1st June, 2012
Wesley Snipes is Jesus. Gods own son. At least that appears to be what I'm looking at. Wouldn't that piss off the purists. This must be some kind of accident. His sorrowful, more bewildered gaze stares back into my sombre expressionless face with a chilling precision. I manage a wink & blurt out a little chuckle; the novelty speaks for itself. Why should this be such a strange encounter?? And why is there a second idol depicting a very deliberately placed white Jesus, arms extended out to the masses in your typical Christ like fashion, hanging high above my black friend here, who looks like he's been digging about on the streets all day for no more than a spare dime?? Lucky for him someone decided to decorate his purple robes with pre-packaged kangaroo badges. Wes, I'm impressed...you're quite the trend setter.
There are various stories surrounding the origins of the Portobello Black Jesus, which now resides in the local church of the small Panamanian coastal town. Some claim it was dumped by a ship attempting to save weight before sailing into a fierce storm, which inevitably met its doom. Others dispute it was sent to the town by accident, and when the exchange was to be rectified, great sickness plagued the population until they hastily partitioned for its return. Whatever people choose to believe, every October worshippers come from all across the country (on hands & knees sometimes) to give praise to the magical powers bestowed on the Black Jesus. And I mean why not hey?? Roman Catholics perform exorcisms to evict invisible invasive demons, Jehovahs might refuse a life saving blood transfusion, Muslim women succumb to that Islamic niqab & Jews choose cut off the end of their dicks at birth. What ever floats your boat I say. I always despise the fanatics, and dread the never ending discussions. Someones always bound to get a little fired up...a little feisty. Hereby, please let none of these nutcases reside for the next 5 days on my sailboat. This would help me smile a lot.
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| The Portobello Black Jesus |
It was a welcome relief when two young guns jumped aboard the following day. They didn't seem too wild, but were nice enough. There was also some Swedish guy who had apparently rode his bike from the North Pole all the way to the far Southern extremity, and was finishing off this last short leg in the middle that he'd previously missed! I thought that was pretty cool, even if no one else did. I chose for the better to put my initial first impressions aside, and made to enjoy the adventure! We left Portobello that afternoon, and we were soon bouncing out across the Caribbean. Yes, Bouncing. Errr...I wish I hadn't had all those beers yesterday! My pasta nearly went over the side no sooner than it entered my mouth...
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| Aboard the 'Wild Card!!' |
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| A Kuna Indian Island in San Blas |
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| Local kids paying us a visit |
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| DB getting some treatment |
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| Picture perfect San Blas Islands |
The tunes came about not long after. I miss the music. I've been hearing the same songs squeezed between Spanish lessons over and over on repeat for the past four months now! For me, this guitar was gold. I must admit this guy was pretty woeful, but he wasn't to know. It's not his fault. Once I had that guitar I simply couldn't stop; instinct took over...and I guess in a way I kind of took over. Balls. I'm a fucking show pony. It's not my fault. Johnny Cash, Creedence, Bobby Dylan, all those late night ravers; the only grouch not enjoying himself was Yosemite Sam here. I can't find the sense in hating someone over such a pity pissy panty-knot, but heck this guy hardly talked to me for the rest of the boat trip. His loss.
We left the San Blas the following afternoon, pumped full of lobster & sea sickness tablets. We had two full days on the open ocean, and again I was feeling like arse. I'm now glad I didn't go through with one guys offer to share costs and work as his deck hand sailing all the way back across the Pacific to the Phillipines. It had sounded fun at the time, and I soon felt like a bit of a pussy. Turned out the SwedeMachine was a pretty funky fella. He ended up keeping me entertained with innumerable (not so tall after all) tales during those long bleak hours swaying in unison with the white-washed seven seas. Not only had he climbed the highest peaks on every continent, rode his push bike from pole to pole & jet skied across the Atlantic...he had built a flying boat out of a rubber dingy & lasagna pots and flew the thing from Sweden to Africa!! If I make it to Stockholm any time in the near future, I'm gonna hold his word to that co-pilot offer he put up for grabs. We arrived into Cartagena late at night, and spent the evening up on deck finishing off any food scraps we could muster & watching the huge cranes load container ships over at the docks. It was a fitting finale to an interesting adventure, and an exciting prelude to many more.
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| Docklands at night in Cartagena |
Talk again soon my fellow chums...
Enjoy the good life. xxx
White Sand 'til Snow, El Cocuy N.P
14th June, 2012
I've practically done fuck all for the past two days. Could I had I tried? Who knows. I look like shit, feel like shit, and I bet on my tiny left testicle that I smell like shit also. If only all you fine people could see me now...say hello to the glamorous life of a backpacker. I don't even have the guts to take a shower. I'm too petrified I'll once again be nailed down upon by bullets of ice. Ten days ago I was lucky to get a few hours sleep each night due to the relentless, never ending Caribbean inferno; here you'll struggle to get me out of bed to piss. It's all pretty comical really. After much anticipation I'd finally reached The Andes, the Sierra Nevada del Cocuy to be precise, not too far from the Venezuelan border. A few days in the mountains sounded like the perfect antidote for all that beach bummin' I'd been doing over the past four months or so. All geared up (or so I thought), I shot off into the hills. Soon I'd come to realise we weren't in Tasmania anymore...
Never had I seen a city quite like Cartagena. It reminded me in a way of Havana, yet at the same time, there stands only a few surface similarities. Here worlds collide in one big giant orgy. There's a definite Afro-Caribbean vibe abounding around the whole place, still there are areas of the city that wouldn't look out of character in high rise New York. The old section of the city is beautiful, and apart from those endless hours 'wasted' duelling Scandinavian Goliaths at ping pong, this was where I spent most of my time. It's a shame the city also has it's darker side. I've never been offered such an endless array of drugs than I did in such a short period of time. Everything under the sun...and dirt cheap. Vendors would often call you over in an attempt to sell off some touristy nik-naks; then as you wandered off would switch business strategies revealing the all too obvious charade, hoping to snag a potential client looking for a little Colombian kick-start. Every night we'd end up watching the sunset from 'the wall' which wraps around the whole complex, complete with intact fortifications and cannons, relics from a bygone era. One night in particular was most memorable. A group of us ended up guzzling away the hours, late into the night with a bunch of local street performers. After they repeatedly kept insisting, we all stood up and took turns embarrassing ourselves salsa dancing. A couple of local guys joined us to chat as well, and it proved a great chance to practise my Spanish. I thought I was doing OK, until Niclas hit the football soft spot and blew all my useless linguistics to the dark side of the moon. I was a little envious at how well they could communicate on everyday things. I have so much to say...to ask...to tell...to so many people, I just have no way of getting that point across quite yet. What I did manage to interpret however, hit me the hardest. Obviously tired of being generalised by their countries famous drug-running reputation, these young lads wanted us to understand the essence of Colombia. The real Columbia. They defined its people into two simple categories that they felt fitting - the 'good'...and the 'very bad.' So far, I've seen a lot of the former. Let's hope I never have to see the other side.
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| Drinkin' schnapps on The Wall |
I was stoked to see Wankha on my bus when I left. They too were heading up the coast to the small village of Taganga, a picturesque beach side hide away tucked between steep mountains. I was feeling close to becoming all beached out. The heat was getting to me maybe. There was no reprieve, unless of course you were face flat in the ocean. This was going to be it. My first views of the distant mountain ranges only excited me further. By the time we all hopped off the bus it was already well past dark, with no real clue where to crash. We checked out a couple of crappy guesthouses (one looked like a kindergarten) before this random guy suggested we follow him and take a look at this brand new hostel just up the street. Once again...sometimes things just work out perfect, like they were meant to be. I started having my doubts after walking for a minute or so...this was starting to feel like one of those 'murder down a back alley' stories. Then to our surprise..."HEYYY!!!" it was the two Swedes I'd met back in Cartagena! I had no idea which hostel they were at...this one isn't even listed yet, but here they were! There was also one of those crazy Swiss chicks that I'd kept running into, not to mention a whole bunch of other cool vagabonds. It was a really great atmosphere that night. We sat as a huge group for hours trading tales & joking about, then out popped this odd looking sitar thing that one of the guys had been carrying around all this time. Turns out it was a Turkish Balgama, and we all took turns giving it our best shot. The best jingle I could muster turned out to be Snoop Dog.
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| Latin Hostel, Taganga!! |
That next morning I went looking for a dive shop. I really wanted to squeeze at least one more day of diving in before heading south, maybe even knock off my Advanced Course. All shops seemed pretty cheap, but I just couldn't make up my mind...something was holding me back. I had some pancakes for breaky and wandered on back up to the hostel. I forgot I'd told the Swedes I'd come to the beach and was lucky to run into them just as they were about to leave! They thought it would be a marvellous idea to swim from the main beach of Taganga, all the way to Playa Grande!! I thought they were insane. I'd heard the walk around the coast takes at least 25 minutes! Then they told me they'd already done it yesterday! No backing out now little bitch. There's a dashing blond Swedish beauty here you have to impress. What kind of Australian are you?? Not the best swimmer kind. In water I see myself much like JRR Tolkiens favourite dwarf - a natural sprinter. It looked so far, I'm guessing at least two or three kilometres at least, and across open water! I had no choice, we were off. There was no chance of turning back once we'd swam the first ten minutes, we'd come much further much faster than I had thought. It felt like I was in that movie The Beach, off on some crazy adventure to find some forgotten parcel of paradise. We were a long way out. Marie was swimming out even further off in the wrong direction. Towards that container ship?? "Ande, what the fuck is she doing?!" - "Umm...I'm not sure. She's a little stupid..."
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| Overlooking Taganga |
That night we ended up on the rum-train once again! Ohhh goodie-goodie it never ends I tell you, but it's a hoot. You're only young & dumb once after all. That night we took a hike up the hill to the Mirador Bar overlooking the entire bay. The memory cuts in and out from there. I remember Ande passed out in the hammock for a solid four hours (except I assumed it was a local guy until we left), I also remember trying to help Khan find his coke. I searched under the bar, down the hill, behind pots and inside glasses. In the end it had never been anywhere other than in his jacket pocket the entire time! Most of us left together (I think), and Marie & this English guy Charlie stayed, maybe a few others. Everyone got me into a panic, telling me Marie was juiced up on 4 grams of coke! I remember being so worried she was going to die, and sat on the corner waiting for ages so she would find her way home. I mean if I didn't know how to get home on my own, how would anyone else...Fool on you Nickyboy...once again.
We were all meant to go spear fishing the next morning. That sure didn't happen. But somehow Wankha made it out! Machines I tell you. Haha! Actually I was there at the hostel when they got back. I'd given them my alarm but it didn't go off, and they'd woke and left in a mad panic hurry to catch the boat and forgot sunscreen. They came back soooo red! Like a sparkling brand new Ferrari. I'm sure I could see steam coming off their faces. The rest of the day was pretty relaxed. I walked up to a lookout point, had a 'no toilet paper incident' in the fried chicken restaurant, and hung out on the beach with the Swedes & their two Aussie friends they'd met earlier on their travels. Things were slowing down, and I knew it was time for me to take off. This had been a fortunate few days with some great people, but they were all heading home soon, so it wasn't going to last forever. Ciao ciao for now! Hope to see you all soon. Time for the next chapter.
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| Swedes on Taganga Beach |
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| Mountain scenery |
The hiking in El Cocuy N.P is breathtaking. There is no denying that. The difference is that this place is definitely not flush on the gringo trail...not yet. Give this place ten years and I'm sure most hikers around the world will of at least heard of it. For now, no one else I'd met on the road had heard of it. No one seemed up for the challenge either. It was a shame, since I was hoping I'd run into one or two people heading out this way. I don't mind hiking alone but it's sure as hell more fun when you've got someone there to laugh & cry in tune with. After an hour or so from the trail head, the slopes fed into an expansive flat floored valley, enclosed by high ragged cliff lines, tinted in shades of earthy orange & red. The valley was filled with these odd looking plants which reminded me of the Tasmanian pandani. As I climbed higher, this exotic alpine garden began to more resemble a smoothed over carpet covered in dark prickly polka-dots. I could feel the altitude taking it's toll. In theory I probably should have stayed an extra night or two in El Cocuy to acclimatize, but I was here now. Not to worry. I set up camp by Laguna Grande de la Sierra, in the shadow of numerous snow capped peaks & glaciers, and eagerly awaited the morning.
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| One Beautiful Valley in El Cocuy NP |
That morning was much colder than the day before, it was even hard to pack my gear up. I really wanted to get to Laguna de la Plaza today, supposedly the most beautiful in the range, but it meant a gruelling climb up and over a pass hovering at around 4,800 meters above sea level. To be blunt, I was totally under prepared. I'd picked out the cheapest beanie I could find in town, and purchased the gloves I thought looked the coolest. I had no idea it was going to be this cold...or wet...or windy. I must not have been too far away from reaching that damb pass, I'd been walking for a solid two and a half hours, but I began to go numb in places I never had before. My hands were blue; they were hardly moving, and my face felt like an ice block. On top of the cold my head was spinning wildly, it felt like it was placed horizontally inside a clamp. It was decision time. I never turn back...and my stubborn drive was egging me on. What a joke. Fortunately I also have an instinct known as common sense. I made the call, and headed down. Combining all the factors, I later knew I made the right decision. Altitude, the cold, wet & windy weather, lack of warm clothing & flying solo was bound for disaster. Looking back, I most likely would have ended up losing fingers or even worse...my life. So that was one big phat lesson for the memory bank. Now down & out of there, I can think back on the actual beauty of the place, and start planning the next adventure of course. Ooohh Yeaa!! From the safety & comfort of my king size bed for now at least. Recovery time.
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| Laguna Grande de la Sierra |
PeaceOut!! Feeling good once again from the hills!!
Sorry Sal, I'll do better at trying not to die next time...
Much lovin' from a friend of yours!!
Nikolaus. xxx
Nacho's Flying Circus, Villa de Leyva
23rd June. 2012
The lights are out, socks are off & I'm tucked up in bed for another night. After smashing through a $3 wood-fired pizza, topped in a tower of tasty cheese and mushrooms, I decided to crash out pretty early. I'd been on the road for most of the day, having finally made the move from San Gil. What a place that turned out to be...I'm still feeling the aftermath of our last showdown. I ended up baked as a bitch, to the point where my eyes couldn't stay open, chugging an entire beer off a human foot. Another reasonable excuse to sleep I'll say. I found myself a quaint little place not far from the grand Plaza Mayor, teeming at the thought of my own private room. Bed was bliss. It was time for a bit of R&R. I sussed out the amenities, found a cupboard full of German literature and discovered a small loft with another mattress, not far off the high ceiling. It was a creepy nook but I liked it, and eventually I nodded off to the sound of some guy shifting about in his sleep next door. At least that's what I thought...
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| Plaza Mayor, Villa de Leyva |
A week earlier I'd also found myself all alone, wandering aimlessly about another bustling town. After spending a week in the mountains, I was in need of some serious attention - actually I was exploding out the seams. This was ridiculous. Where was everyone?? I'd landed in San Gil, apparently a gringo hot spot, with no gringos to be found. Maybe it was time I took this Spanish speaking seriously...there are always plenty of locals around, and really shouldn't that be the point?? I'm not travelling around the mother land after all. I purchased a children's pre-school picture book and sat in my room studying random words that I still couldn't figure out, while munching on a huge packet of crisps. I woke at three o'clock in the morning, with the book layed across my chest & the TV blaring an overdubbed edition of Lord of the Rings. What had I succumbed to...this was down right depressing.
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| The streets of San Gil |
Our posse was monstrous, and only kept on growing. That night we bulked up at Sam's Bistro for some bangin' pub grub, before settling in for a night on the schnapp's, chilling out on the balcony which overlooks the park, serenading the masses with a Frenchman's guitar. AustinTexas proved himself a fine contender, plucking along with his sombre blues & bubble-gum pop mash ups. We traded off all night, even busting out the rusty harmonica. How it started, I do not remember...yet somehow we all decided rapping was a great idea. I hope there were no fatties around, I couldn't hold the lyrical genius back. However, I think I got owned by this chick rapping about mathematics & literacy.
That night had been the beginning of a tornado. This turned out to be one of the best weeks of my trip to date. What a difference a few good people can make. One thing, if you make it to San Gil, you have to descend upon that fruit market. They have everything. Most mornings I'd make myself some kind of milk & fruit smoothie to sooth the soul. A perfect way to start the day. Later, we made a trip out to Pozo Azul, a free local hangout on a cascading river, within walking distance from the town. We spent hours, lazing around in the sun, being pounded by waterfalls & soaking ourselves in the deep whirlpools. On the walk back, poor TIA had a little incident and nearly shit himself en-route. It's always funnier when it's not you in need of a loo. Gearing up for a big night, it was time we all hit up the sauna. Reaching that point where you can not psychically take the heat for another minute, and then throwing yourself into a cold swimming pool is much like a sustained orgasm. We squeezed three rounds out of the hour, before Khan went mental and poured everything we had onto the hot rocks! My lungs burnt from within as we all broke into a brawling stampede for the door.
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| Pozo Azul |
As the mornings came and went I kind of fell in love with the bakery girl. Can't go wrong with 50c croissants or pastry pockets packed full of dough & chicken. I think she enjoyed taking the piss out of me. Either that or she was incredibly bored. I'd point to something I wasn't sure of and ask what it was..."is that some kind of coconut cake??" Her face lit up with electricity..."La Bomba!!" Did I really just see her star jump?! I should have took her out, except she couldn't speak a word of English...I'd end up having to talk about whether she liked making bread, or if she owned a pet cat.
Today was paragliding day! It was time to fly. Everyone had been coming back pretty juiced up from it all, so we finally banded together and set off on our own airborne adventure. It was another perfect morning; I'd been so lucky thus far. I was expecting Colombia to be the only downer during my epic endless summer. After a short, bumpy commute we reached the cliff face, chilling out on the grassy hill drinking tiny sweetened coffees. I've got to say I hate Colombian coffee. I think they export all the good stuff, and sell us all the cheap crap. It kind of makes you feel a little ill. Haha, speaking of ill, Lotte was first to take off and dramatically managed to chuck her guts up spinning around in the air! Poor girl, she wouldn't live that down. AustinTexas nearly went skyward off the wrong side of the hill! His parachute got snagged on some kind of wind current and it took a whole team of troops to keep him from taking off. All he could muster was a fit of hysterics as he tried to keep his body up right while running flat-chat backwards. My departure went by with out a hiccup, and I was soon floating high above the rolling countryside. I forgot how much fun this was; thinking back to my skydive all those years ago, the parachute ride was half the experience. An unparallelled birds eye view on the world. My guide had us spinning all over the show, zipping ever so close to the treetops bellow us. It felt like I could almost put my feet out and run along them. The best however were the downward spirals, where we'd fly up to some ridiculous height before pirouetting back towards the ground in a kind of corkscrew formation. Our graceful landing was tarnished by my balls hanging out the end of my shorts, as the crew fumbled with the safety harness straps around my legs.
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| Paragliding near San Gil |
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| CharlieBrown & Lotte doing Squats @ The Virgin |
All of us had now jumped except JoJo, one of the girls who worked at the hostel. She was one of the main reasons we'd come here in the first place, and there was no way we were leaving until she took the leap. Fear is a curious thing, I'd learn more about it all tomorrow. The longer you wait and look, the harder it is to live by that life-loving spontaneity. Countless times she began the run only to wrench on the brakes, nearly causing a catastrophic skull-cracking debacle. As is always the case...once all those cameras were put down and the pressure placed upon the patient had been lifted - Shazzam!! JoJo discharged like a projectile out of a firearm, and cannonballed out over the edge, into the murky water. Being there to witness the moment when someone conquers a fear, beats leaping off any waterfall. I was wondering how many folks we could fit in the sauna tonight??
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| Waterfall flash jumping!! |
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| Lotte rappelling down Juan Curi |
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| Giant stone dick |
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| El Santo overlooking Villa de Leyva |
Much ever lasting lovin'
Nacho. xxxx
The Never Ending Story, Popayán
1st July, 2012
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.
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| Plaza in Zipaquira |
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| The Salt Cathedral |
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| Giant Cathedral in Manizales |
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| Cocora Valley near Salento |
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| Wax Palms |
Peace Out Mo' Fockers!!
Seeya'll at the Equator...
Bye for now...Nicko xx
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