The Cherry on Top: Colombia

We certainly kept our wits about us when crossing ‘one of the most dangerous check-points in South America’. Thankfully, we made it in daylight, so the whole experience was far easier than we had anticipated. After getting our exit stamps from a bizarre guy in a Hawaiian shirt, doodling cubes, we gave practiced answers to questions about our trip motives- not just to party, not just to party- and changed the rest of our dollars into Colombian Pesos, so felt like millionaires again. Until we ate frankfurters for dinner. Despite a comeback of the reclining seat and working toilet, our bus journey from Ipiales to Cali wins the award for the most uncomfortable to date.  Soph, a rookie to the South American delicacies of mercado pork & guyanabana juice, couldn’t quite stomach the sharp turns coupled with the obnoxiously loud, violent films that are classic of the buses here. A few plastic bags full, the team were running on no sleep upon arrival in Cali. The next couple of days rolled into a dizz of hot pillows, Adrian Mole and plain pasta. Unfortunately the market food had its affect on Eva too, so Anna took herself on a very obscure city tour and bought in the groceries for the two others, tossing and turning in the room. Even after the respite period, things weren’t looking up for Soph. We took it upon ourselves to locate and visit the closest doctors in town to make sure the malaria tablets were doing their job and that Soph’s ambivalence towards the usual travel clinic appointment hadn’t punished her. Following directions from the receptionist at our hostel, we turned up to some private health offices and started telling the man behind the desk in a nice suit about our friend’s stomach trouble.  He called in his son, who came straight from a work-out session to inform us that we were definitely in the wrong place and that we needed to call our own insurance company. Lack of help from the offices across the pond, a taxi driver took us straight to the hospital, and somehow, we found ourselves in A and E. From trying and tragic, our ten hour day in the hospital became a ridiculously laughable experience. Poor Soph was subjected to awkward analysis, a blood test and two drips. Eva and Anna lounged by her side in drip-waiting rooms with a friendly Colombian bunch who made us see light in the situation. Soph hydrated to bursting point, we were all ready to move on. Just a couple of hours up the road, we paid Buga a visit because of a tip-off about a hostel/bakery/brewery. It was a perfect solution to re-cooperation; we drank and ate through the money we’d saved from our three days of being hermits without even having to leave the hostel.

 Next, to Salento.  Right in the heart of Colombia’s Zona Cafeteria, Salento was a haven. We resided in a renovated coffee plantation set aside bright green mountains as far as the eye reached, and most importantly- unlimited free coffee. We felt as if we’d stepped back in time: playing bar games with the gauchos, sipping rum in saloons full of framed horse photos. Inspired by the sombreros and ponchos, we took out our own horses for the day to explore the steep trails through the surrounding mountains.

So steep in fact, that one of the horses took a tumble in the mud. Not a bead of sweat broken by our gaucho guide, we safely trotted back to town in time to wash the mud splats from our calves and head out for a delicious dinner of baked trucha (trout) at one of the local eateries. Bellies full, we went to bed excited for the plantation tour we had booked for the next morning.

The tour was led by an old East End chappie who’d retired to Colombian hills who, true to stereotype, could talk for Britain. We learnt about not only his process of cultivating and growing but also about coffee all around the world, his business ambitions and the many different roof structures he went through before finding the perfect one ‘here today’. We watched the coffee transform from bean to cup and enjoyed a brew of tinto whilst the afternoon sun split its rays between the banana trees. The guide invited us back to his house for sunset, so we bought ingredients for a hostel group meal and cooked steaks on an open fire after watching the sky turn pink over the plantation.

It was for this reason that we over-stayed in Salento and therefore left ourselves a total of three hours in our next destination, the city of Medellin. Home to Pablo Escobar in his hay day, the little we saw of the city (a journey from the bus station to the airport) seemed now, clean and friendly. We wished we had a little more time when we whizzed past the groups of locals eating dinner up by the mirador with an entire view of the sprawling city. Alas, it was time to catch a flight up to the Caribbean coast.

 Another long journey behind us, we arrived to Cartagena and immediately smiled. Five steps from our hostel, the plaza was bustling with people, lights and music. We sampled some of the town’s best street food- and, after frequent visits, came to make very good friends with the girl manning this particular stand- and chucked to the side our jeans and llama jumpers. Cartagena was hot. So hot that the obviously thing to do manana was to roam around the old town in the heat of the day. We couldn’t have looked less glamorous with sweat pouring down our backs in fashion boutiques, taking a five minute time-out in any air conditioned establishment we came across. Nonetheless, the city is absolutely beautiful. (We put dibs on our favourite ivy-strewn mansions for future purchase.) A return to bizarre hostel headquarters for a much needed rinse and then back to burrito girl for Round Two. We liked this city.

 Soph’s last day really creeped up on us. What with the whole hospital diabolical and mountain frolicking, we had only twenty-four hours to get her toes dipped in the Caribbean Sea. Playa Blanca, the usual day-trip for tourists was out of our price range, so we scoured the guide books for alternative options and made our way to a ‘quintessential fishing village’ fifteen minutes out of the city. Deemed far too dangerous by our taxi driver, who we believed after our car was chased by guys trying to sell us drugs, we ended up spending the day on the stretch of beach in front of all the high rise hotels. It was… alright! We ate a shot glass worth of ceviche each and bought fresh lemonade in exchange for a day’s sunbed. Until, of course, the clouds began to loom. Our last night as a trio was spent indulging in quirky cuisine and making friends on the curb who convinced us to stay up and share trip anecdotes. A casual airport goodbye the next morning was demonstrative of Soph’s whole time with us: a short-lived pleasure.

A duo for all of four hours, Anna and Eva checked into a different hostel in order to cram in sunbathing hours by the pool before another reunion with friends from home. Inevitably, the night had a detrimental effect on plans for movement the next day, but it did mean that we could justify visiting the burrito stand once again and adopted new companions to accompany us to Costeno Beach Surf Lodge.  The secluded lodge standing to the east of Tayrona National Park was one of the best finds of our trip. The swell quite strong, we found it preferable to just wet our feet and watch the amazing sunsets from the sand banks. And so began our stretch of sleeping in hammocks.

Massages, rum and cards behind us, from Costeno we were able to explore what the protected area of the coast had to offer. Tayrona National Park was stunning in its synthesis: from the dense rainforest to the giant boulders set amongst the clearest, turquoise water. For once the hike part was actually a pleasure. But, with somewhere beautiful, what is there always have next door? Over-priced restaurants. Despite two members of the group- not mentioning any names- having been warned about inflated prices in the park, we didn’t think to bring any supplies with us. So obviously, beer took precedence over water and instead of admitting defeat, we all ate full meals at the restaurant that took Visa and inevitably had to cut our trip short by a night, pockets empty. Another night at Costeno and it was time to settle our bill there- a huge problem that could only be resolved by cutting into a cute, little teddy bear. Long story.

Next, onto Taganga, just in time to catch the Colombia vs Peru football match. Kitted out with shirts, we drank and cheered with the locals who blew their horns every time Colombia got the ball. Their national pride glowed through that afternoon as everyone, from young kids to old women, celebrated the win. The impression we got is that it’s much more than just a ball in a net. Let’s just say, we know who we’re supporting in the World Cup... 

And from here on out is a tale of goofy dancing and more goodbye meals as Anna’s trip time also came to a close. Seeing as we hadn’t been apart for more than a day over six months, it felt almost surreal as she pulled away in a mini-van, bags bursting to the seams with all Eva’s gifts to take home. Goodbyes had to be kept brief because as you all probably know, there has been far too much to try and round up. Just a really tight squeeze and a, ‘Take care of yourself’ said everything she needed it to.

And that’s the end of one saga.