After we drove into and out of the Cocora Valley we found a parking spot around ten thirty in the morning on Tuesday in Salento’s main square. The church clock said as much.
“It’s very big,” the parking attendant said staring at GANNET2 as I backed in. Lady, I thought to myself, my world could have been so different if the women I met early in my life had been as encouraging as you are.
We got parked in good order. In England they say “park up” and why I don’t know. Reflexively I think of this as parking down because parking up sounds idiotic, but in my grammatical straight jacket I just park.
Rusty and I looked at one more church, but as dogs have no soul and aren’t allowed into churches this is as close as we got. Fair enough.
Rusty has his uses keeping us out of parks and churches so we were free to press on to look for the all important, refreshing, plastic of tinto. We had driven an hour to get here and that works up a thirst.
Foreign photo op. Colombians are genuinely happy to see foreigners in their country. We often get toots and hand waves as we drive.
Salento is devoted to tourism and thanks to the hiking possibilities of the Cocora natural preserve it is a known hot spot for energetic youngsters from around the world. Even some from North America judging by the voices. I think I wait in vain for North Americans to stop being scared of Latin Americans.
Layne as usual had a plan and it is called Tejo. I believe we saw an episode of Anthony Bourdain playing Tejo and somehow my wife with the mind like a steel trap recalled the sport. Look up Anthony Bourdain Parts Unknown Tejo to see how drinkers do it.
Hey Rapunzel! I called out. Give me a smile. She did and we talked about her time in Orlando.
I was dubious about the notion of tossing tejos of steel onto packets of explosives in a dive bar but I followed my leader.
Rusty who had been showing signs of exhaustion was snug aboard GANNET2 in the square. I half wished I were.
I never feel at home in these places where my accent and sense of humor tend to rile up men who think I’m not taking them or their manliness seriously (I’m not).
Nor do I have a fund of innocuous small talk or sports knowledge to bond with manly men.
Nevertheless dear leader followed the dubious character into the bowels of the bar.
Once you understand, and I’m slow on the uptake socially but I got this right away, that you are supposed to be drunk and clutching your manly genitals while tossing steel discs at gunpowder all become clear.
The rules are fearsomely simple and written in English for idiot visitors:
In the spirit of nonconformity we changed the rules. Eleven in the morning was too early for beer so scrap that and the points system we changed to a more simple rule: using their scoring the first to 21 points wins.
I led the way always ahead till we were at 20 and 19 and Layne got one final explosion.
The rebar on the right is provided to help you pull the Tejo disc from the ever sucking clay. Gross.
There are rags to wipe your hands and the Tejos after you’ve thrown them. There is even a fully equipped basin with soap to try to remove the clay from your hands.
I lost.
Clear evidence drink must be taken during Tejo:
Phew; we survived and as the youngsters would say we can check that off the bucket list.
The little green Jeep below is a toy for children. They sit at the wheel and drive while the man who earns a few pennies pushes them round the square. The goats I don’t know what their fate was but they didn’t get crash helmets.
A stop for bread which is a joy of a crapshoot. In Latin America bread tends to have a cake like consistency and taste rather sweet which is a generalization and not always to our taste, but we are risk takers.
Simón Bolivar the Liberator:
Steep streets are everywhere:
And so are the recreational cyclists.
Safety approved tourist transport. Remember you can do what you like in these countries but if it goes wrong there’s no liability lawyers to sue for you. All your libertarian friends should plan to come down to see if they really do want to test the top step on a ladder or drink hot coffee.
Empanadas in Colombia are fried like most street food. We had this guy’s offerings for dinner:
This is the first place we have ever seen the iOverlander logo far up the tree:
They do allow vans and pick ups to overnight but we stopped by only for lunch. Front wheel drive’s tight turning radius is frequently helpful in South America. In our style of travel that has been more useful than four wheel drive.
Lunch did not involve any soup and that was a blessing but we still had lots of left overs.
That is a jug of passion fruit juice. Jugs are any size they feel like, some are two glass affairs, this had more than we could drink so Layne filled her Tervis tumbler and put it in the fridge.
Chicken and garbanzo bean curry was excellent and a welcome change from Colombian food. I tasted the ribs but half a plate of this and I was full:
Layne has figured out how to crisp French fries in the air fryer which is brilliant so we can load them in the to go boxes too.
Rusty was aching to get back to the campground as he was worn out.
At $27 this was not a cheap lunch but it was a welcome change. A German back packer asked if the curry tasted like curry with a hopeful tone in his voice so we aren’t alone in enjoying variety.
Aside from public lands and boondocking one of the things I love about the US is the variety of restaurants. If we came over and you invited us out the first question would be: what ethnicity do you want? Even Key West had everything except a stable Indian restaurant when we lived there. And that’s on a tiny island with Chinese, Mexican, Cuban,Italian, formal, informal, fusion, Asian, you name it. That’s not normal in the rest of the world and I miss it. Rant over.
Sleeping, not dead I promise. Dogs are very well cared for in Colombia. Most are loved and even the few street dogs are well fed. I want to take them home but Layne and Rusty yell at me. Especially Rusty.
Double the steepness of this street and that’s how it feels in real life. Happily it’s the one way street out of town but the road angles in this country are crazy and make San Francisco where I drove 18 wheelers look tame.
We really like this camping spot ten minutes outside Salento. Tomorrow I’ll show you round.
