From the Caribbean to the Andes.(Colombia)

Guerillas and narco-traffickers, Pablo Escobar and the FARC, the violence and kidnappings, and more recently Shakira, are probably the best Colombian “exports”. But beyond this image imposed to the world by the media, there is a country with an amazing human diversity and enough biodiversity to satisfy the most avid nature lover. Its true that problematic areas exist, but as long as one excludes them from the itinerary, the few fortunate that visit the country, wonder why all those headlines when traveling in Colombia is simply so….normal!



The trek to the lost city although pretty, took its tool on our legs. Veronica complained from knee pain and we decided to spent 2 days rest in the Tayrona national park, just a days cycling from Santa Marta. The park is another oasis of peace in this troubled country. Its also one of the most visited in Colombia, and for good reasons. It encloses an area of 15.000 hectares of coastal tropical forest. Idyllic beaches backed by the green slopes of sierra de Santa Marta.

Due to its protected status, human presence and development is limited to controlled tourism and to some Kogui aboriginals and fisherman who make their living from the sea. The access to many of the beaches, like Arrecifes and Cabo de San Juan, is only possible on foot or horseback, and the lodging in these bays are limited to hammock dormitories, camping and some more upscale ecological huts. I haven’t been in such organized national park since the united sates.

Unfortunately not all the Colombian national parks are managed this way, and national park Tayrona is more the exception then the rule. Quite often, the cocaine croppers use the national parks to cultivate the plant, taking advantage of its remote locations and to the status of natural reserve that will guarantee them that their crops will not be air sprayed with chemicals. A method used in other parts of the country under the so called “Plan Colombia” heavily financed by the united states.








The transparent waters of the Caribbean and the shade of the coconuts invited for a few more days doing just nothing. But with less then a week for veronica’s return to Spain, we had to continue.

In only 2 days of cycling, the coastal road took us from the hilly and lush costal forest around Santa Marta, to almost the opposite. The forest and the cultivated areas slowly started to give away to acacias and cactus. We just have entered the barren plains of La Guarija peninsula. The differences of landscape in such a short distance were surprising. An absolutely plain road cut through the barren and hot landscape. The ample blue sky filled the air and hugged the land, in all directions with a suffocating vehemence increased by the burning heat.

But here, in this inhospitable land of the north of Colombia, inhabited by the Wayuù aboriginals, it also rains during a short period of the year. At that time, the vast scrub and dry plains give away to marshy land of submerged acacias and cactus, and something strange happens. The flooded desert opens canals for the fish that "run away" from the rivers, the sea and "cienagas" and the Wayuù aboriginals take advantage to launch the nets into the flooded desert.




Rioacha, the capital of the province of La Guajira, was the end of trip for Veronica. It was not a happy end. Both of us suffer from intestinal disarrangement with something that we eat (I think it was from a soup of chibo, offered by a very welcoming lady Wayuù, in the village of Mayapo, somewhere in the deserted coast).

Whatever the reason, I spent 3 or 4 days with diarrhea, vomits and in recovery, followed of more 3 or 4 days to try to fight back the cycling laziness that possessed me.

But before these solitary days of convalescence, I return Cartagena with Veronica, covering by bus, the 500 km or so that we had cycled along the coast. I take her to the airport and return Rioacha and to the company of my “Burra” and my stomach discomfort.
Once again I had that nostalgic felling from the separation of plus another excellent fellow traveler in the Pan-American. Over the months, meeting other cyclists and friends have created an effect of assortment energy and given me a unquestioned fulfilling to my soul. Without those encounters, probably it would not be possible to endure the almost two years of this solitary trip.

I can not explain why I spent one week in this uninteresting city-beach. I planned to follow the desert until Cabo de la Vela, in the northern tip of the peninsula, and spend a few more days cycling trough Wayuù villages, trying to understand a bit more of their culture.




But I changed my plans!
It’s enough of sea, uncomfortable heat, flat roads, mosquitoes and noisy hotel fans. Its time to head to the mountains.

I woke up before sunrise (very unusual!) had breakfast, and at 5.45 was on the road. I cycled to the waterfront to farewell the sea. I would not see the Atlantic again until my return to Portugal. Turn around and start cycling directly south. Destination: The Andes!
It was time to face the giant...
I gave a challenge to myself of reaching the mountains in 5 days.

By following the coast since I disembark in Colombia, I moved away from the pan American highway more then 800 km. Now I cycle directly south for the first time in many weeks, following the Venezuelan border just 80 km to the east, along the eastern cordillera both to my left. To the west, the vast plains of northern Colombia. The road was plain and very monotonous, crossing farm lands and small country villages and towns. I turn on my MP3, head down, foot on the pedals, and add on kilometers.




I added more then 650 km in 5 days between the coast and the mountains, that is, between Rioacha and Bucaramanga. Making on the first day 139 km, followed by 146 km, 136 km, and on the fifth day – already in the mountains – only 90 km, but with an accumulated climb of 2042 meters.
As I came closer to the foot of the Andes, the flat land gave way to rolling hills, gaining elevation with each valley crossed. The plains have disappeared completely and I cycle now on high mountain terrain.



Bucaramanga is a pleasant, modern, and sophisticated mountain city. With innumerable parks and green areas, and soft temperatures. Its also a doubly important landmark on my trip on the pan American highway. Not only I’ve entered the Andean mountain range, but also marked the “middle point” of my journey. Even if I’ve covered two thirds of the kilometers already. Confusing? I explain:
Inuvik (the beginning of the trip) is at latitude 68.36243°N, while Ushuaia, the final goal, is at latitude 54.79156°S. The middle point between the two – according to GPS indications sent by email by Jeff Kruys - is 6.785435°N. That is, about 40 km to the south of Bucaramanga.

But while the variation of longitude in the northern section of the continent was about 65 degrees, between the most Western point, Dawson City, Canada (139.4166667°W), and the most Eastern point, Baracoa, Cuba(74.4958333°W), in South America the longitude variation will be only of 13 or 14 degrees. With the point more the West being probably Sullana or Negritos in Peru, and the more Eastern point that will coincide with the final goal, that is Ushuaia. This means that from now on I will cycle more "straight” south covering "more" longitude in less kilometers.

I spent one day in Bucaramanga and in the following morning I hit the mountains. In the first 40 km the road oscillated between the 700 meters and 1300 meters of altitude, later "falling" vertiginously into a canyon descending deep into the valley at about 550 meters of altitude. After crossing an enormous river I start the long climb on the south slope of the Canyon of Chicamocha going up near to the 2000 meters mark. I spent some good four hours on that climb. In the ascent I pass through that "middle point" of the trip. The landscape that surrounded me was the prettiest in a very long time.






On the other side of the pass the road drops down to 1100 meters through another valley, this one narrower, greener and populated, dotted with small colonial villages and towns. I’m in one of them now, San Gil, known in all Colombia as the "capital" of radical sports. Rappel, rafting, paragliding are only some of the adrenalin packages offered by the many tour agencies found around this pleasant mountain town. San Gil is the first colonial town in a circuit that I have planed on my way to Bogotá. I’ve finally arrived in the Andes. From today on - and during the next few months - I will be cycling “on top of the mountains”- few exceptions aside!

Nuno Brilhante
In san Gil, Colombia.

The lost city of the Tayrona (Colombia)

Cartagena

The aircraft arrived with an unexpected punctuality, at the same time that I finished reading the book of Jose Agualusa, “A stranger in Goa”. I met Veronica in that part of the world, years back, on a bus journey from Delhi to Manali. We met briefly again in London and promised to see each other sometime, somewhere in the blue planet. And here she was, 4 years later on the opposite side of the subcontinent. I knew her little but admired her courage to choose Colombia for her very first bike touring.

We assemble her BH mountain bike, and give a general revision to my Kona fire Mountain, that has been “complaining” for some time now. I change the brake chocks and a rear spoke that has been broken since I landed in South America. For incredible it seems, it was the first broken spoke since I left Inuvik ,22.000 kms ago. I reinforce the front rack (or what remains of it) with zip-ties. I counted 29. Together with a piece of my old chain, a tent peg and loads of duck tape, I thought it would hold for some more time, until I have a new one delivered in Ecuador.

We analyze the maps and trace a route for the next 3 weeks. The plan was to follow the coast to Santa Marta, leave the bikes aside, and do the 6 day trek to the lost city of the Tayronas. Then, continue with our “ciclas”, as they are known here in Colombia, along the coast to the desert-like peninsula of La Guarija. We where ready to leave. I just had to deal with one more thing: my clandestine status. The situation has been dragging for a few days now.

I didn’t have time to go to emigration before Veronica’s arrival, and to be honest, I thought the process would be simple and straightforward. How deceptive I was! I thought it would be better to omit the true and say that I entered the country on a more conventional way, on board of a sailing boat of American tourists. When I presented myself at the DAS office of Cartagena and after arguing with the front security because he didn’t wanted to let me in with shorts and flippers, I was bombarded by the emigration official with questions for which I did not had answers. The name of the boat, of the owners, in which docks I landed…but more importantly, where was the exit stamp from panama Seeing clearly that I was lying, he refused to stamp my passport . He gave me 2 options: found the captain who brought me or his Colombian agent, so they could be responsible for my emigration, or face the fine that applies for entering illegal in the country. The equivalent to the national minimum wage, or 215 dollars.

Determined not to pay the fine, I left in search of an imaginary captain. After many phone calls, web searches, visits to gringo hotels and nautical clubs of the city, I met David, “the agent”, introduced to me over the phone by a Spanish captain. It was a long process in the good South American fashion that dragged for 4 long days. I noticed the impatience of Veronica with the desire to start cycling. And I think that she even questioned my ability with dealing with the situation. Specially when I gave my passport to a stranger that I met in front of the city’s nautical club. With every phone call I got the same reply :”Ahorita”, that is soon, so they say.




During the waiting time we visited and revisited the city’s highlights. The castle of Filipe de Barajas, with great views of the walled city, the gold museum (not as rich as the one in Bogotá, but with a great gold collection pre-Colombian), the plaza de la inquisicion, the night spots of casco viejo , and so on..Cartagena de Indias can be the crown in then jewel of the South American Spanish architecture, but the sweltering heat and humidity made no desire to stay longer in the city, and we wanted to get on the saddle. 10 days after have entered the country on board of the contraband boat, I received my passport with a 2 month visa on it. Probably it will not be sufficient for the planed cycling route in Colombia, but that was something to worry about latter.

We finally started our trip following the coastal road with an excellent tarmac, good shoulders and completely flat. An excellent introduction for veronica’s cycling tour. We finished the day on the 62 km mark and with a deserved bath in the warm mud of Totumo Vulcan. A very unusual geothermal formation, and probably the smallest Vulcan in the world. About 30 meters height and with a small round crater full of puffing mud.



This time of the year is probably not the best for touring the Colombian coast. Mornings are characterized by sweltering temperatures and humidity, and afternoons by tropical thunderstorms and rain. Although I’ve been cycling in this kind of weather in the last few months in Central America, in no other place I could observe the effect of the rain as close as in the Colombian coast. Almost all of the coastal cities I’ve passed through in Colombia seem to suffer from serious problems of sewage due to the flooding rains. In almost a daily occurrence, the liquid garbage overflows from the sewage system into the streets and together with the water from the rain creates rubbish Rivers.


Barraquilla, the fourth biggest city in Colombia with around 2 million inhabitants, was the worse example. We arrived in the city by nightfall. The rain intensified with our arrival. We cycled trough flooded street (locals call them arroyos), chaotic traffic, quarters with not so friendly atmospheres, and vibrant- if half flooded – street markets that extended for several blocks. Barranquilla s an industrial city, chaotic and seemed a bit insecure at night. Probably the worse city I cycled through since I left Inuvik. The city center around Paseo Bolivar looked like a gigantic wild market out of some sort of Latin holocaust. An error on our trip plans.



In the following morning, at day light, the city didn’t seem so degraded, however, without losing much time, we left our “deluxe” hotel in Paseo Bolivar and left the city crossing the Rio Magdalena and following the coast once more.

2 days latter we where in Santa Marta where we leave the bikes aside and join a trekking tour to the lost city.



The cocaine paste producer

Last night, Wilson (our guide) introduced to us a man that called himself cocaine producer and invited us to visit his laboratory – for a price, of course. 25.000 pesos each, non negotiable. We could take pictures as long we promised not to photograph him and remove the chip before the military control at the end of the trek on the way out of the mountains.


We where already on our first day of the trek to the lost city and a world away from the bustling cities of Barranquilla and Santa Marta. I was feeling at peace with myself for been surrounded by nature once again. It would be about 5o km trek in 5 days through the sumptuous mountains of sierra Nevada de Santa Marta. The highest coastal mountain range in the world, going from sea level to 5775 meters (peak Cristobál Colon) in only 42 kms as the crow flies.


The next morning the CPP ( as I prefer to call him) was waiting for us to show us the way to his laboratory on a short 15 minutes walk through dense jungle.


The vegetation was so thick that some times one could not see the trail. We arrive at the “laboratory” hidden amongst lush vegetation and near a small stream. To be honest it was a bit disappointing. His working place consisted of a few tables improvised with wooden boards and some bottles and jars of chemicals products. “I have to keep this place as discrete as possible”, he said.


Then the CPP explained to us the detailed process of the production of this drug that according to the majority of Colombians is the cause of most problems of the country. The CPP has one hectare of coca plants in the hillside over us on the other side of the stream, and camouflaged with trees and vegetation. One hectare produces 3 tons of leaves, 4 times a year. The CPP contracts 5 people who take about a month “plucking” the plants by hand, collecting about 100 kg per day. The leaves are smashed with a small machine and mixed with gasoline. For each ton of leaves he uses 120 liters of gasoline. On is daily production of 100 kg of leaves mixed with gasoline, the CPP adds 20 kg of salt and 10 kg of whitewash (some people use cement). The mix is smashed with the feet for several hours.


To the result of the dance (as CPP called it) the next chemical product is added: Acid sulfuric. In a container with 20 liters of water, he adds 50 cubical cm of pure acid sulfuric. After mixed for some time, 3 layers are formed. One of leaves, other of gasoline, and a third one of water with the necessary particles for the final product. With a hose the water is extracted to another container. Then to that “water” the next chemical is added: Permanganate of potassium, in perfect amount.

According to the CPP this is the most important phase of the production. Too much, or too little potassium, doesn’t produce the characteristic white color, ruining all the production. This dark and slightly viscous purple liquid is then drained several times in a thick cloth.

The result is a transparent liquid, which to the naked eye, differs little from water.

Finally the last chemical is added: Caustic soda.

The caustic soda annuls all the residues of the previous chemical and, in the result of the effervescent reaction, appears small white particles, that after drained reveal the final product.

From one hectare of coca plants, the CPP produces 12 kg of pure coca paste per year. He sells it for 6 million pesos a kg. a high price in this region of Colombia, he says. In the los Llanos region, where production is made at a larger scale by the guerrilla the price drops considerable. The coca paste is ready to be sold but not ready for consumption. The caustic soda is harmful for the body and is necessary to remove it. This process is made by the next person in the chain of the illicit trade. The “Mafiosi” (many times guerrillas or the paramilitary) buy the product, and then away from the jungle, somewhere in a village or town, adds the final chemical: Acetone.
The acetone removes the caustic soda, and from each kilogram of coca pastes results 900 grams of pure cocaine, to which is added about 30% of flour to increase even more the profits. The product is finally ready to be exported and consumed in the world market.

The CPP when he is not busy in the production of coca paste, he “dedicates” the time cultivating Yucca, Maiz and bananas….and to show his laboratory to the few interested trekkers on their way to the lost city – it’s also lucrative! His laboratory has been destroyed several times by the military, but he retakes his work somewhere else. He works in the coca business for 15 years, but only in the last few years that he has his own hectare of plants.

The lost city

On that very same day, we would meet another group of people that uses coca leaves in a very different way. The Kogui are one of the 3 aboriginal groups that inhabit the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta and are the direct descendants of the Tayronas, the founders of the lost city. There are about 12000 families of Kogui (an approximated number, because majority leave in inaccessible zones where one can only arrive by foot or mule). Many do not speak Spanish and have little contact with the modern world. They are easily identifiable by their long vestments of dirty white (identical in both sexes) and for the feminine aspect of the men with long and smooth black hair, dark and soft skin.




Still today they follow many of the Tayrona´s traditions. Men live together in a common house and women live with the children in a separate house. They practice polygamy where the young girls after puberty, are initiated to the sexual experiences with a Shaman or educator. The youngsters, in turn, spent some time living with a older and married woman before the marriage in order to acquiring the experiences of the life. They have a subsistence life with a simple diet very. yucca, maize, rice, banana and cocaine leaves.. The chewed leaves of dry coca work as a stimulant and some times as food substitute.

On the second day we leave the agriculture zone and penetrate in the dense jungle, climbing up to 1200 meters. The vegetation was lush and thick, cut only by the wild rivers, cascades and streams. The track followed many times those river beds, which we had to cross frequently with water by the waist. The Buritaca River alone we had to cross 18 times during the entire trek.





The lost city is not the Tikal or the Chichen Itza of great pyramids and stone temples. In fact, there is little to see in terms of standing structures. Its its location deep in the jungle of the sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, away from any signs of civilization, and set on top of a hillside with great views, that make it so special.

The houses and temples of the lost city were constructed in wood and straw, and have been eaten by the elements long ago. What remains today are only circular terraces made of rocks (there are more then 1000 of them scattered around the jungle), they were the foundations of the houses. There is also a labyrinth of paths that extends all over the mountains. In this magnificent mountains of virgin forest and away from any vestige of civilization, its easy to look at those encircled terraces and imagine the splendor of the Tayrona civilization. The city was constructed circa 600 years before Machu Pichu in Peru, and it was never found by the Spanish conquerors, that in the sec XV had made several expeditions in the region in search of the already legendary El Dorado.




Despite the Kogui affirming that along the centuries, they had always made religious visits to the lost city, they had kept secret, and the city was not discovered until 1972 by treasure hunters. They called it “the green hell” for the difficulties that the jungle presented. In 1975 archaeological excavations began, but it stopped due to strong guerrilla activity in the area, and also by the kogui´s request, infuriated with the continuous profanation of the tombs of their ancestors.

In September 2003 8 tourists have been kidnapped in the area, and in 2004 also an Israeli and a Spaniard. Last year, the main leader of the paramilitary was arrested by authorities, and although they are still high in the mountains of Santa Marta, it’s possible, once again, to visit the lost city in safety. The TURCOL (tourism of Colombia), the agency that organizes the treks, told me that a slim share of the profits goes to the paramilitaries to guarantee the tourists safety.



We start the walk back, descending in 2 hard days, what it took us 3 days to do on the way up. In Mamey a jeep took us, once again, on a hellish 2 hour journey trough the mountains and back to the civilized city of Santa Marta. After the hard trek a deserved rest in the beautiful beaches of the Tayrona´s national park, before we continue on to the next stage of the trip: the desert-like peninsula of “la Guarija”. In the panniers of my memory, I carry one of the prettiest treks made in American soil. The ruins of the Tayrona are not only a lost city but a lost world.

"... the world doesn't have you end; it could go on; but unless we stop violating the earth and nature, depleting The Great Mother of to her material energy, to her organs, to her vitality; unless people stop working against the great to mother, the world will not last "

Message of appeal to the world emitted by the Kogui aboriginals in 1990 through an archaeologist of the Lampeter University, concerned with the destruction of their habitat in Sierra Nevada of Santa Marta.

Nuno Brilhante
In Rioacha, Colombia