South American Adventure

Richard and Bruno explore Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador and Columbia. This is mainly for our parents.

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01-09-2015 Day 65 (UK, The End)

No longer fresh-faced…

We’ve landed at Heathrow after 65 days in 4 different countries, having taken 7 flights and far too many buses to count. We’ve travelled over virtually every terrain on earth: thick rainforest and jungle, barren desert, snow and ice, pure white salt flats, carribean beaches, rocky volcanic mountains, green heathen pastures, white water rapids, gigantic lakes and muddy swamplands. We’ve seen animals galore, extensive architectural styles (ranging from colonial townhouses to wooden-stilted shacks to gigantic glass and steel skyscrapers), eaten a guinea pig and as many traditional dishes as we could find. We’ve zip lined, horse rode, jeep roof rode, jeep back rode, mud bathed, canyoned, white water rafted, scuba dived, sand boarded, surf boarded, motor biked, mountain biked and trekked. We’ve met so many incredible people, both local and international, hopefully gaining a deeper respect of other cultures and sharing a little of our own. That said, I’ve bloody missed the UK, for example things such as:

- Efficiency, things working, general competency - The English Language and ability to communicate - Being able to put your toilet paper in the toilet - Toilet seats - Being at the front of the queue and knowing you’ll be served next - Rain, low humidity, mild weather - When someone tells you a journey will take 3hrs and it takes 3hrs (not 6) - Not being offered cocaine 5x a day and every time you leave your house - Not having everyone shout ‘gringo’ at you - People not being personally offended when you don’t want to buy a fridge magnet or a football shirt - Seatbelts - Being able to pay on card - Not living out of a bag where I have to empty the whole thing to get clean socks - Not having to divide by 4700 to work out how much something costs - Fast food being fast

The last nine weeks have been brilliant. Some people come back from travelling with life-changing realisations, 'finding themselves’ along the way and often taking serious life pivots like quitting a job. I don’t think I’ve changed at all, but I have hopefully learnt a little more patience (only a little) and confirmed my immediate career choice of improving the operational efficiencies of businesses after spending 65 days in one of the most painfully inefficient places in the world (just read an Economist article that quotes Latin American productivity as half that of the US). Bruno still has no common sense, I have more than I’d like and I think we’re still friends which is a positive.

Hopefully this has been an interesting read; I’ve enjoyed writing it and taking the pictures and have definitely compounded a lot of what I’ve learned and experienced as a result. If anyone’s thinking of going please do get in touch if you want any tips, we built our trip on the brilliant recommendations of others.

People often ask us to pick a favourite place but it’s just impossible. Bolivia was so different to anywhere I’ve ever been, culturally unique and so fiercely protective of it, Peru was geographically diverse with the biggest range of landscape and popular Inca relics, Ecuador was packed with adrenaline-fuelled outdoor activities and Columbia’s cuisine and stunning northern coast made for sorely-needed relaxation towards the end. All had their funny quirks, their pains and their pleasures, but that’s just all part of the fun isn’t it.

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31-08-2015 Day 64 (Bogota - UK) The end is nigh... We spent the morning roaming for souvenirs and gifts before having our final 'menu del dia' with Euan, Iona and Rosie just next door to the hostel. A taxi whisked us to the airport well in advance of our scheduled departure and upon dropping bags off we were offered €300 to stay another night as the flight was overbooked. If we hadn't been away so long and got ourselves psyched up to be home I'd have taken it... It was a tough call. Our first flight took about 10hrs to Madrid (thanks to the seven hour time difference we got about 3 hours sleep), the second about 2.5hrs back to Heathrow. The moment I heard English voices on the second plane was fantastic, our exceptionally English captain Steve James politely informing us that safety was his highest priority, apologising for the troublesome headwind that would slow our journey and giving us a run through of the weather forecast predicting light showers in the UK. BA are bril. Everything ran smoothly, worryingly so, even coasting through the automated immigration gates and baggage reclaim, put onto the underground and onto the train at King's Cross.

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30-08-2015 Day 63 (Bogotá) 8am was a rough start, and totally unnecessary given it was a Sunday and absolutely nowhere was open for breakfast. We roamed a while and then waited outside Juan Valdez (the Colombian Starbucks) until a staff member came out and said they'd open in 5 minutes (I.e. 5min late); I got my pen out to change the opening times on the door from 10:00 to 10:05 which he didn't appreciate. Our morning was filled with the highly-rated Graffiti tour which more than lived up to its reputation, covering not just graffiti but local culture, other forms of street art and general tips for the local area. It focuses mainly on 'La Candelaria' which was the older colonial sector where we were staying. Rosie and Iona joined us on the tour, Iona saying that it had completely changed her perspective of street art, something the Berlin graffiti tour did for me. Some of the more famous artists were 'Toxicomana' who does the popart-esque murals, Stinkfish who does brightly-coloured collages (sometimes as part of a collective) and DJLU who is apparently a university professor by day, artist by night. The art really lit up the area and I was pleased to see that the shitty 'tags' that often spoil lots of incredible art in London and Berlin were in far shorter supply - our guide explained there's a lot more respect for people's art here in Bogotá. One of my fave things was hearing about how the police generally tolerate street art, and many business owners actually pay for artists to paint on their walls. Over lunchtime we explored a flea market with Rosie and Iona and both bought a hammock each - I have absolutely no idea where I'm gonna hang mine. It turned out Rosie's brother has just started working for Newton (where I'll be starting in October) which is a cool connection! Bruno and I had to leg it from the market in the downtown area back up to La Candelaria for a bike tour at 13:30. Diego, our guide, had us roam 13km over four and a half hours, touching on all aspects of life in Bogota: visiting a range of districts (and explaining a class classification system for each where 1=poorest, 6=richest), graffiti and its use in social commentary, coffee and a micro coffee factory, architecture, regeneration, the political system, transport, a history of 'La Violencia' and the murder of presidential candidate Gaitan (mentioned in Medellin), cuisine (stopping at street stands to try 'natural viagra' and 'booby juice'). It was comprehensive! When we finally returned to Masaya in the evening we were absolutely dead. Euan, Rosie, Iona, Bruno and I headed up to the square in La Candelaria and watched some bizarre, semi-erotic stilt dancing. This kind of performance could be found in just about every square in town. Given it was a Sunday we struggled to find somewhere open to eat; restaurants were closing their shutters in our face, even in the bustling downtown area. We had to settle for fast (it's never fast in South America) food, albeit traditional dishes like Pollo Milanese, Pollo Poblana etc. Was yummy enough. Back at the hostel a quick drink preceded bed.

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29-08-2015 Day 62 (Minca - Bogota)

Up early we had one last chill in the morning sun, laid out on the hammock listening to the sounds of the jungle’s many birds and insects. At 10:30 (the jeep was on time - unheard of!) we were made to sit on the roof of a Land Cruiser as it bounced down the hillside track for 40minutes, fending off branches, vines and thorns in ‘jungle run’ style (credit: Euan) - quite an experience.

Back in Santa Marta we grabbed lunch, picked up our bags (and one of my presents that had been bashed to hell - naughty Dreamer hostel) and took a taxi to the airport with Olly and Jaclyn who we’d met at reception. Euan was there already and joined the four of us for the one hour flight. Yet again the 'bag trick’ worked where we just walked to the front of the 'priority boarding queue’ - highly recommended if you’re travelling with Viva Colombia.

Our hostel in Bogota (Masaya) was certainly one of our most luxurious yet, the rain shower being a particular highlight as well as the privacy curtains, bedside power sockets and down duvets. Best of all it didn’t cost us anymore than usual. Here we met cousins Rosie and Iona who had both just graduated and in an extreme coincidence, Rosie had just flown in from travelling with two of Bruno’s friends from Caius! So weird. Iona was mega jet lagged so they didn’t join us for drinks but we made plans to do the Graffiti tour together the following morning.

Bruno, Euan and I went out for dinner at 'Rosita’, feasting on Bandeja Paisa (the famous Medellin dish of fried egg, chorizo, avocado, crackling, rice, kidney beans and plantain) and 'Poker’ beer. We then met up with Isabel (from diving) and her Bristol medic mates (Zoe, Emma and Alex) at the Cranky Croc hostel and ended up being roped into a party bus that took us 23km out of town to 'Chía’, home to the legendary steakhouse 'Andrés Carne de Res’. Steakhouse by day, club by night this thing is absolutely enormous - 2.76-square-miles of enormous (according to Conde Nast Travel). The surreal decor consists of a core wooden frame covered in plants, signs, lights and a host of other gimmicks. It was a mission to avoid losing anyone so we stuck close together, my night being paid for inadvertently by an American investment banker who’d buy all the Bristol girls drinks that’d eventually make their way to me. Bruno and Euan tried minesweeping, rather unsuccessfully. At 4am we were herded back onto the bus and finally made it to bed about 5; Euan did an excellent Beyoncé 'surfboard’ impression to keep us entertained on the return journey.

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28-08-2015 Day 61 (Casa Elemento, Minca) On our first day with absolutely no commitments or obligations we spent the entire morning lazing by the pool, reading, taking photos, writing, chatting, playing cards etc. It was bliss. The views here are out of this world - stretching over thick jungle canopy down over 1200m to sea level way in the distance past Santa Marta. Genuinely incredible. We met some fun people like Byron (a kiwi and sheep farmer), Rob and Amy (from the UK, Rob's at Brooks, Amy has finished up at Cardiff), Jo (from Basingstoke, finding herself), Euan (going into fourth year French and Spanish at Bristol, quite the character with enough random facts to last a year), Zack (who I mentioned in another post), Franz (German guy about to start at Rolls Royce) and Sean (who I don't know much about). Casa Elemento is home to what they claim is the worlds biggest hammock, a 6x6 timber frame with thick rope mesh slung across for people like me to stretch out on, admire the view (both directly below and out in the jungle valley) and indulge in a good book. Further down the hill into 'jungle town' were two more huge hammocks, the second of which was far less taut than the one up at the main hostel so a bit comfier. Directly below runs a small river, the only sound audible above the buzz of the jungle. The hostel is home to the most annoying Toucan in the world. Called Lenny he flies at you, eats your food, shits everywhere and just makes a general nuisance, but he is absolutely stunning with his rainbow-coloured plumage. Lulu, the cutest puppy in the world also lives there. A thunderstorm hit hard in the evening; it was the loudest thunder I've ever heard and sounded like full-frontal warfare, and the lightning illuminated the entire sky in a vivid purple as bolts struck the nearby hillside at a terrifying frequency. The unrelenting storm eventually knocked out the power around 7pm meaning dinner had to be cooked and eaten under candlelight and took forever... such a cool atmosphere though. Apparently the power can be out for up to a week and it hadn't come back on when we left at half ten the next day. After dinner entertainment was provided by Jo who was far drunker than anyone else

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27-08-2015 Day 60 (Taganga - Minca) Part 2 - Casa Elemento, Minca The public bus took us back to Santa Marta at about 3, with a guy who claimed to be the owner of Casa Elemento (our hostel for the night) suggesting - slightly patronisingly - that we get off the bus as it was circling the city. We needed his advice, marching about 10 blocks to the intersection of Carrerra 13 and Calle 11 (Colombian cities helpfully number their blocks like in America making it very easy to find your way) on the other side of town where we caught a collectivo jeep for 8mil to Minca. Minca is a jungle town about 40min from Santa Marta up bumpy dilapidated roads and dirt tracks which made for a bouncy ride even in the Land Cruiser; they tried to squeeze four of us on the back of it which would have been rougher. We shared the jeep with three others, one of whom was an American guy called Zack who worked for what was essentially a tech holding company - a $6bn holding company that owns match.com, Tinder, plentyoffish and a few other notorious firms. Pretty cool! Best part of the ride was feeling the humidity drop away as drove higher and higher up the hillside. Motorbikes formed the second part of our journey, Jorgé my driver rather respectfully riding at a moderate pace as I clung onto the back with one hand whilst clutching a 6L bottle of water with the other. Not wearing a helmet made the ride scarier than it should have been, but mud pools and a bumpy terrain kept him in check. As we neared the top the sun had begun to set over the hillside, the lights of Santa Marta beginning to grow brighter in the distance. We arrived to Casa Elemento, a isolated hillside hostel 1200m up into the Sierra Nevada mountain range, as the sunset was in full bloom. A palette of purple painted the sky to our right and bright oranges and yellows streaked over the silhouetted forest canopy to our left. People hung about with cameras, chilling on a gigantic hammock, beers and cigarettes in hand. As the last of the colour faded from the sky the fire was lit and everyone flocked to shelter in its warmth. Dinner was served and followed by a quiz night, where my team came second (yet again) - gutted.

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27-08-2015 Day 60 (Taganga - Minca) Part 1 - Taganga After a quick 'Arepo con Huevo' we rocked up at Under Pressure - the dive company that would be taking us out for some scuba that morning. Somehow they hadn't received the booking from the hostel but still found space for us, tagging on to a tall Belgian guide whose name we never got, a French guy training to be an instructor and Isabel, a fourth year medic at Bristol. In unusual fashion we were kitted up at lightning pace, grabbing masks, boots, BCD before pulling on wetsuits. 16 of us piled onto a speedboat in the bay that was fully racked with about 30 oxygen tanks running the full centre of the boat. Sitting on benches either side was a tight squeeze, but the intense ocean spray completely mitigated the harsh morning sun as we jetted out of the bay of Taganga onto open water, hugging the coastline until we arrived at an island called Calichan. My BCD was inflated, chucked into the deep blue water and I followed flippers-first, a 7kg weight belt dragging me down slightly. As I pulled on the kit I noticed my pressure gauge leaking air and had to have it swapped. So important to check these things - Bruno hadn't dived in 9 years and I hadn't in about 5 so we were both incredibly rusty with the buddy checks. Our first 'fun dive' took us roughly 15m underwater where we hugged the coastline for a couple of hundred metres, spotting fish of all shapes, colours and sizes. Our eyes were peeled for more elusive characters like Moray Eels and (I was hoping) sharks. All too soon we'd reached the pick up point and our air had dropped from about 3000PSI to about 800, well above the safe limit of 500. We ascended slowly, making sure to go no faster than 18m a minute and actually surprised ourselves as we broke out into the open air. Back on the boat Bruno was schooled on maintaining neutral buoyancy and avoiding kicking the corals, something he certainly massively improved on the second time round. As we waited for some of the other divers our boat dropped us odd at an isolated beach, only four fisherman on a small wooden launch and us divers. Sandwiches and banana helped distract us from the roasting sun. Here we had the chance to chat to some of the other divers, most bizarre was meeting Ben who knew Nadia and who I'd actually met the summer previous at her BBQ in London, something I'd struggled to work for about ten minutes as we chatted. The second dive had more of a current around the reef as we moved into an underwater channel at about 18m. It was worth the extra exertion for the vibrant green corals, shoal of Dory-esque swimmers and a 2m-long stingray that we followed excitedly. We surfaced into choppy water and bobbed about as we waited to be picked up, feeling euphoric after an amazing morning of scuba diving. We particularly got on with Isabel who was great company and planned to hopefully meet up in Bogota. Back to the bay by 2pm we de-kitted, paid our bill and picked up a few go pro snaps from the French guy in our group before indulging in organic coffee and sourdough sandwiches and Bonsai café.

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26-08-2015 Day 59 (Tayrona - Taganga)

5:15am was when the snoring became too much - thankfully it’s the only time I’ve actually had a proper snorer on this trip, sadly his head in the hammock was about 15cm from mine. I went for a wander and found an incredibly vivid orange sunrise forming over a calm morning tide. Back in bed I got another hour or so before heading to the beach for a swim with Bruno.

Later, we wandered barefoot through shaded woodland to reach a third beach that was absolutely deserted with flawless footprint-less sand and an apparently lethal tide. This would be our final taste of Tayrona national park before enduring the painfully sweaty walk back on the multi-terrain path to Canaveral where, this time, we forked out 3mil for the collectivo bus.

A second bus - where we sat on a roasting metal floor - from the main entrance got us back to Santa Marta where a quick stop to The Dreamer allowed us to pick up a change of clothes and our dive books. Next stop - Taganga.

Our third bus of the day was 40min to the coastal town of Taganga where we hopped off on the descent and checked in to Casa Moringa, a sweeping hillside house with a top-level pool, mid-level terrace and hammocks at every stage overlooking a sweeping view of the bay and the town below.

The attentive receptionist called a dive company to book us in for some scuba the next day and suggested dinner at an exceptionally un-Colombian restaurant called ‘Babaganoush’, nestled in a thatched-roofed building slightly up the hill from beach, looking out over the town. Three courses for 30mil sounded steep but featured hummus (bloody miss hummus), falafel, filet mignon (about three-inch thick) in red wine sauce and chocolate brownie with ice cream… Oh and a craft honey ale from the Bogota Beer Company. It works out as about £7; best meal we’ve eaten here.

Bruno met a Welsh guy at the hostel and instantly broadened his accent much to my amusement.

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25-08-2015 Day 58 (Tayrona National Park) Up early, as always, we had an extra special incentive to try get to the Tayrona National Park before the crowds so we could bag ourselves a hammock. A bus from the main road took us the entrance, most people were finishing watching the mandatory health and safety/information video and being handed tickets to prove they'd watched it. Bruno wandered up to the guy handing them out and asked for one but he wouldn't give him one, instead I sat on a bench at the back and looked as though I'd been there for a while - got handed a ticket and saved us a 10min vid. Student discount was immense, 8mil versus 39mil - huge. We walked into the park, foolishly choosing to give the bus a miss and instead walk an extra 6km in disgusting 90% humidity. As we neared the end of the tarmaced road we headed left of the coastal village Carnavel and into the forest, walking up and down rocky outcrops, across bleached white sands and slatted wooden walkways, into mangroves and past almost everyone that took the bus. Arrecifes was the last town on our journey. We arrived around 11, 2 hours after leaving the entrance, and asked to check in at Cabo San Juan, a beach-side campsite-cum-resort. In classic illogical South American fashion there was no sign up sheet or waiting list, no guarantee of a hammock, and we were simply told that we could check-in at 13:30. When I asked why there was no waiting list the guy's reply was 'because my colleague needs to clean the beds'. Yep. He also assured us that if we returned at 13:30 there would definitely be hammocks but wouldn't sign a piece of paper guaranteeing it so we sat around waiting for over 2 hours waiting, taking shifts to go swimming. Matt and Trevor, two Canadian lawyers, waited with us and were great conversation. I'm glad we waited because at 13:15 when they opened early there was a queue of about 40 people and only 9 hammocks to go round. Accommodation sorted, we spent the rest of the day lounging on the beach, drinking beer, eating chocolate bread from a lady selling baked goods out of a polystyrene box and just relishing the relaxation. Dinner was from the only restaurant on the site where we chilled with the Canadians (+ another called Amelie and her friend whose name we never caught) for hours after eating. Night had well and truly fallen by the time we retreated to the hammocks and fended off mosquitos to the sound of crashing waves just 20m away.

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24-08-2015 Day 57 (Isla Grande - Santa Marta) Light poured through the open shutters of our cabana, waking me early around 6:15am. Only five minutes later and our host knocked on the wood, indicating it was time to leave in order to catch the boat back to Cartagena. Now used to the quick start, we happily obliged. Ten minutes of walking culminated with a brief barefoot wade through the mangroves, where we emerged on a jetty jutting out to sea. Here we waited 20-30min until the 'lanche' rounded the bay, already overflowing with passengers. Bruno was crammed in at the back amongst the locals, me at the front amongst the life jackets and cool boxes. The boat thundered through the morning tide, waves thumping the boats hull quite violently such that I nabbed a padded life jacket to sit on in an attempt to smooth the ride. Roughly 40min later we pulled into a bustling, dilapidated harbour where fisherman gutted their catch on the water's edge, dusty tarpaulins laid out advertising the newly-washed fish. A short taxi took us back to the old town where we feasted on patacon (fried plantain) and huevos revueltos (scrambled egg) with onion and tomatoes. A coffee from Juan Valdez (the one with breakfast was like drinking burnt sugar) accompanied us back to the hostel where we grabbed bags and hopped in a taxi to Terminal Transporte. We negotiated the taxi driver down so hard that we actually felt pretty guilty paying him so little for a 25min journey, maybe we're becoming Colombian. As ever, the bus didn't leave for about an hour even though we are told it'd be off in less than 15min. It was air conditioned so we cared less. The driver and conductor stopped way too many times to try pick up custom - there are no schedules here - so or was almost six hours after getting on the bus that we finally arrived in Santa Marta, what should have been a 3-4hr journey. It was cheap at least! We checked in to Dreamer hostel, grabbed a horrifically western meal from the shopping plaza and narrowly lost the hostel quiz night by one point (a whole round was dedicated solely to the hostel, with questions like 'how deep is the pool', not our field of expertise). Brendan, a travel journalist joined our team and reeled off incredible tales of his travels across South America and Africa, as well as how he manages to work a career from it all. He does occasional stuff for The Guardian - top man.

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23-08-2015 Day 56 (Isla Grande)

7am we were up, ready and packed with the simple task of putting our big bags in storage before leaving. Being a Sunday, very little was open in town and we resorted to another ‘arepo con huevo’ for breakfast; only 2000pesos from a street seller and just 1000 more for a refreshing cup of 'mora’. A quick coffee from Juan Valdez (Colombian equivalent of Starbucks) and we headed back to the old city gate to find a tout that could get us to Isla Grande.

Isla Grande is just one of forty islands an hour or so from Cartagena; the Rosario Islands. It happens to be the largest - it takes about 20-30 to walk the length of it - and has full time residents established there in small communities, as we’d soon find out.

In characteristic fashion we were last in the whole port to board our boat, then waited in the sweltering heat for well over half an hour as the crew pissed about eating fruit on the dock. At about half ten (two hours after meeting for the trip) the motors were finally switched on and we moved off from the harbour; we hadn’t got away just yet and instead milled around in the port for about ten minutes waiting for the go ahead to leave. One motor didn’t work, of course, and required some serious toil with a rope by a crewman dangerously close to elbowing us in the head, to start it. One last unknown stop further along the port towards Boca Grande (the area characterised by a Miami-like skyline) and we were finally out in the open water, the high-rise skyscrapers falling away behind us as the swell from the hull rose on either side. We arrived 40min later at Playa Blanco, the most touristy beach known to man, and were hassled to buy drinks by touts chest-deep in water holding beers aloft to us in the boat.

Just 15-20min further and we approached Isla Grande, the pearl-white beaches devoid of people, the rich blue-green ocean crystal clear and sparkling in the midday sun. Bruno and I were the only two to jump off, and if it weren’t for an incredibly astute person on the boat Bruno would now be without his camera, calling him back for it as the boat was pulling out. Close shave.

We were greeted, as ever, by a tout trying to get us to check in at Las Palmeras - a hostel we’d considered and even called but rejected for the astronomic price. After telling us we were rich because we had the dollar currency in the UK (nope) we explained we had this thing called a pound and that we were students, so he took us next door to Las Palmeras - Eco Casa Verde - which was way cheaper at 25mil a night. Barren ground, scattered palm trees and shrubbery, this was a proper rural holding. While we ummed and arrred they took us to a private 'cabana’ with two double beds; so we said yeah.

Down at the beach everything was as we hoped; waves lapped over blindingly light sand, the water was warm enough to be pleasant to enter, cold enough to be a refreshing break from the intense heat of the sun. We stayed here for hours reading, writing, thinking, drinking (ice tea) - we just enjoyed the peaceful isolation after weeks and weeks of hustle and bustle, and the time to ourselves.

Storms appeared to be on their way given an increasingly blustery wind and infrequent raindrops so we set off walking in the direction of the only village. Proper food (aside from plantain) seemed unobtainable so I settled for a pack of Doritos for lunch. We wandered back through the forest, past mangroves and crabs peering out from their mud tunnels, spending the late afternoon on the beach under a setting sun. We met some people who’d brought hammocks to sleep in which looked great.

Dinner was at the hostel; delicious meat, chips, rice and salad - classic. Most groundbreaking was the reintroduction of garlic into my diet, which definitely appeared not to be in short supply here. A quick detour to a local lagoon strained our memory from when we shown earlier in the day, the thick forest and mangrove making the ten minute walk unnecessarily freaky. Our light illuminated reflective plankton on the water’s surface, not quite as epic as we’d been sold but exciting and a beautiful effect nonetheless.

Back to our cabana we each indulged in a good book in the sweltering confines of our mosquito nets and double beds.

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22-08-2015 Day 55 (Cartagena) Unsurprisingly Bruno wasn't up as early as usual, but we still ventured into town at a reasonable hour to grab breakfast. Saw some huge, 1.5+m, iguanas on the way in. The sun was far more intense today so we only wandered for a few hours before retreating to the small pool at the hostel. Not long after it absolutely hurled it down so our lunch options were limited; we treated ourselves to a Chinese from two doors down. In the afternoon we visited the Volcano Totumo, a mud volcano or, in other words, an exceptionally deep mud pit (they told us 2000+m) where the mud is at a density such that you can swim in it but you float with your chest out and above. It's a surreal feeling and the strange centre of buoyancy means you feel like you're always going to topple over and have to think to stay vertical. Very very cool however. They pissed about getting us there with what should have been a 40min journey taking over two hours as they went around hostels, to Boca Grande and back to the old town (where we'd already been picked up from) before finally leaving for the volcano. On the bus they explained that three 'additional services' were on offer: massage, photos and a wash down. I took my camera to the top of the volcano but didn't give it to the guy to take pictures as I didn't want to pay for what would likely be terrible photos (going off past trends) so he then employed the typical obstinate South American 'it's only 3000pesos and you are rich' thing which winds me up a bit. He didn't get my camera. As you enter you don't really get a choice as to whether you want to pay for 'additional services' with strange Colombian men tipping you onto your back as you flounder and rubbing mud into every surface. They call it a massage, it was more of a stroking; very bizarre. Given how late we'd arrived we were lucky in that we didn't have to queue but it did mean we had less than 25min to soak up the mud before we were instructed to leave, again another Colombian man was waiting by the exit to scrape off some of the mud, taking their time in particular with the younger women. Next we were directed down to the lagoon where women with bowls stood waiting to attack us with water, again for a fee. I fended them off, semi-aggressively, I can wash myself. Bruno caved and had a random Colombian woman chucking bowl after bowl over his head, whipping his shorts off under the murky water so she could give them a rinse as he sat there a bit helplessly. We paid up, got back on the bus and returned to Cartagena for a quieter night. Bruno and I returned to the square, beer in hand, and grabbed food from a street vendor. Entertainment was plentiful so we sat for a while soaking up the atmosphere before heading back to the hostel to chill.

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21-08-2015 Day 54 (Cartagena) 3:45am was one of our earlier starts and a little painful, but got us to the airport for 4:50am just about on time for our 6:05 flight. An enormous queue greeted our eyes, but feeling particularly 'un-arsed' I wandered to the front and asked to drop off my bag. Surprisingly they said yeah so I shouted Bruno over and we were through security no more than 5min later. 1 hour was all it took to touch down lightly in Cartagena; even at 7am the humidity and heat predicted a tough climate. A short taxi took us to Media Luna Hostel where we checked in, left bags and set out to roam the streets. Fortunately, we were early enough to soak up the streets of Cartagena in both relative peace and moderate temperature; the most striking aspects are certainly the beautifully appointed colourful buildings, the narrow streets, ornate wooden verandas and balconies, cracking paint on thick wooden doors and most of all the emphatic, painstakingly persistent street sellers imploring you to invest in everything including football shirts, maracas, paintings, sombreros, wooden spoons and rosary beads. Most exciting, however, are the food sellers with whom we chose to delve into Colombian breakfast offerings, settling on Arepo con Huevo - a deep fried maize parcel containing egg and a minced meat vegetable concoction. Second breakfast was a curious fruit native to the Caribbean coast of Colombia called Nispero, light brown on the outside and with a matte finish like kiwi but bright orange and soft-textured internally with a smooth almost creamy caramel taste. Third breakfast was the ultimate Cartagenian refreshment - Guanapo, a sugary lime juice served from large glass boxes, well-chilled and with an added press of lime juice for extra tang. We went through a lot of these over the next two days. Hours were spent aimlessly wandering the quaint streets of Cartagena, with no real direction we were free to happen upon stunning backstreet art, dilapidated characterful townhouses and eventually the coastal city wall. Here children flew kites of all shapes and sizes in the hundreds, somehow all managing to fit comfortably in a heavily populated sky. The city walls took us closer to Castillo San Felipe de Barajas where we paid 8mil (again one of my student cards a somehow managed to get Bruno a discount) to ascend the brick pathways and explore surprisingly extensive winding underground tunnels that famously characterise the castle. Most enjoyable were the views of the old town from the red brick-walled vantage point right at the summit. Lunch was at a local 'menu del dia' type place; cheap, cheerful and filling. We then took ourselves to an isolated concrete platform out on the coast where we chilled in the sun, read, listened to music and watched tons of fairly big crabs roam the rocks beneath us until a homeless guy returned to peacefully reclaim his spot. Back at the hostel we met three Americans and two Chileans with whom we predrank a little before heading to the old town and literally dancing in the street, narrowly avoiding horse and cart, cars and other pedestrians. On one side of our chosen dancefloor were 30+ tables rammed full of drinkers, the other a traditional salsa bar overflowing with ageing locals and their beer-fuelled joviality. Closer to the hostel were the smooth cobbles of Plaza de la Trinidad where hundreds of drinkers sat in groups nattering, people-watching, talking, laughing and sometimes shouting. It was a positive atmosphere, made more so by street performers popping backflips and synchronised dancing as onlookers acknowledged with claps and cheers. Most satisfying was the burger stand where the chef moved tongs and knife at blinding speed to rustle up batches; probably the most efficient thing I've seen in South America. As I left around half twelve Bruno was well on his way, the early start taking its toll on my attention span. -------

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20-08-2015 Day 53 (Medellin) As we near the end and the night buses cease it's increasingly difficult to write this blog... I'll try keep it interesting. I'm writing this three days later under candlelight in the peaceful isolation of a mosquito net on Isla Grande. Our first (and only) full day in Medellin started with the breakfast in the Happy Buddha taking just long enough that Bruno got to eat his and I had to cancel the order before it even arrived (over half an hour after I ordered it). Gutted. The reason we were under such a time restriction was because we had booked onto the Real City Tour, a free walking tour of downtown Medellin meeting in the Poblado metro station just 15min walk down the hill from our hostel. Hernan, our guide, greeted us in exceptional English and explained we'd be travelling three stops to the downtown area to begin our walking tour. Sat aside from an enormous black and yellow steam train, a relic of Medellin's industrial revolution, he introduced himself: a three-time graduate in wide-ranging fields such as biostatistics and creative writing, well-travelled and well-educated but crucially a local 'paisa', born and bred, who had felt the turbulent past of Medellin first-hand. The second phase of the introduction was to distance this tour from those that concerned the former head of the Medellin Cartel - notorious drug baron Pablo Escobar. Hernan was vehement in his disdain for Pablo Escobar, emphatically downplaying the philanthropic exploits of the oft-lauded, infamous criminal. He was clear in his critique saying that he brought nothing positive to the city and was not loved by the people. Now, as I read Killing Pablo by Mark Bowden, I'm offered a second perspective that suggests Pablo did invest in the people, constructing flood-lit football pitches, building chapels and churches and even entire favelas to take people off the streets. The book is well worth a read. Medellin is populated with square after square and Hernan took us to several, many of which were regenerated as part of the effort to drive criminality away from the centre. The first was the square of light - Plaza Cisneros - formerly ridden with murders, kidnappings and other such activities. Covering the square with lights and chucking a big police presence at it de-stigmatised the once hotbed of criminal activity. This mentality was replicated all over the city. The central shopping streets were once full of traffic, but Hernan explained that day by day the market sellers edged further and further onto the road until one day they crossed a threshold and from then on the area was pedestrianised. Here I spotted a new concept; guys walking round with mobile phones attached by string, everyone from sharply-dressed paisa men to stressed young mothers paying them for a quick call. We stopped for a snack break where Bruno and I indulged with 'buñuelo' which are deep fried balls of cheesy dough, and empanadas. In Parque Bolivar old men sat around, smiling to themselves and politely heckling the blondes in our group saying 'welcome monos' and muttering in Spanish 'especially the girls'. They were harmless. One guy shocked us all by walking over to Hernan and demanding he know who of our group were American; nervously they raised their hands. Brilliantly, he then asked Hernan to translate: 'good, now please do not vote for Donald Trump in the presidential election, he is the American Hitler'. No one saw that coming. As the tour ended we were shown one of Botero's (famous Colombian artist) sculptures, blasted from the inside out by a bomb, a bomb that killed over 20 people at a local concert. Authorities planned to remove the remains but Botero personally called the mayor and insisted it remain as a permanent reminder of the atrocities this city has seen. Botero created a new version of the same statue, installing it adjacently as an emblem of the future - the city rebuilt. On that fitting note, Hernan ended the tour. Most impressively, as we said farewell we noticed he'd remembered every single person's name; there were about 25 of us. Incredible. We tipped him and went for a light lunch with two American guys from the tour before wandering the streets one last time. Afternoon took us to the cable car, which in turn took us high into the city's hill-hugging districts, over ramshackle colourful and often unfinished houses, football pitches, steep steps, locals milling in groups in the streets, market traders selling their wares. We disembarked at Santo Domingo, a bustling area full of street traders. Back at the hostel we headed out for dinner with Jake and James, sampling a local special Cazuela Paisa; essentially kidney bean mush (thicker soup) in a big central bowl that arrives surrounded by mini pots of chorizo, crackling, plantain and a side plate of rice. We assumed you chucked it all into the central bowl which was pretty yummy. The free lemonade was wonderfully bitter, and the beer refreshingly cold. That evening had us pack bags ready for an early start and attempt to get as much sleep as possible in the little time we had. -----

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19-08-2015 Day 52 (Salento - Medellin) A long day, filled mostly with an exceptionally uncomfortable bus that we were probably a bit mugged off by. If anyone else is hoping to do this route, it's probably worth booking the direct bus from Salento to Medellin, it costs 40pesos and is on a large minibus that can't be any worse than ours. We didn't do this, instead taking the first bus to Armenia for 4mil and almost immediately catching a second for 36mil. The second was meant to be a comfortable 'semi-cama', sold with aircon, toilet, wifi etc. What we actually got was weirdly decent wifi, a barely noticeable fan and one of the roughest, winding and bouncy 6.5hr bus journey yet. The driver was shit and accelerated and decelerated way too much round the winding bends, the suspension basically non-existent. The whole thing took about 8hrs, arriving in the evening sun of Medellin where a taxi dropped us at the Happy Buddha hostel in the trendy Poblado district. To our dismay absolutely every Pablo Escobar tour was fully booked for the next day, including those combined with day excursions to Guatape (a locals' holiday destination, highly recommended to us). Luckily there was space for the Real City Free Walking Tour which we hastily booked. Dinner was spent with two Dutch girls, an American banker called James and two future dentists, James and Jake. We were shocked at how metropolitan the Poblado district of Medellin was; exceptionally trendy restaurants with beautiful branding and attentive staff lined the streets surrounding Parque Lleras where we were staying. Unfussy and accepting we'd have to pay over double our usual dinner prices (knowing it was still well cheaper than the UK), we enjoyed delicious burgers, great Club Colombia beers and fantastic company. After food we chilled in the hostel bar and then headed out to the local square where tons of people were chilling, picking up beers from local off-licenses that sold to you through their iron shutters (is it for legal or safety reasons?). We could have stayed there for hours if it weren't for the torrential rain that was unleashed around midnight.

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18-08-2015 Day 51 (Salento) Part 2 - Salento and La Serrana Post-lunch had us explore the mirador from the top of brightly painted green and blue steps, accessed from the end of the Calle Real. The view one side was of the town, backed by plantations and trees, the other side an expansive valley. Finally, we shopped the artesanias for souvenirs and gifts, and watched as a bizarre procession made its way past, an ambulance blaring its siren, chocolate and sweets thrown from floats, saucepan lids bashed together unacceptably out of time. Tonight we were changing hostels to the well-recommended La Serrana, a peaceful ecofarm and hacienda just 20min outside Salento. The hostel sits atop a stunning ridge with views over the plantations and farms populating the vast valleys on either side. It's impossible to convey the 360degrees of awesome. A rope swing had us amused for ages, and never passing up an opportunity to show off I obliged with some upside down sunset-backed acrobatics. Dinner was in a quaint dining room, wine bottles strung from the ceiling where we met loads of fun people whom we later joined outside around a large campfire.

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18-08-2015 Day 51 (Salento) Part 1 - Horses Sipping on coffee in a rustic café (complete with industrial size vintage coffee machine) on the corner of the central plaza, our first impression was how quiet Salento was compared to the national holiday the day previous. Today's first activity was a spot of horse riding, with the heavily-recommended Don Álvaro. We arrived at their ranch at 9am, the fact we were on a private tour meant it was only minutes before we were ready to go, my request for a helmet being dismissed by what I think meant 'in Colombia we don't need helmets'. It's safe to say that out of everything we've done so far, this by far was the most intimidating. Bruno said it was his least. Luck was on my side as I was instructed to get on the far more serene of the two horses - called Persa - and Bruno was left with the more sensitive Candelario. Given I was on the more mature horse I led the way down a steep, narrow rocky path into the valley. The pace was steady but as we got to the bottom we broke out on to flat ground and could kick our heels, make a 'ssshh' noise and get up to a mild gallop, albeit brief. The first few cross-town, cross-road and downhill sections were terrifying, I kept expecting the horse to bolt or rear but thankfully it didn't, my confidence exploding as a result and the remaining hour of riding was a joy. Breathtaking scenery surrounded us on either side; thick forest rising up the slopes, coffee plantations and haciendas in all directions, the peaceful stream winding below. We traversed some steep ridges, trotted through a hacienda where we paid the farmer for entry, and eventually dismounted at the Santa Rita waterfall. Fresh, cold water was a welcome relief from the intense sun and the powerful waterfall actually quite painful if you went too far under. Fully rejuvenated we were back on the horses for the return trip, trying our hardest to get the horses to gallop but ultimately they just decided at their own leisure when they wanted to go fast and when they wanted to go slow. I'll stick to motorbikes. I'd heartily recommend Don Álvaro; despite little instruction I didn't feel uncomfortable and the horses were very mild mannered. My legs and back aching, it was time for a coffee - this time at Café Quindio. We grabbed lunch at an anonymous local haunt up the Main Street - Calle Real - on the left. 6000pesos bought us an incredible set menu of soup, followed by chorizo + rice and potato (hopefully you're seeing a pattern here).