Arriving in Colombia by a small passenger plane at 11pm at night, I had the notion that Colombia was going to be very similar to Cuba - full of vitality, music, salsa and people living their lives outdoors, sociably. My expectations were somewhat filled but of course each country has its own unique flavour and cannot be compared. Cuba is Cuba. It’s a unique country unlike any other place on earth. And so is Colombia. It has its fair share of liveliness, festivities and dancing but the culture is of course quite different and changes depending in what region you’re in. The coast (being where we first landed coming from Panama) is spirited, festive, with hotter climate and large black communities and food to match the territory.
Cartagena de Indias is one of Colombia’s most famous cities for being an old endearing colonial city, founded in 1533. It served as a gateway (and still does) into Colombia and South America. The Spanish used the city as one of the most important ports, shipping treasures from the indigenous back to the homeland. It was attacked by many pirates, which caused the Spanish to create a fortress around the town with an elaborate and profound wall (Las Murallas) that now serve to attract many tourists.
Inside lies the old town which has winding narrow streets, lane ways, many plazas that people converge at, to spend a few hours of the day and beautiful 16th and 17th century Spanish buildings with lots of colour and light. Food spills out on the street with stalls overflowing with fresh fruit, fruit cocktails, fresh juices, coffee (tinto) and the traditional food of Colombia: Arepas, a thick corn tortilla which can be served in a variety of ways, sometimes deep-fried with an egg inside, grilled with melted cheese, sweet, with meat, etc. Well made, they can be a damn good snack! The old town is just one small part of Cartagena, which can have you believe under false pretences, that it’s a rich town with no poverty. Once you escape the walls and venture outside, you come across the locals living in Cartagena, the working class and the people who make the town function with dwellings and streets that show little luxury. The main reason why we raced through Panama was to arrive in Baranquilla in time for Carnaval (from Feb 13th to the 16th), apparently the second best Carnaval in the world after Brazil’s, in Rio de Janeiro. The Carnaval is a blend of African, Indigenous and Spanish cultures which originates from the Catholic religious celebrations along with indigenous traditions and music that originates from African slaves. It occurs a few days before Lent and is a celebration of the diverse and rich culture that colours Colombia. We had managed to find a CS who wasn’t already booked (2 months in advance as some CS responded) and on our first night we went out to see Cumbia, traditional music from Colombia, originating as a courtship dance practiced by the slave population. People were undeniably in a festive mood, with some in costumes and many foaming each other or throwing flour in all directions. People were dancing to the beats of the drums, swigging from bottles of alcohol such as Aguardiente, a typical cheap alcohol derived from sugar cane and saved by the flavour of Anise.
The next day was the official start of Carnaval with the famous Batalla de las flores, which is when all the different Carnaval groups parade as well as local and national stars and the Carnaval queen who throws flowers at the spectators. The day was a scorcher, the streets were full of people at 10 am in the morning, either dressed up (e.g. Minnie mouses, gladiators, etc) or girls wearing the ‘Carnaval costume’ consisting of a colourful Carnaval shirt cut up in various ways along with the Sombrero Volteado, named so for the black spirals decorating the hat.
As the night before, people were armed with foam and flour and weren’t shy to use it on whoever was in their way (I complained several times when my camera was sprayed repeatedly with foam). The street where the parade was to occur was packed with people at least 3 hours before the start and hardly any spots could be seen unless you wanted to pay for grandstands or seats, which cost quite a bit of money. We managed to squeeze into a beer tent where you’re meant to consume constantly but no one said anything to us just buying one (it was Aguila, ugh! – like Sol but with more water!). People lined up for front row spots as we waited for what seemed to be many hours, till the parade started. At last, one-by-one, floats started to appear, at first very slowly. We were squashed by the number of people and chairs around us, trying to see over the many heads, poles and security standing in front of us. Every year there’s a theme song for the Carnaval and it’s played by many floats on the opening day. This year it was called ‘El celular’ and was a little over played in my opinion, being one of those annoying songs that get stuck in your head for days after hearing it once. The floats mostly consisted of people in costumes walking and waving, sometimes dancing, sometimes with a famous singer or star or performing a simple routine. There was a large diversity of groups consisting of Minnie mouses, African slaves, Las gigantonas (giant puppets), Marimondas (elephant costumes that originated as a mockery of the upper classes) and many more. It was the opening of the Carnaval, showcasing all of the ‘performers’. There were approximately 300 floats that paraded that day but we left ¾ of the way through after many hours in the sun, squashed, hungry and thirsty and a little disappointed, imagining that there would be a bit more energy and dancing like the Brazilian Carnaval – a night time parade would have helped like Mardi Gras in Sydney!On Sunday is the La gran parada, which consists of everyone walking instead of parading on floats and with a lot of cumbia dancing. We didn’t attend La gran parada as we were well tired from the previous day and couldn’t imagine battling it out in the crowd and the hot sun again, two days in a row. Instead, with our CS, we went to a small mud volcano near Baranquilla, which holds a natural mud pool in its tiny crater. It was a strange sensation entering the mud bath, similar to an insect trapped in a spider’s web; It was hard to move around, the thick mud trapping you in as you floated on top of its profundity.
As you got use to the feeling and found sections where the sun had heated up the mud to create a warm slush, men helping you into the pool worked away at massaging and exfoliating your body with mud. You left feeling relaxed, your skin soft and clean (after washing the mud off in the river nearby) from the mud mixed in with the minerals from the volcano.On Monday was Agustin’s birthday. I made him a cheesecake which I unfortunately was unable to hide from him but he seemed to appreciate the touch, especially being his first cheesecake ever! We once again went to the parade, preparing two super big gourmet sandwiches of grilled onion, avocado, egg, cheese, capsicum and tomato to take with us. Monday was the Fantasy parade, which was a little more like what you expect the Brazilian Carnaval to be like. We got there nice and early but this time there was hardly anyone about. The prices for the grand stands had gone down dramatically as well as for the chairs. We decided to fork out a little for front row chairs and sat there waiting peacefully until the paraded started. The people next to us took on the role of photo agents, attracting performers over to pose so that I could get a close up photo. It was great. We saw everything very clearly and enjoyed the parade a lot more this time around. The costumes were a lot more dramatic to fit the theme of fantasy and this time groups did a lot more choreography than on Saturday. There seemed to be more fun in the air along with lots of colour and vibrancy; the way I imagined a Carnaval to be!
That night we had pizza at a restaurante to celebrate Agus's birthday. It was definitely a special day as we don't normally go out to restaurants very much! Our CS was very curious about our travels, our beliefs and experiences. With a mother that controls her every movement at 21, she’s a young woman wanting to explore and experience the world but restrained by her mother and from farther back, her father (who normally lives in Spain). Couch surfing may be an escape route to freedom for her, allowing her to go out with CS’s without causing any problems with her parents. We were her first CS’s and were obviously the experiment.
The next day we had a tight program of different tasks to accomplish before leaving for Tayrona. The Carnaval was on its last day, the theme being La muerte de Joselito where everyone cries for the death of Joselito, the character who represents the joyfulness and festivity of the Carnaval who after four days of intense Carnaval partying, dies. We decided to give it a miss and concentrate on accomplishing our tasks. But instead we were woken up in the early morning by our CS before she went to work and told that we couldn’t stay for another night as she had been having problems with her parents. So we packed up our backpacks and just before leaving, we invited the parents to eat some of Agus’s cheesecake with us. The father, cheese cake in hand, commenced to give us a sermon. He spoke about our travels and how much better we would enjoy them if we did it with God in our hearts, that we would benefit much more from our time this way and that we wouldn’t feel the need to frequent clubs/bars, drink alcohol, go out to parties and most relevant to that week, go to the Carnaval. He stated proudly that he had never been to the Carnaval and that he had lived there for a number of years without feeling the temptation to go. He continued, saying that with God in his life he is able to have just as much pleasure and that he believed that God had led us to him so that he could ‘communicate his message’. We were both speechless with this oration. The sermon went on for a good half an hour with no apparent route for escape. Unable to come up with words to respond, Agustin managed to be quite diplomatic, saying something along the lines of “everyone has their own path to follow… and speaking of which, we need to go now!”.
So off we went on our way. This time we didn’t get a ride and instead stood in the hot sun for many hours waiting, with no luck. Agus said we had been cursed by the Evangelicals! Finally we took a bus halfway to our destination and that night we slept in some new rooms that a petrol station was building (upon advice by a friendly taxi driver who took us for free to the petrol station saying that he had been helped when he had travelled back in his time). Sleeping amazingly well for the location, we arrived in the morning at Tayrona, a National Park in the North of Colombia which has beautiful jungle bordering the coast line. Being a relatively expensive entrance fee, we debated for half an hour if we should go in considering that we didn’t have that much on us. Finally we decided that we would and at the entrance of the park we met a friendly couple that were visiting for the day. We hung out for most of the day with them, trekked through the jungle to finally come out onto a large beach with waves that crashed several times before hitting the shore. Large warnings stated for swimmers to not go into the water, as the rips are extremely strong and sadly, many people have died in these waters.
A little farther on, we came across other beaches which were enclosed in bays and which were swimmer friendly, with very few waves. Also within the park we visited pre-Hispanic ruins left by the Tayrona people, an invigorating walk situated up a trail full of large rocks. There’s a certain powerful energy that is felt as you climb your way up these wondrous rocks and finally make it up to what feels as if should be heaven for the amount you have climbed. We slept on the beach during our first night in Tayrona. I kept on worrying that the tide would come to wash us away. Luckily it didn’t but early the next morning one of the guards saw us and told us not to do it again. The next night we slept in a campground that was situated right on the beach with three other tents in the entire site. Luckily they didn’t charge us for our stay. It was a beautiful spot facing the large waves that came crashing down with such fury and which had taken many lives who had dared to brave the waters.
Leaving Tayrona with the aim of making it to Medellin that day we came across a truck driver named Juan Carlos who was willing to take us to Cartagena. Arriving in the afternoon after a 6-hour drive, we met another truckie called Junior who took us to Carmen de Bolivar, another 4-hour drive. He shouted us to a meal and then dropped us off halfway to Medellin. Night was falling and we were about to retire for the day when another truck came past who had seen us eating with Junior and who offered us a lift to Medellin (‘the 3 musketeers’). We had the luxury of being in the sleeper, although very hot, it was perfect to snooze in. At 4:00 in the morning we were woken up and told that they had to stop as they had run out of money for petrol and had to wait till the next day for their boss to transfer cash over. So we slept for a couple of hours and were back on the road again just after 6:00 a.m. Luckily our truck decided to continue on for a little way before staying put in a small village up in the mountains. We met another traveller Elias who was travelling with Enrique and who offered us a lift for the three or four hours remaining to Medellin. Elias was a well versed philosophy graduate who was moving to Medellin to find himself a teaching position. He spoke for most of the way about different philosophers, movies that he liked and explained what philosophy consisted of (in a short few hours!). Finally arriving in Medellin, I was absolutely exhausted from an entire day of travelling and wanted nothing more than a shower and a place to curl up, without any wondering eyes. Unfortunately we were in the middle of the city and we were being observed by all (especially due to our big bags), filthy and probably smelling like it too!
Everyone that we had spoken to had said that Medellin had the nicest people out of all of Colombia, the nicest weather, the men saying that the girls here are the most beautiful. But our few days in Medellin were quiet and we didn’t really experience any of this. I recuperated from the disturbed sleeping that I had been having while either camping or on the road. We stayed at a CS’s called Leni who was in and out for most of the time but generous with his space, hosting another CS from Russia (an eccentric and out-going Steiner teacher) plus an American and two clowns, one from Spain and one from Italy. We went into the city only once and paid a visit to the Fernando Botero museum – an internationally renowned artist who is well-known for painting and sculpting large figures. His paintings amused me, the style being quite tongue in cheek but often making references to serious social and political issues in Colombia (such as the assassination of Pablo Escobar, the leader of the famous Medellin cartel). Some of my favourites are the plump Mona Lisa, the fat Jesus and the chubby Adam and Eve.
Differences here:
Compared to Central America there seems to be more rules here in Colombia. Motorbike drivers have to wear their number plates displayed on their backs; utes aren’t allowed to drive with passengers in the back (damn!); no more than the designated number of passengers are allowed to travel in cars/trucks; smoking is banned in bars/restaurants/cafes; there are restrictions on when cars (according to number plates) can circulate; trucks have restrictions concerning circulation times (e.g. only till 10pm at night); headlights are to be turned on at all times; all public transport stops after 11pm at night and taxis are the only option of which there being an abundance populating the streets at all hours (especially when you don’t need one!). Speaking of abundance, if you want to make a call and you don’t have a mobile, you can find people with mobiles attached to themselves on any street corner, which you can borrow and then pay for the minutes you have used. Of course your call won’t be very private, but people don’t seem to mind. Another big difference between Central America and Colombia is that there are hardly any fresh food markets to be found, all food is expected to be bought from supermarkets, which I try and stay away from whenever I can so as to support small, locacl farmers. In terms of looks, Colombia takes the cake so far. They’re at their most Latino here; the girls are stunning and the boys aren’t bad either, especially with African blood mixed in! Unusually, some bars open very early in the morning; at 8:00am on a Thursday a street with a mixture of houses, offices, shops and small bars was blasting music and people were dancing, not appearing as if they had been up all night. Unfortunately they close early to make up for the early start. There is a very large quantity of motorcycles in Colombia, which are very noticeable when trying to cross the street trying to dodge the constant oncoming traffic; many act as motorcycle taxis (something which I hadn’t seen before in my brief time in America). There are an uncountable number of road tolls throughout all of Colombia, the roads having been privatised, but this doesn’t mean that they’re in better conditions as some people may think. Military, as may be well known about Colombia, are also everywhere. It is one of the most militarised countries in the world. On the roads are frequent military checks where you can be asked to open your vehicle, show your identification, questions about where you’re going, what you’re doing, etc. But not only the roads are militarised.
Throughout cities you see copious amounts of military out and about in the public with their automatic rifles in hand and sometimes as young as 15 (or they seem to be). But overall Colombians are extremely friendly and helpful and very proud to be from where they are from, rightfully so as it's a beautiful country with a very rich culture.
