Latin America 2018 - Day 32. Cali

Looking over the guides I concluded that Cali is OK, but not really a tourist destination. Cool are the bars where salsa is danced since Cali claims to be the birthplace of salsa. However, visiting one would imply staying up after 8 pm, which is a major challenge for me. We will see how I feel at the end of the day.

For the day I decided to go walk in the Parque Natural Nacional Los Farallones de Cali, which is a rather large park that covers a large patch from the Rio Cueca, to the crest of the Cordillera Occidental, and down the west slope almost to the coastal plain. Unfortunately the access to the park is amongst the best guarded secrets among the Caleňos, and nobody could give me precise instructions. I ended going to the main office of the National Park Service, and even there the best I got were verbal instructions.

I was doing good progress when a policeman flagged me to the side. He was very polite, but informed me that since my license plate ended in the number 1 I was not supposed to circulate on Mondays 8 to 10 am, and 4 to 8 pm. We went through the whole story of me being a visitor and the car being a rental, and how in Bogotá nobody had told me a thing. He was very sympathetic, but left the final decision to the traffic agent, with which I had to repeat the whole performance. He told me there was a fine involved and that the car had to be impounded, but I kept a peaceful demeanor, with big, innocent eyes, and eh finally relented, allowing me to park on the spot for one and a half hours, until the 10 am curfew expired. I tell you, everyone loves Mexicans 😊

It took me forever to reach the park, including a good 10 km of a miserable dirt road, but I finally found the place, and had the privilege of walking along the Rio Pance, which is a crystalline mountain stream entrenched in a deep valley cut on the shoulders of the Cordillera Occidental. The river is a great favorite among the Caleňos, who come here in droves to swim in the pools.

The mountains all around me are magnificent, rising steeply hundreds of meters. I was hoping to get great exposures of folded sedimentary rocks, but instead found heavily vegetated slopes where no rocks were cropping out. Along the path I stepped on massive, black, heavy rocks polished by the boots of generations of hikers. I finally used a smaller rock to chip a bigger one, and conclude that I was looking at amphibolites, which would represent the forearc metamorphic belt (found at depth between the arc and the fold-and-thrust belt due to the combination of high temperature from the arc, and anisotropic stress due to gravitational spreading).

I got back down from the river at about 2 pm, and very conscious of the 4 pm curfew I made a beeline to my hotel, parked, and went out for an enormous dinner of blood sausage, salad, inch-thick steak, and grilled vegetables, all for US$ 20. I was quite satisfied indeed.

P.S. I did go out at night (7 pm) to take a look at the salsa disco bars. There was the music, there were the lights, but not a single soul (you actually need two to salsa) in sight. But I was here, in the birthplace of the salsa!

Latin America 2018 - Day 31. Manizales – Cali

Today was a simple driving day. I started about 8:30 am, first of all getting down from my lofty mountain perch using a good highway with endless curves and fantastic views of the deep valleys that surround Manizales (my only complaint with Colombian highways is that they have narrow shoulders and no place to stop to take pictures). These valleys is where much of the famous Colombian coffee comes from, so one sees acres and acres of well-groomed coffee plantations, interrupted—of all things—by dense copses of bamboo.

Once I reached the lowlands, it became an easy drive due south along the valley of the Rio Cauca, which reminded me very much of the San Joaquin Valley. It is a narrow (~30 km wide) valley with a flat floor, where agriculture thrives. I didn’t see any significant irrigation works, so I think they rely on the abundant rainfall for growing vast expanses of corn and sugar cane. From a geologic point of view, this valley between the magmatic arc and the forearc fold-and-thrust belt, mirrors the valley of the Rio Magdalena between the magmatic arc and the back-arc fold-and-thrust belt. On first blush they look like rifts (i.e., the product of tensional stresses), which would seem odd in the compressive stress regime of a subduction-related orogenic belt. These tensional features are one of the supporting arguments in favor of the theory of gravitational spreading of orogenic belts. In brief, the idea is that as the magmatic arc adds mass to the axis of the belt the latter grows; as it rises it becomes gravitationally unstable (like a tall pile of mashed potatoes) and under the influence of its own weight spreads out (again like a tall pile of mashed potatoes), becoming wider as it pushes the rocks away from its axis (hence the presence of the symmetric fold-and-thrust belts).

I enjoyed the ride, and the Sancocho de Gallina I had for lunch, but was ready for a break once I reached the city of Cali, maybe around 2 pm. Didn’t look like much to be honest, but I will give it an honest chance. By now I know the basic layout of Colombian cities, which use a grid of numbered calles at right angles to numbered carreras. I was heading for Calle 9 and Carrera 10, which should put me near downtown. My signal was the Marriot Cali, two blocks away, which should be a recognizable tower. Man, the deeper I go into the city the worst it looks. I am not faint of heart, but looking around I soon realized that I could not possibly stay in this area, if nothing else because my little car would be stripped if I left it alone for more than a few minutes on the street. Screw it, I am going to look for a good hotel and treat me to a good night sleep.

Where to look for a good hotel? When in doubt head for the hills, so I headed north toward a part of town that had tall buildings. I was on the lookout when I saw a street sign for Calle 12 N. Wait a minute, Calle 12 was way back there in downtown! I quickly checked the hotel address and lo and behold, the address was Calle 9 N and Carrera 10. Five minutes later I was parking in front of a delightful small hotel, in a street filled with restaurants and coffee houses, in what could be described as the Zona Rosa of Cali. Nice save! 

Latin America 2018 - Day 30. Parque Nacional Natural de Los Nevados

Man, I am still stiff, and my knees are hurting. I hope I did not do permanent damage to them in Roraima.

My friend at the parking garage has really taken me under his wing, and gave me very detailed instructions on how to get out of downtown, head back toward Bogotá for about 20 km (groan), and then take the road toward the Parque Natural Nacional Los Nevados. I got there around 11 am, went through an introductory talk, and then became the leader of a caravan of six cars to go up to the flanks of the Nevado Del Ruiz volcano. The guide provided by the park, Geraldine, rode shotgun with me, so in a way I had my very own guide. In general the volcano was covered by clouds, and it was pretty cold (I came ready for a tropical summer and do not have a jacket), but I was in my element and enjoyed the visit very much.

In 1985 Nevado Del Ruiz became the main actor on one of the worst natural disasters in recent memory (the recent eruption of Volcán de Fuego in Guatemala is a close second). Back to 1985, the volcano had a minor eruption at midnight, which caused a rock avalanche that mixed debris, snow, and stream water to form a lahar that grew as it ran down the valley to the east. After several kilometers the lahar reached the main stream, changed direction to the south, and in the early hours of the morning flooded with a thick layer the town of Armero. 25,000 people died in their sleep, and the location of the former town became a featureless plain of mud. Later analysis indicated that the town had been destroyed by lahars on two previous occasions, only to be rebuilt at the exact same spot. The catastrophe taught us much about the behavior of people that are rooted to specific locations, particularly when they need access to a reliable source of water, and about the need to do large scale planning when managing volcanic risk.

Nevado Del Ruiz is also a beautiful example of the volcanoes of the magmatic arc. The lavas and domes I saw were dacitic in composition, with comparatively few layers of andesitic scoria. The volcano is currently in yellow alert condition because fumarolic activity has been very active during the last two years; active seismic monitoring is being conducted by the Servicio Geológico Colombiano, and access to the upper reaches is being strictly limited to volcanologists.

The national park is also a crucial link in the preservation of the high Andes ecosystem, and currently they host four male and five female Andean condors that are struggling to keep the species alive. Condors hatch only one egg every other year, but only live about 8 years, so the “recharge” rate is low, particularly since condors are hunted by trophy seekers, or by farmers acting under the misconception that condors can snatch children or young cattle.

Back in Manizales I had the chance to walk in the downtown area, visit the rather lackluster cathedral, join in the Saturday stroll through the lively shopping area, and see kids having a good time playing in the plaza. I miss little Ronnie.

Latin America 2018 - Day 29. Bogotá – Manizales

I treated myself to a late start, at 10 am, confident that I could navigate myself through the city to reach the highway to Cali. Famous last words. A couple of bad decisions and a very heavy traffic held me back for a couple of hours, so it was not until 12 noon that I left the Bogotá urban area, headed west.

Colombia has the poster child of subduction-related mountain belts. Collectively called the Andes, the mountain chains of Colombia form three distinctive alignments. From the ocean landward they include the Cordillera Occidental (Western Cordillera), the Cordillera Central, and the Cordillera Oriental (Eastern Cordillera). The Cordillera Occidental is also what we geologists would call the forearc fold-and-thrust belt (this is where the cities of Cali and Medellín are located). The Central Cordillera is known to geologists as the magmatic arc, and this is where the volcanoes and the city of Manizales are located. Finally, the Cordillera Oriental—where Bogotá is located—is what we geologists would call the back-arc fold-and-thrust belt. One of my goals in this trip is to spend some time looking at the geology of all three geologic provinces.

Back to my narrative, I am heading west from the back-arc fold-and-thrust belt to go visit the magmatic arc, in this case represented by the Parque Natural Nacional de Los Nevados, home to the Nevado Del Ruiz volcano and the Nevado Tolimán volcano (more about this tomorrow). My goal for a sleeping place tonight is the mountain city of Manizales.

 Had driven a couple of hours when I started getting hungry, and seeing a crowded roadside restaurant stopped there for a magnificent meal of fish soup, fried trout, rice and beans, salad and a beer for less than US$ 10! I also got the chance to see the end of the match in which France beat Brazil 2-1, and with it the dashed hopes of a Latin American country making it to the final match.

A few kilometers farther, at a toll station, I picked one of the supervisors who was going to the town of Ibagué, about 50 km distant. We fell in easy conversation and he gave me all sorts of good tips on how to get to Manizales. The only thing I didn’t like is that he figured I still had 4 hours to go. Rats! That would put me in Manizales at 8 pm. I was hoping for an earlier arrival. I cannot imagine why it would take so long. After Ibagué I was following the valley of the Rio Magdalena, which is a flat and straight north-trending valley. Yes, there were trucks that sometimes slowed me down, but four hours?

On the way I passed signs to the locality of Armero, of which I will tell you more tomorrow. I thought about stopping and visiting the site, but I felt the time pressure and kept going. Finally the road ended at a small town whose name I cannot remember, and from there took a mountain road that headed due west. Now I understood the 4 hours (ended being more like 6 hours) time estimate. Not that I have not seen similar roads in Mexico and other mountainous countries, but the road to Manizales are amongst the worst I have met with respect to tight curves and extreme grades. I was a wreck when I finally reached the town at 9:00 pm. Reaching the town was not enough. I had to find my hotel, and pronto. The city has probably half a million people, and is very similar to Jalapa in that it was built following contour lines, rather than a grid pattern.

Good luck prevailed, and after I asked a taxi how to reach Calle 26 with Carrera 24 he simply said “Follow me”, and he proceeded to take me through a maze of up and down streets until we reached my destination. My Good Samaritan pointed to me the location of a parking garage before taking his leave, leaving me to ponder about the many good people who you meet while traveling. The owner of the garage was also a wonderful person, who promptly assigned me a place and then admonished me to go straight to my hotel, without talking with anybody. “This is not a good part of town at night”, he concluded in parting.

My hotel was a block away, and I had chosen it because it was in a central location, with good access to public monuments, and looked “hip” in the website. “Hip” when seen in person translated into Love Hotel, but I was too tired to be picky. It turned out alright, because three women in their 30’s operate it half as Love Hotel and half as hostel for working families and the odd tourist. You learn all sorts of things in this traveling business.

P.S. I have developed a story about the Hotel Amanacer. I believe the women who run it do so as a service to the sex workers of the area, both to give them a safe place to ply their trade, but also as a place for their kids to get supervised care. I base this story on the fact that for breakfast I was told that my breakfast would be at 8:15 am, because there were a lot of people having breakfast at 8 am. At 8 am I heard a great commotion of kids getting ready to go to school and having breakfast. An unrelated observation is that the ladies are very sweet with me, calling me Don Horacio, and making sure my breakfast is perfect. It pays having white hair in Latin America.

Latin America 2018 - Day 28. Manaus – Bogotá

7 am saw me at the Manaus airport, waiting for my flight first to La Guaira (aka Caracas Maiquetía), and from there to Bogotá. I took the opportunity to buy cachaza at the airport duty free store. Cachaza is fire water used to make delicious caipirihnas, the signature drink of Brazil.

As usual I spent all flight deep asleep, to the point I didn’t feel the plane landing, or all the people filing out of the airplane. At some point one of the stewards had to shake me vigorously and I woke to an empty airport.

I have a 6 hour layover here at La Guaira, which I used to catch up in some of my travel log (like Bilbo I am recreating the details of the trip off of memory), and spending my last 10 million Bolívares. They went toward a lunch of fried chicken (pretty tasty and with big pieces), and an afternoon coffee and an arepa filled with cheese and slowly roasted pork. The arepa is the national snack of Venezuela. It is made of arinapan, which I think is a corn flour of some sort, with the dough molded into a square about 10 cm on the side and 2 cm thick, and then cooked by frying. Once it is ready you slice it open and stuff it with cheese, pork, chicken, ham, and/or avocado, and you eat it as a torta or a hamburger.

The second leg of the trip brought me to Bogotá, where I landed around 7 pm. By the time I went through immigration and customs it was 8:30 pm, and by the time I was done with the car rental it was 10 pm. From there I had to drive to the city proper, to find my hotel (fortunately I already own this city, and was able to navigate a bee line to my new hotel, “La Manoir”, which is definitely a lot more posh than I am used to (is this Expedia’s way of rewarding me for many years of being a loyal customer?). Posh or not I had to wash some clothes, so by midnight the place looked like a refugee camp. I believe I am now almost done cleaning the mud from the Gran Sabana!

Latin America 2018 - Day 27. Santa Elena – Boa Vista - Manaus

Early next morning it became time to say goodbye. I joined the family for a delicious breakfast of arepas with egg, and tanked my gracious host by depositing with her several million Bolivares (which I am afraid will only be good to buy some candy for the kids). I also gave Luis a generous tip, which he accepted with feigned reluctance.

Luis and a couple of his friends then fired up an old Crown Victoria, even more decrepit than the other vehicles we had used before, and drove me to La Línea for me to take the colectivo that was to take me to Boa Vista. I left at 9 am, and should be in Boa Vista by 11 am, with plenty of time to take my flight to Manaus at 1 pm.

It was hard to say goodbye to Luis. I regard him more as a friend than just a guide, and sincerely hope that his tourist business picks up. He has my most enthusiastic recommendation, so if you are ever on this part of the world make sure to look him up:

Luis Vago

Vago Tours

Luis2652@hotmail.com

WhatsApp +58 416-585-9881

The costs of the trip were: $750 all-inclusive fee (for 1 to 4 people) + $200 tip to guide and porters. A bargain!

I reached Boa Vista in plenty of time, my flight to Manaus was on time, and by 3:30 pm I was entering the Ibis Aeropuerto in Manaus. My first tasks were to offer one of the enormous cold beers common in Brazil, catch up with a week of emails, and confirm my flight tomorrow for Bogotá.

Then I went up to my room and had a long, luxurious hot shower. Ah, the simple joys of life! Then I went into a paroxysm of clothes washing, and pretty soon the whole room looked like a laundry. Finally, I sank into the bed, a real bed, and drifted into sleep.

And this is the end of the Roraima adventure.

Latin America 2018 - Day 26. Mount Roraima, Venezuela

We had planned to wake up very early in the morning, planning to be on our way by 6 am, so we would be at Paraitepuy at 10 am ready for pick up. My batteries, alas, were at best 50% recharged, so I undertook the 11 km walk with some trepidation. It was not too bad really, but one of those never-ending walks in which the ridges in the horizon keep succeeding one after the other with no apparent end. But all good things eventually come to an end and at about 9:50 am I dragged myself up to our starting point. Surprise, surprise, no ride waiting for us.

Luis was nowhere to be seen, trying to find a cell phone somewhere in the village that had both battery and minutes to make a call to our driver. What followed was a tangled story in which the driver claimed in turns to have paludism and appendicitis (my opinion is that the bum wanted to stay home to see the soccer match and have simply ditched us). After additional calls Luis secured another ride, who could be expected to arrive between 3 and 4 pm.

The most interesting thing that happened during the wait period was that a group of women were preparing cassava flour, a process that involves scraping thin peelings out of the cassava root, packing the shaved peelings inside a long tube woven out of tough yucca leaves, and then stretching the tube between a roof beam on one side and a long leverage pole on the other. The pole is pushed down until it hooks in a notch on a ground stump, the tube stretches and squeezes the cassava peelings, and the juice contained in them is slowly pressed out into a bucket (this fluid can be fermented to produce the local gut rot, or is added to salsa to give it a delicious flavor). Once the cassava has been squeezed dry it is dried on a hot plate, and then can be ground into cassava flour. We had cassava bread in one of our gourmet dinners, and I can say it is not bad.

I also used the waiting time to distribute tips to Simón and Antonio (more about total costs later).

Finally, at around 3 pm, a Ford Bronco made its appearance. Rescue at last! All of a sudden the driver accuses Luis of being a traitor, and Luis responds in kind with other epithets. “Luis, what are you doing? You should be giving him a thankful kiss rather than picking a fight!” To my surprise that is exactly what he did and a general round of laughter erupted. It turns out that Jonathan and Luis are old friends, and the pretended fight was their way of saying hello.

No sooner had we loaded ourselves into the Bronco when it started to rain hard. The sabana, hit with the rain of the last two days, had turned itself into a sea of mud, which Jonathan navigated with considerable flare for the next 50 kilometers. The sparse people we encountered were going about their business under heavy loads, as if the rain and mud were mere annoyances. This made me think, and ask, about the lack of donkeys, cattle, or goats. Luis told me that the grasses were too tough for the animals, and that nothing else would grow in the acid soils. Too tough for donkeys or goats? Hard to believe.

We finally reached the paved road, and ahead of us saw the Rio Kukenán in flood (but fortunately the road was still passable). Man, there is a lot of water coming down from the tepuys!

I mentioned before that here vehicles are kept going by fixing them with gum and spit. The Bronco was no exception, even though Jonathan is a mechanic. Easier for him to weld an add-on than to get an original part, so the Bronco has the pleasant appearance of a vehicle that would draw many expressions of admiration at a Steam Punk convention.

Finally we made it to Santa Elena! We were all famished, and I had invited everybody to go have arepas in town, but Luis’ Mom beat me to it and had already organized a welcome back (alive) dinner with fried chicken and arroz con caraotas (rice with black beans). Jonathan is clearly the favorite “son”, and all his whims are quickly catered to. For example, he is convinced that caraotas are much better with sugar, so one of the giggling girls was glad to bring him a sugar bowl (I, of course, also had to try it, but I cannot say it made any improvement on a food that has been perfected over hundreds of years).

Later on I bid everyone good night (Luis and Jonathan were clearly planning to carouse until the wee hours of the morning), and headed to my humble abode, again trudging through sticky mud for what seemed like a mile. Once at my Eco Camp I had to take a bath, standing on a plank by the rainwater barrel, and scooping the cold water to rinse the soap out. Not quite optimum, but the feeling of being clean was absolutely delightful. Then I had to go to the bathroom. Rats! I pussyfooted my way through the mud to the so-called Vietnamese toilet and found a little hut with nothing in it. I have been to Vietnam and know that the trick of the toilets are two chambers, used in alternate fashion, where the poop is composted on one side while the other is being used. The few months it takes to fill in the active chamber is enough for the composting process to happen, and the new “soil” can then be removed for use in the fields. Luis’ toilet had nothing like this.  Just an even surface of mud. So I had to do my thing by squatting down, and then had to haul some mud from the outside to cover my poop. Not very sanitary, but I will let the locals manage the product. Vague memories of a luxury room in Cancún keep intruding in my feverish brain.