San Juan de Rioseco: Only its river runs (almost!) dry

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

When travelling in Colombia, one is best not to put too much faith in expected journey times, particularly those sourced from the likes of Google Maps and with Bogotá as the origin.

'Oh look, that town is only 100 kilometres away and Google Maps says it takes about two hours to get there. Great!'

Eh, good luck with that.

The bullfighting ring is easy to see, but can you spot the main church?

About the only way such an arrival time could be realised is if you use private transport i.e. your own vehicle or contract a driver, and leave in the early hours of the morning.

Failing that, you face tumultuous traffic whilst traipsing topsy-turvy roads on buses that appear programmed to stop every couple of kilometres or so. These stop-happy buses are usually at their worst on journeys over shorter distances, but even on longer trips the compulsion to occasionally stall presents itself. (On those lengthier trips, it can go from sluggishly slow to fear-inducing fast, as I explained in Colombia's plebeian transport: A riveting ride.)

Having spent the majority of my adult life in Colombia and having travelled here fairly extensively, I should be accustomed to all this. However, one's formative years leave a mark.

Thus, when I see that a place is around 100 km from my base, my Irish mind tells me that the trip should take no more than two hours. Accounting for the Andes' bendy declines and inclines, I add a generous hour to that. Yet, even with that, I'm often still left frustrated at how long the journey ends up lasting.

Río Seco's feet fish

So it was for my recent trip to San Juan de Rioseco, about 60 km west of Bogotá as the crow flies — around 100 km on the road — and a daytime journey that Google Maps calculates at 2 hours 45 minutes.

Yet it took a painstaking hour and 45 minutes just to get to Facatativá, a town less than 40 km from the capital's main bus station, Terminal Salitre. Add to that the hour it took me to get from my Bogotá accommodation to the bus terminal and the total time on the road was over five hours. A mediocre 20 km per hour. (Leaving San Juan de Rioseco at 10 am on a Sunday proved more efficient. It took just three hours to get to Terminal Salitre.)

With all that in mind, one-night escapes from Bogotá are more hassle than they are worth.

As it was, I had three nights in San Juan de Rioseco. While I liked the place and its people, such a stint was enough when one has little reason to be there only to check it out. I'm particularly budget-conscious these days, too, so that played a factor in my more limited stay.

'Bullfighting trumps God from this outlook.'

San Juan's closest watercourse, the not-entirely-accurately-named Río Seco, River Dry — some water flows through it, enough for small, feet-nibbling fish to thrive — and after which the town is named, is insufficient for a refreshing dip.

In the likes of the smaller San Luis de Gaceno, one can waste away a few hours, cost-free, enjoying the nearby river. The lack of such a natural attraction in San Juan de Rioseco only increases the temptation for a few daily cooling-off beers. That's not great when one is trying to reduce one's overall beer consumption.

There is a swimming pool open to the public but in such warm lands I prefer a natural river or suchlike in which to bathe. Two advantages of the natural option are that it's free and, normally, one can seek out a quiet spot away from any splashing and screaming children. And adults.

Mentioning rivers, on a clear day the majestic Magdalena can be seen from certain points in the town. In fact, I was told that in the same direction the snowcapped Nevado del Ruiz also presents itself. Alas, the view was hazy throughout my stay. A faint glimpse of the Magdalena was as good as it got for me.

Coffee highs

There was no such visual impairment of San Juan de Rioseco itself. The most impressive view is from a perch just off the principal road into the town where the bullring grabs the greatest attention, outdoing the church on the main square (see video, below). Bullfighting trumps God from this particular outlook.

By taking the La Balsa route up to the Cambao-Vianí road, you get a more panoramic vista of the town and countryside at Mirador el alto del ángel, the High Angel Viewpoint, or something like that. There, the angels and God put the bullring in its place.

Had I been more adventurous I could have at least walked to Vianí, 16 km east of San Juan on the road back to Bogotá. From the glimpses I got of it whilst passing through, it looked like a respectable enough town.

A walk to Cambao is more of a stretch, sitting 36 km to the west on the banks of the Magdalena as it is. These are places to visit in their own right on another occasion. Walks in and around San Juan de Rioseco satisfied my wanderlust this time.

That many establishments in the town know how to brew quality coffee makes it easier to hang about. As I've oft-mentioned, not every Colombian pueblo has mastered the art of preparing decent, unsweetened coffee.

The somewhat bohemian craft coffee shop, Buáni Café on the main square, which cultivates its own beans, is the standard-bearer. Yet, even some of the plebeian panaderías make acceptable brews. Considering two of them occupy spaces in a building called Casa del Café, House of Coffee, it's only right that they do serve out a cuppa that doesn't seem like a chore to drink.

August Agosto

Now, not that I was in search of one, but it seems that San Juan has no tourist information centre. As it turned out, a chance encounter with affable Agosto within minutes of my arrival resulted in my getting sufficient info to meet my modest needs.

After initially and curiously asking me if I wanted to buy a Renault Laguna — I don't think I had the appearance of somebody on the lookout for a car — he pointed me in the direction of one of the more affordable hotels in the town, Hotel Central. (25,000 pesos for a basic room with private bathroom and, just as important these days, a good internet connection. Plus, the owner, Alcira, was very hospitable.)

Subsequent serendipitous meetings with Agosto saw him tell me about the La Balsa walk and the best route down to the river. On my second day in the town, he even suggested that I could stay in his spare room. I gave that a miss, though. Hotel Central was more than adequate, fairly quaint and far from extortionate.

More than adequate, fairly quaint and far from extortionate: This works as a motto for San Juan de Rioseco itself. It's just best not to do it as a mere day trip from Bogotá.
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In need of some peace and quiet? Sleepy Somondoco is the place to go to

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/video version of this blog story, click here.]

Bucolic bliss. The rural idyll. Like anything that refers to perfection, the reality is different. Nothing in this world is perfect.

What we strive for is to have as many positives as possible in whatever it is we're doing or wherever we're going (both mentally and physically).

Peaceful: Somondoco is as quiet as they come.

What these positives are depend on the individual. When it comes to a break from the routine, a getaway, what works wonders for one may be a bore for another.

Church-hill views

My needs for any escape from Bogotá are minimal. A lot of the time I simply have a desire to leave; the destination is almost of secondary importance.

As long as there's a fairly cheap hotel room and quiet-ish countryside to wander about, I'm usually content. If it's a warm-weather location, having a clean-ish watercourse of some description nearby in which one can bathe in peace whilst taking in some sun is a nice bonus.

To varying degrees, most towns within a 200-kilometre radius of Bogotá meet these rather undemanding requirements.

Of course, no matter how cosy and quiet your setting may be, at some stage loud music will trump the tranquillity. It's practically a rule that where there's a human settlement in Colombia, there are oversized speakers. And there's almost always a crazy canine or two to contend with when out and about, saying nothing of the crazy human folk.

Such drawbacks were, mercifully, in short supply in the town of Somondoco, in the south-east of Colombia's Boyacá department — my default go-to department over the last few years.

OK, it could be said that it has few pull factors, that it hasn't anything particularly appealing to make it stand out from the many other similar Andean towns. That's not fully true.

'Surely the townsfolk will look to bloom big again in the coming years to win back their flower power?'

For one, it has the impressive Santuario del Santo Cristo del Cerro de Somondoco. This ornate, in-renovation chapel sits at an altitude of 2,300 metres, offering views of the neighbouring towns of Guayatá, Guateque, Sutatenza, La Capilla, Macanal and Almeida.

The landscape somewhat obscures the view of Somondoco itself, some 600 metres below. The trek up from the town to the hilltop chapel takes about two hours, a nice way to sweat out any bodily impurities.

Massive mango town

A swift walk down into the Somondao River valley and back up to the town of Guayatá, 10 kilometres west of Somondoco, also gets the body working, as well as allowing one to take in the scenic Andean countryside in relative serenity.

Record town: Guayatá.

While I only stayed a couple of hours in Guayatá, it seemed a little livelier, in a fun way that is, than Somondoco.

More importantly, it has at least one café that makes decent coffee. Somondoco is unfortunately still stuck in the greca era; the brews available there are ordinary at best.

On a quirkier note, Guayatá has been home to two Guinness World Records: It still holds the title for the world's heaviest mango and in 2014 it was registered as having the longest line of flowers ever recorded, a spectacle that can be seen each year in celebration of Corpus Christi. This latter record has since been beaten. Surely the townsfolk will look to bloom big again in the coming years to win back their flower power?

Back in Somondoco, while it won't win any world record for this, the well-kept, modern Hotel Real Simindoco (no, I'm not writing that wrong, it is Simindoco, not Somondoco) is a winner with me with spacious rooms from 25,000 COP per night.

So for a small town within a few hours' drive of Bogotá, Somondoco and its surrounds have many plus points for me.

Quiet, affordable and with a few tranquil treks to traipse. If someone in the town would only ditch those grecas and learn how to make decent coffee. Nothing, though, is perfect after all.
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Chasing Zetaquirá's waterfalls — from hot to cold

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio version of this blog story click here.]

A thermal waterfall runs gently into a fast-flowing, shallow river. Close to the bank, where the hot and cool waters fuse, a natural spa presents itself. It's of sufficient size to bathe in, fully outstretched. You're alone, surrounded by nothing but forest and its feathered inhabitants. The only sounds are those provided by nature; birds chirping, flowing water and the light rain falling all around.

Thermal waters that could have been terminal!

Rebel river

Sounds idyllic, doesn't it? And for a time, I had that very experience at what is reputedly Colombia's tallest thermal waterfall (for the record, it's 16 metres high), a 30-minute downhill walk from the Boyacá town of Zetaquirá.

Nothing, though, is perfect in this world. While the mystical waters put me in a sort of tranquil trance, it was nature itself that gave me the not-so-gentle nudge to get moving.

My natural spa started to get colder, quickly. The what-had-been rather easily crossed-on-foot river was becoming wilder as the rain intensified. With my boots left on the other bank and with no bridge in sight, I wasn't in the best position to search for an alternative, safer route back.

Slightly panicking, I noticed a cable spanning the water. I figured this thin piece of intertwined wire was there for such a circumstance, to aid people across the river when it's in a more boisterous state.

'It could be said it all adds to the adventure but after struggling to find Miralindo until meeting Moisés Castélblanco — yes, it was "Moses" who led me to the promised waterfall — I didn't want to find myself miles from my hotel with dusk not far off.'

From a river that had been no more than knee-deep, it was now around my waist, thankfully just beyond the reach of my small knapsack, in which my mobile phone and wallet were tucked away. With the loosely fixed cable as my somewhat questionable support, I undertook the roughly 10-metre crossing.

Doubts about the cable's credentials for this task notwithstanding, I'm fairly sure that without it, I wouldn't have made it. Perhaps it was more in the mind, but I do think it helped me keep my balance on more than one occasion.

Later that day, safely back in the town and recounting my experience to a Zetaquirá councillor in a local tienda, he told me that the cable is used to zip wire water across the river. It isn't there as a support for crossing. Be that as it may, I'm certainly glad that it stood up to the task that I gave it.

Supercable aside, the thermal waterfall is one of the most interesting sights I've seen of late. That my visit to Zetaquirá coincided with dull, rainy weather, probably made this natural wonder all the better. I imagine it would be less refreshing with the sun beating down — at an altitude of just under 1,700 metres, it gets hot in these parts on a sunny day.

A sign failure

Of all the Boyacá towns I've visited — and there have been many — Zetaquirá, at least superficially, is more tourist-ready than most.

Outside of calling itself the 'tourist capital of the Lengupá valley', its main square has prominent signs, in both Spanish and surprisingly not badly translated English, with information about the main attractions in the area (it also has a tourist office, but on the only occasion I wandered in, there was no one at home).

Pretty park: Zetaquirá's main square/plaza.

The snag with these signs is that — in a bid to be helpful, no doubt — the distances and estimated trekking times to the various sights are off by quite a bit. It appears they were made to be displayed in places other than the main square. The only one that's close to correct is for the hike up to the Virgin Mary overlooking the town, simply because the "official" start point is actually near the town centre.

The distance mentioned to the nice-but-not-amazing Miralindo waterfall, for example, is a mere 1.5 km with a projected walking time of 30 minutes — its altitude is over 300 metres higher than the town. In reality, it must be at least a 10 kilometre trek from the town.

This misleading information meant that, due to my limited time there, I missed out on the supposedly more impressive Las Tinajas ('The Tanks') waterfalls. Considering the sign in the town said they're 3.5 km away, a 90-minute walk, using the Miralindo experience as a guide they're probably at least a 20 kilometre wander.

One could say it all adds to the adventure but after struggling to find Miralindo until meeting Moisés Castélblanco — yes, it was "Moses" who led me to the promised waterfall — I didn't want to find myself miles from my hotel with dusk not far off.

Virgin territory: Just don't always believe what the signs tell you!

What's more, after the entrancing and, what was for me, novel thermal waterfall, seeing just another normal one wasn't a big priority.

A case for the return

This point in the story would be an apt moment to say 'next time'. The thing is, I rarely if ever return to these getaway towns.

I could make an exception for Zetaquirá, seeing as it does at least inform visitors, misleadingly albeit, of its various attractions (there are also a couple of lakes in the vicinity that are photogenic — they may not be quite as pretty seeing them for real, as is the case with many things in life!). A visit to the neighbouring town of Miraflores, about 20 km to the south, could also be included in any return trip.

One minor drawback is that it's another one of those awkward enough places to reach (similar to La Palma and Pauna). While its distance from Bogotá's Terminal Norte is only 181 km, it's a five-hour bus spin. This is to be expected when navigating the Andes and its stretches of unpaved roads.

That aside, another pull factor is Hotel Chibchacum (no, it's not one of "those" hotels; in Spanish, the name doesn't have the same eyebrow-raising, um, ring to it as it may have in English for some of you).

At 25,000 COP per night for a well-kept, cosy en suite room with a nice view, hot water (often a rarity in such towns and far from essential for me), good WiFi and a friendly, helpful owner, it would be hard to find something better for the price and quality.

Heck, if the town sorted out the tourist information signs, one would be left with few significant grievances. (It even scores well on the coffee front, although it's far from being a culinary capital.)

Just don't get too lost in the moment when bathing in those thermal waters.
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A Pauna cracker: Somewhat satisfying and not too dry

@wwaycorrigan

[For a YouTube version of this blog entry, click here.]

After having visited over 50 of Colombia's Andean towns, in particular in the Boyacá, Cundinamarca and Santander departments, I do feel I'm in a strong position to evaluate the region.

Pauna has its plus points. 

Yes, I'm well aware that what's important for me may not be too critical for another. Then there's the fact that I'm quite the minimalist and have rather modest wants when I explore a new place.

Distant beauty

Those looking for close-to-high-income-nation standards in terms of accommodation, food and general tourism infrastructure will be disappointed in the vast majority of Andean towns. 

The exceptions are the likes of Barichara, Girardot, San Gil and Villa de Leyva, places with a now-established reputation, having been popular with international tourists for years.

Most other towns are either only beginning to discover their tourism potential or remain seemingly indifferent to it.

That pretty much every one of them, no matter how small, has some sort of accommodation available for visitors usually has less to do with tourism and more to do with business e.g. emerald mining or some major construction project that had/has been going on for years. Indeed, from my travels, only Saboyá fails on the hotel front.

Nonetheless, if it's simply just a bit of bucolic bliss in a majestic mountain setting you're after and you're not terribly fussy, then a case could be made for any Andean town. Even more so if you like to wander around hilly countryside without the need for a guide.

Those looking for warmer climes — warmer than Bogotá that is — should seek out places below an altitude of 2,000 metres. It's generally short sleeves with shorts day and night, all year round, in such places, save for the need to cover up from tropical downpours.

The Boyacá town of Pauna, at 1,215 masl, firmly fits into that category. With an unusually dull and rainy early January in Bogotá, the feeling that I was being unfairly denied some sun sent me in Pauna's direction. Well, that and the fact that the brothers who own my preferred panadería "office" are from there, so on hearing this, I thought it would be as good as any place for an unplanned escape.

Briceño's beauty is a little more obvious than Pauna's.

Weather-wise, it wasn't quite the sun-drenched spot I was hoping for — the whole Andean region is enduring a protracted rainy season. It was, though, still quite warm, with afternoon highs around 25 degrees Celsius.

The main tourist attractions appear to be the various swimming pool "resorts" on the town's outskirts. Seeing as how my visit coincided with high season, I gave these pools a wide berth. Surrounded by screaming, water-splashing children together with tipsy adults blaring out music is not my idea of relaxation.

'In a land of plenty when it comes to tourist attractions and natural beauty, a place does have to offer something different to entice potential visitors.'

Architecturally, Pauna has little going for it. Its main square and church certainly won't win awards for beauty. In contrast, in nearby, smaller Briceño, 12 kilometres away via undulating, largely dirt-track, traffic-free roads — yes, I did walk there and back — the main square and church are quite picturesque.

Cascada la Tunera: Click here to get a better idea of it.

Pauna's prettiest side is from a high. There are a few hilltops around from which to view it, although the best one is from a private residence that's used as a holiday home. Thankfully its temporary occupiers allowed me in for the obligatory photo and a YouTube Shorts video. Cheers, Horacio! The two Aguila beers he gifted me were also well received.

Pauna's people power

The biggest draw for nature lovers is surely Cascada la Tunera. This impressive, somewhat hidden waterfall — it can be heard well before it's seen — is about five kilometres from the town. An internet search tells me that the fall is about 50 metres — I would have said more.

There's also a far gentler tributary waterfall next to it that is quite alluring thanks to the golden-brown soil over which it flows.

Back in Pauna, another area where it won't be winning awards is for its coffee. Yes, this is a coffee-growing region but the townsfolk don't make a good brew. Unsweetened, strong coffee is hard to find. There is an exception, though. Páramo, the fancy ice cream shop on the main square, makes a panela/sugar-free, tasty tinto for an agreeable 1,500 pesos.

Alluring: The golden-brown soil over which this waterfall flows seems to sparkle.

Coffee concerns assuaged, with all the wandering I did, it would have been nice to refresh with my preferred Poker beer offering i.e. a litre bottle. Or at least the 750 ml serving. 

Alas, similar to some other small towns I've visited, only the 330 ml bottles are available at 2,500 pesos a pop (in my Bogotá barrio, one can still get a litre bottle for 4,000 pesos). On the plus side, sticking to my not-too-strict beer budget, it meant my alcohol consumption was kept in check.

Considering there are easier towns to reach from Bogotá — Pauna is over a 160 km drive away and the windy road after Chiquinquirá is, well, rustic to put it mildly — it's unlikely to attract the masses.

Having said that, my trip coincided with an annual five-a-side football tournament. With a not-to-be-sniffed-at winners' prize of 12 million pesos, the competition attracts teams from far and wide. Thus, the town was heaving for my last couple of days there.

In a land of plenty when it comes to tourist attractions and natural beauty, a place does have to offer something different to entice potential visitors. So credit to Pauna on the football fest.

It gets less credit for its slogan of being the 'green gate to Colombia'. No doubt many other municipalities would contest that one.

For me, alongside the setting, Pauna's big pull factor is its people.

*Accommodation info:
Hospedaje El Mirador has quite spacious, bright rooms available for 25,000 pesos per person with good WiFi.
I also had a night at Hospedaje Doña Evita for 30,000 pesos (this was forced on me as El Mirador was booked out for the football tournament and I had no reservation). Doña Evita, ran by an affable elderly couple, is more like a house than a hostel/hotel. No WiFi is a drawback, though.
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The calm of La Palma (when music's not blaring, that is!)

@wwaycorrigan

[Listen to an audio version of this blog entry here.]

It's not exactly a case of hit-and-miss for me when it comes to visiting random Colombian pueblos. 

When an escape from Bogotá's badness and madness is needed, pretty much any town will suffice. It is the getting away that matters more so; the destination is largely of secondary importance.

Pretty La Palma: An impressive setting but it has lots of competition in this regard.

Some towns, though, naturally enough, have more going for them than others. Of course, that 'going for them' is subjective. My likes are another's dislikes (and it seems, shockingly enough, that my likes are far from universally shared).

The long and winding road

Regardless of a visitor's preferences, however, La Palma, in the north-west of Colombia's Cundinamarca department, is unlikely to get top marks in any category.

Yes, its setting is impressive. But the same can be said for pretty much any Andean town. Ditto for its friendly-but-not-overbearingly-so locals.

That it's not quite a popular tourist spot is, as far as I'm concerned, more a positive than a negative. Yet, with that, there's the what's-there-to-do question. OK, I like wandering around hilly terrain, but La Palma has plenty of better-organised competition in this regard.

The journey getting there does see one pass through some rather spectacular Andean scenery as the way winds alongside the fast-flowing Río Negro at various intervals.

However, after Pacho, large tracts of the road resemble conditions akin to what the Spanish must have had to deal with when on their initial rampage in these parts. 

In contrast, for example, on the equally aesthetically pleasing and winding route to San Luis de Gaceno, 26 kilometres further away from Bogotá than La Palma (in another direction that is), the road is more 20th century than 15th century.

The result is that having safely arrived in La Palma, one really needs at least 48 hours there before facing into the return journey. Perhaps the locals want it that way.

'Years ago, it probably was a no-go area for visitors but, like many places in Colombia, today it seems safe.'

Tucked away at an altitude of just under 1,500 metres above sea level and surrounded by many forested hills, the town's mid-20s (degrees Celsius) temperature average is more than agreeable. It makes the thunderous downpours of this time of year more tolerable compared to a chillier, duller Bogotá.

As is the case with many similar-sized towns in Colombia, there are various hotel options. I threw in my lot with Hotel Ruby, just off the main square. 

While there are "fancier" options, when one just needs a comfortable bed with toilet facilities in a relatively clean environment and, of course, steady Wi-Fi, Ruby does the job. At 20,000 pesos per night, it's also far from extortionate.

A day rambling the usually quiet roads around La Palma.

However, what is a little — just a little — more expensive in La Palma compared to my basic Bogotá barrio is socialising. This is because this side of Cundinamarca — it's the same in nearby El Peñón — is averse to 750 ml/litre bottles of beer.

Thus, one gets less pop for one's peso, so to put it i.e. 2,500 pesos for 330 ml of Poker in La Palma versus 4,000 pesos for a litre in my Bogotá local. It does encourage one to drink less all the same, so it has its plus side.

Also lacking, considering the town's size — easily twice as big as San Luis de Gaceno and a good bit bigger than El Peñón — are a few standard, traditional tiendas. 

By traditional, I refer to what some may consider tacky. This is "tacky" in terms of tables and chairs anyway — those Aguila- or Poker-labelled plastic ones supplied by Colombia's beer beast, Bavaria.

Something in the air

Balancing out this beer bleakness, it has the odd establishment that actually offers decent coffee. This is quite the positive in light of the fact that in many non-touristy Colombian towns getting an unsweetened, strong brew is practically impossible.

One, somewhat strange commonality La Palma has with other places at a similar altitude is that it occasionally has a certain whiff in the air. It reminds me of a globally popular Colombian product, beginning with the letter 'c'. No, not coffee, the other one.

I must add, I did not see it nor did I get any hint that the locals consume it. I'm solely referring to that distinct, petrol-like smell of the substance in its refined form. And I don't think it was simply petrol that I smelt.

Now, my Bogotá friends did tell me that La Palma was 'caliente', 'hot'. They weren't, though, referring to the weather. By this 'caliente' they meant it was a conflict zone. I got no real hint of that. 

Years ago, it probably was a no-go area for visitors but, like many places in the country, today it seems safe. One is unlikely to find trouble unless one looks for it.

My biggest bugbear was the loud music blaring out of a couple of bars on the main square well into the early hours on my first night there, a Friday. The thin walls and open-court layout of Hotel Ruby offer scant sound insulation.

This particular racket might have been for a special occasion, as it wasn't as much of an issue on the subsequent nights. And going by the overall vibe, I'm sure things are rather tranquil midweek.

I won't, however, be in any mad rush back to see if that is actually the case. This isn't to say that I didn't like my stay there. On the contrary, I enjoyed it.

It's just that, from Bogotá, there are easier country towns to get to. It's far from a rule that the more taxing the journey is in inverse proportion to the quality of the destination.
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