5 days on the Caribbean Sea

From Cartagena to the San Blas islands of Panama takes 30 hours of blue water sailing. Despite the assurances of our Italian skipper Eduardo, I sense this is a less than typical crossing. Riding down into the troughs of the swell the waves pass beneath the boat and crunch the hulls on the way through, before rising up in front of us and then appearing again nearly half-way up the mast. The mainsail is reefed twice and still we manage 12 knots. Nicolino, the cook, is courageously preparing a meal when he narrowly escapes injury as the knife block is sent flying across the room. It leaves a hole in the side of the wood panelling. 

Dinner and lunch are restaurant quality which is especially remarkable given the conditions, but of the 12 people aboard Nic and I are the only ones who manage to keep both meals down. Retiring to the master cabin (graciously awarded to us by Eduardo with the remark, "for the New Zealand couple, because you travel the furthest to be here") it's like trying to sleep inside a bass drum as the waves pound against the side of the boat. This wasn't on the glossy brochure.

Farewell Cartagena

Sponsored by Napisan

Camera was on underwater mode so the colours came out a bit strange. You get the idea.

The next morning and things have improved slightly but still there's precious free space to sit without being caught in the deluge of the breaking waves. The passengers who opted not to pay for one of the 6 cabins have spent a damp and sleepless night on the squabs of the deck benching. The seas remain like this for most of the morning and the spirits of everyone on board are at a low ebb. But the mood picks up when the coast of Panama comes faintly into view and at some point after this the seas flatten and the wind dies down. Only nobody notices this because palm trees and white sand and turquoise waters have now appeared also. 

Buon Vento

Woman from the Kuna tribes native to the islands

The San Blas archipelago is made up of around 400 mostly un-inhabited islands about 40 miles off the coast of Panama. Three days pass as we cruise between various islands, shipwrecks and reefs. We swim and snorkel and return to the boat only when Nicolino rings the dinner bell for fresh pasta or risotto. Given a kitchen bench that stays horizontal he puts together meals that defy the tiny space and facilities. My own experiences of cooking on charter boats are put to shame. This is what cruise ship food should be, not the stodgy spag bol I served up as clueless 19 year old!

The Caribbean lives up to everything we expected. I won't waste a thousand words trying to describe why. When we disembark in Panama that familiar feeling rolls in that always accompanies us after leaving somewhere special - were we ever really there? The third degree sunburn on my back says yes. 

Special thanks to the Coopers who gifted us the proceeds of a sold cow that contributed to this sail trip. A moment of luxury travel amongst all those bus rides!

Thanks also to everyone for the birthday wishes yesterday. Was spoilt by Nic and had an amazing day. More from Panama and the Caribbean soon, ish.

xN&G 

Goodbye South America. For now.

Dancing in the streets of Cartagena

To Cartagena on Colombia's Caribbean coast is a 12 hour bus ride from Medellin. This journey tips the scales of our total bussed hours over the 350 mark, nearly 15 days. It's reassuring in an unusual way because I sometimes worry that bad bus travel too often becomes the subject of these posts. This figure justifies things a little; bus trips make up 10% of our holiday time so things aren't too out of proportion. For those reading this on their phone on a busy tram and under a sweaty armpit or popping out from a tube station into the 3.30 gloom, this is the closest thing to common ground. And as one traveller pointed out to me in a conversation about travel writing, 'no-one wants to hear about the good shit'. Disaster stories make for better reading; let the photos of exotic beaches, mountains and cities show the full picture.

That's not to say all bus journeys are as tiresome as the daily commute. I've come to enjoy the time spent on buses, provided a few important criteria are met and it can sometimes be a relaxing even productive aspect of traveling cheaply. We read a lot, plan our days and get lost in the things happening out the window. But too often it's marred by someone doing the due diligence on their ringtone inventory or Freddie Mercury reminding me over the bus PA that he's under pressure. Presumably from the weight of cold air being blasted from an air conditioner set to snap freeze. Or a seat that won't hold its recline and slingshots forward intermittently through the night.

The old city is surrounded by a wall built out of coral to protect from Jack Sparrow and his cohort

Unfortunately this trip suffers from most of these symptoms and we arrive in Cartagena weary and with stiff necks. The immediate prospects for a good night sleep don't look good either as we've left our booking to the last minute, it's two days before New Years and the city is crammed with travelers and holidaying Colombians. We have to settle for a poky, airless room at inflated rates but reconcile it with the thought that NY's isn't really about sleeping anyway.

Toilet come jacuzzi

The revitalizing properties of a cold shower, fizzy coke and a full stomach are a good medicine for bad bus trips and this is no different. Coupled with all the activity in the Cartagena old city, busy preparing itself for NYE, any lingering travel fatigue is washed away. 

Without wanting to mix superlatives and colonial cities (Central America is sure to throw up some good examples) Cartagena easily beats anything we've seen in terms of beauty and preservation. Paraty, Sucre and Cusco can get in line. Will I be shot if I use the words charming and colourful to describe a colonial town yet again? If so, then I take back what I've written previously and save it for Cartagena because it deserves exclusive rights to these descriptions and any others I made. What adds to the atmosphere is that it's our first taste of the Caribbean and even though the beach here is just OK by Australian standards, there's something about the 'C' word, the palms in the backdrop and the local's lilting english that gives it a lift.

If all these things weren't enough to keep us happy for 5 days there's also New Year Eve. We're lucky to have the good company of some friends we met in Salento to celebrate with, in addition to the thousands of happy Colombians and others that flood the cobbled streets on the night. It's a party atmosphere to match any big NYE celebration around the world with bars and cafes spilling onto the streets and plenty of salsa and fireworks for entertainment. The end of 2011, the end of a year to remember and one we won't forget too soon. And when familial alzheimer's kicks in there will always be the nearly 5000 photos we've taken to draw on.

The most disappointing part about of our visit to Cartagena is that we're finally able to get some information about departure dates for boats sailing to Panama and the news is inconvenient. They're nearly all departing in the first few days of January with nothing else confirmed later in the month. Our plans to head further up the coast of Colombia for a week are scuppered as we've been looking forward to this sail trip for some time and don't want to pass up the opportunity. (On a whim we booked flights to Cuba for mid-Feb which fly out of Mexico. By far the cheapest option into Cuba, only we didn't count on flights to Mexico from Colombia being astronomically expensive. In light of this we're hoping to travel overland through Central America to Mexico instead.) 

Looking back from the yacht as we sail out from Cartagena the coastline and finally the high-rise buildings of the new city gradually disappear from view. We're in the open sea. I realise that we've left South America, our home for the past 5 months. Nic and I share a nostalgic moment or two, but it's a queasy thought because the boat is pitching and rolling heavily. Where did the last 5 months go?! Nevermind that, fetch me my sick bag.

xN&G

The city formerly known as MCOTW

It's never been a better time to visit Medellin. In the city of eternal spring it's 25C all year round. The people are considered to be some of the warmest and most gracious in Colombia, which is impressive by their standards. Its metro system is efficient, the eating options are diverse and it has developed as a hub for modern architecture. Even murder is at an all time low.

Hostel RAM. Terrible name but great setup. In our favorite conspiracy as to how it operates with such low turnover of guests, we are the beneficiaries of an elaborate laundering scheme.

A city desperate to shrug off it's former reputation - in the 90s it was the murder capital of the world - it has apparently transformed since ridding itself of Pablo Escobar almost 20 years ago and we like it immediately. Because as far as first impressions go Medellin strikes an emphatic home run. The weather is hot, the hostel has a pool and it sublets the fronting section of the house to a burger bar. It has undeniably good burgers (Ferg, Tolano get in line) and Nic sees the danger immediately; we will not be eating every meal here, she clearly states.

 Huge claim

But completely justified. Mexican burger, 'rustic' fries and Heinz ketchup. Perfectly seasoned pattie and fresh everything else. Slurped down with free refills! Big win.

Which is fine by me because we've done some research and there's a glut of great places to eat. We'd made lots of plans for our time here because in the month building up to Christmas we'd planned to spend over a week in Medellin. This gets cut back to 4 days after a last minute change of heart in Salento and so a few things get squeezed off the list. But one thing we couldn't miss were the famous Christmas lights. Mostly because there's hardly a horiztonal surface in the city without something luminous draped across it, they are everywhere. With Escobar's millions gone from the economy who knows who's footing the power bill.

Maximising your busking revenue - cars 3 blocks back can see these clowns

Orchideorama in the botanical gardens

The Christmas lights and decorations hung across the city culminate in a several kilometer long stretch of fluorescence along the Rio Medellin. In the evening the locals crowd the river bank and stalls line up along the length of the river selling all sorts of fried foods. We escape the throngs to the higher ground of a highway overpass. The sight is intriguing. There's no doubt the lights are something to behold in a sort of low-tech Las Vegas homage type way, but it's difficult to find the Christmas theme amongst it all. It's as if someone searching in the farthest recesses of the council storage cupboard drew out a string of bulbs depicting a cycloptic, javelin throwing, unicyclist and confused it for a fourth wise man. We catch a cab home and it's all I can manage not to have a nightcap of burger.

 Even if the love between these two fatties could set them free of their bronzed confines, the impracticalities of the romance are plain to see

Artwork by Botero

Possibly the coolest feature of any metro system in the world, Medellin's train system is linked to a gondola that daisy chains between stations on the valley slopes. Ill-conceived Christchurch gondola this is not - it's a legitimate mode of transport for people living in the hillside suburbs that can be ridden on the same cheap metro ticket. The final station, several hundred meters above the base of the valley and nearly 10km from the base station deposits you in a national park which feels far removed from the city. And all in a 15 minute gondola ride. Not a bad alternative to weekday gridlock in a city of 2.3 million.

View back from gondola station. The green strip running across the page at the bottom of the valley is alongside the Rio Medellin.

I'd hoped to write a little bit more about what we did and how much we liked it etc. But it's just gone 11pm, I'm tired and we've got a couple of days of transit ahead of us so I need to get something posted now. Medellin is great and you should go there. Goodnight.

xN&G

Salento, Colombia

Valle de Cocora, Colombia

It's just passing midnight when the bus into Colombia is pulled over and armed soldiers scramble on board. Our efforts to avoid night travel in Cauca province, notorious for guerrilla activity, have been spoiled by slow progress on waterlogged roads. The frightening account we heard from a traveller held at gunpoint on this route looks like it might play out in front of us. Having spent the previous night sleepless with worry Nic's kittens have been had. 

It takes a few frantic moments before we realise that these are the guns of the police, not the guerillas. I get escorted off the bus with the rest of the men on board and get frisked while sniffer dogs inspect the baggage compartment. The women aren't given the same treatment and when Nic's heart rate has recovered she ventures a question to the guy in charge. It's met tersely and brings about an unwanted interrogation about why we're in Colombia. 

Picking the coffee berry

The benefit of being out-of-date with the blog is that we can look back now and mark this as the only time we felt uneasy throughout Colombia. The perception of safety may not always be well-founded but it certainly feels a safe country. There's barely a corner without a policeman posted on it, if that's any measure. And the people are outwardly happy to have tourists in their country. It might not hold water statistically, but in our 3 week study of Colombia it seems possible that living here are 46 million people with nothing but happiness and goodwill for each other. 

Our first fleeting stop is to Cali, the supposed home of Colombia's most beautiful women. Like many of the other big cities in South America we choose to skip through and stealing a few hours sleep in a noisy dorm we head out to Salento the next morning. (But in the two blocks we walked for breakfast Cali's reputation appears justified).

Salento has easily installed itself near the top of our South American highlight reel. We arrive with the intention of spending a couple of nights before heading to Medellin for Christmas but after over a week we still don't want to leave. This is no small part due to the coffee at Jesus Martin cafe. Finally in a continent renowned for the making stuff we get a decent cup. Actually far better than decent. 

Doors of Salento

We also get the chance to produce some coffee of our own. Meeting up with Pedro, a local farmer who grows coffee, we have lunch with his family at their house followed by a tour of the coffee plantation. The farm is not as orderly as you might imagine; the trees are grown wild amongst thickets of other native stuff. It's the kind of model organic operators in other parts of the world try hard to contrive. Pedro then took us through the production process, picking, defleshing, drying, dehusking, roasting, grinding. The end result is us drinking delicious fresh coffee out of white china at the top of the Colombian countryside. It all felt very out-of-context but then this is the beating heart of coffee. It's all my coffee experiences up to this point that have been out of place!

Salento itself is a small, colorful village, surrounded by the green hills of Colombia's coffee growing region. Cowboys in ponchos and wide brim hats roam the streets. As it was Christmas time and approaching the town's anniversary day the central plaza was dotted with marquees for drinking and celebrating. The locals offer warm greetings to each other (and us) in the streets and sometimes stop for welcoming handshakes. The community feel is unlike any other place we've visited.

Local milk tankers

Hummingbird sanctuary, Valle de Cocora

Salento taxis

Twenty minutes away in the back of a jeep is the Valle de Cocora. With cows grazing on the green hillside it could be Waikato except for the spindly wax palms sticking up through the clouds. We make our way around a short loop track through the valley. It's a few days before Christmas and when we stop for a moment after passing beneath the clouds, I spare a thought for those battling it out in the final rounds of Christmas shopping. 

Bolivian hammer pants get one final outing. RIP.

When we decide to stay for Christmas we ask about a private room. They move us into this private wing. Amazing.

Our hostel, which is more like a farm retreat, puts on a huge Christmas dinner. Nearly all the people we meet in the first few days of arriving in the house have made the same decision as us - it's too nice to leave - and it's a full house for a huge meal. In the evening we head down into the town centre where the streets are busy and the celebrations continue into the night.

Christmas morning

Condensed milk with espresso, Jesus Martin cafe

Christmas day banquet

Nothing more traditional than Kenyan chapati bread for Christmas

Later in the evening

xN&G