The mild rover

@wwaycorrigan

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

'Oh, the wanderer is back.'

It's a remark often directed at me whenever I return to Ireland. You see, some people in my birth country think that I'm a full-time traveller.

This year Wrong Way has been more of a rover than before.

The main reason for this, I figure, is down to where I've been based: Crazy Colombia.

Irish emigrants in the more popular locations — Australia, Britain, Canada, the USA — live abroad but someone like me is a wild rover, to take from the eponymous song (although I'm unlikely to return with riches similar to those of the oft-remembered, unnamed Wild Rover).

'They think it's all rover'

Now, while at times I think I'd like to rover regularly, the reality is that I've been more fixed than floating when it comes to moving around. Constant changing of my abode within Bogotá over the years doesn't really make me a rover. Yes, mentally I may have never really settled in — and on — Bogotá but my physical time spent there betrays this.

Taking miles travelled as a guide, I wager many so-called settled folk in high-income nations have covered more ground than me since 2012, my first full year in Colombia. Or they've at least flown over more ground than me.

Only this year could I justifiably be called a rover, but perhaps more of a mild one than a wild one.

For starters, I've had no fixed abode in 2024. January was spent with family in Ireland. On my return to Bogotá in February, an acquaintance invited me to stay in his luxurious, spacious apartment. 

March and July also saw me in a salubrious setting in the Colombian capital, apartment-sitting for friends. In between, I had a total of a month, in two separate stints, working in Palomino in the La Guajira department on the Caribbean coast and when in Bogotá I stayed in the box room of an acquaintance's apartment — it was a way of recouping money he owed.

'This current wandering at least provides some relief in these wondering times.'

From February to July, outside of my travels to Palomino, I also visited San Juan de Rioseco, Moniquirá, and Chocontá, as well as double trips to both Pacho and San Luis de Gaceno.

Since early August I've been out of Bogotá, a largely unavoidable four-night return in the middle of that month aside. It started with ten days in Puerto Asís, followed by eight days in La Chorrera. I flew to the latter via San José del Guaviare, which has been my main base for over two months. From San José, I've taken in the nearby towns of El Retorno and Calamar.

I do have a banking matter to attend to in Bogotá before the end of October but I am not at all sure where I'll go after that.

Capital crime

While there are certain things I miss in the capital, when I have no solid reasons to be there, well I don't really want to be there, particularly when it means I have to house-share. (The cost of a private hotel room in the provinces is usually cheaper than getting a basic, unfurnished studio apartment in Bogotá, if one can be found, that is.)

All this time outside of Bogotá represents my longest stint away from the city while remaining in Colombian territory.

It's largely the result of, as one can probably guess, having no steady work mixed with much uncertainty as to my next move. And this is unlikely to change in the coming weeks.

On the whole, I'm largely relaxed about the situation — a bit too relaxed, some may argue. That not having access to a kitchen is one of my main concerns shows that I'm not exactly at breaking point. Being able to cook, to have greater control over what I eat, is important to me, all the same. It would also be nice to truly have my own place, but I will most likely never get to enjoy such a luxury in Colombia.

Whatever about not being able to cook these days, there's a cornucopia of food for thought simmering in my mind. If only I could get a peso for each thought, then I wouldn't have to worry about sourcing gainful employment.

My current wandering at least provides some relief in these wondering times. Being a mild rover has a cathartic side.
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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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Listen to Wrong Way's Colombia Cast podcast here.

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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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Listen to Wrong Way's Colombia Cast podcast here.

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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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Listen to Wrong Way's Colombia Cast podcast here.

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