The Ride Home

Checking in at Bogotá airport was airport was a bureaucratic nightmare almost without equal. After having tickets examined, then bags examined, scanned and beaten (don’t ask, I don’t know), exemptions sought and taxes paid, we were finally allowed to join the queue of honoured souls allowed to check in. We boarded our flight a couple of hours later which left exactly on time and arrived 4 hours later in Mexico City.

Once clear of the airport we took a taxi to our hotel, managing to pay too much despite the fixed pricing system. We pulled up at our hotel right in the historic centre of Mexico City, a block back from the huge main square of the Zocálo and cathedral. It was a step up for us in price and luxury, which was a welcome change for our last few nights.

It was late Sunday afternoon, and we were half starved and had been up since Friday morning with very little sleep. After grabbing some pretty poor Mexican fast food – it was surprisingly hard to find a Mexican restaurant in Mexico City, it seemed – we went for an afternoon nap.

We woke up at the following morning after 14 hours sleep, feeling hungrier than ever but well refreshed. After a hotel breakfast we set off to see the sights of Mexico City. Given that it is the largest city in the world this was a little difficult to do in a day, so we started by walking around the Zocálo, surrounded on all sides by old colonial buildings, cathedrals and the Palacio Nacional. It was from here that Independence was first proclaimed, with the famous cry, El Grito, of “Viva Mexico!” Inside were some excellent, although rather communist murals by the artist Diego Rivera, husband of the more famous Frieda Kahlo.

The Zocálo

After a brisk stroll around the grounds and the cathedral we hopped onto an open-topped bus for a city tour. With headphones and preprogrammed guide this was a good way of seeing a lot in a short space of time. We hopped off again at Chapultepec Park, the huge park-cum-forest that is called the “green lungs” of Mexico City. After a fruitless walk around a lake looking for somewhere to eat, we got on the bus again to the next stop in the Condensa district of the city, where we met with success and found a great café for lunch.

<>We arrived back in the centre late that afternoon and stuffed ourselves with sandwiches and icecream. We also booked ourselves on a tour the following day to Teotihuácan, the huge ancient city a short distance from the city containing some of the largest pyramids in the world. Pre-Colombian Mexican history is a mix of several great cultures: the Olmec and Toltecs were early civilisations that preceded the Maya and Aztecs, and indeed the name “Mexico” is derived from the Aztec name for their own culture, “Mexica”. In this history, the civilisation of Teotihuácan remains somewhat of a mystery. It preceded the Aztecs and donated much of its culture to them, but who they were, where they came from and where they went to is not clear.

We left the following morning for on a tour that also included the obligatory stop at a church and craft shop. The church was the shrine of the Virgin of Guadalupe – the most significant religious relic in Latin America. The legend has it that the Virgin Mary appeared to a Mexican peasant for several days running; when he told his priest about this, he was informed that more proof was needed than the roses that he was being left. The following day on a piece of sack-lack cloth that was used to sell his wares at market, appeared the incredible image of the Virgin. The huge churches built around this are magnificent: sadly the older ones are subsiding and held together by large cables and the Will of God.


The churches at the Shrine of the Virgin of Guadalupe

At the craft centre was an interesting explanation on the uses of the agaves in Aztec society – as well as making tequila, there are a huge range of uses from writing parchment to clothing. We also looked at the art of obsidian carving and polishing – one of the main Teotihuácan exports; this was followed by the peddling of overpriced statues, paperweights and carvings and then a comically small lunch.

Agaves don't just make tequila.....

The best part of our day was the trip around the ancient city itself. Despite the best efforts of our miserable guide to dull us into boredom, we had a good group and had a great time walking up the Pyramid of Quetzacotl, down the Avenue of the Dead, then up the vast Pyramid of the Sun and Pyramid of the Moon. Although the stonework lacks the skill of the Incas, the scale is much greater, and it is estimated only 30% of the city is uncovered. The people who lived here were not an overly friendly lot – ritual sacrifice was common and their foreign policy could only be described as aggressively hegemonic.

Looking down the Avenue of the Dead, left is Pyramid of the Moon, right is Pyramid of the Sun

Many of the structures at Teotihuácan were built on top of over and over, and by excavating these later layers well preserved friezes and stonework have been uncovered, many of which are on view in tunnels and rooms under smaller pyramids. After a few hours of wandering around and climbing 3 pyramids we were ready to return to Mexico City, and have a nice dinner and early night.

From the Pyramid of the Moon

The following day was our last in Mexico City, so we paid an all too brief visit to the vast Museum of Anthropology to look into local culture a bit more. The museum would take two days to looks around but we covered it in 2 hours – enough to see the really good Mayan and Aztec stuff, plus the odd Olmec head and Toltec carving. By this time we were rather cultured out, so we strolled back to our café in Condensa for lunch before heading back into the city to pack up. That evening we went for our last romantic dinner in an upper class restaurant serving typical Mexican food: it was good, but not as good as we hoped.

Stonework in Teotihuácan

The next morning the fun started. Hannah was flying direct from Mexico City via Madrid that evening; I had a lunchtime flight to Houston then onto Miami. Miami airport was fully functioning after Hurricane Wilma, but upon checking in to my flights I discovered my flight to Miami had been cancelled and I was flying Houston to Miami on the 29^th – the day after I was flying back to Madrid. After kicking up a fuss and waiting an hour, I was eventually routed to Miami via Houston the Orlando.

On arrival in Houston I had to clear U.S. Immigration and Customs, a task greater than checking in at Bogotá. My one and a half hour transfer time was eaten up and I cleared customs with 15 minutes before my flight, and had to recheck my rucksack in. I made the flight with 6 minutes to spare and once in Orlando had an hour for my connection to Miami. I had visions of a first class seat with my boarding card – Seat 5F – which were dashed when I saw the plane pull up – a 19 seater Gulfstream, barely better than a windup toy.

Olmec head in the Antropology Museum

In Miami I was unsurprised to find my bag was lost (still in Houston), and made my way to my hotel. Miami took a beating from Hurricane Wilma, and about half of the power supply in the county was out – including my hotel. There was a state of emergency in effect and a curfew in force – I couldn’t leave to get any dinner – but fortunately the hotel had a generator delivered 2 hours before my arrival, and there was power to half the building when I arrived.

The next morning I took a bus to the nearest mall to do some last minute shopping, and saw the extent of the damage inflicted by the sustained 110mph winds that Wilma caused. There was not an undamaged tree or house; many roofs had been ripped off and countless signs and walls blown over. It was a mess.

I was back in the airport 3 hours early for to pick up my rucksack, fresh from Houston. I checked in without problems and boarded my jumbo jet back to Madrid, which left just an hour late. Despite the late takeoff we were going to arrive earlier than planned in Madrid – good for my tight connection to my Heathrow flight. Sadly, we hadn’t banked on fog closing Madrid airport; we diverted to Valencia and sat on the tarmac there for 2 hours until the fog cleared. I arrived 4 hours late in Madrid, well after my intended flight, and joined the 300 other people queuing to sort out a flight home.

After a 2 hour wait I had a new flight back to Heathrow for that evening, a ticket for a free lunch and time to kill. Naturally the flight back to London was delayed by an hour and I touched down on home soil after 9 and a half months at 7pm. My bag failed to appear – not surprising considering the chaos at Madrid – but Mum did and soon we were cruising home on smooth roads in a comfy car.

Dinner on our last night

Hannah got home without hitches – quick through immigration and baggage reclaim, flights on time, and was back on Friday evening. My bag appeared last night – Monday – being delivered at a rather incredible 1.30am. I was glad though, since I’m already getting ready for the ski season at Val d’Isere.

So that’s it – no more South America. That’s probably lucky as you’re bored of reading by now. We hope you’ve enjoyed it at least a little bit as much as we have.

By the Sea

We left Bogota for the 5 hour bus ride to Manizales, the "capital" of the coffee region of Colombia known as the Zona Cafetera. As per usual, the scenery was stunning as we left the eastern cordillera and dropped into the Magdalena river valley that separates it from the central cordillera. We stopped for lunch in the town of Honda, and had the appalling locally caught catfish for lunch, recommended by a local as a delicacy - it's never nice eating something that tastes of mud and has eyes in it.


Landscape en-route

We arrived in Manizales and eventually reached our hostel after landing ourselves with a taxi driver who clearly lacked The Knowledge. There we bumped into Angie and Meredith, our travelling chums from the previous week, who were very excited to be going to see Juanes in concert in the stadium opposite the hostel. Juanes is the South American answer to Robbie Williams, and is actually very good - we listened to the concert from outside our hostel.

The following day we looked around the city. The centre of town, which sits at the top of a mountain ridge, is dominated by a huge and exceptionally ugly cathedral - the design is OK, but it the use of concrete to build it makes it look like a gothic inspired 70's highrise. Despite it's position as the capital of the coffee region, it really wasn't that interesting so we spent the rest of the afternoon looking in shopping malls and writing the Blog.


Hill sides of coffee

The following day we went in search of an authentic coffee experience, in the small town of Chinchina. This market town receives coffee beans from the whole region, and as it was a Saturday it was bursting at the seams with trucks, mules, drunken men and coffee. In fact it was like something out of the Wild West, lots of bars with billards, lots of men in cowboy hats drinking, and very few women about....


So wild even the horses drink!

After wandering around, we met up with the son of patrón 'Don Carlos' (ever a cartel name if ever I heard one!!) , who showed us the way to his father's coffee finca, where we were to spend the night. Unfortunately this involved a steep climb up a hill side to his coffee farm aptly named Colina del sol, or Hill of the Sun. There we were given indepth explanation of the ins and outs of coffee growing, including the fight against the dreaded coffee rust and berry borer. We then spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing, enjoying the peace, tranquility and copious amounts of home grown coffee (Hannah slowly began to even enjoy a cup). The views from the finca were excellent, and as night fell we spent a very quiet evening reading before turning in for a good nights sleep.


Coffee finca

The following morning was more of the same - relaxing, reading and coffee drinking. We had tour around another part of the finca with a half mad local who would abruptly stop, mid sentence, to go and hug a tree and quote Pablo Neruda - weird! After a leisurely lunch we headed back downhill to Chinchina and from there back to our hostel in Manizales, with several abortive attempts to buy coffee enroute.

The next day we caught an early bus to Medellín, a city once synonymous with drug cartels and violence, but now a prospering and vibrant (and safe) city. We arrived in the excellent bus terminal and headed to the centre of town to look around before heading off on a night bus to Cartagena on the Caribbean coast. The centre was not great, full of crazy people and women of negotiable affection. There were some wonderful sculptures by the local artist, Botero, a big brick cathedral but aside from that not a lot else. Later we found out that the nice part of town is in the south, but we didn't mind - we wanted to get to the beach so left quicksmart.


Bronze horse by Botero

We arrived in Cartagena later than promised, after an interminable number of police checks. It was hot and very humid, and noticeably poorer than other parts of Colombia. We installed ourselves in a cheap hotel with a very big fan, and had a quick walk around town before heading back to catch up on the sleep that we missed on our overnight bus.

Cartagena is one of the oldest cities in in South America, given it's position in the Caribbean close to where Colombus first made landfall. Since it was first founded in 1521 every pirate worth his salt in the centuries since has sacked the city - or at least tried to. Because of this, huge walls encircle the old town of Cartagena - well protected anyway by a maze of small islands and narrow straits and sheltered harbours. Within the walls are possibly the finest collection of colonial architecture in South America, with old churches and brightly painted ancient town houses lining the narrow streets and tranquil plazas.


Pretty streets of Cartagena

We spent our day in Cartagena wandering around fairly aimlessly; first was circuit of the walls, incredibly thick and pretty well preserved and restored. After this we made our way slowly back throught the heart of the old town; the narrow streets were cooler in the shade and outside of the busy central area were quiet areas where gardens spilled out from courtyards onto the street. Cartagena was also the first place in Colombia we had seen any number of Western tourists, and with them came lots of street vendors anxious to sell their wares.

Much as we liked Cartagena, when it's 90° in the shade, there's only one place to be, and that isn't in a city. So the following morning we took a taxi to a rickety pier in a dirty market, from where boats were supposed to leave for Playa Blanca, reputedly the best beach in Colombia. After agreeing to an over-the-odds price, we waited for over 2 hours for the boat to fill up, and we on the point of giving up and going home when the boat pulled away and set off at a fearsome speed.

After a 50 minute rollercoaster ride, we were dropped on at the beach. It looked as good as it was cracked up to be - white sand, very warm and blue sea, coconut trees overhanging the beach..... all we needed was somewhere to stay. We found ourselves in an agreeable beachfront cabin, in a half-empty complex run by an evangelical Frenchman named Gilbert.


Sunset at Playa Blanca

And so we embarked on some serious lazing around - the afternoon, following day and morning after that were alternate bouts of reading, sunbathing (I'm not a natural), swimming, and eating. It was great. Of the few other guests at the hostel there were two young Colombian brothers with their 4 collected children in tow, plus 3 friendly Israelis.

After almost exhausting my reading, I started on an evolutionary-creationsim book, one of Gilbert's finest. It was interesting.... but here is not the time or place to talk about it! In the evenings we enjoyed freshly caught fish and played Janiv, an entertaining Israeli card game. By Saturday afternoon our money and suncream supplies were runnning low so we took a boat with the Colombian family back to Cartagena, a much more pleasant experience than the way out. I didn't take the Spanish-English New Testament that Gilbert offered; we have plenty too many books already.


"Wish you were here...."

We stayed the night in Cartagena - hot and wet still - before departing the following morning to the port of Santa Marta, further north up the coast. Our main reason for visitng here was not the dirty beach in town, but the Tayrona National Park that lies just to the east - a wild stretch of coastline and beaches that everyone seems to love.

We stayed a night in Santa Marta to buy supplies, and later left the supermarket proud owners of a $10 tent and fridge box, plus all the supplies that we needed for a few days at the beach. We stayed in a very friendly and well equipped hotel, who were only too keen to give us the lowdown on Tayrona.

The following morning, laden with 15 litres of water, a crate of beer, lots of food and a few clothes, we walked to get the bus to the park entrance. We were half dead after walking the 10 blocks necessary, and once we reached the park we opted to do the sensible thing and hire a mule to take our luggage to the beach we wanted to go to.

The hour long walk was through beautiful, pristine jungle, and we arrived at the first beach after 30 minutes and determined to continue onto El Cabo, a beach further on that we had heard good things about. Despite the 80° heat it was overcast and drizzling, and it seemed to be getting greyer as we reached El Cabo. We set up the tent and I entered boy-scout mode, spending an hour or two building a wooden frame around the tent to support a plastic groundsheet which would provide the waterproofing (it was a $10 tent after all). We spent the rest of the afternoon under the shelter that belonged to the campsite - considering they could charge whatever they wanted for food and drinks, it was exceptionally reasonable.


Boy-scout Pete, Ray Mears eat your heart out!

It was Monday, and we only had until Friday before we had to return to Bogota. The first evening we discovered that the "beer" we had bought was in fact a revolting malt drink - very embarrassing, and we had no intention of carrying it back. Fortunately there was the option to buy beer from the camp store, but we were pretty limited on cash so had to nurse our cans carefully.


El Cabo beach

On Tuesday afternoon Limon, Asi and Lee, the Israelis from Playa Blanca, appeared along with a group of 10 or so more if their countrymen. So we spent the days on the beach much as before - reading, sunbathing, swimming, and eating. Our food supplies were perfect, and the fridge box pretty good - we had fresh bread every day until we left, and even managed to exchange the "beer" cans for real beer at the camp shop.


El Cabo beach....again

If you want to be picky, I suppose the sand on the beach of Playa Blanca was better, but the isolation of El Cabo, the lack of vendors and jungle rising immediately behind the beach gave it the edge. Despite having some totally ineffective sunblock (the most expensive in Cartagena) and getting burnt, we had a great time - even during the tropical downpour that just about flooded the tent.

Friday morning came all too quickly, and we struck camp, gathered up all that we couldn't leave behind and walked back to the road - no mule this time. On the way we say some monkeys - an as-yet unidentified species that is the ninth type we have seen.


How romantic!

We got back to Santa Marta with only about 25p in our pockets - we had calculated our camping and transport bill rather closely. After a much-needed shower we got lunch and supplies for the long bus ride back to Bogota. We rocked up at the terminal mid-afternoon and stepped onto our bus a short while later, after a bidding war between touts for different companies let us get a cheap seat.

The bus back was due to arrive at 9am, but en route back up the Magdalena valley there was heavy, sustained rain, and our progress slowed to a crawl for several hours. When light came, we were still miles from Bogota, and eventually rolled into the city at midday, 19 hours after we started.

In Bogota it was all go; back in the Platypus hostel, the ever helpful German sorted us with a room and laundry, and we left for some last mintue shopping and culture - there is a free Botero museum here that we missed the other week. That evening we had a great last meal then free beer back at the hostel, before turning in not early enough for our 4am start to the airport.

We're in Mexico City now, only a few days before heading home. We'll see you soon.

Highway through the Danger Zone

Quito was cool, big and pretty smelly. Situated in a high Andean valley at 2800m, at the foot of a volcano, it has chronic air pollution problems and the usual urban poverty that characterises so many South American cities. As you may have guessed, we didn't like it.

Once back form the Galapagos, we stayed in a hostel that rather grandly called itself "the best in South America"- clearly it wasn't, but it was reasonable and in a safe area of town. One of the things that Quito excels at is robberies from gringos - all in a 2-square-block area of the new town where hostels, internet cafes, western restaurants and clubs live on the gringo tourist trade. Far away from this mayhem, our hostel was on the outskirts of the old town, within easy walking distance of the usual colonial architecture, huge churches and central Independence square.

Walking around the Old City was nice, but it was crowded and there were large numbers of riot police around, preparing for a demonstration against Western oil companies operating in the east of the country. Feeling like the cultural heathens that we probably are, we opted against inspecting every church and museum, and abandoned the Old City for a more inspired day. The night before had been "Ecuadorian night" at our hostel - good, typical food and a half decent indigenous band - so we ate in again, up on the beautiful roof terrace that looked over the city.


The Official Equator

The next day we set off on a mission to Mitad del Mundo, or the Equator. The bus journey was longer than usual - oil protesters blocking a road - but we reached the huge granite monument just before midday. The position was calculated in 1726, and is only 150m out from the modern day GPS position - they failed to account for the equatorial bulge. After the usual photos we had a look inside the monument - a good ethnographic museum and view from the top was worth the slightly exorbitant entrance fee.


Hannah, tribal warrior-priestess

What we had not counted on was that it was the 23rd of September, or the autumn equinox. That meant, at 12.00pm, we had precisely no shadow as the sun was directly overhead. That would have been great had it not been cloudy. After visiting the "official" (wrong) site, we identified the equator proper in a small museum up a dirt track. There was an eclectic collection of Ecuadorian culture which bulked out the site, including indigneous huts, shrunken heads (actually real human heads that had been skinned off the skull then boiled up in a secret plant concoction that shrinks them into mini-busts; and according to our enthusaistic guide the hair on these heads still grow - weird!) and local drinks. We then got to play with darts and a blow pipe, donning the requisite silly hat before attacking a hapless cactus. Needless to say, I was on target and was immediately crowned chief of the local tribe, being strongly suspected of being a god.


The real Equator

After the tour we got to do the fun stuff on the Equator, namely playing with water and eggs!! There was a great do-it-yourself demonstration of the Coriolis effect - in the northen hemisphere water goes down a plug hole anti-clockwise, on the equator straight down and in the southern hemisphere clockwise. After hours of playing with water we deduced that this was true, even if you only move the bucket 6 inches from the actual equator. Donning our astro-physicist white coats we attempted the second experiment; that was balancing an egg on the head of a nail (which works because of the gravity on the egg is at an equilibrium or something like that - something to do with a bloke called Newton). After several attemptes Pete managed to balance the egg, but as neither of us had actually tried balancing an egg on a nail anywhere other than the equator we weren't sure whether it truely was a gravitational phenomenom or just the guide at the museum having a laugh at us. After taking several photographs with our feet in each hemisphere we returned to Quito, happy to be leaving the following day.

The next morning we were on our way to Baños, a small tourist town a few hours south of Quito, quietly nestling in the foothills of an active volcano. The spa town is a draw for locals and foreigners alike, and arriving on Saturday lunchtime we were met with the usual weekend crowd, tearing around the streets on quad bikes and in dune buggies. The real beauty of the town lies outside of it - the picturesque valleys hide rocky canyons, winding rivers and numerous waterfalls. We spent the next couple of days relaxing - we met Darren and Andrea, a couple from our Galapagos boat, and found an excellent restaurant-cafe with a good book exchange and excellent cookies. We spent time avoiding the awful wails of the karakoe bar opposite our hotel, wandered around town, and generally did very little. Come Monday morning, the town was transformed - quiet, sleepy and empty. We left as well, taking the bus back north to Otavalo, a market town some 2 hours north of Quito.


Banos, with Tungurahua volcano behind

Otavalo is famous for having one of the largest markets in South America, every Saturday. The handicrafts market is so big it runs every day of the week, which is what we wanted to see. After arriving we met up with Angie and Meredith for dinner; Angie is a friend who I first met back in Ushuaia, and we have been keeping tabs ever since. All four of us were heading into Colombia, so we decided on the safety-in-numbers option to travel together. Our plan was to look around Otavalo the following morning before taking a bus to Tulcan, on the Ecuador-Colombia border.

Otavalo handicrafts market was not all that good, truth be told. It was nothing that we hadn't seen before, at generally more expensive prices. Instead, Hannah and I took a bus to the nearby town of Cotacachi, famous for it's leather goods. It was a great find. There followed 2 hours of hectic shopping, buying incredibly cheap leather goods that we probably didn't need, but couldn't resist.

Back in Otavalo, we got some lunch before taking the PanAmerican highway northwards. This was where we officially entered the "less secure area" that stretched all the way north to Cali in Colombia. The Ecuadorian government had decared a state of emergency in the 2 provinces east of us, due to ongoing oil protests, and the PanAmerican was apparently blocked north of us due to another protest. After weighing up the risks, we decided to proceed, and arrived that evening safely in Tulcan, having bypassed the "blockade" on the PanAmerica (I suspect I blinked and missed it). We settled down for a comfortable night in Tulcan, with an mixture of trepidation and anticipation about what lay ahead in Colombia.

We crossed the border, hassle-free, first thing in the morning; Angie, who had had her passport stolen in Ecuador, had to promise she would never come back in order to obtain her exit stamp, despite the appropriate paperwork explaining her lack of entry stamp. We took a small van into Ipiales, from where we caught an all day bus up to Cali.

The Colombia-Ecuador border has seen an increase in tension in the past 2 years or so, due to an upsurge in guerrilla activity. Some of the Colombia activites have spilled over into Ecuador, but most of the fighting remains sproadic and in the eastern provinces of the country, far from where we were travelling. Bus travel in Colombia still has the reputation of being risky, in terms of the likelihood of robberies occurring, however. As a counterpoint to the activities of the FARC and other guerrilla groups, in the past 2 years the number of robberies has decreased greatly - mainly a result of a goverment crackdown when most of the bandits ended up in jail or shot.

The day passed quietly and beautifully. The Andes in Colombia has three cordillera that make up the western part of the country, which makes for stunning, lush green scenery that carries on for hours. Rolling hills in the south, with fields and hedges reminiscent of the south west of England, gave way to more tropical vegetation - palm trees, banana plants and coffee farms. The incredible natural beauty was at odds with what many people imagine Colombia as, and the whole journey was one to remember.

As we neared Cali we were stopped at a police checkpoint and the bus was searched. In comparison to the local population, Hannah and I are a pair of fair-headed giants, which immediately drew the attention of the police who demanded we get off for a passport check. After sounding off a little about the police treatment of Colombians in the USA and the UK (Angie and Meredith had to get off too after we mentioned we were not alone), it was all laughs, jokes and smiles as we told him how beautiful Colombia was and how we had had no trouble with the Colombian police. This was the truth, although it also went with my rule of always agreeing with the man with the big shiny gun. What was nicest was that one of the locals got off the bus too, just to check that the police were treating correctly.


Cali - the old and the new

Cali was hot, humid and friendly. Still off the map as most tourism goes, foreigners are welcome and it won't be long before people are flooding to this lively city, second biggest in Colombia but possibly with the biggest personality. After finding a hostel we ate at a good Mexican fast food place; prices are much higher than Ecuador and belts may have to be tightened. The following mornign we set off to explore downtown Cali - a mix of old and new, with the colonial era churches contrasting with the gleaming skyscrapers. The security problems in southern Colombia are limited almost entirely to remote rural regions, but terrorist activity by the guerrilla groups meant that there was a small legion of police in town, most looking rather like Robocop in huge amounts of body armour.

We had decided to stay just the day in Cali, so after a siesta and a visit to an orchid garden, we turned in for the night in prepartion of another long bus ride to Bogotá, capital of Colombia, the following day. This bus ride was much like the first, although in a very luxurious bus reminiscent of Chile and Argentina. The scenery was, again, stunning for most of the day, as we crossed one cordillera and woudn our way slowly up another.

After 10 hours on the bus we arrived in the hectic, large bus terminal of Bogotá. The terminal has an efficient taxi system which prevents unsuspecting tourists being ripped off by dodgey taxi drivers, so after a 30 minute drive through the sprawling city we reached the location of our hostel, without paying over the odds (usually an impossible task arriving in a city). After dashing out and getting some fast food we got an early night to recover from our long day.


Plaza Bolívar, with statue of Simon Bolívar, Colombia's foremost hero

The following day we wandered around the old centre and were very impressed by the central square, Plaza Bolívar, and surrounding rich colonial architecture and presidential palace. The strong security presence was even more noticeable in Bogotá, with several armed police or soliders on every corner, and the occasional fully armed platoon-strength patrol through the streets. Bogotá over the years has been plagued by terrorism, both FARC and drug related, and back in the '80s there was a bomb virtually every weekend. There problem now is much smaller, but the threat from guerrillas remains; before walking down one street we had our bag searched. For all this, the central streets were quiet, pretty and relaxed - a world away from Quito or Lima. That afternoon we went up the tallest tower in Bogotá for a bird's eye view of the city - it is now the fourth largest in South America, but immediately north of the historic centre are a band of green forested hills that are a welcome break from the monotony of concrete.


Bogotá centre, from the tower

We awoke the next day to beautiful sunshine and headed up Monserrate, a church that overlooks the city on a hill almost directly above our hostel. We took the funicular up, a tram that climbs the 300m slope up to the church. As it was a Sunday the whole site was busy with worshippers, and we walked around the pretty gardens following the statues depicting the 14 steps of Jesus before he is crucified; something about He falls down 3 times, Simon helps Him carry the cross and Veronica wipes His face….. The views over the city were spectacular with the contrast of the green densely vegetated hillsides against the urban sprawl. We then queued to get the cable car back down to the city.


Monserrate

Back in the hostel we waited for Max, a Colombian who had shared Pete's cabin on his Antarctica cruise. He picked us up to take us for lunch in his 4X4 Toyota. Pete noticed that the glass seemed a bit thicker than your average car, and it quickly emerged that we were travelling in an armored plated, bulletproof car. Armored plated cars are not uncommon in Bogotá, in fact we suspected more than 50% of all 4x4s on the road were. We went to the upmarket end of town and had a very nice, very big lunch before returning to Max´s apartment which doubles up as a gallery - he is a very successful photographer. We then went to a nearby café for a coffee before returning to the centre of town and back to our hostel.

Most of the museums and tourist sites in Bogotá are closed on Mondays, so the following day we decided to head back to the upmarket end of town for a spot of shopping and people watching. After looking at several beautiful fabric shops (designer fabrics at designer prices!) we then wandered around one of the several shopping malls in the area, having our bags searched on the way in. In the more nicer area of town there is a big industry in security, a lot of the richer Colombians seem to have their own body guards (as well as armoured cars) - it was bit of a novelty trying to guess the occupation of the man walking down the street, surrounded by a few be-suited gorillas. That evening we returned to the hostel on the TransMilenio – an efficient but complicated bus service that provides rapid transport throughout the city; we managed to get back after a kind gentleman explained the impossible map.

Tuesday morning we set off for Bogotá botanic garden, which housed a wide variety of plants from Colombia and the wider world. There was an excellent arboretum of Andean trees and conifers, plus collections of medicinal plants, roses, palms and cacti. The glass houses contained superb displays of aquatic, orchid, and economic plants (as well as having conveniently located toilets). Unfortuantely I was suffering from a bit of an upset stomach, so we were always on the look out for a convenience stop, and by the afternoon Pete was beginning to feel the ill effects of an unsettled stomach too. We returned to our hostel and decided to spend the rest of the afternoon within a few meters of our en-suite bathroom.


Botanic Gardens

The next morning we awoke, with our stomachs feeling much settled, and set off for the "Salt Cathedral", carved inside a salt mine in the nearby town of Zipaquirá. We called in on our very helpful hostel office where the owner (who according to other travellers should be given a sainthood for his helpfulness) gave us directions on how to get there and a warning of thieves on the TransMileno.

Armed with directions we set off to get the bus, first negociating the complicated TransMileno. When we came to change buses my path was blocked as I followed Pete out onto the platform, and I ended up having to push my way through; only once I’d got out into the fresh air did I realize that the zip pocket of my trousers had been undone and my purse stolen. Fortunately the thief had only got away with all of about two pounds worth Colombian Pesos - luckily I never carry credit cards in my wallet or on the outsides of my clothing. Perhaps most upsetting was that my lucky money bean, which I was given in Manu “if you have a money bean in you purse your money will grow”, had also gone along with the purse.

We arrived in Zipaquirá and walked 20 minutes or so up to the mine, paid our entry fee and joined a group with an English speaking guide for a tour. We walked town a long tunnel until we were 150m under the ground where we started a series of 14 stations representing the 14 stages of Christ being crucified, as we were learning. Each station was a cross that had been sculpted to represent the various stages; Christ falling down (3 times in total) represented by the cross being very low, Simon helping christ – bolders under the cross supporting it. It was all very well done and (best of all) there wasn’t a hint of ornate gold or a gruesome statue to be seen - we are now pretty averse to wealthy religious displays. After we followed all 14 stations we got to the main Cathedral Nave, 180m below the surface, which was brilliantly lit with coloured lighting to represent heaven, hope, purity and Jesus' blood. We had decided that it had been the best church we had ever visited.


Inside the Salt Cathedral

We returned to Bogotá for lunch, and then went to the excellent, world-famous Museo del Oro, or Gold Museum, owned by the Banco de la República. There was an impressive collection of over 35,000 pre-colombian gold pieces. The ancient objects that have been found throughout different regions of Colombia show virtually every technique known that is used by modern day goldsmiths. I was particularly excited by the immense amount of shiny things. After being mesmerised by all the sparkles and golden glow for an hour and a half, we left for a last look around the centre before leaving the next day for Manizales, in the Zona Cafetera (Coffee Area) of Colombia. Time is running short!


It's shiny, it's heavy, and it clearly won't float