My return to Salento was a breath of fresh air in every way imaginable: no more sweating through every article of clothing, no more scratching the eruptions of bug bites, no more throngs of partying gringos. We headed back to hostal La Serrana and I thoroughly enjoyed the view from the mountain hammocks.
Two teams stand next to each other and alternate turns tossing a surprisingly heavy stone (maybe about 8 pounds?) at a small metal ring. The ring is embedded in a wall of clay tilted at a 45 degree angle and is encircled by packets of gunpowder. Typically you are supposed to stand a good 30 feet away but we elected for the gringo distance of 15.
I'm sure there are different point systems but here is what we used: If no team gets a stone in the ring (99% of the time) the team with the stone closest to the circle gets a single point; a stone inside the circle but no gunpowder explosion gets 5 points (0.4% of the time); an explosion but the stone is not fully inside the circle is also five points (0.4% of the time); and the White Whale of tosses, a circle-explosion, was worth 9 points (0.2%, and that is generous). First to 21+ wins. As with most Colombian social activities alcohol is involved; the courts are free to use as long as everyone purchases a drink.
Team Billy/Katrin jumped out to a commanding 11-6 lead by consistently painting the edges of the ring. In one toss Sebastian/Arlen tied it with a surgical drop that did not explode. Unfettered by what was certainly a fortuitous throw, Billy/Katrin resumed the beatdown with un-relentless precision. At 20-12 the match looked all but finished. Of course Sebastian/Arlen threw up a prayer that magically exploded but landed outside the ring, roaring back to contention at 20-17. Just to clarify, these don't sound like those little firecracker pop-rocks that you throw on the ground; when there is an explosion your immediate instinct is to duck for cover.
I'll admit I was a little rattled, my next two tosses were nowhere near the ring and suddenly we were looking at a 20-19 chokefest. Sensing the game was slipping away we paused in silence, delving deep within our psyches searching for the answer. Disney himself could not write such an ending. The stone soared from my hand, climbing ever higher, crying for the descent it so desperately craved. Gravity wrapped his tendrils around the ascending orb, Newton's silent arbiter, embracing my gift with a crooked smile. Silence at the zenith. Down, down, down we go, falling, diving, the perfect parabola sculpted by Da Vinci himself. The shockwave was visceral, visible, a cacophony of elation that rippled through flesh and soul. Heroes make their own miracles.
While we were admittedly impressive, our American-German union was not in the same universe as the local Colombians. After our victory we tried throwing at regulation distance and no one even hit the board. Even more impressive? The locals weren't just a little buzzed or casually sipping on their drinks: they were fucking blacked out. How is it possible to heave a stone an incredibly far distance, land it into an incredibly small area, and not be able to walk in a straight line to the bathroom? Yet another of Colombia's mysteries best left alone.
Eric and I spent a few days of quality hiking in the mountains. I missed the famous 5-hour summit during my first Salento stint so we had to check that one off the list.
But the highlight of Salento was Tejo. Last time, unfortunately, Tejo night fell on Super Bowl Sunday and I couldn't quite bring myself to sacrifice that national holiday. I did not miss round two. Tejo is essentially a mix of horseshoes, bocci, and cornhole but with the much appreciated addition of gunpowder. Here's how you play:
Two teams stand next to each other and alternate turns tossing a surprisingly heavy stone (maybe about 8 pounds?) at a small metal ring. The ring is embedded in a wall of clay tilted at a 45 degree angle and is encircled by packets of gunpowder. Typically you are supposed to stand a good 30 feet away but we elected for the gringo distance of 15.
I'm sure there are different point systems but here is what we used: If no team gets a stone in the ring (99% of the time) the team with the stone closest to the circle gets a single point; a stone inside the circle but no gunpowder explosion gets 5 points (0.4% of the time); an explosion but the stone is not fully inside the circle is also five points (0.4% of the time); and the White Whale of tosses, a circle-explosion, was worth 9 points (0.2%, and that is generous). First to 21+ wins. As with most Colombian social activities alcohol is involved; the courts are free to use as long as everyone purchases a drink.
Team Billy/Katrin jumped out to a commanding 11-6 lead by consistently painting the edges of the ring. In one toss Sebastian/Arlen tied it with a surgical drop that did not explode. Unfettered by what was certainly a fortuitous throw, Billy/Katrin resumed the beatdown with un-relentless precision. At 20-12 the match looked all but finished. Of course Sebastian/Arlen threw up a prayer that magically exploded but landed outside the ring, roaring back to contention at 20-17. Just to clarify, these don't sound like those little firecracker pop-rocks that you throw on the ground; when there is an explosion your immediate instinct is to duck for cover.
I'll admit I was a little rattled, my next two tosses were nowhere near the ring and suddenly we were looking at a 20-19 chokefest. Sensing the game was slipping away we paused in silence, delving deep within our psyches searching for the answer. Disney himself could not write such an ending. The stone soared from my hand, climbing ever higher, crying for the descent it so desperately craved. Gravity wrapped his tendrils around the ascending orb, Newton's silent arbiter, embracing my gift with a crooked smile. Silence at the zenith. Down, down, down we go, falling, diving, the perfect parabola sculpted by Da Vinci himself. The shockwave was visceral, visible, a cacophony of elation that rippled through flesh and soul. Heroes make their own miracles.
While we were admittedly impressive, our American-German union was not in the same universe as the local Colombians. After our victory we tried throwing at regulation distance and no one even hit the board. Even more impressive? The locals weren't just a little buzzed or casually sipping on their drinks: they were fucking blacked out. How is it possible to heave a stone an incredibly far distance, land it into an incredibly small area, and not be able to walk in a straight line to the bathroom? Yet another of Colombia's mysteries best left alone.
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