Hola Familia y Amigos,
We woke up our first full day in Barichara to church bells chiming and competing from multiple locations at 5:30 a.m., opening up our folding doors, witnessing the pink skies of dawn, the chirping of birds and the crowing of roosters. We were also provided a peekaboo view of the Templo La Inmaculada (circa 1838), its church dome and twin towers sneaking above the tree line and the natural wood railings bordering our 3 x 10 foot balcony. Our breakfast in the courtyard consisted of delicious fresh fruit, hot chocolate, strong coffee, toast and eggs, all the time watching the small grey/blue tanagers feeding, and then suddenly being displaced by a larger brown-bodied, bright yellow-bellied bird, swooping in and taking over the hanging feeding stations. We had set our sights on a hike down the 5.2 km long Camino Real, a stone strewn native path from Barichara to Guane which dates to 1864. The night before we thought we had mapped out the way to the trail head without having to rely on others for help and moved forward on that premise, strolling down the town streets composed of flat, rectangular-shaped stones, etched with striations to mitigate slipperiness, admiring the quaintness of this pueblo and surrounding countryside on our descent toward the town square.
Well, in the mid-morning heat of a soon-to-be hot and humid day, we had followed our map to the Cemetario, onto Calle 2, and, seeing a sign on the side of a building pointing toward Guane, we assumed we were on our way…the sand stones we were treading upon seemed to fit the description of the Camino Real, but after a while, we found ourselves in the midst of a new housing construction project! Finally accepting that we may have erred, we talked to one of the workers, soon realizing with his stick-in-the-dirt mapping, that the entry to the trail was one block from our hotel! We had already spent an hour walking, now having to retrace all our steps uphill this time. At 10:30 a.m., we began walking the Camino Real, a 2 hour saunter down this 150 year old path to the pueblo of Guane. The rocky, uneven nature required our total attention, trying to avoid stumbling and turning an ankle. We were bordered on our left by a continuous stone wall with lichen coverings, seven rocks high, lined by trees laden with a soft billowy moss. To our right, pastures with cows, goats and some dwellings set back behind gates. We were also regaled by some previous hiker’s whimsy, taking advantage of available rocks to create a Gollum-like character. After all was said and done, we had spent four hours on our feet and were ready to plop down somewhere cool and relax.
We arrived in sleepy Guane and sat at a small corner hideaway, Guayubi, sitting across from the 12th Woman again, hydrating before the Contrasangil bus arrived to take us back up to Barichara, where we dined at Shanti on Carrera 7, whose claim to fame was providing “slow food”, run by hippy types, delivering Indian-themed foods, like Pita Kathmandu, all organic, which pleased Maggie to no end! Recovering in our room in late afternoon, we relaxed listening to the sounds of someone practicing the saxophone wafting into our space. We dined at Don Juan’s this last night in Barichara, on their balcony, with French tourists milling around below us, locals revving their motorcycles, all part of the cachet of this small hamlet. We dined on Cabro Provenzal (goat), a Padrino (whiskey) and a plate of Hormigas Culones (fat-bottomed ants, a local delicacy, which our waitress had first said were not available, later bringing us a plate after seeing my pouty face). We basked in the night breezes, watching the lightning flashes in the distance, smelling the weather change.
Leaving the next day, we hauled our luggage down the cobbled streets to the main square, catching the 10:30 a.m. bus to San Gil, a reverse trip from the one getting us here, then catching another bus to Bucaramanga and staying overnight there for an early morning flight on a sequence of legs that would take us to the Coffee Triangle. Maggie has a penchant for finding out-of-the-way places for us, as our Bucaramanga taxi guy, Jairo, had as much of a challenge at finding the Serenity Suites Boutique Hotel as Alfonso had in finding the Posada Suenos in Barichara! Jairo had to stop four times, asking various security personnel, finally delivering us to this phantom, sign-less “hotel” residing in a residential area, high on a hill overlooking the town. The highlight here for this one night stand was Gustavo and his wife’s dinner of Ceviche de Camaraones, Crema de Ahuyama sopa, Carbonara with Chicken Strips and a dessert of Fresas al Balsamico con Helado de Vanille. Jairo, who we had conscripted with the night before, was waiting for us at 7:00 a.m. sharp, while we were finishing breakfast on the veranda, looking past the large dead tree hosting 3 dozen screaming parrots to the city enshrouded with a thin cloud layer, pierced only by the tallest buildings. This would be another multiple leg jaunt starting at the Bucaramanga airport this time, flying through the Bogota hub and on to Pereira to be picked up by taxi and driven to our next ‘home’, El Cairo, nestled 3 km outside of Salento in the “Coffee Triangle” area, 200 miles west of Bogota and 130 miles south of Medellin.
We were honored to fly with the Cali National futbol team to Bogota. While waiting for our flight, we were amused by the notoriety of these famous personalities (to the locals), the women passengers and airport personnel lining up, taking selfies unabashedly, the stamina of the key (only the skilled and/or handsome) players in tolerating all of this hoo-hah. The downside for the day was Maggie losing scissors from a manicure set, small fold-up scissors and a 2” x ½” sewing kit with itsy bitsy needles. They had passed muster several times before, but we are convinced the female security agent on this watch saw a place in her personal repertoire for these items! Our drive from Pereira’s airport with Sebastian proved educational as this tatted, entrepreneurial 20-something year old shared information of a political, historical and ecological nature, while driving through a torrential downpour lasting the entire hour long ride. Our history lesson would continue with El Cairo’s owner, Alejandro, another 20-something who is a world class cyclist and only recently returned from Europe to manage this family estate of 100 years and restore it as an ecological magnet for birders and bicyclists now that drug cartels’ influence has abated.
Woke up our first morning at El Cairo to see the rolling green foothills of the Colombian Andes, downed our breakfast and secured a Willys jeep to visit the Ocaso Finca coffee growing operation, standing up in our jeep on the way there, surveying the coffee fields, travelling down narrow rocky, curvy roads, competing with horses, motorcycles and bicyclists. Our time at Ocaso included picking the proper berries (red ones, not green), being given baskets and 15 minutes to collect as many of the ripe berries we could find. Neither Maggie nor I won this contest; our fellow resident at El Cairo, Michael, a British citizen, was declared the winner out of the 12 of us on this English-speaking tour. Bending over to collect berries in hard-to-get-to places on the plants, we sympathized with those doing this back breaking work regularly and appreciated even more our white collar careers! Paola, our 20-something guide, stepped us through the growing stages, the elimination of 2nd grade berries, and other facets of the process of our having a hot Cup o’ Java in the morning, ending with a coffee tasting session in which Maggie participated.
We had our Willys driver, who had waited the entire hour of the coffee experience, drop us off at Salento’s El Centro, which, this being a Sunday, was packed with locals perusing the many stores and being entertained in the main square by various carnival-like amusements, e.g., small mini Willys carrying little kids, being pushed by vendors and one that we found pretty humorous, a young woman being pushed around on a four-wheeled cart, atop a wooden horse with two smaller ones on each side. We have discovered that Colombia has a big horse culture, so if you can’t get the real thing… It was lunch time and we dined at Bernabe’s which had been recommended by a number of folks, and did not disappoint: Filet mignon with a reduction of wine, coffee and blackberry sauce and a dessert of Chocolate Pepper cake with ice cream as two examples. In the course of conversation we learned more about Michael’s work (Ecology Economist, working out of Paris) and travel history (the question here was where hadn’t he been), which turned out to be pretty impressive, given his 30-something years on this planet.
Our best experience was gathering up another Willys, which brought us and Michael, a self-professed ‘keen’ hiker, to a planned trek on the Los Nevados National Park Valle de Cocora loop trail, 7.5 miles, gaining 3,000 feet in elevation to Finca La Montana at an elevation of 9,400 feet, crisscrossing the Quindio River a half dozen times on rickety foot bridges with split wood planks, 2” apart, holding on to wire railings. Because of the rains, we were forced to put on our rubber boots to slog through the mud and ford streams. Unfortunately these boots did not provide the proper foot support, which would show up days later with a severe left Achilles issue for me. Not more than 15 minutes into the hike, Michael left us in his wake, proving his aforementioned ‘keenness’. Along the way, we would come across other younger outdoors fans, some on horseback, others wearing tennis shoes, blazing on by us. Our ascent took 3.5 hours, straight up most of the way, stopping to catch our breath so many times we lost count. Just before reaching the 9,400 foot apex, where we ran into the 12th Woman once more, we stopped for 15 minutes just to take in our accomplishment and the immense beauty before us.
Hearing thunder in the distance, we hurried to the top, through the gate and down the gravel road that was the other part of this loop travel, which we were very thankful for, as we had imagined coming back down over the same kind of terrain we had hiked up and, with the slipperiness factor and potential downpour looming, we had been dreading our descent. We shed our boots, put on our better-suited foot wear (still not hiking boots, though) and hot-footed it through the lowering misty cloud cover that would result in some eerie pictures of the Palma de Ceras (Wax palms), Colombia’s national tree, which grows to heights of 200 feet. The vegetation consisted of bamboo and pine trees and lushness that was a cross between Kauai, Jurassic Park, and the Austrian Alps, a pastoral hillside and valley floor catering to cows grazing in the mists and fallen Wax palms strewn about. We were forced to breach a couple of gates across the road, going underneath barbed wire off to the sides. Hiring another Willys, we hopped on board just as the impending deluge of rain hit. Our run of luck on disaster-free adventures and great timing continues!
In our final dispatch, we will come back to city life in Colombia. In this case, Medellin and Bogota.
Hasta Luego, Stan & Maggie