La Naturaleza

It turns out that for Robert and I, the biggest threat to our safety in Latin America is Mother Nature, that wizened old crone. We were chased out of Baños, Ecuador by the eruption of Mama Tungurahua; I´m quite certain that we experienced two brief but nerve-wracking earth-tremors (quakes is too strong a word) in Pasto, Colombia the other night; while swimming in Río Magdelena outside of Santa Marta I slipped on a rock and took a healthy chunk of flesh out of my shin; I have been continuously plagued by bites from mosquitoes, spiders, and no-see-ums; Robert is suffering from two weeks of horrible allergies; we´ve both had our share of healthy sunburns; and we almost died of heat exhaustion in Cartagena.

The mountains of Central and South America are relatively young, geologically speaking. They continue to heave and lurch and sigh and groan as they settle into themselves throughout Latin America. The earthquakes and volcanic eruptions are, for me, a metaphor for life in this part of the world. These countries feel young and wild; untamed and bold, with the kind of fearlessness only the young possess. Everything is so grandiose, starting with nature. The Andes don´t have the severe, rocky facade that I´m so familiar with in the Rockies. They are green and soft, rolling with thick jungle. Like a Botero painting, they resemble round, fleshy bodies, reclined, all hips and butt and breast and tummy, nurturing and maternal. But clearly fierce and threatening at times, too. This land roils; it´s loud and brash and hot and proud. It is not subdued or quiet, not behaved. It is dangerous and exciting, too.

I am convinced that the disposition of Latinos is a result of the land they live on. The grand and fierce beauty that one finds in these countries is impossible to ignore. It is visible in the subdued dignity of the indios, the only folks here with a claim to ancientness. It is visible in the mothers and their babies, the fathers and their children, the grandparents and the aunts and uncles; the families which occupy every corner and crevice of life here. It is visible in the violence and struggle, the resistance, which boils over and cracks the earth with its powerful horror and sadness. Its heat and sensuality is visible in the music; the vallenato, the tango, the salsa, the reggaetone.

I am blessed to have had the opportunity to get to know these places: Nicaragua, Colombia, and Ecuador, and hope to come back to see more of Latin America soon, soon, soon.

Colombia

Contrary to how it might appear based on my last blog, I have been so thrilled to spend five weeks in Colombia. Here´s a bit more about this crazy country.

I first decided to look into visiting Colombia after I read John Perkins` "Confessions of an Economic Hit Man." In it he describes experiences he has all over Latin America during the 70s, but is especially struck by his time in Colombia. At this point, like most folks from the U.S., I thought Colombia was a lawless place filled with drug dealers and murderers and never considered visiting. As I started to research more about the country, I realized that not only were my perceptions of safety way off base, but that Colombia has a rich history and even a richer culture. Two Colombians most people are familiar with are Gabriel Garcia Marquez (One Hundred Years of Solitude) and Fernando Botero (known for painting beautifully round fat people), but the list of famous Colombians is much longer than that and it`s role in Latin American history from pre-colonization to the present is pivotal. What I know now is that I am so thrilled that I decided to take a chance on this fascinating country, even though so many people warned me against it and my own fears often gave me second thoughts about coming.

It is true that Colombia has a horribly ugly history, filled with tragic violence. It is also true that Colombia continues to be the biggest supplier of cocaine to the United States and because of this industry, there is a high level of violent crime here. And of course, like most of Latin America, Colombia is highly militarized and has an enormous problem with poverty and the gap between the rich and the poor. That said, I am constantly forced to remind myself of these things as I make my way around because we have seen so many beautiful natural wonders, met so many wonderfully kind and honorable people, and travelled freely and comfortably without any threat to our safety. In fact, we like to joke that it`s not the narcotraffickers we have to fear, but the bus drivers, who are probably the most dangerous individuals in Colombia. It`s laughable to me now how nervous I was about coming here and how nervous my Mom probably still is about me being here, because life here is so completely, completely normal and actually remarkably resembles the lives we live in the U.S. So, I apologize Mom, for not being in better touch, but I´m really in good hands, you just gotta believe me.

Colombians, like other Latin Americans love music, love their families, they work to live rather than live to work. They are incredibly diverse as the country is large and quite regional culturally. They speak very formally, without much slang or dialect and are always courteous and helpful. They are very curious about us and it´s clear that Colombia has not seen the tourist traffic that other parts of Latin America has, which is a wonderful gift for us. The land itself is also incredibly diverse with three Andean ranges that run down the middle of the country from the north to the south, both Caribbean and Pacific coasts, vast prairie in the east, and the Amazon in the south. It has incredibly cosmopolitan and modern cities in Bogotá, Medellín, and Calí. It has perfectly preserved colonial pueblos, some small, some large. And it has an indigenous population and amazing ancient culture sites. We could never see all that Colombia has to offer in two years far less in two months, but we´ve given it our best shot. The good news is we´ll have to come back in order to revisit our favorites and make it to the places we missed.

While I feel that I do not possess the words to adequately convey the beauty we have seen in Colombia, I thought I might describe a day we spent in Valle de Cocora, outside of Salento, which is in the department of Antioquia. The area is known as "la routa de cafe" because it is where Colombia´s other most well known crop is grown. Coffee and cocaine, the U.S. just can´t get high enough. We set out at about 7 in the morning for the center of town where a jeep leaves for the Valle de Cocora. It´s basically a commuter vehicle for folks who work up in the valley. The jeeps are wonderful old Willy´s which have bench seats that face each other in the back. Like most transportation around these parts, no space is left unfilled. After the benches are filled four across, the front two seats next to the driver are taken and the roof is loaded up with cargo, the remaining passengers can either sit on top or hang off the back. Our jeep had about 16 passengers, I think. 45-minutes of bumping and crawling got us to our trailhead.

Valle de Cocora is most well known for its wax palms which can grow to be 200 feet tall. As you enter the valley and start your ascent up the mountain, the palms appear. They are so fanciful and strangely out of place in this mountain valley filled with meadow, grazing cows, and leafy trees. The palms are spaced about 50 yards apart from each other and they are TOWERING, rocking back and forth in the wind. The grass was this electric green,the sky a deep blue filled with fast moving clouds. It was like stepping into a dreamscape.

From the valley we climbed up the mountain, where the ecology changes from valley, to forest, to rain forest, to cloud forest. This is a common thing in Colombia, as the ecology is incredibly diverse and varied. Our destination was a cloud-forest reserve where we could rest and watch hummingbirds. This part of the forest boasts over 70 different species. We passed an hour or so watching the birds come and go, black and white ones, long-beaked ones, long-tailed ones, they were fun and beautiful. Our descent took us along a mountain stream, back and forth across several suspension bridges, and finally into a dry, warm valley.

In Salento we ate fresh trout which is served on a patakon, which is smashed platano (green banana) fried into a giant chip-like thing. I had trout three times, once fried, once covered in cheese and mushrooms, and once baked in milk. Delicious!

Is this the Colombia that you imagined? Me neither.

Into the ether

(Pereira, Colombia)

Paul Thoreux, in his book "The Old Patagonian Express" says that traveling (alone) is like pulling a disappearing act. The farther away you get from home, geographically as well as mentally, the more invisible you become. When I first set out on this trip I had a lot to say and write about, which is partially due to the fact that I was travelling alone and in need of some kind of companionship. I also heard from my friends and family quite often. The more time goes by the less I write and the less I hear from you. Certainly, this is somewhat an out-of-sight, out-of-mind phenomenon, on both of our parts. But it is also true that I feel farther and farther away from home and more comfortable and closer to this world in which I inhabit down here in South America. This is not to say that I don´t get home sick, I do almost every day. The following blog was written during a bout of grumpiness a week or so ago. Forgive me for being such a spoil sport.

Long-term travel is weird. I´ve decided that loading a few important items into a backpack and trekking off into the great unknown for an extended amount of time--3 months for me but I´ve met many people who are out for 6 months, a year, a year and a half and more--is just strange behavior. Especially when you spend a lot of that time in the company of your countryfolk, speaking English, watching the World Cup, eating cornflakes, and getting drunk. Don´t misunderstand me, I have very much learned to appreciate a good backpacker hostel where I can get my laundry done, cook my own food (which might actually include a fresh vegetable), and compare stories with my fellow travelers, but there are times when we all just wish we were at home and I wonder what this is all for. Picking up and moving cities every few days, packing and re-packing the bag, showering in cold water which tumbles out from an exposed pipe in the wall, using toilets without seats (not sure why, but the seat seems to be a frivolous luxury in this part of the country), eating mostly fried meat and bread in restaurants, where you may or may not actually get what you ordered, fighting off bugs in the night (disease-ridden mosquitos, giant spiders, imagined fleas), trying to stay upright on a bus ride which would be the equivalent to driving up and down a poorly paved Bear Creek Canyon for 5 hours, constantly sticking out like a sore-thumb every where you go (I am so privileged to be able to pass through most of my life without being noticed), wearing the same three outfits for three months, which are dirty most of the time...shall I give it a rest?

I know, poor me, right? I don´t want to give the impression that I´m NOT having a fabulous time on this trip, because I am. I just have moments where I would give it all up for home, where I can cross the street without fearing for my life, pay for an item with a twenty-dollar bill without getting any gruff, and drink a decent freaking glass of wine.