The Copa flight had a capacity of 114 people and I would guess that there were at least 100 people on the flight. As I scanned our fellow passengers' faces I was looking for signs of apprehension or stress. I saw none. What I saw was a group of people excited to be going to Cali. They were laughing, some were singing, others were flirting, they certainly didn't seem like people who were going to a country in the midst of a 40 year war. When we landed, the passengers responded like they do on all Latin American flights, they erupted into a rousing round of applause. We quickly shuffled our way towards customs and I was surprised to find that 90% of our fellow passengers were not Colombian. The line for non-nationals dwarfed the line for returning Colombians. If all these people were visiting Colombia for the holidays they must know something the rest of us don't. There was a huge crowd of people waiting outside of baggage claim. As we walked through the throng of people toting our backpacks, aside from curious stares, not a single person seemed to pay any attention to us. We asked the security guards if we could talk to the Copa officials about what we needed to do to pick up our motorcycles. They gladly obliged and let us pass through the security gates. They seemed almost too helpful. When we asked the Copa people what we needed to do to get our motorcycles they referred us to Avianca, the airline that handles cargo in Colombia. They seemed too excited and also too helpful. The Avianca personnel seemed genuinely interested in our problems and did all they could to help us. They said we should show up the next day at the cargo area just down the road. There was a hotel upstairs and in the morning we could walk to the cargo area. Suspiciously kind. The hotel was full but the patrons hanging around the desk filled our ears with what a taxi should charge, told us that there were plenty of hotels that were very cheap in both Cali and La Palmira. They thought that the Hotel that the travel agent recommended was a bit pricey and far away but I had my mind made up to go there. They told me where the ATM machines were and if they didn't work that they would change money for me at just a little under the bank rates but well above the money changer rates. They must be up to something because they seemed way too generous and sincere. Sure enough the ATM's didn't work so I went back to the hotel to change $50 at 1,750 pesos to the dollar. They said the bank rate was a little under 1,800 and the casa de cambios were around 1,700. They told me not to pay more than 15,000 for a taxi to La Palmira. It was by now close to 11 p.m. So we went outside to catch a cab. We found an elderly man in a beat up taxi who said he could take us to La Palmira for 15,000 pesos but he couldn't understand why we didn't want to go to Cali to get a hotel there instead. But, like I said, my mind was made up. It turns out that our driver couldn't see well at night so he putted along the nearly empty streets at a piddly 25 mph. The hotel was 25 kilometers away and it seemed to take us forever to get there. It was next to a University and they wanted 50,000 pesos a night. Our cab driver told us "no way" and that he would find us a place for under 15,000 pesos. We went back to the town center and after asking directions he found us a nice little place for 12,000 pesos. He said if we wanted he would show up tomorrow morning to take us to the cargo area. We said that would be nice and said goodbye and thanks for all the help. It was now close to midnight and the little old lady behind the desk seemed really excited to see us. She whisked us in and tried to make us as comfortable as possible. After bringing us two beers we finally felt like we could relax. We sat on the rock hard bed dumbfounded by the reception we had received. Why did everyone seem so happy to see us and ready to help out in any way they could? We generally received a lukewarm greeting in all the other countries. Why was Colombia so different? Was it because they don't receive many tourists and we're novelties to them? Or maybe we were so concerned for our general well being that even a rude Colombian seemed nice. Or maybe they are just all really nice people...nahhh there must be some ulterior motive. But I was too tired to stress out anymore. I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to do that in the days to come.
The next morning, our cab driver from the previous night picked us up at 7:30 so we could be at the airport at 8:00. Upon arrival, they informed us that we had to go to their office in Cali, near the town center. They explained to our driver all the things we needed to do. We also needed to change money. We stopped at a couple banks but none would change dollars. We tried an exchange house too but the rate was horrible, around 1,650, way below what the guys at the airport hotel said the rate would be. We decided to wait on changing money and we set off for the Avianca office and were informed that we had to pay 149,950 pesos for both motos. The charge was for warehouse and transportation costs incurred by Avianca to move the motorcycles from the cargo area of the airport to the immigration warehouse. They agreed to change enough dollars, at 1,700, so we could pay the charge. While they were preparing the paperwork we treated our driver to a very cheap breakfast. My first coffee in Colombia too. Delicioso! Back at the office, we received our papers and were told that we would have to go take care of paperwork in customs and eventually could reclaim the bikes from the warehouse. Since we knew there was a good chance we wouldn't get the bikes that day, we decided to get a hotel. Our driver stopped by some hotels and we chose one, right close to the center, with secure parking, cable and an overall nice, clean room for $10. It was a great deal. After dropping off the backpacks we set off again in search of the customs office. Waiting outside the customs office were some older gentleman who grabbed our paperwork and immediately started to tell us what we had to do. Jeff finally asked them, "Who are you guys?" They all laughed a little and said they were going to help us get our bikes through the immigration progress. These were the most professional looking tramitadores that we have seen. We parked the taxi and our driver accompanied us to the office to make sure that everything got worked out. For the next two hours we got copies made, documents prepared and did a lot of waiting too. We also, with the help of our tramitadors, had to type up a letter to the powers that be asking permission to bring our bikes into their Country. Around noon, they told us that the rest would have to wait for tomorrow as everything had to be run through the red tape. Time to part ways with our incredibly helpful driver. We had just spent six hours with him, running all over the place. I suppose we could have done it without him, but it would have been very hard and we would have been terribly frustrated. Not to mention that it probably would have taken us three days. We paid him 60,000 pesos - or roughly $33. He wanted to pick us up the next morning to take us to the warehouse but we knew that the papers probably wouldn't be ready so we declined and wished him a Merry Christmas. I'm sure it was a big payday for him and we were happy to have him take care of us as we were trying to figure out where all the Guerillas were. We were to return to the customs office at 9 a.m. For now, it was time for a much needed nap.
After our nap, we decided to go walking around the town. We were both immediately struck by the difference between Cali and the Central American big cities. Cali definitely had more of a European city feel to it. It seemed we had taken a step up in the average person's quality of life, even from Costa Rica. Cali is also much bigger than we had imagined and has numerous historical old Spanish colonial buildings and the typical Spanish style courtyard parks. Furthermore, Cali is known as being the "salsa" capital of the world. Anyway, we still needed to change money so we headed off in search of ATM's. We found bazillions of ATM's but none of them accepted our card. We hit the local bookstore too in search of travel books, stickers and maps. They did have maps but were more expensive than we wanted and seeing as we hadn't changed money, we didn't want to use up all of our cash. We were getting hungry so we set off in search of a restaurant that accepted Visa. We stumbled onto a very popular street, Avenida Sexta - no it's not what you think - it means sixth. This street is lined with Salsa discos and restaurants of every variety. We also spied a telephone office. I needed to call Betty, the family of the friend of my cousin's that we were supposed to be staying with. Betty was expecting us that day and I needed to tell her that we wouldn't be there. I made a quick call and then we started looking for a restaurant. We spied another ATM and decided to give it a whirl. Yippee, after 8 or so other ATM's, this one worked. Not much further down the road, we saw a rustic looking restaurant boasting typical food. We had a nice quiet dinner. This was our first real Colombian food experience. We allowed the waiter to make a suggestion for us and shared a meal. When our food came, the plate was covered with a piece of meat the size of a magazine cover. This was to be a foreshadowing of our experience with Colombian cuisine. There seems to be a very heavy emphasis on meat in the daily meals. I'm not a vegetarian but I might be for a little while after we leave Colombia. Just to cleanse the system. Anyway, the prices were right. It was very easy to eat well for $3 an entree. After dinner, we passed by the salsa bars again which had now started to pick up. We stopped into one for a beer but were too tired and decided that if we were able to get the bikes out tomorrow we'd come back and give this salsa thing a try.
The next morning we were supposed to be at the customs office at 9:00. Upon arrival, our tramitador/guide informed us that they weren't ready with the papers and that we could come back in half an hour. We set off for some breakfast and a short tour of the city center. We didn't get back for an hour. When the other guides saw us, they rushed us inside and said they were waiting for us. Cool, maybe we really would get the bikes today - even though it was December 23rd. Jeff signed some papers and I plunked down in the waiting room. Two hours later we were still waiting. Around 11:30 they told us we were going to go and see the bikes at the warehouse and that the inspector would be doing the physical inspection. All right, we were really getting somewhere. We hopped into a taxi with our guide and went to the immigration warehouse, which is closer to downtown than it is to the airport. There they were - our babies, in perfect form. Jeff started working on reconnecting the batteries, putting on windshields and mirrors and pumping up the tires. Before he got a chance to finish though, our guide said we still had more paperwork to do at the customs office. We climbed into another taxi and went back to customs in the city center. The guide turned in the inspection papers while Jeff and I plopped down in the waiting room. It was getting to be about 1:30 and I asked if we could be excused for a quick lunch. Our guide told us to eat across the street - so that he could find us in case they finished the papers. Yea right.
We ate a very quick lunch without interruption from our guide and returned to find him still waiting. We sat around and sat around and finally around 2:30 we were ready to go. But no, not to the warehouse. We had to go find our inspector again so that he could sign off on all of the documents. We located the inspector in another warehouse and finally got the final signature. He wished us well and gave us a little a little pop quiz, "And when will you ride your motorcycles at night?" He seemed pleased with my anwser of "Never!". We grabbed yet another cab and returned to the warehouse with the bikes. It was now 4:00 on December 23rd and we were sure that no-one would be there. They were though and Jeff set out to finish pumping up the tires while our guide wrapped up the paperwork and I supervised. As 4:30 rolled around, we were finally ready and said goodbye to the fellas at the warehouse. After filling up with gas we set off for our hotel, unsure of how we'd get there. No worries though. Jeff's got the nose of a blood hound and we were there in no time. Whew, what a relief. It was now time to hit the salsa joints.
After a short rest in the hotel we set off in search of Sexta, Avenida Sexta that is, the location of the well known salsa bars of Cali. We were off to celebrate getting our bikes out in a day and a half. We received a 60 day tourist visa for the bikes and if we wanted we could re-enter the country for up to 6 months. The total costs for both bikes were as follows: $286 to send the bikes to Cali from Panama City with Copa Airlines; $83 to Avianca (Copa Airline cargo affiliate in Colombia) for storage and moving costs; $43 to the Colombia Customs Office at the warehouse; $28 to the Colombian tramitador for 2 full days of work. It's possible to do it yourself but I'm a firm believer in spreading the wealth. Also if we did it ourselves we never would have gotten them out before Christmas; $33 to the cab driver who drove us around for 5 hours. This is a cost that, in the future, is definitely avoidable but we were so paranoid about arriving in Colombia we felt safer getting around with our own private chaffeur. And it was Christmas time and he was very likeable and he did have an extended family to buy gifts for.
Anyway we settled on a tiny little outdoor patio bar for some pasta and wine. Around 9 pm we hit the Millenium 2000 bar. We danced our North American style salsa, saved every now and then by "Mambo No. 5", until the songs started to repeat themselves. It seems as if everybody out that night was an expert salsa dancer. But it is quite obvious that dancing and music is a big part of Latin American life. We made a pact that if we ever decide to have children they are going to know how to dance to all the different styles of music. Watching the locals interact on the dance floor and all the derivations of the salsa step was intoxicating...or maybe it was the 'wine before beer'. Then it was onto a sizeable club where we were immediately invited to sit with two Colombian Caballeros named Henry and Oscar. While they took turns asking Linda to dance I discussed music styles with Oscar, who was a guitar player in a Rock-n-Roll band here in Cali. He was a big fan of the Eagles, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young amongst others. But he still thought that Latin music was the best music to dance to. They were a lot of fun and before we realized it was 3 a.m. and we were about 15 blocks from our hotel. I never felt as threatened in Cali as any of the big US cities so we decided to hoof it home. The streets still had people walking about and all seemed friendly enough. It was about this time that I started to realize that their are places in the U.S. that are much more dangerous than Cali will ever be. To me it seems ridiculous that the US Embassy writes such intense warnings about Colombia. I would love to have the US Embassy take a crack at writing travel warnings about the major US cities. We arrived at our hotel much relieved by the reception we've received thus far. Maybe coming here wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Once again morning came way too early and my usual mantra of "I'm getting too old for these late nights" was not making any headway with Linda. As we started to pack our gear for the ride to Tulua, Henry from the night before stopped by to give us a Christmas gift of the local elixer, Aguardiente, which is the drink of choice made from sugar cane. After wishing us luck on our travels we sped off down the wonderfully paved roads towards the mid-sized town of Tulua. Prior to leaving we decided to go over a couple of hand signals and formulate a plan in case we should run into a guerilla road block. I know it sounds silly but I still wasn't convinced that the roadways were the safest place. We could have saved our breath. There are numerous cars, motorcycles and people on the roadways just like every other place we've been. There were actually fewer police stops than there were in Mexico. But like Mexico we found out quickly why the roads were so nice, they were toll roads. But unlike Mexico the tolls were reasonably priced and even better for us - free for motorcycles. Right as I approached the toll booth I noticed a sign that said "motorcycles to the right". Along the right side of the toll booth was a tiny lane just wide enough for a motorcycle. So we just zipped right on by the toll booths leaving the unpleasantries of paying the $3 toll to those 4 wheeled behemoths that we have to share the roadway with.
Scribe: Linda
I called Betty again to let her know that we were running late but would be leaving Cali around 12:30 for the hour or so ride to Tulua. We got off close to on time and headed down the road through the gently winding valley roads. We were both feeling a bit "under the weather" from last night's festivities and I was definitely concentrationally challenged. But, we only had about sixty miles and the weather was warm and sunny. As we approached our last toll booth, about ten kilometers from Tulua, Jeff was in the lead. He motored on through while I followed behind. Upon entry, I noted that instead of being bordered by six inch curbs, this moto lane was bordered on the right by two foot poles that were linked by heavy chain. I recall the fleeting thought that I felt I was too close to the poles. The next thing I knew my box hit a pole and I felt the bike jerk sharply. As I lost conrol, my hands went out in front of me to the left of the bike and my face landed just in front of the wheels of the car that was paying its toll. Fearing they would roll over me, I jumped to my feet and tried to right Suzi - all the while aware of a heavy pain in my left knee. The toll attendant ran over to help me right the bike and wheel it out of the way. He also grabbed my right box which had popped off. I looked ahead to see if Jeff had noticed my fall. He was already on the way back. I began checking out the bike to make sure I hadn't ruined it. Everything seemed to have sustained remarkably little damage, although the boxes were smashed in a bit. Then it was time to attend to myself. I began shaking, not so much from the pain but more from the realization that if the car next to me had been rolling, they would have rolled over my head. My left knee had slammed into the ground and was quite bothersome. Jeff returned and after a few minutes to breathe, we had to continue on. My knee was horribly uncomfortable in the bent position but I could tell that it was only bruised. Let's just hope that's the worst wreck I have on this trip. Anyway, just minutes down the road we pulled into La 14 - a supersize grocery store where we were to meet Betty, or at least call her from there. A man walked up to us and introduced himself as Betty's brother and we were then greeted by Betty's sister, Libia. We stood there chatting and up walked Betty and a bunch of others. After the whirlwind of greetings, we followed Libia back to Betty's house (on her moped).
We arrived at Betty's house and were greeted by Claudia, her younger sister. We three unpacked the bikes and Claudia got me some ice for my quickly swelling knee. Soon after, the gang from the store arrived. We were more formally introduced to the rest of the family members. As it turns out, Betty is the aunt of my cousin Carole's friend, Martha. Betty has 12 siblings. Now, I'm not sure why Martha gave me Betty's name to ring up instead of the others but it probably had something to do with space. Anyhow, Betty lives with her 16 year old daughter, Melissa, Dalmation Jaunita and her sister, whom was out of town - in a three bedroom house. Built on top of their house is another 4-bedroom house where her sister Claudia, husband Alvarro and kids Daniella and Santiago live with another sister Nelly and 18 year old son Luis-Miguel. Now, around the block lives sister Libia, husband Oscar and kids Martin and Ismael in a three bedroom two story with another brother, whom I have forgotten his name. So, you got that? Well, it all seems very complicated and it was at first. We arrived on Christmas Eve not feeling particularly Christmas-y since we were so far from home. That feeling was to end quickly! We spent the afternoon chatting with everyone and trying to remember everyone's names and the family relationships. Jeff and I were feeling really guilty for a number of reasons: 1) Betty gave up her bedroom for us 2) it was the holidays and we felt like we were imposing and 3) we didn't have any Christmas gifts. However, Betty and Claudia proceeded to tell us how excited everyone was to have us come and that the kids were so anxious for visitors that it was hard to feel badly. It wasn't long before we were caught up in the kids' excitement for the Christmas celebration. Traditionally, Colombians celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve by opening gifts at midnight and having a midnight dinner. In the late afternoon, Jeff and I decided to walk up to La 14 again so that we could get a few gifts to give also. Everyone was scared we'd get lost in the 1/2 mile to the store (despite our protests about having travelled for three months to get there) so Daniella and Martin (both 10) came with us. They helped us pick out sweets for the children and wine for the adults. When we returned we were introduced to our favorite Tulua tradition - hauling out a bunch of seats on to the front porch for long nights of talking and visiting with neighbors. We whiled away the evening by telling stories about our trip and learning about our new Colombian family. In no time it was midnight and time to watch the kids eagerly ripping the wrapping from their gifts. Then it was time for some delicious holiday foods. Meanwhile, a band had gotten cranked up down the street. Apparantly, there is also a big tradition for each neighborhood to host a band and dance until the wee hours of the morning each Christmas Eve. Seeing as we'd had a pretty late night the previous evening, we were worn out after midnight and bid everyone good night. I could still hear the band in the street at 4:30 a.m. when I woke up.
Christmas day we all slept in. Of course, Jeff and I had no idea of what any of the holiday traditions were here so we just did whatever everyone else did. We had a nice big lunch at Betty's house with the whole family but basically just relaxed and hung out getting to know everyone a bit better. Jeff was still having problems with his ears. Ever since he had that cold in Costa Rica water would get stuck in his ears and he couldn't hear very well. Since Nelly was a nurse at the local hospital she offered to take Jeff in to see a doctor. The doctor didn't see much wrong but assumed he still had a slight infection and prescribed him some antibiotics. The cost of the doctor's visit, on Christmas day, was $9. What a deal. Unfortunately for Jeff he wasn't allowed to drink for the next 7 days while he was on the medication. He needed to dry out anyway. We were already beginning to feel like one of the family. We felt so welcome that it was hard to feel guilty about being there. In fact, on the contrary. It seemed that they were going to be disappointed if we did leave. We hadn't yet chosen an exact departure date but were considering the 27th. We'd worry about that a little later though.
During our previous two days, we told the family of our life at home of swimming, running and cycling. So, the next day (the 26th) Melissa had planned to take us to the private club that her dad belonged to - about a mile down the road. We set off in the morning with Daniella, Santiago and Melissa and walked over to the club. We found a nice 25 yard pool with just a few kids in it. We took turns swimming laps and playing with the Daniella and Santiago. It was our first time in the water in ages and it felt great to get in. The kids were having a great time too. After about four hours of playing we headed back for some lunch and a little nappy-poo. We were having a great time being one of the kids. Once again we spent the day relaxing, tasting Colombian cuisine and getting to know these special people a little more.
The next couple of days were filled with sleeping in, eating great Colombian food, swimming, playing with kids, hanging out on the porch talking, watching movies and practicing Spanish. More specifically, the following day we took a tour with another brother to the sugar cane factory (San Carlos) where he works. Sugar cane is one of the Cauca Valley's biggest products and this factory is one of the largest. Along with Melissa, we had a very interesting tour of the facilities and then of the living grounds. The company maintains numerous houses, a beautiful old church, on site restaurant and school for their employees. After our tour, we went to visit two more brothers both of which dabble in fixing up antique motorcycles, which Jeff had a good time looking at. We then got dropped off downtown to try to locate some stickers for our boxes. Jeff, Melissa and I walked around to at least 10 stores without luck but it was a good way to see the town. We then walked home along the Rio Tulua in the lovely afternoon breeze.
The next day we planned another swimming adventure, this time in the local Olympic sized pool. Alvarro agreed to drive us over. Unfortunately we found the pool to be closed for cleaning during the holidays. Alvarro said he knew of another pool so we went there. He dropped us off and we paid our $2 fee - expensive by public pool standards in Colombia (equal to American prices). This day we didn't bring the kids as we thought we were going to a regular lap swimming pool. But we found ourselves at a fantastic place for children. There was a regular swimming pool for adults and a large shallow pool for kids with slides, tunnels and all kinds of fun stuff. In addition, there was a soccer field, volleyball court, swingsets and just about everything else that a child could want in one place. We didn't have the phone number for the house so we couldn't call to have Alvarro drop the kids off. We made a plan to bring them back in the next few days. So, into the big pool we went, dodging all the kids jumping off the sides (no lane lines). We were trying to get some kind of official workout in but it was hard as we were attracting quite a bit of attention to ourselves. Partly because of the type of swimming we were doing but more so because we were obviously foreigners. Every time we'd stop at a pool end, a swarm of children would be waiting for us so that they could ask us questions. They wanted to know where we were from, where we were staying, whether we liked Colombia and innumerable other questions. They said that we were the first Americans that they've ever seen. I can only imagine what they must think of Americans now because Jeff is not exactly a representative sample of America, what with his goatee and dreadlocks. In hopes of finishing our mini-workout, we agreed to meet up with them later to play on the soccer field and playgrounds. After swimming we got some cokes and headed out to the fields where we were joined by all of our age challenged friends. Jeff and the boys headed off for some soccer and me and the girls headed off for the swingsets and teeter-totters. It was good fun and before we knew it, it was time to go meet Alvarro out front. Time for lunch, a nap and later - another evening of storytelling on the porch.
Now is probably a good time to mention some of the things that we found so compelling about the Colombian people... most of which related to the interaction between friends, family and neighbors. In our first couple of days there we were struck by the "rawness" of the nicknames that they use for one another. If one of the family members is carrying a few extra pounds they are nicknamed "gorda(o)/gordita(o)" or fat one/little fat one. If they smile a lot they are nicknamed the one that smiles a lot. If they have dark skin they are called "morena(o)" or dark skinned or vice versa blanca/blancita - whitey or little white one. If they are negro they are called negrita(o) - little black one. We were not sure what to make of it. We didn't detect an ounce of discomfort on the part of the one with the nickname, nor did we detect any sort of racism or oppression. As the days passed, we found these people to be wonderfully good natured with a great sense of humor about themselves. Essentially, it really doesn't matter what you are - fat, skinny, black, white, brown, hypochondriac, athlete or whatever you may be. You just are what you are and that's what people observe about you and therefore, call you that. It was so refreshing to just feel that everyone was accepted regardless of their individual attributes. They all poked fun at one another and had the enviable quality of being able to laugh at themselves.
Another thing we found very interesting was the sheer magnitude of motorcycle riders. Well, they are in large part what we call mopeds, the rest are smaller (under 200 cc) enduros. But there are tons of them. I don't even think I can express just how many there are. Our friends estimated one to two per home. And it's a real kick. First of all there is a helmet law in Colombia. Apparantly though, it doesn't specify that the helmet needs to be on your head because most people just dangle them from the handlebars or carry them in a basket. In addition, there does not seem to be any limit to the number of passengers that can be carried on these things. It was not uncommon to see mom, dad and two kids on a moped. Many women ride side saddle too as passengers. Of course, then there's the younger women that wear their mini-skirts (women in Latin America are not afraid to show their skin!) and high heels and sit primly aboard their scooters with knees firmly pushed together with frequent yanks on the skirt to cover up a bit. This was ceaselessly humerous to us and we are sure to remember Colombia as the motorcycle capital of the world.
There is one more striking thing that we noted about the people we met in Colombia and that is their propensity to give gifts. It seemed that someone gave us a gift nearly every day - sometimes it was slices of fruit, some times it was a bottle of the local liquor, or maybe a shirt, a CD, a phone card, a bottle of water on a hot day - but always something. It was inexplicable to us. Just a short conversation with someone seemed to lead to some sort of gift giving. Of course, we had nothing to give in return except for kindness and gratitude. We truly found the Colombian people to be nothing short of fantastic.
The next day (the 29th) the family had planned to take us a popular lake called Lago Calima. The problem was that they wanted to go in Alvarro's car which limited us to four adults and only two kids. We wanted everyone to go so we offered to pay for the bus ride. They said it would be too expensive and hard to come by. So, Jeff offered to take the motorcycle with another adult and then we could fit the rest of the kids in with us. It was settled, we planned to leave about 9 a.m. So, obviously we had bypassed our planned departure date of the 27th. When we had mentioned our plans everyone wanted to know why we wanted to leave so soon, were we bored? Furthermore, they were of the opinion that we had to have a family on New Year's. Who could spend New Year's without family? Especially for a new millenium! So we stayed. In the morning, Jeff and Melissa hopped on the KLR and me, Claudia, Alvarro and the four little kids got in the taxi. We were all anxious to see if Jeff was going to scare the daylights out of Melissa as she had never been on such a big bike that could go so fast. As we headed out of the valley, we encountered severe flooding of some nearby pueblos. This was part of the same weather system that has devastated Venezuela. We headed up some curvy mountain roads and eventually made the turn to the road that rings the lake. Not far down we were stopped by a military checkpoint. We all got out to talk with the guys and show them the papers for the vehicles. They inquired of Jeff where his Colombian motorcycle insurance was. What Colombian insurance? This was the first time anyone had asked us about motorcycle insurance. Of course we didn't have any so we were forced into telling a little mistruth as we assured him that of course we had international insurance. Uh oh. Hopefully this wasn't going to be a recurring question. We headed on down to the lakefront and the three boys went swimming while we all lounged on the shore soaking up the sun and the beautiful view. After a short time, we packed it up and headed down to the only real town on the lake for some sodas and cookies. It was about this time that I was beginning to realize that I was car sick. A frequent problem for me, unfortunately. We piled back in to the car and headed back down the curvy roads. By now I was feeling pretty lousy, despite sitting in the front passenger seat. Finally we got back home for lunch and I was able to lie down and get rid of the nausea. It was a nice trip anyway and I think Melissa had a pretty good time on the back of the bike.
Later that afternoon, Jeff and I decided that we would go over to the gym we had spied earlier to pump some iron. On the way, Libia and Melissa were going to accompany us to some motorcycle shops to check out the sticker selection and inquire about buying some kind of rain booties, which we figured we would probably be needing soon. We were in luck on both accounts. We bought our stickers and arranged to come by in the morning with our boots to be fitted for boot covers. We followed Libia and Melissa over to the gym and Melissa asked the owner to give us a tour. We headed upstairs and found a good gym with plenty of equipment and an owner that was incredibly helpful and obviously very proud of the place. Being in the fine physical condition that we're in, we were exhausted and sore in fairly short order and promised to come back in two days to punish ourselves again.
It was also the day to make the traditional New Year's sweets so Claudia lit a fire in the back yard onto which whe placed a huge metal bowl. In the bowl was a mixture of straight from the cow - milk, sugar and maybe one or two other things. We all took turns stirring this mixture for the next 4 hours to make what tasted like condensed milk. Delicious. After all the hard work it was time to watch some sappy American movies with Spanish subtitles.
The next morning we planned to take all the kids swimming at the swim park we'd been to a few days before. But first we had to go get fitted for our rain booties and drop by the ATM, seeing as it was the day before New Year's Eve and just in case there was a run on the banks (still thinking with our American paranoia that there might be a big Y2K problem). When we returned home, we collected up Daniella, Martin, Santiago and Ismael and walked over to the pool in the baking sun. The kids staked out a good table for the stuff and we shuttled them over to the showers before entering the pool. Now it was time for the assault on the kids' swimming park. We crawled through tunnels, played chase and basically pooped our adult bodies out as the kids squeeled with delight. The bigger kids wanted to go in the big pool so Jeff headed over with them. I stayed with the little ones in the swim park. Eventually, we joined them in the big pool for swimming lessons but who likes lessons, so it was back to the park. Melissa appeared soon on her moped with a volleyball so Jeff and crew headed off to play volleyball and soccer. It was now nearing lunchtime so we had to head home. It was no easy task tearing away the gang from all the fun. They mopily dressed themselves and we headed out of the exit to flag down a taxi. We could tell that naps for all were not far around the corner. After some afternoon rest, there was to be a horse parade. Just as it was getting dark, we headed down to the corner to watch all the local people parading their horses through the town. Horses still are a big part of the culture down here and hundreds of people dress up their horses to show them off. My sister also normally does this parade in Costa Rica, although their's is in the day time and on New Year's day. Watching this parade was making me feel pretty lonely for my family again.
The next day was New Year's Eve and we were planning to pick up our rain booties and then head over to the gym before their 1:00 closure. We arrived at the shop to find them awash in customers and people excited for the New Year's celebrations. We hung out talking with the various people about our motorcycles and the Guerilla problems in Colombia and just as we were about to go, one of the customers asked Jeff if he had tried the local sugar cane drink, Aguardiente. He responded that he had. The guy then asked about another local rum which Jeff had not tried. The guy brings out a brand new bottle, peels off the wrapping and cracks it open so that we can taste it. Mind you, it's ten o'clock in the morning. Not wanting to be rude, Jeff tries a shot. I gracefully declined. We thanked him and started to get on the bike. Oh no, he wanted us to take this bottle as a gift. Knowing that there was no way to gracefully decline, we thanked him profusely and with a hearty "Viva Colombia!" we took the bottle and headed back to the house. Our boots weren't ready so we had to come back later. On the way back we decided to stop by good old La 14 again. The family had not let us pay for a thing and we really wanted to get them some kind of gift to show our appreciation for all they had done for us. We couldn't really decide on anything so we thought we'd see if we could buy a gift certificate at La 14. After some surprise and confusion, we were able to buy some. It was now nearing 11:30 and we had to return for the boots which meant we wouldn't make it in time for the gym. Oh well, so much for our new workout schedule. Back for the rain boots (a bargain at $6 each) we went and then back again in time for lunch. In the afternoon, we planned to head down the street to watch the Ano Viejo (old year) parade. Tulua has an annual tradition whereby most blocks in a neighborhood make a lifesize doll that they place in the street between Christmas and New Year's. The doll is manned continuously by the kids on the block, whom ask for donations. The money collected is used to buy firecrackers (to be explained later). During the ano viejo parade, the dolls are hoisted onto the roofs of cars, trucks, bicycles, motorcycles or just carried. Some people just ride along in the parade without the dolls. Everyone carries flour and hurls it at one another. Some throw oranges or eggs or shoot water guns. Everyone is completely white with flour. We really didn't understand what was going on but it was quite funny. We spent the evening in the usual fashion of chatting on the porch.
Later that evening, we all showered and everyone started appearing out on the porch all dressed up. We thought we were going somewhere but had no idea what the plans were. We sat around the porch drinking beer and cuba libres and talking away as usual. As it neared midnight, the dummies that were involved in the Ano Viejo parade were laid down in the middle of the streets and were ceremoniously lit on fire. Since they were stuffed full of fireworks the resulting explosions echoed throughout the neighborhood. Apparantly the dummies represented something bad from the previous year, like corrupt politicions or the Guerillas. By blowing them up it would assure that they wouldn't be repeat offenders in the coming new year. After we went through the countdown, ATM's started spitting out cash, planes fell from the sky, the electricity shut off...just kidding, we exchanged thousands of hugs and kisses with family, neighbors and friends. ( Sidebar on Y2K... seeing as I spent the last year working on a Y2K project, I suppose I should make a few comments. Truly since leaving the states, I have thought very little of the potential problems except when talking with other gringos. The fact is, people in this neck of the woods just weren't worried about it. In contrast to many North Americans and Europeans that I have met on this trip, the Latin Americans were convinced nothing would happen. Part of me says that the reason is ignorant bliss, the other part of me says that it's an example of the positive mind set of the culture. Anyhow, I was very happy that it was uneneventful, especially for my buddies back at Portland General Electric with whom I worked the last year. Hopefully we were part of the reason that it was such a tranquil passing. Back to the story...) The streets were swarming with friends and neighbors. After the commotion died down, the music got cranked up and the dancing began. Meanwhile, everyone asked us what we normally do on New Year's. We explained that we don't usually do too much as the cops are everywhere and the restaurants and bars are very expensive on that night. We told them how we sometimes do a midnight run. They couldn't believe that people don't have big family celebrations like they do in Colombia. As the night turned into morning, we tried our hands (and legs) at salsa, merengue and some of the traditional dances. Around 4:00 a.m., someone got the bright idea that we needed to watch the sun come up - ya know, for the new millenium and all. I was more than ready to go to sleep but I couldn't be outdone by two ten yearolds. Somehow I made it to 5:45 when the sun was peaking through and then I called it quits. I think the others stayed on another half hour or so.
New Years Day we slept 'til about noon, got up for something to eat and went back to bed until about 3. Jeff, Nelly and Claudia were feeling the effects of the Colombian Libres (Colombian rum and Coke), wine, beer and Agua Caliente needless to say we had a pretty quiet day. As the sun began to set, we informed everyone that we planned to leave early the next morning. What? No, no, surely "you need to stay another day for one of the brother's birthday parties" - and so we did. In reality there was no way we were in any shape to drive, we were still in a coma from the New Year's celebrations. The second, we prepared e-mails and packed and then sat down for a nice birthday lunch of lasagna. Afterwards, we headed over to Melissa's dad's house to copy all the photos we'd taken to his computer so the family could print them or send them off to other family members. While we were working on the computer, the skies darkened and it started raining. Great, it had been sunny and clear every day we had been in Tulua but now that we were leaving, it was pouring. The family said the skies were crying because we were leaving. But rain or no rain, we had to get moving. I felt the depression setting in and decided to go to bed early.
Betty woke us around 6 the next morning. We ate breakfast and showered and headed over to Libia's house to collect the bikes and say goodbye. Back at Betty's we began packing the bikes with everyone standing around. Fortunately, the sun was beginning to peak through the clouds. I was feeling excited to get on the road again. We had had a phenomenal experience with our Colombian family but it was nice to be going somewhere new. As we finished packing, we went for a round of hugs and promised to call from Popayan as today we would start through guerilla territory. I knew we needed to get going as I was getting choked up again. We headed back down the road to where I had had my accident not too many days before and I approached with caution this time. Jeff wanted to take a photo of me but after a tongue lashing by the police, he was forced to move on out of the way. On down the road we went and after 50 miles, we were in new territory. The roads had a comfortable level of traffic and we didn't think much about the guerillas. We knew we only had about the last 40 miles through the mountains so we figured tomorrow's ride from Popayan to the border was where we needed to be careful. After a nice ride through the valley, we headed up towards Popayan and were in town by 12:00. Popayan is known for its Spanish colonial charm - all white with red roofs. We looked for a downtown hotel where we could park the bikes. We spied a hotel but it was looking pretty spendy. Jeff decided to inquire anyway. We kind of wanted a nice room as we were still feeling kind of anxious about the whole guerilla thing. The price was about $24 with secure parking and breakfast so we decided to take it. The hotel was absolutely beautiful and would surely have been over a $100 room back home. We unpacked and headed out for some much needed lunch. As we wandered around checking out the sights, the skies were becoming increasingly menacing. When it started to rain, we decided it was a good time to eat and we found a nice little restaurant. With full bellies, we were once again very sleepy and headed back to our room for a two hour nap during the thunderstorm. When we woke it was still raining pretty hard so we decided to just watch a movie on cable. About 8:00 we went downstairs to talk to the hotel guys about road conditions and guerilla activity and maybe even check out the possibilities of using their phone line for e-mail. We spent an hour talking with them and they assured us that there had been no guerilla activity for quite some time and that when there was activity, it was usually with overnight busses. We were beginning to feel better and better about our next day's journey. I was just hoping the rain would stop. They let me use the phone line for e-mail and we had a little something to eat in the hotel's fabulous restaurant.
We hit the road a little after 8 a.m. after our complimentary "American" breakfast. This day was to be our day of reckoning. The whole time that we've been in Colombia everybody told us that the road from Popayan to Pasto was crawling with guerillas and to make it safely was purely a matter of luck. This road has been in the back of our minds every day. The day's ride started off tamely enough winding through suburbs and small villages. As we gained elevation we dropped in temperature. When we stopped to put on our fleece we noticed how dark the skies were becoming. Moments later the skies opened up and we had to nurse our bikes up and down the twisties in a steady drizzle. Four or five times the road narrowed to just one lane due to landslides. This caused numerous traffic jams. If the guerillas wanted to attack surely this would be the place. But there were so many people on the road how could they hold up so much traffic before it backed up all the way to Popayan? I was starting to think that the whole guerilla scare was just too incredulous to believe. With all the military it would seem that the guerillas would have to find some other less trafficked throughfare than the Panamerican highway to raise funds. I started to let down my guard just as the rains let up and for the first time I started to enjoy myself on the mountainous roads and gorgeous scenery. Most of Colombia is very mountainous and very green. But I have noticed that there are very few trees. It reminded me of the huge tracts of clear-cut land in the coastal mountain range of Oregon. It appears that Colombia had experienced a bad case of clear-cutting its forests in the not too distant past. It looks like what the Pacific Northwest would have looked like if not for more stringent logging regulations. As we approached the mid-point of our journey we entered more and more desolate territory. There was not much more than a fabulously paved highway and the buzz of our engines. I was feeling so comfortable that I did something that I never do when traveling down here, I stopped to help a stranded motorcyclist in the middle of nowhere. I had a several minute lead on Linda so I was well into the repair process (he had a broken chain) when she showed up. She pulled over about 100 meters past us. I could see her looking nervously about, certain that this guy was the bait and the banditos would descend upon us taking all our worldly possessions. I can't say that I didn't think of this myself but I had received so much from the Colombian people that I just had this overwhelming sensation to try and give something back. I supposed I could have picked a better location for my newfound benevolence but sometimes you just gotta go with your instincts. In about 20 minutes or so we removed the rear wheel tried to reconnect the chain and I told him to go for a test ride to see if it would hold. He made it about 200 meters before the chain snapped again. I had a chain repair tool in my panniers and could have fixed it but by now the voice of reason was telling me to just get back on the road. I told him I was sorry I couldn't help more but that I had to get going. He was very grateful anyway and started to flag down a truck for a tow into town. Well at least I tried. Linda was still shaking her head in disbelief that I even stopped at all. We stopped in the next town to gas up. We must have looked a little thristy because the gas station attendant returned with two bags of water for us. Great, more Colombian kindness! I was starting to wonder if we could find anybody in this country that would try to rip us off. Actually I would settle for a couple swear words, anything other than kindness, it was killing me. Anyways before long we arrived safe and sound in Pasto. The infamous guerilla road appeared to us as safe as any that we've been on thus far. Pasto is a bustling town mixed with Colonial style buildings and more modern structures. The city was alive with the Blanco y Negro Festival. It was the first day of a 4 day festival celebrating the emancipation of the African slaves brought here by the Spanish landowners. It appeared that all the businesses were closed. The streets were packed with party goers and the numerous parades. Because of the excitement of the festival it was really difficult navigating the city streets in search of a hotel. To compound the problem we were still without a guide book. After a couple inquiries we settled on a spendy place close to the town center with secure parking, the hotel El Paisa, for $25 for a double. But best of all it had a toilette seat and hot water. Maybe if we shelled out this much money at every hotel we wouldn't get so excited when the toilette actually flushed.
Once settled in it was now time to get down to the far more serious business of finding a place that had a satellite TV and was accomodating enough to let us watch the Sugar Bowl. After all, the mighty Seminoles of Florida State were going for a pole to pole run at the national championship. Finding a hotel or bar that had a satellite was already a hard enough task but it was certainly compounded by the somewhat distracting nuance of the festival. The streets were crowded with festival goers and all of them were armed with bags of flour. The flour was used to douse unsuspecting pedestrians like us. We walked all over the city asking numerous persons who should know where was a TV with Satellite. No one knew of any. Finally just as we were starting to panic we happened upon a hotel perched right on the town square with a large screen TV and 170 channels. A friendly chap, who was watching MTV, obliged us and together we clicked through about 100 of the channels until we found the game and just a few seconds before kickoff. Perfect! We were so excited to have found the game on a large screen TV we didn't even mind that it was in Spanish. It was an awesome game and even if I wasn't a Virginia Tech or FSU fan I would have rated the game a 9 out of 10 on an entertainment scale. Outside in the town square was a huge celebration with over 12 musical groups playing to 10's of thousands of spectators throughout the course of the day. Apparently this hotel was housing the entertainment for the carnival and I found myself explaining the game of American Football to bass players, backup singers and keyboardists. The number one question that I never was able to adequately address was why in the world was the American game called "Football" when they used their hands so much. I usually just said that the word "Football" sounds a lot more interesting than the word "Handball". This answer seemed to make sense as they all nodded their head in agreement. Anyway FSU won its second national championship and since we went to school there I supposed it means that we are a little more special than we were the day before. It must really be frustrating to all those University of Florida Alumni to know that it won't be good enough to win another national championship to match us, but now they have to start out preseason #1 and hold on to it all year long. After the game, as we walked back to our hotel, we had to wind our way through the still crowded streets. We were going to spend another night here and try to figure out what this big party is all about.
The next morning we went for a tour of the city and loaded up on face paint for the festival. Today was the "Dia del Negrito"- Day of the Black Person. Today we were supposed to wear all black clothes and paint our face black. The face paint sold on the street was very cheap but it is was impossible to tell whether the paint was toxic or not. But when in Rome... I painted my face with a Black, red and gold design while Linda put a couple cute little patches of paint on her cheeks. Somehow after seeing the party goers yesterday, I knew that it wouldn't last. Sure enough, as soon as we approached the town square partygoers smeared paint all over Linda's face and doused us both in flour. Within a couple of minutes we looked like we had spent the night in the town square - just like the rest of the populace. The central plaza was awash in flour as the carnival goers seemed to take great pleasure in dousing any living thing with the stuff. The result was that the plaza looked like it just had a fresh powdering of snow. We discovered that the significance of the flour was to turn people white while the black face paint was to turn everybody black. It was a wonderful carnival that celebrated both ethinicities with equal ferver. The bands were playing and the people were going crazy. As we walked through the central plaza where the stage was set up we started to notice that there were no other gringos to be seen. As a matter of fact we haven't seen another gringo since we arrived in Colombia. Just then we saw some Europeans at one of the many food stands surrounding the plaza. We went over and found out that the guy was German and the Girl was Dannish. They said that we were the first Gringos that they've seen in Colombia before we could say the same thing. We talked briefly about our travel experiences and then we returned to the hotel for a brief break in the festivities.
When we returned to the party the park central was mayhem. There was a pall of flour covering the entire plaza. We then retreated to a smaller version of the festival down the road a ways. But because it was smaller didn't mean that we were safe from the paint smearers and flour throwers. They had a band that was belting out all the salsa hits. We could feel the weight of the nation resting squarely on our shoulders as we danced. It seemed everyone was checking out the gringos to see if they could hang with the pro's. We obviously couldn't but it was fun trying. We finally checked out of the carnival around midnight. It was serious fun and reminded me a bit of Mardi Gras. Thank goodness we had hot water 'cause it took over a half hour to wash the paint, flour and other assorted whatnots from our persons. That night, without warning, my body rejected something that I ate. But once I dispelled the culprit, I seemed to recover remarkably quickly. Maybe my stomach is becoming more adept at sorting out the good from the bad.
After the previous night I woke a little groggy but no worse for wear. We packed the bikes, said goodbye to our hosts and started our climb out of Pasto toward the Ecuadorian border. The scenery South of Pasto to the boder was striking. If not for our epic ride in Guatemala this would rate as the best of the journey so far. Perfectly paved roadway, wonderfully graded ascents and descents and verdant vegetation filled our senses with spendor. I felt a little like Julie Andrews when she was prancing through the alpine meadows in the Sound of Music. As we rolled through the byways we happened upon a couple parades that all but blocked traffic along the PanAmerican highway. The PanAmerican is such a major artery that it's not just for automobiles, but also for livestock, agriculture and self expression. I'm never suprised by what we find around the next turn but I'm always entertained. About 2 hours later we rolled into Ipiales, the Colombian side of the border. Linda stayed with the bikes as I went to take care of the border business. The line for the entry and exit stamps was one and the same and very long. So with my tramitador I cleared the motorcycles first. The guy behind the desk sorted through the paperwork, snatched a couple documents and said have a nice journey. That was easy. Next was the line to get our exit stamps. While in line I started a conversation with a couple of Colombian guys returning from Ecuador. They told me about the road to Quito, what I should get in exchange for my Colombian Pesos, and that it was a shame that I missed the city of Medellin. While waiting, a money changer approached me and asked if I wanted to change pesos to the Ecuadorian currency, the sucre. He offered a rate that was a little higher than what the Colombians said was a good rate. They said it was better than I would get on the Ecuadorian side. Basically 20,000 sucres to the dollar. So I changed 180,000 pesos, equivalent to $100. The money changer gave me a huge stack of 20,000 bills that amounted to 1,980,000 sucres. It took me about 15 minutes to count. When I asked him why it wasn't 2,200,000 sucres he said that I only gave him 160,000 pesos. When I started to protest the Colombians rushed to my rescue. They asked if I was sure that I gave the money changer 180,000 pesos. I said I was positive and that I counted it 3 times, twice in front of the money changer. That was all they needed to know and then proceeded to tongue lash the money changer. The money changer tried weaseling his way out of it but they would have none of it. Finally he relented and gave me the rest of my money. They said later that is how they make up for such a good rate is by short changing tourists. If it was just my word against his I'm sure he would have gotten away with it. The total amounted to $10 which would have been a good payday for him. Once again Colombians bent over backwards to help me. I can't say enough about the people of Colombia. I've never been to a place with such generosity and sincerity. I only wish there was some way that I could have repaid their kindness. I really feel bad for only visiting only a small part of this fabulous country. Maybe we'll be able to visit more at some later date. Until then Colombia, Hasta Pronto.
Post-Colombia News: We are finishing this journal as we travel through Ecuador. Today we read the newspaper and learned that 127 people have been killed in guerilla uprisings since the end of the Christmas Truce. It looks like my original theory that it would be safer to travel during the holiday seson was not far from hitting the mark. We still feel that Northern Colombia is fairly secure but South and East of Cali could experience more problems in the near future. The fighting occured southeast of Bogata but in reality it could affect all of Southern Colombia. It is truly a travesty of gigantic proportions that such a small group of war mongers taint the image of this special place. The likelyhood of US support is slim so the country has an uphill battle in the coming years. My heart goes out to all those affected by the guerilla war and hopefully one day there will be a time when Colombia can open its doors for all the world to see its treasures.