the islands

There is only one other couple here on the island with us, other than the staff, Mathew , a young French man and his Colombian wife Diana. They are both journalists. Mathew makes documentaries for French television. He tells us of his exploits in Afghanistan and his meetings with the FARC and the coca growers in the jungles. Exciting stuff and quite scary. One of the locals, Jose Maria, offers to take us touring around in his small boat. We putter from island to island. The islands vary in size from tiny specks housing a small shack to the quite expansive atolls with resort hotels and private homes looking quite smart. We drift through mangrove swamps which offer a welcome relief from the tropical sun. There is only one town on the islands so we decide to take a look. We trek through the jungle like terrain for ten minutes or so. The place is strewn with old plastic bags, empty soft drink bottles and all the detris of modern life. The town it self consists of a few wooden shacks astride a wide dirt path. People languish about in the heat. The most impressive structure here is a large caged in metal arena. This is ringed with benches. We have discovered the cock fighting arena, hub of Sunday night activity. People come from the islands around to bet on the birds. Good thing its not Sunday night I think.

Today after a fifty minute boat ride we find ourselves on a tiny speck of an island in the Caribbean. We arrived with a boat load of day trippers here to snorkel and enjoy the beauty of this coral island paradise. We plan to spend the next three days here. What was advertised as an exclusive retreat is not exactly as we had imagined. At a leisurely pace we can circumnavigate the place in say 4 minutes. Our room is a tiny dark 'rustic' hut. What passes for a shower puts out a trickle of tepid water. With a bit of gymnastics I'm able to gyrate around enough to get my whole head wet eventually. The water is only on between the hours of 10 am to 3 pm. Having bitched enough here let me add that the scenery is truly spectacular. There are a total of 27 islands in this chain known as Islas del Rosario. From our tiny perch we can see three or four other small coral masses each with a residence, some spectacular, others quite humble. There are a number of resorts on some of the bigger islands. This is a state park but that hasn't stopped the sale of islands to people with enough cash. Until recently that has meant the drug traffickers. There are now quite a few abandoned homes falling into disrepair. Apparently the police cracked down sending the drug lords to prison or fleeing to the U. S. Great, our new neighbors. The staff here told us that when Pablo Escobar, drug lord supreme was arrested a couple of years ago it just complicated matters. With Pablo there was an identifiable enemy, now there are many splintered groups of young hopefuls to take his place. It's a difficult problem.

the city of Cartagena is on the northwest coast of the Caribbean, unnervingly close to Haiti. What a great sadness that is. Now this is another face of Colombia altogether. The city is alive with a riot of sights and sounds. Between narrow weaving streets cars and bikes share the road with horse drawn carriages. The building are pastels or florid Caribbean colors all dressed up to party. Balconies pitch forward over the streets precariously offering a gay overview. Here is where the Latin culture meets the black world of the islands. Wandering in and out of the alley ways , take a turn and suddenly a town square , and then inevitably a band playing. It might be salsa or there may be an African dance troupe or clowns with horns blaring or even the dreaded world beat rock blasting from a radio. There's quite a competition for airspace but no one seems to be objecting. At night is when things really come to life. People stream down the streets seemingly emerging from every nook and cranny. Everywhere the sidewalks are covered with the wares of vendors. Bracelets, necklaces, and straw hats compete for our pesos with homemade coconut candies and vast arrays of fruit and fried banana cakes. It is hot and sticky and no matter how amusing , we can't take too much of this input. We decide to venture forward. We see an add for a trip to a volcano where there are mud baths. What the heck,I could use a bath. We pile into a van with a collection of other novelty seekers. As in everywhere we have traveled in this country, we are the only Americans. English speakers are thin upon the ground around here. Our companions for the day are vacationing Colombians and Argentineans. What a gay and cheery bunch they are. With in minutes we are all the best of companions and jokes are flying. Of course we don't understand the jokes. Perhaps they are at our expense. But I flatter myself. I think they have much more amusing things on their minds. After an hour's drive through tropical but dry scenery we arrive at our destination. Our volcano resembles more a termite mound than the mountain we had envisioned. It is a curious formation thrusting straight up for about sixty feet. We scale the pathway to the top . There is a wooden ladder leading down into the pit of glistening gray mud. Well, here goes. We slither in. The mud won't let us sink so we bob about ooze encompassing us. Lithe young fellows proceed to massage our legs and arms. We flail about. Suddenly everyone erupts into giggles and guffaws. It is impossible to contain our mirth. After 20 minutes or so of this we climb out looking like aboriginal mud men. An ancient wizened black woman takes my hand and leads me down to the nearby lake. She proceeds to pour buckets of lake water over my head. She's cleaning my ears. Then she pulls off my bathing suit. Whoa. Is this part of the program? After departing the volcano we are driven to a beach where a black woman with rag headwear cooks over a wood fire . Vast vats of oil are bubbling away in her thatched hut. In the vats she has cooking whole fish, bananas, and rice. Is this safe the tourist wonders. But I'm hungry so we fill up.

spiritual seekers and ant eaters

On day two here we take on the challenge of hiking to the town of Guane, a 9 kilometer hike down a very steep stone path. We pass no one but cows and goats and an occasional adobe hut. The town consists of the town square and a spoke of four or five short cobbled streets. The Guane folks are an indigenous tribe that has been here since time immemorial it seems. Although we are high in the mountains the landscape is strewn with prehistoric fossils from an ancient sea bed. People use the petrified Nautilus shells for door stops. The next day I am seen mincing about like a Japanese geisha, my calves seized up in a torturous knot. Now that we've become old regulars in this town we discover the guarded secret to the place revealed only to the chosen few. This place is a hot bed of spiritual seekers. Our hosts explain that they lead vision quests and sweat lodges and medicinal healing sessions. Despite this I am won over by their charm and their earnest desire to better the planet. We met an interesting fellow at their house, Gilbert. It seems that he is the son of some high ranking diplomat . He is searching the world for the perfect place to settle in advance of the coming tipping point in the great planet heat up. He seems to have it on good authority that this will start happening in the next couple of years. Ok, fine. Meanwhile he has bought himself an island in El Salvador a a few other homes sprinkled about the globe just in case. On the day of our departure we wave goodbye to our hosts as if to life long friends and promise to stay in touch. Oh, the culinary specialty in Barichara is Hormigas , also known as big bottomed ants. It's told that people eat them by the pound. They are large winged creatures. But not to worry, they remove the wings and legs when they are cooked. Ok so I caved in and ate one. Oh man. It was crunchy and tasted like dirt and coffee grounds (as was advertised in the Lonely Planet book.) So see that Jessica, your mom is at long last cultivating her palate.

Barrichara

Yesterday was a travel day. We flew the 2 hours to Bogotá then changed planes for Bucaramanga. We are met by a driver Guillermo. By now it is 7 30 and pitch black out. We still have a three hour drive ahead of us. We're off to explore a colonial heritage site , the small town of Barichara. We are in the north central part of Colombia. No one told me it was going to be so mountainous. The drive up here consisted of careening along narrow snaking roads. It twisted and turned like a snake with hives. The thing is there was quite a lot of traffic and the impatient drivers took every opportunity to overtake each other around precipitous blind turns. I guess prayer plays a large part in the driving experience. Three hours of this, ouch.
Our accommodations are a welcome surprise. We are staying in a newly opened B and B. The young couple, Jorge and Maria who's home it is are charming and sophisticated. Their home is very attractive. The good news is they have just recently opened the place so are not yet burned out on hosting but rather are extremely welcoming and helpful. Their 3 year old won me over immediately. After all this travel to get here we discover that the town consists of ten square blocks of beautifully maintained and or restored adobe houses whitewashed and then pointed in lovely sea greens and sky blues. One can explore 10 blocks pretty quickly.. The town is very charming what there is of it. The raison d'etre of the place is the production and weaving of sisal. They also grow tobacco. We saved the trip to the cigar shop for tomorrow.

monkey island

We decide to take one more tour to go check out the Isla des los Micos, or Micos monkey island. In hopes of being more intrepid than the average folk we opt to find our own method of transport. We manage to find a public transport boat to take us the 40 minute ride up river. A little girl climbs on my lap and falls asleep. The country is teeming with children. They seem to be a most easy going and even tempered lot. Even the teens appear relaxed and even affectionate towards their parents and siblings. How do they do that? Anyway, back to monkey island. We are guided on a lengthy jungle hike where we are met by hundreds of monkeys eager to grab bananas from our hands. It was a bit unnerving really. After monkey snacking we marched on till we reached a small lake. We climbed on board a dug out and were ferried across passing through thick reeds and then into open water decorated with huge lily pads. Some were in bloom with bulging white lotus flowers. Another much larger lake awaited us and by the time we had traversed it I thought I might expire do to sun stroke. Forget about the romantic notion of Indians serenely paddling their way through the wilderness. It is bloody hot work. Apparently the lakes are full of piranha and anacondas and caimans. Darn, we didn't see a one. The canoes took us through the densely treed jungle inlets. It was quite spooky and magical. After trudging back to the base camp we are entertained by more local Indian dancing. The Ticuna de jaguar Indians are just one of many indigenous tribes here. They are quite small, all easily under 5 feet tall. The men and women wear rush skirts and not much else. They look ancient but are probably our age. Ouch. I can't decide if this is a good or a bad thing for them to be paraded out as a side show. It provides them a source of revenue sure . What are they thinking about?

We are already becoming dissatisfied with the tameness of our jungle experience. Next time it's off solo for a few weeks, that would be the way to go.

into Brazil

Next day: Not to destroy any allusions you might have about our primitive living conditions, we are staying in quite a swank lodge. We have air conditioning and a swimming pool. So much for jungle drama. We are however surrounded by armed personnel. The town is full of military police, private police, and police police. Hidden away in the jungle are the coca plantations.
Today we decided to stick around town and give it a going over. For a small burg it is alive with activity. A frenetic stream of motor scooters dart up and down the avenues playing dodge ball with the pedestrians. As this is the only town of any size, electricity, and roads etc within thousands of kilometers, it is definitely the down town of the Columbian Amazon. We walked to Brazil today. It took all of 20 minutes. Once you cross over the border though the vibe definitely changes. To my eye the streets looked barren and unfriendly. We turned down a side alley and walked down to the river front. Curious faces peer at us with little expression. I'm feeling a bit paranoid and am happy to retreat back to our now familiar little town. We catch a river taxi and are back in a jiffy. At sun down parrots descend in wave upon wave into a set group of trees in town. We stand mesmerized as they keep coming and coming. There were literally thousands upon thousands of the little fellows. After a point it seemed that the trees were more bird than tree. A cheerful cacophony of bird sounds drowned out even my thoughts. I'm always on the lookout for souvenir trinkets to bestow upon friends. There's little of interest in this department, mostly just shell or stone necklaces and woven wrist bands. Oh well. I mean I could buy a full on Indian headdress replete with parrot feathers, but really what does one do with such an item? I settle on a couple of bone and pyorrhea themed necklaces for my nephews.