August 3, 2014
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| Strapping the Luggage to the Roof |
Elise and I were both keen to escape the noisy El Viajero. We shared a taxi to the bus terminal with
another couple of travelers which left no room for luggage and necessitated
strapping all our bags to the roof. We
were concerned about the ability of the driver’s bungee cords to keep
everything in place until he finally produced some proper rope, which made the
stack much more secure. We had no
trouble locating the bus to Popoyan and even had enough time for me to use the
ATM after loading my backpack into the luggage compartment of the bus.
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| Cane Fields on the Way to Popoyan |
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| Park Life Hostel |
It took us over a half an hour to clear the city limits of
Cali because the streets were narrow and traffic heavy, even though at 10:30 am
it was no longer rush hour. Once we were
finally free of the city congestion, we climbed over a range of hills and then
descended through fields of cane. The
landscape was much drier than before and looked rather like California if you
didn’t look too closely at the trees.
The cane fields were green in contrast with the brown hills and there
were scattered coffee plantations that looked like they were struggling. It took us about three hours to get to the
Popoyan terimal and then we took a taxi to Hostel Park Life, which was located
right on the main square, next door to the cathedral. Hostel Park Life was a welcome slice of
heaven after the raucous El Viajero. It
occupied the upper floor of a (probably) Victorian building overlooking the
park. My room had large, loft style
windows that opened to let in air and the sound of pop music and occasional
Peruvian flute players. The common area
was a former atrium which had been covered with a skylight to create a lofty,
light filled space. The management
fostered an atmosphere of peace and quiet.
There was even a sunny attic reading room.
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| View from My Room at Park Life Hostel |
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| Iglesia de San Francisco |
I dropped off my belongings and headed out to find something to eat. I ended up at a grill called
La Cosecha (The Harvest.) It was crowded with Colombians, so I figured
it must be good. I was hungry for some
serious protein, so ordered the grilled liver.
It was delicious and came with a nice salad, rice, and fries. I quickly realized that I wasn’t going to
need dinner. After lunch, I strolled
around Popoyan. The city was the original
capital of southern Colombia, during colonial times, until it was surpassed by
Cali. It had many grand colonial buildings,
all of which were painted white. On a
sunny day, it was rather blinding and quite warm. I walked a few blocks to the Iglesia de San
Francisco, but was unable to take a tour because it was Sunday and services
were in process. I then visited the early
18
th century Puente Chiquita and its 19
th century
replacement, the Puente del Humilladero, which is still in use as a pedestrian
bridge and looks quite solid, if a bit narrow for vehicular traffic. Flowering trees were blooming beside the
bridges and the scene resembled a Thomas Kincaid painting.
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| Puente Chiquita |
I had been told that it was a bad idea to climb the Cerro
del Morro by oneself but, when I looked up there and saw crowds of people, I
decided that it would be fine to do so on a busy Sunday afternoon. I walked across town and climbed up the
zigzag path to the top. Families were
out enjoying the afternoon and the hilltop was swarming with ice cream vendors
and children flying kites in the strong wind at the top of the hill. The summit offered a nearly 360 degree view
of Popoyan and the hills behind it. I
took a few photos and ate a popsicle before walking back to the hostel where I
spent a quiet evening chatting with the other guests about languages. After my big lunch, my dinner was a piece of
leftover bread and a beer.
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| View from Cerro del Morro |
August 4, 2014
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| Llama Rides in the Plaza |
My original plan had been to go to the Parque National
Purace to see the condors, but there had been an earthquake on Saturday night
and the park was closed because they feared that the earthquake might signal an
eruption of the volcano. I later
discovered that the park was always closed on Mondays, anyway. Unfortunately, all the museums in Popoyan
were also closed on Mondays. I got up
reasonably early, but lounged about the hostel, playing on the internet for a
couple of hours, and then went out to the Juan Valdez Coffee Shop for a latte
and a piece of carrot cake. I went
to the grocery store and bought food for lunch and dinner, as well as spare
batteries for my camera and prunes and almonds to snack on later. Colombia must produce almonds because they
were available at a reasonable price, after having been impossible to find
without paying a fortune since Mexico.
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| Cathedral in Popoyan |
I spent the afternoon at the very pleasant hostel, reading
and trying to make a reservation for a place to stay in San Agustin. Many of the other guests that I had met at
the hostel were also going to San Agustin, so we resolved to go together. At 4:00, I went running with one of the
owners of the hostel and a couple of other guests. I hadn’t really run in a few months, but
managed to keep up for the first mile as we ran uphill to the university
track. I really noticed the altitude. Popoyan sits at about 5500 feet. Thinking I was going to have to run back and
not wanting to be left behind, I alternated walking and running laps for the
next 2.25 miles. Then the rest of the
group decided to walk back. I should
have just kept running instead of conserving my energy. It was fun to run with others for the first
time since Ixtapa. I enjoyed a shower
and a cold beer upon my return to the hostel.
I cooked myself a dinner of a pork chop, eggs, and carrots
for a change. I was just too tired of
eating corn, rice, beans and bread. Once
again, I spent a quiet evening at the very pleasant and companionable hostel. Unfortunately, none of the hostels in San
Agustin seemed eager to answer my emails and the Hostel Park Life phone was out
of minutes, so they couldn’t call ahead for us.
They suggested we use one of the many people offering phone calls in the
park. I couldn’t hear well enough to
make a phone call in Spanish from a cell phone in a noisy place and no one else seemed inclined to do so.
August 5, 2014
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| Roadside Waterfall |
None of the hostels answered my emails, so I set off on the
9:30 minibus to San Agustin having no idea where I was going to land, but
hoping to find a place before my friends arrived late in the evening. Everyone said that it was important to travel
to San Agustin during the day because the road was so remote that if anything
were to happen to the bus, it would be necessary to sleep in the bus
overnight. The road was, indeed,
remote. Most of it was rough dirt. In many places, it passed through road cuts
that were barely one lane wide. It climbed
up and over a range of mountains. The
top was covered in cloud forest and it was very cold and had started to rain. My hands and feet were numb again, even
though I had at least worn long pants this time. We then wound our way back down the other side
of the range and through some lower hills where coffee was being grown. It took five hours to make the trip. At one point, we passed a spectacular
waterfall. Finally, we stopped at a
crossroads. Because I was the only
person actually going to San Agustin, the bus driver loaded me into a passing
pickup truck that was going to San Agustin and headed off to the next
town. I rode the last 5 kilometers in a
crew cab, which was at least warmer than the bus.
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| Our Yurt at Finca El Maco |
The driver of the pickup didn’t really know what to do with
me, so he dropped me at a travel agency.
That turned out to be a very good thing.
I had received a message from Anke, one of the women who was coming
later, saying that there was room for us in the dorms at Finca El Maco and
asking if she should make a reservation.
Unfortunately, I received the message randomly as I passed a public WiFi
hot spot in the bus and was not able to answer her. I asked the travel agent to call El Maco to
see if we had a reservation. We didn’t,
but they still had room for us, so I made a reservation and then took a taxi up
there. Finca El Maco was one of the
places I had tried to email to make a reservation. Maybe Anke had tried, also. They installed us in a colorful yurt with
three young men. The beds all had bright
plaid bedspreads and mosquito nets.
There was only one bunk bed. The
rest were singles. The roof was palm
thatch and there was plenty of floor space, the lack of which was one of the
reasons I usually hated dorms. The
situation was very strange, however.
There were several different yurts about the property and they could
easily have rented us one of the others at a higher price. They only seemed to be using the one, maybe
because it was the low season.
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| Yurt Interior |
After messaging the others to tell them where we were
staying and determining that they weren’t interested in going horseback riding
the following day, I walked back into town to arrange to go on my own. At the travel agent’s, I ran into a French
and Belgian couple that I knew from Popoyan and, since it took three people to
make a group, we decided to go together.
I felt bad about not hiring the guide who worked for the hostel, but
didn’t want to pay more to go alone. I
told him we would take a jeep tour with him the following day, but it didn’t
work out that way. I stopped at the
grocery store to buy beer and some food for breakfasts and snacks. The walk back to the hostel was about a
kilometer straight up a steep, muddy, dirt road. Once there, the only noises were mooing cows,
squealing pigs, and barking dogs. I ate
a delicious yellow Thai curry for dinner and tried to spend the evening
reading. I ended up falling asleep by
8:30. I had arranged for the others to
be received after reception closed at 9:00, but they came in very late.
August 6, 2014
Having fallen asleep at 8:30 the night before, I woke up at
4:30 am. It was pouring rain. Not wanting to disturb the others, I stayed
in bed until 8:00, but finally got up because I needed to be ready to go
riding by 9:00. No one else was
stirring. I got up, dressed, and ate
breakfast. I was sitting in reception,
using the internet, when the travel agent called to say that the horseback tour
was cancelled. The others had decided to switch to the jeep tour. Since my friends were still asleep and I
couldn’t consult them, I agreed to go along. Kristyn had a meeting online and
couldn’t go and Anke was still sleeping.
The jeep arrived a bit early, so I had to leave without getting a chance
to invite her to come along.
We drove around San Agustin, picking up other
passengers. I got to see some of the
other hostels. We had to wait for two
passengers at Casa de Nelly, so they gave us cups of strong, hot coffee while
we waited. It looked like a very nice
place, but was full. They hadn’t
bothered to answer my query. When we
finally left, there were seven of us: Italian, French, Belgian, Israeli,
Colombian, Malaysian and American. We
just laughed every time someone asked us where we were from. Our driver, Marino, wasn’t an official guide,
but had worked in tourism for 30+ years and was able to answer all our
questions while navigating truly horrible roads running with water.
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| El Estrecho |
Our first stop was “El Estrecho” (the straits) where the Rio
Magdalena passes between volcanic cliffs.
Under different circumstances, it might have been fun to jump into the
water, but it was a raging torrent when we were there. It had been
raining hard for many hours. We drove
for quite some time to get there, but couldn’t see anything because the windows
were all fogged up due to the rain.
From “El Estrecho,” we drove to Obando, a small town with a museum and
some archaeological sites. Little is
known about the people who carved sculptures from the volcanic rocks
surrounding San Agustin. They had
disappeared long before Europeans came to South America and were not related to
the Incas, Mayas, or Aztecs. They carved
more than 500 statues in the San Agustin area.
Their burials consisted of covered stone alleyways, painted in red,
yellow, black and white designs, leading to stone sarcophagi (sometimes carved)
and guarded by stone figures. Most of
these tombs were raided before the archaeologists started to preserve them, but
they never contained much in the way of riches.
The culture was not known for working gold.
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| Scenery on the Way to Alto de los Idolos |
From Obando, we traveled a long way through spectacular scenery to Alto de Los Idolos (Height of the Idols) where we ordered lunch and then climbed the hill to look at more tombs and sculptures while it was being prepared. For some of us, the scenery was more interesting than the tombs. Steep green mountains stretched away on all sides. Unlike the mountains in the United States, where civilization tends to stick to the valleys, we could see roads and buildings lining the ridges. Coffee, cane and plantains were planted
on the upper reaches of the mountains, where there was more sun, and the bottoms of the
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| Alto de los Idolos |
valleys tended to be wild. Crops were planted on slopes so steep that a
person falling could roll a thousand meters or more to the bottom. A hectare of land in such a place could be
had for about 5,000,000 pesos (about $2700), whereas a hectare of reasonably
flat land near San Agustin would cost 80,000,000 (about $43,000.)
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| Tombs at Alto de los Idolos |
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Sarcophagus at Alto de los Idolos
|
We ate a very nice lunch.
I had chicken with French fries, plantains, and salad. The rain finally stopped. Then we drove to Alto de Las Piedras (Height
of the Stones) to look at more sculptures.
The most famous of these was the one often referred to as “Doble Yo”
(Double me) because it has two faces on the front. It actually had another two on the back,
although they are harder to see.
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| Doble Yo |
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| Agregar leyenda
|
The tombs were starting to seem repetitive and slogging through wet grass was getting old. It was a relief to go to our next stop, a mirador (overlook) at Salto de Bordones, the second tallest waterfall in South America. The falls were tall (450 meters), but we couldn’t see all the way to the bottom or get very close, so some of the effect was wasted. With all the rain, there was plenty of water. Our last stop was Salto Mortino, which was only about half as tall, but was spectacular because we were closer and could see the whole thing. The owners of the overlook, who charged 1000 pesos (54 cents), had built a narrow walkway protruding about 10 feet over the cliff. From there, we could see deep into the canyon. There were beautiful orchids blooming along the edge.
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| Orchids at Salto Mortino |
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| Salto Mortino |
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| 4-Wheel Drive Bus Used on Dirt Roads Known as a "Chiva" |
The drive back to San Agustin was only half an hour. The French and Belgian couple and I arranged to go horseback riding the following day if more didn’t rain. I went in search of cash, but found the Bank
of Agriculture ATM closed. There was a
rumor of another ATM in a supermarket further into town, but I was tired and it
was get-ting dark, so I de-cided to try again the fol-low-ing day. I dragged my tired self up the very steep
hilll to the hostel. Not knowing whether
or not I would be able to obtain any cash before leaving San Agustin, I elected
not to eat dinner in the restaurant. I munched
a hard-boiled egg, some crackers, and some fruit, washed down with a couple of
beers. I spent the evening in the
reception area, using the internet until they closed at 9:00 and then retired
to our yurt. Anke and Kristyn were
getting up early to go to the Archaeological Park and I was tired, so we all
went to bed by 10:00. We had no other
company in our yurt.
August 7, 2014
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| Cacique (Chief) |
It wasn’t raining when I woke up, which was a good
sign. I knew Anke and Kristyn wanted to
get an early start, so I stayed in bed until they were done with the bathroom
and then got up. I had originally
planned to go riding the first day and then launder my jeans on the second day
so as to have them for the cold weather of Bogota, but that plan went out the
window when my ride got rained out. I
turned my laundry in, but I would just have to do without clean jeans in the
city. Once again, my guide showed up
half an hour early, throwing a wrench into my morning plans. He picked me up on a motorcycle and drove me
down to the campground where Francois and Funi (sp?) were staying and where the
horses awaited us. My horse was a small
bay gelding named Cacique. He was
energetic and well behaved and had an amazingly comfortable trot. It was actually easier to sit than his
canter. We got on well.
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| El Tablon |
Our first stop was El Tablon where five statues were
displayed under a covered structure. The
center image was the moon god. To his
right, were two warriors to protect him, and to his left were the image of a
slave and his intermediary. The people
who carved these statues had no calendar or numerical system, so keeping track
of the movement of the moon was difficult for them. They would come to consult (probably the
priests of) the moon god for advice on such things as when to plant crops or
cut bamboo. If you cut bamboo during a
new moon, the sap has all gone out of the wood and it doesn’t last very long.
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| La Chaquira |
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| Lookout at La Chaquira |
It wasn’t very far from El Tablon to La Chaquira. At La Chaquira, we climbed down nearly 300
steps to see figures carved into the stone overlooking the Rio Magdalena,
Columbia’s most important river, which divides the Cordillera Central from the
Cordillera Oriental. The scenery was
spectacular. Waterfalls plummeted down
the side of the canyon through nearly vertical coffee plantations. There was a pleasant coffee stand and nice
restrooms at La Chaquira and we stopped there for a coffee.
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| Vertical Coffee Plantation |
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| La Pelota Statues |
After La Chaquira, we took a fairly long ride to La
Pelota. We picked our way down rocky
slopes and galloped back up again.
Everything was very muddy and we got spattered everywhere. The roads were bad and I was glad to be traveling
by horse. At La Pelota, we stopped for
coffee and fried pastries and then climbed an especially muddy hill to see a
group of well-preserved statues. We
continued over the hill to avoid the worst of the mud, while our guide drove
the horses around to meet us.
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| El Purutal Female Figure |
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| El Purutal Male Figure |
Another
short ride brought us to El Purutal, where we saw male and female figures still
adorned with their original coloring.
These figures guarded the tombs where imperfect children were sacrificed
and then buried. It appeared that the civilization
believed that imperfect children would have difficult lives in this world and
should just be sent along to the next one.
Each of the figures was depicted holding a baby. The male figure was also holding what looked
like a club, although our guide claimed it was a measuring stick to make sure
that the child was symmetrical. The
female figure was holding a child superimposed on a cross, which symbolized
perfection. From El Purutal, we rode to
the Parque Archaeologico, where our guide left us to enjoy the park in what was
left of our afternoon.
Francois and Funi wanted lunch, but I knew that I had to get
back to town in time to obtain cash, so I skipped eating and went directly into
the park. The park included four
groupings of tombs and statues: Mesitas A,B,C & D. Tombs from this civilization featured a
carved figure standing in the “doorway,” a flat stone resting atop two pillars
(hence the name “mesita” or little table.)
Behind the entrance were two fences of vertical stones creating a
passage that led to a stone sarcophagus, often covered with a carved lid. The term “mesita” also applied to the
artificially leveled areas where tombs and dwellings were constructed. Near the entrance to the park, there was even
a raised walkway leading to the first of these areas that had been constructed
in ancient times.
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| Mesita B Grouping |
Mesita A had some nice sculptures, but Mesita B had the most
extensive collection. It also had the
tallest of the sculptures. Mesita C had
some interesting sculptures that differed from the others in shape and
size. I somehow managed to miss Mesita
D, probably because I also skipped the museum, being short on time. I did, however, was to be sure that I didn’t
miss Lavaplatos (dishwasher), an intricately carved set of channels, carvings
and cascades that must have been used for ritual bathing or something. A couple of thousand years of water flowing
over the carvings had made them a little hard to make out, but the structure
built over them was impressive. A steel
framework supported hundreds of plastic skylights. At one end, a bridge made entirely of bamboo
provided a viewing platform, as well as a way to cross the stream.
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| Lavaplatos |
I was fascinated with the huge bamboo growing in
Colombia. Some of the trunks were as big
around as my leg. Our yurt was built
with bamboo posts and rafters. The
structures covering the toll booths on the highways were even supported by
bamboo. Large bamboo was sometimes cut
into lengths and crushed, which resulted in mats a foot or so wide that were
used for walls and floors. The bridge
was a masterpiece of bamboo construction.
Suddenly, I felt like I ought to be in Asia. The bamboo forests were also quite beautiful,
with fluffy plumes of green bamboo waving in the breeze.
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| Bamboo Forest |
From Lavaplatos, I climbed up a long steep hill to El Alto
de Lavaplatos, where there were a few more sculptures, probably placed there to
look over the view that probably would have been incredible if it hadn’t
started to rain so hard that I could hardly see anything at all. I didn’t spend much time up there, since the
weather was so bad. I headed back down,
left the park and started the 3 kilometer walk back to town. I got about half way there when my guide
happened along on a motorcycle and gave me a ride to town. The Lonely Planet Guide suggested
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| Bamboo Bridge at Lavaplatos |
avoiding
the “touts” who meet the buses, but they had been nothing but friendly and
helpful to me and their tours were more economical that those offered by the
hotel for a person traveling alone. The
company was Tour Macizo San Augustin. I
was helped by Christian Nunez, but everyone working there was very nice.
Trying to find cash in San Agustin was frustrating. There were two banks across the street from
the tour company, but both had Banco de Bogota ATMs and they rejected my ATM
card because it had a magnetic strip instead of a chip. The Agrarian Bank ATM had been closed for
two days. When I finally tracked down
the grocery store with a BanColumbia branch in the back, that was closed,
too. I was starting to get desperate. I went back to Banco de Bogota to see if
their ATMs would take my credit card.
That didn’t work either. In
desperation, I tried my ATM card again because, although it had never worked in
any city, the ATMs always said they were performing the transaction using the magnetic
strip just before they rejected my card. A
miracle occurred. I decided to pull my
card out of the reader before it asked me to and it worked! I got my cash and so was able to stomp back
up the hill, reclaim my laundry and order dinner. I would have enough pesos to leave San Agustin, after all.
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