Pink Flamingos And Motorcycles

The hotel staff were lovely and after feeding us breakfast of fried eggs and corn pancakes called “arepas” the national dish, they asked if we had a flamingo tour organized. 

We did now. 

This time of year the flamingoes retreat to the big lagoon, the largest tidal lagoon of four located inside the flamingo sanctuary along the north coast of Colombia.

“It’s sixty four dollars for two with a motorcycle ride and a trip by sail across the lagoon,” a voice told us through the phone. I thought I was hallucinating. A sailboat? What the hell…

A motorcycle ride? Oh great I thought as my PTSD started to fire on all neurons. 

Five years ago… and I haven’t ridden since. 

No problem, take a ride with a total stranger dressed in street clothes on pavement at 50 mph on a highway loaded with crazies. Passing on a double yellow on a hump looks different from a vulnerable motorcycle! 

Then Alex with Layne and Angel with me took to the dirt. That was a bit squirrelly, the motorcycles slid in the sand, we pressed on…no escape. 

Two miles of slippery sand and ruts and roots and we never did fall over. It came close…Layne was laughing all the way having a blast, I was doing my best, trying not to envy Rusty enjoying our air conditioned room back at the hotel while we were off risking life and limb for three hours. 

The next part of the program involved dugout canoes, no life jackets because only duffers could drown in two feet of water. Remember when you complain about lawyers and excessive nannying if you want to be free like this you have to give up the idea that you can sue if something goes wrong. You make your choice and you live with the consequences. It’s an interesting proposition for Americans used to looking for a lawyer every time they get annoyed. 

It was hot and still along the shore. The dig outs were drawn up on the sand, just like that we climbed in and Alex pushed us off. 

The wind picked up away from the beach, the sail caught the breeze and  we could hear the characteristic gurgle under the bow. 

Can you imagine the quality of sails US sailors throw out as they are “worn out?”

It was glorious fun being out on the water. 

Flamingoes live about 40 years, they mate for life and their single egg young take six years to reach maturity. It’s a long thoughtful process growing up to be one of these birds. They eat shrimp which gives them their color as well as a plankton and any other suitable sea life in the tidal lagoons. 

Alex takes visitors on bird watching hikes and he spots more than just flamingoes as we sail. One he spotted too far away to photograph was a pink ibis. I’ve never seen one of those before, but there it was on the beach, a bright red curved bill bird. They have white ibis too just like the ones you see in the Florida Keys. 

The bigger birds are the males and the darker their color the more attractive they are to females so they need to bulk up before they do their mating dance to seduce the females. A pair of flamingos make a mud hill on shore and press a depression into the top to make what Alex calls a small volcano shake and that’s where the female deposits the egg. The adults take turns to incubate it until after about 40 days a new flamingo appears. 

Flamingoes have three toes with webbing in between which allows the birds to walk up on the water as they start to run to take off. 

Alex took the sail down to not frighten the birds and we drifted slowly toward the birds. It was quite magical. 

Alex poled us back to shore against the wind but the long narrow dugout slid easily through the water. And then, oh yes, the motorcycles again. 

We tipped our guides as you do, thanked them and went to rescue Rusty who woke up and was glad to see us. We packed our bags, forgot my Kindle reader and drove away. Sigh. I can still read my books on my iPad but I like the lightweight long battery power of the e-reader. Oh well, nothing to be done. 

I was really impressed by Angel’s skills. He recovered from several soft sand slides and his 100cc Bajaj Boxer made in India was amazingly tough. Between them it was a comfortable ride. 

On the road, we drive inland up the Magdalena River Valley to our destination three hours inland, Valledepur. 

We passed a couple of overlanding cyclists and waved and tooted our horns. Had we been aboard GANNET2 we’d have stopped to offer ice, cold water, whatever from

our fridge but as it was we had nothing to offer. We hoped our appreciation raised their morale; it seemed to. 

I missed a turn and we accidentally took a short cut through a back street trash dump. I wasn’t going to let Rusty out for a walk here. This part of Colombia is notably more poor than the tourist oriented coast. Alex gathered a stray empty bottle on the beach that morning in the bird sanctuary. He’d have had his work cut out here:  

Our $20 dollar room came with WiFi good enough to post tons of photos here, the a/c cooled the bedroom to a chill and the bed was comfortable. Score!

We got word our home has arrived ahead of schedule in Cartagena. I will be at the port Monday to unbox GANNET2 as both we and our container buddy are far from Cartagena.  I can’t wait; there are mountains to explore. 

Simon Bolivar In Santa Marta

The Liberator died in Santa Marta December 17th 1830 at the age of 47. The sculpture of Simon Bolivar in the house uses his death mask to create his face. His features are drawn and his face is that of an older tired man, a politician who lost every friend he’d made and whose life was dribbling away thanks to terminal tuberculosis. 

The statue lies in state with portraits of his parents at his head. Bolivar was born into great wealth but he was an orphan by the age of twelve. His uncle raised him and he proved to smart as a whip, handsome and worldly. He traveled to Europe, learned several languages and seduced everyone he met. 

Back in Venezuela he became a revolutionary and devoted his every energy and fortune  to not only ousting Spain but also to joining Latin America into one country. He was George Washington on steroids. 

The bed he died in, the tub he took his baths in. I admit it, I was star struck as I stood there. Last year I read a biography of him and I also read THE GENERAL IN HIS LABYRINTH by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, a novel describing Bolivars last journey down the Magdalena River to his death. 

Bolivars life was a roller coaster of success and failure, he led countries to liberations, annoyed squadrons of people, sought to become a dictator because he knew best and he died alone.  Then he attained sainthood. 

They built allayed to his memory here where he died at a faithful supporter’s farm. It’s now a shrine on the edge of Santa Marta with a Carrara marble sculpture inside, with muses of prosperity and freedom. It reminded me of the Lincoln Memorial. 

It’s hard to imagine what this place might have looked like in 1830 but the farm was founded in 1610 and made its owners a good living from

producing sugar and molasses.

It was a farmhouse and was not supposed to be a fancy residence. For a modern visitor its fancy enough! I might be persuaded to settle one day in a tropical house with a courtyard and quietest places to read. 

I’m embarrassed to say I forgot my guide’s name. She was full of information and well read though she didn’t think much of Marquez’s novel! I gave her a big tip anyway.  

I visited George Washington’s home on the Potomac, a man who led his country to freedom, who refused a crown and retired with honor and admiration following him home. 

Bolivar’s crazy trajectory is exciting and maddening. He liberated tens of millions of people and dreamed impossible dreams. I find him fascinating and I’m excited to be here in South America at last. 

Oh by the way, no dogs allowed inside. Lacking a van with air conditioning Layne elected to stay with him outside the official grounds, and there was lots of shade for him to walk. He was glad to see me  which is always a joy.  

Latin American  generally terrible at posting signs, advertising and labeling. A big generalization I know but let me show you the entrance to this historic site. 

You have to know it’s here! Thank heavens for the Internet and Google maps because you’d never know in the street outside. Amazing. 

Colombia is a country of weird geography because everything is upside down. No, seriously, the points of the compass are all wrong. The north coast is on the Caribbean and the southern part of the country is high mountains. Unlike what you are used to rivers flow south to north. It’s slightly mind bending. 

We were driving two hours east along the coast with occasional glimpses of the heaving green Caribbean Sea. There were no pull outs or vista points or course…

We haven’t seen Sue and Hugh from British Columbia since Christmas in Panama. Originally we expected to zoom ahead of them when our paths crossed in Nicaragua but we got held up and they got ahead! 

We had lunch at their campground envious in that we only had a tiny rental car! Rusty went straight under their Land Rover like he was back camping. 

They are having some issues with their vehicle and need some time to get things fixed. This time it’s not us but these problems crop up when you are overlanding. 

The burgers were great and the conversation let us all vent to people who understand. It ended too soon with promises to meet in Medellin. 

The Andes looming through the mist. 

Traffic was light on the highway and we were driving to beat nightfall. We weren’t speeding but we had to stay focused as there are too many unlighted motorcycles and bicycles to feel safe in the dark. 

Colombia is famous among overlanders for animal road signs. Everyone sees the signs, no one sees the creatures themselves, like this anteater? 

We made it just at dark at a small hotel in the village of Camarones (shrimp). Too late to see anything, but that will be for tomorrow. Had we been aboard GANNET2 there were lots of truck stops to spend the night at in our own home. This hotel thing takes getting used to!