A Journey back in time to Mompos

One thing I definitely wont miss about traveling, are the bus journeys. They are more often than not the cheapest and easiest way to get around South American countries, and they´d been bearable for me until we got to Colombia. For some reason, my travel sickness decided to rear its ugly head on our first bus journey here, could be because of the endless breakneck speeds, the frighteningly misjudged overtaking, or the snaking bumpy roads, or more likely a combination of the three, but every journey since has left me feeling queasy. Possibly the only other thing I didn´t like about Colombia, was the rigmarole of buying bus tickets. You arrive at the bus station and as soon as you´re spotted, numerous bus company drivers/sellers/bag men come at you shouting their destinations, cali cali cali cali!? Once you manage to get past them, you get to the ticket booths where there´s usually a sulky looking teenager who mumbles any reply at you, and when you can work out what he´s saying, it´s usually a ridiculously high price. You then have to try and sweet talk them down, to get to the normal price, and apparently this is something even Colombians have to go through. It gets tiring to say the least.

So I wasn´t relishing the plan for our last week and a half in Colombia. It had dawned on us when we were on the coast that we only had about 6 weeks left of our trip. We´d already spent four in Colombia, and still had a list of places we wanted to go before we could leave, meaning we´d only have a few weeks in Ecuador and Peru. So we had to get a move on, and this meant more traveling, less relaxing, and lots of buses. Our first trip was to Mompos, probably the hardest town in the North of Colombia to get to, as it sits on an island in the middle of the wide Magdalena river, deep in the Bolivar Department, recognised as a Caribbean coastal region by Colombians despite being 3 hours from the nearest coast. We left Taganga at 5am, and didn´t arrive in the sleepy streets of Mompos until about 8pm. It took a combination of taxi, bus, smaller bus, ferry, taxi, canoe and another taxi to get us there, and after a search for a place to rest our heads, we happened across a gem. A little lady called Senora Betty came out to us in the street (as did a lot of other curious Momposinos) whose brother rented out rooms in his house. It wasn´t until after we´d agreed to the room that we met the brother, Armando, or sweaty Armando as we began to call him. With a belly the size of Wales, often exposed for all to admire, and a sheen of sweat being his aura.

Mompos is steamy, surrounded by swamps and river land. The air is so humid it´s not surprising that locals spend their days in their rocking chairs, staring at passers by from their porches and doorways. We wandered around the town, admiring the ornate and colonial streets that don´t seem to have changed for centuries. I found some beautiful hand carved totumas (gourds) in a local hardware shop, and we ate in the evenings at some of the small stalls in the bustling San Francisco Plaza. Our host, Sweaty Armando, spoke a lot. But we couldn´t ever make out what he was saying, let alone what language he was speaking. He didn´t seem to mind our ignorance and would continue to talk to us, calling us by one conjoined name - jameyhannah (pron. himayeeanna). When the time came to leave, we were each given a big wet hug against his naked rotund belly. Thankfully it was another early start at 4 in the morning, and it hadn´t reached it´s peak of sweatiness yet. So we got in our little taxi bus, waved goodbye to Armando and Senora Betty, and headed South East towards San Gil, hoping it was easier to get out than it was to get in!

Rum, Scuba Diving and Jungle Beaches

Colombia is without exaggeration an incredible country. The landscapes and people change beyond recognition within a few hours and arriving in Cartagena was like stepping into another world. From the bus terminal we pelted along in the clapped out taxi towards the old town. It was 7am the morning heat reminded me of Africa and the streets were packed with people and animals. We stayed in Cartagena for a couple of nights, the area called Getsemani a dirty, rowdy and slightly dubious barrio just a 5 min walk from the Old Town was perfect. As was the little Colonial hotel San Roque we had been pointed in the direction of, for just 30,000 pesos a night (9 pounds) for a lovely room with bathroom and enough fans to make it sound and feel like sleeping on a helipad. Most of our time was spent exploring the historic town centre within the town walls, full of beautiful colonial buildings with bougainvillea strewn balconies, large plazas, fruit sellers, and a few groups of Americans following their umbrella touting guides from the cruise ships. In the cool and breezy evenings we were tempted to the Cafe del Mar bar on the old town walls, loungy sofas and tables with chill out music created the perfect place to watch the sun go down with an ice cold red wine and a Cuba Libre.

Four hours east along the coast you arrive in Taganga, a small fishing town just outside the city of Santa Marta. Santa Marta twenty years ago was infamous as an outlet of the cocaine trade to the USA and Europe. Today, it is a huge dusty city and not very appealing when Taganga is just fifteen minutes away. As we dropped down into the bay of Taganga the beach complete with fishing boats and pink tourists came into view. Taganga is by no means a hide-away haven and it has become famous on the backpacker trail. However, the scuba diving was our main draw and at fifteen pounds a dive it was incredibly cheap!

We spent three nights in Taganga, diving and sunbathing on Playa Grande, a beach twenty minutes walk around the cliff. The beach with only a handful of cafes could be tranquil if it weren't for the beach sellers from hell... if I wanted to buy an ice cream, a beer, have a massage, hire a deck chair or take to the water on a sea kayak I would ask, I don´t need to have the question every two minutes!!! Nevertheless, serenity and peace was found underwater and we went to a couple of great dive sites, with 15-18 metres visibility, we saw Lobsters, Moray Eels, Hermit Crabs, Trumpet fish, Cow fish, Queen Angel fish, Puffer fish and a lot more. Once back on dry land and as is the norm these days we bumped into the Belgian Bikers, Paul and Singrid, who we originally met in Salento. We spent that evening sinking a couple of Cuba Libres and Han´s favourite tiple - cold Colombian apple wine - with them.

The following morning we were planning to head towards Parque National Tayrona and we did, well, after I snuck in another couple of morning dives that Paul had tempted me with that previous evening, as the rum was flowing. The diving this time was a bit more challenging and the current was very strong around the first site, a small isle of rock and coral. However, as the waters can get very rough there, it was exhilarating to see this unique site that not many go to. The second site was a little more sheltered and with an initial descent to 6 metres we swam a few metres until we reached the 'wall' - a vertical drop down to 20 metres. It was unbelievable swimming into darkness as the small worlds of coral and their fish gradually appeared.

Once Han finally dragged me away from the sea we were back on the bus heading 2 hours further east, towards Tayrona. The national park is stunning, once inside an hours walk through jungle with monkeys swinging above you, you come out onto white sand beaches and leaning palm trees...and nobody trying to sell you some tat! We camped in an area called Don Pedro surrounded by jungle and two minutes from the beaches. It is collection of thatched shacks, tents and hammocks and we got breakfast from a lady near the camp who bakes sweet bread rolls filled with chocolate each morning. We explored the Robinson Crusoe esq beaches during the day of which the park has several. Some have wild seas and bolders the size of a houses, driftwood that looks like its been traveling for years and other bays as calm as a pool. It was a spectacular place and another unique side to Colombia.

Colombia...the only risk is wanting to stay....so they say

All those months ago whilst in Bristol and deciding a vague route around South America we thought after Brazil we could then travel north up into Colombia, simple?! It didn't occur to us that Brazil´s territory, spanning 4,395 kilometers from north to south and being so huge it has four different time zones, might make the journey a little tricky. And there was one big problem stopping us from migrating northwards with ease...the Amazon Basin!

For anyone thinking of exploring this area of the world it is eventually possible for one to travel over land and river into Colombia or Venezuela. However, it involves 52 hours in a bus from Salvador to Belem, which is at the mouth of the Amazon, and then sailing up river via Manaus and Leticia using three different cargo boats, sleeping in a hammock surrounded by a hundred other bodies and eating beans and rice for two and half weeks. Alas, that Amazon adventure is for another day and after 5 hours of flying we landed in Colombia´s capital, Bogota...okay we admit it we are lame backpackers!

Bogota is a huge city and at an altitude of 2640 metres. After the 'taxing' 5 hour flight we decided to stop rushing around and chill for a few days. A few days turned into a week, possibly because it was the first time in 4 months we had a TV in our bedroom...ER and crap cable films were too much to deny! The historical centre of Bogota is La Candelaria and made up of colonial buildings, plazas and museums. Bogota is a lot safer these days, as is Colombia as a whole, and it was great to just walk around exploring the city.

After six days we needed some heat and had to tear ourselves away from ER. Colombia has a unique geography as the Andes end and split into three mountain chains towards the north of the country. This creates two valleys with their own micro climates, and it also makes the bus ride from Bogota to Salento very similar to being on a roller coaster.

Salento, in the Zona Cafetera, is in the heart of coffee growing country. The small provincial town surrounded by rambling hills and plantations was a world away from the Andean feel of Bogota. We arrived on the Saturday evening and the town was in full swing. The main plaza was filled with people dancing and drinking, small stalls set up for the weekend were selling fresh trout on large flattened plantains. We ordered up a couple 'a la Criolla' in a tomato, cream and onion sauce which, with a couple of cervezas, were magic.

A short jeep ride from Salento is the Valle de Cocora, which is home to the world´s tallest wax palms. Once our jeep was full, with around twenty people hanging on to the sides and sitting on the roof we were off and bumping down dirt tracks into the valley. The valley is like something out of Jurassic Park and the trees line the surrounding hills with cloud clustering around them and the fern forests. We stayed in Salento for a few more days visiting the local coffee plantation and generally enjoying the small town feel. However, we had to leave and move on to Medellin where we planned to spend about 10 days studying Spanish.

Medellin is known as the city of eternal spring and in classic style it tipped it down as soon as we arrived. However, we soon found our feet and took private lessons through The Black Sheep Hostel. The lessons were great and we ended up staying in the penthouse apartment belonging to the hostel owner and our teacher, Kelvin and Yadi. They were great and made us feel right at home. It´s a strange thing to say but for the first time since we had been away it was such a nice feeling to do normal things such as use the washing machine, have a routine and our own space. The city is very cosmopolitan, packed with malls, sushi restaurants and huge apartment buildings. We tended to have a couple of hours of Spanish lessons in the morning and go out exploring the city with the legend Pablo, a Colombian from Medellin who we met in Bolivia.

Time flies and we had to as well. Leaving Medellin we traveled overnight by coach with the usual air conditioning on full blast through the ride. The following morning we woke up with the signs of hypothermia to the tropical heat of the Caribbean coast and Cartagena.

Carnaval and Resaca

We'd heard that Carnaval Rio and Carnaval Salvador style, are two very different things. In Rio it happens in a huge stadium, the Sambadrome, where you sit on the grandstands and watch floats full of feathered ladies go past. In Salvador, the parties all take place on the streets, with a choice of spending your time in a Bloco (a roped off parade, full of people who have bought an Abada - tshirt, in the centre of which are the Trios, the huge vans with a band and sound system that deafens everyone within 10 metres). You can also choose to pay to enter a Camarote (A Bar/Club that overlooks the parade and often includes free drinks), or you can choose to be Pipoca (popcorn), and spend the night on the outside of the ropes jumping with everyone else on the street. We had two nights to experience Carnaval, all we could afford (and probably handle) before we had to head to Boipeba. We'd heard all the horror stories about how dangerous it was, how likely to get mugged we were etc etc so we kept our fingers crossed to get out unscathed!

There are three Carnaval Circuits in Salvador, and we were staying right next to the biggest one in Barra, the seaside area. Carnaval officially kicks off on the Thursday, and we only had a few nights to experience it. A large group of us from our hostel bought Abadas for a cheap Bloco and after a Caiprinha fuelled party we headed out to see what it was about. The streets were absolutely rammed, everyone was dressed up, covered in glitter, wearing masks, or in fancy dress and each of the trios seemed to be competing with each other over who could be the loudest. After a lot of waiting around drinking beer, the blocos in front of ours began to move, and at around 1am ours slowly edged forward, and the band began to play. We can't actually remember the name of the singer we were following, but it was a real mix of Samba and cheesy pop with a bit of rock thrown in. The whole Bloco started moving slowly up the street, with everyone jumping and singing. Occassionally there'd be a surge of people from behind as the ropes caught up with them, and you'd be squashed, it was all generally good natured but still a bit scary. When fights did break out it was a matter of getting yourself as far away as you could from the scramble, and it was slightly concerning to see that it was often the police causing the trouble with the rope carriers.

We danced forward at snails pace, buying beer from the vendors in the bloco and ducking under the ropes when we needed a breather, until about 5am when we ducked out of the bloco and watched it carry on up the sea front. Our feet were throbbing, we were covered in beer spray, and we headed back down the road we'd just walked to find food and then collapse in bed. It was a fantastic introduction to Carnaval. The next day we headed into the Pelhourinho, the old centre of Salvador to get a bit more authentic taste, and it was beautiful. Music in the streets, people dressed up and dancing and bands playing. Another night of Caiprinhas in the hostel, and we headed out to be Pipoca on the streets.

The next morning we left a sleeping Salvador and headed to Boipeba, a small island, off the Bahian coast, that is hard to get to, but an ideal paradise for us to spend our Resaca (the hangover days after carnaval). After a bus, a taxi, a fast speed boat and a tractor we arrived in Morere, a quiet, sandy collection of houses on the most beautiful side of the island. We'd arrived in paradise. We stayed in a small place called Pousada a Mangueira, owned by a lovely English couple, Tony and Sue. Our own pousada, complete with four poster bed, hamocks, luxury bathroom and the most amazingly huge and delicious breakfast everyday, just a few metres from the empty tropical beaches. It was the only place we'd booked ahead for our trip and it was so much more than we'd hoped for. Typical then that James and I both came down with a fever and flu, so poor Sue had to nurse us with hot lemon and honey! We spent our days trying to get better, and managed to wander the beaches, eat amazing fish stews called Mocecas, take photos and watch the hummingbirds that covered the flowers infront of our pousada.

It was a dream, only to be shattered at 3am one night when James and I were both awoken by the sound of someone jumping out of our bedroom window. Both in shock and half asleep we realised that James' bag, and Camera, had been taken. We weren't the only ones to have been targetted, another Pousada had had a lot of scuba gear taken, and they even swiped a pair of shorts from the washing line of our neighbours! The suppport from Tony and Sue was incredible, the police came in the morning and the whole village seemed to be out looking for clues. Alas we had to move onwards, and left Boipeba a little lighter, but both in one piece and glad that something like that happened when we had such helpful people nearby.

Rio de Janeiro

So we arrived in one very hot and sticky Rio on Wednesday 11th of February and made our way to the area of Catete where we were staying. Our first few days of what was going to be an extremely short jaunt into Brazil, had been on a non stop bus journey up from Foz de Iguacu. The highlight of which was the frequent stops at service stations, with huge pay per kilo buffets, fresh fruit juices and delightfully unhealthy fried pastries.

Our first day in Rio was spent exploring the Centro, trying, and failing miserably to make ourselves understood in Portuguese, and silently praying for the gloomy looking clouds overhead to go away. Alas it wasn't to be, and that night the heavens opened, and what seemed to be months worth of rain came from the sky and flooded the streets, somewhat stranding us in our hostel. The one thing I thought might be guaranteed on our trip, and what I'd been looking forward to for ages, was a sun bathed trip to Ipanema beach, but the rain came, and was to stay with us pretty much all of the time we were in Brazil. With constant rain and clouds we put off a trip to the key sights like the famous sugar loaf mountain - Pao de Azucar, and the statue of Cristo de Redentor, in the hope of a sunny day. Instead we spent our days exploring the shopping streets of Ipanema, visiting various sights and going out in the area of Lapa to see an ace Samba band and join in with the crazy street party.

Food remained a highlight in the rainy days (as ever for me) and we enjoyed sticks of grilled cheese covered in Oregano, huge Prato Feito lunches; plates piled high with rice, beans, meat, and feijao, and amazing fruit shakes. When we did finally make it into Ipanema beach, there was a Carnaval procession making its way rowdily along the main street, with lots of the followers using the beach as a big open air bathroom. But even despite this, the beach was breathtaking, and down by the edge where the huge waves crashed against the white sand, we were the only people.

Alas our time was nearing an end in Rio and the sun still wasn't shining so we decided to head up to the statue of Christ early on our last morning, the clouds cleared enough for us to see the bays of Rio, with the islands out at sea, and the view was amazing. Surrounded by 100's of people standing around with their arms splayed for a photo op, we decided to join in. At last the sun came out as we visited the beach of Catete. We finished the afternoon with some friends from the hostel, going to Maracana football stadium to watch a match between Botofogo and Flamengo. As we left Rio the sun was shining and the atmosphere was already heightened in preparation for Carnaval, but we were headed for Salvador further North where we'd heard the party was even better!

Iguazu Falls

We had come to Puerto Iguazu for one reason, Iguazu Falls. With 275 individual falls they are among the widest in the world and can be seen from the Brazilian or Argentinean side.

The source of Iguazú river is in Paraná state, Brazil, and after crossing 1,200 km. on a plateau, where it joins with several tributaries before reaching a fault line. This crack in the sandstone and basalt is where the river runs an 80 metre canyon into the spectacular Devil's Throat.

Puerto Iguazu is a nice little town but obviously touristy. It was a great feeling to be back in Argentina and Residencial Amigos was a paradise after the journey. We celebrated our ‘half way through’ night with a meal out, complete with the most delicious Argentine red wine and steak. The tourist information is based in the town centre and is probably the best and most informative we had ever experienced. So armed with our bible of info we took the early morning bus to the falls along with the Park workers. The early start meant that a lot of the trail we were on was empty. Spider webs were strung across the path, Iguanas retreated to the undergrowth and a Tarantula took refuge under a step as H went bouncing past.

The Argentinean falls are by far the best side in my opinion, with more walk ways and falls to explore. One particular highlight was being on the Isla San martin away from the crowds and seeing the wildlife. By the time we headed up onto the Upper Trial it was 10:30 and the hoards had arrived. Nevertheless even with an army of tour groups marching around videoing themselves, the falls are an epic sight. The Devil’s throat is the biggest of the falls and standing on the platform looking into the drop, the noise is deafening.

We’d made friends with an Argentinean family staying in our residencial, and they invited us to join them that evening for the tastiest (and latest - the meal started at midnight!) Asado. When we headed out of Argentina for the last time it was with a real feeling of sadness. The food, wine and hospitality of Argentina had been a highlight of our trip and something we were definitely sad to leave behind.

Journey across the Gran Chaco

As Han mentioned in the last installment we now had the task finding a way to Iguazu Falls, Argentina. There are several ways and none of them particularly easy or straight forward. So, in true backpacker fashion we went for the most exciting route through Paraguay and the Gran Chaco.

Leaving Samiapata by colectivo taxi is the norm but after siting in the square for an hour it looked like we were the only ones heading out of town that day. We had only one option - to pay the price of four people. The mammoth journey began as we hurtled round corners and roads became gravel tracks and later became littered with speed bumps.

Once we arrived in Santa Cruz, at around 17:00, we made our way to the bus terminal and haggled for a ticket to Asuncion, the Paraguayan capital. Sometimes choice becomes a problem and as there were numerous companies going that way, all offering the same discount, all under exaggerating the length of time it would take and all promising a clean, safe bus…haha! We bought the $55 ticket that all we knew would get us to Asuncion and then on to Ciudad del Este, on the Paraguayan border, somehow.

As the sun went down the heat remained, the terminal was throbbing with people and fumes. Undercover police marched around checking passports and the Bolivian drug police, the FELCN, searched every bus coming in and going out, the sniffer dogs were brought out and paraded up and down our luggage. Mine was picked out and I had great pleasure in taking out the Malaria tablets the dog had caught a whiff of.

The night past on our bumpy bus with babies screaming and the smell of the toilet that was centimetres from our heads. As the sun rose the following morning the sight of dusty roads and the endless scrub of the Chaco greeted us. The only amusement that I could find was the conductor looked the spitting image of Ben Brewster (TV Director extraordinaire), maybe he was a long lost brother?

The Lonely Planet Guide to South America describes the Trans Chaco as a journey for “hearty souls” and by the 15:00, 18 hours in, my soul wanted to get out and walk. The Chaco occupies 60% of Paraguay and it is largely desert and scrub land with this single dirt track through it, connecting Bolivia and Paraguay. The sun was the hottest we had experienced and the lack of water in the toilet system produced an unbearable smell. The sweat was pouring off us as the bus twisted and turned. The only ventilation was, of course, our window which when opened filled the coach with a cloud of dust, even so anything was better than the smell of that toilet!

It soon became apparent the timings we had been told were as far from reality as we were from a hot bath in a Hilton. By late afternoon we arrived at the Paraguayan border control and after the usual sitting about for half an hour we were ordered to line up all our belongings for the sniffer dog and police checks. The burley and officious looking police were completely shown up when they brought out their mangy looking drug dog. He had other ideas and rather than being keen to hunt out drugs, he kept running off into the scrub and playing with his ball.

We rolled on and around 23:00 we were arriving in Asuncion and searching for our midnight departure to Ciudad del Este. Simple things count for a great deal when traveling by bus and the cool, clean and quiet ambience of this new bus was a world away from our Chaco chicken coup. We awoke as we were pulling into Ciudad del Este terminal, it was 5am. Inside the terminal people were slow and sleepy, the air was cool and refreshing and our 6am local bus to the border arrived promptly. A twenty minute ride and we were being dropped by immigration, exit stamps stamped and we were waiting for the next bus across the ‘Friendship Bridge’. Linking Paraguay, Brazil and Argentina this is a major union for commuters who work in any of these countries. The tri-border crossing was a hum of moto-taxis, colectivos and pedestrians. After sometime we caught a bus direct to the Argentinean immigration and then on to the town of Puerto Iguazu, Argentina. By midday our thirty-nine hour journey was over and we were relaxing on the poolside of Residencial Amigos.