Shabby chic

After the exertions of our jungle trek we're all completely spent. So the consensus among the group is to spend the next few days doing absolutely nothing.

Phil and Fran remind us that they're supposed to be on holiday and would really like some beach action before returning home. The obvious choice for this is somewhere along the dramatic coastline in Tayrona national park but annoyingly it's closed for the entire month. 

This annual event gives the beaches and trails some recovery time after the peak visiting months of December and January. We can understand the logic but it's bloody inconvenient. Surely our vacation time is far more important than preserving a few delicate eco-systems? That's a joke by the way, not a great one but a joke nevertheless.

Anyway, we're in Santa Marta, jewel of the north Colombian coast so there must be a nice beach somewhere close, right?

Not really. Every review of every cove, bay or playa contains an ominous 'but' ...'a charming town but full of raucous locals', a wonderful beach but impossible to swim due to rip-tides', 'excellent choice but if you haven't booked in advance forget it'. And so on.

So we cast our net further and end up on Isla Palma in the Archipielago de San Bernado, a gorgeous place 3 hours on a boat from Cartegena (Cartegena itself is a 4 hours bus ride from Santa Marta so it's quite a net).

We nab a really good deal at an all exclusive resort and congratulate ourselves for being so travel savvy.

However, as the boat pulls up alongside the jetty we soon realise why it doesn't cost a fortune to stay here. What was once a super swanky destination is looking decidedly sorry for itself.

The paintwork is peeling, the day-beds are rickety and there's loads of shabby/rubbish indigenous 'art' on the walls. The staff are pleasant but clueless and the electrics and plumbing are straight out of the 1950's. Perhaps most tellingly there are only about 25 guests in a hotel that can accommodate 250.

We love it.

The food's good, the beds are comfortable and there's a private beach on a 200 metre spit of sand that we have to ourselves. Bored with the aquamarine water on one side? Walk five paces and try the other side. Don't think the view from the bedroom is spectacular enough? Just ask to move to one of the other 95, they're nearly all available.

That's the great thing about faded grandeur - it means bums like us get to hang out in paradise.

Check out Fran's photo of the resident Frigate birds at sunset. Beautiful.

The island is a bit like Phil's kayak, tiny. No more than half a mile from tip to tip with a sizeable chunk of uninhabitable mangrove. Weirdly it's home to a quirky collection of animals who were brought here for the amusement of well-heeled guests who wouldn't dream of going anywhere near their natural habitat.

So we rub shoulders with flamingoes, howler monkeys, an emu and even a crocodile (although thankfully he keeps a low profile).

The longer we stay here the more we learn about the island's murky past. Once a haven for pirates there have been a host of dubious owners since being developed in the 1970's, including (according to our barmaid) Escobar himself - we're yet to have this verified but it would certainly make sense of the questionable decor.

Yes, five days on a drugs baron's summer retreat will do nicely.

Lost and found

Before we left London our well travelled friends Keith and Kim said if we only do one thing in Colombia make sure it's the jungle trek to Ciudad Perdida. 

No-one is quite sure how old this ancient 'lost' city is but it's thought to pre-date the likes of Machu Picchu in Peru and many of the Mayan sites we saw in Mexico.

Thankfully the tourist hordes have kept away from this remarkable place. In part because few people are shouting about it - Phil's guidebook gives it a cursory couple of paragraphs - but the main reason is the lack of accessibility. Perched high in the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, if you want to visit you have to sign up for a four day 68km hike and be prepared to handle 5am roll calls, 90% humidity and all manner of bitey insects.

We're part of an eclectic group of 14 comprising Germans, Colombians, Canadians, French and of course Aussies (there are always Aussies on these things).

We all get along swimmingly; swapping travel tales, sharing insect repellent and generally having a right old laugh.

While steadily climbing the sierra's verdant foothills we get the chance to cool off in idyllic plunge pools, pass indigenous villages (the trek provides valuable income for the local tribes who manage 2 of the 3 campsites we use) and marvel at the jungle scenery.

On the morning of the third day we finally reach the abandoned city. For the previous 48 hours the weather has been overcast but at around 7am as we scale the last few steps the clouds clear and we're blessed with clear blue skies.

It's the perfect light to view these incredible ruins. Here's one of our wonderful guides, Antonio, King of the Castello.

And his sidekick, Mick Jagger a.k.a. Hugo.

It's a tough, tough walk and at some point every single one of us has a 'okay, I've had enough of this now' moment. But the sense of achievement at having reached this very special part of the world easily eclipses the hardships we've been through.

These are 4 days that will live long in the memory.

Tour de Guatape

Today we take a trip 30 miles out of the city to the little town of Guatape. 

On the drive out we can't help noticing there's hardly any traffic which is very rare for this country. Our driver Rigo explains that there are loads of road closures because the Medellin leg of the Tour Colombia cycle race is on today.

Not only that, but once we escape the city limits we'll be able to park up and watch the cyclists whizz by.

Which is what we do. Result!

Exciting stuff this as lots of household names are competing  - Chris Froome et al.

I manage to photograph lots of riders' knees and ankles (they're bloody quick) but fortunately Fran captures the action with her posh camera.

So, onwards to Guatape. A pleasant place with regulation pretty plaza, fountain and twin spired church. Nice, but a tad too twee for mine and Phil's liking.

It's certainly colourful enough but we do wonder if the houses are painted this brightly for the locals benefit or to attract the tourist dollar.  We're so cynical sometimes.

What is impressive though, and I mean really impressive, is the nearby El Penon de Guatape a giant granite lump over 200 metres high and the best part of a mile in circumference.

It stands alone, Sugarloaf Mountain style, completely dominating the countryside and providing spectacular views from the summit.

There are 740 steps to the top. That's a lot.

Transformación

The moment we step off the bus from Manizales we know we're going to love Medellin. There's a salsa class going on right in the middle of the terminal, people are laughing, dancing and smiling, and before long so are we. This joyous throng is exactly the kind of reason we came to Colombia.

It had taken 9 hours to cover the 110 miles between the two towns so we were in need of a fillip. Roadworks take on a new meaning here. There's no such thing as a contra-flow; everything just grinds to a halt and doesn't start moving again for a very long time. After 5 minutes folk start getting out of their vehicles, shoulders are shrugged and heads scratched, then, after an hour or so the more impatient types start to look at their watches.

What surprises us is that no-one loses their temper or gets angsty. Imagine a journey from Bristol to London taking almost 10 hours. The natives wouldn't be happy.

Our tribulations are quickly forgotten the next day when we head out to see what this dazzling city has to offer.

20 years ago Medellin was probably the most violent built-up area the world; warring guerrilla factions, power crazed drug cartels and a hugely corrupt military meant upwards of 3000 people were being murdered here every year.

Few areas of the city were safe but if there was one part of town you really didn't want to wander into it was Communa 13. This dirt poor neighbourhood on the northern slopes of the city was nothing short of a battleground. While the likes of Escobar and his henchmen were exploiting the weak and the vulnerable large numbers of extreme left-wing freedom fighters were inflicting even more misery on the locals. Commandeering properties of those unlucky enough to live with a strategic view of the main roads leading into the barrio. They were literally turfing people out onto the street.

The hapless government's answer to all this was to send in shit-loads of troops to shoot anything that moves. It was carnage, and the innocent were the ones paying the price.

So where do we go on our first full day in the city? Communa 13 of course. We take a tour led by a couple of charismatic locals Daniel and Christian who spent their formative years in the district and paint a vivid and horrific picture of what went on. Christian is actually a graffiti artist so he should be good at painting.

What has happened here is miraculous. Once the cartels were finally defeated, the guerrillas banished and some semblance of a decent government installed a stricken community came together and slowly started to rebuild their lives.

The main driving force in this renaissance has undoubtedly been the resolve of the human spirit, a determination to make good and make things better. So everywhere you look in Communa 13 nowadays you see colour and dance.

Colour in the form of fabulous murals and street art...

...and dance in the form of talented hip-hop dance troupes. Age obviously no barrier to membership.

My favourite crew are the Black & White C13 who are clearly massive Newcastle United fans.

It's fabulous. The energy, civic pride and - at the risk of sounding overly sentimental - love that you feel as you wander the narrow streets really is something to behold. It's gone from being one of Medellin's most dangerous manors to one of the funkiest.

At the end of the tour Christian gives a graffiti lesson to our little gang of white middle class tourists. Here's 'bad boy' Phil perfecting his tag.

Then Wend asks the main man if he'll customise a t-shirt for her.

Top bloke.

 

Monster arachnid, hot pools, coy volcanoes

We had a visitor last night, let himself in unannounced and scared the living crap out of us.

Anyway... a couple of weeks without seeing a volcano and we're going cold turkey. So instead of checking out Manizales, the nearest town to our hostel, we take a tour to the Parque Nacional Natural Los Navados, home to 3 of the biggest volcanoes in Colombia.

Sadly it's really cloudy so all we see are some unusual plants - the Frailejon is particularly cool, like a cross between a palm and a cactus it only grows at an altitude of between 3800 and 4200 metres, and even then has to be within a few hundred miles of the equator. So quite a rarity. 

There are some lovely mosses too.

And Wend reckons this beauty is an Arnica, a natural remedy for bruises and other sore hurties.

The day isn't a total write off though, as we end the afternoon relaxing in these lovely thermal pools. Heated of course by the volcanoes that we never got to see.

Oh, and sunset from the hostel terrace wasn't too shabby either. 

Tree huggers' paradise

The walk almost everyone does when they visit Salento is through the Cocora Valley. There are 4 or 5 routes ranging from a gentle stroll to a full on 5 hour loop. We opt for the big one and it takes us 8 hours.

It's not that we're slow, it's because it's so gobsmackingly wonderful that we can't help stopping every few yards to soak it all in.

The first section zigzags across the stream on the valley floor via a series of rope bridges that become increasingly rickety the further we go.

We see lots if colourful birdlife but none of the many orchids we were promised.

However, once we climb to a higher elevation the real fireworks start.

What a view.

Behind us the clouds roll over the hills.

Beneath us we see the verdant valley floor.

And straight ahead there are hundreds of quindio wax palms.

These remarkable trees seem otherworldly, they can reach 50 metres in height and completely dominate the skyline of the national park.

We are so absorbed by the sunset that we end up missing the last transport back to our digs.
 

Worth it though, so so worth it.