Pablo's place

28 de Julio

The picture you see above could have been taken in Hawaii. It could have been taken in the rolling hills during a Swiss summer, assuming Switzerland has palm trees. But it’s Colombia. It’s a perfect example of the hidden gems, the staggering scenery that hits you from every angle in this remarkably beautiful and friendly country.

We have spent three relaxing days in Salento, a town in the Zona Cafetera, or coffee growing region of Colombia. Surrounded by mountains and national parks, it also attracts a steady stream of travellers and backpackers, who intending on staying only a few days, find themselves in the same place months later, caught up in the majesty that surrounds them.

Our room was the white house. Which is also the garden shed. Sharing beds with a shovel and rake wasn't the best arrangement

Pablo was an excellent Monopoly player

The builder would be asked to explain the upside down doors

Our first day was very lazy. It’s very easy to be this way here.  I had finally acquired an English copy of Love In The Time of Cholera, by Colombian writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Who would have thought it would be so difficult in Colombia? In fact, even if I wanted to stare at a Spanish version I would have had a difficult time, as most bookshops here have also caught up to the crap that is 50 Shades Of Grey and seem to ignore their own masterpieces.  I managed to find a second hand copy in a Bogota bicycle shop, of all places, and sat down to read on our back porch in our hostel. Before we knew it, the day was done and all that was required to complete it was the obligatory few beers. We also found a restaurant that was advertising Thai Green Curries using paste imported from Australia! But I am pretty sure we import that stuff from Thailand in the first place. But it was very tasty. Not very Colombian, but delicious.

The next day we set out on a 12km hike through Cocora National Park, which is the equivalent of 138km in altitude. The walk takes you through the aforementioned green fields, past fincas, trout laden streams, across rickety bridges held together with dental floss, through hummingbird sanctuaries, over rocks and through forests of wax palms. There is even the chance to say hello to all the cows and horses that roam around the area. As a bonus, we were escorted by soldiers most of the way up. We really weren’t sure of the area we were attempting to walk, or survive, when the minute we proceeded, so too did the army, in fatigues, armed with machine guns, rocket grenade launchers, a fox trap and a Labrador named Sacha. Were they protecting us from bandits? Were they going to use us as target practice?  Would they offer us the chance to throw grenades at chickens for a small bribe?  No such luck, as they only happened to be travelling to a base for exercises that were close to our location. The lads were actually very friendly, allowing us to take photos near them and play with their dog. My request to fire bones and tennis balls from their rocket launcher for Sacha to chase was not well received

The tourists would dig their own graves to save on army wages

The rare steak and salad dinner was very popular with locals

To get to the bridge to avoid the water you must first walk in the water to the bridge.

While concentrating on having her photo taken, the tourist didn't notice the bridge pirate was loosening the ropes 

I said the bird bird bird, the bird is the word

The very hungry caterpillar would soon reach those coconuts

Mr Brown chose his camouflage incorrectly

The night ended with a meal of trout with fried plantains and potato soup with bananas, which is actually tradition in Salento, and delicious. And a game of Tejo.

The next day we took the bus to Medellin. We were a bit later than we had planned, as we had run out of pesos, and couldn’t pay the hostel bill. Unfortunately the only ATM in town had run out of dinero, and we were told by a local that was laughing at us as the machine spat our card back furiously to us, that it only gets filled up on rare occasions. Thinking we might have to do some gardening in the hostel or massage the owners wife’s hairy back to get square, the landlord kindly allowed us to pay in US dollars, and even left us a few pesos to pay for the bus fare to Armenia, the next town, 1 hour away, which had a very kind ATM. It is also a disgustingly ugly joint, full of crazy characters, including the local yokel, a cross between Bubba from Forrest Gump and Sloth from the Goonies at the bus station who chased us on the platform, shouting at us not in Spanish, nor English, but something that resembled animal. I asked him in Spanish “Lo que joder?”  (What the fuck is up?)  as he continued waving his arms about, shouting and drooling. Then a bus driver joined in the charade. Turns out we were walking in the wrong direction, and we had to sit at the opposite ends of the terminal, where our bus would collect us, and also that was the only place where there was a TV where we could watch the midday soapies. Which was worth it, as the Colombians don’t mind showing a bit of boob during the day.

Beer puts a smile on everyones dial

Escobar was shot here. The neighbours had asked too may times for the music to be turned down

We have spent the last few days in Medellin, which is surprisingly unremarkable in a vista sort of way. There are no grand buildings or sights; in fact the drive in is the most spectacular part, coming through mountains and rivers. It does however have a throbbing nightlife, there are bars stacked on top of one another, and the population here is very young, and the students take to the streets and neck a few stubbies before hitting the clubs. Which makes up for the lack of other activities.

One thing we have noticed about Colombia is the culture where it is accepted to have a few beers in the local parks or streets, hand outside restaurants and chat away. There is never any aggro or unsociable behaviour when they have had a few, which leaves other countries youth to shame. You are never going to hear of one punch deaths when you pick up the paper the next morning.

Pablo Escobar, the notorious drug cartel kingpin, is a Medellino. Or was. He was gunned down about 15 years ago on a rooftop in the city, and today we took part in a spot of Narcotourism, where a local guide, a young girl who swears more than me, showed us the murderous sights. This wasn’t your typical “On your left you will see a lovely mansion” sort of excursion, more a “On your left a car bomb left 70 dead” and “This is the roof where Pablo’s bullet riddled body was slumped”.

When you see the kids in the streets at dusk and well into the night, enjoying the social life their parents yearned for, but were unable too, for fear of being gunned down by a narco Sicarrio, or hit man, or being the innocent victim of drug turf violence, you then realise how far Colombia has come.  Pablo wasn’t all bad though. He once had a referee killed for making a poor decision that cost his team a football match. Now we have all wanted to do that.

And the lotto numbers this week are brought to you by Pablo Escobar

But now it is Adios to Colombia. Tomorrow we farewell you and head towards Ecuador. Thank you for having the most amazing people and staggeringly beautiful country. Here's hoping the people we meet from here on in are as amazing as yours.

  

Salento, Colombia

Place stayed: Plantation Hose Hostel

Liked: Quiet and secluded. House dogs.

Hated: No toaster.

Medellin, Colombia:

Place Stayed : Hostel Poblado Park

Liked:  Payed for dorm room, but as we were the only guests in the hotel, had it all to ourselves. Great conversations with the local retiree who calls himself a hippie and is currently in our view on the balcony rolling a whopping big joint.

Exceptionally clean, remarkable for a hotel. It also has a toaster.