Colombia!

WOW!


We did end up flying from Panama to Cartegena, and are now on the road at last. We´ve ridden from Cartegena to Medellin, and are now in Popayan. In the blink of an eye, Colombia will be gone! It has been absolutely beautiful, even in the dry season. It has rained every day, so I wonder what the rainy season must be like.


One surprising and pleasant aspect of travel in Colombia is that it´s not possible to get lost. Every place you could ever want to be is always derecho. To get to Tokyo from Cartegena, you need only ask the nearest passerby. He will infallibly direct you with all speed, "Derecho, derecho! Es muy facil. Solamente derecho!" This means, of course, "Straight ahead! You can´t miss it!" And as long as you ask another passerby at each intersection to find out which road is the derecho one, you will soon learn that the directions given by South Americans are without exception flawless. Provided you are open to the idea that an ocean can be a derecho road.

I don´t want to leave you down on hospitality after my last camping story, so here´s another to even it out. We began looking for a place to camp at about 5 one afternoon after a 130km day and me still in the initiation phase (i.e. with a very sore butt.) We thought we had plenty of time and plenty of options. But as dusk approached an hour later, we had only a handful of rejections to show for our efforts. Many people do not own the land they live on or near, as it is often part of large farms owned by families who live elsewhere. Consequently, even with vast expanses of rolling grasslands in every direction, we could not get permission to sleep.


With only a few minutes left until dark, we passed the gate to one such farm, and unusually, it was open. We stopped and looked at each other. Should we go in and look for someone, or would it be a waste of time?

To make a short story quick, this story was typed on the veranda of a large country home, in the middle of a huge farm with over 800 head of cattle, with turtles, ducks, and peacocks wandering the brightly landscaped grounds. The groundskeeper offered us food and water, and I had a shower before going to sleep in a real bed with a real matress and a ceiling fan. The owner and his son were just there for the day to check on the farm, and no one lives in the house at this time of year. Without pause, they offered us the entire house for as many days as we would like to stay. We sat with them in rocking chairs for a few minutes to tell them our story and exchange e-mail addresses, and then they left. So there we were, proprietors of a who knows how many thousand acre Colombian farm! It´s a beautiful world, this. These good stories recoup tenfold the losses of the bad.


Sometimes I bonk pretty hard. Other times I crash. These are different. Bonking happens quick, and can be fixed with anti-bonk water and fruit or cookies in 10 minutes. Crashing happens slow, and requires a meal and a couple of hours to fix. I never have been an endurance kinda guy, and don´t know much about these things. If anyone out there does and has any diet suggestions, these are a problems I would love to get rid of. Maybe more carbs and less protein at meals? Or stronger anti-bonk water?


Another thing is numb fingers. I´ve got cycling gloves and bar ends, and continuously change my hand positions and shake my arms out. Nevertheless, I´m still getting numb fingers. In the past this numbness has lasted for days or weeks after a ride. Anyone know how to prevent this?


Well now it´s official. I´ve slept in a pig sty. We were getting ready to set up our tents in a friendly woman´s front yard, and we asked her if she thought it might rain. She said yes and would we like a roof. We said yes and she showed us to the pig sty. Dry, secure, and sheltered from the wind. Perfect! Especially since we were at 9200 feet, and it was a bit chilly. The pigs grunted a little, and snored, but otherwise were perfect roomates. They´d have to have been pretty raucous to keep me awake.


We had climbed more than 8000 feet in the previous day and a half. It was great to be high, and the scenery was unreal. But the climb kicked my butt. Quite literally. It seems to have been nothing for Rob. I believe he could almost double my pace, and I´m barely hanging on. He´s an animal! Hopefully, with a combination of me getting stronger and he being patient, we can work out a compromise.


I´ve always been jealous of people with a secret language. You know, the people who speak Dutch or Chinese or something, who in the states can speak freely with no risk of being understood by anyone else. I´ve always figured this would be an unattainable dream for me, since my first language is the most widely spoken in the world. I do speak some Ewe, which would work, but who could I speak it with? It´s not all that fun having a conversation with yourself in public, secret language or no.

But at last, my dream has become a reality. Here in Colombia, almost no one speaks English, and those that do cannot even begin to hear it a full pace. Rob and I can sit in a resturaunt and talk about anything we so desire. The food is horrible, I´m tired lets go, or my bowels are moving at a frightening pace. Anything is fair game! And I´ve got to tell you, it´s everything I ever imagined it to be.


Many people have assured us that Central and South America, and Colombia in particular, are terribly dangerous and we will without doubt be robbed and mugged and kidnapped. Even the people we meet here tell us that "oh yes, this region is very friendly and safe. But watch out to the north/south/east/west. There it will be very dangerous." People said this in Africa too.

I don´t want to deny that risks exist. These things certainly do happen, and there is a place for prudence. And there´s still plenty of time, they could happen to us. Maybe then my view will change. But here´s what I think now: people fear what they do not know, and it is this very fear that is one of the primary causes of the danger. It´s not the only cause, but it is one of them.


Here´s what I have to say: on a trip like this, just like my two years in Africa, and all my other travels, I rely many times each day on total strangers for food, directions, conversation, and a place to sleep. And here is what I find: almost without exception, people are friendly, interested, and excited to help. They go out of their way to show me to a good hotel, cook me a meal, give me a roof, lend me their bicycle tools and grease, or send me spare parts by overnight courier from Bogota (thanks Carlos and Crank Brothers!). They want to know where I have come from and where I am going, and if they have suggestions, they give them as many times and in as many languages and hand signals as it takes for me to understand.


I in no way deserve this. I am not under hardship, and I am owed nothing. I´m simply a rich American who decided to go on a bicycle tour, something many of these people will never have the luxury of doing, even if they wanted to. Where does this generosity come from? What is it?


Here is what I think: it is man´s belief that love is real and life is worth it. It is his understanding, even if unconscious and often forgotten or denied, that the latter flows only from the former. It is a glimpse of glory, of the face of God. This is something I´d like to share.


Here is another thing I think: ¡ciclistos Colombianos son locos!