San Agustín

Only 1 bus breakdown and 8 hours on a bumpy road later, and we arrived in San Agustín from Popayán. Civilization pre-dating and conquered by the northernmost reaches of the Incan Empire. Our tour guide (who went by the name Jerry Lewis and spoke at least 7 languages including Mandarin and Japanese) told us that the populations of San Agustín spent 3/4 of their lives preparing for death, most visibly in the form of carved out rocks that resemble demons that pay homage to the recently deceased. These figures stand between 2m and 7m tall, have long fang teeth and often are posed with weapons in their hands.
Among their rituals were sacrifice of children and also heroes or sporting champions. That's right, the WINNER would be sacrificed as an gift to the gods, and supposedly this was considered an honor. I could see myself throwing a lot of wrestling matches. Sorry coach, gonna sit this one out. I mean, really. "Congratulations! You win! Now if you'll please make your way over to the large bloody rock at the altar, Johnny will show you what you've won!"

to be continued...

Galapagos, because sometimes I think I could use a little evolving.

As our plane taxied out to the runway of the airport in Quito, Ecuador for the Galapagos Islands, I glanced at the front page of my complimentary Ecuadorian newspaper to see a notice about a recent Iberia Airline flight that had overshot it's landing. The plane had rolled off the end of the runway, dropped a wing and an engine, fortunately killed no one, and presently had a cleanup crew painting over the Iberia logo off the side. Then, as I realized that the remains of the airplane sat at the end of OUR runway now, and as we sped up to take off and everyone hoped we would clear the wreckage, I thought to myself "I love you, Latin America."








Our landing in Galapagos was considerably better, and Lane and I set about doing what everyone does when they go to Galapagos: Eating endangered species! Oh shush. That's why they're endangered, they're delicious!



Okay, seriously now. I have to say, from above the water surface, the Galapagos aren't easy on the eyes, and they certainly aren't cheap. Picture volcanic rock slabs covered in weeds. Sure, there are giant land tortoises, but the real thing is under the water. Sea turtles, sea lions, land and marine iguanas, flamingos, and...PENGUINS! ON THE EQUATOR!!! I swam with penguins on the equator. Check that off the "things I have to do before I die" list.


We spent the better part of 5 days with snorkels stuffed in our mouths, watching the underwater symphony of one of the world's weirdest places. I chased sea turtles around, and despite the help of flippers, they escaped with a remarkable lack of effort. After almost a week underwater, I felt an ear infection coming on, probably some sort of bacteria used to competitively remove weak-eared gringos from the gene pool.




Not having scuba-diving certification, I felt a bit like I was skiing at Vail and couldn't get off the green circle trails...but fortunately snorkeling provided plenty to look at, and when we went to Isla Bartolomé our guide taught us how to say "There's a F$%&ING SHARK BEHIND YOU" in underwater sign language...which was comforting. Fortunately we only saw white tipped sharks, which are vegetarians, although I got to thinking that's probably something they just tell gullible gringos.

The trip took a turn for the worst when Lane began to sprout a tail, but he hides it well. At any rate, we survived Galapagos, saw lots of boobies (sorry, I had to), and my geneology lives on, for now. Our civilization is doomed.

Medellín and the Hostal of the Lotus Eaters

After the 6 day trek to Ciudad Perdida and return to Santa Marta, Lane and I moved on to Medellín. Medellín is the industrial and fashion center of Colombia. After years of financial ingress thanks to Pablo Escobar, the Medellín Cartel, and a certain renowned party-in-a-powder, there´s a Metro and bustling metropolis within the Antioqueño province. Actually, that´s not particularly fair. In amicable random conversations with people, they often sarcastically offer us a warm welcome to "the most dangerous country in the world." As times are stabilizing politically, most people are thrilled to see pioneer tourists wandering back into their country and have come up to us on several occasions to tell us so. "Will you please tell the world when you leave here that we don´t have marijuana plants growing on our roofs, that we´re not terrorists, that our country is beautiful?" So there you go, world. There are no words to describe how beautiful Colombia is, its people are the most helpful and friendly I´ve met, and it has set the bar immensely high for the rest of South America.

A little high priced and pretentious for our tastes, Lane and I were able to forgive Medellín based on the fact that neither of us had been anywhere with so many beautiful women in one place our lives. We stayed in a hostal loaded with rastafarians from all over the US and Europe with a large affinity for some of the plagues that Colombians have been trying to get rid of. This proved to be annoying after a short amount of time, watching people stare at walls and talk about balancing the universe on their fingertips for 12 hours a day, everyday, and never seeing any more of Medellín. Impressively (or perhaps pitifully), there´ve been a few people hanging out at said hostal for months on end, which makes me wonder how the hell they manage it. After about 3 days I experienced the same Island of the Lotus Eaters itch I felt in Amsterdam 2.5 years ago, and we headed on south, while we could still get out.

Cartagena, Santa Marta, Hike to Ciudad Perdida

COLOMBIA, land of unmistakable dangers and forbidden fruits.

Rolled around Cartagena, one of the most beautiful cities in South America for a few days, exploring the fortifications and stone walls sieged by Sir Francis Drake and other pirates looking to exploit the Spanish gold exchange. Major port town used for slave trading and stronghold for the Spanish Empire in the New World. Underwater walls are built to create a bottleneck that would strip the hull of ships to prevent any pirates without knowledge of the routes into the harbor from entering. Large canon still line the walls of the old town, an indication of the important treasures once hidden within.

Cafes pour into the streets, and cobblestone curving roads cut through pastel colored colonial architecture. There are, of course, the requisite gargantuan cathedrals and statues of Simon Bolivar to be found everywhere. City has a definite Rome-meets-Caribbean feel, and it´s easy to see where it gets its notoriety.

After a couple days in Cartagena, we moved up the coast to Santa Marta, a much older town, albeit not as easy on the eyes. Littered beaches and smelling streets gives the impression of what Colombia looks like when it lets its tourist guard down. The bus to Santa Marta had holes in the floor revealing the twisting drive shaft, and leaked copious water from the roof onto the passengers. Commandeering the bus, the Colombian passengers demanded to be returned to the station and put on a respectable bus. One lady, apologetic at the state of the bus, began exclaiming "We have GRINGOS on this bus! This is shameful, we´re a tourist region! I´m so sorry, Gringos...I mean can you BELIEVE THIS?..." Ironically, Lane and I were perhaps the only two unfazed. "The bus isn´t on fire yet, Señora, let´s just keep going!"

In Santa Marta, we arranged a 6 day hike to the Ciudad Perdida (Lost City) in Parque Tayrona. A semi-rough 3 day trek out and a 2,000 stone step climb up the side of the jungle to ruins of local indigenous not discovered until 1975 and still mostly covered by jungle overgrowth, giving a mysterious feel to the civilization. Local indigenous groups are not allowing the further excavation of the area as it is still apparently a graveyard for ancestors and contains gold artifacts.

Our guide, in addition to pointing out the coca plantations from atop of the mountain ranges we were crossing, let us know that along with our $220 fee for the trip was included a discreet $35 payment to La Guerrilla and other insurgent groups that occupy the area and love the teachings of Mao as a payment for NOT CAPTURING US. I´m still trying to figure out how I feel about this tax. How nice of the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia to honor such a contract!....you know, between their cocaine production and whatnot. Why, you may ask, did our guide know about this payment? Because he used to work for them!

Had a scare late in the trip when our cook/porter was swept by a current over a waterfall and holding on by a fingernail to a rock at the edge of another waterfall. He nearly refused to let go of the food bag, something that may have killed him. Group had to perform a rescue and first aid to treat shock and some bruises. Somehow, 2 hours later he was perfectly restored, and treating the accident like another day at work. He would later be bit by a scorpion. We tipped him well.