Quite refreshed I wake up shortly after 7:30, pack my stuff and pay the bill. I can also say good bye to Juan and once more thank him for the tour and everything else he did. And no need to say that Julián gets his chance for a good-bye nibble. The family who runs the hotel is yet another fine example for the "calor humano", the typical Colombian human kindness. It makes you always feel like part of the family rather than "just" a guest. I drag my bag through along the dusty main road and buy a ticket for the next pick-up truck to Neiva. Then I´ve got to wait for a good half hour until a carload of "gringos" is dumped at the Plaza: the camioneta will leave once there are five passengers. The waiting time didn´t feel too long, though, because I enjoyed the PE class of the local high school: aerobics on the plaza, for everyone to see and enjoy.
All of a sudden there are a lot more than five and this turns out to be another of those very cosy trips using Colombian public transport. Anyway, it´s just under 45 minutes to the bus terminal in Neiva, where I buy a ticket for the last remaining seat on a colectivo minivan to La Plata. I end up on the last row, the rooftop only about 3 cm above my head, which is not enough as I have to find out every time we hit a pothole (crater more like) and I hit the roof. A lady seeing this always cries out "Ay no, pobreciiiiito", or D´Oh in Simpsonian. No need to mention that the A/C is on full blast.
I reach the town of La Plata after round about two hours driving through stunningly beautiful landscapes. The sun is shining and it´s very pleasant. Only a few minutes after my arrival my pal Joselo shows up, too. I got to know him 2 years ago. We take his cab back to his house on one of the main roads of the town and he shows me around. He is particularly proud of his collection of orchids. And rightly so says someone who is gifted with a "black" thumb rather than a green one.
After that we take another cab uphill to the beautiful open-air restaurant "Camino Real", from where we have a fantastic view over the city and the Cordillera Central right behind it. The trout "al ajillo" is every bit as good as the view and so it is a thoroughly enjoyable lunch.
Back home we take a short walk to the local hospital - not because I hurt myself, but because that´s where Joselo works and he still has some work to do. He figures it would take him about 30 minutes - how wrong he is. It takes him closer to three hours but this gives his colleagues time to get to know me and I´m even hired as photographer for Techi´s birthday party at the office. My pay: an extra large piece of birthday cake and free refill for my soda. And a lot of fun! In the meantime it starts tipping with rain and so I don´t feel to sorry about not seeing La Plata in the daylight.
Still, after all the work is done, Joselo and I walk to the centre and he shows me around after securing a place on tomorrow´s camioneta to San Andrés de Pisimbalá. The town is a centre for the rural areas and most shops cater to there needs. The church is our first touristy stop and then we drop by an old friend of his´ who happens to live in the only colonial gem in town. She gives us a quick tour and then we go and have coffee in a hip little coffee place. Joselo, whom everybody in town seems to know, bumps into a local celebrity and she keeps telling us how down to earth she still is and that she still visits the same places she visited before she was famous...
After this encounter we stop at a supermarket and then walk back home again, where playing with Shakira, Joselo´s very lively dog that looks like a stuffed animal, and having some beers at the disco next door keeps us busy. When we go to bed not even the beers help not hearing the music (and feeling the vibration).
The next morning Joselo and I walk back to the hospital where he does some work and I get to say good-bye to everybody I met yesterday (and possibly more). On the way to the centre we have breakfast with delicious tinto (black coffee) and still warm pan de yuca, yucca bread, then head for the market, where everything that is grown or produced in the area is on offer - and that´s apparently a lot. The town is filled with farmers from the countryside, many of whom travel in the typical "Chiva" buses or the Willys jeeps.
We cross the bridge that spans the La Plata river one last time on foot before I pick up my stuff and get ready to move on.
Joselo organizes a seat in the cabin of the pick-up truck for me, right next to the driver. He thinks that there can´t possibly be more than two sitting there, but the more the merrier... Of course there is room for three as long as the one in the middle cooperates and helps the driver reach the gear stick. And so the truck huffs and puffs up the mountains - needless to say hopelessly overloaded. The landscape is absolutely gorgeous and that makes me even forget that my entire left leg and buttock has gone numb. But it is just a two-hour drive to this remote village in the middle of the Central Cordillera, piece of cake!
All of a sudden there are a lot more than five and this turns out to be another of those very cosy trips using Colombian public transport. Anyway, it´s just under 45 minutes to the bus terminal in Neiva, where I buy a ticket for the last remaining seat on a colectivo minivan to La Plata. I end up on the last row, the rooftop only about 3 cm above my head, which is not enough as I have to find out every time we hit a pothole (crater more like) and I hit the roof. A lady seeing this always cries out "Ay no, pobreciiiiito", or D´Oh in Simpsonian. No need to mention that the A/C is on full blast.
I reach the town of La Plata after round about two hours driving through stunningly beautiful landscapes. The sun is shining and it´s very pleasant. Only a few minutes after my arrival my pal Joselo shows up, too. I got to know him 2 years ago. We take his cab back to his house on one of the main roads of the town and he shows me around. He is particularly proud of his collection of orchids. And rightly so says someone who is gifted with a "black" thumb rather than a green one.
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| A Willys jeep - backbone of public transport in rural areas |
After that we take another cab uphill to the beautiful open-air restaurant "Camino Real", from where we have a fantastic view over the city and the Cordillera Central right behind it. The trout "al ajillo" is every bit as good as the view and so it is a thoroughly enjoyable lunch.
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| Joselo |
Back home we take a short walk to the local hospital - not because I hurt myself, but because that´s where Joselo works and he still has some work to do. He figures it would take him about 30 minutes - how wrong he is. It takes him closer to three hours but this gives his colleagues time to get to know me and I´m even hired as photographer for Techi´s birthday party at the office. My pay: an extra large piece of birthday cake and free refill for my soda. And a lot of fun! In the meantime it starts tipping with rain and so I don´t feel to sorry about not seeing La Plata in the daylight.
Still, after all the work is done, Joselo and I walk to the centre and he shows me around after securing a place on tomorrow´s camioneta to San Andrés de Pisimbalá. The town is a centre for the rural areas and most shops cater to there needs. The church is our first touristy stop and then we drop by an old friend of his´ who happens to live in the only colonial gem in town. She gives us a quick tour and then we go and have coffee in a hip little coffee place. Joselo, whom everybody in town seems to know, bumps into a local celebrity and she keeps telling us how down to earth she still is and that she still visits the same places she visited before she was famous...
After this encounter we stop at a supermarket and then walk back home again, where playing with Shakira, Joselo´s very lively dog that looks like a stuffed animal, and having some beers at the disco next door keeps us busy. When we go to bed not even the beers help not hearing the music (and feeling the vibration).
The next morning Joselo and I walk back to the hospital where he does some work and I get to say good-bye to everybody I met yesterday (and possibly more). On the way to the centre we have breakfast with delicious tinto (black coffee) and still warm pan de yuca, yucca bread, then head for the market, where everything that is grown or produced in the area is on offer - and that´s apparently a lot. The town is filled with farmers from the countryside, many of whom travel in the typical "Chiva" buses or the Willys jeeps.
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| The only restored colonial building in town |
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| A typical instrument for the area, the "tuba" |
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| Chiva in the market area |
We cross the bridge that spans the La Plata river one last time on foot before I pick up my stuff and get ready to move on.
Joselo organizes a seat in the cabin of the pick-up truck for me, right next to the driver. He thinks that there can´t possibly be more than two sitting there, but the more the merrier... Of course there is room for three as long as the one in the middle cooperates and helps the driver reach the gear stick. And so the truck huffs and puffs up the mountains - needless to say hopelessly overloaded. The landscape is absolutely gorgeous and that makes me even forget that my entire left leg and buttock has gone numb. But it is just a two-hour drive to this remote village in the middle of the Central Cordillera, piece of cake!
San Andrés de Pisimbalá welcomes me with its picture-perfect landscape. The camioneta leaves me right in front of the hotel and the lady working there gives me a very warm welcome - remarkably warm, even by Colombian standard. I´m then shown to my spacious room, equipped with three single beds, five plastic chairs, a desk and a nice and clean bathroom with warm water. What more could I possibly ask for? Answer: NOTHING! I take a seat on the porch and take in the view of the mountains and the many different shapes of tropical green (and volunteer as the main source of food for the mosquitoes in the area).
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| Bromelia right outside my door |
After a short break I walk over to the restaurant across the street and have a little chat with the lovely lady, who is working in the kitchen. She provides me with delicious fresh lulo juice and a map of the archaeologic sites in the area that is known as "Tierradentro". Scattered all across the mountains there is a huge number of precolumbian burial tombs, so-called hypogea, many of which are exquisitely painted. This is unique in South America and the main reason to come here.
With all the necessary information I start my first hike, a strenuous hike up to the tombs of Alto de San Andrés. The very friendly and helpful warden explains everything to me and even lends me his flashlight, because my little one isn´t really strong enough to reveal the wall paintings.
After a little chat I continue my "walk" up to the Alto de Aguacate. First up one mountain, then down to the valley and up another very steep mountain. That is when I realize I have forgotten my water bottle in my room. It´s at least 30°C and I´m longing for some water. Stupid me! When I choose the wrong trail and I begin to be less and less sure-footed I decide to return to the hostel, no more than 10 minutes (of steep ascend) from the summit. The views are already breathtaking from where I am, so I reckon there´s no need to push the limit (even further). The descend is worse than the way up and takes quite a bit longer than I thought. The view serves as a welcome excuse for little breaks as do chats with local farmers, who all belong to the Nasa tribe and are shy at first but after a few moments they show their warm-hearted nature that really is captivating.
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| Coffee has replaced most of the coca cultivations |
Back at the hostel I get to know Doña María, the heart and soul of the place. She is rummaging in the kitchen when I get there, craving for water. Never has water been more delicious. After the water there is already a fresh pineapple juice with my name on waiting.
Time for a nice and much needed cool shower - no need for warm water now! Dinner is chicken and rice and the local herbs and spices turn this simple meal into a treat. I wash it down with fresh blackberry juice and for dessert I enjoy homemade ice cream while talking about Colombia with three English guests. It´s shortly after 9 pm when I call it a day and switch off the light.
Utterly refreshed I wake up the next morning and slowly start the day - no need to rush. At night it was pouring with rain but now the sun shows itself gain, timidly at first but after a while it is strong and bright. It it about eight o´clock when I start walking down the unsealed road towards the museums of the archaeological park, escorted by three big dogs that belong to the hostel. I´m not really happy about this and hope the dogs will turn around once they understand that there is nothing they can hope for... but far from it.
So after little more than 15 minutes I reach the village with the museums in the company of my four-legged companions. En route I help an elderly French lady who hasn´t got a word of Spanish and only two or three of English. Somehow I manage to work out what she wants and tell her landlady. However, it´s very well possible that Madame still roams the streets or got lost. Is it a sign of admirable courage or infinite naivety to travel to the remotest corners of Colombia without even the slightest Spanish skills? After literally bumping into her at the museum I would opt for the latter! The guides at the museum once more are very helpful and keen to explain every aspect of the lives of their forefathers and of their tribe to me in this incredibly warm-hearted way of theirs. I´m about to fall for this pocket of the country!
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| Ceramics |
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| Colombia´s national flower. Is there any such thing in Germany? |
I´m not really warming to my escort however. Especially the German shepherd... he always walks less than half a step behind me, which means I constantly feel his hot breath at the back of my knee... The people at the museum complex laugh wholeheartedly and destroy every hope that I might rid myself of my canine companions.
I give up, accept what I can´t change (something I´m not generally good at) and head for the the hypogea of Segovia, a sweat-inducing 30 minute hike uphill. These hypogea (gosh, I love this word) are the most delicately painted and best preserved of them all. The old Tierradentro culture used to bury their dead in two stages. First a "normal" grave. When all the mortal remains except for the bones had turned to dust they exhumed them and buried the skeletons in the tombs we can still visit. Needless to say that the warden was again a priceless source of information.
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| Reaching the tomb is the hardest thing |
It only takes so long to visit 10 tombs - despite the difficult way down and up again - and I can´t help but continue my way. It doesn´t get any easier but I keep dragging myself uphill. And ever-so slowly I begin to warm to the three dogs. They even do as I tell them (well, most of the time that is).
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| My escort |
I am drenched in sweat when I reach the next site, El Duende. The warden, an old man, is every bit as nice as his predecessors. He receives a radio call from the museum: they warn about "desorden público", public disorder in the valley. Whatever this is supposed to mean... Suddenly we hear gunshots, 10 or 15 in a row, then everything goes quiet again. Another 15 gun shots. The warden puts on a worried face and tells me to continue the route and by no means to return to the museum. I´m starting to love my escort. So we continue, and even the dogs begin to show signs of exhaustion. Makes me feel slightly less un-fit. We hike uphill for some time until we reach a dirt road. From here it´s easy-going. Upon reaching a little cascade, my dogs go for a swim and a much-deserved drink.
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| The moment I put down my daypack, a dog is there making sure nobody but me touches it. |
Some time later we reach the final site - El Tablón - with several statues in the style of San Agustín culture (see blog of 2011). But the gate is locked and there is no warden in sight. Awkward! Maybe it´s siesta?!? I have a look at the withered stone statues from a distance and take a break, enjoying the beautiful views. The shepherd, Mocos (as I learn later), leaps at a cock and catches it. I shout at him and finally he lets go of the poor ruffled bird, which runs away as fast as it can. I find some blood on the ground... Only when I had really begun to like the dogs! I tell him off and Mocos looks at me conscious of his bad behaviour. Every step he prods me with his nose. Who could hold a grudge for long?!
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| Cock before attack |
It´s an easy 30-minute stroll back to the village. It comes without saying that I have to tell the ladies about my day and the incident at El Tablón. It is then that Don Lorenzo, who seems to be the administrator of the hostel, joins in and tells me that El Tablón was closed after "strange people" were sighted there - and around the village. Alright! I begin to feel grateful for the faithful escort. Nobody seems to know more, however. I decide not to worry and to not have my well-deserved siesta spoilt by rumours.
And what comes now is NOT in my German blog because I don´t want my parents to know - important for those among you who read both blogs and might meet my parents...!
It´s about 4:30 pm when my siesta is over. I´m just crossing the street when suddenly 3 pick-up trucks full of armed men in uniform appear. One thing is clear: it´s not the official Colombian army... But who are they? FARC? ELN? I hurry to the restaurant, only to find that María and Lorenzo are very agitated. They haven´t seen armed groups in the village in a decade. Just my luck... I stay in the kitchen with them until the pick-up trucks (and the men) finally leave. Rumour has it that one local had taken a picture of the guerrilla camp and they came to claim it. I don´t know if that´s true, but only minutes after they left there is an ambulance showing up in the village...
María and Lorenzo - and myself, of course, are much relieved when they disappear. Time to think about dinner to scare away dark thoughts and fears. María prepares a wonderful, juicy pork with rice and treats me to a Club Colombia beer and fresh lulo juice. And of course another of their homemade ice creams. She shows me a fruit I have never seen before, guama. It´s a longish green pod with seeds in it. It tastes sweet and really delicious. I spend the time around dinner talking to a newly arrived Belgium, Robert, who tells me that all the sites were closed this afternoon due to public disorder.
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| View from my porch |
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| Doña María und Don Lorenzo |
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| Guama |
It´s very quiet in the village, quieter than yesterday and that´s to say something. I go to my room and do some blog-writing. I hear a noise outside my room and open the door. El Coronel, one of the three dogs, lies on the wooden chair right next to my door. He makes it very clear that he is going to watch over me. Just when I think about going to bed all the dogs in the valley begin to go crazy. Literally hundreds of dogs start barking and howling, first those far away but then the howling and barking comes a lot closer. It´s like an alarm system. I´m close to panic when I hear men whistle and then hear their boots, but not a word is said. El Coronel starts to howl and bark and I´m numb with fear, praying they might not stop and open the door. This goes on for hours on end and it´s about 4 am when finally everything is quiet. What does this mean? During all these hours I try not to make a sound, lying in the dark room with my eyes wide open. I send texts to two friends in Colombia to tell them where I am and what´s happening. I don´t even dare to go to the toilet. Of course I can´t go to sleep and my bus is due to leave at 6 am anyway. Around 5:30 I force myself to get out of bed and throw my stuff in the bag - still without light. I force myself to open the door. It´s still dark outside, and El Coronel is still there. I´m moved to tears when I see him wagging his tail, delighted to see me well and about. There is no-one around but then the first signs of life stir in the village and I can´t say how relieved I am when finally the bus to Popayán appears. I want to get away from here as quickly as possible. Without exaggeration I can say that this was the worst night of my life and I still feel shaky when I think about it. Not knowing what´s going to happen the next moment: shooting, kidnapping or maybe only robbing... Or maybe the army appears and this turns into a war zone. It makes you appreciate the predictability and security back in Germany.
[At the time of writing this it is believed that the shooting I heard might have been when the FARC guerrilla killed a high-ranked official of the Colombian army. True or not - the area around San Andrés has turned into a combat zone and there is the constant noise of military helicopters and planes that leave Popayán for combat. The internal conflict all of a sudden feels very close and very real. My thoughts are with all the lovely people I met, especially of course with the kind people of La Portada hostel!!!]
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