11th
Juan Valdez: Bring Us Home
We said our farewells to Paul and crew. We had a nightmare experience getting to the tiny town of Salento that came highly recommended by Paul – 6 hour buseta (minivan for hire) ride, another hour bus ride, and an hour taxi ride, getting in at 10pm. Luckily, the owners of our destination hostel, Plantation House, were gracious enough to give us a bed, even though our reservation had been given away hours ago. A tough day, but we stuck to the plan – no matter how annoying today is, we want to wake up in Salento. And we did.
Salento is at about 5000 feet, so in January, it’s never hotter than 70 during the day and cold as a witch’s tit at night. The Zona Cafeteria is exactly as I imagined: rolling hillside, lush vegetation, a kaleidoscope of flower and bird colors. And the town is picturesque. Our only regret was that we couldn’t see the Plaza’s multicolored buildings in all their splendor because we arrived during the biggest festival of the year. Music blared until 4am, the Plaza was packed every night with locals, out-of-towners, police that don jungle fatigues and automatic rifles, food stalls, carnival games (Fred and I almost won the dart gun contest), and singing acts on multiple stages. And the local coffee farmers look EXACTLY like Juan Valdez – gaunt face with big handlebar moustache, wide-brimmed hat, folded rug over the shoulder, decorated machete sheath on their hip, donkey laden down with boxes of coffee beans. Sooo cool.
The owner of the hostel gave us a tour of his coffee plantation which was super interesting…and in English! And Fred and I ventured out into the Valle de Cocora, the exclusive home of Colombia’s national tree, the Wax Palm. After a grueling hike up to about 9000 feet in wellies, we descended through fog and jungle and out into groves of as-high-as 200 foot palm trees. An amazing sight. The only way to get to the valley and back is in one of the many WWII-era Jeep Willys that locals operate and trick out with colorful paint and accessories. On the way back, there were 14 of us and 1 dog in, on top of, and hanging off of the Jeep (Fred and I stood on the back steps and hung on to the roll-bars for dear life).
While we stayed at Plantation House, Christie – of course – got some nasty mosquito bites on her leg while sleeping – yes, her left leg…again. (Not sure if you’ve been keeping track, but to-date she has been bitten by bedbugs, mozzies, a dog, and a leach – all on her left leg!) Although we now know it was only an infection due to scratching, we – and the hostel owner – thought that she might have a Bot Fly infestation. Apparently, in this region there is a fly that lays its eggs on a mosquito, the mosquito bites you, you scratch it open, the larvae enters the wound, gestates for about 8 weeks while nourishing itself on your flesh, and then emerges as a fly. Oh My God! And the only way to get it out before then is to cover its air hole (the original bite site) with a piece of meat or petroleum jelly to suffocate the little bugger and when he comes to surface for air, tweeze it out. As you can imagine, Christie is freaking out while one of the hostel employees roots around in her leg to see if anything is in there. Long story short, she’s fine.
And then it was time to say our goodbyes to my dear friend Fred, send him off on his solo mission, and navigate our way back to Bogota and home. The sending off part was easy – there’s no one I know that can handle himself better in a foreign environment through planning and strategy than Fred. If it weren’t for him, I would probably be lying dead on a mountaintop somewhere in northern California right now. But the navigation part was a little tricky.
My Spanish has gotten a bit better in the month in Colombia. At first, I understood very little anyone said. Then I could understand what Fred was saying, but no one else, and not say it myself. But by the end, I could formulate a thought, rehearse what I had to say, and be understood. So when we got the bus station an hour from Salento and all the signs said “No Hay Bogota” I knew we were in deep shit. No night buses to Bogota. Only a packed buseta that left at 7pm (getting in at 2am). With no choice, we squeezed ourselves into 2 of the last 3 seats. About 2 hours into the trip, the kid across the aisle puked all over the floor – lovely. About an hour later, her brother in the seat right in front of me puked all over himself, dowsing my new sneakers in the process – wonderful. We had a hell of a time finding a hotel room that night as well. But in the end, it was all fine. And my sneaker doesn’t smell like the contents of a 3 year old’s stomach anymore…sorta.
One the last day in Bogota, I returned to the police museum – the site of Wang’s hilarious fainting incident. I saw all kinds of great stuff, including the death mask (rubber cast of the corpse – no idea why they do this) of the guy who put Colombia on the map for violent crime in the early 80’s. He was known for “The Vase” – cut the victims arms and legs off while they’re alive, let them die, cut the head off, and insert the limbs into the torso…and voila…a vase! Yikes.
We met up with one of Christie’s old Wells Fargo workmates, Jake, that last night in Bogota. He is attending Thunderbird business school in Phoenix and his roommate is from Bogota. We had a great time eating, drinking, and talking with Sergio and his friends. It was the perfect cap to the month: Jake, being an avid world-traveler, was one of the central influences in deciding to take this trip in the first place, and having an opportunity to meet some educated, worldly Colombians who are passionate about the country’s heritage and future was a refreshing change from tourism.
3 hours of sleep and a healthy dose of nausea later, Christie and I were on a plane headed for Houston and on to LA. But it’s not over yet! After a day of unwinding, we headed out to the Grand Canyon and other sites in northern Arizona and southern Utah. The truck is still running well. And I’m super excited to see some of my own country’s famous sites before heading back to SF.
