A Colombian Superbowl

Eli Manning and I had a lot in common this past weekend, namely that we both went to and conquered a superbowl.  Only Eli got a nice trophy and ring while I got nauseous and windburned.

Volcán Puracé

Despite the misconception that all of South America is beaches and rainforest, people may be surprised to know that I keep a supply of winter hats, gloves, fleece jackets, and thermal underwear on hand in the event I go somewhere cold.  Last weekend four other teachers and I joined a tour to the Parque Nacional Natural Puracé, which straddles the southern departments of Cauca and Huila.

While the park's main draw is it's namesake active volcano, our tour also included visits to two of its other unique natural attractions.  On the first day we stopped at an overlook of a deep valley where Colombia's only population of condors habitually exist.  Condors apparently mate for life, can live up to sixty years, and only lay one egg every two years - a few reasons condors in many parts of the world are endangered.  The park workers set out raw meat on a rock outcropping to tempt the enormous birds from the sky, which eventually worked, but only after vultures came and tried to take their food.  Vultures, not small birds themselves, looked like little crows next to the majestic condors when they descended to claim the baited meat.

We also made a brief stop at the sulfury-smelling San Juan thermal springs, so named for the river they eventually supply.  The river is composed of the confluence of mountain spring water and volcanic minerals mixing together at the site of the thermal springs.  This is said to be the second most beautiful river in Colombia.

Superbowl Sunday began with a 4am wake-up call and breakfast, followed by a "¡Vámonos!" rally call and a steady march uphill in the pitch dark.  Our ultimate goal: the park's namesake volcano, Puracé, at an elevation of around 4700 meters (about 2.5 miles above sea level).  From our lodge at 3200 meters we hiked through some hillside pastures - cows and all - and over some fences until we reached a relatively flat stretch of muddy trenches and moss fields.  This part of the hike took us through a unique biome that exists in very few parts of the world called a páramo (English: paramo).  Found mostly in Andean locations throughout Colombia, Ecuador, & Venezuela characterized by higher altitudes coupled with cold, wet weather, the páramo is both lush and desolate.

The frailejón, a shrub plant, is characteristic of the páramo biome.

A little after sunrise on the way up; still smiling.

After a brief pit stop at an old geological monitoring station to take shelter from the chilling wind, we began climbing again.  The green landscape turned quickly and dramatically to nothing more than lichen-covered rocks and boulders.  The clouds around us thickened until we were walking in an endless expanse of white, the wind began blowing the droplets of water in the air horizontally so that it whipped any exposed flesh on our faces, and the oxygen thinned noticeably.

Mandi being blown off the mountain a little over half-way up.

My "I paid for this?!?" face.

Over an hour later the ground had gotten less stable and was less like hiking and more like scrambling up an ashen sand dune while only taking tiny half-steps partly from altitude exhaustion and partly from a completely rational fear of being blown clear off the volcano.  By now the hikers had all been spread pretty thinly and one cluster could barely make out the next by their ghostly grey silhouettes severals dozen yards distant against the suffocating white.  I will never again look out an airplane window and think "what nice fluffy clouds!" without remembering how one tried beating me to a pulp.

Finally reaching a semblance of flat ground, my two remaining friends and I found one of the guides with about five other hikers crouched behind some large rocks.  The guide then took us about 100 yards more, across what I imagine Mars looks like, to the mouth of the volcano; even this took considerable effort and coercion from my fellow hikers.  Feeling equal amounts of exhaustion, nausea, and frustration, we looked into the nothingness, took one quick picture, and headed down to base camp as fast as our weary legs could carry us.

What we were supposed to see (left) versus what we saw (right).

Our guide later said that the weather we experienced was more on par with the turbulent season of August, when there are no tours.  Predicting the weather atop the volcano is impossible and nothing below can accurately predict what will happen above.  While the National Park itself was gorgeous, the páramo enchanting, and the climate a refreshing change from Cali, our volcano hike was more or less one of the more trying and uncomfortable experiences in recent memory.  Actually I am not exaggerating when I say that the only sustained event I can think of in the last five years that was worse was when I contracted Dengue.

Manning and I both may have felt like we were on top of the world on Sunday, but I'm pretty sure I was the one who felt like vomiting.

I'm Feelin' Hot Hot Hot!

This past weekend we finally had our first three-day weekend of the school year. I believe this is the longest stretch we need to endure without a tiny break; glad that it is behind us!

My friend Tina and I took two of the new import teachers, Carrie and Tara, on a short little road trip to show them how the insanity of the bus station works and how the general concept of reservations is irrelevant most of the time. After all the weeks without a break from the students we all agreed some rest and relaxation was in order so we headed for the tiny hamlet of Santa Rosa de Cabal in the coffee-growing region about four hours north of Cali.

Santa Rosa is great because it is quaint, up in the mountains so that the temperature is comfortable sweater-weather but not snowing cold (not ready for that yet!), and near a bunch of thermal hot springs. All perfect for a weekend of decompressing!

We arrived in the mid-afternoon on Saturday and found a hotel near the town square. Normally, this would have been fine, except the town was having their 164th Anniversary celebration so when the revelers were leaving the party at all hours of the night, roughly one fourth of them staggered past our street-side room. Tina and I scouted out other lodgings the next morning and found a colonial-looking one near the edge of town owned by a nice couple who spoke English and had lived a time in Miami. (If you should end up in Santa Rosa, stay at the Hotel Cohiba - that's my plug.) He was from Cuba originally and was nice enough to drive us to the very best thermal hot springs in the area and pick us up when we were good and relaxed. That's hotel service if you ask me!

They had a great backyard with a high stone wall, chickens, a rooster that is lucky to be alive after waking us up much too early the next morning, and a nice little green parrot named Pacho who asked "¿quiero cacao?" Perhaps the Colombian version of "Polly wanna cracker?" Cocoa is a much better request than a cracker if you ask me; I think these Spanish-speaking birds are on the right track. He was my favorite, obviously.

The springs were amazing. We could tell we were getting closer as we drove, not only because of the increase in other weekending Colombians and the smell of sulfur, but because of the steam rising from the green leafy mountain ridges. There were several waterfalls at the site of the thermal springs, some fresh and freezing from streams higher up and others boiling hot originating from deep underground. As the pools got more crowded and the day progressed, we took the opportunity to get a massage at the on-site spa. I've never had a professional massage before but I could get used to this luxury! The best (and most surprising) part was when my masseuse began digging into my gluteus muscle. I could go for just one of those next time; its like walking on air afterwards!

That night we partied with the locals in the main central park and ate the regionally famous chorizo sausage among other meat products. It really is impossible to be a vegetarian in this country. I don't think anyone would laugh at you, you'd just end up starving after all the mangos, pineapples, oranges, avocados, and cilantro have bored your stomach to tears.

Things that will continue to amaze me about living here: grocery store "hoes." These are the girls that certain brands pay to stand all day in grocery store aisles and pimp their product while wearing apparel usually reserved for "women of the night." Well, the grocery store off of Santa Rosa's town square had girls serving customers shots of whiskey as they came in and out of the store. Classy, no? Only in Colombia...