This one was my selection, so we started out driving to see the biggest monument in Colombia.
The Vargas Swamp Lancers is a giant cement construction which to my jaundiced eye is more in the style of some Eastern European Cold War monument to worker heroes but whatever…
The reason I wanted to visit this overwrought hallowed spot was because this was where the revolution Simon Bolivar was fomenting thrashed the Spanish defenders. However from what I had read this place didn’t look anything like what I had expected!
It was 1819 and Bolivar had marched a column from Venezuela to New Granada (later renamed Colombia) over the mountains and into the swamp lands on the road to Santa Fe de Bogotà, the official name of the capital. The Spanish tried an end run on a levee through the marsh but these fourteen mounted lancers noticed and met the Spanish army on the elevated land and sent them packing. This was the first obvious chink in the armor of Spanish invincibility.
The Spanish fell back with Bolivar in hot pursuit where he won the battle of Boyacá Bridge which site I plan to visit later to celebrate the final defeat of the Spanish. The only problem was they didn’t know they were beaten and the war dragged on with much unpleasantness.
We plunged onto a back road after we left our apartment and switch backed our way uphill to cross the mountain ridge to get to the monument. It was pretty agricultural with farmhouses and tracks, cows and horses and sheep and a few people. And signs urging you to take your trash home. Colombia is remarkably trash free unlike Mexico and most of Central America ( and some public land in the US).
But Colombia is not pothole free on the back roads. Ten miles an hour, maybe fifteen and eyes firmly on the road ahead.
And this being Holy Week recreational cyclists were out in force. By contrast with the US there is relatively little traffic on these roads and we were going so slowly the bicycles were neither impediment or hazard. But I did enjoy watching them huff and puff at 9,000 feet. These people are tough.
Finally we reached the pass at 9600 feet and clearly it was time for coffee.
Layne plunged into the darkened coffee shop looking for coffee, called “tinto” and empanadas.
They were fresh out of empanadas but the lady offered us sausages so we had a go. They were spiced like Italian sausage and rather fatty but they were more like tartare than salami to our taste. We bought a few to take home to cook after we had one each as a snack.
That’s the fun of traveling in your home, stop where you like, taste the local culture and stick some in the fridge for later. Rusty approved his share of sausage.
The road down the hill was mixed, with stony dirt near the top varying with pavement some new and smooth and some old and worn.
The thing was, not knowing what was coming I kept GANNET2 in manual first and second gear and kept the speed down even on the good bits.
And then to my astonishment we ended up at the monument. I had expected to face a long drive from the mountains to a swamp in the flatlands but apparently the swamp was a narrow defile between mountains at 8,500 feet and that was where the Spanish took a stand to stop Bolivar’s march.
And then it was shopping time, some supplies for home, and lunch was upon us. Layne the navigator found a spot by looking, “That place looks popular! The parking lot’s full.” And so were we well before we cleared our plates.
We ordered two main dishes thinking we were being smart but twelve dollars (each) apparently buys you half a cow. We looked at our plates in despair, how do Colombians pack away this amount of food?
Layne has Tupperware in the van so all was not lost and we now have cow carcasses for I don’t know how many meals.
Our final planned stop for the day’s tour was a little town called Tibasosa that a fellow traveler had told Layne about. I knew nothing but I drove and I do enjoy driving GANNET2 and making my way through the countryside and the towns and the views and the fields. It was late afternoon when we arrived and I had to release my grip on the wheel.
Pretty town indeed. We are starting to get used to them.
No sooner did we park than a large family group came timidly by and thus Layne cheerfully gave them the nickel tour. This happens a lot, they hear about RVs, they may even check them out on YouTube and we end up being the real thing for them.
Rusty and I left them to it.
The founder of Tibasosa, and not by appearances a barrel of laughs.
The first two female mayors from the 60s and 70s.
They make a particular jam from a fruit grown around here called “feijoa” (fey-hoe-ah) which we tasted and thought you could compare it to a low sugar version of tart gooseberries slightly gritty, or something like that. We got the jar and she gave us a sample of the fruit.
The other big deal around here is blueberries so we had an afternoon ice cream. You get a human sized scoop on a little plastic stick with a clever drip tray. Plenty to enjoy but not a huge North American sized helping. Rusty got his share and it vanished fast enough to suggest he approved.
The town is known for this metal statue known as the dancers.
So here it is.
Just another day touring Colombia. No police harassment, no drug cartels, no mass shootings. A thoroughly good time had by all retirees including Rusty.
