The Never Ending Story, Popayán

Crazy fucking bus drivers. They're completely insane. I almost turn a blind eye to it now that I've been here for so long, but every now and then I'll find myself utterly dumbfounded, perched high on the edge of my seat, closing my eyes and bracing myself for the expected. On the way from San Gil to Tunja we actually crashed into an oncoming truck. The driver had rode up along side another bus (who obviously wasn't slowing down any time soon) to overtake, coming up the crest of a hill. Surprise, surprise...out pops this truck from over the lip, and we slam down the breaks while trying to tuck back into line behind our swindling starboard nemesis. Lucky for us the truck noticed the chaos and slowed himself right down pre-contact. It was such a senseless incident. By trying to save himself a few sneaky minutes, the idiot effectively lost a quarter of an hour working out paperwork practicalities. What more, once we finally managed to disembark from that minor hiccup, the guy juiced himself up for round two. Naturally we had to make up for lost time. Did he not learn anything in the last hour?? We were back winding sideways up & down through the mountain valleys. Not far out of Tunja I actually spotted a truck overturned on the side of the highway. It looked like a right mess. I've often seen locals acting out the 'sign of the cross' across their upper bodies upon jumping aboard many of these vehicles. I laughed at first. Now I've seen the light.

Madness came around once again when it came time to leave the bleached white town of Villa de Leyva. I met this Italian chick who was doing a flash trip of the country, apparently here for some wedding in Bogota. She wouldn't shut up about being robbed. She'd never even been robbed, just couldn't handle the stress of hanging about in such "dangerous" places such as this...so I had this in my ear for a good three hours. My ticket was to Zipaquira, but someone must have forgot to tell the driver. The crazy bugger just flew straight by the intersection. Was he planning on cutting in at another junction somewhere further on?? How long do I need to wait and see?? "Stop the fucking bus!!" Oh great...he tells me he's going direct to Bogota and just keeps on keeping on. I eventually persuaded him to drop me off on the side of the highway, now a good five kilometres or so from town. The Italian lass was meant to be coming my way too, but she got scared I guess and just stayed on the bus. Off I trot, along the old railway line, kicking up dust with the soles of my haggard & holey beaten-up runners.

I destroyed lunch that day. Although not exactly flavoursome, I've kind of gotten used to the Colombian cuisine, and religiously crave the stuff when I'm feeling oh so malnourished. You've pretty much got two main choices:- 'The Deep Fried Appetizers' (papa potato balls stuffed with meat or egg, half-moon pie like empiñadas) OR 'The Wholesome Home-cooked Plato Del Dia' (Meal of the Day - bowl of soup, rice, meat & some kind of salad/casserole mash up). It's more about quantity than quality in most cases. Often it's hard to stand up and walk away. The towns main plazas weren't such a bad place to sit and take a breather. I think my stomach has shrunk.

Plaza in Zipaquira

The next day I thought I'd check out the famous Salt Cathedral, carved from the tunnels of an old salt mine. This place was creepy. Christianity in its most sombre retreat. The gaping chasms were enormous, it felt like I was in an underground warehouse. Following our guide, nodding along at every one of his thorough explanations in Spanish, we made our through the 14 'Stations of the Cross,' each with their own mighty chambers & chiseled symbology. Continuing along the dark passage led us into a great dome roofed room, from where we entered the obligatory lookout point for the actual cathedral, deep in the depths below. It was impressive, I have to say. The sheer scale & detail of the place was what blew me away the most. These people take this shit seriously, and all that dedication is an attribute to those beliefs. We finished up the tour at a small reflection pool which enhanced a perfect mirror image of the saline rock up above. I wandered round for a little longer, took some photos & got the hell out of there. It was all a bit much for me. God will punish the wicked.

The Salt Cathedral

By the time I'd spent two nights in Zipaquira I was ready to clear out. I was on the hunt for gringos. Were the masses really heading back home for the summer?? It sure seemed that way. I caught a bus to Bogota, got freaked out & made the escape. I can't handle the cities I've come to realise. With the exceptions of funky Havana & Cartagena, I normally just get pissed off. I'll spend $5 on a four or five hour bus ride to get there, only to spend $20 on a half an hour taxi trip across town to get to another one of the countless bus stations or to snap a photo of a singular enticing 'unmissable attraction.' But really, a city is a city isn't it?? They are dirty, sprawling, crowded & often impersonalised. Sure I am generalising, but it's not what I want. I'm over doing things I "should" do. Choked-up traffic, spread-sheets of slums, grasslands, mountains...here we go! Ten hours later, I touched down in Manizales. The only reason I was here was to head on into the mountains for some hiking around Los Nevados National Park, but those plans were blown sky high when I found out the Ruìz Volcano was spurting its guts & the warning system had reached an 'orange alert.' To top it off, there was still no one around. I sat around the hostel sucking on oranges, and plucking away at a busted up guitar with only three strings. The next day I checked out the big black cathedral, caught the cable car back down the hill, and jumped on yet another bus.

Giant Cathedral in Manizales

So we come to Salento. A beautiful town jammed between mountains, overlooking numerous river valleys & teeming with country-life character. These are the small places I've come to love all the way down. Places where you can spend days exploring the surrounds, meeting real people & enjoying the laid back atmosphere. The towns plaza was full of life when I arrived, with kid's playing ball games & marbles by the fountain, and a healthy mix of locals and foreigners alike eating & drinking in the many colourful restaurants and pubs. I met the girls in my dorm, and we took of into town for a walk & some drinks. We ended up standing on the street corner, leaning up against a lamp pole for the better part of an hour, chatting with these two Germans & one chirpy Sydneysider. Times were good. We wandered on down to the Speak Easy Bar for some more drinks & whisked the night away.

Cocora Valley near Salento

That next day we all planned to go hiking up the Cocora Valley, about a 40 minute jeep ride from town. The scenery was spectacular. I didn't know so many shades of green existed. We followed the Quindio River up into the hills, crossing rickety wooden bridges and hopping over thick patches of mud, before reaching a large farmhouse, occupied by swarms of speedy hummingbirds. These things were like large mosquitos, it was nearly impossible to capture a decent photo. After some lunch, we headed on back down to the signed junction to La Montaña, and cruised up the slopes to the lookout. The views were everywhere, and were constantly changing every few minutes. I could see the start of the high sierra further off in the distance, and it only got me more anxious to be up there. We took our time making our way back down to town, enjoying the aura created by the fields of towering wax palms. There were mules pulling back breaking loads of timber, and farmers working away in their lots. It was all very surreal. Not far off the bottom we all decided to jump a barb-wired fence and take a precarious shortcut down this steep bank. Ankle breaking stuff. Lucky I'd done a lot of this before. I was more worried about being shot for coming too close to a cow or something. Safely back in town, we piled back into the jeep, playing shortest-straws for who had to pay the extra fare. Ended up being some poor local guy. Sucker. We then went to the pub and watched the football, ate a big bag of crisps, snatched up a bottle of rum and got the party started in the hostel gardens with all the fire-flies.

Wax Palms

I spent another day hanging around in Salento, walking around lapping up the scenery. It's that kind of place, many people stay longer than expected. One final night at Speak Easy signalled the theoretical end to my trip through Colombia. I'm glad it all finished with a bang. I'm now making my way south towards Equador, the next chapter of my great never ending story. From the scorching heat of the Caribbean, to the barren icy slopes of the Sierra Nevada del Cocuy, this country has been incredible and it's kind of sad to say goodbye. Let's hope it's just the beginning of more amazing stories to come as I continue to wreak havoc across this crazy continent.

Peace Out Mo' Fockers!!
Seeya'll at the Equator...

Bye for now...Nicko xx