#72 Colombia – The End of the Road

For a long time our blog anticipated we would ride from Santiago, Chile to Tijuana, Mexico. We had even discussed the possibility of continuing all the way to Canada. During our travels we met many with the bold aim of crossing the Americas in their entirety, from Alaska to Ushuaia. This is entirely possible, just not at our pace, or not in a reasonable time period at least while still giving each country the time it deserved. Ushuaia had taken us 2 months. We left Buenos Aires more than a month later. So though we may not have admitted it to one another until 6 months into the ride, for much of our trip the end goal had been to reach Colombia.

That particular conversation occurred while we were prevented from leaving Rurruenbaque by blockades and bad weather. I was on the verge of catching a bus back to La Paz so fearful was I of the upcoming roads, and there was talk of catching a plane out. But that would mean missing out on Colombia. Ever since our travels begun all we heard from others was what a mistake this would be. People spoke of Colombia’s beauty, its cracker Caribbean coast where the diving is world class but very affordable, the uniqueness of cities such as Cartagena and Cali and above all the open nature of its people, even more so than their friendly Latin neighbours. Plus, given the impossibility of crossing the Darien Gap which links Panama and Colombia by land, Colombia seemed like a natural end in the road.

Well the friendliness of Colombians was evident from the get-go. At the border-crossing the officials were welcoming and slick. There was the obligatory photo and fist-pumping as we drove across the country line, under the banner welcoming us to this new land. And then it was on to our first attraction, a gothic cathedral in a monastery type setting called Santuario de Las Lajas. The architect had really embraced the concept of blending a building in with its surroundings: one side had been built into the stone wall to which it sits adjacent. The church sits across a gorge with a wide bridge across the river below acting as its entrance way. As we walked towards the church we noticed hundreds of plaques nailed in to the brick walls of the path. Pilgrims make the trip here to give thanks for miracles they accredit to the Virgin Mary. The cathedral was built in commemoration of the Virgin after a vision of her was said to appear on an enormous rock at the site. The sanctuary really does exude peace and tranquillity – there is even a trickling waterfall visible from the church. Notwithstanding, we felt a little uncomfortable sleeping with nuns so rather than stay at the sight we headed out towards a lagoon we had read about.

The whole experience felt like we were starring in our own horror movie. We approached the deserted lakeside community as night was falling on a drizzly, hazy day, the lagoon shrouded in fog. Thanks to some vague directions from helpful locals we were pointed in the direction of a vacant lodging – we were the only guests. Given the state of it I wouldn't be surprised if we were their first guests in years. We sat waiting for our dinner in a damp, barely-lit room wearing clothes three layers deep, passing time reading magazines from the early '90s while patiently waiting for a hot meal, and praying that the fire would be lit. We needn't have worried. Out came the old caretaker we had met earlier to light the fire, commenting on Reece's resemblance to the magazine cover (Brad Pitt - ????). Through his few teeth remaining teeth he chatted with us, and we both pretended to understand what the other was saying.  

While it may not have been the sun-soaked Colombia I had imagined, it was still something special.We had two delicious and warming meals a day in the restaurant, served by the same man who ended every order with ‘con mucho gusto’, translated as ‘with pleasure’. To our amusement he must have said this over 100 times. Knowing the trip was coming to an end, at least the motorcycling side of it, had put us in a reflective and mood. We were happy to spend a couple of days in this secluded spot, reading and enjoying the view, aware there may not be too many more occasions like these.

We had left the main highway out of Pasto to reach Laguna de Cocha and rather than return the same way I suggested we take the alternative route. We knew it would be challenging, but as it was likely to be our last chance for a little adventure I pushed Reece into it. In Colombia a fear of bandits and the possibility of a kidnapping had overtaken any dread of the roads. I was quite thankful of being pulled over by the police early in the day as it meant an opportunity to ask if there was reason to be on alert. After only a few days in Colombia we had seen both police and soldiers carrying rifles which we thought may have been an indication of terror in the region. What we came to realise is that the abundant police protection is why it is so much safer in Colombia these days compared with what outsiders (and usually those who have never visited Colombia) believe. The police were keen to add another tourist photograph to their wall, admire the bike and send us on our way with a word of warning. It wasn't bandits we should look out for, but the road itself. Uh-oh.

Playing around with panorama function on our new camera.

The road weaved its way through thick forest which made for a scenic but tense ride. For the most part we were descending on a path barely wide enough for two vehicles alongside a cliff with no barrier. A number of times trucks the size of moving-vans would appear around blind corners and one of us would have to try and reverse to let the other pass. The rain didn't help making the gravel slippery and puddling in parts. We had been keeping our maps as souvenirs, envisaging putting them on the walls in years to come, but by the end of the day most of our combined Peru, Ecuador and Colombia map were in wet clumps on my jacket. We had kept the worst for last. Bolivian mud roads aside, and they really can’t be called roads, this was our biggest challenge yet. But we managed it without any falls, not even any near-misses from memory, which I guess was a little show of how far we have come, or at least that’s how I justified the decision to unnecessarily take this back road to Reece later on.

We spent the next few nights in a farmhouse turned hostel in the hills of San Agustin checking out statutes created by pre-hispanic civilisations. That was followed by a couple of nights in a totally different setting, amongst the cacti and red sands of Desierto de la Tatacoa. This would be the last night spent in our trusty tent, cooking tuna pasta on our whisperlite cooker and drinking wine from our foldable, rubber mugs. We had envisaged sleeping under what are said to be some amazing starry nights, only to have two evenings of cloud cover. It didn't matter. My final memory is of a lovely Colombian couple approaching the morning before we were about to leave, chatting merrily with us and waving goodbye as we pulled out onto the road. I prefer to think of this as our final day on the road rather than the reality: the busy streets of Bogota, a city with more than double the population of NZ and where we were headed next.