The Great Escape

Realizing that Amy was in desperate need of some R & R from her semi-stressful life and myself needing a break from my hugely stressful life, she and I along with the humorous duo of Dor and Tristian headed to the more remote destination of Playa Blanca. Reachable by boat, the beach boasts the only white sand near Cartagena and counts less than a couple dozen inhabitants post 5 p.m. The regular more desireable boats were not running that day and so we were fortunate to snag space on something that possessed the potential for a scaled down version of the Titanic. The boat was packed with people and re-supply cargo for the neighboring islands. We were given life jackets on the condition that if the boat actually sank, we would have to give them back so they could save the boxes of mayonnaise packets. To my dismay, we made it to the beach without incident. Nothing is as boring as certainty.

Unlike many over-priced tropical destinations, we enjoyed our position as among the few of the overnighters there--$3 hammock sleeping, $4 seafood plates, $6 body massages, and all the rum your body can(t) handle. It was the closest to heaven I'll ever get. I left Amy there with the promise that I would return to re-supply her in a month.

Without electricity, our night there was spent playing cards and repeatedly laughing at Dor's misuse of verbs in his non-native english--"we make a party!" Nice try Borat.

So far Amy has proved proficient as a travel partner and I am doing my best to try and get her to quit her job to join the cause. My main tactic is trying to persuade her that we need to get into the import/export business. We have already established the name: What Fell Off the Back of the Truck. What do you think? Sounds like a winner to me.

Our main topic of time-kills besides our endless round of hypothetical questioning has been trying to regurgitate the names of our 95 grade school classmates--with more points for the most obscure individuals--I got 10 points for remembering Monica Fischebach. Where are you Monica?

For all her positive qualities as a travel partner, I think I have a found a weakness in Amy: water. She is a freaking camel, requiring somewhere around 5 liters a day. I tried to show her that an evolved man does not require such an enormous amount of water by only drinking a few sips a day. I do not feel very well right now.

Hopping on a 5 hour bus north tomorrow to try and reach the touted coast in Parque Tayrona.

Lastly, I would like to give bday shout-out to Amy's cuz, Tiffany Smith, who is an avid reader of the blog and soon to be president of Planetary Vagabond's fan club. Also, I grudginly give another bday shout out to another of Amy's cousins, Stephanie Smith, who does not read the blog (get with the program) . Happy Birthday girls.

Secretly drinking water,

Brian

CEO

What Fell Off the Back of the Truck

The Dirty Side of Colombia

Here's the promised video and the pics are in the linked album.

The scariest part of the experience? Probably when the air bubble pockets started to rise from below or when I went to the bathroom in the mud and thought people were on to me...

Check out the local massuers-they were a nice touch.

Bizzaro,

Q

Carribean Carousing

The whole 15 hour bus ride from San Gil to Cartagena I hid underneath a hoodie from the super-A/C and the swarm of children, whose presence on an overnight bus is akin to running a marathon with a piece of glass in your shoe. I arrived to the anticipated carribean sizzle that makes being a creature only of the night the desired thing to do. So, while awaiting Amy Smith´s arrival on Saturday, myself, an Aussie named Tristan, and an Israeli named Dor spent the following 4 nights soaking up the carribean culture. Salsa beats and aji spiked rice are an everyday encounter, while the humidity is enough to make you sweat out the entire night. I finally met a culinary foe I could not conquer when eating a local´s restaurant I was given a bowl of soup with the hacked off chicken feet protruding out at me from the soup. This was no chicken fingers from Applebees, it was the real deal and it was nasty. And so the line was finally found in South America. My appetite stops at unskinned extremities.

Saturday brought Amy´s arrival and the whirlwind of activies has begun. Yesterday day and night was spent touring the old city and today brought an excursion to the "mud volcano," which when I first heard other travelers talk about this I thought they were using code words for what happened when they ate bad seafood. But actually, not far from Cartagena exists a mound of earth with a core 2,500m deep with liquified clay at the top in which you soak in. Don´t ask me the scientific details of how or why this came to be because I don´t know. But, it was one pretty bizzare experience for Amy and I. Explanatory pics and a movie to be posted later as this computer is going schizo on me for the moment.

Hopping a boat for the island of Playa Blanco tomorrow to peel shrimp and my skin all day.

Until later,

Brian

The Only Risk Is Wanting to Stay

So goes the slogan of the recent Colombian PR campaign to try and shed their former image. Here is the owner of the hostel that I was staying at in San Gil doing his government PR ad. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bFAtU8tJqqI
As you may have read yesterday, my total blog about my 3 day hike was lost--most likely because of carelessness in my tired state, but I would officially like to blame it on the computer. Just like my school days when something was lost, I just cannot bear to retype it and so I will give you the details in an abbreviated and bland way. I´m sorry.

Hostel owner: "I know a 3 day hike near here that is good to do, but there is no map and nothing is marked"
Me: "Great, sounds like something I should do by myself"
HO: "you can speak fluent spanish right?"
Me: "well......"

Day One: (may be good to follow on Google Earth--not sure if all towns are on there)
Start in town of Barichara at the beginning of Camino Real (4oo year old indigenous path)
Meet farmer Florentino who says he will go out of his way walking home to "guide" me on the path to the next town 2 hours away for somewhere around $0.60. Great. He has alot to say, I understand very little except that he is setting an record pace in his soleless shoes and I am dragging ass in my Merrells.
Arrive in town of Guane. Beautiful and calm. Talk to some Colombian tourists there who are seeing parts of their own country for the first time due to past unrest.
Florentine wants to guide me to the next two towns the following day (8 hour hike) as he and the other locals think that I will not make it in one day (they are right). I decline.
Wake up and start towards Villanueva, which should take me 3 hours. It takes 5 due to no signage and no locals to ask for directions. Cursing myself. Its very hot and I make the call to spend the night in Villanueva and depart for Jordan early the next day. In leiu of what happened earlier that day, I spend the night questioning about 30 locals regarding the direction of Jordan. Responses all contradict and approximate walking time estimates vary from 2 hours to 6. I plan on 6.
Depart early. The early part is through the countryside and I interrogate the 30 locals I encounter to confirm I am actually heading in the right direction. 15 of them look like the farmer on the Maxwell House coffee can (or whatever brand it is). After 3 hours I am atop a canyon and can see the destination town at the bottom. I am hopeful. Amazing view.
The next 2 hours down are rough. Finally at the bottom of the canyon, path disappears into a stream and dense forest where I totally lose my bearing. I half-panicking stumble around in it until I finally emerge right in front of farm house where the family outside is wondering what in the hell has just come out of the trees. They are nice and eagerly tell me what direction to head.
Arrive in Jordan, ghost town with lots of buildings, no vehicles and only about 30 people. Find the only house with a door open, ask to pay for lunch and find the logistics of getting out of there. None. But the house owner has a dirtbike and will take me out for a hefty fee. Great. Spend next hour riding on the back of his bike up the canyon. Think Motorcycle Diaries except the guy on the back is hugging the sh#t out of the man in front trying to stay on. He drops me off at the highway and I flag a bus to San Gil. Type blog and it is lost. Punch computer and swear off technology. Say sorry to computer and to the owner of the internet cafe and promise to leave quickly.
Take overnight bus to Cartegna. Its hot here.

BQ

Legal Highs in Colombia

My quest to get rural in a hurry was successful and I soon found myself hopping off a bus in the mid-sized colonial town of San Gil (north of Bogota for all you map-enthusiasts). With all tile roofs and vibrantly painted buildings, the town´s presence does nothing to the taint the encompassing countryside. Known amongst Colombians as an adventure sport town, I arrived with the delimma of what in the hell I was going to spend my time and pesos on. Having since forgotten the sensation of almost wetting yourself, I decided to re-acquaint myself and made an 11th hour decision with another traveler to go para-gliding.

As requested, the paragliding "company" picked us up at the hostel in a car I presume had been glued together earlier that day. Our guides appeared not much better as when we picked them up they looked as if the previous night´s party had just wound down about an hour earlier. The crazier one duly informed us where to find "cheap booze and drugs" thereby confirming that his body toxity level was well beyond mine. The guides further displayed their professionalism by putting their hands over the swerving driver´s eyes as we drove up to the jump off point. But hey, this kind of stuff would cost 4 times as much in the States so I was willing to overlook a few bad omens. Also, what they lack in professional appearance they made up for in their huevos and skills. The ride, or I should say rides, as our first attempt ended with a premature land in a tabacco field, were amazing and the guides perception of invincibility afforded them the gonads to put us into tail-spins that made my head want to explode due to the centrifical force. After landing the second time, I kissed the ground and told guide William to go to rehab.

Probably going to bounce tomorrow as I hear there is some pretty cool hikes not far north of my present location.

Miss you already,

Brian

P.S. More pics in the link.

Back in Business

My jaunt back to the States ended well at the tropical extravegenza that was that Clarkson/Sweat wedding in Florida. The reunification of family and friends there stirred up a little nolstalgia of what I am missing back home. Although, I am pretty sure my performance at the reception may have put me on the blacklist of future weddings. Makers Mark and microphones is a terrible combination.
The logistics of my cheap flight back to Bogota found me traveling from Naples to Miami Airport. Once inside with about 14 hours to spare before my flight, I went on the hunt for a good nook to crash. After previously consulting the backpacker website Sleepinginairports.com, I set out in search of the chapel area due to its tauted characteristics of being quiet and devoid of people. I never quite it made it to that part of the terminal as I stumbled across the Ritz-Carlton of aiport sleeping areas. A totally secluded expanded hallway with no foot traffic, no other people or annoying announcements, and the kicker--dimmable lights. Having anticipated the tactic used by airports to keep the likes of me from sleeping there--super air-conditioning, I came prepared with about seven layers of clothes. Even with this, I was not prepared for the artic blast that hammered me all night and kept me from catching more than an hour of sleep at a time. After waking up and checking my bath towel wrapped feet for frostbite, I started on my succession of flights that would produce me back to South America. I spent a quick hour layover at Costa Rica´s airport on almost exactly the 4 year anniversary of me sleeping at that airport during my Central American excursion. Just enough time there to contemplate exactly how far I had come with my life.....
Prior to my flight back, I received two good sets of news within about 5 minutes of each other. The first being that my persuasive efforts at getting friends to quit their jobs and normal lives took its first victory--friend Joe Clifford has signed on for the Amazon expedition. This development is surely going to make the trip far more exciting and mentally plausible for me. He is in the process of wrapping up his life back in KC, burning his drivers license and is due in Ecuador June 17th. Should be an adventure.

The second big news was that friend and long-time KC neighbor Amy Smith has also decided that she wants a part in the Colombian adventure and is meeting up with me for a weeks worth of travel on the caribean coast starting June 7th. Should also be an adventure.
So, you see, there is two good examples of people making wise decisions in their lives--have you made one today?

Just to give you taste what these two have in store for them, here is some selected reading for all you cubicle travelers:

The Huaorani tribe Joe and I will be living with

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2003/05/0521_030521_amazonhuaorani.html

http://www.bctravelwriters.com/geary/paddle/

Colombia´s Coast

http://travel.nytimes.com/2008/05/25/travel/25hours.html?ex=1212206400&en=ee32ecc26bc0c090&ei=5070&emc=eta1


And so, I am currently back in Bogota and after a day of wandering around the city, I have decided that I may try my hand at finding a job in business here. Because, after a day´s observation, I have concluded that a Colombian businessman´s daily activity
soley includes putting on a suit and strolling around the downtown area. Never in my life I have seen such aimless strolling by seemingly most of the upper-class "workforce."
As much as I want to hang out and watch this non-production, I think I am going to follow my own advice about "when in doubt, get rural" and head to a northern town tomorrow.

Buying a tie,
BQ

Cruisin' thru Colombia

After putting on my best dirty clothes in an attempt to dissuade any potential shenanigans during my transit into Colombia, I boarded an early morning bus to the border anxious for what the day would bring. Inez, my first bus seatmate assured me that most of the guerrilla activity was east of where we would eventually cross. But, she also informed me that I should have these--making the gesture for eyeballs in the back of my head. The actual border crossing went fairly smoothly. Things started to get interesting right after I got my passport stamped by Colombian immigration. First, I found myself one of eighteen people riding in a van similar to a Ford Windstar from the border to the nearest town. At times like this on the trip I sometimes ponder the asinine situations I find myself in and secretly wish for a skycam that could document the carload of Colombians with a tall gringo wedged somewhere in there. Unfortunately, that memory can only be cataloged in my brain to be forgotten in about 4 days. The attractive Colombian woman smooshed next to me would in the course of the next 5 hours be the source of a good deal of worry. Like the other Colombians I had met that day, she was friendly and helped me with a lot of the transport logistics of getting to the town of Pasto, where she was headed as well. Not long into the bus ride to Pasto, she implied that she was super-friendly and decided to use my shoulder as a pillow. Not a problem, I commonly have this effect on women although my charm usually takes weeks or months to work this successfully. But, also not quite a total fool, I realize this is how 9 out of 10 bad situations start. On the other hand, a bad way to go about travelling and meeting locals is to be totally paranoid of everyone you meet. After arriving in Pasto, she accompanied me to the hostal to verify the state and neighborhood of it, saying that Pasto and the surrounding areas were not safe for gringos. Only feeling not safe because of her, but not wanting to be rude to a potentially well-meaning individual I played along until I could figure this situation out. She was eager to hang out more and seeing the progression of the last 5 hours and not wanting to wake up without my credits cards and a kidney, I feigned illness to get her to leave. She did, only after extracting a promise from me to meet her for breakfast the next day. And so after she left, I changed rooms, told the puzzled clerk not to give out my key, slept with one eye open, woke early and left town like a person with a bad case of morning-after regret. A rocky start on the road to Bogota.

The bus ride today was about as beautiful a drive as I have taken in my life. With 4 months of Andean bus rides under my belt, I have grown fairly de-sensitized to the scenery, but the whole 8 hour trip was truly amazing. So much so, that I deferred any reading and just stared out the window for most of the trip's duration. This staring contest with the mountains was interrupted twice at military checkpoints, where all the bus occupants departed the bus for spread eagle pat-downs and bag searches. Machine guns were in no-short supply. I'd be lying if I said the ordeals weren`t slightly unsettling and the fact that I had not seen one gringo let alone another tourist in my first 24 hours in Colombia didn't help matters. Nor did an old man's response to me when I asked him why there weren't any gringos around. But like I said, almost every Colombian I have met so far has been friendly..

Right now, staying in a nice part of Cali but at a crappy hostel. Will re-assess the situation tomorrow and see what the city has to offer.

Cali Dreaming,
Q