Salento - Mountain Paradise

After a few days in Medellin it was time to pack up the van and head to the mountains for some relaxation out of the city. We said goodbye to the Kiwi couple and the Danish med students and picked up two Canadian girls that Pete had met crossing Panama and a solo British girl.

It was a bit of a rough start, the van had some brake issues descending the mountains, so we took a little rest by the side of the road. Moral was less than high.

But eventually we got moving again. We couldn't quite make it to Salento before dark so we found a surprisingly comfortable hotel on the outskirts of Manizales, the nearest big city. We set out the next morning refreshed and ready for the mountains. I'm not quite sure why everything in Colombia is named after some other location, but throughout our drive we either saw or passed through Rio De Janeiro, Finland, Montenegro, Palestine, and Armenia... just to name a few.

We arrived in Salento to breathtaking views. I am not nearly skilled enough as a photographer (or writer) to capture the scenery, but imagine rolling green hills, giant eucalyptus trees, trickling rivers and you'll have an idea.

The ecohostal we wanted to stay at was booked for the night so we were left scrambling for accommodation. Fortunately just down there road we round this winner, which despite its title was really just some family's house with a few extra rooms.

Salento is a small town of about 7000 people that fills up on the weekends with Colombian tourists. As can be expected, the majority of our activities revolved around hiking, enjoying nature, and of course relaxing in hammocks.

There was space at La Serrana (our original desired hostal) the next day, so we packed into the van for a bumpy 1km drive. La Serrana was perfect - hot showers, fast wifi, big kitchen for cooking, plenty of space for lounging, and spectacular views. There was a wide field for camping so Pete was able to set up his van-tent, where we enjoyed a few nice bottles of wine.

The town itself was small but really had everything you needed - grocery stores, atms, and number of bars and restaurants. Guided by this beacon of hope, I even got to watch the incredibly boring Super Bowl.

We stumbled upon a bar owned by a Colombian who had lived in the Bay Area for years. The girls elected not to watch the game, so the population of the bar consisted of myself, Pete, the bartender, and his girlfriend.

There also was a surprisingly police presence considering the size and apparent tranquility of the town, but we made friends.

Our favorite eatery deserves a special shout-out. Brunch, an American owned establishment, served the most incredible breakfasts and burgers that we did not eat anywhere else after we discovered it. A quick note on food - if I'm traveling for a week somewhere of course I'm going to stick with the local cuisine. But when you have been gone for months, a good burger or greasy hash browns are slices of heaven and I really have no qualms sticking with a good thing once I've found it. You can always go back to meat and rice, you never know when your going to see a place like this again. There was even homemade peanut-butter!

It was tough to say goodbye to Salento, by far my favorite stop of the trip so far. But the van needed to keep heading south so off we went. Next stop, Cali, self proclaimed Salsa capital of the world.

Medellin - The Bay Area of Colombia

Medellin is a very nice place. Perfect weather year-round, with a clean, modern subway system, botanical gardens, bars, restaurants, and discotecas spread throughout this metropolis of roughly 2.2 million people. Granted, there are seedy areas that we did not venture into, but Zuckerburg doesn't find himself in Richmond too often, either. You really could not tell the difference between El Poblado, the neighborhood we stayed in, and University Ave in downtown Palo Alto. Coffee shops, organic/vegetarian restaurants, yoga sanctuaries, and parks cover a leafy 10 square blocks. Juan Valdez, South America's Starbucks, even has the same color scheme as its North American counterpart and is filled with non bpa waterbottles and free-trade clothing.

The remarkable aspect of all of this is that Medellin was one of the world's most dangerous cities less than 25 years ago. Its most notorious citizen was Pablo Escobar, the cocaine kingpin that reached number 7 on Forbe's list of richest people in the world in 1989. In the early 1990's car bombs were a weekly occurrence as Pabs assassinated police, judges, politicians, journalists, and anyone else that spoke against him. He was finally killed in 1993 with some assistance from Uncle Sam and friends
and Medellin has been on the road to recovery ever since.

Our first day Pete and I took a gondola up above the city into a eucalyptus forest for a bit of hiking and nature. The gondola is part of the city's subway system and is the easiest way for many of its inhabitants to get to their houses on the hill.

We explored the park, took a walk through some gardens, and embraced the peace of nature. Despite its reputation for being a wild city, we found that weekdays were there was significantly less life during the week here than Cartagena. During the weekend every bar was packed, but a peaceful
Wednesday evening on the square was quite refreshing.

The next few days we managed to be reasonably productive. Our hostel offered a Pablo Escobar tour that drove you through some of his old lairs, car-bomb ruins, and finally his grave.

Later that evening we ventured to a Medellin soccer match. The quality of play was a significant step up from Bolivia and the stadium was reasonably full of shouting fans. There was only one real cheer
that everyone repeated over and over again and we quickly fit in with our fellow bleacher-mates.

We only spent a few days in Medellin, but of all the large cities I have visited so far this one felt the most liveable.

On the Road

Part of the beauty of traveling by yourself is complete freedom. Feel like sleeping all day? Go for it. Bored of the city you are in? Take the next bus out of town. Meet an Australian who is driving from Canada to Argentina that has room in his van? Hop in.

I sat down with my 11am morning pancakes at the only table with anyone still eating. This happened to be the table that had been monopolized for the past few days by a large group of loud Australian, Kiwi, Canadian, and Danish travelers, but they certainly looked like they had been having a good time and I wanted to join. 5 hours later the group finally pulls itself together to see a contemporary dance show on top of the historical wall (one of the group had become acquaintances with one of the dancers the night before).

That day also happened to be Australia Day, a 4th of July-esque national holiday where the country listens to a 100-song countdown of last year's most popular tracks. With a large Australian contingent and an Aussie hostel owner, our place was designated the official destination in Cartagena. Normally the countdown begins around noon and finishes in the evening, but given the significant time difference our streaming schedule was a brutal 8pm-5am.

Anyways, this is a long winded prelude to how I ended up in Pete's van. As I mentioned earlier, friendships develop on hyper-drive. The next morning people were mulling about in various states of anger at the world, myself included. My initial plan was to stay in Cartagena one more night and head to the beach town of Santa Marta with a few of the people I had made friends with the night before. But the longer I sat there listening to people complain about their hangovers, the more I realized I just wanted to leave. As luck would have it, Pete was leaving to drive down to Medellin with a few other members of the group in about an hour. He had one extra spot in the van and I just decided to go for it. 20 minutes later my backpack is packed and I head to the parking lot with 5 other people I had met less than 24 hours ago. We piled into the surprisingly spacious Honda Odessy and began the journey south.

Because of our early afternoon depature and a strict no-driving-at-night policy it would take 2 days to cover the distance. My original road-trip crew included myself, Pete, a Kiwi couple, and a pair of Danish med students. We drive for about 5 hours until the sun sets and pull over to a roadside motel that set us back each $5 for the night. Management had made the uncoventional decision to go with a bathroom curtain instead of a door, and I had a number of small visitors give me kisses throughout the night, but there was a television playing 80s movies in English so we enjoyed the tri-fecta of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, The Breakfast Club, and Beverly Hills Cop before retiring for the night.

By far the most exciting aspect of our chosen rest stop was the Big Hat. It would only cause frustration contemplating why such a replica is wasted upon a rural Colombian village, but please take heart knowing that yes, a sculpture of a giant-ass hat does exist.

The second day was a 9 hour slog through the mountains. The infrastructure is remarkably modern with roads better than many of the Boston streets I enjoyed for 7 bumpy years. But most of the way was single-lane driving, and we would often find ourselves stuck behind a large truck with little room to pass.

As we collectively began to emotionally crash while entering Medellin rush hour traffic, two golden arches flashed their promise of two patties on a sesame seed bun. There is nothing quite like a Big Mac, fries, and a coke after two days of driving through Colombia in a van. 20 minutes after refueling we arrived at Casa Kiwi Hostel in the beautiful El Poblado neighborhood. For maybe 20 more minutes we discussed how wonderful it would be to have a solid night's sleep after a hot shower. We reconsidered.

 

Joining the South American Backpacker Circuit

Colombia marks the first time I've actually been backpacking on this extended trip. My previous stints in Bolivia, Mexico, and Cuba all had some sort of planned agenda with a definitive end-point. From here on out there are no plans until May 22nd when I fly to Puerto Rico for a wedding.

Through purely luck I chose to fly into Cartagena. I had been to Cartagena 5 years ago and knew it was a pleasant place near the water, but its location on the northern coast near Panama makes it the perfect starting point for a trip heading south.

At this point in my traveling career I have become more or less accustomed to the abrupt culture changes when arriving at a new place or returning back home. But stepping into a Colombian supermarket was a culture shock. There were just so many things to buy, an aura of consumerism pulsated from the shelves of cereal, shampoo, and fresh vegetables. I walked around for 15 minutes just admiring the surplus of consumables, basking in the glow of 3x2 lighter packages.

It is always a little intimidating whenever you first arrive in a place where you know no one. Similar to my nervousness during take-off, that first hour in a hostel is just a bit uneasy. You check in, choose your bunk, set your bags down, and then... now what? I usually walk around for a bit, check the internet, read/relax, and wait for the evening. People tend to be more sociable after they have recovered from the previous night's adventures and are beginning the next chapter. Once you meet that first group of friends it is smooth sailing, you just have to get there.

In my opinion, the most important aspect of a backpackers hostel is its ability to facilitate interactions between its guests. People travel to see new places, but they want to meet new people too. A hostel should not be too large -- if there are too many people smaller groups will coagulate and it tends to become a bit more cliquey -- but there needs to be enough people to make a fun group.

Mamallena, my second hostal in Cartagena, was a fantastic backpacker's hostel. Cartagena as a whole wasn't the cheapest of places, but a dorm bed for $15/night was reasonable for the area. Decent Wifi, pancake breakfasts, and a bar with 2x1 cocktails were all comfortable perks.

But the common area made the hostel: a narrow garden filled with wooden tables, lounge chairs, and no restrictions on outsiders. Hostels often have a strict policy of no entry for those who are not staying there. When I talked to the owner, his logic was that by inviting everyone in, non-guests who had a fun time would be more likely to stay and tell their friends. Makes sense to me. Because of this policy, everyone in Cartagena knows that the Mamallena garden is the place to meet up before going out.

The backpacking circuit is a lot like the first week of college. You are exposed to a large group of new peers looking to meet people, you answer the same questions over and over (where are you from, where have you been/going), and there is copious amounts of alcohol. Relationships develop at hyper-speed: you go from strangers to good friends within a matter of hours, spend a few days together, and when you part ways you will likely never see each other again. Pack up your backpack, grab the bus to the next stop, rinse and repeat. Inevitably backpackers will clump together: people tend to be traveling on similar routes and it is nice to have some consistency traveling with a group of friends. Which segues nicely into what I have been up to the past 3 weeks.

Adding Cuba Into the Mix

With the Cuban portion of the journey complete, lets see how it stacked up against Sucre and Veracruz.

Food: Contrary to its reputation, Cuban food is actually pretty good. It is simple - essentially a variation of some sort of meat, rice, beans, and plantains - but it is done well. I had some amazing home-cooked meals with the families I stayed with, and even though they started to get repetitive the lunches of street pizza and ham and cheese sandwiches were always tasty. I have a hard time believing anything will top my love for Mexican food, but Cuba was definitely a step up from Bolivia.

Snack: A haiku about the churro:
Fried deliciousness
a crescendo of sugars
one is not enough

Paired together with Bolivia's salteña these two morsels form the Beyoncé and Jay Z of on the go delectables. It doesn't feel right choosing one or the other, for now they both occupy top honors.

Climate: Mid 80s during the day, high 60s at night with decent humidity. It was uncomfortable to wear long-pants during the day and during salsa classes I conceded to shorts, but for the most part I relaxed reading during the hottest hours of the day. There was one night where it dipped into the low 50s in the countryside and a jacket was needed, and that was honestly fun to feel chilly again. Unfortunately, with a slightly warmer and more humid climate than Mexico, Cuba finds itself in last place. I realize the above description might sound like a paradise and my preference absurd to all currently dealing with the sub-arctic temperatures of winter. Nothing is stopping you from writing your own blog proclaiming your love for the heat.

Music: Cuba takes this one. You can find live salsa music at pretty much every restaurant in Cuba, and if you didn't hear it while eating there are clubs everywhere with salsa groups. There are a few songs that do get repeated over and over but that is my only criticism of the Cuban music scene.

Drinks: Another one in the W column for Cuba. Mojitos are delicious, and even though I'm a bit burned out on them as a national drink they trounce what Sucre and Veracruz had to offer. Bottles of rum are one of the few truly inexpensive items... a nice one goes for around $7, and there are so many delicious flavors to choose from. My favorite was Legendario, an incredibly sweet nectar that tasted more like candy than spirits.

Bars/Clubs: In theory, Cuba should win this with salsa dancing everywhere. I probably just got unlucky but the places that I went to involved a plethora of Cuban dudes looking to pick up women tourists. I'm sure not every place is like that, but since I wasn't able to make friends with any of the locals to discover local venues I was resigned to the predominantly touristy clubs. There was an
awesome discoteca in a cave, but that wasn't enough to push Cuba ahead of Veracruz and Sucre.

Spanish: I covered this in the last post, but to reemphasize: Cuban Spanish is impossible. Unique pronunciation coupled with blazing speed is a brutal combination. I didn't have enough conversations with locals my age to pick up on any regional slang, but I was very happy to return to the calm shores of Colombian Spanish.

Adventure: I wouldn't say that I did anything incredibly adventurous but the volume of activities gives Cuba the edge over the other two. These included: hiking through tobacco farms, mountain biking to caves, discovering hidden beaches, and dodging a bombardment of Christmas Eve fireworks.

Something Random: I'm going to go with the flood of Apple logos. I suppose it could be some some subtle symbol against communism a-la Catniss's mockingjay, but more likely it is just a sticker that has become vogue to slap on your car. Still, I did not expect to see Steve Job's legacy on the windows of many Cuban vehicles. The backyard crocodile and Zebra crossing guards were definitely more random.

An Early Departure

Initially I had planned to stay in Cuba for 2 months but I decided to cut that short to just under 5 weeks. There are a number of reasons why I'm making an early exit, but they can all more or less be summarized by this: Cuba is exhausting. First, let me be clear that I have really enjoyed my time here. Salsa dancing, live music, mojitos, fresh cigars, interesting politics, and some of nicest people I have met have all contributed to this awesome to experience. But here are some reasons why Cuba has exhausted me:

Lets get the most embarrassing one out of the way... it is difficult and expensive to use the internet. It is pathetic to admit, but I miss having easy access to inexpensive, unrestricted internet. It goes beyond connecting with friends or reading what is going on in the world, although that is admittedly a primary concern. But in addition, without internet you lose the ability to look up a restaurant, book a hostel, check directions, and many other travel related activites that you normally just take for granted. Fortunately gmail works, but almost every American website is blocked in Cuba. To use the internet here you must buy 30 minute or 1 hour scratch cards that include a code to type into your computer or internet capable device (wifi is only in Havana). These average to about $8 an hour, which isn't eggregious but certainly adds up.

And woe if you have to make an international call. Normally this doesn't come up for me, but because American sites aren't too stoked about making flight arrangements to Cuba I booked my flight via a European version of Kayak. For some moronic reason they required a phone confirmation to change my flight. 15 minutes and $67.50 later I was the proud owner of a new ticket. Granted it was written in the 1990s, but I distinctly remember Into Thin Air describing the Everest satelite phone costing $5.00/min... I suppose I should thank Fidel for at least being $0.50/min cheaper!

Next, Cuban Spanish is not easy. I was feeling pretty good about my progress in Bolivia and Mexico, and that came to an abrupt halt when I got off the plane to Havana. Cubans are alergic to the letter S (much like the people of Boston and the letter R) and that extra split second you need to realize what was just said makes a world of difference. Further compounding the issue: the speed is unreal. What is the rush? I tried speaking in English at that speed and was exhausted after a minute. I suppose it was good practice and I started to get the hang of it by the time I left, but every conversation required much more energy than in Mexico or Bolivia.

Next, there is a significant derth of stores that sell basic amenities such as bottled water, snacks, soap, deodorant, toothpaste, and most surprisingly, lighters/matches (how can Cuba of all places not have something to light their cigars with??) Of that list really bottled water is the most inconvenient since I would go through at least a few bottles a day, but in every place we stayed we had to hunt for the water supply. I never did find deodorant, but fortunately my stick made it to the finish line.

Cuba is an expensive place. The cheapest lodging you are looking at is $25/night, and since there are no supermarkets you are pretty much going to be going out every meal. If you stick to just the Moneda Nacional places you of course can get by, but eating pizza and ham and cheese sandwiches all isn't the most pleasant of existences. But more importantly, access to money is an issue for Americans since ATMs do not accept American bank cards. Before the globalization of ATMs I suppose this is the way people used to travel, but I don't enjoy keeping a big stash of cash on me at all times and constantly monitoring my supply. In an emergency I could have money wired to me via Western Union, but that isn't something I want to rely upon.

But all of those reasons pale in comparison to this: Here, more than anywhere else in Latin America, I have felt the most significant separation between foreigner and local. Look, as a tourist you are going to get hassled to some extent no matter where you go. If I flipped out every time someone asked me to buy something I would have had a colossal meltdown long ago. But Cuba is unrelentless: every corner someone shouts at you to take their taxi. Every restaurant has someone outside waving their menu at you. People will follow you for a block explaining that the Buena Vista Social Club is playing at their bar tonight and it is just around the corner if you will just walk this way, amigo. This is of course more worse in Havana than in the smaller cities, and especially bad in any area where there are likely to be large groups of tourists (the Old Havana part of town, near any hotel, etc.). But it really was everywhere that I visited on the island.

There were times of incredible kindness: one time an old man stopped me on the sidewalk just to shake my hand and wish me a happy New Year. Everyone loved that I was from the US and even the hustlers had kind things to say about American people. My last night in Cuba I ended up sharing a cigar and a bottle of rum with a doctor on his porch where we talked for hours about politics, women, and the similarities between our two cultures.

But those were the rare exceptions. Unfortunately by the end of my stay my default reaction was to ignore or say no to any local that tried to talk to me. And that is an absolutely terrible default position to take. Connecting with the locals is my favorite part of traveling, and after 5 weeks I stopped making eye contact. An encounter on my last week really drove home how far I had devolved:

I walk past a man holding a flyer who asks me to stop and go to a restaurant around the corner on another street. I politely say no thank you and continue to walk. Like countless other encounters he follows and asks me where I am from and how long I have been in Cuba. As long as I keep walking I don't mind these conversations, and even though they are more or less always the same it is still good Spanish practice. We reach a busy intersection and stop at a red light, whereupon he brings up the restaurant again -- it's just around the corner and serves great food at a good price, my friend. I explain that I prefer to eat in places where the prices are in Moneda Nacional for lunch. Moneda Nacional is the ultimate trump card: people understand they can't compete with something that is a fraction of what they are selling, and once they hear that the tourist knows about these places you are immediately left alone. This has the desired effect and we shake hands, wish each other a nice day, and I go on my way.

The next day I am walking in a different part of the neighborhood after just finishing 2 hours of salsa class. I'm hungry and walking quickly, the $0.50 ham and cheese sandwich tantalizingly within reach. I am about to turn a corner when I hear "Oye, amigo! (hey, friend!)" I look up and there is Mr. Restaurant from the day before. I wave and continue walking but he motions for me to stop and come towards him. I'm not too happy about this, I really just want my sandwich, but I grumpily stop, and mutter to myself "que quieres? (what do you want). Looking back I'm actually a little pleased that my instinctive reaction was to talk to myself in Spanish, that's progress! I didn't really intend for him to hear my grumpy question but he certainly noticed, and he angrily comes towards me, points to his head, and asks why I am taking his presence negatively. You should have a positive perspective when someone waves to you, he exclaims, why did you immediately assume that I wanted something from you? I am a little taken aback by the abrupt change in mood and pause for a few seconds to register this angry Cuban who is now very close to my face. I attempt to explain my perspective and how my experiences over the past 5 weeks have made me weary of these kind of encounters, which isn't the easiest Spanish to convey. I think for a few more seconds, but as I am slowly trying to state my case he loses patience and storms away. This time I manage to keep my mouth shut and only silently tell him to fuck off (in Spanish, of course).

 

The thing is, he was absolutely right to be upset. You can't complain about not being able to converse with locals and then react with hostility when someone tries to talk to you. He was probably working the day before, and unfortunately restaurant promoting involves pestering tourists. Since this interaction took place in a different area he probably did just want to talk. But the sins of the other Cuban hustlers are destined to revisit future generations; I had long reached my breaking point, and he himself had been guilty of steering me towards somewhere I did not want to go just the day before. And I wanted my damn sandwich.

It certainly has been an interesting 5 weeks but I am happy to begin my backpacker rehabilitation program. The first time I walked past someone sitting on a stoop in Cartagena I cringed, but there was no hassle, simply an "hola." Already feeling better.

 

 

Quick Update

There hasn't been too much to report the past week. I've been taking two 90-minute salsa classes each day and Brendy has had percussion classes in the morning and joined me for the later dance class. We have decided to return back to Trinidad and Vinales for Brendy's last week and then I will either take a 15-hour bus ride or a 90 minute domestic flight across the country to explore the east coast.

 

And now, a few random Cuban facts:

There are 4 TV channels: one news channel, one channel with kids programming and educational shows, one for sports, and one for entertainment. In the evenings many of the movies and shows are in English with Spanish subtitles, but sometimes those are just dubbed over. There are no commercials though, which allowed me to watch Justin Bieber's Never Say Never in its uninterrupted entirety.

When you want to join a line for something, you call out "ultimo (last)." The previous ultimo identifies himself, and you know that it is your turn after that person goes. When the next person wants to join the line you identify yourself as the ultimo, and the chain continues. This way you don't have to stand in line as long as you don't wander too far off. I never fully trusted this system and always stayed close by, but it worked every time.

Finally, I don't know what kind of dog this is but its one of the most hideous creatures I've ever seen. And they are everywhere!

 

 

So ugly in fact that he won me over.