Terra Incognita

Stepping off the plane from Panama into the pleasant evening air of Cartagena Colombia Layne and I were at last in unknown lands. 

Ever since we crossed the Mexican border in Laredo last September this had been the goal: to arrive in Colombia, a country known to us only by reputation. 25 years ago sailing out of the Panama Canal we had spent an idyllic Thanksgiving, in 1999, on a deserted island in the San Blas group. 

That experience with a group of traveling sailors was as close as we had got to mainland Colombia because after that we turned north to explore the mosquito coast and the associated islands that it turns out were well named.  

The closest we had come to Colombia was San Andres island, a vacation resort where war weary Colombians could visit and be sure they wouldn’t get turned into mincemeat in the murder factory that their country had become on the mainland. All you see here from now to Chile is completely new and foreign to us. I have never been to South America before, I have never crossed the equator and anything I know of this continent comes from books and movies.  Terra Incognita, unknown land; here be dragons. 

Well, let’s not get carried away; even dragons eat breakfast and while I walked Rusty on Cartagena’s waterfront I met an old friend at a roadside food stand. My abiding memory of San Andres Island years ago was the hot sweet coffee and fried breakfast pastries they sold and here they were again! A delicious thick corn tortilla, an arepa, filled with a fried egg! Delicious enough I bought Layne one for her breakfast in bed. Off to a good start watching commute traffic that did not appear too insane. 

Webb Chiles world girdling sailor only eats cold oatmeal for breakfast and I have no doubt he’ll out live me but an egg inside fried cornmeal is something he has missed out on. I am not alone in my appreciation of this bizarre delicacy.   

I took a cab from our hotel and went back to the airport ten minutes away to pick up my rental cart reserved at Alamo. The cab driver got lost trying to find it, asked for directions and shrugged laughing “There’s nothing you can’t fix in this life!” he said eventually dropping me off. What a difference a country makes, we had left behind the dour earnestness of Panama if felt like. When an old man ( probably younger than me) wanted to clean my sneakers for a couple of bucks I thought: why not? might as well spread the dollars around so I did some people watching glad I wasn’t getting back on a plane as I hate flying. 

I picked up a dark orange Kia Picanto, an anonymous four door economy box for $300 for a week and was warned about speed cameras on the coast road and no driving days in Cartagena and Santa Marta, the two big tourist towns on Colombia’s north coast. 

Back to the concrete jungle to load up but there was nowhere to park. The hotel security guard said it was reserved for cabs. My recent driver who had got a decent tip from me showed up and said “No problem!” and figured out how to squeeze the orange box among the yellow cabs. “There’s a solution to every problem!” I quoted back to him and he laughed telling the story of our mission to find the rental car company to the now happy security guard.

I think I’m going to like Colombia. The coast road is pretty decently maintained with speed limits between 30 and 50 mph (80kph) and enough of a shoulder I can let the local speed demons by. We do miss our home and I was reminded of our Promaster baking in a container in Colón every time we passed a tour van. 

There are weird signs in Colombia which I had to look up like this one which means “use your low beams” and which was universally ignored. 

And there are unknown animal signs to watch out for. I read a book last year called “A Most Remarkable Bird” by Jonathan Meiburg about a very intelligent bird of prey called a Caracara or Johnny Rook, a subject on which I’d have thought I had no interest but it was fascinating not least because it went off at tangents discussing the very different bird and animal life found in South America, creatures unknown and unimagined in the North.  I’d never thought about why they have ostriches (more  properly and less familiarly known as rheas), and llamas and so forth. I have no idea what was supposed to look out for here: 

Straight, flat and pretty smooth, a levee passing through mangrove swamps familiar to anyone who has driven the Florida Keys. 

Colombia is a poor country and after six weeks in uptight Panama where everyone drives a car and no one sells food by the side of the road, the color and chaos of Colombian villages and towns was a pleasant change. 

I took to driving the shoulder when I was being tailgated to let the speed demons pass. The Mexican “magic third lane” principle works quite well here at least so far. Check these guys out, the black SUV couldn’t wait for the gray one to pass me so the race was on! I hung back.  

On one corner a tanker truck (!) passing another truck forced an oncoming pick up hard into the shoulder with a swerve as the pass took too long. No horns no fist waving, just me watching and going over CPR procedures in my head, but no one got hurt. “Drive carefully” indeed!

They really need stupidity detectors on this coast road but they have big gray speed detectors instead. I hope and trust the rental company won’t get any automatic fines on my behalf. 

This bus had an interesting albeit unofficial sign hand painted: “They all lie. Pack your bag and get out.” Unless it’s some cultural allusion I’m unfamiliar with, that may indicate a rather publicly broken heart…

Fire extinguisher anyone? Selling roadside here, to keep your required car emergency supplies legal…

There are some well marked topes, and some well painted fake speed bumps but they aren’t excessive like Mexico. 

Barranquilla we only saw from the outskirts but whatever did see was not tourist oriented, a busy industrial suburb surrounded the highway. Our goal was further along the coast at Santa Marta.

A Peugeot Jumper, the French version of GANNET2 our Promaster. 

A Monday afternoon jaunt in a sidecar outfit. That was unexpected. 

Barranquilla the residential bit, high rises are everywhere on this coast it seems. 

At last! A stretch of torn up highway, just to keep things real. 

The Main Street of the town of Ciénaga: 

And this is our first glimpse of the Andes. Five thousand miles of driving at 12,000 feet more or less through Ecuador, Peru, and Bolivia to Chile.  

Only slightly intimidating. 

For us former Keys residents the dry salt flats and mangroves were much more familiar. 

Ciénaga means swamp in Spanish so they named a town for the surrounding conditions…

The crazy tanker driver who forced oncoming traffic off the road. I wasn’t going anywhere near him. Peligro means danger, right enough. 

The western Caribbean meets land. 

The truck drivers don’t seem to mind giving their vehicles a salt bath on their lunch breaks. 

Check in was interminable at the Hilton Garden Inn, a two night gift from Layne's sister and it was slow enough apparently the manager came by and saw Rusty being perfect as usual. Apparently he’s too big for their pet policy. The desk clerk apparently pointed out how well behaved he was but we had to pay an $18 a night oversized pet fee!  And he has to stay in the room lest he frighten the guests. All of whom so far find him delightful and pet him and squeeze into the elevator with him. There are assholes  in every country. 

Their self car parking elevator garage was pretty fascinating too. 

Our orange slow burn missile. It has no toilet, kitchen or bed. 

Rusty confined to quarters in the tenth floor. He’s not complaining. 

He woke me up at two for a walk which started out well but I saw groups of kids on the beach and back streets and I got creeped out. This French Sprinter van is parked in a spot recommended in iOverlander, the traveler’s app but I don’t know if they knew how many bums were creeping by in the night. 

I was glad to get back to the hotel.