Author: alasdair.geo (Page 6 of 13)

We watched the BBC programme “Colombia with Simon Reeves” on our sail over.  It had changed much of what we imagined about Colombia, and so we set out for our first evening ashore feeling fairly safe.  It was still holiday season, we left the marina, crossed the beach road, and entered a maze of small streets.  First impressions were of incredible street art on some of the buildings, and a mixture of both good and ramshackle buildings.  We crossed the plaza, where the break dancers practised every night, and then entered a narrower street.  This was full of restaurants, with tables out onto the street.  We chose one, and had a superb, cheap, dinner, while watching the street musicians, break dancers, hawkers selling cigars and cheap goods, and all the families on their evening promenade.  We saw two “tourist police” on Segways, but felt completely safe.  What’s not to like about two pieces of filet mignon and veg, a dessert, a mojito, and a beer, all for £11 ?

Our first full day in Santa Marta included a city tour organised by ARC.  This showed us both rich and poor areas of the city, before arriving at a former sugar estate which is now a public park.  There was an old distillery to see and the owner’s house, where Simon Bolivar had died (17 December 1830).  There was also a huge building in memory of him.  Then it was back to the centre of the town, and the Cathedral, where Bolivar was buried.  In 1842 Bolivar’s body was removed to Caracas and now only his heart is in the cathedral.  In the evening it was back to “restaurant street” for another great meal, accompanied by music and break dancers.

We decided to explore the Tayrona National Park, famous for its jungle paths and superb beaches.  The problem was that it was the weekend, and all the guidebooks warned about the queues to get into the park.  However, an alternative route in was to taxi to the village just north of Santa Marta and travel to the park from there by boat.  Brilliant, except when we got to the boat in Taganga it was still very windy.  The port captain announced that no boats would be allowed to make the 10km journey to the national park, but our boat captain said he could take us snorkelling instead.  We had a quick hop round the first headland and then drift snorkelled all the way back.  We went ashore for lunch at Playa Grande where we had grilled local fresh fish and beer before fighting our way through the crowds on the beach and in the water to get back on our boat.  A short boat trip and taxi ride, and we were soon back on Barracuda.

 Another day, another trip ashore, this time to Minca (full of backpackers and fast gaining a reputation for eco-holidays), 600m up in the Sierra Nevada, but only 20km from Santa Marta.  Rather than going on the ARC tour, we booked our own guide, and what a great guide we had; Juan, the owner of Bukap Travels.  After the main road to Minca, we continued to ascend along worsening tracks, before dropping down into the valley where La Victoria coffee farm is situated.  This was founded by a British couple in 1892.  They had originally arrived to work on railway development, how they found their way to this remote valley is anyone’s guess.  A stream runs through the valley and provides all the electricity for the farm.  We got to see the whole production process from the beans on the bushes, through to the finished coffee bags.  Most of the crop goes to the big coffee producers and only a limited amount is actually roasted and bagged on the farm.  The inside of the processing unit was extraordinary, most of the equipment appears to date from the original setup!  We then visited a local waterfall for a quick swim, before lunch at an eco-lodge with views over the surrounding countryside.  Juan was a great guide with excellent knowledge of Colombian geography, people, politics, and its recent turbulent drug wars.  (Motorbike muggings were almost wiped out overnight by a law decreeing that two men are not allowed on a motorbike, and all crash helmets have to have the licence plate number on them, maybe a lesson here for London?)

To finish, I’ll admit that there is extreme poverty (mainly Venezuelan) in Colombia, with tens of thousands having arrived recently. For example, I bought a couple of purses from street hawkers which were made by weaving banknotes together (each note being the equivalent of 0.003p).  The street hawkers and children begging were everywhere in Santa Marta, but wouldn’t hassle if you said no.  It was also not unusual to see locals missing a leg from stepping on a mine; many fled to this quieter area during the troubles.

Would I visit again?  Definitely.  Great scenery, food, and people, although the Foreign Office does advise against all travel to certain areas!  

There was just time for another ARC briefing, and food and fuel replenishment, before the next leg of our journey, this time to the remote San Blas Islands off the NE coast of Panama.

A few things that stood out in Santa Marta were: the street art, musicians, and the incredible break dancers.  I’ve included some photos and videos to show the standard!

(I forgot to mention the drugs patrol boat that moored on the pontoon across from us.  They were all heavily armed on their 12-man RIB with very large outboard motors.  The bows were encased in sheet metal, which judging by the dents, had been used for ramming on quite a number of occasions.)

The Darien Scheme, the Panama Canal, General Noriega, drug running, shady banking, and the Panama Papers.  That was about the sum of my knowledge on Panama, and, of course, the Spaniards shipping all the gold from South America through Panama.

On our first day in Panama City we had signed up for a city tour.  This included a Panamanian breakfast which was nothing special, but the tour improved after that.  The Panama Canal Zone was ceded to the USA in 1903 and driving around Panama City it was very obvious where the zone had been; the administration area had nice buildings, and tree lined streets.  Protests started in 1958, and the Zone was finally returned to Panama in 1979.  Our guide took us to various sites where protestors had been killed; now there are wall murals and monuments marking the spots.  We drove (and walked) to a hilltop to get views of the old and new Panama City.  Then there was a thirty minute drive to see the 2metre wide cobbled track which was the link between the Pacific and the Caribbean.  All of the South American gold had gone along this track as it was taken to Europe.  We hopped back on the bus for a tour of the Old Town.  On the way we passed General Noriega’s residence, now an empty plot, passed through a fairly rough area, and entered the Old Town.  It was similar to Santa Marta, with many churches and balconies on buildings.  The guide pointed out the newly-laid cobbles on the streets of the Old Town, “if you are walking and notice that it’s tar rather than cobbles, turn back quickly as you are not in a good area.”  The drive back to the marina introduced us to Panama City’s evening traffic jams, with queues several kilometres long.

The next day we visited an Indian village.  After a bus trip back across much of the isthmus, heading NE, we then boarded dugout canoes for a thirty minute journey up river.  The canoes each took about a dozen people, with a large outboard on the back.  Our guides were wearing loin cloths, but I did notice that the fishermen we passed were all wearing shorts and football jerseys.

The village was genuine, with huts built on stilts and tree frond roofs.  There was also a large, communal hut where the villagers had laid out their handicrafts for sale.  We had a question and answer session with the chief.  All the women were bare-breasted, but the chief admitted that all the children attending the village school went there in trousers, white shirts, and ties, for the boys, and dresses for the girls.  We had some tasty food, and dancing, before heading back.  Our dugout needed baling for the whole journey back.  Then it was on to the bus and another encounter with the evening traffic jam.

The next day was spent provisioning at the massive shopping mall; this was at least two or three times bigger than the largest Dubai shopping mall.  On the way back (in the evening traffic jam) our taxi had a puncture.  This meant emptying all our shopping out so that the driver could get at the spare wheel.  As we had already been in the queue for about twenty minutes, and having lost another twenty minutes changing the tyre, our driver felt it was only right that we could regain our position by driving down the wrong side of the road.  He earned his tip!

We got a message saying that the repairs to the mainsail had been delayed.  We therefore decided that we would motorsail around the Las Perlas Islands for a few days, which would allow us to join the ARC party there, and then come back to Panama City.  This would also help me with my departure a few days later.

Our evenings on the boat were spent listening to the “General Noriega playlist”.  If you remember your history, the US Marines blasted the Vatican Embassy, where he had taken refuge, with tunes such as Born to Run, The Party’s Over, Wanted Dead or Alive… The full list can be found on the internet!