Salsa Dancing

The last Friday before Christmas Break, a bunch of us teachers met at Al Platanal de Bartolo for some salsa dancing.  Although we go dancing about once a month, the last couple of times have been the most fun since we have veered away from the tourist joints and ventured into the real Cartagena where the locals go.  The music is more authentic salsa, and people don't care about the moves so much as just getting out on the floor and having a good time.

Michelle and I

This was the first time we had more Colombians than gringos go, and it was a great way to unwind after finals week.

I danced with several of the Colombians, and it was amazing how differently they all moved.  Luckily, every one of them was patient, so the dancing was fun and lighthearted.

The only thing I have to worry about now is getting more dancing wear.

Luis Miguel Concert

On Sunday, the 6th of December, Fidel, Elizabeth and I met a couple other ladies from school at the Luis Miguel concert.  Luis Miguel is a romantic Spanish singer; I heard one man say he was the Latino Frank Sinatra.  

Although the concert was good with an orchestra and even mariachis at one point, the part that stuck out in my mind happened before the concert began.  The show was supposed to start at eight, but in reality started two hours and thirteen minutes later.  Most of that time was spent waiting in a line outside in the parking area.  

Once through the doors, there was another line to get into the actual hall.  (Organization is not one of Cartagena's strong points.)  Well, Fidel led us to the front area of the line so we were in one packed, pushing crowd of irritated Colombians.  As I was simply standing there minding my own business, someone started tickling my sides.  Turning around, I noticed an old lady directly behind me using my hips to support her.  She had a lovely smile and made a few jokes about the ado.

When our turn was approaching to stuff ourselves through the door, I put my back to the crowd and made a space for the viejita to go through in order for her not to be squashed.  The rest of the people saw and stopped their pushing while the lady and her family safely shuffled forward, some even giving a warning to those not near enough to see.  Of course, the jostling started right back up again, but I love the respect paid to the elderly here.

Suesca

For Thanksgiving Break (three days), Becky and I went to Suesca, a small town about an hour out of Bogota.  I flew in Friday morning and met Becky at the bus terminal.  As soon as we exited the bus, Juan Fernando Petersson, our guide, was there waiting for us.  We joined Mario, an experienced rock climber and aide to Juan for the weekend, and ate lunch where we got to know each other a bit more.

(Note: Throughout this entry, I will refer to Juan Fernando Petersson with a variety of names as I did over the weekend.  He goes by just about anything:  Juan, Juan Fernando, Juancho, Peter, etc.).

Once done eating, Juan decided to test our abilities on the humongous rock wall Suesca is famous for....all while we were still in our jeans and nice shirts.  He outfitted us with special climbing shoes, a helmet and a harness, and we walked the half mile or so along the railroad tracks to our first climb.  

Now, let me just give you a little background here.  I'm terrified of heights (although I've gotten better over the years), especially where there is a cliff's edge.  Oh, and I hate free falling.  The first time I climbed a twenty-foot rock wall at the State Fair about fifteen years ago, I got stuck at the top because I didn't want to let go and trust the rope to hold me.  Climbing the swaying, thirty-foot rock wall at Science Camp a couple of times has been my only other experience.  

The wall as seen from Peter's house.

The first route, El Canal de Panama, didn't seem so bad, just twenty meters or so.  Becky went first since she has more experience and pretty much flew up the wall then rappelled back down. 

 I enjoyed this climb because there were hand and foot holds everywhere and I was able to reach the top without much ado.  Of course, the rappelling down was an entirely different matter.  Leaning back into the harness and straightening my legs just does not sound like a good idea when I am comfortably perched on the wall.  Alas, it had to be done, so I not-so-gracefully bounced my way down.

The second climb, La Placa de Libro Negro (20 m), was a tad bit more difficult but about the same height.  Although I wanted to continue climbing, darkness was descending, so we headed back to town where we bought a bottle of wine and veggies for dinner.  Juan Fernando bought us drinks at a nice hotel where we met both the owner and manager and sat chatting around the fireplace.  My vino caliente was perfect for the chilly air.

When I reserved Juancho as our guide, he offered us a room in his house for the couple nights we would be there.  He lives a couple miles out of town up a hill with a spectacular view.  It's surrounded by farmhouses and was a more authentic experience all around.  Plus, Peter is an excellent host.

When we arrived at his place, the men, Peter, Mario, and Otto (another guide staying there) started preparing dinner while Becky and I opened the wine and made ourselves comfortable.  (Don't worry: we washed the dishes after eating.)  Carlos, the hotel owner, had decided to join us for dinner and sat enjoying a doobie.  

Dinner was delectable: spaghetti and homemade sauce with fresh veggies.  It was a perfect way to end the day.

Our room was located just up the stairs.  There was no door, we slept in sleeping bags with both cats cuddling with us, and we had 360 degree views.  The only issue was the @#$#%#$$# roosters deciding to wake the world up at 3:30 each morning.  

The "door" to our room.

Breakfast on Saturday and Sunday was the specialty of the house: eggs cooked with fresh produce, bread, cut up fruit sprinkled with bee pollen and coffee.  Absolutely delicious and a great way to start off a day of climbing.

The next morning, we set off around nine.  This time, we were able to bring a little backpack with our cameras and water.  Peter and Mario, on the other hand, carried all the equipment needed for our climbs.

Both the first (CAEC: 80 m) and second climb (Mañana Gris 120 m) had at least one stop along the way to reset our ropes and find new places to put the gear in the wall.  There were times when both Peter and Mario went up first, so Becky and I were left to find the hand and foot holds alone.  Other times, they would be below us calling out "good" footholds jutting out about a millimeter, telling us to trust our toes.  Yeah, right.  I don't think so, buddy.  

I realize it looks as though there are tons of spaces to put hands and feet, but that is extremely deceiving.

Chilling on a narrow ledge about 60 meters up waiting for the guys to reset the equipment.

There was this Spanish moss (looks like an old man's beard) hanging from many of the rocks.

For the first two climbs, we went all the way to the top of the mountain and hiked our way back down.  That was probably the most dangerous part of the whole trip since the "trail" was steep and we no longer were attached to anything.  The scent of eucalyptus hanging in the air made it well worth it, though.

These are some of the rock faces we scaled.

It's incredible, but all the routes were slightly different.  Although the last one (Primer Largo de La Diagonal o El Espolón de la Diagonal 25 m) was shorter, the technique was more of putting my arms around a giant rock and sticking my rump out.  It was great fun.  Of course, I was a bit dramatic on the way down, but that is just my coping mechanism for rappelling.  Luckily, Peter has the patience of a saint and lowered me down incredibly slowly.  I'm sure one of these days I'll be able to launch myself off a cliff with ease, but for now, it gives me something to freak out about.

As I was hanging from the cliffs trying to figure out which tiny crack I should dig my nails into next, I surveyed my surroundings and concluded that life really doesn't get much better.  Here I am in the middle of Colombia, in good company, outdoors, trying something new, and I couldn't be happier.  Hans Christian Andersen summarized my thoughts pretty well with this quote:

“To move, to breathe, to fly, to float,

To gain all while you give,

To roam the roads of lands remote,

To travel is to live.” 

Guatemala: Antigua

Our last stop in Guatemala was Antigua, the previous capital until 1773 when an earthquake destroyed much of the town.  The center still has the Spanish colonial buildings and cobblestone streets, making it a pretty place to stroll.  

While walking around town, one can see many of the old, massive churches with their roofs and walls caved in.

One of the activities we did while there was climbing the Pacaya Volcano.  Due to traffic, we didn't start hiking until four.  The weather was already drizzly, and the fog rolling in through the trees created a mysterious, other-worldly landscape.  The three kilometers to the top was at a decent incline, and the aroma of the damp forest made me feel alive.  

All the views from the lookouts were like this: pure clouds.

At the summit, large, black lava rocks made the terrain look like Mars.  

It amazes me how these plants thrive in such harsh soil.

The walk down was in the dark.  Luckily, our guide had an extra flashlight for Elizabeth and I to share, which was handy considering the amount of fresh horse doo covering the trail.  

It was as if we were passing through Grimm's Forest.

The next day, we took a five-hour tour to the surrounding pueblos.  We stopped at five different locations and were able to see just normal people going about their everyday routine sans tourists.  There was a homemade wine shop where the fruity wine was in used bottles with little shot glasses for tasting.  It wasn't the best I've ever tried, but we still bought a bottle. We also stopped to tour how jade is refined from the stone to the jewel and then shown a bunch of pretty objects that were way over my budget.  

This is the first town we stopped in that had a busy outdoor market.  Notice how the lady is carrying the baby on her back: hands free!  This pueblo was the most traditional in terms of dress that we saw.  The men still wore slacks and shirts, but the women were decked out in skirts and belt wraps.

In a few of the towns, we came across women (of course) washing their clothes and catching up on news in a community area with a large pool of water and several scrubbing boards.  Their work never ends.

The tastiest stop was at the macadamia nut farm.  Not only did we have eat some delicious pancakes coated with macadamia nut butter and blueberries, but the outdoor bathroom was amazing.  Instead of walls, there were just plants.  You could actually peep through the leaves and see people standing right outside and join in their conversations if you were so inclined.  

Our last stop was at a women's cooperative where we tried on the traditional outfits and pretty much had to buy something.  Many of the items were things I would never use, but the woven artwork was rather impressive. 

One of the mornings in Antigua, I woke up early and hiked the short way up a nearby hill to the cross overlooking the town. 

A little further up was this awesome tree and a statue of some dude.  There were no people around, and the solitude was a nice change.

The most sinful part of the trip was our tour at the chocolate factory.  For two hours, we learned the history of chocolate and made our very own, adding whatever ingredients we wanted.  I chose dark chocolate, of course, for the antioxidants. The bag of morsels was consumed in two days.  No self control here.

Guatemala: Semuc Champey

After a day of traveling, an hour of it standing on the back of a truck with metal bars for protection and pain (ramming against them at every bump), crammed in with a bunch of other tourists going in the dark over rocky, dirt roads bordering cliffs, we finally made it to Semuc Champey.  This is a natural monument with a limestone bridge stretching a few soccer fields with the Cahabón River running beneath it.

The next day, we walked from our hotel and hired a fifteen-year-old guide to lead us through the park.  We started with el Mirador (Lookout), a thirty-minute climb through the forest.  Our hostel owner had told us flip flops were fine.  Boy, was he wrong!  With the recent and continuing rains, the ground was muddy and quite slippery, so we walked barefoot instead, squishing our toes in the mud and bruising our feet over the sharp rocks.  It was quite adventuresome.

You've got to admit, my painted toes look pretty classy in the mud.

Some parts of the trail were a relief, and we could actually go at a normal pace.  The wooden stairs were my favorite. 

       At the top, we could see the torquoise pools below and the forest stretching out for miles.

Right before we came to the bottom of the mountain, the clouds let loose and did their best to drench us.  We ran to the only ramada there was and waited out the downpour with the other visitors and guides. Donning our ponchos (we knew another soaking was inevitable), we explored the rest of the park.

Several of the views were magical, and it made me thankful again to have so many opportunities to travel and see such beautiful sights.