And
its people. Passionately.
There
are so many bad stories about Colombia travelling around.
Even
the locals would shrug and say: ‘Thank you! We are very glad that you feel so
welcome in our country!’ [and they genuinely mean it] ‘But it’s different than
in Europe, there’s much more violence.’ [not even Europe is what it once was,
but this is another story]
I
went to Colombia with my heart open, trusting in what I felt. And only
that.
From
the first steps I’d set on Colombian soil, Cartagena,
that is, I only came across smiles. Taxi drivers that wouldn’t overcharge us.
Strangers who’d use their own car to get us to the right accommodation [even
though they had space out for rent, too]. These were all around midnight, for
you to get an idea.
 |
| Old Town |
Over
the following two days, Marcel and I practically felt part of the community in
the residential complex, some 15 minutes away from Old Town. Birds humming,
mango trees along the road, more Dacia Logans than back home in Romania, a
supermarket (with an ATM inside!) only 5 minutes by foot, old ladies
instructing me to use aloe vera for my sun-burnt skin.
 |
| Urbanización La Española |
Joy was heightened, as I
discovered a cake shop only 2 houses away from where we were staying and Marcel
got hooked on street-corner asado.
 |
| Time has a flow of its own in Getsemani |
Coffee-related
stories got us closer to a visionary café owner in Getsemani. Sadly, it was
time to go.
Minca delighted us with
talks under the stars, as two friends from Barranquilla – one being our surf
trainer – met again.
Close
to Tayrona Natural Park, the vibe intensified,
finding a balance between party mood and the very laid-back atmosphere of the
Caribbean shores. Which I didn’t mind, by the way – as the control freak that I
admit to be –, but embraced it. The landscape and the beaches are the most
beautiful I’ve seen in my life and I am hanging on to their sweet memory in my
soul.
 |
| Mata de Platano Beach |
Medellín was said to blow our mind in terms of
friendliness. We did feel it, sometimes from the part of other nations around
Latin America, but to me something was lacking. So, I started missing my
coastal days.
It was probably the only low hit during our
Colombian time. Soon, Guatapé pumped
me up with so much light, brightness, patience – from the seller of meringues
welcoming us to the village to the owners of the souvenir shops,
surely the most beautiful handmade items I saw in Colombia! All defined by
munching out-of-the-oven pan de queso.
 |
| An entire world seen through one pastry |
The spectacular road south, to Rio Claro, dotted
with can’t-keep-my-eyes-off-the-window views, was cut short. For us and all
those travelling down that route to Bogotá. A cistern transporting LPG had turned over. That meant lockdown… for 18 hours. The people were
not mad, they were acting in a very relaxed manner, even in the morning when
the water supplies of the restaurant we’d flock around had gone out. There was
a certain charm in all of us watching football, eating together, hoping for
good news… from our driver, a very hard-working and funny guy, who had hooked
up with a girl from our group. There were animals suffering from thirst and
lack of motion, children overfilled with energy, some people who needed to be
at work first thing in the morning, others having the cold, and us… only 10 km
away from our accommodation. Two hours after sunrise – when no one expected it
anymore and we had gone to search for water at another restaurant along the
road –, we heard the bike riders pass honking, so we hurried back and were soon
on our way, with cheerful music and smiles. We parted as a great family,
everybody shaking our hand and wishing us well.
 |
| The first few hours under lockdown |
At first reticent, the staff at Rio Claro Reserva Natural warmed up to
us. Marcel got his squirrel-bitten finger bandaged, I got my boarding pass
printed without charge. We both got tons of fun ziplining over the greenish
river with two very entertaining guys working in the complex.
 |
| Trekking to Las Dantas |
Even waiting for the bus to Doradal was a new opportunity to exchange ideas and share a taxi –
in the end – with a local farmer, in our attempt to reach the bus stop to Bogotá. Like in all big cities, there
was a lingering danger in the air, especially as we arrived after sunset. We
had been warned about the coldness of the capital’s inhabitants. However,
slaloming through dodgy faces led us straight to two tall guys who paid the
beggars that were harassing us and called our host for the
night, by consequently making sure that ‘Doña Olivia’ and ‘Don Marcel’ would be
in safe hands.
 |
| Graffiti-filled La Candelaria |
By flying to San
Andrés, off the Nicaraguan coast, we found yet another side of Colombia. While
we had gone back to the Caribbean ways, we stumbled upon many bilinguals
living their lives just as seen in the movies. Lazy street traffic and local
grocery stores, children on their bicycles and free offers to ride into town… a
relaxed feel of a different identity, yet the last official ‘bit’ of Colombia
we were bidding farewell. I didn’t want to go.
 |
| On the way to Rocky Cay |
And you know what? You, Colombians, are still not
aware that you are rightfully amongst the kindest and most welcoming nations on
the Globe.
You are special.
