Deserted

Since the moment I first watched the music video which ran concurrently with Colombia's tourism campaign "Colombia es Pasion" almost four years ago I have wanted to visit the desertscape where it was filmed.  

Visiting the La Guajira region of Colombia takes some added time and effort however, as it is located in the northeastern-most part of the country, wedged between the Caribbean Sea and Venezuela.  La Guajira is also a gigantic desert and, possibly because of this fact, has little in the form of tourist infrastructure.  Better put: with poor roads and no mass transit system to speak of, it becomes exponentially more difficult to get around without your own vehicle.  Also, being situated in literally the opposite corner of the country from Cali, an extended vacation period is necessary to properly explore the area.

Los flamencos al Santuario

This Semana Santa (Holy Week/Spring Break) I decided to finally put a check mark in this travel box and spend a week in the desert.  Along with my friends Sam and Mandi we split our time between touring the unique features, cultures, and industry the land has to offer with a pre-arranged tour guide, and relaxing on the beautiful turquoise-watered beaches.

Our cabaña

Our tour began with a visit and overnight slay at El Santuario Flora y Fauna Los Flamencos, a nature reserve for thousands of flamingos, as well as a sea turtle rehabilitation center.  We stayed in a tiny cabin on an equally tiny island, complete with bats nesting in the eaves.  While they didn't enter the room, there was considerable chirping and rustling all night long and much guano on the porch come morning.  In this protected area, as is common in many protected wilderness areas of North America, are found one of the oldest native peoples in this region, the Wayuu (say "why-JEW").

All throughout the week we often heard people speaking Wayuunaiki and, aside from fishing and raising goats, the Wayuu people depend of the tourism industry to sell their one-of-a-kind brightly colored mochillas (shoulder bags) and woven bracelets.  While visiting one particular plan, or settlement, we were shown how they build their houses, discussed what the traditional family structure is like and how it has changed over the years, as well tasted some of their canela-fermented alcohol.  The girls were also given the opportunity to dress in one of the scarlet red fabric-filled ceremonial dresses used at many Wayuu festivals - difficult to put on in the ever-present desert wind.

A Wayuu girl displaying the ceremonial red dress.

Attempting amusement at the
coal mine. (Despite the safety
presumption, there was absolutely
no need for the hats and glasses
whatsoever.  None.)

The next day we toured north, past the largest city in the region, Riohacha, to visit a major source of employment and economy - the Cerrejón coal mine.  While the tour was militantly organized and moderately interesting, I'm not sure it was worth the two hours in entailed to essentially look at am impressively large hole in the ground and listen to a lot of propaganda about how environmentally friendly this coal mine is, regardless of its veracity.  

After a brief lunch stop in Uribia, the "indigenous capital of Colombia," we passed through the municipality of Manaure to see the salt flats which are used in the production of much of Colombia's salt business.  Essentially pumping sea water into these flat basins and allowing the water to then evaporate, leaving behind only rocks of salt crystals, the mineral is somehow "washed" numerous times and ends up in what, from a distance, look like the towering heaps of snow found at the end of a Target store's parking lot after the plows have cleared it following a blizzard.

Continuing northward, driving down what amounted to a dirt highway which ran parallel to the railroad tracks built solely to connect the aforementioned coal mine to the La Guajira's only port, Puerto Bolívar, we suddenly cut left down a small trail through a cactus grove composed of nothing more than deep tire grooves.  Shortly thereafter we emerged in the flattest expanse of non-water I've ever seen.  This "seasonal desert" was dry, cracked, a flat as a ruler.  During the winter months it floods from the sea and is impassable, but now, much like arctic truckers crossing the ice and snow on spontaneous roads, so was this short-cut.

Since we didn't have to take the highway the long way around we reached the poster city of Cabo de la Vela, a remote picturesque fishing community, with daylight to spare.  Set in a bay of sorts, the immediate area is perfect for kite-surfing and not far away is gorgeous beach, tucked down between the rocky desert cliffs that meet the Caribbean.  This is obviously where we spent a considerable amount of time the next day.  This is also where I got a considerable sunburn on my stomach and shoulder blade areas, as well as my shins and tops of my feet; a former beach life guard should know better.

The classic Cabo de la Vela shot - Spanish for "Cape of the Sail."

Back in Riohacha we enjoyed the fact that our hotel was the essentially the best lodging option in the entire city, though is would barely be able to compete with a roadside Motel 8 in Florida as far as construction and amenities go.  We were, however, given complimentary tented shade on the beach in front, as well as served lunch under said tent complete with wooden table, table cloth, and bow-tied smiling waiter.  Shrimp rice, grilled goat, and sangria never tasted so good!

Plaza in Riohacha

In the evenings we would usually walk along the malecón, or boardwalk, between the beach and the Avenida del Mar, sifting through and admiring the plethora of Wayuu-crafted mochillas littering the sidewalk.  Some are patterned, most are colorful, but they are all unique and different.  Together we purchased six bags, as well as a few other local handicrafts.  (After four years of living here and traveling throughout Latin America, you start to see many of the same artisanal wares, but these were unique and different, making coming to La Guajira a great shopping destination as well.)

Our final full day of vacation we headed to a beach about half an hour's taxi ride north of Riohacha called Mayapo, which we found out about from a friendly cab driver who offered to shuttle us there and back for USD $30.  Mayapo turned out to be the place to be, filled with families and tourists alike, all enjoying the start to the long holiday weekend, the white sand beach, the steady ever-present breeze, and multi-hued blue of the sea.  

Mandi and me amidst the sea of Wayuu-made mochillas.

Going to La Guajira was like traveling to another world apart from Colobmia.  Between the arid landscape, the abundance of sea food, lack of many of the fresh fruits we have become spoiled by, wandering goats, and slow drivers who actually stop for and yield to pedestrians, La Guajira full-filled my every expectation.  Visually stunning in its own way, peaceful and understated, I hope to be able to return one day and discover more of its desert's secrets.

Heladeros (ice cream vendors) on the beach.

A Pastuso Walks Into A Bar...

Brunettes make fun of blondes. Us northerners have jokes about the southern rednecks and they have their "yankee" ones in return. Minnesotans have the 'Sconies to laugh at. And everyone makes cracks about Canadians. It almost seems to be part of human nature to assign one group of people as the delegated "butt" of jokes. Well, Colombia is no different and here they have the Pastusos to thank for that.

The southwestern most part of Colombia, mainly the department of Nariño, includes the mountainous region bordering Ecuador as well as a small part of the tropical Pacific coast. Due to its proximity to Ecuador and the terrain of this part of the Andes, the region is culturally different than much of the rest of the nation. Winter coats, wraps, and scarves are worn by anyone in the streets. Cuy (guinea pig), a common food staple in Ecuador and Perú, is is sold in many restaurants and street cafés. And the selection of hot drinks is plentiful, as is mora juice - a blackberry relative.

My high school friend, Chris, who I traveled with to Machu Picchu and Lake Titicaca in Perú over Christmas vacation, is currently on a two month trek through the continent and was conveniently passing into Colombia at about the time my Spring Break/Semana Santa vacation was beginning. I met Chris in the border town of Ipiales, where money changers were commonplace around the main plaza exchanging U.S. dollars (the currency of Ecuador) for Colombian pesos.

Sanctuario de las Lajas

There isn't much to do or see in Ipiales save for the majestic and architecturally out of place Sanctuario de las Lajas, a massive church that spans a picturesque mountain gorge. Originally built has an homage to the Virgin Mary after a peasant girl saw her imagine on a rock in the gorge in the mid-1700's, the worship structure has morphed and grown many times in the last 200 years to the point it is at today.

During the guided tour of the church crypt and museum, our guide, while knowledgeable, did not do her fellow countrymen's dim-witted reputation any favors. For several rounds of questioning, she insisted that a black and white photograph depicting a little campesino girl in her mother's arms, pointing at a picture of Mary and two saints drawn on a rock, was "an actual photograph of the girl" who saw the imagine. Until it was pointed out to her that the camera wasn't invented until at least 50 years later - and I'm pretty sure there wasn't one in rural southern Colombia, nor was it of this kid of photographic quality - she continued insisting on the pictures authenticity. She also disappointed and confused us in her spacial awareness as to what part of the church's lower levels we were in. After going down two and then three flights of stairs, she insisted continuously that we were still in the first level below the church despite that fact that the windows were much different on each level.

So, what do you call a Pastuso tour guide who...oh, you've probably heard this one before. Never mind!

Our next stop in Nariño was the larger city of Pasto. For being isolated, mountainous, and not very large compared to Colombia's other metropolis's, Pasto was quite cosmopolitan in its cultural atmosphere. There were many beautiful churches and plazas to visit as well as an abundance of cozy cafes filled with well-dressed and trendy locals. It was the perfect marriage of small town quaint and big city bustle.

Laguna de la Cocha

Just outside of the city of Pasto is Colombia's largest and highest lake, Laguna de la Cocha. After spending time in Perú's Lake Titicaca, Chris and I joked that we should visit all of the highest lakes in South America. We stayed at a Swiss lodge founded and run by a couple from Switzerland. It felt like a ski resort without the snow; there was a lot of wood in the building, hot drinks served all day long in the restaurant, and bags filled with boiling water put under your bed at night. From the top of a nearby hill we got a scenic view of the northern part of the lake as well as the sole island, home to a nature reserve for the trees and birds of the area.

After a relaxing and chilled couple of days in the mountains, we headed to the airport to fly back to the tropical warmth of Cali. I mention the airport because it is located on the top of a flattened peak. Flights literally take off by running out of runway and the airport shuts down when there are clouds. We were fortunate enough to have a sunny day and clear skies for our return trip to the land of salsa dancing and no coats.

Panamania!

I realize the title and theme of this blog is to inform everyone about my "Aventuras en Colombia" but did you know that once upon a time, a man named Simón Bolívar created a great big country called Gran Colombia which included the modern day nations of Bolívia, Ecuador, Perú, Colombia, Venezuela, and Panamá? So technically visiting and discussing here the country that connects South America to the rest of the Americas is staying within the parameters of the title.

For Semana Santa (Holy Week)/Spring Break three good friends from Minnesota met me in Panamá for a week-long adventure of traversing the country and testing my translating ability. While planning, several precedents were set: I wanted to see as much of the country as I could in a week without driving too much while still staying in a few places at least two nights and incorporating the ultimate travel wishes of my companions. Maggie wanted to fulfill her dream of zip-lining through a rainforest. Kim wanted some sun and beach time. Eric wanted to try some Panamanian food "Anthony Bourdain-style" (Travel Channel food guy). Let's see what we can do...


I was able to meet my friends at their gate at the airport outside of Panama City since my short flight from Cali got in before theirs did. We went through customs, got luggage, and proceeded to the car rental where we were introduced to our chariot for the week, a 2009 Toyota Prado. Next challenge? How about navigating the mess of signless streets and dead-ending highways called Ciudad Panamá. I've never driven in Cali but I must have picked up a little aggressiveness via passenger osmosis from careening around in so many Caleño taxis. With several maps and three navigators we only got "lost" four or five times before finding the one road out of the city going west over the Puente de las Americas (Bridge of the Americas). We all breathed a sigh of relief knowing the trip could now officially begin! I breathed a second sigh knowing that that moment would be the longest amount of time before I would have to tackle Panama City traffic and roads again.

The entire week was to be spent in four different locations, all along the Pacific coast of the country. We were to drive through six of the nine Panamanian provinces and visit places in five of them. Of the remaining three, two are on the Caribbean coast and the other is mostly jungle, borders Colombia, and is mostly indigenous communities and some Colombian para-military groups in hiding.

Coclé Province

The first stop was to the sleepy ocean town of Santa Clara and, more importantly, the Playa Santa Clara. Long stretches of white sand beaches and steady waves kept us company under some thatch huts in front of our lodging at Restaurante y Cabañas de Veraneras. I ate a lot of seafood on this trip but the best may have been the corvina (white fish) the first night; it was melt in your mouth fantastic.

One afternoon we headed north into the mountains to the small town of El Valle. From a point near here it is possible, on a clear day, to see both the Pacific and Caribbean coasts. On a very clear day, however. In the cloud forest 3KM outside of town is a breath-taking hike and canopying adventure. Our guide, Andriano, showed us lost of different insects and flowers on the hike up to the first zip-line, but the coolest thing we saw was a sloth! (In Spanish a sloth is called a "perezosa" which literally means "lazy." I laughed when Adriano told us this; I use this word plenty at Parent/Teacher Conferences.) Of the four canopy lines, the third was the most impressive. It started out so steep that one had to be lowered by another rope attached to your belt or too much speed would be picked up. This one passed in front of an incredible waterfall.

Maggie had a blast. Dream fulfilled: Check!

Veraguas Province

This is the one province we never did anything in, save for stopping for gas, a bathroom break, and a snack at a roadside super-mercado. Oh, and getting pulled over and bribing a police officer.

First off, Veraguas Province is much like driving through parts of heavily wooded Texas with a lot of hills; there is a lot of vegetation, its very dry and not necessarily lush, but its not a desert either. The poor signage continued from Panama City, as well, and at times the speed limits would change suddenly from 100KM/HR to 60 KM/HR. It is not a good thing when the 60 KM/HR sign is missing/obscured/not seen right before a police officer with a radar gun on the other side of a hill. The policeman actually pulled me and a semi-truck over at the same time which impressed me.

After exiting the vehicle and going over to his car, the conversation went like this:
(Somehow all in Spanish)

Officer Panama: Look, you were going 92 in a 60.
Stetson: OK. I believe you.
OP: The fine is $50.00 You have to pay it before you will be allowed to leave the country.
S: OK. Can I pay it now?
OP: No, because I don't have any receipts. You can pay it at the airport, the border with Costa Rica, or at any [something] government office.
S: OK. Fine.
OP: I need to keep your license, though.
S: Seriously?
OP: You can get it back after you pay the fine.
S: So you will send it to me?
OP: What do you mean?
S: I live in Colombia but the address on the license is in the USA. Will you send it somewhere?
OP: No, you can pick it up in David. (largest city in Chiriqui Province - but not anywhere near where we were going)
S: Oh. So, it is necessary that we go to David?
OP: Where are you going?
S: Isla Boca Brava. And then back to Panama City.
OP: I'm from near Isla Boca Brava. It's beautiful.
S: ---
OP: Look, if you pay the fine with me I'll file the report and write a receipt later. Then you can keep your license.
S: Yes?!?

I guarantee there is no record of me getting pulled over in Panamá on file in any police office. However, the last year and eight months of learning Spanish suddenly all became worth it in that one moment. Also, 92 KM is not that fast. Most of you probably drive faster than that on your way to work.

Chiriquí Province

The reason we got a 4WD vehicle was in order to get to our next destination, the Isla Boca Brava, an island just off the coast of a tiny town called Boca Chica. After turning off the Interamericana Hwy onto a sometimes paved road, we drove for about an hour south toward the Pacific and the Gulf of Chiriquí. Once there, we disembarked at the town dock, hired a water taxi to take us for a five minute ride across the way to the Isla Boca Brava, where one finds the Hotel y Restaurante Boca Brava. (You don't need a creative or unique name when you are literally the only establishment on the island.) The "hotel" doesn't take reservations and, in the chance there is no vacancy in the various rooms, the staff will put you up somewhere in a hammock; we got lodging.

After settling in, we headed for one of the beaches, Playa Piedrita, on the southern side of the island. After a 30 minute hike, we came to a beautiful rocky and secluded beach. It didn't stay secluded for long though, as we were greeted by a large troop of monkeys, some with tiny little babies clinging to their mothers' backs. They really paid us no mind as they traversed the branches of the trees from one side of the beach to the other, disappearing back into the forest. The next morning I went for a trail run and came across the troop again. Some of them were just waking up and one, that I couldn't quite locate, was howling very loudly as I got closer so I opted to turn around.

After breakfast we chartered a pontoon boat out to one of the further islands, Isla Bolaños, for a day of snorkeling, coral sand beaches, and sparkling waters. The snorkeling was interesting and I saw my first wild octopus, as well as some brilliantly colored fish and a neon-blue starfish. The beach was also filled with wildlife including thousands of hermit crabs and some sort of iguana-like lizard that may or may not have been hunting the crabs. We spent the afternoon floating in our private bay, reading on the beach, having lunch, and just enjoying the sun and the view of mainland Panamá off in the distance. On the way back to Isla Boca Brava our pontoon was joined by a school of dolphins who swam alongside and leaped into the air in front of our craft for about ten minutes.

Kim's pristine beach and glowing sun: Check.

Back at the lodge, we enjoyed another dinner of good food and drinks, as well as a liberal helping of aloe to pretty much everywhere. We talked with one of the managers of the establishment, a German guy, who told us the owner and his wife, also German, are trying to sell it as it is becoming "too commercial" and they feel guests are expecting too much - more than a rustic hotel and restaurant might be willing to offer, anyway. So, if you have $30 Million laying around, it's all yours! If not, and you are in the area, make this a part of your itinerary before someone else buys it and turns it into a great big luxury resort.

Los Santos Province

The turn-off of the Interamericana for Boca Chica was our westernmost point in the journey, especially now that a trip to David to reclaim my license was no longer necessary, so we jumped back on the highway and head east toward Panama City again. I was very careful this time in Veraguas Province and Eric, as my chief navigator, helped me look for the sometimes elusive speed limit signs.

When we got to the end of the province we headed south again, this time into the Azuero Peninsula to a town in Los Santos Province called, appropriately, Villa de los Santos. It is here that Panamá officially declared it's independence and the people of the entire peninsula are very proud people to be living in the birthplace of their country. There are many festivals throughout the year in the scattered towns throughout this region, including the Semana Santa festivities held in Villa de los Santos.

We found and checked into our hotel, hung out by the pool for awhile, and then headed into town for dinner and some people-watching. Dinner was had at a small tienda across from the main plaza near the church, were the night's service was being held. I love stumbling upon restaurants where there is no menu - just a plate that they serve. Eat it, or don't. It's like dinner at home as a kid. You don't like what Momma's cooking? Fine! Go hungry. This particular establishment served grilled chicken. You could get it by the quarter: 1/4 bird, 1/2 bird, or whole bird. All grilled and seasoned to perfection by the old lady with the scarf around her head and hips that could move a mountain who has probably been doing this her entire life.

Shortly after dinner two things happened: the stomach ache that was most likely a little amoebic friend in Maggie's intestine decided it didn't like the chicken and she needed to go back to the hotel, and the church service ended to allow the Wednesday night festivities to begin.

A year ago, after crawling out of the Amazon jungle, I happened upon a Semana Santa parade in the town of Leticía. I was excited about making this a two-year tradition. The procession in Villa de los Santos was a little different that the one I saw last year. First of all, this one was at night and there were no Stations of the Cross to visit along the parade route, just three bed-sized floats with flowers, lights, and statues depicting Christ and a couple saints being hoisted and carried through the streets. The crowd still moved as one and there was still a member of the church clergy on a megaphone telling the Easter story. This time however, it was nearly impossible to hear as the drone of the generators used to power the lights on the floats drowned out the voice of the speaker. I'm not Catholic, but it was a moving experience to watch and walk with this age-old tradition move through streets that have seen probably over 250 of these ceremonies.

Herrera Province

The next day, Maggie's amoeba having calmed down, we again headed back to the Interamericana, leaving behind Los Santos Province and passing through Herrera Province. It is here that one of the first Panamanian towns, Parita, is found. Located just off the main route into the Azuero Peninsula, Parita is tiny grid of cobbled and gravel streets with modest brightly colored houses book-ended next to each other. In the town center there is a surprisingly large church with the bell tower positioned untraditionally over the entrance and not one of the front corners. The guidebook told us that this is the only church in Panamá, and much of Central America, to have such a feature. It also mentioned that church-goers do not linger near the entrance as they are still skeptical of it's structural integrity.

Panamá Province

On the way back into Panamá Province, we stopped at a notorious roadside diner that many Panama City residents stop at on their way to their fincas or beach resorts. The establishment was a few steps above a shack or some temporary building one might find at a State Fair so it was funny to see BMW's and Lexus's parked in the gravel parking lot. But that also told us we would not be disappointed. The restaurant is known for it's bollos (cornbread-like rolls with different flavors like chili, cheese, chicken, coconut, etc.) and chicheme (drink made of milk, corn, and cinnamon). Well, when in Rome! I actually have had a version of the bollo back in Colombia, though I believe it is called something else, and while I wouldn't drink them all the time, the chicheme wasn't as gross as it's list of ingredients leads one to believe, just a little chunky.

Eric's roadside culinary attraction that Anthony Bourdain would love to visit? Check!

Putting off the inevitable, the dreaded return to the city of few driving rules and fewer signs finally came. Fortunately for us, it seems that the last part of Semana Santa, Panama City residents leave town so traffic was significantly reduced. This did not make it any easier to find out hotel; after making three loops around the same neighborhood, mostly because the location of the hotel was marked incorrectly in the guidebook by a block and was in the crack in both maps, we found the elusive Hotel Costa Azul - which was neither blue nor on the coast, but I digress.

We settled in, then headed out for a nice dinner at Palms restaurant for both Kim and Maggie's birthdays. The chef at Palms was incredible. She had managed to create some delicious and inventive meals that made you savor each bite. I had a plate with pork wrapped in bacon on top on a stack that included a tiny crepe, and apple slice, and a portabella mushroom. This was all topped with candied shredded carrots. At the end of the meal the chef came out to meet us and it turns out she is from Barranquilla, Colombia. Small world!

The next couple days were filled with more delicious food, including a fantastic sushi dinner (Maggie and Kim wanted to try sushi with plantains since I had talked about how much I loved getting that here in Cali) and a great Lebanese restaurant (which, incidentally was the only thing open on Good Friday).

On our last full day in Panama City, we ventured to an area called Casco Viejo, or the "old compound." This area was, essentially, the city's second try after the original settlement, Panamá Viejo, was destroyed by the infamous pirate Captain Morgan. Panamá Viejo was the first European settlement on the Pacific side of the Americas (north and south) so Casco Viejo is still one of the first. It reminded me a lot of Cartagena in terms of it's architecture and sea-side location; it has a very enchanted European feeling to it.

It is here that we encountered many vendors selling various souvenirs, including pieces of fabric called "molas" which are crafted by the Kuna people of the Kuna Yala Province along the Caribbean coast. The women selling the molas were dressed in traditional attire and seemed out of place in this old city setting. According to the guidebook, the Kuna do not like to have their picture taken, in their province anyway, so I respected that wish, but their skills with creating these pieces of layered fabric are incredible! Kim bought four small molas to frame for her nephew.

Last but not least, though a tad out of sequence, on the list of things to do when one visits Panamá, is to see the Canal. Before we returned our Prado, we drove the half hour north of the city to the Miraflores Locks, the only set of locks on the Pacific side. (There are two sets on the Caribbean, but this is the most accessible and tourist-friendly.) I've been to some internationally known landmarks and been disappointed, such as the Statue of Liberty and the Mona Lisa, but the Panama Canal does not make that list. It really is an engineering marvel. Every ship constructed today is designed with the dimensions of the Canal in mind. Some of the enormous ships that passed through the series of locks while we were there had literally inches to spare on each side as they passed slowly to the ocean. It takes about eight hours for a ship to get from one coast to the other and can cost upwards of $200,000 depending on the size of the vessel.

The most interesting thing I found about the Canal system was that, while a boat is in the Canal, if it is a huge ocean-liner, it has to have a Panamanian captain. For this reason, all of the large ships flew the Panamanian flag as they passed though, as the original captain has to temporarily give up command. We ate lunch on the terrace of the museum's restaurant and watched several ships of impressive size from all over the world exit toward the Pacific, saving countless hours of travel.

People were skeptical of the Canal's future success when the U.S. handed over complete control of it to the Panamanian government in 1999 but it has continued to run successfully and there is actually an expansion project underway due to be completed in 2014, which will increase the number of crossings and decrease the amount of water needed to move a ship through the locks.

All in all, I really liked Panamá and I loved traveling around with some good old friends and practicing my Spanish. If I have trouble finding a job as a teacher I might have to considered the travel agent/personal tour guide gig!

I kept inadvertently comparing everything to Colombia in my head and I have to say that by the end of the trip, I really missed it. Panamá is nice...but it's no Colombia. I know they used to be the same country, but I think it is okay that they gave this part up; Colombia still has all the good stuff!

Me Tarzan

I think that at one point or another most elementary-aged kids go through a stage in which they are interested in the rain forest. I remember my own elementary days of creating a rainforest out of the hallway by the cafeteria in art class and building dioramas for display in the library – although the intrinsic purpose of the dioramas escapes me now. Either way, to me, the rainforest was this mysterious place only truly accessible to researchers and people working for National Geographic; I probably would never go there.

This past week, however, I got the amazing experience of spending four days buried deep in the Amazon rainforest in the Heliconia Reserve about four degrees south of the equator and off an Amazon River tributary, the Yavarí River, in what is technically Brazil.

For our Semana Santa (Holy Week) or Spring Break vacation another teacher friend, Tina, and I boarded a plane in Bogotá for a two hour flight to Leticia, a small town in the southernmost tip of Colombia, where it meets with Peru and Brazil. Aside from using the river or a plane, there is no other conceivable way in or out of this region of the country; it truly is isolated in the middle of the jungle.

We were met at the airport, if you could call it that, by a lady from the reserve who took us to the docks of Leticia where we climbed aboard a small fiberglass motorboat driven by a curly-haired, raspy voiced man named Israel with questionable dental hygiene. Israel handed us a sandwich and juice and informed us we would be sitting for the next three hours as we made our way to the reserve. Along the way, he pointed out various settlements along the river and birds and the like, but with the motor, his heavily accented Spanish, and the fact that he sounded like that lady in the anti-smoking ad that takes a puff through the whole in her neck, we usually didn’t understand and thus just smiled and nodded politely.

This being the rainy season (although I have to believe that there is still a consistent amount the rest of the year in order to maintain the moniker of “rain” forest one assumes a certain amount of constant precipitation) the water level was at the cresting point and all of the shoreline was hidden and most of the trees seemed to grow out of the river itself. Upon arriving at the reserve the staff greeted us warmly and served a wonderful fish dinner. Oddly enough, we were the only two guests present that first night so we were able to hang out in the lodge and converse with Israel, the wonder kitchen mother, and several of the guides. It was a great way to practice our Spanish. They decided to name me Tarzan because they could say that so I was “Tarzan” the rest of the week.

Our cabana consisted of beams and screens with beds enclosed in mosquito netting. There was a toilet “room” and a shower “room.” I say “room” because the outside wall was non-existent and as you did your business, you looked out at the marvel that was the jungle. It reminded me of the forest wallpaper my parents have behind the entertainment center in the basement except it moved.

After bidding everyone a buena noche we made out way to said cabana only to discover a (large - to us) medium-sized tarantula on top of my mosquito netting. After calling for help and not getting any response, we haphazardly attempted to smash it with a pair of shoes only to have it retreat into a crack in the wall. We conceded defeat and, only after pulling my bed away from the walls, secured our mosquito nets and drifted off to sleep. I’m sorry – that’s a lie. Have you ever been tempted to buy one of those “Ocean Sounds” or “Jungle Sounds” CDs to help you sleep? I haven’t and I am now certain I never will. Not really a settling noise when you know the rattling trees or chirps or screeches are real and potentially meters from your head. I’ll take passing traffic any day.

The next few days our personal guide, Jimmie, took us on nature hikes, canoe outings, fishing, and swimming. On our hikes we saw termite mounds, more tarantulas (bigger ones), frogs, parrots, monkeys, eagles, and a dead anaconda complete with circling vultures. He also showed us how the rubber (caucho) is harvested from the rubber trees the way the indigenous tribes did it so that the trees did not die. He also showed us trees with medicinal value including one to prevent constipation (that was a fun game of charades) and itching from bug bites. SAVE THE RAINFOREST PEOPLE! THERE'S GOOD STUFF IN THERE!!!

On the river we canoed, saw freshwater pink river dolphins, and went for a quick swim. Jimmie told us the middle of the river was fine and that all the snakes, crocodiles, piranhas, and electric eels were over near the trees. He also jumped in first. We went fishing for piranhas and, although both Tina and I got nibbles, Jimmie was the only successful fisherman. He caught two fish, one being a piranha and both being small. He then took a small leaf and said, “Este es su dedo (This is your finger)” and stuck the thing into the piranha’s mouth where it promptly made hole puncher-worthy bite cuts out of the leaf’s margins. Crazy stuff. I’m glad it wasn’t my dedo.

My two favorite things we did was a night outing in which we floated peacefully in the canoe and Jimmie told us the indigenous people’s legend of the pink dolphin. This was fun mostly because we had to work together to translate it and because it was a good story. Well, based on how we translated it, it was. The other was a night outing in the boat were we went looking for caiman crocodiles. Apparently caimans in the Amazon and deer in North America have the same paralytic habit of doing nothing when a bright light is shown in their eyes. All you need to catch a caiman is a flashlight and a quick hand. Jimmie caught a small one (about a foot long) and attempted two others. (One of the others was about three feet long and he wisely retracted his reach and the other just got away.)

The second night Tina was alone in the cabana before dinner and a large gecko lost it’s grip and fell (or jumped, depending on who’s story you are hearing) on her arm. She flipped out, screamed, and the gecko lost its tail as geckos often do when frightened so at least they are even. Either way, the entire staff and a few of the newly arrived guests all went running to “save her.” It was pretty funny and we all laughed about it later. That and when Tina took a swing of the homemade bug repellent we made in an old water bottle. This actually happened while we were asked to help translate (!) for a couple from Germany who spoke good English but not much beyond “hola.” Needless to say, it was an interesting impression of us they will take back to Germany.

After four days in the jungle, we said our goodbyes and Israel took us on another three hour boat ride. We stopped briefly to get gas on this island village, Santa Rita, which turned out to be part of Peru, so Tina and I went for a short walk. I’m not sure it this truly counts as visiting another country but it’s a start.

We found a hotel in Leticia, showered up (without having to immediately apply bug juice and feel instantly dirty again), and headed for Brazil. Normally Americans have to pay a hefty visa fee to travel in Brazil (apparently America charges Brazilians a ton to travel in the States so it is reciprocated) but since the town essentially connected to Leticia, Tabatinga, is in the same isolated situation that Leticia is in, they turn a blind eye. It’s not likely we would turn up in Rio de Janeiro in a few days. During the walk we discussed what one has to do to claim they “visited a country.” We came to the decision that money needs to be exchanged so we proceeded to have lunch. We also got Brazilian change so that has to count. Then, on our way out of town back to good ole Colombia, we bought flip-flops with little Brazilian flags on them. Tell me that that is not “visiting a country!”

Leticia turned out to be a really pleasant and very safe town – actually one of the safest feeling I have visited in Colombia. This may have something to do with the need for tourism…and the easily 2,000 troops stationed throughout the town. You couldn’t turn your head without seeing at least one soldier. One of the unique sights in Leticia is the Parque Santander where each night at around dusk thousands of parrots roost for the night in the trees. The guidebook says they arrive “screeching” but to hear it does not do the book’s description justice. It is almost deafening. You go from thinking, “Oh look at all the little green parrots landing in the trees” to “Seriously! Shut up!”

Friday morning I woke up to find a bakery for breakfast and accidentally joined a Good Friday processional though out the streets of Leticia. The church (I say “the” since there is probably only one) set up the Catholic 12 Stations of the Cross at various places along the processional route and as “Jesus” and the congregation/city of Leticia walked behind, a truck drove along slowly playing Hymns and the priest narrated the story. It was fun since I had a basic frame of reference I was able to understand a good 80% of what he was saying.

Not bad for Tarzan, eh? Also, not bad for a kid who thought the closest he’d get to the rainforest would be the wall outside his elementary school cafeteria.