the magic of Tayrona & the moon
It’s been over 2 weeks since i’ve returned home and i still haven’t written about my trip to Colombia’s national park Tayrona on the country’s Caribbean coast. It was a very special experience for me, my first time camping out in the “wild” with all the food on our backs and our resourcefulness for survival. But before i brag i need to mention that my companion was amazing – and knew so much about the forest. He spend his 14-16 years of life wondering the Sierra Nevada before he became an artisan living on the beach of Santa Marta among other places. That’s how we met – i wanted to swim and asked him to look after my things while he lay in the shade of his little camp under his jewelry rack and guitar.
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I’d like to give a description of our 5 days to help adventurous travelers who want to experience the park outside the mainstream tourist route. So here are the details… (more…)
overstaying Colombian visa, Cuban rum, & welcome to USA
In Colombia I overstayed my visa by a day. May 14 was the day I arrived and my sixty days expired on July 12. But my flight was on July 13. I could have taken a flight on the 11, but I really wanted those two extra days in sassy Colombia and decided to take the chance.
I couldn’t any information online and not one of the many people I asked in hostels could tell me anything useful except give gave me grave warnings such as I won’t even be allowed on the plane. There was also the problem of airport exit tax which I had read in the Lonely Planet is $65 for a 60 day stay and $120 for longer stays. I had about $70 left in my bank account and really wanted to spend it on something else. It was only on my last day that I realized it was already included in the price of my ticket.
On the way to the airport, the taxi driver insisted on stopping to give me his email. Something about his manner made me weary and realizing that the only thing of value I had left was my laptop and that it was possible for fate to wink cruelly and rob me off it in my last hour, I sat nervously as he stopped in one of the poorer Cartagena neighborhoods to scribble his email.
Before I was able to check in I had to get my exit stamp from a man sitting at the entrance to the line. He judged the 60 days in a very different way than I expected.
May 14 – July 14, rather than May 14 + 60 days = July 12.
At the check-in, they made me remove a kilo from my luggage. At the duty free I bought two bottles of Cuban rum, which I was told could be taken to the US without problem although I was not 100% convinced. Then I heard my name on the loudspeaker and went to the gate where they had my big bag and wanted to search it…
I’ve never been to such a thorough check in my life. Everything in my bag was removed and probed. The woman to my left had a bag of lollypops. This was torn open and one lollypop shattered on the floor to see if it was candy after all. Then her bottles of medicine were uncorked and wooden spatulas stuck inside. In my bag I had several bottles of Amazonian medicines as well as 2 bags of corn flour. How could I prove that what I carried was actually “blood of the tiger” for healing wounds and corn flour for tortillas rather than cocaine? No problem, my security guy tasted it.
I’d bought some fruits, bread and cheese to take with me on the plane, but the fruits were taken away before I could board. I was allowed to keep just one avocado because the Colombian woman was convinced I couldn’t each two on the 2 hour flight to Florida. I didn’t argue because I was almost the last at the gate and felt the pressure of time…
Sitting in the airport in Fort Lauderdale waiting for my flight connection to NYC…
The woman next to me speaks about the wardrobe she packed in the obnoxious accent I associate with American self-indulgence while the men in front of me speak in Spanish and I can understand only the general gist of the conversation. In my 5 months in Ecuador and Colombia my Spanish improved a lot. I accomplished two eye exams and two pairs of glasses, filing a police report, visiting an emergency room, and the many encounters in the streets, hotels, busses with Spanish speaking friends. But it takes active concentration, which sometimes I’m reluctant to give.
Coming back to the US reminds me how alienated I feel from this country. My first impressions at customs were negative: unfriendly faces chewing gum as if they had not one piece but 10 inside their mouths. And then the security checkpoint with the unfriendly overweight young women, with faces suggesting mental retardation, checked my carry-on.
US is the only country I’ve been to in the last 2 years where taking off your shoes is still required. Although my bag was thoroughly inspected in Colombia it was not an unpleasant experience. Jokes, smiles, a tad of amusement at the situation were there in Colombia. When he took out a certain female item, we laughed together, and he gently put it back asking “personal item?” In the US, this kind of exchange isn’t likely… it’s as if sense of humor and kindness are replaced by some kind of indifference merging on nastiness here.
As I walked from the airplane to the customs area I passed a large banner declaring “Welcome to the US” and a picture of the Statue of Liberty. “Propaganda” I muttered. I wonder what it is about the security officers at the customs that bothered me. They weren’t overty obese, but something in their manner portrayed an arrogance that I associate with stupidity and abuse of power. Maybe they are good men in heart, victims to a cultural language they cannot help but adopt. But I am human and I affected by things like this…. and frankly, I don’t want to live amongst these kinds of ways…
As I stood in front of some kind of machine that scanned me with invisible rays, I asked the woman in uniform, “what is it checking for?” Harshly she replied that if I wanted to know I’d have to check the TSA website. There was nothing in her manner to suggest humility, respect or courtesy, and it’s people like her that symbolize America for me.
A Belgian friend of mine was surprised I do not support welfare policies in the US. “But you talk about charity and volunteering all the time” she said surprised. I explained that I don’t feel American, that I don’t feel connected to the fate of this country, that I don’t enjoy being here, and that I don’t believe that many of the social programs we have (and those proposed) are effective approaches to the problems. If I felt American I would dedicate my life to improving this country, through voting, through social work, through other commitments… but I just don’t want to live my life in this country because besides material comforts and legal rights (which are very important), it has little to offer me spiritually.
(recommendation) Camping in Taganga, Colombia
If you’re coming to Taganga and looking for a good place to camp I recommend Mr. Wilson’s guesthouse. And if you need a haircut, waxing, massage or makiage he can do that to ;-)
It costs $6000 pesos per night (although we paid $5000 to hang our hammocks because we stayed for several nights). It’s not on the beach directly but have you ever slept between lime trees? I didn’t think so.
To find the guest house walk to the football field and ask for Mr. Wilson’s peluqueria or guest house. The place has a kitchen, clean bathroom, creative decorations and good energy.
=)
Diving in Taganga
In Taganga we stayed in Mr. Wilson’s guest house, where we hung our hammocks for $5000 pesos each! But poor Isabel was stuck sleeping next to a crazy Colombian guy, who showed up at 4 in the morning on our first night and stood outside her mosquito net telling her how much he’d like to be her companion for the night. “Sorry I’m tired, and anyway I like tall guys…” said Isabel.. which provoked him to go on a pseudo psychophysical discourse about the connections between manhood and physique and his personal abilities until 8 in the morning. The next evening when she shunned him again he started rocking in his hammock like a baby so that the whole gazebo shook and she couldn’t sleep. On the third night, the proprietor of the guest house kicked him out. And all these nights I slept without disturbance 15 meters away in my hammock in the lemon trees.
Taganga is pretty ugly and there is not much to do besides go diving and party. There are numerous guesthouses and bars but not enough shops selling fresh fruit. The sea is cleaner and less crowded than in Santa Marta but it is not like some of the Thai beaches I’ve been to where leaving feels like saying goodbye to a good friend.
From Taganga we organized 4 fun dives in park Tayrona. There are many dive schools and I don’t think one is really better than the others but just for reference we paid $200,000 pesos for the 4 dives each. It was my first time diving since getting my SSI (Scuba School International) certificate in Thailand in 2009. Isabel, who is a dive master, was more prepared than I and helped me set up my equipment and reminded me the basic rules. A story I heard the other day weighted on my mind, about two newlyweds who went diving in Australia to 30 meters (about a 10 story building), when he’d turned off her air and swam away. She drowned and I kept asking “but couldn’t she have done something?”
When I dive I actually feel more relaxed than when I snorkel. When I snorkel my heart pounds intensely in those first moments underwater. But when I go underwater with my scuba gear, I feel calm. There are moments when I am 19 meters below and start thinking about how unintuitive scuba really is, and yet how natural and easy it feels to be gliding through the reefs like a mermaid, and when I realize how much I depend on my equipment down here and how even my reflexes might not save me, it makes me nervous, but not overwhelmingly so, but more like a seed that might grow into a terror if I feed it with more thoughts, but quickly I change my line of focus and watch a fish, or coral reefs that look like they come from a Kandinsky painting, or equalize my ears.
It’s a really special experience. When I first dove I didn’t enjoy it very much. It was expensive, learning was time consuming, and there was a lot of dependency on others (boats, partners, equipment). But these past few days I enjoyed it so much and I can say that it is worth all that preparation to visit this other world :)
some recommendations for Leticia, Colombia
OmShanty guest house, located 11km outside of the town on KM11, run by a guy from Spain who knows a lot about the jungle and can organize tours for you if you want. A bed in one of the shared cabins is $15,000 pesos, and a space to hang your hammock if you have one is only $5,000 pesos and has a roof to protect you from rain. Make sure your hammock has a mosquito net though (I have the Hennessey and adore it)
I’ve also heard good things about Selvaventura, run by Felipe from Bogota.
You can rent bicycles from “Almacén Y Taller Ciclo Charless” which is actually a bike store but they have several bikes for rent for $7,000 pesos a day. For 24 hour rentals they charge $10,000. They’re located on Barrio Porvenir Calle 4 N’ 7A-53 (Tels: 592-6016 and cell 314-507-1080) and also super friendly people! To find them walk towards Tabatinga along – avenue.
Once you have a bike you can easily visit Tabatinga on the Brazilian side although I don’t know what to recommend there :) I encourage you to explore the KM’s (the road goes all the way to KM19 after which it becomes a muddy and pot-holed path. KM 11 where I lived is also home to Taranboca (named after one of the oldest trees in the forest) where they organize one day excursions that involve a visit to their serpent center, a walk in the jungle, canopying through trees, and kayaking, along with a delicious lunch at the end for $117,000 pesos. They also have cabins and hammocks for rent, as well as a tree house 35 meters high with all the amenities (toilet/shower) where you can sleep overnight.
On KM 7 is Mundo Amazonico, which runs 3 hour tours to teach about local fauna and medicinal plants for $20,000 pesos. They’ve only been open for 6 months so I’m sure they will still transform into something better, but I found the tour informative and very professional. They even had ponchos ready for everyone when the afternoon downpour started. Hopefully one day they’ll have a store where they sell many of the plants they grow, until then I was told if you’re really interested they will sell case by case.
From KM 11 you can also walk into the forest to the – river. The walk is about 30 minutes and is relatively straightforward, and if you get lost people live in houses along the way. On the other side of the river is pure selva, which I would have liked to explore. There’s a path but it’s overgrown so a machete is a good thing to bring. However to get there you need to swim across the river so a waterproof bag is a good idea.
There are other paths you can take from the KM road that will lead you into pure selva, however, most of the ones I have taken were on private property.
People along the KM road are friendly and I’ve never had trouble hitchhiking my way back at night from the town. (The shuttle bus runs every half hour until 6:30pm and costs $2,400 pesos) Hitchhiking with motos is a bit of a problem as helmets are mandatory and not every driver has an additional one, and most of the ones who do are the moto taxis. A funny experience was when the guy who picked me up told me he could only drive me to KM 8 because there was a police checkpoint there checking for helmets. The beer he was drinking while he drove wasn’t a problem ;)
km 20 (20 km west from Leticia)
From Leticia I strongly recommend you visit Puerto Nariño! By the speedboat taxi (it leaves every day at 8am, 10am, and 2pm) it’s about 1.5 hours away. The community is much smaller and there are villages you can visit all around. I stayed 10 minutes outside the center, in a place called the Freight. You can have a whole cabin to yourself for $15,000 pesos or share one for $10,000 pesos each. They have a kitchen and a canoe you can use for free, and are on the river so every evening you can see a magnificent sunset. There are two orphaned monkeys that live here along with several dogs and cats. The only downside is that after about 9 o’clock the school that you need to pass to get here from the town lets out its guard dogs who bark viciously. I’ve never passed by without the intermediation of the night watchman.
My favorite spot in Puerto Nariño is on the bridge that you’ll need to pass to get to the center of the town from the Freight. At night under the stars you can here the music of the forest here, a symphony of insects, bird and monkeys, under the echo of the stars. Unfortunately I lost my recording when my camera drowned in a river…. if you go to puerto Nariño and visit the bridge at night, could you record the sound for 3 minutes and send me the track, I’d appreciate it with all my being!
some words about studying Spanish in Ecuador at Yanapuma
Yanapuma Foundation / Spanish language school & Volunteer house
Quito, Ecuador
The Mariscal district of Quito is full of Spanish schools and I chose this one back in New York because of their website and commitments to social projects around Ecuador. I wasn’t bothered by the $20 mandatory registration fee that they said goes towards these development projects, but I was disappointed when the only non-Ecuadorian director could not tell me what exactly Yanapuma was doing.
The school is organized into two sessions, the morning is from 9am-1pm and the afternoon from 2-6pm. There is a 15 minute break in between, during which students drink tea or coffee and some cheap snack provided by the school. Usually the break lasts longer than 15 minutes, because two hours is a long time to sit still and students like the opportunity to chat with other students. The layout of the building is nice.
The problem I found is that the teachers are basically freelancers who work with many other Spanish schools whenever they are needed. Also some of them live very far away. So asking for a different schedule that fit my needs better (9-11, with a 2 hour break, and then 1-3) meant that my poor teacher had to sit with nothing to do for two hours. It made me feel bad to return to the school refreshed after my walk and lunch, with an hour left until class, hoping to review the lesson on my own before continuing and see my teacher there sitting hopelessly staring into space. The first teacher I had refused to teach me once I changed the schedule to fit my needs. With the second teacher I eventually changed the schedule back to 9am-1pm because I felt sorry for her.
Also I was unhappy with how Yanapuma handled my accommodation. On their website they wrote about a volunteer house which I assumed from their description belonged to them. However the system was that they simply had “dibs” on certain rooms while other schools had “dibs” on others. I paid $270 for a month stay. A few days later I met a student who’d paid less than $200. And then another who paid $150 for a room with a private bathroom. I went to the management who refunded me part of my money and explained that Yanapuma had told her to charge me daily ($9 * 30 days) instead of monthly. So even though Yanapuma was not making any commission off me, they were not looking out for my interests. I did not like the volunteer house for other reasons as well. The shower did not always have hot water and the door to it was broken. It’s located in an area that’s extremely loud until 2-3am every morning.
Another bad thing about Yanapuma – they did not pick me up as promised from the airport.
Recommendation: If you want to study Spanish in Ecuador I recommend doing it in Baños, Otavalo or Tena. There are several language schools in these smaller cities, they’re safer than Quito and cost less with more flexible teachers who don’t have to commute long distances. And I personally prefer Baños, Otavalo and Tena to Quito (Baños for its multitude of outdoor adventures, Otavalo for it’s kind and ambitious indigenous people and Tena for its proximity to the jungle).
handicrafts in Otavalo, Ecuador
Otavalo is where almost all the handicrafts sold in Ecuador are made… it’s home to an indigenous community that has thrived over the last century through their handicraft work. Unlike most other areas in Ecuador with large indigenous populations, Otavalo doesn’t suffer from poor infrastructure or bad schools and indigenous people make up the majority of the government here.
From the first moment here i felt the warmth of the people. There are some Spanish language schools here so if you’re looking for a quite town to study Otavalo is a very good choice!
a video of solutions for metal puzzles i bought for my brother…
Popayan, in Southwestern Columbia
Pretty town with a white center. Colonial buildings and a dozen churches and museums in the old part of the city. Lots of policemen all around (young guys doing their 2 year army service duty by serving as police) and feels very safe. Home to the university of Cueca, so lots of students and events, a giant public library and outdoor book market.
Stayed at Casa Familiar Turistica, a hostel in the old part of the city, in one of the old white colonial houses, owned by a quite old lady with two dogs. Both nights of my stay there were only girls here (an unusual occurrence as I’ve met more guys traveling than girls) and the dorm room had that aura of feminine energy.
I spent yesterday mailing my things and walking around the town. I spent today doing more walking, buying fruit at the market, visiting 3 museums, watching the sunset from the El Morro hill, and attending a cornet concert at the university, where I met two of the 4 Russians who live in Popayan. All are music teachers.
None of the museums I went to were especially interesting. The first “Museo Negret e Iberoamericano de Arte Moderno” exhibited contemporary paintings and sculpture, most of which I ignored because I generally do not grasp sentiment through geometrical shapes on canvas and twisted metal, but there were a few paintings I enjoyed… although I was disappointed that the info tags near the paintings did not include the year of creation and more info about the artist. My favorite was a man inside a river, it was a dark painting of blue and gray hues, and his body was not drawn in detail although the muscular structure was visible. To me it represented sadness, a journey, nostalgia and loss. Strange but I do not remember the man’s face…
The other museum was “Meseo Guillermo Valencia” inside the former house of the poet by the same name. His furniture, books (8000 of them, mostly historical and religious texts that few would care to open today I think), family pictures and eventually his mausoleum were on display, and I was guided around the shrine by a guide, one of those young men in police uniform serving his army duty. I understood about 75% of the general point of what he said, and about 10% of the subtle. Was interesting to see the general style of the house and furniture and pictures of what affluent people in Columbia looked like 100 years ago and what they read, otherwise a waste of half hour. The town of Popayan purchased the mansion to convert it into a museum some 20 years ago… I’m pretty sure it could have served some better purpose… like a library…
The last museum I went to was “Casa Museo Mosquera.” Here were also some family relics and contemporary art (from 2011) that was for sale. A few breaths were enough to see everything and I was free to walk up the hill to El Morro where beheld a magnificent sky…
brotherhood
Split with Christian friends. Was a strange experience. First time traveling with fanatics.
One was unlike the other. The Chilean was loud and obnoxious, “pesado” (heavy) he said of himself. The Swiss was quieter and gentler. Both loved to speak of Jesus and hug, touch and kiss strangers. They called each other “hermano” (brother).
I felt a trust for the tamer Swiss that I did not feel for the Chilean, who kept referring to god as the source of all his decisions and shared his convictions with a most unappetizing vociferousness.
They called one another “niños” (children) and talked of playing, by which they meant trying to experience life as a child would, engaging with people without the barriers of space and status and living without the limitations of time. Nevertheless this concept provoked very dirty thoughts in my mind, especially of the Chilean who looks more man than boy, with his heavyset frame and bearded face, not to mention his voice and manner.
Although they were generous and kind guys I couldn’t help but turn into a cactus with them, pricking them every time they attempted to impart on me their ideas of god and religion. I’m not really atheist, but I loathed the way they had decided that their subjective interpretation of god and what is right is the only means to the good life. So after the novelty of the meeting wore off (by the second day) I started reacting like a stubborn child, adopting antireligious views to everything they said just for the sake of obstinacy.
They named me Pricilla and refused to call me by my ordinary name.
The Chilean liked to talk of perfection and how our neediness for other human beings is a symptom of our imperfection. Both had shunned the sexual life and decided never to have children, because they said it was a sin to bring children into such a cruel world…where people were destroying the planet and one another by not following god…
I asked… if there is a god why would he let innocent children be born into a world so terrible? The answer was that the choice to have children is independent of god… that the parents of sub-Saharan Africa, Cambodia and all those places where misery is plentiful and food is scarce are guilty!
When the Chilean tried to scare me into abstinence by saying that I would inevitably contract HIV, I told him to stop immediately and that I would not tolerate propaganda. It was my first time witnessing that aggressive tone of preachers, with their imperative intonations to frighten people into submission. It was scary and amusing at the same time.
We parted in the bus station. “Will you miss us?” the Chilean asked in Spanish. The Spanish word for miss is “extrañar” which sounds like “strange” so I thought they were asking “do you think we’re strange?” (a question they asked often in various ways)… so I said “no” (although really, yes!) just to be opposite and not to give them the feeling of satisfaction of being different, of shocking me… “But we will miss you!” the Swiss said with a notion of sadness in his usually gay voice.
I did miss them that first night in Popayan though. In the 4 days we spent together it really did feel like brotherhood.
how i spent my first day in Colombia…
Ecuadorian Andes, on the way from Otavalo to Tulcan
Arrived at the border with a huge load on my back, maybe 25 kilos, more than half of which were souvenirs (fabric, tapestries, dried fruits with elaborate engravings, woolen hats and gloves) bought in Otavalo the day before my visa expired. I’d planned to mail it all the day I left but stupidly forgot to transfer money into my account and so ended up with $100 and the choice: mail everything and arrive to Colombia with absolutely no cash or haul everything and have some money.
(the account I always use is online checking with Charles Schwab because they have good customer service and free withdrawals all over the world, but transfers take several days… the other account I have is with TD bank but I found out they’d irreversibly cancelled my card without informing me months ago)
I will tell you how I spent the $100 I had left to show what a fool I can be ;)
After paying for my room (two nights and laundry $19) I decided to buy a few more items at the artisanal market… increasing my load yet more and leaving $25 with which to make my way to Pasto, Colombia where I’d found a couchsurfer to host me….
To travel without much money is to be more creative, more sociable and more open to the unexpected… this is true and wonderful except when your bag is so heavy you can’t even lift it to your shoulders without help :(
Tulcan-Ipailes border crossing
And so it was that I crossed the border into Colombia in the late afternoon of Saturday, May 14, exactly 90 days since I began my trip in Quito. I exchanged my $21 for pesos and got on a small bus for 1500 pesos (approx 80 cents) to Ipailes from where I bought a ticket for 6000 pesos (approx $3.50) to Pasto.
The way to Pasto was dark, which was a shame because to my right were beautiful landscapes of mountains which I would have liked to see. At 8pm i arrived in the bus station and called my CS-host from a phone shop. He didn’t answer so I bought a small cheese bread to satiate my hunger and went to the internet cafe to check my email in case he’d written to tell me his plans had changed. No email from him but there was another “yes” from another CS-er with a # but no address. I wrote the digits down, went over them 20 times in case I’d miswritten, and paid 200 pesos (approx. 10 cents) for the 2 minutes I was online (a bargain after I explained my money situation, “tranquillo tranqiluillo” they said accepting my silver coin, an expression I like for the million uses it has and the goodwill that it connotes)
But neither host answered his phone….
And that was how I arrived to the waiting room of the bus station, heavy bag on my shoulders, a laptop in my small bag (I say this because traveling with it has become more burdensome and I hate the worry I feel on its account) and a conscience growing heavier with thoughts of the couchsurfers.
And that’s when I heard a flute and saw two dark haired guys with large backpacks and smiles inviting me to sit with them.
They were Christians from Switzerland and Chile, waiting for a bus that was to leave in 3 hours for Popoyan, from where they planned to find a place for camping and the natural life. Not exactly missionaries but enthusiastic to talk about Christ with everyone. But the first night we met we did not talk about religion and to me they were just two backpackers who invited me to join them.
The bus to Popoyan traveled at night, along a route that Lonely Planet warns not to take at night for the robbers that stop the busses. But my companions, and all the other riders, did not look worried.
It was a restless night. I cannot sleep in a sitting position. At 5:45 in the morning we arrived and took another bus to a small village with a lagoon where we planned to camp, they in their tents, I in my new hammock.
While they ate their large meaty breakfasts I cruised the market… bought a mango, 4 chonchas, one unpalatable corn flour thing that even the lady who sold them didn’t want to sell me because it’s suppose to be eaten with meat, 2 pieces of yuca bread, 2 pieces of corn bread and some soft cheese. It cost about 3000 pesos (approx. $1.75).
We arrived at the lagoon which is actually a kind of resort for the local Colombians to take holiday with their families. Fishing is done in these small artificial lagoons and costs 1000 pesos per kilo of fish you catch. There is no shower, just a bathroom about half kilometer away from our camp, and I had my first river bath of the year in the river that flowed 10 meters below my hammock.
camping :)
I spent most of the day sleeping… we had a simple dinner of rice, eggs and cheese before the rain started to pour and the sun set and we retreated inside our respective homes for the night…
my amazing hammock, with mosquito net and carp for rainy days
As I write this from inside my hammock, it’s raining hard and I can feel the wind beneath. The carp above my hammock is holding up well and I’m not wet. But it’s my first time sleeping outside, alone, and in the dark… and sometimes when I realize this or try to gaze outside the shelter of my hammock a nervousness intoxicates me, like a drop of water rolling down my spine, but only for a moment. But the hammock is comfortable, I like the sound of the river, and the boys are nearby.
So here I am… in Colombia, some village I don’t know the name of, inside a hammock, in the rain, bathing in a river, eating rice cooked in on wooden logs, speaking Spanish with two people I didn’t know 24 hours ago. Here I am, ajar, free, and happy just to be…
preparing food with new friends
a bridge!
this little girl is called Vanessa and she played football better than me and the two guys combined
coffee beans growing
machine for the removal of husks from the coffee beans. it can be operated manually or with an electric motor. all those brown things on the bottom are the discarded husks.
yo & a pretty woman
Thought soup 