The Dirt Cricket Abides

Sorry for the extremely long delay in postings but two different illnesses and some of the slowest internet on the planet really took away form the motivation to keep up. Anyhow back to the journal….

Greg, Christy and I had gotten off to a rough start at one point, but by the time they were leaving i was very bummed. They had been an awesome anchor to lean upon, and it was really special to spend time in a way like that together. You really begin to realize after you have been traveling for a while that 2-3 week shots just do not seem to cut it. A certain sense of relaxation settles in, and I seem to live in a general absence of stress that makes life so much more enjoyable than it had been for most of the time while working and living my standard life. It’s fabulously selfish to be doing this and saying this but it is true. I am more concerned with finding a hostel that is clean and has hot water than just about any other aspect of life. Anyhow, dribble aside i was very sad to see Greg and Christie go. Feeling slightly lost i decided to stay in Popoyan until I finished the huge honking Che Gueverra biography I had been carrying forever. So a couple more days in the hammock reading and then I was off on my own.

Grabbing two buses to the town of Popoyan I arrived and it was dark, late and dodgy. I knew the hostel was about 7 blocks away but i was spooked so i grabbed a cab. Thank God for that decision, after arriving at the hostel a girl was dealing with having her purse and passport stolen…yuk!

The town had been described in my guidebooks (this will surely be a recurring theme…”being mislead by the guidebook” or the “J. Peterman Catalog” for old Seinfeld fans) as a whitewashed gem of Spanish Colonial city in the mountains of Colombia. I suppose this would be true but i really did not enjoy the town at all. It exhibited little soul, and seemed stuck somewhere between tourist spot, big city and small city. Either way here I was and while in the town visiting there was one redeeming feature. A festival of sort–surely the remnants of the mid Dec to mid Jan fiesta period–started moving through the town streets. Just like all festivals there was some sort of beauty contest with Colombian girls on flatbeds wearing terrible outfits and cheesing up the joint something awfully Stinky Wheel of Gouda like. As well as the girls, there were kids throwing bags of flour and trying to hit every person in site. There were dozens upon dozens of people looking very upset covered in flour; I too was forced to run for it at least a half dozen times in an attempt to protect my camera.

The hostel had a good internet connection but a shitty sleeping situation. I slept in a 14 person bunk room for two nights and needed out in a big way so I jumped a bus for the border town of Ipiales.

There is no way to describe what I saw on the trip to Ipiales. The mountains I stared for hours upon hours at appeared to be the most amazing displays of dramatic valleys and peaks of my life. I know the elevation was not amazing (peaks around 11,000 is my guess) but the relief form top to bottom was the most dramatic I had ever seen, and the faces were 100% covered in jungle and high-altitude grass giving everything a very surreal look. This rise in elevation definitely started giving way to another climate at this point. The mountains as I arrived in Ipiales were certainly starting to change in climate. Now everything was beginning to be very dry and I was feeling the air in my chest. In northern Colombia everything was much more humid and green thus not making the elevation nearly as unpleasant…this perception–as it turned out–might have also been the beginning of my first illness. The city of Ipiales was as you expect a border town…felt dangerous, was ugly and generally full of seedy characters.

The next morning my new found Australian buddy Theirry and I decided to go for the border around 6:00AM. My Spanish, still very rusty at this point but better than most backpackers, unknowingly had taken us straight to the Ecuadorian border. After 2 hours of muttering “what the fuck is wrong with these people” under our breath they finally opened the front door and about 40 people were suddenly let in. A wave of sarcastic applause came up which turned back to grumbling after the 200+ person line didn’t budge for another hours plus. Realizing we didn’t get exit stamps for Colombia we actually had enough time to go up one at a time and clear the Colombian customs. Geeeezuz the Ecuadorians are slow…another persistent theme I am learning to live with. All said and done we stumbled into Otovalo, Ecuador in the afternoon and found a hostel and just collapsed in our own private rooms (oooh the luxury of it all).

Chirp Chirp country one is done

Now everyone knows the sorry story of my numb ass but boy was it well worth it. The goal of the team was to wake up in Salento, no matter what the odds against it happening were. This is a truly dreamy town in the mountains that I had fallen in love with instantly despite the annoying fiesta. Damn these effing Fiestas…Salsa music so loud it surpasses any rock concert I have ever been to. It physically hurts the ears yet every person (except the gringos) meanders on with their normal business like it is OK to eat dinner next to 4,000 decibels of horns.

Well moving on Salento another one of those perfect Spanish Colonial towns; set in rolling green mountains lush with vegetation and copious rain it become obvious why this is Coffee Country. The setting is idealic and enchanting. I spent hours in the hammock reading and enjoying the peace and quiet (only during the day…damn fiestas) while glancing up from my book every once in a while to admire the mountains.

However all the relaxation aside Greg and I did want to go see the fabled Wax Palms. Now apparently this is the national tree of Colombia (hey anyone actually have a clue what is the US’s national tree? If you use google that does not count) and the Colombians are quite proud of this behemoth. I say behemoth b/c this monster of a Palm stands up to 200 feet tall and is in fact the world’s tallest palm. Furthermore, this tree only exists in one single solitary canyon on the entire globe and you guessed it…off we went.

So Parque Nacional de Cocora is just a short jeep ride away, but that is not to say it wasn’t an interesting ride. On the way there we somehow got 11 people into a Jeep Willy (WW II surplus Jeep) and I believe we had 14 on the way back. So if you imagine people sitting on the roof, hanging off the back, and basically crammed in like sardines you are spot on. To add to the “adventure” we were told it was muddy enough that we should use knee high Wellington boots and it prob was not a bad idea at all.

As with all hikes it was crowded until we hit the 90% point–the point at which 90% of the population turns back b/c they are either too out of shape or do not get joy from exercise. However it started to break up when we entered the jungle…many hours later and much mud later we were at the summit. 2860 meters in elevation and still it was lush jungle and a cloudy one at that. Yep as we were hoping for amazing views the cloud forest has us socked in.

It was not until we started descending and found a valley opening up in front of us did we truly understand what all the hype was about. Just amazing is what i would say…never seen anything like it and i doubt i ever will again. I was taken back by the natural beauty that felt prehistoric in nature, and was waiting for either King Kong or a brontosaurus to come crashing through the trees.

I know there is more to write but I am exhausted and going to bed shortly…currently in Popayan and facing yet another god damned 8+hr bus journey. It’s easy traveling here as the bus system is organized and simple to understand…but to say it is highly inefficient is an understatement

Chirp zzzzzzzzzzz

Well after a raucous New Years Eve (read: me projectile vomiting like a high school punk) and a full day of recovery on New Years Day it was time to move on. The general plan had been to visit Zona Cafeteria, Cali, and then potentially Quito, but as time was compressing and the physical size of Colombia was becoming a harsh reality we scrapped the lofty ambitions and decided Team Mcwangster & The Dirt Cricket would have their last stand in Salento.

Before I begin on Salento it was very hard to leave Medellin. The beautiful (better than NYC & Miami combined) women, and the opportunity to live with our friend Paul in his pimping penthouse really created an appealing environment to begin my Spanish studies. Had it not been for the fact I had just started my travels I likely would have stayed but I needed to move on. So off we went….

Now back to the fact the entire country is in Fiesta…Jan 2nd we show up early and there are no bus tickets left for Salento. OK, we take a minivan to get us half way there, then a bus to get us another 2/3 of the way there and finally a taxi for the last leg. It was all dramatic stressful and quite trying when one considers our level of Spanish. Ordering a burrito in Spanish and trying to understand complicated travel routes are an entirely different thing…oh how i long for my Spanish lessons in Ecuador. We made it after 14 hours of hell but the nice part was that there were no meltdowns and we actually all kept great humor and steed about the situation. But hear this….if i ever half to sit with half an ass cheek on the back seat of a minivan for 6 hours ever again I will go postal and choke out the person who sold me that “seat.”

Ass is numb…Chirp Chirp

With the feeling of the big city pressing down on us we decided to hop a bus to the city of Santa Fe de Antioquia; a town founded in the mid 16th century and the original capital of the Antioquia region…before the big brother of Medellin took the title away about 50 yrs ago. This really is one of those story book Spanish Colonial pueblitos that you either love or hate…I love them by the way.

So first impression is this place is really fucking hot and the sun actually stings as it hits your face or the back of your neck. It turns into a constant game of running from shaded spot to shaded spot. Christie cannot take the heat so she retreats to our hospedaje to nap while Greg and I continue to wander around. Within 3 hours we have seen pretty much every square block of the city and our left to our favorite activity of people watching. I should also mention that at this time of year every town is having their annual Fiesta to celebrate the Christmas Season (not holiday season but straight up Catholic birth of Jesus Partying) which equates to booze and random fun.

Well random fun in this town equates to bull fighting…or so I was able to ascertain something was going to happen with bulls in this haphazard bambu (how they spell bamboo down here) coral. Greg and I saddle up to the outside of the ring and realize every spectator sitting on the fence rails is a child. Where are the men? Then every man in the town starts clambering into the ring of bambu to face the bull? I am wondering what the hell kinda bull fight this is as they are all taking heavy pulls from bottles of Ron (rum). Bull fight right? Well sorta. All of a sudden a 10 piece brass noisemaking group starts wailing away and next thing we know it’s actually a game of run away from the bull. Every guy jumps for his life onto the railings to avoid this really pissed off bull. The nonsense continues on for another 5 minutes until the bull starts to get tired (this is no real fighting butll) at which point every drunk becomes an inebriated matador. Waving beer adds, their hats or whatever they can to elicit a laughing “ole” from the crowd as they bravely dodge an exhausted bull. Well one old man took the cake b/c he was constantly tacking upwind the entire time he was so piss drunk yet he actually had a cape and was earning the loudest cheers; though i wonder if it was b/c he was the visibly most drunk person in the entire town. Eventually he did fall down facing the bull but was rescued by fellow friends dragging him away by the wrist. Just hilarious is all i could say…here is our hero:

after the excitement of the bull bonanza wore down it was back to wandering from shade spot to shade spot loving the old architecture and having to remind ourselves this was Colombia and not a movie.

OLE!!! chirp chirp

So a quick little post for humor’s sake. There is a 55-60 year old man staying in the hostel that has been walking around with his underage (19yrs old) “girlfriend.” This is the 2nd time I have seen this in Colombia and personally it disgusts me…well retribution came do. As i was walking into the hostel this morning the cops were walking in at the same time and i was wondering if one of the idiot kids here had done a little too much cocaine or something of the sort. (this is a sad reality a lot of people do come to Colombia for the beautiful women and/or cheap drugs) Nope the old man had been drugged by his “girlfriend” and had all his money, laptop, credit cards, and passport stolen. Personally i laughed as i saw him being taken to the hospital in a drunken like stupor…serves him right. Number one who trusts a hooker, and # 2 if you are an old man and you travel to foreign countries for young women at the very least please stop reading my blog!

Chirp Chirp…serves him right

Now we have been staying in a friend of a friend’s hostel here in Medellin and have received a super warm welcome. Paul—the owner—basically left the states as I did 5yrs ago and never could move on from Medellin; and I can definitely see why. His business is pretty damn successful and he gets to live in a place that outshines anything I have known in the states. Basically I am seething with jealousy but this is definitely making me wonder if the secret dream I have been harboring of doing the same (opening my own business in Latin America) could be a reality. I just never imagined I would be so into a city in such a short time.

The city has a very impressive city-scape that was largely funded by the drug trade b/c the cocaine dealers needed someway to launder their profits. It is the same exact story in Miami. In fact at one point over 60% of high rise construction in Miami during the 80’s was being built by drug money. OK…so getting back to my point these same high rises all over Medellin are all capped with super pimping Penthouses b/c the drug dealers needed somewhere to live as well. So basically this city has an abundance of properties to rent with rooftop pools, open air staircases, and all the gaudy luxuries one can possibly think of. Paul is lucky enough to actually live in one of these places so our Christmas dinner wound up being about 5 Americans, 5 Colombianas, and a Mexican guy grilling out looking over the mountains and city and drinking plenty of wine and beer.

There really is no way I could have asked for more out of my Christmas…now I only need to figure out how I can come back to this place and make it work…or perhaps I can swing something in Peru. Let it be known the idea of coming back to the states and sitting in a cubicle once again is about as appealing to me as shoving splinters under my fingernails. As ridiculous as this may all sound let me live in La La land for the time being. Either way the idea of traveling the world seems to be disintegrating as I’m feeling a tug to take a shot at making it work in Latin America.

One nice part is that everything seems to have been ironed out between Christie and I. Now I need to figure out how to get them to wake up at a decent hour! Fuck how can they sleep away every damn day when we are abroad?

HO HO…Chirp Chirp…

Another 13hr overnight bus ride from hell and we arrived in Medellin—the famed hometown of Pablo Escobar. I was not sure what to expect but it certainly was not what we were presented with. We are staying in an area called Zona Rosa, which is definitely the upper middle class sction of town, and it is something special. The women are exceptional; the amount of eateries and bars is stunning, and basically the entire area is instantly more impressive than anything I have ever scene in the states. They have done a great job of keeping everything to small business and not allowing in chains. Basically every door is a bar, restaurant or club for about 6-8 square city blocks in this one neighborhood we are staying in. One thing I have noticed is that this is a very affluent area and unlike much of South America the women are an active consumer and business owner in the society. I wonder if I will see this trend continue as I move on.

We did get to fulfill something I have wanted and that was to see a Botero exhibit in Colombia. For those who don’t know he is definitely an artist who Colombians are very proud of and he is most famous for his sculptures of fat women. The misshapen theme of his work is carried to all subjects whether man, women, horse and whether it is a sculpture, painting or charcoal sketch. Anyhow, the exhibit we saw—in the fine art museum of Medellin—exceeded my expectations and my only disappointment was not having more time. Sadly we could not take photos inside so please check out my pics of Medellin and it will be obvious what is by Botereo.

The not so fun part is that I have been having a challenging fight with my intestines the last few days. It is improving but it was not the way I anticipated losing weight….

Chirp Chirp…stomach groaning

After our time in Tyrona we jumped another bussetta for the four-hour ride to Cartegena. The second we arrived in the city it was very impressive; the beautiful Spanish Colonial architecture is accented by the imposing 17^th & 16^th century stone Fortress of San Felipe, and an even older wall that circumnavigates the original old town. A quick scan of the skyline does make obvious that it also has an element of Miami and it is a big time city with real industry. As I understand it, Cartagena was the only city spared form the Narco Violencia that everyone associates with Colombia, and therefore has grown into a world-class town that even the wary vacationer should put on their list. It is so romantic it’s kinda sickening especially since I am solo, and frankly I do like it here but it is not what I am after on this trip. It’s too big of a city and I could be done with it in 48 hours. I want grit and reality or cities that are not 100% based on tourism, and certainly not Prada, Gucci, and Escada shops. It is stunningly beautiful, but this is for one who wants to bring their loved one for a coddled vacation with a mix of awesome culture. All the glitz that I am referring to is housed in the old city (the part of the city literally surrounded by a huge stone wall). As a side note it’s really fucking hot here and the sun just feels like it seers your flesh.

For those who do not know Caratagena has the massive rebuffs and fortresses b/c as the Spaniards were plundering South America’s riches, all the tonnage of silver and gold were sent to Cartagena before being sent by vessel to Spain. I have read a hypothesis that the country of Spain and the Spanish language may not exist today had the Spanish not sacked all of the Americas. Whether true or not, Spain’s actions did bring them fabulous wealth and their heritage is a courtesy of what they stole from Mexico through Peru.

One day we stumbled upon an awesome display of Afro-Colombian dance in the park of Simon Bolivar and I was blown away. To my friends who think they can dance…you can’t. Check this out and realize this same group was changing costumes and keeping this up for 4 HOURS!!!! We visited the Naval Museum which pretty much sucked except I did get this snappy shot of Greg holding a Bazooka…b/c Bazookas were common Naval weapons right? However, we loved the Museum of the Inquisition, which was bothersome but fascinating. Cartagena lends itself to just strolling through the streets. We did go out for a night of heavy drinking that ended at a place called Club Havana and I was amazed. Watching a group of older black salseros slam away on the horns, drums and microphone sent chills up my spine. The music was so damn good and infectious even my goofy ass had to dance until they stopped playing…I wondered if the Buena Vista Social Club had snuck out of Cuba and put on a performance for us. As I write this I must say I do dig the Afro-Colombian/Caribbean culture. What I also do like is that I get the sense that there is no marginalizing of the black community or any ethnicity in this city…maybe I am being naïve but it does give off a nice vibe.

Now the social dynamics of team McWangster and Fred hit a snag. We have separated hostels and are opposed to sharing a room again unless necessary. The crux of the problem seems to be Christie’s anxiety about returning to the real world, applying for schools and expecting too much in terms of creature comforts from Colombia. Greg and I lived together for 5 yrs and I think only once raised our voices at each other yet in this short period of time Christie and I have already toed off which has shocked me…I am not tolerant of any negativity (even if she has good reason to be stressed) in my world at this point and nor should I have to deal with “female needs” since I am single. Curling eyelashes and putting on makeup and general dragging of feet fucking drives me up a wall…we are living in hostels ferrr christ’s sake. Christie did admit to me she is a girlie girl so I suspect her needs for everything to be a bit more western may be real. Oh well I am single and have never been very good at dealing with the female creature and her idiosyncrasies. In the end we chatted it out and my earlier assumptions about the language were wrong but the external pressures of returning to the real life are wearing on her.

I do have to mention that the street food in Cratagena is over the top good. I am losing my mind over being able to eat well for less than $1.50. Some of the street food includes skewers of delicious meat, Arepas (corn meal fried around chicken, cheese, beef, pork, egg, or whatever are every where you look) and of course fruit everywhere you look.

Chirp Chirp….cannot stop sweating

Sorry for the slow blog postings but I am making sure to keep my journal as current as possible so I may do as I am today and enter about 4-5 entries at once.

After the first few days in Taganga my travel companions started to express a little displeasure with the scene…having recently been in SE Asia they were living with higher expectations of how their beaches should be in terms of looks and creature comforts. Even more so I think Christie may be having a hard time with the fact that English doesn’t cut the cheese here as there has been a growing and palpable sense of frustration in her general being. I am not sure what the problem is because traveling 3^rd world countries is just not going to ever be peaches and cream.

It is interesting as I speak to other travelers to realize here, more than anywhere else, you need to have some ability with the native language–Spanish. I personally have loved every second so far–except the bed bug bites around my ankles from one night of sleepless hell.

One story I love is that we did spend one day hiking along beaches to try and find something a bit more secluded for a little beach time. We happened along a nice cove that was not exactly secluded but still a good deal of distance from the main beach. Anyhow after a few hours there what the hell do we see but an ice cream man swimming with his ice cream cart across the darn bay…check out this pic knowing he had to swim at least 700-1,000 yds to make at most 20 bucks.

Back to the story, after my friends had enough with Taganga we decided that 3 days at idyllic unspoiled Caribbean beaches might soften the edges and give us what we need. It was a disappointment to leave, as I was hoping to get my dive certifications and spend a few weeks at the beach in Colombia and had been literally day dreaming of this for months…in fact I wanted to spend much more time at the beach than they had…oh well. This is the point when friends I had made along the way told me ‘that traveling with others is really hard and a questionable idea to begin with’…hmm I wonder. After about an hour in a busseta (think what we would consider a shuttle bus) we arrive at Parque Tyrona and had about an hour hike through the jungle to the beach. It was hot & humid but a very easy hike nonetheless. I did get the sense we were going somewhere special as numerous burros (donkeys) and mini horses were passing us loaded with everything form propane tanks to eggs. This did result in a persistent stench of manure…but hey I’m in the coastal jungle of Colombia this is fucking cool…who really cares (right?). Well we arrive at the beach after a bit and whoa it is a bit inspiring. Outside of the uber cheesy Colombian girl making her boyfriend take pictures of her in sexy poses (she wasn’t even that hot) it was perfect!

Greg and I looked like two idiots snapping away with our huge cameras but I did not give one shit b/c this is the only time in my life I was going to see this. The entire surroundings were unspoiled Caribbean beaches with palm forests coming right to the shoreline. This beauty continued on for the next 1.5 hours as we hiked westward deeper and deeper into the national park. At least 80% of that time was on the beach as opposed to a trail. Finally we arrive at the final destination of Cabo San Juan and it was a bit startling. There were quite a few people in tents and the main palapa had about 35 hammocks to rent and we may have gotten the last three.

So at this point we now get into the mode of beach time, reading and sleeping. Socializing with other travelers, eating wild coconuts off the ground, playing soccer with one of the local boys, and I even found some gorgeous people at the nude beach that I had to snap a shot of…you click here to see them. (work safe so go aheadClick here) I put a nice dent in the Che Gueverra book that has been an anchor in my pack and basically was “tranquillo” the entire time. Life is good. Greg and I did a short side hike to an ancient pre-colombian ruin on our last day in the park that actually is being freed form the jungle to this very day. There is an indigenous family living at the site and it appears they are conscripted to clear the jungle and maintain the trails. It was a bit odd as they were vehemently opposed to us taking any pictures of them.

Next stop Cartegena! Hopefully the Dirt Cricket can find zeee Joan Wilder.

Hey all, many are asking so i should mention I have figured out the photo nonsense but will not be sending out the link for a couple days (sorry). I also realized I forgot a critical piece of info…so hurry up and open Google Maps…I have been in Taganga Colombia (near Santa Marta). That said, I am entering the NIZ (No Internet Zone) tomorrow and will not be here to answer, look at, or even acknowledge anything but the fabled “Here and Now.”

So go back to Google and look up Tyrona National Park and that is where I may tanning my lily white ass on the nude beaches of Colombia. At the very least I will be finding out what my telephoto lens is capable of! Yeehaw boobies (getting lonely on the road).

Not much to report unless you want to know about hikes to secluded beaches, cold beers on the beach, tanning on the beach, reading on the beach, sleeping on the beach…it’s all so dreadfully boring that I will spare you.

What was very cool was watching fishermen come onto shore with the day’s catch, walk right in the the kitchen and then the same catch shows up onto my plate. When I asked what kind of fish they had at this beach side palapa, I received a curious response. Within a few minute my waitress was carrying a tray with 6 different freshly cleaned fish on it. Wow my eye just widened as I spied a nice size Red Grouper of some sort. A quick discussion and bang I had fish with rice, onions and amazing salsa served in front of me. What was pretty cool was drinking in the sand (4 beers) fresh fish dinner and it was a whopping $7 which is outrageously expensive in Colombia

I am about to sign off but the last thing i want to point out is the fruit. I am drinking Jugos Naturales (fresh fruit juice squeezed in front of you) and eating lots of Pina, Papaya, Bananas, Watermelon….oh god does it just go on and on. Anyhow this is the best fucking fruit ever. So sweet, so perfectly ripe and delicious. The odd part is that I bet it all would be tossed away in the US b/c it does not look the part of our sanitized perfectly manicured produce. It’s bruised, ripe and so juicy it runs all over my arm every time i take a bight that i wouldn’t ever ask for anything different.

Yummy food abounds

Chirp Chirp