December 27 – Charlie

Y’all are going to read this blog and conclude Kathleen and I shouldn’t try to sleep at all. Perhaps something we had for dinner just did not set well with Kathleen at all. Around about 3am onward Kathleen struggled to keep even water down. We shared a bathroom with another cabin at Cabañas Rio Yambala hostel east of Vilcabamba, Ecuador, so, every 15-20 minutes Kathleen made the journey. By mid-morning, Kathleen was finally getting some sleep. I spent the day writing for our blog as I looked off our balcony at the countryside.During the low activity day, I learned a little about Charlie Wyatt. Twenty-some-odd years ago, Charlie had graduated High School in New Hampshire and was working at a co-operative grocery store. Over time he built-up about 30-days of vacation time that the co-operative wanted him to take. He didn’t know what to do with that amount of time off until someone gave him a tour guide to South America. He read the guide cover-to-cover, and a few more books about SoAm at which point he quit his job and came to Ecuador. He was barely in his twenties.

Several years into living in Ecuador, Charlie had a one-man business crafting wooden flutes for sale in tourist traps. He was making good steady income and soon began to buy land along the Rio Yambala. He bought a small house with a few out buildings he converted into guest rooms. Capitalizing on Ecuador’s penchant for ecotourism, and the lack of a place for people to stay while exploring the highlands region of southern Ecuador, Cabañas Rio Yambala became the first eco-hostel in the region. Charlie and his British wife, Sarah, now run the hostel as a maintenance and management team. Sarah ensures the finances are well managed and cleans the four cabañas. Charlie meticulously constructed the cabañas, dining area, and accompanying facilities. Maintenance is low. Charlie is particularly proud of his bridge crossing the Rio Yambala, and his sauna. The bridge has with-stood many a flood, and the sauna, well, nary a day went by that Kathleen and I should take a sauna according to Charlie.Now, both in their forties with a daughter attending university (the way they say ‘college’ in these here parts), and a son nearing that life-stage, Sarah and Charlie seem pretty content. Kathleen and I suspect they have a pretty good establishment going, and even with the down turn in the world economy, will continue to provide a pleasant place to spend some days.

By evening, Kathleen was enjoying a bowl of chicken noodle soup. During chats with Charlie, he was concerned that Kathleen may have caught some bug from something prepared at Cabañas Rio Yambala. He told of a time where he used to get water bottled in Vilcabamba and that everyone was getting sick. Family and guests included. He then just went to boiling tap water for 20-minutes. Sickness incidents went away. That night, Kathleen was looking the label of a jug of bottled water we bought in Vilcabamba. The water was simply from a spring in town somewhere. The hills surrounding Vilcabamba are covered with pastures littered with cows. As far as I’m concerned, the dots shouldn’t be hard to connect to render a picture of how Kathleen came down with a gastro-intestinal ailment. She began drinking the boiled water and began to recover. Me, I grew up drinking out of creeks all over the western U.S., a well in the Mojave Desert, and the occasional horse trough. I’ve had some conditioning.

By evening, Kathleen was feeling better.

December 26 - Rio Yambala, Vilcabamba, Ecuador

Ah, for crying out loud!! Woke this morning in Cabañas Rio Yambala to what sounded like a kennel across the river. At least a half-dozen dogs set up a chorus around 5am. No sooner than did this end when a chicken . . . a chicken, started pecking at our door. The randomly spaced taps were interspersed by the crow of the rooster affiliated with the hen engaged in this twisted form of early morning sleep deprivation.We had high hopes for Cabañas Rio Yambala hostel as being quiet through the night. After all, we were over 3-miles out of Vilcabamba, Ecuador in a very rural setting. However, as we were fully awakened after the pecking torture, someone across the canyon wanted everyone else to enjoy their music, too. We are both beginning to long for a few truly quiet camping spots we know of in Arizona and eastern California.

We gradually got ourselves showered and down the hill for breakfast. Scrambled eggs, French toast, and a bowl of granola, fruit, and milk made for a great beginning to the day. Our plan was to walk a trail following up the Rio Yambala. We hoped to find a trail that crossed the river and connected to a trail along a ridge where we would hike back to the hostel. We set out.We hiked through patches of forest and pasture land as we followed along the river. Periodically we would stop under a forest canopy and wait for something to sound off or travel by. Kathleen spied a squirrel cuckoo and managed to get a voucher shot off with her camera. The clouds were thickening and blue sky was becoming a premium. Kathleen and I continued on up the canyon carved out by the Rio Yambala.First a drop, then followed by a zillion more caused us to turn about and find ourselves some tree cover from the rain. We sat and waited for the squall to pass, however, we could see down the canyon that the rain was here for a while. We started down the trail we had hiked up, and by the time we arrived back at the hostel I was good and drenched. Kathleen had the umbrella and fared better. We spent the rest of the afternoon wringing out wet clothes and rigging a make-shift clothes line.A dinner of quiche, potatoes, and red cabbage salad chased down with cake and sweetened lime juice – virgin Margarita - nearly made up for the rainy day. Charlie (red ball cap), the hostels’ proprietor, lit a fire in the dining area fire place. Now, that was a good end to the day.

December 25 – Vilcabamba, Ecuador

Our last night in Quito Antiguo hostel was much quieter. The Karaoke bar on the bottom floor closed up early, and Kathleen noticed the druggie street corner was devoid of drug sale activities as horse mounted police and soldiers set up shop instead. I got up and worked frantically to prepare files and photos to up load the blog. However, I needed an internet connection and the hostel didn’t have wireless and their hard-line was, to me, excruciatingly slow. Anything below 50megs/second is really going to tax my patience. I’m so behind on the blog.

He had breakfast and had to check out by 1pm. I didn’t get the blog up-dated, so we headed for the airport. No sooner than the kid at the front desk of the hostel set the phone down after calling a cab, the cabby came through the door. Kathleen and I were a tad suspicious that the cab was unmarked; however, the driver was well dressed, and quite courteous and professional. And being broad daylight we figured on little chance of any hanky-panky.

The streets of Quito were nearly empty. The Christmas holiday made travel to the airport a quick ride. This was something Kathleen and I made note when we come down this way again on our motorcycles. To get through or out of a big city, travel on the holiday or very early in the morning.

We had about two and a half hours to kill before boarding our flight to Loja (Low-ha) in southern Ecuador. Our plan was to fly to the southern end of the country and work our way north. We had reservations at Cabañas Rio Yambala hostel east of Vilcabamba. Kathleen and I found the Quito airport to be rather small for a city so huge, yet the facility seemed to get the job done. Check-in and security was, again, a veritable breeze. No need to look at gels, liquids, or laptops.

Right on time, the plane backed out of the gate at 4:30pm. We hit the sky and less than 50-minutes later we were making our landing in Catamayo which is the airport for Loja 40-minutes away. From Quito to Loja by bus would have been 13-hours. In Ecuador, the bus would have been half the $190 USD paid to fly both of us. Yet, we sure as roaches wouldn’t have endured the trip nearly as well.

At the Loja terminal Kathleen and I waltzed straight by baggage claim as all we had were our day packs and motorcycle helmets. We got outside and saw a line of taxis. As we walked to the taxi at the head of the row a man intercepted us and tried to lead us away; presumably to his ‘taxi’. Kathleen and I performed evasive maneuvers and continued our path to the uniformed taxi drivers. Upon approach, the taxi driver we picked told us that if another two people could be found, we could split the $20 cost. While Kathleen was discussing this deal, a 7 or 8 year-old boy and girl came up to us and presented an empty hand. I said ‘no’ and turned away. They both came around in from of me with hands out. “NO!” And again, I turned away and then walked over to Kathleen and the taxi driver. They were still engaged in negotiating the fare. The little girl tugged on my shirt near where my wallet was in my shorts. I turned into her and she immediately flashed open her hand. While talking to the taxi driver, Kathleen was being harassed by the little boy. The little girl kept maneuvering herself to be in front of me, and whenever I got close to Kathleen, she’d try to wedge herself between us. I actually began to play with this little escapade some as I began to look for the adult that I knew was just waiting for either Kathleen or I to lay a hand on either of these kids. I wanted to get a picture of all this, however, I knew if one of the kids saw me photographing them, we would have to pay.

Finished with the cabby, Kathleen launched into the two micro-beggars in Spanish. The little boy had nerve, and continued to demand money even as Kathleen repeatedly asked him why he should received money for nothing. The little girl was smarter, the terminal was disgorging those who claimed their baggage, and she went to find another mark. I saw a Caucasian couple emerge just as Kathleen threateningly told the little boy beggar to go away. Both he and the little girl homed-in on the couple I was hoping needed a taxi to Loja. I pointed them out to Kathleen just as the little kids came up to them. Hands went out and the woman snapped something in Spanish that immediately caused little hands to withdraw and the kids to move on. Kathleen intercepted the couple as a taxi driver began to court them for business. They redirected to our taxi instead.

Rob and Amber were from San Jose, California and Amber was quite fluent in Spanish and had spent years in South America and Spain studying the language. She taught Spanish in San Jose. Amber had barked at the boy and girl as if she were native Ecuadoran and they believed she was. Thus, figuring they had no chance.

We hopped into the cab and traded adventures with each other. Ambers’ parents were missionaries currently living in Loja. Like me, Robs’ Spanish was seriously lacking. He was originally from small-town Idaho so, he too was not enthralled with big cities like Quito. They had come from a lodge in the Amazon and had thoroughly enjoyed themselves.

Kathleen and I were dropped off at the bus terminal in Loja. We needed to take an hour trip into Vilcabamba. We boarded the bus and soon, nearly a half hour later, the bus backed out and we were off. Yeah, we did all the obligatory stopping along the way where a number of the folks we picked up and dropped off were definitely in goods holiday spirits as they had noticeably drank plenty of spirits. Just don’t erupt on us while you’re standing in the isle.

By 7:30pm we arrived in Vilcabamba. We had told our hostel that we’d be in around 8ish. We needed to buy water and wanted some dinner. We walked to the plaza and found a diner. We noticed since being in South America, that once you sit down for a meal, they don’t take long to receive your order and within 10-minutes you’ve got your food. Well, this place was definitely a distant outlier in our sample size. In fact, Pluto doesn’t seem so far out now. We finally received our orders by nearly 9pm. Almost 45-minutes after our requests were taken. Obviously, the beef Kathleen ordered had to be raised and butchered, and the wheat and basil grown for my pasta and pesto.

We ate and went in search of a taxi. They had been driving by frequently while we were waiting for our dinner. Now, none were to be seen. Finally, we flagged one down and Kathleen told him where we needed to go. He headed off down a dark and pot-holed dirt road. Soon we came to a dead-end with a covered bridge over the Rio Yambala. We couldn’t see much past the bridge. In English, the cabby asks “Is this it?” The sign on the bridge said ‘Charlie’s Place’ and we had told the cabby that we were looking for the Cabañas Rio Yambala hostel. With that we turned around and drove back down the road about a quarter mile. The cabby stopped again and said “this is it” with a certain amount of conviction. A shabby bridge crossed the river. Two logs with a few boards placed between the timbers at distances Shaquille O’Neal would have found a stretch. The driver started to help us across and retreated when large sounding dogs began barking on the other side of the bridge. Kathleen and I continued across the bridge and associated crevasses and walked towards a dark structure. This couldn’t possibly be a hostel as the front yard area was completely void of vegetation and appeared to be a bare-bones house. Almost appearing long abandoned. However, sure enough, lights came on and a woman appeared out of a doorway pulling on a shirt and hiking up her pants. A young girl appeared too, nearly clothed, holding a puppy.

Kathleen asked if this was Cabañas Rio Yambala hostel, we both knew the answer to that. The woman explained this wasn’t and that we needed to go to Charlie’s Place up the road. Grrrrrrr!! With many ‘sorries’ and ‘good nights’ Kathleen and I backed out and crossed back over the bridge. The large sounding dogs were just that, and ensured that we continue on our way with vicious growls and barks. They were just doin’ their job.

We walked back the Charlie’s Place and after crossing the bridge realized that this was definitely a hostel. We found a sign directing us to use the intercom to alert the proprietors. Soon, a lanky middle-aged man who had U.S. mid-westerner all over him, walked up and introduced himself as Charlie. We gave a brief synopsis of our trials and tribulations getting to the hostel by 8ish, to which he found the bit about the taxi driver highly annoying.

Kathleen and I were lead to our cabin which we found a delight. Something we often thought we would build on a hunk of land in the mountains. Just a bed, a door, and some windows to look out to a view. Frogs and crickets sang above the roar of the river down in the canyon.

December 24 – Quito, Ecuador

Our first night in Quito Antiguo hostel was a noisy one as a Karaoke bar was a couple floors below ours. Additionally, the drug sale activity on the street corner elicited police sirens and shouting. Kathleen finally went to bed around 2:30am after deciphering the roles of the drug dealing going on at the street corner.During breakfast we met a gentleman from Las Cruces, New Mexico. Miguel was on holiday for just 12 days. We sat and chatted with him about the four and a half years Kathleen and I lived in Las Cruces. The Mexican food is like nowhere else on the planet. Believe us, we’ve tried other places. After breakfast, Kathleen and I wandered about town for a bit. I was concerned about Kathleen periodically having to stop and allow her head to stop spinning. Since bashing here head on the door of the minibus in Santa Marta, Colombia 2 days ago, she occasionally had such bouts. The swelling had gone down, yet a lump remained.We strolled along a city park and came upon musicians performing on a stage to a modest crowed of people. Musicians? Well, the only instruments were their voices, and the four men on stage ‘played’ various melodies as if they had guitars, drums, and trumpets.Kathleen and I stood and watched until a small parade came along with children and adults dancing to a small marching band that could have used much more practice. By late afternoon we found a good place to eat and managed to find a supermarket to build-up our munchies. We then spent the rest of the day relaxing and up-dating the blog.

December 23 – Bound for Ecuador

Having visited Tayrona National Park yesterday, Kathleen and I could have stayed longer at Tanganga or moved closer to the park to continue visiting the preserve. Indeed, we had originally intended to stay in Tanganga, Colombia until December 26th. However, we were itching to get to Ecuador to take advantage of their greater ecotourism opportunities.

A couple nights prior, we had purchased airline tickets through Expedia.com from Santa Marta to Quito, Ecuador. We would bounce in Bogota . . . back to Bogota! Jeepers! We can’t escape that city.

Trip joined us for breakfast before Kathleen and I settled up our bill with Casa Felipe Hostel. By 10am we were taking a taxi from Tanganga to Santa Marta. The ride through Santa Marta gave us a cross-section view of the city. Trash was nearly everywhere. Only near the cruise ship terminal did the city look less run-down and dismal. We arrived at the airport around 11am with plenty of time before our 1pm flight. So, we had a hamburger at the café before our flight.

We boarded the plane and the craft backed out of the jet way right on time. Within an hour and a half we were landing in Bogota. Here we had to check-in for our flight to Quito, Ecuador. Kathleen had to run off to get a card stamped indicating we were leaving Colombia and that we had paid our exit tax. This had to be done before our tickets could be handed over to us.

With our card stamped and stapled to our boarding pass, we decide to have a bite before flying off. We went to a Crepes and Waffles and had a nice meal. Kathleen and I shared a salad which was quite good, before she had crepes stuffed with mango and I had a waffle covered with mixed berries. We hustled through security with only one issue. This was the first time anyone wanted to see the computer I carried in my pack. The plane backed out of the jet way spot on time. Avianca could teach the U.S. carriers a thing or two. They would probably would have hauled our motorcycles.

We arrived in Quito, Ecuador about an hour after takeoff. We went through customs without a hitch and found the airport to be calm and quite modern. We exchanged our remaining Colombian money into U.S. dollars, which is the currency in Ecuador. We then booked a flight with TAME (acronym pronounced ‘Tah-may’), the national air carrier of Ecuador, for a flight to Loja in southern Ecuador. The soonest flight we could get was the afternoon of December 25th. We planned to start in southern Ecuador and work our way north.

We went to a taxi booth in the airport and bought a ticket for a taxi to a hostel we hoped would have room. Buying a ticket for a taxi ensures the driver doesn’t hassle with you over the price.

During our taxi ride Kathleen and I noticed instantly that the use of the horn was nearly non-existent. Additionally, drivers appeared to be far more polite and less in a hurry. We arrived at the hostel we found in the Foot Print guide only to discover they had no rooms. In fact we walked in on the family having dinner. The ‘man of the house’ called about for us and found another hostel. He kindly took us to the hostel Quito Antiguo.

Kathleen and I found our top floor room pleasant enough for $30/night. Kathleen was wired from travel and was watching the drug dealings going on the street corner long after I fell asleep.

December 22 – Tayrona National Park

The watch alarm went off at 6am in our room at Hostel Casa Felipe, Tanganga (Tong-gong-ah), Colombia. Kathleen and I had our doubts about having a room near reception and close to the courtyard of the hostel. Throughout the previous evening, and into the night, people would come to the hammock outside our room to lounge and suck down a cigarette. Kathleen and I had, perhaps, a half polyps’ worth of that cigarette, too. Furthermore, being in close proximity to the reception area of Casa Felipe made for some early morning noise due to those heading out to scuba dive certification. Our ceiling fan was at full throttle and probably attenuated most of the night and early morning clamor. We would have preferred a chorus of frogs throughout the night.

Breakfast wasn’t until 7:30am at Casa Felipe, so Kathleen and I met Trip at a restaurant in Tanganga around 6:45am. A good meal and we were off to the ‘bus stop’ near the police station in Tanganga. After a 20-minute wait, a mini-bus arrived to take us to Santa Marta where we would board another bus that would stop at Tayrona (Tay-rohn-ah) National Park (Parque National Tayrona).

With Trip, and his command of Spanish, our travel to the entrance of Tayrona National Park was flawless. Instructions to the park were provided at Casa Felipe Hostel. However, they were vague and not intuitive. Some leaps of faith were required. The local bus dropped us off at one intersection; however, we needed to travel some blocks to wait for the bus that would take us to the park. Fortunately, Trip was able to ask some locals where we were dropped off for the bus to Tayrona.
After an hour bus ride with all the usual stops, we arrived at Tayrona around 8am. We had to go through a security check where the soldiers were looking for drugs and guns. Fortunately, neither of us had any.We paid our entrance fee, equivalent to $15 USD, and took the shuttle into the park. Yep, along the way in, we stopped to pick up someone. Turned out, Margie, was from Philadelphia and we found out she was staying at a house where the owners had rooms with private baths and would cook meals. She was paying $25/day for this luxury. Kathleen and I knew what we were going to do when we come back through on our motorcycles.

Upon arrival at the park headquarters we all four trudged off on a trail that made a loop. All four? Margie tagged along. Kathleen and I quickly realized we could spend a number of days just along the trail. However, as we were with non-birders, we hoofed along taking in as much as we could. The trail popped out on to a great lookout affording wonderful views of the coastline and back towards the forest.As we came to a boardwalk crossing a lagoon, I could hear high-pitch squeaks. I saw some boulders and from the boardwalk, could see into some cracks. Bats! I thought so. With her camera, Kathleen was able to take photos. Her Canon Powershot SX200is has an incredible 12x optical zoom lens that allows Kathleen to compose magnificent photos. The bats were in a crack some 40ft away.

As we hiked back to park headquarters, we came across groups of tourists off the cruise ships docked at Santa Marta. The tour guide was feebly trying to explain why leafcutter ants were hauling the chunks of leaves. After listening for a moment I couldn’t stand to have the group be told the leaves were to build their ‘houses’. I butted in to explain the ants use the leaf material to cultivate funguses – fungi – which the colony eats. They are actually, providing fertilizer for their fungi farm. We hiked back to the park headquarters where we parted ways with Margie.

Kathleen, Trip and I continued hiking along the coast where a number of little villages could be found. The trail to these villages was often busy with pack horses, mules, and donkeys hauling supplies, people, and backpacks. The trails were heavily subjected to the bowel movements of these beasts of burden. So much so that hikers were widening the trails to go around the messes. Additionally, a number of places along the trail had evidence of erosion advanced by equine traffic and heavy rains.Kathleen and I would have spent considerable time along the route looking for whatever critter could be seen. Indeed, we heard and saw a number of birds along the trail before arriving at one of the first villages. Turns out the villages were actually camp grounds and establishments where a cabaña could be rented. Some cabañas had private bathrooms. The beaches were festooned with sun and ocean revelers from many nations.We walked along the coast till we came to El Cabo where Kathleen and Trip jumped into the water while I stood guard over their stuff. I don’t think anything would have happed, yet, ya don’t know.After Kathleen and Trip enjoyed the Caribbean waters, we ate at the restaurant where we bumped into the mother-daughter French ladies that had helped Kathleen and I get to Tanganga. They were enjoying their holiday immensely.

By late afternoon, rain began to fall and we joined the mass exodus of tourists hiking back to the park headquarters. Like the three of us, many were only here for the day.

Back at the park HQ we packed into a shuttle bus which took us to the highway. Here we caught a bus into Santa Marta as the sun set. The rain became quite heavy at times before letting up some in Santa Marta. We stood at the designated intersection waiting for a minivan or taxi to Tanganga. A minivan pulled up and the driver beckoned us in, however, the van was already packed. Kathleen made an attempt to go in and she bashed her head on the door. The thump was load and her knees buckled as I caught hold of her while she began to fall backward out of the van. She fortunately recovered quickly as a lump formed along the hairline of her forehead. We waited a little longer watching one packed minivan after another go by bound for Tanganga. Finally, a taxi came by and we got in. The ride to Tanganga was to be equivalent to $7 USD, however, the driver wanted $8 because of the rain. Trip and the driver quibbled about this for the entire 20-minute ride to Tanganga. We paid the drivers price, however, Kathleen and I paid our share mostly in coins which was not desirable. Neener, neener, neener.

I had been sweating all day and drank down a 2-liter bottle of water. The shower felt good and we did laundry in the sink. With the rain falling, the ceiling fan whirring, and no one smoking in the hammock outside our window, we fell asleep quickly.

December 21 – Tanganga

Check-out at Hostel Casa Felipe wasn’t until 1pm so, Kathleen and I took advantage of our current ‘penthouse suite’ digs looking out over Tanganga (Tong-gong-ah), Colombia and beyond to the Caribbean Sea. After a breakfast in the hostels courtyard we returned to our room where I worked on the blog site and Kathleen looked into what our day should include.The land around Tanganga instantly reminded Kathleen and I of Baja, Mexico. Acacia and cacti over rocky dry slopes next to the ocean. We both commented that Tanganga looked and felt like Bahia de Los Angeles on the Sea of Cortez side of the Baja Peninsula. The only difference was Tanganga was tucked into a pocket of foothills that came right down to the water.By check-out time we packed up and moved to the room we had reserved for the next several nights. We were beginning to get the itch to move on, and thought we might not need several nights’ accommodations. Our new room was Room #1 and was right next to the hostel’s courtyard and reception. Kathleen and I were suspicious of this location.

As we headed out for a mid-afternoon walk, we met up with a couple from New Zealand. Karen and Craig were on holiday for the next 5 or 6 months and had just come down from Panama by hitching a ride on a sailboat. They were in Tanganga to recertify their diving certificates. Both were information technology professionals currently living in London. Craig lost his job, Karen needed a break from hers, so they decided to chuck the working world and go on holiday for a while. One of those 5 to 6 month ‘whiles’.

Over the years Kathleen and I have bumped into a lot of people who are on this quite-my-job-went-on-holiday. Probably 90% of them are from elsewhere other than the U.S. A rare find is someone from the U.S. that just quits their job and goes on extended vacation. Kathleen and I were often puzzled with how people from other countries could accomplish extended vacations until we came upon a hypothesis that could lead to a logical answer. Socialized medicine. A commonality found in these people was their being unconcerned about amassing a retirement war-chest of savings that would be mostly eaten up by healthcare costs in their latter years. Put another way, they were simply unconcerned about finding work after their extended holiday because, to them, working was just to pay for the immediate expenses. House payments, car ownership, rent, groceries, going to a pub, or a short trip for some skiing, diving, or bird watching. That’s why they work. Their sunset years were of no worry. Kathleen and I were perplexed by this until we began to ask about retirement and the ever-pending costs associated with becoming older and subsequently requiring some hospital care. Still, no worries. Moreover, having some form of health insurance meant you got to see a doctor sooner. Not just to gain access to a hospital. Makes you wanna say, hummmm?We lunched with Karen and Craig at a sandwich shop down the street from Casa Felipe’s. Being guys, Craig and I had bar-b-qued beef sandwiches slathered in bar-b-que sauce. Being health conscious, Karen and Kathleen had vegetarian or nearly vegetarian sandwiches. We parted ways after enjoying great company. They to a dive shop, Kathleen and I to a trail that lead along the coast among the wilds. The trail wandered over to another cove just north of Tanganga. Here was where the sunbathing and swimmin’ in the ocean groupies were found in great abundance. Kathleen and I would have spent time here snorkeling the waters. In fact, we saw a number of people doing just that. Groups and individuals, legs chugging along, face-down exploring the world beneath the sea.We continued along the coves and bluffs until the sun set low on the horizon before turning back. When we walked along sunbather beach, a guy began saying “hey bird people’’. We turned to see Trip sitting in a beach chair. We had met Trip-from-Seattle back at Colombian Highlands Hostel, Villa de Leyva, Colombia. We chatted for a bit and began walking back to Tanganga. As we walked, the three of us concluded that we should visit Parque National Tayrona tomorrow. Trip wanted to visit the park, and Kathleen and I were happy he did because he had a mastery of the Spanish language. That settled, we parted ways in Tanganga to rise early and head to the park the next day.

December 20 – Hijack Route

Kathleen and I had heard and read Tanganga (pronounced ‘Tong-gong-ah’) was a small pleasant beach-bum town east of Santa Marta, which is east along the cost from Cartagena (Car-tah-hey-na). In Tanganga we had a room reservation at Casa Filipe’s on the 21st, however, we thought we’d try our luck going in early. We took a taxi from Villa Colonial, Cartagena to the central bus terminal. We all know by now what kind of ride that was as the taxi went through narrow streets and narrower alleys, seemingly taking what appeared to be the most circuitous way possible. Sort of like going from San Diego to Los Angeles by way of Phoenix, Denver, San Jose, Fresno, and Albuquerque.

We arrived at the bus terminal, bought our ticket and waited about an hour. Buses were coming and going and according to the ticket agent ours was to arrive soon. More buses came and went before Kathleen and I began to stand outside hoping we hadn’t missed ours. A bus rolled up and a young woman must have noticed we had quasi frantic expressions on our faces told us, in thick accented English, this was our bus. We climbed aboard as did the young woman and an older woman companion. No sooner did the bus engine start up when a security guard came on holding a video camera in his hand. He said something so fast that even the locals were struggling to understand. He then began videotaping all occupants of the bus. He stuck the camera in each persons’ face for a few seconds. He then got off. As the bus backed out of the parking slip I went to the young English speaking woman and ask what the hell . . .? She rolled her eyes as her older woman companion looked quizzically at her, too. The area we were traveling in was known for bus hijackings and subsequent hostage for ransom activities. The videotaping was to document who was on board. So, at least we wouldn’t be known to the world by a grainy blown-up cell-phone camera photo.

The bus route traveled along the coast from Cartagena toward Santa Marta. Kathleen and I could not find a 200 meter stretch of road that wasn’t littered with some kind of debris or trash. Maps of the area showed that we were to cross a huge lagoon. We learned later the road had choked up the lagoon with sand where and the outer side of the road was now a salt pan and the remaining lagoon was a stagnant polluted water body. Way to go humans!! Efforts were underway to restore the lagoon, however, in countries like Colombia, this would be a long time in coming. If ever.

We stopped on the outskirts of Barranquilla to off load and on load passengers. Additionally, with each stop came a street hawker who would jump aboard for a quick sale. More videotaping occurred. This time I had the camera ready. A slight commotion ensued when I started trying to photograph the videotaping. Thus, my pictures didn’t come out too well. Kinda like those grainy blown-up cell-phone camera shots.

During our bus ride we were subjected to music videos on the plasma-screen in the bus. Some were okay, like the young woman singing ‘Spanish Lullaby’, others were out-right horrid. Especially the rap videos where rapid pelvic thrusts seemed to be the only dance maneuver known. Just as we were going to see the videos for the 4th time in row, the video was changed. The next string of videos were oscillations between just two singers looking like drunk 70’s porn stars. Common to both, was their incessant repeating of the same verse over and over, punctuated with extended riffs from the accordion player. The most intimate secrets could have been coerced from the terrorist prisoners at Guantanamo within a few hours using this kind of torture.

We continued on to Santa Marta where we ended our bus ride – not a single hostage situation to report. Kathleen and I fumbled about wondering whether to take a taxi or try for one of the mini-buses. The two ladies we had been on the bus with came over and we decided to share a taxi to Tanganga. Turns out the women were from France, and mother-daughter, where daughter was taking mother about Colombia because daughter had been in Colombia learning Spanish for the last several months. We jumped in a taxi and went to Tanganga.

Through the help of the daughter we found that Casa Felipe hostel had a room available for the night. We got to the hostel and the only room available was the ‘penthouse suite’ which they were going to only charge us $45 USD/night rather than the usual $55. The room (room #20 for reference) had a nice balcony with a great view; kitchen with refrigerator; and was quiet. We instantly considered staying in the room while in Tanganga, however, we found out that the room was reserved. Rats!

That evening the hostel was a happening place as we found a number of people were in Tanganga for the cheap scuba diving certification. Germans, New Zealanders, Brits, Swiss, and Aussies to name a few. Casa Felipe had a restaurant with a professional chef from Holland. He had a number of dishes for the night, so Kathleen had the Thai chicken curry and I dined on the butter-flied sirloin with vegetables. Both were very good!

We spent the evening on the balcony of our room.

December 19 – In search of the allure

Our first night in the Hotel Villa Colonial, Cartagena had to be the quietest we’ve spent yet in Colombia. With the fluttering of the ceiling fan and hum of the air conditioner, both Kathleen and I slept very well. We snacked on some of our munchies for breakfast before heading out into the streets of Cartagena, Colombia.

We walked through the streets of Cartagena trying to avoid stepping in puddles that smelled of urine, kitchen waste, or some cocktail of the two, towards the Castillo San Felipe de Barajas. This impressive structure was said to provide good views of the city. Kathleen and I were looking for some place up out of the fray. We arrived at the ticket booth to a horde of street vendors. These guys would get right in your face trying to sell you sunglasses and a hat. ‘I’m wearing sun-glasses and a hat, Genius’! While I was paying the entrance fee, a bottled water appeared and intercepted the money I’m trying to slip through the hole to the woman on the other side of the glass. I shoved my whole hand through the hole. The trick would have been for me to have dropped the money, whereby the hawker would have put the bottle in my hand and snatched the bills claiming I just bought the water.

Once we received our tickets to the castle, remember the Castillo San Felipe de Barajas, the street hawkers abandoned us and lay in wait to pounce on the next visitors. Kathleen and I walked up to the castle where more hawkers were found, however, they were not nearly as aggressive. On the castle we found a cool breeze blowing in off the ocean – the Trade Winds. Additionally, we were up out of the fray and could look around, or stop and sit. That last was not something we found we could do for long in the cities of Colombia. Sooner than later, someone would home in on us and the caper would range from just ‘give me money’ to ‘I’ll take you on a tour’. We found this not to be so in such places as Villa de Leyva, Barichara, or Santa Sophia. Stick with the small towns.

We spent a couple of hours looking out over Cartagena. Kathleen had read that Cartagena was considered one of the most vibrant and eclectic cities in all of South America. Well, we gotta go find this vidrant’ness. We grudgingly left the relative peacefulness of the castle in search of Cartagena’s allure.

Before our search, we needed food. So, we walked into the ‘walled city’ which is within the old Spanish fortress that protected Cartagena from those pesky British and pirates back in the 15, 16, and 1700’s. Within the walls, the streets, shops, and activities kind of reminded Kathleen and I of a dirtier Florence, Italy, or the French Quarter of New Orleans, Louisiana . . . after a Mardi Graz night and a hurricane.

Kathleen had the name of a few restaurants she got from the Foot Print guide. However, the streets were not matching up with what the guide conveyed. We ended up having another fine home-cooked style meal at a small café. A bowl of soup, a plate of beef/chicken, rice, salad, spaghetti, and bottled water for $4 USD. Nothing fried or pre-processed. Kathleen and I have noticed darn few overweight people in Colombia, except here in Cartagena.

We headed off in search of Cartagena’s allure by walking down along the ocean front toward Boca Grande. If you are looking to drop some huge coin to stay at Cartagena, Boca Grande will drain a wallet quickly. The spit of land has high-rise apartments, hotels, and condominiums bordered by the ocean or lagoons. Kathleen and I walked along the waterfront and arrived at the beaches in front of some of the hotels. A number of the locals told us to stay out of the water near Cartagena and instead go out to the islands off the coast. Hear that cash-register sound? We saw some people in the water as we walked along the beach. Mostly, people were just sunbathing. Many people from Europe come here for holiday.

We nearly circumnavigated Boca Grande and found the walk along the lagoons quieter and less hectic until we entered back into Cartagena proper. We walked to the supermarket we had visited yesterday and bought some water and sundries before having a large cup of mixed melon chunks. We then hiked back to our room.
Kathleen and I couldn’t find the allure of Cartagena. We have run into a number of British tourists here for vacation. We met a couple from the U.S. that had been to Cartagena five times! Dunno why. Kathleen and I plan to return, however, only to pick up our motorcycles from the sea port and head south to tour around South America.