Explore with Fran

My guide book, The Lonely Planet (my bible), describes Salento as a “must see” destination. It is one the many coffee zones throughout Colombia. Music to my ears. As it’s a bugger to get there I hoped it was going to be worth it.

Salento, the coffee zone

An early start from the Casa Bellavista hostel, from the Candelaria area of Bogotá, I had a one hour cab ride to the bus station in, 8 hours on the bus to Armenia, and then a 1 hour bus to Salento, and I was finally here. Tired, slightly grumpy and ready for a good nights sleep at the Plantation House, the “only” place to be in Salento, according to my bible.

On arrival, finding a receptionist who didn’t speak a word of English, my first hostel WITHOUT wi-fi, and also my very first hostel where breakfast is not included, I was ready to rip up my Lonely Planet and use it as toilet paper. A commodity I sorely needed as toilets in South America do not supply it. Thankfully, I refrained, and after a good night sleep, and one of my very own jam sandwiches for breakfast, the world felt a much better place.

Coffee, made, and brewed on site

Salento is in the coffee zone, (Zona Cafetera) in the hills of Colombia. There is only one road in and out. And where I was staying, The Plantation House, is a working coffee farm, with fresh Colombian coffee on the go all day in the kitchen. My kind of place. The town is picture postcard material. And you should see the bars, replete with Colombian men in their ponchos and big cowboy hats sat drinking beer. And not for the tourists. This is really how they live. A slice of real Colombia. Life slowed down by quite a few notches.

Cocora

My first morning I took one of the jeeps from the Plaza in Salento to Cocora, a lush, palm tree filled valley some 30 minutes from Salento. There are a number of treks in Cocora, the longest being approx 7 hours, but I decided on a much shorter one, having a 3 hour stroll in the valley. And it was paradise. For much of the time the only people I passed were tourists on horseback, most of the time spent in solitude. Obviously something other people thought too. As I took a breather on a rock, soaking up the sun, I got the most pleasant surprise. Walking around the corner came a girl who was completely topless. I tried to divert my eyes, I did, but had to look again to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. No. She definitely has no top on and was completely naked to the waist. It took her a few moments to realize that I was there and the look on her face was priceless! I certainly didn’t expect that kind of scenery when I set out this morning.

The Plantation House – Salento

Arriving back in town, I picked up a couple of beers and sat on the verandah of the Plantation House reading my book. The building is over 100 years old and sitting on the wooden deck, with views out over the coffee farm, would have been so relaxing. IF it wasn’t for the annoying young fools behind me spending the last 2 hours talking about philosophy and the reason for being. You are young, away from home for the first time, just bloody enjoy yourself!

Saturday night in Salento

Saturday evening in Salento. Wow! What a spectacle. Even for me and I have spent many a night in Halifax. It seems that on weekends, locals from the neighbouring towns come to Salento to let their hair down and put on their dancing shoes. The women, and girls, spray paint on their tightest jeans and seem to get as much breast on show as physically possible. Little beer tents are erected around the main square, music is blasted out, and the Colombians have a ball. And when a song comes on that everybody seems to know, we have mass karaoke. Has to be seen to be believed.

Dinner time in Salento

And dinner was quite an experience. I sat down in a local joint and was asked if I wanted the menu. Si, senor, I replied. Trucha o Churrican? The menu consisted of only two items. Well, I knew trucha was trout, so I plumped for the other one, not knowing what it was. Macaroni senor? Hmm, this could be interesting. Si, I replied. Well, what a dish. Takes some describing but it was delicious. Grilled sausages, on a bed of macaroni, with rice, tomotoes, fried potato cake and a grilled banana. Well, strictly speaking it was plantain, but who is splitting hairs? I kid you not. You would never put these together but it was tasty and filling. All for $6000 Colombian pesos, which was £2. Bargain!

Salento, the coffee zone of Colombia, and so much more

As the music got louder, and the dancing raunchier, I took the sensible option. Picked up a couple of beers and joi………..had a slow walk home. Salento really is the coffee zone of Colombia, but it is also so much more.

Buenos noches amigos.

After 4 days in the Bolivian desert, in accommodation that would struggle to be called basic, and with food that I never want to see the likes of again, I was happy to be heading to my next destination. Iquique on the coast of Northern Chile. A surfside beach town that promised some well needed r&r.

It’s funny how you end up in places when you travel. When I left the UK I really did not have a plan. I made a bit of a joke about it, but I literally had the first 6 days planned, all in Buenos Aires. After that I had no idea where I would go and end up. Some of my destinations came from browsing my Lonely Planet, but many, as was the case with Iquique came from chatting to other travellers in the hostels.

I knew of one place in Chile before I came to South America, and that was the capital, Santiago de Chile. However, chatting to travellers is an invaluable resource and through this I discovered the identity of towns in Northern Chile such as San Pedro de Atacama (see previous post) and Iquique. A place that I was looking forward to for weeks whilst on the road. Beach time!

Getting there wasn’t very relaxing. I had a 8.30pm night bus for 2 hours and then I needed to wait an hour before changing to a 6 hour overnight bus. I eventually rolled into the bus station at Iquique at the ungodly hour of 5:30am. Tired and grumpy, the taxi driver picked the wrong man to try and rip off that morning. He was all nice and friendly in the cab, jabbering away in Spanish, but on arrival at the hostel he tried to charge me way over the odds for what was a very short cab ride. What followed was a quite heated argument, me in broken Spanish telling him that I wasn’t born yesterday, or words to that effect. And that he could sing for his $4000 pesos. Again, I didn’t use those exact words but I did babble something in Spanish whilst raising my voice for effect. And I told him that he was getting $3000, no more. I firmly gave him the money, thanked him for his services and went into the hostel, leaving him muttering to himself on the side of the road.

Arriving in a new place at 5:30am is never good but it makes such a difference when you get a friendly welcome as I did at the Hostal La Casona. Granted, it was a welcome all in Spanish but between us we managed to determine that my room wouldn’t be ready until much later, but I could have a blanket and sleep in the lounge. An offer I gratefully accepted. La Casona turned out to be a great hostel. A few blocks from an amazing beach. A fantastic supermarket almost on the doorstep. And great areas to sit in the sun and chill with a beer (or 2).

Iquique was the place that I did my parapenting. My first time and what a great experience. Taken high up in the hills surrounding Iquique to the spot where I would take a running jump off a cliff. Thankfully strapped to a chap who did this for a living. As it turned out he had been doing it for 11 years so I was greatly comforted. The experience was amazing as we caught the warm thermals and glided high above the city, climbing higher and higher. The flight lasted about 30 minutes and was so peaceful with amazing views and on the way down we drifted over high rise apartment blocks before softly landing on the beach. Amazing.

My four days in Iquique passed very quickly. Despite it being a small town I never felt that I needed to find something to fill my time with. Sat in a hammock drinking beer, reading my book in the sun, or just munching quality empanadas on the beach, the time I spent there was a real tonic. And just what I needed as I faced into my next challenge. Getting into Peru and negotiating another overland border crossing. Thankfully it would be my last as I am flying from Peru into Bogota due to the massive distance between the two countries.

Bolivia wasn’t a country that I had read much about, let alone planned to visit. However, there is one place in Bolivia that you must not miss whilst in South America, the Salar de Uyuni (Salt Flats of Uyuni), the world’s largest salt flats, sitting at 3653m above sea level and covering an area of 12,106sq miles it truly is a sight to behold.

Once I started reading up on this trip and the various companies I wondered how safe it actually was. If I had known then what I learnt through the course of the next 4 days I might have re-assessed the “need” to actually go on this tour. But more of that later. For now, I had a good recommendation of a tour operator from a Canadian friend who had done the trip the week before. Reassuringly, the Bolivian drivers for this company didn’t drink at the wheel or fall asleep whilst driving. And yes, I’m being very serious.

So, with a tour company I felt I could trust, and a 4 day tour that started and ended up back in San Pedro de Atacama, Chile, I was all set. An early start saw us filling up two 4x4s with a real mix of nationalities. Aussies, Irish, Norwegian, German, French, Swiss and Dutch. Thankfully, Christophe who was travelling in my 4×4 had just studied Spanish for the last 3 months so became our official translater as the Bolivian drivers do not speak any English.

The first stop was the Bolivian border. As you can see, there is not much too it. Just a cabin with a lone official who is there to check your documentation and give you the all important entry stamp into Bolivia. With that done we were off for the long drive through the Bolivian desert to the first national park. As we ascended higher and higher, a few of us started to feel the effects of the altitude. This is where the famous “Coca” leaf comes in. This is the plant from which cocaine is derived but for all Bolivians it is a natural as drinking a good old cup of tea. You take some of the coca leafs, stick them in the side of your mouth and let the leafs do their stuff. The theory is that as the minute levels of cocaine are extracted, it deadens the effect of altitude sickness. I have to admit, I did feel better but was never really sure whether it was the leafs actually working or whether it was more of a placebo effect.

Over the next 4 days we saw some of the most amazing landscapes, many of it surreal, like something you imagine to be on the surface of the moon. We visited active geysers, many natural lagoons, saw more flamingos than you could shake a stick at and the coup de grace on the first day, a dip in thermal hot springs. I was in two minds whether to strip off and get in, as it was damn chilly in the Bolivian mountains, but how glad am I that I did? It was amazing, so so good. Despite knowing I was at a hot spring, the temperature was a very pleasant surprise. I just wish we had longer than the 25min bathe we had. More fun was had afterward, trying to get dried off and back into our clothes, al fresco, with my silly little travel towel. Try that whilst maintaining your dignity.

The accommodation for the trip was basic to say the least and some of the food left a lot to be desired. Some of the guys on the trip really enjoyed it but a salad on a bed of cold fries was not my idea of good tucker. And have you tried drinking Bolivian wine? A warning. If you like wine and don’t want to be mentally scarred, stay away. Stick to the ubiquitous Coke that is served with every Bolivian meal. I was mightily glad to be back in San Pedro at the end of the week, tucking into a juicy hamburger, chips and cold cerveza.

So, what did I learn about the Salt Flat tours through the course of my trip. Well, in the last 2 years at least 18 tourists have been killed in accidents directly attributable to bad driving, drunken drivers and a blatant disregard for safety. A very sobering moment awaited us as we finally reached the Salt Flats. A memorial to 12 tourists, and their drivers who died in 2008 when the two 4x4s they were travelling in collided head on, exploded and everyone burned to death.

Considering that the Salt Flats are so huge, and so flat, the mind boggles as to not only how could two jeeps crash into each other, but what speeds must the drivers have been going to cause the deaths of everybody in both jeeps. It’s frightening.

That was why I was glad to have discovered this at the end of the trip, and was glad to be back safe and sound. I for one will continue to sing the praises of my tour company, Estrella del Sur, for their good, sober, very friendly drivers.

Another early start saw me on the 7:00am Pullman bus service from Salta, in northern Argentina, to San Pedro de Atacama, across the border in Chile. I hadn’t originally planned to visit San Pedro. Truth be known, I had never even heard of the place. However, after speaking to various travellers in the weeks I have been away I decided that San Pedro was the best option for me to visit the Salt Flats (Salar de Uyuni) in Bolivia. That was, I got to see this amazing landscape, but ended up back in San Pedro rather than Uyuni. And now, after visiting Uyuni, boy did I make the right decision.

Getting to San Pedro

The journey from Salta was 11 hours, which was surprisingly painless. It was the 2 hour wait at the border in Chile that did me in. A long day sat on the bus and literally 10 minutes walk from the central plaza in San Pedro we had to wait to clear the customs formalities. Hot, dusty and painfully slow. This would test the patience of a saint, something I have never claimed to be.

Penniless, almost

Finally I recovered my bag and walked the short distance into town, looking for my hostel. As San Pedro is small, and only has a few main streets, this didn’t prove to be too difficult. What concerned me more was that the warnings in the Lonely Planet about the ATMs in town being very unreliable proved to be true. I had a grand total of $4000 (approx £5) Chilean pesos leftover from my earlier visit to Chile. This clearly wasn’t going to get me very far. And to make matters even worse, after visiting all 4 ATMs in the town, I still had no money. Apparently they were all empty until the morning. Whoever maintains those ATM networks needs to find alternative employment.

So there I was, tired, grumpy AND skint. Maybe a lie down was what I needed. That’s when I saw the vertiginous 3 level bunk beds! My god! There were 2 bunks left in the dorm. The one at the very top and the one in the middle. I was asked which one I wanted. Really? You need to ask? I flopped on the middle bunk feeling very sorry for myself and wondered whose idea was this trip. Oh yeah, that would have been mine.

Showering, in the desert

Maybe a shower would help my mood. Well, I better make it quick. San Pedro is one of the driest deserts in the world and the showers in the hostel were only available through the day, and you had to adhere to the hand written sign on the shower door, “3 minute showers only!”. Later that night, I took my $4000 pesos and had coffee with cherry pie for dinner. And I can’t tell you how happy it made me. After such a long, tiring, trying day, a little thing as a piece of pie but a big smile on my face.

A new day

The next day, after a very good sleep, everything in the world was good again. I was told at the bank that there would be money after 12pm, and there was. I think the security guard was a little concerned by my little jig of delight as my pesos came out of the machine. I could eat. And more importantly, I could pay for my Salt Flats tour, the reason I came to San Pedro in the first place. Trip secured, and money in my pocket, I went to explore San Pedro.

San Pedro de Atacama

My guidebook, albeit a year old, states that the population of San Pedro (altitude 2440m) is 3200. From what I have seen today, most of those appear to be tourists. There were more tour and travel agencies than I have seen in a very long time all vying for the tourist peso. The biggest draw seemed to be the Salt Flats but there were also sandboarding, trips to the Valley of the Moon and very early morning geyser visits.

If all this tires you out there are numerous eating and drinking places in town, ranging from little take away joints, to plush restaurants and everything in between.

Cherry pie and coffee

For me? I was going back for some more of that cherry pie and fabulous coffee.

Now, if anybody is paying close attention, or is even reading these blogs, you may notice an anomally with today’s posting. A careful look at the map of Argentina clearly shows that Cordoba is before Salta, if heading north. Yet my Salta blog was last week. Yeah, yeah I know, just bear with me. I don’t even know what day it is sometimes, let alone remember what town I’m in.

So, let’s deal with Cordoba. A city I was highly anticipating due to the fact that it is a colonial town that has preserved many of it’s buildings from that period.

The trip from Mendoza once again took myself and Grace through Andes and another brush with the border control. Although these are fairly painless, it always takes longer than it should and seems so inefficient. The process definitely needs a LEAN or Six Sigma approach applying.

The journey from Valparaiso entailed a 10 hour bus journey to Mendoza, a 6 hour wait in Mendoza, then an 11 hour overnight bus to Cordoba. Those buildings better be bloody breathtaking to make all this worthwhile. And the abiding memory of the journey? The obese, badly dressed, builder’s arse showing bloke on the seat opposite, snoring like a trooper. It got so bad at one point Grace actually shook him, woke him up and shouted at him. The look of surprise on his face! Priceless. With his shirt riding over his ample stomach, and the bouncing of the bus, we had a constant “truffle shuffle” to keep us entertained.

We arrived at 8am and got a cab to Palenque Hostel, which turned out be a very friendly hostel, just indicative of most city hostels in that there were not many places to chill with a book or a beer. The favourite activity of most of the backpackers there seemed to be to watch telly, loudly, from 9am in the morning. Honestly, kids, there is a whole wide world out there! And yes, despite claiming in previous blogs that I was finished with dorms, in Cordoba I shared a 6 bed dorm with 5 attractive Dutch girls. Worse ways to spend 3 days. I suppose!!

Cordoba did in fact turn out to be a good example of an old colonial town, with well preserved buildings and churches scattered around the centre. That said, the development in the town, not all good, overshadows some of the amazing architecture. The main square, Plaza San Martin, is surrounded by shops and cafes with the biggest, ugliest billboards you will see. Hardly an aesthetic contrast to the Igelisa Catedral, begun in 1577 and crowned with a Romanesque dome.

Day 2 in Cordoba we decided to head into the hills, to Alta Gracia, 35kms from Cordoba. A colonial mountain town and home to an adolescent Ernesto “Che” Guevara in the 1930’s. His home from that time, Villa Beatriz now houses the excellent Museo Casa Ernest “Che” Guevara. The museum documented his trips around Argentina and South America, the most famous being the one that made it onto the big screen as “The Motorcycle Diaries”. It also showcased many photos from his childhood and, from later years, copies of very moving letters that he sent to his children whilst he was overseas, mostly in Cuba, freedom fighting.

Also in Alta Gracia we visited the Iglesia Parroquial Nuestra Senora de la Merced, built by the Jesuits between 1643 and 1762. Amazing to walk amongst the various buildings, imagining people all those years ago walking the same path.

In all, we had a very good 3 days in Cordoba but I was looking forward to heading off, on the road again, in search of something that captures my imagination just a little bit more.

And it was the end of the travel road for myself and Grace. End of a very enjoyable two weeks. A two weeks in which we had established a familiar drinking routine, both of us enjoying a drink. We would have the litre before dinner, as a “sharpener”, have dinner, then have more beer, to see out the evening. Who will I say “salut”, or “un ronda mas?” with now Graciela?

Oh well, such is the traveller’s life, always transient. We said our farewells as I got into a cab for my overnight bus to Salta, whereas Grace was headed back to Buenos Aires and a flight back to Holland. Not all sad for Grace though, three days at home and she was heading back on a plane for a holiday in Cuba. Thats the life!

For me, well you know what I did. If you read my previous post that is. I went to Salta! Next time, I hope to have my blog posts in order, so we should be reading about San Pedro de Atacama, one of the driest deserts in the world.

Chao chicas!

For those of you that follow both my pictures and blogs on Facebook, apologies. I have been very remiss in the posting of blogs and now they are a few weeks behind. Today’s blog concentrates on my visit to Salta.

I reached Salta, northern Argentina, after another painless, dare I say enjoyable, overnight bus ride from Cordoba. I rocked into the Terminal de Autobuses at 8:30am, jumped in a cab and within a few minutes I was at the Hostel Las Heras. Despite being too early to check in, I got a friendly welcome and was able to store my bags whilst I went off, new map in hand, to find somewhere for strong coffee and breakfast (desayuno). My immediate impressions, confirmed over the next couple of days, were that I was going to enjoy my stay there. A great homely feel to the place, good outside seating options and only a couple of blocks from the main plaza.

Salta turned out to be one of my favourite places in Argentina. A city but with a small town feeling. Beautiful, large plazas. Great restaurants and cafés. An amazing cathedral and the most ornate church I have ever seen, the Iglesias San Francisco (church of Saint Francis).

And very friendly locals. Not to mention a fantastic museum. Now, I must admit, culturally I have been a bit bereft on this trip. I tend to think that once you have seen a museum, you have seen them all. However, that was before I went to the Museo de Arqueologia de Alta Montana (www.maam.org.ar). A museum dedicated to the finding in the 90’s of 3 perfectly preserved Inca children mummies. It was unreal. During an archeology expedition in the Andes around Salta, these mummies and their burial site was stumbled upon. It turns out that the Incas believed that if they sacrificed the children, buried them alive with Inca treasures, then no harm would befall their Inca tribe. And these 3 unfortunate children were the ones sacrificed. The 6 year old girl was in a display cabinet, a bit eerie, and was preserved down to the last detail, including her teeth that were baked into a grimace. Fascinating to witness, but I have to admit, I needed a beer after.

Also in Salta is the Cerro San Bernardo. A hill that gives awesome views all over Salta. For my first visit I decided to walk the 1070 steps to the top. Wow, was that a good idea? I was pissed through in sweat by the time I reached the top. The views made it all worth while. I even walked back down after but made a return visit the next day, this time on the chairlift, Complejo Telefrico Salta, for $25AR. A much more relaxing day, but equally enjoyable.

On my last night in Salta I had planned to have no booze and an early night as I had a 7:00am bus to San Pedro de Atacama the next day. Now as this was an 11 hour bus ride I thought a good nights sleep was the perfect preparation. However. This was before I discovered that there was an asado planned for that night in the hostel. And being the sociable sort, I thought I would join them. And what an asado! Beautiful steak, as much as you wanted. Chorizo sausage and heaps of fresh salad, all washed down with carafes of regional wines. And there was a great bunch having the asado. A couple from Dublin, a couple from the Yukon in Canada (near Alaska apparently, where they regularly contend with -40 degree temperatures) and a couple from Denmark, together with a couple of locals who worked at the hostel.

As I left the hostel to walk to the bus station, in the dark at 6am the following morning, I just wished, just a little bit, that I had a soupcon less wine. Oh well, life is for living.

Until the next time chicas.