Colombia
Arrival in Barranquilla
Customs check - no problems. (I'll come back to one incident later.) The customs officer wrote us a visa for 10 days, which we didn't pay much attention to at the time.
In the arrivals hall we saw the sign "Oficina de Turismo". We received a friendly welcome and were given lots of tips and small maps. We were also strongly advised not to change money at the airport - the banks in the city center had much better rates. We were also recommended a hotel, which we reached shortly afterwards by cab. It was a small, simple but clean hotel right in the city center.
People who have impressed me
We had only been in Colombia for one day when we arrived in Barranquilla. In the evening, we were sitting in a terrace café in a pleasant neighborhood, with lots of people around us. Suddenly we saw a man, about 35 years old and severely physically disabled, staggering around between the tables. The guests at the other tables wanted him to leave and rudely told him to get lost.
And lo and behold - suddenly he was sitting at our table with a piece of paper and a ballpoint pen in his trembling hand. We were still thinking: "This poor man is really struggling." He handed me the paper, and on it was written: "Do you speak German?"
I was completely taken aback. We said yes, and he began to tell us his tale of woe - in writing, in perfect German. He had studied engineering in the USA and worked there until he was hit by a car on a pedestrian crossing. The driver fled the scene and was never found. He had been in hospital for months and would have needed another operation, but because the guilty party could not be held liable, this was not carried out. He was eventually deported back to Colombia.
We communicated in German with pen and paper, and he also wrote to us in perfect French. He could hardly speak, only indistinct sounds came out. I have never forgotten this encounter. Every now and then I still wonder what happened to him. We never saw him again, because the very next day we took the bus to Cartagena de Indias.
From Barranquilla to Cartagena
We didn't particularly like Barranquilla. We kept noticing that the prices were raised especially for us - everyone thought we were "gringos" with lots of small change.
In Panama City, we had bought the famous **South American Handbook** - probably one of the best travel guides at the time. It was constantly updated by travelers who sent their experiences to the publisher. There were good descriptions, sketches and tips on important places, including Cartagena de Indias.
As Barranquilla didn't appeal to us, we quickly decided to travel on. It took us about two hours by bus to Cartagena de Indias.
At the bus station in Cartagena, we were besieged by countless cab drivers, each wanting to take us to a hotel. We opted for the driver with the two unequal shoes - the right foot had a black shoe, the left a light brown one. He drove off (we had negotiated the price beforehand), past the old city wall in the direction of the airport and stopped at the Hotel Calamari. The hotel was run by two old Cuban exiles.
We paid the cab driver (I'm sure he got a commission from the hotelier) and looked at a room. There was a toilet and shower in the room and a very large ceiling fan spinning on the ceiling. You could see the sea from the side of the window - just cross the road and you were already on the beach. This beach was hardly frequented. The surrounding neighborhoods were partly inhabited by poor people.
We negotiated a price that included breakfast, lunch and dinner. The room was cleaned daily, and a chambermaid with Fly-Tox came by in the evening around 8 pm to get rid of flies and mosquitoes. There was a fly screen on the window.
I suggested to Rolf that we should take Spanish lessons somewhere so that we could get along better in the next few countries - at least basic Spanish. We made our way to the old town.
For me, it was love at first sight: an old, well-preserved colonial town built by the conquistadors. Narrow alleyways, beautiful courtyards.
We found the Alliance Française, went in and asked if they could give us Spanish lessons. The answer was no - they only had permission and subsidies from the French for French lessons. We walked on and discovered a sign on a wall: "Instituto de Idiomas Internacionales". Okay, let's go in. We found the director of this small school and discussed our request.
Spanish lessons in Cartagena
Normally, only English lessons were given at the "Instituto de Idiomas Internacionales". The director said that if we wanted, he had an old Hungarian gentleman who could teach us German.
"No, we want to learn Spanish."
"Okay, how many hours would you like?"
We asked about the price - it was half off. For ten weeks, we were given two lessons in the morning and two lessons in the afternoon from Monday to Friday, always with a private teacher. He gave us each a book that was actually intended for locals who wanted to learn English. It was just right for us. We also got a notebook each to do our homework, we were diligent students.
On the way home, we suddenly had the thought that we should check how long our visa is actually valid for.
Visa problem
Big surprise: it was only valid for 10 days! We hadn't noticed it - we were probably too distracted by all the pretty women at the airport.
Using our travel book "The South American Handbook", we discovered that there was a Swiss consulate in Barranquilla. We called and arranged a quick appointment.
The consul gave us a friendly welcome and said: "I'll write you a letter that you can show to the DAS (the immigration police). That should be enough to get a longer stay." He added: "Go straight to the DAS now, and as soon as you are in the building, call me."
We were unlucky. There was no telephone in the building. That day, a special police unit was also busy with a major smuggling operation. There were boxes everywhere in the corridor, guarded by policemen with machine guns and hand grenades. The consul's letter was not free.
We were finally received. We handed in the letter and a senior official stamped us with a new visa almost twice as long as the normal tourist visa (valid for 90 days at the time).
Okay, all done. We drove back to the consulate to let them know. There we were first of all given a good telling off: "Why didn't you call me?" The man was so angry that we didn't give any explanation and just said goodbye politely. I think he was still snorting for a long time.
Relieved, we drove back to Cartagena. The visa problem was solved.
A few days later, we started the Spanish course. We met our teacher at 10 o'clock in the morning - his name was Víctor Cabrera. We took the local bus from the hotel to the city center. The bus stop was at the "Torre del Reloj". The buses were very old and rusty. To get off, we simply shouted "¡Parada!" loudly.
The first Spanish lesson went quite well - an easy beginner's lesson. By lunchtime, time was up and we boarded the bus back to the hotel. Most of the passengers looked at us curiously, especially how we pronounced "¡Parada!".
Come to dinner!
As soon as we arrived at the hotel, the waitress called out to us: "Come and eat, otherwise the soup will be cold!"
At lunchtime, we always had soup, fish or meat with a few slices of fully ripe, juicy tomatoes. After lunch, we took a siesta - accompanied by the sound of the sea and the gentle hum of the large ceiling fan. At 3 pm, we put on our swimming trunks and went straight into the sea.
Soon we were almost part of the family at the hotel. The chambermaids were all older ladies who probably regarded us as their sons and spoiled us accordingly. They also washed our dirty laundry at a price that would hardly be believable today - incredibly cheap.
That's how the days passed. Through the evening classes at the language school, we got to know quite a few people - mostly young men and women who were attending English courses there. Some already spoke English well, others less so. We were invited to their homes several times - for coffee, to talk and often to eat. We were then introduced to the whole family. "Los Suizos" (the Swiss) was already a household name for some.
One day, visitors from Florida, USA, arrived at the school. The group leader had studied in Cartagena years ago and knew the owner of the school personally - Manuel Encinales de la Vega. The director introduced us and told the Americans that we were "exchange students from Switzerland". This probably raised our standing with the Americans considerably. Rolf and I had to stifle our laughter - we didn't want to spoil the good story.
Bocagrande
One evening, we decided to go to Bocagrande and have a look around. It was a nice neighborhood with lots of villas and houses, mostly no higher than two stories.
As we were walking along Avenida San Martin, a Renault 4 suddenly pulled up next to us. Two women got out and approached us. One of them, Rosario, asked us in very good English: "Are you the two from the movie?"
Rosario and Elisabeth were sisters. We asked puzzled: "From which movie?"
The older woman explained that two guys had recently filmed two or three movies in and around the town. After asking and thinking about it for a while, we suddenly realized that it was about **Bud Spencer and Terence Hill**!
"No, we're not those two," we said with a laugh.
Later, other people told us that films had actually been made with the two of them in the area.
Rosario said: "Okay, I'll take the car home quickly and meet you further up on Avenida San Martin."
Maracuyá, Bocagrande and Rosario
Rolf and I continued walking along Avenida San Martin. The two sisters soon arrived again. We decided to have a drink in a café and were bombarded with questions: Where we were from, why we were in Colombia and what we had already experienced.
We said goodbye late in the evening and walked along the promenade by the sea back to our hotel. We had learned that the sisters lived with their parents in Bocagrande and that the younger one was not yet 16 years old.
The next week began as usual with the daily school visit. One morning, we stopped at a small cafeteria before school. I really wanted to try one of the famous fruit juices. We sat down at the counter and there was a board on the wall with countless types of juice: melon, lemon, pineapple and many more. I wasn't in the mood for the usual ones, so I asked the waitress: "Which one is the best?"
Without hesitation, she replied:
"¡Maracuyá!"
"What's that?"
"This is the passion fruit."
I didn't know them, but ordered them anyway. With the first sip, it was **love at first sight**. When I paid, she gave me another small "tinto" (black coffee) and said with a smile: "Que vuelvas" - Come back again.
This stop became almost a tradition for us. Every morning before school, I enjoyed this delicious Maracuyá juice. Once a week, we also treated ourselves to a "steak a caballo" with homemade chips and fully ripe tomatoes - the equivalent of around 4 francs. The meat was as tender as a Swiss sirloin steak. The price included a cold Aguila beer (2 dl bottle). At the time, the beer only cost around 20 centimes per bottle.
We ate there from time to time, just to add a little variety to the hotel menu.
Review - The reality of prices
It was only many years later that I began to take a sober look at this time in Colombia. Not out of nostalgia, but to prove to myself that my memory was not deceiving me.
In Cartagena de Indias, I lived for several months in a simple, clean hotel directly opposite a beach that was almost deserted at the time. Three meals a day were included, the room had a shower and toilet, and a large ceiling fan replaced any air conditioning.
If I convert the costs today, I come to about **five Swiss francs per day**. I also took several hours of private Spanish lessons every day. That was also possible without having to do the math.
I'm not writing this to record prices, but to confirm it to myself: It was real. I lived simply, learned Spanish and was surrounded by friendly, warm people.
Rosario
One evening, Rosario came by our hotel with two other young women. We talked about all sorts of things. At the end, she invited us to her home for a drink the next evening.
We took the bus to Bocagrande and went to the address given. She introduced us to her parents and told me it was a shame, but she would have liked to introduce me to one of her friends - unfortunately, she was currently unavailable. "No problem," I replied.
We had pleasant conversations with the parents. The father worked in an American company and spoke perfect American. In the course of the evening I said goodbye, Rolf stayed a little longer.
Salsa just for me
I walked down Avenida San Martin and came to a restaurant with a large terrace and dance floor. It was called "La Piragua". A live band was playing what I thought was great music - real, racy salsa. I sat down at a small table. There weren't many people there yet.
The terrace was slowly filling up. I asked a young lady to dance and, to my delight, every invitation was accepted. It was about time - around 2 a.m. I walked along the promenade by the sea back to our hotel. I had a great evening: listening to great music, dancing a lot and meeting friendly people.
Rolf and I led a happy and simple life in Cartagena, and it was enough for us. Spanish lessons in the mornings and afternoons, in between conversations with people on the way to school. We regularly passed the Barbour clothes store, where Rosy sometimes worked. She was a tall, athletic woman and sometimes did sewing work there. We always had a bit of banter with each other. She told us that she would like to pursue her athletics career, but that she didn't have the right equipment. We couldn't help her, only with encouragement: "Don't give up!"
I knew her because I had once looked at pants there - hence her funny sayings, which I also repeated as far as I could.
During an evening visit to the school, I was introduced to an attractive and very friendly young woman. Her name was Ilse and, as I found out, she lived in Castillogrande - an even nicer neighborhood according to the others. She asked me if I would like to go swimming with her on a Saturday morning in the Laguito (a small lake with sea water) next to her house.
So I went to the address on a Saturday morning. Her older brother lived there and he also watched us swim. After the swim, he invited me to have another drink. We talked about the usual things: Where I come from, what I do for a living and how I finance my trip. I told him about the hard work and hardships of the Australian outback. We had a small snack and then I said goodbye.
Her brother, his wife and Ilse came over several times on Sundays to invite me to go swimming outside the city. I was often very tired from going out on Saturday evening, but I went along anyway. And again for a swim in Laguito, with a drink, and on the occasion of a swim in Laguito I got a drink at my brother's house, and then a mishap happened to me, when I entered the room with the drink in my hand, I barely touched a wall of books that was neither screwed nor glued to the wall, and everything fell to the floor. I was then no longer invited.
Fiesta de noviembre
In the meantime, we learned that a very big celebration was to take place in Cartagena de Indias. The 18.11.1811 was actually the start of the liberation of the black slaves. Some call it "la fiesta de noviembre" others "el dia de los negros".
In our presence, a big parade took place in the afternoon where the most beautiful woman in Colombia was chosen. In memory of this 18.11.1811 people throw water on you and afterwards cornstarch.
Special vehicles and decorated floats, where a young woman from every department of Colombia stands there. And in the evening we also learned that there are a pair of oversized shoes at the "Zapatos", as a monument behind the castle behind the Castillo San Felipe.
Large marquees with live music would be playing. The parade was over by the end of the afternoon, so we went back to our hotel for dinner, freshened up and then headed for the tents. When we arrived, there were 3 large marquees next to each other and the music was playing very loudly. We went to the ticket office to get our entry, the cashier said it is so rare that foreigners come to us, and stamped a stamp on the back of both our hands for a free entry.
Welcome to the marquee
When we entered the tent for the first time, many people we knew waved for us to come to their table. Among others, the waitresses of the daily passion fruit juice, we were introduced to their husbands, and immediately filled a glass with Ron Tres Esquina and Coca, some women wanted to dance with us, the husbands gave their consent
And after the dance, we were allowed to say whether they danced well, to be honest, I haven't met a woman in Colombia who couldn't dance.
There were 3 orchestras playing, and these were orchestras with at least 9 musicians. Of course there wasn't much time to talk. They played continuously, when one was finished with the piece, the other started to play. We also visited other tables of people who knew us, our Spanish teacher Victor Cabreras, the teacher who started the lesson every morning with a question to Rolf, "Why aren't you wearing socks?" was also there with the whole family. In my opinion, it was a party for ordinary people.
We danced for 3 consecutive days. Simple people who invited you to a table and would have been horrified if we had paid for our drinks. And all 3 evenings were equally joyful and memorable. After dancing we would walk to our hotel at about 0300 in the morning and as soon as the doorman opened the door he knew where we had been, every time we went home a little later the question was do you have a fiancée now, we said no because we didn't have a steady girlfriend but we weren't worried.
Onward journey to Medellín
In between, we looked at our visas again and worked out how many Spanish lessons we still had left. Then we planned our onward journey through Colombia: first to Medellín, then Manizales, up to the Nevado del Ruiz - at that time a dormant volcano at 5,300 meters. Unfortunately, the great catastrophe came in 1985: The volcano erupted, burying around 30,000 people with rubble and debris and almost completely destroying the village of Armero.
We were to continue via Popayán, Cali, Pasto and the border town of Ipiales to Tulcán in Ecuador. But we weren't there yet - we didn't want to leave Colombia just yet.
After the festive season, we were invited back to Rosario Díaz Granada. For dinner we had chicken with arroz con coco - coconut rice, slightly sweet and with an intense coconut flavor. Delicioso.
After dinner, we wanted to go to the Cartagena club, where her father was a member. But we were told to wait a little longer because someone would be joining us on the way. We waited on a street corner for almost two hours until the person finally appeared. Rosario said to me: "This is Emilia."
"Nice to meet you," I replied.
Emilia spoke very good English, also French and even got on well with Italian. A very attractive and friendly young woman. We walked to the club. Thanks to Rosario, we were allowed in. There was a large swimming pool, sun loungers and the usual warm, beautiful weather. We were allowed to order drinks.
I had a long chat with Emilia. She was a teacher at a vocational school for adults. Part of her family lived in Medellín, her father and a few brothers lived near the coast on the banks of Colombia's longest river, the Río Magdalena, where he ran his business.
Emilia asked: "How are you going to travel?"
"We're thinking about Medellín and then heading south."
"I'm traveling to my family in Medellín at the end of the year. When you get there, come and see us. Give me a call and I'll tell you which bus to take."
"Okay, let's do it - when we get to Medellín."
The days passed almost too quickly and it was almost time to say goodbye to Cartagena. There was a small graduation ceremony at the language school for us and the other students, where we were presented with our diplomas. It said that we had both passed the basic Spanish course with top marks.
We said goodbye to the other students, the owner and our teacher Víctor Cabrera. On the way to the bus station, we also said adiós to the staff at my favorite cafeteria - where I drank my Maracuyá juice every morning and often got a free "tinto".
We got on the rusty bus back to the hotel. As we got off, we said "Adiós" and some passengers asked: "Are you leaving?" When we said yes, there was a "Qué pena" - too bad.
The next day, it was even harder to say goodbye to the hotel. The chambermaids, the waitress and even the cook with his clear soup had looked after us so well. We also said goodbye to the hotel owner. Then we went to the bus station, where we boarded the bus to Medellín.
The long bus journey from Cartagena to Medellín cost almost nothing in 1974 - and that fitted in perfectly with the times. It took almost 18 hours with many stops in between. The higher the bus went, the cooler it got. The buses had no air conditioning. At the beginning, we cooled down through the open windows, but when we reached the top of the pass (approx. 1,900 m above sea level), it got pretty chilly.
The driver stopped for a few minutes. From there you could see this huge city down in the basin - fully illuminated. It was about 2 o'clock at night. Medellín is called "the city of eternal spring" and lies at an altitude of around 1,500 meters.
The bus stopped at the bus station at around 3 o'clock in the morning. Just a few hundred meters away was the Guayaquil district, which didn't have a particularly good reputation at the time. It was pitch dark and we could hear loud tango music from a few hundred meters away. I jokingly said to Rolf: "That's probably our reception."
Like moths, we ran towards the light. Soon we saw countless bars, all painted in fluorescent colors, all open, without windows. We both felt that the only thing that would do us good now was a bed. After this long drive, we didn't feel like walking around looking for a hotel.
We stopped at a crossroads. There was a sign on the wall of a house: "Hotel de los Andes". Okay. We stood in front of a barred door and pressed the bell. A man came to the top of the stairs and asked: "What do you want?"
"A room with two beds."
"Do you have any money?"
"Yes."
"Let's see it."
We took out some bills. He climbed down the stairs, looked again on both sides to make sure no one was there, and opened the barred door with a huge key. We climbed up and paid for the room for one night. When we wanted to sign in, he just said: "There's time, tomorrow is another day."
We both fell onto our beds, dead tired.
Botanical garden and invitation to Emilia in Medellín
The next day we visited the botanical garden. It was a real feast for the eyes. Medellín is not called the "city of eternal spring" for nothing - it was blooming and greening everywhere in the most beautiful colors.
We spent a lot of time in the old town, which we really liked. There were cheap places to eat and it was practically busy day and night. We never knew boredom. Medellín was a very commercial and industrial city back then, and the textile industry was particularly well represented. The tallest building in the city at the time was the Coltejer Tower, which elegantly thinned out towards the top.
Invitation to lunch
Then I remembered the invitation from Emilia, whom I had met in Cartagena. I called her. She repeated her invitation to dinner, gave me the exact address and told me which minibus to take and at which stop she would be waiting for me.
At the end of the phone call, she asked: "Which hotel did you stay in?"
"At the Hotel de los Andes."
"What neighborhood?"
I asked the hotel employee. He replied: "Guayaquil." I repeated it into the phone. The whole family on the other end let out a loud cry: "¡Dios mío!"
Rolf wasn't feeling well that day, so I got into the minibus on my own. Emilia was already waiting at the designated bus stop with her little sisters. It was a nice, well-kept neighborhood with beautiful houses.
We entered the house. My mother greeted me warmly, as did the other sisters. The house had many rooms and a beautiful drawing room. I was given a whisky there - a brand I had never seen before. I was later told that my father had made a hobby of it: a whole wall was full of different and old whiskies.
The drink was accompanied by small, very tasty empanadas. Then I was invited to the table. I was served roast beef with a sweet sauce and coconut rice - one of my favorite dishes to this day. Apparently the word had spread as far as Medellín, because they had made a passion fruit juice (passion fruit) especially for me to drink. I had caramel flan for dessert.
The meal was followed by a "tinto" - black coffee with sugar in small cups.
Emilia and I sat in the lounge and talked about all sorts of things. She had booked a group trip to Mexico and would be leaving the next day. Her mother invited me to lunch again. At first I said I wouldn't come because Emilia was traveling. But she didn't accept my refusal.
So two days later I sat at the table in this house again. The second meal was just as good as the first. The family had domestic servants, but the mother always cooked the food herself.
When we said goodbye, my mother asked me to write from time to time.
On the way to Manizales and the Nevado del Ruiz
Back at the hotel, Rolf and I began to plan our onward journey. We took the bus up to Manizales at 2,160 meters above sea level. Our destination was the Nevado del Ruiz (5,321 m), at that time a supposedly extinct volcano that could be climbed without special climbing equipment.
In Manizales, we asked how we could get further. We were given the option of taking a jeep to the entrance of the Parque Nacional Natural los Nevados national park and then walking the rest of the way to the mountain hut, which was just below the summit. The jeep driver gave us a lift and we paid for the ride.
There was a checkpoint and a barrier at the entrance to the national park. A student worked there as a guide and gave us more information.
To the summit of the Nevado del Ruiz
We set off on our way. The path was good, but the ascent took several hours. At the top of the high plateau, we finally saw the hut. We entered and the hut warden greeted us warmly. He showed us the sleeping areas with blankets on the second floor.
He asked if we were hungry. He only had eggs and arepas to offer. First he spread butter on the arepas, sprinkled some salt over them and fried two fried eggs on each. We also had a coffee with milk. The altitude gave us a bad headache. We were tired from the climb and lay down with the blankets.
The next morning we had scrambled eggs with bread and latte. When I looked out of the window, I saw a silhouette through the fog and said to Rolf: "Someone's coming."
As the person approached, I said: "That's a Swiss."
Rolf replied: "You're crazy, how can you see that from far away?"
"Up here, far away from everything, there are only Swiss people who climb a mountain with a shaggy hat."
The man entered and greeted us in Spanish with a clear accent. I immediately asked: "Are you Swiss?"
He said yes with a laugh. He worked at the Swiss embassy in Bogotá.
In the course of the morning, Rolf found some old skis and tried to ski on the eternal snow. It didn't work - the snow was too slushy. Before we made our way back, we climbed up to the crater rim. It looked calm and harmless. Unfortunately, this was no longer the case in 1985 when the volcano erupted, killing over 30,000 people and burying the village of Armero almost completely under rubble and debris.
Before midday, we said goodbye to the hut warden and paid for our food and accommodation - about 5 francs per person for both together. Then we began the descent back to the entrance.
The gatekeeper saw us coming, came out of his little house and said: "You don't have to walk all the way to Manizales. A truck will soon be coming down from the other side. I'll stop it and ask if you can have a ride."
He invited us into his little house, told us about his studies and cooked an excellent tortilla with potatoes, eggs, tomatoes and good spices. He invited us to join him for dinner. I felt guilty about taking his food away from him, but he reassured us. So the three of us ate together.
Potatoes bigger than my hand
We gave him something small. Soon we heard a loud humming noise. The gatekeeper went out - a large truck was parked on the narrow path. He exchanged a few words with the driver and we were allowed onto the bridge.
As I stood on top, I could hardly believe my eyes: the truck was fully loaded with hand-sized potatoes that it had picked up in a small village over 2,000 meters above sea level. He drove off in the direction of Manizales.
When we arrived down in Manizales, we wanted to give the driver some money. He didn't accept it. For a few American cigarettes, however, he gave us a big grin and said: "Everything's okay, thanks."
I said to Rolf: "To celebrate, we'll treat ourselves to a hotel with a hot shower." We found one near the cathedral - cheap and clean. I asked the employee: "Do you have hot water for showers?" He said yes. I wanted to see the room in advance. It did indeed have hot water. We moved in, freshened up and went out for a nice meal. There was a party going on in many places, but we didn't feel like it. The fatigue of the last three days on the Nevado del Ruiz had taken its toll on us.
The next day, as we were walking up the main street, we suddenly saw a beautifully decorated shop window. There was a large poster of the Matterhorn on the wall. It was a Swiss bakery-patisserie. There were mille-feuilles in the window. Unfortunately, the price was way out of our budget. So we left it alone.
From Cali via Popayán to Pasto
We boarded another bus and drove via Pereira and Armenia to Cali. We spent a few days there. The city was nicknamed "Ciudad de la Salsa" - the city of salsa - and that was absolutely true.
We mainly wandered through the center with its many sights: the Mudéjar Tower, the Ortiz Bridge and the San Francisco Plaza. We also enjoyed walking through the old town, looking at the old buildings and trying the street food, which was just to our taste. We even tried our hand at salsa dancing - with moderate success.
After a short stay and with the knowledge that our visa for Colombia would soon expire, we made our way to Popayán. There is a major attraction near this town: Tierradentro, where the indigenous people lived in underground chambers many centuries ago. Unfortunately, we couldn't find a suitable way to get there.
The road between Cali and Popayán was literally stuck to the mountain - a narrow ribbon high above the Patía valley. The bus drove on tires as smooth as a baby's bottom, while the road clung to the steep flank as if glued to it. Every bend demanded the driver's full concentration.
Popayán - the white city
The old town of Popayán with its narrow streets and whitewashed houses was and is well worth seeing. The bell tower and the cathedral are in the center. The market was full of local Indians in their colorful traditional costumes selling all kinds of goods - all in bright colors.
From Popayán, we took the bus to Pasto. We found a small, good hotel in the center (old town). Thanks to our South American Handbook, we quickly knew what was worth seeing: countless churches and the gold museum, where works from different cultures are exhibited.
The proximity to Ecuador has resulted in many archaeological excavations in this region, which have been scientifically researched. Some finds date back over 2,000 years. In the past, countless tribes settled here. The Spaniards caused a lot of confusion - some languages and dialects disappeared completely.
Unfortunately, we didn't have enough time in Colombia to take part in the famous "de los Negros y Blancos" carnival, which takes place every year in January. In the center there were many handcrafted goods: Weavings, stone carvings, wood carvings and more. Even some great French couturiers are said to have found inspiration for their collections here.