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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Unattended bags on buses? Not a problem in Colombia

@wwaycorrigan

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

A bus makes a ten-minute stop at a station. Passengers are allowed to alight to stretch their legs and get a refreshment if they so wish. One of those who does get off leaves his bag on his seat. He doesn't return. Cue security chaos.

Expreso Gómez Villa: All aboard the anything-goes bus! (Photo from horariodebuses.)

Well, in most countries, especially those with a history of terrorist attacks, a security incident would indeed be declared. Bomb disposal experts would most likely be called in and a controlled explosion carried out. Or at least something to that effect. It wouldn't be a case of 'carry on regardless'.

A costly coffee

Now, I know the Colombian state signed a peace agreement with one of its biggest internal threats, the Farc, back in 2016, but it would be stretching it somewhat to say the country today is a land of tranquillity.

So, that a bus could set off or resume its journey with an unclaimed bag on it seems rather lax.

This is what happened, at my expense, on a recent trip back to Bogotá from La Palma, Cundinamarca. The operator in question, the only one that runs this route from the capital, is Expreso Gómez Villa (aka Flota Rionegro). The temporary stop was in the town of Pacho.

The exact details are as follows:

The bus driver told me that we would be stopping for at least ten minutes. As Pacho was the final destination for some passengers on board and others were just getting on there, I left my bag on my seat to show it was taken. (This was a ticket-less journey for me, I'd simply paid the driver's assistant in cash when I got on in La Palma, a normal practice for such pick-up places. With that, there were no assigned seats as you tend to get on longer journeys.)

Knowing Pacho, right outside the terminal there's a panadería that actually makes — wait for it — fairly decent coffee! So I headed there, relaxed in the knowledge that ten minutes was more than enough time to get my brew (and also guesstimating, based on previous experiences at this very place, that it would most likely be a longer stop.)

'I didn't exactly blend in with the other, largely ruana-wearing, wrinkly-faced, dark-haired passengers.'

Returning to the terminal about eight minutes later — certainly no more than ten in any case — I got back on my bus. Only, as I quickly realised due to the lack of passengers and a puzzled-looking driver, it wasn't my bus. No. The one I'd arrived on had already left, so Conductor Gordo (think The Fat Controller from Thomas the Tank Engine & Friends), the driver of the bus I was now standing on in shock, informed me.

'What?! But I was gone for no more than ten minutes! My bag's on the other bus!'

Nonchalantly, Conductor Gordo reached for his mobile phone, called the driver of my bus and told him that he'd left a passenger behind.

He then whistled to a taxi driver and asked him to bring me to the now waiting bus a few kilometres outside Pacho, no more than a five-minute drive.

A blast of a time

Being left behind was one thing, but what added to my ire was that I had to pay the taxi driver 6,000 pesos — he was actually looking for 10,000 but we settled on six. That 6,000 pesos was one-fifth of the La Palma-Bogotá fare in total. I was less than pleased, to say the least.

Moreover, when I got on my bus, the driver and his assistant were like, 'Oh yeah, that's the guy.' So it seemed that they at least had an inkling that they'd left somebody behind.

And why shouldn't they have?! I was the only foreigner — gringo, if you dare — on the bus. What's more, I was wearing a luminous green Irish cricket top. Thus, I didn't exactly blend in with the other, largely ruana-wearing, wrinkly-faced, dark-haired passengers.

Of course, as is my wont, I did file a complaint with the company. With no actual ticket, I took a sneaky photo of the bus driver's assistant as well as the number plate. Unsurprisingly, I've got nowhere with that, "even" after elevating it to the government body responsible for transport regulation, Supertransporte.

It's true, I wasn't expecting to get any sort of positive result from my formal complaint. I did it out of principle more than anything else. And considering the convoluted process — I've seen this flick before — it didn't help to put my mind at ease.

My own frustrations aside, this episode doesn't fill one with much confidence in Colombia's ability to have the most basic of counter-terrorism measures in place, on buses in any case.

In mitigation, I am but an unthreatening foreigner. The Gómez Villa employees obviously knew that.
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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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Easygoing El Peñón. But is Topaipí tops?

@wwaycorrigan

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

On occasions, according to some mental health experts, it can be good to just do nothing. Or the very bare minimum in any case.

Indeed, the deft Dutch have a term for it: niksen, which literally means 'to do nothing'. Or, in practice, at least doing a very basic action that serves no real purpose and is not at all taxing.

Head-to-head: El Peñón (bottom) has a nicer setting but is Topaipí a livelier town? 

Something may come of nothing

I, however, like to think that I don't enjoy doing absolutely nothing. Generally, during my waking hours, I want to be as productive as possible. Or at least feel like I'm being productive.

Yet, on deeper reflection, in the right place and time, I do actually engage in "nothingness" and like to do so. For example, I enjoy simply lying in the sun, particularly if it's in a secluded spot, away from fellow human beings and annoying animals — the latter referring to, for the most part, delirious dogs and irritating insects, be they bloodsuckers or otherwise.

Finding such places is the difficult part, regardless of where one is really. (Although, on a recent visit to the small town of San Luis de Gaceno in Colombia's Boyacá department I did happen upon an isolated sandy shore of a gently flowing river. It came close to being perfect in this imperfect world of ours — perfect for my needs at the time, that is.)

I found no such spots around El Peñón in the Cundinamarca department. They may exist considering the town's relative closeness to the Río Negro with plenty of uninhabited land about but my rather aimless wanderings didn't uncover them.

'It must have one of the lowest ratios of tiendas per capita in the country.'

Nonetheless, the very town itself could be considered a place for some mild niksen. Unlike other similar-sized places I've visited in Colombia, not every second house is a beer-selling tienda. A few panaderías fill this "void" but, based on my not-very-scientific observations, it must have one of the lowest ratios of tiendas per capita in the country.

Thus, it seems to move to a very easygoing beat. Heck, it doesn't even have one of those 'Yo amo — with "amo", "love", represented by a heart — (insert name of town)' signs in human-sized letters on its main square. Perhaps it shows the townspeople's confidence in what they have. It certainly marks the place out considering the mushrooming of these rather flashy signs in Colombia of late. Budgetary issues might be more of a reason for its absence, though.

From whence Wrong Way came: A view of El Peñón as seen from the road to Topaipí. 

If a "What to do in El Peñón and its surrounds" brochure was released, outside of walking around and just taking in its rather impressive setting, I'm not sure what else could be included.

But, somewhat aimlessly wandering is, in a way, one of my favourite forms of niksen.

Topaipí, tienda town

It was, after all, an unplanned 18-kilometre descend-ascend trek on a sporadically paved road that took me from El Peñón to Topaipí, the latter with its "Yo amo Topaipí" sign on proud display in front of the church on its quaint main square.

Arriving in the early afternoon on a Saturday, in contrast to El Peñón, Topaipí was heaving. Well, heaving in so far as a small town deep in the countryside can be heaving.

There, nearly every townhouse appears to be a sit-in tienda.

It might have just been simply down to timing but Topaipí seemed to be the wilder sibling of El Peñón. I did only spend a few hours there so further research is required.

The error in undertaking such an impromptu stroll was that I got to the town after the last bus back had left.

Whilst weighing up my return options a few drinks were had — for rehydration purposes solely — in one of the aforementioned tiendas in the company of some curious locals, all of whom were small-scale coffee farmers.

With the evening drawing in, the thoughts of walking back didn't fill me with excitement. A motorbike taxi was arranged. At 30,000 pesos it was 1,000 pesos more than the bus ticket from Bogotá to El Peñón. Oh well.

Home from home. Mr & Mrs Rincón in their new tienda in Pacho.

The atmosphere did seem a little livelier in El Peñón on Sunday but with a rendezvous in Pacho, I couldn't stay another night to see how things would develop. (That meet-up was with the owners of my local establishment in Bogotá. They've left their tienda in the capital in the hands of their daughter and have opened one in Pacho, on Calle 8 #9-24 to be precise. Do drop in and say hello if you happen to be in the town!)

As for El Peñón, as an exercise in niksen, it can be said that it served that purpose on a number of levels. One big pull factor for that what-to-do brochure.
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Bogotá's Fraudia López

 @wwaycorrigan

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

At the best of times, it's not easy being a politician. In today's social-media dominated world, our elected leaders are scrutinised like never before.

OK, they willingly sign up for a life in the public eye and benefit from this, so many will say they're fair game.

Yet, the attacks they receive regularly cross the line, entering into their private lives.

'Enjoy your lockdown, Bogotá! See you when we're back!' (Image from Twitter.)

López's lost it

Nonetheless, on occasions, our leaders do things completely out of touch with the people they claim to represent that it only seems right to call this out.

In these pandemic days, as many people's livelihoods have been mortgaged away due to questionable measures introduced to contain our relatively mild viral enemy, that some politicians fail to show sincere solidarity with those suffering the most is, as far as I'm concerned, unforgivable.

Take — and to use the old joke, do please take her — Bogotá Mayor Claudia López. On the 1st of January, she completed her first year in office.

What does she decide to do to mark the milestone? Why head off on a holiday to Costa Rica.

Now,  in a normal year, people would be justified to some extent to question a self-proclaimed mayor of the working classes in a city with deep inequality taking a holiday outside the country. With so many beauty spots in Colombia, why the need to go elsewhere?

'I do actually think López cares, at least as much if not more so than many of Colombia's other top politicians. Yet perception is key and she has netted a public-relations own goal here.'

Of course, we're not in normal times. Outside of the millions of Bogotanos who regularly struggle to find the resources to take a holiday from the city, over the last few months those who normally do get away have seen their movements curtailed.

A bad act

To add insult to injury to those most badly hit by coronavirus-containment measures, while Mayor López is nonchalantly trekking around the jungles of Costa Rica, a strict two-week lockdown is reintroduced in three sectors of Bogotá.

That this is announced by some fresh-faced acting mayor who most people hadn't heard of up until a few days ago just adds to the sense of anger felt amongst the working classes. (It also begs the more general question, why isn't there an office for vice-mayor, a position that is filled at the same time as the top job, preferably elected on the same ticket as the mayor?)

It would be stretching it to believe that López didn't know this lockdown was coming as she packed her bags for Costa Rica. Therefore, the shrewder move, to really show she is at one with "her people", would have been to cancel the holiday. But no, off she went. It smacks of a couldn't-care-less attitude.

I do actually think López does care, at least as much if not more so than many of Colombia's other top politicians. Yet perception is key and she has netted a public-relations own goal here.

In reality, however, it won't amount to much — and this she knows. For those most annoyed right now tend not to vote and her many supporters will most likely just brush it off.

On a broader scale, there's an old saying around these parts that what works in Dinamarca (Denmark) doesn't work in Cundinamarca (the department in which Bogotá is located).

Taking that as a guide, lockdowns and stay-at-home orders that may — although it's far from certain — be effective in more developed nations are highly unlikely to work in an emerging-market country such as Colombia.

President Duque, Mayor López and the acting guy, whatever your name is, you would do well to bear this in mind.
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'Is this the way to Guateque?'

When it comes to quaint colonial towns and villages, Colombia has a plethora to offer. Indeed, you could pretty much spend your whole life going from one to another, exploring the idiosyncrasies of each.

Some say that there's not a big difference between them. Once you've seen the "big" ones — big as regards reputation that is — such as Barichara and Villa de Leyva, that's enough. The rest are just poor imitations.

Impressive setting: The town of Machetá.

For sure, if you're on a short stay and lacking 'algunas palabras' in Spanish, it's probably best to go to the spots that are more renowned and better equipped for tourists and tourism.

Towns less visited

From a personal perspective, while I've nothing against the more popular towns, after over eight years in this country, heading to a place where I'll be seen as just another tourist isn't very appealing.
 

It's why over the last number of years I've opted for destinations that most non-Colombians, and even some Colombians, don't bother visiting or haven't even heard of.

Now, before you say it, yes, in such tourist-light towns and villages I also stand out (although, some have said, before I open my mouth and speak Irish-accented Spanish, that I could pass as a Paisa. Perish the thought!), but it's not in a tourist way. It's more a case of, 'Oh, what brings you here?'

'Machetá, the golden gateway to the Tenza Valley'

So it was with that modus operandi, together with the fact that after five months of not having left Bogotá any place would have sufficed, that I opted for the town of Machetá, an hour bus ride north from the capital.

My experience of rolling into such small towns on a whim is that there's always very reasonably priced accommodation to be found.

This wasn't quite so in Machetá. There were three options, two of them upwards of 50,000 pesos (just over 13 euros, it's all relative) for a room for the night and they weren't for turning on their prices. It was a case of third time lucky with La Playita, a recently opened panadería which also functions as a hotel. I got a nice en suite room there for 30,000 pesos (eight euros).

As for the town itself, the 'Golden gateway to the Tenza Valley' so it goes, it certainly has a very picturesque setting and an agreeable climate for a Northern European, set at an altitude of 2,000 metres — that is to say slightly lower and thus warmer than Bogotá but not overbearingly so, while there's no real need for additional layers at night.

The trademark activity for this mini-escape, as it often is, was walking/hiking the hills around the towns — I say towns as after Machetá I spent a walking-packed 30 hours or so in Guateque, 23 kilometres to the south-east in the Boyacá department.

Basically, if there are hills/mountains around the town, and in this part of Colombia it's a given, I always like to ascend them for a panoramic view of the surrounds.

On this front, while there's an alluring hill overlooking Machetá, the bushy vegetation obscures the view. Hiking further up the mountains for a couple of hours didn't bring better results. It was good exercise all the same.

Three of a kind

Guateque, birthplace of the infamous emerald tsar Víctor Carranza, on the other hand, is, at the risk of overstating it, a hillwalker's dream. The northern point in a triangle of two neighbouring settlements — Guayatá and Somondoco — each delightfully nestled on plateaus overlooking the valley, for a town that appears nondescript on arrival, it pleasantly surprised.

Rewarding: Walking the hills all around Guateque.

Indeed, had I heeded the advice of the receptionist at the well-kept Hotel Tu Refugio (23,000 pesos for an en suite room), I wouldn't have even given Guateque a chance. Having just paid for my room, Monica suggested that I take a bus to Guayatá, 'a much prettier town', and come back in the evening. I decided against it.

On the first day, I stumbled across a mostly unpaved loop road up the hills that gives lovely views of the three aforementioned towns. Motor traffic does use it so it's not quite 'at one with nature', but thankfully it's largely peaceful.

Mount Monsignor

On the second day, taking advice from some locals, I walked to the much smaller, sleepier village of Sutatenza, three kilometres to the north. The idea was to grab a coffee there and then stroll back to Gauteque for the bus back to Bogotá.

Again, though, my penchant for seeking out views saw me head up the only road going towards the hills. Google maps told me it would lead to a dead-end. The road did but there was a path that kept going up, so I followed it. And followed it, until I met a local, a man in his late 60s I'd say, slowly stepping it out to his home, replete with an infected, swollen foot for good measure. Some goer, but a pilgrimage he doesn't think twice about. He has no other choice I guess. 

I asked him if I kept on going up would I eventually get to a point where I'd have a good view of the valley below. He then began to tell me, in a way where he seemed to expect me to know, about the 'famous' Monsignor José Joaquín Salcedo Guarín who, starting in the late 1940s, used to broadcast a 'world-renowned' radio show atop the very hill we were ascending. 'Now there's not even a plaque to honour his memory up there.' Men have been honoured for less, haven't they? 

'From a high, the way back to Guateque looked straightforward'

The old man accompanied me for a bit, even going further than his own house. Considering the state of his foot and slow pace, I tried to tell him I'd figure out the path on my own, but he was having none of it.

We eventually parted ways when the way back to Guateque appeared much clearer. He told me there was no point going back to Sutatenza, which of course made sense.

However, as clear as the route looked from a high, I took a wrong turn and ended back in Sutatenza. Oh well. It wasn't a major detour and it did come with two beers along the way courtesy of a somewhat mysterious emerald dealer, a man reluctant to give me his name even after having given me his mobile number.

He eventually introduced himself as Raul. Maybe he's related to Víctor Carranza and didn't want this random foreigner knowing? A couple of drunken folk in Guateque the night before were less coy about telling me they were cousins of the 'great baron'.

With that little unplanned adventure, my badly needed mini-escape from Bogotá came to an end. It gave another timely reminder that despite their superficial similarities, each Colombian town has its own story to tell. We’ll find out Guayatá's and Somondoco's in due course.
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Tocaima's toxic teens, fair-weather police

"Be careful lads, it's not safe to walk around here on your own at night." "Yeah, yeah, we hear you. Don't worry, though, we're well used to perceived 'dodgy' areas, we'll be fine."

After over five years living in Colombia socialising, usually without problems, in places that some more well-to-do locals see as dangerous, we tend not to take too much heed of the oft-given advice such as that above. We generally find that the locals security fears are, thankfully, unfounded.

Tocaima: A quaint town, if only it could deal with its delinquents.

This is usually even more so the case when we're talking about Colombia's smaller towns, however popular or not they may be.

So on a recent trip to one such small town, Tocaima, a three-hour spin outside Bogotá, when the locals told my travel companion and I that it wasn't safe at night, we were quite blasé about it.

What we hadn't factored in, however, were over a dozen pumped up young lads (is there any other kind?) looking to lay down a marker to the only foreigners in the village. Luckily for us, the older townsfolk of a far friendlier disposition (not hard to be in this case) spotted the danger and ensured we avoided the planned assault.

Unlike the fair-weather, indifferent — nay incompetent — police officers on duty, these young men weren't going to let a long-lasting, torrential downpour wash out their plans to get their lucrative prize.

On the contrary, they split up and occupied strategic positions along what was a three-minute walk back to our hotel. 

Indeed, the police here could do worse than to take note and learn from these young thugs, if they weren't so damn lazy that is. (OK, eventually, although reluctantly, one officer escorted us back to the hotel, which incidentally was located directly opposite the police station, after being pressurised into doing so by the owner of the bar we were in and some other concerned bystanders.)

So while it all passed off without incident in the end, save for a few aggressive staredowns from our wannabe attackers while we took refuge in the bar, it did sour somewhat our time in Tocaima.

'Any police about?' Not ones that seem willing to work anyway.

It's not a bad town and could be seen as a quieter alternative to the more popular Girardot and Melgar in terms of warmer-weather, short escapes from Bogotá. 

Yet, if young lads such as the ones we almost got robbed by are allowed to run amok, with what seemed like the connivance of the police, the chances of the place growing in terms of tourism are slim to none.

With Colombia ‘open to the world’ as a recent tourism expo put it, places such as Tocaima could do with, at the very least, having a police force that seems willing to prevent crime — all the other social inequality problems the country has to deal with notwithstanding.

As it is, these delinquents, what we can describe as the bad or, better said, toxic apples are rotting the place as a whole. It doesn't have to be that way, guys.
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Fine and Pandi

You don’t tend to base yourself in Bogotá for its weather. OK, on sunny days it can be pretty nice, but such occasions are balanced out by chilly nights. 

The great thing, though, is that if you are looking for hotter climes all you have to do is take a short trip in basically any direction out of the metropolis to find them.

Pandi, Cundinamarca: It beats the madness of Bogotá, at least for a time.

However, there’s not much point in having such hotspots on your doorstep if you don’t utilise them. That’s how things had been for me lately, cooped up in the city, letting work and Bogotá’s, nay La Perseverancia’s, social life dictate the course of events.

In fact, it got to the stage where I needed a gentle push to break the routine. Somewhat paradoxically, that push came in the form of work; well, work of sorts.

What I had to do was be an English-speaking guide for a group of students of the language from a university in the south of Bogotá. They were having a day out, via the fledgling tour agency Colombia Limite, and to keep things English, the lady in charge felt it would be a good idea to have a native speaker on hand.

The fact that the majority of the group were at beginner level and thus couldn’t understand most of what I said (who does?) didn’t matter. It’s the thought of making an effort to have the day educational that counts, right?

Our destination? The unheralded town of Pandi and its surrounds in the Sumapaz province, 103 km south of Bogotá.

Pretty in purple: The gualanday tree. (Photo from clorofilaandcompany.)

Now, in a country that has quite spectacular natural beauty around every corner, each little town and village has to fight hard to get a piece of the tourist action. 

So considering that to reach Pandi requires a 30-minute drive on somewhat of a dirt-track road off the main highway about two hours outside of the capital means that it could easily be forgotten by many. The belief may be that other, more accessible places offer pretty much the same.

Yet, that it is a bit off the beaten track can be a pull factor – such secluded places generally do it for me, at least for a time.

Plus, it does have its own treats. As the welcome sign to the town proudly boasts (positioned miles outside, at that), it’s the home of cambulo and gualanday. What, you haven’t heard of them? They’re trees of course, special trees, apparently.

Unfortunately, on the day I visited nobody was able to tell me which one was which – a reason to go back, I guess. 

While both are pretty spectacular when in flower, from what I was told gualandays seem the most helpful for humans. A secretion their leaves produce is good for relieving sore throats and aching bones; better than a hot whiskey you might say.

'Devil Construction Ltd.'

The trees aside, another little ‘gem’ is The Natural Bridge, El Puente Natural, a gentle 20-minute downhill stroll from the village. 

Legend has it that the devil created it after losing a bet for the soul of an indigenous mortal. In frustration he kicked out at the narrow gorge walls, the force of his actions forming a natural arch over the river, which lies over 100 metres below.

Whatever about that story, the bridge has a much more haunting recent past, being the alleged dumping ground for dead and dying bodies throughout Colombia’s internal conflict of the last 60 plus years. The devil did not go quietly into the night after his construction project, so it appears.

Thankfully, a sense of tranquillity in the quite stunning scenery is the main vibe you get about the place today.

So you could do worse than go along with that feeling and take advantage of the serenity. In that regard, further on from the bridge is a residence that offers accommodation/camping facilities for those looking to overnight it in the wilderness.*

The chilly nights and madness of the metropolis can wait.
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*Colombia Limite looks after the accommodation and can also arrange activities such as rappelling and treks. You can contact the company via Facebook.