Bogota: Stencils and Street Art

The Stuff of Storybook Adventures [Ciudad Perdida]

Soaking wet, knees aching, sweating profusely, I trudged out of the knee-deep water and stood along side the rocky but peacefully flowing river. My eyes turned to the lush green embankment of the jungle and traced the winding stairs upward, upward, upward until they disappeared into the green abyss. 1,200 stairs to be exact. We had only just arrived to Ciudad Perdida (The Lost City) of Colombia and I was already in this condition. We had hiked for two days to reach this point. My group was comprised of a Chilean couple from Santiago, an ever-smiling German engineering professor, and two local Colombian guides, who were also a couple.

I can’t exactly give the impression that we were roughing it, because we weren’t. The two nights prior, we had stopped at lodges built specifically for hikers making their way to the lost city. Our meals were prepared for us, there were toilets, [sometimes] showers and we slept in hammocks or tents. It was by no means five-star accommodation, but our basic needs were attended to. But it’s important to note that just four years prior, this was paramilitary country and even our guide, who was only 21 years old, carried a gun around to help protect his families cocaine plant crop as a member of this renegade army. He shared much about the history of the area, and albeit in very quick Spanish, was fascinating from what I could decipher. I was actually somewhat ashamed that I had not bothered to learn more about Colombia before coming here. Despite what Lonely Planet would have you believe, he explained how many of their problems are far from over and much of the South-Eastern region of the country is still extremely dangerous for outsiders.

Walking through, around and over the lush rolling—and at times very steep—hills reminded me how much I love hiking, which is something I have forgotten for some time. There is more than enough time to think, ask the universe big questions, and ponder things bigger than one’s self. My favorite pastimes.

The weather was hot and more humid than I have ever experienced. Once wet with sweat or water, nothing ever dried, not even in the sun. I had packed extremely light, carrying only a very small CamelBak with toiletries and one change of shirt, so not once did I begrudge the load I was carrying on my back. I felt like I was truly living a magical storybook adventure, something I have felt often on this trip.

However, it was not all unicorns and rainbows for Chris Fettin. About two hours into the second day of the hike, something went terribly wrong with my knees. I attributed this to A) over-doing it in hero pose all those times in yoga, and B) my sleep spent in a hammock the night before, which of course on paper sounds really romantic. I felt like an old man (sorry grandpa!) and it was really unnerving to not be able to walk as fast as I would have liked. The pain was sharp and intense, so I was gentle with myself. Luckily, Jose, one of the others on the hike, had rather strong pain killers with him which helped make it more tolerable. That night the lodge we stayed in also had tents with bedrolls, so my knees got a break from the hammocks. They are better now, but they were bugging me for a majority of our trek. I had no choice but to power through and keep my mouth shut about it though. I wasn’t going all this way just to turn back before seeing the city.

On the third day we got up early and hiked the remaining hour to the Lost City, crossing the knee-deep river water several times. It was at this point that we reached the 1,200 step staircase leading up to the ancient ruins. We had several hours in the city, some of it on our own, and some of it with our guide. He told us about the people who lived there and how the place came to be discovered, which is a storybook adventure in and of itself full of gold, spys and betrayal. I was surprised to learn that it was only discovered by grave robbers in 1975. There were military all over to guard the remains of the city, and they even allowed me to snap a photo with a large group of them!

Of course, no storybook adventure is complete without a treasure map. Cole, who you will recall from such adventures as the MachuPicchu Escapades, had braved this trek prior to me on his own travels and hid a treasure map at the first campsite. Instructed on where to find it, I unearthed the map and once inside the Lost City, followed the directions to a hidden, peaceful cove with a long-trailing waterfall and rocks to sit on. Icing on the cake.

In comparison to the four days of hiking to get to and from the ruins, our time spend in the city was relatively short. It was definitely a high point of the trip, but I enjoyed the hike, as well as getting to know my travel companions just as much. We spent pretty much every evening laughing, talking, playing Hearts, drinking over-priced beers, and wishing we would have brought a bottle or two of rum.

All of it, the stuff adventures are made of. I can’t wait for more.

Crafty, Wherever I Roam

I found myself wishing that I had cards with my blog and email address to hand out to people that I meet on my travels. So I filled up a page of my Moleskin with doodles, tore it out and cut it up into small pieces. The paper is nice and sturdy so they even feel somewhat professional. I didn’t have scissors, so I scored and tore them apart, which adds to that rugged, on-the-road feel.

Cali Boy in Cali (Colombia)

Cali, the third largest city in Colombia, was not originally on my list of destinations as I make my way North to the Caribbean coast.  My plan was to head straight to Medellin from Popayan to get a tast of the big cities in this beautiful country. However, Juan Camilo, a CouchSurfing friend from Quito, had spoken very highly of his friends there, and suggested I make a stop to visit them. At first I didn’t really think much about it but was grateful for his suggestion.

That all changed once my mobile number fell into the hands of his friend Alba, her family, and several of their family friends. Once in Popayan, my phone was blowing up with calls from a veritable welcome wagon of pepole from Cali. After talking with Alba and her daughter’s best friend, Sandra, it was impossible to say no to their incredibly warm invitations, which even though were in Spanish, were clearly genuine to me.

So I decided to make a stop in Cali. With the help of direction from Alba and Sandra, I boarded the bus for the three hour ride on Thursday afternoon. This would be the first time I would see the Colombian countryside by daylight since I had taken the night bus to Popayan.

Oh. My. God. This is a beautiful country. Think green misty rolling hills as far as you can see. Ever-curving roads winding their way through the countryside. Lush foliage exploding with jungle-like palms and sugar cane fields as far as you can see. Small road-side towns with children playing outside of shops. And a light that, perhaps by virtue of proximity to the equator, cast a luminescent glow over all of this as we rode alongside the piercing, setting sun.

Nearly every thirty minutes, my phone would ring, and on the other end would be Alba, her daughter Carol, or their friends John or Sandra, checking up to make sure I was on schedule and that all was going smoothly. Incidentally, Alba was about to become granmother for the first time that day— her daughter-in-law was in labor. I asked multiple times (in Spanish) “are you sure you want to receive a guest, aren’t you busy becoming a grandmother?” Her response was always something like “nonsense!” or “do not worry! we are waiting for you!” I was humbled and chalked it up to cultural differences.

I arrived at the terminal in Cali just as the last bit of daylight was disappearing over the Western horizon. Sandra, best friend of Alba’s daughter Carol, was waiting for me as I stepped off the bus. She bought me a Pepsi.. against my protests (Do not worry!! It is an ivitation!) and we were soon picked up by Carol, Alba’s daughter.

Alba was still at the hospital, tending to her daughter-in-law, so Carol and Sandra took me to Sandra’s family home, where I was greeted by Sandra’s whole family, and asked many questions. It was clear they were very interested in me and my travels, and they spoke very slowly in Spanish, so that I could understand and respond appropriately. It was still a difficult task to comprehend everything, and I truly only understood about two out of every three questions. One thing was for certain though, I was made to feel at home, almost instantly, by complete strangers. Wow, I thought, this is pretty amazing.

That night, Carol, along with Sandra and her husband, took me on a driving tour of Cali. Their English skills are about on par with my Spanish skills, so we defaulted to Spanish most of the time, probably beacause I was outnumbered. This was fine with me though, because I was getting some of the best Spanish schooling I have ever received in my life. We drove through the major neighborhoods, and ended up having dinner in a neighborhood surrounding El Parque de Perros (Park of the Dogs).

What was so incredible about my hosts was that I did not feel like they were tour guides. I felt as if they were on a normal night out, and I just happened to be along with them. Despite my burgeoning Spanish and foreigner status, they treated me as if I was one of their own, never once letting a smile slip from their faces.

The next day, I woke up in Alba and Carolina’s family home. Gladys, the family maid that was nearly always laughing and smiling, brought me juice in my room and laughed heartily with a smile at my limited language skills. Once I arrived at the breakfast table, I was finally able to meet Alba. A retired justice for the Colombian government, Alba had been busy with her grandmother duties until late into the night. A warm woman of about my mom’s age, she touched my face gently and told me that I have good energy before giving me a big hug. Again, incredible, and not the slightest sign of  forced hospitality. Her neice, Kati, was also at the breakfast table and introduced herself to me as well.

I spent the day driving around with Alba and Kati and Carolina, becoming a part of their day to day life, helping them with work errands and at the same time getting an insider’s tour of the city and even the surrounding farmlands. My brain was in constant over-drive, always having to work extra-hard at language comprehension and at the same time figuring out how to formulate responses and questions. It was exhausting, but like any good workout, incredibly rewarding. I could not get over how patient they were with me. Not once did I even see a flash of annoyance or frustration when I asked them to repeat themselves or slow down, or when we simply just hit a dead end and had to give up trying to explain something to each other because no one had the proper vocabulary at hand.

That night, I was to catch the overnight bus to Medellin, so after dinner and many shots of Aguardiente (A Colombian sugar liqueur that is nearly ubiquitous here) I put on my sweatpants and loaded up my backpack. Carolina, her friend John and Alba all drove me to the bus terminal and made sure I boarded the bus safely. Before hugging me goodbye, Alba told me, “We are your family. I am your mother here in Colombia. You can call on me for anything you need, and you are welcome in our home anytime.”

From a very young age, I have not been good at saying goodbye. I guess I could be called sentimental, and I value the connections I make with people so much that it often pains me to sever them, particularly when I know it is likely that we won’t ever meet again. Throughout my travels these past weeks, however, I have gotten better at them. Proably because I have already bid farewell to so many amazing friends in such a short period of time, with whom I have built strong and deep connections with. I guess you could say I am becoming desensitized to goodbyes.

But this was different. In a period of time just over 24 hours, I was made to feel like a welcome part of a family, and by complete strangers no less. For someone who has been a wanderer, loner, and complete outsider since the beginning of January, this was no small gift. I probably still do not understand the cultural differences between us that could explain how or why they treated me so well, and I don’t think it matters. What does matter is that their hearts are big, and they took the time to see me as more than just a gringo or tourist, despite the barriers of culture and language that separate us. I could have easily stayed with them for many more days, but despite that familiar choked-up feeling, the rest of my adventure was calling, and it was time to move on.

I sank into my seat on the bus to Medellin, feeling completely mentally exhausted, yet somehow recharged for the travels that lie ahead of me. I am so grateful to Alba, Carolina, Sandra, and the rest of their welcome wagon who took this wary traveler into their home and made him part of their family, even if for just 24 short hours.