volcano, joking with the people there. It was fun to fake-throw mud at the clean people and dance around to shake off excess mud. The actual area around the volcano is very primitive. The bathrooms are outhouses and there are only two stands that sell drinks and snacks. There was no entrance fee either, however, none of the services are free. After you are rinsed, everyone who did something for you comes looking for a tip. I talked to some people who found this annoying and I agree to a certain extent. We were told the minimum to tip was $2000 COP ($1 USD), but I gave the masseuse, the camera man and the bathing lady each $5000 COP ($2.50 USD). The one tip that I thought was a little ridiculous was to the guy who held our sandals in a bag. I didn't give him as much as the others. It would probably be less annoyin and possibly more effective if they charged a flat rate for all the services and then divided up the day's profits.

Some people complain about giving these people money. Some people even complain about something as little as $2000 COP ($1 USD), which I will never understand. Driving to the volcano, the extreme poverty of the area was painfully obvious and here are Europeans, Americans, Israelis complaining about having to tip these people $1 USD vs. $2 USD and I just don't understand. I don't understand how people with money, with resources and privilege can justify denying others that live without.

The tour I did was with Casa Viena in Cartagena. You can reach the Volcan de Lodo on your own, which would be cheaper than doing the tour. I personally did not think the tour was worth it. It was nice to have an air conditioned van take me there and back, but the guide didn't give us any information and wasn't all that nice or friendly. However, the tour was convenient and economical.

Parque Tayrona

From Cartagena, I headed to the Caribbean sea. After asking around, I was told to go to a small fishing village called Taganga. Tanganga is about 15 minutes from the larger city of Santa Marta which is about five hours from Cartagena. People had warned me that the beach in Taganga was not spectacular, but the town was happening enough to give a solo traveler things to do at night. Taganga is also the jumping off point for the infamous Parque Tayrona.

Founded as a national park in the sixties, Parque Tayrona is 12,000 hectares of beaches and jungle. The entrance to the park is about an hour east from Taganga and easily accessible by public transportation from Santa Marta. From the entrance to the park, you have to walk about an hour to reach the first beach called Arrecifes and from there it is about a fifteen minute walk to each following beach. There are also horses available. Most people go to Tayrona and camp. There you can rent hammocks or tents and each little camping spot has a restaurant with food. I met a lot of people who had spent days and even weeks just hanging out and exploring the endless jungle and Caribbean beaches.

Due to a lack of time and the fact that I am traveling alone, I did not want to camp at Tayrona. I actually wasn't planning to go at all. I only had three full days in Taganga and I wanted to make sure that I got my beach time in. However, everyone was telling me how beautiful Tayrona was. More than one person claimed it was the second most beautiful beach in the world. This is quite the claim, but when I asked what the first most beautiful beach was in the world, no one seemed to know. On my last day in Taganga, I decided to go on a tour to Tayrona. I can see why people go and camp there because one day is not enough to see all the beauty in the park.

There were two things I really enjoyed about the tour. I originally had been dreading the hour and half walk through the jungle to get to the beach. It wasn't so much the walk itself, but the heat that pervades on the Colombian coast. It also seemed like a lot of wasted time, three hours total, that could have been spent tanning on the beach. The walk through the jungle was actually my favorite part. It was beautiful and it isn't that often that I get to walk through an actual jungle. The trail was easy with a few ups and downs, but nothing too strenuous. We had a guide who was an old guy from the area and I kept pestering for Colombian history, which he happily obliged.

The other aspect of the tour I enjoyed was the fact that I was the only non-Colombian in the whole group. I went to the park on a Sunday of a holiday weekend, so the Colombians were out vacationing in full force. Of the eighteen people in our group, I was the only whitey and the only single person. I don't think the other people really knew what to think of me at first. There was, of course, the question of whether or not I could speak Spanish, but when I was pestering our guide with questions, they all started to warm up. I ate lunch with a couple from the city of Medellìn. They convinced me that when I return to Colombia, the first place I should visit is Medellìn. The Colombians were from cities from all over and obviously had money. It was nice to see them out traveling.

The one part about taking tours that I don't like, however, is being on someone else's time-table. Having to adhere to a schedule is obviously intrinsic to touring, but it still bothered me. For one, the day we went was cloudy and as we ate lunch it started to rain. When the rain started, I wanted to go. All I wanted to do was sit out in the sun and swim, but with a cooling rain, those two activities were less than fun.

It ended up being fun anyway because I wasn't alone in the desire to go early. About twenty minutes before we were supposed to meet up to head back, a couple from Baranquilla started rounding everyone up. The lady told me that with the rain there was no point in being there and she was ready to head back to the bus. She took control and got everybody back on the trail. I was right there with her thinking, so I just got behind her and started walking. She booked back to the bus without looking back. We did the hour and a half walk back to the parking lot in under an hour. This lady wasn't fit, or skinny, she was just determined to get back to the bus. It was cool we talked as we huffed and sweated our buns off through the jungle. The rest of the group showed up a half hour later and were asking if we had ridden horses back. We just laughed and said we flew.

I definitely recommend Parque Tayrona as one of the spots to hit while traveling in Colombia. Just bring a friend, or lover, or group of people to have fun with.

Sudando en Taganga, Colombia

I thought I knew what it meant to sweat when I went to Indonesia 7 years ago. I did a jungle trek in Bukit Lewang, Sumatra, Indonesia, to see the orangutans. I trekked through tropical rain forest, up and down hills and in all the pictures my skin gleams with perspiration. I could have sworn to you that I was sweating to the point where it ceased to be salty and all that dripped off my body was purified water. I never thought I would sweat that much again. I never thought I would experience heat like that, but then again, I never really thought I would come to Colombia.

Needless to say, it is hot in Taganga, Colombia. It's not so much an opressive, humid heat as a constant, unabiding characteristic of the place. One sweats just sitting still, swatting flies away from one's food or waiting for a cooling breeze. It feels good in a way, like a ritual cleansing. A heat like this is only bearable at the beach with the ocean only a few meters away.

I came to Colombia for only two reasons. One reason was to come to the Caribbean and the other was to dance. Aside from being known for their violence and cocaine, Colombia is also known as the cradle of Cumbia, as masters of Salsa, as a nation that dances. Colombia is a wonderful, peaceful, undiscovered jewel in South America. The people are friendly, warm and I hoped that in a small town like Taganga, I would find a small salsa bar and a boy to dance with.

When I first arrived, I went on the hunt. I was looking for Colombians my age to shoot the shit with, to show me around and to take me out. Immediately, en la calle, in the street, I found the artesans. Artesans are easy people to meet. They are usually hippies who like to hang out and have a good time. I met Yury, a Jesus-look-a-like hippy from Bogotà, Diego a quirky young kid from Medellìn, Andres from Bogotà and his Canadian girlfriend Crista. Crista has been volunteering here for five months and was my guide to the locals. She said everyone was really nice and going out dancing would not be a problem. I had asked Yury earlier if he knew how to dance, which he of course said he did, but that doesn't say much because no self-respecting Colombian man would answer "no". Crista confirmed though that Yury did like to dance and we made plans to go out the next night.

I had my doubts about Yury from the beginning. He is one of these super hippies. All he can talk about is spiritual, new-agey crap. He's the type that can't joke around. For example, he asked me how old I was and when I told him I was practically a grandma with my 28-year-old-almost-30 ass, he of course comes back with, "Age doesn't really matter because time doesn't exist. We are just big balls of light, blah, blah, blah." Don't get me wrong. I am just as spiritual as the next closet hippy, but he wasn't saying anything I didn't know already. It was the same crap about indigenous people and hallucinagens, the Mayan calender, minimalism and Carlos Castaneda. I only mention all this because Yury had sort of attached himself to me and was destined to be my dance partner. The more he bored me with his lack of humor and his philosophical mumblings, the more I began to give up hope of having a night of uninhibited movement and rhythm.

The night we went out, Yury, Andres, Crista and I went to the beach so they could drink before going out. Crista and Andres were busy being all cute and cuddly and I was stuck listening to Yury's wisdom. During the course of his sermon, he's all, "Oh by the way, I love to damce, but I am not an expert or anything. I mean, I know the salsa steps, but fancy turns are not really my thing. I just like to move to the music." This was a blanketed way of saying, "I don't know how to salsa dance." My heart dropped and I was ready to go home, disappointed and defeated.

Just as I was about to say my "Ciaos", however, quirky, crazy Diego showed up wondering where we all were. He was ready to dance he said. I told them that I was going to go home, that I didn't feel like going out. Yury, of course, gave some crap like, "Life is for enjoying the moment, the present." Diego just looked me straight in the eye and said, "If you come out, I promise you the first dance." I looked the kid up and down and gave him a look like, "Is that a threat or an honor?" He just met my eyes again and said, "I'm from Medellìn," like it was supposed to mean something. I later found out that it certainly did.

So, I went out with them to a bar called El Garaje which is actually an old, small parking lot tranformed into a cool little bar. The dance floor is under the thatched roof of a palapa and there are trees to sit under. As we walked up to the bar one song was ending as another one began. It was a classic, popular salsa number. Diego turned to me and offered me his hand, dragging me onto the dance floor.

The heat under the palapa was intense in a steamy, communal sense of the word. There weren't many people dancing, so Diego and I had plenty of room to move. Sometimes it's hard to find your rhythm with a new dance partner. Everyone has their own style and Diego and I fit perfectly together. All I wanted to do in Colombia was dance until my feet hurt, dance until the sun came up, dance like it was my last day on Earth and dance we did.

Within minutes we were drenched in sweat. It was almost difficult to get through the turns because our hands would slip, but we connected nonetheless, missing turns, but never missing a step. It was hot. Salsa dancing is so provacative. The woman always has to be ready to be led through the turns. The man guides her with soft touches on the shoulder, the arm, the small of her back. When the man turns, the woman's hands always have to be ready to held again, to be taken. I only noticed how wet we both were when he would turn and I would let my hand slide along his back as he came full circle. Salsa songs are also so long that just when you think you have a had enough, when the song slows to almost a whisper, the horns start up again into yet another creshendo. And all those bodies on the dance floor, especially in Colombia, where everyone knows how to dance, has an intoxicating effect.

I felt like a super-star, like a Latina, like I passed the test. Diego would only dance with me. At one point some other guy asked me to dance, but Diego immediately cut in and whispered that none of the other girls danced as well as me. Poor Yury was left alone with Crista and Andres. He would only get up and dance to the occasional reggae song. I was lucky Diego showed up or it would have been a short, sad night. At one point, a traditional Afro-Colombian Cumbia song came on, drums beating with typìcal call and response lyrics. Everyone started clapping and singing and swinging their hips. Dancing is an unbelievable therapy. It is a drug unto itself. By the end of the night I was soaked. I could not stop sweating. My skirt was practically falling off of me because of the weight of its wetness. Diego was the same and we would just keep giving each other slithery, slidy hugs.

I don't think I can ever go back to living in the States. I can't give up this heat, this machisimo, this electricity. Ladies, Latin America is where it is at to feel like a woman, to feel like you are alive and strong and beautiful. Latin America is passion and music and revelry. I don't think I can ever go back to white boys again. They are just not in touch with their passion, with their masculinity, with their base. Here, in the heat, in the freedom of poverty, I feel at home.