Kindness of Strangers

Villa de Leyva, Colombia

I arrived in darkness and needed cash. After using an ATM machine, I had a pocket full of money and a credit card. On my way back to the hostel, I took a wrong turn and was lost. It was 10 PM and not knowing the area became concerned it may not be safe. I asked a number of people for directions, all helped, but none knew exactly where the hostel was located. I started to worry I would be robbed. A tall fellow, bigger and badder looking than me, smelling of alcohol quickly came up behind me. We were alone on a dark dead end street. No where to go.

Darkness approaches fast near the equator

I stopped, turned, and started towards him and said, “Por favor” (I’m thinking, please don’t rob me), and showed him the address of the hostel and asked if he know where it was. He responded that he was not familiar with the hostel, but gave me accurate directions to where there was a security guard. He said I should inquire there. He bid me “Good night”, and staggered on his way.  

On my way to the security guard, there was loud music coming out of a “bodega” - neighborhood convenient store - with five men sitting and drinking beer out front. I went in and showed the hostel address to the slightly tipsy round man behind the counter. He didn’t recognize the address, but noted the telephone number. He whipped out his cell phone and dialed the number. Isabel, co-owner of the hostel, answered the phone, but couldn’t hear me over the loud salsa music that was playing. I pointed outside to the clerk, he nodded, I went outside and still had a hard time hearing Isabel on the other end. She said she could guess where I’m at because of the loud music and would send her husband, Carlos, to pick me up. 

Kind Isabel and Carlos (owners of Hostel El Pozzo), and their girls

Even though it was now 11 PM, Carlos came within five minutes. The “Hostal Campestre El Pozzo” (highly recommend) was three blocks down the street from the bodega. I was relieved. 

Entrance to Hostel El Pozzo

Small lagoon at the hostel (my room is lower level, left window)

Finally a Restful Weekend

I’m sitting in a restaurant, front door open, looking out to the main plaza on a Friday night. Live salsa music spills outside from a cocktail lounge. Two well dressed couples are dancing to the music, outdoors in front of the restaurant. The square is full of Colombians from Bogota, who’ve escaped the traffic, air pollution, and hectic pace of the metropolis. Villa de Leyva is a small town of 6,000 people. All the homes are painted white with red Spanish roof tiles. Many have second story balconies and flower planters full of blue hydrangeas, red geraniums, with purple, orange, and pink bougainvillea climbing the side of the building. Cobblestone streets make walking difficult and care must be taken not to twist an ankle.

Typical home in Villa de Leyva

It's difficult to walk on cobblestone

Bougainvillea is blooming everywhere

The Plaza Mayor (main plaza) is one of the largest in Latin America. It’s paved with cobblestone, no grass or trees. There is a Spanish colonial water fountain in the center. The plaza’s surface is sloping. The public square is almost five hundred years old, and over the ages earthquakes and water erosion have pushed up the stones and make the entire plaza uneven and bumpy. Streets are cleaned, no trash is lying around the square and adjoining area is well kept.

The Plaza Mayor

Spanish style water fountain in the Plaza Mayor

A shady public plaza

There are eateries on three sides of the plaza. The fourth side has the church and municipal government offices. People are passing by the open door restaurant and peering at the menu and deciding where to eat. I’m eating a veggie pizza topped with chunks of chicken. Besides the regular vegetables on a pizza, they’ve added corn kernels and sunflower seeds, and light cheese. It’s delicious. I drink my favorite, a freshly squeezed mango fruit juice. I go to sleep with a full stomach, content that I’m in a safe place for the night.

It’s Saturday morning and the whole town is shopping for fresh fruits and veggies at the open air weekly farmer’s market. There are apples, bananas, mangoes, strawberries, wild red berries that look like raspberries for sale. Also for sale are a wide variety of vegetables like maize, tomatoes, onions, broccoli, and an assortment of potatoes, as well as clay pots, shoes, knives, and toiletries. Most of the vendors are indigenous farmworkers wearing unusual hats and ponchos. Many of the campesinos have light colored skin, but indigenous noses, dark hair, and almond shaped eyes. Some have really bright red faces or freckles. 

Indigenous produce vendors selling their harvest

Potato vendor

Clay pots for sale

Wide selection of fresh fruits and vegetables

Shopper looking for the freshest produce at the best price

Local enjoying the atmosphere and conversation

A food court is set up selling hardy soups, with chicken, pork and beef grilling on wood burning stoves. Many stands have different colored blood sausage and potatoes cooking in a four by three foot aluminum sheet. One of the vendors offers me a grilled blood soaked potato as an enticement. I politely declined, saying I just ate. Local people crowd in to try the free samples. Transport of the produce is by modern trucks, mules, and human backs. I bought some apples, mangoes, and bananas for my trip to El Dorado. 

Cooking with wood burning grill

Blood sausage and potatoes, local favorites

(I politely turned down one of the blood soaked potatoes)

Trucks, mules, and human labor all bring produce to market

Bought fruit from this vendor for my roadtrip

Villa de Leyva is populated by friendly, unpretentious, kind people who say “Good day” and “Good evening” to a traveling stranger. A refreshing change from the fast paced, busy people I found in big cities like Bogota and Santa Marta. There is no direct bus or transport to El Dorado, I wouldn’t expect anything different. So I arrange to take a bus near to where I’m going, with the hope that local transportation will be available to take me to the legendary “land of gold”. We leave first thing in the morning.

Delightful Villa de Leyva is in a valley surrounded by the Andes Mountains

Simple, delicious meal at a local diner

No meal is complete, unless followed by a piece of gourmet

apple pie and rich Colombian coffee.

Liberty for South America?

Simon Bolivar, The Liberator

The Liberator is dead! His ideas, hopes, and accomplishment of bringing liberty from colonial rule live on. Simon Bolivar, suffering from repeating bouts of malaria and pulmonary tuberculosis, died in physical pain and mental anguish in Santa Marta. After fighting to free large tracts of northern South America, his dream of a united “Grand Colombia” shattered into infighting among elites and ruling classes of what would eventually become Colombia, Venezuela, Ecuador, Peru, and Bolivia. His final public statement was: “If my death contributes to the ceasing of fighting among the parties and consolidation of the union, I will calmly lower myself to the sepulcher.” He is remembered throughout South America with statues, parks, streets, and even a country. The main plaza in Santa Marta is Plaza Bolivar and contains a life size bronze statue of him on his favorite horse.

Statue of Simon Bolivar in the main plaza of Santa Marta

Bed where the Liberator died

I visited the Quinta de San Pedro Alejandrino where Bolivar was staying when he died. I heard numerous birds chirping and arguing with each other, felt a slight breeze rustling tree leaves and carrying away the heat of the day. People there were wandering with admiration, sadness, and respect. There is a sculpture of the dead Liberator based on a death mask made right after his death. It is an exact likeness. On his chest he’s wearing a medal of Lady Liberty given to him by George Washington’s son, who was a great admirer.

Courtyard of Quinta de San Pedro Alejandrino

Face of Simon Bolivar at his death

(Exact likeness based on death mask taken immediately after death)

Bolivar was born into wealth, privilege, and comfort. He died penniless, broken hearted as his dream of a United States of Grand Colombia unattainable. He spent more time on horseback, camping outdoors, and fighting battles than enjoying his ordained life of luxury. He sacrificed everything for a dream - his inheritance, health, stable home life. Death comes to all. Bolivar died an early death so his pursuit of liberty would inspire future generations to safeguard theirs. There is no greater love, than for a person to be willing to die for their belief that human beings should live free.

One can visit Bolivar’s bedroom where he died. His bed is still kept in the condition it was when he inhaled his last breath. While there, I was saddened and reminded of my own mortality. We are here such a short time, we must seek deeds of altruism, love, and loyalty to each other. Our Maker gives us free will and exercising it for good of humanity and nature is noble, rare, and intentional. Viva Bolivar . . . Viva Bolivar . . . Viva Bolivar.

Dining area and furniture where Bolivar ate meals

(Note his bedroom in the background)

Walking through the grounds of the Quinta there are peaceful lime green iguanas, red throat vultures eyeing some dead animal from a tall Ficus tree, and hues of green from the tree canopy cover the walkways. Ten and eleven year old school children on a field trip and retired sixty and seventy year old elders move with reverence as they recall Bolivar’s ideals and sacrifices. Veneration holds the visiter in check as one knows and feels something important in the course of human history happened here - the death of a great man and leader.

Gardens and pond of the Quinta

Even iguanas show reverence to the spirit of Bolivar

I’m mesmerized by the atmosphere that I forget the heat and humidity. Bolivar felt this heat, walked on the same brick stones, admired and smelled the same flowers, touched and sat on the bench I’m occupying. I feel his spirit, hear his words motivating to fight for what one believes, and understand that Liberty is an ideal to be cherished and safeguarded. I will attempt to uphold his ideals.

Bolivar admired these flowers

Bolivar's favorite bench, under a ficus tree, where he dictated letters

and issued proclamations 

Bolivar spent more time on his favorite horse fighting battles,

 than in the comforts of a warm bed.

Leaving Santa Marta

Bolivar continues to inspire Latin America leaders. Current Venezuela President Hugo Chavez evokes his name in his pursuit of power. Indeed his political ideology is called the Revolutionary Bolivarian Movement and he aspires to be another Bolivar. Except unlike Bolivar, Chavez intends to stay in power for life. 

After leaving Santa Marta, I rode the bus eight and half hours to Bucaramanga, Colombia. I encountered a sixty-two year old retired Colombian airline mechanic, Israe, who travels extensively throughout Latin America. I asked his opinion of Hugo Chavez: “He’s shit. He’s eating the Venezuelan economy and stealing from the people. He claims to want to help the poor and working classes, but is enriching himself from petroleum revenues. He’s now a millionaire.” 

Buses in Colombia are modern and inexpensive

Colombian travel buddy Israe with Manny de

Female bus driver, first one encountered in Latin America,

while there are many in Colombia, it's not the case in the rest of Latin America

Israe didn’t approve of the current Colombian president. He believed he was too accommodating with the armed guerillas. He said that even though there are negotiations in progress, “They will not be successful.” He called the insurgent army, “narco-guerillas”. He said that trafficking cocaine was their business and how they made money. He asserted: “Unless the government is going to create a mechanism for them to earn money, they’ll just continue with narco trafficking.”

Israe liked President Obama. He said that he’s going to get all the “black vote” and it’s the “whites” that won’t vote for him. He believed that the USA is “a racist society and white people don’t like blacks, unlike in Colombia." He couldn’t understand why. I shared that the US has a diversity of opinions and while there are some whites that don’t like blacks, it’s not the majority. 

My new travel partner pointed out places and named the different landscape sites we passed like rivers, mountains, and historic sites. He made recommendations and explained the importance or beauty of a place. He said he'd been to "El Dorado" lake, that it was peaceful, stunning, and worthwhile to visit.

Traveling the backroads in the Colombian Andes

(Note the roadway at the right as it climbs into the mountains)

While on the long bus ride, I became hungry and bought some fruit and other snacks from people who board the bus to sell food. Israe encouraged my to buy roasted “ants” from an indigenous vendor. He said they were a delicacy, full of protein, and very flavorful. I bought a packet and shared with him, the bus driver, and bus attendant. They had a pungent earthy taste, unlike anything I’ve ever eaten. I recommend them.

There's a lot of protein packed in that handful of ants

A very tasty treat (in case no one believes Manny de ate ants in Colombia)

Bus driver and attendant were glad to have the ants as a snack

At Bucaramanga, I changed buses for one going to Villa de Leyva, a small village in the Andean highlands. From there, I’ll travel deeper and higher into the Andes and probe for the fabled “El Dorado” lake, reported to be Laguna Guatavita. We’re on the trail of the legendary El Dorado fantasy . . . 

Hearty, delicious soups are a staple in Colombia

A typical Colombian meal: grilled chicken, yucca (with orange tomato sauce),

rice, salad, and plantain

Hardships & Joy of Exploration

Jungles of Sierra Nevada Mountains of Santa Marta

“After leaving Santa Marta we suffered from hunger, heat, humidity, rain, mud, insects, reptiles, malaria fevers, and dysentery . . . much was indescribably horrible and heroic . . . hacking our way through virgin jungle, attacked by worms, poisonous snakes, vampires (bats), jaguars, and caiman. The worst was a constant, never ending attack by  clouds of mosquitoes that inflicted disease on the troops.” -- Quesada’s journal entry on beginning his conquest of Colombia

Virgin jungle that Quesada's army cut a trail through

Hundred year old copy of Quesada'a journal

Manuscript map of Santa Marta (red boxes are the city)

I may need a plasma transfusion after a blood sucking attack by “no see um” mosquitoes during my stay in Santa Marta. The hot, humid, and rainy conditions are ideal for these scourge of humankind to bred. They enjoy fresh, new blood and couldn’t get enough of mine. There were no mosquitoes in Bogota, too high in elevation. 

Except for Quesada’s journal entry, he did not make history in Santa Marta and is little remembered by local people. He started his conquest there and moved on to the highlands of Bogota where he gained fame and fortune. After leaving Santa Marta, the expedition was on its own. I briefly followed his path through the dense forest and  tangled vegetation of the Sierra Nevada Mountains to visit the lost indigenous city of Pueblito.  

Lost in the jungle are the ruins of Pueblito

It was a grueling, tortuous four hour hike straight up the mountain, no switchbacks, just straight up. It was the most demanding trek I’ve ever done. It was hot, humid, with clouds of mosquitoes. I had the benefit of extra strength insect repellant that worked. There was nothing that could help my aching, cramping legs. An hour from my destination my left thigh spasmed and twitched uncontrollably. It cramped and I had to stop to stretch, hydrate, and rest. I thought about turning back. 

At the start of the hike, I was jumping and skipping over water puddles and streams. Now, I didn’t care and just stepped in the water and mud. Out of nowhere a ten year old Tayrona boy came down the trail with a styrofoam cooler. He had Gatorade for sale at double the regular price. I bought an 18 ounce bottle and drank it in two gulps. It was cold, sweet, and tasted like fruit punch. He said it was “only 10 more minutes” to the ruins. I was encouraged and continued. It took an hour before I reached the site. 

Miguel helped my body, mind, and soul: Thank you

After four hours, first traces of human settlement.

Oh, I still need to climb the steps.

More stairs before reaching Pueblito

The ruins are set at the top of the mountain in the middle of thick, green, overgrown jungle. There are a series of block steps leading to raised stone platforms where wooden and thatch homes once stood. The place in deserted, quiet, and deceivingly tranquil. It belies the history of conquest of the natives by Quesada’s army. Only the gray stone structures remember conversations, arguments, laughter, and everyday activity of the indigenous tribe that once inhabited Pueblito. 

Finally, climbing down and entrance to the ruins

Raised stone platform where homes once stood

Uninhabited replica of wooden home of the Tayronas

Water was channeled into the settlement

The uphill march took a toll on my legs. The burning in my left thigh would not stop. I still needed to climb down. On my way back, my right knee experienced excruciating pain going in a clockwise rotation around the cap. I knew I was about to blow out my knee. Then I saw numerous blue morpho butterflies. I stopped to take photos and rest. Somehow these wondrous, beautiful creatures encouraged me. Also, I thought about the ten year native kid who made this climb and return with a cooler full of heavy drinks. 

Leaving Pueblito for return to Santa Marta

First you must climb up before coming down

Manny de in pain, distress, and soaking wet

Blue morpho butterfly: The top of its wings are blue,

it wouldn't open its wings for my camera

No one is coming to help me. I’m getting down this mountain if I need to crawl or roll down. I took one step with stiff legs, then another, and another . . . Two and a half hours later, completely soaked in sweat, and my body drained of energy, I reached the bus stop to catch the last bus back to Santa Marta in the dark. The next day my legs were still cramping and I could barely get out of bed into a hot shower. 

Would I undertake this hike again, knowing the distress I experienced? The magnificent, lonely ruins, blue morpho butterflies, native kid helping my cramping body, and time alone to think about the hardships that the explorer’s experienced . . . yes, I would. Would I recommend it to others? There’s no need to, you’ve already experienced it through this reading.

Pueblito ruins: worth the effort