Taganga, Colombia y Venezuela

Taganga, Colombia

Chi Chi's birthday party, the owner of the hostel we stayed. If you looked up "Colombian" in the dictionary, you would see a picture of Chi Chi. Floral shirt, no shoes, happy beer belly, and a permanent scowl that always had a faint trace of a smirk. The hostel was full of artisaños, had a nice kitchen and a place to wash and dry clothes. It was probably my favorite hostel I've stayed in yet. There was always music and food cooking and lots of people to talk with and tell stories.

Australian guy who's been travelling for about a year now. He has plans to sail back to New Zealand from Panamà when he's done travelling.

Maurcilito, playing the harmonica. He and his french girlfriend and her son had been living in the hostel for several months and were like the gaurdians.

One of the many Argentiñians in Taganga with the french ladies son and a neighbor, playing Truca, an Argentinian card game.

Venezuela

Riding in the back of a pickup truck to Maicaibo, Venezuela, Rubén, Nicole and me.

I'm in venezuala. Home to Chavez. Geez. There's Chavez propaganda on every corner. Billboards. Flyers. Signs. Protestors. Everywhere. Our time in Colombia ran out, so we crossed the border to get some more time in Colombia, when we return. We're in Maicaibo right now. A huge, dirty, kinda scary city. Venezualuans are very different. Not as friendly as colombians. But everything is good.

Crossing the border was an adventure. We arrived at dark, on the night of our last day allowed in colombia. We slept in an expensive hotel in between Colombia and Venezuela and in the morning hitched a ride in the back of a pickup truck for about 3 hours into the heart of filthy Maicaibo. The drivers let us out in the middle of a huge street, filled with old hoop-de cadillacs. Gas is super cheap here and everybody and their mother has an old 1970s cadillac, with dusty bench seats that sag into the rust underneath. They all look like they're about to rust into the ground, but still manage to zoom through the traffic. Instead of buses in Maicaibo, there are old Cadi's, kind of like taxis, but they have specific routes they go on and don't charge as much as taxis and stuff as many people possible into their dusty rusty hunks. Most of the Cadi's don't have keys in the ignition. They hot-wire them, I guess. We were in one yesterday and when the driver wanted to blow his horn, he connected two wires; when he wants to turn on the car, he connects two wires. The only things that really work in these cars are the engines and the steering wheels (gracias a Dios).

Rubèn and I met up with Gato and his Chicagan girlfriend Nicole in Taganga, colombia and are travelling together for the moment.

Venezuela is expensive. Food is very expensive and we're still searching for a hotel in our price range. I don't like this city much at all, but I don't want to go too far into Venezuela because i want to return to Colombia. I really like Colombia. I was ready to go back as soon as we walked across the border into Venezuela and the border guy who stamped my passport asked me, very confrontationally, "Where are you going?" "Venezuela," I said. "Where?" "Maracaibo." "Si, pero donde?" he insisted. "what hotel?" "I have no idea. I've never been to Venezuela before," I said. "Well, you can't just enter a country and not know where you're going. I can't go to the United States and tell the police i have no idea where I'm going. They wouldn't just stamp my passport and let me in. Do you understand?" "Si, señor." i sensed a little "I hate the United States" energy from him.On the road, in the back of the pickup truck, we were stopped every 30 minutes by road blocks. Police men in their red Chavez hats asked us where we were from, what we were doing in the back of a pickup truck, searched our bags, and ran them through their portable x-ray machines. Their tanks were parked on the side of the road next to us. There are a lot of police about in Colombia, but it's different here. There signs that read "Socialismo o muerte!" Socialism or death! And everyone here has an interest in politics and Chavez that I didn't encounter in Colombia, Ecuador or Peru.

¡La Caribé!

We just got back from a WONDERFUL 3 or 4 day (can't remember how long we were there) adventure to an island about a 2 hour bus/walk/moto ride/ferry away from Cartagena, called Playa Blanca. Carribean. Carribean. The water was cristal clear with star fish and coral and white sand. It was gorgegous. Like a commercial. We camped down the beach away from the tourist loading area, where they all get off the boat and stay without exploring the rest of the island. I woke up before sunrise every morning and walked on the beach to watch the sun rise and keep the no-see-ums from eating me alive. At night and during the day the bugs weren't bad because of the breeze, but right before the sun came up, the wind would die and the no-see-ums would creep into the tent. La dueña of the hostel we're staying at in Cartagena, loaned us a big pot and we cooked all our meals over the fire.
yesterday, a fisherman brought in lobster and we bargained with him and got 4 lobsters, for us and our neighbors, for 10,000 pesos. About $5. Oh! Que rico! A guy from Brasil and his australian girlfriend were camped next to us and we cooked and ate and played music and spoke in portugeese. Rubén speaks portugeese (yes i am aware i am spelling portugeese wrong) since he lived in Brasil and Natalie, the girl from australia spoke a little too, so all our conversations were a blend of spanish and portugeese. I followed along quite well. Portugeese is very similar to spanish and i found myself understanding.
A girl from denmark let us borrow her snorkel and mask and Rubén and i went down to the far end of the beach yesterday and snorkled until my back was as red as the lobster we ate for dinner. THe water was even more clear down there than it was where we were camped. I found like 5 HUGE starfish, all different colors. There were lots of fish too. We're back in Cartagena for the night and tomorrow we're going to the Imigration office to see if we can get an extension on our time in colombia and then going to Taganga to meet Gato and his girlfriend Nicole. There's a national park a little north of Taganga where we're gonna go camping either tomorrow or the next day. It's also on the carribean and i hear there's lots of snorkling and beatiful beaches, but not as nice as Playa Blanca. It was so cool to live on the beach for a bit. No showers. Only swimming in the ocean. My hair is almost dreaded. If we like Taganga, Rubén and I have been talking about renting a house and staying there for a month. The Brasilero was telling us that he and about 12 other people rented a one bedroom house for about 150,000 pesos for a month. That's about 5,000 pesos a day, about...$2.50 a day. It would be cheaper and it would be nice to settle somewhere for a bit. It's tiring to constantly be moving and travelling around. I'm ready to be stagnant to a little while. Hopefully, tommorrow we can get an extension on our visas. WE're also talking about taking a cargo boat up to Panamá. But we're not ready to leave Colombia, yet.

A fisherman brought in 2 sharks and was selling them for 40,000 pesos each. About $20.

Rubén and René, our Brasilero neighbor.

Cartagena from the ferry.

The Carribean!!

Cooking a Brazilean breakfast.

The Lobster.

Sunset at Playa Blanca.

Nuestra casita.

It's 2009

Ladrilleros

Ladrilleros. Where the hilocopters fly low like Vietnam. Guns hanging from faceless fingers out their open doors.
Where the children sing and beat empty kerosene containors with a rythym only found in the blood of an African.
The Indians work quietly. Selling the palm frond hats and purses. Their children's pigeon-toed feet slap the ground as they run past, flashing toothy, innocent grins.
Ladrilleros. Even the Hunchback has his place here. And the silent "cara de loco" who sells his collection of seashells, finally gave us some words to remember him by. A voice strangely reminescent of Mike Tyson's.
Ladrilleros. Where I ate fried fish, arroz con coco y plantains for 14 days straight, cooked by the incessantly screaming family who's little Alejandro could never keep away from mud puddles and trouble.
The ocean roars here with la marialta. After a night filled with jungle rain, the jungle seeps its way into the sea and fills it with it's hojas and trash from the pueblo.
Ladrilleros. I will remember you by hot nights, singing mosquitos y negritos, arepas con huevos, tranvestites and my first UFO sighting. Un hobne. Con la luna llena. Yo creo ahora.
Gracias Ladrilleros.

La playa. Filled with tourists and local women offering to braid corn rows.

Trash in the beach.

Cliffs and jungle line the beaches.

One of the many cara de locos de Ladrilleros.

Working. 7000 pesos for a trincita con semillas.

Neighbor getting a bath.

Our work. Mainly Rubèn's.

Trabajando.

Christmas in Colombia

It was a very hot Christmas down here in colombia, but it was really cool. On Christmas day we went to Paula's (Ruben's sister in law) dad's farm house. There was tons of family there, kids, grandparents, aunts and uncles, music, delicious chorizo and carne and guacamole, TONS of salsa dancing (which, by the way, i'm getting quite good at!), an entire backyard full of avocado, papaya, bananna and other fruit trees and lots of drink (aka aguardente, which is a very strong anis based liquor which is very popular here in colombia)! We ate and drank and danced all day and night. It was a very different christmas than i'm used to but very very fun. Christmas eve night we went to another family's party which was very different with no dancing but it was still cool to be around family and experiencing a Colombian christmas.
I'm beginnning to see an end in sight to my travels. I am really beginning to miss Italy and I want to see my family and I want to see my friends. A large part of me can see myself living down here, somewhere, and starting a new life down here. But then, every now and then, I get this sense of completely not belonging here. And that makes me homesick. A little. But maybe it's just Colombia, because I didn't feel that in Ecuador. Colombia is definately different. The other day, I was in an internet store, writing an email to you, when all of a sudden a body was slammed against the glass walls of the internet store. I looked up and like 3 police men were beating up 4 or 5 guys with their night sticks. All these people were gathered around them like a middle school lunch fight. The women in the store with me were all very nervous and pushed themselves together up against a far wall of the store. Then somebody fired a gun and people screamed and everyone in the store dropped down on the ground. I was just standing there, in shock, and watching this crazy "COPS" like scene evolve in front of me through the glass. "Oh yeah, I'm in Colombia" i was thinking. It was crazy. I waited in the store until it seemed as though the police had everything under control and then quickly snaked my way out through the doors and past the crowd. It was a little scary.

Here are some pictures from Cali, Colombia and Christmas at la finca.

Ruben's sister-in-law's dad, owner of the farm house, dancing. He danced and drank all night long like a 20 year old. Cali is the Salsa capital of Colombia. They love it.

Paula y Samuel, Rubèn's sister in law and nephew.

Me dancing la salsa gringa.

Artisañia y amigos en Cali.

Laguna de la Cocha, Colombia

Creek running to la Laguna de la Cocha.

Bracelets in the foreground and el pueblo behind.

Up until now, we´ve been in only the cities of Colombia. Now, no. Quite the opposite. We´ve been putting Gato´s tent up on the front porch of a brother and sister´s house and tienda. They are both in their 60s or 70s, probably.

I initially asked la señora if we could put our packs in their store while we walked around and explored the village a little. She let us. We went for una vuelta, came back several hours later with two bags full of dinner preppings in our hands and el señor simply said, '¿Vas a cocinar aqui, no?' We didn't even have to ask. So we cooked the fresh cow meat we had just bought down the road at the butcher's shop. The dead cow's head lay underneath a sink while his body hung from the ceiling. Freshly killed that day.

After cooking and eating with Bucañero and his sister (regretfully, I never learned her name), Bucañero asked us if we wanted to sleep in their corridor. We ended up on their front porch and we´ve been sleeping there ever since. We´ve cooked every meal in their kitchen, mostly fresh rainbow trout from the lake and shared every feast with them, except for lunch today when la señora made us soup. ¡Oh, que rico!

Today, after almost five days without running water or any form of a shower and sleeping in a tent (you always feel dirtier after sleeping in a tent, for some reason), I was CRAVING a shower. The toilet I've been using is the public toilet across the street from the house with a sign above it that reads 3.000 pesos. Bucañero showed me to it the first time. He carefully wiped down the seat for me, flushed a primary flush and said "Siga." I guess he and la señora use this toilet too. Anyways, it took me a little bit to work up the nerve to ask la señora where I might shower; they've given us so much already. I'd also been wondering where they shower themselves. Ruben told me to ask her if she showered. "If she says yes, ask her where? and if she says no, say 'oh, me neither'."

Eventually, I asked. La señora looked at me confused for a minute and then told me that she would ask her son, next door. They didn't have water that day, so she asked her grandson who ran across the street and asked his mom, her daughter. Meanwhile, the son and his wife explained to me that there aren't really showers here in Laguna de la Cocha, everyone just uses a cup and a bucket of water. "It's better in the morning," they explained, "with the warmth of the day to follow."

It's much different living with a family than staying in no-matter-how-primitive-I-think-they-are hostels. The hostels I've stayed in have showers at least. Maybe not free toilet paper or toilet seats or hot water, but they at least have running water. It's very different living without running water. Washing the dishes is interesting.

The kitchen sink. You pour water from a bucket of fresh water (maybe lake water) into one pan to scrub the dishes and have another pan to wash them off in. The yellow bucket on the floor is where you scrape the plates. That bucket goes to the pig.

The stove.

I think most of the pueblo was in on finding me a shower. They finally found me one. The best shower in a while, I must say.

We're frying rainbow trout right now on a open flame in the kitchen. The one-eye-green-one-eye-blue cat is waiting patiently for us to spit the bones her way. La señora gave us three plantains to make patacones (smashed and fried round pieces of plantain, Yum.) The speakers blaring from the church across the street are starting up. They play the same latin loving songs every night, beginning at the same time, while the futbol teams warm up. Every night two different teams from el pueblo play in the plaza in front of "our" house. Their final championship is approaching. The first night we stayed here, it was a little awkard setting up the tent in front of the futbol game with most of el pueblo watching and giggling at us.

Fishermen's boats.

The family and the front porch where we slept. Bucañero and la señora are in the middle.

On the island in the middle of the lake. After a week of being in this pueblo where most tourists only stay for the day, we got a good deal on a ride out to the lake and island.

Gato. Riding out to the island.

One of la señora's many grandchildren. He taught me how to yo-yo really well.

Quito, Ecuador

La Ruta del Sol

Canoa: Fishermen bringing in their catch.

me: Doing handstands in Mompiche for the sunset and remembering Karyn and her hand stand obsession.

After about a month of being nothing but a beach bum, I am back in the city. A big city. Quito, the capital of Ecuador. At first I was sad to leave the tranquility of the beaches, but arriving last night and driving through the streets of a very European feeling city, was cool. There are so many people here; the cobblestone walking streets, cathedrals and churches all remind me of a mix of Spain and France, in a weird way. There are Christmas trees in windows, with lights and Christmas music. I forgot that it´s December. On the coast it was hot and so tropical feeling I felt like I had never left August.

Canoa at sunset.

But here in Quito, I have taken out my jeans again after a month of not wearing them. Yes, they´re much tighter. Yes, I love the Panaderia´s here. Bread stores. Yummmm. Pan de chocolate, pan de carne, pan de leche, pan de sal, pan de.....oh there so many choices. Sadly, along the coast, the panaderías were limited. Usually one or none in each little village I was in. But maybe that was for the best, as far as my pant size goes.

Ruben.

I met Ruben, a guy from Argentina in Montañita. Actually, I met him first in Baños about a month before. Shay had bought a bracelet from him. He´s an Artisañia. He makes jewelry and sells it on the streets to fund his travels. The jewelry is made from thread or "hilo," similar to what I used to make friendship bracelets with, except it has a durable waxy covering. He finds seeds, shells, trades for stones and crystals and incorporates them into his work. I´ve been learning the trade and have started trying to sell some of my own work. Ruben has been travelling for about nine years now. He lived in Colombia for three years at one time and in Brazil for another three years.

El Gato.

I also met Gerardo, or Gato, in Montañita. He´s from Chile, also an artisañia and has been travelling for about six years now, going back to Chile every so often to visit his family. Ruben and Gato met several months ago in Peru, went separate ways and then met up again in Montañita.

Gato and Ruben walking ahead of me on the long trail to the deserted beach.

Before I met these guys I was planning on going to Colombia. I had a little fear though about travelling up there solo. After hanging out with Ruben, Gato and other artisañian friends in Montañita, I thought I´d be fun to tag along with Ruben and Gato up to Colombia. They´re kind of like big brothers, which is really nice to have, especially now that Shay is gone. It´s also awesome because they don´t speak English. All we speak is Spanish, so my spanish is getting SOO much better.

So after leaving Montañita, a partying gringo-ville, we went to Canoa, another beach town further north of Montañita. Canoa was a little smaller than Montañita. Only one panaderia there, which only occasionaly had bread at random times. There really wasn´t much to do there except walk the beaches, looking for shells and sharks teeth, talk with locals, and swim. We had a kitchen at the hostel we were staying at for $2.50 a night, which was really nice because everyday, the guys would go down to the beach, help the fisherman push their boats back onshore and then come back with hands full of fish, gifts for helping. The family that owned the hostel, let us use their kitchen and then we would pull a table from off the porch and put it in the middle of the dirt road in front of the hostel. There we would feast. We made many good meals in Canoa. One night, after walking all day, without any food or water, getting lost and finally finding the secluded beach we were looking for to hunt for sharks teeth, we made it back to Canoa, bought 3 pounds of chicken, 2 packets of spaghetti, a bag of tomatoes, onions and peppers and cooked a grand meal. Each of us ate about a pound each of chicken and all the spaghetti. I think I ate the most out of the three of us. "Newton John," Gato said, "comes como un hombre."

My name here is no longer Libby. After 2 months of people butchering the name Libby, (Leeebee, Libya, Lydia) I have adopted the name Olivia. It sounds pretty in Spanish and it´s a lot easier for everyone to remember for some reason. Gato calls me Newton John, as in Olivia Newton John.

The three pound chicken spaghetti feast.

Mancha: "Mi" mascota de Canoa.
She and her mom followed us everywhere. There were so many dogs in Canoa. They were always roaming the streets and beaches fighting, playing and begging.

This picture was taken for you, Sean.

La playa escondido: Where we hunted for sharks teeth.

Mompiche: The little village was so small and wonderful. Every night at 7:00, the power would go out for the entire village. You could see every single star and hear everything so much clearer.

After a week in Canoa, we went further north to Mompiche, an even smaller beach village with no panaderia and hardly any gringos, which was awesome but not so awesome for the guys because there was no one to buy their stuff. Our feasts dwindled to sandwhiches of cheese, some weird meat, cucumbers and sardines. We didn´t have a kitchen in Mompiche which also hindered our creative cooking abilities. On Thanksgiving, the fisherman came back to shore with two boats loaded down with the biggest stingrays I´ve ever seen. Two of them were each probably five feet wide. It was sad to see them on the beach, bloody and dead, vultures circling around above them, but we walked away with a huge bag full of stingray. We wandered for awhile looking for a kitchen to cook in. Ruben asked a woman working in her empty restaurant if we could use her kitchen to cook the ray. So my Thanksgiving dinner this year was stingray, one big beer between the three of us and some salt. Stingray is a little weird. Tough, but fishy flavored. Rico! I tried not to think about the pies I imagined my mom cooking back home.

Thanksgiving Dinner.

Two fishing boats came back with sting rays.

We left Mompiche yesterday in the back of Jeep, dust flying everywhere, eyes closed and took a seven hour bus to Quito. We are headed to Otavalo within the next couple of days, where the largest street market in South America is, and then from there, we´re going to the border. My family is nervous. With reason, I suppose. But everyone I´ve spoken to that has been to Colombia, has nothing but good things to say about it. I think going with the guys is good too. We stick out as tourists still, but they have an advantage in dealing with people here because they´re South American. I´m excited for Colombia. Ecuadorian set meal lunches of rice, beans and chicken are getting a little old. I´m ready for some Colombian cuisine.

We´re going to Cali, Colombia where Ruben lived. His brother and his wife and children live there and Ruben still has friends in Cali also. He and Gato are planning on passing Christmas there with friends and family and as for now I think I will too.

Gato and some of the gigantic sting ray.

Canoa.