La Guajira- The Tip of South America

The scene seems lifted from a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel:  we’ve just been introduced to an inebriated 91-year old Wayuu tribesman, and he is adamant we get a photo with him.  We are at our hosts’ home in Nazareth, a town in the Guajira peninsula, the northernmost part of South America.  The man- whose name we don’t catch- never stops smiling or rubbing his belly while he talks to us.  He is dressed in a breechcloth and shirt, with two of the buttons done up in a nod towards covering himself.  After a short conversation, and repeated handshakes, he sets off as abruptly as he had shown up, and our bout of magico realismo is over.

Even for a country that receives few visitors, Guajira is off the beaten track.  A desert region with a high indigenous population (mostly Wayuu), it is stricken by poverty.  Worse still, until 2004 it was plagued by guerilla and paramilitary violence. 

Our friends Dan and Emma, however, insisted that we should go, and since Dan is Colombian we assumed it would be all right.  We set up our tour in the unremarkable town of Riohacha; the next morning we, along with our driver and guide Felipe, were ready to set off in our 4x4.

We spent our first night in Cabo de la Vela, the only recognised tourist destination in Guajira.  Cabo is a hamlet strung along a golden beach, but the coast surrounding it is the real draw. Strewn with rocky cliffs and coves, the highlight is the pyramidal Pilon de Azucar (Sugar Pile).  It took about twenty minutes to walk to the top, and then I was looking directly below to the green sea, with the desert outline of Guajira stretching out for miles.  

The next morning we were up early again, heading east.  Shortly after leaving Cabo, the road ended, and we were travelling on bumpy tracks, which meandered through the rough desert terrain.  Felipe informed us it was easy to drift into Venezuela without noticing. 

That morning we stopped at an isolated beach where the layers of uninterrupted shells made it easier to imagine dinosaurs lazing around than humans.  We dashed into the murky turquoise water, but were soon running back out.  Three of us had been stung by jellyfish, so we decided to admire the scene from ashore.  Afterwards we drove to a small house that seemed to emerge from cactus and sand, and we enjoyed a fantastic lunch of fresh fish and patacones- sliced fried bananas.  

This restaurant didn't seem to spend a lot on advertising

Hours later, we arrived in Nazareth.  Nearby is the Parque Nacional Macuira, an incongruous island of cloud forest that literally rises up from the sandy desert.   What really made Nazareth special, though, were our Wayuu hosts.  They introduced us to friends as if we were invited guests, and their adorable toddlers provided endless entertainment.We were even invited to a local Wayuu fiesta, but they later decided that some of the tribesmen were too drunk, and there could be potential problems.  We were disappointed, but given our interaction with the old chief earlier that morning, it wasn't that surprising.  

Our host family is ready for the local celebration

Our last stop was Punta Gallinas, the northernmost tip of South America.  Sand dunes towered above the sea, punctuated occasionally by small green oases, where goats were feeding.  There were no other living things in sight.  We came across the skull of one goat that must have lost his way.  We prepared for the long journey back to Riohacha, soaking up the last bit of magico guajirano. 

Under the Volcano in Guatemala

Earlier this year, Pacaya Volcano in Guatemala erupted, killing a televisión reporter in the process.  The only surprise for me was that just one person died.  When Cath and I hiked up the slopes a couple of years earlier, we were two of at least a hundred tourists who seized the opportunity to encounter volcanic lava up close.

The hike begins in Aguacate- basically a few houses that exist in order to charge an admission fee for the volcano.  Almost as soon as we got off the bus, a small child approached us with a walking stick. We resisted his offers, and the dozens of children who followed us making the same offer for the first 100 yards. 

For the first hour or so, we walked through lush, green farmland that gave no hint of the danger lying ahead.  The first thing that alerting you to the nearby volcano is the smell.  The sulphurous fumes hit you hard as you ascend, and then the danger begins.

As the grass gives way to black gravel, you start to realize why one of those walking sticks from the annoying children might have been a good idea.  A seemingly harmless little stumble revealed that dried-up lava is startlingly similar to glass.  I looked down at my hands to find they were covered with tiny little scratches.  This episode would be repeated more than once. 

I bravely trooped on, however, and pretty soon, we found what we came to see.  In the distance, we saw little bits of bright orange glowing against the black background.  Our appetite was whetted, and we walked upwards with renewed vigour (which led to more scratches).  Pretty soon, we reached the lava.  Stretching out in front of us were dozens of orange, volcanic streams, bubbling and boiling, fresh from the crater of Pacaya. 

Approaching the flow of molten rock felt a little surreal.  As the ground under my feet got noticeably hotter, I thought ´Should I really be getting this close to something so destructive, so potentially devastating?´ After  a moment’s pause I decided, ´Screw it, it’ll make a good picture,´ and continued.

'Do you smell something burning?´ 'No, honey, just keep on smiling.'

Now, some of you will be thinking, ´The supervision on an excursion like this must be extremely tight, they can’t just allow tourists to go tramping about in volcanic emission.’  Clearly you have never travelled in the developing world.  If Guatemala has any health and safety regulations, they were being flagrantly flaunted here.  I don’t even remember seeing my guide for most of the walk. Had someone decided that sticking their hair in lava would have been a great story for the folks back home- and let´s face it, we´re talking about people who would pay money to witness something that sends most sane humans fleeing in terror- there would have been no wise leader to say ‘Mick (because this daredevil would no doubt have been Australian), maybe that’s not such a good idea.’





 After we had a chance to frolic around the deadly discharge, there was a vague proposition that we head down soon.  The suggestion turned out to be a good one, as darkness soon began to fall. Apparently the prospect of cutting yourself on volcanic flint and reducing yourself to burning embers was not enough of a risk, so the organisers added ´walking down a volcano in pitch dark´ to the growing list of hazards.  They did provide head torches, to be fair, and the night provided a chance to witness a few orange explosions from the top of the volcano. 

You can understand my amazement, and relief, when I found out Pacaya had erupted- this time sending ash and lava as far as 25 miles away- that the death toll hadn’t been greater.  Amazingly, within two weeks, Pacaya had visitors again, an estimated 2,000 in one weekend.  It seems hard to believe, but then again, being up close and personal with actual lava is an opportunity that doesn’t come along every day and, to be honest, if I had the chance I would definitely do it again.

Adventures in Colombia: Under the Volcano in Guatemala

Adventures in Colombia: Under the Volcano in Guatemala: "Earlier this year, Pacaya Volcano in Guatemala erupted, killing a televisión reporter in the process. The only surprise for me was tha..."

Chingaza- Wilderness on Bogota's doorstep

One February weekend, Cath and I decided to trade decadent Bogotá life for camping at 3,600 metres.  The destination was Chingaza National Park, only 30 miles east of Bogotá’s suburbs.  We went with a walking group that we had travelled with a few times before, Viajar y Vivir (Travel and Live).

Most of our friends thought we were brave, but slightly mad to be camping in near-freezing temperatures.  Most were polite enough to simply arch their eyebrows and avert their gazes when they heard our plans, while one of my Australian mates was much blunter.  ‘You’re an idiot,’ he scoffed when I mentioned I would be eschewing our usual weekend revels just to see a few deer and some mountains you could glimpse from any window in the city. 

Regardless, we went ahead with the trip.  We left early on Saturday morning, and somewhere just outside of the city centre, we stopped for some arepas, which are corn cakes cooked on a griddle.  They’re very popular in Colombia, but God alone knows why. They range in taste from ´Dry Shoe Sole´ to ´There’s enough butter on this I suppose it isn’t so bad´. 

Don't be deceived by how delicious they look

 The staffroom at our school provided snacks at break time each morning, and there was an easy way to tell if arepas were being served: if all the expats walked out grumbling and empty-handed while the Colombian teachers were celebrating as if they were on The Price is Right, it could only mean one thing.  Maybe I’m being harsh, because I have had good arepas before (including the ones on this trip).  But when I can distinctly remember the two or three good ones out of dozens, if not hundreds, of attempts, then maybe they ought to rethink the recipe. 

Anyway, after finishing our arepas and hot chocolate with cheese (I’ll have to tackle that one later), the bus wound its way through the mountains east of town, and within an hour or so, we entered the national park.  We stopped at a viewpoint above a deep valley full of frailejones (see the Nevados entry for an explanation) and surrounded by mountains that resembled books that had fallen on to each other. It was here we made our first wildlife spotting.  

Chingaza is known for its white-tailed deer, and we soon saw why.  Far below us in the bottom of the valley, dozens of them were running around for no apparent reason.  I’d like to think they were racing each other to a previously nominated frailejon, but sadly I’ll never know.  

Cath inspects a frailejon up close

We arrived at the campsite and set up our tents and had some lunch, during which Cath and I struck up a conversation with the family next to ours.  One of the big advantages of travelling with Viajar y Vivir, besides having travel arranged to out of the way places, was getting to meet new people.  Even better, few of them spoke English, so we were able to practice our Spanish.   We used how much we understood of Leo- the usual guide for Viajar- as a barometer for our comprehension skills. On our first excursion with them, taken 2 months after we moved to Colombia, we were pretty poor (although I think we fooled ourselves and others into thinking we understood by nodding pensively), but by now we could probably catch more than half of what he said, which we considered a minor victory.

In this case, we shared a few lunch items with each other, and the couple encouraged their shy daughter- about 11- to utilize this rare opportunity to practice her English. She sighed reluctantly, asked a few basic questions, and got back to her food. 

In the afternoon we took a walk to the showpiece of the park, the Chingaza Reservoir.  This is the main water source for most of Bogotá, but I was struck by how small it was.  It wasn’t tiny or anything, but considering it provided nearly 8 million people with water, I had expected it to be Titicaca-like.

Chingaza Reservoir is big, but not that big

 Like so many places in Colombia, Chingaza has its own connection to the country’s civil war.  In 2002, the rebel army FARC tried to dynamite a dam in the reservoir in order to cut off the city’s water, part of a larger attempt to derail the country’s infrastructure.  Fortunately, they were unsuccessful, and now the area is completely safe. 

On Sunday morning, we became more acquainted with Chingaza’s only current residents (besides the park ranger).  The deer seemed to be appearing out of every corner of the woods.  It’s a good thing deer hunting doesn’t seem to be a big deal in Colombia, because these deer were about as shy as a drunk divorcee.  We were happy enough to do our shooting with a camera.

This guy better be glad he came up to me and not my Uncle Robert

 Not many Colombians visit Chingaza, and almost no foreigners visit it.  It’s not in the guidebooks, and, truth be told, it isn’t in the top ten of spectacular sights in the country.  It was a great way, however, to experience wilderness just an hour away from one of the biggest cities in the world, and we were both very glad we’d come.  Even if it meant missing out on a wild Saturday night in Bogotá.