Colombia in a Nutshell: Parque de los Nevados

If I had to pick out three characteristics that epitomise Colombia, I would choose the following: stunning natural beauty, overwhelmingly friendly people, and unreliable services.  I experienced all three in one weekend trip to Nevados National Park.  I chose a puente (long weekend) in May when Cath was going away with the girls, and booked my flight to Manizales, gateway to the national park.

When I arrived to the airport in a fluster 30 minutes before my flight was scheduled to depart, I feared the worst.  Sprinting to the check-in desk, I was relieved to find out the flight was running a little late and I would make it without problem. I spent the next 4 hours sitting in the departure lounge, with no explanation. Finally we departed, but because the airport at Manizales closed at 6 p.m., we were flying to Pereira, from where a bus would take us to Manizales, adding another hour and a half to the trip.
Flights get delayed in every country, but the frustrating part was that we never found out why we had to wait so long, and it was treated as if this was just part of life. `Que pena` is the most common form of apology in Colombia, and it provides some insight into the attitude towards these types of situations. Literally translated it means ´What a pity`, allowing the speaker to express their sympathy for a situation while not actually accepting any blame. When you get bumped into, your haircut gets messed up, or the water in your apartment gets cut off for no apparent reason, you can expect to hear ´Que pena´. 
I checked in to my hotel at 11:30, realising I would have arrived at a similar time had I taken the bus from Bogota.  That kind of thinking doesn't help one's sanity in Colombia, though, so I tried to forget about it and went to sleep.

The route to my campsite began with an organised tour into the park early the next morning. The sun was shining and I was excited about my upcoming adveture.  We stopped for a couple of panoramic views, but soon I was dropped off for the three-hour hike to El Cisne.
Looking around, my excitement waned just a little. The landscape was barren, at least the parts I could see. The clouds had closed in completely, and I could only see the dark gray grit that covered the ground. The howling wind and freezing cold served to remind me of my isolation. Pretty soon a light drizzle was falling to make the scene complete. I heaved my backpack on and was on my way.

The walking re-energised me and the dark scree soon gave way to reddish-brown rocks left behind by the most recent volcanic explosion.  After an hour or so, a pick-up truck pulled up next to me.
'¿A donde vas?'  'El Cisne.’ 'Venga.'
I jumped in the back and had a lift for the rest of the journey.  The ride was bumpy, but the views were incredible, and much more enjoyable with my backpack underneath me as opposed to on my back.
I had expected beautiful mountain scenery, but I was surprised by the exotic fauna in the park.  The frailejon, a shrub whose stalk can grow up to 3 metres with green, velvety leaves and yellow flowers at the top, was ubiquitous, as it is in most areas of the paramo in Colombia and Ecuador.  There also, however, were a great number of colourful flowers and bushes that I hadn't expected at 4,000 metres and above. I was particularly struck by one plant whose purple flower´s phallic nature was uncanny, and somewhat disconcerting.

The mountains, though, are the big draw, and once I had set up my tent I went inside (El Cisne campsite doubled as a visitors center and lodge in addition to the campsite) to plan the next day's walk.  I met Juan Camilo, a guide who laid out my options for me.  We decided to climb to the glacier of Santa Isabel, a six-hour walk.  Isabel is one of only four mountains in the park still permanently capped by snow, despite the park's name meaning snowy. The others have been victims either of volcanic activiity or recent warming in the area.
Early the next morning Juan was knocking on my tent and we set off.  We discussed American sports at length, in a mix of Spanish and English.  Juan's English was excellent, but I kept trying to draw him into conversing in my faltering Spanish.
After an hour or so we came to Laguna Encantada, the Enchanted Lake. A friend who had travelled a great deal in Colombia had described this as the most beautiful spot he had visited. In the dull, overcast light, and with most of the setting obscured by cloud, some of its enchantment was lost, but the green waters still held a great deal of charm. As we neared the lake, the grass grew increasingly verdant.  On the edge, there were emerald islands isolated by the rainwater and overflow from the lake.

Laguna Encantada

 When we reached the glacier, the clouds had closed in all around us. The view of both the mountain top and the scenery around us had been shrouded in grey and the low sky and dirty glacier blurred into one. Juan and I walked up the ice for a few minutes, admiring the deep crevices, but in the wet conditions and without equipment hanging around too long wouldn’t have been wise.

Santa Isabel

That night, snowfall had me questioning my decision to camp instead of taking one of the empty dorm rooms in the nearby refuge.  The upside, however, was that my hike back to my pick-up point was even more stunning than two days before now that the mountains were topped by snow.  Once again, I got a ride for most of the journey from some friendly strangers.  

A couple of hours later I arrived at Manizales Airport.  I approached the check-in desk with some trepidation. What news would I get here? But my fears were unfounded and the flight left promptly.Colombia is, occasionally, capable of exceeding expectations.