Colombia

In the beginning

In June we popped down to our local Trailfinders (an Ealing outpost recently opened) to book a 3 week Japanese jaunt. Didn’t happen.

Apparently Japan is rather popular at the moment and, if you wish to tread that well trodden path, booking a year in advance is advisable. Our plan was to go mid September. Some plan.

Colombia, however, was a more amenable destination to new found Trailfinder chums.

We’re trialing Trailfinders. Three weeks in Colombia, across a number of destinations, seemed an ideal opportunity. We’d identified where and how long and asked Trailfinder to fill in the gaps – travel, hotels and must do (yes, tick box) excursions. Our one extravagance was pick up/ drop off at hotels and for excursions. A 3 week guided group tour never appealed.

Hybrid cars, hybrid working, hybrid holidays.

Let’s see how it goes

Colombia – A brief history

Indigenous peoples, including the Chibcha, inhabited Colombia for thousands of years long before the arrival those upstart and uptight Europeans. Unfortunately, for the Chibcha and other indigenous peoples, the Spanish did arrive. In 1525.

Colonials being colonials, conquest came naturally. Peace and love were never an option. Inevitably, by the 16th century, Colombia was subjugated. And in 1718 Bogota became the capital of the Spanish vice-royalty of Nueva Granada. Ecuador and Venezuela also share in this happy little union

In 1819, after the Battle of Boyacá led by Simón Bolívar, Colombia finally gained independence The Republic of Gran Colombia was formed with Ecuador, Panama and Venezuela though Ecuador and Venezuela did a runner a decade later.

The 19th and first half of the 20th centuries were dominated by civil war between Conservatives and Liberals. Hundreds of thousands of lives are lost before a welcome break out of common sense. In 1958 Conservatives and Liberals agreed to form National Front in a bid to end the civil war. Other parties are banned.

It doesn’t last.

It’s a return to civil war in the second half of the 20th century, and the early years of this century. A ménage à trois of violence between drug cartels, left wing guerilla groups and governments of both persuasions. Politicians murdered, guerilla leaders killed, drug lords hunted down. Alliances made, alliances broken. The populace suffers. Civil war at its finest.

Farcical if not so tragic. Shakespeare would have a field day.

In recent times peace talks between left wing groups and successive governments have taken place. Ceasefires have been agreed and broken. Today, Colombia is desperately attempting to divorce itself from an image of drug cartels and left wing violence. And beginning to succeed.

I wish it well. Colombia has much to offer the world. And tourists. Obviously.

Bogota – More history

Bogotá, as you probably know happens to be the capital of Colombia and originally inhabited by the Muisca People. Until that is, 1538. A Spanish chap – conquistador – named Gonzalo Jimenez de Quesada, called in. And conquered.

Gonzalo named his new city Santa Fe de Bacata, later shortened to the much snappier Bogota. During colonial rule Bogota became an important centre of Spanish administration (we all need a bit of admin) administration and the capital of the Viceroyalty of New Granada.

Colombia gained independence from Spain in 1819 with Bogota declared the capital of Gran Colombia. By 1830, probably to no one’s surprise, this pact disintegrated. Bogota remained the capital and has done so ever since.

Arrival

Our 10 hour flight left Heathrow at a smidgen after 10pm. For reasons unknown , we weren’t able to check in to book online. A nice airport lady, from Colombia, helped us check in. Boded well.

Our seats weren’t together. The penalty for the online check in being rubbish. Nevertheless nice Colombian lady allocated seats behind each other at the end of row. Perfect. My bladder was relieved.  

Flight, apart from dodgy back, painless. Both managed some sleep. Only downer was a lack of vegan option for Sus. Weirdly, on our return, a vegan meal was offered.  

We landed at 2.30am Colombia time. As did, thankfully, our luggage. Our TF pickup was timely, friendly and efficient. And proved to be the case throughout our 3 weeks in South America.

Traffic was light – a first and last for Bogota – with our hotel reached at 4am. We checked in, passed out until about 8.30am before scoffing buffet breakfast. By 10.30am we were on the streets of a new city, a new country, a familiar continent.  

Most Bogota tourism focusses on the north of the city explaining our hotel location – El Chico, a northern neighbourhood. We explored El Chico and its neighbour, Chico Norte. El Chico is a pleasant middling income district, Chico Norte a little higher up the societal food chain (posher shop fronts, more greenery, probably worse restaurants). Both encompass parks, office blocks and apartments and known for international restaurants and retail opportunities.

Car dealerships prolificate. Including Ferrari. Societal food chain and all that.

Construction is rife only emphasising the area’s upward climb to hopeful prosperity. Architecturally, modern and unimaginative. I’d struggle to call it pretty. Neither was it ugly. 

Santa Barbara (yep, really) was an upmarket enclave adjacent to our Chico chums. Similar but better kept with yet classier greenery. 

On way back to hotel I came of main drag and explored Chico. Though architecture similarly mundane rather liked it. Green, local restaurants and bars. Corner shop like establishments  – with hot food – acting as a local for mainly men. 

Back to hotel, I showered (Sus showered post breakfast) and rested before exploring Zona Rosa, a square few blocks of shopping, shopping and shopping. Malls, high end consumer brands, restaurants – some appeared a tad upmarket, upmarket real estate and bars. And busy. Pleasant enough – with the odd interesting architectural moment – but not our cup of consumer brand. 

By default popped in and out of El Retiro which borders Zona Rosa. El Retiro is not Bournemouth without the sea. More later.

Had a beer at Micro Cerveceria by Bruder. Even pubs posh. Or attain to be. Big indoor space, large outside deck for people watching. Beer decent food very decent. All wrapped up in good value. 

For more of our beer Colombian adventures please go to; https://tonysbeersnobblog.wordpress.com/2024/11/13/columbia/

Back to hotel, sleep by 8pm. Which is why I’m writing this at 4.30 Sunday morning. 

Sunday – The old bit

We dozed, breakfasted, completed ablutions and on the streets by 9am. 

Many roads – including one outside hotel – close from 7 or 8 in the morning to 2 on Sundays. Joggers, cyclists and dog walkers move in. London, take note. 

Which meant a short walk to pick up our Uber. Bogotá Ubers are efficient, friendly and ridiculously cheap. For tourists, it’s really the only viable option. 

Bogota has no transit system though is in desperate need of one. Traffic, not surprisingly is dreadful, pollution, not surprisingly, is dreadful. Considerably worse than London. Aside from Ubers, buses are the only alternate. There is one timetabled bus operator though most tend to be a tad more random. 

In better news, a transit system is currently underway and expected to be operational in 2028.

Last mile, local deliveries are often completed by old bikes with small one cylinder petrol engine literally grafted on. Don’t knock it, Mr Honda started out the same way. 

Traffic is lighter on Sundays, the journey to the old town (or Candelaria) taking around 20 minutes. Up and then down. It’s a road rollercoaster. 

That drive, and the old town, showed a side of Bogota I hadn’t expected. 

The drive winds through several upmarket areas. Not necessarily architecturally old, but green, affluent and rather pleasant. 

The old town is genuinely beautiful, intact and grander that at first sight. A legacy from Spanish colonial rule that actually does give back. Residential, religious and government buildings have survived from the 15 and 16 centuries. With later additions. 

The main square – Plaza de Bolivar – is striking with a number of colonial survivors. A huge 20 century building almost pulls it off. In a slightly overbearing way. 

Market stalls extend from the main square onto nearby closed streets. Merchandise range from tourist trap crap to food to genuinely produced local goods. 

Several hours passed ambling amiably, stopping twice. Once for excellent Colombian coffee and cake. Banana, not Colombian. 

Our second pause was the incredibly touristy Plazoleta de Chorro de Quevedo to try chicha, a fermented grain or corn drink. Not a success. The Plazoleta is certainly pretty, and not without charm. Nevertheless, consumerism, local and otherwise, appears all conquering.

We finished old town time in the Museo del Oro or, less romantically, the Gold Museum housing the largest collection of pre-Hispanic gold in the world. 

Sus thinks aliens. Stunning, whoever or whatever made them.

A Space Womble. A 1,500 year old Space Womble.

And, to our total surprise, the museum is free on Sundays. The collection of gold jewelry and artefacts, plus pottery, is both stunning and beautiful. Worth an hour and a half of anyone’s time. 

Then a taxi back to hotel. The roads are more pitted and scared than those in the UK. Some achievement. 

After a short sojourn we wandered around the attractive and very middle income Retiro. Suburban USA. Again, well manicured apartment blocks dominate, though a sprinkling of large, handsome brick houses, add a touch of yesteryear. Possibly 19 century and remarkably English in style. 

An urban nature trail (naturally), churches and consumerism only add to Retiro’s charm. 

An easy going, likeable neighbourhood. And our favourite. 

In Colombia, there’s ample time, when waiting patiently (or not) at a red signal for an entrepreneurial sole to attempt and clean your windscreen or flog unwanted wares. Of more merit was a juggler. At the same time as riding a bike it small circles. Proper wow. Singers are another money making wheeze. 

Walking back to Chico food and alcohol proved allusive. We settled on Mercado, one of those street food venues. And watched women’s football. Colombia were playing. 

Monday – The one with the steps

Breakfast, a cab to the Monserrate Cable car. 

Another education in Bogota neighbourhoods including Granada, Maria Christina plus the wonderfully christened Siberia Central and Siberia Central II. All appeared to consist of upmarket, manicured apartments blocks populated by well heeled families. 

Apart from the poor chap weeing into a litter bin. 

Back to the cable car. We queued for over an hour and a half before alighting cable car. We declined the 1500 hundred steps up

The queue in question was surprisingly and efficiently managed. To an Englishman, it was a thing of beauty. 

And the time passed amicably in the company of a lovely San Francisco couple. 

We were the first on and stood looking backwards pressed up against the windows. I dislike heights. The cable car ride did nothing to dissuade me otherwise. Mercifully, this mild terror only lasted 5 minutes. Five very steep minutes. 

Arriving at the top – 3,000 metres plus – vast Bogota vistas are indeed fabulous. Unfortunately, the same fabulous vistas ably demonstrate human encroachment into the lush green of the forest. 

The summit is surprisingly sizeable. The upper portion encompasses a modern 20th century church designed to appear much older, a cafe and a tourist shop. 

Modern religious sculptures decorate the summit. Not my thing, but nicely done. 

The lowest point of the summit supports an elegant restaurant and an elegant tea room. Both are from another era. Cake and coffee consumed in the tearoom. Expensive but very good. 

Got in the queue for return cable car. Got out of queue for return cable car. Neither fancied another long wait and crowded box on a couple of bits of string. That may only have been me. 

As we started trudging down we asked 2 very healthy American chaps how long it had taken them to climb up. About an hour. It was to take us an hour to descend. 

Any opportunity for a change of heart evaporated when we offered our return tickets to our new found and brief American chums. 

The steps are steep and uneven. And steps it mainly is. Horizontal bits are a rare pleasure. It’s hard work. Two guys running down, one dressed more for an office, shattered our self pity. 

A sign at the bottom belatedly suggests not to run. 

Sadly, trash scars what should be a peaceful, if tiring, descent. This is especially apparent in the middle section. It’s utterly unnecessary and heartbreaking. To be fair, the upper and particularly lower sections are considerably easier on the eye. 

A small collection of shacks halfway down (or up) may be part of the problem. Ironically, this small enclave is relatively well ordered. 

Our knees were shot. Our legs refused (politely) to work. An Uber back to the hotel literally our only recourse. 

Rested before heading out. It was raining. Walked around the corner to A Duo (https://aduocerveceria.com/). Pizza and craft beer. Perfect. And it was. 

Tuesday – The wrong chicken

Following our normal morning routine an Uber deposited outside a Buffalo Wings in Chicó Norte. Pleasant enough. The area not Buffalo Wings. Unfortunately, we’d plugged in the wrong one. Our intended destination was the Buffalo Wings in Chapinero. Not to eat you understand, just as a reference for our Uber. 

No wonder our driver appeared bemused. Walking would have been quicker than his Uber. 

And so we walked. Returning to Retiro but turning left for Chapinero not right for Zona Rosa. 

Areas strolled through included El Nogal, gated premises we assumed were embassies. Plus a large, posh looking school. 

Chapinero is very much a neighbourhood of 2 distinct districts. As El Nogal morphs into Chapinero there’s a decrease in poshness but an increase in perhaps likability. Coffee shops and restaurants abound, the inhabitants, architecture are more mixed and perhaps a little more chilled. 

Chapinero Central less so. There’s obviously an attempt to gentrify – and parts certainly have – though a little way still to go. Bordering Chapinero Central is Lourdes. This Lourdes is not on the pilgrimage trail. Certainly not for religious enlightenment. Best described as sketchy. We didn’t stay long. 

Found a highly rated wine bar in one of the better bits of Chapinero Central. Closed until 4pm. It was just shy of 1pm. We caught an Uber back to our hotel. 

The afternoon was pleasantly lost at Micro Cerveceria by Bruder. Food, beer and people watching. Followed by hotel and Netflix. 

Bogota Thoughts / Top Three

• Old Town
• Gold Museum
• A stroll around Chico, El Retiro and Zona Rosa

I’m mildly asthmatic. Bogota lives about 2,500 metres up, in a natural bowl surrounded by mountains. The pollution has nowhere to go but into me. Breathing was a chore. Doable, but a chore it should never be. Beware. 

I grew quite fond of Bogota and preferred it to Medellin. It is terribly polluted, and the south of the city – or parts of – are not accommodating to tourists. Or anyone else. But still, if a trip to Colombia is planned, Bogota should be on it.

Pereira – Short flight day

Breakfast only. Plus packing. Leaving Bogota. Though will be back in about 2 weeks for our return flight home. 

Pereira today. Seamless pick up and bag check. Sus believes our TF rep may even have tried for an upgrade. And failed. Though very grateful for said attempt.

More later. 

And later it now is. 

The seatbelt sign came on perhaps 20 minutes into the flight. Turbulence I thought. Nope, we were beginning our descent. The shortest jet, commercial flight either has taken. Until Pereira to Medellin. 

Pick up and delivery to hotel again seamless. Hotel lovely, very boutique. Gardens, small pool, pleasant interiors. However, it was a 25 minutes Uber into Pereira. 

And we were tired. And Sus had a headache. And it was hot and humid. Pereira could wait. And it patiently did.

Ate, rested, resurfaced, dessert, wine. The latter in the attractive garden. A 3 foot lizard was desperately attempting to creep along a tree branch incognito. Insects sound remarkably akin to multiple car alarms. And the colours of the local birdlife would leave a rainbow with an inferiority complex. 

Hello South America. 

Thursday – Wake up and smell the coffee day

 Breakfast, 9am pick up, coffee plantation. 

After about 2 hours drive. 

Drive actually fascinating, scenery reminiscent of Central Valley in California. With mountains. And extra lushness. Plus small towns. Fairly nondescript though not especially ugly or paradises of plastic. 

Our guide, Jaime, was both knowledgeable about his country and inquisitive about ours. Both sides learnt a lot. 

Despite that lushy lushness the coffee region is currently desperate for rain. It’s Colombia’s dry season. Teasingly, distant yet visible mountains – the Pacific Ocean is the other side – are shrouded in annoyed looking clouds. 

San Alberto Coffee is mainly organic and has won more awards for quality than anywhere else in Colombia. Stick that in your Barista Express. 

We walked (literally) through the coffee making process from baby coffee plants (ahh, cute) to bean. Fascinating, enjoyable and labour intensive. And exacting. The coffee is picked and partly sorted by hand over 2 seasons. Steep slopes, steep heat, steep humidity and 10 plus hour shifts (with meal breaks) do not a fun day out make.  

An understanding of the coffee tasting process followed (I failed, miserably, denting my inner tasting snob somewhat). Colombian coffee is made up entirely of Arabica beans giving a smoother, more nuanced flavour than perhaps you, and undoubtedly us, might expect. 

The return 2 hour journey took an hour and a half. Probably the coffee. We asked to be dropped in Pereira in order to have a quick shifty. And quick it was. Nothing memorable to report. Our Uber driver (driving a properly retro 1990s Mazda) and spotting an armadillo (impossibly magnificent) on the way back to hotel, were our Pereira highlights. 

Friday – Cartoon day

A week in. But no lie in. It was to be a long day. Especially for me. A undercooked something played havoc with my digestion. Mercifully for all, no embarrassing discharges.

I’m written this small section a few days later and have an apology to make to the undercooked something. It wasn’t. Apparently, the malaria tablets we’re taking are in an ongoing battle with my digestive system. The tablets are winning. 

First stop, the wonderfully evocative Filandia. One of Colombia’s best preserved small colonial towns. Houses and businesses, in the main square and surrounding streets, are brightly painted. In past times, the more colour, the wealthier one was deemed to be. It makes for a charming and pretty place with wonderful mountains as a backdrop. 

Encanto was filmed here. Nope, never heard of it either. Nevertheless, Jaime insisted on a stroll around the actual film set, a small sectioned off bit of the town. His 6 year old daughter supposedly loved it. Me less so. Embarrassing photos followed. 

Exhibit A.

The Willy’s Jeep, the forerunner of the less phallic monikered Land Rover, is held very dear in Colombia. This metal mule played an important role in the development of post WW2 Colombia. There’s even a Willy’s Jeep festival.

Then onto Valle de Cocora, located in the central mountains of the department of Quindio. Though partly in private ownership the area makes up part of the Parque Nacional de los Nevados. 

And an ideal place to see the Quindian wax palm, the national tree of Colombia. 

We hiked up to around 2,600 metres – pleasingly quicker than Jaime thought possible – for spectacular vistas over the Andes. To be honest, at 2,690 meters, we already were in the Andes. 

Next fodder. At a local restaurant used by both locals and tour groups alike. The food, for such a popular place, was excellent. A pineapple salsa was especially memorable. Strangely, non of the food was particularly spicey. Colombians, it seems, just don’t do spicey. 

Accompanying our meal, a Jaime recommendation, were 2 further local soft beverages. 

Guarapo is a rather refreshing combo of sugar cane and lime juice. Not overly sweet with a citrus tang. I love sugar cane juice, a staple for both when backpacking around India and decade ago. 

Sugarcane juice is now available in Ealing, West London. 

The second was Avena. Easier to spell, harder to like. Avena is a creamy concoction of oats, coconut milk, sugar, cloves and cinnamon. Think milkshake. 

A large group of Spanish tourists, based at our hotel, had somehow beaten us to the restaurant. We consoled ourselves. They never made it to 2,690 metres. Probably.

Following a minor bottom explosion (me, in a safe environment) we planted a baby palm tree – Nigel II – handsome little fella, best looking chap in the forest. The opportunity to plant Nigel was part of a programme offered to tourists. Palm trees grow better and survive longer in a forest environment. They don’t do so well on their own. There’s a lesson in there somewhere. 

Our final stop was Salento, another pretty, colourful colonial town though not perhaps preserved as completely as Filandia. 

Larger, with a combination of backpackers and local youth, Salento has a certain youthful vibrancy. Yet somehow succeeded in being laid back at the same time. Clever. Every restaurant, bar and shop was aimed squarely at you and me. We rather liked it. 

An hours drive and we were back at the hotel. And me back on the toilet. 

Our day ended finishing a bottle of red, dessert (obvs), showers and light packing. 

Thoughts

The coffee plantation was intriguing. Filandia and Salento were very visitable. Both trips offered landscape views and townscape vistas.

Ours were – as all our excursions would be – private tours. Sus, me, a knowledgeable guide, an accomplished driver. And a car obviously.

The same, or very similar, group excursions could easily be arranged. We came to prefer that private tour experience. The credit card was less keen.

MEDELLÍN 

Breakfast, finished packing, airport. Said goodbye to Jaime. 

The shortest commercial flight ever – my 50 minute podcast barely went beyond introductions – brought us to Medellín. Or, rather romantically, the City of Eternal Spring. Again, a seamless pick up and delivery to our Poblado hotel. 

Once checked in we began exploring Medellín and, specifically, Poblado. Our hotel was located at the Southern edge of Poblado, the commercial hub. The imaginatively named Medellín River gurgles happily nearby. Office blocks housing banks and large, seemingly important, companies dominate this area of Poblado. Local and international food chains cohabit. 

And Poblado is incredibly green. Cultivated, curated greenery flourish. With a little help from a committed team of gardeners. 

As you wander north along Carrera 43A one loses corporate office blocks but gains individuality. And less height. Can you gain less height?

Restaurants, bars and, in one square, clubs take over. The streets are undoubtedly grittier though increasingly diverting. 

We actually ate in a disco district – the closest we got to Saturday Night Fever. At Floretto (https://www.florettocafe.com/).

Police abound as, dishearteningly, do the homeless. Street vendors proliferate hoping to sell tourists their restaurant or trinkets they neither need or necessarily want. 

We walked back past our hotel and briefly into Envigado. Instigating inevitably, a supermarket visit for chocolate.  

A return to the hotel for a quick break before heading out to a nearby Bogota Brewing Company outpost. I stopped drinking pints many years ago. BBC (I know) gave me no alternative. Profit or misguided fashion statement, who knows. Table service only, expensive and, I discovered later, owned by the dreadful Anheuser-Busch. May explain the pints and average ale. I’m unlikely to return. 

Sunday – Candelaria and Envigado, finally a transit day

This being a Sunday, as In Bogota, one side of the dual carriageway outside our hotel was closed. Hundreds of joggers had taken advantage. We did wonder if a marathon was taking place though saw no signs of such an event. A few entrepreneurial types had erected small stalls. A 3 piece band, quite possibly a family, were rocking away. 

It felt part celebration, though some joggers might disagree, part community event. 

Medellín has an overground metro system. Our TF rep, as she dropped us off at hotel, suggested it was a short walk. It wasn’t. It was a 25 minutes walk. 

We never deciphered the ticket machines, and the ticket office only took cash. Which was both inconvenient and weird. Nevertheless, we had cash enough to get us to Candelaria. The actual trains appear to run frequently – even on a Sunday – and are clean, airy and efficient. And they’re air conditioned. Whoopee. Several lines are available. 

If we inhabited Medellín, regulars undoubtedly we’d be. 

We alighted at Santa Antonio (basically me) and walked through a plethora of stalls before reaching Medellín’s main square. Many stalls sold designer clothes. Probably. Perhaps. Possibly. 

The main – Plaza Botero – is named after a famous Colombian artist. His statues liberally litter the square. And wonderful they are too. 

There’s an attractive 18 century church plus a striking early 20 century government building. Architecturally that’s pretty much your lot. 

Numerous vendors flog tourists yet more unwanted trinkets. Official photographers roam free – one suspects smart phones have not been kind to them –  plus a couple of chaps with weighing scales. I assume, for a price, they’d let you know how that fried lettuce diet is going. 

Tragically, the homeless, young and old, proliferate. Many, perhaps not surprisingly, are drug users. We saw several lighting suspicious looking pipes. Tobacco it was not. So, so sad. 

Venezuela, which shares an unhappy border with Colombia, currently has its very own populist despot. They appear to be going around at the moment. 

Many Venezuelans have fled their own country desperately hoping for a better life. Many end up on the streets of Colombian cities causing some friction with the local population. Sounds familiar. 

Though I strongly suspect Colombia produces many home grown, equally desperate, homeless. 

Thankfully, the Antioquia Museum also inhabits the main square. An oasis of calm. We paid our dues and ventured in. Disappointed we were not. 

The third (top) floor houses a glorious collection on Botero paintings. I’d never heard of Botero. I have now. 

Botero is Medellín born and, though he spent much of his life outside of Colombia, never forgot his roots. The collection was gifted over many years, by the artist, to the museum. 

For both, the Botero connection – statues and museum – were the square’s main (and perhaps only) attraction. Without the artist I’m not sure the square would receive the amount of visitors it obviously so currently does. 

And, in the spirit of fairness, other artists are displayed in the Antioquia Museum. Some of it rather good.

We attempted the metro system again. Gave up. Caught an Uber. 

Envigado 

After a brief hotel chill another Uber deposited in another Colombian townships consumed by Bogota. Envigado. Which has it’s own government and mayor.

There’s a modern but not unattractive obligatory church. This one, a 20th century effort and rather well attended. In England, only a church being filmed for Songs of Praise attains these dizzying heights. 

Pleasant enough if not especially exciting. We explored a couple of agreeable Envigado, residential ’hoods – El Dorado (part crisp, part US state), central and northern Envigado. 

Sus, in a moment of genius, suggested a cheeky lager at Barrica Cerveceria. As a gentleman it would have been improper to disagree. 

A 25 minute amble ambled through Bucarest, La Magnolia and into Pontevedra neighbourhoods. Attractive restaurants, bars, cafes and residential intermingled with service companies made for an utterly charming area. Our favourite bit of Medellín, living up to the hype. 

Barrica Cerveceria was fab. Decent ale, lovely staff and comfortable setting. Music was properly shit though. 

We bottom perched outside and Homo Sapien observed. It was also Mothering Sunday. Sons with mums, daughters with mums. Often, a third generation, usually a grandmother, would tag along. 

From what we’d observed family ties, outside of marketing ploys, were stronger in Colombia than England. Lovely to see. 

Unfortunately, eating there wasn’t an option as devoid – that afternoon – of vegetarian choices. Shame. 

We ended back in Poblado, inevitably at the same supermarket as the the day before. Oh well. 

Monday – Laundry and Comuna 13

Breakfast and then Laundry. Travel’s not all glamour, glamour, glamour. Our suitcases were filled with sweat stained, dirty clothes. Beginning to communicate with each other. Urgent wash required.

After an excellent coffee, laundry doubled as a coffee shop (makes sense), we left our washing with the lovely lady to be collected later. Cleaned, dry and folded. Bargain. 

The return stroll to the hotel took us through Florida (yep, again really), an upmarket residential Poblado neighbourhood. Lush with a large hospital and, a tad incongruously, shopping mall. Thankfully we had no need to visit the former and no intention of visiting the latter. 

Once chez hotel we Ubered to the infamous Comuna 13. The district was once renowned for organised crime and pharmaceuticals. Now it’s party, party central. Though rumours persist.

Comuna 13 is built into the mountains. Once deposited at base camp it’s a sweaty climb to the first of half a dozen short, but most welcome, escalators. Undoubtedly the oddest place I’ve ever seen them. 

At base camp you’ll be inundated, perhaps followed, by those offering tours. We declined. Several times. To be fair, all appeared official and possibly act as a an unofficial police force. Armed police are everywhere in Colombia but none were visible in Comuna 13. 

Comuna 13 is a literal assault on one’s senses. Loud music, vibrant colours and offers of food, booze and baubles. Stalls, bars and restaurants abound, all competing for tourist dollars. Motorbikes motor up and down the narrow pathways keeping strolling entertaining.

I suspect, for those fortunate enough to be young and hip, further products might be available. 

Sus spotted a small tour guided group heading down. We followed. Steep steps, local lives and glances into houses kept it interesting.

We actually tipped the guide though she had no idea we’d been following. A career in the Secret Service beckons. 

My enduring memory, beside the sensory cacophony will be the frighteningly haphazard construction of residences. Remember, situated on a steep slope, built of breeze block, some kept upright with alarmingly askew reinforced concrete pillars. One earthquake, one mud slide, one light breeze and a chunk of Comuna 13 would cease to exist. 

I’m pushing sixty, Sus is mid fifties. Let’s be honest, it was never going to be our cup of breeze block. Better food, booze and baubles could easily (probably) be found elsewhere. Nevertheless, I encourage you to find out for yourself. 

You may well love it. We much preferred Laureles, an upmarket neighbourhood on route to Comuna 13. 

An Uber brought us back to the laundrette. Our dirty clothes were now clean clothes. And no longer communicating with one and other. Sus was very excited. 

We recharged our suitcases with clean clothes before heading out to Metropole Beer Lab for a cheeky ale. A small ground floor, a smaller mezzanine floor overlook a busy residential street. Beers decent, staff lovely. 

Around the corner, in this delightful part of Poblado, was Zorba. Two airy floors, expansive greenery and open to the elements (as many buildings are in Medellín) gave the impression of eating in a posh conservatory. 

Menu is small, vegetarian and delicious. House craft beer – the oddly named Bipolar Brewery – is also served. 

Medellín Thoughts / Top Three

• Poblado / Envigado
• Comuna 13
• Antioquia Museum

Medellín doesn’t have an historic district as both Bogota and Cartagena do. Bogota and Cartagena almost have a European vibe, Medellín a North American vibe. Nevertheless the city is green, home to attractive neighbourhoods and relatively prosperous.

As with Bogota, Medellín lives in a bowl enveloped by mountains. Pollution levels are considerably reduced, partly because of a lower altitude, partly because of that greenery, partly because of the transit system.

Medellín is an agreeable and even charming city, probably the easiest of the 3 visited to live in. Don’t let Bogota or Cartagena steal a stopover.

Tuesday – Clever phone day, are we really staying here 4 nights day

Today, we fly to Santa Marta. First, breakfast, showers and further exploration of the gay district. Where our laundrette was located. Splendid area to party. Lush, bars, clubs and restaurants. 

We picked up dodgy bottom medicine. The lady used her smartphone to translate instructions. She’d talk into phone, wait a second or 2, show us the translation. Absolutely incredible. I know, I know. Everybody does that. Apparently. But me. Apparently. 

Pickup and airport run went without incident. Flight slightly delayed – we observed the remarkably rapid change over – but otherwise straight forward. 

As we came into land many passengers, including me, thought our 737 Airbus might be morphing into a 737 Airboat. It genuinely felt as if we were skimming the Caribbean Sea. 

Before mass hysteria ensued a runway miraculously appeared. 

As soon as we ventured from the air conditioned airport heat and humidity attacked. My  glasses steamed up. 

Again collected without incident, commenced our 1.5 hour transfer to Tayrona National Park. 

The Park, in northern Colombia, is a large protected area covering the foothills of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta as they meet the Caribbean coast. It’s known for its palm-shaded coves, coastal lagoons, rainforest and rich biodiversity.

On arrival, we hadn’t realised the Tayrona National Park booking was in my name. Upto this point, all bookings had been in Sus’s name. This caused a certain amount of consternation at the main gate. And cost us about 20 minutes. 

Saying that, neither of our names were on the official list at the gate. Alex, our TF guide, remained very calm and contacted a ranger chum. Who thankfully smoothed the way. No one was answering at the hotel reception. 

Sus even contacted TF, and to their credit, they came back to us. Though we were sorted by the time they did. 

We suspect Alex had a word or several, out of earshot, once we headed to our room. 

The track once inside the park, cleverly masquerading as a road, to the hotel is about 6 kilometres long. Our SUV made it, bottoming out only twice. Not sure our Mini would. 

It was dark. Very dark. 

Our ecohut, one of perhaps 15, was situated high up in the tropical rain forest. Our stair count ticked over nicely- thankyou. Plus nearly killing us. Six flights in heavy heat and humidity was hardly fun. Unless training for something very active.

The stilted boudoir was covered, round and spacious. An open patio, with hammocks and a fridge, lay underneath providing welcome shade. The toilet is off the patio. Walking down stairs for a wee, late at night or early morning, was challenging. A wildlife mugging, at least in my mind, was entirely possible. 

One side tropical rain forest, the other tropical rain forest, beach, sparkly Caribbean Sea. Magnificent. 

The sea crashing – in a good way – onto the beach was a calming constant. As were the noisiest insects I’ve never met. The frogs (love frogs) were louder still. 

Sleep was elusive. No aircon, just a large fan, kept the temperature marginally below intolerable. Next door were chatting late into the night. Not loudly, just enough to irritate. 

Why, we wondered, had 4 nights been booked.

Finally, both dozed off waking a little after 7am the following morning. 

Wednesday – Life is rife day

Indeed it was. Though relatively unmolested during the night  – a mosquito net was provided – the morning was akin to David Attenborough production.

I stretch every day, part habit part slipped disk. Some stretches are floor based. I put a couple of cushions out. One moved. After a very short, very manly scream I reasoned it was a centipede. All 6 inches of it. And brightly coloured.

I placed it, plus its temporary home, outside. The latter I later rescued.

On one of the patio chairs sat Gary. Gary was a cricket. A very big, very green cricket. A leaf with legs. Who developed a fascination with Sus.

And I haven’t mentioned the nightmare creature – probably a cockroach – we found inhabiting our safe. Why, we shall never know.

Once the excellent breakfast had been disposed of we adjourned our to our open patio.

After recovering from insectgate, and exploding digestive systems, we wandered down to the beach.

The beach, a few minutes walk, was small though quite lovely. Some shaded recliners had been said aside for ecohut guests. Marvellous.

Our recliner neighbour was a charming lady from Chile. Her English was fluent, having recently lived and loved a year in London. Her and husband were on their last day of a 3 week Colombian sojourn. Identical to our own, but in reverse.

We both swam, I must have bobbed and splashed, on and off, for a good hour. Wonderfully relaxing and wonderful exercise. 

Back up, to what was beginning to feel like 500 steps, to our room. Showers, back down for a tasty dinner, back up to chill. 

Thunder had accompanied our swimming excursions. An incredible lightning show accompanied hammock time. No rain. Nature is such a tease. 

Bats were also abundant. Chowing down on nasty mosquitoes. Or so we hoped. 

Downsides? It’s stupidity hot and humid. Sweat becomes a natural state. Insects love a nibble. We’re just another yet untried blood vintage.

Thursday – Up and down day. 

Our normal routine. Breakfast, digestive explosions.

Then a ramble. From our ecohut, back down past the restaurant, is a trail winding through the forest to 3 beaches. The first reached is out of bounds. Seems tourist kept drowning so authorities closed it off. Dying tourists make for a tricky advertising campaign. 

The next 2 are further along the coast, a short distance apart. The last beach reached is rumoured to be a nudist beach. 

Monkeys (two varieties), numerous lizards (various sizes), large crabs and a cat size mammal. The latter appeared to be the offspring of a lemur, rabbit and rat. 

My favourite were the red ants. These marvellously industrious creatures formed leaf bit carrying trails to and from who knows where. At one point, teeming tramping, had created their own forest pathway. 

Beware, this is not a polite stroll along a coastal path. You are hiking up and the down in heat and humidity. My stair counter was into the forties. 

Huge boulders strewn the forest floor. You’ll. become intimate with a few. As you clamber over bits of one and in between bits of another. 

Pleasantries are exchanged with passing hikers. Or those overtaking. A regular and mildly ego bashing occurrence. An ‘ola’ here, a ‘gracias’ there offer both comradeship and encouragement. A kindly young chap, as we were returning, even asked if we were OK. Red faces and copious sweating probably gave him reason for concern. 

Tourists join the trail at several points. A surprising number were carrying large backpacks. It appeared, from speaking with these unfortunate souls, that many were camping along the route. We met 4 later on our beach – not our beach you understand, the hotel’s – who’d used the ecohuts as a base for a couple of nights. Camping sites also exited along the trail. 

A very occasional hiker was head down, ignoring what and who was around them. A trail to complete, a tick box to tick. Shame. 

The first beach – the no swimming one – hives into view after an hour plus hike. The route, once past beach one, does become easier and appears to follow the coastline and not detour into the forest. Two refreshment outposts will flog sweaty tourists lollies, ice cream, water and fizzy drinks. We succumbed to an ice lolly. 

We walked a little way beyond beach one – remember, inconveniently none swimming beach – before discovering it was another heat sapping 45 minutes trudge to beach two. Fuck that. Nudity takes one only so far. 

Beach one – The one that inconveniently drowns tourists.

An hour and a half later, retracing our outward yomp, and we were back at our ecohut – number 7 for those interested. 

A brief interlude, usurped by the friendly cleaning crew, and back on the beach were we. Swam, relaxed and attempted to stop sweating. 

Dinner, showers and a couple of old films. In English. Which helped. 

Friday – Hammock time

A late breakfast, more hammock time. Which is where I’m currently writing this. Next up beach. A swim. Late Lunch. And a humdinger of a thunderstorm. Nature teasing came to an abrupt, wet and windy end.

An immensely enjoyable day. Without doing much.

Ecohabs – The good, bad and scary insects

The Ecohabs have both pros and cons. And, unless we wished to camp (never going to happen) are the only option within the beautiful Tayrona National Park 

There’s easy access to a clean, swimmable beach. The restaurant – breakfast, dinner and anything in between – is agreeable. The only other alternative is on the beach. There’s no nipping out to a Tesco local. So bring your own treats, necessities. Chocolate for example. We didn’t. A little research prior to arrival may have helped. 

The Ecohabs are perhaps better viewed from a distance. Certainly look the part and, though offering an adequate level of accommodation, feel in need of a refresh. An update.

Noise may be a problem. The ecohabs are basically glorified tents. Sound insulation isn’t high on their construction criteria. To be fair, with the first night an exception, rowdy neighbours weren’t an issue. 

If you’re a backpacker, looking for a little luxury and your own sit on toilet, a couple of nights is a possibility. Though relatively expensive. For a beach person or couple, wanting a place to turn red and swim, could work for a night or two. 

For a family, again for a night or two. Certainly not beyond a few nights. There’s not a huge amount to occupy once beach and hiking ticked off. Indeed, many guests we spoke with, only stayed a night or two. 

For me and Sus? Absolutely splendid. The beach and patio, easily the best Ecohab bit, were fabulous spaces to wind down and relax. Something I don’t necessarily do well. 

Far more important than my small gripes, is the money made from our and other’s stay, will be ploughed back into the park and eco system. That’s priceless. 

A note from the future. It’s several days later after time to reflect

When returned to London Town I strongly suspect Tayrona time may prove the experience that lingers longest. 

I miss the beauty, tranquility and near pristine beaches and forests. And Gary.

Live long and prosper Tayrona. 

Saturday – Two cities, one swamp

Breakfast, digestive play time, 5 hour transfer to Cartagena. By car. Our drive was illuminating, encompassing good, bad and very, very ugly. 

After a brief hiatus to sloth spot we headed down through the tropical rain forest. Into the tropical dry forest.

This part of the tropical forest receives considerably less wet stuff. Hence tropical dry forest. Weird poo. 

We trundled through several small towns, some pleasant, others a little less so.

The town I best remember translates from Spanish into English as ‘Swamp’. It’s located on the edge of the Salamanca Island Road National Park. Swamp, the town, was nasty. Trash piled everywhere, the actual swamp used as a town dump. Utterly heartbreaking. 

I wish I didn’t remember. 

Mercifully, once over the bridge from the mainland to Salamanca Island Road National Park, it’s all change. 

Fed by both the Magdalena River and Caribbean Sea the near pristine swamplands dominate these swamplands are incredibly biologically diverse. Thank fuck they’re protected. 

Mangroves, water and greenery create a magical place. We didn’t dawdle, only drove straight through. I loved the place. 

Next up, the seaport city of Barranquilla. A large city of around 2.4 million, Barranquilla has 2 claims to fame. Shakira was born here, a large statue stands on the waterside. We declined the opportunity to leave the car and take a picture. Surprising, perhaps disappointing Alex, our guide a little. Colombians are justifiably proud of Shakira though Alex was perhaps unaware of the UK’s rich musical heritage.

Many others were making a Shakira pilgrimage. 

And Barranquilla hosts a huge and well known (though not by us) carnival a little before Easter. 

I can’t tell you much about the Barranquilla, we only flirted with the outskirts. Nevertheless, from the car, we could make out expansive city vistas. 

Away from the city, once again lush greenery takes over. The stretch between Barranquilla and Cartagena comprises of dry tropical forests, farms (cows seemed popular) and developments for the wealthy. 

Gated communities, no need to leave and socialise with undesirables. Alex mentioned building restrictions, unlike the protected areas, were non existent. Developments develop, farms proliferate.

The initial outskirts of Cartagena don’t inspire. A district of deprivation and refuse. Tragically, much of the latter in the swamp. 

As we quickly moved into wealthier areas, I suspect better refuse disposal rather than better people, was responsible for improved sanitation. 

We were treated to a mini tour – we passed the same baseball game 3 times – before reaching our hotel. Across the road was the beach

A second highlight, after the Salamanca Island Road National Park, was watching pelicans dive into the water in search of a late lunch. Successful they were, balletic they were not. Splash and go. Magnificent. 

Once settled in, we ventured out. Dan Diego and Getsemani. More of both tomorrow. 

Cartagena – History bit

The region, before the Spanish, was inhabited by various indigenous groups habiting this stretch of Caribbean coast. And known for advanced agricultural practices and their trade networks.

In 1533 the Spanish colonised and founded Cartagena rapidly becoming Spain’s strategic port along the Caribbean coast. Gold, silver plus other coveted goods from the Americas were shipped back to Spain. Probably not consensual.

Not surprisingly, the Spanish were not keen on others getting their grubby little hands on Cartagena, and heavily fortified the city in the 16th and 17th centuries. Including the handsome beast that is Castillo San Felipe de Barajas. Cartagena wealth attracted many unsuitable suiters including attacks from English, French and Dutch pirates. In 1586 Sir Francis Drake actually did capture the city for the English.

Cartagena declared independence in 1811. That plan went a tad array when the Spanish reconquered it in 1815. Nevertheless, by the 1820s, Spain had been kicked out of Colombia and both the country and city gained independence.

Sunday – Cartagena proper day

Late up and perhaps best breakfast we’ve eaten. 

The next 3-4 hours we spent exploring San Diego, Centro and Getsemani with a quick sojourn into the less touristy and considerably smaller La Matuna. Collectively known as Centro Historico. All are contained within the 16th century (regularly repaired in 17 and 18th centuries) defensive wall. Eleven Kilometres of it. 

And, some larger and equally beautiful colonial buildings, dare to exist outside the city wall. Including parts of our hotel.

If I’m honest, with the exception of the slightly sketchy La Matuna, all appear very similar. Getsemani is rumoured to be a tad bohemian. A couple of streets majored on art aimed at tourists. Is that bohemian? Who knows. 

Nevertheless, with apologies again to La Matuna, Centro Historico happens to be a beautiful and charming area. 

Spanish, with more than a hint of Arabic, 16th century architecture blends effortlessly with later 19th century architecture. Hotels, artisan shops, bars and tantalising restaurants prominently feature. 

We ate at the excellent ’Life is Good’. Food certainly was. 

One is also able to stroll leisurely along the walls thanks to conveniently wide balustrades. Many were doing so on a pleasant Sunday evening. Actually, it was high twenties and humid but you get the picture. 

And strolled we did. I suggest you do the same. Watch locals at leisure and enjoy the views over the old town and the older Caribbean. 

After 6 hours of meandering, exploring and wandering we reunited with our hotel. 

Early night. Early start.. 

Monday – Rosario and snorkel day

Apparently, our pick up to Rosario Island was 7.30am. Our itinerary said 8am. Consternation all round before a happy ending. 

The dock area, a focal for tour companies offering similar tours, was packed with eager customers. And me.

An hour fast boat ride splashed us to Rosario. Weirdly, after the first 20 minutes, it might have been a car or coach. Bumpier perhaps, watery certainly, just another A to B nevertheless. 

And, a bonus, is an unintended harbour tour. Love a harbour tour. Was treated to a LA harbour tour a few years ago. Posh, not so posh neighbourhoods, cranes and large cargo ships all sped by. 

We were greeted at the hotel with a cold drink and numerous offers of watery and non watery adventures. We declined, initially. 

Many of the hotels, certainly in Cartagena, offer day passes. What a brilliant idea. Do we do that in UK? A question for another time. We had a day pass for Hotel San Pedro de Majagua on Rosario. 

The hotel has 2 private beaches. A quiet one and a noisy one. Loud, irritating music is free with the latter. Guess which we chose. 

The quiet beach was small and attractive with plenty of seating. A bar and toilet were nearby. 

Only one other couple chose as we did. We bobbled, discussed our options, settled on snorkelling. Sus loves a snorkel, so do I, my anxiety less so. 

As we were about to check prices and times a local chap approached. And asked if we wanted to snorkel. Sus said yes, agreed to the price, before I’d had the opportunity to grunt an assent or otherwise. 

That’s how we booked another private tour (of fish) by accident. 

Marcel, our new dive bestie, walked us across a couple of other small beach areas. The beaches, including our own, were divided by low concrete breakwaters. 

Plastic bottles populated the back of each small beach though the water appeared encouragingly clear. I’m not sure whether washed up or locally derived. Those breakwaters were also busy curating their own plastic collections. Once away from the hotel any pristine image was seriously dented. 

We trotted to the end of a small pier where Marcel picked us up in a slightly dilapidated boat.

We skimmed out a short distance to a smaller island – several islands, mostly inhabited, dot the area. One more house than island. Rosario is one of the larger islands though easily walkable if one felt so inclined.

A number of tourist boats were anchored close by with several people from each snorkeling.  Marcel, however, took us on our own private tour. 

We both are decent swimmers, Sus probably stronger than me. That’s a California, Yorkshire thing. However, I dislike anything in my mouth, beyond the obvious (easy tigers). A gag reflex enforces my dislike. 

However, after a few false starts I relaxed and had few problems. The simple snorkel we’d purchased from Decathlon worked a treat. OK, a tad embarrassingly, I was partly swimming, partly towed by Marcel. Hanging onto a life saver. Rubbing salt (literally) into my mosquito bites. 

Sus was swimming free. Sounds like a film. 

Fish of various varieties and sizes came to say ola. Sadly, even from our very limited understanding, the reef appeared to be dying. And we, and our fellow snorkelers were very much part of the problem.

We’d yet to pay. So Marcel deposited us onto the larger and considerably busier public beach. Our debt paid, a short cut, courtesy of chum Marcel, behind the beaches, quickly brought us to our hotel. The short cut, beyond the hotel’s reach, is unlikely to be in any tick box tourist guide. Not horrendous, not immaculate. 

Beach, another swim, change. Then a most agreeable luncheon before a fast boat to Cartagena.

 Rosario makes for an agreeable excursion. Though, not necessarily a place to linger.

Not much else really. Our latest TF rep bestie had taxi waiting at pier. As efficient as ever. As appreciated as ever. 

A quick trip to a nearby supermarket – for chocolate, nuts and a razor. I haven’t shaved in 2 weeks. Not a good look. Small dogs think I’m their daddy. 

Hotel, ate chocolate, goggled the gogglebox. 

Tuesday – Forts, pizza quest

Breakfast, morning movements (becoming an am ritual) prior to walking to Cartagena’s fort. Or the Castillo San Felipe de Barajas. 

From our hotel just outside the old town, the fort is about a 25 minute stroll. We crossed the wrong bridge. A 25 minute stroll became a 50 minute trudge. On the hottest, most humid day we’d yet experienced in Colombia. Even the locals were complaining. Wonderful. 

And it may be best not to glance into the Mangroves bordering the right bridge. Trash levels reach new highs. Not in fluffy positive kind of way. Unpleasant. Very unpleasant. And sad.

Inevitably, the fort was Spanish project managed (Agile anyone?) and constructed throughout the 16th century and expanded in 17th century. Slaves did the actual building. Not the Spanish. 

It’s a magnificent beastie. Tunnels burrow beneath the fortifications, presumably for sleeping quarters (numerous alcoves are excavated at right angles to main passageways) and offering safe passage for soldiers.

Cartagena vistas radiate from the different levels. 

Back into Getsemaní and Cerveveria Cartagena. Lovely interior, 4 beers on tap, a couple more in bottles. Beer OK, atmosphere bit rubbish. Showing football (good), playing loud inane music (bad). This was early afternoon. Perhaps half a dozen punters. Why. 

A number of bars adopted a similar MO. Again, why.

I’m getting old. 

Returned to hotel. AC on. Vegetated. Possibly grew roots. 

Late afternoon, a pizza foray. First place, non existent. Second, sat down, told pizzas were off. Got up, left. Third, Da Pietro, was real, and serving pizzas. Marvelous. As was the pizza. 

Wednesday – Posh ‘hood Day

Normal morning routine – breakfast, excessive morning movements. 

A Uber to Boca Grande, Cartagena posh High rise apartment blocks, manicured greenery, upmarket shopping malls. Mercifully air conditioned. It was blisteringly hot. 

And, for that little bit extra, beaches on 2 sides. Expats of all varieties reside here. Understandably, it’s rather agreeable. If bland. We even spied a couple of so called English pharmacies. Opposite each other. Having no need to enter, none the wiser we shall remain.

Once sizzled our way around, eaten shopping mall ice cream (surprisingly good) we returned, via Uber, to hotel. And relaxed on the rooftop terrace. Overlooking the twinkly Caribbean. And a busy road. Oh well. 

Our relaxation continued until hunger barged in. A previous visit to a convenient shopping mall, for the air conditioning, had revealed restaurants on upper floors. Which is where we ate. 

This particular shopping mall had once been a bullring. Now an upscale mall where the young and not so young came to strut their stuff. Some had plenty of stuff to strut. 

Part of the original bullring had been preserved and imaginatively incorporated into the mall. I’m sure the bulls agreed. 

Cartagena Thoughts / Top Three

• Old town. Must see.
• Castillo San Felipe de Barajas.
• Stroll along the walls with the locals.

Cartagena was Sus’s favourite city. There’s an old town, beaches and a castle. Sounds like Cornwall. And, for those in need of conspicuous consumerism, shops and bars and restaurants abound. Sound like Cornwall.

European and American tourists were surprisingly sparse until Cartagena. Then they weren’t. I’m not convinced Cartagena was my outright favourite city. Nevertheless, if only one city is possible, it probably should be Cartagena.

Thursday – Déjà vu Bogota day

Our last full day in Colombia. Transfer, flight, transfer as smooth as usual. 

Same hotel as our first visit. Same bar (Bruder) as that initial foray 2 and a half weeks ago. 

Bogota as we left it. 

All a little peculiar. 

Both tired, returned to hotel and early night. 

Hello London day

Leisurely morning, checkout noon. We made the most of it. 

Uber to Centro, a graffiti walking tour (both love graffiti art) awaited. Briefly in jeopardy due to thunderstorm. Thankfully, weather behaved and a fascinating 2 hours followed. 

A little about the artists, a little about meaning, a little history. Bogota recently commissioned 300 large murals, now completed, decorate once bare walls. Many are intricate, imaginative.

A fine way to end our Colombian excursion. 

Uber back to hotel, fodder at local bakery, taxi to airport. Traffic, even at 8pm, is grim. As previously espoused, Bogota desperately needs a transit system. 

Arrived at airport 3 hours before our flight. Oh well. 

London, Home.

Colombia – Bit and Bobs

The cities, or certainly the parts we visited were surprisingly green and clean. And generally constructed on a grid system. Less fun, easier navigation. 

Hotel toilets. Shower and toilet live in harmony. The sink is ostracised to the boudoir. 

Crepes and waffles appear popular. Not by me. 

Horns, a soundtrack kindly provided by cars, motorbikes and buses, is a constant. Small capacity motorbikes (100-200cc) are ubiquitous. Scooters less common.

Colombian love blacked out car windows. Front, back and occasionally windscreen. The police, generally turn a blind eye. Another trend, far more irritating, were brake lights continually flashing on and off. Illegal and naff. The police generally turn a blind eye.

Churches are surprisingly well attended. And not only because Songs of Praise happens to be filming. Colombia is a Catholic country and religion plays a huge role. As does football.

In Bogota, random locals stopped us to ask if we were lost. One couple even reversed to politely enquire whether we needed help. Rather lovely.  

Large carts, piles of recycling, being pulled my men. Recycling collected from bins. We saw this across Colombian cities – some with carts, others huge bags carried on backs. From what we understand it’s sanctioned by local government. Sad and heartening at same time. Reminds me of the Rag and Bone men of my Sheffield youth. 

Eggs are big in Colombia. Not size, popularity. Omelets rule the egg world. 

Hawkers appear everywhere though are not especially voracious. India still sets the benchmark for veracious and tenacious hawkers. 

Main squares are often named ‘Plaza de Bolivar’. References to Mr Bolívar are omnipresent. Colombian flag another omnipresent fixture. Perhaps reflecting their recent independence. And their desire to keep it.  

Prices rarely appear on anything. Ask before you buy. Your credit card will thank you.

In Cartagena 2 different supermarkets (Aldi and Tesco equivalents) were devoid of chocolate. Possibly due to the heat, possibly due to pastries being a Colombian staple. Chocolate less so. Total travesty. 

Modern boom boxes (Bluetooth, digital speakers) are popular with the youth. Sometimes to amuse themselves, sometimes enabling impromptu performances to tourists hoping for money. Intimidating rather than entertaining. 

Colombians love their fizzy drinks/sodas. Not necessarily energy drinks, more the sugary, fizzy, colourful variety. 

Final Conclusions

The tour we undertook is well trodden. Amusingly known as the Gringo trail. Some complete in a rushed 2 weeks. Our advice, if you’re able, extend it to at least 2 and a half weeks.

And what of Trailfinders. We were impressed. Excursions were worth the excursion. Guides were friendly with great local and national knowledge. Those that met us at airports – or elsewhere -were friendly, efficient and always on time. The same applied to our drivers.

This was part of a pack – plus wallet – from TF chums. There was also an extensive online resource.

A cheap option TF are not. And there’s no way of discovering how much those private tours and pickups add to the overall holiday cost. It’s too easy to become accustomed to such luxury. Money is the voice of reason.

Highlights were numerous – Bogota and Cartagena old towns, the Gold Museum, our coffee excursion, Castillo San Felipe de Barajas, exploring Medellin’s neighbourhoods.

Bogota, Medellin and Cartagena are all cities you should make time for. I had a soft spot – and I don’t know why, for Bogota, Sus for Cartagena. Medellin is perhaps the easiest to live in.

The highlight’s highlight? Tayrona National Park. A surprise to both. How often does one have an opportunity to spend time in a bona fida rain forest. With a beach.

Many thanks for reading, Tony (November 2024)