17th March 2001: Huaraz, Peru

Well I guess I can't really postpone it much longer. I have been back in South America for four weeks, which have taken me on a quick tour of Colombia, and down as far as the Cordillera Blanca de los Andes in Huaraz, Peru.

Colombia certainly has a reputation amongst the gringo travellers I met in Ecuador. In 3 months I met only one who had been there, who reassured me that it was not as bad as it is portrayed. When the quirks of international airline ticket pricing landed me in Bogota, I figured it was worth a quick tour. My concession was to take internal flights rather than the 20-hour bus rides through coca-growing guerilla-controlled areas. The first of these flights was to Santa Marta in the north - the plan was to visit Parque Tayrone and Cartagena, but first I needed to get my hair cut.

Having found a local barbershop, I sat patiently while the barber deftly dealt with his current customer. The paint was peeling off the walls and the chairs were of the old-fashioned type, with footrest and a leather back. When the barber finished his customer, the two men swapped places, and the customer started on the barber's hair.

Then the myopic pensioner who had arrived shortly after I did stood up and to my horror beckoned me to the second chair in the shop! I tentatively took a seat, and he picked up the electric clippers. His hands were shaking considerably even before he switched on his clippers. Faced with a decrepit 90 year old with inch thick glasses about to massacre my head, I suppose it was the English reserve that kept me in my seat. His lack of teeth proved a considerable challenge to effective communication. I let him do his worst, resolving to shave it all off at the next opportunity. When he picked up the cut-throat razor, trembling gently, I steeled myself for the worst.

By the end of half-an-hour (arthritis slows one down so) my hairstyle could be perhaps be best described as pudding bowl meets lawnmower attack. An improvement, I hear you cry - you would probably be right.

Parque Nacional Tayrone is a national park on the Caribbean coast, isolated from civilization by a lengthy bus journey (accompanied by various farmyard animals) and a 2 hour hike through the jungle to the beach. When I finally arrived, hot and sweaty, it took my breath away. I really had found paradise. Waves crashed onto an white beach empty except for palm trees, a couple of colombianas and a sprinkling of coconuts. Along the beach was the accommodation, (namely) some cabañas made from palm leaves, with hammocks stretched between the trees, and a couple of tents. Needless to say I stayed here for much longer than scheduled. I spent the days refining my machete technique for opening coconuts, and visiting deserted beaches.

What else to report?
The women in Colombia are plentiful and of a very high calibre, much like the drugs.
I have found that Valium makes long bus journeys fly by.
I have discovered the richness of colombia's jugos (fruit juices), made in front of you from bizarre-looking fruit with names like guanábana and maracuya (my personal favourite).
And finally I have decided that if ever I decide to get married, I will come to Colombia.

Having spent far longer in Colombia than I had originally intended, I needed to get my skates on. After a brief stopover in Quito, I bussed it non-stop to Trujillo on the Peruvian coast, and from there, a night bus (diazepam-enhanced) to Huaraz, in the heart of the Andes. From the town square no less than 23 snow-capped peaks over 5000 m are visible. The place is a mecca for international climbers, but unfortunately it is the wet season and the weather is, er , wet. Time soon to bus it to the coast and get stuck in to the gringo trail proper: I am braced for fat camera-toting American tourists and cunning thieves.

Wish me luck…

Hasta luego, Matt



Wish me luck

Hasta luego,
Matt