after a smooth flight from Lima to Bogota (other than an unexpected $30 departure tax) and another shorter flight, we arrived in Medellin and headed straight for our hostel. we had chosen a comfortable and chilled hostel for a couple of days of relaxation and detox in preparation for the arrival of one's big brother. during these enjoyable but fairly uneventful couple of days we were to be part of what at the time seemed like quite a surreal and bizarre conversation with the rather flirtatious young lady from the hostel's front desk. after the usual pleasantries, Tatiana proceeded to tell how she had set up a meeting with a Mr Roberto Escobar, one Pablo Escobar's older brother. having been running the Escobar tours for a few years, she had wanted to authenticate them more by having some home truths thrown in, and who better to do it than the man that stood side by side with the infamous cartel leader through much of his rise and fall. our rendezvous was pencilled in for the Saturday, but we were still somewhat sceptical. on the day of brother's arrival we upped and moved from our detox hostel to Medellin's renowned party hostel, The Pit Stop.
that evening, once Andy had arrived, we restarted the engines and got back on it. the night took us to Zona Rosa, the 'place to be' in Medellin. it was amazing, basically a square littered with bars, restaurants, and ridiculously beautiful women. the night very randomly took us first to Hooters, a classic and authentic Columbian choice we felt. after buying a tube containing about fourty pints that none of us really wanted and a cake for Andy's 'birthday' (we had been told that all the waitresses gather round and dance if it is your birthday-they did), we moved on around a few more bars in the Zona before heading off to a club. the club we ended up in wasn't what you would call gringo friendly, with us being the only foreign faces in there and naturally drawing a few unwelcoming looks. however, undeterred we ripped up the dance floor until the big lights came on and then headed back to the hostel. we had a few more drinks back at Pit Stop with some of our fellow residents, with a bit of evening entertainment coming from a fourty year old Danish nutcase called Kenneth, who started kicking off. we later learned that old Ken had done a stretch in a Venezuelan pen and was currently on the run.
the following night we returned to the Zona this time for a bit more of a civilised one, enjoying a nice bit of Filet Mignon along with the wonderful views, followed by an early night in preparation for our meeting with the Don. the Escobar tour started as usual with visits to his first complex in Medellin (that was half destroyed by a car bomb in the eighties), his grave, and the spot where he was killed. from here our tour van took us up a winding driveway up to a rather shabby house, very humble digs for the brother of at one time the World's seventh richest man, we thought. after having a browse through a few Pablo related artifacts, including his first car and one of his Harley Davidsons, old Bobby showed up. we had a bit of question time with him for which he remained pretty guarded, disappointingly not really giving much away and maintaining throughout that Pablo was a good man and a man who didn't really do much wrong(!!). a great and once-in-a-lifetime experience non the less. a nice gangster touch came when Roberto had to pause to remove his glasses and dab his eye which was weeping, a la La Chifre in Casino Royale. this being a result of a letter bomb that went off in his face back in the day. all pretty mental stuff.
the evening took us back to Zona Rosa, and again after a few bars (including a Scottish pub) we headed off on a guided taxi tour of Medellin looking for a suitable club. after popping our heads round the doors of a few with sparsely populated dance floors, we settled on a decent spot and got our Rum on. my Sunday was spent in bed feeling nothing short of horrific, while the other three headed out for what was reported as a thoroughly enjoyable day seeing the sights of Medellin. this included a cable car ride up for a view of the city and a visit to a science park. photos of which actually looked pretty good fun, annoying. that evening was devoted to packing up, ready for our morning flight up to the Caribbean coast to the old town of Cartagena.
unexpectedly Cartagena didn't really have any beaches to speak of, which proved a slight disappointment as we were intending on spending our remaining ten days lazing on golden beaches and bobbing around in the Caribbean. however the city itself was beautiful and the hostel had a pool, so not all bad. the old town, surrounded by high walls, was great to wonder round and so this took up the remainder of our first day. other than this, we didn't do a great deal in Cartagena other than enjoy a pretty good night out with a large group from our hostel.
after a couple of days, we boarded a minibus (door to door service no less) to our penultimate stop, Taganga. rounding a corner on the coastal road revealed a small, idyllic looking fishing village - exactly what we were looking for. after shacking up in a couple of matrimonial rooms in our hostel (its all they had left, although the rooms did have pull out beds under the doubles, something that Ste and Gra decided not to utilise - gay), we strolled down to the beach and relaxed in the sun with a couple of beers and spliffs looking out over the bay. absolute dream stuff. the following day's activities were just what the doctor ordered. a short boat ride to the gorgeous Playa Grande, a beach lined with thatched roof restaurants, as well as a day's fishing, a trip to the spectacularly beautiful Tayrona National Park, and the consumption of a lot of nice fish and Rum. our fishing trip was a top day and definitely up there with the best of our travels. the four of us, along with our skipper, set out on a rather questionable little vessel. after some unsuccessful fly fishing the anchor was dropped in deep water and the old school reels were whipped out, with some remarkable results. eighteen fish (and two poisonous moray eels) later, we lifted the anchor and headed to a deserted nearby beach to cook up our catch. just up some stairs leading up the cliff was an outdoor dining area, equipped with a small kitchen and grill, and a number of ill looking dogs, cats and fowl. our skipper come chef played a blinder, and served up four cracking plates loaded with fish, plantain, and salad. then one plate lacking any ocean treats specially for the allergic Monster Man (history behind nickname detailed below). the afternoon was spent snorkeling with spear guns in an attempt to catch some dinner. this was absolutely great fun, and the spear definitely gave a feeling of power whilst bobbing around in the swell. after three unsuccessful hunts the professional harpoonist amongst us, going by the name of Scuba Steve, took up the weapon. during our previous prowls, we had spotted a puffer fish idly cruising around in the depths, and with such a girthy and slow moving target with such potential for amusing results in our eyeline, there was only one target for Scuba Steve's hunt. he took aim and absolutely nailed it, causing the puffer to instantly inflate into a poisonous spikey ball sending the three of us rapidly swimming for safety, leaving the Scuba man to deal with the consequences. he managed to get to shore with the spikey football still breathing impaled on the harpoon. our skipper didn't look too impressed as it was then his job to get the harpoon out of the seemingly impenetrable ball - a job he did with surprising ease. as a result of our immature choice of prey, we were to go hungry that evening.
the next day saw another very early start as we were to take a fourty minute boat ride round the coast to Tayrona National Park, a jungle covered coastline with some of the best beaches in Columbia, shaded by palm trees and set in deep bays. we had been told that no boats were heading round there due to the choppy seas, however after chatting to our mate Bruno (an English speaking tout with his finger in every pie in Taganga) we were set up with one of the best skippers in the village and just the four of us boarded his scrappy but powerful boat. now when you get told by Columbians to put on life jackets and hold on, you know you are in for a bumpy ride, we just didn't realise how bumpy it was going to be. of all the things we had done over the course of our trip - cycling death road, bungee jumping, hangliding etc - this proved to be the scariest. the swell was huge, but after an hour of ball crushing sailing we arrived at what looked like something out of Jurassic Park. huge boulders and thick jungle lined the beaches, really spectacular stuff. after a quick sit down to refresh and let our bits and white knuckles recover we headed through the bush around to the main bay. this was equally stunning and was where we were to spend the rest of the day before hopping back aboard the two-hundred horse power rollercoaster back to Taganga.
so we were almost done, the taxi arrived early the following morning to take us to the airport for our final internal journey down to Bogota. very generously, the taxi driver gave us a cracking reminder of just where we were. he rocked up with Damien Marley blaring out, swaying to the music as he drove us to Santa Marta. mid journey our man pulled over to a house and popped inside, returning to the car with weed and papers. setting off again he proceeded to roll a pretty impressive joint considering he was driving at about fourty with the windows down. the joint had no tobacco in it - it was eight o'clock in the morning! having seen off most of the spliff he spotted a friend driving another taxi, and again doing about fourty, pulled alongside his chum and got Gra to pass the remainder of the biff across. what a gentleman.
Santa Marta airport itself was quite amazing, located on the sea front with open air check in, it really didn't feel quite like an airport. with just one day in Bogota we wanted to take in as much of the capital as we could. this started well, taking in plenty of sights on the cab ride from the airport, including an marvellous array of transsexual prostitutes. we headed straight out from the hostel to have an explore and headed first for the Police Museum, housing a whole floor dedicated to the Escobar case and man hunt, a part of history that we had all become quite taken by. our guide, a young police officer, insisted on sharking all the way around the tour, using the excuse of getting local girls to have a photo taken with us as his 'in'. top lad. from here we went gift shopping and then returned to the hostel for a few drinks with a lively ozzie couple who we had met in Medellin. the next day was our flight home, and the dream was nearly over. or so we thought.
after initial worries of ash cloud delays, all seemed to be going swimmingly as we boarded the plane on time. however, after an hour sat in the plane with constant unnerving reminders from the captain to "keep seatbelts unfastened as we are refuelling and there is a slight fuel leak", the dreaded announcement came - "we will not be flying this evening". bollocks. pissed off, we were ushered off the plane to collect our bags not knowing what on earth was going to happen. having been reaqcainted with our luggage we were told to head out of the airport and get on one of the buses which would take us to a hotel, obviously all courtesy of Air France, and then would return us to the airport at the same time the following day to start all over again.
joining up with Lucy, a girl who we had met in Taganga, we boarded the bus and all decided to make the best of it - that meant Rum. fortunately both Andy and myself had purchased some to take home, this would act as a nice taster. having driven back through manwhoreville our expectations for the night's accomodation were low to say the least, but on entering the hotel this all changed. it was amazing (and as it turned out it was the same hotel that Escobar's family had been staying in when he made the call that got him caught). we checked in, headed up to our rooms, and after some predictable Borat-style excitement at the state of the rooms, we cracked open the Ron (spanish for Rum). having seen off the first two containers Ste and Andy headed out of the hotel, with the last of the money any of us had, to find an offie. they returned with a full bag and things continued. once the supplies were exhausted the gang staggered down to the hotel bar for a further two bottles, one of which a drunken Clark would drop right in front of the main reception. adopting the 'just keep walking and noone will notice' technique seemed to pay off. the night wound down in our room, with a few locals joining the party and knocking out a bit of salsa for our entertainment. at one point during proceedings, Andy was approached in the hallway by a foreign man in a vest who held up his key card and signalled for Andy to head into his room. probably influenced by Ron, Andy thought he was being rent boy'd and so walked off. we later concluded that the guy was probably just having trouble using his key card to open his door and wanted some help. oh well.
after the initial annoyance, this flight hick-up ended up being a spot on and very fitting way to round off the trip. it had been quality. the next day wasn't too great however. hanging, and having spent every last penny on Rum, it was a long and hungered wait for the flight. but i think i speak for all of us when i say given the opportunity, we wouldn't have done anything differently.
as a final note, i want to say a big thanks to the two boys for being such quality travelling companions, it has been a pleasure. also to all the chicos along the way. with particular mention going to The Shark and The Ry Man, as well as Mel and Sam, Holly and Emily, Jimmy, Justus, German and Daiana, Ben and Tommy, the two Katies, and of course to Mr Blezard and the lovely Pam.
the nicknames:
Gra - Monster Man, self titled. Gra eats quite slowly but for some reason at Bogota airport he had polished off his chicken buttie pretty quickly. Ste pointed this out and Gra responded "oooh, monster man". classic.
Ste - Flaca, meaning thin, skinny, feeble and weak. purfick.
Me - Earthworm Jim, result of an unfortunate photograph. i am holding Lucy wholly responsible
16.05.10
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