Well, after a few days of investigating different options: buy a new bike or repair Neil's being principal amongst them, the reality of having to pay for the repairs for el coche de familia Salinas hit home. Despite the friendly ferrying around the workshops of Medellin, either with Paul, only friendly stranger's mopeds or on Shanks's Pony (we had joined the ranks of the Medellin living dead by this point, thanks to our own minor injuries), it became increasingly clear that Neil was going to have to go home.
While we waited for the quotes to come in, we filled a few days cruising the modern Metro and Metro Cable to Avecedo, up to Santa Domingo via Popular and Andalucia in the infamous North - Eastern suburbs, where Luis Perez is the new hero and Pablo Escobar was the old. New stations were announced in the paper on Wednesday as President Uribe opened the new Linea J to Aurora and the Nueva Oriente. This town, and this country, is going to be appearing in a holiday or real estate brochure near you soon, believe me. It was less than 40p for a single journey anywhere on the network, including the cable cars west and east up into the mountain suburbs. Maximum of 8 to a carriage and so the journey facilitates meeting people, who were invariably friendly and helpful and a welcome distraction from Neil's increasingly impending departure. My only criticism is that the ticketing system seems odd, with paper tickets issued for the automatic gates which are swallowed on entry less than 5m away in every case - surely a reusable plastic token woud be better?
New Parque Botanico at Universidad was another good distraction for us - lovely old trees from the original park are in the process of being enhanced by new buildings, softer planting and features such as a butterfly house and desert garden, along with plenty of national jungle species and loads of birds, henna coloured squirrels and some large colourful iguanas, one of which I nearly stood on, startling us both. Once again we remarked how we feel that we are travelling in South America at exactly the right time - the security reputation of some of these countries is no longer justified and they have benefited from a decade or more of relative economic and political stability and yet, with some exceptions, like Cusco, they are not on the major tourist trails, yet.
We also amused ourselves by reading excerpts from "Medellin Turistica" by Legis of Bogota of June 2006 - Welcome to Medellin, subtitled as city of progress and opportunities and part of the comprehensive information pack provided by Paula. In the Survival Guide section there are some choice quotations, including - "visitors are strongly advised to visit only the attractions and places of interest listed in this guide or those suggested by tourist information points. You must not organise individual trips, walk on isolated, unwatched zones or go to non - referenced urban areas" whatever that means. In the Useful Numbers section are listed the inocuous "Civilian Defence 311 25 71, progressing to the "4th Brigade of the Army 152 / 230, Center for the Identification of Corpses - 257 55 55" and finally, "GAULA Antioquia (Anti Kidnapping Unit) 147". This kept us chuckling through our final beers together on our last night out at the Berlin Bar (more weissbeer and Dunkel) on Calle 10.
Eventually the day came, Saturday, for Neil to leave. After a final breakfast together at the Desayundero, also on Calle 10, we went to the airport together. We had to wait around for ages, waiting for the immigration and security section to open and I think he was getting stressed out to see if he could make it out of the country with no problems from the police, but I hung around for 30mins after he went in and all seemed to be fine...... Anyway, arriving back at Casa Kiwi, some compensation could be that I met Hamish and Emma on the way back, outside the Hostal and am going out for a drink with them tonight - they are brits who are sailing from Cartagena to Panama day after tomorrow and then heading to Houston to return to the UK for his sister's wedding at the end of June. So I'm sure we will hook up at some point in the rest of our journey onward and they seem like a nice couple.
ALSO, a Colombiano called Felipe had heard from Maurizio via Paul or Hamish (?) that Neil wanted to sell what's left of his bike for a million pesos. He was well into enduro and off - road riding and apparently races a GS1150 (?). He turned up on a brand new unregistered CRF 250, so he obviously has some cash and likes to ride. I negotiated with him (lying that I was in no rush to leave and would wait for a better offer and we wanted to cover the 16million cost of the accident) and eventually we agreed to sell it for 4 million pesos, which is 2,200 USD, mas o menos. I was pleased and I think Neil will be too, as we thought he would get nothing for it and we would have to pay to get it dumped.
The banks were shut by then, so I agreed with Paul and Felipe that he holds the bike until Monday and then he will come back and pay Paul. Paul can keep the cash until the labour bill comes in and then confirm with Neil on email what the balance is. That is also the same as the estimate for the outstanding labour bill, so I thought that would tidy things up nicely, get Neil something for the bike and not leave Paul with a wreck in his garage. At least it was some good news for you all in an otherwise sad day. At least I was cheered up by the beers and a chat with Hamish and Emma, returning to a full blown (literally) party in the Casa Kiwi where all of the powdered and crystalline products Colombia is infamous for were available in profusion, before retiring to update the blog and then get up tomorrow to get back to Quito and pick up my bike before heading north again. What other direction could there possibly be dear readers - motociclistacondoscojones signing off - hasta luego!
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Quo Vadis?
It is a very hard thing to do, to leave a great city and a great hostel in Medellin and enjoy a few hours exhilerating riding in a beautiful day on more great Colombian mountains. Then, suddenly to have the front wheel of the bike skid out from underneath you, slide across the road into an oncoming car and end the day back in the same city and hostel facing a repair or replacement bill for both the car and Neil's and what could effectively be the premature end of our trip. Luckily neither of us were seriously hurt, but it was the second accident we had faced in less than 10 days and this one more serious which has almost definitely written off one of our bikes.
The only slightly entertaining element of yesterday's escapades were Fede and Luis, or Flaco y Gordo as they called each other and their ancient Ford F100 recovery truck. The truck, which was a pick, roughly welded onto a ramp and winch recovery trailer was owned by the 2 brother's uncle. Tio did all the discussions and price negotiations with the police. However, as soon as they went, he too disappeared and left us in the hands of the 16 and 15 year old. They drove like maniacs on the mountain roads back to Medellin, stopping suddenly or leaning out of the window to show off to their friends in the villages we passed or to leer at the chicas walking on the roadside. Fede / Flaco, the younger and more reckless of the dos hermanos did most of the driving, although when we approached the peage stations or police checkpoints, Gordo took over driving, without stopping as they slid under and over each other across the ancient upholstered bench seat. This, as it turns out, was because of Gordo's closer resemblence to their uncle and his possession of a feathery moustache, which unlikely as it was, convinced the roadside officials when they were presented with Tio's licence. Anyway, after a scary, shaky ride in and on top of the jalopy, we got back to the Casa Kiwi Hostal and were met by the owner Paul with a couple of cold Aguila beers. We stashed the bike in the garage and contemplated the future as the sun went down on our worst day so far.
Today it became clear that the options we are facing are firstly, whether we can repair Neil's bike and continue, which is dependent on the cost and availability of parts. We had an interesting if inconclusive day trawling around the tiendas and tallers de motos in Medellin. We met a lot of friendly and helpful people who sympathised with us, saw at first hand how almost anything can get repaired here and received endless directions and shuttle lifts to places on the backs of people's mopeds. Now we are waiting for the quotes to come back. Secondly, Neil could dump or sell his bike for spares and then buy a cheaper second hand bike to continue on. Thirdly, none of this may be possible and Neil and maybe me too, would end the trip in Colombia.
The as yet unknown factor in all of this is how much it will cost to repair the Kia Sportage that we slid into. The Garcia family who it belonged to were very nice people who shared the cost of transporting the car and bike back to Medellin, but they will need to be paid for the damage we did to their car. To satisfy the police at the roadside, we gave them a copy of Neil's worldwide health insurance with his UK motorbike insurance stapled to the back, but we are going to have to fund the cost of the repairs ourselves. Frankly, we did consider doing a runner, but it is too risky for Neil as the police took details of his temporary import documents, which also has his passport number on, so he may get detained at the border until this is sorted properly. It is also not fair to the Garcia's.
Tonight we have consoled ourselves by playing pool with Hugh (a fellow traveller we met at Casa Kiwi) and listening to Neil Young and Loudon Wainwright III on the Hostal's sound system, much to the bemusement of the double - bagger student types we are sharing these digs with. The irony is that we have justified our time and efforts playing pool previously as preparation for funding our drinking in North America as well as listening to North American music. It now hangs in the balance whether both or either of us will make it there on this trip. Watch this space as the quotes roll in.
The only slightly entertaining element of yesterday's escapades were Fede and Luis, or Flaco y Gordo as they called each other and their ancient Ford F100 recovery truck. The truck, which was a pick, roughly welded onto a ramp and winch recovery trailer was owned by the 2 brother's uncle. Tio did all the discussions and price negotiations with the police. However, as soon as they went, he too disappeared and left us in the hands of the 16 and 15 year old. They drove like maniacs on the mountain roads back to Medellin, stopping suddenly or leaning out of the window to show off to their friends in the villages we passed or to leer at the chicas walking on the roadside. Fede / Flaco, the younger and more reckless of the dos hermanos did most of the driving, although when we approached the peage stations or police checkpoints, Gordo took over driving, without stopping as they slid under and over each other across the ancient upholstered bench seat. This, as it turns out, was because of Gordo's closer resemblence to their uncle and his possession of a feathery moustache, which unlikely as it was, convinced the roadside officials when they were presented with Tio's licence. Anyway, after a scary, shaky ride in and on top of the jalopy, we got back to the Casa Kiwi Hostal and were met by the owner Paul with a couple of cold Aguila beers. We stashed the bike in the garage and contemplated the future as the sun went down on our worst day so far.
Today it became clear that the options we are facing are firstly, whether we can repair Neil's bike and continue, which is dependent on the cost and availability of parts. We had an interesting if inconclusive day trawling around the tiendas and tallers de motos in Medellin. We met a lot of friendly and helpful people who sympathised with us, saw at first hand how almost anything can get repaired here and received endless directions and shuttle lifts to places on the backs of people's mopeds. Now we are waiting for the quotes to come back. Secondly, Neil could dump or sell his bike for spares and then buy a cheaper second hand bike to continue on. Thirdly, none of this may be possible and Neil and maybe me too, would end the trip in Colombia.
The as yet unknown factor in all of this is how much it will cost to repair the Kia Sportage that we slid into. The Garcia family who it belonged to were very nice people who shared the cost of transporting the car and bike back to Medellin, but they will need to be paid for the damage we did to their car. To satisfy the police at the roadside, we gave them a copy of Neil's worldwide health insurance with his UK motorbike insurance stapled to the back, but we are going to have to fund the cost of the repairs ourselves. Frankly, we did consider doing a runner, but it is too risky for Neil as the police took details of his temporary import documents, which also has his passport number on, so he may get detained at the border until this is sorted properly. It is also not fair to the Garcia's.
Tonight we have consoled ourselves by playing pool with Hugh (a fellow traveller we met at Casa Kiwi) and listening to Neil Young and Loudon Wainwright III on the Hostal's sound system, much to the bemusement of the double - bagger student types we are sharing these digs with. The irony is that we have justified our time and efforts playing pool previously as preparation for funding our drinking in North America as well as listening to North American music. It now hangs in the balance whether both or either of us will make it there on this trip. Watch this space as the quotes roll in.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Colombia, So Far So Very Good
A few people have asked for more detail about what actually happened in my crash was that about 20km outside of Quito on the Panamericana, I came around a corner about 120km/h and overtook a slow moving bus crawling uphill and laying a free - radical smokescreen of diesel fumes. As I came through the neblina de diesel and headed back in front of the bus I realised at the last minute that the solid yellow line dividing the carriageways also had a series of unexpected large ceramic hemispheres going all the way up the hill in exactly the same colour yellow as the line. There were no signs or warning that they were coming up at all and it was the only time we have seen these little hemispherical bastards on the entire trip. I hit the first one hard with my front wheel, buckling it and causing a blow-out as the tyre came off the rim. I lost control and the bike went down on its right hand side landing on more of the jaundiced hemispheres which cracked the gearbox casing before I and the bike slid another 100 yards up the hill.
After 3 nights in Quito, we packed for riding 2 up and took the rest of our gear to the BMW workshop to stay with the bike. I realised whilst packing that lots of stuff was smashed or cracked in the impact of the crash, in addition to my sunglasses being cracked whilst wearing them on the bike, my handy solar charger had all its panels smashed and my torch too had its bulb and lens broken.We agreed to share the riding between us in Colombia, which we'd heard was really good riding from Albert and Mike in the pub the night before. Neil was originally quite keen to fly into Colombia because of the discomfort and potential danger of riding 2 up in Colombia, but this information along with the fact that it would cost more than 1,000USD for both of us and we are motociclistas con dos cojones after all!
So off to the border town of Tulcan, crossing the un - equatorial Equator on the way through freezing cold rain. We got into a dreary hotel on the main square, which seemed full of Colombians filling up with cheap Ecuadorian fuel and cheap plastic Chinese goods from the markets. We put on some dry gear and headed out for a Chifa and a couple of beers in the cold town before heading off to bed early before a dawn start in the morning. We wanted to get off early to minimise the risks of not reaching Popayan before dark as the road to there from Pasto is notorious for FARC activity, and besides, everyone knows that bad people like to stay up late past their bedtime and don't like getting up early in the morning, so it made sense to llevar muy temprano manana manana.
Up at 5.30am to cross the border, with everything still shut when we arrived on the Ecuadorian side and big queues on the Colombian side. Whilst we queued, plenty of prominent posters proudly displayed the leading sub - committee of FARC's most wanted, with 2 now having their names and pictures crossed through with diagonal black marker pen crosses and "muerte", "dado de baja" proclaimed underneath from the government's successes of the past week. In the newspapers we had read in Peru and Ecuador, opinion seemed divided as to whether South America's longest lasting guerilla movement would instigate a backlash of killings and kidnapping or whether it was now on the verge of collapsing. The Aduana - man then took us through the longest - winded customs process so far, with photocopies and ink rubbings of the engine and chassis numbers. Having said that he was very nice and friendly, pulling up chairs and letting us use their toilets whilst we wait, so much nicer than the man on the Ecuadorian entry point the week before.
Then we were off through the Southern Highlands of Colombia, strongholds for both terroristas and drogistas, but a lovely biking road all the same, full of continuous curvas sinuousas y peligrosas. When we came to the first army checkpoint, the friendly teenagers with machine guns told us the road was closed due to a derrumbe de piedras and wouldn't be open until the afternoon. We explained that we were going to Popayan and didn't want to risk travelling at night and would it be possible to at least go on to the fall to see if a bike could get through and then we could decided whether to go on or return to the border town of Ipiales. They shrugged their shoulders and said no problemo. We found a site of a gasolinera, crushed by enormous boulders and a team of men trying to stop the petrol leaking from the exposed tanks, along with another group, armed only with a jackhammer and some shovels to clear the mess. Luckily we passed through OK and enjoyed 30km of the empty snaking mountain road, before the next army checkpoint when the traffic returned and with it the constant danger of trucks and buses careering around corners on the wrong side of the road. I also noticed a lot of cyclists on the road and remembered reading that, along with football, cycling is Colombia's favourite sport. Although they seemed to love hurtling downhill at breakneck speed, overtaking trucks, they didn't seem to enjoy uphill as much and were very inventive in hitching a ride on the tailgates of passing lorries or as pillion on moped and motorbikes.
Into Pasto and we stopped off for a fabulous breakfast of the best coffee since Argentina, sharp, sharp orange juice, freshly made enormous hash browns, fried eggs and bacon, with warm rolls on the side, lovely. The road then descended and became instantly tropical, with exotic fruit and sugar cane lining the road along with our first sighting of significant numbers of black people to accompany them. After 100km or so the road climbed again, got colder and we entered Popayan doused by equatorial rain (again). We struggled to find a hotel because although it was Ash Wednesday, the famous Maunday Thursday parades were taking place overnight that night and everything was full. Eventually we found a nice place, near the main square with a balcony overlooking the action. Popayan is a picturesque colonial town with lots of low, white - stuccoed buildings, which in fact have all been completely re-built and restored since a devastating earthquake in 1983, just before that year's Easter Parade commenced.
We could feel a palpable sense of expectation and fun on the street as everyone was on holiday for the next 4 days and getting ready to party. We entertained ourselves with drinking some beers (Joker, Pilsen Aguila and Colombian Club are the local brews, CC being the best) in the town's cavernous pool hall and also returning several times to a great panaderia at the bottom of our hotel. We returned several times because of their infuriatingly complicated system for making payment and also because it was so good and fresh, we could smell when each new batch came out of the oven from our balcony. It turned out well though, because the place was targetted by the more discerning beggars, who accosted us when leaving, but because we only had one thing with us at any time (plum slices, pizza slices and ham and cheese bread), we didn't feel so bad about not giving them anything, especially when they got quite aggressive afterwards. My thoughts on begging are that it seems more prevalent in openly religious places and that apart from giving food, it is counterproductive to give money, especially when people just stick their hand out without even offering a service such as the jugglers at traffic lights and the shoe - shine boys (and old men) we have seen everywhere on the trip so far.
Religious holidays were primetime for the beggars and the hawkers and we returned to our room after dark to watch the parade, which mainly consisted of a series of scenes from the last week of Jesus's life depicted by lifesize plastic mannikins hauled by teams of 8 lucky devotees, interpsersed by military bands and religious choirs and orchestra, some complete with organs being pushed or carried through the streets by yet more lucky devotees. Standing on our balcony drinking beers from the bar downstairs, the whole thing had the bizarre feel of a slow and sedate catholic cartoon animation as the scenes of Christ's passion, bloodily depicted, slowly flowed under our balcony. Once it finished, sometime after midnight, the real revelling started on the streets and we had a fitful night's sleep as a result.
We hung around Popayan in the morning, tired and reluctant to leave enjoying the scenery, catching up on email and enjoying some more good coffee at last without a woeful Nescafe sachet to be seen. Then we headed off on the short hop to Cali, through the Cauca River Valley, which runs between the Cordilleras Oeste and Central, past fields and fields of sugar cane. As we came into the outskirts of Santiago de Cali, to give its full name, we sped past the new gated communities and resorts where the wealthy live and were spending their long Easter break from Thursday through to Sunday. As we got into the city itself, the impact of the doughnut effect were palpable as the number of loitering beggars and street vendors multiplied rapidly and our bike and lack of melanin stood out from the crowd and attracted unwanted attention at traffic lights. It reminded me a lot of Havana - a lot of 50's and 60's concrete developments gone shabby, set in a pleasant tropical backdrop, evidence of previous wealth and the absence of decades of maintenance or further development.
That is with one important difference, the plethora of marble - clad, caste iron - gated banks throughout the centre of Cali. Not the glass, aluminium and primary colours of retail banks for the masses, but the solid vaults for the extremely wealthy that you see in the exclusive areas of Shanghai, Mumbai, London, New York, Paris and Zurich. Could it be that the estimated 50% of the 9 billlion USD earnt in Colombia each year from Cocaine (let alone Colombia's growing predominance in Marijuana and Heroin production) is held there? Certainly the cartels have been much more savvy in the shadow economy in movng upstream and downstream to control the production, refinement and some parts of the distribution of this white powder, as opposed to its other major industry - sugar (or oil for that matter), where it has much less market influence and hence much lower earnings.
Luckily, we asked a professorial - looking bloke, who was driving a red Beetle with his Alsatian in the back and had a kind face, furnished with half - moon glasses, a pipe and a grey goatee, for directions. He said he would lead us to a nice place, with parking and a pool, so we followed him to the Hostal La Merced, right behing the church of the same name, which is Cali's only remaining colonial building. All the others have been destroyed by earthquakes. He thanked us profusely for visiting Colombia and left us at the door of the hostal. We would never have found it ourselves as there was no sign, only a piece of paper stuck onthe wall saying that the hostal was open. Gonzalo and Rita, the friendly owners welcomed us in to our clean nad comfortable room. They had only recently taken over the hostal and were keen to stress that they were still in the process of renovating the place. We went out into the deserted, hot and dusty streets and bought some cold beers to have by the pool. Returning, we found the pool full of guano, pigeon feathers and las cucurachas, but it was so hot, we scooped out the worst flotsam and dived in to the cool water for a refreshing closed-mouth swim. We went out later into the streets, now thronging with crowds and cooled by a refreshing evening breeze. We found an Asian fusion restaurant and luxuriated in some spciy food, before returning on Avenida Sexta past salsa clubs booming latin music in a kerbside competition. We stopped off at the La Merced church to see the hordes of Easter worshippers filling the church and the surrounding streets, before going off to bed.
We were up early for a long ride to Medellin on the wonderfully twisty Panamericana. This was just as well as each town we passed had its main street blocked by Christians making their own Easter Parades and causing us to take lengthy desvios or delays. We got to Medellin in the late afternoon and tucked the bike up safely in the garage of the Casa Kiwi Hostal in the smart, leafy suburb of Poblado. Paul at Casa Kiwi and his wife Maruja and little boy Carlito run a chilled out place, which was immediately welcoming and relaxing. Paul is a biker too and gave us some good tips on the roads further north. We settled in quickly, helped by cool Columbian Clubs from the fridge and endless games of pool.
Next day we got on the new and efficient metro to the centre of town and went to the Museo de Antioqua. After fooling around on the Botero sculptures outside in Parque Berrio, we went inside to see the Donacion Botero, given by Fernando to his native city. His sculptures were stunning, but I particularly liked his paintings, "Rosita" and "El Muerte de Pablo Escobar" were my favourites. There was also a temporary exhibition by a Brazilian Artist, called Regina Silveira, who used monochrome light and shade and optical illusions to create some interesting shadow effects. Stimulated by some great art, I reflected how artists exploit our psychologies through illusion and visual associations in a way that is both exciting and a complete mystery. It seems strange that as we know more and more about the world around us and even our own bodies, we still don't understand our minds, the thing that defines us as human beings, and this is the great conflict of modernism and a challenge to modern humans.
Afterwards we had drinks and a salad in the museum cafe and remarked on the ubiquitous number of limpers, crawlers and chorlton and the wheeliers passing by. At some points in downtown Medellin, it looked like the final scene from Dawn of the Dead. We concluded that because most of them seemed to be men, it must be the result of a combination of road accidents from the crazy driving we had seen or punishments meted out by the drogistas in their heyday when Pablo Escobar was alive and ruled the city. Despite all its crime and poverty, Medellin is a great city, constantly stimulating and friendly and the first place I could consider living from everywhere we have been so far. Back to the hostal and an American lady we had met at breakfast called Paula had left us her poorbuthappy guide at the front desk, with loads of handwritten recommendations in it for the rest of our time in Colombia. I fancied a 6 day jungle trek to La Ciudad Perdida and Neil fancied passing his PADI open water diving certificate.
We went out that night around the nitespots and fleshpots of Poblado, ending up in a supposedly Scottish Bar, which served Erdinger Weissbier and Dunkel, satisfying my need to get away from drinking lager, which I am increasingly finding is only palatable in small quantities and mas fria. Alex the Scottish oil worker and Maria his Colombian girlfriend (for the Easter weekend he confided to us!) joined us whilst I got steadily ruined on Erdinger Dunkel, after having thoroughly warmed up lager drinking and pool playing at Casa Kiwi all afternoon with Neil. He drew some great cartoons of a student double - bagger and middle - aged tourist which made me laugh so hard I fell off my barstool. We got in at nearly 4am and didn't get up until gone midday. Consequently we spent a leisurely day, consisting of going to the Exito supermarket so we could cook our own dinner for a change (we had pasta puttanesca and a fruit salad, the first fruit for a while), more pool whilst listening to great Cuban jazz and enjoying the basketball and outside gym at the local park, closely missing a thunderous downpour. So on to Cartagena de los Indias and the sunny Caribbean sea tomorrow!
After 3 nights in Quito, we packed for riding 2 up and took the rest of our gear to the BMW workshop to stay with the bike. I realised whilst packing that lots of stuff was smashed or cracked in the impact of the crash, in addition to my sunglasses being cracked whilst wearing them on the bike, my handy solar charger had all its panels smashed and my torch too had its bulb and lens broken.We agreed to share the riding between us in Colombia, which we'd heard was really good riding from Albert and Mike in the pub the night before. Neil was originally quite keen to fly into Colombia because of the discomfort and potential danger of riding 2 up in Colombia, but this information along with the fact that it would cost more than 1,000USD for both of us and we are motociclistas con dos cojones after all!
So off to the border town of Tulcan, crossing the un - equatorial Equator on the way through freezing cold rain. We got into a dreary hotel on the main square, which seemed full of Colombians filling up with cheap Ecuadorian fuel and cheap plastic Chinese goods from the markets. We put on some dry gear and headed out for a Chifa and a couple of beers in the cold town before heading off to bed early before a dawn start in the morning. We wanted to get off early to minimise the risks of not reaching Popayan before dark as the road to there from Pasto is notorious for FARC activity, and besides, everyone knows that bad people like to stay up late past their bedtime and don't like getting up early in the morning, so it made sense to llevar muy temprano manana manana.
Up at 5.30am to cross the border, with everything still shut when we arrived on the Ecuadorian side and big queues on the Colombian side. Whilst we queued, plenty of prominent posters proudly displayed the leading sub - committee of FARC's most wanted, with 2 now having their names and pictures crossed through with diagonal black marker pen crosses and "muerte", "dado de baja" proclaimed underneath from the government's successes of the past week. In the newspapers we had read in Peru and Ecuador, opinion seemed divided as to whether South America's longest lasting guerilla movement would instigate a backlash of killings and kidnapping or whether it was now on the verge of collapsing. The Aduana - man then took us through the longest - winded customs process so far, with photocopies and ink rubbings of the engine and chassis numbers. Having said that he was very nice and friendly, pulling up chairs and letting us use their toilets whilst we wait, so much nicer than the man on the Ecuadorian entry point the week before.
Then we were off through the Southern Highlands of Colombia, strongholds for both terroristas and drogistas, but a lovely biking road all the same, full of continuous curvas sinuousas y peligrosas. When we came to the first army checkpoint, the friendly teenagers with machine guns told us the road was closed due to a derrumbe de piedras and wouldn't be open until the afternoon. We explained that we were going to Popayan and didn't want to risk travelling at night and would it be possible to at least go on to the fall to see if a bike could get through and then we could decided whether to go on or return to the border town of Ipiales. They shrugged their shoulders and said no problemo. We found a site of a gasolinera, crushed by enormous boulders and a team of men trying to stop the petrol leaking from the exposed tanks, along with another group, armed only with a jackhammer and some shovels to clear the mess. Luckily we passed through OK and enjoyed 30km of the empty snaking mountain road, before the next army checkpoint when the traffic returned and with it the constant danger of trucks and buses careering around corners on the wrong side of the road. I also noticed a lot of cyclists on the road and remembered reading that, along with football, cycling is Colombia's favourite sport. Although they seemed to love hurtling downhill at breakneck speed, overtaking trucks, they didn't seem to enjoy uphill as much and were very inventive in hitching a ride on the tailgates of passing lorries or as pillion on moped and motorbikes.
Into Pasto and we stopped off for a fabulous breakfast of the best coffee since Argentina, sharp, sharp orange juice, freshly made enormous hash browns, fried eggs and bacon, with warm rolls on the side, lovely. The road then descended and became instantly tropical, with exotic fruit and sugar cane lining the road along with our first sighting of significant numbers of black people to accompany them. After 100km or so the road climbed again, got colder and we entered Popayan doused by equatorial rain (again). We struggled to find a hotel because although it was Ash Wednesday, the famous Maunday Thursday parades were taking place overnight that night and everything was full. Eventually we found a nice place, near the main square with a balcony overlooking the action. Popayan is a picturesque colonial town with lots of low, white - stuccoed buildings, which in fact have all been completely re-built and restored since a devastating earthquake in 1983, just before that year's Easter Parade commenced.
We could feel a palpable sense of expectation and fun on the street as everyone was on holiday for the next 4 days and getting ready to party. We entertained ourselves with drinking some beers (Joker, Pilsen Aguila and Colombian Club are the local brews, CC being the best) in the town's cavernous pool hall and also returning several times to a great panaderia at the bottom of our hotel. We returned several times because of their infuriatingly complicated system for making payment and also because it was so good and fresh, we could smell when each new batch came out of the oven from our balcony. It turned out well though, because the place was targetted by the more discerning beggars, who accosted us when leaving, but because we only had one thing with us at any time (plum slices, pizza slices and ham and cheese bread), we didn't feel so bad about not giving them anything, especially when they got quite aggressive afterwards. My thoughts on begging are that it seems more prevalent in openly religious places and that apart from giving food, it is counterproductive to give money, especially when people just stick their hand out without even offering a service such as the jugglers at traffic lights and the shoe - shine boys (and old men) we have seen everywhere on the trip so far.
Religious holidays were primetime for the beggars and the hawkers and we returned to our room after dark to watch the parade, which mainly consisted of a series of scenes from the last week of Jesus's life depicted by lifesize plastic mannikins hauled by teams of 8 lucky devotees, interpsersed by military bands and religious choirs and orchestra, some complete with organs being pushed or carried through the streets by yet more lucky devotees. Standing on our balcony drinking beers from the bar downstairs, the whole thing had the bizarre feel of a slow and sedate catholic cartoon animation as the scenes of Christ's passion, bloodily depicted, slowly flowed under our balcony. Once it finished, sometime after midnight, the real revelling started on the streets and we had a fitful night's sleep as a result.
We hung around Popayan in the morning, tired and reluctant to leave enjoying the scenery, catching up on email and enjoying some more good coffee at last without a woeful Nescafe sachet to be seen. Then we headed off on the short hop to Cali, through the Cauca River Valley, which runs between the Cordilleras Oeste and Central, past fields and fields of sugar cane. As we came into the outskirts of Santiago de Cali, to give its full name, we sped past the new gated communities and resorts where the wealthy live and were spending their long Easter break from Thursday through to Sunday. As we got into the city itself, the impact of the doughnut effect were palpable as the number of loitering beggars and street vendors multiplied rapidly and our bike and lack of melanin stood out from the crowd and attracted unwanted attention at traffic lights. It reminded me a lot of Havana - a lot of 50's and 60's concrete developments gone shabby, set in a pleasant tropical backdrop, evidence of previous wealth and the absence of decades of maintenance or further development.
That is with one important difference, the plethora of marble - clad, caste iron - gated banks throughout the centre of Cali. Not the glass, aluminium and primary colours of retail banks for the masses, but the solid vaults for the extremely wealthy that you see in the exclusive areas of Shanghai, Mumbai, London, New York, Paris and Zurich. Could it be that the estimated 50% of the 9 billlion USD earnt in Colombia each year from Cocaine (let alone Colombia's growing predominance in Marijuana and Heroin production) is held there? Certainly the cartels have been much more savvy in the shadow economy in movng upstream and downstream to control the production, refinement and some parts of the distribution of this white powder, as opposed to its other major industry - sugar (or oil for that matter), where it has much less market influence and hence much lower earnings.
Luckily, we asked a professorial - looking bloke, who was driving a red Beetle with his Alsatian in the back and had a kind face, furnished with half - moon glasses, a pipe and a grey goatee, for directions. He said he would lead us to a nice place, with parking and a pool, so we followed him to the Hostal La Merced, right behing the church of the same name, which is Cali's only remaining colonial building. All the others have been destroyed by earthquakes. He thanked us profusely for visiting Colombia and left us at the door of the hostal. We would never have found it ourselves as there was no sign, only a piece of paper stuck onthe wall saying that the hostal was open. Gonzalo and Rita, the friendly owners welcomed us in to our clean nad comfortable room. They had only recently taken over the hostal and were keen to stress that they were still in the process of renovating the place. We went out into the deserted, hot and dusty streets and bought some cold beers to have by the pool. Returning, we found the pool full of guano, pigeon feathers and las cucurachas, but it was so hot, we scooped out the worst flotsam and dived in to the cool water for a refreshing closed-mouth swim. We went out later into the streets, now thronging with crowds and cooled by a refreshing evening breeze. We found an Asian fusion restaurant and luxuriated in some spciy food, before returning on Avenida Sexta past salsa clubs booming latin music in a kerbside competition. We stopped off at the La Merced church to see the hordes of Easter worshippers filling the church and the surrounding streets, before going off to bed.
We were up early for a long ride to Medellin on the wonderfully twisty Panamericana. This was just as well as each town we passed had its main street blocked by Christians making their own Easter Parades and causing us to take lengthy desvios or delays. We got to Medellin in the late afternoon and tucked the bike up safely in the garage of the Casa Kiwi Hostal in the smart, leafy suburb of Poblado. Paul at Casa Kiwi and his wife Maruja and little boy Carlito run a chilled out place, which was immediately welcoming and relaxing. Paul is a biker too and gave us some good tips on the roads further north. We settled in quickly, helped by cool Columbian Clubs from the fridge and endless games of pool.
Next day we got on the new and efficient metro to the centre of town and went to the Museo de Antioqua. After fooling around on the Botero sculptures outside in Parque Berrio, we went inside to see the Donacion Botero, given by Fernando to his native city. His sculptures were stunning, but I particularly liked his paintings, "Rosita" and "El Muerte de Pablo Escobar" were my favourites. There was also a temporary exhibition by a Brazilian Artist, called Regina Silveira, who used monochrome light and shade and optical illusions to create some interesting shadow effects. Stimulated by some great art, I reflected how artists exploit our psychologies through illusion and visual associations in a way that is both exciting and a complete mystery. It seems strange that as we know more and more about the world around us and even our own bodies, we still don't understand our minds, the thing that defines us as human beings, and this is the great conflict of modernism and a challenge to modern humans.
Afterwards we had drinks and a salad in the museum cafe and remarked on the ubiquitous number of limpers, crawlers and chorlton and the wheeliers passing by. At some points in downtown Medellin, it looked like the final scene from Dawn of the Dead. We concluded that because most of them seemed to be men, it must be the result of a combination of road accidents from the crazy driving we had seen or punishments meted out by the drogistas in their heyday when Pablo Escobar was alive and ruled the city. Despite all its crime and poverty, Medellin is a great city, constantly stimulating and friendly and the first place I could consider living from everywhere we have been so far. Back to the hostal and an American lady we had met at breakfast called Paula had left us her poorbuthappy guide at the front desk, with loads of handwritten recommendations in it for the rest of our time in Colombia. I fancied a 6 day jungle trek to La Ciudad Perdida and Neil fancied passing his PADI open water diving certificate.
We went out that night around the nitespots and fleshpots of Poblado, ending up in a supposedly Scottish Bar, which served Erdinger Weissbier and Dunkel, satisfying my need to get away from drinking lager, which I am increasingly finding is only palatable in small quantities and mas fria. Alex the Scottish oil worker and Maria his Colombian girlfriend (for the Easter weekend he confided to us!) joined us whilst I got steadily ruined on Erdinger Dunkel, after having thoroughly warmed up lager drinking and pool playing at Casa Kiwi all afternoon with Neil. He drew some great cartoons of a student double - bagger and middle - aged tourist which made me laugh so hard I fell off my barstool. We got in at nearly 4am and didn't get up until gone midday. Consequently we spent a leisurely day, consisting of going to the Exito supermarket so we could cook our own dinner for a change (we had pasta puttanesca and a fruit salad, the first fruit for a while), more pool whilst listening to great Cuban jazz and enjoying the basketball and outside gym at the local park, closely missing a thunderous downpour. So on to Cartagena de los Indias and the sunny Caribbean sea tomorrow!
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Bent Coppers and Dave Comes a Cropper!
Well, after much anticipation and planning we had a great time with the ladeez in Lima. Luxuries and benefits of two weeks of female companionship with our wives was fantastic, along with staying in nicer places than we had become accustomed Machu Pichu and Cusco were great (with its Qoriqancha, Inca temple of the sun overbuilt by the Convento Santo Domingo as a particular highlight), Nasca was OK too although the rest of Peru was a disappointment. Quite frankly, it was just plain hard work to get around such a big country by car, with interference from cops trying to blag bribes, bad roads and worse weather and a car that was mechanically unfit. Nevertheless, the quality time spent with the ladeez and their great company made it all worthwhile.
Whilst we were on the road a diplomatic row and potential military conflict erupted between Colombia, Venezuela and then somewhat reluctantly, Ecuador. Colombia crossed the border into Ecuador to attack a FARC camp there and killed the second in command, taking his laptop with incriminating evidence against Chavez and Correa on it. Anyway, eventually Chavez restores diplomatic relations after 10 days of tension on March 9th and Neil and I breathe a collective sigh of relief after the threat of a regional conflict barring our progress north is removed.
After saying goodbye to the ladeez at the airport, Neil and I de-camped to a cheaper hotel around the corner in Miraflores, Lima. We checked in and went up to the rooftop bar, where we enjoyed a good time with Olga & Reina, two spirited barmaids and Andreas, a Harley riding German, living in Mexico and in Lima on Business. We got on well with the three of them, even managing to share some jokes in Spanish, and I'm sure that Neil and I got a much better breakfast in the morning because of it.
Next morning we were up early to the BMW workshop to pick up our bikes. Sergio the Service Manager met us there and our bikes certainly looked clean and sounded good with fresh oil and filters. Neil's bike in particular looked great with all the new front end on it. However, more shoddy South American workmanship became apparent when Neil's seat was found to have been ripped off, rather than taken off with the key. This was glued back and we left still satisfied that all was well. However, at the end of that day, we discovered that whilst Neil's front end looked good, it was just slotted into place and not a single screw or nut held the beak in place.
Anyway, we returned to the hotel, loaded up and headed north straightaway, keen to make progress before the weather got too hot in Central America. We didn't allow for the scamming corrupt police that prey on foreign bikers on the Panamericana, north of Lima. They are in fact vultures and not the "los angeles guardianes" that they like to proudly proclaim on roadside hoardings and their patrol cars. We got stopped 3 times that afternoon and went through the same routine. You have committed an "infracione and you must pay 100 dollars to get our licences back". We just laughed, shook our heads and repeated "No,no,no" a la Amy Winehouse and eventually they got bored and gave our licences back. One Officer even had enough of a lack of a sense of irony to warn us to get off the road before dark as there were a lot of bandits on the road at night. Unfortunately my Spanish wasn't good enough to tell him that he didn't have their shame and so was able to stand in the middle of the road in broad daylight, with a gun in his holster and demand money from us! Needless to say, this left a bad taste in our mouths about Peru and we just headed north as fast as possible to get out of the damned place as soon as possible.
Into Ecuador through the border crossing which was in the middle of a bustling, smelly market and the hottest border crossing since getting into Bandar Abbas in Iran and then heading away from the sweaty coast and banana plantations up into the mountains through the rain and landslides into the Andean city of Cuenca. Never have I experienced such a range of heat and cold in one day's riding. The road was cover in thick porridgy mud, sometimes almost a foot deep. We went out to a great place owned by an arrogant American and encountered Franziskaner weissbier for the first time on the trip and fell into a frenzy of refreshing ourselves , meeting and befriending a bloke called Carlos in the process. He took us on to a dodgy looking nightclub in his truck and then gave us a lift back at 4am, screeching through the rain sodden cobbled streets of Cuenca with me in the back of the truck. Up and out relatively early the next day we make it through the cold and the rain to Riobamba, hoping to reach the Colombian border the next day.
We are in Quito now and unfortunately, we will be here for a little while as I had an accident yesterday, north of here, just short of the Equator, near the Colombian border. I am absolutely fine, hardly a scratch, but my bike is a wreck and possibly a write - off. We got it to the BMW shop here yesterday and will check out the cost of repair and other options on Monday, so watch this space!
Today I am feeling pretty flat and low, enhanced by a bad cold and a hangover too after Neil and I went out last night and got hammered. Dangerous Franziskaner Beer did the job again - this time in the Turtle's Head pub, owned and run by a gregarious motorbiking Scotsman, Albert. He commiserated with us, gives us complementary shots of Jagermeister and puts us onto to a potential plan B - 1500 USD for a Honda Dominator. Apparently, it was left with his mate, Carlitos, by a french couple over a year ago and they never returned as originally planned and so asked Carlitos to sell it for whatever he could get for it.
I went out into Old Town Quito today, whilst Neil slept off his hangover. There was great atmosphere that really lifted my spirits as people were out in their best clothes celebrating Palm Sunday and the beginning of Santa Semana. Lots of people were carrying bouquets of flowers and rosemary, palm fronds and woven palm crosses. Only South American country where we have seen more gothic churches than baroque ones and this enhances the split personality of the country as the Switzerland of Latin America. The country is split in many dimensions - racially, geographically and economically, making it one of the most politically unstable countries in an unstable region. Anyway, that's all for now folks as we should have more news after going to the workshop tomorrow...
Whilst we were on the road a diplomatic row and potential military conflict erupted between Colombia, Venezuela and then somewhat reluctantly, Ecuador. Colombia crossed the border into Ecuador to attack a FARC camp there and killed the second in command, taking his laptop with incriminating evidence against Chavez and Correa on it. Anyway, eventually Chavez restores diplomatic relations after 10 days of tension on March 9th and Neil and I breathe a collective sigh of relief after the threat of a regional conflict barring our progress north is removed.
After saying goodbye to the ladeez at the airport, Neil and I de-camped to a cheaper hotel around the corner in Miraflores, Lima. We checked in and went up to the rooftop bar, where we enjoyed a good time with Olga & Reina, two spirited barmaids and Andreas, a Harley riding German, living in Mexico and in Lima on Business. We got on well with the three of them, even managing to share some jokes in Spanish, and I'm sure that Neil and I got a much better breakfast in the morning because of it.
Next morning we were up early to the BMW workshop to pick up our bikes. Sergio the Service Manager met us there and our bikes certainly looked clean and sounded good with fresh oil and filters. Neil's bike in particular looked great with all the new front end on it. However, more shoddy South American workmanship became apparent when Neil's seat was found to have been ripped off, rather than taken off with the key. This was glued back and we left still satisfied that all was well. However, at the end of that day, we discovered that whilst Neil's front end looked good, it was just slotted into place and not a single screw or nut held the beak in place.
Anyway, we returned to the hotel, loaded up and headed north straightaway, keen to make progress before the weather got too hot in Central America. We didn't allow for the scamming corrupt police that prey on foreign bikers on the Panamericana, north of Lima. They are in fact vultures and not the "los angeles guardianes" that they like to proudly proclaim on roadside hoardings and their patrol cars. We got stopped 3 times that afternoon and went through the same routine. You have committed an "infracione and you must pay 100 dollars to get our licences back". We just laughed, shook our heads and repeated "No,no,no" a la Amy Winehouse and eventually they got bored and gave our licences back. One Officer even had enough of a lack of a sense of irony to warn us to get off the road before dark as there were a lot of bandits on the road at night. Unfortunately my Spanish wasn't good enough to tell him that he didn't have their shame and so was able to stand in the middle of the road in broad daylight, with a gun in his holster and demand money from us! Needless to say, this left a bad taste in our mouths about Peru and we just headed north as fast as possible to get out of the damned place as soon as possible.
Into Ecuador through the border crossing which was in the middle of a bustling, smelly market and the hottest border crossing since getting into Bandar Abbas in Iran and then heading away from the sweaty coast and banana plantations up into the mountains through the rain and landslides into the Andean city of Cuenca. Never have I experienced such a range of heat and cold in one day's riding. The road was cover in thick porridgy mud, sometimes almost a foot deep. We went out to a great place owned by an arrogant American and encountered Franziskaner weissbier for the first time on the trip and fell into a frenzy of refreshing ourselves , meeting and befriending a bloke called Carlos in the process. He took us on to a dodgy looking nightclub in his truck and then gave us a lift back at 4am, screeching through the rain sodden cobbled streets of Cuenca with me in the back of the truck. Up and out relatively early the next day we make it through the cold and the rain to Riobamba, hoping to reach the Colombian border the next day.
We are in Quito now and unfortunately, we will be here for a little while as I had an accident yesterday, north of here, just short of the Equator, near the Colombian border. I am absolutely fine, hardly a scratch, but my bike is a wreck and possibly a write - off. We got it to the BMW shop here yesterday and will check out the cost of repair and other options on Monday, so watch this space!
Today I am feeling pretty flat and low, enhanced by a bad cold and a hangover too after Neil and I went out last night and got hammered. Dangerous Franziskaner Beer did the job again - this time in the Turtle's Head pub, owned and run by a gregarious motorbiking Scotsman, Albert. He commiserated with us, gives us complementary shots of Jagermeister and puts us onto to a potential plan B - 1500 USD for a Honda Dominator. Apparently, it was left with his mate, Carlitos, by a french couple over a year ago and they never returned as originally planned and so asked Carlitos to sell it for whatever he could get for it.
I went out into Old Town Quito today, whilst Neil slept off his hangover. There was great atmosphere that really lifted my spirits as people were out in their best clothes celebrating Palm Sunday and the beginning of Santa Semana. Lots of people were carrying bouquets of flowers and rosemary, palm fronds and woven palm crosses. Only South American country where we have seen more gothic churches than baroque ones and this enhances the split personality of the country as the Switzerland of Latin America. The country is split in many dimensions - racially, geographically and economically, making it one of the most politically unstable countries in an unstable region. Anyway, that's all for now folks as we should have more news after going to the workshop tomorrow...
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