From Bulungula to Coffee Bay – Hiking South Africa’s Wild Coast

07 Sunday Jun 2015

Tags

Beaches, Culture, Hikes, Trekking, Villages

The Wild Coast

It took most of the next day to get to my destination of Bulungula on the Wild Coast. Happily I wasn’t alone either – Jake was planning on spending a few night’s at the same community-ran, 100% solar powered traditional hostel as well.

Our Baz Bus driver that day proved to be an absolutel legend. As we entered the province of the “Transkei” (a formerly independent part of South Africa that white people mostly fled after apartheid ended, populated predominantly by the Xhosa people, and birthplace of Nelson Mandela), he gave us lots of historical background and information on the region. He said that here we would see the real South Africa. A land mainly untouched by commercial development, it’s community based farmland with people living under a tribal system. For instance, village elders make the community decisions for the (hopefully) benefit of all. People live in traditional round-houses, many with equipped with a government subsidized solar panels for power. The land is very green and there are beautiful rolling green hills that give way to a very rugged and stunning coastline.

Nelson Mandela’s home where he lived his final years

On our long drive through the Transkei, Johnny, our driver, created a lovely social atmosphere and insisted that we stop at a local market and get some alcohol to have a little party as we drove. As I got out of the truck, I immediately noticed the absence of any other white face and felt like I was back in the ‘Africa’ that had preceded this country on my trip.

Feeling very merry, we happily took snaps when we arrived at Nelson Mandela’s birthplace and also the compound where he passed away – interestingly, it is an exact replica of the house he lived in after being released from Robben Island when he was imprisoned solely on house arrest.

Arriving at the Baz Bus stop of Mthata, my driver from Bulungula guest lodge was there ready to take Jake and I down the very bumpy, unpaved road for the two hours it would take to our destination. On arrival, I was glad I had Jake with me as the lodge was pretty empty save a lovely family from Finland who we dined with – having an incredible local Xhosa dish of minced beef with maize and vegetables. We were the only two in our dorm which consisted of a traditional rondela and basic furnishings. Though started by a Mizungu from Germany, this lodge has over the years been passed over to the local community to run for profit, and provides jobs to over 26 locals.

Local Xhosa woman carrying her baby

The location was pretty stunning and I told the staff of my plan to walk, by myself to Wild Lubanzi, and then on to Coffee Bay. Despite their protestations that it was “too far” or “very difficult” and “maybe you should take a guide” …I decided that it would be an adventure and I was up for it.
How hard could it be to hike up and down along a coastline till you found the next town?
Well, as it turned out…it was VERY hard! The path ended up not being very clearly marked and I kept having to guess whether I should walk along the beach or rocks (not also really knowing about tides) or whether I needed to go up and walk along the top of the hills before descending to the next valley. Overall, the trial and error approach took a lot of time and was utterly exhausting – even though I was carrying a very pared down version of my luggage (the hostel was kindly transporting the rest of my bags to Coffee Bay to meet me there in 2 days).

Setting off from Bulungula

I was coming to the end of the first day’s trail and the map indicated that Wild Lubanzi, my hostel, should be easily approached via the west side of a lake and easily up on a hill directly in front of it. This turned out to be a lot more complicated than I had anticipated as there was no clear path after the lake. There were some sand dunes that I attempted to climb in 3 separate locations, each time coming to the edge of a forest that was so thick as to be impenetrable via walking.
Growing frustrated and very tired/hungry – I tried to go around the lake to see if there might be any sign of a trail behind it. There was a vague looking one which I started then to climb. I heard the sound of wood being chopped and I was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing another human being who might be able to direct me. Sure enough, the man smiled and gesticulated that I keep going up and up and then turn right when I hit the road.

Wild Lubanzi Hostel – so glad to finally arrive

It was a right at the road, but then also a left, another hill, and then another right. When I finally arrived at the hostel, I didn’t even have the strength to go in the front entrance and made my way in through the kitchen and made my presence known. The staff were welcoming in a way, though they immediately launched into a diatribe about how impossible it is to get lost, and how on earth I could have had difficulty navigating my way from the lake. This really pissed me off, but once I’d had a “rocket shower” (shower powered with liquid paraffin) and had a large beer in my hand, I was much happier.
Even better, I was reunited with Ashley who had driven up from Coffee Bay for the night and she was joined by a nice young Dutch guy who’d hiked in from Coffee Bay that morning. His tales of how arduous the trail was did not exacty fill me with positive feelings for my next day’s sojourn, but I was adamant to give it a go.

Small Xhosa kids in the villages I passed

Unfortunately, my cough had also worsened and I was hacking like a smoking witch. In the morning, I even considered ditching my plan and driving to Coffee Bay, or even heading up to my next destination in the Drakensburg a day early and take some time to recover. But not being one to give up – ever – I decided to push on.

Inquiring about the trail itself, I was warned that low tide wasn’t until 4pm and that it would make the river virtually impassable earlier in the day. I would be forced to walk a ways up river till I find a place shallow enough to cross, and that could add another few miles to my journey that day.

Gulp.

As it turned out – I had quite a funny time crossing that damn river. I got to the water’s edge right by the famous “hole in the wall” rock formation that was really stunning to view. The waves were rolling in and it looked very deep indeed. However, there were some locals working on the beach on the other side of the river crossing who waved to me and pointed at a spot that seemed to indicate was the best place for me to try and cross.

Already tired and really not wanting to add more mileage to my day, I decided that I’d give it a go anyways…it couldn’t hurt getting a little wet, right?

Well. I got a lot wet. As I approached the middle of the 50 meter or so wide river…waves starting hiting me almost at neck level and I felt with dismay, my backpack getting heavier as it took on water together with its contents! My boots strung around my neck were also victim to the deep sea water that at some points lifted me entirely off my feet forcing me to swim. After what seemed like an eternity, I could feel the sand get closer to my feet and I struggled out of the river on the other side. The men were all laughing at me as I sat on the rocks and assessed the damage to my bag’s contents.
Luckily, the camera was fine as I’d stashed it in a plastic ziploc (thank god, I’d already destroyed one camera on this trip with water damage) and about one t-shirt was still slightly dry…everything else had to be wrung out and my boots simply squelched with salt water for the rest of the 16km hike.
I was, however, very fortunate with the weather and the shining sun helped to keep me warm despite my sopping clothes and bag. TWELVE times I counted having to ascend 4-800 vertical feet to navigate around a headland where the beach/coastline was impassable. Each hill I came to, I thought, Coffee Bay has GOT to be around the next corner…and each time my heart sunk.

Coffee Bay

When I finally arrived, hacking away, I was truly bedraggled and exhausted – but elated. I felt such a sense of accomplishment, especially since all the black people I ran into expressed shock that I was walking so far, and all the white people I ran into expressed shock that I was walking so far, and by myself. “You really should be careful, you know?” – they would say…and I would think “well, short of deciding NOT to hike this trail alone – how else do you expect me to be careful?”
I really hadn’t felt in the least bit threatened by any of the locals I came across – most of them smiled and waved or looked at me, aghast at my crazy decision to walk so far, alone. The greatest danger I found myself in was most definitely in the form of the six or so dogs that decided I was an intruder on their owner’s land and proceeded to run after me gnarling fiercely to the point where my heart almost stopped. None of them bit, thank god, and I made it to Coffee Bay in one piece…mostly.

I immediately enquired as to whether I might be able to procure a massage for my aching body – and was told to go ask after Carl at the other backpackers in town – Bomvu. I walked across the road to Bomvu and what I found in no way resembled a hostel. It was more like a movie set of the next slasher movie “Hostel Part 3 – South African Bloodbath”. Half of the place had clearly been in a fire, the place was deserted and there was no sign of Carl or a massage therapy office (which I’d been told was separate to the hostel) It had major creepy factor. I felt sorry for any hapless tourist who’d been allowed to make a reservation here and turned up to this. Giving up, I came back to Coffee Shack for dinner and ran into Carl who was dining there. Happy to give me a massage at 10am the next day, I was thrilled until he told me I should meet him at Bomvu.

Yeah. Like hell I would!!

No, thanks. I’d like to live to see another day.

Namibia – Cheetahs, Tribal Nakedness, and Extreme Temperatures

18 Monday May 2015

Posted by Anita in Africa, Namibia

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Animals, Camping, Culture, Desert, Safari, Travel Days, Villages

View over the northern Namibian desert

We were on the road staying in a different bush camp each night for several days following Etosha and preceding our stop in Swakopmund – a luxurious four days that we’d get to enjoy the luxury of a dorm bed. What was fast becoming apparent in Namibia was the difficulty of maintaining bodily comfort due to the excessive swings in ambient temperature each day. Mornings waking up huddled in my 15 degree F sleeping bag were cold, breath creating its own fog on exhalation. They required long pants, and fleece layers as well as my wooly hat. However, by 10am we were often sweltering in the heat of the sun, the temperature starting to soar and then bake us through to sunset when it would turn around and plummet once again.

I came up with an ingenious routine of dressing in layers that could be easily peeled away – so I’d wear my shorts under my long pants, and my tank top underneath a t-shirt and long sleeved shirt and fleece on top, knowing that I could peel the clothes and stow them comfortably in my day bag.

There were times, however, when even this wasn’t adequate – such as during our drive south once we’d hit the western coast of Namibia, known as the skeleton coast, presumably because of the number of ships that had wrecked here as well as the number of skeletons that amass on the shores of the massively populated seal colonies. Apparently, this area gets a lot of its wind currents from Antarctica, and on two separate days, the cold was so bitter that it sent all of us diving into our lockers to extract our sleeping bags which we proceeded to climb into, fully clothed, even as we sat on our chairs huddled together for collective warmth.

Stroking one of the “pet” cheetahs…not that I approved of the place

Namibia is covered with desert landscapes, but also incredibly beautiful rock formations, sand dunes, and miles and miles of beautiful sandy beaches. Our first stop after leaving Etosha National Park was the Petrified forest park where we endured blistering sun and temperatures for a thankfully short walk to view the petrified logs. Later we were taken to a rather strange and somewhat disturbing “Cheetah Park” where the white Namibian owners had 3 cheetahs kept in a domestic capacity as pets, together with a group of “fenced in” cheetahs that they fed daily as part of their artificial cheetah safari. Enquiring as to how they came to have cheetahs on their farm, the owner told a rather disturbing story, but didn’t seem to have any ethical issues with it himself. He basically explained that cheetahs had been attacking and eating his cows, and that he’d taken to shooting them (around 10-15 years ago) but then one time, decided that he’d catch them instead using a trap. After successfully trapping one female cheetah, it turned out she was pregnant, and so he decided to take the cubs away from their mother and keep them as pets, and later charge people to come to his home and have pictures taken with his cuddly friends. Of course, he used slightly different verbiage – but this was the gist of it.

Creepy, right?

Pretty Cheetah

What made the place even more suspect was that we were later driven around what was essentially a penned in area of land where we observed maybe twenty cheetahs all waiting to be fed by the chunks of meat the driver would heave into the air. Some of the cheetahs looked a little sickly, like they’d been physically harassed by the other cheetahs, and besides my obvious concern over their well being in this regard, I couldn’t shake the feeling that cheetahs really should be roaming free, hunting, and catching their own food.

Cheetahs, cheetahs, everywhere…but waiting to be fed? please….

Hoping for a more authentic experience than the Cheetah park, we headed the next morning on a visit of a Himba tribal village. Many of the Himba people living in rural Namibia still live with their traditions and customs that are unavoidably startling and somewhat uncomfortable for us westerners to observe – especially when it is presented in this fashion of “come to our village and see our naked women, our huts, and our children presented to you as if they are exhibits in a museum.” Except the exhibits are alive and you feel as though you’re violating their rights to privacy taking photos (which they encouraged us to) as if they’re lions in a game reserve. Ultimately, however, the culture of the Himba people is so foreign and fascinating, that one feels compelled to go and see for oneself, and one can’t help but take photos and swallow the given discomfort that accompanies the experience.

Himba woman and her son – I love the village meets western clothing in this pic (see the baby’s shoes)

Young men of the Himba tribe have their three front lower teeth knocked out by their fathers when they are young teenagers. We were informed that this both distinguishes their tribal roots and also aids in the pronunciation of their dialect. Women are mostly naked, dressed in little more than leather strap-like skirts and elaborate beadwork about their necks and chest. Most notable, however, is the habit of the women not to bathe – at all. Instead, they keep “clean” through a combination of spreading Okra-based paint onto their skin (which gives them their rich rust-orange like color) and sitting in the huts and “smoking” themselves – which is exactly what it sounds like: sitting in an oxygen deprived hut directly in front of a fire and letting the smoke cleanse your body (though exactly how this happens I’m not sure.)

The men, apparently, wash as we do with soap and water. Of course, I felt a natural revulsion for their sanitary practices, and I recognize how ethnocentric that stance is, but I’m ok with it. Making it even more difficult to believe – the women also put copious amounts of okra onto their hair, creating these elaborate headdresses out of their own tresses that they then embellish at the ends with circular mounds of animal fur.

The seal colony on the Skeleton Coast

I found myself aching to ask how/what the women used during their menstrual cycles and whether they could use water during this time for their ablutions. I was left, unfortunately, to wonder.

This visit had been a highlight for Andy, a beloved member of our group, who was also celebrating his 46th birthday on the same day. There were the obvious jokes about getting to see naked women on his birthday. Since we were facing a very long drive to our bush camp that evening, we all decided to stock up on some booze to go along with the game bbq dinner Tabitha had promised to make us that evening, as a treat. Around 2pm in the afternoon, someone suggested we crack open the alcohol stash and make a party of the afternoon’s drive, and that was it.

Truck Party time.

Sunset and partying on the roof of our truck in our Bush Camp

Andy put on a rocking compilation of music and we were all soon singing along and dancing up and down the central walkway of the truck. We just about managed to get out of the truck and scramble to dizzying high viewpoints as the truck stopped at scenic photo opps along the way, though the climbs got progressively more difficult the more libations we imbibed.

By the time we got to the absolutely stunning setting for our bush camp, it was already time for sunset and most of us were winding down from our “night” of drinking. The meal that night was the most memorable of the whole trip – we ate Oryx or Gemsbok and it was quite possibly the most delicious meat I’ve ever put in my mouth.

By 8 o clock, Andy had collapsed asleep in his tent, so any further party plans were soon squished besides the few of us who decided to make a night of sleeping directly under the stars sans our tents.

Nicely recovered from what had been a “day of revelry” – we happily set off towards the skeleton coast, first re-tracing our route a few miles as two members of the group had lost articles of clothing and hats during the dancing and truck party the afternoon prior. Half successful, we turned about and headed towards the aforementioned block of cold air that hit us a few hours later, promptly finding us inside our sleeping bags in due course. We had a number of strange stops that day before our perhaps even more strange stop that night at our camp (that had showers!!) at Hettie’s Bay. We visited an abandoned oil mining shaft in the desert, a shipwreck on the beach, several more cliff top view points, and most surprising of all – Cape Cross Seal Colony.

Never have I seen this many seals in one place. It made the Galapagos look like a quiet vacation spot for seals by comparison. There were literally thousands of them crowded on the beach as far as the eye could see, lots and lots of young pups all screeching for their mothers amongst the masses. If you looked carefully, you could also spot lots of pups that hadn’t survived and their remaining skeletons littering the beach too. Reading the interpretive signs that were on display, we were disturbed to read that during the summer months when the pups are born, thousands can perish on a given day if the wind dies down for an extended period of hours – offering no relief from the relentless heat that they are just too weak to survive.

Desert

The temperature dropped even further as we arrived in Hettie’s Bay – a very very strange and somewhat creepily deserted town that was home for the night. As it was the birthday of another member of our group, I made my best effort to go out for a drink after dinner – and found myself in a pub that somewhat resembled one of the nasty run down pubs they have in Everett along the Aurora highway. Except with really bad Afrikaans music playing.

Weird.

I was very happy to arrive in Swakopmund the next day, and the weird Germanness of the town was overlooked, for now, because of the prospect of sheets and a bed for the next re-humanizing four days.

Lake Malawi – A Day in Livingstonia

29 Sunday Mar 2015

Posted by Anita in Africa, Malawi

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Hikes, Trekking, Villages

Overlooking Lake Malawi hiking towards Livingstonia

After three very early mornings, it was not my natural inclination to embark on a hike the first morning in Malawi at 6am. But after the initial blurry eyed pain of awaking to the dawn, and walking out of the campsite, I was immediately washed over with gratitude for my decision to go. We would be leaving the lakeshore and heading up into the hills to the settlement of Livingstonia – named after David Livingstone by a subsequent doctor and Christian missionary by the name of Robert Laws towards the end of the 19^th century. Unlike Tanzania, about 80% of the population is Christian, and it’s hard to believe that this is only the case because of the western missionaries who devoted their entire lives to living through the physical hardships of 19^th century Africa to spread the word of Christ. Livingstone, and the explorer Stanley who later journeyed to this continent to find him when he went missing, are very much part of the lore of the places we’ve visited thus far – and if any of you, dear readers, can recommend a book that I might acquire that would give me a good readable account of their lives and work, I’d be most appreciative as I find myself now really wanting to know more about them and the context of what they did.

Livingstonia today is a thriving community of about 4000 inhabitants and it still has the church, and hospital established by Dr Laws as well as two technical colleges for the surrounding villages and towns. The Muzungu, or white person, is not an uncommon sight in this area (still lots of western volunteer health workers and missionaries) and thus the locals that we came into contact with showed no signs of surprise or judgment when we engaged them.

My body was super stiff and sore from the long days of travel and soon I was revitalized by the effort and physical challenge of a steep climb through tropical forest, an ever changing view of the lake below us. Our guide’s name was Dickson, and during the course of what turned into a 13 hour hike, I got to know him quite well. Well, at least as well as his somewhat limited English could communicate.

Setting out through Chitimba village at 6am

Dickson was 27 years old and raised his two younger siblings from the age of 12 when both of his parents died from cerebral malaria. He told me that he chose to work to support his brother and sister and help pay for their school fees and that once they graduated, he wanted to go learn how to be a mechanic. It turns out that he was doing a favor for a friend of his who typically guided this tour who found himself hung over this morning after too much beer the night before. As such, Dickson was woefully under prepared for a day of physical exertion in the heat. He had already walked 4kms from his home when he picked us up from our campsite at 6am, and wasn’t carrying any water, food, or money for the day. I got really worried for him, but he continued to refuse any of the water that I had drunk on our ascent which took four hours of climbing along switchbacks in a muggy forest before emerging into the village of Livingstonia, which thankfully had ample tree-lined streets for shade. I had already finished my two litres when we got to the church, and thank goodness I had my Steripen, as we were able to refill all of our bottles at a public tap and treat it there and then (Sandrine and Benoit were the only other two from our group who decided to do this day trip with me) I insisted on sharing snacks with Dickson all day and then bought him lunch from some locals that were having a Sunday picnic outside the church after service.

Hours later, finally having broken down and acquiescing to share my water thirstily for our descent, Dickson admitted that he had been thirsty on the ascent, but that he didn’t want to deprive us of our supplies, and also that he was too poor to buy a bottle that he could re-use for his job as a guide. Getting only ½ of what we paid for the trip, he stood to earn $4.50 for his very long day (I ended up giving him a 5 dollar tip, though I was later plagued with guilt that even this wasn’t enough, and was tortured with the knowledge of what a true impact 20 dollars would have in his life – and very little in mine) If true, this information breaks my heart and I took his address at the end of the day and promised I would mail him some reusable plastic bottles – making him promise me that he wouldn’t lead this trip again without ample hydration.

At the start of our hike, 15kms one way to Livingstonia!

Apart from enjoying the society of our sweet natured, if inadequately prepared guide, we were lucky enough to interact with a number of locals during our visit of Livingstonia. It was Sunday, so all the villagers were dressed in their Sunday best as they attended church. Though we couldn’t understand the service, the three of us went into mass for a half hour or so, and I thoroughly enjoyed the congregation’s energy and the incredibly harmonious singing was emotive and powerful. Our joy was somewhat muted when the Parish deacon came over to us and insisted we pay him 500 quatcha for the privilege of entering the church. That was a first – being charged money to attend mass??

We got to sit in the grass under the shade of a giant tree and eat a picnic lunch with our hands together with the parishioners who sold us barbecued chicken, sima (a rice like starch made from corn) and beans. A few of the kids played with us and let us take their photographs – their smiles lighting up their faces as they giggled with us.

After lunch, we visited the museum which used to be the residence of the founder of Livingstonia, Dr Robert Laws. It housed some interesting exhibits that detailed what life had been like here in the early days of the Christian ministry – battling malaria, tribal warfare, anti-colonial uprising and the efforts made by those missionaries to inform the world and put an end to the atrocities of the slave trade that was being ran by the Portuguese through Mozambique, supplying Africans to the middle east. Incidentally, almost all of those unfortunate male slaves that were sent to Oman and other areas in that region were castrated before making the voyage – which is why there is only a small remaining population of these Africans’ descendants in the middle east, as opposed to the vast communities that developed in the Americas.

The Church at Livingstonia

The one story on display that really touched me was when civil anti-colonial unrest broke out in Malawi in 1959, and concerned for the European missionaries lives, the English sent an airplane that dropped a canister containing an offer of a rescue should they be in fear of their lives. They were to construct the letter V if they wanted to be rescued or the letter I if they were ok, the letters needing to be big enough that they would be visible to the plane that would fly overhead the next day. After discussing it, the white missionaries decided they would stay the course, but wanting to convey the message that blacks and whites could co-exist in harmony during those turbulent times, they spelled out a biblical verse above the letter I, finishing it just as the plane showed up. The verse was Ephesians 4:2 and the bricks they used have since been whitewashed and are still preserved for visitors like us to see when they visit.

Since it was getting late in the afternoon, the three of us decided that we should take some form of transport to get back, otherwise we’d be facing a roughly 28 km or 18 mile day and we’d not get back to the campsite before dark. Dickson arranged with a local truck to pick us up outside the waterfall in an hour or so, giving them his cell phone number to call when they were ready to depart. We proceeded to have a leisurely swim at the waterfall named Macheme falls – which were unique in that we swam in a pool that had formed BEFORE the falls plunge some 300 feet, such that it took the appearance of an infinity pool that if you swam too close to the edge, you might get caught up in the flow and fall to your death.

At the top of the waterfall, a 300 foot drop behind us!

We stayed well away from the edge.

To our dismay, when we walked back to the road to start our descent, thinking the truck would eventually show up and give us our ride, Dickson told us that they had probably called his phone during a 5 minute block of time when his phone didn’t have reception and they had already left without us. It was already 3pm and we were facing a 3 to 4 hour hike down, which ended up taking even longer because Sandrine had a bad knee and had to descend the switchbacks with a great deal of care.

It was a long long day – and we ended up walking into the campsite around 7:30pm, blistered and filthy – but my heart was full of joy. I’d had the kind of day that I’d imagined I’d have when I was planning this trip to Africa – it contained all the elements of travel that I find so richly rewarding – beautiful scenery, physical challenge, meaningful interaction with locals, history of the area, and a moral impression of gratitude for all that I have that will stay with me for a long time to come.

I collapsed in my tent that night, spent, but happy. It had been the best day of the trip thus far.

Finding Heaven in Villa De Leyva – My Favorite Colombian town

02 Tuesday Sep 2014

Posted by Anita in Colombia, South America

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Cycling, Food, Villages

Villa De Leyva’s beautiful town square

I love Villa de Leyva. It is a gorgeous small town north east of Bogota, nestled in the desert-like mountains, with an old-world charm still reflected in the enormous main plaza and the streets still covered in huge cobblestones. It makes getting around by any other method other than strolling rather bumpy, so strolling is the preferred method. It is a chic destination, and many of Colombia’s elite come here to eat, drink and spend money on their weekends.

Kwame and I got a bus leaving San Gil for Tunja and then hopped onto a small transfer shuttle to Villa De Leyva. We arrived just around dusk to see a small preview of the core part of town before we managed to find a cab to take us to the hostel we’d been recommended to stay at: Colombian Highlands Renacer Hostel.

Chillin’ in the hammock

Our room and patio at Colombian Highlands

As the cab drove farther and farther out of town up very steep streets, we began to question our choice about staying so far away. That fear soon dissipated when we saw the hostel itself. It was simply beautiful. Simple brick building nestled in the hills, surrounded with gardens, outdoor seating, verandas and open community spaces that let the breeze run through them. There was a clear view of the surrounding mountains and each night, the sky would light up with lightning storms from places far enough away that we didn’t hear the thunder. The best part was the sound – nothing. We quickly realized once we were settled in our darling room, complete with its own private patio and hammock, vaulted ceiling covered in wood vines and hanging candled lighting, that San Gil had been very noisy. Here, you could only hear the wind blowing outside and the sound of our own voices which we felt compelled to use in a whispered hush.

It was ridiculously romantic.

Our plan had been to head back to town for dinner, but we soon discovered that the restaurant at the hostel had sushi which we couldn’t believe, and decent wine for sale! So we ordered our food and had a very peaceful and cozy evening enjoying and sharing the serenity of the space.

Strolling down the cobblestone streets

The following day, we enjoyed our eggs and coffee/hot chocolate (typical Colombian breakfast) outside in the courtyard café, though we had to bundle up in sweaters to stay warm in the morning mountain air. We spent the day wandering around the city – doing a little bit of shopping because I really needed a warmer outer layer, having left my one warm fleece in the bag my friends took to Bogota for me! And, of course, our other favorite activity – eating. We had the most incredible Thai steak and Fish ceviche at Zarina – a gorgeous little eatery with outdoor seating next to small waterfall. We then strolled to the main square where the kite festival was still in full swing – there’s even specialized hardware in the stone work of the main square where people can anchor their kites! We took photos and watched the colors change as the sun began to set. We took dessert at a lovely little café and ordered tres leches cake, a chocolate caramel mousse and cappuccinos.

I reveled in having Kwame with me to share this all with. Villa De Leyva is most definitely not a town to come explore on one’s own. It begs to be experienced with someone.

More evening scenes from the center of town

Catching a cab back, we noticed yet another massive storm brewing – so we grabbed blankets from our room and the rest of the wine we hadn’t finished the night before, and set up lawn chairs around the fire pit to watch the show in the night sky.

On our last day in Villa De Leyva, we wanted to get out and do some hiking/biking. We ended up deciding to do a combination of the two and rented two (rather shitty) bikes from the hostel which we planned to ride to Santa Sofia on, do a hike called Angel’s rest, and then ride back, stopping at the famed “El Fossil” – a fossil of an aquatic dinosaur – before riding home.

Gleeful at Pasterleria Francesa

Since it was an ambitious itinerary – we decided to first stop at a French bakery that we’d been told was excellent for a combination breakfast/lunch. We had to be determined as we soon found that riding the bikes over the cobblestones was practically impossible without causing oneself serious injury to an area God only meant to be treated nicely. We finally found it – Pasteleria Francesa.

Oh. My. God. Words cannot describe the sheer gastronomic delight this place delivered. Never in all my trips to France have I ever tasted pastry this fluffy, almond croissants this gooey in the center, and béchamel sauce this rich and flavorful. Kwame and I sat, speechless, stuffing our faces with sweet and savory delicacies for well over an hour until we could barely breathe and reached a jitters-inducing sugar coma.

In a sugar coma

Pure heaven.

We decided to take a taxi/truck to the trailhead as it was going to be too much to bike both directions (we asked some locals who explained that it was quite an uphill slog to get to Santa Sofia.) Every time the truck headed downhill, Kwame and I looked at each other with dread, knowing the challenge that awaited us on the return.

The hike itself was short but spectacular. It followed the spine ridge of a mountain and you could look far down into both valleys either side. Streams were running but they were very low due to the dry season. We hiked as far as a waterfall and then realized we could go no further as we were at the top of the falls themselves and anything further would require a rappel. We sat and ate a snack and took in the views before turning around to face our long bike ride home.

Heading out on Angel’s ridge

At the top of the waterfall

It was certainly tough over those first initial hills (all of which I’m proud to say I was able to complete without dismounting!) but then we reached an incredible stretch of downhill and it was pure joy whizzing past each corner, feeling the warm air hit our tired bodies and taking in the surrounding countryside.

We stopped for a water break at this gas station and as I treated our two liters, Kwame had a few bags of his favorite snack – Platanos Verdes chips. I will always associate him with those chips…oh lord. We sat inside what was a nice little bar/restaurant in the gas station and watched some very funny Colombian daytime TV. It’s funny the things you plan the least sometimes turn out to be the most memorable part of the day. I will always remember the fun we had at that gas station.

Kwame: fashion conscious for cycling in his Duke sweat pants 😉

We made it as far as El Fossil on bikes and found we were completely spent. The museum was well worth the visit and had numerous examples of the paleontological wealth this area contained. The main fossil is almost completely intact and was discovered in 1977, the museum later build literally on top of it.

El Fossil

Villa De Leyva evening

We grabbed some Colombian Red beer and ordered another “truck taxi” to take us back to the hostel from the museum. After a hot shower, we ordered Greek Souvlaki from our hostel restaurant and excitedly sat down in the community room’s theatre to watch Avatar. Unfortunately, the DVD player was so bad it kept skipping every few seconds making the movie impossible to watch…which is funny now, in retrospect. Exhausted, we headed to sleep early as we were facing another travel day tomorrow.

We were heading (back, for Kwame) to Sogamoso in the morning.

The Road to Guane with Kwame

25 Monday Aug 2014

Posted by Anita in Colombia, South America

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Hikes, Villages

Me and Kwame, arriving in Barichara

So it’s been a few weeks since I last wrote. For which I apologize…I’ve been a bit distracted. You see, I met someone. And I’ve just spent the last 3 weeks traveling with him and spending the time with someone is not conducive to staying on top of one’s travel blog! However, I find myself now sitting in my hostel in Bogota, only a few hours’ away from leaving for the airport and my flight back home to the States (which I changed for the 3rd time after meeting my travel companion extraordinaire.) And I want to stay committed to documenting for myself and my readers the last and most incredible part of my three month journey here in South America.

In order to do that, however, I will have to continue writing once I’ve returned home to my little townhouse in Kirkland. I do hope I’ll have the strength and courage to do so, given the extremely mixed feelings I have about my return to the US.

I last left you in Santa Marta after I’d returned from my epic 5 day hiking adventure in the Lost City and Tayrona National Park. I had a blissful day of doing absolutely nothing the following day at Drop Bear Hostel. I was going to be heading south and it turned out that the best way to get to San Gil was by night bus – which left me with one more free day on the Caribbean coast before I could head south.

Barichara

I elected to go river tubing in Palomino with four dudes from my dorm at the hostel. It was a nice, chill day floating on the river through the jungle, working on my tan. The only truly memorable moment, however, was when I left the boys who were about to grab a table for lunch to go rinse my feet of sand from the beach. Upon my return, they were nowhere to be seen. They had my change of clothes and my wallet.

After about 30 minutes of walking up and down the beach getting more and more stressed by the moment, one of the locals on motorcycle who’d taken us up river turned up explaining that the guys had returned to the main road for lunch and had been looking for me! I was not happy when I ran into them, having to return to the center of town in my bikini. I let them know how pissed I was – which didn’t make me too popular, but I didn’t care.

The last bus back to Santa Marta took about 2 hours longer than the bus we’d taken in the morning. It ended up being a massive panic, shower, and packing session for me to make it to the bus station in time, only to discover, of course, that the hostel had given me wrong bus times and I actually had a full hour to chill and relax before my bus left for Bucaramanga! Grrrr.

I slept quite well on the bus that wasn’t too air conditioned and only contained one Colombian who took it upon himself to ensure that his music collection was shared with the entire bus load of people at 1′ o clock in the morning. Incidentally, this is not an isolated experience….a LOT of Colombians have never heard of headphones. Store owners put out speakers, the bigger and louder the better, sometimes as early as 7am and blast their latest taste in music, usually consisting of some form of accordion, to the entire town. This is starting to drive me to despair.

I managed to get a good transfer in Buca and arrived in San Gil around 11:30 in the morning. I checked into the Macondo Hostel which had been recommended to me by the folks at Drop Bear. It seemed disturbingly empty. I was informed later in the day, after I’d had an amazing burrito lunch at Mike’s (a staple food establishment in San Gil) that I was the only person staying in the hostel. What the hell? When I asked why that was, I was given some bullshit answer about how it was low season and everyone had left for Medellin’s flower festival. Which I found very suspicious because I immediately went to check on the other hostel in town, Sam’s VIP, which was just off the main town square, and found out that they were full except for one dorm bed that was available.

Hiking El Camino Real

Heading back to my hostel, I decided I would pack up my things and move to the hostel that actually had people in it, when an incredible storm with a massive downpour, thunder and lightning, put a curve ball in my plans. I ended up spending the afternoon in the hammock, until the thunder actually got so loud that I ran upstairs to sit with the receptionist as I actually felt afraid to be downstairs on my own.

That night ended up being the worst of my entire trip. I felt so alone and lonely…the first being actually true. I cried and wrote to people on Facebook, called Giovanna and my sister and contemplated just going home. But that made me feel even worse. I was so mad that I didn’t even have the option of connecting with anyone at this stupid hostel. I decided I would just move in the morning, it was getting too late to lug all my stuff across town tonight. After the rain stopped, I forced myself to get up and go find a bar and console myself with a nice glass of wine. After passing through several establishments that were all empty, I found a table at Sam’s Pub and was certain that it would soon fill up with a typical Saturday night crowd. However, I managed to get through two glasses and a steak without a single soul entering the pub.

Beautiful countryside

The owners explained that people didn’t go out in San Gil if it was raining. I felt like such a loser as I wandered around town for an hour after dinner trying to convince myself that I would find a place to sit out the evening where I wasn’t just by myself. But no such place materialized and I returned to my empty hostel and cried myself to sleep.

This is all the more interesting to recall as my fate was about to do an 180 degree turn and life was about to slap me across the face in the most beautiful way imaginable. I got up early the next morning as I’d decided to go explore one of the caves in the San Gil area – Cueva de Vaca. I had to grab a local bus at 9am, so I was very reluctant to get up early, pack, and lug my bags over to the other hostel. When I was told that the hostel wasn’t going to make coffee “for only 1 guest” – I decided enough was enough and I was going to move. Luckily, Sam’s VIP still had one dorm bed available and I could check in later after my visit to the cave.

Arriving in Guane

As I dumped my bags behind reception, I noticed a beautiful black man working away on his laptop at the table in the common area. He greeted me with a giant smile and emanated the most positive and warm energy. We chatted briefly as he mentioned he’d already visited the Cueva I was going to. He had been in San Gil for a few weeks’ now. I immediately asked him if he’d like to join me that afternoon on the El Camino walk from Barichara to Guane? He seemed so warm and affable, something told me we’d get along and have a good time together. He agreed to consider it and told me to come find him when I got back from the cave. I asked his name. “Kwame” he said. “Where are you from?” I asked. “Guess?!” I correctly guessed the Caribbean after first suggesting the UK. Then I went through about six different islands before he stopped me and explained that he was from Trinidad and Tobago.

Cool. The first person I’ve ever met from that island country.

Start of the hike

Off I went and thoroughly enjoyed my morning traipsing through the pitch black darkness of Cueva de Vaca. Of the cave descriptions I’d read, they carefully omitted the bit of information regarding needing to walk through a long tunnel for several minutes bent over in two, AND the need to completely submerge and swim through a short passage of cold, muddy water. I’m not sure I would have gone had I known! It was quite the adventure and the formations inside the limestone cave were well worth the visit.

I arrived back to Sam’s around lunchtime and quite hungry. Kwame was still sat in the same spot and with a bit of encouragement, agreed to pack up and come have some lunch with me before grabbing the bus to Barichara.

Our connection was instant and we soon fell into a day long conversation of sharing our life stories, and laughing a lot. We giggled on the bus to Barichara, which I instantly fell in love with. It is a gorgeous colonial little town that used to be the capital of Colombia and is now home to artists and rich Colombians who can afford the lavish real estate. I soon discovered that Kwame had a huge sweet tooth as we started the afternoon off right with cappuccinos and giant slices of cake…despite being full from lunch.

Kwame in Guance

We look like quite a pair and talking to Kwame while walking is quite a task as he’s over 6 ft 5 inches tall. A very tall, very attractive Trinidadian. Not someone I’d expected to meet and click with. Starting our hike together, I realized very soon that I was engrossed in our conversation so much that I wasn’t paying as much attention to the stunning countryside and the storm clouds that were brewing in the distance.

It was a perfect, warm and cozy afternoon’s walk with great company.

On arrival in Guane, we both swooned over how cute the little village was. I fell about laughing as Kwame immediately enquired as to “Donde hay cervezas?” to a store owner and we happily settled in the town square on a park bench sharing beers and more conversation. Luckily, the bus arrived to take us back to San Gil right as the heavens opened and the rain began pelting down. We immediately made plans to grab take out upon our return and hunt down a decent bottle of red wine, which is a hard task in a non-wine friendly country like Colombia.

I’d found a kindred spirit in Kwame, in Guane.

Hiking The Quilotoa Loop

05 Saturday Jul 2014

Posted by Anita in Ecuador, South America

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Hikes, Trekking, Villages

Lago Quilotoa – An extinct Volcano

Lilian and I grabbed a bus heading to Quilotoa because we’d decided after much consideration to do the Quilotoa loop in the regular direction. A number of people in our hostel had elected to do the loop in reverse, arguing that the additional altitude would help them train for Cotopaxi. I personally didn’t think that an extra 600m of ascent would really make that big of a difference in my physical conditioning, and Lilian was quite happy to do the loop descending more than ascending.

Quilotoa lake itself is said to be one of the most beautiful locations in Ecuador. It is actually an extinct volcanic crater that’s filled with water, like Crater lake in Oregon. The loop itself is a rural hike through hillsides dotted with lots of Kichwa indigenous villages and farms.

Lilian at the main viewpoint area

By the time Lilian and I left the viewpoint area that was packed with day trippers, and headed west along the crater rim towards the village of Chugchilan, our destination for the first night, we had the trail to ourselves. We had rudimentary maps and a detailed description of the route and with a little luck, we intended to guide ourselves through the hike, despite having a number of “guides” try to convince us that we’d get lost and that it wasn’t safe for us to walk without them.

The views across the lake itself were beautiful, green hills set against the turquoise of the water. The ground was also covered with a variety of beautiful wildflowers. At 3800m, there was all-too-familiar thin air to breathe, but we were lucky with only a few clouds in the sky and some sunshine warming our skin.

Love this shot

The hike was relatively easy and passed through a few villages where we had some interactions with local children who squealed when we showed them photos we’d taken of them.

Suspension bridge on the way to Sigchos

Arriving in Chugchilan, we walked into The Cloud Forest Hostel and were immediately greeted by the manager, who turned out to be the single most hospitable Ecuadorian I’d met to date. He told us that everyone was in the TV room watching the US play Belgium, so, despite my reluctance up to this point to watch the World Cup, I was more than happy to settle down on a couch with a beer and some chips after our long hike.

Cloud Forest Hostel

The hostel itself was absolutely lovely and was an incredible deal at $15 each for a private room, VERY hot shower, dinner, and breakfast. Our room had five beds, including a double up in a loft that you could reach via a step ladder. It had a sloping roof and a lovely triangle window and Lilian and I immediately loved it and decided to sleep here together because we had a higher likelihood of staying warm.

We killed a few hours singing songs together from our respective iPods. I couldn’t believe I’d met someone who enjoyed singing as much as I did, and that she loved the same music I did. She squealed with joy when she saw that I owned “Just Around the Riverbend” from Pocahontas because it was one of her favorite songs…and it became the anthem of our five days’ traveling together.

Our cozy loft room

I’m sure the people in the room next door just loved us.

Our meal was delicious and I was excited to meet a couple from Colorado who had just climbed and summited Cotopaxi. They described their experience and it got me very excited, in a nervous way of course, to get there as soon as possible.

Since Lilian’s ankle was bothering her greatly, and our host pointed out that Ecuador’s most authentic indigenous market was taking place the day after next in Saquisili, we decided to follow his suggestion and hike out to Sigchos the next day instead of spending another night in Isinlivi. Our host assured us that it was an easy walk and only 11kms, the same as the walk to Isinlivi.

Looking down over the canyon before Chugchilan

Which turned out to be untrue (shocking, I know.) In fact, looking at the map the following day, I wondered how I never questioned how Chugchilan-Sigchos could possibly be the same distance as Chugchilan-Isinlivi, when the latter is clearly about half the distance. In the end, the hike took over six hours, and we got lost repeatedly.

We also got the fright of our lives by twice being chased by teeth baring nasty dogs trying to protect their territory. We approached a farm and from a distance I spotted a large angry dog running full speed towards us barking his head off. Lilian stayed calm and calmly instructed me to pick up a rock, not make eye contact, and back up slowly up the trail. I was having a strong fight or flight response and the adrenaline was pumping through my body – not helped by the shrieks of the dog’s owner who kept trying to call her pup back home.

Descending one of the many canyons

Thank God we didn’t get bit.

The last part of the hike was a super steep slog up a road. The directions clearly stated that we had to be on the lookout for switchbacks heading up the mountain to the left to get to Sigchos. We found a trail, and I must have climbed over 1500 vertical feet only to find the trail led to a farm and a bunch of pigs on the top of a hillside. So, with lots of backtracking, we eventually gave up on the trail directions and decided to just walk up the same road that vehicles were driving on.

It became obvious that we were going to miss the 2:30pm bus, but when we actually saw the bus heading down the mountain towards us, I was super impressed when Lilian staunchly stated that I was welcome to take it, but that she wanted to officially “finish” out hike by walking back to Sigchos. I agreed to join her in the last hour of climbing to the town, and then another half hour to the bus since, of course, the town’s bus terminal was “mas arriba”.

CHIPS!!!

Getting on the bus, we could barely contain our joy as we sat and stuffed our faces with our last bag of potato chips. Those were some incredibly tasting potato chips.

Time for Adventure – Baños Part I

01 Tuesday Jul 2014

Posted by Anita in Ecuador, South America

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Biking, Hikes, Mountains, Villages

Beautiful Baños

I last left you a bit depressed for me because I hadn’t had much luck connecting with other travelers until I met 3 lovely young Americans in Casa Hood Restaurant in the adrenaline capital of Ecuador, Baños. Lucky for me, the 3 Americans were planning to do the same thing as I the following day and so we formed a happy team ready to take on the famous Baños to Puyo “Waterfall Route” on bicycles. I even added a solo traveling Kiwi guy called Nick the next morning because he wanted to tag along. They also had the clever idea to make a stop in the morning at the famed “Tree House” that has a swing that lets you jetty out over the edge of the cloud forest, and when photographed correctly, creates the illusion of thousands of feet of potential freefall beneath you.

The Tree House Swing

The swing was quite fun, but it didn’t even compare with the wonderful downhill mountain bike ride we had for over an hour before re-joining the main road that connects to the waterfall route. It was sheer steep downhill the whole way, and even in the rain, the wafts of tropical warm air made it completely pleasurable.

Waterfall Route

The bike ride was fantastic and also a great workout. You can tell that Baños is the gateway to the Amazon “Oriente” region of the country. The dry sierra has turned into a lush green canopy of trees and rushing water. The road was sometimes tricky to navigate with all the traffic driving so close and fast beside you, but luckily, every time there was a tunnel bored through the mountain rock, there was a nice and safe “bike route” that ran alongside the mountain to the right of the main road. Often, the track would be rained down upon by cascading little waterfalls and we gleefully ran our bikes under the cascading water.

Group shot at Paillon Del Diablo

The highlight of the day, by far, was the Paillon Del Diablo Waterfall. No special mention of these falls is made in my guidebook, other than it’s a 45 minutes walk through the jungle to the falls themselves, with an additional $1.50 charge to get up close and personal.

Pailllon Del Diablo

When we arrived at the falls, my jaw dropped. This was a magical setting, worthy of a movie location for some fantastical tropical world. The waterfall itself cascaded with tremendous power down a rather narrow canyon, but what made the view so interesting was that they had built these undulating cobbled platforms that allowed you to view the waterfalls from several vantage points as well as a tunnel about 3 feet in height that you could crawl through to get to a viewing platform behind the falls themselves.

Crawling up to behind the falls

I was blown away. And rather wet, but happy to have “discovered” this magnificent place.

We all left with giant grins on our faces and biked as far as our legs could stand before we crossed the main road and flagged down a bus heading back to Baños.

To complete our day, we visited the thermal baths that evening. They are what give this volcanic town it’s name. The baths were packed with people and contained 3 pools of varying temperatures from “ooooh this is like a nice bath” to “I’ll have to enter toe first this is so scalding hot”. The key to the “salud” aspect of the baths, was to cool off in the “cold” pool every 10 minutes or so. It was hard to get up the nerve to dunk, but it did feel good after if one braved it.

Simon’s face, behind the falls

All in all, a fantastic day was had by all. The following day, I took the morning to hang out at the hostel and then forced myself to get in a work out (for the sake of my upcoming climb of Cotopaxi)by climbing up to the “Mirador” in town.

At the Cross or Mirador in Baños

Unfortunately, despite this town being in the shadow of the mighty Volcan Tungurahua, you almost never get the chance to see him, since he seems to live semi-permanently in a veil of cloud.

Trekking Nebaj To Todos Santos: The Real Guatemala

24 Thursday Mar 2011

Posted by Anita in Guatemala

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Hikes, Villages

Nico, Francesco, Me and our Guide Nico, setting out

After having read this wonderful post by the Globetrotter Girls, I was further intrigued when I discovered the availability of a three day trek through the remote Western Highlands of Guatemala from Nebaj to Todos Santos, staying with local indigenous families along the way to eat and sleep. After a much needed day of rest in Antigua after saying farewell to Arnaud, I headed out to Nebaj via three chicken buses and a six hour journey to meet up with Nico, the Swiss traveler Arnaud and I had climbed Volcan San Pedro with.

Schoolchildren both scared and enamored with our cameras

The journey was surprisingly smooth and quite joyful. I met up with another Polish couple on the bus to Chichicastenango and had a lovely conversation with them in a mixture of Polish and Spanish (Spanish because the locals on the bus kept asking us what we were talking about!) before bidding them adieu and continuing north to Sacapulas where I’d have to change buses a second time. I happily jumped onto a micro, happy because I was offered the front seat as opposed to having to cram in the back. Funnily enough, the local guys sharing the micro started talking about me in Spanish, not realizing that I could understand what they were saying. They called me a “gringasita”, which I thought was particularly cute. After only ten minutes or so of winding up the steep narrow mountain roads, the engine of the micro gave out and the driver kept trying repeatedly to start the ignition, to no avail.

Crap.

Long hours of sitting on the bus had numbed my ass and now I couldn’t get to Nebaj on time to pay for my trip leaving the following morning, and I had no way of getting a message to Nico. So, we waited on the side of the road. And waited.

Local woman in her kitchen preparing our first lunch

Finally, another ride came by and picked up the majority of the people, however the last few were literally pushed into the micro to allow the door to shut, like too many socks in a dresser drawer. I had no desire to spend over an hour like that.

Waiting a while longer, I finally decided to try and hitch a ride. A pick-up eventually pulled up with four workers already in the flatbed, and I threw my backpack in and climbed aboard. It was actually a very pleasant alternative to a bus, one was able to see the passing scenery much more easily, and the breeze was refreshing. On arrival, I thanked my helpers and made my way to El Descanso where Nico and I had arranged to meet.

There was a message for me letting me know that a dorm had been arranged for me at the adjacent hotel, and on arrival I was greeted by a familiar sight: a large backpack that I recognized as belonging to Francesco, an Italian traveler Arnaud and I had met while in Semuc Champey. I had randomly remembered that Francesco had also been staying in San Pedro, so I had sent Nico a text asking him to please invite Francesco along on the trek in the event that he was able to find him at his hostel. Amazingly, the two of them had connected and Francesco jumped at the opportunity! I was so happy- our hiking team of three was complete.

Famished, I ordered a beer and a burrito at El Descanso and chatted to the local owner. After ten minutes or so, the boys showed up and warm hugs were exchanged. I was happily surprised to see that both Nico and Francesco spoke fluent Swiss German and already seemed to have bonded. I could feel that this was going to be a good trip.

Little Local Girl

After a decent night’s sleep on what was no more than a wooden plank of a bunkbed, we headed back to El Descanso to be united with our guide, also named Nico. At one point, an elderly man dressed rather oddly appeared hanging around the bar entrance, and I commented to Francesco, “Oh, I hope that THAT’s not our guide!”

Turns out, it was.

Nico was a local Mayan Nebaj resident, 64 years old, with the mildest voice that never changed its volume or rhythm for any given situation, so much so that it was akin to mumbling. This made it difficult to understand. He wore a t-shirt under a polka dotted polo shirt, covered by a multi-colored sweater that was then layered with a heavy denim jacket and really rapper-style baggy jeans. He never changed this outfit for the next three days, not when it got really hot, and not even when he went to bed. In addition, he wore a different hat each day. An odd, yet endearing character.

We took a micro for about an hour to the start of our journey. Approaching the very first village we encountered for the first time what was to be a continuing theme on this trek: our new-found celebrity status. School was just getting out, and all of a sudden, we were swarmed by throngs of children who squealed with delight and genuine fear when we took pictures of them. It was as if they’d never seen a camera or a white person before. This was to continue over the next few days and was quite a reminder to just how unique and remote this place was.

Our lunch stop was with a local family and we got to watch as the mother, complete in her traditional dress, made us hot drinks made from corn, and grilled fresh tortillas on her wood-burning stove. The home was extremely basic and I was humbled by their generosity and hospitality. Our business must have meant a lot to them.

A deserved beer at the end of Day One

All was well until I noticed that my camera was missing. I distinctly remembered placing it on top of my pack, and since the guide was sitting in the room, I didn’t give much thought to its security. I knew I hadn’t lost it on the road, and the only explanation was that someone in this Mayan family had taken it. We asked the guide who muttered that such a thing would be impossible. After further searches proved fruitless, Francesco, bless his heart, requested that the father of the family petition his kids to see if they’d taken it on an impulse. I assured them that it was more about retrieving my memories than it was about the camera itself, and that if they just returned it, I wouldn’t say a word about it to the agency. No response. I was beginning to lose hope when Francesco insisted on being permitted to search the rest of the house, which he did together with the help of the younger of the two brothers. The brother found my camera stashed away at the back of a shelf.

I was so relieved to find my camera but I was also dismayed that any sense of security about my belongings, now that I was so far away from tourist-developed areas, was now gone. What was worse, was that when Francesco asked the other brother if he in fact had done it, the young teenager responded in English saying “fuck you, idiot”, to all of our amazement.

It was time to leave.

Nico showing the kids their pictures

I did wonder what happened to the boy after we left. Preparing meals year round for travelers was a substantial source of income for this family and the kid had just jeapordized it.

The rest of the day passed without any further incident and we were pleasantly surprised by the high standard of our accommodation when we arrived at our first night’s destination: it was a cabin that could have been in the Swiss Alps. Very clean, basic, but pretty. We ate soup with chicken and tortillas for dinner and turned in very early.

Where: Nebaj to Todos Santos, Hotel Melia Sol in Nebaj

When: 16th to 17th of March

How: Chicken Bus from Antigua to Chimeltanango – Sacapulas. Micro/Pick-up to Nebaj

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Anita Go Travel

~ Life as a passport, one stamp at a time.

Tag Archives: Villages

From Bulungula to Coffee Bay – Hiking South Africa’s Wild Coast

Namibia – Cheetahs, Tribal Nakedness, and Extreme Temperatures

Lake Malawi – A Day in Livingstonia

Finding Heaven in Villa De Leyva – My Favorite Colombian town

The Road to Guane with Kwame

Hiking The Quilotoa Loop

Time for Adventure – Baños Part I

Trekking Nebaj To Todos Santos: The Real Guatemala