Cycle Touring The Americas

2011-01-30T21:17:00.000-07:00

November 18th to 30th

I just couldn't be more relieved!!

This is not what I was expecting in Colombia, the standard of dentistry is amazing here - if you have the money to pay for it that is! Dentistry is private and there are a range of services available to suit all budgets. Not all of them look quite like this. I was also not expecting Marinella (our hotel receptionist) to come in 3 hours before her shift starts to personally accompany us to her own dentist to help fill out the forms and explain the situation. Many thanks go to her. The third thing I did not expect was the look of horror on the dentist's face as she began her examination....

This could be worse than I thought!

But it's not the treatment required that has her in shock; more the quality of previous treatment. She's very diplomatic, but I manage to tease out of her the fact that she is really very unimpressed with the standard of British dentistry. Some of the materials - like the mercury I have in my face were banned in Colombia 15 years ago. Furthermore she is curious as to why a couple of broken teeth I have are untreated. My NHS dentist refused to touch them saying 'nothing to worry about'. Worse is the fact that an X-ray reveals parts of broken tools left in another tooth after a root canal back home. Indeed the infection that now has me in agony is down to a botched repair job on a broken crown.

Turns out I need a weeks course of antibiotics injected under the tooth before I can have two root canals followed by two new crowns. Lucky me! It also turns out that in contrast to the 'jack-of-all-trades' dentists back home, here in Colombia everyone specialises. Marinella's dentist refers me to a specialist for the root canals and I will see another specialist for the crowns. The downside is that it looks like we will be staying in Popayan for a bit longer than expected.

It's not all bad - Popayan is a nice place to while away a bit of time. Iglesia Ermita on the hill was originally built in 1546...

Popayan is a fastidiously well maintained old colonial town with any number of whitewashed historical buildings and imposing churches....

Many impressive municipal buildings have amazing gardens in open courtyards....

At 1800m (6,000ft) the temperature is near perfect, but most importantly Popayan was declared a UNESCO city of gastronomy! The food and restaurants here are amazing. It would all be perfect, but for people insisting of sticking needles in my face.... and the incessant rains....

After four trips to various dentists, it's time for a break. I need a week for antibiotics to weave their magic so we decide to head over the mountains for a side trip to San Agustin. The ride involves a 3200m (10,600ft) pass over the Cordillera Central on a rocky road through Volcan Purace National Park. It also passes through the last stronghold of 'FARC', Colombia's notorious People's Army who make occasional guerilla raids throughout the area. With slight trepidation we head to the hills....

The first 28kms are mercifully paved as we begin the climb to 'Coconuco' through a series of steep climbs and sweeping descents through dense pine and eucalyptus....

The plan is to relax in the hot volcanic thermal baths set against a mountain backdrop but once again the day ends in deluge. Plans change and we settle for a cold shower and some Colombian TV. True to form, the next day is damp and drizzly but it's difficult to be too despondent as the scenery improves a notch or two, steep cliffs draped by waterfalls....

After Coconuco the Tarmac ends and the fun starts. Weeks of endless rain have turned what should be a hard packed dirt road to a quagmire that slurps at our tyres like sticky brown glue. The going is incredibly tough and it pays to stop and scrape a few pounds of clay-like gloop off the tyres every mile or so....

Once we enter the narrow mouth of the Cauca valley the gradient steepens and it's not just us struggling on the slippery surface. The road is totally blocked by two cement lorries heading for a quarry in 'Palatara'....

The one on the right is lodged against the earth bank at the roadside and leans at an alarming angle. There is real concern that the sodden ground will give way and it will crash down to the valley floor 200 metres below. The second wagon attaches a thick chain to try and haul it's stricken partner free, but only serves to polish the dirt floor as it's smoking tyres spin and gain no traction. At one point both become stuck and there is no room for even a couple of bikes to pass. We lose over an hour whilst one truck slowly inches itself free. The other is just abandoned on the hillside.

Rounding a corner we see another wagon overloaded with human cargo sink it's wheels into the soft rut on a cambered bend. It's outside wheels lift briefly and the whole thing threatens to topple as people jump free just in time to restore balance....

We are starting to have our doubts about this road as we climb out of the valley leaving stranded vehicles behind....

In distance we manage just 20kms, in altitude it's well over a thousand metres for the day when we roll, cold and exhausted in the freezing rain into Paletara; a small village centred round it's cement quarry. Strangely the woman in the restaurant cum guesthouse tells us there are no beds available despite the truckers outside assuring us there is room. Confused we make our way to an old outhouse that will rent us a hard wooden pallet in a communal room for the princely sum of US$2. The chickens that strut in and out of our room plus the burnt out bus in front are an added bonus! Fortunately there are no other guests - but there is one little helper who helps me prepare hot tea to stave off the chill....

It's a surprisingly cold night. We are at around 3000 metres (10,000ft) and breath is clear on the air as we wake to a misty morning....

Amazingly the mist burns off in a warm sun and we see our first blue sky in about two months. It's like somebody just came and switched the lights on and the landscape changes before our very eyes. All of Colombia has looked stunning, but there is such a transformation in direct sunlight. Suddenly there is shadow and there are little pockets of darkness nestled in the earth's folds. The whole landscape pops dramatically into three dimensions. It's been so long since we've seen it, it's a lovely surprise and we are rewarded with some clear views of Vulcan Purace's majestic cone....

High up on the 'Paramo' (high altitude grass lands) the road levels off and finally tops out. Our speed picks up, and now we dance our tyres between deep, water filled pot holes. This unusual habitat is densely populated by low bush, grasses and a strange flower found only here and parts of Northern Ecuador. The 'Frailejone' is a relation of the daisy - sort of a giant mutant cousin or something and thousands of them clump in waterlogged fields as far as the eye can see....

The day's ride is just a joy, blessed as we are with good weather - a real bonus at this altitude. We see maybe half a dozen cars and next to no people - it's the way cycle touring is supposed to be; just us, the bicis, some incredible landscapes, strange vegetation and a challenging road....

We do catch several glimpses of army encampments in amongst the bush though - evidence of the ongoing guerilla war taking place behind this placid Arcadian scene.

We drop short and overnight in some slightly less 'interesting' accommodation before taking the final leg into San Agustin, once more under grey skies. After our huge climb, we enjoy 60kms bumping and bouncing our way downhill through the rain, with the last part back on smooth, smooth Tarmac. A final sting in the tail is the steep climb up above the Magdelena River into town....

San Agustin is a UNESCO world heritage site of a little understood pre-Colombian tribe whose legacy was a series of burial sites decorated with carved megalithic sculptures. With time to kill before my next encounter with a needle and a drill we're off to explore some ancient culture....

Rain, Pain and Sugar Cane

2011-01-27T10:47:00.016-07:00

November 12th to 17th

The weather never really clears, just grey drizzle interspersed with heavy downpours. The rainy season should be coming to an end now in Colombia, but if anything it's intensifying. But, we can find no more excuses to stay in a cosy hostal in Salento and finally leave under pregnant skies.

Just 2kms out we are forced to stop for running repairs to Sue's brakes....

We cross the Quindio valley once more under a canopy of arrow straight eucalyptus trees choked by creepers with vivid orange flowers....

Then the heavens open and people scatter using whatever means of transport available to get out of the incessant rain....

Once back on the main Highway, the ride is a long, steady descent as we roll off the side of the Cordillera Central towards the broad Cauca River valley. We make good time as first Armenia, then Calcedenia then Sevilla fly by.

The descent continues....

From the cool pine and eucalyptus scented air, past the coffee and passion fruit plantations we drop through ever changing growing regions and the air begins to warm noticeably. Evidence of Colombia's ancient railway network criss-crosses the road and rivers as it meanders alongside the highway....

Constructed to move coffee and banana crops it now lies unused and falls slowly into decay. Sadly, old steam locomotives are more likely to be seen decorating parks than hauling cash crops to market....

Disused rails arrow off into the distance....

We pass out of the coffee region and into cattle country....

And finally to the Cauca. The broad flood plains of the Cauca River sit at an altitude of around 1000m and at this latitude the sun is fierce and the air hot. The long rainy season makes this ideal ground for the next cash crop we encounter - sugar cane. As far as the eye can see fields of tall grasses sway in the breeze interspersed by devastated brown scrub where the woody stalks have been cut down and harvested. The scene stretches off towards the distant Western mountain range and a mirror image is repeated on the other side of the road towards the Central range....

Great road trains of between four and six wagons thunder past us loaded with cane sugar....

The cane will be crushed and boiled in huge vats to extract a sweet sticky brown liquid that is solidified into blocks reminiscent of building bricks called 'Panela'. Roadside cafes serve pint sized soup bowls of hot panela with a soft creamy cheese - 'Panela con Queso' for about US$1.50 and it's a fabulous cyclista pick-me-up.

We cover the 250kms to Cali in three gloomy rain sodden days. Cali is the largest city in the south of Colombia with over 2.25 million people. Large Colombian cities and touring bikes do not mix well, so we decide to ride on. Stopping to check the map we encounter Alfonso in his truck. He decides the best way to navigate the city is for us to follow him whilst he shows us the way. We proceed to bring the city to a standstill as he crawls at bicycle pace through the congested city streets. At intersections we have to weave through stationary traffic to find the cause of the delay is Alfonso who has blocked the road in his parked truck to allow us time to catch up. He's oblivious to the gridlock behind him and couldn't be more helpful to us even offering us a bed for the night if we chose to stay in Cali. For the sake of other motorists we decide to head on and leave the blaring horns and traffic chaos at the city limits.

Thanks Alfonso - muy amable and my first truck escort through a major city....

After Cali we leave the flat river valley and begin the 800m (2650ft) climb up to Popayan, the capital of the Cauca region. Fortunately the road is shaded as the climb is hot from this low altitude....

Unfortunately I've been suffering on and off from tooth ache for a couple of weeks. After Cali it suddenly flares up mightily leaving me pacing the streets of a small village Mondomo at four in the morning. The prospect of finding a dentist in Colombia for some fairly major work on two of my back teeth filled me with a kind of dread and is a nightmare I've been trying to avoid at all costs. So, I have been taking the approach that if I ignore the pain it will just go away.

Not so!

Sleepless nights of rocking, groaning and praying to a god that I do not really believe in during the wee small hours suggests that my nightmare will now come to pass in Popayan.

Just a note of tooth ache....

What is it really all about?

I mean from an evolutionary/survival-of-the-species point of view.

I get the whole concept of pain thing.... that does actually work and serves a useful purpose.

Stick your hand in a fire - I guess you need to know about that pretty sharpish; pain is a fine messenger.

It goes like this.... Fire-> Pain-> Move hand PDQ -> Lesson learned - no more sticking hands in fires and the species gets to survive a little while longer - job done!

That's good pain....

But tooth ache is different!

It's just a bit too evil in my opinion.

Consider the cave man - awash with his new found fire/pain educational experience.

Now he has tooth ache!

How does the triumph of sidestepping the being-burned-alive scenario translate?

What is he supposed to do now?

Invent Novocaine?

Toothache just doesn't seem to fall into the whole burn your hand, useful category of pain - it just hurts and I don't like it!!

Grumpy thoughts of a sleep deprived man in pain I guess and we roll wearily into a wet, grey Popayan and set about finding a dentist with strong drugs and hopefully a not too rusty set of hammers and pliers

Of Birds, Beetles and Tortoises

2011-01-01T12:45:00.012-07:00

November 3rd to 12th

Heading out of Armenia, we take a short detour up to Salento village. Deep in Colombia's coffee region Salento is famed for it's laid back lifestyle, it's artisans and the beauty of the Corcora Valley that it sits atop.

The scenery on route is pretty good too....

And it's not just coffee as we head past endless abundant fruit orchards and plantations....

Salento is a tourist town and all those cameras and wallets need protecting. It's not just fruit lurking in amongst the trees. We spy the glint of watchful eyes; the bright white contrasting starkly against the black background of camouflage cream hidden amongst dense shrubbery. Occasionally they blink - and completely disappear!

Others are more overt, keeping a 'high-vis' presence by marching machine guns along the narrow lane that drops down to the Quindio River....

A steep climb out of that river valley takes us into Salento and I begin to check out the hostels and residentias for a bed. Just as I am striking a deal, I notice Sue in conversation outside with two men and it seems we now have alternative arrangements.

Edgar is a local who has divided his time between native Colombia and the States where he has worked for 40 years. As he is building a home in town, he states, we would be fools to pay money when we could stay at his place for free. After upsetting the hostel owner with news of this turn of events we gratefully follow Edgar to our new digs.

Shortly after we're taking the tour of the town and being introduced to most of it's residents.

Edgar with Sue at the incredible viewpoint overlooking the impressive Corcora Valley....

It's a lovely little town constructed from brightly painted wood panelled dwellings....

Set around a large plaza bustling with the usual food vendors and jeep style taxis that ferry a never ending stream of visitors in and out of the valley....

Edgar is a problem solver. Once he has taken care of the accommodation issue, we explain our hunger and he whips out his cellphone and gets on the case. Within minutes, someone somewhere is heading to market to acquire trout, fresh from the local rivers. Elsewhere, a cook is heading to a friends house to prepare sauces and bread.

Bemused, confused, we arrive a hour later and the table is laid with one of the finest feeds we've had in quite a while. The trout is amazing - done in a traditional mushroom sauce and the house is full of people and life. We never get to fully understand the connections between the many visitors and Edgar, but he's obviously a popular guy. It's a relaxed atmosphere as people come and go and it's an entertaining and unexpected day as we finally make our excuses and retire to our new, borrowed home.

The builders wake us as they arrive early the next morning and make busy with the loud music and the bashing and hammering. They are extending Edgar's house as he makes it ready to bring his family from the US to enjoy his retirement here in Colombia.

In town there is a fiesta to celebrate 40 years since the inauguration of the school. Children parade in traditional costumes or fancy dress representing the various regions of the country....

Next day, we ride down steep side to the valley floor and head upriver. The road turns to dirt as we climb, then to a rutted track and finally a bridleway where we abandon the wheels and head on on foot. Various guides explain the way is too difficult, but they just want to hire out horses to carry us like lazy tourists up into the hills.

We hike a trail past forests of Palms that thrive here in a unique habitat. The 'Wax Palm' - tallest of all palms is Colombia's national tree. Unique to the Corcora Valley, these trees take a hundred years to grow to their full 50 metre height and cannot be found anywhere else on Earth. From a distance these tall towers make for an odd looking skyline. Their slender trunks, denuded of foliage save for that modest, almost apologetic explosion of green at the ends, gives them an odd look of being only partially created. Up close they are strangely magnificent, towering rigid and strong!

But I still can't help thinking that from a distance, the land looks like a toy medieval battleground, peppered with the opening salvo from an army of archers....

It's a unique habitat for insects and birds as well as the trees. This enormous stag beetle is the size of my hand and it scared the bejeseus out of me as it wobbled it's uncertain path through the air towards me, wings droning like the stricken engine of a propeller plane.

Yes! These things can fly....

The trail is obviously a well used one, being a three foot deep trench of mud in places. There used to be a series of bridges criss-crossing the river along the route, but the humidity and copious rainfall soon dealt with them....

Now a series of slippery bamboo poles provide a makeshift solution....

Deeper into the undergrowth....

The reason for the trek is a Hummingbird sanctuary set up by a couple living fairly remotely at 1000m above the valley floor at the end of of this two hour trek. They are undoubtedly pleased to see us, especially when they discover Sue brings cigarettes - they had both been dealing with the craving and weren't looking forward to the five hour round trip to the corner shop.

All that time I spent trying to get a decent humming bird shot! The problem was that they were here all along - there are literally hundreds of them. As we arrive a fffrrraaabbbb sound signals one of them taking an interest in my bald head as it hovers just six inches away. One actually brushes past my arm as I get my camera.

Some are more cautious and won't come too close, but this little guy is fearless even allows Sue to briefly tickle him under the chin....

This one is less happy - blowing a raspberry at the exorbitant fees for the bathroom....

There are several different species and it's bewitching watching them hanging in space before twisting and teleporting to a new location and hovering eerily once more....

We kill a couple of hours watching the show. Hummingbirds are quite territorial and several aerial dogfights break out as they try to protect their air space and food supply ducking and diving at impossible speed.

Finally, with the skies looking ominously heavy and with only a few hours of daylight left we leave all Sue's remaining cigarettes to our incredibly grateful hosts and head back down to the valley floor where the bikes are chained to a tree. A mad four hour dash, chasing the rapidly fading light sees us back in town.

Exhausted we arrive back just as Edgar turns up to invite us out for a horse ride.

A horse ride??

I do check to make sure, but it's definitely dark now!

A horse ride??

Are you crazy??

Apparently so! It's a normal Friday night out here in Salento apparently. Just you, a few buddies a huge hip flask of whiskey and a pitch black trek on horseback along the valley's trails. Sadly we have to decline. Whiskey, total darkness, rocky trails and my first time on a horse in 30 years just doesn't sound like the kind of tale that can have a happy ending.

We head into the square to watch maybe 30 guys charging and chasing and performing tricks before they head out though. Crazy, crazy people!

Next day dawns wet windy and ugly as we pack up and say thanks to Edgar for the loan of his house and an introduction to family and friends. I keep saying it - Colombia is home to just the most amazing people!

The weather though is less friendly; it really is freezing cold and miserable, and we don't get too far. Just a couple of kilometers out of town is a gringo hostel with wi-fi, hot showers and comfy leather sofas and a large library of English books. The shiny lights from the windows is just too tempting and like moths drawn to the flame we go in - posting a new record low for a day's ride.

I'm (almost) ashamed....

A couple of days escape us as the rain first settles in and then just hammers the ground. Happy of the excuse, Sue and I revel in the book collection and It surprises us both just how much we've missed a good read. We don't carry books, relying solely on audio books which just aren't the same.

The rain moves into it's third day, then a fourth and we're actually feeling guilty enough to head out, when suddenly all that guilt just gets washed away.

A familiar thud-thud sound approaches - definitely a single cylinder motorcycle engine, and a big one at that. Wait a minute, that looks familiar - nobody carries that much kit - but it can't be.

In walks Victor a Canadian guy we met on the 'Stahlratte' crossing from Panama and suddenly we don't feel all that slow and guilty after all. We've been here for days, and yet we still arrived under pedal power faster than this guy with an engine. It's great to see him again and yet another excuse to stay another day.

Victor a diamond fellow and the world's slowest traveller with the most equipment on his 650cc tortoise....

Seen in Salento considering an upgrade to something faster....

Fantastic seeing you again buddy and good to catch up. Maybe see you again in Ecuador.... if you can keep up....

The End Of The Line

2010-12-03T12:38:00.008-07:00

October 30th to November 2nd

‘La Linea’! The Line...

From the looks of doubt and confusion we elicit in the restaurant the night before and now the looks of outright horror we are getting from locals as we pass them on our heavily loaded bikes.... I am starting to worry.

We’ve done some big passes before and it’s only 55km (35 miles) to Armenia, but we’re starting to get a bit spooked by ‘La Linea’. It’s around a 2,000m (6,650ft) climb to the summit and I gather it’s a little tough in places. We steel ourselves to get the job done.

Incredibly the near vertical walls of the Bermellon river valley are cultivated. Wooden stakes are driven into the soil to reduce land slides and look like tiny tooth picks in a patchwork pin cushion from this vantage point...

We start to hit standing traffic and upon reaching the toll booth, we are told the road is closed due to a landslide and also a couple of accidents. It all seems like old news to these guys and I get the impresion it’s a common occurance. Colombians are a relaxed lot though, and stranded drivers seem to see it as an excuse to just chill out and meet the guy in the next car.

They are also enterprising and several canny vendors speed their wares ahead of the queue to make sales. A trolley of ice cream zooms past us behind a motorbike and I’m half expecting the wheels to come flying off! Surely it wasn't build for this kind of speed....

For us this is fantastic as we can ride around stationary traffic in peace. No grinding engines belching acrid fumes into our oxygen starved lungs, and best of all no need to worry about kamikaze drivers...

The line of stranded trucks snakes and coils around the mountain side, the head of the beast waaaay down in the valley below....

As we get higher, truckers begin cheering us on, clenched fists punching the air from their cabs. Car drivers line the roads giving us the thumbs up and buses of school children whoop and chase along with us. I’m starting to feel like I’m in an ultra slow motion version of the Tour de France. All fears of the ride slip away as the day takes on an unlikely carnival atmosphere.

It’s (almost) fun!

Winding higher that begins to change as we hit the cloud base; all heat leaves the day and a soggy blanket envelops us in a chilling, wet hug....

Then the clouds burst and the developing sense of fun is washed away in rivers. Drivers reclaim the warmth of their vehicles and study the rivulets of rain dancing across their windscreens. The mood of resigned patience slowly begins to crack as windows steam up and claustrophobia sets in. Cars start jockying for position, jumping the queue and the tension begins to grow....

It’s a pity about the weather as it would be a beautiful ride under blue skies past waterfalls that line the roadside....

The road climbs more steeply for the last few miles in what must be a cruel test for the racers. With the top in sight, it is a final sting in the tail; demanding a last, lung busting, leg melting assault on the summit.

Unfortunately (for us) the roadblock ahead seems to have cleared and four hours of pent up agression comes to a boiling head. The traffic snake begins to uncoil and normal Colombian driving standards are re-established....

Fifty metres from a blind hairpin, the centre line of the road is at the extreme right of the picture. At times five trucks run neck and neck and vie with each other to cause the next head on collision. It’s like a wild stampede of spooked animals blindly running with the pack. All sense of self preservation has gone in the blind panic to be mobile again.

Traffic coming the other way is often forced to stop and watching the efforts to sort it all out is amusing as more trucks pile into the snarl up from both directions. Travelling at 3mph, we seem to be the fastest things on the road as we glide serenely past the madness.

Finally, after a gruelling four and a half hours we conquer the mountain....

It’s a brief celebration as, much to the amusement of the truckers, we strip change into dry clothes and layer up for the descent. It’s freezing now in howling winds and driving rain!

Normally, once the work is done, the drop side of the pass is a grin inducing, tyre testing reward for all that altitude gained as it is cashed in and swapped for big speed.

This descent is a slow, finger numbing, teeth chattering test of cold temperature endurance. The road is slick with the slimy residue from the landslide and vehicles chuck up a spray of fine grit and dirt - turning us into extras from the set of a mud-man movie. Tyres fight for grip on roads turned a liquid brown from the clay soil and brakes are near useless in the wet sludge.

We stop often to warm up and are saved when we happen upon a ‘tinto’ vendor. These guys have carts stocked with thermos flasks full of a hot, sticky coffee/sugar solution. It’s just what we need as we grip hot plastic cups and try and get the feeling back into our frostbitten fingers.

Eventually we pass the landslide and the road clears of slippery mud. Then we breach the cloud cover and the air warms up a tad....

It’s 25kms (16 miles) straight down! We ride the snake....

Three miles shy of Armenia we check into a room in Calarca and set a challenge for the cleaner with our soaking wet, mud encrusted gear.

La Linea is finally defeated.... but only just....

It’s a tough, tough ride, demanding a rest day afterwards to sooth heavy legs.

Calarca is a good place to rest up as there is a guided tour of a nature reserve with a huge butterfly house....

With some rare species....

And tropical flowers....

Next day is a short ride into Armenia. We only stop for a quick look as the lonely planet largely dismisses this city as being just a place to change buses.

Once again, the book is wrong, but that is hardly a surprise as it doesn’t even mention Calarca and one of the best nature tours in the country.

To be fair, nothing about Armenia is outstanding, but it is a good example of a typical Colombian city. The people are once again amazingly friendly, swamping us as we ride into the square. After satisfying the curiosity of maybe 20 enthusiastic interviewers, one of them leads us to a cheap hotel. Insider knowledge saves us a bob or two.

Scenes from a forgotten city....

Modern art, modern cathedral....

Statues reach for the new heights set by a rising skyline....

Amidst the street chaos....

A family takes an outing....

While BMX dudes check out the street food....

During another tough day at the office....

Ibague's Finest

2010-11-24T14:17:00.011-07:00

October 26th to 29th

We meet Omar when he spots us from his car riding through heavy traffic into Ibague. He calls us over to check we are OK and assures us his friend will give a good price in his hotel. Somewhat sceptical (we often get 'very good price' offers) we follow as he slows the traffic to a crawl so we can keep up with him. This offer turns out to be very much a good price as we occupy our sumptuous room for just 30,000 Pesos ($US16) and I cannot guess at the discount he has got for us. After the valet(!) has whisked our gear upstairs we relax on the balcony with fine furnishings and city views....

Omar turns out to be a champion cyclist who spent years travelling the world, riding in competitions and also commentating on major events for Colombian radio. He interviewed all the greats and worked all over Europe, including of course, The Tour de France. He's really interested in all thing bici and practically adopts us during our stay in town.

By association we seem to have acquired celebrity status and the valet accompanies us to show us the restaurant Omar recommends. Omar meets us an hour later and explains he has been busy speaking to a friend in a bike shop to get my seat fixed and also the sports reporter from 'Q'Hubo' newspaper to set up an interview! He seems to know everybody in town and works his cell phone to help smooth our time here.

We deposit the bike with 'Nezario' the guy who just happens to maintain all the bikes for a local Ibague race team and I get to meet the director of sports cycling who arranges all the training and race meets plus a couple of the racers. Then Omar takes us for dinner and refuses to let us pay for anything. He's a fantastic guy, interesting and intense and Sue tries to get a word in edgeways before the soup course....

Next day we meet reporter 'Ronal' and Omar drives us all to the bike shop to pick up my bike for a photo shoot, while Ronal starts the interview. Unfortunately - same old problem - the bike shop cannot source a seat post anywhere despite trying to call in a couple of favours. Not to worry though, the local machine shop has taken measurements and is milling a shim to size as we speak!

Riding back to the hotel the interview continues and despite it being a day off, we 'get in character' loading up our bikes and riding through city streets for video and stills. The demands placed on celebs these days....

It's a hectic day as Omar moves and speaks like he's on a sprint in the last leg of a race. As he drives he gesticulates wildly and the car meanders out of control across the road whilst he looks at me or worse, at Sue in the back seat. I stare fixedly at the road - hoping he will follow suit, and I sympathise with the pedestrians being skittled out of the way. It's definitely a British thing as the Colombians just seem to take near misses in their stride and don't even notice....

My knuckles are white!

Early next morning the hotel corridors reverberate as Omar arrives - bellowing 'Maaaarteeeeen' to make sure I'm awake. A trained radio presenters voice really carries!

He comes bearing gifts! A brand new cycling jersey and a full page spread in the morning paper....

We visit Nazario in his shop and he's come through for us as well.... a freshly shimmed, standard sized seat post. He also spent two hours freeing up the bottom bracket that had also frozen solid after our boat ride. Total cost.... nada. Muchas gracias amigos....

If anyone needs a top notch service in Ibague - Nazario is the man...

Nazar Sports Bike - Carrera 5 No.21-27, Ibague

After picking up the bikes, the boys are off to play. Omar takes me on a tour round the town and on a 25km climb straight up into the hills through a series of tiny villages through to an incredible river valley. The man can really ride and for me - a guy more used to a more measured touring style, his maniacal sprints on the steepest sections are exhausting. I cool off in the river in my shiny new shirt....

The views are spectacular....

The ride back to town is a helter skelter dash back down some dirt tracks mixed up with a detour along some single track.

With built in obstacle course.... The track follows a water pipe bound for the city water treatment plant. Some are a bit leaky, wet and treacherous. There are five to cross and the drops are around 20 feet. Omar makes it look easy....

In between we put on a bit of speed....

Back in town, I get a tour of Omar's apartment and a glimpse into his life as a reporter when he shows me through his memorabilia from all the big cycle races through Europe. It's an impressive collection!

No time to lose, we pick Sue up and again, Omar insists on buying lunch, then drives us to his family's Finca just outside town. Ibague is built on a sloped section of land and sprawls for a good 10 miles. Dropping for 12 miles to the finca, the climate changes noticeably and it's much warmer. The Finca is maintained by a live-in couple who prepare it for family get-togethers at weekends and it's a fantastic getaway....

Omar smashing me at one-on-one basketball....

Next day we ride out towards Armenia that sits at roughly the same altitude (1,500m - 5,000ft) as Ibague on the other side of the Cordillera Central. The pass over the top is the famous 'La Linea' - second highest pass on the gruelling cycle race 'The Tour of Colombia'. It tops out at a cloud skimming 3,200m (10,650ft).

Omar insists on seeing us off and of course wants to try riding the beast....

Frankly it's a shaky start and I'm a little nervous. After a 17lb race bike - this 175lb super tanker takes a little getting used to....

Omar, being Omar though, with his oversized cojones is soon overtaking 22 wheelers on blind bends....

One thing a touring bike is good for is going fast downhill - all that weight just keeps on pushing and I think he is starting to enjoy himself....

There are two big climbs on route to Cajamarca where we plan to stop for the night and progress slows as the going gets tough under a hot sun....

At the half way point Omar and I swap bikes and I think he has gained a new respect for our tour. He looks to me; then the bike, and keeps repeating 'just too heavy... too much weight'. I think it's just a bit frustrating for a true racer, used to being able to up the effort and put on a sprint to suddenly learn that these bikes just don't respond to hitting it hard. It's a patience and slow grinding kind of game.

Once back on his mountain bike, the racer in him comes to the fore again and he's all energy and shouts of encouragement. It's a bit alarming on some of the steeper bends when the bike suddenly gets weightless and kicks on a bit as he lends a helping shove....

As we reach the outskirts of Cajamarca, Omar suddenly remembers he has a business to run that he has been neglecting all the time he has spent with us....

Omar - what can I say.

Thanks for everything. To take four days out to show us round and help us out with everything was just amazing.... not to mention picking up the tab for food as well! The rides around Ibague and to Cajamarca were truly memorable and even by the high standards of Colombian hospitality you are an absolute diamond.

If you ever get to England.... you know how to find us....

Thor's Hammer

2010-11-23T13:23:00.012-07:00

October 23rd to 26th

Sometimes it takes a Colombian a few hours to size you up before getting to know you. We are packed and ready to leave with the dawn when Margarita the hotel owner stops us for a chat. She is joined by sister Magda and daughter Melissa and suddenly we are on a guided tour of their land which proves to be quite extensive....

Behind the fruit orchard is a 'vivero' or nursery for a range of unusual plants and trees. We sample fruits we have never even seen before like 'Lima' - that tastes like a cross between orange and lime. 'Guanabana' is a huge green prickly fruit the size and shape of a rugby ball.....

We are given one that must weigh about 20lbs which is too much to carry so Margarita juices it for us with milk. It's totally delicious!

We eventually get away by around 11am and the heat is building, but it's not a problem as the road we are about to take falls off the edge of the 'Cordillera Oriental' range into a deep river valley over a thousand metres below....

At the Northern tip, The Andes split into three fingers that spread through Colombia and on to Venuzuela like a giant hand. Now there are three ranges - The Oriental (East), The Central and The Occidental (West). The Magdelena river valley that we are dropping into divides the East and Central ranges, a flat grassland at around 300m wedged between peaks that soar over 5000 metres just 40 miles away.

It's an intense kind of landscape!

The descent is a dizzying series of rapid hairpins with spectacular emerald hills rearing up around us....

In 6 miles we loose around 3000 feet and the temperature is noticeably warmer. Towards the bottom we enter a sheer sided canyon and the sun struggles to penetrate down to road level. The air feels like it's trapped between the rock walls and is torpid and densely hot. We ride beneath the 'Devil's Nose' and along the fast flowing Sumapaz River towards the Magdelena....

Passing through Melgar I cannot resist snapping a helicopter mounted at the roadside....

Turns out to be a bad move as the guys on the gatehouse are not amused about tourist cameras around military bases. They call me over for a chat as Sue, unaware of the situation, rides off into the distance. Four of them surround me and it's all a bit intimidating, armed as they are with assault rifles and sub-machine guns. I show them my other photos to prove I'm not on a spying mission and try to explain that wearing coloured Lycra and riding a fully loaded touring bike is not the best way of going undercover.... luckily they see the funny side of it and don't shoot me!

It's beautiful easy riding, along smooth, flat tarmac past the ranks of crops that grow beneath the shadow of the Central range....

When disaster strikes.... The welded repair on my seat post from Costa Rica gives a brief 'Crack', then gives up the ghost depositing my seat in the road. That's not a good sign.... By now it's boiling and we are in the middle of nowhere. I ride on with the seat strapped to the back of the bike and remind myself, mantra like 'do not sit down! do not sit down! do not sit down!....'

Riding such a heavy bike standing up is exhausting! Worse than that, I can feel the frame flexing as all my weight is on the pedals. I'm just glad it's flat here, otherwise this would be a non-starter in this heat.

We reach the junction between 'Espinal' and 'Flandes' and a group of locals tell us Flandes is much the closer, but that they would not go there. We have no choice, but I can see what they meant as we hit the main square and it feels like the worst of Central America again. Litter strewn streets and the stink of stagnant water. Prostitutes and raggedy people hang out on street corners with nothing better to do than stare, blankly into the distance. For the first time in Colombia, this does not feel safe at all!

I enquire in a hotel which is obviously more used to renting by the hour and when I come out Sue is surrounded by maybe 15 guys. Looks bad, but appearances can be deceiving and they are as friendly as can be. Sue's already explained the problem and a couple of them jump on bikes and show us the way to a bike shop. They can't help as my seat post is a European size so the guys ride on to check with a local workshop and find us a slightly more upmarket (read slightly less seedy) hotel.

What follows is a bit of a trial for me and I'm sorry I didn't trust this place enough to take a camera....

Salt from the boat crossing from Panama has fixed the stump of my seat post solid and it will not budge from the frame. In a dingy, dimly lit back-street workshop not much wider than the door frame we get to work. This is not a high tech solution.... The bike, upside down on a bench with the post gripped in a vice tightened using a three foot pole, what follows may invalidate my bike's guarantee.

Three guys set about wrenching the bike backwards and forwards using the frame as a lever to rotate the post in the frame. You would not believe how much force this took. Standing on the bench, two of us were hauling the bike upwards while a third manfully rotated it using all his strength, the seat post stubbornly giving up a millimetre at a time. Ten hot, sweaty minutes later - the air full of curses in both Spanish and English, it finally came free.

Next job - to join the broken parts of the seat post together by driving a solid piece of bar into each half.... using a lump hammer so large it is normally only wielded by Thor the Norse God of Thunder.

I could not watch!

Seeing a 25lb lump hammer smashing repeatedly into bits of the trusty steed that has taken me from Argentina to Peru and from Canada all the way to this grim place of torture.... I think I wept a little....

But I have to hand it to them.... in true South American style.... we did finally get a solution.... all be it a temporary one.... and a very, very ugly looking one....

Anyway - that was how I spent my birthday.

It definitely felt good to leave Flandes and head to Espinal. Espinal is a bigger town and we're hopeful of getting a better fix as there's a bike factory and several shops there. Unfortunately it's Sunday and we kill a day waiting for everything to open. We book into somewhere more appropriate to belatedly celebrate a birthday....

After trailing round all the cycle shops in Espinal (there are six of them) I am now convinced that you can't get a replacement part of this size anywhere in the Americas. It seems strange that Thorn chose such a non-standard size when building a bike designed to travel the world, especially when their bikes are obviously so well thought out. It's a minor criticism of an otherwise, near perfect machine, but.... could do better.

Reluctantly I have to ride to Ibague and hope for a better solution there. I know this repair will not last long and I'm not even sure it will get us the 60kms (40 miles) to Ibague.

We roll out along the flat valley that is just perfect for big agriculture. With a 12 month growing season of high rainfall and strong sunlight the land here is just a food making machine.... with the help of some real machines on an industrial scale....

I guess the only fly in the ointment are the voracious insects and a couple of small airfields provide defence from the air. The sky drones with ever present crop sprayers that rain down chemical death....

After crossing the valley of food, the road attacks the Cordillera Central head on....

Ibague sits at around 1500m (5,000ft) so the day soon changes to that upwards grind we know so well. This route forms part of a training run the racers take from Espinal through Ibague and on to the much revered 'La Linea' topping out at 3200m (10,600ft). Cyclists being a sadistic lot, they always choose the nastiest, steepest sections of road to race on, and that's our route too. The road does get pretty steep in places as it hugs the mountain side....

We meet one such cyclist 'Cristhian' on the last few miles into Ibague and he slows down to ride alongside us. Typically Colombian, he is friendly enough to sacrifice his hare pace and slow down to our tortoise speed.... until a phone call from his dad lets him know he is late for lunch and he rides off to meet the family. Adios Cristhian, con mucho gusto amigo....

Riding into the city centre, a guy in a car stops me to check everything is OK.

And so we meet Omar!

And that's a whole chapter in itself....

Driving Madness

2010-11-17T17:53:00.007-07:00

October 18th to 22nd

The plan is to leave Ubate, make a quick 30 mile dash to Zipaquira and spend the afternoon touring a gigantic underground salt cathedral. Plans change as we enter the main plaza and bump into ‘Carlos’. I ask him about cheap hotels and he turns out to be the most helpful person in the universe insisting that we accompany him on foot. The hotel room is not quite ready so we find ourselves in his living room meeting the family for coffee and biscuits while we wait.

The room turns out to be on the fouth floor which is tricky with our bikes and gear. Carlos takes it as a personal failure and steels himself to find us the perfect accommodation. The next one is not suitable for reasons unknown - I know not why as I never even got in the door! Carlos is on a mission now and strides confidently to his next candidate. He decides this is OK and I am glad he is satisfied as we unpack the bikes.

No time to shower, he insists on a guided tour and bolts from the building pointing out landmarks with one hand, greeting locals with the other. He seems to know everyone, and now, by association so do we. His local restaurant is now our local restaurant as we meet the proprietor and promise to return.

Apparently there’s no time to eat, as he’s already moving on towards the salt cathedral. He’s a really nice guy, but by now we are both starving and cold in our wet cycling gear and have to insist on returning to the hotel to change and get food. I swear I thought he would accompany us into the shower....

Like most Colombians we have met so far, the willingness to help out strangers is truly amazing. Carlos makes a couple of phone calls and is genuinely apologetic when he can’t change an appointment the following day so he can show us around Bogota and bids us farewell!

By the time we’re fed and watered it’s too late to make the most of the cathedral so we wander around Zipaquira instead. There are three huge plazas in this modest sized town; all with fine buildings, the central one with exploding palm trees like fireworks frozen in time....

The salt cathedral is in the third largest salt mine in the world with Canada in top spot; Poland second. It has been worked for hundreds of years originally by indigenous ‘Muisca’ indians who traded valuable salt over a wide area. Due to modern techniques, only 100 people work the mine today, mainly as demolition experts. To soak up a bigger work force someone had the bright idea of openening up the mine to tourists during the day. Miners only get to blow stuff up at night.

Hewn from giant rock faces are 12 massive carved representations of the stations of the cross. Deeper in the mine are three enormous man-made caverns containing a cathedral large enough for 8500 people. It’s incredibly impressive and there’s even a cinema with 3D videos explaining the geology and history of the mine....

The smaller chapels off to the side are atmospheric with dramatic lighting on the rock walls....

There’s an underground bar here for after services and as it’s so difficult for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven, there are ample shopping opportunities to buy locally mined emeralds and relieve yourself of any unwanted cash. An underground shopping mall - they have thought of everything!

From Zipaquira we decide to ride around the capital, Bogota. There is nothing we feel compelled to see there and the thought of riding into a city of nearly 9 million people, given the exhibition of driving skills we have seen so far fills us with a kind of dread.

So, Zipaquira, Chia, Cota, Funza and Mosquera. A series of small towns pass us by as we circumnavigate the city. Towards Soacha, the land climbs again past stone and gravel mines up the side of a steep sided valley....

Our decision not to brave Bogota traffic is vindicated as we see several incidents on this narrow, twisty road....

The truck infront is being overtaken by the white van when it pulls out past the roadworks. The white lorry coming in the opposite direction is being overtaken by the maroon coloured 22 wheelers which is being forced off the road. The smoke behind the white van is from his screeching tyres as he, the lorry and the 22 wheeler all skid to a halt to avoid a head on collision.

But only just!

Just beyond the ‘Do Not Kill Cyclists’ sign a bus takes the blind bend neck-and-neck with that transporter which brushes past Sue. 'Peligro’ means Danger - cos it’s a liquid bomb full of gasoline....

We see several such incidents and stop for lunch to calm down when we see some of the results being taken away to a scrap yard on the back of tow-trucks. Colombian driving is becoming a bit of a concern....

Incredible views though....

But not for long....

We crest the hill and all views, incredible or not, disappear completely. The world is grey and scary. Somewhere out there lurks a maniac behind the wheel, careering blindly into the fog. It’s not a comfortable experience picking our way back down the hillside as we desperately try to drop below the blanket of cloud cover....

Eventually the world reappears and we relax slightly. Then the world disappears again as heavy black storm clouds roll down off the mountain and it begins to pour. The rain is torrential and again, at this altitude it’s frrreeezing. Above a petrol station we spot a couple of rooms and I enquire within. My heart sinks when it’s only 15,000 Pesos (US$8). For once I really wanted to pay more as that would mean a hot shower, but it’s waaaay too cold to ride on and the roads are submerged and trecherous. There’s no food here either, but on seeing the state of us, the station owner kindly promises to ask her brother to bring extra for supper.

There’s nothing worse than an icy shower when you are already cold, but it does save on water! The stove comes to the rescue again as I make a flask of hot chocolate, and then leave it on to heat the room.

That rare pleasure that is unique to cycle tourists - putting on damp, soggy lycra the next morning and squeezing feet into sopping wet shoes. Lovely! Happily the day is warm and clear and the road winds on downwards towards the heat.

You can always tell when you have lost altitude as buzzing things start to bite. This guy is so interesting though that I swapped him a sip of my blood for the chance of a picture. It’s hard to begrudge the pretty ones....

Temperatures rise dramatically as we drop down the valley to affluent looking ‘Silvania’, an upmarket artisan’s town where the roadsides are lined with local handicrafts....

We climb away from the hills that Bogota sits atop....

Through the enchanted forest where the purple headed Tree Ents live....

On to ‘Fusagasuga’.

Fusa ga-sa what-a-guga??

What kind of name is that for a town?

What a waste!

A name like that should really be saved for some sort of epic, apocalyptic self assembling super weapon in a video game. Like a super bazooka! But bigger! And way more scary!

A Fusagasuga!

I would play that game!

Disappointingly Fusagasuga turns out to be just a stunning holiday destination perched along a ridge overlooking a deep canyon. Prices are out of our range starting at 70,000 Pesos for the cheap seats and rising sharply from there. Luckily there is a toll booth on the road and I have a hunch that a hotel just the other side would not be able to get away with such prices as the Bogota crowd would not pay to drive through the toll and check them out.

It proves to be spot on and suddenly, just 100 metres down the road we get an absolute steal for 30,000. There’s a balcony with views down the canyon to the river 600 metres below and best of all a private pool as no one else is here....

Oh yes! This all makes up for wet clothes and a freezing shower last night....

A Cheesy Finish

2010-11-11T12:06:00.001-07:00

October 15th to 18th

After backtracking to Villa de Leyba, we might as well change our route further and take in another couple of traditional Colombian towns, Chiquinquira and Zipaquira. We hit the dirt and head across country....

We knew it was coming after the drop out of Tunja and we endure some steep climbs to regain that lost altitude. We stop at a roadside shop to take on some water and watch a local pushing his bike around the hairpin we just rode up. Seeing us, he stops to chat and I am again questioning my command of Spanish as within about two minutes of us meeting he seems to be selling me a Finca. He's willing to move out and live with his brother if we only hand over what he explains is a very reasonable sum. He genuinely looks confused that we won't immediately drop the tour and follow him home to check what we are buying. In a final attempt to seal the deal he throws in a sweetener by assuring us in a conspirational whisper that coal has just been discovered on his land. Hmmm tempting....

Anyway if we do change our minds and decide to become miners some time in the future, we still have his phone number. We buy him a beer and leave him in his quest to find a passing traveller looking to make their fortune with the black stuff.

The climb continues on roads varying from billiard table smooth, to pot-holed patchworks of previous repairs....

As ever in South American countries there are various shrines to our lady dotted alongside the road. Fastidiously painted and maintained, many are curiously decorated with headlights taken from cars and motorbikes....

It's not just us feeling the cold at these altitudes. A tethered donkey peers out from under his shaggy fringe and shares our snack of fruit. Dressed in his warm coat, he looks like a cross between a horse, a llama and a grizzly bear with enormous oversized ears.

Finally we finish the climb as the road levels and snakes through mixed woodlands....

Before the land opens out again in clearings used for pasture. Colombia's dairy industry is immense and has been the main use for land stretching all the way back to Cartegena where we first arrived....

One bemused looking cow scowls at the getaway bike used to whisk her milk away.

Smallholders, often with just a handful of cows collect and store their milk in traditional milk churns for pick up by collection wagons from large processing plants. They have daily rounds to each farm and measure each collection using a dipstick, before settling up the account in cash. Generous rainfall creates rich pasture and each beast can deliver around 50 litres (12 gallons) a day!

Round the corner and back to civilisation....

Chiquinquira is famous for it's beautiful central plaza and impressive basilica....

Even more incredible is the interior....

The riding from Chiquinquira is fabulous. Gently rolling greenery, reminiscent of Shropshire in England or the Welsh valleys. The weather feels distinctly British as well - cool, grey skies threatening imminent rain that fails to arrive. Perfect conditions.

Colombia is cycle crazy and it being a weekend, we share the road with countless racing bikes. It's obviously a serious business and in stark contrast to these guys who just couldn't be friendlier when they're off the bikes, when they ride, they simply ignore you. The game is to get them to wave and catch it on camera.....

Not this time....

Laguna de Fuquene looks like it has been drained. Despite steady rain, this seasonal body of water takes months to fill again after the dry season. Now is the peak of the rainy season and it will continue to rain here until January. Then the water can slowly seep through the land and eventually percolate into the lake lifting the boats once more. Ironically it will be much fuller in the dry season....

Alms for the poor? Funny how the alms never reach the hands of the poor living in the heavenly shadow of the magnificent Gothic church in Ubate....

Ubate is the self-proclaimed dairy capital of Colombia and we stop in a local 'tienda' to buy some milk. It's a Sunday and the place is in the midst of a buying frenzy; nothing it seems stands between a Colombian and his fine cheese at the weekend. The queue at the counter is five deep and it's a real scrum to get to the front. Before we can utter a word, a huge block sample is thrust in our direction by the proprietor who is manically trying to keep up with demand.

It's more door-wedge than cheese-wedge and practically a meal in itself! Others are diving in and indulging themselves, so; 'When in Colombia....' as the mis-quoted saying goes. The cheese is OK, but the 'Dulce de Leche' - a sweet creamy, caramel concoction is absolutely amazing and we take the cheese and a large pot of that as well. They don't sell milk by the way....

We're pretty restrained as others are lugging great cheese wheels and bucket sized pots of Dulce de Leche away with arm loads of bread and cakes. For each person leaving there are two more waiting outside.

We're a bit bemused and left wondering - did we miss something? Do these people know something we don't? Should we be hoarding cheese as well before the great shortage?

Lunch...

I really like Sundays!

This is a truck scene on a Sunday.

Seeing huge 24 wheelers four and five abreast is not unusual in Colombia...

I just prefer to see it when they are parked up rather than heading straight towards me round a blind bend....

Five miles to a hot shower in Zipaquira, quiet roads, perfect weather, two wheels and a wheel of cheese. Doesn't get much better than that. Especially with a view like this....

Villa de Leyva

2010-11-09T00:31:00.000-07:00

October 12th to 14th

Ask the locals in Tunja about 'Villa de Leyva' and they all go misty eyed and talk of a hidden paradise in rapturous tones. It's a 700 metre climb back the way we came, but that's never stopped us before.... so another diversion....

Luckily we've got our newly enlarged visas in our back pockets!

The ride is another doozy as we climb sharply out of Tunja through massive agrarian landscapes backed by ever rising emerald hills....

Higher still the land tends to brown as the peaks are too steeply angled to delay rainwater long enough to sprout vegetation. From this vantage we can see the road slicing along the ridge as it drops into the next valley....

And drop it does! We are getting a bit confused after expecting a full day of climbing as we continue to fall and there is no longer much road between us and our destination. Our descent is confirmed as we stop to admire the scenery and I am instantly swarmed by blood sucking black-fly. Above 2500m we have been free from such attention as mosquito and other nasties cannot scale such heights.

We continue to zoom down a thin line of tarmac carved along a rock wall...

Racing past agave plants flowering massively and dwarfing nearby telegraph poles....

Suddenly we hit town and decide our guide book must have got it wrong. The dramatically rising air temperature confirms our descent, and we conclude that Villa de Leyva is 700m lower, not higher than Tunja. Oh well - an easy day today and we can worry about regaining all that lost altitude later.

Villa de Leyva; a Paradise....

Hmmm....

Well I guess it all depends on what you are looking for. The scenery of the ride is far more interesting than the barren scrubby hills surrounding the town and we are definitely not impressed by the authentically ancient cobble-stone streets that threaten to destroy our bikes and rattle our fillings free from our teeth.

We attempt to find cheap digs and start to understand the town's appeal to the city slickers of Tunja and nearby Bogota. Most accommodation is strictly not cycle tourist friendly. It's more your spa retreat, room service, full manicure and facial type of crowd with prices to match. We take a deep breath as we leave the first couple of places but eventually find a family run business that has an outhouse with spare beds behind their lovely (and way beyond our price range) hotel. It's a third of the price at 30,000 pesos.

OK that sounds a lot, but it's about $US17 and pretty good value!

We don hiking boots for the uneven stone streets and explore a bit more.

Villa de Leyva is a throwback. Established in 1572, it was declared a national monument (like the whole town is the monument) in 1954 and nothing modern is allowed to exist. It's all rather jolly quaint!

Whitewashed colonial houses and the Parish Church surround what is reputedly the largest plaza in all of Colombia....

All the streets around the town centre are painfully cobbled and extremely lighty-brighty in their immaculate, eye melting whiteness.

Window shutters are traditionally wood carved and uniformly brown or green....

Roof tiles are ordered ranks of inoffensive pale salmon, neatly laid and not-a-one broken.

As a town it's all incredibly well behaved, and surprisingly, as a graffiti virgin I feel just a slight itch to run amok with a brush and some colour. It's not in my nature, but all those pristine expanses of immaculate whiteness is acting like a bland rag to a bull with a spray can.

Somebody stop me!

We race past all the twee souvenir shops in a rush to get away before something goes wrong and hike out into the hills.

The town is a lovely museum and I can see the appeal for rich city folk on a pampering weekend, but for us the hills above the town provide an escape from a theme park into some fine hiking country. Trails skirt along rock crags....

and are lined by weird combinations of agave cactus and pine....

The air is warm and loamy, with the scent of resin heavy and sweet on the breeze. Spanish moss drapes the trees and giant bromeliads sprout short legs and wild sprays of green - like a huge pineapple - wildly enthusiastic....

Those obsessively correct tiles make for a fine view back over the town's rooftops to the patchwork hills behind....

Maybe I'm being a little unfair. Villa de Leyva is undeniably pretty - maybe even a little dainty, but we do find a fairly hard hitting museum to the martyrs of the Colombian fight for independence. Antonio Ricaurte, a Captain in Simon Bolivar's army was born here and there is stunning original artwork of brutal scenes endured by the freedom fighters....

There is a (surprisingly) interesting Palaeontology museum just outside of town with models and exhibits from when this whole region was a giant pre-historic inland sea. Even more incredible when you consider the whole area has now been elevated to over 2000m (6,600ft) by the rising Andes.

Villa de Leyva also has tons of nice bars and restaurants hidden away in old colonial court yards behind those bland white facades....

Changed my mind...

I kind of like the place really.

And I'm sure your mother would too....

The Visa Quest

2010-11-07T10:46:00.009-07:00

October 7th to 11th

Tunja is a university city nestled in a deep, protective valley that shields it from the worst of the weather. At 2800m (8,500ft) winds can whip up suddenly and heavy rain storms chill the bones. It’s a far cry from the 95 degree humidity of the lowlands.

Colombia is a country of climatic extremes!

We find a hotel run by yet another interesting character. ‘Freddy’ is learning English and so, is very keen to meet us!

We agree upon a price, but he is enthusiatic to the point of madness and it’s an hour before we can retreat to the room exhausted by his maniacal exuberance rather than from the day's ride. The hotel is a throwback to the 1970's - all wood panelling and parque floors, with an enormous bathroom done in lime green mosaic tiles.

As the cycle tour is now moving in a more glacial time frame, we are once again stretching the limits of our visas. We had 60 days; we now have just 17 left and a quick look at the map reveals we are only half way to Ecuador.

The flat half!

Tunja is the capital of Boyaca province, and each of the departmental capitals has a ‘DAS’ Office, the governmental wing responsible for immigration and visas.....

A bit of internet searching reveals a murky picture with opinions divided on what the exact procedure is to extend visas. Some people have had real trouble, whilst others say it’s a breeze, some say 30 days extension is the maximum, some say 60 and whether this in addition to, or instead of your current visa is also in doubt; as is the cost. The procedure and rules seem to differ from one office to another - one person even recommends donning a shirt and tie as it can help with conservative attitudes to dress codes in South America. I have cycling-gear or hiking-gear, so that option is out.

Fortunately, Freddy can’t wait to leap on the problem and sort everything out - if boundless energy was the solution, we could probably stay in Colombia for life! He arranges for a friend to accompany us to the office to help out with the bureaucracy. Unfortunately this turns out to be a curse rather than a blessing as she moves, speaks and acts in a distinctly 'mañana' fashion. Time ticks away, and even with our command of Spanish we can tell she is leaving out vital information and contradicting herself often. There is only one official who can help us and he is first 'out to lunch' and then 'in a meeting'. We write off a full day and any chances of getting a solution for now. As ever it pays to be patient and keep smiling, but this is frustrating as today is Friday, meaning a wait until Monday to get sorted here, or riding on and hitting the next office which is in the capital Bogota. We've heard horror stories concerning long queues and random officialdom in Bogota so we elect to kill a weekend here and try again on Monday.

It's not a bad decision as Saturday dawns dull and grey with freezing rain that seeps through clothing, deep into the bones. Clouds cling to the hillsides and obscure any views we might have had riding. We spend the day drinking hot chocolate and transferring wealth to local restauranteurs.

Tunja itself is way off the tourist trail, but it's a nice enough town founded in 1529 on an old indigenous site, the 'Muisca' town of Hunza. It still has many old colonial style mansion houses and churches and town streets show their age in the odd levels between pavement and doorways where newer pavings have been laid over the old....

All Colombian cities have a massive central plaza, usually called 'Plaza Bolivar' - named for the great liberator Simon Bolivar who threw out the Spanish and united most of Northern South America into a giant superstate encompassing modern day Venezuela, Colombia, Panama, Ecuador and parts of Peru. An imposing statue commemorates the achievements of this local hero....

The Cathedral Santiago de Tunja is a strange mix of Spanish colonial and an Islamic influenced style 'Mudejar' that developed in Spain in the 12th Century and persisted for some 400 years....

Many of the finer residences around the city display Arabic influences in their carved balconies and decorative glass screens....

It's an eclectic mix of the common workaday.....

Alongside upmarket cafe's set in a 16th century timewarp.....

Alongside some very modern shopping malls with expensive boutiques....

With the more traditional whitewashed colonial churches - already sporting Christmas decorations....

Weekends in Colombia are family days with meetings, events and entertainment happening around all of the plazas. A troupe of majorettes and tiny band members create a ferocious racket before indulgent parents....

Elsewhere there are magic shows, traditional bands and acrobats performing for crowds dividing their time between the street food and people watching.

Monday morning we hit the DAS office just as it opens, leaving no time for anyone to 'go to lunch' or 'organise meetings'. It turns out that we could have spent our time last Friday talking to the photographers set up in small shops opposite DAS. They produce the passport sized photos needed for all sorts of documentation and seem to know the process better than the government officials. They help us out and direct us to the bank where our fee is paid directly into the correct governmental account - presumably to stop any cash changing hands and encouraging corruption. It turns out that things couldn't be simpler! The DAS official is expecting us and asks us how we know Freddy. She's a friend of his and walks us between offices to obtain forms, have our fingerprints taken(!), check photos and paperwork and suddenly, one hour and US$35 later we have our visas!

In South America many things seem to be done at the discretion of an individual official and it pays to be nice! Patience and big smiles win the day as we get the maximum 60 days allowed; set to start after our current visas expire - meaning we don't lose those 17 days.

We see it as 77 days for the price of 60 and celebrate by wasting one of them exploring Tunja's cafe culture and further enriching grateful restaurant owners....

Sugar Cain and Abel Builders

2010-10-27T17:01:00.000-06:00

October 2nd to 7th

We finally leave Esperanza's hospitality and her fridge full of goodies behind in San Gil and head towards Bogota. Tunja is the next major city on route and capital of Boyaca province; 115 miles distant. 115 miles uphill!

We begin along the Fonce river, tracing it's path as it meanders serenely upwards towards Socorro - a town constrained on all sides by steep green peaks draped with whispy clouds....

There after the road gets a bit more serious about going up and the trail has been brutishly hacked from the living rock ...

Later it carves a swath through the trees....

Either way we ride in shadow and the air is damp and heavy clinging wetly to the mountainsides as we look back into the Fonce valley with the river now way below us. It grows noticeably colder....

We overnight in Oida where the locals are overwhelmed by (probably) the first gringos to stop in town....

Next day dawns bright and clear and the trees are radiant in bloom....

With Sue not feeling well and the road still climbing we fall well short of planned destination Barbosa and are forced to stop at a roadside 'Hospedaje' (hotel). We meet Alexandro who proudly shows us his lake where he breeds Trout and Mojarra (a perch like bony fish) for his restaurant. He also prepares his own 'Oreada' a piece of steak marinaded in 'Panela' (brown sugar made from sugar cane) and hung up to age for a few days. It's just delicious barbecued with chorizo sausages!

Just try not to worry too much about any fancy notions of hygiene standards....

The sugar cane for the Panela is harvested locally and we see hundreds of men out working the fields hacking cane with machetes and loading it on to donkeys for the trip to the boiling plants we also see dotted along the road. Once the cane is boiled and reduced, you are left with hard dense blocks of brown unrefined sugar-cane....

Alexandro built one side of his hospedaje using a unique design constructed from bamboo. A team of builders is currently working on phase two and Alexandro is justifiably proud of his expanding empire. He's also impressed by our trip and so, cuts us a fantastic deal - $13 (half price) for the room. With Sue out of action he really helps us out as we stay two nights.

High ceilinged to combat the heat of the day, light an airy to make the most of the exposed bamboo - It's a beautiful place. Cold at night mind and the number of blankets on our bed is growing with each day's climb....

On a day of not moving we get to know the building crew who are endlessly fascinated by the kit we are carrying. The stove is always the star of the show as we brew up outside our room, but our waterproof panniers and pans that stack inside each other also brings 'Aaaahhhs' of appreciation. I feel like a conjurer revealing increasingly mystical objects from a top hat. They are a great bunch of guys and gal, who delay us leaving by a good couple of hours....

We get delayed even further after a tough 6 mile climb when I discover I still have the room key and have to go back. I meet Alexandro 200m from his place just setting off in his car to track me down. If only I hadn't noticed, he would have caught up with us on the road and I wouldn't have to tackle the climb a second time. Ho hum. It was worth it though as he was just so grateful I was on my way back.

Taxis in Barbosa. I know not why???

After Barbosa, the climbing starts in earnest as we turn through 90 degrees and head directly into the Cordillera Oriental. At the apex of yet another uphill struggle we get a glimpse of where the road heads next. That canyon over there and I can see four or five hundred metres of hard won altitude disappearing in the next few miles....

It like riding into a giant rock maw as the road angles down and the rock walls rear up around us to close out the sky. It's an incredible ride past a number of rushing waterfalls....

Then we are in the waterfall as the thin line of sky bursts and spears us with a million icy darts of rain. I cannot remember being cold like this since Canada. It feels like we are bombarded by icicles.

Finally the sky grows as the rock walls suddenly shrink back. Within the space of half a mile we pass out of the canyon and find ourselves on a flat plane. It is like emerging from a tunnel!

Looking back at the mouth of the pipe....

We reach Arcabuco cold and wet with our breath clearly visible as steam on the air. The hotelier asks me to write my name as they always struggle to translate 'Sweeney'. I drip all over her book and struggle to hold a pen in a frozen claw. We're at around 2600m (8700ft) now and altitude has an incredible effect on temperature, especially in the wet! What I would give for a hot shower now.

This is our (laughably, so called) 'Hot' shower....

Low powered electric heads that make more noise than heat. You have to choose between enough lukewarm water to actually get you wet, or a slightly warmer dribble that would take about a week to wash off soap. They are common in South America and depending on how badly wired they are determines how much of a shock you get if you touch them. Some you can actually feel the charge in the air within a few inches as they earth themselves through your wet skin. Makes for an interesting game of 'chicken' - they are a joy to use!

I actually sleep indoors with a hat on and the next morning the pleasure of slipping into cold wet cycle shorts awaits.

We don our sodden gear and head out into the sun. It rained all night and the sky is empty. Truly, I have never seen air so clear. You can see for miles and in stark contrast to yesterday, it's warm in the sun and we dry out and warm up in no time.

The vast green land is dotted with private mining operations, some for building materials, some for emeralds....

The hills are full of them apparently and you will be approached in towns by shifty characters offering them to you wrapped up in paper envelopes. Very cheap apparently, but as I can't tell an emerald from a green gob-stopper - we haven't bought too many yet.

The climb finally tops out at around 3200m (10,600ft) and we drop in to a vast saucer shape depression where the air suddenly warms a degree or two.

It reminds me of Poland with it's rich pasture amongst pine covered slopes leading up to imposing peaks. We climb over the edge of the other side of the saucer and get our first glimpse of Boyaca province's capital; Tunja.

It a 400m roller coaster straight down to the city. We are hoping Tunja will be good to us. It's a growing realisation that our two month visa for Colombia is rapidly running out and Ecuador is still a long, long way away. We need to talk nicely to some officials and hopefully get permission to stay a little bit longer....

Watersports

2010-10-25T13:02:00.014-06:00

September 27th to 1st October

San Gil is the adventure sports capital of Colombia set in a lovely valley on the banks of the River Fonce. It's pretty touristy and correspondingly expensive, with upmarket boutique hotels and just a couple of backpacker hostels. The hostels are really cashing in on the 'Lonely Planet' regulars knowing that they will pay however much just for some English speaking company. They charge even more than the nicer hotels so we can justify checking into a fantastic little family run place and convince ourselves that we are still saving money....

Esperanza, the owner notices it's Sue's birthday from her passport when we check in and makes a huge fuss, promising to cook us a traditional Colombian breakfast the next day to celebrate. She just couldn't be more welcoming and friendly offering us the use of her kitchen and full access to the contents of her fridge. This is a huge mistake; schoolboy error! She knows we are cyclists; but the glare I get from Sue has me promising not to abuse her trust and scoff the lot.

On the riverside is 'National Park Gallineral' which is probably best described as 'absolutely charming'. Trees seem to have been draped in decorative Spanish moss just for the occasion of Sue's birthday and it almost looks like a film set for 'Rivendell' in 'Lord of the Rings'....

They've really tidied up a bit of nature along the river Fonce and a couple of it's tributaries with rambling brick paths taking you off into what seems like a wilderness set right in the town centre. There's an outdoor pool but we don't feel like swimming as the skies turn grey and sprinkle us with cool rain. It adds a secret garden feel as the locals seek cover and the air develops hints of ozone and loam....

We shelter under a bridge while the river fills up....

Before heading back to town for a pizza dinner followed by huge chocolate ice cream deserts.

All that rain is good for 'Canotaque' or white water rafting, and now we've got all that romantic birthday duty stuff out of the way, we can crack on with what we really came here for! Rio Fonce is grade 3+ which means fun enough, but you (probably) won't die. Since Sue has never done this it's a good place to start and we head down to 'Exploracion Colombia Guides' to book a raft.

The guides are really cool guys who really slow down their instructions so we can follow along. Luckily we saw Ben Hur in Spanish a few days ago so words like 'oar' and 'rowing' are no problem - we got all that from when he was a galley slave. There are four of us in the boat with three guides, so they are really taking their safety seriously and it's all top notch equipment. It's about a half hour drive to the start and maybe an hour and a half in the boat for only US$18, a real bargain....

The river is a blast! All the recent rain sees the river in spate with good size rapids and we slam into them as the boat bucks and rolls. You have to work hard to drag the boat through to calmer water and it's a real laugh. At one point the guides capsize the boat and tip us into the drink so we can practice a rescue by tipping the raft right-side and hauling each other aboard. Away from roads and buildings on the flatter sections you have time to lazily watch the world go by and we see eagles perched in high trees watching us with glassy-eyed stares.

It's such a good day out, and the guides were so reassuring that Sue goes from novice to instant expert and wants to take on Rio Suarez - a grade 5+ monster! Grade 5 means "oh god... oh god we really could die here" - "I know - shut up and paddle you fool!!" etc etc. Well, it's big scary stuff anyway.

But.... You need a group and it's a bit expensive and Rio Suarez is a couple of hours away and my hair might get wet and..... well we change our minds - all that talk of death consequences for failure and stuff.... so we decide to abseil down an 80 metre waterfall instead.

Next day, same team, but no van. So the guides flag down a taxi and load ropes and harnesses into the boot. No worries.

It's a bit of a hike to the river through beautiful countryside and you can really see the valley that San Gil nestles within....

We edge along a dirt track and suddenly you can hear a quiet roaring sound that gets louder with every step. Suddenly we're on a ledge and the river is passing serenely by our side, blissfully unaware that it is about to make a brief, failed attempt at flight before swashing down onto jacked rocks below....

That "What the Hell was I thinking...." moment....

Hearts beating, hearts in mouths; hearts beating in mouths.... and over the edge....

Bravely I send Sue first.... just so I can keep an eye on her you understand....

There are two drops and the first one is handled OK. The second one is right through the heart of all that heavily plunging water. We rope up again and step off backwards into a void trusting to nothing but the ropes and the guide's expertise.

Down a bit.... down a bit....

and SLAAAAM!!

The water hits you full in the face and smashes against your chest ripping the breath away. It's freezing cold and massively heavy and the rope gives a bit under the new strain. Hit the brakes and bounce on this gently stretching piece of string that suddenly looks a lot thinner than the thick rope I started with.

It's 50 more metres down through rushing, thundering water and you try to catch short, panicky breaths of air between gob-fulls of cold spluttery liquid determined to choke you. All the while your ears adjust to the din and you rock and spin on the rope buffeted by violent noise. It's like being assaulted from several different directions at once....

And finally you descend into a calm, chilly pool and swim out past the raging torrent, before looking back at the route you just took....

It's a rapid, crazy, surprisingly draining experience and we trudge down a narrow track back to the road not quite sure what just hit us!

That punch drunk feeling refuses to go away as our guides take us to a cafe for coffee and cakes while we await our return taxi. Am I still groggy or am I really sharing this place with a herd of goats??!?

Baaaaaaahhh cake!!

San Gil is fantastic, Esperanza couldn't have been more friendly. She fed us and invited us to meet family and friends and also to join in with her bible reading and choir circles (maybe a step too far). We over stay once more and "lose" more time to this wonderful country.

Next leg - more climbing, and on towards the central highlands and the capital - Bogota....

Into the Abyss

2010-10-10T10:10:00.001-06:00

Sept 25th to 27th

San Gil is a mere 94 kilometers (59 miles) away - child's play.... except that the 'Chicamocha Canyon' lies between us and it. Chicamocha is a beast - a vertically walled, 1500 metre (one mile) chasm in the earth resembling the scar from a mighty axe swung on a godly scale. The road to San Gil drops dramatically from top to bottom and then winds tortuously up the other side.

Initially we climb away from Bucaramanga from around 1100 metres (3650 feet) up to the canyon rim at around 1500 metres (5,000 feet). At this kind of altitude, the temperature has become more comfortable and you can attack the climbs with a bit more energy. That said, we know we have to drop to a more tropical 550m (1800ft) and then climb back out of the abyss. That is a job for the cool of morning so we decide to make it a two day ride; stopping on the canyon floor.

Our first view of the drop before the road loops back on itself and heads off into that cleft....

Watching the suicidal overtaking by coaches and wagons on totally blind bends is sobering and I vow to just ride faster than anything else on the road to stay out of trouble. Annoyingly it starts to pour with rain at this point - ensuring that my brakes are too wet to work and I now have no choice....

So follow 10 miles of continuous downhill through stinging rain. It all gets a bit lively lining up the bends and trying to scrub off speed with waterlogged, useless brakes. The weight of our bags just conspire with gravity to keep on pushing and it's a hair raising descent!

It's all over in a blur of speed! Then the gradient shallows and the rock walls rear up around us and we are suddenly close to the bottom....

By chance there is a newly built hotel just before the bridge that crosses the Chicamocha river and we have dropped 1000m (3300ft) in the blink of an eye. It is noticeably warmer on the canyon floor and we have the treat of an early stop in an air conditioned room for just US$12. In contrast to much of Central America, Colombia has been a pleasant surprise in that there seems to be a certain pride in finishing buildings off. There are far less protruding bits of steel and wire to gouge or incinerate yourself on and some things even get painted. It's funny what you get used to, but that kind of stuff feels like a luxury!

Disappointing as it was to see the canyon under grey skies for the descent, we are fortunate to wake up to clear blue skies for the climb.

Atmospheric tendrils of water vapour rise up from the river as the day begins to heat up and the dawn sun just clips the top of a rock wall two thirds of a mile above us. It's 6am and there is a full moon in the blue sky and it's a perfect day to ride....

A 500 foot long bridge crosses the choppy brown water of the Chicamocha and then the road angles sharply upwards. The canyon rim above us on this side is at 1850m (6,200ft) and it's gonna be a long haul. Here the canyon runs North-South and we climb the eastern wall - meaning we are going to be in deep shadow until we crawl out into the sunlight at the top....

This is great news as it's pretty hot in direct sunlight. It also creates some dramatic lighting that changes throughout the climb - this is shaping up to be a good day!

Again it's a bizarre combination of hardy cactus more suited to the long, parched dry season happily growing alongside large-leaf plants suited to a seasonal rain forest. Each type of vegetation represents the extremes of Colombia's annual cycle.

I love a proper climb! None of that wishy-washy, indecisive undulation rubbish. If you're going to climb, you just want to go up! I hate all that up-a-bit, down-a-bit messing around. Chicamocha is a proper climb, complete with 'high penalty for failure' drops off the edge over a (very) low wall....

Contrary to the insane overtaking we saw on the descent, the climb is treated with respect and trucks and cars for once, give us, and each other a bit of space.

We chug away - bottom gear grinding and the river falls away turning from a wide torrent into a distant trickle....

Higher still and the road starts to look like a narrow track and we look down on the clouds....

21 kilometers (13 miles) later and 1400m (4600ft) higher we finally drag ourselves from this deep rift in the land. Sue seems rather pleased with herself....

And why not - you can just make out 'Pescadero' village where we overnighted waaaaay down below her arm and we are even looking down on the five foot wing span of black vultures....

The gradient evens out a little and you can feel the change as different leg muscles begin to get used. It's been a reasonably tough climb, but just jaw droppingly spectacular. That changes as we round a corner and it's suddenly all gone a bit 'Disney Does Nature' as we hit the entrance to Chicamocha National Park....

We stop in the car park for a water break and a sandwich. Locals stepping off the gondola that rises in smooth mechanical luxury up from the valley floor stare at us like we just landed from Mars, but in keeping with most Colombians we have met so far, they are keen to chat and are warm, open and friendly.

Everyone here is either a keen cyclist or knows someone who is - most people cycle for leisure or transport. We play guess the weight of the bike and a couple of the blokes always try and pick mine up - usually without success. People are always cool when you say that you cycled all the way from Canada, but stare in open amazement when you tell them you are going to Bogota next - just 200 miles away.

We think it's all over but there are more climbs to do yet....

And there are other stunning gorges to ride past....

A two day ride turns into three when we see another place to stay right at the top of yet another awesome ravine....

I can't imagine what it would cost to stay overlooking this in Europe, but again we get a private room for what is becoming the standard price in Colombia - US$12. Food in the restaurant next door is more expensive than normal - US$5 for soup and a steak dinner!

It's only 20 miles or so into San Gil, so we break the next day up with a couple of stops. It's great that you can even think to stop and look at stuff on the way. In the torrid lowlands, we were always clock watching and fearing to delay as the temperatures soared. Altitude has it's benefits. First stop is at the 'quaint' little colonial village of Curiti where we haul our bikes into the back room of a restaurant for some lunch....

The second is at 'Pozol Azul', a lovely series of babbling water falls for coffee....

The ride from Bucaramanga to San Gil must go down as one of the more spectacular rides we have done, probably since Guatemala..... well, maybe with the exception of the tougher crossing of the Continental divide in Panama. We are starting to feel that we are getting to the Andes proper now and this is just a taste of what's to come....

Can't wait!

An Aborted Attempt at Flight

2010-10-09T11:27:00.020-06:00

Sept 16 to 24th

Bucaramanga is supposed to be a great city - the incredibly friendly locals, the bustling street markets, the night life....

Wouldn't know.... I just spent five days in bed groaning with liquid insides.

The only thing I saw.... apart from the bathroom (which is not a nice photo for the blog) is this view from my window....

South America is not being kind to me so far. Contrast 2 bouts of illness and three punctures in just three weeks on this trip with zero illnesses and zero punctures in six months on my last trip. I must have offended the cycle gods somehow, but I know not what I have done. I resolve to clean my bike... grease some bearings, lubricate all cables and sprinkle copious amounts of holy water on my tyres.... if only I could just stop running to the bathroom for long enough.

Time is awasting and after five days staring at the walls, I am strong enough to ride again.

We still haven't managed to get the hang of all this Spanish signage as we head out on the motorway....

The lost days are a real shame as we had arranged to meet two couples from the Stahlratte crew for a para-gliding course on the outskirts of Bucaramanga. They are travelling much more sensibly than us using the internal combustion engine and so, arrived days in advance of us. After my malingering they are now almost finished. Only the legendary inefficiency of South American countries and a badly organised course has delayed them sufficiently for us to meet them at all!

The paragliding school is located at the top of a steep climb.... obviously! You need a steep sided hill to get airborne, otherwise the whole thing just becomes some silly running around with a big kite. I climb the hill on weak rubbery legs, but the views back over the city are well worth the effort....

As we near the summit we can see distant paragliding wings in the air. A couple of soaring birds seem to confer and debate over clumsy human efforts to ride the airways that they master so effortlessly....

By the time we finally arrive Robert, Madeline and Mark have over 20 flights under their belts and are really getting the hang of the tricky launches and landings. They are becoming expert flyers and are close to qualifying. Robert might have been better taking a basic course in knots though....

Watching them inflate these big wings and launch themselves towards the sheer edge is stirring stuff....

Legs pumping the colourful sails bulge and inflate, then begin to gain loft; suddenly they are running on air as they float and then soar off the ground with the stunning cityscape as a backdrop....

We sign up for a tandem flight to whet our appetite before taking the course and watch the experts until late in the day....

The school has accommodation right by the launch zone and it's a perfect place to hang out and catch up with friends. It's still very much the rainy season in Colombia but it's warm enough to hang out on the balcony. The evenings sound slick with the fizz of water on leaves.

All that rain makes the ground heavy with mud and a beer and food run in Mark's car turns into a fiasco when the car bogs down. Luckily, with extra muscle power on hand, we manage to push the car clear, but Sue needs to make a note not to stand behind spinning wheels....

Unfortunately we do quite a lot of hanging about.... Inexplicably it takes two days to get our tandem flights as instructors promise to arrive at 9am which in Colombia translates to 1pm and there is no chance to get our flights in.

Sue kills time in 'The Nest'....

While I check out the local wildlife. A two inch deadly looking waspy-anty thing that apparently packs a mean punch with that nasty stinger....

Even worse is this viper that hides in the grass. We only spot it when we see the resident cat stalking and stamping with it foreleg trying to draw it out. Brave cat - there is only one winner in that fight. He's coiled, agitated - ready to strike and does so as we crowd round to look. Fortunately no-one gets bitten....

Moving onto safer pursuits, Sue finally does get airborne....

When in South America you have to lose that western mania for efficient organisation and time keeping. These are just false expectations and lead to increases in stress levels. Nah... you just have to chillax and roll with that whole 'mañana' thing. Things are definitely done differently here.... I get that. but here it's taken to the extreme!

The course should include transportation - a small matter of getting yourself and a now useless wing thing back up that big hill after landing. Sadly the van has not been purchased yet and the guys are hitching rides with locals or taking taxis which can waste a couple of hours a day. On one of the days, only a single instructor turns up and he mans the landing site, meaning there is no-one at the top to check equipment before launch. Inexperienced students are forced to check each other's safety harnesses and gear. Given that a rooky crashed into a tree the previous day it would have been nice for some extra tuition and reassurance before his next flight!!

Sadly I cannot recommend the school - there are just too many safety concerns and the lack of organisation was taking it's toll on the guys who were promised a 10 day course which was now running up to three weeks due to delays. My tandem pilot was taking a phone call during my launch and only noticed my harness was not attached properly when I asked him to check it. He was clipping me in and preparing to launch at the time!!

Shame 'cos the flight was awesome and I cannot think of a better location to fly....

It's a local beauty spot attracting loads of Colombians to enjoy the view....

At night, it really really takes your breath away....

It was great catching up with the guys from the boat, but I think we will leave the para-gliding for somewhere else. Tomorrow we head on to San Gil - another extreme sports destination and maybe we can find some thing dangerous to do there....

Of Cattle, Cargo and Climbs

2010-10-02T13:14:00.001-06:00

September 5th to 16th

Teganga is a strange mix. It used to be a tiny fishing village until it was discovered and the hoteliers and restaurateurs moved in en masse. Now it is an odd mix of gringo hostels, scuba diving schools, traditional fishing and rubble strewn street. The whole thing is surrounded by crumpled, emerald green mountains and the beautiful bay is dotted with tiny boats. Picture perfect....

We manage to secure an air conditioned apartment for a steal at US$18 and meet up with our Stahlratte shipmates to sink a couple of beers.

We finally leave after 4 days and hit the road. It's 565kms (350 miles) to our next stop, 'Bucaramanga' and the going is flat for the majority. We do have to backtrack and re-run the gauntlet of Santa Marta traffic first though, and inevitably we get lost. Following an early, 6am start it's a little frustrating to lose time, and the day heats up savagely. After an hour lost battling insane driving and slowly going mad to the sound of constantly blaring horns we finally emerge onto the right road.

Accommodation is once again scarce. We were lead to expect rooms at petrol stations every few kilometers, but we saw just two places in 300kms between Cartegena and Teganga. The road to Bucaramange begins in similar fashion, so after just 60kms in nearly six hours when we do finally spot something, the temptation to stop proves too strong. A bird in the hand and all that.... and risking another 60kms in this heat to find something else would be crazy.

The 'hotel' is a trucker's stop with a huge cleared patch of dirt for the 24 wheelers and there is a restaurant attached. It's an absolute bargain at $12 for a western standard motel room with air conditioning. The restaurant is similarly good value at $4 for a two course soup and steak dinner. Cyclista heaven!

The ride is strangely dull - flat pasture land with cattle grazing for mile after mile. You could be forgiven for thinking you were back in England such is the lack of anything 'tropical'. Once this whole area would have been rain forest, but it has all been cleared for Colombia's huge dairy and beef industries....

We do see one 'island' of trees with a family of howler monkeys and a couple of blue gold macaws but otherwise the only thing tropical is the heat. Once again we slip into the routine of dawn starts and midday finishes.

Once we are a couple of hours drive out from the ports of Baranquila and Santa Marta we do begin to encounter Colombia's fabled oversupply of accommodation and the number of truck-stop hotels multiplies. Unfortunately so does the volume of traffic. This is the main route between those entry ports, and Colombia's capital 'Bogota' and the sheer amount of building supplies and consumer products on-route hints at a different Colombia beyond these cattle ranches.

We are yet to see it and the days merge into endless miles of the same; occasionally broken up by the geometric regularity of the palm oil plantations. Mercifully there is a screen of trees along the road side which shields us from the intense heat of the sun...

The only other distractions are the frequent toll booths. Travel is expensive with petrol close to US$4 a gallon and toll prices high. Costs are in COP (Colombian Pesos at around 1800 to the dollar)....

Motorbikes and cycles pass through on their own lane, unmolested and uncharged.

In common with the ride along the coast, much of the lower lying land is waterlogged from tropical storms and heavy afternoon showers. The same musical accompaniment of a frog's chorus follows us for hundreds of mile inland....

Huge dragonflies zig and zag in displays of incredible showmanship. They hover just before your nose, matching pace with our moving bikes before twisting and zipping off at speed. In bright colours of vivid crimson, apricot and cobalt they resemble gaudy bi-planes, dog-fighting in miniature. They are far too slick to catch on the wing and I snoop around their landing zones to capture them in repose....

Another dawn, another cattle ranch swathed in the mists of last night's rain storm....

Another day of that sweltering thin line of grey tarmac vanishing off into the distance....

Bucaramanga is getting closer, but that is the only thing that does seem to change.

Over dinner in one of our regular truck stops we get chatting to a driver delivering a consignment of huge steel pipes for the petroleum industry. He explains about deadlines and distances. It's about a thousand kilometres (625 miles) to Bogota and hauliers are expected to make the journey in 28 hours. It's a tall order when you consider that 600 kilometers are through the mountains and Bogota is 2800 metres above the sea level ports. Many of the hotels charge in four hour blocks - time for drivers to catch a quick nap before racing back along the route. Clearly drained, with red rimmed, tired eyes he explains how drivers try and get ahead of the game on this 400km stretch of flat, straight road. It explains some of the near misses we have had with wagons passing within inches of us at warp speed.

Insane overtaking is the norm and we see several results of when the gamble doesn't pay off.

Patched up wagons get straight back in the game so as not to lose time. We see a coach with it's entire front end missing on one side - still happily carrying passengers. There are several cars crabbing along sideways, their chassis clearly bent with tyres squealing in protest. We are lucky to have just missed this one as the traffic suddenly stops in front of us.....

The sign reads 'No more stars on the road' and ironically there is one right in front of it. Each marks the spot of a fatality and they are a several-times-daily sight. Some have the tiny white outlines of bodies painted inside, representing the number killed and are a grisly reminder.

Mostly we ride under the blazing sun, occasionally we ride in the rain. One massive overnight storms fails to let up with torrential rain and inches of standing water still on the road by morning. Visibility is down to nothing and we lose a day.

Another dawn....

Another cattle ranch....

And finally after Aguachica, we start to climb and the land changes. With 160kms (100 miles) to go we leave the flat pasture behind and the air mercifully cools a degree or two. Now there are bends in the roads and the traffic is forced to slow down around us. No longer are the wagons roaring past us: now they are grinding up the hills as laboriously as us and they give us plenty of room as if their straining engines makes them appreciate our efforts. We have finally earned our place on the road!

It has taken us nine days, but at last Bucaramanga is in sight. We also are in the sights of a long lens as I spot a photographer at the road side. He flags us down and shows us credentials - a reporter from 'La Vanguardia'. We conduct an impromptu interview at the roadside and he promises that 'maybe' we'll make the following day's paper.

We only go and make the front page....

Fame at last! In this cycle crazy country, interest is high in all things bici and there is a buzz around the hotel staff as word of our exploits spreads. I have never experienced (very minor) celebrity status before. Sue considers dark glasses and a fake mustache if she is ever to walk the streets anonymously again....

Siege Mentality

2010-10-01T10:33:00.004-06:00

October 1st

I don't normally 'skip ahead' or write about places where I am not.... but today's events deserve a bit of a mention...

It's disappointing, but this is the second time, after Honduras I have been just one country away from a military coup!

Picture courtesy of 'Voice Of America News'

http://www.voanews.com/english/news/Ecuador-in-State-of-Siege-104156224.html

Today sees Ecuadorian president Rafael Correa hospitalised after being attacked by his own police force!

After Correa threatened to reduce police benefits, the cops promptly turned robbers and make good use of all that (previously 'anti') riot gear that Correa has so generously provided them with.

After seizing control of the main International airport and closing several major highways, police trapped the president in a hospital until the army (still loyal to the president and presumably now looking to increase their benefits package) restored control.

Currently flights are suspended and the border is closed. Several of the people we met aboard Stahlratte are in Ecuador and report tyres burning in the streets, shops being looted and some roads blockaded. A friend (Rachel Pook) reports a local as saying it's a regular occurrence and nothing to worry about....

Kind of puts British Airways strike action following their industrial dispute into context. They definitely do things differently in South America!!

As we are currently in San Gil just north of Bogota and Ecuador is our next destination, we now have an excellent excuse to travel even more slowly and spend a bit more time in Colombia which is turning out to be one of our favourite countries so far....

This does seem to be an isolated incident and hopefully things are calming down a little now.... May you live in interesting times....

Cycling South America Style

2010-09-29T12:54:00.014-06:00

September 2nd to 4th

At last we get to turn some wheels on South American soil!

We leave Cartegena under heavy skies, heavier rain and waterlogged roads. Diesel from the buses makes the road slick and their driving makes progress increasingly treacherous. In one place I am forced off the road and my tyres slide out from under me on a steep edge of Tarmac. I am only prevented from crashing into the road by bouncing off the side of the bus - much to the amusement of it's passengers. Welcome to driving South America style!

Things calm down a couple of miles out of town and thankfully the rains clear as well. It's just incredible how quickly standing water steams and boils back into the sky - the roads are clear again in an hour...

The countryside either side of the road however, is totally waterlogged. Being totally flat, the land cannot drain and fields are flooded throughout the rainy season....

It's an aquatic environment perfect for amphibians and pools of water sing a chorus of 'ribbits' and croaks. It's a musical ride. We stop frequently to try and spot frogs on the lilly pad that carpet the water's surface but they are shy and 'plop' into the water as we approach. The only ones we do see are on the road, confused and slowly baking in the 90+ degree temperatures. Sue turns animal rescue and carries them to safety in roadside pools....

Making sure to rinse hands afterwards as many species are poisonous. It's a crispy fate that awaits the ones not so lucky to be rescued....

The road flirts with the Caribbean Coast and for the first 30 miles or so we get brief glimpses of the sea and some welcome cooling breezes. After that it becomes straight, flat, a bit boring and very very hot. Along with the sound of frogs calling, the air buzzes with a million butterflies and giant dragonflies. Despite the watery world, it is a surprise to ride past huge cacti, the like of which we haven't seen since Mexico. It is a testament to the extreme environment here where the rains disappear for four months, the land turns to dust and the heat balloons; allowing these hardy, dry loving plants to gain a foothold. They also provide hunting perches to the dozens of varieties of hawks and falcons we see riding the air....

First day's ride in S.A. - first puncture. I just can't believe it - I rode six months here previously without a single one and when I get a second on the same day I start to hope the cycle gods have not rescinded my welcome here. Ominous signs!

Reading other people's accounts of riding in Colombia has lead us to believe that finding accommodation is as easy as it gets, so we are getting a bit concerned after 50 miles of seeing absolutely nothing. A little later a sign for a small town sends us off the main road to investigate and suddenly we find 10 in a row! For US$13 we get a private room right on a Caribbean beach complete with balcony and hammocks. The shower is a cold water bucket - but we'll take that deal any day. First South American sunset on the road...

Next day we head into 'Baranquila' - Colombia's third city after Bogota and Medellin. It's huge, sprawling and the traffic is frenetic. Heads down we ride... and pass this monster port and metropolis...

Next is a series of bridges that lead on to a narrow strip of reclaimed land across the Grand Bay of Santa Marta. This narrow earth bridge saves maybe 80 miles compared to circumnavigating the bay. It's hot and swampy, but people still live here amongst the mosquito swarms and sand flies. Their wood huts can be seen from the road, like tiny islands in a pea soup reached along rickety plank walkways....

It gets too hot to ride, but stopping for water paints a huge bulls eye on us and a trillion mosquitoes take aim. You can here the nagging 'Zzzzzzzzzzz' of them zeroing in on us and you get maybe 30 seconds grace before they start to drain blood. We ride fast and straight into the mirage....

At 'Pueblo Viejo' there is a toll booth - they are a common sight here every few miles and road travel can get expensive. The big wagons pay US$10 and it seems that is enough for a village to have sprung up providing a re-loading service. Thousands of card-board boxes are transported along this route for the banana plantations. I guess profit margins are next to nothing on such a low value cargo so wagons unload just before the toll booth. The roadside is littered with piles of flat-packed boxes and teams hurry to load them on makeshift carts, ferry them through the toll for free, then reload them onto another wagon - and all before the unpredictable rains come and turn them to mush. Wagons run as shuttles between toll booths and the village lives in awful conditions in a flooded land. Sanitation is non existent and the pools are edged in scum from the human detritus and rubbish. I see people literally tipping waste into the water outside their front doors and small children playing in amongst the mess. It's a sad and sorry scene and a stark contrast to the magnificence of Cartegena....

I am reluctant to take a picture of the worst of it - but believe me it is way worse than this and some of the worst poverty we have seen on tour. Deeply saddening!

Next day we ride into Santa Marta.

Cartegena and Baranquila were easy - just a quick dart on ring roads. We have to pass directly through Santa Marta and the driving style is best described as 'Aggressive' - with a capital 'A'. It's just odd! Colombians are just the most friendly, tranquilo people we have met, but in a vehicle they just morph into something new. It's all gone a bit 'Ben Hur' - a death race in chariots and no-one gives an inch. If you can capture a piece of road - you own it. To make things worse, there are earth banks across parts of the road where mud is washed from the fields and not cleared away. A couple of times we are forced into them by drivers who just won't budge. Motorbikes zip about like buzzing gnats and the road is bedeviled with deep pot holes. It's a crazy free for all and even the police devise tactics to beat the traffic light grand prix....

I take a motorcyclist's mirror directly in the elbow and the impact ricochets him into another bike, his mirror spinning away to be crushes under car tyres. No-one even reacts or complains - I guess it's too common an occurrence here and just nothing to bother about.... but my elbow sure does hurt....

It's a relief to be out of the melee and finally we climb away from this crazy town....

A brief up-and-over drops us down to 'Teganga' a small fishing village situated in a jewel of a bay....

Looks nice - maybe we'll stay a day or two....

Cartegena

2010-09-22T00:07:00.002-06:00

27th Aug to 1st Sept

It's a bit sad to leave Ludwig, Rolli and the rest of the Stahlratte crew behind as we take a short dinghy ride to shore with our bikes and kit. Riding into the old town of Cartegena, the very first Colombian to talk to us is a guy who jumps out in the road offering us drugs! Welcome to Colombia - good to see all the old stereotypes alive!

The town centre is carnage with narrow streets thronging with hoards, all weaving in and out of hand carts and yellow taxis that blare horns incessantly. We ride the wrong way up a couple of streets to a hotel where some of the others from the boat are staying; but it is full.

I'm sure I didn't buy any drugs off that guy, but I must be hallucinating when we see a guy dressed as a horse throwing high-kicks at a group of passing school children. They scream and squeal in delight running out into the traffic choked street.

We hole up just outside the old city walls in "Getsemeni" and head out to explore this mad place - our first sight together of South America. Cartegena is an old, colonial walled town that prospered as a major Spanish port in the 16th Century. Old silver money just drips off the beautiful building facades. Nowadays, some are showing signs of disrepair as the money dried up and left; this block is the thriving red light district where painted ladies stretch latex to bursting point as they pout and whisper enticements to the crumbling, hourly-rate rooms upstairs....

Heading on inside the walls that South American vibrancy hits you immediately. Plaza de los Coches is alive with dancers writhing to maniacal drumbeats. They dance the traditional steps of the "Kalimari" tribe who inhabited this coast before Spain came. They worshiped a serpent god and the dance is seductive, sexy and sinuous reflecting the demon spirit of the snake. It's too fast to capture....

The streets are similarly alive with vendors of all kinds pushing carts of fruit, deep fried foods or coffee and cakes. 'Minutos' are everywhere - guys sitting behind trestles with mobile phones for hire. For 100 Pesos ($0.05) you can buy minutes and they will place the call for you. In between calls they gamble on dice or the flip of a coin. The excitement is too much for one onlooker....

We meet up with all 20 fellow passengers from Stahlratte in their hostel's roof top bar and enjoy a couple of cold ones in sight of Fort San Filipe that once protected the city from English pirates....

Later we hit a reggae bar for some live music. We leave at around 1:30am but some of the others see the dawn in... Cartegena is a party town.

There are some excellent museums in town and we head to the Naval Museum next day which has a history of the Spanish conquest displacing the local tribes in this area. The main room has some fantastic models of the ongoing struggle to defend the city during the 16th to 18th centuries. The treasure hoards of Peruvian silver attracted increasingly more determined fleets from Britain and France (including Sir Francis Drake) who often carried out pirate raids rather than risk outright war closer to home. There are descriptions of the battles and a timeline for the building of ever more elaborate defensive walls and forts around Cartegena.

Inside the walls, Cartegena is definitely less seedy than Getsemeni and there are tons of upmarket eateries and boutique hotels around the open plazas....

They obviously cater to a different budget than ours so we head back to the cheap seats and find a bar doing an excellent curry. Oh I do miss a good curry! After that we head on to a Salsa bar and meet up with the crew and our Stahlratte ship mates again.

On the last Sunday of the month, most city attractions are free so we head en-masse up to San Filipe Fort to see the canons and imagine battling scurvy sea dogs come-a-plundering!

It's all a little hard to imagine with all that modern skyline in the background though. The Fort itself is impressive with tunnels running like an underground warren, but as a museum it is not. There is no information of any kind and it definitely pays to visit the Naval Museum first.

As it a free day we head to the gold museum next and learn how rare metals like iron and steel were here but that gold was commonplace. Rumour has it that pure nuggets could be found just lying in rivers waiting to be picked up! Consequently it was used for everything from beautiful jewelery and ornamental dress; right down to commonplace objects like weights and fish hooks....

You can imagine how the Spanish must have felt when they washed up on shore amongst all this wealth!

There is a film about the "Zenu" - an inland tribe that built vast canal networks over a 2000 square mile area to control river flooding around 2000 years ago. They slowed the advancing water and used the river and it's silt to irrigate and fertilise vast tracts of land. It is a feat that is beyond modern engineers and parts of Colombia's central valley suffer from uncontrolled flooding today!

Plaza Trinidad is a local's hangout and the boat crew head down for Sunday nights. There is a 5 piece band just jamming and they are really, really good. A stilt walking dancer joins them followed by a juggler with flaming torches. There are street carts laden with food and the local shop sells cold beer which you can carry out - it's a really chilled atmosphere.

A typical Sunday night out with friends....

50 kilometers outside Cartegena is "Volcan de Lodo el Totumo" so we take a tour bus with our group. The volcano doesn't look that impressive - just a 15 metre cone, but it is made from mud spewed up to the surface under pressure. The lukewarm mud is supposed to have therapeutic properties and it's a weird feeling slipping and sliding into this thick, oily bath....

You feel a bit like a cork bobbing uncontrollably high in the water and you just can't move. There are 'helpers' who push you into place where, if you are still, you hardly feel the mud at all and you get this weird sensation of floating in space. If you do try and move, you get a strange feeling of overbalancing as your body flails about and you start to roll forward.

Mud does not taste good!

Your skin does feel amazing afterwards though and you can get a massage for about $1.50. Next it's off to the lake to wash off and there are washer women who are more than happy to help. You have to be quick to stop them whipping off your shorts underwater and giving you a good rub down!

We return via a golden sandy beach where a fish lunch awaits us.

Cartegena is alleged to be the most beautiful of all Colombia's cities and I can well believe it. It's not just the buildings either, the people are warm and friendly as well. True, in some parts of Getsemeni after dark it can get a little edgy and there are whispering spivs on many of the street corners, all 'trust-me' smiles and shifty eyes. Mobile phone attached to ear, they promise they can get you anything..... ANYthink (nod, wink....).

But alongside the more 'adventurous' side of life, it's also a place where you could spend a couple of hundred dollars a night in a boutique hotel and dine in fine style in an expensive gourmet restaurant then stroll amongst the walls looking at the ocean and admiring the incredible architecture. It's a real mix!

You could spend days just wandering here. There are numerous old plazas, churches and municipal buildings, plus the street scenes are vibrant and chaotic and ever changing.

A couple of images around town...

A scene straight out of the 16th century....

Cafe culture....

With ever present street vendors and music....

Ancient defenses - modern hangout....

Classic lighting....

Modern art....

The question is.... does life imitate art or does art imitate life....

The Steel Rat

2010-09-19T13:06:00.004-06:00

August 24th to 28th

The road ends in Panama. Literally! There is no way to ride through the Darien Gap to Colombia in South America so we investigate options. There used to be a regular ferry service running between the two, but for reasons shrouded in mystery it no longer runs. This has lead to a thriving industry for privateers making the run on small boats ranging from oversize motor boats right up to large sail boats. Some have a nasty reputation - tales of drunken captains sleeping off hangovers through the voyage or worse still drug runners masquerading as tourist transport abound. If caught with drugs, all are assumed to be guilty and innocent fare paying tourists get to see the inside of Panamanian prisons along with the guilty crew. It pays to do research and unfortunately, this is not our strong suit!

Fortunately we do know other people who take the time to find out all the best information and so, we have heard of "The Stahlratte" which by sheer fluke is sailing just when we need it. It's one of the bigger vessels making the run and has an excellent reputation. It is also the boat taken by Anna and Ali and also Danny who I rode with in Bolivia so we relax and look forward to a safe passage.

It's a 4am start for a 5am pick up. The grumpiest man in the universe arrives at our hostel and his mood nose dives even further when he realises we have bikes. He had not been told. We had not been told that he has another five travelers to collect, plus all their gear. It's an extremely tight squeeze in a 4x4 pick up, along some immensely 3 dimensional roads.

We enter Kuna territory.

The Kuna are an indigenous tribe who are fiercely independent. They have remained separate from the rest of Panama maintaining their own lands, laws and culture. Passage is strictly controlled and passports must be shown and an entry fee paid to the official in a small hut at the roadside. To get to Stahlratte we take small Kuna piloted canoes through their river system and out to the open sea where we get our first glimpse of "Stahlratte" - The Steel Rat!

She's a 100 foot steel hulled, twin masted sail boat with an interesting history. Once a floating commune with a loose mission to sail round the world, once a sister ship to "Rainbow Warrior" and part of Greenpeace she is now captained by Ludwig a German who has been with her for 17 years. There are 20 passengers including us and the table is already set for a feast when we arrive!

We get the run down of the boat from Ludwig, a list of do's and don'ts, sign up for the roster to help out in the galley and the ship gets under way past tiny Kuna islands and their fishing canoes....

We are escorted through Kuna waters by a flotilla of bottle nosed dolphin - 'gay sharks' or 'pigs of the sea' according to Ludwig....

It's about a three hour trip under The Steel Rats chugging diesel engine to paradise.

We anchor up, pinch ourselves and gaze, open jawed at our new surroundings....

It's a bounty advert! Like stepping into one of those impossibly perfect holiday brochure pictures!

That island over there is our own personal little playground for the next day and a half! Just when you think life can't get any better, the bar full of ice cold cans floats out to meet us....

We snorkel amongst huge schools of iridescent fish and there are colourful parrot and angel fish. The coral is close to the surface and is a stark, vivid red. Someone spots a whale shark, we see an octopus maybe a metre long, all liquid limbs as it flees and hides in the dark places.

There are hundreds of these islands all dotted along the Caribbean Coast of Panama and it's easy to see why the Kuna seek to keep them private. Some are tiny - just golden mounds of sand, some have a single or maybe a pair of palm trees. Others are larger and have villages of densely packed palm thatched houses. There are schools and workshops where traditional clothes are weaved by hand. The villagers are really friendly, rowing out to our island to greet us and to invite us to visit their island village....

We see a canoe leave a neighboring island and I am amazed when they drop a line and instantly pull out a five pound fish! But that's nothing - for a minute later there is a struggle - one man in the water, one on the boat and suddenly they land what must be a 50 pound red snapper. Horns blare and a cheer goes up as the islanders celebrate their catch. We dispatch a dingy, negotiations take place and suddenly the fish is ours in exchange for $30 and a dozen cold beers. Ludwig sets about filleting the monster and it doesn't get any fresher than this....

The evening is spent on OUR island with a BBQ whilst the crew get to know each other....

Paradise Island by moonlight....

We spend the next day just hanging out with new friends - snorkeling, swinging on the boat's rope swing and swimming to other near-by islands. It's a pretty mixed bunch from Ireland, Sweden, The States, England, Switzerland and Canada; a couple travelling overland by car, three on motorbikes, us on bikes and the rest by bus. I had some reservations about being trapped on a small boat with a bunch of boring strangers, but everyone gets along amazingly well and it's a real laugh!

I'm on galley duty and learn how to crack open lobster. They are done in a delicious sweet papaya sauce, plus there is the fresh snapper! There are no complaints about the food!

Next morning we wake to the rhythmic sound of the engine and we are under way. It's sad to leave this gorgeous place behind, and it's a completely different atmosphere on the boat as we head out into the open seas. Crossings can be rough! The boat starts to rock and roll and we're glad to be on one of the biggest boats plying this route. It's much rougher on a smaller vessel and much more claustrophobic to boot. Sue takes a sickness tablet and disappears below deck for the rest of the day. I'm feeling fine until I try and use my laptop. 30 seconds later I'm feeding the fish over the side. I put the laptop away....

The crew prepare a stew, some eat... some just avoid the sight and smell of food at all costs. By all accounts it's a pretty calm crossing, but most of us landlubbers would disagree. The wind picks up a bit and the crew hoist the mainsail. It's a fine sight, but unfortunately the engine stays on as it's only a light breeze....

Going to sleep that night is a strange experience. The sound of the waves, the rhythmic swaying of the boat and the reassuring heart beat of the engine gently lull you down, down into deep slumber.

Interrupted when the engine suddenly stops!

It's 6am and people start to emerge from below decks into the sunlight. It slowly dawns on me that Central America is no more.... and that the coastline I am now looking at is South America! It's an odd way for us to cross a border; by ocean, and still thick with sleep it takes a moment for it all to sink in.

The harbour, the boats and then, beyond that - the skyline of the next leg of the tour! This is where we begin our adventure in South America - with the old city of Cartegena....

Thanks to Rachel Pook for the Kuna women and group photos and to Valerie for Stahratte's sails. Thanks to the rest of the crew for making it such a great voyage - good times!

The Panama Canal

2010-09-17T11:52:00.008-06:00

August 18th

When in Panama you obviously have to visit “The Canal”, but first we head to The Canal Museum off Plaza de la Independencia to get some background info. We're a bit geeky like that.

It starts right back at the beginning showing the routes that sturdy mules overloaded with silver would have taken before the canal was even built. The 50 mile over land route took 4 day by fast horse – used for messages and important passengers, cargo took longer - 7 to 14 days which considering the heat, insects and dense jungle was tough going. In the 1850's the Americans built a railroad to help prospectors get from the East to the West coast of America during the gold rush. When it was opened it was the most expensive railway in the world: $25 for a first class ticket and $10 for second class, but many speculators happily paid given the vast wealth they thought was waiting for them in San Francisco. Ironically the railroad “paved” the way for a canal, showing both a viable route and also providing the logistics to bring in supplies and remove excavated earth.

Interestingly several routes were proposed for a canal; several in Panama and some through Nicaragua where a simpler route might have taken a canal through the San Juan River on to Lake Cocibolca where a small excavation to Lake Managua would have left just 15 miles to cut through to the Pacific. The final decision was largely political and some portions of Nicaragua were actually bought up to prevent a French Canal Company using that easier route.

The French engineer Ferdinand de Lesseps who had just completed the Suez Canal was contracted to construct the Panama Canal, a company was duly formed and a team of engineers recruited. After de Lesseps's success at Suez, obtaining funding was no problem. A map at the museum shows the size of the prize, displaying some of the trade routes that benefit from the canal, rather than taking the extra 8,000 mile voyage around South America....

The French started building in 1881 and it was a disaster, Following the Suez model they planned to build at sea level, arrogantly smashing their way through anything and everything in their path. Unlike Suez the rainy season in Panama is savage and heavy rainfall simply filled the excavations as quickly as the steam shovels could make them. Landfalls were a daily occurrence and 22 000 people died from accidents, yellow fever and malaria. De Lesseps hid the bulk of the problems from investors whilst continually returning to them for more money. Engineers begged him to reconsider building a lock system and finally walked off the project when he obstinately refused to consider anything other than the sea level canal.

Finally the project went bankrupt in 1889 causing stock markets to crash around the world. De Lesseps died not long after, a broken man.

Nothing else happened until the Americans bought the concession from the French in 1903, however Columbia objected (Panama was part of Columbia at the time) so Panama declared independence backed by US money and a couple of US battleships. A treaty was signed that gave Panama it's independence and the US sovereign rights over the canal and land 8km either side of it – effectively splitting Panama in two!

The Americans more sensibly decided to put in a series of locks rather than making the canal all one level so they didn't have to excavate so deeply. Also medical advances had now discovered how malaria and yellow fever were spread so they took 4,000 men off the project to improve sanitation and help wipe out the breeding zones of the mosquitos. They successfully eradicated Yellow Fever from the whole of Panama – a legacy that remains to this day!

Still 6 000 people died during the construction, 80% of whom were Afro-Caribbean as they were housed in worse conditions than the white labourers from Europe who in turn were housed in worse conditions than the American engineers! The canal was finally completed in 1914. The first boat to sail through was a lowly tug-boat on August 15th 1914.

OK, long winded introduction over....

Armed with a bit of history we take a mad dash through Panama City traffic on the bikes for the 10 miles or so to the “Miraflores Locks” passing the old railway station on route....

As luck would have it there is a giant “Pana-Max” size car carrier lumbering up the canal and we manage to overtake it before it gets to the locks. Pana-Max is a specification for the largest ship that can fit through the locks and has become an international standard for ship builders wanting to use the canal.

We head out on to the viewing gallery to get a sight of the massive lock gates holding back tons of fresh water used to raise ships 54 feet to the level of Gatun Lake. Two workers stand by these giant gates to provide scale across from the control building....

I won't bore you with any more details except that in a space of around 15 minutes this enormous ship is raised upwards and passes through the 66 feet high gates which open to lie flush against the canal edge. The ship powers forward, guided by eight “mules” that run on rails and keep the ship safe from collision using huge steel chains before being raised again in the second lock....

You can see just how much the ship rises by looking at the name “Wallenius Wilhelmsen” painted on the side. A massive crane “Titan” looks on as the ship passes. This mighty lifter floats on a pontoon and can be used to raise the lock gates in and out for maintenance....

We decide to race the Wilhelmsen up canal to the next set of locks at Pedro Miguel and on to the famous Gaillard Cut where engineers channelled this waterway through a massive slice in the hillside.

Pedro Miguel locks are less impressive and hard to see from the road so we carry on to “Centenario Bridge” built over the canal at Gaillard.

The bridge itself is impressive, but unfortunately there are “No Stopping” signs along it's length. I decide that they can't possibly apply to bikes so I can get some photos of the monumental effort involved to move a mountain at “The Gaillard Cut”. It is an awesome sight looking down on a man made canyon 1800 feet wide at the top and 155 feet deep. Huge excavators look like tiny dots on the valley floor....

I just manage to spot our boat the Wilhelmsen dawdling towards us as we return along the other side of the bridge when the police politely ask me to “shift it” and I am forced to leave the bridge....

The scale of the project is immense and we haven't even seen the largest of the three locks that lie 35 miles away on the Caribbean side, nor the giant Gatun Lake that was created by damming and flooding a 164 square mile area of land. At the time it was by far the largest man-made lake and it still provides all the water supply not just for the canal, but for drinking water and hydro power as well. It is just a stunning achievement when you consider Panama was effectively sliced in two and flooded to allow these mighty ships to pass across a country. It's even more impressive when you think it was all done with steam and muscle power.

In stark contrast we head further into the canal zone to the Summit Botanical Garden and Zoo. Summit was established to help introduce new tropical plants and animals to Panama, but also to help The US military to identify species they would encounter here in the field.

A beautiful King Vulture....

A Keel Billed Toucan.....

Whilst most of the animals look in good condition, their behaviour suggests their boredom, caged as they are in too small enclosures....

This magnificent (unnamed) cat is wildly aggressive, charging the confines of it's area and snarling at passers by....

We have seen plenty of spider monkeys at play in their natural habitat and they are an energetic and social animal. It's just too depressing to see this kind of graphic display of hopelessness so we leave and head back to the city....

The Many Faces of Panama City

2010-09-08T12:08:00.000-06:00

August 14th to 18th

We pause after crossing the Bridge of the Americas to calm ourselves – it's was a pretty hairy ride....

We want to stay in the old town and the road to Casco Viejo takes us through an overpopulated slum area and the locals tell us to “ride fast, don't stop”; excellent advice.

Panama City has a long history, and over time, has evolved into a real mixture. In the 16^th Century, it was a massively important port where Spanish silver plundered in the high Andes of Peru was off-loaded before the arduous 50 mile trek overland to Portobello. From here ships could make their way over the Atlantic and back to Spain with their treasure. This route saved thousands of dangerous miles navigating Cape Horn around the Southern tip of Argentina and formed the route map for the famous Panama Canal that was to come 400 years later.

Originally Panama was located 5 miles East of the present centre and was relocated when it was sacked by Henry Morgan, a swashbuckling Welsh privateer tempted by all that Andean silver in 1671. The city was rebuilt within strong defensive walls to dissuade Henry and his marauding mates from returning – hence the name “Casco Viejo” which means “Old Compound”.

As a consequence of all the trade passing through, beautiful colonial style buildings were constructed and the town gained a certain grandeur reflected in the water front housing....

And also the incredible plazas with ornate statuary and the grand 'Hotel Colonial'...

This statue in 'Plaza de la Independencia' represents the signing of the treaty allowing Panama it's independence after separating from Colombia in 1903.

These are the grand bits. Much of the rest of Casco Viejo is a dilapidated collection of disused relics that are slowing turning to rubble under the destructive attention of weeds and tree roots.

Squatters openly occupy many of the buildings and you can see bare wires spliced into the street lamps that illegally power flickering TV's that illuminate the gloom of derelict buildings at night....

It's a slightly surreal vision; some kind of dystopian future where a great wrong has come to pass and a lone face stares from a tattered upstairs windows. He surveys the scene like a Charlton Heston figure in the Omega Man - “The last man”. Maybe that's going a bit far, but walking through this rotting capital city does conjure up that illusion.

Today many of the buildings are undergoing redevelopment or are about to as money floods back into this quarter of the city. Others sadly will just rot into dust and crumble leaving toothless gaps between the newly renovated bars and restaurants.

Across the bay you can see where the money and the developers are coming from. After gaining full control of the Panama Canal from the US in 2000, Panama has been booming and both local and foreign money has poured in.

Like a mirage rising across the bay to taunt the dregs that scratch a living over here, a new city has risen – newer and more sparkly than could ever have been imagined 20 years ago....

Boats in the harbour at low tide look as if they attempted an impossible voyage to this gleaming new world; but were stranded in futility....

Whilst a machine operator seems to stop and survey the transformation he has wrought....

Running between the old and new cities is Avenida Central, a pedestrianised shopping district that does more than just connect these two locations geographically. It seems to connect them in time, having a distinctly modern Central American feel that allows you to transition from a Colonial era of conquistadors and galleons of plundered silver to the space age of towering glass and steel....

It's typically bustling, chaotic, raucous and energetic. Music assaults the ears from wide open shop fronts. Street vendors distract to attract your attention. The sweet smell of the juice blenders mixes with the meaty aroma of the hot dog carts. A blast of cold air freezes you as you pass an upmarket clothes shop, then the warm wet tropical air envelops you once more as you move on.

Locals huddle in corners around squares of cardboards – arenas for dice and cards. Friendly, they call you over and encourage you to lose a dollar or two. More serious are the homemade boards of chess or checkers with coloured pieces taken from different soda bottle tops....

Roads seem to have just been laid down on top of each other - anyplace there was room and traffic is 'entertaining'....

Then, suddenly you are in Miami!

Dropping down to the newly formed boulevard you could be forgiven for thinking that a short walk had taken you across a continent. When was the last time I saw a roller blader in Central America, or a cycle path back-dropped by a glass skyline....

The new city is distinctly aspirational, with upmarket car dealerships and million dollar penthouses.

Entry level apartments with low level city views still command $200,000 price tags – an astronomical sum for Panamanians and quite a bit for ex-pats too. I can't help feeling that there is a bit too much optimism crackling in the air and that a developer somewhere is going to take a haircut now that the spray of foreign money has dried up a bit.

But then, what do I know. The building continues apace. Another 3,000 dreams of fine living reach for the skies....

Across the bay, far out to sea, the great Pana-Max cargo ships stack up in a queue all waiting to push through “The Canal” - the engineering marvel that is the lifeblood of this hungry city. Like a slow motion parody of airliners circling a busy airport they wait for their call....

Each will pay on average a quarter of a million dollars to pass through to the Caribbean and on to the Atlantic and I can see maybe 30 of them. Queues are long as that $250,000 is cheap compared to the 3 weeks of ship time saved by rounding Cape Horn; so the canal runs at breaking capacity. A national referendum gave an almost unanimous backing to ambitious expansion plans that allow this waterway to take ever more gargantuan ships. Building work is already underway to update this 100 year old superstructure and this important revenue stream should increase if all goes to plan.

Maybe, just maybe the property developers here have got it right and each of those new homes in the sky will find a deep-pocketed buyer. There is a contagious confidence in the air and this is definitely a place to return to in a few years to see how the story unfolds....

The Pan American Highway

2010-09-06T14:27:00.006-06:00

August 4th to 14th

We make full use of the hotel facilities before heading out. Normally we have to carry the bikes and kit down flights of stairs....

With some trepidation, we leave David; Panama's second city. The next 450kms (280 miles) of our journey will take us along the notorious Pan-American highway – there are simply no other roads across Panama. Reports from previous cyclists talk of the dizzying heat, the noisy monotonous traffic, narrow sections of nasty pot-holed road surface and above all, the chaotic driving - all horn's blaring as you are physically driven off the road.

Sounds like fun....

We head out past rows of depressingly Americanised strip malls and burger joints - “where convenience meets global blandness”. Once past the city limits though, things become authentically Central American once more.... except maybe, for the baseball cap and Wellington boots that is....

The Pacific coast has a reputation for being hotter than the Caribbean side and I can vouch for that. It's an airless and boiling heat that bounces like an invisible force from the black Tarmac. It rolls in torrid waves from the overheated engines that often pass too close to us. Ironically, only the biggest lorries give us space to breathe as we cross one of a hundred similar river bridges....

This is the kind of riding we try to avoid when we can by taking the more scenic, less trafficked back roads. This is hamster-wheel cycle-touring - just turning the pedals and getting the job done. In addition to the heat and traffic, the land refuses to lie flat and it's a never ending sequence of short frustrating ups and downs that drain energy and rhythm. We overnight in San Felix that provides a cheaper alternative to the tourist beaches of Las Lucas.
It's raining anyway.

Next morning we rise at 5am to do battle once more and slip into the routine we repeat for the next few days. Dawn start, hamster wheel dash, traffic, heat, rolling terrain and endless blaring horns. Towards the end of the day, skies darken and the heat of the day is beaten back by an avalanche of rain that often arrives, then stops as if by the flick of a switch.

Looking back as the clouds recede like a drawn curtain of black velvet, or a stage prop on wheels being removed....

Incredibly there are no hotels on the Pan-am highway outside of major towns. We cover 125kms from San Felix to Santiago and feel char-broiled by the time we arrive after 10 hours in the saddle.

Fortunately, as we get nearer Panama City there are more and more towns and we are able to drop short in Aguadulce the next day rather than tackle another 125kms to Penonome in the heat. The short day gives us time feed and water ourselves and to give the bikes some much needed attention.

Sue is becoming an ace mechanic....

After another hot, uneventful day we reach Penonome and Sue is not feeling too well. Lukily I manage to strike a fantastic deal in a hotel that looks way too good for us – they even have an aquarium in the lobby. We get a huge air conditioned room for $25 which is a steal at around half normal price and we hole up for three days of groaning at the luxurious Hotel Guacamaya....

We had planned to climb into the mountains to El Valle which is described as a quaint little mountain getaway with serene walks and fine views. We're a bit surprised when we start seeing giant billboards advertising the place every mile or so for 20 miles before the turn off. Me thinks it is not so undiscovered and pristine as they had lead us to believe. Prices are also rising fast as we get closer as we find out at a small dingy hotel above a petrol station asking $33 for a room nothing like Guacamaya. Rooms 2kms off the highway by the surf beaches are going for $65 – we paid less than that is San Francisco, California!

Camping sounds like a better option at $10 until we learn we can't pitch the tent until 6pm and must pay a $15 day entry fee. It is starting to look like El Valle was once a quiet little mountain town, but the whole area is now big business - an impression that is not dissuaded by the huge billboards offering credit at the road junction....

We ride on looking for better deals, when we hit the biggest storm so far!

It's torrential! Massive raindrop sting the face and eyes and we are struggling to see anything through a wall of water. Within minutes our front tyres are pushing a bow wave before us and the roads are 6 inches deep and flowing fast. Even car drivers are starting to pull over as water logged windscreens cannot be cleared fast enough. Obstacles and pot holes are invisible beneath the moving liquid surface; a point I prove in spectacular fashion, by pulling off the road and hitting a submerged kerbstone. The bike and I land in a river of water a foot deep and my bags fly off the bike and float away. Skin is removed from knees and elbows and worst of all my handlebar bag flies open and scoops us a giant gob of water. Luckily my passport and maps also float! My camera, Mp3 player and wallet do not.

The storm is in for the day and we get a very large slice of luck on hearing there is a hotel just 200m up the road. We trudge up to the gate and our hearts sink as it's an amazing old house, lovingly renovated; obviously by a ex-pat. This is going to cost us but we have no choice as the roads are chaos and it's waaaaay too dangerous to carry on.

The drunken owner staggers to the gate and drags us in offering us a beer. She's a smiling Canadian, obviously amused at our bedraggled state and happy to have new drinking buddies. The place is amazing with gardens, a restaurant and bar area, views of the mountains from our balcony and a (quite unnecessary) swimming pool. The owner 'Lily' normally charges $45 but she takes pity on us and charges just $35. We're really grateful as she could have said $70 and we'd have had to pay it. Thanks Lily....

Apparently we've passed some invisible line in Panama where it all becomes retirement places and condos by the sea and it costs serious money! We inspect the damage left by the river in my handlebar bag and somehow the camera and MP3 player have survived. My passport looks a little more colourful now where all the inks have run but it's still intact.

Finally we climb over the last set of hills past 'Capira' and reach the outskirts of Panama City.

Amazing steel statues welded from scrap at a roadside artisan's workshop....

It's the final mad dash as traffic reaches attack speed down the hill as it filters towards the 'Bridge of the Americas' over the Pacific entrance to the Panama Canal. Officially we are not allowed to cycle on the bridge, so we run the gauntlet of traffic fully expecting to be stopped by the police. What happens after that we don't know, but as it turns out, we never find out.

For once I can understand why cyclists are discouraged from crossing. The bridge is narrow, there is nowhere to go to get away from traffic, the edge of the road is strewn with debris, traffic moves at blistering speed and the whole thing shakes under the weight of it all.

We get our first glimpse of the dazzling sky-scrapers of the new city of Panama that is springing up around the bay. Panama is a city of contrasts – old colonialism rubbing shoulders with modern glass and steel and entering by bicycle over the famous canal is a major landmark for this tour....

Crossing the Continental Divide

2010-08-22T14:27:00.010-06:00

August 1st to 4th

Today is going to be a killer! It's one of the biggest single day climbs we have attempted on our tour so far. We're going from sea level to 2000m (6,700 feet) and back down again taking us all the way from the Caribbean Sea to the Pacific Ocean. We set off under a beautiful cool dawn sky to give us the most time possible....

We pass small indigenous villages of wooden stilt huts topped with palm thatch. These are the villages of the 'Ngobe Bugle Indians' - the traditional hunters and farmers of the region. The children flash wide eyed and big, toothy smiles at us as we pass; the women wave shyly, resplendent in brightly coloured, geometrically patterned dresses....

The Ngobe Bugle number around 120,000 and live by raising cattle, chicken, dogs and pigs. The rivers provide water and a place to fish and wash clothes in stunning surroundings....

After seeing their traditional dress, the Western styled uniforms seem to clash as the children head off to school, proving there is nowhere in the world to escape the call of the school bell....

20 kilometers of flat to get the legs turning and then the climb begins, steep roads aimed at ever higher peaks....

The road undulates for a while, short nasty mini-summits followed by rapid descents that lose nine metres for every 10 climbed. It's a little frustrating, but you can't complain too much when the scenery is so incredible and the people so friendly.

Then the climb proper begins and there are no more downhill sections. Days like this you just dig in and try and set up a rhythm of smooth pedal rotations - it's all about conserving energy. Rushing is pointless as it only pushes speeds up from a drowsy 4 mph up to a dizzy 5 mph whilst killing the lungs and legs. Patience is the watchword - almost a lazy way of achieving total exhaustion. Each false summit merely reveals the next....

Behind us is the accumulation of our efforts, the view across La Fortuna Forestry Reserve and The Carribean Sea, 15 miles distant and one mile below us....

After six hours of climbing we finally reach the first summit before dropping a couple of hundred metres down to Lake Fortuna, a man made body of water dammed at one end with a hydroelectric plant.

The winds pick up, the skies drop and darken and the wet stuff falls from the sky as we resume climbing out of this flooded valley. It's possibly the steepest part of the climb and the nagging wind coupled with leaden legs makes it tough going...

Finally.... finally, after around nine grueling hours, the gradient reverses and the front wheel tips lower as we crest the last peak and roll gratefully over the top. The mountain is defeated and we have conquered the Continental Divide! Suddenly the world is moving more quickly again and the legs can take a breather. We won't be needing them for the next 25 miles now as gravity takes over and does all the work for us.

It's pouring down; and unbelievably we are cold! I just can't remember the last time (or country) when we were last cold!

10 kilometers or so later we reach Valle de la Mina (Valley of the Mine) and see a guesthouse. It would be a shame to head straight back down to the Pacific and not enjoy the view we worked so hard for so I head in to inquire about a room.

And so we meet Frankie and George.

The 'room for rent' turns out to be George's house next door. It's huge - 2 bathrooms, kitchen, a bar area and 'la piece de la resistance' a massive picture window with panoramic views of the entire valley. It's amazing! I get the sinking feeling that our $20 dollar budget for accommodation won't really cover this and we start to negotiate. The best I can do is knock Francois down to $40, which is an absolute steal; but still too much for us. He then offers to throw in as much food, wine and beer as we can manage and the deal is sealed! We join them for supper...

It looks like they have been at the wine for a good few hours already, but we tuck in to a huge plate and the drink flows. Francois is a raconteur with an endless supply of tall tales, one about how they managed to install the piano that George (the concert pianist) effortlessly plays in the background. More wine flows and this has all the makings of a memorable stay.

So we do.... for an extra day.

Why not when the views from our backdoor terrace are this good....

After being unconscious for 12 hours straight we head for breakfast the following morning. It's an entertaining affair as Francois is already several glasses of wine to the good and he's in a voluble mood.

He tells us he is setting up an eco-hostel on several acres of land he's managed to acquire, growing organic coffee. His plan is to set up a connoisseur's coffee bar (Cafe in the Clouds) with his first crop of high quality 'arabica robusta' ready next month. The roasting machine is on it's way from Korea and the expresso machine from the US. He plans to export some coffee direct to France cutting out the middle men who control the coffee industry in Central America. He also helps the locals to do the same thing to try and keep the money in the local community. As well as coffee he's nearly self sufficient for power, using solar, wind and hydro electric. and also has milk cows, chickens for eggs and orchards of fruit to make the wine he is so successfully testing this morning. He happily admits that the wine might not be as lucrative as the coffee as he drinks most of the profits....

Our day off is spent quite happily exploring his land, enjoying the views and tinkering with the bikes that need a little TLC. It's so nice to be in the cool mountain air after the sweaty heat of the rain forest.

That night we pop over to see Frankie expecting to be fed again only to discover that he's now paralytic drunk and it's pretty obvious there's no chance of food. We have a couple of beers with him and enjoy some free entertainment listening to his theories about the world. It transpires that:

1) the world is going to end in 2012 when all the planets are in alignment and it's going to be terrible. The Mayan's predicted this five thousand years ago!

2)We have to create this little slice of Eden together to grow food and survive the coming apocalypse.

3) The Chinese are aliens and need to be destroyed as they're taking over the world starting with Panama.

4) Viking warriors have saved the world in the past and are the dragon slayers having defeated the Chinese last time. They are our only hope of salvation.

5) Sue and I with our blue eyes are obviously descendants from the vikings. Of the pure blood, we can help save him and defeat the Chinese hoard.

6) We only use 5% of our brains and we have to find the key for the other 95%

7) By coincidence only 5% of the world is real matter - the rest being hidden as anti matter.

8) If we can find the key to unlock 95% of our brain we will be able to see the 95% of the universe that is anti-matter

9) The 95% anti matter is in fact invisible Chinese people.

10) He wants to give us a piece of his land here with a house so we can become his soldiers in the fight.

Starving and at at mid-night we leave to consider his offer, and also - to cook our meal on our little stove....

Give me one entertaining and unique individual over a hundred dull clone type people any day. Thanks Francois for the wine, the stories the (occasional) grub, the entertainment and especially for cutting us the best accommodation deal of the tour so far.

Francois - a fine and splendid human being - good luck against the Chinese!!!

The next day is the easiest 60km we have ever done. It's all down hill with just a couple of little ups that we sail over using momentum. They only serve to slow us down a bit and to save our brakes.

It's taken us 4 days to get from Changuinola to David which is a four and a half hour bus ride away costing just £12. No wonder the locals think we are crazy! The difference is the views we get to see and the chance to meet people like Francois!

We're now back on the interamericana (the big highway) and the plan is to cover the distance to Panama City pretty quickly, hey that's the plan but who knows what'll distract us next.

Bienvenidos A Panama

2010-08-20T10:50:00.008-06:00

July 29th to 31st

The plan is to beat the rush at the border crossing so we overnight in Sixaola in sight of the 'International Bridge' that forms the frontier between Costa Rica and Panama....

Unfortunately it's a popular plan, and at the 7am opening time when we hit passport control there are already 40 people queuing ahead of us at the one and only window. Processing is slow....

When a couple of coaches turn up, the queue grows and with it people's frustration at the long wait. Inevitably impatience gets the better of people and the orderly queue disintegrates as people start to push in. Normally my British reserve prevents me from commenting in these situations, but to see people marching boldly and without shame directly to the front is too much. After 40 minutes waiting we are moving backwards and my stiff upper lip crumbles and starts to give way.

I would therefore, like to take major personal credit for what follows....

I begin to protest loudly and start to physically prevent any more people pushing past me. Seeds of dissent are sown and others around me become emboldened. It's like fanning a spark and then watching the flames grow as more and more people begin to express their anger.

Suddenly everyone is pushing. It's become a free for all! I'm amazed at some people's cavalier disregard and lack of respect for the people in front of them. One woman is ramming me in the back and trying to drag me out of her way like clearing out a ruck around a rugby ball. I calmly explain to her that she is a vile individual who has no respect for others and she equally calmly tells me 'You gotta do what ever it takes' whilst clawing at me. So, I agree with her and push her back into the melee.

It's all getting so silly it's almost comical. Sue is remonstrating with one guy who is shoving her and he calmly takes any verbal abuse she dishes out until she puts an arm across his path. Then he explodes in anger 'Take your hand off me!' She explains if he joins the back of the queue she won't be able to reach him to touch him.

Something has to give, and it's the patience of the passport clerk who sits with head in hands and refuses to process anyone. It's bad timing as we had finally got to the front and he actually has my passport in his hand. The border is closed! He makes a phone call and now the police are on their way....

It's just incredible watching a woman being forcibly dragged away by burly policemen whilst still protesting and trying to push her passports through the window. She seriously thinks she can still get a passport stamp whilst holding off armed police!

The mini riot is finally put down! Order is restored, the passport clerk removes his head from his hands and our passports are duly stamped. It's taken us nearly two hours, but at last we can enter Panama as 'La Policia' remain behind to keep order....

Being responsible for closing the border is an interesting and entertaining way to enter a new country...

Our map shows the road meandering along the Panamanian coastline. There are no contour lines and we are expecting an easy ride through flat rainforest. Wrong! The land never climbs enough to break a contour, but it is far from flat. The border delay means it's hot and the dense forest keeps humidity close to 100%. We are permanently drenched in beads of sweat that sit in the clammy air and do little to cool us....

Immediately we reach an unsigned junction and the locals fall over themselves to help us and point us in the right direction before we even have time to ask. Time and again in Changuinola locals cry out greetings and wish us 'Buen Viaje' (have a nice trip) and we get an instant good vibe about Panama. It's a Saturday and the main road is blocked by a good natured procession of hundreds of school aged boys marching in team colours to a baseball tournament. Baseball is a national obsession in Panama!

The day has got away from us after these delays, so we decide to stock up on supplies and stop in the next town Almirante. The currency here is the American dollar, a legacy from the building of the canal when the country became so inundated by foreign nationals from all over the world, it was easier to adopt a more international currency. It is the dollar, complete with pictures of another country's president, but they still call it 'The Balboa'.

Another legacy of the American involvement in the canal is the availability of foodstuffs we haven't seen in ages. We are like kids in a toy shop staring at rows and rows of well stocked shelves in an air conditioned supermarket. After the sweltering mini-marts of Nicaragua and the Caribbean coast, it's a revelation.

Weighed down with a cyclista sized feast of food, the decision to stop in 'Almirante' is a good one as the road is a scorching series of steep undulations.

The next day is worse as the road reaches for the sky in what looks like a launch pad to put cars in orbit...

It's a beautiful ride past a beautiful archipelago - 'Bocas del Torro'. Many people take a boat across to this island paradise, but we're visiting the San Blas islands further south so we just enjoy the view from the mainland...

The scene is authentic tropical rainforest and indigenous people live in wooden huts raised on stilts to avoid frequent floods and ever present insects....

It's a Sunday morning and the world is still. There is absolutely no traffic on the road and the only sounds we hear is our own harsh breathing as we climb, and then the swish and fizz of our tyres as we descend...

Until your ear re-adjusts in that is....

Then you realise there is a cacophony of noise all around you.

It's like tuning a radio into different frequencies and suddenly hearing a range of stations that are normally drowned out by deafening mechanical sounds.

A bird call here...

Over there a frog chirruping and burping...

Cicadas starting up their buzz saws...

And once you learn to hear properly, sounds is everywhere, and suddenly you want your tyres to be quiet so you can pin point more.

The trees are talking to you...

It's a surreal experience as you feel yourself drawn in to the jungle and all it has to say!

Interrupted by the crash of a pannier that escapes Sue's bike on a dangerously fast and bumpy downhill....

Another tough but sublime day's riding through nature's wonders gets us to Chiriqui Grande and it's that odd jolt again as you emerge from the green and once again return to the world of straight lines and man-made objects.

We turn in for an early one, for tomorrow; we climb. The road along the coast ends here and the Pan American Highway is on the other side of the continental divide! Riding into town we come under the shadow of the 'Cordillera Central', peaks scraping the sky at over 3000 metres (10,000 feet).

Tomorrow we tackle the mountain!

Cahuita

2010-08-09T11:44:00.005-06:00

July 27th to 30th

At last we get moving again after repairs to my bike and four days off. An early morning start allows us to sneak past Turrialba Volcano as he snorts and bellows in his sleep....

Hitting the main road at 'Guapiles' it's easy riding through flat banana and pineapple groves. Small holders cultivate patches of land along this vast plain, rich in nutrients that drop as ash from the 3000+ metre volcanoes dotted all along the central highlands. Nature has provided every advantage, but nothing is left to the voracious appetite of the insect hordes.

Small holdings slowly give way to large scale industrial agriculture and this whole area is a vast business supplying fruit bowls the world over. Strange then that it all began by accident!

Originally the cash crop of interest was coffee; grown higher up in the mountains. In order to reach export markets, a railway was needed through this area – then a dense jungle and insect infested swampland. The rails would connect suppliers with the Caribbean port at Limon and thousands of locals were drafted in to undertake this vast piece of engineering. The project was a disaster with thousands dying of tropical diseases and it's owner facing bankruptcy. US convicts replaced local workers, then the Chinese came and finally freed slaves from Jamaica and the route was eventually completed in 1890. In order to feed this army of navvies, bananas were planted along the lines as they were built. Some were exported to New Orleans in the states and the railway operatives spotted a lucrative opportunity once their popularity was recognised.

Nowadays twisted ruins of the railway run parallel to the road and bananas go by lorry, but this area was transformed and Costa Rica had a new cash crop. Rusting bridges over wide rivers serve as a reminder of man's determination....

We ride though 'Liverpool', no doubt named in honour of it's illustrious namesake – the British port city and see hundreds of container crates being stored and loaded ready for transportation....

It's good to be back on the bikes and we post 125kms (80 miles) for the day before riding into Limon. It's a typical dodgy port town full of drunks and prostitution so we hole up in a reasonable looking hotel. It doesn't stop us being disturbed in the night by the comings and goings of the hourly clientele though.

We ride out on a beautiful misty morning along an altogether different looking Caribbean Coast. This is not the one you see in all the holiday brochures....

Once we leave the industry of the port behind, we ride along a tunnel sandwiched between dense green rain forest. Heavy traffic evaporates and the only sounds we hear now are the bird calls, the insects and the roar of howler monkeys from the tree canopy. We see parakeets, hawks and spider monkeys at play swinging from tree to tree. At Cahuita, normal service is resumed and the Caribbean idyll is back to normal....

A narrow strip of land along the white sandy beaches has been turned into a nature reserve due to the unique habitats and diversity of wildlife. It's a beautiful stroll along the 8km trail flanked on one side by the crashing waves on the other by a cacophony of animal cries. Habitats change every few hundred metres and there are hundreds of different species.

Tiny spiders, venomous and deadly or just garish colours screaming out warning – who is going to test that one out?

This one is DEFINITELY deadly! Don't be fooled by the small size, it's actually the bigger the better with this 'Eyelash Palm Pitviper' as larger ones are more likely to bite in warning, rather than inject you with a lethal dose of poison. This guy is really hard to spot despite the less than shy colouration as it's perhaps only a foot long and no thicker than your finger. My heart was pounding as I took this photo as this snake is hard enough to take out you, me and all your mates....

A bit more cuddly was this young howler monkey stuffing it's face with leaves...

If Disneyland was a wildlife reserve, it would be a bit like this. Everywhere you turn is another rarity and it almost feels like you are in a zoo, the animal spottings are so frequent. A three toed sloth sits imperiously and unmoving in it's high tree....

Spider's webs are everywhere like silver curtains draped between the trees....

The land close to the water scuttles with hundreds of startled crabs that seem to appear from nowhere and disappear just as fast into fist sized holes in the path. Their shells are bright orange or blue or a vivid purple and their mandibles are bright red.

There are golden headed geckos....

In amongst the trees there are huge numbers of frog species and you can hear them calling to one another in their alien language of croaks and throaty burps. Unfortunately many are tiny and impossible to see in the dense forest so we visit the 'Ranaria' - 'Frogery' in English I suppose. Here a small natural environment has been created and the owners only have a license to catch and release 'local' frogs from a similar habitat. Hundreds of frogs have been added to Ranaria over the years and these have bred and multiplied. Even so their natural instinct is to hide and despite their bright colouration, they are still incredibly difficult to find.

This poison dart frog is maybe the size of an adult's thumb....

A major icon of Costa Rican wildlife is the nocturnal 'Red Eyed Tree Frog' which is the only frog that has eye lids and can actually close it's eyes to sleep which it does continuously during daylight. Fortunately this one was awake when I was there and really lived up to his name....

Cahuita is a great way to remember Costa Rica as this is our last night in the country. Tomorrow we head out to the Panamanian border and hit double figures. Panama will be country number 10 for the trip....

Tortuguero

2010-07-31T18:29:00.011-06:00

July 22nd to 26th

After Flores it's flat riding to Guapiles, then on to Cariari.

We want to visit Tortuguero, a national park protecting 22kms of beach where 95% of the world's population of green turtle return to nest. Getting there is a bit of a step into the unknown as the road into this virgin area of rainforest is not marked on our map. We need get to La Pavona to catch a small boat that plies the old logging canals between there and the isolated village of Tortuguero. Eventually we do get some consensus from the locals and set off along 10kms of paved then 20kms of dirt through a maze of banana plantations....

Closer to the sea, the style of houses changes and the lands starts to look more like it's Caribbean brother Belize than Costa Rica. There are brightly painted, rickety wooden huts, often raised above the bitey things of the jungle floor on slender stilts...

The butterflies are stunning....

This one appears to have a futuristic looking helmet shaped head and a bright red tongue....

When we arrive at the boat launch there is bad news - the captain will not take our bikes as his boat is too small. He recommends we lock them to a tree in the bus station car park along with most of our kit and that we carry just a bag each aboard. Hmmm - I can maybe see a problem with just leaving all our kit unattended in the middle of nowhere for 2 or 3 days. We start to consider turning back and the disappointment of a fruitless ride to the Caribbean side of Costa Rica. This was the main reason for taking this route and we're about to waste a few hundred kilometers of riding.

Sad pouty lips and long faces finally have the desired effect though and a boat captain relents and finally lets us on board for a small tip that goes in his back pocket.

It's a slow boat to Tortuguero as the captain picks his way through the debris swept along the canals and rivers. Submerged logs threaten to hole the boat whilst slumbering crocs lie in wait for easy pickings should he err and spill his cargo....

Finally after an hour and a bit we arrive at the dock and are immediately accosted by the 'tour guides'. Life away from the gringo trail means we often forget this side of travel that is a daily nuisance to bus bound backpackers. We avoid the worst of it and set out to find a cheap hostel.

Green turtles nest at night and the area is rigorously controlled - you have to have a guide. We book with 'JJ' a guide staying at our hostel who convinces us of his qualifications and local knowledge. We are to meet at 8pm.

At 6pm we realise his knowledge relates to the local bars in town when he turns up staggering drunk and proceeds to noisily break into his own room with a very large blade. Perhaps the trip is off!

Shortly afterwards a man arrives purporting to be JJ's cousin who will take us with his group at 9:40pm. Dress in dark clothes, cover yourself in insect repellent and absolutely no cameras he warns us. I have seen pictures from other turtle nest sites in Costa Rica so it looks like they are becoming more strict in an effort to not disturb the mother as she lays her eggs. That's to be applauded, but I hate not having a camera to record such a memorable event. So this is the only picture I have of a turtle....

We meet our group and for some reason we are the only ones dressed like ninjas. I guess no one else heard the news about the black clothes and now we feel like we are at the wrong fancy dress party.

We take a half hour ride along the coast by boat taxi with another couple where we're surprised to see the twinkling lights of several expensive looking 'resort' hotels with their fancy restaurants lining up white linen tablecloths to the fine views at the water's edge. Eventually we find ourself in the middle of nowhere with a guide who only grunts – 'Wait here' and disappears for 15 minutes. We're just beginning to think we've been abandoned – the rest of our group are nowhere to be seen having taken a different boat when he returns and gets us to follow towards the beach. It's another surprise when we emerge from dense foliage and step out onto an airport runway seen dimly in the moonlight. That explains how the better class of guests get to the expensive hotels

It's not every day you get to witness a miracle! By the light of a full moon, seeing a 500kg green turtle haul itself from the ocean, crawl laboriously up the beach to nest; before dragging it's weary body back to the water comes pretty close. Every third year or so the females return to the same beach where they were hatched. There they dig a pit into which they lay up to 200 ping pong ball size eggs before covering them over with four immensely strong flippers. Usually they will mate three times in a season and lay first 200 then 100 and finally 50 eggs. Once she begins to lay her eggs we are allowed to approach and watch this amazing sight – before that we stay hidden as turtles are easily spooked and will turn back to the safety of the sea if they see movement. After that, she is incredibly tolerant of us watching, but her pitiful gasps for air on her return leave you feeling helpless and you have to restrain yourself from 'helping' by giving her a push. Once she touches the water, this lumbering beast undergoes a dramatic change as she casts off her heavy clumsiness and powers off into her element.

For the eggs she leaves behind, the odds are not good. In a month they will all hatch on the same night and the lottery can begin. Running the gauntlet of dogs, birds, crabs and hungry fish, 80% will not make it as far as the sea. Abandoned by their parents, more will be eaten before the exhausted newborns can reach their feeding grounds. Less than 1% will make it to 25 years old when they will return to nest and the cycle can begin again.

It's all sobering stuff as we return at 1am. The boat back to La Pavona leaves at 6am so we opt for a lie in and a rest day on this beautiful deserted Caribbean beach....

Exploring the 'town' does not take too long. Main street disappears off into the rainforest after 200m or so and houses on the edge look like they are slowly being reclaimed by vegetation...

An early start next morning sees us catch that return boat which acts like a delivery service to locals who magically emerge from the trees as the boat pulls up at makeshift docks – more just gaps in the mangroves...

Can any one spot a potential problem with that bike seat hanging over the edge?

There's a slight snag as we pull up alongside another boat back in La Pavona and my seat post is bent at a 90° angle as it collides with a steel strut on the other boat - we jerk to an abrupt halt. Unwrapping my bike from around both boats, there is a possibility I won't be riding today. Slightly shamed, the captain attempts to make amends for his poor steering by fixing the problem with a rather indelicate 3 foot length of steel pipe.

He promptly snaps my seat clean off!

All doubts are now gone and I definitely won't be riding today! You have to hand it to the locals though as they all rally round and try to come up with a solution. First they flock round a bus driver - but he refuses to take us explaining there is no room. Costa Rica seems to differ from the rest of Central America in that there are rules and safety concerns. The bus driver does get down from his seat though, leaving a full load of passengers to wait while he moves off to chat to the 'Gasoline Guy'. Eric makes the twice weekly run from Cariari to deliver ten 225 litre barrels of petrol to the Tortuguero village that supplies them with all their energy. He agrees to give us a ride and straps a couple of empties on top of his load to make room for my mangled bike and our kit. Many thanks Eric....

Unfortunately this is a Sunday and the chances of anywhere being open to help fix my dead bike are slim, but incredibly there is a bike shop in Cariari. The second problem is that my seat post is oversize and you can't get a replacement in Costa Rica, so we hit on the solution of welding a smaller post inside a length of the tube I have left from my old seat post. Of course the welder is closed, but luckily the bike shop also have cheap cabins to rent and we are forced to stay overnight to await the welder.

It's been a frustrating start to the trip with stops and starts due to illness and now bike sabotage. Ever the optimist I arrive at the shop when they open at 7am, but being Central America, nothing really happens for a couple of hours so we resign ourselves to another wasted day in Cariari. Finally, my bike does reappear though with a Heath Robinson repair job and we can get cracking again....

Diverse Costa Rica

2010-07-29T19:17:00.000-06:00

July 17^th to 20^th

Leaving La Fortuna, the road meanders up and over and around some vivid green rolling hills. It's easy riding; cool under cloudy skies, and Costa Rica in the rainy season is becoming a lovely contrast to the more featureless hot, flat lands of Nicaragua in the dry season.

This area was 'discovered' by Columbus around 1506 who named it Costa Rica (Rich Coast) after seeing the amount of gold jewelry worn by the natives. He then tried, and failed to obtain the governorship of the country when he fell out of favour in the Spanish Royal court. Queen Isabella, his former patron was growing ill and King Ferdinand had other favourites besides Columbus. Later Spanish conquests found the claims of riches to be exaggerated and the country was largely disregarded by Conquistadors who set about enslaving the rest of Central America instead. This all worked in favour of the modern Costa Rica which consequently managed to retain much of it's primary forest. Today the country is replete with exotic habitats and strange wildlife.

As we ride on the cloud lifts and, looking back, we finally get some fine views of Volcan Arenal - puffing smoke as it broods and patiently waits. This is Central America's most active volcano erupting almost continuously - you can even see the red lava glow at night...

Also patient, the hawks scan the long grass for tell-tale movements which could signal an early lunch....

Not only is the wildlife exotic, but the land provides great varieties of fruits as well. There are the usual pineapples, bananas, passion fruits, papayas and melons, but we pull over to stock up on a mid morning snack of 'Pejibayes' and 'Momones'. Pejibayes are a small yellow/red fruit, the size of a ping pong ball that grow in clusters on gnarly wooded stems – like an oversized bunch of grapes. Boiled for an hour, they taste like a cross between a chestnut and a sweet potato and are totally delicious. Momones just look odd! Peeled they are like a sticky gumball of chewy grape-ness and are quite addictive....

All very pleasant; but then we pass 'Florencia' and find that Costa Rica is also famous for it's disregard of steep gradients. Road builders will often take the snaky, meandering route when it suits them, but sometimes they just get an evil glint in their eye and just plough straight on with no allowances for sanity. Florencia to San Carlos is lung bustingly steep and really sorts the men from the boys. Hitting it in the heat of mid afternoon really tests a cycle tourist's metal. We take a well earned breather to catch our breath and let our racing hearts be still when suddenly an odd thing happens....

A man is calmly toiling up the hill carrying a tree trunk, maybe 15 feet long. It looks like hard work! A police car passes us by and stops at the roadside maybe 100m away. The man with the tree sees the police, drops his log, walks on past us and then stops. He seems to consider for a minute, then turns and sprints full pelt directly towards us....

I'm just beginning to get tense....

but he races on past us, down the hill and disappears.

The police car slowly drives off in the opposite direction.

It just all seemed a bit odd at the time.

I don't think anyone really considered how the tree trunk was affected.

Anyway just as we reach the top of the climb, the heavens open again and we are drenched in cool rain. Funny how in Central America, the best views always seem to be taken by shanty huts or wooden shacks with tin roofs. This one just seems to be throwing down a gauntlet and challenging the powers of gravity on it's spindly stilts....

We finally make it to the top of what must approach 20 percent gradients in places, and take a rest day in San Carlos.

Checking the map reveals the reason for the extreme road - it was heading directly up the side of Volcan Porvenir which, in about 10 kilometres, climbs from 250m (800ft) up to 2183m (7200ft). Fortunately for us, after San Carlos, the road dog legs by 90 degrees and we skirt the base of this huge volcano.

These are the back roads now, miles away from the carnage of the Pan-American Highway and it's more gorgeous riding in this emerald land past fan palms looking back to the volcano and the 3000m (10,000ft) peaks of he Cordillera Central....

Like I said before, you're never far away from other diners on a lunch break and today is no exception....

I'd rather have my tuna fish sandwiches than what this guy is eating, but he's a nasty looking fellow with a big red spike on his back....

Not all the wild life looks so deadly though. Bright crimson flashes in the trees draw your attention to the beautiful plumage of the birds....

This is a variety of 'Tanager' and when he takes to the wing, the whole area across his back is that bright scarlet colour.

We stop for a water break, which just happens to be outside a locked gateway and a few minutes later a woman and a young boy appear to ask if we were waiting to come in. We're a bit bemused, but also curious so we follow them in as they swing the large gates aside. What follows is a short tour conducted by Joseph and his sister Amelia. Joseph is about ten years old going on forty and has grandiose, adult mannerisms as he walks us to the river past his lemon trees and painted animal statues of deer and zebra. He even puts his hands behind his back as he strolls! There is the ancient butterfly house, now sadly empty plus secret gardens hidden away behind dense foliage. This place must have been amazing in it's heyday; now it is slowly being reclaimed by the jungle, but there is still an old basketball court with seating for many, plus a covered BBQ area with lawns and flower gardens of fabulous orchids....

It's the kind of thing that just seems to happen occasionally – small, totally unexpected diversions. Joseph and Amelia treat us like old friends and we can't leave until we have met the rest of the family consisting of several generations and Joseph has thoroughly embarrassed me at one-on-one football.

We hole up near La Virgen in our best accommodation bargain so far in CR – a private cabin for just $8. Normally rooms here have been quite expensive by Central American standards, up to $20 for a basic place....

The day dawns sunny and bright and it's already sweltering when we hit the road. Fortunately we are heading back towards the coast and away from the central mountain chains, so the land here is flat. Originally we had planned to ride through the mountains for the spectacular scenery, but that was before we lost so much time. Now, deep in the wet season, those scenic views are no more as the world is hidden under dense fog and cloud, and the storms are even more ferocious than here. So, after a change of plans we're taking the road along the Caribbean coast and that means crossing a series of huge river bridges as we traverse the huge drainage basin for all those mountain storms.

It's amazing after the amount of rain we have seen that these rivers are not even close to full yet....

But when you consider just how dense the rain forest is, and how many thirsty roots there are slurping away at the wet ground, it just takes months for the ground to get sodden enough for the bigger watercourses to fill up again.

At the small village of Flores we find another bargain - $12 for a very private riverside cabin directly overlooking the River Chirripo. I'm just jokingly telling Sue how disappointed I am that I haven't seen a Toucan yet and that we're not leaving Costa Rica until we do - when one suddenly appears in the tree directly opposite our balcony - just as I am picking up my camera and long lens....

ANOTHER GOTCHA.... A 'Keel Billed Toucan'

The timing is even better as he takes flight ahead of the storm clouds that roll in once more and the river gains another little inch or two....

Lago Arenal

2010-07-19T16:56:00.007-06:00

July 11^th to 16^th

The first couple of days riding in Costa Rica is fairly dull. The terrain is totally flat and uninspiring which is a real boon to us! We can now get some easy miles in and toughen up both the legs and our tender nether regions after our long break.

In stark contrast to the cerulean skies of the dry season, we ride beneath a slate roof – heavy black clouds that look ominous and heavy. Without warning, the wind can whip up from nowhere and the clouds burst, smashing heavy water droplets on to the road surface. They rebound in a fine spray above the Tarmac before settling back to help form temporary rivers. We are constantly drenched and nothing dries out in the humid air. Each morning, we pull on still-damp riding gear that is slowly taking on the nasty odour of wet rot and we have to try and keep our distance when talking to locals.

In Liberia, we stop to admire a particularly violent storm....

Thunder detonates like a shell directly overhead and simultaneously from several directions at once. It's like a scene from a World War II blitzkrieg attack – without all the damage of course. Lightning is constant; a strobe light that flickers on and off drawing the eye here and there, trying to track the jagged forks of brilliance as they live and die in an instant. The ground is waterlogged in seconds and thereafter turns to liquid.

The roof of our hotel is no match for the battering and we wake up with an inch of water on the stone floor of our room. All our kit is soaked and we take a day to try and dry out – after moving to another room that is.

Riding through Canas, we turn towards Arenal Lake and our first real test as the land rises steeply into the Tilaran Range of mountains. Our mileage drops to a new tour low – 22kms to Tilaran one day, followed by 32kms to Nuevo Arenal the next as gradients approach the ridiculous. It's nice however to leave the flatlands behind and the scenery improves dramatically.

This is cattle country and the pastureland is so rich and green....

In the distance we spot what looks like the finest water park invented by man – a 75 metre helter-skelter ride dropping into a 200m pipe that zooms down the hillside.

Rather boringly as we get closer it turns out to be part of a hydroelectric plant. Lake Arenal is man-made, created by the cool sounding 'ICE' company (Costa Rica's power company) who flooded a couple of villages; Arenal and Tonadora (presumably after moving the people out) to create a water and power supply.

After climbing for what seemed like a leg burning eternity we drop back down and catch our first views of Costa Rica's famous beauty spot, Lake Arenal...

The lake varies from 100 to 200 feet deep depending on rainfall and the crocs mean swimming is not recommended.

Unfortunately it's close to our last view as a storm suddenly blows in and stinging rain takes our visibility down to nothing.

Leaving Nuevo Arenal the next day skies are clearer. After Honduras and Nicaragua, the well tended entranceways to hidden lake retreats come as a bit of a surprise. There is money here! Many Americans have holiday homes around the lake, but there are also a number of excellent five star luxury spa hotels here as well. We haven't seen uniformed valets around immaculately tended and manicured gardens since I can't remember when and it's all very un-Central American. I don't think we can afford to stop so we head on before we lower the tone!

Suddenly the hotels are no more, the neat lawns are past and deep jungle encroaches right up to the road again....

You have to be careful taking water breaks – this guy was eyeing the catch of the day in his giant web literally a metre a way from where we sat...

All the wet jungle is starting to take it's toll on us! Bites and stings are a constant nuisance and for a change I am rejected, Sue being judged a far more tasty treat. For every bite I receive, she seems to get 30 and after a particularly bad chomping her face swells up like a prize fighters after a grudge match that goes the distance. A row of bites along her forehead threatens to close her eye entirely and the bridge of her nose is more Golden Gate than aquiline.

Being the sympathetic type, I just can't resist humming the theme tune to 'Rocky' and getting her to re-enact a couple of scenes. Suzy is not amused!

Sadly it begins to pour again and the spectacular views of the majestic 1700m cone of Arenal Volcano behind the lake are shrouded in low cloud.

The lake is still stunning in an angry brooding sort of way....

Then, for but a second the veil is lifted and the grey spectre of a volcano briefly materialises....

We hole up in 'La Fortuna', base to a thousand tourists in search of high adrenaline adventure. Every other building is a hostel and hundreds of operators compete to entice travellers onto their tour buses....

It's a pretty little town backdropped by a picture perfect volcanic cone, unfortunately spoiled by it's soulless pursuit of the tourist dollar.

In it's favour though, we do discover 'Chan' here.

Tiny black seeds soaked overnight in sugar water produce a frog spawn like gloop with a texture to match. It's a bit like wall-paper paste with bits of grit added in and the whole thing wobbles when you shake the glass....

Costa Ricans (Ticos) drink it by the bucket load and swear by it's ability to cure any stomach complaint. Despite appearances, it tastes absolutely delicious!

And finally.... finally; after a quest that started way, way back in Mexico – I, at last get a half decent shot of that demon species that is called 'hummingbird'. I know not why this one failed to teleport away from the camera lens in time – maybe it is damaged in some way, maybe they just don't work properly in the rain - wet circuitry all shorting out or something? I know it's not the best photograph ever – but it is still a personal triumph....

GOTCHA....

The Reunion of Man and Machine

2010-07-13T16:39:00.007-06:00

July 2nd to 10th

After two months back in Britain and an emotional good bye to our families, we finally head back to Nicaragua to try and pick up our bikes and the threads of our interrupted tour.

Arriving in Managua by aeroplane is like clashing the gears of a high power sports car - it jars the nerves! Approaching by bicycle, Central America creeps up on you at low speed. Air travel slams it in your face and allows no time for the senses to adjust. As we leave the airport it's like entering another world.

The heat and humidity suddenly envelop you like a warm wet blanket. The buildings fall apart - all crumbling concrete and exposed steel clawing at the sky. Bodies swarm at you from all sides - gone is the sense of decorum and personal space we British expect from strangers. "Taxi!", "Hotel" the high volume cries, as hopefuls make grabs for our rucksacks to seal the deal and cause you to follow. Despite the jet lag and crusty eyes from a 26 hour journey we run the gauntlet and repel all comers to flag down a taxi down in the street we know will cost less than half price.

It's 10 miles from the airport to Managua centre where we return to Hostal Santos. I feel my legs tensing up and then making for an imaginary brake pedal as we speed towards a red light at 60mph. The driver, seeing my wasted efforts, laughs and casually explains that after two motorcyclists were dragged from their bikes and shot; the police no longer enforce traffic restrictions after dark. Welcome back to Nicaragua!

In our absence, Central America has passed from Summer into Winter - meaning we are now in the rainy season. It's not like a winter back home and temperatures are still in the 80's and 90's. There are just two seasons here and winter lasts for seven or eight months with torrential rains and tropical storms a violent and daily feature. The vegetation has an otherwordly greeness and growth rates are prodigious....

Above, great flocks of parakeets squabble and squawk as they tear between tree perches with the best pickings...

As is becoming a common way to start our tour, we are both laid low with headcolds. By choice we would never have visited Managua and this is now our third stay and it's all a bit depressing. After three days we can stand it no more and head on out.

Travel without the bicis is a torrid affair and I have new found sympathy for backpackers. We take a taxi to the bus terminal where we are assaulted by maybe 10 competing companies looking for fares and all grabbing at our clothes. It's two hours to Rivas and the bus is choc-a-bloc. Amazingly we both get seats - Sue shares with a mother and two young lads and I get half a buttock on a back seat facing sideways. There are people and gear everywhere in the aisle and it's a hot sweaty ride with armpits jammed in your face. As I am the nearest, whenever we stop I am responsible for the rear door and an impossible number of new passengers climb in over my legs and feet. It's a human version of the popular 'Tetris' game fitting them all in.

As we near our stop, the conductor, unable to move down the aisle - spider-mans his way up on to the roof of the moving bus, over the top and in at the back door. He explains he can get us a taxi to the ferry port and; whilst hanging bodily out of the door, slings one of our rucksacks over one shoulder, then the other over his other shoulder. As the bus slows to a running speed, like a paratrooper he disappears out the door taking all our kit. Being less adventurous, we almost wait for the bus to stop before jumping out whereupon the hyper-active bus-man is already running back towards us gesticulating at the car he has launched our bags into. He is up and the bus is off before we can even reach the taxi.

From taxi to ferry and another lesson in how shockingly wasteful Western travel is with it's 'Maximum Passenger Loads'....

From ferry to bus and four more hours of mixed paved and dirt road to cross Ometepe Island. We are minor celebrities it would seem when I explain to the bus conductor we are returning to collect our bikes from Oswaldo's place. 'Ahhhh these are the gringos' he announces to the bus load of locals and they all nod as if a nagging problem has finally been solved. At least we learn that Oswaldo has been good to his word and the bikes and kit is just as we left it. I can't tell you how big a relief this news is!

As luck would have it, the bus terminates at Rancho Merida where we frantically left our trusty steeds two months earlier and it's a happy reunion of man and machine.

Partly to fully recover from our headcolds and mainly to push some money Oswaldo's way (as he refuses to take money for bicycle storage) we stay four days at his hostal and restaurant. Many thanks amigo - you really helped us out when we needed it.

To be honest it's also partly to put off the inevitable ride back to the ferry port. Two months off does not prepare you for this as a first day back on a fully loaded bike...

Last time we rode here, we were well in the groove and the roads were dry. Now there are added water features and it's all gone slick and treacherous....

All this water is manna from heaven for butterflies and they swirl and flutter around us, gathering in congregation in damp spots....

Sue manages to spill some of her kit on a nasty stretch....

Later she spills herself and takes a tumble in the dirt. Day one and our first use of the first aid kit as she bangs up a wrist. It all gets too much as we approach a volcanic water hole that boasts medicinal properties for it's mineral rich water. A patient checks in for some aquatic healing....

We intended to stay an hour and remain for four when the healing proves more tempting than the riding. The rainy season proves to be more than a rumour when the heavens open and we deluged with a cascade of water. It's odd to be swimming in a cold sulphurous pool under warm rain.

After so long enjoying long summer evenings of daylight back home in Britain, it's a bit of a shock to be chasing the last of the sun's rays at just six o'clock as we make our sodden ride back to a hotel by the ferry port. The streets are in darkness as the power suddenly fails and we just make it before it's pitch black.

Leaving the island, the imposing cone of Conception volcano is noticeably greener than two months ago. When it emerges from dense cloud banks that is. A swift, flat dash along the lake takes us through a surprisingly modern metal forest of giant rotating wind turbines that supply the local area with green energy....

It's a relaxing ride towards the chaos that is the Penas Blancas border crossing. We are immediately accosted by youths who tell us the wait to be stamped out of Nicaragua is two hours, but for $10 each they can speed things up. We decline and the queue is indeed right around the building. The 'speeding up process' consists of marching people close to the front of the queue and telling them to blatantly push in. Four Americans are having a disagreement with their 'helper' explaining that is not what they had in mind when they handed over what is an average day's wage for a local.

Nicaraguan organisation at it's finest....

The whole thing is chaotic and trying to queue with our bikes becomes impossible with all the jostling. In the melee Sue drops her bike, only catching it when the chain-ring gouges a path down her shin. Where the sharp metal teeth have bitten into her leg, it looks like she has been mauled by the claws of a bear and the blood flows freely into her sock and shoe. I think she is going to need a stitch or two. Eventually after an hour and a half we get the formalities of the passport stamp out of the way and we can finally dress her still-bleeding wound.

Some countries you leave with a heavy heart, some countries you just leave. Adios Nicaragua we'll not miss you....

After the wasted time at the border we again chase the daylight and arrive 20kms later at 'La Cruz' the first Costa Rican town of any size. Bienvenidos a Costa Rica.....

A Change Of Plans

2010-07-03T18:12:00.004-06:00

April 23 to...

Ometepe Island resembles a dumbbell in that it is two giant volcanic cones joined together by a narrow strip of land. We leave Moyagalpa on Conception Volcano heading to Merida on the other cone of Maderas Volcano.

The road around Conception is paved and it's an easy 20 kilometers to the turn off, whereupon the tarmac ends and it's a rough ride across the isthmus. Rocks in the road are big enough to stand the bike up for a photo op....

Where the lands sweeps down to meet the sea there are some great beaches of soft golden sand. Fronted by palm topped palapas with the impressive 1400 metre cone in the background it's a memorable setting for a lunch stop...

Behind us there is a midden pile where all the local hotels throw away their food waste and white faced capuchin monkeys squabble noisily over scraps. I can almost hear the "Mission Impossible" theme tune playing as this one runs the tightrope back to the trees....

It's hard to believe that after another road juncton at Santa Cruz, the road gets even worse....

It's one of the worst surfaces I've ever picked my way through. Always terrible - it varies between nasty rock to tyre sucking sand which stops the bikes dead. Riders don't always stop so fast and we are often thrown overboard. Fortunately it's a soft landing, but slick with sweat we become covered in grit and sand and it's slow going. Even the buses struggle on this route, often taking 4 hours to cover just 40 kms (25 miles)....

It takes us 5 tough hours.

Next day we head out to hike up to the San Ramon waterfalls. It's about a four hour trek that takes us roughly half way up the Maderas Volcano, so it's a good dry run to take on the full thing. Midday temperatures are as ever in the billions, so we set off at dawn to hopefully get most of the climb out of the way in the cool part of the day. It's a good decision as the path is really steep in places as if passes through an ecological research centre and up the mountain side.

Unfortunately views are limited through thick vegetation, but the glimpses you do get of the lake and mainland are spectacular.

Then, just as the heat is getting seriously oppressive the tree cover opens up as we reach the 40m cascade...

Actually "cascade" is a little generous; this being the end of the dry season. However, despite 6 months with no rain, there is still some water. More importantly there is a small pool at the foot of the falls that is crystal clear and fabulously cool for swimming in.

After the descent and whilst picking up some emails, we get some bad news about Sue's father. A frantic phone call home reveals the worst and we are suddenly making arrangements to leave the island and book return flights. It's a Sunday afternoon and the last ferry leaves the other side of the island in just 90 minutes. We dash back to our hotel and hastily make arrangements to dump the bikes and kit with the the owner, pack a bag and get to the boat jetty in less than an hour. Fortunately there is a speed boat there and we manage to get a ride to the ferry port.

Arriving just as the ferry is finishing loading and preparing to leave, we pull up alongside and climb from the roof of the speed boat through a hatch on the side of the ferry.

We just made it!

It takes us a couple of days to get a flight after the problems with volcanic ash from an eruption in Iceland and we arrive home on Wednesday morning. It's a devastating blow to hear her father passed away in the night and that we were just too late to see him. He was 83.

Ivor had been ill off and off for a long time and we were always travelling with the spectre of this news in the background. In the end he was taken to hospital with what was thought to be a 'routine urine infection' but he was found to have internal bleeding that couldn't be stopped. He passed peacefully in the night.

Ivor was a man you would describe as a 'True Gentleman'. In a world where that term is bandied about with little regard, it is good to have known the man for whom the expression was truly meant. Ivor was a gentleman and a man I am proud to have known - he is sadly missed.

It was hard for us both to have arrived home just too late to say goodbye, but Sue and I can look back on the four months we spent over Christmas with her dad when he was in better health and on good form....

This is a better way to remember him.

We have spent the last 2 months back in Britain with family and friends especially with Sue's mother Sal who is slowly coming to terms with her loss.

We are now heading back to Nicaragua to pick up the bikes and resume our tour into South America. It's always tough to leave family behind and that is especially true now. It is a tough decision, but then starting the trip in the first place was a tough decision as well. There are always reasons to delay, to put off and not to do what part of you needs to do, and there is never a 'right time'. Sometimes you just have to go - and then be flexible enough to about-face and head home when needed.

As ever - life goes on.....

Ometepe Island

2010-06-11T06:22:00.014-06:00

April 21st to 22nd

Another ridiculously early start sees us leaving Granada and heading past the cloud obscured cone of Vulcan Mombacho. It's a trivial climb made tricky by the oppressive heat as we head to the volcanic island of Ometepe.

At Nandaimo, we rejoin the Pan American Highway and battle the traffic, the manic rush of cars like a stream of blood cells gushing along a main artery. It's a pretty short, dull ride until Rivas where there is a turn off to the boat dock at Saint George. After debating boat times with captains that conflict with timetables, we book passage for bikes and riders on the next ferry - all for less than $5.

With an hour to kill we rest up on the sandy lake shore with the mile high cone of Vulcan Conception rising dramatically from the lake surface forming the island in the background....

The 10 mile crossing is by a tiny, chugging boat that carries all manner of cargo to the islanders. Our bikes share space with chickens, copper pipe, a diesel generator, food, water tanks and electrical supplies.

Ometepe Island is actually 2 volcanoes joined together by a thin strip of land forming a rounded dumbbell shape roughly 20 miles long and 10 wide. The second volcano is 'Maderas' - greener and lower than it's conjoined twin at 1394 metres (4500 feet).

The barren drama of the steep sided Conception Volcano is clear as the boat docks at 'Moyogalpa'....

Moyogalpa is pretty much a dock and a single street lined with guest houses with a church at the end. After a long day it's as much as we want to explore and we crash in the cheapest room we can find.

The island is served by roads that circumnavigate both volcanoes and connect together at the isthmus between them. Some bits are even paved using cinder blocks - the rest is a nasty patchwork of rock and stone. We head past banana and corn fields to 'Reserva Chaco Verde' to hike along the lake amongst primary forest. The air hums with the screams of insect, bird and animal as troops of monkeys cavort in the tree canopy. Some are newly born and cling to mother for dear life as she hunts for food....

Adolescents are bolder and more inquisitive staring right back as we watch them....

Father just broods....

There are huge butterflies, chameleonic lizards, coatis (a kind of giant rodent the size of a small dog) white herons, and blue tailed magpies called 'Urracas' which follow us screeching out warnings to all who listen....

It's an incredible place and we see no-one all day. Views back to the volcano are stunning....

The lake dominates life here. Soils are fertile, but rainfall is absent during the 6 month dry season so it's water provides life to valuable crops and people alike. It is a meeting place for socialising, to cool and water cattle and also for bathing and washing clothes....

Wooden washing platforms are dotted along the shore.

Mother washes....

Whilst dad fishes....

And son relaxes....