Visiting Vichada, the Meta River way

@wwaycorrigan

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

There are two chief ways to look at it: A relatively expensive box-ticking exercise or a worthwhile adventure.

I have been telling myself that it was a worthwhile adventure. (As an aside, I could have used the word 'latter' here to avoid repetition, but having read that my mentor-beyond-the-grave, Dr Samuel Johnson, refused to use either 'latter' or 'former', I now feel somewhat uncomfortable using them!)

Once I committed to it, for sanity's sake, I have to be of the mindset that it has been worth it. Otherwise I'll just keep on thinking about the fairly costly nature of the trip.

Orinoco flow: The famous river does give one a desire to sail away; isn't that right, Enya?!

Speed thrills with few frills

I refer to my recent visit to Puerto Carreño, the capital of Colombia's Vichada department. Having tried and failed to go there in March of this year — see Vichada vacillation for why that was — this time I saw it through.

That it was 'mission accomplished' was mostly thanks to the river route being fully open. The mission, discretionary as it was, was to set foot in Vichada, making it the thirtieth of Colombia's 32 departments that I've now travelled through.

In the imagination, a voyage of some 600 km from Puerto Gaitán along the River Meta all the way to the Orinoco, where Puerto Carreño sits rather isolated, surrounded by Venezuela to its north and east, might sound magical. But a leisurely cruise with access to a comfortable cabin and bed this was not.

A speedboat powered by three motors with streamlined seating space, particularly when full with 50 or so passengers, which it was for the most part, was the transport vessel. Incidentally, it was a slightly bigger boat with more passengers and driven by four motors, for the return journey.

For sure, the boat covers ground, nay water, at an impressive pace, but after two or three hours hurtling along, the novelty of the experience largely wears off.

Going at such a speed means that, as a sightseeing experience, it's like being on speed. So I imagine.

OK, there are pit stops along the way — including a navy checkpoint — allowing one to stretch legs and relieve oneself. But for those hoping to get a feel for the flora and fauna of the region en route, they'll be disappointed. The idea is to get to the destination as quickly as possible. It is, after all, a transport service, not a tour operator.

Now, while it was a mini-saga for me to get to Puerto Carreño owing to my aborted attempt in March, it wasn't a case, as regularly happens, of the reality not matching the expectation once it was finally realised. I can happily say that I wasn't left too disappointed on reaching a destination that had long been on my virtual, non-binding must-visit list. It does help, however, that I don't exactly have exacting standards.

'What had been on my mind was getting my hands on a Polar beer, Venezuela's brew-of-the-people and, whisper it, of better quality than its Colombian counterparts.'

And as much as the speedboat journey was more functional than phenomenal, it was part of the adventure all the same. With air blowing refreshingly into one's face for the guts of 12 hours, it must be a healthier way to travel than the alternative of being stuck inside a bus for 36 hours. Yes, there is the option of flying there directly from some of Colombia's main cities, but where's the fun in that?

The main, most alluring attraction in Puerto Carreño itself is Cerro de La Bandera, effectively Flag Hill to give it its English translation. From its summit, which is, I guesstimate, around 50 metres above the town, it offers a good view of the entire surrounds.

Venezuela vision

From it, looking north-northeast, where the River Meta runs into the Orinoco, one can just about make out the nearest neighbouring town, Venezuela's Puerto Páez.

The way it was described to me by some people in Bogotá who had visited Puerto Carreño, it seemed as if one could casually walk over to Puerto Páez.

Jesus Christ no doubt could do so with little difficulty. My walking-on-water abilities, alas, are not at those kind of miraculous levels.

Boats do the short crossing on a daily basis, but seeing as how a return journey would have set me back up to 40,000 pesos — the cost of a night's kip in Hotel Samanare, my place of residence in Puerto Carreño — I decided to stay in Colombian territory.

In the not-too-distant past I would have been eager to visit Venezuela with it practically within touching distance. These days, I'm somewhat less bothered, seeing as how the country has practically become the USA's fifty-first state. One could say it's now merely akin to Miami, albeit a more pleasant, safer version.

I was, nonetheless, expecting there to be a vibrant Venezuela vibe and feel to Puerto Carreño, something that I had noticed in other Colombian towns and cities that border the 'brother country'. This, however, was surprisingly lacking.

OK, there are plenty of Venezuelans in the town, but that's nothing unusual in any Colombian place these days.

What particularly had been on my mind was getting my hands on a Polar beer, Venezuela's brew-of-the-people and, whisper it, of better quality than its Colombian counterparts. The closest I came to one was the sight of a few well-worn, Polar-branded blue beer crates outside a private dwelling. They were serving as support for plants and a few other random items. By the look of them, I wager it's been years since they housed an unopened Polar beer.

Time trials

Time-wise, though, there's no getting away from the fact that Puerto Carreño is more in sync with Caracas than Bogotá. It is, after all, about 1,000 km east of the Colombian capital. So while it's officially on Colombian time, it really feels like it should be an hour ahead.

Now would be the fitting moment to say none of that matters because one forgets all about time in this secluded setting. That would be rather disingenuous on my part.

For the few days I was there, the time of day was rarely from my thoughts. With temperature highs in the mid-to-late 30s in degrees Celsius, the temptation to have a late-morning or early-afternoon refreshingly cold beer or three was very strong. I stoically avoided this, though. The beers had to wait until nightfall.

Killing time involved sweaty strolls around the town, wanders up to Cerro de La Bandera, and what can be termed reflective gazes out at the waters of the enticing Orinoco, interspersed with the occasional, obligatory coffee break.

There are tourist attractions in the greater area, but I was content to stay around the town, largely minding my own business and getting a feel for the place.

That feel is fairly laid-back from what I witnessed. Indeed, that I was generally left to my own devices — aside from the odd, unthreatening indigenous child looking for a handout — is a big plus for Puerto Carreño and its inhabitants. It only takes a pest or two of the human variety to spoil even the most attractive of environments, as I experienced a couple of years ago in another of Colombia's sticky outposts, La Chorrera.

So now that I've done Vichada, to use that sickening, sanctimonious backpacker terminology, trips to Guainía and Vaupés would see me complete my on-the-ground colouring in of Colombia's department map. They're not on my radar just yet, though. I will consider sponsored sojourns to them all the same.
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Vichada vacillation

@wwaycorrigan

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

Almost nine years have passed since I achieved the feat, if it can be called such, of visiting all six of Colombia's regions. Those regions are, in the order in which I first set foot in them, the Andean, Caribbean, Pacific, Orinoco, Amazon, and Insular.

These boats offer a way to Vichada, if one is truly willing to go.

It was my semi-sponsored trip to San Andrés in April 2017 that completed the sextet, eight years after I had first entered Colombia as a backpacker. At the time, the accomplishment didn't register with me. Oh, how ignorant I was back then!

Troublesome trio

These regions, as it is, are defined by what makes them distinct as regards their natural features. They are not, however, administrative or political entities. In that context, it's the departments that define Colombia, of which there are 32. An easy one to remember for Irish folk that, considering how the island of Ireland has 32 counties.

Mentioning the land of my birth, three of Colombia's departments are bigger in area than it, while the Meta department is almost equal in size to it. As a whole, Colombia is over 13 times larger than Ireland.

As for these departments, I've been in 29 of the 32. The three I haven't visited are Guainía and Vaupés, which are part of the Amazon region, and Vichada in the Orinoco. They are three of the most difficult to reach, too, well cut off from the far more densely populated Andean powerhouse as they are.

I do, however, often think that I should make a greater effort to tackle this trio.

Vichada? Reach harder

It was with that in mind that saw me take a five-hour bus journey from my base of San Martín in the Meta department to Puerto Gaitán, also in Meta, by the banks of the River Manacacías. From there, the plan was to take a fluvial route north-east to Vichada, thereby making it the thirtieth department to be graced by my presence; such an honour for it.

The original idea was to head for Vichada's capital, Puerto Carreño, right on the Orinoco River, marking the border with Venezuela. It's a journey of over 600 kilometres downriver, which can be done in about 12 hours in a large speedboat powered by three motors that can carry 60 or so passengers. However, due to the dry season, no boats were going that far.

'Was it really worth such an investment merely to say I'd visited my thirtieth department?'

There is a bus route, but that takes at least 36 hours over what is mostly a dirt track. And, currently, there's only one service per week, which passes through Puerto Gaitán every Saturday night. That had and has much less appeal than the thoughts of the boat trip. If Colombia did intercity trains — and I don't know why it doesn't — a railway line along the mostly flat land between Meta's capital, Villavicencio, and Puerto Carreño would be rather useful. One can dream.

Had the bus been a good bit cheaper than the boat ticket, then I may have considered it, but it's around the same price, which is close to 400,000 pesos one-way. So doubling that for the return trip and adding in the price of refreshments and a couple of nights' accommodation, put the cost in the one-million-peso bracket. That's close to 230 euros, which some of you may think isn't that much. But one million pesos would get me two months' rent, with change, in San Martín.

For the record, there are flights to Puerto Carreño from both Bogotá and Villavicencio. My research tells me they cost roughly the same as the river and road options. I, however, like the idea of the slightly less fixed approach offered when travelling by river or road: a case of being able to go at a moment's notice, to a certain extent. And one gets to see more of the country in the process.

Having ruled out Puerto Carreño, I still had the option of making it to western Vichada. Even in the dry season, the speedboat is able to reach the town of La Primavera, a journey of about six hours, 250 kilometres away. The costs involved are roughly half of those to get to Puerto Carreño.

However, even though I'd initially considered, indeed, was mentally preparing myself for the far more expensive trip to Puerto Carreño, something was holding me back from taking the shorter, cheaper spin to La Primavera. 'What's the point?' questions began circulating in my mind. Vichada vacillation, so to put it: Was it really worth such an investment merely to say I'd visited my thirtieth department?

OK, it's a bit unfair on Vichada to say that I see going there as little more than a box-ticking exercise. No doubt it has its own unique charms.

Midges of the Manacacías

Yet, what had seemed almost non-negotiable when leaving San Martín, after less than 24 hours in Puerto Gaitán, my perspective changed: I began to think that visiting Vichada was almost absurd, considering the costs involved and my less-than-stable financial situation. All I really needed, in retrospect, was simply a break from the San Martín monotony, to check out new environs. And Puerto Gaitán provided that, even though I did little of note there.

Well, I did bathe in the seasonally shallow Manacacías. Initially, I wasn't too concerned about its far-from-limpid waters. But having been told that there are swallow holes, I was a little more cautious the next time I went for a dip. None of the many other bathers seemed too perturbed, all the same.

Its gold-coloured sandy shores were an inviting spot to soak up some sun. Alas, this had to be abruptly abandoned due to incessant attacks from bloodsucking flies, something akin to midges. So much for some serene rest and relaxation on the river bank. But, do tell, what pursuits in life aren't completely pest-free?

The Manacacías itself, swallow-hole concerns aside, was refreshing, offering a partial escape from the fairly intense heat. Thirty-eight degrees Celsius can be classed as intense, can't it? There was, mercifully, a strong breeze blowing most of the time, making the heat somewhat more tolerable. I was told, though, that this welcome gale doesn't come a-calling as much as one might like it to.

It is, all the same, more frequent than my visits to Vichada. But I'll huff and I'll puff my way there yet, I'm sure of it. I am, by the way, not completely against taking a sponsored trip, should one be on offer; something similar to my visit to Tame, Arauca in 2017 would be welcome. Just putting it out there.
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