Cows on Stairs

"Well that's why you never see cows going down stairs; their legs lock up."

"What are you talking about?  Sure they can."

"No, they can't.  Have you ever seen a cow going down stairs? They can only go up them."

"Well then I'll have to check the upper floor of my house to make sure there are no stranded cattle up there to be sure.  Why would a cow even be near stairs?"

Tell me, vaca: how do you feel
about stairs?

Take four college swimming friends going on over ten years of friendship, add in thirty miles of mountain jungle hiking over five days and you're bound to get conversations like this.  We never solved the mystery of bovine agility on terraced surfaces - and frankly I don't care - but we did experience an exhausting and rewarding journey through a beautiful and relatively unknown corner of Colombia.

The week before leaving to hike through the jungle in search of the "lost city" of the Tairona indians in the Sierra Nevada mountains northeast of Santa Marta, I discovered that many of my Colombian colleagues and students had not heard of this "ciudad perdida."

Mike, Peter, and Matt arrived to Cali on Friday.  I showed them around the city and on Sunday we hopped a flight to Santa Marta.  After a great night at the hotel Casa Aluna, we were met Monday morning bright and early by our machete-weilding guide, Juan Carlos.  From there we picked up the rest of our hiking group - two Czech girls and a German girl - and drove three hours into the mountains as far as the bumpy dirt road allowed the Jeep to go.

The first part of the hike is through campesino land; cultivated country-side, sparsely populated by farmers, donkeys, and chickens.  The second half of the hike was through land designated for the Kogi indians, a group of indigenous people who have cautiously embraced tourism while remaining fiercely private and holding to their ancestral way of life.

Some Kogi children in the hills.

The Kogi, dressed in white tunic-like clothing, were present at various turns, either walking the same trails we were - though often barefoot - or hidden in the forest and would whisper a quiet response when greeted.  The children seemed most interested in the hikers, but as a way to barter for sweets, bracelets, or bandanas.  Kogi villages are relatively small, but not terribly far from other settlements.  The grass and sugarcane-constructed circular houses have two points at the peak of the roof, symbolic of the two highest summits in the Sierra Nevadas, both over 5,500 meters.

"Juan Carlos says the 'lost city' is over there."
~Peter on day #1

We took three days getting in to the base of the mountain where the "lost city" was located and two days getting out, including day four when we doubled back and covered around 10 miles.   Juan Carlos was impressed with our drive; I hesitate to use the words "stamina" or "fitness" as some of us are nowhere near the fine physical specimens we were in the pool-days.

Most of the hiking was either up, down, or, as Juan Carlos prepped us, "varied."  Most of our uphill exertions were rewarded with oranges or watermelon wedges and our assents started with a banana and a "good luck."

1,200 steps to the top!

Even to get to the actual "lost city" one has to climb approximately 1,200 ancient stone stairs which begin along the banks of a river and go essentially straight up the mountain-side.  Likened to Peru's Machu Picchu, but older, the "lost city" was originally called Teyuna and was one of the most important settlements for the ancient Tairona indians who were driven out of existence by the year 1600 through a combination of wars with the Spanish conquistadors and retreating into the mountains and beyond.

Also like Machu Picchu, the Spanish never found Teyuna.  However, in the mid-1970's a breed of grave-robber known in Colombia as the guaquero, did.  Archeologists followed, attempting to salvage the damage caused by the guaqueros destructive search for gold.  Add to that the various para-military groups hiding in the area, the Kogi communities, poor campesino farmers, and the secret illegal marijuana and coca plant fields and the Sierra Nevadas are not a place you want to find yourself!

The top foundation belonged to the Shaman's house.  The adjacent one on the same level
is believed to be where his wives lived.  Since he was the most important individual in
the community, his house was at the highest point; only tombs of the ancestors could be
located higher (ie: where this pictures was taken from).

"Ciudad Perdida" far exceeded my expectations.  I had no idea how expansive it was and as Juan Carlos took us to the various sections of the once-spralling mountain town, every painful step along the trail became worth it.

Morning sunrise from hammocks at Camp Alfredo.

Kogi hut used in the processing of sugar cane
at one of the summits along the hike.

Most of the Kogi men carried a poporo with them.
The bottom is a hollow gourd filled with powder made of
ground shells and coca leaf.  They put the stick in through
the hole after applying saliva and then rub in on the
outside, causing it to grow slowly over time.  This is
meant to demonstrate a man's responsibility and his
readiness to "keep" a woman.  It is also a bit sexual.

Taking a break with the guides "Pollito" and Juan Carlos.

Welcome to the "lost city" of Teyuna!

Did I mention three helicopters landed while we were at the "lost city"?
The third one stayed.  Supposedly the President was coming later.  Hmm...
Really happy about that being in my picture.

 Juan Carlos was incredibly knowledgeable, having both grown up on his grandmother's farm in the area and guided tours for close to twenty years, he was always prepared and overflowing with knowledge.  Thankfully I have intelligent and inquisitive friends who were more than happy to sit around after dinner most nights, lit only by candles waxed to the tables and test my translating abilities.

The one question that never got asked concerned those stair-climbing cattle.  However, if we managed to haul our sorry selves all over that terrain, I'm sure a cow can tackle a few steps.  Just let's all agree never to bring this conversation up again.  I beg you.

Say Whiskey!

In Colombia when you smile for the camera you say "whiskey" (or "wee-skee").  This is appropriate in any and all occasions.  Even for a four year old boy posing in front of a statue of the Virgin Mary.

Last weekend my friend Andrés, another amatuer wannabe photographer, asked if I wanted to go on a day-long paseo fotografía to various lacations in the Valle del Cauca (the department where Cali is located).  He is taking a photography course for fun and as an activity the class and whoever they wanted to invite were visiting the small city of Buga with its "miracle" basilica, the Yotoco Nature Reserve, and the town of Darien on the shores of Lago Calima.

All the locations provided a variety of subjects and potential themes.  Some sites had opportune moments to capture people in their Sunday rituals, whether it be worship, relaxing, playing on the beach or at a park, or eating.  Others were ripe with nature or architecture.  And there never seemed to be lacking sweeping landscapes for those photogs looking to capture the coutryside on film.

The class participants were supposed to choose five photographs to be entered in a class contest.  Since I'm not in the class, these are my five favorites from the day:

Lady selling chontaduros

Fiddlehead

Religion for sale

Nun buying incense

Green bee

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.

Falling For Argentina

Part II of VI 
Living in Colombia I have learned two words forwaterfall: cascada and chorrera.  Why I need more synonymous second-language vocabulary filling my brain, I don’t know, but now I have catarata and salto to contend with.  (Not being a “waterfall expert,” there may well be more than one English noun to describe a river that runs off a cliff, but four seems excessive.)

The Cataratas de Iguazú, located outside of the quiet tourist town of Puerto Iguazú,  are awe-inspiring to say the least.  At around 1.7 miles across with a total of 275 different individual falls*, this world-famous natural wonder straddles the border between Argentina and Brazil. To stand and watch the incredible quantity of water that rushes over the edge is bewildering.  If the pictures look familiar it may also be because the falls have been used in numerous Hollywood films including "The Mission" (1986) starring Robert DeNiro, "Mr. Magoo" (1997), and the most recent Indiana Jones sequel (2008), among others.

The first jaw-dropping view of the falls is usually from the upper ledges; I’m not exaggerating when I say I got goose bumps!  Further hiking trails allow you to climb down to the lower basin and gaze up into the powerful and refreshing mists as thousands of gallons of water surge toward you.  At the bottom we boarded a small boat and were driven underneath a few of the falls, which, while blinding, provided a welcome reprieve from the jungle heat of northern Argentina.  Another short distance by tram takes you to the Garganta del Diablo (Devil’s Throat), a U-shaped section of the falls where nearly half the fall’s water spills over 80 meters downward. 

This is one of those astoundingly beautiful places that no photograph could ever truly and completely capture.  Nevertheless, I tried…

*Gracias, Wikipedia

The coati is a relative of the raccoon native to the area

that enjoys stealing tourist lunches.

It is comparable in size to a medium-breed dog.

Tres Fronteras

At the far end of Puerto Iguazú is the confluence of two rivers.

From here you can see both Brazil (left) and Paraguay (right).

And then there is this video (courtesy of Kristin):

A Mother's Earth

In the era of global warming, environmental awareness, sustainable practices, and recycling, teaching ecology takes on a whole new form.  It is hard to argue against the fact that education is paramount in affecting awareness and change.  This year I had the unique opportunity to take my class of Pre-AP Biology students, all 11th graders, to a self-sustaining eco-community located about half an hour outside of Cali.  While many of the ideas and ways of life implimented in this community - which includes about forty families and is governed entirely by women - are a little unrealistic for a contemporary lifestyle, I feel it is important for my students to see how thinking "outside the box" can, indeed, work.

Nashira, named after an indigenous goddess of abundance, uses solar energy for many of its power needs, including all the cooking.  All of the buildings have been constructed using recycled materials to create the "cement" and composting sheds have been set up throughout the commun for equal access for all the individual gardens set up in each family plot.  Each family is assigned and responsible for the opperation of one aspect that the entire community benfits from, for example the raising and collecting of hen and chicken eggs, the maintainence of the compost sheds, organizing the recycled and waste materials in the materials building, to name a few.

One the most ingenious aspects of the community is the main communal bathroom, called a baño seco or "dry bathroom" as it is flushless and requires no traditional plumbing.  This is not your average hole in the ground toilet, however!  The toilet bowl is separated into two sections, for number one and number two, respectively.  After doing number two, all that is needed is a scoop of dirt from the handy dirt container located next to the trash can.  This goes into a recepticle apart from the urine and can be used as fertilizer, along with the toilet paper that is disgarded here as well.

My students had a great day and seemed to be really inspired by human ingenuity.  After taking a guided tour of the community, doing two different workshops on waste disposal and making new paper out of recycled paper, and having a delicious sancocho lunch cooked by solar power, we were all justifiably exhausted but also ready to bring some of these ideas back to school and to Cali. All in all, it was successful trip!

My Pre AP Biology class.

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle!

Waste management workshop

Recycled paper-making workshop

 
 

Hometown Glory

Orchids

One of my good friends here in Cali, Beatriz, is from a smaller city about five hours north by bus, along the eight-hour journey to Medellín.  Ever since we first met several years ago, I have heard about this "beautiful city" and, despite several failed attempts, we were finally about to organize a weekend to make the trip to get to know this city from an insider's perspective.

Manizales, the capital of the Caldas department (state) is located in and amongst rolling green hills and valleys in the mountains of Colombia's coffee region.  The people of this area are known as Paisa's (say: PI-sah), and are often compared with Texan's and the Quebecois in that they are a proud and friendly people with more local pride than national.  (It should also be noted that the unofficial stereotype of the Paisa's is that they have terrible hairstyles; it sometimes seems like everyone is in a punk band.)

Beatriz explaining the history of Manizales as told by an
elaborate and impressive hilltop scupture.

Bolívar statue

We did the typical visits to popular tourist sites in the city - the main cathedral, a statue of Simon Bolívar as a bird, a watertower turned into cafe/nightclub/climbing wall, and an eco-park just outside of town filled with orchids, hummingbirds, and a zebra and ostrich rescued from a narco-trafficer's private collection - but the most interesting place was in the "zona rosa" of the city, a neighborhood known as Cable.  Situated atop a ridge, the strip of restaurants, bars, cafés and clubs is the place to be almost every night of the week.  Aside from the people-watching, what made Cable so intriguing was that Manizales - especially at night and on a summit - is cold and there were people everywhere outside.  For comparison, Cali is universally hot and there are not nearly as many outdoor dining areas in the entire city as there were in this one area (I may be exaggerating slightly, but you get the idea).

One of the things I will always associate with Beatriz is her disdain for the hot chocolate served at school for breakfast on Friday mornings, always bemoaning the fact that the chocolates are so much better in Manizales, as she wrinkles her nose and refuses to take one.  This too proved to be true.  As did the fact that ordering an empanada or a bandeja paisa (huge plate of beans, lentils, meats, a potato, fried plantains, and one fried egg) outside of the region pales in comparison and would only serve the purpose of attempted nostalgia.

Hana, Jennifer, Nira, and I at El Mirador in Manizales

Between the scenery, the people, and the food, I count this city as one of those magical places one goes to disappear without ever hiding.  Should I ever vanish on my own accord, place Manizales as one of first places to look for me; I'll be happy to show you around!

I'm On A Boat

Coincidentally, all of my vacations this past year have been to coastal areas where swimwear was required attire.  From the jungle area of the Chocó to the Caribbean island of San Andrés to the coastal desert department of La Guajira, I figured it didn't make sense to break from tradition.  The week following the end of school I packed my board shorts and headed with a small group of teachers and some of their visiting friends on a kayaking adventure along the Pacific coast.

Departing from the only large urban area on the Pacific coast, the port city of Buenaventura, we took a fiberglass lancha to the small fishing community of Juanchaco, which served as our base camp for the next three days.  Our guide, Julio, runs his own ecotourism business and trips like this are his life, so we were in good hands.

Admiring the orchids.

Over the next three days we enjoyed mostly sunny weather - unusual for the Pacific coast, which is one of the wettest places on the planet - with visits to the small islands off the mainland, some caves, secluded beaches, an estuary, and river going into the jungle.  We saw bats fluttering about in caves, crabs scrambling over wave-swept rocks, pelicans roosting in trees, and blue-footed boobies perched precariously on cliff ledges.  Julio also was fond of pointing out all kinds of species of orchids, which happens to be Colombia's national flower.

Boobies!

Ocean kayaking is strenuous, especially when your fighting the current or getting nauseous from large sea swells.  Despite the sore shoulders, near-blistered hands, chaffed butt, and one capsizing, nothing can compete with the stunning beauty of this region, especially sections only accessible by small boat.  With Julio's expertise, I will definitely be doing this trip again!

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.