Tag: Colombia

Termalismo: Hot Springs in the Eje Cafetero (Colombia) Part 1

Well, well, well. Time to start my recap series. The first two months of this year were full of travel. I spent all of January in Brazil and February revisiting some gems in Colombia. My posts most likely won’t be in chronological order but rather highlights as I feel inspired to share.

After last year’s February travel success, I had to spend my birthday month traveling again this year. Once again, I made catching up with friends the guiding light of my route. Lucky me, they live in different parts of Colombia. So, I got to revisit 3 capitals: Bogota (THE capital of Colombia), Medellin, and Manizales.

In this post, I’m going to break down some gems in the Eje Cafetero. I like to call it the Coffee Country of Colombia (because, alliteration). I’ll start with one of its capitals: Manizales. After a week in Medellin, I chose not to take a bus or plane straight to Manizales. I took a smaller bus to cross Antioquia and reunite with my friend Carin in Jardin.

While discussing our reunion, we had gone back and forth about where we would go to take advantage of our new lease on life as digital nomads. On one hand, neither of us had been to the Colombian Pacific Coast (Chocó). However, if we were going to meet in Jardin, that would be farther from our set-off point so, we compromised to visit an area I had some experience with. I didn’t need to be convinced to go back because for me, Coffee Country is best country.

This was the route option laid out by my wonderful friend, including the times we could go and the prices available. The trip from Jardin to Manizales was supposed to take 5 and a half hours.

Carin helped plan and coordinate an adventure for two remote-working ladies. Her organization and practical mindset were the tools that my more spontaneous style needed to make everything work. Having a timeline was key, especially since this would be my last hurrah in Colombia before my flight from Bogota back to the States.

Jardin itself is a verdantly scenic mountain village right on the edge of Coffee Country (official map above). It attracts international tourists year-round, and for good reason. It may not be an official part of the Eje Cafetero, but it’s surrounded by farmland including coffee farms that form a big part of local culture and identity. It’s always a joy to visit. For the sake of proximity, budget, and practicality (plus a bit of nostalgia), we decided to spend 5 days there before going east.

  • The iconic Jardin church
  • A view from just outside of town
  • Any wonder why it’s called “Garden” in Spanish?
  • My friend showing me around town.

In spite of a week of mostly perfect weather, lightning, thunder and heavy rain kept us up the night before the ride to Manizales. This came as no surprise since one of the consequences of global warming in Colombia has been the rise of long droughts and unpredictable torrential rainfall outside of the usual rainy/dry seasons. The problem is, there are only a couple routes in and out of Jardin. One of those routes is through “trocha” – muddy off-roading. This was the only way Carin had taken before.

When we rolled out of bed by 5 am, there was a feeling of foreboding. We had bought our tickets for the van to Manizales ahead of time. If it went off-road, chances are the road would be closed due to the heavy rain. I was anxious to check that the trip wouldn’t be canceled. So, I charged out, umbrella in hand, to mall walk all of 5 blocks to the tiny terminal area. I saw a bus to Medellin was already pulling away from the Rapido Ochoa garage. Everybody seemed to think I was crazy for worrying (small town people don’t worry, as God always provides). It turned out, we’d be on the other road out of the town. Crisis averted.

The van involved a short but brutal, winding mountain path that actually gave me motion sickness. I’d never puked in a bag before and seriously hope I never will again. But that aside, it was a smooth trip, and we made it to the Manizales terminal in record time.

Manizales Trip Summary

Land transportation from Jardin to Manizales: 80k COP for a shared van (pay in El Portal, on Calle 8, and get lunch or a snack while you’re there!)
We left at 6:30 am and were there by 10:30 am, shaving a full hour and a half off of the expected travel time.

From Manizales Terminal to Santa Rosa del Cabal: 13k COP for a small bus (Empresa Arauca)

Lodging: 3 bed apartment (Booking) in La Enea neighborhood (ideal for hiking and contact with nature)

Getting Around in the City: local buses (Gran Caldas) – 3k COP (though you can see the fare written, and some buses cost less)
-Teleférico (cable cars): a bit limited, they can take you from one end of the city to the other, through the bus terminal or downtown. It’s great for the highlights of “touristing” – the views and the experience.
-Taxis – we didn’t have to rely too much on them since public transportation in the city passed often and was reliable. Still, they aren’t the most expensive option – we paid 14k to travel 9 km from the Bus station to our apartment.
Highlights: -El Bosque City Park
-Termales del Otoño and Acquaparque (just outside of the city)
-El Centro – the heart of the city
-Chipre – the best view of the city (when it isn’t cloudy)
-El Cable – limited but practical public transportation and a rush to see the city from above
-the architecture and cultural attractions
-the hospitality and politeness of the locals

Where to Stay

I’ve had the pleasure of staying in Manizales twice now. The first time was during a solo travel adventure in 2019. It was at the tail-end of my Semana Santa week-long vacation, so peace and comfort were my focus. That’s how I ended up staying in Lodge Paraíso Verde. Living up to its name, it was a green paradise surrounded by lush mountain vistas of the city’s northern outskirts.

That was a perfect introduction to this city. I remembered the hospitality of the workers at the lodge. They helped organize an affordable taxi ride to get to the other side of the city and go to Termales del Otoño. The taxi driver was so nice, I kept his contact and called him again when it was time to go back to the bus terminal.

This time, Carin and I knew that we wanted to go to the hot springs. The first time, I wasn’t aware of “termalismo” or hot springs tourism, nor had I ever heard of the termales in Manizales, so the recommendation led to a revelation. Carin and I had been working hard and traveling harder; thus, our objective was to explore, get in touch with nature, and relax at some point while doing it. What better way than hot springs?

Since our goal was clear, when looking at booking options, we picked out something to the south of the city. Little did we know, we were uncovering a gem a casual tourist may not consider. La Enea is a residential neighborhood surrounded by serene trees and mountains. Being that it’s so suburban, we also found the accommodations less expensive. We spent about $76 usd (319,200 cop) to stay 3 nights in a 3-bedroom apartment. We needed good internet and our own spaces to work, which “el acogedor apartamento La Nubia” provided.

We were walking distance from a plethora of shops and local dining options (mostly standard fare: bakeries, fast food joints, delicious arepa stands, with a few niche options like (Colombian style) Chinese food and a rock bar).

That first day, I needed to work, so Carin set out and explored for the both of us. She discovered that the city was extremely walkable, even reminding her of Germany in the way city crosswalks are set up. While out, she was “adopted” by a local family that offered to take a picture of – and then with – her. Her first impressions: friendly, clean, safe, and organized!

Getting Around

While out and about, the locals were happy to answer our questions or point us in the right direction. The few times we got disoriented, we were directed by a local to look for the Gran Caldas bus. They explained that on the sign posted in the window we would see which direction it was headed – either out of the city towards the springs or towards the cable cars and the city center.

One of the first things we found out was that there was no need to waste money on taxis in Manizales. The local buses, particularly the Gran Caldas, have routes that connect the city from the center outward. That’s how we were able to save money on transport. Traffic also was nowhere near as bad as in crowded cities like Bogota and even Medellin at peak hours. The bus got us around pretty quickly and efficiently.

We could even use it to get across the highway to the forest that caught our eye on the taxi ride to our apartment. Of course, Carin found out firsthand that walking there was not a problem either. In fact, it was just as straightforward as asking a bus driver where to get off. The foot bridge over the highway was easy to reach and cross, and then it was all uphill from there. The Bosque Popular El Prado was the perfect break from a long day of lessons.

We took the bus to get to the Termales del Otoño hotel and after that to go back into town. We only needed to stay on that same bus till we reached the downtown cable station, Fundadores.

There, you can take the cable car for just $2,900 pesos per trip. I’ll be honest: we did this at night and while it was worth the experience, I was petrified. The distance covered by the hanging gondolas is long, the boxes seat about 6 people, and at one point, the line stopped with alarms sounding. Thank God we weren’t suspended in the middle of the cable, but can you imagine? It would have been better if I had done it in daylight like Carin had when she went out alone, but after an amazing 3rd day, I didn’t want to skip it (even if dangling in the sky makes my stomach drop).

Highlights and Attractions: Termalismo

Once I recovered from the ride (the next day), I was ready to explore!

Manizales combines all of the things I love about Colombian Coffee Country: friendly, helpful locals, clean, organized cities surrounded by idyllic towns, lush greenery, perfect temperatures, and natural wonders. Manizales itself is the most peaceful capital city. It’s another world compared to the hot, chaotic coastal cities like Santa Marta, Riohacha, and Cartagena. In my opinion, it’s a city that doesn’t get enough credit – and perhaps that lends to its appeal.

However, we weren’t traveling just to explore the city. Our aim was to enjoy the scenery, take hikes, and then soak in the hot springs. This sort of tourism has a name in Spanish: termalismo. If you look up the different tourist attractions in the area, it even has its own category: Hot springs tourism.

On the Manizales tourism website and app (https://visitmanizales.com/que-hacer-en-manizales/termalismo/), we discovered there were 3 main destinations under the “termalismo” category (not including Termales del Ruiz, located closer to the national park than to the city of Manizales). We also found out that the website – a smart resource, in theory – was not exactly up to date. This post can hopefully shed some light on what to expect if you are looking for hot springs in Manizales.

We took the Gran Caldas down the via a Gallinazo. Its last stop left us just outside of the Termales del Otoño hotel. Coincidentally, the hotel and its three pools were closed for a private event that day. That part was the only one I had visited in 2019. The day pass is cheap, but the luxurious hotel is quite pricey. There were still two other options to visit hot springs connected to el Otoño.

The first was the Ecotermales, a zen garden surrounding relaxing pools. There you can order food at the restaurant or even book a massage with the spa. The garden is teeming with flowers attracting hummingbirds and other colorful feathered friends. Although we were there before the official opening time, the kind attendants allowed us to enter and look around. We took full advantage, snapping pictures of the beautiful pools, the bonsai garden, the decorations. Still, this was all you could do there. There was no hike, contrary to what the website lists. It was better for rest and relaxation, and we wanted a little adventure. We ultimately decided that we would consider coming back after visiting the water park.

The Ecotermales people told us that we would either need to get a taxi or walk to the Acquaparque. We wanted a hike, so we went for it. The 30-minute hike did not disappoint with its views. We passed Finca Guayabito and felt like we were in Wisconsin, surrounded by dairy cows. On the way back from the park, we given a ride by the shuttle driver working for the hotel. He affirmed the impressive investment needed to have dairy cows in Colombia. The land was rich and owned by someone even richer. Outside of the park, across the road you could buy cheese and butter produced by that investment.

After hiking up some hills (just the workout we were looking for), we found the parking lot near the top. We were greeted by a friendly black and white kitty. Because it was Saturday, we had to pay 10k more than the usual price (60k instead of 50k – still only $14 USD). On the plus side, on the weekends it opens earlier; during the week, doors open at 12 pm. It worked out perfectly.

The park is shrouded in mist and overtaken by vivid vegetation. The information on the Manizales website painted a different picture. Clearly outdated, the price listed is about half the actual price. Many years have passed since the post was made showing a bare, open, somehow brighter version of the park. Its current version is better, more exotic, and the awnings are a practical addition considering the frequent rains.

I tried out one of the three slides. It was hard to work up the courage for several reasons: I didn’t have flip flops, for one thing. That made getting up the hill on the mossy walkway difficult. Getting up there was hard enough, but then psyching myself up to get in the icy waters (yes, the slides waters are not from the springs) was another challenge. I got a lot a water up my nose as I rushed down. It was fun, but getting up there to do it two more times was too much to ask.

We were also informed that the eco-trail was closed. Though the hike up the road had been nice, we were disappointed. Apparently the unseasonably heavy rains had done some damage and made it too dangerous for hiking. Oh well, if we ever go back, we will have something left to experience.

All in all, we had a relaxing day. At lunchtime, the menu had plenty to choose from. Carin went for the traditional agua de panela (brown sugar cane infused water) with an arepa, chorizo, and cheese. I went for something a little pricier, patacon and Neapolitan-style chicken with an arepa and salad and hot chocolate. The drinks helped us warm up. The cold rain had made it hard for us to get out of the pools.

We mostly lounged in the warm waters and made new friends. After our lunch, we got back in to get some tasty cocktails at the wet bar. We floated from pool to pool lazily, enjoying the contrast of cold raindrops and steamy water.

Once the weather had cleared up, we decided it was time to get back to Manizales. We had to make the most of our last full day in the city. Resting in the water had recharged our batteries, so no need to go back to the ecotermales. Our skin and hair felt super soft, our hands pruny from the hours spent in the hot springs. What a refreshing experience! With the shuttle, we got back to the hotel in a few minutes. We jumped straight on the Gran Calda bus headed back into the city to spend the afternoon and evening exploring.

Day 3 in Leticia: Change of Plans (Again)

I’ve spoken till I’m blue in the face at this point on instagram and whatsapp and messenger voicenotes, but I figure why not add to the chronicles with a blog post?

I am the living, breathing example that not everything is rainbows and beautiful instagram shots when you travel. In fact, a great many things can stress you out, leaving you drained and frustrated.

I woke up feeling tired but optimistic. The internet signal was too weak in my last hotel to teach my classes, and surprise: it was raining. I got here at the beginning of “winter” as the locals call rainy season. I knew that I would, but I didn’t think it would end up affecting me this much. I had to reschedule my first class of the day as a result.

With nothing else to do, I decided to check out quickly and use that hour to try to get things sorted out with immigration as fast as possible. To cover myself from the rain, the receptionist at the Tapir hotel gave me a plastic rain poncho. That was an act of kindness I really do appreciate. And with that, I hurried to the office around the corner.

Well, as was to be expected, more complications were waiting for me. Lisbeth, the migration lady, printed out an invoice I was to take to efecty to pay. (Efecty, for the uninitiated, is a Colombian company similar to Western Union) Second “surprise” of the day: I have to pay with cash. Like the rain, this wasn’t really a surprise, I mean, I figured as much, but I still wanted to believe there might be another way. I wanted to be wrong, basically.

What’s a girl to do? Thank Buddha for good friends. One was able and willing to transfer the money I needed to my Colombian account. I just needed to take care of my preply classes first so that I could go take out the money to pay the fine. At my next hotel, which is further out of the way than I expected or would like, the internet was just strong enough for me to have 3 lessons. With the camera off, of course, because it was pouring all day, which meant even starlink’s signal wasn’t strong enough.

Words can’t express the gratitude I feel for my students’ patience with me. I did the best I could, and once I was finished, I headed out searching for an ATM or corresponsal (shop that partners with a bank where you can withdrawal money). Good thing this capital city is small — smaller than Valledupar, more like a town (Fonseca, La Guajira comes to mind). Walking around in the rain would have been worse if I couldn’t have oriented myself as well as I did. Plus, on the bright side, no taxis needed!

Once I got to the efecty, I was hit with my 3rd “surprise” of the day: no service! The people working in the shop with the efecty sign were blunt: there are no efecty’s working in the city. This floored me, but of course I wasn’t going to take their word for it.

Like a game of cat and mouse where the mouse is always a bit faster…or is it like a dog chasing its own tail? Similes aside, I turned around and headed straight for the migration office around the corner. First I asked the guard about what I had heard about efecty, and he immediately pointed me to Lisbeth.

When I told her what had happened, her face froze. According to her, if they said that efecty was down in the city, then there were no other options. She made it clear as day to me that the only way I could pay my fine was at an efecty — there was no longer a bank with a government connection. I could not — still cannot — believe what I was hearing. I thought about those people that she had told me were also being fined in December. Apparently, there were more of us than usual. I tried to stay calm and asked her, “Do you have at least a list of efecty locations that I can check instead of going door to door trying to find one?” To be clear, I had not had much success looking on google maps.

Ultimately, she gave me this list, and the place that she recommended the most was not even listed on google maps. She apologized for everything, telling me she was embarrassed but unable to change the system. I get it. It has to suck just as much for her, being the bearer of bad news. I also apologized for my own frustration; it’s just nothing had prepared me for such a ridiculous conundrum. She claimed that most likely it was the rain that had caused the system to crash, and that it could be fine the next day.

When I walked outside, I noticed that just next door there was an efecty sign on the building. Huh? One right next door and she didn’t even mention it? As soon as I walked in, I also saw the sign saying there was no efecty service for the moment. I decided to ask the teller if she knew where I could find a working efecty.

The 4th (well 5th if we consider only being able to pay a government fine at an efecty that apparently isn’t available a “surprise”) gut-punch of a surprise I did not see coming. All efecty’s had been down, according to the lady, and that’s why the people at the first one had said what they did. And not only that, efecty had been unavailable for over a month. I felt stupified. How did the immigration officer not know in such a small town where she had had to charge so many people that the only form of payment was not available — for over a month?! How?!

The light at the end of the tunnel was that there was one “rumored” to work, the same one the officer had recommended to me saying that no one had any trouble using as far as she knew — but why not just tell me about it in the first place instead of sending me on a wild goose chase? We may never know.

So, I walked the 7 odd blocks to get to this place, my blisters growing by the moment, only to find it closed for the day. There was also not a single efecty sign on the building. Should I be worried?

Well, with my luck, I am more than a bit worried. I need to get out of this town. I’ve even started a gofundme because as I said in the migration office, all of this mess is costing me by the day just to stay and drag things out when all I want to do is pay the government what I owe it. The worst thing is I can’t even leave the town unless I want to be considered culpable and deported — which is to say, not allowed back into the country without a visa ever again.

A wise man on my instagram feed says that for something to be beautiful or strong, it had to be “burnt and battered and bent into shape.” Maybe that’s what I’m going through? Maybe I’m just an idiot? Maybe, but I hope this information prepares you in case you are ever unsure about your immigration status — don’t trust officers, do the math and be proactive. But also I guess the message is, don’t give up, because you never know when the answer might be waiting behind the next obstacle.

So, with that, I bid you all adieu and goodnight. I am exhausted, and all I can hope is that tomorrow will be a little bit less awful than today.

Gofundme

You guys can find my gofundme here: https://gofund.me/f4dabab1

Every little bit helps ❤

Overstaying in Colombia

Today is Christmas, and instead of spending time with loved ones, opening presents, feeling abundance, I’m recovering from a beaten down immune system, sitting in a cheap hotel room in the middle of Leticia, Colombia. I was supposed to be spending Christmas on a boat cruise through the Amazon. However, I made a huge mistake, and I am hoping my experience can be of use for others that might also encounter a similar situation.

I have been spending a lot of time in this beautiful country. As a tourist with no visa, I knew that my days were numbered. 180 days is the standard, with a total of 90 days you can spend in two separate entries (or divide it up how you will). This year has been somewhat hectic, and though I haven’t been officially living in Colombia, I did use it as a homebase before deciding to go home and save money in August. I had calculated my days, but I wasn’t 100% certain where I stood in the system.

Generally, upon reentry, the migration officer is supposed to review your days, stamp your passport, and write the exact number of days allowed to stay in the country. I know this because last year when I was in a similar situation, the officer told me exactly how many days I had left and warned me that if I didn’t leave before that time, I should pay for an extension (salvoconducto) to avoid bigger problems — like the ones I’m facing now.

This time was different. I still remember how the guy looked at me. With disdain, indifference — and this strange air that he knew he was taking a shortcut by writing 90 days and didn’t care how that might affect me in the end. Sure, he may have been tired, and a lot of people come and go at this time of the year. But once I showed my passport to get my exit stamp, initially I was told there must be a mistake on their end.

When I got to Leticia early on Christmas Eve, I found a very mediocre (to avoid a stronger word) airport with little guidance. It was the taxi drivers, ironically, that told me where I should get my passport stamped (no signs indicating that there was a migration office in the ugly building that honestly resembled a bus terminal more than an airport). That was after I had consulted the internet and found I would need to go downtown to the migration office — the information on the internet always seems to contradict, and that’s part of why I’m writing this now.

Ironically, when you enter Leticia, they charge a 45k COP tourist fee that is supposed to support the local processes, sustainability, and infrastructure for tourism. Nobody talked about this before I got there either, but it was required in order to leave the airport.

I went back into the airport and entered the migration area. There was an office with one guy working. I found him busy trying to approve an entry stamp for two Guatemalan ladies with long, tired faces. Avianca had rerouted their flight, and now they were stuck entering Colombia officially when it was supposed to be just a layover. Although I empathized with their situation, I was impatient because as usual the process was far too slow, with the guy calling and calling and typing and carrying on, rehashing the same details as if they had not explained what had happened clearly enough.

I had left my bags with the taxi driver and two other foreign women I had decided to join to split the taxi, so I was even more aware of how long it was taking just to get a stamp. The ladies had time, plenty as they would need to wait for the next flight, and they also told the officer that if I just needed an exit stamp, he could take care of that and then get back with them (bless their souls for that kindness). But he dismissed me and told me it wouldn’t be long. Then when I mentioned why I was in a rush, he snapped at me. Clearly he didn’t like that I was questioning the operation or why it was so inefficient. Trust me, I’ve been in a position like his, and I wasn’t blaming him, but he should have been clear that what he was doing would take a while so I could act, not just ignore me then get irritated when I asked how long it would take.

The tension mounted with me repeatedly saying “Hagale, hagale” because he would not just do his job after that. He had to keep reprimanding me for being out of line and defending himself and the migration system. When he finally called me forward, he did apologize, I’ll give him that, but he made it clear that he was more concerned with saving face in front of the other ladies. I had mentioned that it was unfortunate how problematic the immigration process could be, and he had corrected me saying this was a routine issue that was no fault of his or Colombian immigration. In short, the defensiveness was because he knew the job he was doing sucked.

Then came the moment he finally checked my passport and the system. He found I overstayed and that I would need to go to the central immigration office to pay — just what I hoped I would not have to do since by this point, I’m running low on COP in my Bancolombia account. Of course, he couldn’t take care of the process there. (That would be too convenient)

When I left that building, disgruntled, I was lucky to be received by a very kind taxi driver named Jose. He gave me a fair price, recognized my emotions, and told me that these sorts of things happen every day. He had seen so much that I didn’t even have to say what was wrong. I felt both sad and comforted as he told me about his late-wife’s inability to receive medical care in Colombia because of paperwork and fees he was not able to pay. They were charging him in dollars, only because she was Brazilian, a foreigner, unable to be affiliated to a Colombian medical plan.

That broke my heart. His words will stay with me forever: “My wife died of cancer before they were able to solve this bureaucratic problem appropriately.” No solution could be offered, just money that he didn’t have.

The folklore as they call it in Colombia continued once I spoke to the immigration officer in the official office. She was a kind woman with a killer style, purple and blue hair and tattoos a plenty. She spoke to me openly and seemed to be on my side, especially when she observed the 90 dias written on my passport stamp. She recognized that it wasn’t right or fair – unlike the guy at the airport who told me it was my responsibility to keep track of my days, not theirs.

Still, you know that this and worse happens regularly. I broke down sobbing at the prospect of having to choose between paying almost 400 USD to “fix” this constancy problem or be deported and no longer welcomed into Colombia without a passport. She didn’t console me as much as she told me that everything has a solution and not to cry. Typical.

But imagine a Christmas like the one I’ve had. My throat swelled with inflammation and my head hurt more than I could stand. The option of just leaving for Brazil and accepting deportation was not an easy out with me feeling that way. After some time using the shitty internet they offered trying to ask for advice and weigh the pros and cons of both options, I decided to get a hotel nearby and sleep on it.

That was the best choice I could have made. Today I feel better. Although I didn’t eat all of yesterday, I got medicine and had a good lunch today. I’ve been looking at my budget and logistics. Flying straight home would cost me more than toughing it out and moving forward with my plans. I decided I will pay the fine — tomorrow, since the office is closed for Christmas today — to avoid bigger problems in the future. As many friends have reminded me, even if I evade the fee, they will find a way to get their money sooner or later.

This means that I have to adjust my travel plans, my budget, and how much I’m willing to do. I could change my flight out of Brazil, but at the price I got it, I don’t think it would be worth it. Now I’m looking at a month traveling. If I find hosts to couchsurf with or stick to hostels, I have a budget in order where the primary expenses are transportation or potential tours I decide to go on. Local food is not so expensive, so I can handle those costs as well.

Tomorrow I will go back and pay the fine. Then I’ll book my place on the ship to Manaus for Saturday. If all goes well, I’ll get to Manaus on New Years Day, where I will spend a week or two there before flying to Salvador and then making my way down the coast to Rio.

There are still question marks circling my head. How will tomorrow go? Will they charge more than what they said? What about when I’m in Brazil — what if something else goes wrong?

Well, at least I have students and friends that support me. My family has also been there encouraging me to do what I feel is best. So, it’s just a matter of staying flexible and open-minded.

That’s traveling. That’s life. And this year has been nothing if not one learning experience after another.

Survival Mode and Learning to Slow Down to Thrive

I wrote this on October 15th, almost a year ago when I was over two months into working at a jungle hostel. The transition from living in a city working at a private school and working and living in the middle of the jungle, in the middle of nature, in the hospitality industry, was not an easy one, as much as I wanted to be there and felt blessed by circumstance. There, I reflected and wrote about my internal struggle with living in survival mode and how hard it is to truly thrive in that state.

I went to walk down the closest stream today with the intention of simply observing and being present – meditating. All day I have been in fawn mode. Our body’s response to being in danger can come in many forms, but we are most familiar with fight or flight. We forget about fawn and freeze. Fawning is when we think we can placate the cause of our extra-alert state and by doing so, be safe from danger (the reason our nervous system is dysregulated). Freezing obviously is when we shut down completely (playing dead) when we can no longer fawn or fight or run away.

In this role I feel constantly stuck between the 4. I have been living in survival mode for so long, my nervous system doesn’t even know how to regulate itself – or rather, the processes it would go through need to be heavily strengthened because as it stands, I am in a state of hypervigilance that doesn’t allow me to function properly. This affects mood and bodily functions, and everything in between.

But the biggest thing I’m finding that it affects is the ability to be present. Without being present, you cannot observe and take in anything around you. An animal being chased by a predator does not stop to notice the ripples in the river or the color of the plants around it or even the scents left by other animals. It compromises this ability to stay alive, and to survive, it only needs to run as quickly as possible without feeling its own exhaustion.

That’s flight, but the same is true when we fight and black out. We might not even remember what set us off or who threw the first punch – this is why we so often misremember events after going through something dramatic or traumatic. We act on instinct, and that instinct could be to hit back.

It might equally be to fawn. No one is threatening my livelihood, but I fear being hated by my bosses and coworkers, making a bad impression on customers, and so on, and since these things rely on my disposition and the way other people perceive me. So, in this state the urge is to perform behaviors that will keep the perceived threatening party happy. The worst thing for me about being stuck here is that I can vacillate to fight because I am aware that this job is not a big deal. I am so grateful for the experience, which can lead to me being fearful of doing something wrong and losing it, but in reality, I am free, and my livelihood is not relying whatsoever on me working here. And I know that.

Sometimes though, we just freeze. For me it feels like my head is full of cement. It’s trying to move and form thoughts, phrases, actions, but it’s like pushing a boulder through pudding. Sometimes nothing makes sense to me. I can’t even breathe, think, take a moment to connect with my body and my surroundings.

That’s when it hit me. The water in that stream is full of ripples, forming little waves. Those ripples are caused by the movement of tons of tiny, small fish and insects and living things living in the stream, pushing against the waters. And that is every person and circumstance, moving through a stream we cannot control, hitting obstacles, running into other people and their feelings and their consciousness and not being able to see what causes those ripples. We can only see it if we slow down. We can only see the cause of the movements around us if we are present, observing, noticing. This has been coming up in my meditations a lot, the reason being still can be so essential to meditation. The need to connect.

The need to acknowledge other forms of consciousness and life. Living matter all must have some level of conscious awareness, even if it is not able to manifest itself. The living matter is full of energy that changes forms without being destroyed.

I would not notice this if I didn’t choose to slow down, stop, observe. I cannot notice anything in survival mode.

This thought led to another of my theories. Our bodies and our biology have a reason and a purpose molded by all of the thousands of years of evolution and changes we’ve faced as living things on this Earth. At one time, our survival depended as much on observing as it did on fighting or any of the other instinctual behaviors. Well, observing can be instinctual as well. It has also served us to thrive as living beings. And with our lives today, our threats have been misplaced to mundane situations related to our source of livelihood: money, jobs. For that reason, we cannot tell the difference between a true threat and something that simply feels uncomfortable.

Furthermore, we spend so much of our day passively engaging with technology. I realized that the energy in my body must be channeled in an active way. Otherwise, it could only be fueling my anxiety – the cortisol levels are not divorced from eons of evolution. We feel stress because we were wired to some extent to move. To use our consciousness to think, analyze, and observe. To use our bodies to walk, run, be useful, be active. And yet so much of our time is dedicated to sitting and staring at a screen and reacting to other people’s actions and thoughts and possibly expressing our own but in limited and formulaic ways. This can’t be serving the purpose we human beings have, our needs as complex beings to move both mentally and physically and act.

These reflections came to me sitting on a mossy rock in the middle of the jungle, watching the stream, observing mushrooms growing on a log. Something this mundane is still crucial for us to reach our full potential as living things. A leaf has as much purpose as we do – it grows to feed its tree; it dies to feed other living things and to nourish the soil. And the cycle continues. 

Thinking about life in this way is hugely comforting to me. It reminds me I can find the motivation I need to fulfill my own purpose as a living being, no matter how small and insignificant it may seem. But I must use all the tools available to me as a human: my mind connected to my body and the environment that surrounds me.

One if by land, two if by air: A Gamble in Ecuador (a recap of my time in Quito in 2021)

Bear with me, but I am going through my drafts and trying to release a few. I wrote this back in 2021. I decided to leave out the cringe-worthy prologue about the plans I ditched that year reminding of how naive I used to be. But the information and experience I had in Quito as I described it was worth recounting, so here you go!

Currently, I’m sitting in the airport in Guayaquil, Ecuador. I’ve got about 6 hours until my flight to Colombia, so I’ve been reading through my new German Essentials for Dummies book and now finally updating this blog.

What have I been doing in Ecuador, you ask? Well, I needed to check off at least one country from my list this year. I wasn’t sure if I’d be accepted to the Trilingual International Studies program so I went ahead and booked a flight to Quito, Ecuador after deciding that I would make a trip home to visit my folks. My time home completely revolved around family – including a terribly wholesome family roadtrip to visit my grandpa in New Mexico. I really needed to do something for me after that; it wasn’t what I originally had in mind, as I have been hoping to explore several South American countries during the June-July break (thanks, Corona!), but it was a nice way of getting out of my comfort zone and exploring a new place.

I booked the flight back in mid-June after deliberating over flights with my brother. Parentals insisted that flying into Lake Charles was the easiest option for everyone, so I decided that if I was going to be paying extra to fly into a small city airport anyway, I might as well tac on a return flight to Quito. The roundtrip flight cost around $600, $400 of which were covered by finishing my 2-year work contract.

My time at home passed quickly, and before I knew it, I had only booked a single hostel for my first two nights in Quito. Frankly, I like traveling this way, because up until I stayed in Quito for the weekend, I wasn’t even sure where I wanted to go after exploring the capital. My original plan was to casually work my way north since Quito is only about 4-5 hours from the border with Colombia, then cross by land and bus around to some places of interest on the way home (including Pasto and a possible stop in Ibague or Villavicencio).

This was my plan. No flights back. I even did several searches to see what the most viable way of crossing the Ecuador-Colombia border would be. I had it all figured out, I thought, before I even had each day of my trip mapped out.

Until I started talking to other people in the hostel and got a more up-to-date view of the border crossing. Ironic that when you search for information about the Ecuador-Colombia border, the fact that it’s closed on the Ecuadorian side doesn’t come up.

Colombia has opened up their side with Ecuador since mid-June, however Ecuador doesn’t seem to be keen about letting people out or in by land. I understand that ground borders tend to be less regulated and therefore less practical for preventing people with the Corona Virus from crossing, but I feel this is more about population control in general. Plus, it does nothing to efficiently stop the transport of contraband. Airports are perhaps more orderly and “cleaner” in their regulation of the comings and goings of people.

One of my favorite things about solo travel is being able to time and pace things to my liking. I book based on my energy level and the amount I want to do during my stay. I knew from the beginning that I would probably only spend the weekend (Friday-Sunday) in Quito, so I intended to make my time count. That’s how I decided to book a bunk at the Secret Garden hostel in Quito’s historic downtown. This hostel has a breathtaking view of the city. Even when arriving, exhausted, at 11:30 pm on Friday night and having to walk up 4 flights of stairs (this is how you get the amazing rooftop bar view), I couldn’t help but stare in awe at the lights and illuminated monuments of the Ecuadorian capital.

This hostel was perfect for meeting travelers from all over the world, both young and old. The next day, I had breakfast around 9 am in order to be prepared to take off on a 2-hour free walking tour at 10. I sat alone and couldn’t help overhearing the conversation at the table next to me – a mixture of French, English, and German! I admit it, I was itching to just insert myself into that conversation and try practicing my language skills. But I was not fully awake or comfortable and felt that would be obnoxious and awkward, so I contented myself with just eavesdropping (one of the great joys of being a language learner/polyglot).

I cannot hype the walking tour enough. Once I ate and changed, I met on the same rooftop where reception and the kitchen/bar are located to wait for the guide to arrive. While waiting, a girl from Switzerland struck up conversation with me. In hostels, you find yourself meeting people from all over and initially starting conversations the same way over and over again (Where are you from? How long have you been here? What are your plans? Why did you choose x country to visit?). It’s inevitable but enjoyable nonetheless because every person you meet has a slightly different story.

Our group was a European mixture. I was the only American on the tour. Other hostel stayers included a Belgium couple, a Spanish couple, and a man from Sweden. We started with a group picture, being taught about the “Cuy” or rodents (like Guinea Pigs) that were a traditional part of local cuisine as we were told to shout “Cuy!” instead of cheese. (sidebar: I learned this is a homophone with the French word for balls)

The tour felt something like a hike as we went up and down the infinite hills and slopes of Quito. We saw several breathtaking and gaudy Catholic churches, including La Basilica, with its famous condor spire. Entry to most of these buildings and museums costs between $2-5 dollars. We were shown old buildings built on foundations mixed with bones. In pre-Colombian times, people would use the bones of their deceased relatives to infuse the house with their spirit and be protected by them. The bones in the foundations we saw were animal bones, but I wondered where I might see a structure old enough to still have human bones mixed into the stone. We also learned other fun facts about the architecture and saw stones around the Presidential Palace that could be traced back to the time of the Inca based on the shape and texture of their stones.

The highlight of this walking tour is the sampling we got to do. Angie, our guide, took us to a jugueria or fruit/juice spot where we got to try fruits typically used to make juice in Ecuador. Most are the same as in Colombia, except for taxo (I’m still not sure if it has an equivalent in Colombia or if it’s totally unique and native to Ecuador), and some with different names like naranjilla (known as lulo in Colombia). This reminded me of the walking tour I took in Cali which included a last stop in the Alameda market. I bought a jugo de taxo for one dollar, just for the sake of its novelty. I hadn’t missed out on much, though, as the orange-colored juice is quite bland and sort of tasteless in my opinion.

Our next stop included an explanation of how chocolate was made from the bitter cacao seeds/beans and included lots of samples of chocolates made from 60%-100% purity. Apparently, most commercial chocolates (Hersheys, etc.) can’t be considered true, high quality chocolate because they have under 60% of cacao needed to be called “real.” I had had a huge breakfast and was feeling so full I couldn’t even finish all of my chocolate samples – never thought I’d see the day when I didn’t have space for sweets!

Finally we finished our adventure in a private room upstairs where I assume people usually get together with their friends to drink and dance. I got to give a brief salsa demonstration (LOL) because out of everyone there I was the only person that new the basic steps (other than Angie). We got our canelazo (traditional cinnamon drinks mixed – optionally – with sugarcane rum, the most common liquor sold native to Ecuador) and everyone learned the famous drinking phrase: Arriba, abajo, al centro, pa’ dentro!

During this experience, I made plans with my Swiss friend Ramona to go on our own little tour. At first, we were just going to the teleferico (a cable car suspended in the air that is used to quickly scale mountains) to capture of view of the city. Our taxista convinced us that we could squeeze in La Mitad del Mundo (~50 minutes from the hostel) into our schedule and do it all – just for $35. Did I mention Ecuador is more expensive than Colombia? And the currency is dollars? Because that would be a shitton of pesos colombianos and I would refuse. But here, that sounded like a good deal to split between two people. Plus, just to get from the airport (some 45 minutes away at the time I got in, nighttime), I got tricked into paying $30 for a ride that usually would cost $20. Not knowing the local pricing and sleeping on negotiating can really drain your money.

For $5 we entered the Middle of the World monument park. There are lots of museums and shops to visit inside, but the gimmick that this is the exact place where the equator passes (0 degrees latitude) is apparently debunked in the museum we decided to skip.

Another fun tip is to make sure you bring layers or a good jacket. It was so windy, and after sweating during the walking tour, Ramona and I were convinced it wouldn’t be too cold. We were wrong, oh so very wrong – and me more than her because I didn’t even take a sweater just in case.

The real chill factor came with the teleferico. After the fast yet interminable climb to the top overlooking the city (roughing 15-20 minutes long), we were literally in the clouds. We could see our breath. I started losing feeling in my fingers and had to hike at a brisk pace (as brisk as my gasping breaths in the high altitude would allow) in order to stay warm. The trail leads to a swing set, el columpio en las nubes, or the swing in the clouds. By the time we finally got our turn on the swing set, the mountain was completely embanked by clouds and fog.

Instead of waiting in an infinitely long line to go down, we waited out the cold in the cafe. We were literally the last of the people to go down the mountain and had a surprise scare when the gondola suddenly froze when we finally had the base station in view. Trust me when I say, I was lowkey-highkey screaming on the inside.

Our night was tied together with a mediocre meal at the hostel and a great night out. We went up in taxi with a Danish guy that had been sat with Ramona for dinner and the Swedish man we met on the tour. We enjoyed a couple cups of canelazo and an incredible view of the Virgen del Panecillo, the name for the hill overlooking the city. We weren’t expecting to find a full fair of street food and live performances at the top of that hill, but our night was made by the visit.

To return to my predicament, I discovered that night that I wasn’t the only one hoping to cross into Colombia by land. After making lots of calls, an acquaintance I made in The Secret Garden hostel concluded that you could cross by taxi without getting stamped, as long as you didn’t need to return to Europe. Obviously, the legality of such a situation is murky, but with that information, on Sunday I booked my next stay at Hospedaje Vertientes del Imbabura. I set out full speed ahead towards Otavalo once I felt rested enough.

The Ecuadorian countryside was lovely. I got to meet some kind locals — a taxi driver that told me about how inflation with the switch to the dollar had affected people living in Ecuador for the worst; a kindly innkeeper for lack of a better name that told me about the local Andean culture of Imbabura with their Summer Solstice festival and rituals; even in Otavalo I found kind faces in the Plaza de los Ponchos where I ended up buying two ponchos (one of which unfortunately was synthetic, but I got what I could on a limited budget). From Otavalo, I hiked up to a waterfall with a local guide and tried some local food before caving to the realization that I was not willing to risk crossing the Ecuadorian border illegally.

Tearful, I ended up booking a flight from Quito which I honestly do not regret as much as I thought I would. The funny thing about spending money when you travel is you rarely look back and say, “Fudge! I shouldn’t have spent that money that clearly went towards making my life better!” It hurts in the moment, especially when you miss a flight and have to pay for a new one, but in this case, the monetary cost of leaving Ecuador legally was worth the stress of booking a last-minute flight to avoid taking risks by going in some pirate taxi on some sketchy dirt road between Ecuador and Colombia that could have ended up costing more in more ways than one.

So! Moral of the story: spend the money and forget about it. In the long run, it doesn’t matter. Traveling well and taking precautions will never be a waste of money, even if that money could have been spent better or wiser.

At least that’s my takeaway from this experience 3 years later. It hasn’t been that long in reality, but it feels like ages have passed since then, and so it goes….

El discurso de la lluvia / Translating Félix Molina Flórez

¨Los cuerpos son definiciones perdidas…¨

Los cuerpos son definiciones perdidas
en los diccionarios
Sin brazos
sin piernas
sin ojos
sin memoria
tratan de recobrar su rumbo

Los cuerpos que transitan este paraíso
han perdido su significado
como una tilde dibujada en el vacío

Somos esas piedras
que lavadas por la creciente
han perdido su piel

My Translation:

Our bodies are lost definitions
in dictionaries
No arms
no legs
no eyes
no memory
trying to recover their path

Our bodies that move through this paradise
have lost their meaning
like an accent drawn in the abyss

We are those stones
washed by the tide
that have lost their skin

This poem speaks to me in a way that transcends words. My own attachment to words and metaphor coalesce with this fascinating image drawn out by Félix. Everything that we are and the language we use over time loses its meaning. There is a sense of inevitable decay, a divorce from the tongues that gave words their meaning. I like how this concept of words losing their meaning, and our own bodies becoming words without meaning, formless anomalies — it is such a powerful visual. I hope I did it some justice.

Translating poetry is unique in that you have to take the music of the words into account, as well as the meaning and metaphor. Translating music takes this to another level. But I like the challenge. Translating a full book would be even harder because you have to live inside those pages and words well enough to capture what the author wanted to convey through a different linguistic lens.

I’ll be continuing with this project and translating the full book of poetry, The Discourse of the Rain, during this week. As always, I’m happy to hear any feedback, especially from my bilingual writers/poets.

“They’re Killing Us”: Paro Nacional and Witnessing a Human Rights Crisis

Pode ser uma imagem de uma ou mais pessoas e texto que diz "LAWMARTINEZR NOS QUIE REN SACAR LOS OJOS PORQUE SABEN QUE YA LOS ABRIMOS"

The heat has been suffocating in the “City of the Holy Kings.” Since yesterday, we’ve been under a perpetual veil of heavy clouds and humid heat. Last night, I thought for sure that the sky would finally break open and rain would wash the streets clean.

Instead, the heat and dimness continue. The only thing that washed the streets of Valledupar last night was the blood of civilians protesting. The explosion came, but not in the form of rain, thunder, or lightning. The tension caused by the chaos that seized the march and the detention of protestors is palpable and unrelenting.

Social media has given us the gift of reaching people from around the world in a matter of moments. Tears wet my cheeks as I read through and watch video after video of a horror that seems to have happened over night. If only. Imagine, if social media had existed in the 80’s when farms were actively being gassed or during the Segovia massacre of 1988. The past 30 years have been marked by the slaughter of union leaders, farmers, campesinos, indigenous people, sympathizers of certain political parties, and anyone with the gall to demand that their human rights be respected.

As someone that studied Latin American history and politics, I felt stirred by these facts and narratives having only been able to experience them dead on the page. I didn’t imagine that I might actually be in the middle of one of these historical and devastating moments. I didn’t realize just how sadly entrenched they are in the human experience of people living under oppression in communities all over the world.

There have been dozens of videos circulating of people running through the streets, tanks filling the city, teargas shrouding the air, the sound of weapons firing, children screaming as their anguished faces are washed with milk, the cries for justice even as the police deny the right to protest, deny that they themselves are acting with cruel impunity. As they throw teargas bombs into buses full of civilians. As they gather around the people, non-binary, men, women, elderly, children, and grab them, threaten them, punch them, force them into corners, and carry them off on motorcycles.

I’ve always wondered about these ESMAD characters. They’re supposed to be brave defenders of the public. An anti-riot branch of the Colombian police force. They’re supposed to be these pillars of justice that go to protests to dissuade violence and looting. In fact, it’s ironic to see them in their heavy armor carrying their huge weapons as they tower over and surround – unarmed young people that look defenseless by comparison – and incite violence. And we are supposed to believe they are protecting the community from the protestors they mercilessly intimidate?

Everyone I know is against this tax reform and supporting the constitutional rights of Colombians to protest. Except, astonishingly, for the members of the military I’ve met. According to statistics circulating, around 80% of the Colombian population are against the tax overhaul reform that’s supposed to respond to the economic crisis the country is facing. How does it propose to solve the crisis? By taxing and subsidizing. The main issue that people are expressing with this method is that the crisis being faced in Colombia – unemployment, increasing poverty, a poor and slowly executed vaccination process – is not going to be fixed by raising taxes and adding new ones. True, part of the taxing would only apply to the wealthier sectors of society, but it would also include the struggling middle class or middle class-aspiring sector.

And all to be able to provide an 80.000 pesos (that’s only around $22 USD!) monthly subsidy for people living in extreme poverty. What will that do? Oh, so much if you ask the richest sector of Colombian society who perhaps could afford to do just a little bit more. But that would require that money stop being stolen from public works budgets, equally inflated in importance but never producing the promised result.

People are skeptical. People are scared. Who could possibly blame them, when the stakes are this high and everything they’ve experienced from the authorities so far has resulted in lies and more lies.

And now, to top it off, it takes marches for the president to call for a “reworking” of the reform. It takes the documenting of at least 21 murders by the military and the police, 940 cases of police brutality, 672 arbitrary arrests of civilians, and 4 victims of sexual violence (that we know of) for people to take notice of what has been a history soaked in blood. That’s why, in solidarity, as a sign of resistance, Colombians use the flag as their icon, upside down, placing the red blood of the patriots who fought for freedom at the top.

As an expat living in Colombia I’ve learned that even though I may never understand what it’s like to have grown up in extreme poverty, living on $100 or less a month working every day of the year with zero paid vacation time, in a country in civil war where tanks and fully armed soldiers can be seen patrolling the streets for no known reason except to “maintain order” – I stand. I stand with the people that are sick of living in fear.

Just as any US American should. This is just as much our fight. After all, our country funded all of this military equipment. Our country provided the resources to militarize the police force. Our country supported the “paraco hpta” of Uribe as it has countless right-wing military dictators. Our country benefited by keeping so many countries impoverished and suppressed.

And now? We’re finally starting realize that these actions and choices have consequences. Allowing corruption to exist in other places to benefit businesses in “first world” countries is like setting your house on fire to warm your own room during the winter. Now, the countries that have dealt with the brunt of colonization and foreign intervention and neo-liberalism have governments corrupted at every level, and this corruption leads to the same economic crisis happening in Colombia. And with a global pandemic? Full hospitals, under-paid medical workers, non-existent relief packages, non-existent state aid for the nearly 40% of the population living below the poverty line, and a population in which only 1 859 657 out of 51,321,307 people have been vaccinated so far.* And the list goes on and on…

Yet the conversation remains divided along economic lines. Just like in the US, here we have people feebly and some even passionately decrying vandalism and chiding those brave enough to protest. In spite of the fact that the protestors have stopped and even prevented and returned looted goods, there is always a portion of the population which demonizes all protestors as criminals who want the government to “give them everything.”

No, not everything. Just the human right to a life of dignity. Just a transparent government with a clear record on its budgets and military maneuvers. A stand against corruption. The right to demonstrate. The right to a future where children cannot be killed and gassed by the police and face zero consequences.

I know. It’s overwhelming. So much is happening in the world right now. And then there’s this. But these are just the consequences of history. If we don’t learn our history and see how we are all connected by it, we will never escape the domino effect we’ve been locked into. We are all facing one global struggle. If we cannot come together, if we cannot care about our neighbors, then we’re screwing ourselves over just as much.

While all of this is going on, I’m teaching classes online from my apartment in Valledupar. I’m living my dream life, and yet nothing could feel more upsetting and wrong.

To relieve some stress, I order a snack. I walk down the stairs out to meet the delivery man. He’s lost, and for a good reason. My apartment building has gone ghostly silent. All of the corridors are dark. I haven’t been outside today, but if what I’ve been watching online is any indicator, the sense of abandonment and fearfulness is real. Just the other day, Uribe posted on his twitter condoning the use of violence and force to suppress protestors out of “self-defense” against “terrorism.” With leaders like this with all of their shady, violent histories and absent morals, yet somehow untouched by international authorities – it’s easy for me to comprehend this silence. Plus, my apartment is somewhat removed from the heart of the city. But I can imagine that the silence there is just as heavy. Silence like a paperweight, a reminder of what’s happened and what’s to come.

I sense that this is only the calm in the eye of the storm. Many have posted warning against false fliers calling for protestors to meet tonight. They say this is a tactic that is used to round up the protestors and slaughter them all at once. Protesting will resume tomorrow, though, and I plan to be there.

This might not be my fight, but I am here and I will be there in spirit and in body to make sure that I can be some part of the change I have been dreaming about seeing in the world. As so many have said before me, including the current president of the United States: “Our silence is complicity.” And I refuse to choose silence.

Our power is in our voices, our platforms, our identities. Do not underestimate your power and ability to fight injustice.

*Meanwhile, in the US over 105 million people have already been vaccinated; Colombia continues to be in its “2nd phase” in which only medical workers and people between 60-79 years old are eligible to be vaccinated. Global inequality is real.

Pode ser uma imagem de 1 pessoa, em pé e ao ar livre
Credit to: @bryanbeltran_ph (https://instagram.com/bryanbeltran_ph?igshid=cpxlbgzr2ohu)

Some useful sources:

COVID-19 Vaccine Tracker: How Many People Have Been Vaccinated In The U.S.? : Shots – Health News : NPR

covid-19-data/Colombia.csv at master · owid/covid-19-data · GitHub

Vacunación contra la COVID-19 en Colombia – Wikipedia, la enciclopedia libre

Colombian Tax Reform and International Tax Law – Universidad Externado de Colombia (uexternado.edu.co)

Reforma tributaria 2021: esto es lo que deben saber los colombianos – El Espectador – YouTube

In Colombia, 19 Are Killed in Pandemic-Related Protests – The New York Times (nytimes.com)

Petition to involve the UN:

Petición · Que la ONU Intervenga YA para detener el genocidio que promueve el gobierno en Colombia · Change.org

A Resting Place: Tunja to Villa de Leyva (Semana Santa Weekend)

When I asked about Tunja, I got lots of “there’s nothing there” and “What on earth are you staying there for?” I just shrugged and explained it was a resting place before arriving to Villa de Leyva for the weekend. I knew I would be getting there after a week of trekking and a day of spelunking, so I didn’t mind staying in a less touristy place for the night just to rest if it meant waking up and heading to my weekend destination just an hour or so away.

Well, let me be the first to say, that I left with a feeling of complete disagreement with all the nay-sayers that had told me Tunja wasn’t worth it. As the capital of the department of Boyaca, this city has a lot to offer in the way of history and architecture. In fact, I learned that at least 3 or 4 Colombian presidents had their origins in Tunja, Boyaca.

After a restful night’s sleep, I woke up in my hotel room, enjoyed another hot shower (what a luxury!) before having breakfast. I chose the pancakes option over the arepas, and was mildly disappointed — they were served with honey and were utterly flavorless, like a softer, corn-flour-free arepa. But meh, again, a full stomach supersedes all gripes about the quality of the meal when I travel on a budget. I’ve went hungry enough times to know that I am living a life of luxury, whether it seems that way or not.

I enjoyed getting to bundle up before heading out to explore the square of Tunja. The hotel itself was quite lovely, in an old shopping center with colonial architecture and old world charm. Since it was only about half a block from the central square, I could see what it had gotten “Fabulous Location” on Booking.

Many had complained about the cold in this city. After being in Colorado and even New Mexico in winter, I couldn’t help but muse at how little context many Colombians have when it comes to judging if a place is cold or not. Yes, I wore a light jacket in Tunja, but I would’ve been comfortable without it. As a contrast to the suffocating heat of Valledupar’s draught and the relative heat of Santander, I was loving the chilly breezes and chuckling at what I considered the exaggerative bundling up that people did in the city — not for the last time during this trip. You would think they would have adapted to the temperatures, right?

Well, some of those people were actually tourists. I was walking along with my camera, taking pictures and videos of the plaza, minding my own business, when a small group saw me trying to avoid ruining their picture as I absentmindedly wandered around near the main cathedral, statues of important religious figures that came out of the city, and finally approached the “I (heart) Tunja” letters where they were taking pictures.

Taken off guard, I didn’t realize that they were motioning for me to stop and take a picture of them. Turns out they were taking the picture, not in front of the sign but with their camera propped near the lettering facing towards the square. Abashedly, I realized where the camera was and that they weren’t suggesting I take a picture of them in front of the name as I had assumed. They wanted me to take a picture with them.

Turns out, they were a friendly group of paisas from Medellin who had been staying in Villa de Leyva and had made their way to Tunja for a day visit. They spoke highly of Valledupar when I mentioned where I was living in Colombia, as people generally do, but I of course couldn’t resist mentioning how much lovelier Tunja seemed to me in comparison. We parted ways after a brief conversation, claiming that perhaps we’d see each other later. It is a small world, after all.

I made a few blocks, taking in the colonial style of the city, the dark cobblestones, the clean streets, and the beautiful statues, including the center piece of the Plaza, a triumphant statue of Simon Bolivar on a horse. It reminded me of the famous statue of George Washington in the Commons in Boston.

Once I’d had my fill, I returned to the hotel, ready to head to the Terminal de Transporte. I checked out, and unable to get a cab on inDriver (the price bargaining app I’ve only ever used in Colombia – like Uber but way cheaper and more competitive), I resorted to walking out to the curb. I got picked up by an older man who was quick to start gathering information about me. I prefer when cabbies don’t do this, but he seemed nice enough, if a bit astute. He started telling me about how he had family in the US and how he wanted to get his visa. We both agreed that it was more likely to work out with Biden as president. Most Colombians are painfully aware of how anti-immigrant/latino/etc. Trump was as president, and most share my relief about him no longer being in office.

He gave me a tip. He would take me to a closer point where cars (colectivos) usually pass by to pick up passengers heading to Villa de Leyva. He told me he’d rather not leave the city to get to the bus terminal. I felt a little dubious, because this was Good Friday. Transportation was a bit more fickle. But I took him at his word. When we got there, a guy was waiting for transportation — but not to Villa de Leyva. He said he hadn’t seen any cars heading that way, but it was possible that they might pass at some point. I took his word for it, mainly because this taxi driver had promised to charge me a lot to take me to the terminal…and he still charged me 6k to go a very short distance.

Let’s just say, it’s not always good to talk about where you’re from with taxi drivers. He had made a few comments about how the dollar was more valuable and insinuating that I must have money. So the fact that he’d charged me this when I’d been only charged 4k the night before for a longer ride spoke volumes. “Me jodio,” I proclaimed to the guy waiting there. Both of us realized pretty quickly that there was no transport going to Villa de Leyva at that stop on that day. The rolo (guy from Bogota – I could tell by his accent) was unwilling to blame the old taxi driver, but it was undeniable that he charged me more than necessary. So yes, effectively, he fucked me over.

I quickly decided to catch another cab and got charged the same amount to go much further, in the same direction I came until I reached the Terminal.

Foreigners in Colombia, be ware. Some people might seem nice, but many do think with their wallets. If they ask you about how much money you make within the first few minutes of picking you up, they will probably try screwing you out of money. I knew this, but it wasn’t that he took much money from me. When I called him out that he was overcharging, he did charge mil pesos less, but that pretty much confirmed that he knew what he was doing. Just a life experience, and one that I’ve realized for a while.

There was wifi at the terminal. I got a 20k ticket to Villa de Leyva, ate something resembling a donut, a pastel (meat pie), and drank down a carton of Milo. I was a little apprehensive about not getting on the right van, but it all worked out.

By noon, the hottest hour of the day, I made it to Villa de Leyva. It was a mountainous, gorgeous ride, one of many I’ve experienced during this trip. I was impressed by this town, practically down in a valley surrounded by breathtaking mountains. But as usual, I had been napping and was groggy and had to get off the bus with my hands totally filled. What a pain, I thought. I couldn’t wait to be free of the responsibility of delivering my friend Liz’s package. Luckily, this was its final destination. The couple that founded Nibiru, the hostel in Villa de Leyva — one of many, I soon discovered — were to be the recipients of this gift.

So to make a long story longer, I ended up stepping off the bus, approaching a vendor at a market across the street from the transport square and getting sent in the wrong direction. The guy that helped me admitted he wasn’t from there. What should I expect, right? Well, he googled the hostel, and I assumed he could at least use a map and point me in the right direction.

Wrong.

So I made several blocks, the sun beating down on me. I was still dressed for cool weather after walking around Tunja. Spoiler: Villa de Leyva ain’t all that cold, not during the middle of the day. Not until it rains in the mid-to-late afternoon.

I stopped and asked someone in a carpark (parqueadero). They knew the city but — they had no clue where I needed to go.

Ugh. Okay. Turn around, I told myself. I had seen an “oficina de turismo” on the main street I had been dropped off on by the bus. So I huffed and puffed my way to the tourism office. I explained where I needed to go, by name and address (what I knew of the address – I didn’t have wifi or data). They helped me identify the direction I needed to go to and gave me a map. However, there was no clear indication of how many blocks I would be walking. The only landmark mentioned was the bus terminal and “La Media Torta.”

I had to overwalk, again. I stopped in a drug store and asked for more details to see if I was close. They gave me more vague directions after studying my map, marking dots near where my destination was. In theory, I should’ve been able to show a local the map and receive turn-by-turn instructions until I got at least to the street where my hostel was.

I would be wrong for thinking that. And that was the source of my irritation. No one knew how to give directions in the town. Everything was vague, and no one seemed to know which street was which or if I needed to go up or down a block.

A guy stopped me as I angrily trudged along, muttering to myself. He tried to offer me a room at his hotel. I had to explain hurriedly that I already had a reservation. There was just one problem — I’d been going in circles for a good half hour unable to find the place based on the address. He let me connect to the internet after ushering me up the stairs of his hotel. No doubt, he still hoped to convince me to stay there. I was annoyed that he wasn’t able to give me a quick confirmation of if I was going the right direction or not — even with maps and gps as a guide. He still needed to orient himself by hanging off the balcony and studying the map, his phone, and the streets ahead of him. I wrote the lady from Nibiru and asked for explicit instructions.

Suffice it to say, the hostel had been super close the whole time, only a couple of blocks from the bus stop. That didn’t stop me double confirming the street at D1 to avoid wasting more time and getting more grumpy and tired. As soon as I named the hostel, the grocer’s face went blank and he nearly withdrew his confirmation that the street I was pointing to was in fact the carrera I had asked about.

‘Nough said, I had the right street. I walked and looked to my right at the first intersection, and there it was. Nibiru. A big house remade into a hostel. I couldn’t feel frustrated once I met Ana’s husband, the other half of the pair that own Nibiru. He welcomed me and was happy to receive Liz’s gift, a unique sign with a map pointing out where Nibiru was located. Aw, how that would’ve helped me get there if I had seen it a bit sooner.

Live and learn. These things are bound to happen. I went out after a bit of rest, took lots of photos and videos of the cobblestone and rock-paved streets I had been hopelessly turned around on before. There were so many people — and live music, everywhere. Walking on the rock-paved streets with tiny, sometimes non-existent sidewalks wasn’t my favorite. If you didn’t watch your step and are clumsy like me, you could easily twist your ankle or worse on those uneven rocks in the path. Still, the old world charm and street musicians reminded me of New Orleans.

That night, my legs exhausted from so much adventure, I settled to see the town by Chiva (brightly lit tour buses that blast music as they take tourists around the city). I absorbed some of the history of the famous patrimonial town. I learned it had once been covered by water, leaving behind a wealth of primordial fossils belonging to an assortment of fish and reptiles. How different this place is from New Orleans, a land fighting to avoiding being submerged compared to a town where rivers and seas eventually dried up. Incredible.

I also learned that it was another city from which many a famous Colombian had descended. There are tons of museums in the relatively small city. Everything was bursting with life in spite of these Covid-restricted times. I almost felt as if I were in a bubble untouched by outside worries, a sort of lost city of Atlantis — only instead of being covered by water, it was the product of evaporation of that water. Perhaps at one time, it had been an Atlantis covered by the sea before reemerging later and retaking its former splendor.

The connections my friend Liz gave me were indispensable. I owe the success of this almost month-long trek to the advice of many friends who have offered contacts that have helped me throughout the journey.

The main tour company contact she gave me ended up being the only one I signed up with during my stay. They’re called Gaia Adventure. Their cozy office is located about half a block from the plaza of Villa de Leyva, the biggest plaza per square meter in Colombia. And not a fun one to cross when your legs are sore, I must confess. But the stones paving it, although an obstacle, are quite nice and add to that colonial town charm and authenticity.

That night, they set me up on an hour-long 35k tour on Chiva. We were taken up to the lookout point (Mirador) above the city. My pictures did not do the view much justice, but thanks to this tour, I was able to schedule a horseriding tour for the next morning. We were given our Canelazo (a warm cinnamon-spiced drink with aguardiente (alcohol) very typical in the colder parts of Colombia, and my main motive for taking the tour) at the end, and I headed back to my hostel to rest.

This was the beginning of the decline of my health during this trip. I love to push myself to the limits, and unfortunately, my body hates it. I’ve always been a bit sensitive to allergies, altitude, changes in temperature, etc. And I experienced all of this during the first week. So by that Saturday and Sunday when I left Villa de Leyva, I had a sore throat and a runny nose *cue hello darkness my old friend*.

I tried not to let that hold me back, though, mixing rest with play to the best of my ability. Always a struggle to follow my own advice.

From My Notes: Days 4-5: Adventures in San Gil and surrounding towns

It’s 10 am. I’m headed to Curiti. From there I’m going to hike to the pozos, some natural pools that are perfect for dirty humans to swim in. I meant to head out an hour ago — I left my hostel at about 9 when I meant to leave at 8. So here we are.

The bus from the Terminalito to Curiti cost just 3.500.

We got there in 20 minutes.

The 7 pozos are probably better when you’re swimming with friends, and not on your period, but I enjoyed the peace. The walk seemed unending, especially alone. I enjoyed the views, the goats and sheep off in the distance and the rolling mountains reminding me of some warmer Switzerland (or what I can imagine the Swiss countryside might be like; pure speculation). I thought I was going to burn for sure. It’s been humid, warm, but overcast. I guess I got lucky. My skin is still peeling from my adventures snorkeling and laying out on the beach in Santa Marta. Otherwise I’m in tact.

I think I made it to 6 of the 7 pozos. After confirming that they all had people in them in some capacity, I picked the one that was the most ample with the fewest people. I think it was two groups, a family, and some couples. I waded around and enjoyed the water cascading from the top to the bottom where I sat. Being in water always refreshes me. I had to do some light rock scaling to get in and out, but I managed the take a dip and put back on my shoes and dress without soaking them. 

I ran into a lady I met at the hostel with her partner and child. She was surprised I was alone and figured I must have been bored. In reality I needed a quiet hike and swim like that. I had seen water far clearer and more aqua but it was still worth the experience. She had rented a small tube for 2 mil. She told me there were bigger ones for 4-6 mil. Next time, I said. I wonder when that will be.

I took lots of pictures and videos before heading back to Curiti to enjoy a brownie con helado and a bebida santadereana (it was really good). Then it was back to the hostel to rest for a bit before waiting a solid hour to take a bus up to Páramo.

The bus to Páramo was just 6 mil ($2). The town was tiny and not so far away.

I checked into Posada San Luis, an inn just up the road from the central park and church at 5:33 pm. I immediately got met with a few obstacles I vented about in my notes:

Though nice, the lady working at the front desk couldn’t offer recommendations.

There were no restaurants to eat at, so I had to settle for a very basic hotdog at a small resto-tienda in the main square.

For the first several hours the WiFi wouldn’t work.

When I went to ask someone, there was no one at reception to help me (And likewise when I returned from eating, I had to let myself in).

Help seemed nonexistent. But you get what you pay for, and while $50 mil has gotten me more in Colombia, it still wasn’t so bad.

Day 5: Páramo 

Páramo is a town that bases its tourism almost solely on extreme sports and outdoor activities. There are next to no restaurants around the square. Even though it was not so late when I got there, like 6 pm, everything was dead. I checked in where I found to my further dismay that the WiFi wasn’t working. I guess I needed to disconnect, but why did it have to be when I had a private class scheduled?

Gloria, an ex teacher and now the person I presume running the hotel Posada San Luis told me I could find Fastfood near the park. In reality there was only one place open, half pharmacy half tienda/restaurant. I was dodging bugs while waiting for my lulo and hotdog. I like eating alone, but there’s something uncomfortable about being the only person sitting in silence with nothing to look at. Am I the only one that feels that way? The jugo de lulo was good, the hotdog had too much salsa de piña, but I went back to my hotel with a full stomach, which was the important thing.

Eventually the WiFi randomly connected, but I still took the chance to go to bed before 10 pm. I woke up several times during the night, not because I was uncomfortable, but just because my body wasn’t prepared to rest as much as it was. That and the fan eventually was too cold. Good problems, in my opinion.

I got up before 7, got ready, had a complimentary tinto and ate one of the apples I brought from home. I got in touch with the tour company, Camine Mano. They opened at 8, so I was among the first people to show. The inn is a block from the main square, and this tour company is located right next to the police station. I was set, changed into my hiking shoes, leggings, a tshirt with my swim suit underneath. I struck up conversation with one of the guides, a nice guy by the name of Juan Camilo. We discussed language learning, a topic that comes up a lot in my travels. Usually after they realize where I’m from and what I do. And show surprise that I’m from the states but speak Spanish well. I’m cautious to take this as a compliment, wholesale, but it’s still a nicer comment than what this one taxi driver said to me the other day in Valledupar: “Wow just goes to show! Four years and you still have an accent!” Not one of my happiest moments. But bless the man for his honesty. The only thing worse is when they praise you and you know it’s pure bullshit. So it is what it is.

Two of the first women to arrive ended up scooping me and including me in their pictures for the tour. I suppose because it would be a cheaper deal to split the cost with a third person, but still, like the group I met in San Gil, they were very open and friendly. They were both a bit older than me and super nice. I’ve encountered more people from Bogota during this trip than from anywhere else. Sincerely all the encounters have been positive. They’ve included me in their groups and asked genuine and insightful questions. It’s refreshing after so much of the same in Valledupar, even after 4 years of living there. This is why I like traveling. It’s easy to forget that people and culture is not the same everywhere. Even in the same country, there are so many types of people, accents, and cultures. It’s reminded me of why I love to travel so much.

There are definitely fewer foreigners in these parts, I’ve noticed. I’ve yet to encounter an American. Our trip to the cave (la Cueva del Indio) was pretty much all people from the interior — Bogota, Cucuta, and the surrounding areas. We made fast friends as we waited around to enter the cave and speculated about what we might see and just how scary it might be. It was a relief to know I wasn’t the only one a little apprehensive about the famous “Salto al Vacio” at the end of the trek. There were 3 or 4 children with us on the tour, so that frankly put me at ease. It really wasn’t nearly as terrifying as my imagination could conjure.

At the end of the tour, soaked, the girls bought me an ice cream before it was time to go our separate ways. I went to the hotel, quickly changed out of my damp clothes, and ran to catch the next bus leaving Paramo and heading one-way to San Gil. That was not something I had anticipated, as I had originally chosen to stay outside of San Gil in order to save time between traveling to my next destination, Tunja, Boyaca.

I realized while taking the bus from San Gil to Tunja that Socorro is much bigger than Páramo. I should’ve stayed there. It even had its own terminal. But hindsight is 20/20, and all worked out anyway.

The bus from San Gil to Tunja left at 2:45. I got there around 10 pm, my phone dead, in the middle of a cold highway in the same dress I had changed into after my spelunking. Once again, all the credit to a kind taxi driver that happened to be sitting right down the road (I wasn’t dropped at a terminal this time, because the Tunja terminal is located a bit outside of the city). I told him the name of my hotel and suggested he google it when he couldn’t recall where it was located. Before I knew it I was taking a hot shower before bedding down in my singlet hotel room a mere block from the main Plaza Simon Bolivar.

Semana Santa diaries: Anxiety

Somehow even with 3 days of preparation, I still have this gnawing fear of forgetting something. Leaving something undone. Packing too much or too little. Miscalculating.

This is travel anxiety. An old friend I know too well. Almost like an ex I can’t seem to shake off. We just keep on getting back together, no matter how toxic our relationship is clear to be.

Well, it’s my first time solo traveling in a year and a half. I experience this anxiety pretty much everytime I do. I’m always on edge. But I’ve come to see it as a sort of excitement and expectation of the adventure to come. Before the plunge into the unknown.

I have a love-hate relationship with risk-taking. The last time I visited one of the towns on my ever-growing list of destinations, I tried paragliding for the first time. That was in October of 2019. I was somewhere between fear, excitement, and denial. I have this little fear of falling from high places. Not a general fear of heights, but a phobia caused by the vulnerability of looking down and feeling you could die. That’s vertigo, right? It was a thrill. I’m not planning on doing it again though, and definitely not while solo traveling.

This semana Santa, I’m focusing on places I’ve heard about often but still haven’t seen. Tonight I’m heading to Bucaramanga. My bus leaves at 9 and will get there around…6? 5? Something like that. Depends on the number of stops. It goes fast at night.

I’ll be exploring some places that I’ve already been to, like San Gil, with many I new towns like Páramo and Villa de Leyva.

I have all of my destinations mapped out pretty much, but with my personal brand of ADHD, trying to plan each day’s activities is beyond me. It’s so overwhelming my jaw clenched just thinking about it. I have an idea of what each spot has to offer, but I’ve decided to take things slow and not stress over doing every single activity. I just want to soak each place in, come away with a feel of what I liked and what I found jarring or strange. That’s part of the fun of immersive travel.

And I have not 1 but 2 weeks to do this thanks to Covid. We’ll be virtual for 2 whole extra weeks. So I’ll be working while traveling, a foreign concept but a welcomed challenge. That means for next week, I’m looking for private rooms at the best price I can find.

I spent the day sussing through different locations and properties on booking, deciding which would give me the most bang for my buck. I almost wanted to say “f it” and go extravagant and expensive, but then I remembered that 2 weeks of travel require a bargain hunting mentality to avoid financial stress later. So I used what I could find about different destinations and the best deals in the nicest hostels and hotels I could find to guide me on this journey. I’m going to start cheap and slowly work my way up, as will be required while I’m teaching virtually.

I’m also going to look like the biggest tourist ever as I’m going to be carrying not one but TWO backpacks — my big mochilero bag and my laptop backpack. I think it’ll be more comfortable than having a purse or shoulder bag in the long run. Plus I want to keep my laptop on me at all times when I’m not checked in somewhere.

So that’s the plan. In an hour and a half I’ll be at the terminal. I cleaned my apartment (3 loads of laundry — and I still have dirty clothes — dishes washed, trash taken out, floors swept), I’ve rested and showered to mentally and physically prepare for the bus ride. Now I’m contemplating popping an Antianxiety pill or two and meditating.

I always anticipate the adventure. But that doesn’t mean I stop grappling with the negative and positive sides of anxiety. And that’s okay. Confronting the things that give us anxiety and finding the good in them is how we grow.